CHAPTER 102: POWER WITH A LEASH

Chapter 102 – Power With a Leash

Celestaria pointed at him as she moved toward the gilded exit arch. "Remember. No unsanctioned magic. No seducing the interns. And no redecorating."

"Do I look like I carry a sledgehammer?" Lux said, raising both arms.

"Yes," she and Selena said at the same time.

Lux clicked his tongue. "That’s racial profiling."

Celestaria snorted. With a flick of her fingers, her scrolls vanished into golden particles, her aura receding slightly as she activated her formal departure sigil.

The door pulsed once.

She gave Selena one last glance—half warning, half amused smirk—then vanished in a shimmer of white-gold light. Not dramatic, just efficient. Like a woman late for an inter-realm Zoom meeting.

And then it was quiet.

Not the uncomfortable kind of quiet that hangs between strangers, or the too-heavy kind that clings after an argument. It was a light silence. A silence padded in divine upholstery and warm filtered light, filled with the low hum of distant angelic machinery and the lingering taste of milk and chamomile.

But Lux didn’t speak.

Not because he didn’t know what to say. He always knew what to say. Always had something ready—some joke, some charm, some offhand line layered with a dozen meanings.

That wasn’t the problem.

He was just... thinking.

Stillness wasn’t unfamiliar to him. He didn’t fear it. But most of the time, he filled it. Drowned it in words and seduction and charisma and logic. Anything to keep the noise louder than the reflection.

But right now?

He was too deep in thought to bother with sound.

Because it wasn’t just Celestaria who’d been observing.

He had been observing her, too.

Her tone. Her pacing. The things she didn’t say. The way she hesitated when talking about the artifact. The way her eyes flicked just slightly when he brought up conquest.

He knew that kind of reaction. He was trained in it. Born into it. Politics was a dance, and Celestaria had just shown him the slip in her step.

First takeaway?

The Upper Realm really was monitoring him.

Not metaphorically.

Not the cute, divine way of "we’re keeping tabs."

They were actually watching him.

Moments of silence. Solitude. Magic. Everything.

He didn’t care about privacy, per se. He was used to being watched—he liked it, to a degree. Let them see him sip coffee in designer bathrobes. Let them see him laugh while demons fought over cursed empires.

But what got under his skin wasn’t the voyeurism.

It was the intent.

They wanted to see how far he’d go.

Not just his potential. Not just the results.

They were waiting to see if he would turn.

If he’d burn.

If he’d become something they couldn’t control.

That meant they didn’t trust him. Not completely.

Even after giving him that artifact. Even after letting him absorb something that was practically divine cheat code laced in nuclear light—they still treated him like a variable.

Did it bother him?

Yes.

But not the way most people might expect.

It didn’t hurt his feelings.

It didn’t break his heart.

It insulted his intelligence.

He saw it now. Clear as day.

Maybe they hadn’t expected him to survive the artifact. Maybe they thought it’d kill him. Or break him. Maybe they thought he’d overload and vanish from their equation.

Or... maybe they knew. Maybe they planned it. Gave him the relic as both gift and test. Power with a leash. Light wrapped in a condition.

But either way?

They didn’t know what he’d become.

And that made him more dangerous than ever.

Second takeaway?

Despite all of that—he still held influence here.

Not because of charm. Not because of seduction or demon blood or political manipulation. But because... he worked.

They’d seen it.

Celestaria saw it.

Even the Archons saw it. The contracts. The blood. The sacrifices.

Some of them didn’t just fear him.

They respected him.

Maybe not publicly. Maybe not in daylight.

But enough to keep watching. Enough to hesitate.

Enough to wonder if Lux Vaelthorn might actually become the hinge of balance between realms.

And that meant something.

Because respect? It didn’t come easy.

Especially not for his kind.

Most of the respected demons throughout history—the ones feared even by Archons and spoken of in hushed reverence—came from Pride. That sin affinity always carried the aura of royalty. Entitlement. Power forged by belief in one’s divine right to rule. They were natural leaders, natural tyrants, natural icons.

Wrath and Envy? Those were feared. Not respected. Raw, dangerous elements. Too volatile to honor, too lethal to ignore. You didn’t negotiate with them. You didn’t invite them to summits. You just prepared countermeasures and hoped they didn’t show up.

But Greed?

Greed was something else entirely.

Dirty. Unruly.

A sin viewed by the Celestial Realm as... undignified.

It wasn’t glorious like Pride.

Wasn’t terrifying like Wrath.

Wasn’t clever like Envy.

Greed was... annoying.

A sin of accountants and hoarders. Businessmen. Tax collectors. The kind that slithered into systems, not souls. It was seen as petty. Selfish. Something always trying to take more, while giving nothing back.

And paired with Lust?

Even worse.

They didn’t even like to talk about Lust in divine circles. It was grouped in the same box as Gluttony—something primal. Base. Disgusting.

The difference?

One craved food.

The other craved sex.

Either way?

The Upper Realm saw them both as... distractions. Nuisances. Embarrassments.

Even Lux’s father—Lord of Greed was regarded with stiff, holy disapproval.

He was seen as a joke. A danger, yes, but not a dignified one. A parasite in a golden throne.

And yet...

Somehow Lux had changed that.

Somehow he gave them pause.

Not just demons.

But angels. Archons. Celestial record-keepers and divine historians.

He hadn’t done it by begging.

He hadn’t done it by fighting for approval either.

He did it by existing—successfully. Gracefully. Powerfully.

He made contracts across realms. Balanced sin like a science. Spoke in boardrooms and battlegrounds and never lost control of the room. He moved like someone who knew what he wanted and never apologized for wanting more.

He didn’t wear Greed like a stain.

He wore it like silk.

And that thought?

Well—

That thought sparked something low in his chest.

Something he couldn’t quite name.

Not pride. Not satisfaction. Not even vengeance.

But it was there.

Warming. Growing.

Not a hunger.

Not a thirst.

But maybe...

Hope.