Creating A Succubus Army In A Fantasy World!
Chapter 185: Another Beast Tide!

Chapter 185: Another Beast Tide!

The upgraded training hall hummed with silent pressure, the air laced with invisible might.

Where once it could barely contain a Stage 3 Bronze Awakened’s flaring strength without the walls shaking or the floor cracking under the strain, the chamber now shimmered with a subtle, reinforced glow.

It was evidence of the nearly 2 million credits Creed had sunk into its transformation.

Now, it could bear the full weight of a Silver-level Awakened’s power, with high-density energy diffusion panels woven into the walls, force dampeners under the floor, and spatial layering technology that bent the rules of pressure and space just enough to create a contained storm.

Creed could have easily moved. With his credit balance and reputation, there were dozens of high-end apartments in Sectors 1 to 3 with pre-built facilities far grander than this one.

But he didn’t. Not because he lacked the resources, he simply couldn’t bring himself to do it.

This was the first home he bought in this new, chaotic world.

The weird blue walls, the oddly cozy bedroom, even the crazy neighbor, it all felt... his.

If he ever upgraded, it’d be straight to a Tier 2 or Tier 1 Bastion, not just some basic step-up. Until then, this place was sacred.

He lay flat on the padded floor of the training hall, arms crossed behind his head like a man lounging on a beach, though the expression on his face was anything but relaxed.

This was how he meditated, none of that stiff lotus nonsense. That posture felt like a punishment to his spine and legs, so he picked the "comfortable and horizontal" route.

And somehow, it worked for him. His eyes slowly fluttered open, glowing faintly as he exhaled a slow breath that made the air around him ripple.

Then came the display.

On his palm, three swirling energies began to coalesce, each one spinning like a small galaxy.

First came the green, a vibrant spiral of power so dense it hummed; Stage 1 Silver Force. It crackled lightly, enhancing his intents, his techniques, and even his Paths with exponential depth and sharpness.

Then followed the dense brown aura, like liquid earth made into motion; Stage 1 Silver Aura, its power enhancing his physical body and durability.

And finally, a shimmering golden light, soft yet radiant, curled like a crown atop his palm; Stage 1 Silver Will, the domain of the mind, of clarity, of soul.

Together, they danced, three different Sources entwined in perfect synchronization.

Creed grinned like a kid who’d just discovered he could summon lightning from his fingers. Which, to be fair, he basically could.

He flexed his fingers and watched the energies fade slowly into his skin, leaving only a faint residue of pressure in the air.

"Not bad," he muttered to himself. "I’m officially... well-rounded." All three core Sources—Force, Aura, and Will—had been pushed to Silver Stage 1. Each one opened up new possibilities, new power, and new pathways.

Now that he had those nailed down, it was time to shift focus to his intents.

He wanted to push his Lightning, Space, and Spear intents to Silver next and eventually, to the peak of Silver before even thinking of breaking into Gold.

But therein lay the problem.

He let out a dramatic sigh, slapping a hand on his forehead like a teenager who just realized his cheat codes were on cooldown.

"Primordial Essence... I’m running low."

The special system-provided essence that let him accelerate comprehension like a monster was a limited currency.

Each one gave him near-perfect clarity, letting him digest techniques, paths, and intents multiple times faster. But there was no passive way to generate more.

The only method?

Primordial Exchange. Which, in blunt terms, meant sleeping with his summons.

"Thank the heavens for Meredith," he muttered with a chuckle. "At least she’s got the stamina of a demigod."

Still, even with their three-session marathons, he could only earn about 2 or 3 Primordial Essences a day.

With Lilith and Tierra still in their shedding cocoons, the production line had gone from a potential bustling factory to a cute little bakery.

He missed them both more than he wanted to admit; not just for reasons, but also for the tactical edge they brought to his team.

Meredith had proven herself a monster in support, but Creed was craving that reckless chaos Lilith brought, and Tierra’s dagger-dancing elegance that made murder look like a ballet.

Just then, as if summoned by his thoughts, the door to the training hall eased open with a soft hiss.

Standing there, glowing like an angel dipped in blue paint, was Meredith.

Her light-blue hair spilled over her shoulders like silk, and her crystal eyes were shimmering with warmth. But it wasn’t her face Creed noticed first. It was her outfit, or the lack thereof.

She was wearing a blue apron.

Just the apron.

"Dinner’s ready, Master," she said sweetly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear while shifting from one foot to the other.

Creed’s lips curled into a devilish smirk. "Oh? I hope you made a lot," he said, stretching lazily as his gaze drifted lower, "because I’m definitely eating tonight."

Meredith flushed pink all the way to her shoulders, her fingers gripping the edge of her apron as she let out a tiny gasp, but she didn’t retreat.

If anything, she stepped into the room slowly, her eyes lowering in anticipation.

Creed stood and began walking toward her, power and hunger radiating off his body in equal parts. "You know, Meredith, I really—"

BOOM!

The sound wasn’t in the room. It was outside. Far, far outside, yet loud enough to shake the windows of the apartment.

A roar. Not one. Dozens. Hundreds.

It echoed through the air like a trumpet signaling war, deep and primal, a cry that carried across the entire Bastion.

And then it was followed by weaker roars, layered, jarring, chaotic; a symphony of beasts.

Creed froze mid-step, every muscle in his body suddenly alert. His expression turned sharp, that seductive grin wiped away like fog in a hurricane.

Meredith’s playful mood vanished too, her eyes turning serious as she instinctively summoned a small wisp of soul-light to her hand.

Creed turned toward the nearest window, eyes narrowing as his Silver-level aura flared unconsciously. "That... wasn’t natural," he whispered.

