Creating A Succubus Army In A Fantasy World!

Even with a blade whispering death toward his neck, Creed Walden’s mind was not racing with panic. No, in fact, it was the exact opposite.

His face might’ve shown shock. His breath might’ve hitched like a frightened teenager caught red-handed.

But deep inside, his thoughts were smooth, cold, and perfectly still. Not the stillness of fear, but the eerie silence of someone already calculating the angle of the strike, the distance to his opponent, and more importantly; who wasn’t buying the illusion of loss.

His girls, Lilith and Tierra, were knocked out. His back had been forced against the wall. But dead? Nah. That was impossible.

The moment either of them truly died, the Primordial Dominion System would’ve hit him with a soul-ripping alert. Something dramatic. Something painful.

The system was practically a drama queen about things like that. Since it was quiet? It meant they were still breathing somewhere, even if only barely. ƒreewebηoveℓ.com

That was why, even as death hissed against his skin, Creed’s gaze narrowed, not in despair but in razor-sharp readiness.

And at the last possible millisecond, just as the faceless assassin’s scythe was about to split him like a fruit, the brown ring on his finger gave off a strange growl.

It wasn’t a hum. Not a beep. A growl. Like a beast had just sniffed blood and decided to act. And then bam!—he was gone.

Vanished from the spot so fast, it was like he’d never existed there at all.

A split second later, Creed reappeared behind the assassin, using Wings of Freedom, his movement art, to catapult himself through space with explosive speed.

Swoosh!

But this time he wasn’t holding his spear. He didn’t need it. His right hand was stretched out like a blade, glowing deeply with the Path of Killing.

It shimmered with a red mist, humming like it had a grudge. His hand wasn’t a hand anymore, it was a guillotine in the shape of five fingers!

As he zoomed forward, he activated Line of Death, his partial Path-level art, and slashed forward in a wide arc straight toward the assassin’s chest.

The faceless man wasn’t a joke, though. Even surprised and caught off guard, he didn’t freeze.

The guy twitched his body midair and bent his spine in ways that would’ve made a yoga instructor jealous, managing to barely dodge.

But barely wasn’t enough. Creed’s killing hand still connected. There was a disgusting shluck sound as flesh tore and blood sprayed out like a small fountain.

The man lost his entire right arm, which spun away like a helicopter blade and crashed into the far wall with a wet thud.

Both of them now only had one arm left, like two video game characters entering the final round of a boss fight with half their HP bars blinking red.

Creed didn’t pause. Not even for a second. The first thing he did was summon his girls back into his chest tattoo.

Two beams of light flashed out from the glowing markings on his body, and Lilith and Tierra returned into their rightful places.

The moment their essence touched his again, he felt their familiar warmth; exhausted but very much alive.

A deep breath escaped Creed’s lips, and despite the situation, he actually smiled. "Still kicking. Knew it," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Whatever weird art the man had used had simply made him assume they had been dead to mess up with his mental state and expose his flaws.

The plan had almost worked and would have worked, but luckily for Creed he had the system.

Still, there was no time for celebration. Furious, Creed charged at the assassin again, pouncing like a wild beast using his movement art again.

His eyes were sharp, determined, and a little bit crazy now. The kind of crazy that said, "Yeah, I almost died, but I’m about to make you regret showing up tonight!"

And then, boom! A giant crack echoed through the room.

A wall on Creed’s right literally exploded. It wasn’t a slow crumble. It was a single, clean punch that shattered the reinforced wall like someone had karate-chopped it with the power of a god.

A slender hand shot through the hole first. Just a single, dark-skinned, beautiful, and deadly-looking hand.

Then it flexed, gripping the wall’s edge, and peeled it open like a soda can.

And out stepped a girl.

No, a woman. She had long, straight black hair that shimmered even in the dust.

Her skin was a rich caramel, and her body looked like a perfect blend between a dancer and a warrior.

She was voluptuous in all the right places, but lean with muscle like she could bench press Creed without sweating.

Her deep, burning eyes scanned the room and landed directly on the faceless man.

She didn’t say a word.

But her scowl alone could’ve curdled milk.

The assassin, this terrifying, unbeatable silent killer who just moments ago had treated Creed like a chew toy froze. Like actually froze.

The moment it laid ’eyes’ on her, he abandoned all thought of killing Creed, of continuing the fight, or even of being mysterious and scary.

He literally vanished, flickering out of the room like a ghost on fast-forward. No dramatic smoke bomb. No edgy exit line. Just poof. Gone.

Creed blinked. Once. Twice. Then slowly turned his head toward the hole in the wall, stared at the new girl, gave a very tired thumbs up, and muttered, "Thanks, neighbor... I guess."

Then his body, finally remembering it had been through hell tonight, shut itself down. His knees buckled. His muscles gave up. His vision blurred.

And with a faint smile, he fainted, crumpling to the floor like a sack of very dramatic potatoes.

.....

The moment Creed’s eyes fluttered open, he didn’t even get the chance to fully stretch or groan before his vision was assaulted by a bright line of glowing text floating right in front of his face.

