Chapter 225: Your Hate Doesn’t Stop me

Chapter 225 – Your Hate Doesn’t Stop me

Half detonated on impact. The others ricocheted—hitting from angles Vyrak couldn’t fully block. One burst against his wing, another against his back, making him grunt.

Lux teleported in again, this time to Vyrak’s flank—blades carving deep into his side. Vyrak caught Devorare mid-swing, claws closing around the blade’s edge, ichor dripping between his fingers.

“Mine,” he hissed, yanking—

Lux let go of that blade, flipped Amare in his free hand, and stabbed upward into Vyrak’s jaw.

The roar rattled the walls. Vyrak’s wings flared wide, Pride magic exploding outward in a shockwave that knocked Lux back several meters. The air burned in his lungs.

Lux rolled to his feet, retrieving Devorare with a call. “You’re leaking.”

Vyrak spat black ichor onto the floor. “So are you.”

And yeah, Lux was—cut across the ribs, bleeding down his side. Every move tugged at the wound.

But he wasn’t slowing.

“Let’s finish this,” Lux said.

The last exchange was brutal.

Vyrak came down with both talons extended, ripping deep gouges into the marble where Lux had been—Lux teleporting around him in flickers, each time slashing, each time drawing more ichor.

Vyrak caught him once—claws closing around his wing, twisting hard enough to make the bone groan. Lux snarled, slamming a dagger into Vyrak’s thigh to force release.

The fight was pure chaos now—blades ringing, claws scraping, shadows writhing like living things. Each blow from Vyrak carried the weight of the district; each counter from Lux was precision Greed brutality, stripping away Vyrak’s advantages one cut at a time.

By the time they broke apart, both were breathing hard, blood dripping freely—black for Vyrak, deep red for Lux.

Vyrak’s armor was in tatters. One wing dragged. His grin was gone again, replaced by that raw, cornered rage.

Lux’s armor was cracked in three places, his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat and blood, but his eyes still gleamed gold-red in the dim.

“Still think I’m an easy bounty?” Lux asked, voice low.

Vyrak spat on the floor. “I think… I’m going to need a bigger bounty.”

Lux smiled—cold, sharp. “Try it. I’ll just come back for the late fee.”

They stood there, wings spread, shadows flickering, the wrecked vault around them a monument to pride and greed smashing against each other.

And the stream?

Still rolling.

Every viewer in the InfernalNet was watching two highlords bleed for dominance.

Exactly the kind of spectacle Lux had come here to make.

The chat was a blur—bets being placed, insults hurled, screen captures taken mid-swing. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Lux knew this would be replayed for weeks in the darker corners of infernal social media.

But right now, his focus was narrowed to the man in front of him.

Vyrak was panting, his shadow-winged true form twitching and fraying at the edges from the damage Lux had already done. Pride magic still clung to him, but it was dimmer now, flickering like a candle fighting the wind. Lux could smell the heat of his blood over the burned air between them.

And Lux himself?

[Warning: HP 48%]

He spat blood onto the scorched marble and dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, the metallic taste thick on his tongue. His chest ached with every breath. There was a cut deep under his ribs that refused to close, even with Dark Healing.

[Regeneration reduced by 30% and Dark Healing effectiveness reduced by 50% due to Pride territory influence]

Vyrak’s territorial buff was still choking the air, making every movement feel like he was pushing through thick oil.

“Still standing?” Vyrak sneered, circling, dragging one talon along the floor in a slow scrape. “Barely.”

Lux didn’t answer.

Not with words.

He lunged.

Devorare and Amare flashed together in a tight arc—one high, one low. Vyrak caught the upper strike with his claws but missed the second.

Amare sliced through his thigh, deep enough to hit bone. Black ichor sprayed, sizzling against the floor.

Vyrak roared and retaliated with a wide shadow swipe, but Lux was already inside his guard. One step. Twist. Slash.

The lower leg gave way first—cut clean at the knee.

Vyrak staggered, half collapsing, but Lux didn’t stop. Devorare carved into his forearm, the blade’s hunger pulling harder than usual, drinking deep. Vyrak’s right hand fell limp before Lux severed it completely with a second strike.

The chat exploded with “HOLY SHIT and IS HE CUTTING HIM TO PIECES???”

Vyrak coughed thick black onto the ground, teeth bared in a bloody grin. “You think this… means anything? You—” he choked on the word, “—you’re hated. Everywhere. By everyone.”

Lux’s eyes narrowed.

“You were never supposed to outshine anyone,” Vyrak spat. “Not your father. Not your mother. And never those from Pride. You’re just Greed. You’re supposed to count money, make deals, keep your head down like a good little number rat.”

Lux’s grip on his blades tightened until the hilts creaked.

“You were supposed to stay in your place. Not… this.” Vyrak coughed again, blood pooling beneath him. “You were never meant to be a name. Just an accountant. A shadow behind greater ones.”

Lux’s next breath hurt more than the last. Not from the fight.

From the way those words dug somewhere older. Somewhere deeper.

He never understood it. The looks. The whispers. Why the better he did his job, the more people seemed to despise him for it. Every time he pulled the realm back from collapse, every time he saved someone’s empire from crumbling debt—it wasn’t thanks he got.

It was this.

Always this.

He swallowed the bitter heat in his throat, the ache that wanted to be something more.

“Funny thing, Vyrak,” Lux said quietly, voice flat but shaking at the edges, “I’ve been hated for as long as I can remember. Hated for being better at my job than anyone else. Hated for giving more than I got back. Hated for stopping your precious little worlds from burning down without charging you the interest you deserved.”

Vyrak’s lip curled.

Lux’s eyes glinted, cold. “And you know what I learned?”

He raised his blades, stepping closer.

“That your hate… doesn’t stop me.”

The daggers came down—both at once—arcing toward Vyrak’s neck.

-CLANG!

Not steel on steel.

Steel on claw.

Lux’s gaze snapped up to meet a different pair of eyes.

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