The Incubus System Chapter 865. Fries War

The Incubus System Chapter 865. Fries War

Nathan breezed through my house. My house, though modest, played host to a brief scrutiny that barely lasted five minutes. Every nook and cranny, from the living room to the bathroom, fell under the meticulous gaze of that demon hunter. The ticking clock of the inspection mirrored the urgency that had become a familiar undercurrent in my life.

As Nathan delved into the corners of my small sanctuary, the only thing that seemed to draw a frown was my rather sizable bed. It wasn't the standard single bed that one might expect in a solo-dweller's abode. Instead, it sprawled across the room, designed for more than just one occupant. I could sense the unspoken question in Nathan's eyes, an unspoken inquiry about the unconventional size.

In response, I offered a quick justification. "It's not just for me. My pets occasionally share the space, and my sleeping position can get a bit--- chaos. So, I figured a bigger bed would do the trick," I explained, attempting to diffuse any suspicions that might have been brewing in Nathan's mind.

However, his response was subdued, minimal. A nod, perhaps acknowledging my explanation, but his focus remained on the task at hand. Whether it was a directive from the overarching organization or a scheme, I couldn't discern. Nathan's motives seemed more inclined towards satisfying his own curiosity rather than fulfilling any specific order.

Nathan's departure left me standing at the door, a lingering sense of confusion and unanswered questions in the air. His prolonged stare had been like an unspoken interrogation, and as he turned on his heel without offering any explanation, I was left with a door, letting in a draft of uncertainty.

Closing the door, I took a moment to collect my thoughts before reaching out to Foxy through our telepathic link. 'He is gone. You can bring Jill back, Foxy,' I relayed the message, a sigh of relief escaping me as I anticipated the return of normalcy.

'Okay,' Foxy's voice echoed in my mind, a reassuring confirmation that all was clear for Jill's return. With that mental exchange concluded, I turned to face Celia, who wore a slight frown, an expression of annoyance etched across her features.

"Why did he suddenly come?" she huffed, her irritation palpable. I shrugged in response, my own demeanor a mix of nonchalance and curiosity.

“Maybe he thought I had something to do with the previous attack. The organization already put their eyes on me anyway,” I explained, strolling back to the sofa. The plate of fried fries beckoned, a welcome distraction from the whirlwind that had just swept through my living room.

Celia's expression soured, a playful pout forming on her lips. "Hey, that's mine," she complained, her tone a blend of mock offense and genuine amusement.

I shot her a mischievous grin, unabashedly snagging a handful of her prized French fries. "Now it is mine," I declared triumphantly, an annoying smirk on my face.

Amidst the escalating fry war, the peaceful silence of my living room was shattered as the subtle creaking of the staircase signaled the arrival of reinforcements. Foxy and Jill descended from the second floor, their presence heralded by Foxy's swishing tail and Jill's characteristic energy.

Jill's eyes locked onto the plate of fries in my hand. "Noo… my fries," she whined, a dramatic lament that mirrored the intensity of the conflict brewing in our impromptu battleground. Without missing a beat, she swiftly transitioned from bystander to an active participant, joining the skirmish with gusto.

The living room transformed into a chaotic battlefield of laughter and playful protests. Jill, fueled by the dire loss of her fries, assumed the role of a formidable adversary, challenging me as the main villain in this culinary clash.

Despite the spirited resistance, the combined forces of Jill and Foxy proved to be a formidable alliance. Soon enough, my mock villainy was no match for their determination, and I found myself succumbing to their relentless assault on the coveted plate of fries.

In the midst of the chaos, Celia emerged as the voice of reason, a mediator in the culinary conflict. With a swift motion, she managed to seize the contested plate from my grasp, effectively quelling the war for the coveted fries. "Alright, enough of this. Let's see if there are any survivors in the kitchen," she declared with a laugh, her role transitioning from innocent bystander to the arbitrator of peace in our urban fantasy saga.

The duo, now united in their quest for kitchen refugees, left me sprawled on the sofa, defeated but thoroughly entertained.

The tranquility of my living room was momentarily disrupted by Foxy's unexpected revelation. In her usual fox form, she perched on the floor, her furry tail swaying as she faced me.

“It seems Mrs. Clea will be late to pick up Jill tonight," Foxy dropped the bombshell, her words cutting through the otherwise peaceful ambiance.

I shifted my gaze lazily from my prone position on the sofa, one eye peering at Foxy. "What happened?" I queried, a tinge of lazy curiosity coloring my tone.

“She is still busy taking care of the incident. They're still in the park," Foxy elaborated, her tone carrying a weight of seriousness that demanded attention.

“I see…” I mumbled, exhaling audibly as my gaze drifted to the ceiling. The mental gears started turning, contemplating the logistics of Jill's transportation conundrum. A fleeting thought whispered in my mind—perhaps I should request Mrs. Clea to handle the pickup in the morning to alleviate the rush.

"Also, I heard they might kidnap you tomorrow," Foxy dropped another bombshell, her delivery almost matter-of-fact.

'Ah, that incident certainly makes them even more impatient to create new soldiers,' I pondered, acknowledging the ruthless efficiency that often accompanied the pursuit of power.

The urgency of the situation struck a chord, prompting a mental countdown to the moment when Jill's safety became paramount. 'The sooner you get Jill from here, the better,' I acknowledged, my internal monologue echoing the sentiments of a protective guardian facing an imminent threat.