Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation

Chapter 217 – InfernalNet

His boots clicked against the pavement like punctuation marks in a speech no one else could hear.

He passed a couple. Laughing. Holding hands.

Their energy tasted sweet. Sticky. Alive.

He didn’t feed on it.

Didn’t need to.

Didn’t want to.

Not tonight.

His stomach growled—not with hunger.

With curiosity.

With weight.

With hunger to kill...

He stepped into a shadowed alley, finally. The sun no longer followed him. The sounds dimmed.

He tapped two fingers to his temple.

”Reopen Clone Network. Prioritize #5. Trace backward. Scrub audio logs. Give me scent trails, if we have them.”

[Working.]

He leaned against the alley wall.

Then slid down slowly, one knee bent, arms resting on it.

Quiet.

Not hiding.

Just thinking.

His hair fell over his eyes slightly as he tilted his head back, letting the bricks behind him press into his spine.

Lux Vaelthorn.

Son of Greed.

Son of Lust.

And apparently?

Now playing cat and mouse with gods, rats, heiresses, and—possibly—the next great celestial and demonic war.

He let out a tired breath and looked up at the slice of orange sky above him.

”...This was supposed to be a vacation,” he said flatly.

[You said that 17 times since you got here.]

”I meant it 17 times.”

[You also flirted 19 times.]

”And?”

[...It was productive.]

He cracked a smile.

Barely.

Then closed his eyes for a second. Just one. Just long enough to steady his breath.

[System: Clone #5 Location Confirmed.]

Lux’s lids lifted.

”Where?”

[Coordinates: PR-07.AZH.14, Pride Ring Territory. Sector Azhalyn. Sublevel 3.]

[Classification: Mercenary Base. Informal HQ of bounty factions.]

”So...” Lux dragged out the word like a knife along glass, ”...they dragged him into the underworld?”

[Confirmed. They’re attempting to use you as leverage. Possibly as a trophy.]

Lux snorted, voice low and vicious.

”Trying to make a name for themselves off me. Cute.”

[Also— We found a live stream.]

Lux blinked.

”...They’re streaming it?”

[Yes. On the InfernalNet. Would you like to view?]

He didn’t even answer. Just raised two fingers to his temple.

”Show me.”

[Streaming now.]

The world shifted. His vision flickered crimson as the stream loaded, smearing over his sight with flickering glyphs and scrolling comments. Thousands watching. Dozens of fire emojis, bet logs, and suspicious eggplant icons.

And then—

There he was.

Clone #5.

Tied to an obsidian bone-throne, arms bound behind him with molten-reinforced shackles. His ankles were chained to carved footholds that glowed faintly with greed-sensitive runes. Symbols designed to sap his strength with every heartbeat. Good effort, honestly. Not good enough. But cute.

And around him—

Three gargoyles.

And one hellhound.

The place looked like a crime scene had gotten drunk and decided to start a podcast. The floor was sticky with dried mana-blood. Hellfire torches lined the corners of the chamber, flickering between violet and sickly blue. The walls were a patchwork of skulls and industrial steel, graffiti-tagged with sigils from various Pride sub-gangs.

The lead gargoyle paced in front of the camera like a reality show contestant having a full breakdown.

Male. Wide jaw. Crooked horns. Over-accessorized. Looked like someone who’d peaked during the Lust Wars and never got the memo it ended.

”Is this thing on yet?” he barked, wings flexing behind him.

The hellhound—scarred, wiry, with black-and-red dreads tied back under a cracked halo band—rolled her eyes.

”It’s on, Tarrek. For the fifth time. Just say your piece.”

”I should do an entrance,” he insisted. ”Y’know, like dramatic. Infernal Impact style.”

The female gargoyle sitting casually on the throne armrest huffed. ”We’re already live, dumbass.”

”Wait, what?!” Tarrek spun toward the camera, then immediately shoved his face in like he was filming a food review. ”—Yo! What’s up, InfernalNet! It’s ya boy Tarrek the Tank, back again with a special delivery—”

The camera jostled as the hellhound facepalmed behind it.

Tarrek gestured grandly behind him.

”We got ourselves a real f***in’ prize tonight, folks! Lux Vaelthorn! That’s right—The heir of Greed. The CFO of Hell. The guy who singlehandedly crashed the soul bond market and made the Archduchess of Gluttony cry on live broadcast.”

He turned and grinned like a beast who thought he was clever.

The female gargoyle adjusted her cleavage slightly, side-eyeing the camera with a smirk. ”He’s hotter in person. Shame he’s gonna look worse after this.”

”Hey, Lux,” Tarrek said, strutting up and slapping the clone lightly on the cheek. ”Say hi to the fans.”

Clone #5 lifted his head slowly.

His lip was cut. Blood traced his chin.

But his eyes?

Smirking. Lazy. Glowing faintly with that signature gold-red ring.

He didn’t say hi.

He just exhaled and said, cool and dry as hellfire whiskey,

”You realize you just walked into economic suicide, right?”

The stream chat blew up.

”YO IS THAT ACTUALLY HIM???”

”oh shit he fine.”

”why he still hot tied up???”

”lmfao this dumbass Tarrek gon DIEEEE”

Tarrek leaned in with a snort. ”You talk big for someone who’s shackled to the Greed-Sink.”

”I let you put those on,” the clone said. Still calm. Still patient. ”Because I wanted to see what rat circus you’d put on for the cameras. You didn’t disappoint.”

Tarrek squinted. ”You’re bluffing.”

”Oh,” the clone murmured. ”If I wanted to kill you, we wouldn’t be streaming.”

The female gargoyle shifted slightly, eyeing him.

”...He’s too calm.”

”Good,” the twitchy male gargoyle on the side replied. ”Means the fear’s gonna hit harder later.”

The hellhound leaned closer to the screen. ”Audience spiked to 102k. We just passed Infernal Kitchen’s latest meltdown.”

Tarrek grinned wider.

”You hear that, Vaelthorn? You’re a goddamn celebrity.”

Clone #5 tilted his head slightly.

His voice dropped.

”You think that’s a win?”

A pause.

”You think being seen holding me hostage will earn you power?”

His eyes glowed brighter.

”You just painted a target on your gang, your lineage, and the next ten idiots dumb enough to sit in this room.”

The entire chamber went a little quieter.

The hellhound’s smile faltered.

Tarrek tried to cover it with bravado.

”I’m not scared of your daddy’s money.”

The clone leaned forward—chains creaking.

”I’m not scared of my father either.”

And for a split second—

He looked exactly like the real one.

Not smug. Not flirty. Just dead calm.

Dead dangerous.