CHAPTER 227: NIGHTCLUB

The last traces of steam clung to the air in his room, tendrils of mist that writhed and dissolved against the cool, night breeze from the open window. Nero stood for a long moment, feeling the profound quiet that follows immense exertion. The scalding shower had scoured away the immediate, screaming ache of his body refinement session, but beneath the clean, damp surface of his skin, a new sensation hummed. It was a low, persistent thrum of power, a resonant energy that had been hammered and forged into the very fiber of his muscles and the marrow of his bones. It felt like a dormant storm, quiet for now, but potent ready to be unleashed whenever he desired.

He dressed with a simplicity that bordered on ritual. The black denim of his jeans was coarse and familiar. The dark, button-up shirt was soft, its long sleeves rolled precisely to his forearms, a practical concession to the lingering warmth in his limbs. Lastly, his fingers fastened the delicate clasp of a silver chain around his neck. The metal was cool against his skin, a small, constant weight that felt like an anchor. Normally, he should be resting But Lux had been insistent, the three must go out, his enthusiasm a force of nature that was, in its own way, as formidable as any combat technique.

By the time Nero’s boots crunched on the gravel of the main courtyard, the sleek, black vehicle was already there, its obsidian surface reflecting the muted twilight hues of the estate like a dark mirror. Leaning against it with an effortless grace was Lux. His silver hair was swept back, not a strand out of place, and his attire was a masterclass in understated opulence—a sharp-cut jacket in a deep charcoal grey over a shirt of a slightly lighter shade. He waved, his grin a flash of white in the night sky.

"Took you long enough," Lux called out, his voice laced with familiar teasing. "I was starting to think you’d decided to do another hundred reps instead."

Nero responded with a soft chuckle, his own hand running through his still-damp hair, a gesture that felt clumsy next to Lux’s polished ease.

"This is my first time at one of these places," he admitted, the words feeling like a confession. "So, don’t expect too much. My knowledge of city nightlife is... theoretical."

It was Adam who answered, his voice a calm, dry counterpoint to Lux’s vibrancy. He stood on the other side of the car, a figure of composed stillness. His arms were crossed over a chest covered by a simple, well-fitted white shirt and a brown leather jacket that looked both practical and expensive. He was the picture of noble restraint, a quiet storm contained in human form.

"Well, I forgot you came from the mountain," Adam said, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk touching his lips. "Then tonight will be an education."

Lux’s laugh was a bright, infectious sound.

"Don’t worry, I’ll be your guide. Consider me your cultural attaché to the civilized world.

You’re still in my city after all and we must make use of every day during the summer break."

With that, the trio settled into the car’s plush interior. The door closed with a hushed, expensive thud, sealing them in a cocoon of silence. Then, the engine purred to life—a deep, resonant vibration that was felt more than heard. As they glided away from the serene, manicured grounds of the estate, Nero watched the world transform through the tinted window.

The calm, ordered geometry of the noble district, with its sprawling manors and silent, tree-lined avenues, gradually bled away. The architecture tightened, grew taller, and began to pulse with light. They crossed an invisible boundary into the heart of Angel’s City, and the world exploded into a symphony of controlled chaos. Neon signs in impossible shades of magenta, cyan, and electric gold streaked across the glass-and-steel canyons of the city center. The streets were a river of life: hoverboards zipped and weaved through aerial lanes with reckless grace; street vendors called out, their stalls glowing with bioluminescent fungi and steaming, exotic foods; and the collective sound of thousands of conversations, laughs, and shouts merged into a single, vibrant hum. Beneath it all, like a heartbeat, was the distant, rhythmic thump of music, a bass line that grew steadily louder, a siren’s call pulling them deeper into the urban labyrinth.

After a twenty-minute drive that felt like a journey to another planet, they arrived.

The nightclub, Elysium Pulse, was a monument to excess. It wasn’t just a building; it was a living entity of light and sound. A towering edifice of polished obsidian and reinforced glass, its entire facade was a canvas for cascading holographic projections that flowed downwards like waterfalls of pure, liquid color—sapphire blue bled into violent red, which dissolved into shimmering gold. The music was no longer a distant pulse; it was a physical force. The deep, resonant bass thrummed up through the pavement, vibrating through the soles of Nero’s boots and into his bones. A long, snaking line of hopeful patrons stretched around the block, a spectacle of its own. They were a kaleidoscope of fashion and identity, dressed in dazzling, often revealing outfits that glittered under the neon glow, their faces a mixture of anticipation and impatience.

But the moment the imposing, black-clad guards at the entrance caught sight of Lux Leclair, the atmosphere shifted. Their professional stoicism melted away in an instant, replaced by a posture of deep deference. Recognition sparked in their eyes, and without a word being exchanged, the thick red velvet rope was pulled aside with a smooth, practiced motion.

"Good evening, Second Young Master Leclair," the head guard intoned, his voice a low rumble. "Welcome back to Elysium Pulse."

Lux acknowledged them with a confident, almost dismissive smile, a king returning to his court. "Good evening, gentlemen. Just three of us tonight—make sure the drinks are cold."

"Of course, sir."

They were escorted past the long, envious line, through a shimmering, energy-field entryway that tingled against Nero’s skin as he passed.