Incubus Living In A World Of Superpower Users Chapter 157: “Go Grab Her,” He Said. “Bring Her Over."

anwhile, back at the party hosted by the underground bosses...

"So I thought I’d pay a visit... and join the fun."

The room froze.

Not in a dramatic, slow-motion kind of way—more like a real-world glitch. Awkward. Jarring. Confused.

That exact kind of stillness you get when you walk into a room and everyone was clearly just talking about you. They weren’t subtle. And now they were caught.

Only this ti, it wasn’t a classroom.

It was a room full of underground bosses.

And they’d just been caught mid-conspiracy.

The silence lasted only a few seconds, but every second felt like it dragged the air down with it.

All eyes were locked on her.

Isabella stood in the doorway, completely unfazed. One hand rested on the fra. Her posture was relaxed, almost lazy. Nothing forced. Nothing defensive.

She didn’t look like she was pretending to be confident.

She looked like soone who already belonged.

And in a room like this—full of secrets, silent guards, and violent n—that was what made her terrifying.

"What the hell is this?" muttered the man in the vest, choking slightly on his wine.

The bald man blinked rapidly, like he didn’t trust his own vision. "Wait... is that—"

"Yeah," the younger man beside him said under his breath. "That’s her."

The room shifted subtly.

Chairs creaked. Eyes darted to one another. No one wanted to be the first to react, but everyone felt it.

The tension started to thicken.

Then, from the far corner, an older man slamd his palm on the table and stood up sharply. "Who the hell let her in?!"

No one answered.

There was no one to answer.

The guards were gone.

The hallway behind her was silent. Too silent.

No stationed lookouts. No footsteps. No distant voices over the radio. No alerts. No checks. No sign of any resistance.

Everything they usually relied on... was gone.

And yet Isabella Nocturne stood there. Alone.

Right in the heart of their most private eting.

Like it was the next casual stop on her evening stroll.

She didn’t look like she’d fought her way in. She didn’t look like she’d snuck in, either.

If anything... she looked like she’d walked.

Just walked.

And that made the silence scream louder.

The click of her heels broke it.

Each step echoed softly against the polished floor, cutting clean through the rising tension like a blade slipping through silk.

She walked in slowly. Unhurried. No fear. No hesitation.

She didn’t flinch at the stares aid her way. In fact, there was the faintest curve to her lips.

Her violet hair fell in perfect waves down her back—too perfect, too untouched to belong to soone who’d just walked through an invisible battlefield.

The lighting caught the shimr in her athyst eyes. That soft, steady glow danced off the walls like candlelight.

She didn’t bother hiding it.

She never did.

It was a quiet dare.

Go on. Try sothing.

Her skin was porcelain smooth. Pale. Unblemished. Like sothing sculpted, not born.

And her dress—black, sleek, with faint traces of deep crimson—fit her body like it had been drawn onto her skin.

A high slit teased along one thigh. Silver trim lined the edges, glinting like hidden blades.

Over her shoulders, a cropped leather jacket hung loose and open. It didn’t cover much. That wasn’t its job.

She hadn’t co here for protection.

She had co to observe.

And now, every man in the room could feel it.

That slow, creeping discomfort in the gut—the kind that told you sothing had already gone wrong, long before you noticed.

The cigar man leaned back slightly. His eyes narrowed. Fingers twitched once... then stopped.

"Check the hallway," soone muttered from the end of the table.

But no one moved.

There were no guards left to check it.

No one ca in.

No alerts buzzed. No footsteps echoed. No signals returned.

Whatever systems they trusted had already failed.

She had walked through it all.

As if nothing had ever been there.

And now she stood in the middle of their world like she was marking it for demolition.

The slick-haired man, trying too hard to stay casual, cleared his throat. "This is so entrance. You gonna give us a speech, or just stare us down all night?"

Isabella didn’t reply.

She simply took another step.

Soft.

Final.

The room was so quiet now that you could hear soone shift in their seat across the room.

She wasn’t rushing.

She wasn’t stalling.

She was simply... existing.

And that was enough to make them nervous.

"You’ve got guts, showing up like this," said the man in the vest. He stood, brushing imaginary lint from his shoulder. "But guts only take you so far."

A few tried to laugh—tight, nervous chuckles that didn’t land.

"Co on," said the bald man. "She walked in alone. That’s it. This doesn’t an anything."

"Yeah," said soone else. "No army behind her. No tricks. Just a girl who overplayed her hand."

"She finally slipped," another muttered. "Everyone stumbles eventually."

They were talking fast now, rushing their words, trying to bury the fear in noise.

Trying to shrink her back down into sothing manageable.

But no one leaned back with ease.

No one sipped their drinks.

And no one could explain why their ssages weren’t going through.

Why had the servers stopped moving?

Why everything felt like it had already shifted—and not in their favor.

At the far end of the table, a woman in a crimson dress sat still. She hadn’t spoken once. Her gaze never left Isabella.

She wasn’t confused.

She wasn’t afraid.

Just... curious.

Isabella didn’t look at her yet.

She was still scanning the room. One face at a ti.

As if committing each expression to mory.

Then finally, the scarred man had enough.

He turned toward one of the few remaining servers—one who is the closest to her and has the best chance to reach her in seconds.

The man still held a tray of glasses, face blank, body frozen like a statue.

The scarred man waved lazily.

"Go grab her," he said. "Bring her over."