Creating A Succubus Army In A Fantasy World!

Creed and Dagga trudged through the eerie, endless Nihility Forest, their boots crunching over dead leaves and dry twigs.

The trees loomed over them like skeletal sentinels, their gnarled branches clawing at the sky.

The air was heavy, almost suffocating, and there wasn't a single sound—no animals, no wind, nothing.

Creed glanced around as they walked. It had been hours, yet the forest remained eerily uneventful. All they'd seen were trees—endless trees.

Sure, that shadowy thing earlier had almost touched him, but since then, the forest had been strangely uneventful

"This is it? The big, bad Nihility Forest?" Creed muttered under his breath, his voice low but tinged with sarcasm. He looked at Dagga, who was also scanning the woods with narrowed eyes.

Dagga, walking ahead, gave a grunt. "It should be scarier than this. Usually, you can't take five steps without something trying to kill you."

He paused, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at the empty forest. "Not that I'm complaining, though. Quiet is good. Let's just keep moving."

Creed wasn't so sure. It felt like the forest was holding its breath, like it was watching them, waiting.

After what felt like an eternity, they reached a rocky outcrop, its jagged edges breaking the monotony of the forest. A dark cave yawned open before them, its entrance wide enough to swallow them whole.

"Here," Dagga said, motioning for Creed to follow him inside.

The moment Creed stepped in, he was hit by a wave of oppressive darkness. The air inside was thick and cold, clinging to his skin like a damp shroud.

The stench of blood was overwhelming, so strong it clawed at his throat and made him gag.

The walls of the cave were rough and uneven, slick with moisture that glistened faintly in the dim light filtering from the entrance.

Shadows danced along the jagged surfaces, creating monstrous shapes that seemed to writhe and shift.

Dagga pressed forward, his boots echoing faintly against the stone floor. Creed followed close behind, his hand resting on the ring at his finger, ready to summon the blade at a moment's notice.

After walking for what felt like forever, they reached the edge of a massive pit carved into the stone floor.

The hole was huge and perfectly round, disappearing into pitch-black darkness. Creed peered into the void, but he couldn't see a bottom.

Dagga stood at the edge, staring down. His normally calm face was tight, his jaw clenched.

Creed frowned—was that fear?

"What's down there?" Creed asked cautiously.

Dagga didn't answer immediately. He was too busy glaring at the hole, like it might bite him. When Creed's foot accidentally kicked a small rock into the pit, they both froze.

The rock fell... and fell... but there was no sound of it hitting the bottom. Nothing. Just silence.

Dagga finally turned to him, his voice low. "This is where it gets real. The true cave starts here."

Creed raised an eyebrow. "The 'true cave'? That doesn't sound ominous at all."

Dagga ignored his sarcasm. "There's one rule: you have to close your eyes before stepping into this hole."

Creed blinked, his heart skipping a beat. "Wait, what?"

"If you go in with your eyes open, you'll see things," Dagga explained, his voice steady but grim. "Terrible things. Nightmares. Visions that will mess with your head, make you lose control. Most people don't survive it."

Creed's stomach twisted. "Close my eyes? Are you serious? How am I supposed to walk around in the dark? What if I fall?"

Dagga's stare hardened. "This is the only way to survive it. Trust me."

Creed hesitated. This wasn't exactly how he'd pictured his day going. But Dagga wasn't the type to joke about stuff like this. He could see the seriousness in his eyes.

If even Dagga, who was normally fearless, was cautious about this, then it wasn't something to take lightly.

"Alright," Creed muttered, his voice trembling slightly. He took a moment to mentally prepare himself, then transformed the ring into its sword form, the familiar weight of the weapon giving him some comfort.

Dagga went first, closing his eyes tightly before stepping into the hole. Creed watched as the demon disappeared into the abyss, leaving him alone at the edge.

He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut. He took one last breath, closed his eyes, and stepped into the void.

The moment Creed entered the hole, he felt the temperature drop. The air was freezing, biting into his skin like icy needles. Each breath was sharp, his lungs aching from the chill.

And the smell. Blood. It was unbearable—thick, metallic, and nauseating. It was so strong now that Creed's stomach churned, and he had to fight the urge to retch.

The ground beneath his feet was uneven, his steps slow and cautious. He gripped his sword like a lifeline, his knuckles white.

The darkness around him wasn't just an absence of light—it felt alive, pressing against him, suffocating him.

At first, the silence was deafening. Then, faint whispers began to drift through the air.

"Creed..."

His name. The voice was soft, almost gentle, but it sent a chill down his spine. He froze, his pulse racing.

"Creed... come closer..."

The whispers grew louder, overlapping, echoing in his ears. He clenched his teeth, his steps faltering.

"What the hell..." he muttered, his voice trembling.

The whispers didn't stop. They swirled around him, their tones shifting—some pleading, some mocking, others downright sinister.

"Open your eyes..."

His heart thudded in his chest. The urge to obey was sudden and overwhelming. His eyelids twitched, his body betraying him as the whispers pressed harder.

"No," he growled, forcing his feet to move. His nails dug into the hilt of his sword, the pain helping him focus.

But the voices didn't let up. They became sharper, angrier, clawing at his mind. His head throbbed, the pressure building until it felt like his skull might crack.

"Open them! Look at us!"

Creed stumbled, barely catching himself. His breathing was ragged, his chest tight. He couldn't see them, but he could feel them—something was there, circling him, watching him.

The cold was unbearable now, seeping into his bones. His muscles felt heavy, his movements sluggish. And then, without warning, his eyes started to open.

"No!" he hissed, slapping his hand over his face. His heart pounded as panic surged through him. What was this place? How was it doing this to him?

"Dagga," Creed whispered hoarsely, his voice trembling. But there was no answer, only the relentless whispers.

He bit down on his lip, the pain grounding him for a moment. He had to keep moving. He couldn't stop now. Not here. Not in this nightmare.

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