"Boy!" The voice cut through the air like a whip.
Damon blinked, startled from his reverie. His thoughts of systems, harems, and demonic powers were interrupted by Aria's incandescent gaze, now standing just a few feet away from him, hands on hips and an air of impatience that could shake a wall.
He turned his face slowly, his eyes still adjusting to the new reality—and the surreal beauty of the woman before him.
"What do you think is so important that you have the audacity to ignore me?" she said, each syllable dripping with polished venom.
Damon lowered his head, speechless… literally. The muteness still prevented him from speaking, so he opted for silence and the expression that had worked before: a humble, slightly lost look, with his arms discreetly directed forward, revealing his wrists marked by handcuffs.
It worked.
Aria hesitated.
Her eyes lowered, observing intently. Thin but marked wrists. Pale, wounded skin contrasted with dull, almost lusterless golden hair. Lilac eyes—beautiful, but empty, as if her soul had been partially sucked somewhere between suffering and survival. The deep circles under her eyes accentuated her exhaustion.
She sighed. Her posture softened for a moment. Something deep in those warrior eyes wavered.
'Easy…' Damon thought. 'A woman of pure heart. Unyielding in appearance, but soft in essence. And showing those scars… was a masterstroke.'
He slowly raised his eyes, just enough to meet her gaze—which now, curiously, regarded him with a mixture of compassion and caution. The sword was sheathed.
But while she pretended to be vulnerable…
He also took the opportunity to observe her closely.
And what a sight.
Even in her classic maid's uniform, Aria exuded maturity and feminine power. The dress, however formal and chaste, couldn't hide the curves molded by gravity and time—the kind that appear not in your twenties, but in your early thirties. A true monument.
'Definitely... a MILF,' Damon thought, with an inward smile. 'And armed, to boot. Everything a good Incubus respects and desires.'
"It's not a problem…" she said finally, turning away and resuming her walk through the mansion's side entrance. "Just be careful from now on. And listen to me."
She didn't look back at his addition, with a hint of disdain:
"You look terrible. Come on, I'll get you a bath and some decent clothes."
Damon answered her immediately, repeating the same attitude he'd taken with Elizabeth—steps measured, head slightly lowered, keeping close behind. But her eyes... oh, her eyes were very attentive.
Aria's dress swayed gently with each step, tracing with almost surgical precision the shape of her waist, her hips... and that round, firm ass that seemed to defy gravity.
Even covered, the sight was provocative enough to make one dream. Damon's system flashed briefly in his mind.
[Asmodeus' Touch skill can be used on target: Aria Winters]
'So... she's a potential target... how interesting...' Damon thought, smiling behind her... 'Not now... let's wait...'
Time passed in silence.
Aria led Damon through the mansion's long, silent corridors, each one older and more elegant than the last. The carpets muffled the sound of footsteps. The walls were adorned with paintings of people who might be dead... or just waiting for the right moment to move.
After three floors, two turns, and a door locked with three magical bolts, she led him to a modest room at the back of the mansion.
"You can use the shower. It'll help with the smell of rust and misery," Aria said, her tone almost clinical.
Damon simply nodded, maintaining his silent, good-boy demeanor.
She crossed her arms. "I'll get some new clothes. I won't be long."
And left, without even waiting for an answer.
When the door closed, Damon finally took a deep breath. For the first time since arriving in this strange, twisted world, he felt a hint of peace.
Not freedom—he knew well he was still a pawn in a larger game—but at least, for a moment, there were no swords at his neck or eyes piercing his soul.
He went to the window first.
The sky outside remained a deep purple and red. The black trees moved even without wind. And far away, almost on the horizon, a lone tower seemed to watch him back.
"Pandora, huh…" he muttered mentally.
The room itself looked hastily cleaned. Dust had been pushed into corners. The sheets were clean, but still creased with age. And the scent of magical alcohol still lingered in the air—as if trying to mask something older.
Damon ran his fingers over the furniture, noticing scratches, cracks, burn marks. This room had history.
But this wasn't the time to delve into the wood's past.
He entered the bathroom.
And stopped.
"...What?"
It was... unexpected.
A completely Japanese-style bathroom: polished wood floors, a small separate bathtub, towels folded with almost military finishes. And the shower—or whatever it was—looked like a high-class magical artifact.
He stepped forward cautiously.
On the wall, a golden button with arcane inscriptions.
He pressed it.
Zoo-hoo.
From the ceiling, a luminous circle lit up—floating runes swirling in blue and silver. A light began to glow... and then, as if by magic, water fell. Perfect. Warm. Smelling of lavender.
"...A magical bath?" Demon murmured, astonished. "Definitely not an ordinary world."
He reached for the water. It was soft, almost silky. As if it wanted to cleanse more than just the body. As if it were washing something deeper.
Maybe… a soul?
He didn't know what Elizabeth wanted with an Incubus.
But whatever it was… he would find out.
Later.
For now… he stepped under the hot water, closed his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, let his body relax.
No shackles.
No chains.
No orders.
Just him.
And that strange world called Pandora.
Damon spent long minutes under that enchanted water.
It wasn't just a bath. It was a purification ritual. As if the system, the world—maybe even fate—was trying to wash him of the marks of his former prison, the pain, the filth… of humanity.
When he finally turned off the "magic shower," he took a deep breath. The water still ran down his body as he opened the bathroom door. There was no towel. Not a change of clothes waiting.
He frowned.
"...She said she'd bring it."
Looking around. Nothing.
Then the idea came.
'A try... an experiment,' he thought, his eyes narrowing. 'Let's see how far Aria's 'pure heart' will go.'
A mischievous smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
With silent steps, he left the bathroom—completely naked. Water dripped from his golden hair, trailed down his neck, and followed the contours of his slender, defined body, still young... but not fragile.
The floor began to get wet with each step. But he didn't care.
He walked to the center of the room and stopped. He felt the cold touch his damp skin—which only made his posture even more self-conscious. He crossed his arms over his chest, feigning innocence, and waited.
The door opened.
"Boy, I brought the ro—"
Aria froze.
For a second, the world seemed to stop. She froze in the doorway, the clothes in her arms nearly falling off.
Damon looked her straight in the eye, unmistakably.
Aria's eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. Her face flushed a sudden, intense red, as if it were about to burn.
"By the Abyss…!" she whispered, turning her head sharply. "Why are you… naked?!"
But she didn't leave immediately.
Damon, out of the corner of his eye, look. She turned her face… but not completely.
There was a leeway, a mischievous, almost imperceptible angle. And there it was: a peek. Quick. Guilty. Curious.
She coughed lightly, trying to compose her voice. "Aren't you… ashamed?!"
Damon feigned confusion. He put his hand to the back of his neck, shy, as if he didn't know what he was doing. His body glistened with the still-cool water. He took a step forward, purposefully making his muscles tense—not too much, just enough.
Aria turned even further, now on her back, covering her eyes with her hand.
"Get dressed! Your clothes are... they're on the bed!" she said, stuttering, almost tripping over her words—and her own steps as she ran out the door. "And... and dry the floor! You're getting everything wet!"
The door slammed.
Silence.
The demon smiled, satisfied.
'She looked,' he thought triumphantly. 'She tried to resist... but she looked.'
The system didn't speak this time—perhaps because even he didn't know if that counted as "progress." But for Damon, that small hesitation... was already a victory.
And, more than that... a confirmation.
Aria could even appear tough, honorable, cold.
But inside... he was just another soul vulnerable to temptation.
Then... after thinking nothing had happened, a message in a golden box appeared before him...
[You have received a mission]