The Incubus System Chapter 1145. Overpowered Freelancer

The Incubus System Chapter 1145. Overpowered Freelancer

I shrugged. “Might as well be. Same level of excitement.”

Shadow purred from his spot on the windowsill. “At least executions have an end. This could drag on for hours.”

Puriel, sitting stiffly in an armchair, sighed as she adjusted her posture. Her wings had been hidden, but the way she carried herself still screamed ‘holier-than-thou.’ “You could always just ignore the letter,” she suggested.

Celia scoffed. “Oh, yeah, because that would end well.”

Foxy flicked her tails lazily. “You could ignore it, but then you’d just get another one. Maybe they’d even hand-deliver it next time.”

I groaned, rubbing my face. “Ew. I don’t need a bunch of officers showing up at my door. Can you imagine?”

Shadow smirked. “I’d like to see them try.”

Buni, who had been quiet this whole time, twitched his nose before muttering, “You guys are overthinking it. Just go, get it over with, and move on.”

I exhaled, rubbing my face. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

Then, with a dry laugh, I threw my hands up. “Honestly, she should be grateful that Tiffany and I have such unusual jobs. Can you imagine if we had real schedules? Like, what if I worked at a bank or something? ‘Oh, sorry, I can’t make it to your last-ditch attempt at emotional manipulation, I have a shift today.’”

Celia snorted. “You? A banker? Oh, imagine you in a suit, talking about mortgage rates.” She grinned. “Or better—customer service. You would get fired in a day.”

I huffed. “Okay, rude.”

Celia grinned. “I mean, come on. You? Taking orders from a boss?”

Foxy wagged her tails. “The real question is, what normal job would even take you, Master?”

I leaned into it, crossing my arms. “You’re telling me Demon Lord isn’t a real job?” I asked, pretending to be scandalized.

Foxy smirked. “Technically, it’s freelance.”

Puriel scoffed. “It’s criminal.”

Shadow shrugged. “You’re just a very overpowered freelancer.”

Red grinned. “A freelancer with too much authority.”

Celia pointed at me, laughing. “Wait… You’re literally a self-employed warlord.”

I deadpanned. “I hate how accurate that is.”

That only made them laugh harder.

Celia, wiping away fake tears, shook her head. “Wow. Demon Lord? Influencer? Bro, your resume is stacked.”

I groaned, leaning back on the couch. “I am not an influencer.”

Shadow purred, flicking his tail. “You do have followers, though. Lots of them.”

Foxy grinned. “And a fanbase.”

Red huffed. “You technically lead a community.”

I threw a pillow at him. He didn’t even try to dodge.

The conversation drifted into more nonsense, and before I knew it, we were all lounging around, watching a movie.

Well, kind of.

The movie had started, but barely anyone was actually paying attention. Celia and Foxy kept talking over it, making up ridiculous backstories for side characters. Shadow complained about the script. Red kept pointing out plot holes.

At one point, Puriel—the most serious person in the house—shocked everyone by making a sarcastic comment.

The room went silent.

Then, Celia slowly turned to her. “Did you… did you just make a joke?”

Foxy gasped dramatically. “Puriel, you’re finally becoming one of us!”

Puriel sighed, rubbing her temples. “Regretting it already.”

I grinned. “Too late. You’re stuck with us.”

And that was how we spent the next hour—arguing about movies, making dumb jokes, and pretending we weren’t all waiting for the time to pass.

But eventually, the moment arrived.

Before noon, a sleek black car pulled up outside the house, the engine humming softly as the driver waited. The sharp double honk signaled their ride had arrived.

Celia grabbed her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. Puriel adjusted her jacket, her expression unreadable, while Foxy stretched lazily, tail flicking behind her.

Red padded to the door, watching them go with his usual bored expression.

I peeked out the window, sighing when I saw that neither Olivia nor Camila had gotten out of the car. “Seriously? They didn’t even come in?”

Celia smirked, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “You sound disappointed.”

I scoffed. “No, I just—” I paused, then sighed in defeat. “Okay, yeah, maybe a little.”

She chuckled. “Camila and Olivia will catch up with us later. They’re taking a different car.”

I rolled my eyes, but before I could say anything, she laughed and reached up to ruffle my hair. I swatted her hand away.

“Alright, big bro, don’t burn the house down while we’re gone.”

I huffed. “No promises.”

With that, they were gone. The house was quiet.

I stood there for a moment, looking at the now-empty living room, my fingers tapping against my arm. Then, with a resigned sigh, I turned and headed upstairs to get ready.

I kept it simple. Black shirt, jeans, jacket. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone. This wasn’t some grand event. This was me showing up to listen to a woman I barely considered my mother try to spin another half-assed sob story before she got thrown into whatever prison cell she deserved.

Fun.

I checked my phone. Still no other messages from Larry.

Weird.

But whatever. He could wait.

I activated my portal skill, shadows curling at my feet as I stepped forward and emerged in an alleyway a few blocks from the police station. The scent of asphalt, city dust, and fast food hit my nose immediately.

The sound of distant honking cars and chatter filled the air, mixing with the occasional ring of a bicycle bell. It was normal, so painfully human that it felt surreal.

I stepped out from the alley, stuffing my hands into my pockets as I looked up at the afternoon sky. The sun hung lazily behind a thin veil of clouds, casting the city in a muted golden glow.

A bitter feeling coiled in my gut. “She should be grateful that Tiffany and I are kinda… unemployed,” I muttered.

Which wasn’t even true.

I mean, technically, yes, I wasn’t employed in the human sense. But ‘Demon Lord’ came with more paperwork than I cared to admit. Tiffany was the same. Demon Hunter wasn’t exactly a stable corporate job, but it was work.

Still.

I took a deep breath, shaking off the feeling, and kept walking toward the station.

Time to get this over with.