Chapter 121. Backfired
Succubi Chapter 121. Backfired
I didn’t aim for his face.
I aimed straight for his chest.
-CRACK!
The rune glowed bright white.
Then shattered.
Pieces flew like shrapnel, mana sparking from each shard.
The arena lights exploded into brilliance.
And then…
Silence.
The undead around us stopped moving.
Then crumbled.
One by one, they dropped like broken toys, clattering to the floor in heaps of bone.
He fell to one knee, coughing. Gasping.
I stood there, panting, greatsword planted into the floor, smoke trailing from the cracked edge.
The cheers finally hit me.
Like a wave.
They screamed. The whole crowd. Deafening. Pulsing. Every camera in the arena zoomed on us. Somewhere up there, Callahan was probably smirking like the smug bastard he was.
The necromancer looked up at me.
“You—” he coughed again. “You’re just… a student?”
I tilted my head. “Yeah. First semester.”
He wiped the sweat from his forehead and gave a tired smile.
“Well, I’m not asking for a rematch.”
“Smart.”
He laughed weakly.
The referee’s voice echoed again.
“Victory: Rogue Mask E!”
I winced. “Seriously? Can we… update that? Like… Evan? Just Evan?”
The crowd didn’t care. They chanted anyway.
“MINION E! MINION E! MINION E!”
I sighed, leaning on my sword.
“My pride demon ancestors are rolling in their infernal graves,” I muttered.
The necromancer chuckled. “Good job, newbie.”
I looked down at him.
And offered a hand.
He blinked.
Then took it.
And I pulled him up.
His hand was solid, warm despite the magic he just burned through. His breathing was ragged, but there was no malice in his grip. Just tiredness. That and maybe… a little respect. His cracked rune still sparked faintly near his chest, glowing with fading mana trails. Mine? Still intact beneath my collarbone. Still humming. Still proof.
Yeah.
That was my first win.
My first official underground duel win.
Not bad.
Less bloody than my fight with the siren, at least. Fewer teeth. Less screaming. Definitely fewer scales.
The crowd hadn’t stopped yet. They were still cheering, still chanting Minion E, which hurt a little, but I lifted one hand and waved like an awkward boy band member with trauma and too much humility. My mask stayed on, hiding my expression, but my grin was real. Underneath the sweat, the armor, the pulse of victory still echoing in my ribs, I was smiling.
My eyes scanned the arena’s walls.
Big screens hovered in the air, projecting the other fights.
Time to check on the others.
My gaze drifted up instinctively, straight to the VIP deck where Callahan stood. Or at least, where I thought he’d still be flirting with that dangerous smoke-show of a mentor. I half-expected to catch him whispering some overdone wand pun while touching her elbow and making her roll her eyes.
But no.
I was wrong.
He wasn’t flirting.
He wasn’t even standing next to her anymore.
He was focused. Jaw tense. Shoulders stiff. Eyes locked on one screen in particular.
Adrian.
My chest tightened.
I looked at the screens again.
Top left: Kyra.
She was cornered. Kinda.
Not beaten. Not panicking. Just… boxed in. Her expression was calm, serious. She didn’t waste energy on drama. Her arms moved with precise discipline, mana spinning around her like threads of silver and blue. Cold lunar pulses glowed from her fingers, trailing into sharp, focused spells. Every blast had intention.
But the Spirit Channeler?
Yeah. He had stopped hesitating.
The whole rune-on-boobs tactic? Total fail.
The guy didn’t look at her chest anymore—he looked at her hands. At her spells. At her feet. His posture had shifted into actual respect. Tactical. Controlled. And judging by the layer of shredded platform behind Kyra, he had reasons to respect her.
They were both mage types. Less movement. More raw output.
Which meant their battle was a contest of will, not footwork. Range versus control.
But Kyra was still holding her own.
Still fighting.
I exhaled through my nose, relieved. “Come on, Kyra. You got this.”
Then my eyes flicked to the next screen.
Felix.
Okay, credit where credit’s due, he was still alive.
But his “strategic rune placement” had officially backfired. Hard.
The banshee? She wasn’t blushing anymore. She wasn’t shy. She was smirking. Full demon-queen energy. A hand on her hip, eyes narrowed, lips curled like she was enjoying every second of psychological warfare. And yeah, her attacks were aimed. Directly.
Right at the crotch.
Felix was moving fast. Smarter than I expected, really. Using ice shields, mirror spells, but none of it changed the fact that his rune was a glowing target just above his zipper.
-Boom!
Another explosion cracked across the platform as the banshee let out a sharp shriek, sending a concussive mana blast at his feet. The floor buckled. The camera zoomed.
I cringed.
“If that lands,” I muttered, “he’ll be an eunuch for the rest of his life.”
The necromancer beside me, yeah, he was still there, sitting cross-legged and catching his breath, laughed through a cough. “That guy has too much confidence.”
“Not confidence,” I said. “He’s just dumb.”
We both watched Felix stumble back behind a summoned mana wall.
He clicked his tongue. Frustrated. Still fighting. Not afraid. Not joking around anymore. Not trying to flirt or showboat.
And you know what?
Respect.
He was taking it seriously now.
Still… that strategy? Never again.
“Next time,” I muttered, “I’ll duct tape his rune to his forehead.”
Then the screen shifted focus.
Adrian.
My jaw tightened.
Yeah. I got it now. Why Callahan was watching so closely. Why he wasn’t being his usual sarcastic, seductive self and a casual smirk.
The Hexblade guy wasn’t like the others.
He wasn’t tossing spells from across the platform. He wasn’t playing with his food. He wasn’t smiling.
He was fighting like a professional.
Full contact.
Real weapon.
Real weight behind every swing.
His movements were fluid, polished. Military, maybe. Or trained under someone who didn’t care about grades but cared about survival. His blade gleamed silver-blue with magic inscriptions, and every time it clashed against Adrian’s wards, sparks flew like metal against flint.
And Adrian?
He was a mage.
An Arcana. Like me.
But unlike me, he wasn’t built for close combat.
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