Creating A Succubus Army In A Fantasy World!
Chapter 188: Strange Pulse.

Chapter 188: Strange Pulse.

The forest had gone quiet. Too quiet.

Not the "peaceful meditation" kind of quiet, but the kind that comes right before a horror movie jumpscare.

The wind didn’t move. The leaves didn’t rustle. Not a single beast made a sound. It was like the whole world was holding its breath.

Creed stared around in caution, chest rising and falling as he gasped for air, every muscle screaming from pain, blood dripping from his ears.

His legs were jelly. His soul felt like it had been put in a blender. Still, he didn’t stop moving.

He kept dashing forward, wings of light flaring around him, only one thought pounding in his mind like a war drum: Run. Run. Run.

Then—

BOOM!

Creed’s head snapped sideways as a massive blur of red appeared a few feet beside him, without warning!

No sound. No pressure. No buildup. It was just suddenly there!

The Beast King!

Its enormous body looked like someone had dipped a phoenix in molten rubies and then fed it steroids and hate.

It was beautiful and terrifying, like the embodiment of an ancient apocalypse.

Its wings shimmered like shifting lava, and every time they moved, the space around it cracked, as if reality itself didn’t want to touch it.

And its eyes, those blood-red, burning, endless orbs, locked onto Creed like he wasn’t a person, but a snack with an attitude problem.

Creed’s mouth opened.

He didn’t even get the chance to scream.

The next instant, the eagle vanished and reappeared right in front of him!

WHAM!

A wing slammed into him like a speeding truck made of iron. Creed’s body shot backward again, this time so fast that it created a super sonic boom behind him.

He smashed through five hills, skipped across a river like a pebble, and finally embedded himself halfway into a boulder.

He coughed, blood spraying from his mouth.

"...Okay... that felt personal."

He pushed himself out of the rock, groaning like an old man who’d just lost his remote control under the couch.

Before he could even finish standing up, the Beast King was already above him again, peering down like a disappointed parent who just caught him sneaking snacks before dinner.

Swoosh!

Creed exploded forward with Wings of Freedom, trying to zigzag through the sky and vanish into the trees, but the beast king only tilted its head, and teleported.

There was no build-up. No energy. Just—pop!—now it was right in front of him again, as if it had never left.

"YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!"

He swerved left.

The eagle appeared on the left!

He shot down into the forest.

It was already underneath him!

No matter where he moved, it was always there first. And not only that, it wasn’t even attacking him seriously. It was playing with him.

It would swat him, knock him around, slam him into trees, drag him through rivers, and every time Creed tried to activate Path of the Mountain or use his aura to defend, it would stop mid-attack, almost like it was mocking him. Its eyes seemed to say, "Go ahead. Try again. I’ll still break you."

Creed was getting angrier by the second.

His fear was still there, but now it was mixed with something hotter.

Frustration. Rage. Helpless fury!

He gritted his teeth as he blasted away from another strike. "Is this what I am?! A chew toy? A side character?! You damn oversized chicken!! Fight me properly, or go home!"

The Beast King actually paused mid-air and tilted its head, as if trying to understand his little outburst.

Then it smiled.

Eagles shouldn’t be able to smile.

That’s when Creed knew.

He was screwed!

The Beast King moved again, and this time, it didn’t hold back. Its claw shot forward like a meteor, glowing red-hot from the speed of its movement.

Creed raised both arms, his spear, stacked all his aura, summoned the Path of the Mountain again, but the attack still landed. Hard.

BOOM!

Everything went white.

Creed didn’t even feel pain at first. His body just went numb.

Then came the screaming. From his muscles. His bones. His insides. He spiraled through the forest like a broken kite, blood flying off in streaks, armor torn and useless.

He hit the ground so hard, it cratered.

He didn’t get up this time.

Not right away.

His body wouldn’t move. His wings flickered out. His aura fizzled. Even his thoughts slowed down, like they were sinking in quicksand.

The Beast King hovered above, looking down at him with a hungry expression, the kind of look that said, "I let you live this long because I was bored. But now? Time for lunch."

It swooped down, maw opening, lava-light spilling from its throat.

Creed’s blurry vision locked onto it. His heart pounded. This was it. He was going to die.

He whispered, voice raspy, "If this is how I go... please don’t let anyone find my internet search history."

Then it came closer.

Its mouth opened wider.

Its eyes burned brighter.

He was going to die.

Then, pulse.

Creed blinked.

Again, pulse.

A faint throb, gentle but urgent, came from his left hand.

He glanced down, confused, only to sense something in his storage ring pulsing rapidly, as if trying to call him. Trying to scream, even though it had no mouth.

He channeled the tiniest bit of energy he had left into the ring and pulled the item out.

Then, he froze.

His eyes widened so far they almost fell out of his face.

"No way..." he whispered.

.....

Far, far away...

If someone ever made a painting of paradise and dipped it in absurdity, it might look like the Natural Dimensional Rift that the old monk floated inside.