He didn’t know what was happening yet. But something had just screamed across the sky, and whatever it was, it was loud enough to shake every awakened in the city to attention.

The moment the roar echoed across the skies of Infernal Ice Bastion, Creed was already moving. With smooth, unhurried steps, he approached the massive glass window of his apartment.

The translucent sensors built into the frame hissed as they recognized his presence and slid open slightly, allowing him a clearer view of the outside world.

The view was spectacular; his apartment was perched high in one of the calm neighborhoods of the sector, offering a panoramic glimpse of the horizon.

His eyes immediately lifted toward the forcefield dome—a barely-visible shimmer of transparent light that encapsulated the entire bastion like a divine barrier.

It pulsed once, reacting to the energy of the beast tide. And then...

Huuummm!

Thousands of sleek drones erupted from hidden turrets stationed across the dome’s internal scaffolding, streaming into the sky in a brilliant surge of blue and silver like a futuristic hive awakened.

Creed whistled low under his breath, eyes gleaming. "Now that’s how you prepare for war."

The drones, each barely larger than a manhole cover but armed to the teeth, whirred into formation.

Their movements were fluid, intelligent, coordinated, like they were being puppeteered by a grand conductor no one could see.

They swarmed toward the dense forest that lay in front of the bastion’s towering gates—a vast and wild expanse filled with thorned trees, jagged cliffs, and the growling monsters that lurked within.

The next second, the sky lit up.

Lasers. Thousands of them!

Siuu! Siuu! Siuu! Siuu!

From dozens of aerial angles, the drones began to rain down high-tech, superheated plasma bullets, cutting through the forest like it was paper.

The night sky turned into a thunderstorm of fire, every blast accompanied by faint beastly screams.

Creed’s gaze didn’t waver. He remembered the rickety Tier 5 Moonlake Bastion he first arrived in. Their defenses?

A flimsy energy shield that flickered under a stiff breeze and a few cheap wall-mounted guns that could only fire pea-sized bullets a couple hundred meters out.

The day the beasts pushed harder than expected, Moonlake’s forces crumbled like dry leaves.

They were forced to evacuate the ’entire’ bastion while most of the guards ’died trying to buy time.’

Creed folded his arms and muttered with a small smirk, "Yeah, this bastion’s worth every damn credit."

But then...

His expression darkened.

Far off in the distance, he spotted blazing red glows piercing the dark sky.

Dozens—no, hundreds—of massive eagles, their feathers glowing like molten steel, were speeding through the clouds like airborne predators.

Each one was the size of a helicopter, wings wide enough to blot out entire patches of sky.

They were fast. Faster than expected.

And they dove straight for the drones.

The first impact was brutal. One eagle ripped through four drones like a claw through paper, scattering their components into flaming debris.

Another dove in a corkscrew spin, tearing a formation apart with its scythe-like talons.

But the drones... didn’t panic. Obviously.

They responded instantly, shifting into new formations—hexagons, spirals, scattering pulses.

AI-driven precision. While a few hundred drones were lost in the first minute, the rest adapted, surrounding the eagles and unleashing coordinated laser bursts into their feathered enemies.

The sky became a ballet of death.

Blazing red eagles versus icy blue tech.

Screeches versus hums.

Fire versus plasma.

From the streets below, thousands of citizens watched in awe. The sight was terrifying, but also strangely reassuring.

The drones, despite the chaos, were holding their own. The peak Stage 5 eagles were being driven back or shot down in spectacular mid-air explosions, and the people whispered, "Maybe we’re safe after all."

Creed exhaled, his brow still furrowed. "That’s not the main course," he muttered. Meredith stood beside him now, dressed in her apron, her arms wrapped around his as she stared at the spectacle wide-eyed.

Then it came.

A second wave of roars.

Not dozens. Hundreds.

Louder. Deeper. Stronger.

The very air seemed to grow heavier, as if gravity itself tensed in anticipation.

And then—

The real monsters arrived.

Colossal eagles, each as large as passenger planes, broke through the clouds with earth-shaking screeches.

Their wings stirred hurricanes. Their claws glowed with blood-red energy. And their eyes... were intelligent. These weren’t just beasts. These were Beast Lords!

Each one held the power of two average Silver-level experts, maybe more!

Creed’s face turned serious, the kind of calm you wear before the storm hits your bones. "Now that’s a problem," he whispered.

As if on cue, a loud, systemic alert blared across the city.

"Emergency Protocol Initiated. All civilians are to proceed immediately to the nearest emergency bunker. Remain calm. The DMA will handle the incursion."

The once-still streets of the bastion came alive.

People grabbed their children. Sleek, hovering shuttles detached from their docks and zoomed across the roads, gliding above ground in perfect lines.

Sirens wailed softly as guidance arrows appeared on every building’s screen, showing citizens where to go.

Despite the danger, the orderliness of it all was terrifyingly beautiful. Even the panicked were organized, rushing with their families toward the glowing bunker signs spread across the districts.

And Creed? He stood, tall and silent, his paths and sources gently humming under his skin.

Beside him, Meredith looked up, her expression torn between awe and concern. "Those eagles are... a little strong."

"I know," Creed replied. "But they’ll have to go through them first."

He pointed.

Down below, emerging from the massive inner gates of the bastion’s core fortress, hundreds of elite soldiers poured forth like ink spilled on steel.

They wore tight, high-tech black and blue uniforms, each one radiating pressure like they were walking batteries of death.

On their backs were massive silver rifles, sleek spears, and crystalline blades that hummed with light. Their faces were calm, jaws tight, eyes burning.

The DMA had arrived!

And they were ready to fight.

Creed grinned. "Showtime."