Chapter 352 – InfernalNet is on Fire
Lux might have been driving through mortal traffic, pretending to enjoy the calm hum of the engine, but deep below in the infernal realm, calm was the last thing anyone could find.
InfernalNet was on fire.
Not the usual gossip, not the endless shitposts of imps throwing shade at their bosses, but fire—literal streams of molten chat that scrolled faster than even the system moderators could delete.
[InfernalNet/Forum/LiveFeed]
User: PitFiend99: Bro... y’all saw the stream right??
User: LustyImp: OUR CFO DID WHAT?????
User: SoulTrader77: He almost killed a Pride Lord...
User: CollectorDemon: I’m telling you, Greed is built different. That incubus drips ROI.
Clipped again and again was the mont. Lux, shirt torn, aura flaring, his power ripping through the Pride Lord’s barrier like it was wet parchnt. Vyrak screaming. Lux laughing like he was closing a deal, not fighting for his life. And then—Sira stepping in with that final, brutal blow.
So demons thought it was so viral stream. The higher level demons knew better.
And the royals?
They were already in session.
The Boardroom of the Nine Flas was cavernous, obsidian walls polished to mirror black, the table stretched long enough to fit a small army. The chairs weren’t chairs at all—they were thrones, each molded to the sin of the demon that occupied it.
Kaelmor, King of the Underworld, sat at the head. His throne pulsed with faint static, the sa grin on his face he always wore, sharp and twice as unsettling. Every ti he spoke, his words warped the air, like old jazz bleeding from a cursed gramophone.
"Gentlefiends," Kaelmor sang, voice lilting, too pleasant to be real, "our little vacationing treasurer has made himself quite the... spectacle."
Lucaris of Pride lounged in his chair, long legs crossed, wine glass filled with sothing red and suspiciously thick. His suit was impeccable, his hair slicked back, his smirk pure theater. If Lux was charm weaponized, Lucaris was arrogance distilled.
"Spectacle? Tch." Lucaris swirled his glass, the liquid catching fla for a second before settling. "He embarrassed my court. Vyrak may have been a reckless fool, but he was mine. That boy dared to raise his hand—"
"Correction," Kaelmor interrupted cheerfully, "he raised his hand, then your daughter raised hers, and poof!—your precious Vyrak popped like an overripe grape."
Lucaris’ smirk thinned. His eyes flashed, but he didn’t deny it. Sira had already presented the evidence. Vyrak wasn’t just reckless; he’d siphoned territory funds to inflate Lux’s bounty. A prideful little sche that backfired beautifully.
Across the table, Varakan of Wrath leaned forward, claws tapping against the armrest of his burning stone throne. He was massive, broad-shouldered, with a grin that promised pain just for fun. His voice rumbled like thunder rolling over a battlefield.
"Ha! That kid’s stubborn. I’ve beaten him into the dirt more than once, thought he’d snap. But no—he crawls back, bloodied, grinning, always making the deal. It’s... entertaining." Varakan’s grin widened. "And dangerous."
"Dangerous?" Lucaris scoffed, tipping back his glass. "Please. He’s reckless. A child playing CFO while his father hides in shadows. Unlike his father, he doesn’t even know when to stop." He sipped and huffed. "And he fucked my daughter!"
Kaelmor’s grin never faltered. His fingers steepled under his chin, eyes glowing like neon tubes. "Mmm, I disagree, Lucaris. If anything, he stops precisely where it profits most."
Varakan chuckled. "He’s responsible. More than Zavros ever was."
That did it. Lucaris slamd his glass down, the table trembling as molten cracks spread from the impact. "Don’t you dare compare him to Zavros."
"Oh?" Kaelmor tilted his head, eyes flicking. "Because he’s succeeding where Zavros failed?"
Before Lucaris could snarl back, the room went colder.
The doors at the far end groaned open, heavy and slow, like stone dragged across the abyss. Shadows spilled in first, thick and gold-tinged, the sll of coins and temptation curling through the air.
Zavros Vaelthorn, Lord of Greed, finally walked into the boardroom.
He hadn’t been seen here in two centuries. Not once.
And yet—here he was.
Tall. Beautiful in that sa impossible way Lux was, but older, heavier, the weight of centuries clinging to his sharp smile. Every step rang with the clink of invisible coins. Every blink felt like a transaction closing.
"Now, now," Zavros drawled, voice silken, mocking. "You’re talking about , aren’t you?"
The table froze.
Kaelmor’s grin only widened, crackling. "Ahhh, Zavros. Finally co up for air?"
Lucaris’ lip curled. "We were speaking of your son. Not you."
Zavros slid into the empty throne at the far end, legs crossed, fingers steepled, smirk lazy. "Oh, but my son is , Lucaris. Or haven’t you noticed?"
"Your son," Lucaris sneered, "has a bounty on his head worth more than half the lower realms."
At that, the air shifted.
Kaelmor flicked his fingers, and a projection shimred above the table. Numbers burned in infernal red.
[Bounty Report: Lux Vaelthorn]
Total: 88.8 Billion Soul Credits.
"Funny," Kaelmor said, tapping the number with one sharp nail. "It was higher last week. Eighty-eight point nine. Then poor Vyrak died, and down it went."
Varakan’s laughter shook the room. "So Vyrak inflated it, huh? Typical Pride. Spend everyone else’s money to stroke their own."
Lucaris’ eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. He didn’t need to—Sira’s proof already damned Vyrak.
Kaelmor’s voice slipped smooth as oil. "Imagine it, Zavros. Your boy, sitting on a bounty higher than most Lords. Eighty-eight point eight billion. Demons stream his battles, hellhounds chant his na, and the royals—" his grin sharpened—"debate if he’s a liability or an opportunity."
Zavros chuckled low, the sound like coins clattering onto a table. "And what do you think, Kaelmor?"
The King of the Underworld leaned back. "I think... he’s interesting. And in Hell, interesting is worth more than safe."
Varakan grinned like he was ready for another fight. "I think he’s fun. I’d like to break him again. See if he crawls back stronger."
Lucaris scoffed, swirling his refilled glass. "I think he’s an accident waiting to happen. And when he burns, he’ll drag all of us with him."
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