100x Rebate Sharing System: Retired Incubus Wants to Marry & Have Kids

Chapter 687: Chapter 686 - The Bloodied Battlefield

The ones in the air — twenty, thirty, the ones who had been reaching for Mira — dropped. Like stones. The demonic energy in their legs — the power that had launched them — cut off. The blood redirected. The muscles — demonified, enhanced — went slack. They hit the ground with wet, meaty, ’thud-thud-thud’ impacts that sounded like bags of meat being dropped from a height.

Helena’s hand closed. Into a fist.

The ground erupted.

CRACK—!!

The earth split. Not from an earthquake — from the World Tree Sovereign’s nature communion, amplified by the Demon Sovereign’s authority, channeled through the proxy of Goddess Gaia. The grassland tore open. The soil — the frozen, hard, northern soil — ruptured. And from the cracks, the vines emerged.

Not normal vines. Demonified vines.

The plants — the roots, the seeds, the dormant vegetation beneath the soil — were enhanced. The World Tree Sovereign’s nature communion gave Helena absolute control over all plant life. The Demon Sovereign’s demonic authority gave her the ability to ’demonify’ — to infuse demonic energy into any substance, any material, any living thing. The combination — nature magic plus demonic authority — produced something that had never existed before.

Demonified vines.

The tendrils — thick, three feet in diameter, the bark black and veined with purple — erupted from the ground. Hundreds of them. Each one was serpent-like — long, flexible, the surface covered in thorns that were not thorns but ’teeth.’ The vines moved. Not randomly — with purpose. With intelligence. Helena’s intelligence. Each vine was an extension of her will.

They found the barbarians.

The first vine — three feet thick, the bark steaming with demonic energy — wrapped around a demonified brute. The man — seven feet, three hundred pounds, his skin black and steel-hard — was engulfed. The vine coiled. Around his legs. Around his torso. Around his arms. The ’anaconda’ grip — the constricting, ’I-will-crush-every-bone’ pressure that the demonified vine applied — was absolute.

CRACK. CRACK. CRACK—!!

The sound was bones. Breaking. Not the bones of a human — the bones of a demonified brute, the dense, reinforced skeleton that was harder than steel. The vine — the demonified vine, its bark harder than the barbarian’s skin — squeezed. The bones shattered. The ribs. The spine. The pelvis. The limbs.

The man screamed. A short, sharp, ’I-am-being-crushed’ scream that was cut off when the vine tightened further. The chest cavity collapsed. The lungs compressed. The heart — the demonified heart, still pumping blood that was no longer his — was squeezed. Stopped.

The vine moved on. The pulp — the remains of the man, the red-black paste of crushed flesh and shattered bone — fell from the coils. The vine slithered forward. Found the next barbarian.

Hundreds of vines. Hundreds of barbarians. The slaughter was systematic. Efficient. Not the flashy, ’look-at-my-magic’ destruction that Mira had displayed. The ’I-will-use-the-most-efficient-method-available’ approach of a woman who had been a nanny — who had raised children, who had managed households, who had learned that the best way to solve a problem was the simplest way.

Helena didn’t need magic circles. She didn’t need swords. She didn’t need spears. She had vines. Demonified vines. And the Demon Sovereign’s authority over every demonic element in the barbarians’ bodies.

The demonified barbarians — the black-skinned, red-eyed, berserk brutes — were, despite their enhancement, still partly demon. The pills — the demonification tablets — had pumped demonic energy into their bodies. That energy was now Helena’s. Not Mira’s — Mira’s Crimson Blood Monarch controlled ’blood.’ Helena’s Demon Sovereign authority controlled ’demonic energy itself.’ The blood was the medium. The demonic energy was the target.

The barbarians knelt. Not voluntarily — involuntarily. The demonic energy in their bodies — the substance that had given them their enhanced strength, their steel-hard skin, their berserk rage — was being ’pulled.’ Extracted. Drawn out of their cells, out of their tissues, out of their very bones.

The demonification reversed.

The black skin — the dense, reinforced tissue — faded. The charcoal black lightened. Returned to the weathered brown of a barbarian’s sun-exposed flesh. The veins — the purple-black lines of demonic energy — flattened. Disappeared. The red eyes — the burning, berserk eyes — dimmed. Returned to their natural dark brown.

The strength left. The enhancement evaporated. The men — who had been steel-hard, berserk, ’I-will-kill-a-god’ brutes — became men again. Just men. Hungry, tired, frightened men whose bodies had been used as vessels for demonic energy that was no longer there.

The vines killed them anyway.

