Incubus Living In A World Of Superpower Users - Chapter 138

Chapter 138: I Bet She Hasn’t Even Thrown A Punch In Years
“There’s a rumor she once destroyed an entire city.”

For a few seconds, nobody said anything.

No glasses clinked. No one moved. Even the cigar man didn’t take a puff. The background music from the party below still pulsed faintly through the walls, but it felt far away.

Just quiet.

Then the silence broke—not with another warning, but with laughter.

Soft at first. Then louder.

Each person let out a breath they hadn’t realized they were holding. The tension vanished with a scoff, like they’d all silently agreed it was too ridiculous to be real.

The bald man was the first to chuckle. “Come on. That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

“She’s a pop star and an actress,” said the man in the white shirt, his chain catching the dim light as he leaned back.

“She sings love songs, plays roles in movies, and wears expensive dresses. That’s not someone who flattens a city.”

The cigar man shook his head, finally puffing out a cloud of smoke. “I’ve heard the same story, but it’s just a rumor.

One of those wild myths people like to spread about celebrities is to make them seem more important. I even heard someone say she was a government weapon once. Total garbage.”

“Exactly,” said the bald man, grinning now. “If she really did something like that, why isn’t she locked up? Or promoted to the Superpower Association?”

“Because it never happened,” said the woman in red, though her tone didn’t carry as much confidence this time.

She swirled her drink slowly. Her eyes stayed on the center of the table, not meeting anyone’s gaze.

Another man, one who hadn’t spoken yet—a sharp-faced guy in a charcoal vest—leaned forward.

“She does have a position with them,” he said casually.

That got a few glances.

“What kind of position?” asked the younger man.

“Honorary,” said the man in the vest. “Ceremonial. One of those titles they give for show. No real power behind it.”

“Oh, please,” the bald man snorted. “That’s because of her popularity. She’s the most famous woman on the planet.

Of course, they’re going to give her something flashy. Keeps the media happy.”

The cigar man grinned. “Yeah, give her a shiny badge and a seat at the fancy table so she feels included. Meanwhile, she’s probably doing brand deals behind the scenes.”

They all laughed again, a little louder this time. As it is as if saying it enough times would make the unease go away.

“She’s not a threat,” said the younger man. “She’s entertainment.”

“Exactly,” said the man in the vest. “Let her sing. Let her wear pretty dresses. But she doesn’t belong in this conversation.”

“Even if she could fight, what would be the point?” said the woman in red, brushing a loose curl behind her ear.

“She’s got fame, money, influence. Why would she waste her time doing something that dangerous?”

“She wouldn’t,” said the bald man. “She doesn’t need to. She’s soft. She plays the part. It’s all lights and filters.”

“I bet she hasn’t even thrown a punch in years,” the cigar man added, chuckling as he took another sip of his drink.

They started tossing out other jokes, too—one of them said she probably had body doubles.

Another joked that the scariest thing about Lilith was her fan base. Someone else mentioned a staged charity event where she supposedly gave away ten million credits, only to make twenty back in publicity deals.

All of it was noise.

All of it was to fill the space that had gone too quiet a minute ago.

As they talked, the drinks were topped off again.

New glasses arrived on small silver trays—whiskey for the men, champagne, a fruit cocktail for the woman in red.

The servers moved quietly, professionally, like they always did.

They wore the same black-and-white uniforms.

They bowed the same way.

They even looked like the same staff who had been there when the meeting started.

But something had changed.

None of the guests noticed it yet—not fully—but if they had taken the time to look closely…

They would’ve seen it in the eyes.

Before, the servers had that distant, polite emptiness you’d expect from hired help trained to stay invisible. A kind of soft blankness, just enough to do their job and stay unnoticed.

But now?

There was something else.

Their movements were still smooth.

Their hands are steady.

But their eyes…

Their eyes didn’t look dull anymore.

They looked cold.

Sharp.

Focused.

Murderous.

Not annoyed.

Not tired.

Predatory.

The kind of look soldiers give before breaching a door.

The kind of stillness that comes right before a kill.

One of the servers, a woman with a neatly tied bun and a silver tray in hand, stepped behind the bald man. She tilted the tray slightly, refilling his glass with silent precision.

He didn’t look at her.

He didn’t even notice that her lips didn’t move at all.

No polite smile.

No blink.

Just a calm, still mask—and those eyes.

Empty of humanity, full of something else.

Across the table, another server refilled the woman in red’s glass. She thanked him without glancing up.

He gave a small nod.

But his gaze lingered for a half-second too long.

Not in lust.

Not in admiration.

Just a calculation.

The guests kept talking, caught in their own world.

They were too busy laughing about Lilith.

They were too focused on brushing off stories that didn’t make sense to them.

Too certain that power only looked like the kind they understood—money, territory, blackmail, weapons.

They didn’t understand the other kind.

The kind that could smile in silence while planning your end.

The kind that didn’t need to shout to be felt.

The kind that didn’t play by the rules.

And although the people here might think that there is no one who can do anything to them, that is far from the truth.

Because people who can don’t need to raise their voice, or send a message, or even make a single threat.

Because sometimes?

The silence was the warning.

And now, that silence was standing right behind them.

Pouring drinks.

Holding trays.

Smiling politely.

Waiting.