Damon walked through the bustling streets of Vesper, the cool night air cutting right through his thin, faded shirt.
The city around him was alive despite the late hour.
Neon signs bled red and blue across wet asphalt, cars purred past every few seconds, and pedestrians moved between late-night shops and restaurants without paying a second glance to anyone around them.
Near the dark glass of a closed storefront, Damon paused, staring at his reflection.
What he saw was thoroughly uninspiring.
The body he inhabited was twenty years old, pale, thin, and noticeably weak from days of severe malnutrition.
His clothes were worn and stained with alley grime.
His face carried the hollow, exhausted look of someone who had hit rock bottom and stayed there.
There was no presence here.
No magnetism.
Zero authority.
Approach a woman of genuine standing in this state?
he thought, an amused smirk touching his lips.
She would call security before I finished a single sentence.
He had no money, no social standing, and zero credibility.
To hunt effectively in this realm, he didn’t need to become an overnight billionaire or a physical titan immediately.
He simply needed to become presentable – capable of playing whatever role suited his ambitions.
His thoughts turned back to his dormant demonic nature.
In his past life, intimacy ignited corruption, and corruption fed his demonic essence, expanding his strength and elevating his physical vessel.
That foundational rule had survived reincarnation.
If he could initiate physical intimacy with a woman, the resulting corruption should begin nourishing his demonic essence, gradually restoring his body’s health and sharpening his physical condition.
However, Damon was a realist.
A single encounter would not instantly transform him into a dominant physical specimen.
Human flesh required progressive refinement.
Even so, any improvement was better than nothing.
A healthier complexion, a firmer stance, and a hint of magnetic vigor would give him the baseline necessary to present himself with undeniable confidence.
His short-term objective was clear:
find an immediate opportunity to test whether intimacy could provide the physical nourishment his broken vessel needed.
He leaned back against the cold glass, calling up the translucent interface in his mind.
╔═════════════════════════════════════════════╗
100×RETURN SYSTEM
╠═════════════════════════════════════════════╣
Host: Damon
Bond Slots: 0/2
╚═════════════════════════════════════════════╝
Damon studied the line for a moment.
Two slots.
That didn’t mean he could only touch or sleep with two women.
The slots were strictly reserved for the women he actually wanted to bind to the system feedback loop.
That distinction mattered.
He could meet as many women as he wanted.
He could test them, taste them, learn about them, and decide whether they were worth investing a slot in.
The two slots were not a ceiling, they were high-yield investments.
Damon pushed off the glass and continued down the sidewalk, his eyes scanning the moving crowds like an absolute predator.
He wasn’t looking for a simple, pretty face.
Pretty women were everywhere in a city like Vesper.
He watched how they walked, how they dressed, who they talked to, and what held their attention.
A target’s personality mattered.
Her situation mattered.
Her future potential mattered even more.
Potential.
That was the currency he wanted.
As he neared the wide entrance of an upscale commercial square, his gaze settled on a young woman near the curb.
She appeared to be around twenty, dressed in clean, tasteful clothes.
She was currently crouched beside an elderly couple whose paper shopping bags had torn open, spilling fresh fruit across the pavement.
While other pedestrians hurried past without looking, she was patiently gathering the scattered items, offering the elderly couple a warm, gentle smile as she handed them back.
Damon halted, watching her carefully.
He didn’t care whether she was a good person.
Moral purity meant nothing to a demon.
What mattered was the psychological flaw he saw.
She helped strangers without expecting anything in return.
More importantly, she had a massive, exploitable soft spot for anyone who looked helpless.
Useful.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
He slowed his footsteps, letting his shoulders slump heavily.
He forced his breathing to sound shallow, ragged, and strained, letting his pale skin look ghostly under the harsh streetlights.
He dragged his feet, allowing his worn clothes and frail frame to paint the picture of a desperate youth at the absolute limit of his physical endurance.
He timed his movement precisely.
He staggered past just as she finished assisting the elderly couple and stood up.
He took two weak, trembling steps, let out a strained gasp, and allowed his knees to buckle.
His body fell forward, collapsing right toward her.
“Ah—careful!”
Her reaction was instant.
Surprised, she reached out, catching him under his arms before his face hit the hard pavement.
The sudden weight forced her to stumble back slightly, but she managed to hold him up, her eyes wide with shock as she took in his pale, sweat-beaded face and threadbare clothes.