The demonified vines — three feet thick, their bark steaming — didn’t need the barbarians to be demonified to crush them. The bones of ordinary men broke even more easily. The screams — the human screams, the ’I-am-just-a-man-please’ screams — filled the grassland.

"AAAAHH—!"

"MERCY — MERCY—!"

"THE VINES — THE VINES ARE—!"

"AAAARGH—!! MY LEGS — MY—!"

The sounds were wet. Crushing. The ’CRACK-CRACK-CRACK’ of bones being shattered, the ’SQUISH’ of flesh being compressed, the ’POP’ of organs rupturing under pressure. The vines moved through the camp like a plague — systematic, thorough, the ’I-will-not-leave-anything-alive’ efficiency of a nature magic wielded by a Demon Sovereign.

Mira watched. From the air. Her green eyes — still luminous, still burning — tracked the slaughter. The vines. The blood. The Demon Sovereign’s authority that radiated from Helena’s body like heat from a furnace.

’Ah, shit,’ she thought. The realization was not fear — not anymore. The fear was still there, beneath the surface, but the ’I-should-have-waited’ regret was stronger. ’I should have waited more.’

She wanted that power too.

The Demon Sovereign — the bonus ability, the evolved Demon King-tier power that Helena had received — was not something Mira had. The transfer had given her everything else. The Archdemon Emperor. The Crimson Blood Monarch. The Voice of Dominion. But not the Demon Sovereign. That had come from Viktor’s fucking of Nora — from the absorption of the heavenly demon’s bloodline residue through the incubus energy transfer. It was Helena’s bonus. Helena’s evolution.

’But I was not ready,’ she thought. The words were not bitter. They were factual. Mira was the strategist. The calculator. The woman who understood that timing was everything, that the power transfer happened during birth, that Helena had been ready and she had been — not.

’I’ll get mine.’

The thought was brief. Then she looked at the sky. At the grassland below. At the barbarians — the screaming, dying, crushed men who had come to conquer and rape and breed.

She raised both hands.

"Let’s send a sparkling glow to the world," she said.

The magic circles formed.

Not hundreds. Not thousands. ’Millions.’

The sky ignited. Every circle — every geometric, rune-inscribed, spinning mandala — appeared simultaneously. The entire sky — from horizon to horizon — was covered. The light was blinding. The mana — the World Tree Sovereign’s infinite supply, channeled through the Arcane Sovereign’s compression, manifested through the Forge God’s enhancement — was limitless.

The spears materialized. Between the circles. Millions of them. Burning. The mana constructs — each one a condensed, Forge-God-enhanced, white-hot blade of compressed magical energy — filled the sky. Like stars. Like a galaxy. Like the ’the-sky-has-become-a-weapon’ display that would be visible from miles away.

From the capital.

From every faction stronghold.

From every hidden base and secret meeting room and shadowed war room in the Eldoria kingdom.

The spears fell.

SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH—!!!

The sound was not a whistle. Not a whoosh. It was a ’scream.’ The sound of millions of mana constructs slicing through air simultaneously, the displaced atmosphere ’shrieking’ as the blades accelerated to terminal velocity. The sound lasted ten seconds. An eternity of ’the-sky-is-falling’ sound that made every living thing within a hundred miles instinctively seek shelter.

The light was worse.

The impact — millions of spears hitting thousands of bodies, hitting the ground, hitting the tents, hitting the weapons — produced light. Not fire. ’Light.’ The pure, white, ’this-is-not-natural’ brilliance of mana constructs detonating on impact. The light was so intense that the grassland — the entire northern border region — was illuminated as if it were noon. At night. The shadows vanished. Every detail — every blade of grass, every stone, every drop of blood — was visible.

The barbarians screamed.

"AAAAAHHH—!!"

"WHAT IS THIS—!!"

"THE GODS — THE GODS ARE—!!"

"RUN — RUN—!!"

"AAAARGH—!!"

The spears pierced. The demonified skin — the skin that had resisted Mira’s swords, that had adapted to the blade damage — could not resist the spears.

The Forge-God-enhanced, white-hot, compressed-mana constructs were not blades.

They were ’bombs.’ Each spear, on impact, detonated. The mana — compressed to maximum density — expanded. Rapidly. Violently.

The explosion — small, contained, the ’I-will-destroy-only-what-I-touch’ precision of a Forge God weapon — punched through the demonified skin, through the muscles, through the bones, through the organs.

And out the other side.

The barbarians — the demonified brutes, the berserk warriors, the ’we-will-conquer-and-breed’ conquerors — were destroyed.

Not killed. ’Destroyed.’ The spears punched through their bodies like needles through paper, leaving holes the size of apples.

The exits — the back of the skulls, the chests, the backs — erupted in sprays of red-black blood and shattered bone.