Chapter 274 – Don’t Follow Soone with Better Insurance
Lux got dressed in silence.
The changing room slled like overpriced cologne, disinfectant, and broken fantasies. The air-conditioning was too cold, the mirror lighting too flattering, and his trunks still damp with the collective disappointnt of poolside MILFs.
He pulled on his shirt, buttoned it clean. Belt. Trousers. Watch. His hair? Still damp, but he liked the disheveled look. Gave him that "I just made your rent in five minutes" kind of charm.
Then the notification ca.
A soft chi in his mind. The kind of tone only Infernal-grade ssaging systems used. Priority flag, red seal, embedded encryption sigils.
From: Office of Infernal Threat Prevention & Surveillance (ITPS)
security.alerts @hellsec.ixn
To: lux.vaelthorn @vaultnexus.infernal
Subject: Stream Incident – Strategic Threat Evaluation
Mr. Vaelthorn,
As per our surveillance logs, the incident involving High Lord Vyrak has now circulated across 14 InfernalNet sectors and has surpassed 1.2 billion views as of this writing. While Princess Sira of Pride delivered the final blow, your involvent in subduing Lord Vyrak has placed you in a position of considerable... visibility.
Given your status—Hell CFO, dual-bloodline heir, and currently "on vacation"—this public display of power may be interpreted by several High Houses as a declaration of force.
We recomnd tactical restraint and are prepared to allocate you a contingent of Hellguard escorts under Discreet Protocol Alpha-3. Decline at your own risk.
Regards,
Officer Malris Korr
Deputy Director, Threat Analysis
Infernal Threat Prevention & Surveillance (ITPS)
"Before they move, we already know."
Lux exhaled, slowly.
Yeah. Of course it went viral.
The mont Vyrak’s pride-crusted teeth hit the ground like discount diamonds, Lux had known this would ripple. The domino effect was expected—but still annoying.
He slipped out of the building, walked toward his motorcycle—sleek, matte-black, rune-etched and smug as hell—and swung a leg over.
Helt? He didn’t need it. Hellborn skin had better resistance than most mortal alloy. But he wore it anyway. Because safety wasn’t just policy—it was branding.
And yet...
As the engine purred awake, deep and low like a demonic purr of approval, Lux’s usual incubus playfulness didn’t return.
No more flirty grins or smug finger-guns at passing won. No casual sway of the hips or smolder for attention.
He was back in CFO mode now.
Because whether they liked it or not, the lords had just witnessed Greed punch Pride in the mouth and win. And that? That was dangerous.
See, Greed wasn’t supposed to be loud. Greed was ant to whisper in boardrooms. Sign backroom deals. Twist contracts. Not wreck one of Pride’s elites in front of billions of witnesses and then stroll away half-naked.
That blurred the lines.
That said Greed wasn’t just wealth anymore.
It was power.
And that changed everything.
"Damn it," Lux muttered as he accelerated onto the street.
The city blurred around him—glass towers reflecting the sunlight, traffic lights blinking like eyes, and the faint scent of roasted chestnuts and gasoline in the wind. He should’ve gone ho. Back to the mansion. Maybe coffee. Or call Naomi and hear her tell him he was an idiot with her lovely, logical voice.
But then—
That tickle in his senses.
That sliver of wrongness.
He flicked his eyes to the rear mirror.
There.
Two bikes. Nondescript. Too clean. Not tourists. Not locals. And definitely not just random drivers.
They were following him.
Not close enough to trigger alarm. But close enough that it wasn’t a coincidence.
"System," he said under his breath, subvocalizing the command. "Analyze."
[Analyzing aura signature...]
[Status: Mortal. Non-magic. No demonic trace. Tracking behavior: Confird]
[Potential Threat Level: Low]
"...Mortals?" he said aloud, incredulous.
He huffed. "Thought I was gonna get hunted by so hellspawn. Not two amateur interns on bikes."
He almost laughed.
But didn’t.
Because even mortals could be annoying if they got in the way.
He turned sharply, cutting down a side street, fast enough to make one of the shadows behind him flinch and overcorrect. Sloppy. Definitely not trained.
They were following him.
Mistake.
He throttled the bike forward, tearing through an alley, passing neon-lit noodle stalls and a couple of startled cats. He wasn’t going to lead them to the mansion. Not even to the nearest safehouse.
No. These kids wanted a tail? He’d give them a lesson.
He took another turn—a harder one this ti, almost skidding—and led them to an old, closed-down warehouse by the edge of the riverbank. Still cityside, but quiet enough that no one would hear if soone scread.
His tires screeched as he leaned hard, a perfect arc slicing past the rusted tal gates and broken fenceposts. The roar of his engine echoed in the abandoned alley like a beast challenging prey. Behind him, two pairs of headlights veered wide, trying to keep up.
Amateurs.
Lux didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow down. The wind whipped his shirt open slightly, his tie flapping loose as the city lights flashed against his helt’s tinted visor.
The first mortal—twitchy, overconfident, male—gunned the throttle and closed the gap. His partner tried to match speed but wobbled slightly at the corner, barely missing a stray dumpster. Lux glanced back once, just enough to confirm what he already suspected.
Not professionals. Not trained.
But desperate.
Perfect.
He darted through a narrow service lane that hugged the warehouse wall, black tires cutting deep shadows against the rain-slick asphalt. The air here stank of old oil, rust, and distant saltwater from the river. It made the chase feel grittier, more cinematic.
Lux weaved around a pile of stacked pallets, barely brushing one. The guy behind him? Not so lucky. A loud crash echoed behind as the first follower clipped the wood pile, sending planks flying into the girl’s path. She cursed, swerved hard—
And almost lost it right there.
Lux grinned behind his visor. "Lesson one," he muttered. "Don’t follow soone with better insurance."
He kicked the gear higher and surged ahead, bursting out from the alley into a larger street. Neon signs flickered overhead—old burger stalls, shuttered convenience stores, a glowing bar sign that read "Open till Regret". He zipped past them all, never breaking stride.
The mortals recovered, clearly rattled but still committed.
He admired the tenacity. Just not the intelligence.
As they turned the next intersection, Lux waited until the last second, then darted into a parking lot and did sothing criminally illegal—a reverse drift. The back tire scread as it fishtailed, spinning him a full 180 before launching him out onto the adjacent street going the opposite direction.
The girl scread behind him. The guy shouted sothing foul and turned hard to follow, but the math didn’t check out.
The angle. The speed. The weight of two poorly balanced bikes.
It was inevitable.
Lux heard it before he saw it.
-CRACK—!
The two collided. Not full impact, but enough that handlebars tangled, tires skidded, and both bikes toppled into a ss of limbs and bad decisions. The guy hit the ground rolling, groaning in agony. The girl slamd into a low concrete divider and let out a pained shout.
Lux slowed.
Just a bit.
He didn’t stop.
He coasted past the wreckage like a man passing traffic cones.
"Lesson two," he said aloud, voice lazy and amused. "Montum without mastery is just gravity’s foreplay."
He twisted the throttle again, and his bike surged like a serpent uncoiling into the night. The wide boulevard ahead opened like a runway, the city sprawling around him with its lights, its chaos, its illusions of safety.
Back to the mansion.
The wind shifted.
The scent of exhaust, distant grilled skewers, and the faintest trace of jasmine—soone was burning incense at the roadside shrine again. The world rushed past in streaks of gold and crimson, reflections dancing off shopfronts and puddles.
Lux didn’t look back.
Because the lesson was over.
And class?
Dismissed.
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