Malthus couldn't touch .
Not with his sword, not with his ego, not even with the fiery desperation of a man who skipped therapy for war cris.
I was untouchable.
The sa couldn't be said for him, though — I had cut his foot earlier. Yeah, clean off.
He wasn't expecting it — probably thought I was too busy monologuing or being a disappointnt to humanity.
But no. I was done being that guy.
I'd grown. ntally, spiritually, and possibly in hair density.
He regrew his foot, because of course he did — apparently Malthus' body parts co with a lifeti warranty — and ca swinging like an unpaid electricity bill.
Yet still… he couldn't land a hit.
I, on the other hand, was calm.
Serene.
An emotional monk in a battle royale.
I had faith. Faith in my training, my patience, and my katana — the only thing more loyal to than my childhood crush.
If I stayed focused, I would hurt him. Eventually.
But patience was not Malthus' strong suit. The man had the emotional restraint of a toddler with a flathrower.
He stopped fighting, raised his hand to the sky — classic villain move.
Palm open. Eyes glaring.
Begging the gods for attention like an influencer losing followers.
Then ca the heat.
Then ca the light.
Then ca my regret for not investing in sunscreen.
And then… Malthus said sothing that officially broke my will to understand logic: "If a sword won't hurt you, I'll throw a sun at you!"
…Excuse ?
Sir.
You failed basic astronomy, didn't you?
A sun?
You're gonna throw a star at because stabbing didn't work? That's like losing a chess ga and bombing the opponent's house.
But fine. Turns out it wasn't a real sun. Just a smaller version.
Like a pocket sun. A fireball with delusions of grandeur.
Still — hot enough to turn into barbecue.
I didn't back down. I raised my katana.
"I can cut this," I told myself. "I believe in my training."
Then my System decided to open its big mouth.
[ You won't be able to cut shit, you idiot! You're the main character, not Chuck Norris. Put that katana down and let handle it. ]
I was about to argue — maybe even file a complaint — but the damn System interrupted .
[ Skill: GOLDEN SHOWER — ACTIVATED. ]
…
Silence.
I blinked.
Then I looked down.
Nothing.
Then I felt sothing.
Drops. On my head.
Golden drops.
I looked up. No clouds. No people.
Just divine justice.
Which ant… God was taking a piss.
And he had perfect aim.
One drop beca two. Then a downpour.
Suddenly, it started raining like Heaven had bladder issues.
Golden rain fell across the land — shimring, sizzling, sanctified chaos.
Those celestial droplets hit Malthus' miniature sun, and poof.
It vanished. Just like that.
Outshined, outclassed, and out-pissed.
The heat vanished. The light dimd.
The battlefield cooled.
And I stood there, wet in divine urine, victorious.
The people watching on the sky-screen went feral.
They scread my na like a stadium full of drunk cricket fans.
"THE HERO KING!"
"HE DID IT!"
"BATHED IN GOD'S LOVE — AND GOD'S PISS!"
So even drank the golden rain.
Why?
I don't know.
Maybe they thought it was holy. Maybe they were just dehydrated and stupid.
Either way, I didn't care.
The sun was gone, Malthus was mad, and I was the hero again.
Malthus' face twisted into an expression that could make statues file for emotional damage.
His jaw was clenched so tight it could've cracked diamonds. His nails dug into his palms until blood dripped like guilt.
And I smiled.
Because this ti, he was the one losing his composure.
Last ti, he got frustrated because I kept cracking jokes mid-fight with Sexis and Erect.
This ti, he was mad because I was actually winning.
Character developnt, baby.
We were both on the ground now — not floating, not flying.
My feet hurt, my soul was sweaty, but I felt powerful.
I couldn't fly. Not yet.
But I could jump like my rent was due tomorrow.
Still, I knew Malthus could fly.
He was the kind of guy who probably ca out of the womb midair.
Then my System chid in again like an uninvited coworker:
[ You can do that too. You have a skill for it. I'll activate it when I see the need. ]
I grinned. My System had my back.
Finally. Sothing in my life was reliable.
Everything was going my way.
My allies were thriving too.
The Nano Bites — those adorable murder robots — were in Impossible Mode, a.k.a. "God Mode with caffeine."
They were untouchable.
Faster than gossip in a small town.
Stronger than your ex's opinions.
They could launch their arms like missiles, bend like contortionists, and kill like tax audits.
One robot? Killed five n.
Effortlessly. Like swatting mosquitoes.
I looked to my master next.
She was dueling Malthus' mother — two seasoned psychos fighting like divorced thunder gods.
Master was an absolute monster.
She trained every day, every hour, probably even in her sleep.
She could kill an army while humming lullabies.
Ghost Jack was nearby, keeping watch, because Stronges was carrying his body like a cursed backpack.
He didn't want her hurt, so he was ready to blind Malthus' mom the mont things got hairy.
Honestly, I wasn't worried about Master.
The woman could beat death with a broomstick if she felt like it.
Next up: Sexis and Erect.
Both thriving. Both chaos incarnate.
Sexis was reaping souls with his scythe like a farr who got rejected too many tis.
Erect was smashing bones with his hamr like a toddler discovering physics.
Erect even broke Malthus' brother's leg — twice.
Sure, it healed instantly, but that's not the point.
He broke it.
Small victories matter.
Then I saw him.
The rchant.
Mohawk Guy.
My favorite lunatic.
He was still alive — sohow — fighting Malthus' dad.
The old man had grabbed his mohawk like a handle on a shopping cart, but the rchant didn't flinch.
Instead, he kicked him in the head and punched him with brass knuckles like a motivational speaker with brain damage.
Both looked half-dead, but that's fine.
Progress is progress.
I took a deep breath. Looked around.
Everyone was giving their all.
The robots, the master, my friends, even the mohawk freak.
All doing their part.
So I cracked my fists, smiled at Malthus, and said the only thing that made sense.
"Guess it's ti for their king to remind you who the fuck I am."
And for the first ti in a long ti—
I ant it.
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