The soil was muddied by the earlier storms. The wind howled as knights and adventurers sliced through the armored beasts in front of them, while wizards and witches stood on towers of reformed clay and earthly minerals, raining down magical spells onto the wet battlefield. Fireballs, fire pillars, and lances lit up the misty atmosphere, while wind blades, stone bullets, and bolts of lightning cut into the thick hides of those giant ant-like beasts that were burrowing out from the earth, scattering like fleas.
Their dark exoskeletons allowed them to tank several attacks, as armored soldiers locked in brutal combat. Their blades moved with honed technique and speed—each movement drawing more blood than the last, their hardened steel tearing through limb after limb.
Malrik stood on one of the conjured platforms, tossing up a clinking bundle of cloth that used to be his loincloth, his foot lightly tapping against the floor as he watched a barbaric adventurer pull a misty core from an ant's torso with his bare hands—before it darkened rapidly.
His tail flicked lazily behind him, nine golden rings running up and down his spade-shaped tail as it swayed side to side.
──────
Name: None
Race: Dungeon Beast
Class: Soldier
Level: 103
EXP: 1,527/64,000
Alignment: Neutral
Affiliation: Birth Dungeon
Title(s): None
──────
HP: 2,736 → 1,407 / 2,770
MP: 0/0
Stamina: 1,120/1,120
Strength: 106 → 58
Dexterity: 74 → 46
Vitality: 78 → 35
Intelligence: 44
Charisma: 6
[ESS: Mist I] →
──────
"That's how it is," Malrik muttered, watching as the bugs—seemingly never-decreasing and constantly regenerating—had their stats plummet the moment their core was removed.
"Is that final stat on their status related to that adapt core Aiki was talking about? She did say the dungeon walls' magic circles regenerating had something to do with an adapt core... so are those things in everyone who has that stat? Is it even a stat to begin with? If so, why hasn't it transferred to me?"
Malrik spoke to himself, ignoring the rings spawning and clinking against the floor as he continued watching the grayed-out statuses of the male knights and adventurers on the battlefield.
His fingers lightly brushed against his chin in thought.
Malrik had been wondering what that extra stat at the end of everyone's status meant—and how every one of them seemingly kept their stats near or at full capacity.
He had first assumed it to be a buff, a spell, or maybe they'd taken potions while he wasn't looking—but that wasn't the case. His eyes hadn't caught any sign of a buff, and they hadn't had the time to drink potions.
But now he had an idea. Most of the fighters and magic-users were aiming for vital points—the head, chest, and thorax.
Though most of them were always aiming at one particular spot on the ants' bodies: their chest and abdominal areas. So after that adventurer ripped that ant's core straight out of its body...
...then proceeded to slowly and brutally mutilate it...
Malrik had seen how it lost its ESS stat, along with its high stat regeneration.
"I guess this little field trip's been educational in more ways than one~"
Malrik spoke aloud, his voice more toned, his frame taller, broader, and slightly leaner—and most importantly, his fingers were adorned with eight intricate rings, now wearing two pairs on his pointer, middle, and ring fingers, both hands gleaming with gold.
──────
Name: Malrik Thorneveil Tenebris
Race: Incubus Scion (Demon Lord)
Class:
Level: 2,556,410 {2,556,405} ([400] - Locked)
EXP: 368 / 800
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Affiliation: Demon Lords
Title(s):
Spawn of Abyzrakul Tenebris
Son of Thorneveil Abyzrakul Tenebris
Thamor, the Lord of Consorts
──────
HP: 101,395,899 / 101,395,899 (4,148) {+70} {+880} {+4,320} {+2,280} {+1,780}... {+4,760}
MP: 3,359,660 / 3,359,660 (4,130) {+40} {+1,780} {+0/0} {+580} {+5} {+0/0} {+60}... {+485}
Stamina: 17,104 / 17,104 (6,310) {+65} {+740} {+2,160} {+982} {+760}... {+524}
Strength: 3,699,400 (333) {+6} {+13} {+129} {+70} {+75}... {+106}
Dexterity: 2,145,862 (416) {+7} {+16} {+100} {+55} {+40}... {+72}
Vitality: 2,229,170 (253) {+10} {+14} {+100} {+74} {+67}... {+68}
Intelligence: 851,946 (251) {+9} {+72} {+60} {+50} {+30}... {+85}
Charisma: 697,131 (495) {+18} {+58} {+25} {+10} {+24}... {+40}
──────
This bizarre panel was the work of his labor.
