Reborn as a Succubus: Time To Live My Best Life!

Melisa sat beside Sirah in the war tent, trying to look interested while various darian leaders argued about supply routes like they were discussing the weather. Her ass hurt from the wooden bench, and she kept shifting, which made Sirah's hand tighten on her thigh like a fucking vise.

[Just smile and nod. Smile and nod. Pretend this is fascinating.]

The tent was packed with muscle-bound killers, all of them gesturing at maps and talking strategy. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, leather, and barely contained violence. Melisa felt like a sheep at a wolf convention.

"The eastern route is too exposed," a gray-bearded warrior said, jabbing at a map with one thick finger. "We should—"

"Warchief Gorath!" A guard burst through the tent flaps like his ass was on fire. "We captured a Syux soldier yesterday. Thought you'd want to see her."

Gorath, apparently the big boss around here, waved him in with the casual air of someone used to interruptions.

"Bring the prisoner."

Two guards dragged someone forward. Melisa's heart jumped into her throat.

Raven.

Her friend looked like she'd been through a blender—dried blood on her temple, wrists bound with rope, clothes torn to shit. But her gray eyes were sharp as ever, scanning the tent, cataloging threats and escape routes like she was shopping for groceries.

[Holy shit. She actually did it. She's here.]

"This one killed two of our warriors," the guard said, pride and annoyance fighting for control in his voice. "Fought like a demon before we took her down." Hеlp us соntinuе by rеаding аt thе sоurсе: МV2LЕМРYR.

Murmurs ran through the assembled leaders like ripples in a pond. Gorath stood, circling Raven like she was livestock at market. He was huge, even by darian standards, with scars covering every visible inch of skin.

"Small for a Syux soldier."

Raven said nothing.

"Silent too." Gorath grabbed her chin, forcing her head up with enough force to crack bones. "What were you doing near our camp?"

Still nothing. Raven's expression didn't even flicker.

Gorath backhanded her with a sound like a whip crack. The blow echoed through the tent. Raven's head snapped to the side, but she straightened immediately, expression still blank as a fresh sheet of paper.

"Tough one." Gorath looked around at his warriors with genuine appreciation. "Who wants to test themselves against Syux's finest?"

Several hands shot up like eager students in a fucked-up classroom.

[Oh fuck. This isn't part of the plan. This is definitely not part of the plan.]

Melisa tensed, ready to leap up, to blast everyone with magic, to grab Raven and run for the hills. But then Raven's eyes found hers across the tent.

A tiny shake of the head. Barely noticeable.

[Stay calm. Trust her. She's got this. Right? Right.]

"Dragor," Gorath pointed to a massive warrior with arms like tree trunks and about as much brain. "You've been itching for blood. Here's your chance."

Dragor grinned, showing way too many teeth and not enough intelligence.

"Finally. Some entertainment."

They cleared a space in the center of the tent, warriors scrambling back like this was dinner theater. Someone tossed Dragor a sword that looked like it could cut through a building. He tested its weight, swinging it in lazy arcs that whistled through the air.

"Give the prisoner a weapon," Gorath commanded. "Let's make this interesting."

They cut Raven's bonds with quick, efficient movements and threw a sword at her feet. She picked it up slowly, testing the balance like she was evaluating a fine wine.

"Rules are simple," Gorath announced to the crowd. "Fight until one yields or dies."

Dragor didn't wait for more ceremony. He charged like an angry bull, sword raised high above his head in a move that screamed "I have more muscle than brains."

Raven sidestepped at the last second. Dragor's momentum carried him past like a runaway freight train. She pivoted, blade flashing in the lantern light.

First blood. A line of red opened across Dragor's back, neat as a surgeon's cut.

He roared like a wounded bear, spinning around with fury in his eyes. This time he was careful, measured. They circled each other like predators sizing up dinner.

"Lucky strike," Dragor spat, blood trickling down his back.

Raven's face remained emotionless as ever.

He attacked again, a series of heavy blows meant to overwhelm through sheer force. Raven gave ground, parrying when she had to, dodging when she could. She moved like water, flowing around his attacks with ease that made it look choreographed.

[She's analyzing him. Looking for weaknesses. Classic Raven.]

The crowd pressed closer, shouting encouragement and obscenities. Melisa caught fragments of conversation that made her skin crawl.

"Gut the bitch!"

"Show her what darian steel can do!"

"Make it slow!"

Dragor grew frustrated as his attacks hit nothing but air. His swings got wilder, more predictable. His technique devolved into pure aggression.

And then Raven struck.

She ducked under a wide swing that would have taken her head clean off, came up inside his guard like a striking snake. Her sword punched through his throat with surgical precision. Clean. Efficient. Beautiful in its simplicity.

Dragor dropped his weapon, hands going to his neck in shock. Blood bubbled between his fingers like a broken fountain. He fell to his knees, then forward onto his face.

Dead as a doornail.

The tent exploded in angry shouts that made Melisa's ears ring.

"She killed him!"

"Execute the bitch!"

"Blood for blood!"

Warriors reached for weapons, faces twisted with rage. Melisa's magic crackled at her fingertips, ready to unleash hell on anyone who tried to hurt Raven.

"Enough."

Sirah's voice cut through the chaos like a blade through silk. She stood, stepping forward with the kind of authority that made people shut up and listen.

"The prisoner fought with honor. Dragor knew the risks."

"She's Syux scum!" someone protested from the back of the crowd.

"She's a warrior who bested one of ours in fair combat." Sirah looked at Gorath with steady eyes. "By our laws, she's earned another night of life. Maybe two."

Gorath stroked his beard, considering the words like they were made of gold.

"The Blood Sister speaks wisdom," he said finally. "The prisoner lives. For now."

The angry muttering continued, but no one challenged the decision. Nobody wanted to argue with both Sirah and Gorath at the same time.

"Take her back to the holding tent," Gorath ordered with a wave of his hand. "Double the guards."

As they dragged Raven away, she caught Melisa's eye one more time. The tiniest nod.

[Phase two complete. Whatever you're planning, Raven, I hope it's fucking brilliant.]

"Your Syux soldiers fight well," Sirah said, sitting back down. Her hand returned to Melisa's thigh like it belonged there. "That one would make a fine addition to our warriors."

"If she survives long enough," someone muttered darkly.

The meeting resumed, but Melisa couldn't focus on a single word. Her mind raced with possibilities. Raven was in the camp. She'd bought herself time by being a badass. But what came next?

Outside, Melisa could hear the camp stirring with excitement. Warriors talking about the fight. About the small Syux soldier who'd killed Dragor like he was nothing more than a practice dummy.

They had no idea what was coming.