Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation
Chapter 46: High-Rank Seraphim

Chapter 46: High-Rank Seraphim

Chapter 46 – High-Rank Seraphim

This place was twisted. Spatial. Pure illusion backed by raw celestial code.

"...Okay," Lux said, blinking slowly.

The air thrummed.

And then they came.

Descending like broken comets—three winged figures haloed in flickering gold.

Except the gold?

Burned black around the edges.

Like rust.

Like corruption.

They floated in a jagged triangle above him, their wings ragged and cracked. Not feathered. Not clean. These wings were made of something harder—glass, maybe. Crystalized rage. Holy weaponry long since broken and remade with spite.

Each one had a face that could’ve been carved from marble.

But their eyes?

Screamed war.

"You must be Vaelthorn," one of them said. Male. Deep voice. Etched with disdain.

"Didn’t realize I was trending," Lux replied casually, rolling his shoulders.

"You consumed the Limitbreaker."

"I did. Thanks for noticing."

"You shouldn’t exist."

"Tell that to my parents," Lux muttered.

The second angel floated forward. Female. Tall, hair like braided flame. Her voice carried a resonance that made his coat ripple.

"You defy celestial equilibrium. A demon... wielding divine growth? You are an aberration."

Lux tilted his head. "That sounds like a title. I might put it on a business card."

[System Notification: High-Rank Seraphim Detected.]

[Name: Seraph Kael’var]

[Level: 230]

[Role: Blade of Binding. Holy Executioner.]

[Specialty: Spatial Lockdown. Anti-devil combat.]

[Name: Seraph Inaya]

[Level: 245]

[Role: Choir of Judgement. Mind and Light Manipulator.]

[Specialty: Mental disruption. Summons celestial sirens. Can erase short-term memory.]

[Name: Seraph Mordyn]

[Level: 360]

[Role: Lost Strategist. War Architect.]

[Specialty: Trap Domains. Constructs, summons, predictive combat patterning.]

[WARNING: You are significantly outnumbered.]

[Recommendation: Evade or stall. Do not engage directly.]

The three circled him.

Mordyn raised a hand. The sky fractured again, forming a twisted halo of sharp symbols—code, language, and battle scripture. Traps began to spawn from thin air.

Pillars of light slammed into the ground behind Lux, forming a jagged cage. Time wobbled. One wrong step and reality would fracture.

[System Notification: Celestial Trap Zone Formed.]

Lux stepped back—and the floor morphed into stained glass beneath his feet. It cracked with every motion, trying to read his direction, trying to rewrite his footing.

Kael’var dropped first.

Straight down.

His blade sliced toward Lux in a golden arc, pure kinetic fury.

Lux ducked, sparks flying. The air screamed where the blade passed.

Then he vanished—blink teleport—to the left, sliding across a twisting staircase that hadn’t existed a second ago.

He landed, already spinning both blades to guard.

The Lust blade, Amare, hummed with a purring heat. The Greed blade, Devorare, buzzed against his palm like a stock market crash just waiting to happen.

"Oh, now we’re dancing," Lux muttered.

From the walls, angels bloomed.

Not the three above.

Minions.

Twisted constructs of divine energy—long-forgotten choir members turned into pure wrath. They weren’t beautiful. They weren’t graceful.

They were efficient.

Each moved like a corrupted dancer, joints snapping in unnatural angles, cloaks of runed fabric trailing like priestly nooses. Their hands? Spears. Their mouths? Empty.

[New Enemies Detected: Echo Seraphim x12]

They charged.

Lux kicked off the ground, flipped sideways off a pillar, and drove Devorare through the first.

Gold met shadow.

The construct shrieked. The shriek rebounded off the walls and triggered a light trap.

Lux twisted—barely avoiding a beam of condensed judgment that would’ve deleted his limbs.

He slashed again, Amare slicing an angel construct in half, the blade singing as it fed on combat tension.

"I didn’t ask for a biblical rave!"

The real angels still circled.

Watching.

Analyzing.

Inaya finally moved.

She pointed a finger—and suddenly, Lux couldn’t remember where he was standing.

His vision bent.

Mind fractured.

[WARNING: Memory Spell Detected. Activating Firewall.]

A burning sigil lit up inside his retina. The magic cracked—but the distraction worked.

Kael’var was already above him again, descending like judgment itself.

Lux crossed his blades—barely catching the strike. The impact sent him flying.

He hit a floating slab of inverted marble, cracked it, bounced, and slid to a stop against a wall that wasn’t a wall—it was made of contracts, thousands of them, fluttering like wings. He could feel something cracking inside his body.

[-249,600 HP]

Lux groaned in pain. "Okay. This limbo place is officially not on my vacation list."

The attacks weren’t fatal.

Yet.

But they were coordinated.

And it hurt.

Lux rolled to his feet. Bled power into Demonic Orbs.

Fifty of them blinked into existence around him—pulsing spheres of dark energy laced with cursed finance. One had a rune for "Late Payment." Another pulsed "Default."

He grinned.

"Let’s make this unprofitable for you holy freaks."

He flung the orbs. They spiraled like heat-seeking debts, exploding near the construct angels and rattling the battlefield with bursts of infernal noise.

One orb slammed into Inaya’s protective sigil, cracking it.

Her brows furrowed.

She actually looked annoyed.

Mordyn raised a hand and murmured something in a forgotten language.

Spikes of mirrored glass rose from the ground.

Lux dodged—barely—but one shard grazed his coat.

His new coat.

"Oh hell no."

He snapped both blades outward and surged forward, slicing down through three more constructs with footwork so fast it blurred.

The three main angels finally descended.

This time?

They weren’t just testing him.

They were serious.

Lux smirked, blood trickling down his cheek, eyes burning with challenge.

"Alright, fine. You want this to be a trial?"

He slid both blades into a reverse grip.

"Then I’m passing."

The air cracked. Not from magic. From pressure.

His aura dropped like a guillotine.

Wind ripped outward from his body—a burst that sent broken marble chunks skidding across the warped Limbo floor. Light from shattered streetlamps flickered, blinked out. Even the angelic symbols floating in the sky above dimmed for a heartbeat.

Lux inhaled.

That burn was back.

That sensation in his chest—raw hunger.

A need to move.

To fight.

To show the world what happened when you messed with something forged in Hell’s economic furnace.

[Battle Form: ACTIVATED.]

The transformation was instantaneous—no flashy sequence, no screaming.

Just black.