Chapter 369 – Blood and Numbers
Lux was on the sofa, one arm draped lazily across the backrest, the other balanced with a tumbler of whiskey he hadn’t touched. The air slled of smoke and old parchnt—expensive, curated, oppressive. In front of him hovered a dozen hologram screens, faintly glowing with infernal runes and financial charts that shifted like living snakes across the glass.
When Lux did nothing, this was what he did. Work. Or at least, check the reports. Crunch the numbers. Stare at charts that could predict the rise and fall of entire realms. It kept his head busy, if not his hands or his body.
Especially today.
After his father’s little stunt.
That sorry speech Zavros had left for him—splattered across his windshield like an unwanted ad—still replayed in the back of his mind.
Did he look genuine? Maybe.
Did Lux believe him? No. Not in this lifeti, or the next.
So he worked.
The reports flickered one by one. Revenues climbing since the "incident" on stream, when the InfernalNet broadcast caught him at his first fight with a Lord—and sohow, his most profitable. His na was ntioned across forums, whispered in chatrooms, dissected in guild boards. Demons, mortals, even half-bloods were throwing his face around like a stock ticker.
The System flared.
[Report incoming: Departnt of Infernal Finance. Current ntion index of "Lux Vaelthorn" has increased 412% in the past seventy-two hours. The stock tied to the Greed sector surged 19% after the streaming incident. Estimated revenue projections: stable growth.]
Lux humd, nodding in satisfaction.
[Additional: Council comms intercepted.]
One window expanded, clean crimson script spilling across the hologram like stolen notes. Short excerpts, clipped fragnts of ssages exchanged between lords—private lines, not ant for his eyes.
[Lord Malrik: "Too dangerous. Greed’s prince is acting like a general, not an accountant."]
[Tharos: "Noise isn’t legacy. Let’s see if he lasts the quarter."]
[High Warlord Khar: "If he can balance blood and numbers, maybe he deserves the throne more than the rest of them."]
[Territorial records, sender redacted: "If he keeps this up, he’ll end either assassinated or crowned."]
Lux tilted his head, lips curling. "Assassinated or crowned. Cute options."
He set the whiskey down and leaned back, letting the glow of the reports paint his face in pale gold.
In the infernal realm, hierarchy wasn’t just tradition—it was law, stitched into bloodlines, contracts, and the very mana that shaped their world.
At the top sat the King. Unquestioned. Singular. The one throne every demon feared, obeyed, or plotted against. Kaelmor.
Beneath him, the Sin High Lords held court—beings like Varakan of Wrath, Lucaris of Pride, and Zavros of Greed. Embodints of their sins. Sovereign forces in their own right. They did not kneel to anyone but the King, and even that was a formality most days. Their words could start wars, freeze ti, or bankrupt entire bloodlines. Rarely seen, rarely challenged. They ruled realms, not cities. Concepts, not borders.
Then ca the Territorial High Lords—Warlords, War Generals, and dominion governors like Lord Vyrak. They controlled continents or territories within the Infernal realm, held armies of millions, and answered only to the Sins they served. Their strength was not in philosophy but in raw brutality. Their nas were stamped on contracts, carved into fortresses, whispered in fear across fire-scarred lands.
Below them were the Lords. Guild lords, tribal chieftains, domain-bound nobles with limited territory or specific influence—often regional, often inherited. So ruled wealth. Others ruled chaos. All ruled soone.
And finally, the common masses. Demons with no formal title, no land, no army, no legacy. Just power levels and ambition. So climbed. Most bled.
But not all demons fit neatly in the chain.
Royal demons like Sira and Lux, the children of the upper echelon, lived in a strange twilight between legacy and irrelevance. Their titles were honorary, borrowed from their parents.
Unless the parent died or abdicated, the child had no real claim—just expectations. Which was why many royal demons, despite the grandeur of their bloodline, lived indulgent, aningless lives. They trained, traveled, studied, seduced—learning the craft of power without ever having to wield it. A long demonic lifespan ant most of them didn’t care to prepare. Not seriously. Not yet.
Lux Vaelthorn was the exception.
Born royal, but not yet crowned.
His father, the Lord of Greed, still ruled. And Lux—rather than waiting in velvet silence like his peers—took the burden. He beca the CFO of Hell. Not by right. Not by inheritance. But by force of intellect and necessity. He held the underworld’s economy in his fist, juggled infernal interest rates, enforced demon contracts, and crushed lesser treasuries with a glance.
But because his father still breathed, his role was unofficial. Negotiations beca a nightmare. Enemies could always say, "You’re just the prince."
He wasn’t even recognized as a Sin Lord. By class, he couldn’t reach that threshold. Not yet.
In the Infernal classification system, demons were graded: Low, Mid, High, Rare, Epic, and Royal.
A Royal held bloodline prestige—but in terms of power, an Epic demon could match or even exceed them. So Epic-class demons were chosen as Sin Lords, their might acknowledged by the King himself.
Lux? Lux held two domains—Greed and Lust. That alone should have made him a threat. But his skills were built for dominion over markets, not the battlefield. His damage was economic. His weapons: numbers, loopholes, obligations. He could destroy you without ever drawing blood. And that was his flaw. Not in strength—but in perception. He was feared in boardrooms, not in open war.
That didn’t an he was weak. Just... underestimated.
As for demon types? There were countless variants—flakin, bone-walkers, whisperers, glutton fiends—but none were as universally hated as the swarm types.
Swarm demons were a plague given form.
Usually Low or Mid class. Individually weak. Insultingly so.
But they multiplied. Rapidly. Spawned copies, fragnts, lesser kin. The worst offenders? Rat demons. Filthy, fast, and clever. One was a nuisance. But a dozen? A nightmare. A hundred? A massacre. Their strength wasn’t in power—but in numbers, corrosion, and overwhelm. Entire territories had fallen to swarm infestations. Even Lords had died surrounded by gnashing teeth and twitching tails, buried beneath an avalanche of vermin.
That was the thing about demons.
Power didn’t always wear a crown.
Sotis, it chewed your bones in the dark.
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