[ Host life is in danger ]

[ Legacy Inheritance fatal error detected ]

[ Inheritance Master Protocol activating ]

[ Host is forcefully being pushed deeper into the void ]

Viktor's eyes snapped open.

Black.

Everything was black.

Not darkness—not the absence of light—but 'liquid'. Black liquid stretched endlessly in every direction, smooth as glass, reflecting nothing. It covered the ground beneath him like an infinite mirror, shallow enough that he could see its surface but deep enough that he couldn't see the bottom.

He lurched forward, gasping.

"Haah...!—"

His hands slapped against the liquid, but it didn't splash. Didn't ripple. Just 'existed' there, solid and fluid at the same time, like he was kneeling on frozen water that refused to crack.

"What the—" His voice echoed strangely, distorted, like it was being filtered through layers of silk.

His chest heaved as he sucked in air—except he didn't need to breathe. There was no burning in his lungs, no pain in his ribs where they'd been shattered just moments ago.

Nothing.

He looked down at his hands. They were his hands—same calloused palms, same thick fingers—but they felt 'wrong'. Distant. Like he was controlling a puppet instead of his own body.

And then he saw it.

Ahead of him, maybe fifty feet away, there was a throne.

Suddenly, it felt nostalgic, as if he had already seen it before, when his first dream resurfaced, the dream he had experienced earlier. But this seems more like an exact depiction of that dream rather than a summarized version.

Massive. Ornate. Carved from black stone that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. The armrests were shaped like clawed hands, the backrest adorned with twisted horns and leering faces frozen in expressions of ecstasy and agony.

And sitting on that throne—

An incubus race lord or god, whatever name, automatically surfaced in Viktor's mind.

Viktor blinked, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing.

The figure was impossibly beautiful. Androgynous in a way that made gender irrelevant—sharp cheekbones, full lips curved into a lazy smirk, violet eyes that glowed faintly in the dim light. Long black hair cascaded down bare shoulders, and two curved horns jutted from his temples, gleaming like polished obsidian.

He was naked from the waist up, his pale skin marked with intricate black tattoos that seemed to 'move' across his flesh like living serpents.

And around him—

Three women.

No. 'Four' women.

All of them beautiful. All of them naked. All of them tangled around the incubus lord like vines strangling a tree.

One was on her knees between his legs, her head bobbing rhythmically as she worked his cock with her mouth. Another was straddling his lap, grinding against him while he gripped her hips with clawed hands. A third was behind him, her breasts pressed against his back as she kissed and bit at his neck.

The fourth—

The fourth was standing beside the throne, watching with empty eyes.

Her expression was blank. Hollow. Like all the life had been drained out of her and only a shell remained.

She held a dagger in one hand.

Viktor watched, his mind strangely detached, as the scene unfolded.

The incubus lord laughed—a low, cruel sound that made Viktor's skin crawl even though he couldn't actually 'feel' his skin right now.

"More," the incubus lord commanded, his voice dripping with boredom. "Entertain me."

The women moved faster, their motions mechanical, desperate. They were trying so hard to please him, but he wasn't even looking at them anymore. His violet eyes had drifted to the ceiling, unfocused, like he was thinking about something else entirely.

And then—

The fourth woman moved.

Her arm shot forward with sudden, violent speed, driving the dagger straight into the incubus lord's chest.

'Thunk.'

The blade sank in up to the hilt.

The incubus lord's eyes widened, his mouth opening in shock as blood—black, viscous blood—poured down his torso.

The other women scattered, screaming.

But the fourth woman just stood there, her hand still gripping the dagger, her expression still blank.

"Should've... paid attention..." she whispered.

And then she twisted the blade.

The incubus lord convulsed once, twice, and then went still, his beautiful face frozen in an expression of disbelief.

Viktor stared at the scene, his eyebrows raising slightly as he felt this was different than the nightmare he had seen that day, though a hint it was not the same, but who cares.

In the end, that guy died and showed him one truth.

'What an Idiot.'

"Excuse me, Viktor. What do you feel?"

The voice came from beside him—smooth, polite, almost amused.

Viktor turned his head.

There was someone standing next to him.

No.

Not someone.

'Him.'

It was Viktor. Same face, same build, same messy dark hair. But this version was... different. Cleaner. His clothes were immaculate—a perfectly tailored black suit that looked expensive as hell. His posture was relaxed, hands in his pockets, a faint smile playing on his lips.

His eyes, though—

His eyes were sharp. Cold. Calculating.

Like looking into a mirror and seeing a stranger stare back.

Viktor blinked.

Then he frowned.

"Why don't I feel my body?" he asked bluntly.

The reflection tilted his head, the smile widening slightly. "Hmm?"

Viktor gestured vaguely toward the throne where the incubus lord's corpse was slowly dissolving into black smoke. "I just watched that whole... 'thing'. Sex. Women. All of it." His frown deepened. "I should be hard right now. That's what I've become in this life, right? A perverted bastard who gets horny at the drop of a hat."

He looked down at himself—or tried to. His body felt distant, intangible.

"But I don't feel anything," Viktor continued, his voice flat. "No lust. No desire. My mind is..." He paused, searching for the word. "...clear. Too clear."

The reflection's smile turned into a grin. "Because your body is under restoration."

Viktor's eyes narrowed. "Restoration?"

"Your ribs are broken. Your spine is fractured. You're bleeding internally." The reflection said it casually, like he was listing grocery items. "Your body is currently trying very hard not to die."

He gestured around them—at the endless black liquid, the dissolving throne, the empty space. "So while it's busy putting itself back together, your consciousness is here. With me."

The reflection stepped closer, his polished shoes making no sound against the liquid surface. "Shouldn't we, till then, have a good conversation?"

Viktor shook his head. "Either way, I'll forget what I talked to you here. What does it matter?"

The reflection paused mid-step.

Then he laughed—a genuine, surprised laugh that echoed strangely in the void.

"Indeed," he said, nodding slowly. "I forgot for a moment—you lived a life acting smart."

Viktor's mouth twitched. "Acting smart?"

The reflection turned to face him fully, hands still in his pockets, that sharp gaze fixed on Viktor like a scalpel dissecting flesh.

"Viktor, do you know a human form is too unpredictable?" His tone was conversational, almost philosophical. "They say they are under control, but they let their desires always overwhelm them. They get angry. They shout. They hurt someone just by their words while thinking those words were their own—not the reaction of their desires."

Viktor ruffled his hair, irritation flickering across his face. "Skip the philosophy and come to the point."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.