Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation

Chapter 157 – Marked

”I see you now,” Lux muttered, voice smooth but charged.

His vision—layered with Corvus’ aerial overlay—highlighted the rooftop where two hidden figures stood, cloaked in mana-smoke.

”Mark the coordinates.”

[Marked. Two confirmed targets. Real bodies. Minimal masking. Poor sportsmanship.]

He raised a hand.

Mana shifted.

A thousand infernal threads curled upward toward the clouds, forming black stars of fire.

”Hellfire Rain.”

The sky broke.

Molten black droplets fell like celestial spite. Controlled. Smart. Elegant death from above. No reckless inferno—just precision murder set to a tempo.

The annex rooftop across the block screamed as spellfire detonated across its surface. Flames painted the skyline. Then—movement.

Two shadows bolted.

Lux didn’t need to guess anymore.

He saw them. The real ones.

The man, taller, broader, wings burnt and twisted like they’d been touched by divine fire and never healed. A floating crown of shattered bone circled his head.

The woman, pale, not ghost-white anymore—but cracked. Her skin shimmered like porcelain bruised by holiness. Her eyes didn’t glow with confidence. They glowed with guilt.

”Lock targets.”

[Locked.]

[Teleport available.]

”Take me halfway. Let me run the rest.”

[Because dramatic entrances are your kink.]

”Damn right.”

Teleport flash.

He reappeared mid-sprint—already in motion, bootsteps pounding across the rooftop like war drums. Hellfire flared behind him, making his silhouette sharp and sovereign. His daggers spun—Devorare and Amare hungry in his grip.

”Let’s talk again,” he called out. ”This time, without the dolls.”

They turned to run.

Lux smirked. ”Wrong answer.”

He activated Agility.

The rooftop blurred beneath his feet. He caught up in three seconds flat and leapt—shoulder-first into the man.

They collided mid-air, crashing through a skylight like two meteorites trying to share orbit.

The floor they hit?

Luxury spa.

Steam hissed. Expensive marble groaned beneath their weight. A thousand-dollar towel rack shattered like candy glass.

Lux rose first.

Barely even bruised.

”You know,” he muttered, dragging the man up by the collar. ”I really didn’t want to ruin my evening.”

He slammed him into a column hard enough to chip the stone.

”What does the Marginal Accord want?”

No answer.

He kneed him in the stomach. Hard. Then again, but not enough to kill. Just enough to make ribs hurt.

”Tell me.”

Still silence.

[Detecting trace-level soul-ward. Subject unable to speak due to forced geas.]

Lux scowled. ”Coward’s clause.”

Movement.

His instinct flared.

He pivoted just as the woman arrived—real this time. Her aura rippled like coiled thread snapping. She launched a blade of compressed white flame at his spine.

”Barrier.”

A gold-etched pulse erupted around him. The flame hit like a sermon turned violent—loud, holy, desperate.

It held.

Barely.

The barrier cracked and shattered, light sparking across his shoulder, but he was already turning.

Lux’s fist came.

He caught her across the cheek—not enough to kill, just enough to brand her.

Her skin hissed where his glove met flesh.

”You wanted me awake?” Lux snarled, voice like broken metal. His wings fully unfurled behind him, slicing the mist like blades. ”I’m awake now.”

Feathers whirled.

Corvus returned in a gust of black wind, reforming on the spa’s high beam with dramatic flair. Feathers shimmered into place, one by one, like a cloak restitching itself from shadows.

”Boss. Cameras are on. Whole suite. Whole floor. You’re on seven channels minimum.”

Lux’s gaze flicked up.

Security feed. Upper corner. Red lights blinking.

Every camera. Every angle. All recording.

He frowned.

That wasn’t possible.

The dimension was sealed. He felt it the second he was dragged into this pocket space—the warping of ambient mana, the time-slow echo behind every sound.

This spa wasn’t part of the physical building. It was stitched between moments. A bubble. An artificial layer pulled from a plane only accessible through high-level spatial manipulation.

There shouldn’t be anything else here.

No people.

No signals.

No eyes.

Except...

His pupils narrowed.

No one else here meant...

Someone wanted this broadcast.

Lux exhaled through his nose, calm and cold. The kind of cold that came right before bones broke.

”Confirm dimensional lock.”

[Confirmed. Separated space.]

[Surveillance feed present despite dimensional offset.]

[Origin: Unknown. Interference likely intentional.]

[You are being watched.]

There it was.

The answer.

Lux’s lip curled.

”You know what I hate more than being ambushed?” he muttered.

Corvus tilted his head.

”What?”

”Being filmed without royalties.”

Then he raised his hand.

”Demonic Orbs.”

They flared to life instantly—ten this time. Not the full fifty. He didn’t need a massacre.

Just a message.

The spheres buzzed through the air like pissed-off wasps, targeting each red light, each lens, each feed line.

One by one—pop.

Pop!

Crack!

Mini detonations laced with cursed energy and electrical feedback echoed through the spa like an exorcism in slow motion. Every screen blinked dark. Sparks burst from power panels. Glass cracked. Feed lines melted.

Static reigned.

[Surveillance feed terminated.]

[Would you like to leave a voicemail curse?]

”Not this time.”

He cracked his neck.

Slow. Sharp. A single audible click down his spine.

Then turned back to the man slumped against the column, steam rising from his jacket.

Lux’s expression didn’t change.

Still calm. Still composed.

He reached for him again—one hand on the collar.

Unbothered.

”You wanted to test me?” he said, voice low and heavy, layered with the kind of weight that didn’t need to yell to sound dangerous.

The man looked up, dazed, one eye flickering with unnatural light.

Lux smiled faintly.

”Pop quiz is over.”

He hurled him across the room.

The man sailed through a glowing jacuzzi like a ragdoll, flipping into water that immediately boiled from demonic power.

”You fail.”

Then Lux turned to the woman.

Calm. Deadpan.

”Want to play assassin?”

He flipped Devorare in his grip.

”Let’s make it a game.”

The woman didn’t back off.

Her body flickered with burning white lines—ritual scars blooming to life across her arms, neck, even her face. Her hair snapped around her like ribbons in a holy wind. If she had ever been beautiful, it was lost now. Replaced by something too solemn, too cruel, too final.