Strongest Incubus System

Damon watched Lily in silence.

She stood a few feet from him, gripping the spear with both hands as if it were something both familiar and utterly foreign. The weapon seemed too large for her slender frame, the shaft almost touching the ground when she relaxed her arms. Yet, there was firmness in her posture—not technique, but intention.

A clear will not to let go.

Damon crossed his arms slowly.

”You’re a succubus,” he said finally. ”You can manipulate emotions, drain desire, survive without ever lifting a weapon... so explain to me exactly why you want me to teach you how to use a spear.”

Lily tilted her head slightly, her white hair cascading over her shoulders. Her eyes held no malice at that moment. Just something more raw.

”Because you’re the best,” she replied without hesitation.

Damon blinked.

”That’s not true.”

”It is,” she insisted, tightening her grip on the spear shaft. ”I saw it.” ”Not just what you do... but how you do it.”

He let out a short, humorless laugh.

”Esther is better than me. Technically, strategically, in everything that matters. If you really want to learn, she’s the right choice.”

Lily frowned.

”She’s cold.”

”She’s a general.”

”She looks at me like I’m a risk,” Lily retorted, her voice low. ”Or a problem waiting to happen.”

Damon didn’t answer immediately.

”And maybe I am,” Lily continued. ”But I don’t want to be useless.”

The word landed heavily between them.

Damon uncrossed his arms.

”Useless?” he repeated.

”Yes.” She raised her spear a little higher. ”I survived because I am who I am. Because I absorbed emotions. Desire. Will. Fear. Not because I fought. Not because I was strong on my own.”

She took a deep breath.

”I don’t want to depend on this forever.”

There was a long silence.

The light wind made the fabric of their training clothes move. The courtyard was empty, as almost always. Just the two of them. No audience. No pressure beyond what Lily carried alone.

Damon ran a hand over his face, sighing.

”You know this isn’t easy, right?”

”I know.”

”You’re going to get hurt.”

”I know.”

”You’re going to fail a lot before you get anything right.”

”I know.”

He stared at her for a few seconds, trying to find hesitation. Fear. A second thought.

He found none.

”Damn it...” he murmured.

Damon walked to a stand and picked up another spear, twirling it once in the air before resting the tip on the ground.

”Okay,” he said. ”But forget everything you think you know.”

Lily nodded immediately. ”Just do what I do.”

She straightened her posture.

Damon positioned himself in front of her, a few feet away, in a basic stance. Not Esther’s refined stance, nor the aggressive one he’d used against Arven’s knights. It was simple. Functional.

”First mistake,” he said, pointing with his chin. ”You’re holding the spear like you’re afraid of losing it.”

Lily looked at her own hands.

”I am.”

”I know.” Damon adjusted his grip. ”The spear isn’t something you hold tightly. It’s something you guide.”

He slid his back hand along the shaft, demonstrating balance.

”Look.”

Damon took a step forward.

Nothing exaggerated. No spectacular strike. Just a clean, direct movement, the spearhead cutting through the air with silent precision.

”Again,” he said, stepping back.

Lily tried to imitate him. The movement came out stiff. The tip dropped a little earlier than expected.

”Stop,” Damon said immediately.

She froze.

”Breathe.” He stamped his foot. ”You’re overthinking it.”

”I don’t want to mess up.”

”Then you’ll always mess up.”

She bit her lip.

”A spear isn’t magic. It doesn’t respond to will. It responds to the body. If you hesitate, it gives you away.”

Damon made the movement again. Step, slight hip rotation, advance.

”Now you.”

Lily repeated.

”Better.”

”Still imperfect.”

”Again.”

”Again.”

Her arm trembled slightly.

”Relax your shoulder,” Damon corrected. ”You’re using force where you don’t need to.”

She adjusted.

”Like this?”

”Almost.” He moved a little closer. ”Feel the weight. Don’t fight it.” She closed her eyes for a second and then tried again.

The movement was smoother.

Damon nodded.

”Better.”

Lily’s eyes gleamed, not with lust, but with something rarer.

Pride.

”See?” she said, almost smiling. ”I’m not entirely useless.”

”Still,” Damon replied without softening. ”But less than before.”

She laughed.

The sound was soft, genuine.

They trained like this for long minutes. Damon demonstrated. Lily imitated. He corrected posture, feet, wrist angle. Sometimes he just shook his head. Other times, he lightly touched her arm to adjust.

”Don’t rely only on your arms,” ​​he said at one point. ”The spear starts at the feet.”

”Everything starts at the feet...” she murmured.

”Exactly.” Damon advanced again. ”Now defense.”

”Defense?”

”Yes.” He raised his spear. ”Attacking is easy. Defending is where people die.”

He made a sideways movement, deflecting an imaginary thrust.

”You don’t block force with force. You deflect the attack.”

Lily tried.

Her spear almost slipped from her hand.

”Hey” Damon caught the shaft before it fell. ”See? That’s why I said you were going to get hurt.”

She was breathing faster now.

