CHAPTER 286: LOWKEY IS DEAD

Chapter 286 – Lowkey is Dead

Lux’s body woke him before his mind did.

Habit. Instinct. He didn’t know what time zones kept these days, but one truth followed him everywhere. Lux Vaelthorn never slept past 7 A.M. The habits had him hardwired like a predatory rooster—except instead of crowing, he demanded coffee.

He stirred, sitting up with a groan. His hair was still a mess, his chest bare and scratched from last night’s "board meeting," and the room... well. It looked less like a bedroom and more like an after-battle reconstruction site.

He glanced around.

Naomi—still tucked against the ruins of a pillow, her lips parted in sleep. Her hair fanned across the sheets, cheeks pink, like she was dreaming something soft.

Rava—sprawled on her back, tentacles slack and drooping, one curled lazily around a bedpost like a flag of surrender.

And Sira—of course—half-draped across the edge of the bed like she owned it, one leg bare, the other tangled in a ruined sheet, her smirk faint even in sleep.

Lux shook his head, grinning despite his exhaustion.

’Wrecked them. Wrecked the room. Wrecked myself. Net loss: everyone.’

He didn’t bother with the bath. Not yet. He yanked on a fresh shirt and trousers, shoved his hair back with one hand, and stepped outside into the hallway.

And, right on cue—

"Good morning, sir," one of the servants said, bowing slightly and already holding out a steaming cup of coffee.

Lux took it like a lifeline, sipping immediately. The bitter, rich burn hit his tongue and throat, and his eyes finally opened all the way. "Thank you. You just prevented a fiscal crisis."

The servant bowed again, wisely ignoring the smell of sex still clinging faintly to Lux.

"Breakfast," Lux added, rolling his shoulders. "For the girls. Something light. And for the princess—" he gestured vaguely, "—something bloody enough to count as a crime scene."

The servant didn’t blink. "Understood, sir."

Lux stepped outside into the morning air, exhaling deep. The mansion grounds were quiet. Palm trees swayed. Mist drifted across the drive. He could almost pretend it was peaceful—if not for the faint memory of screams still echoing in his skull from last night.

’First thing’s first,’ he thought. ’Cars.’

He’d ordered a mortal car before—something sleek, discreet. A mortal-mode vehicle to keep himself lowkey. Blend in. No flashing infernal signatures, no ostentatious Greed wealth.

But after what happened? After Sira moved in with twenty wardrobes, Naomi and Rava announced they were "staying," and last night turned into a quarterly sex merger streamed live across his sheets?

Yeah. Lowkey was dead.

"Kratzik," Lux called.

The air shimmered. Tentacles slithered into sight, glistening faintly in the morning light. Kratzik emerged—his fixer, his contractor, part-demon part-thing-from-the-abyss.

He bowed—or, at least, the approximation of a bow when your head was half a beak and half a mass of eyes.

"Sir," Kratzik gurgled.

"How’s the renovation?" Lux asked, sipping coffee.

"All clear," Kratzik replied, his voice bubbling. A tentacle twitched, gesturing toward the mansion. "But you need to pay me extra. The Pride Princess required... significant restoration. Your room. Chandeliers. Bedframe."

Lux groaned into his cup. "Yeah. Figures. Alright. Let’s check your work."

Kratzik slithered forward, leading him inside.

The chandeliers gleamed above the main hall, freshly reset, runes glowing faintly.

"The chandeliers," Kratzik hissed proudly. "Stabilized."

Lux nodded. "Good."

Next, the pool lounge.

The glass walls had been polished back to perfection, the floor resealed, the water shimmering in the early light.

"Pool lounge," Kratzik said.

"Looks better than my stock portfolio," Lux muttered.

The gym—completely stripped of its dust, new equipment set neatly.

"The gym," Kratzik hissed.

"Finally. I can actually lift without feeling like I’m training in a graveyard."

The kitchen—spotless. Marble counters gleamed, pans and knives sharpened, iceboxes humming softly.

"The kitchen," Kratzik intoned.

"Perfect," Lux said.

Finally—the guest rooms. Lux peeked in, noting the fresh sheets, the polished floors, the faint scent of incense.

"Guest rooms," Kratzik finished.

"Good," Lux said.

"And the master bedroom..." Kratzik’s tentacles twitched, his many eyes gleaming with mischief. "Also done. Though I suspect you already... checked it yourself."

Lux smirked faintly. "Yeah. Thoroughly stress-tested. Passed inspection."

Kratzik gurgled what might have been laughter.

Lux waved his hand, summoning his personal system interface. Golden numbers bloomed in the air before him. He tallied quickly—renovations, emergency restoration, rune replacements, hazard pay.

"Total: 312,000 Hell Coins," Lux said aloud.

Kratzik grinned—or at least, tentacles curled in satisfaction. "Add 10,000."

Lux looked up, eyebrow arched. "For what?"

"I finished faster than you expected."

Lux snorted. "You’re invoicing me for efficiency?"

"Yes."

The incubus smirked, sipping his coffee. "You’d do well on Woll Street." He flicked his fingers, approving the transfer. Numbers shifted, and Kratzik’s grin widened further.

"Pleasure doing business," the contractor said, bowing—or oozing, it was hard to tell.

Lux rolled his shoulders. "Go on. I’ll call when the next disaster happens."

Kratzik started to turn, tentacles slithering toward the nearest shadow. But Lux narrowed his eyes. "Hold up."

The abyssal contractor froze, half a dozen eyes swiveling back toward him.

"My toolbox," Lux said, voice flat. "The Greed toolbox. Hand it back."

Kratzik’s tentacles twitched. If a monster could look disappointed, this one did. One eye blinked slowly, like a sulking child caught with stolen candy.

Lux smirked faintly, sipping his coffee. "C’mon, don’t make me audit you. I know you’ve been eyeing it for years. But you and I both know."

Kratzik made a sound between a sigh and a bubbling groan. A tentacle slid behind his back, reluctant, then pulled forward the rune-carved case. It gleamed faintly gold even in the morning light, every edge sharp, every clasp humming with the authority of Greed’s bloodline.

Lux extended his hand. "Now."

With obvious reluctance, Kratzik placed it in his palm.

Lux crouched slightly, setting his coffee on the banister, then popped the latch open. His eyes scanned the inside—rows of specialized tools forged for contracts, locks, dimensional work. Every piece still in its slot, runes faintly glowing. Untouched.

"Good boy," Lux murmured. He snapped it shut, slid his palm across the surface, and the entire box shimmered before dissolving into gold light, sucked back into his dimensional storage.

Kratzik let out another groaning sigh.

Lux smirked. "Don’t pout. You’ve already invoiced me for efficiency. You don’t get a toolbox bonus on top of that."

The contractor’s tentacles curled, clearly sulking, before he finally dissolved fully into mist, vanishing with a faint slither of air.

Lux was left alone again, coffee back in hand.

Breakfast would be ready soon. Renovations were complete.

Lux smirked into his coffee.

"Well," he muttered to himself, "if I can’t be lowkey, then I’ll just be legendary."