Chapter 155 – I’m Not Your Apocalypse
The impact drove Lux back a half step, his boots carving crescent skids across the asphalt. Sparks blood where their weapons clashed. His wrist throbbed.
Then wind...
The woman appeared out of the veil like a whisper. She was mid-spin already, her foot arcing in a crescent of pale fla. Lux twisted just enough. His other blade sliced through the air, catching her ankle in a parry that felt like catching a cot.
Another sound. A whoosh and a crackle. Her magic sparked in the air—heatless, white, and wrong.
The force of it staggered him back again. His shoulder slamd into a lamp post, bending the steel with a tallic groan. Corvus let out a sharp caw from above.
’You’re getting sloppy, boss.’
Lux bared his teeth.
"System," he growled.
[Yes? May I suggest dodging more creatively?]
"Analyze. Full detail. I want race, affinity, skills, and faction records. Now."
[Of course. Because asking politely was too exhausting.]
The sarcasm was dry enough to flake his soul.
Still, the scan ran.
Lux surged forward. The system humd in his skull like a predator’s purr.
He clenched both daggers and activated his Agility skill.
The world snapped.
Colors bled into speed. Sound bent. His next breath ca in fragnts as demonic power flooded every joint, every tendon, every flick of movent. His body blurred—no longer dancing but erasing distance.
The man didn’t see the strike coming.
Lux twisted mid-air, blade flashing upward in a diagonal arc. It forced him to step back—or risk losing half his face.
The woman reacted instantly—her hand already glowing, summoning an arc of fragnted fla—but Lux ducked low and swept his heel beneath her, dragging her weight off balance. She flipped instead, graceful, inhuman.
"Cute," Lux muttered. "But you’re not the first church-bred banshee I’ve fought."
[Scan complete.]
[Target 1: Na Unknown]
[Class Designation – Highlord Demon (Variant).]
[Level: 234.]
[Affinity: Chaos / Hunger Manipulation]
[Bloodline: Partially Obscured. Likely Descendant of the Ninth Pillar.]
[Status: Body composed of 70% shadow shell.]
[Target 2: Na Unknown]
[Class Designation – Highlord Demon (Variant).]
[Level: 231.]
[Affinity: Chaos / Ritual Fla]
[Bloodline: Obscured. Holy-Demonic trait detected.]
[Status: Shadow shell in use. Real body projected in real-ti.]
[Faction Affiliation: The Marginal Accord.]
[Status: Non-aligned. Off-grid. Political influence minimal. Risk rating... severe.]
Lux blinked.
The Marginal Accord?
Corvus read it too, his voice low.
’That’s not a real faction. It’s a theory. A myth. The rumor about outcasts who broke ties with Hell and Heaven both.’
Lux steadied his stance, eyes locked onto the two.
"I have no problem with your faction," he said slowly. "So why test ?"
The man tilted his head again. His voice had that sa eerie, dragged-across-coal depth.
"We didn’t co for violence. Just information."
"You call this information gathering?"
"It’s effective."
The woman’s eyes glinted with sothing unreadable. Curiosity? Malice? It was hard to tell when she looked like she’d been painted in bone and fire.
"Your system’s very accurate," she said.
’They know I have a system?’ Lux thought. But despite his surprise, he didn’t show it.
He spun his dagger once in hand. "It’s also very stabby."
"No need," she said smoothly. "We just wanted to know if the rumors were true."
"What rumors?" Lux asked, voice colder now.
The man stepped forward again, eyes never leaving Lux’s.
"That sothing is changing. That one of Greed’s bloodline... is shifting the axis."
Lux’s eyes narrowed again. "So you ca to what? Take notes? Sniff my aura and guess my net worth?"
"No," the woman said softly. "We ca to see if you were awake yet."
That stopped him for half a beat.
The wind rustled behind him, unnatural again. Like it passed through too many tilines before arriving here. The neon lights of the city were flickering—subtle, rhythmic. Like sothing was breathing beneath the concrete.
Lux slowly retracted his daggers. He didn’t dismiss them—just lowered them.
"I’m not your prophecy," he said. "I’m not your apocalypse."
"Maybe not," the man agreed. "But you’re close enough to cause one."
Corvus muttered from above. ’They’re poking the cage. Seeing how loud you can roar.’
Lux chuckled darkly.
He took one step forward.
His suit flared. Glitching slightly.
Then ignited.
Not with fla. With transformation.
[You have activated your Battle Form.]
Black tendrils coiled up from his boots. His tie unraveled and morphed. Mana wrapped his limbs in burning chains of shadow-threaded tal. His designer blazer snapped outward, then fused into armored plating that clung like a second skin.
Infernal armor. Regal. Demonic. Vicious.
Two horns curled upward from his head—smooth, obsidian, pulsing faintly.
His wings tore into existence next—jagged, leather-dark, edges shimring with molten gold.
He opened his eyes again.
And smiled.
"Now," he said, voice deeper, lined with layered harmonics, "I’m clock in."
The woman didn’t flinch.
But the man’s jaw tensed just slightly.
"You don’t get to shadow-stalk in my city," Lux said, stepping closer. "You don’t send carcasses to snipe from the dark. You show up, or you stay forgotten."
The man exhaled. Not in fear—but maybe... in respect.
The woman murmured, almost fondly. "We’ll see about that."
Lux’s grin sharpened.
"That’s what they all say," he said. "Right before I bankrupt their kingdoms."
Then— In a blink, he moved.
Agility spiked. Ti bent.
His dagger t the woman’s throat—not cutting, just resting there. A heartbeat’s pressure.
The man turned, barely managing to block Amare inches from his ribs.
Lux stood between them. Wings spread. Armor glowing with red veins. Breath even.
"I’m done playing ambassador," Lux said flatly. "Get out of my city. Or stay and explain what the hell your little Accord is planning."
The woman’s smile returned.
This ti, it didn’t reach her eyes.
No quip. No smug reply. Just the kind of look soone gives a puzzle right before breaking it in half.
Lux shifted his weight, the asphalt beneath his boots hissing as residual heat from his armor sizzled against the cooling street. The city air had gone dense again—electric, charged. Like a second thunderstorm was building, only this ti the clouds were dressed in formalwear and bringing daggers.
And just like that, they moved.
No signal. No prep.
Just violence.
The man ca first.
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