In only about an hour of hopping to and from his newly made consort, he was able to find a grand total of seventeen thousand and eight hundred compatible women with his authority.
"Still, as excited as I am right now, this regen stat—along with this aging mechanic I had ignored before—has taught me how little I know about how this world works," Malrik said, moving his larger hand off his chin and clenching and unclenching it.
What age am I supposed to be now? Seventeen? Eighteen?... Twenty? he thought. I don't really know. This is a first for me. I guess I never really made it out of my middle teens.
Eventually, he came to the conclusion not to put a number on himself—so he could fully enjoy the different aged fruits of the world without any moral dilemmas.
"I'll start thinking about it once I start growing a beard," Malrik said with a slight smirk on his matured face.
His left hand reached out, catching his loincloth filled with thousands of rings—rings he couldn't fit on his body—for the last time. He stretched his shoulders and neck.
Malrik's body had instinctively begun to grow after his level had surged; from the body of an infant, to a toddler, then a teen in or around his previous life's age, and finally a man in his late teens or early twenties.
"Okay, that's enough contemplating," Malrik said, finishing his stretch. "Time to get back to memorizing the spells flying around~"
His eyes darted back to the battlefield below, running across the open helmets of the high-level knights and adventurers. His curiosity heightened as he watched and wondered if their aged appearances—ranging from fifty to seventy years old—were because of leveling up or simply natural old age.
I know I said no more contemplating... but I wonder if they're experiencing the same aging mechanism?
"Hmm... seems I can't stay focused. Maybe I should kill-steal to clear my mind?" Malrik thought, stretching out his right hand and placing it on the back of the mature brown-haired human witch who had caught his fancy—mainly because of her younger appearance compared to the others.
Her hair fell along her back, its texture and soft curls brushing against her shoulder and the black-laced bra strap visible through the open back of her witch dress. Her body was rounded in all the right places. Her sultry voice and beautiful face suited her aesthetic perfectly, walking that fine line between tavern temptress and prideful witch—with a flair that could charm the devil himself.
And the devil it did charm.
Malrik's fingers trailed up and down her spine, feeling every inch of her despite his current state. He felt it all—the way her hair brushed up against him slightly before passing through him like water, her undeniable human warmth, her uniquely feminine scent.
His breath turned heavy.
Malrik's eyes wandered the battlefield as his incubus desire guided him. His fingers caressed down the witch's small frame and continued downward into her dress. His hand slid through her clothes like an intangible specter, making its way between her legs.
His middle and ring fingers stuck together as he formed his hand into a 'w', his fingers rubbing against her rear hole, teasing its pink ring.
"You've been such a great teacher... your spells were especially easy for me to understand~"
Malrik didn't know why he was doing this. He didn't need to do any of this... yet it all just came naturally to him.
"So why don't I reward you~" he whispered, his lips brushing her ear as he leaned in.
Malrik's glans brushed against her thigh as his fingers finally began spreading her warm cheeks apart, her hole twitching as it opened up to his two multi-ringed appendages. His lips parted, trailing kisses along her neck while his fingers gently stretched and caressed her forbidden inner walls.
From earlier attempts, Malrik had discovered something interesting: he couldn't perform any of the offensive or support spells he'd learned in his current state.
But that didn't mean he couldn't help someone else go on the offensive—and steal a portion of their kills.
His mana leaked from his fingers and palms in thick threads of multicolored light. This was mana in its purest form. The threads curled between her ass, forming circles from her lower back up to her shoulders.
