Incubus Living In A World Of Superpower Users-Chapter 300: We’ve Got Two Problems

Meanwhile, far from the university, buried deep inside the main building of the Superpower Association, the kind of place where most people never got past the lobby without clearance, the lights inside one particular room stayed on long after sunset.

The wide windows on the upper conference floor offered a clear view of the skyline and the city’s layered haze, but none of it eased the tension in the room.

The lights outside were distant and blurred, like the world beyond had started to slip out of focus, leaving only the quiet hum of electricity and the weight of silence between those seated around the table.

At the far end, sitting in the kind of chair reserved only for someone with absolute control, Sera Valcrest’s older brother leaned forward with both elbows resting on the table.

His shirt sleeves were pushed up just enough to show the faint marks of stress along his forearms.

His jacket was tossed over the chair behind him. His tie hung loose around his neck like he’d meant to take it off but never got around to it.

There was a deep crease across his shoulder, the kind that said he hadn’t moved in hours.

He didn’t speak right away. He didn’t have to.

The room wasn’t packed, but it was full of weight—heads of departments, division leads, internal security analysts. People who didn’t get called unless something was already on fire.

A man seated just a few places down tried to speak, but his voice came out too dry. He cleared his throat, adjusted his collar, and tried again.

"The group embedded itself into a testing division. They posed as a research arm. Grant-funded. They used real credentials, real clearances. From the outside, it looked clean."

The director didn’t flinch. He just tapped the side of his tablet, slowly and with even rhythm. He already knew most of this, but he let them say it anyway.

"They were there for years," the analyst continued, glancing at the others around the table like he needed backup to keep talking.

"We didn’t notice. Not until the riot. Not until they moved."

"And we didn’t stop them," the director said, his voice low but steady. "Lilith Nocturne did. With her daughters."

That shut everyone up. Not from shame. Not from guilt. Just that sharp, heavy silence that comes when everyone knows there’s no point pretending otherwise.

He leaned back in his chair slowly, the kind of slow that didn’t mean he was relaxed. It meant he was cold. Focused.

Like a fuse that had already burned halfway down and was just waiting for a reason to light the rest.

"So let me make sure I understand this," he said, his voice still calm, but flatter now. "A cult, capable of triggering a beast riot, managing high-level smuggling, infiltrating our data branches, and council oversight—was buried inside our operations for eight years?"

No one answered right away.

A voice from the other end finally spoke. "Based on our trace reports, they started right after the northern migration.

They slipped in using special relocation clearances, the kind we waved through to avoid logistical bottlenecks."

"Which means we opened the door for them," the director said, not asking, just stating. "And when they finally stepped through, we were blind.

There were no alarms, no field feedback, and nothing from our ground teams. The only reason we’re not holding a memorial is that Lilith took care of it without telling us."

No one argued.

He turned the tablet and flicked through to the next set of images, casting them onto the screen behind him.

They were simple—static images, scanned records, overhead footage of wiped-out buildings and dismantled facilities.

Not war zones. More like surgical extractions. Nothing dramatic. Just precise and permanent.

He pointed to one image.

A sigil burned deep into the floor of what used to be a lab basement. The lines were thick, uneven, and old—older than most in the room probably realized.

It wasn’t modern. It wasn’t even last century.

"This isn’t just infiltration," he said. "This is legacy-class corruption. And we missed it because we’re still treating these people like they operate on modern systems."

A compliance director shifted in his chair. "Our filters don’t scan for legacy symbols. Those triggers were removed after the merger laws were rewritten during the reclassification acts."

"Then rewrite them again," the director said. "I don’t care how many layers you need to tear out. Fix it."

He kept moving through the data. A long list of names—some flagged, some already gone. Redacted communications. Approval trails. Shipping logs.

"They had handlers in our funding review committees. People in minor advisory boards. And when they started moving catalysts through legitimate channels, we didn’t stop it."

The logistics officer near the middle of the table raised a hand slightly. "We flagged one route.

But the alert came late. It had already been rerouted three times by then. The only reason we even caught it was the Nocturne interception."

"Exactly," the director said, his tone colder now. "They didn’t wait for approval. They didn’t ask for backup. They just handled it."

He tapped to another set of images—this time clearer. Lilith stood in what looked like a crumbled hallway.

Bodies lined the floor, already still. Her face was blank. She was not proud, not angry, just done.

Next, Seraphina, her heel resting on the face of a man barely conscious, eyes wide with that kind of fear that came from realizing nothing was going to save you.

Isabella, crouched beside a broken desk, a blood-streaked pen in her hand, jotting notes without a single break in focus.

Liliana, her lance still humming with the leftover heat of destruction, stood in front of what used to be a vault door, now melted half off its hinges.

"They weren’t reacting," he said. "They were executing. Like they’d already seen this coming." 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

Still, no one spoke.

He shut the display down.

The screen went dark. Only the overhead lights hummed now.

"We have two problems," he said.

He raised one finger. "First: confirmed internal compromise. Cult members. Cleared agents. Active access. No speculation. No maybe. We failed to screen them out."

A second finger.

"Second: outdated detection systems. They’re blind to legacy structures. Blind to low-energy masked signals. Blind to anyone with proper credentials using repurposed power bases."

A tech officer opened her mouth, paused, then said, "We’ve started development on AI-linked scanning systems, but there are still legal restrictions tied to internal privacy frameworks."

"Find a way through," the director said, not harsh, just direct.

"But—"

"Then take the time and fix it. If you need the permission, get it. If you need new authorization, push for it. If it means rewriting internal codes, then start writing."

He stood slowly, the chair sliding back without a sound, and crossed to the end of the room. His steps weren’t loud, but they pulled attention anyway.

"I don’t like relying on other forces. Especially not families that sit outside our reporting chains. But the fact is, Lilith Nocturne and her daughters saw this before we did.

They handled it before we even knew it existed. And the only reason we’re not in crisis mode is because they chose not to make noise."

Someone near the center table leaned forward. "We could bring them in formally. Give them a seat."

"No."

The answer was immediate.

"We don’t drag in the people who cleaned our mess and expect them to fix our structure. We fix the structure so they don’t have to get involved again."

He turned to the woman standing by the door.

"Full audit. Everyone with a clearance level of eight and below. Focus on hires from the post-migration years.

Pull secondary screenings. Run psychological background checks. Flag any odd behavior that slipped through during onboarding."

"Yes, Director."

She started to turn, and then she saw her Holo phone pinging. Seeing this, she stopped for a moment and checked.

And the more she looked, the more surprised she became, and he noticed this and frowned.

"What is it?"

She hesitated, then stepped forward with a small tablet in her hand. "This just came in. It seems that something or someone has entered the world, and they might be related to the cult."

Hearing this surprised him, but he did not show any expression as he took it without a word, glancing down at the screen.

His eyes moved quickly at first, then slowed.

Then stopped.

"Are you sure?"

"It came through direct line," she said. "No trace source. Five minutes ago."

He tilted the screen slightly.

The top of the message wasn’t typed using normal words; instead, it was written in a special code.

Etched into the message header itself.

And this code is something that not many people know of as this kind of situation is rare.

He then looked up.

"You’re sure this is real?"

"Yes."

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

Then quietly, without raising his voice, he said, "Clear the room."

"Sir?"

"Now. Everyone out."

Chairs moved. No one argued.

They left one by one, quiet and fast.

Only the assistant stayed.