[BL]Hunted by the God of Destruction-Chapter 265: Announcement

Chapter 265: Chapter 265: Announcement
They weren’t staged, at least not in the traditional sense. No overexposed filters, no forced poses, or signature backdrops. Just Elias and Victor standing in the soft light of the Numen manor’s east sunroom. Elias in charcoal gray with gold accents. Victor in bloodred and black, like he’d been born under a thunderstorm and handed a throne as consolation.
The photo Laziel approved for release showed Elias seated and unsmiling, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the chair, the other braced against the curve of his stomach. Victor stood behind him, a step to the side, fingers just brushing Elias’s shoulder in his protective aura.
The caption was simple:
The Future, As Promised.
The media reaction came in waves.
At first, silence... then speculation. Then there’s commentary dressed as analysis and analysis dressed as praise.
Some headlines were clinical, careful not to offend:
Clarke and Numen: Merger or Marriage?
Others were less restrained:
Elias Clarke becomes the heir of Clarke Industries after a Divine incident that left him the last member of his family. Divine intervention or cover-up from Numen Corp?
Heir Apparent or Corporate Weapon? The Clarke estate had shifted with the marriage into the Numen family.
Threads flooded social media within hours. Speculation, theories, designer tags, and zoomed-in breakdowns of cufflinks and lapels.
One popular commentator summed it up in five words:
"Numen didn’t marry down. Clarke rose."
There were compliments, sharp ones, honest ones. Some called Elias radiant. Others called him dangerous.
The numbers surged.
By the end of the day, the engagement post had overtaken quarterly stock s in reach. Laziel, somewhere in a designer’s loft with blackout windows and mood lighting, muttered
"as it should be,"
and turned off his phone.
—
In the colder, sharper central manor of the Numen family, in a suite lined with mirrored glass and strategic maps, Ego Numen watched the media feeds flicker across the wall.
"You know," Ruo said, swirling her wine with theatrical boredom, "I didn’t think Elias would have the spine to refuse your wardrobe proposal. But you have to admit... it was really bad."
She didn’t look at Ego when she said it. She rarely did.
If she had to be trapped in the central manor of the Numen family while Samael was away, held in place by expectation and coded threats, then she was at least going to drink the expensive wine and speak her mind. Someone had to.
Ego didn’t answer. He watched the media feeds flicker across the mirrored wall, split-screen analysis, slow-motion clips of the engagement photo, and overlay graphics charting Clarke Industries’ and Numen Corp overnight market climb.
Ruo took another sip.
"He looked like a threat," she said finally. "Laziel knew what he was doing. That shade of gray is quiet violence."
Still, no answer.
She looked over, sharp now. "You’re quiet."
Ego didn’t blink. "They will wear that to the gala for their engagement."
Ruo exhaled through her nose. "You say that like it’s a threat."
"It is," Ego said, but his tone wasn’t cold this time. It was curious. Almost entertained.
He stood with unhurried grace, adjusting the cuffs of his charcoal robe. The lighting shifted across the mirrored wall as market numbers continued to rise. Elias’s face remained on the center screen, gold-rimmed glasses catching the soft light, Victor’s hand at his shoulder.
"They’ve learned the art of shaping perception," he mused. "Not quite Numen yet. But close."
Ruo watched him, wary now. "You’re...not angry."
"No," Ego said, amused. "He refused my design proposal. Made Laziel earn his paycheck. Overshadowed three quarterly s. And now he’s carrying my first grandchild while dressing like a goddamn political scalpel."
He gave a dry smile.
"What’s there to be angry about?"
Ruo raised a brow. "You hate losing control."
"I’m not losing control," Ego said. "I’m gaining leverage I didn’t plan for. There’s a difference."
She folded her arms. "So you’re going to let them run the show?"
"I’m going to let them believe they are," Ego said smoothly. "Victor is most stable when protecting something. And Elias?" He glanced back at the frozen image of Elias seated like quiet judgment. "He’s going to force this family to evolve, one refusal at a time."
Ruo sipped her wine, expression unreadable. "I hope you don’t have anything planned for the baby. I’m not prepared for a war between Numen and its very God."
Ego was silent for a moment longer. "That child will inherit two empires. And possibly burn both down. I approve."
The comm panel blinked with Ashwin’s voice, clipped and professional.
"Sir. Final gala preparations confirmed. Clarke’s medical file was updated. The press release was mirrored in all target regions. No security breaches ed."
Ego nodded once, then turned off the wall of projections with a flick of his fingers.
"Let the world see them," he said, stepping away. "Let them adjust."
Ruo tilted her head. "You sound like you’re enjoying this."
"I am," Ego said. "It’s been far too long since the narrative surprised me."
Ruo set her glass down with delicate finality, the kind of gesture that looked casual but had all the weight of a formal dismissal.
"Well," she said, dragging the word out as if she hadn’t been planning this exact escape since the second Ego started sounding amused, "I should probably go get ready."
Ego didn’t turn. "You have six hours."
"And I need seven," Ruo replied. "I have to mentally prepare myself for the sheer volume of terrible fabric choices and compliments delivered with knives."
Her fingers grazed the edge of the marble bar as she passed it. "Besides, I’d like to arrive fashionably late and emotionally numb. The usual."
Ego gave no protest. Only said, "You’ll be seated near Elias."
That made her pause.
She glanced back, brow raised. "Is that a courtesy, a warning, or a social experiment?"
"Yes," Ego said.
Ruo exhaled slowly, then turned away. "If he throws a drink at me, I’m blaming you."
"If he does," Ego said, almost fondly, "you probably deserved it."
She didn’t argue. She never did when he was right.
Her heels clicked softly as she moved toward the exit, confidence wrapped in an expensive designer brand. But just before the doors hissed open, she glanced over her shoulder.
"I meant it, you know," she said. "That gray was violence. And he wore it like he’s been planning this since birth."
Ego’s mouth curved faintly, as if recalling something already filed away and weaponized.
"He has," he said. "He just didn’t know who the target was until now."
Ruo let out a soft, amused breath. "Poor Victor."
Then she was gone, a flash of crimson nails and expensive perfume, leaving the mirrored suite colder in her absence.
Ego stood alone, watching the room settle into silence. The projections were off. The wine untouched. His reflection shimmered in the glass beside Elias’s frozen image, like a shadow leaning just behind it.
He looked at it for a long time before murmuring, almost to himself:
"Good."
And then he turned away. There was still a gala to attend and a storm to enjoy.