Chapter 65. AAAH~! N-Not There—!
Succubi Chapter 65. AAAH~! N-Not There—!
Callahan moved like a man who had rebuilt himself out of logic and caffeine. After that unintentional gymnastic display earlier, I expected at least a flicker of self-consciousness—but nope. Not a tremble. Not a blush. Just pure professor mode.
“This first demonstration,” he said, conjuring a glowing rune matrix midair, “is a simple five-layer thread weave. Fire, Air, Shock, Void, and Light.”
The elements spiraled into existence—lines of pure mana, colored like a spinning planetary system, each one orbiting the core of the spell like electrons on magical steroids. The glow alone made half the class instinctively lean back, like someone had just summoned a mini sun.
“And this,” Callahan continued, “is what happens when you misalign elemental triggers.”
He snapped his fingers.
The entire diagram crackled, flickered like a corrupted GIF, then collapsed into a very localized poof of smoke and static sparks. It didn’t explode. Didn’t scream. Just ceased to exist.
Adrian murmured, “Okay, that was kinda cool.”
“No damage, no risk,” Callahan said. “But in a real duel? That half-second of casting collapse would be all your opponent needs to end you. Always test your threads before weaving.”
He swiped through the air like he was scrolling through a floating textbook and conjured another structure—this one a tight lattice of violet and blue, pulsing steadily.
“This is a stability weave. It reinforces your constructs and allows for modular additions in the middle of combat.”
He reached into his cloak and casually threw a second spell core—fire this time—straight into the center of the lattice. No chant. No dramatic hand sign. Just fling.
The fire spell hit the net— and got absorbed, rotated, modified into a shield.
A shimmering, flaming shield hovering just a few feet from the front row.
Half the class gasped.
One guy whispered, “Oh, that’s hot,” and immediately looked down like he regretted his own pun.
“See?” Callahan turned toward us with that same neutral look. “That’s called modular fusion threading. We’ll cover it next week. Provided no one sets themselves on fire before then.”
Adrian leaned over to me. “I want to be him when I grow up.”
“He’s like if anxiety was hot,” I whispered back.
Callahan tapped the side of the floating shield, dispelling it instantly.
Then he turned and clapped once. “Alright. Enough watching. Let’s talk application.”
The board behind him changed again—this time a map of a theoretical battlefield with spell arcs drawn over it. Arrows. Mana ranges. Predicted cast lines. It looked like a playbook from an arcane football team.
“Spell logic isn’t just for solo casting. It’s for team integration. Think of your threads like notes in a musical performance. Get out of sync and you’re not just off tempo—you’re dead weight.”
He flicked a hand and summoned glowing avatars—representing mages of various affinities—casting together in synchronized rhythm. They alternated bursts, buffs, and barriers with seamless timing.
“It’s choreography. With fireballs. And if you think dancing is hard, try dancing while someone’s trying to stab you.”
That earned a few laughs, including mine.
He paced slowly, thoughtful. “We’ll be practicing small-unit casting this month. If you can’t communicate your spells nonverbally, you don’t belong on the battlefield.”
Another wave of hands shot up. He ignored them. “No questions yet. First, a quiz. Basic diagnostic stuff.”
He pulled a matte-black laptop from beneath his desk and opened it.
“Give me a moment to connect this to the projector.”
The class murmured, shifting in their seats as the projector began to whir softly.
I leaned back, already prepping my pen.
Adrian whispered, “Please be easy. Please be easy.”
Then it happened.
A sound blasted through the room.
“AAAH~! N-Not there—!”
The projector flared bright white— And there she was.
A massive image of a very, very familiar adult film p0rnstar spread across the entire wall. High-definition. Full moan. Face contorted in pleasure.
For a second, none of us breathed.
Then chaos.
Someone dropped their pen. Another person screamed. The fox demi girl shrieked and shoved her entire binder in front of her face. The lamia gasped loud. Adrian slammed his face into the desk like if he couldn’t see it, it couldn’t be real.
I didn’t move.
I just stared.
Eyes wide. Mouth slightly open.
Because I recognized her.
She was everywhere. Like—the number one trending succubus-themed actress on FantasyP0rnNet. A literal walking fantasy.
Callahan didn’t say a word.
Not at first.
He just stared at the wall.
Then—slowly—he closed the laptop.
Took a deep breath.
And snapped his fingers.
A small flare of mana ignited in his palm—a deep, focused, almost elegant burn.
He didn’t say a word.
Just gently placed the laptop on the stone floor beside the podium, crouched like a man about to lay a beloved pet to rest, and whispered something under his breath that definitely included “I warned you.”
And then—Boom!
