Chapter 115. Standard For Who?
Succubi Chapter 115. Standard For Who?
“What the f…” I muttered, cringing so hard behind my mask.
Yup. That was the first thing that came out of my mouth. Not a brave declaration. Not a hero monologue. Just pure, soul‑deep cringe. And I knew I wasn’t alone.
Adrian’s shoulders stiffened like he wanted to fold into origami and disappear.
Felix’s breathing got all sharp and shallow.
Kyra? She didn’t move, but her silence screamed spiritual regret.
We were out here.
On the arena floor.
As the Rogue Mask Quartet.
…Fantastic branding.
Callahan, AKA Cradlestorm, stood between us like he was posing for a poster. Cape fluttering, monocle glinting, half‑mask tilted at an angle that said he absolutely practiced that pose in a mirror.
The underground battle arena wasn’t as terrifying as the rumors made it sound. Sure, it was massive and loud and filled with people hyped up on mana booze and bad life choices. But it wasn’t a torture pit. It was actually kind of stylish. The ground shimmered with layered sigils. The walls glowed with protection wards. The lights pulsed like heartbeat lamps, timed to the music. The air smelled like burnt mana, sweat, and fried food from concession stands. People waved enchanted banners. Some recorded the field with arcana cameras. None of that was scary.
No.
The terrifying part?
Our opponents.
Callahan had mentioned something about this being the first debut of that team too. He said they were students from a battle academy. You know, like us.
But those people on the opposite side of the arena?
Yeah.
They did not look like students.
Not even a tiny bit.
First, the Spirit Channeler.
Good looking? Sure.
Athletic? Yes.
Student age? Absolutely not.
That man was pushing 35 with the confidence of someone who survived three divorces and now spent weekends at a cigar lounge. Worse, he wore a full suit. A literal black tailored suit, clean ironed, crisp cuffs, shiny shoes.
Who wears a suit to a duel?
What was he going to do, invoice us to death?
Then came the banshee girl.
Okay, at first glance she was closer to student range. Maybe. Her face looked youngish, like mid twenties. But then the rest of her body showed up and chose violence. That was not a student body. That was a career MILF body. She wore an armored bikini that made Lilith look conservative. The banshee girl had long silver hair, pale skin, claws dipped in mana ink, and curves that screamed mother of five who still hits the gym harder than gods.
Then came the Hexblade, fae‑touched.
Lean, sharp eyes, silver‑green hair, and a sword strapped across his back. A real sword. Runed steel. Enchanted. He had that traveler vibe. The look people get when they walked across mountains and lost friends in the process. He looked like he went on an adventure with a dwarf, a small barefoot guy, and a knight prince, fought an army of orcs, forged an alliance with an elf queen, and threw a cursed ring into a volcano. The only thing missing was a bow. And maybe a father issue.
And the last one.
The “new” necromancer.
New? New my ass.
That man had a beard. Not patchy student beard. Full, majestic, protein‑fed beard.
He looked like he benched liches for breakfast. Broad shoulders. Thick arms. Chest like someone hammered muscle into him with runes. He didn’t look like a student. He looked like a gym trainer who resurrected dead barbells for fun.
All four of us turned to Callahan at once.
Our eyes said everything.
These are not students.
These are grown adults who pay taxes and complain about back pain.
Adrian shot me a look or at least, I assumed it was a look under the mask, but his head tilted so sharply I could practically hear his soul screaming. His eye gesture said, “Do you see that necromancer?! That guy is built like a wardrobe!”
Felix’s eyes were wide behind his mask. His expression said, “This is a terrible idea, why did I come here?”
Kyra’s quiet inhale said, “I regret life. I want to go home and make tea and pretend none of this exists.”
Meanwhile, Callahan stood there with all the confidence of a father who handed his kids plastic swords and pushed them into a dragon cave.
“Relax,” he whispered. “This is standard.”
Standard for who?
Immortals?
Gods?
People who did not value their life expectancy?
Before I could voice my trauma, there was a sound. Soft footsteps. Confident. Sexy. Dangerous.
Their mentor arrived.
A woman.
A very, very hot woman.
She walked like she could make half the audience drop to their knees by accident. Long black hair tied in a loose braid, leather coat hugging her waist, dark gloves, high boots, rune tattoos glowing under her collarbone. And her aura? Thick. Heavy. Sharp like a storm cloud willing to ruin someone’s evening.
She didn’t speak right away.
She just smirked.
And yeah, the entire crowd reacted to her like she was a celebrity. Whistles. Shouting. Someone even threw a flower enchanted with glitter petals.
I felt Kyra shift beside me, whispering under her breath, “She looks like she eats mages for appetizers.”
Adrian gulped. “I feel underdressed.”
I sighed. “We are underdressed.”
Felix spoke through gritted teeth. “This is ridiculous. That man is old enough to teach our class. The necromancer probably has a mortgage.”
Callahan ignored us and stepped forward to greet the woman.
“Evening,” he said, smooth as silk and twice as smug.
She smiled, slow and dangerous. “Cradlestorm. You brought children.”
“Students,” Callahan corrected, lifting his chin like he was defending our honor.
She raised a single eyebrow. “They look like children in masks.”
Adrian muttered, “She can smell fear.”
I muttered back, “I’m ninety-nine percent sure she feeds on fear.”
The woman’s eyes slid back to Callahan, lingering in that annoyingly sexy slow-motion way pretty people do when they know it kills the room.
“Anyway…” He gave a bow. Not a respectful one. A flirtatious one. The kind that said he had spent too many nights alone practicing it in a mirror.
“Long time no see, Vesperine,” he said, using her duel name like it was a pet name.
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