His sleepy brain squinted at it, and once the words began to focus, he almost shot upright from sheer alarm.

[Ding! Your summons Lilith and Tierra have initiated the "First Shedding." Communication and summoning functions will be disabled for the duration of the process.]

[Warning: Shedding survival rate is not fixed. Risk of failure = Risk of soul death.]

[Estimated Time Remaining: 13 days, 17 hours, 22 minutes, 46 seconds...]

"WHAT?!"

Creed’s shout bounced off the walls like a broken rubber ball in a microwave. He blinked hard and waved at the notification, hoping it was some sort of prank message or glitch in the system.

When it didn’t disappear, he frowned and groaned, rubbing his temples like that would somehow fix the fact that two of his most powerful allies—his only summons—were apparently locked in a cocoon somewhere between life and death.

The "First Shedding"? What even was that? He asked the system, naturally.

Silence.

"Of course," Creed muttered bitterly, resisting the urge to bash his head into the nearest wall. "Why even bother calling yourself a system if you’re just gonna ghost me in every important moment?"

Still, he wasn’t entirely clueless. Shedding. That word wasn’t completely new to him.

In some rare high-tier bestiary guides, especially ones discussing spirit beasts and mythical contracts, he remembered seeing mentions of powerful lifeforms that "shed" their former selves to evolve.

It was sort of like leveling up but for entities that had their own souls. The catch? Not everyone survived it. Most didn’t.

His face turned grim.

"Dammit..." he whispered under his breath, eyes locked on the countdown. Thirteen days. Almost two weeks.

Two long, excruciating weeks where he wouldn’t be able to summon Lilith’s cheeky smile or count on Tierra’s calm mind.

Two weeks where they were stuck fighting for survival, completely out of his reach.

And all because of that assassin.

His expression twisted. Creed didn’t even realize how tight his fists had become until he heard his knuckles crack.

The memory of the faceless attacker’s movements came back to him at that moment.

The scythe that came from nowhere, the silent cuts, the way Tierra and Lilith had been knocked out all played in his head like a traumatic movie clip he couldn’t pause.

The bastard had almost ended all three of them. He hadn’t just taken them out; he’d made them look like children playing soldier.

Creed’s voice was low and cold as ice. "If I ever see that scythe freak again... I’m gonna break his spine into an abstract sculpture."

The sudden rage rising in his chest was cut short, though, when he finally noticed something else. Something... odd.

His left arm. The one that had been sliced clean off.

It was... back?

He blinked and lifted the arm up. Flexed his fingers. Rolled his wrist. Stretched his shoulder. "No way..."

There was no sign of damage. No soreness. No mechanical parts. No healing scars. Just clean, strong muscle.

He compared it with his right arm, tested the weight and balance. It was as if nothing had ever happened. It didn’t just feel like his old arm, it was his arm!

As perfect as before, maybe even stronger!

"Who fixed this?" he whispered, more awed than grateful now. "And where... am I?"

Only now did he take in his surroundings. The room was like something out of a sci-fi fantasy.

A pure white laboratory, silent and sterile. Strange machines with glowing parts hovered beside walls. Transparent screens blinked with data he couldn’t understand.

A scent of antiseptic and something vaguely metallic filled the air. He was clearly in some sort of high-end medical pod, but it was way beyond what even the Ambassadors Academy should’ve had access to.

He was still deciding whether to lie back down or explore when the door hissed open, and in stepped... her.

The girl from before. The caramel-skinned beauty who’d crashed in during the assassination and saved his life like a glittering, judgmental Valkyrie.

His... technically neighbor, though he rarely saw her. Mostly because she was always either gone or locked in her room, blasting what sounded like a dying robot screaming into a blender.

She stepped in with an expression that screamed annoyed. Not tired. Not concerned. Just annoyed. As if his survival had personally interrupted her spa day.

"You’re awake," she said flatly.

Creed smiled and tried to sit up. "Hey, uh... thanks for saving me. That was—"

"Don’t thank me." Her tone was sharp, almost disgusted. "You should be embarrassed. A Hope candidate, brought down by one assassin. What a joke."

Creed froze.

The air went still.

"...Excuse me?" he asked slowly, narrowing his eyes.

She folded her arms, her tone cold and dismissive. "You walk around like you’re important. Like being recognized to be above your peers makes you special. But you’re not. You got lucky. And now you think you’re some sort of hero."

Creed sat up all the way, now glaring. "First of all, I don’t do any of that. You are simply being delusional if you think that. And, really? Lucky?

"I’ve trained until my bones cracked. I’ve risked my life more times than I can count. I’ve built myself from the dirt up. And yeah, maybe I am a Hope candidate. But don’t stand there acting like I didn’t earn every inch of it."

For a moment, the girl just stared at him. Her eyes unreadable.

Then, she smirked.

"Good," she said, voice calmer now. "At least your brain’s still intact."

She turned around casually and walked to the door, calling back over her shoulder. "Nurses will be here soon. Don’t say I came. I don’t want rumors."

The door hissed shut behind her, leaving Creed blinking at the silence she left behind.

He flopped back on the bed, eyes to the ceiling.

"...Who the hell is she?"