CHAPTER 96: ASCENSION PROTOCOL

Chapter 96 – Ascension Protocol

She growled softly. A very unladylike, low, feral sound. She turned, silk gown fluttering, face caught somewhere between thrilled and homicidal.

"You teleported away from me."

"You tried to slice me open."

"It was foreplay," she purred.

"Your definition of foreplay has gotten very unhealthy since the Ember Court."

She pouted. "Lux—"

"Uh uh," he said, lifting a finger while sipping. "This is vacation Lux. He does not get sliced. He does not get hexed. He does not die for foreplay."

Sira exhaled hard through her nose. Her fingers flexed once, then retracted. The claws faded. Her gown shimmered back into something a little less wrathful.

Lux nodded approvingly. "See? This is why we got along. You’re dramatic, but you’re reasonable."

She crossed her arms. "You’re annoying when you’re like this."

"And you’re hot when you’re angry," he said easily. "But I still say no."

A tense silence stretched between them.

Outside the frozen bubble, the coffee shop remained locked in time. The swirl in the suspended latte was still there. The waiter still mid-step. The girl at the window still frozen mid-photo.

Lux walked back toward the table, one smooth step at a time. He didn’t sit again. Just stood near the edge, watching her.

"I’m not running from you, Sira," he said, voice softer now. "But if we do play? It won’t be a game."

She looked up at him, her eyes unreadable.

"I don’t do halfway," Lux continued. "If you want to flirt? Fine. But if you want more... you’ll have to meet me at my price."

"And what’s your price?"

He smiled, cold and warm all at once. "Everything. I’m fucking expensive."

Sira laughed. It wasn’t mocking this time. It was... tired.

Tired of thrones. Of eyes watching. Of being a piece on the board.

She snapped her fingers.

The world resumed.

Sound returned. The swirl in the latte spun again. The waiter blinked and resumed walking. Lina at the counter printed the receipt. The café came alive once more.

Sira was gone.

No rift. No exit.

Just... gone.

Lux sat back down, lifted his cup, and drained the rest of his coffee.

The system pinged quietly.

[New Notification – Sin Thread Altered]

[Target: Sira of Pride]

[Status: Interested. Watching. Unresolved.]

[Threat Level: Depends on Mood.]

[Affection Level: ...Chaotic.]

He sighed.

Then whispered to no one in particular, "Next time I want coffee, someone remind me to not seduce royalty by accident."

And took another sip.

Even if the coffee tasted just a little like adrenaline now.

The café buzzed again—normal, innocent, irritatingly unaware. Lina was back to glaring at the receipt printer like it had personally offended her ancestors. The latte swirl had completed its destiny in a mug now sitting on a tray. Life resumed. Everyone blinked. Breathed. Ordered. Laughed.

Except Lux.

He sat, staring into his cup like it had answers to existential demon drama.

"...Guess I need to use that coupon now," he muttered, voice low. "I need therapy."

[Shall I send a formal request to the Upper Realm announcing your divine therapy appointment, sir?]

Lux blinked.

"That’s unnecessary. We already sent the email. Though they haven’t sent me any reply yet," he said immediately. "Well... Let’s make it a surprise visit. I want the panic fresh."

[Delightfully chaotic. Executing "Sudden Arrival" protocol. Please enjoy the descent—or rather, ascent—into bureaucratic discomfort.]

Lux rolled his eyes and downed the last of his espresso.

Still hot.

Still bitter.

Still full of the lingering taste of Sira’s perfume, danger, and unresolved pride-infused flirtation.

He stood up, left a tip so big it made the register hiccup, and walked out into the late morning light of the city.

The street was alive—cars, horns, people, wealth. All of it moving fast, unaware that just moments ago a literal Pride Princess nearly turned a café into a murder scene because her feelings weren’t acknowledged properly.

Lux climbed onto his bike, a sleek black-and-gold custom monstrosity of demonic engineering and human street legality. The engine purred like a satisfied panther in heat. With one hand on the handlebar and the other still wiping sleep from his face, he whispered, "Let’s go."

It roared.

He sped through the streets. Past the boutique shops. The glimmering towers. The street preachers yelling about credit card debt being a modern plague. The billboards advertising soul insurance. A kid waved at him. Lux gave him a two-finger salute without slowing down.

Minutes later, he pulled up in front of his hotel.

The Sovereign Grand.

Marble steps. Doormen in gold trim. Chandelier inside the lobby tall enough to shame most minor divine beings. Same old.

He parked the bike.

Straight to the elevator. Lobby music playing something suspiciously close to celestial jazz. The kind that made you feel like forgiveness was a beverage.

He was alone in the elevator.

Good.

He opened his Inventory. Flicked through items lazily like someone scrolling a chaotic shopping app.

Ah. There it was.

[Therapy Coupon]

[One-time access to Upper Realm’s Mental Health Sanctum. Includes one (1) session with certified celestial therapist. Non-transferable. Not valid for combat counseling or infernal lust issues.]

[Blessed are the emotionally constipated, for they shall be unpacked.]

He stared at it for a beat.

"...Use."

The coupon shimmered. Then vanished in a tiny sound that suspiciously resembled a harp being plucked and judged at the same time.

The elevator shuddered.

The panel went dark.

Every button disappeared.

Then the elevator started going up.

Really up.

Faster than any hotel should legally allow. Past the penthouse floors. Past logic. Past zoning laws.

[Welcome to Ascension Protocol. Please keep all limbs and infernal pride inside the cabin.]

The elevator didn’t stop.

Not for floors.

Not for time.

And then—

-Ding!

The doors slid open.

Light spilled in like a cleansing wave.

Lux stepped out.

And just like that, he was in the Upper Realm.

It wasn’t clouds and harps and toga parties. Oh no. The Upper Realm had upgraded.

It was modern. Impossibly sleek. Gleaming white floors with soft gold patterns running like veins beneath the surface. The walls were high, clean, curved in that impossibly "angelic architecture" way where nothing had corners but somehow still felt powerful. Holographic scripts floated gently through the air. Soft ambient music played—a mix between divine choir and lo-fi beats. Peaceful. Sterile.