Incubus Living In A World Of Superpower Users-Chapter 264: Illusion Recognition And Disruption

The morning began the same way the last one had ended—quiet, smooth, and unsettling in how efficient it all felt.

No buzzing alarms, no forced wake-ups, just a subtle pulse through their wristbands exactly thirty minutes before the first trace of sunlight began warming the edges of the glass towers outside.

Ethan stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of his training jacket with slow fingers.

His reflection looked a little different today—not in the obvious ways, but in the small details.

His eyes were clearer, and the tightness in his shoulders slightly eased. Something in the way this place moved—its pace, its structure—was starting to sync with him.

He could feel the rhythm pulling him in, like gears that had been turning for years and were now shifting just enough to make room for him.

The twins were already waiting in the corridor.

Everly had tied her hair up into a loose knot, not for looks but function. Evelyn hadn’t changed a thing.

Her eyes were still calm, and her posture was as straight as ever. The three of them fell into step without speaking as they crossed a broad corridor bridge connecting the residential sectors with the auxiliary training halls.

The air smelled faintly of stone, mist, and the mineral-rich wind drifting up from the reservoir below.

Somewhere far beneath them, waterfalls fed into the outer channels, giving the place a strange illusion of peace, like standing in the eye of a storm that had yet to land.

Their first class of the day was listed: Forbidden Zone Navigation.

But the moment they stepped into the facility, it was clear this wasn’t going to be a typical classroom.

The space wasn’t a room in the conventional sense—it was a massive black cube with thirty-meter walls and minimal lighting.

The only brightness came from faint blue lines that traced patterns along the ground and ceiling, pulsing in quiet intervals like a slow heartbeat.

The air was cool, tinged with the faint metallic scent of old coolant and worn-out wiring.

A man leaned slightly on what looked like a cane, but wasn’t. It was a scanner rod, reinforced with fiber-tech cables that ran through its length and hummed softly with each motion.

His legs were prosthetic—not sleek or pretty, but functional and silent, built for impact and terrain, not for looks. They made no sound as he walked.

"I’m Warden Ilair," he said, without ceremony or delay. "You can call me Warden. Not Mister. Not Instructor. Just Warden."

He turned slightly, and for the first time, they noticed the burn scars trailing from the side of his neck down into his collar. He didn’t seem to care who saw them.

"I used to run Zones before they had proper names. Back then, there were no maps, no simulations, and definitely no second chances.

You went in, and if you came out with all your pieces still attached, they gave you a badge and told you to do it again."

His tone wasn’t harsh. It was matter-of-fact, stripped of emotion like a man who had seen too much and didn’t need to prove anything anymore.

At his gesture, a large hexagonal platform rose slowly from the ground’s center. It stopped at knee height, humming quietly.

"You’ll be entering a compressed simulation. Real data scans from deep-zones. No weapons. No enhancements.

Your senses will be filtered. No power boosts. No overlays. Just your instincts and timing."

Everly tilted her head. "So we’re basically going in blind?"

"No," he replied calmly. "You’ll see everything. You just won’t know what’s real."

They watched the first group step forward. When it was their turn, Ethan and the twins moved together onto the platform.

Thin visors dropped from above and clicked into place, sliding over their eyes without force.

Then everything dropped.

It wasn’t darkness. It was displacement.

Gravity twisted—not hard, just enough to make the air feel tilted. The left side of the room felt heavier than the right.

Up wasn’t quite up. The entire simulation pulsed softly beneath their feet, the floor shifting at strange rhythms as the illusion adjusted.

Ethan planted his feet and adjusted quickly. Everly dropped into a crouch, testing the pull of the environment like a dancer feeling out the tempo.

Evelyn moved forward immediately, as though none of it surprised her—her pace timed perfectly to avoid the rhythm’s traps.

The maze unfolded.

There were no walls, no straight corridors. Just shifting pulses of terrain, broken platforms, twisted gravity wells, and odd visual distortions that made walking feel like floating through syrup.

When a path ahead flashed red, Ethan didn’t rush. He waited. When a platform shimmered beneath Everly’s feet, she lunged forward—on instinct—and landed on a surface that didn’t even exist until her foot touched it.

The simulation adjusted in real time, confirming her decision.

Seven minutes later, they emerged.

Warden Ilair was waiting with the same expression as before. He glanced at a panel, paused, then spoke without emotion.

"Fastest time of the day."

No praise. No encouragement. Just the truth.

They left in silence.

The next class: Illusion Recognition and Disruption.

This room was the opposite—structured, beautiful in its own way. Stone walls lined with arching pillars, soft golden light cascading down from intricate ceiling fixtures.

The air here was warmer. Still.

At the front stood a woman dressed in pale, near-translucent robes stitched with thread that shimmered like shattered mirrors.

Her hair was long and silver-gray, and her eyes—soft brown—carried a weight that didn’t match her gentle tone.

"I’m Marla Yin," she said. "I’m not here to impress you. And I won’t tell you what I did to get here. It wouldn’t help you."

She raised a hand, and the room shifted immediately.

Five overlapping illusions appeared in layered transparency—mirror tricks, scent warps, compressed distance, auditory loops, and something else... something hidden.

Most students caught three, maybe four. Ethan stood still, quiet, methodical. One by one, he identified them—first the mirrored floor, then the repeating scent trail, then the flickering backdrop.

But the fifth illusion? He couldn’t find it.

Time ran out.

Marla looked directly at him. "There was no fifth. That’s the trick."

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