Chapter 420 – Apocalypse in Lipstick
Sira calmly brushed hair from her lips. "Do you know who the f*ck is interrupting my orgasm?"
Lux blinked once. "System?"
[Hostile remains unidentified. But mana signature matches demonic warlord class. Possibly multiple sources.]
He sighed.
"Alright," Lux muttered. "It might be a couple of warlords who requested budget expansions this morning."
Sira stretched. "How many did you reject?"
"All of them. And I sent my wraiths and auditors to them."
She tsked. "That’ll do it."
"Yup. It sounds like tax fraud."
[Confirming: There are currently 3 high-threat entities inside the do. Warlord-tier combatants. You should consider... not dying.]
Sira cracked her neck, her tongue trailing the edge of a fang. "Permission to kill?"
"Granted."
Another attack scread toward them—no warning, no flair, just impact. A lance of pure infernal magic, jagged and foaming with hatred, tore through the do like a teor. The air howled. The mana around it cracked like dry bones.
Lux didn’t hesitate.
He reached across the console and grabbed Sira’s wrist.
’Teleportation.’
A split-second burst of black-gold light swallowed them whole—just as the lance hit the car.
BOOM—
The explosion ruptured everything. Shards of luxury tal ripped through the air like confetti made of disappointnt. The engine ignited. Flas spiraled into the sky. Mortals beyond the do would only see a flicker—like the sun blinked. But inside? Hell raged.
And then—
Lux appeared in midair.
Not walking.
Not flying.
Just there.
The mont he arrived, the transformation slamd through him.
No theatrics. No chants. Just reality rewriting itself like soone flipped the switch from "boardroom" to "battlefield."
His tailored jacket incinerated itself midair, the last symbol of mortal fashion curling into ash. Skin lted to reveal obsidian-scale armor—dark, predatory, and stitched with shimring greed-glyphs that pulsed in sync with his heartbeat.
Horns curled from his head, elegant and jagged like a king’s personal war declaration. Wings burst from his back, black as debt, tattered at the ends like pages ripped from an old contract. His tail lashed behind him, leaving streaks of gold-glow through the sky.
In his hands—blades.
One curved like a scythe sharpened on broken promises.
The other straight as a contract clause.
Both humd with old power.
Sira was already airborne beside him.
And she looked like the apocalypse in lipstick.
Gone was the flirty minidress. Her claws glinted, each one laced with pleasure and poison. Red eyes glowed with heat. Her smirk could ruin marriages.
Wind whipped around them. Ash and smoke curled beneath.
They hovered together above the wreckage.
Below them, the ruined car hissed—half-lted, all burned. A twisted hunk of chro and regret.
Lux looked down at it. The ghost of a twitch ford in his eye.
"I just bought that," he muttered darkly. "Just once. Once. Let have sothing normal. No runes. No soul-bound enchantnts. Just leather seats, cup holders, and Bluetooth."
Sira flicked her hair over her shoulder. "Mortal things are too fragile," she said with a sigh. "You need a car that bites."
"I wanted leather seats and a decent sound system," Lux muttered, fury sharpening his voice.
Below, the ground cracked again.
Three figures erged through the smoke. Large. Broad. Each radiating enough demonic pressure to warp air.
They weren’t hiding.
This was open provocation. A ssage.
Warlords.
Lux floated higher, irises narrowing as the smoke parted and the mana signatures solidified. Sira hovered beside him, licking her claw like she was getting ready to scratch nas off a hit list.
[Hostile Entities Identified.]
[Na: Karzon the Unbound]
[Race: Greater Demon – Forgeblood]
[Level: 311]
[Skills:
[Molten Rend] – Ignites enemy armor and flesh with cursed forgefire.
[Iron Pact] – Temporarily sacrifices health for damage multiplier.
[Titan’s Crucible] – Summons burning hamrs from the ground.]
[Debtor status. Four missed paynts. Three open audits.]
[Na: Lama Mournfla]
[Race: Demoness – Fallen Warlord of the Crimson Chain]
[Level: 295]
[Skills:
[Searing Chains] – Conjures binding fla-chains that drain magic.
[Queen’s Lash] – Enhanced whip technique. Inflicts emotional instability.
[Hell’s Arbitration] – Temporarily mimics enemy skills at reduced potency.]
[Tax evasion suspected. Family treasury under forensic review.]
[Na: Dravik the Glutted]
[Race: Behemoth Demon – Corpse Collector]
[Level: 304]
[Skills:
[Maw of the Dead] – Devours corpses for health and buff stacking.
[Corpsebinder] – Controls fallen enemies as at puppets.
[Feast of Carnage] – Converts excess HP into raw AOE burst damage.]
[Expense Report: Denied. ’Bone Banquet Festival’ not eligible for deductible.]
Lux sighed softly, blades humming in each hand. "Ah. The Overspending Three."
Sira tilted her head, one leg bent playfully in the air. "You know these creeps?"
"I rejected their funding proposals this morning."
She grinned. "So this is a follow-up eting."
Dravik snorted like a dying bull and stomped forward, each footstep making the molten-cracked pavent quake. His gut jiggled beneath layers of dented black armor that looked half-digested. His mouth was stitched with golden nails, though the seams flexed like they could split at any second.
"You," he snarled, voice low and aty. "You sent those auditors. The ones with the wraiths."
Lux didn’t flinch. His blades vanished with a flick, and he reached into the air, conjuring his CFO aura like a businessman flipping to a clean page on his tablet.
"No," Lux said calmly. "My office sent them."
Karzon growled, shoulders glowing with internal furnace-heat. "Don’t get smart with us, Vaelthorn. That sll? That reek of cursed ink and mana seals? That’s your brand of execution."
Sira leaned in toward Lux and whispered with a smile, "They’re not wrong."
"Of course they’re not wrong," Lux murmured back. "But you’re not supposed to say that out loud."
"I’m not supposed to do a lot of things," she said sweetly, claws flexing.
Lama stepped forward last. Tall, elegant, veiled in red silk that trailed smoke with every movent. Her hips swayed as she moved, but there was steel in her stride. Her whip coiled lazily around one arm like a pet snake.
"I lost an entire fortress due to your ’internal audit’," she said coldly. "The enchantnts collapsed. The wards imploded. Do you know how many centuries it took to enslave that architect?"
Lux gave her a long look. Then said, almost sincerely, "Have you considered hiring a new one? One that doesn’t steal six million soul credits in phantom invoices?"
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