It was a world of endless pink oceans. Not just any pink, but the type that shimmered like liquid stardust, glowing gently under a sky that had no sun, no stars, no clouds, just a surreal, soft hue of dreamy color gradients.

There was no land, only a few scattered floating islands the size of rooftops, covered in glowing blue moss and crystalline flowers that sang when the wind passed.

The air smelled like cherry blossoms, and the temperature was always perfect, just slightly cool, enough to make you sigh in comfort.

If not for the horrifyingly powerful monsters hiding beneath the cotton-candy-colored waves, this place would have been heaven on steroids.

And cutting through this dreamworld like it was nothing but a hallway in a grocery store was a tired old man with the single beard strand, a loose monk robe, and eye bags so dark they looked like they had their own gravity.

He didn’t walk. He didn’t fly in a dramatic way. He just... floated. Casually. Like he was sleepwalking through a park, not through a realm that could eat Gold-level Awakened for breakfast.

He had been in here for hours. And all because someone had dared him to "clean" this rift solo. That someone may or may not have been himself.

The old monk yawned loudly, scratching his belly as he drifted along, muttering to himself.

"What a waste of energy. I could’ve been bothering that brat again... maybe made him fight a super sexy gorilla. Yeah, that’d be fun..."

Then, the ocean exploded.

Without warning, a massive geyser of pink water shot into the sky, followed by a towering beast that could make nightmares weep.

It had the sleek, horrifying face of a shark, with eight thick octopus-like tentacles writhing behind it, each one tipped with fanged mouths.

It was bright pink, glowing slightly, and its body alone was larger than most cargo ships.

The moment it locked eyes on the old monk, it roared in hunger and shot toward him, tentacles flailing like a blender set to murder.

But the old monk?

Didn’t even blink.

He slowly turned his head mid-yawn, looked at the monstrosity coming toward him, then lifted one wrinkled, lazy hand.

"Shush," he said, and snapped his fingers.

Time twisted.

Air screamed.

Ooooom!

The beast instantly folded in on itself, like someone had pushed an invisible hand into its core and squeezed it like playdough.

The hundreds-of-meters-long abomination compressed into a sphere the size of a football, dense enough that the water under it cracked open like ice beneath a hammer.

THUMP.

The meatball sank without a splash, heading for the endless depths of the rift’s ocean.

"Annoying seafood," the old monk muttered, floating onward with the same bored look on his face.

Over the next few hours, the rift would come to deeply regret hosting this particular guest.

One by one, the terrifying beasts that ruled its oceans came out to devour the invader, and one by one, they got turned into shish kebabs, furniture, or compressed balls of meat and regret.

The islands trembled. The ocean’s pink glow dimmed. The once mighty realm of monsters fell into silence.

And when the old man finally floated to the rift’s edge and stepped through the swirling tear in space with a yawn, he looked no different than when he’d entered.

Not a scratch. Not a speck of dust on him. Just the same sleepy look and droopy eyes.

Outside the rift was a hidden floating base, quiet and sleek, with runic pillars surrounding the exit gate.

As soon as he stepped out, he cracked his back like he’d just finished a nap, not a one-man extermination.

"Ahh, finally done. What a pain. Maybe I should go drop in on that brat again, see if he’s crying about something. He’s the type to scream if you threw a cute girl with a knife at him. Fun times..."

He stretched his arms lazily, just about to float away—

"G-GRANDMASTER!"

A sharp, hurried voice cracked the air, and the monk’s eyes barely flicked sideways.

A woman in a crisp, all-black business suit ran over with her high heels clacking like gunshots on stone.

Her hair was pulled into a tight bun, and even though her face was calm, the fear in her eyes could be seen from a mile away.

She came to a halt, bowed deeply, and spoke quickly, her voice trembling with urgency.

"Why did you take so long inside the rift?! You weren’t supposed to be gone for more than an hour!"

The old man scratched his head. "Huh? Why not? I didn’t have any more assignments this week. I was bored."

Her face twisted in panic. "W-we had an emergency! While you were inside... the Infernal Ice Bastion was attacked."

His eyes sharpened.

"Attacked?" he said, slowly.

She nodded, taking a shaky breath. "By... by a Beast King."

The air dropped ten degrees.

The floating runes around the rift dimmed.

The sleepy look vanished from the old man’s face in an instant. His back straightened. His aura, once like a silent breeze, turned into a weight that pressed down on the sky itself. Even the wind seemed to stop breathing.

His right hand clenched.

His face grew grave. "The Infernal Ice Bastion... Creed was there."

She nodded quickly, bowing lower. "Yes, sir! We didn’t know you were in the rift, there was no way to inform you—"

But she stopped mid-sentence.

Because the monk was gone.

Not a single sound. Not a flash. Just, gone.

As if he had never been there.

The woman stood straight, blinking in shock. Then she let out a deep breath, wiped her forehead, and whispered softly:

"Please... be in time. None of us can handle your wrath."