Chapter 165 – Wrong Turn
Ding!
That familiar little cheery chi echoed like a smug ex announcing itself at a funeral.
Lux blinked.
The elevator doors slid open with angelic grace.
And instead of stepping into the Sovereign Grand’s marble hallway, he stepped into...
...a box?
A tiny, dimly lit chamber with paper-thin walls and a wooden chair that looked like it had never seen joy or lumbar support. There was a decorative lattice in front of him—talwork disguised as piety. A screen, sort of. And beyond it?
Another seat.
And a silhouette.
Another person sat behind the sh partition, obscured but present. A faint scent of incense clung to the air, mixed with old wood, distant wax, and... was that lavender?
Lux tilted his head. "Where the—"
Before the word ’hell’ could finish forming, a gentle, patient voice ca from the other side.
"What do you want to confess, my child?"
Lux froze.
Eyes flicked up.
Oh.
Oh no.
"Oh absolutely not."
He was in a confession booth.
In a mortal realm church.
The Upper Realm had just yeeted him—robe and all—into a space designed to cleanse sins through awkward conversations and repressed guilt.
"...Seriously?" he muttered to himself.
It had to be the robe.
Or Celestaria’s twisted sense of humor.
Maybe both.
He rubbed his face.
Of all the places to get dropped off after a divine eting, they chose this one? A box with a priest and a soul-audit window?
"What do you want to confess, my child?" the voice repeated.
The man sounded kind. Gentle. Elderly. Like he’d give you cookies after telling you eternal damnation was a hug away.
Lux sighed.
Fine.
Fine!
If this was how the night was going to end, then he might as well lean into it.
He shifted in the creaky wooden chair, draped his robe just right, and leaned toward the lattice with a tone so silky it might’ve required a license in so countries.
"Bless , Father," Lux said, voice low and solemn, "for I have sinned."
The other side was quiet. Receptive.
He continued.
"I once almost committed mass economic warfare..."
A pause.
"I’ve seduced over two dozen demons into tax compliance. Angels too. Got them to agree to my stupid clauses. Yeah, it was stupid. I thought the sa at the ti—but my departnt needed it. Business."
Longer pause.
"I hacked three separate espresso machines," he said, dead serious, "just so I could spy on my underlings. Make sure they weren’t slacking on quarterly quotas."
"...Excuse ?" the priest finally asked, his voice faltering under the sheer absurdity of it all.
Lux inhaled slowly, dramatically. As if even he was exhausted by himself.
"I once rerouted a divine tax ant for a temple," he added with a heavy sigh, "to fund an orphanage. With interest. Because the temple leader was annoying. Reeked of Greed. Which, I know, ironic. Considering it’s my specialty. But still—doesn’t an I enjoy slling it on other people."
The priest sputtered. "I—uh—what?"
"And Father," Lux whispered, eyes half-lidded like he was about to confess to sothing truly terrible, "I once made an angel cry."
Silence.
He let it linger.
"Because I rejected her offer for dinner. She wanted to drink Holy water. At a candlelit dinner table. With choir music in the background. That was ridiculous, right?"
The other side went dead silent.
Lux smiled.
Leaned forward, his mouth barely an inch from the partition.
"Would you call that... divine intervention?"
"...My child," the priest said slowly, clearly questioning both his role in this and the entire architecture of creation, "are you being serious right now?"
Lux’s voice dropped.
Low. Smooth. Velvet-wrapped sin.
"Do I sound like I’m joking, Father?"
There was a faint wheeze of uncertainty.
"I—I—this booth is not for entertainnt—"
Lux grinned wider.
"Who said I’m not entertained?"
The priest sputtered. His calm was unraveling like a discount robe during a flood.
"I don’t think this is appropriate," he said, almost pleading.
Then—Lux stopped smiling.
Just like that, all the theater dropped.
His voice changed.
Soft. Flat. Honest.
"I don’t need forgiveness," he said. "Not from you."
A long, strange beat.
The air inside the confession booth shifted. A little colder now. Or maybe it was just that the priest finally realized this wasn’t your average sinner on the other side of the screen.
Then ca the question.
The one Lux was waiting for.
"You... you don’t fear Hell?"
Lux let out a low, dark chuckle. Quiet. Weighted.
"Not really," he said. "Hell’s never scared ."
He paused.
"But I just don’t want to go there yet."
Silence.
Lux sat back, gazing lazily at the lattice between them like he could see through it—and maybe, just maybe, he could.
"You ever et soone who knows where they belong, but still doesn’t want to arrive too early?" he asked.
The priest hesitated. "I—suppose?"
"That’s ," Lux said simply. "I’ve seen what waits down there. I built so of it. Designed the inflation charts, tracked soul burn rates, created the economic inflation thresholds for Wrath-based purgatories. But that doesn’t an I want to clock in early."
"...You sound like a demon."
"Close," Lux said. "I’m the son of one. Lord of Greed. I manage Hell’s financial arteries. CFO of the damned."
A choked cough echoed through the lattice.
"And you’re... in a church?"
Lux shrugged.
"Elevator took a wrong turn."
"That’s—" the priest stamred, "that’s not possible."
Lux smiled. "You think that’s the weird part?"
Another beat.
Quiet. Unnervingly human silence.
Then...
"Why co here?" the priest asked. "If you don’t believe. If you don’t need absolution."
Lux didn’t answer right away.
He let the seconds breathe.
Then, finally.
"I just wanted to know what it felt like... to be seen by soone who doesn’t already know what I’ve done."
The priest didn’t speak.
Couldn’t, maybe.
And really, what could he say?
Here sat a man—a demon prince, apparently—wrapped in holiness, confessing not to cleanse his soul but just to feel sothing neutral.
To be looked at without agenda.
To feel normal, if only for five minutes.
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