[-50] → [-70] → [-130] → [-258] → [-873]
His mana kept dropping as the threads danced from the palms of his hands, forming intricate magic circles on his wife Emilim's back.
Her eyes widened. Her own magic circle roared as more mana than she could handle surged into her like a tide. Forced to release it into the spell she'd been casting, she launched it at an ant crawling out of the caverns beneath the town, just before the spell destabilized.
[Exp: +85]
EXP: 368 / 800 → 453 / 800
Malrik felt the Exp divide before reaching him.
Though it annoyed him on a primal level that his gain was halved, for some reason, that didn't stop him from continuing to supply the confused witch in front of him with his mana.
And perhaps because of his abnormally high intelligence stat, Malrik began to alter the mana transfer circle forming on Emilim's body.
Its core components remained the same, yet the circuit grew larger. Additional circles—borrowed from the healing and buffs branches of magic—began appearing in fragments, stitched onto the original spell.
Did this make the mana transfer easier? No. In fact, it became harder...
[Exp: +86]
EXP: 453 / 800 → 539 / 800
[Exp: +82]
EXP: 539 / 800 → 621 / 800
[Exp: +85]
EXP: 621 / 800 → 706 / 800
[Exp: +92]
EXP: 706 / 800 → 798 / 800
But it wasn't a waste.
The circles he intertwined formed a paralyzing network, freezing whoever he transferred mana into. A state of endless spellcasting emerged as the magic circle constantly overflowed with mana—only halting before the spell became unstable and had to be fired.
Then the steps repeated before the spell could die, forcibly reactivated. This relentless casting caused Emilim's veins to bulge in tremendous quantity. Her limbs were paralyzed. Internal damage flared—soothed only by the healing spells woven into Malrik's modified circle, bypassing the restrictions placed on his ethereal form.
Still, it didn't stop the pain. Her body accepted his mana unwillingly, her teeth gritting before her jaw locked tight.
Her eyes bulged as her muscles turned to steel, her magic remaining blazingly active.
[Exp: +85]
Level: 1,429 → 1,430
The notifications popped up one after another.
I could work with this~ Malrik thought, lips curling into a devilish smirk.
His tail curled along Emilim's sides as her body surrendered—not to him, but to the larger pool of mana flooding into her. His fingers continued moving inside her, and to his pleasant surprise, her soft walls tightened in response.
It ignited his fire even more.
"Interesting. Let's just see how far we can go together~" Malrik whispered, dropping the bundle of rings from his left hand. He no longer needed it to distract his urges. He knew well how much his actions were being influenced by his incubus blood—his tail, his former maids, Velmaria and Saelira, all the way up to committing the same molestation that had once been done to him...
Perhaps the molestation had begun with the very first encounter. It was only now he saw how wrong it all was on a grander scale—after groping the curves of thousands of women, and to his surprise, even a man with such a petite, cute, and youthful build that he had mistaken him for a young witch.
That encounter had taught him he could use his authority on more than just women. It was also what led him to start holding himself back as much as possible. He realized how he'd been acting—and that, had he not read his panel, he might've done something he'd regret.
But in this moment—after suppressing his instincts and resisting the urge to grope every mature figure around him—he had another realization. Lust didn't disappear just because he turned off the stove and left the room. No. The lingering heat built inside the pot until it boiled over into a bigger mess—one he had to deal with after.
His fingers stretched, molding her insides.
Emilim's eyes flickered in confusion, her voice humming with a soft mmh~ as she felt two foreign objects tunneling in and out of her tightly-knit hole.
Her head tried to dart behind her in fright... but her body refused.
Paralysis magic.
Her heart raced at the clear signs of being molested and frozen in place. Who?! she thought, panicked, trying to regain control. She circled her own mana through her body, trying to locate the paralyzing circle, trying to break free from the pervert behind her—
The hell!?...
Why can't I feel it? Her thoughts turned to panic. No, no, that's not right! Where's the circle?? I feel it—but why can't I find the damn thing?!
Emilim screamed internally, her body spasming as she poured more mana into herself, searching for the spells restraining her—but to no avail.