Dylan stood naked in his living room, his sweat-drenched body cooling in the soft light filtering through the blinds.
Taking its rest, his cock, thick and heavy, rested against his thigh, still slick from the filthy, couch-soaking fuck with Diana.
The air reeked of sex, but he ignored it, staring at the glowing red screen hovering in his vision.
[You've leveled up to Level 6]
[Reward: +1 in all stats]
[Soul Calibration: 2%]
[Congratulations, 212th Reincarnation of the Incubus King!]
He swiped mentally, pulling up his stats.
As the system had said, each had nudged up by one point. He didn't know what he was supposed to feel when his stats increased. Presently, he wasn't feeling anything.
He thought about exercises to do later to test his Strength, Agility and even Perception. Just to know exactly how powerful he was compared to the random John.
Things were moving fast. He had to keep pace.
Also, he was in Level 6, with a 2% calibration to the Incubus King's soul.
That brought up a very important question. What exactly did the Soul Calibration mean? What happens when he reaches a 100% calibration with the Incubus King's soul?
Would he turn into an actual demon king? A horned, fire-breathing beast straight out of a horror story?
Would his soul—his own mind, his essence—be overtaken, erased by this ancient thing inside him?
Or was this just power, pure and intoxicating, making him stronger, sharper, without stealing who he was? Could 100% Soul Calibration just mean the max power of the Incubus King?
When he thought of it, perhaps the Soul Calibration was what was giving him this newfound confidence. Perhaps, it made him act like the Incubus King, not actually become him.
He wasn't sure. All of it was assumptions.
Exiling the system, an image in the mirror caught his attention.
Dylan turned, realizing it was his reflection in the full-length mirror by the couch, and his jaw dropped.
'What the fuck?'
Dylan was very used to seeing his naked self in the mirror which was why the man staring back was very much a stranger to him.
He'd always been tall and lean, maybe passably athletic if he squinted. But this?
Since when did he become freaking Hercules?
His shoulders were broad, packed with muscle that rolled under his skin like sculpted stone. His pecs were thick, chiseled slabs, flexing with each breath, leading to abs that were a tight, rippling six-pack, each ridge sharp and defined, trailing into a deep V-cut that framed his hips.
He flexed his arms. They were unbelievably jacked. Not in the way of a body builder, but a warrior; aesthetic and yet threatening.
His biceps were bulging with power, veins snaking down his forearms like twisted cables. His thighs were massive, corded with muscle that screamed strength and explosive speed, and his calves were carved, tight as coiled springs.
The size of his cock made sense now. It matched the chiseled frame he now owned.
Even his face had received an upgrade.
His jaw has always been chiseled, but now his cheekbones were slightly higher, and his eyes—those gloomy, shadowy pools that always made people flinch—were still dark, but now they looked less weird and more enigmatic.
Like twin voids that could swallow you whole or promise you the world.
He tilted his head, the light catching the hard angles of his face, and a strange thrill surged through him.
He looked like he could break hearts or skulls with a glance.
Dylan felt his chest. All the Incubus King's Soul's doing.
It was awesome… if it didn't also feel weird.
Maybe he needed to get used to it a little. His life had just abruptly changed from normal to supernatural.
Movement in the mirror pulled his focus. Diana was rising from the couch, her voluptuous body swaying, her fat ass jiggling as she clutched her torn blouse and skirt to cover her heavy, heaving breasts and dripping pussy.
Her dark hair was a tangled mess, her cheeks flushed, her curves glistening with sweat and cum, like a porn star caught in the aftermath of a scene.
They both locked eyes, but before she could speak, Dylan's voice sliced through. "Put those clothes in the dryer. Mine too. We're showering first. By the time we're done, the sweat'll be dried out."
Diana's eyes narrowed, her lips parting in a flash of defiance. "What makes you think you can just order me around?" she snapped, though not as assured as usual. "I'm your boss, remember?"
Dylan narrowed his eyes.
She continued. "Regardless of what just happened, don't think I came here for... that. It was a mistake. You forced yourself on me."
"You said you liked it."
"I was… lying!"
"No. I pretty much remember you asking for me while telling me how much you liked it."
"What?!" Diana's face turned red. "That never happened. I can't stand you so why would I ever want to have sex with you?"
Dylan stood still. He wanted to respond but he had noticed something that kept him curious.
When Diana had said she was lying, her eyes darted to the left, avoiding his gaze like it burned.
When she spoke about coming here for another reason and not wanting to have sex with him, he saw her fingers shake ever slightly as they gripped the fabric.
He noticed the faint flush that crept up her neck, and he saw her thighs press together. He even noticed the bitch in her voice hitched when she said words like "lying" and "mistake."
All those subtle actions betrayed her. And it was clear to Dylan that she was lying.
'So [Liebreaker Eyes] really works,' Dylan concluded.
He had activated it just in time to test it out, and the Active Skill worked like magic, letting him pick up every telltale sign with brutal clarity.
She was full of shit, and he knew it.
Appearing not to care at all, he walked past her. "If you don't like it, Diana, we can end this now. Go back to how it was—you barking orders, me keeping my head down. No more sex and no more coming to my house when you could have just called."
Diana's eyes widened as her cheeks reddening.
"Otherwise, put the clothes in the dryer and get in the shower."
Her jaw clenched this time, stunned by his bland audacity. Even though her tough woman side burned in her eyes, her body tingled from the way he ordered her.
A difficult truth was creeping into her head: Did she like being ordered about?
With a frustrated huff, she scooped up his sweatpants and her ruined clothes, stomping toward the laundry nook.
"This is absurd," she muttered, shoving the items into the dryer, her movements jerky with suppressed need.
Yes it was absurd.
It was so absurd that a woman like her, almost forty years old, was fawning over her young subordinate just because he was 'cool,' 'edgy' and fucked her good.
Since when did she become such a cheap slut?
His cold, monotone style of speaking sent excitement sparks in her mind, and those dark, scary eyes which were so terrifying, yet made her pussy tingle.
'What the hell is wrong with me?'
Her thoughts churned as she slammed the dryer door, her hands lingering on the machine as if to steady herself.
She couldn't deny it at this point. She was completely hooked on his dominance, his body, his cock, even his scent, and it infuriated her.
Why was this subordinate, this nobody, making her feel like this? His cool, detached demeanor, the way he commanded her without raising his voice—it was intoxicating, and she hated how much she craved it.
She turned toward the bathroom, her hips swaying unconsciously as she stepped into the shower, hot water cascading over her voluptuous curves.
The water began to wet her skin, bouncing to sprinkles on her heavyset breasts. Alone under the spray, her fingers slid between her thighs, a soft moan escaping as she rubbed her clit, chasing the lingering high of his touch.
'Am I going crazy or something?' she thought. 'Didn't we just have sex and I'm craving him already? He's my subordinate. This is wrong. But his cock... it's like it owns me. What's happening to me?'
Her thoughts were a storm of shame and desire, her body trembling as she leaned against the tiled wall, water soaking her hair.
Then she froze, a sharp gasp ripping from her throat as something heavy and warm slapped against her ass—a thick, wet stick of meat.
It was Dylan's cock, hard and throbbing, resting on the center of her fat ass.