On a hillside green as fresh jade, a man and a woman cradled each other’s faces and kissed, lost like dew in dawn mist. As their mouths traded warmth, Edlyn had already lapped the trace of Eli’s blood clean, a crimson thread swallowed by moon-lit tide.

The girl sprawled over the man like a cat in sun, and a spade-tipped tail rose from beneath her skirt, flicking the air like a teasing breeze.

She unclasped the locked embrace and pushed him away, eyes glassed over like winter pond ice, then lay aside, hollow as fallen leaves. Good thing she was only half of the Demon Race; that hunger didn’t bite as hard.

She just needed the liquid from his mouth, like a thirsty moth seeking nectar, not anything lower, not any heat beneath the waist.

But nausea rolled in waves from her lips, a sour tide against a shore, and a thin line of relief threaded through it like sunlight through fog, making her wish she could die right there.

Eli touched his swollen lips, feeling heat like a bruise in stormlight, and looked at the girl, who lay like a desecrated statue awaiting burial. His mouth bent into a small arc. “Was that your first kiss with a man?”

Edlyn stared, eyes dull as a fish washed up by the tide, whole body slack like silt after rain.

She shot him a look of scorn mixed with disgust, sharp as sleet. “No shit.”

A ripple crossed Eli’s chest like a pebble in a pond, then he spoke, voice even as dusk. “So you only recently turned into a Succubus?”

He already knew, like someone tracing old scars under lamplight. He lifted a hand to straighten her clothes, gentle as a farmer smoothing grain. She took it for malice and jumped back clutching her blouse, shrieking, “Pervert, what are you doing!”

Eli could only shake his head, a weary willow in wind.

Was this his fault?

Was he the one who started?

Uh… maybe Edlyn led the first step, and he took the second, like two sparrows chasing through branches.

Who moved their mouth first? Him? No, right?

It felt unfair, a small black cloud sulking above his heart.

“Hey, uh, Edlyn.”

“Who said you could use my name?”

“Uh, uh, uh—Ms. Brulyar,” Eli nodded, stiff as a reed.

The Demonic Lord frowned, a crease like a blade across still water. No problem in the words themselves, but coming from a Hero, it felt like a jab at her turned-girl body, like a thorn in silk.

She shooed him away, hand fluttering like a bird. “Stay away.”

Eli rubbed his palms together, a slow grind like sand. “So, Ms. Brulyar, where do we pick up your sister?”

Goosebumps rippled over Edlyn’s arms, a field of millet brushed by wind.

Then a thought struck like lightning, and she whipped around with a punch. “You know I have nothing to do with that trash religion, and you still try to scare me!”

Her fist hit Eli’s gut with a thunderclap, and he flew like a tossed leaf until rock swallowed him.

Blood sprayed from his lips, a scatter of berries on snow, and he ended up embedded in the cliff, stuck tight as a fossil.

Edlyn blinked. “Huh?” She flexed her fists, testing bone and breath like a smith checking steel, then blinked again, baffled as a lost bird. “Eh—eh—eh?”

Joy flared and she sprang skyward, a swallow riding thermals. Her magic felt near an Archmage’s once more, and her Battle Aura honed to a keen edge, and delight poured through her like summer rain.

A white light flowed from the hole where Eli had been slammed, and Eli stepped out, shadow and shine like dawn breaking from a cave.

He remembered a rumor, old as ash. A Succubus with high Demon Race blood and a soul blessing could siphon energy while absorbing a man, like drawing fire from a brazier.

For a short span, a handful of heartbeats, she’d wield two-thirds of the man’s strength, a borrowed tide before it ebbed.

Edlyn’s body went heavy and she wailed, a fallen kite crying to the wind, proving the point with every breath.

Eli still pinned the blame on the New Era Sect, a stain on parchment. Who knew where they dug up high-grade demon souls and blood like contraband incense.

He smiled and raised his hands, lines of a weight-reduction array glimmering on his forearms like frost. He caught the falling girl from the sky and drew her into his arms, soft as catching a snowflake.

“What’s wrong?” Eli watched Edlyn’s bewilderment, and his head shook with a helpless laugh, a willow in spring.

“Eh… why is this happening?” The Demonic Lord was about to cry, tears like pearls on a string. The taste of power returning then vanishing stung like salt on a cut.

…

After Eli explained how Succubi were put together, Edlyn hung her head, a wilted peony after rain.

As a Demon King, not knowing Succubi felt shameful, a crack in a crown.

There were few Succubi anyway, and their debauched ways were mire and swamp; in her past life she refused to wade in.

“But you did gain a little strength,” Eli said, calm as a slow river. “Don’t be so gloomy.”

“From a mage’s lens, you’re roughly at second level now,” he went on, voice steady like footfalls. “For Battle Aura, maybe tier three. My Aura’s actually stronger than my magic.”

Edlyn ignored his babbling, words like cicadas in noon heat, and quickened her steps, yearning to bury her face in her sister’s arms and cry a storm.

Since she didn’t answer, Eli kept talking, clouds drifting without end. “After levels one to ten, mages become Archmages. Not many reach it. I’m about to surpass that, you know.”

“Same with Battle Aura. Beyond ten, you’re a Master. The ranks sound stiff, but they’re real as stone.”

If she didn’t cut him off, he’d talk all the way home, wind without fence. Edlyn snapped, voice sharp as broken glass, “Can you stop rambling? I know all that, alright?!”

“Oh, good. You know it, you know it,” Eli said, hands behind his head, carefree as a dog in shade.

“Damn it, do you think knowing stuff makes you special?” Edlyn bristled, hackles like quills.

“Do you think being a Hero makes you great? I’m still a Demon King, you hear me? Hero, huh? Is a Hero so great? I’ll bite you to death!”

Seeing her put on ferocity like a fox puffing its tail, Eli couldn’t help patting her head, a palm like warm sunlight.

Her sharp fangs sank into his right hand with a crisp chomp, and pain bloomed like a red flower under winter frost.