The Incubus System Chapter 872. I'm Blowing Up The Kitchen
Morning arrived, and I greeted the day by cracking open my eyes. This morning felt distinct.
Last night's venture within Puriel's dream realm had been a revelation. I was introduced to a meditation technique.
My senses heightened. The magic began to reveal itself. It wasn't a torrent but a delicate flow, a rhythmic flow of energies that pulsed with the heartbeat.
"I'm shocked it works well as therapy," I murmured to myself as I settled onto my bed, stealing a quick glance at the digital clock that read 7:01 AM.
Closing my eyes, I replicated the technique she had imparted the night before. It wasn't an instantaneous success. It demanded a measure of patience before the subtle currents of magic began to stir around me.
The flow was delicate, barely perceptible at first. As I reached out with my senses, I discerned a faint undercurrent of demonic magic emanating from the next room from my pets and Foxy.
I reopened my eyes. Despite its faintness, I sensed a shift, a subtle alignment with the energies that coursed through the room. It wasn't flawless, but it was a commendable start.
"Not perfect, but good enough," I concluded.
"Maybe it will be useful to me someday," I pondered aloud.
I crawled out of bed, feeling a bit more human after a night of rest. The house seemed eerily quiet.
Heading downstairs, I decided to make my own breakfast. I navigated the kitchen, gathering the essentials.
The sizzle of eggs hitting the pan and the aromatic melody of sausage wafting through the air. There were minor char on the toast and the eggs slightly more scrambled than intended, but it was still okay.
I turned around and then I saw them. Celia, Foxy, and my pets stood at the foot of the staircase. They looked shock.
"Morning, everyone," I greeted, the pan I had been wielding still in hand. My gaze shifted between them.
"Brother, is that you?" Celia asked in disbelief. Her eyes narrowed in disbelief as if I had just materialized from thin air. It was a kitchen, not a paranormal encounter, but the look on her face suggested otherwise.
"Yeah, it's me."
Celia's skepticism persisted. "You are cooking?" she questioned.
In response, I injected a bit of humor, saying, "No, I'm blowing up the kitchen. Of course, I'm cooking," accompanied by a wry smile.
"But why?" Celia persisted, her frown deepening. "Today is not my birthday," she added, a hint of confusion lacing her words.
Rolling my eyes at her seemingly dramatic reaction, I replied, "Because I'm hungry and I woke up early." I returned my gaze to the pan and realize that the sausage was a bit burnt again.
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