“Hey!
Are you okay?
Can you hear me?”
Her voice rose with genuine concern.
Damon rested his head against her shoulder, his face half-hidden in her jacket.
An hour later,
He was sitting on the edge of an examination bed inside a brightly lit municipal clinic.
The doctor on duty had already checked his vitals, concluding that he was suffering from acute exhaustion and severe low blood sugar.
A basic IV bag hung beside him, slowly dripping saline into his arm.
The young woman stood near the doorway, holding two bottles of water she had bought from a vending machine.
Seeing that he was awake and looking slightly more coherent, she stepped closer, offering a relieved smile.
“The doctor said you just need rest and food,”
she said gently, setting one of the water bottles on the small bedside table.
“You really scared me back there.
You just passed out.”
Damon kept his head lowered slightly, keeping his expression modest, weak, and deeply apologetic.
“I’m…
sorry to cause you so much trouble,”
he muttered, his voice carrying just enough tremor to sound completely genuine.
“You didn’t have to stay.”
“I couldn’t just leave you lying in the street,”
she replied, shaking her head as she pulled up a plastic chair.
“My name is Claire, by the way.”
“Damon,” he muttered softly.
“Where are your parents, Damon?
Is there anyone I can call to pick you up?”
Damon paused.
He let his eyes drop to his hands, lingering in total silence long enough to let her imagination fill in the worst possible scenarios.
“There’s…
no one,” he said softly, offering a self-deprecating, bitter smile.
“I grew up in an orphanage here in Vesper.
I aged out recently, tried to make things work on my own…
but things didn’t go well.
I don’t have anywhere to go right now.”
He offered no dramatic sob stories or melodramatic details.
Overexplaining ruined a lie.
By giving her just enough fragmented truth, her natural sympathy instinctively did the rest.
Claire’s eyes softened instantly, filled with deep pity.
“Oh…
I see.”
As she spoke, Damon shifted his focus inward.
While keeping his outward persona meek and vulnerable, he subtly activated the dormant instincts of his soul.
He couldn’t unleash destructive demonic energy, but he could focus his intent—nudging the embers of his Lust Demon nature straight toward her.
It was a gentle, almost invisible influence designed to amplify subconscious attraction, heightening her awareness of his physical presence.
Damon watched her closely.
Within moments, Claire’s demeanor shifted.
Her speech slowed.
Her gaze lingering on his lips when he spoke, her breathing becoming subtly shallower.
A faint flush crept up her neck, though she clearly attributed it to the warmth of the room.
She unbuttoned the top button of her cardigan, shifting uncomfortably in her chair as an unnatural pulse of heat flared quietly in her lower abdomen.
He caught every subtle cue.
It functions, he confirmed inwardly.
Even in a mortal body, my soul can project influence.
His demonic cultivation method was entirely viable in this world.
It was weak now, but with physical intimacy, the spark would ignite fully.
Claire sat closer to the bed, her initial distant pity morphing into a strange, compelling fascination.
She found herself inexplicably drawn to the pale, fragile young man sitting in front of her.
Yet, Damon remained entirely composed.
He studied her for another cold moment.
She was kind.
She was helpful.
She was attractive enough.
But was she worth one of his precious two slots?
Not a chance.
For now, she was useful for something else: his first test.
He needed to know exactly how much nourishment intimacy would give him in this weakened body.
Claire would give him that answer.
She was merely a stepping stone – an opportunity to initiate his first cycle of demonic nourishment, repair his weak vessel, and test his capabilities.
The IV bag was nearly empty, and the night was wearing thin.
Claire looked down at her watch, then back at Damon, hesitation flickering across her features.
“The clinic will let you stay until morning,” Claire said softly, though her voice lacked conviction.
She seemed completely reluctant to leave.
“I…
I should probably get going soon.”
Damon looked up at her.
The meekness in his expression dissolved, replaced by an intense, intoxicating vulnerability that locked directly onto her eyes.
He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low, hypnotic whisper that seemed to echo directly inside her mind.
“Please, lady…
it’s my only wish.”
She froze, blinking in confusion, her heart hammering against her ribs.
“What…
what are you talking about?”
He leaned closer, his dark eyes gleaming with a faint, dangerous light.
“Will you…
let me do it?”