”Again” she asked.

Damon raised an eyebrow.

”Are you sure?”

”Yes.”

He nodded.

”Then again.”

The training continued.

The sun began to set slowly, painting the courtyard with orange hues. Lily was sweaty, her arms tired, her breathing irregular. But there was no giving up in her.

In a poorly calculated movement, she lunged too far. Damon instinctively dodged, and the tip of her spear scraped the ground. The imbalance was immediate.

She stumbled.

Damon caught her before she fell.

For a second, they were too close.

Lily looked up, surprised, her face flushed—not from desire, but from effort.

”Sorry...” she murmured.

”Don’t apologize,” Damon said. ”Learn.”

He released her and took a step back.

”The spear punishes overconfidence as much as hesitation.”

She nodded.

”You talk as if you learned this the hard way.”

Damon was silent for a moment.

”I learned.”

She didn’t insist.

She tried again.

The movement came out better.

Not perfect.

But real.

Damon smiled slightly—something rare, almost imperceptible.

”See?” he said. ”You learn fast.”

”Because you explain better than Esther,” Lily replied sincerely. ”She would just say ’wrong’ and make me repeat.”

”She’s right.”

”But you...” Lily hesitated. ”You understand why you’re wrong.”

Damon didn’t answer immediately.

”Maybe” he said finally. ”Because I’ve been in the place of someone who knew nothing.”

The training continued until Lily could barely keep the spear raised.

She rested the tip on the ground, panting.

”I think...” she took a deep breath ”...that’s enough for today.”

Damon nodded.

”For today, yes.”

She looked at her own hands, red and sore.

”Thank you.”

”Don’t thank me yet” he said. ”It will hurt more tomorrow.”

She smiled, tired.

”Then I’ll come back tomorrow.”

Damon watched as she slowly walked away, the spear resting on her shoulder like something precious.

He sighed. ”How tiring,” he commented.

”You’re too soft.”

The voice came from the left, dry as cold steel. Damon didn’t turn around immediately. He just closed his eyes for a second and sighed.

”Good afternoon to you too, Esther.”

She was there, leaning against one of the courtyard pillars, arms crossed, her expression too neutral for someone who had clearly witnessed everything. Her spear rested on her shoulder, motionless, as if it were part of her own body.

”Soft,” she repeated. ”Extremely soft.”

Damon finally turned his face.

”I didn’t ask for your evaluation.”

”I don’t need you to,” Esther replied. ”If you keep teaching like this, she’ll develop bad habits that will take years to correct. If she survives until then.”

He raised an eyebrow.

”She’s not a soldier.”

”Yet,” Esther corrected. ”And that’s exactly why you should be tougher.”

Damon ran a hand through his hair.

”She was learning the basics.”

”Basics doesn’t require gentleness,” Esther retorted, stepping forward. ”It requires repetition. Pain. Frustration. You stopped every time she seemed too tired.”

”Because she was tired.”

”War doesn’t care.”

Silence fell for a moment.

Damon tilted his head slightly.

”I’m not training her for war.”

Esther narrowed her eyes.

”Then why?”

He hesitated to answer.

”So she doesn’t die,” he finally said. ”So she doesn’t have to depend solely on what she is.”

Esther watched him more closely now.

”You’re confusing instruction with protection.”

”No,” Damon replied. ”I’m differentiating training from punishment.”

She made a short sound through her nose.

”If I had trained you like that, you wouldn’t have survived the academy.”

Damon smiled slightly.

”If you had been my instructor from the beginning, I would have quit in the first month.”

She didn’t deny it.

”Probably.”

Esther approached the center of the courtyard and observed the ground marked by Lily’s recent footsteps.

”She holds the spear with fear,” she commented. ”Fear of making a mistake. Fear of disappointing.”

”I know.”

”And you reinforced that by being too patient.”

Damon shook his head.

”I disagree. I showed that making mistakes doesn’t kill.”

Esther turned to him slowly.

”Making mistakes kills, Damon. Just not always immediately.”

He held her gaze.

”And crushing someone on the first day also kills. Only on the inside.”

She was silent for a few seconds.

”You’re getting involved,” she said finally.

”Not more than necessary.”

”You’re teaching as if she were...” Esther paused, choosing her words carefully. ”...your responsibility.”

Damon looked away at the sky, where the sun was already setting.

”Everyone here is someone’s responsibility,” he replied. ”She just never had a choice.”

Esther sighed slowly.

”You’re still terrible at separating the personal from the functional.”

”And you still treat people like numbered troops.”

She wasn’t offended.

”It works.”

”Until you break someone who didn’t need breaking.”

Esther stared at him for a long moment.

Then, unexpectedly, she gave a half-smile—small, almost invisible.

”Still,” she said, ”I admit she learned more today than she would have learned from me.”

Damon blinked.

”Was that a compliment?”

”Don’t get used to it.”

She twirled the spear once and rested it on the ground.

”Tomorrow,” he continued, ”I’ll train with you guys.”