A sharp, controlled explosion burst from his hand into the machine, incinerating it in a flare of compressed fire magic. The kind that didn’t blow up the room but definitely made everyone in the front row flinch like they'd just been hit by a flashbang.
A puff of black smoke curled upward, tinged with the faint scent of singed shame and budget thermal paste. The crowd gasped. A few screamed. One guy actually applauded.
Adrian ducked behind his chair. “WHAT THE HELL—”
My mouth hung open.
Callahan stood slowly, brushed non-existent ash off his cloak, and looked out at us like nothing had happened.
“This…” he said, voice dry as desert bone, “is not the quiz.”
Nobody. Moved.
Nobody even breathed.
We were too stunned. Too emotionally derailed. Too secondhand mortified to process the sight of a projector-blasted moan followed by the execution of a laptop like it had personally betrayed his ancestors.
Adrian made a noise like he was being throttled by his own lungs, doubled over in his chair, and started wheezing.
“D-Dude—” he gasped, face bright red, “That’s not even incognito mode. That’s raw desktop betrayal!”
I couldn’t stop it.
I laughed. I full-body shook. I had to cover my mouth with both hands to keep from dissolving completely.
Callahan, meanwhile, adjusted his monocle—yes, the monocle survived—and kept talking like this was just a regular Monday.
He gave his cloak a quick shake, smoothed the edges with the calm of someone who had spiritually relocated somewhere else and left his body behind to teach the class.
“Right. That was a test. Of reflexes. Psychological readiness. Situational reaction speed.”
He gestured vaguely toward the smoldering circle where his laptop used to be.
“You all failed.”
We absolutely didn’t.
We’d just been emotionally whiplashed so hard our souls left the classroom.
I raised my hand, slow and deliberate, because I needed answers.
“Professor,” I said, “was that… was that Ariana L’Vyre?”
Callahan paused.
Just for a fraction of a second.
That’s all I needed.
His eye twitched.
“You have good eyes. I appreciate it.”
Then he turned his back on us and started writing arcane sequences on the board like that interaction never happened.
Adrian leaned over again, whispering like a conspirator. “We’re gonna meme this man into oblivion.”
“I’m naming my next spell [Forbidden Tab A],” I whispered back.
“Dibs on [Mana Leak - Succubus Form].”
The fox girl behind us actually whimpered. The elf girl looked like she wanted to evaporate from the plane. The lamia had wrapped her tail around the chair legs so tight I think the wood creaked.
And Callahan?
He turned back around holding a stack of actual printed papers, his face blank as stone.
“Manual quiz it is,” he muttered, like a man who just declared war on technology.
As he moved row to row, handing them out, he didn’t meet anyone’s gaze. Not even mine.
Which made me almost feel bad for him.
Almost.
But also? It was the most unforgettable class start I’d ever had.
The quiz was a beast.
No fluff. No grace period.
It opened with a diagram so detailed I thought I was being tested on an entirely different subject.
Rune chains. Mana flux sequences. Energy bleed analysis.
A hypothetical situation involving teleporting mid-cast into a mana-drained zone while being pursued by a silencer-type enemy and trying to stabilize a cursed elemental core with only two threads left.
Adrian looked at me halfway through and mouthed, “I’m dying.”
But me?
I felt alive.
By the time I turned in my paper, hand slightly cramped, I was grinning.
It hurt. But in the best way.
Callahan tapped the stack of papers together with a sharp snap. The tension in his shoulders finally eased.
“Alright,” he said, voice back to calm steel. “Since it’s still your first week—and some of you clearly need emotional recovery time—your only assignment for now is to review the elemental thread compatibility chart in your manuals. Memorize the primary sequence interactions and be ready to sketch them from memory next class.”
He paused, eyes sweeping across us like he could still hear the projector moan echoing in the walls.
“…I’d say take it easy this week.”
Then, as if nothing had happened, he turned to the board and cast a slow, deliberate sigil in glowing violet ink. A simple closing rune.
He stared at it for a second.
Then muttered, almost too quietly to hear,
“…and I’m going to torch the rest of that laptop’s soul tonight.”
Adrian whispered like it was sacred, “Legend.”
I couldn’t help it.
I grinned.
Yeah, sure.
Professor Callahan had tripped, faceplanted, embarrassed himself in front of the entire Arcana lecture hall, and accidentally broadcasted one of the most infamous p0rnstar in adult media to an entire room full of hormonal young mages.
But he was still the smartest spellweaver I’d ever seen.
And he didn’t quit.
Didn’t break.
Didn’t even flinch.
He just stood back up and taught like he was born for this room.
And as weird, wild, and chaotic as today was—I respected the hell out of him for that.
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