Incubus Living In A World Of Superpower Users-Chapter 127: Okay, That’s Enough For Today

Shapes moved just beyond the tree line—quick, hard to track, slipping between the shadows with sharp bursts of motion that always vanished the moment you looked too long.

They weren’t like the lions from earlier. These were smaller, but faster. Lighter. The kind of creatures that didn’t make a sound when they moved, but you felt them watching.

Soft paws padded over roots and leaves without breaking a single twig. Pairs of glowing eyes blinked from bushes, and the underbrush shifted every few steps.

Whatever was following them, it wasn’t attacking. Not yet. It was observing. Testing.

Ethan didn’t have to say it aloud—he knew what this was.

The forest had its own rhythm—a way of judging things.

It didn’t just throw beasts at you.

It studied you first.

And right now, he, Mei, and Sera were being watched—not by a predator in a rush but by something patient, something trying to decide if it was worth the risk.

Ethan’s pace didn’t slow. He adjusted his steps to match the shifting weight of his pack, eyes forward but mind constantly flicking between sound, movement, and silence.

They kept moving together. No one said much. But there was an understanding between them now—silent, steady, and real.

They’d fought together.

Now they were surviving together.

The deeper they went, the more the trees thinned, and a slope revealed itself—a slight incline that hinted at the ridgeline Ethan had mentioned earlier.

From here, maybe they could get a better view. Plan a safer path.

Sera checked behind them every few seconds. Mei stayed to Ethan’s left, not saying anything, but keeping her body slightly turned to cover their flank.

The presence following them didn’t fade.

But it didn’t pounce either.

It just followed.

Watching.

Waiting.

—

Elsewhere in the simulation, near a wind-carved cliffside, Evelyn crouched near the edge of a narrow stone ledge.

One knee was pressed into the rock, the other stretched behind her for balance.

She wasn’t alone. Her teammates—three other students—hovered just behind her, whispering too much and moving too little.

Evelyn narrowed her eyes.

Across from them, maybe twenty meters away, a massive beast paced along a crumbling pathway.

It had the shape of a wolf, but its spine was jagged, lined with ridges pulsing faint violet light. Its fur shimmered like molten steel, and the air around it warped like heat—except it wasn’t heat.

It was pressure.

Spiritual pressure.

Evelyn’s hand slowly reached for her bow—not to fire, just to hold. A way to ground herself.

She didn’t panic anymore.

Not after the desert illusion. Not after that scorpion.

Evelyn had learned how to check if something was real. She’d earned that skill the hard way.

She studied the creature’s rhythm. Every third step, it paused. Every fifth breath, it looked left.

There. A pattern.

Without glancing back, she whispered, "If it moves left again, we ambush."

Her teammates tensed, but nodded.

The moment came.

It stepped.

Left.

Evelyn moved without hesitation. Her arrow glowed faint silver—only 25% of her lunar power, just enough to wound without draining her.

She released it in one clean motion. The arrow sliced through the air and struck the beast square in the shoulder.

It howled, twisted mid-jump, and dove down into a side ravine.

Evelyn stood. "We move. Now."

They ran—not because they were scared, but because the beast had just learned something.

It knew they could track it.

Which meant next time, it wouldn’t give them a pattern.

—

In a mist-covered section of the forest, Everly held her bow low by her side.

Her teammates stood behind her, still and quiet.

She had told them: no noise. No movement unless necessary.

They listened.

Good.

They weren’t warriors, not really—but they followed orders. That might be enough.

The forest here was cold. Damp. Too quiet.

Something was wrong.

That same crawling instinct had started again—the one she’d felt during the scorpion illusion. She’d learned to trust that feeling.

It was screaming now.

The mist thickened. The light dimmed.

Something brushed her ear.

No one had spoken.

She didn’t react outwardly, but her lunar power rose just beneath her skin, ready, waiting.

The fog wasn’t natural.

It was an illusion.

A trap.

"Don’t move," she said softly. "It’s watching us."

The trees creaked. One branch overhead bent slightly lower.

Everly looked up.

Something crouched above—too many limbs, too many glowing eyes.

Spider-like.

But wrong.

Massive. Silent.

It hadn’t attacked yet.

She raised her blade a little, whispering a short prayer—not to a god, but to the moon.

A thread of silver light spun out from her fingers.

She flicked it like a whip, slicing through the nearest illusion thread in the air.

The fog recoiled immediately.

The beast shrieked and leapt back.

Everly didn’t wait. "Run."

Her teammates bolted after her as the forest twisted—part illusion, part real—trying to keep up.

But this time, she wasn’t chasing it.

She was ahead of it.

She wasn’t going to be fooled again.

—

And far away, under the shadows of thick vines and jungle canopy, Lucas and his group had taken shelter inside the hollow remains of a massive, dead tree.

Their supplies were low.

Their spirits lower.

But they hadn’t quit.

Lucas sat by the entrance, arms draped loosely over his knees, staring at the murky green glow beyond the vines.

The turtle beneath them had shifted again, maybe an hour ago. He’d felt it.

The trees had changed.

The paths had warped.

They weren’t escaping anything.

They were just surviving the hours.

One lesson at a time.

Lucas exhaled slowly.

But just as he let his thoughts drift—

A soft chime echoed through the air.

It rang out across every simulation zone—sharp and clear, like a bell through fog.

A pale blue light shimmered in the sky, expanding outward like ripples.

The wind stopped.

The illusions faded.

And just like that—

All the groups inside the simulation disappeared.

—

Back in the control room, Mr. Halden stood quietly in front of the main console. His arms were crossed. His eyes looked tired but alert.

The simulation had run longer than usual. He’d barely noticed the time pass while monitoring the feeds, checking heart rates, and analyzing power usage.

He tapped a button.

"All right," he muttered. "That’s enough for today."