Malthus was dead.
Like, "credits rolling" dead.
The big bad, the red bastard, the horned hemorrhoid of my destiny — gone.
I killed the guy.
Easily.
Too easily.
Like deleting an app I should've uninstalled five years ago.
And for once in my life, being overpowered didn't feel empty.
It felt earned.
I was overpowered with purpose.
That's the difference between a tyrant and a legend: both talk big, but only one delivers with style.
The Supre Man — bald, glowing, and freshly resurrected like a divine lightbulb with emotional baggage — stood nearby, smiling like a proud teacher watching his dumbest student finally pass redial algebra.
But I wasn't looking at him.
I wasn't even looking at Malthus' corpse — which, by the way, was already being judged by every mosquito in the vicinity.
No.
My eyes went past the god, because there… behind him… I saw sothing that made my soul do backflips.
The Supre Man noticed.
He smiled — that smug, omniscient "I know exactly what you're about to cry about" kind of smile — and stepped aside.
And that's when I saw her.
"Gra-gra… grandma?"
Her face.
Her wrinkles — lines carved by wisdom, laughter, and probably disappointnt in my life choices.
"My son," she whispered, her voice like warm nostalgia dipped in spices of relief.
My legs moved before my brain didn't.
I didn't walk.
I launched myself into her arms like a missile made of emotional damage.
Her hug hit harder than any punch Malthus ever threw.
Warm. Familiar. Slling like love, lentils, and generational trauma.
I buried my face in her shoulder as she said the most grandma thing ever—
"You've beco so thin! When was the last ti you ate sothing decent?"
I laughed.
Imagine surviving demonic wars just to be scolded about nutrition.
Then another voice joined in.
"Son… we're here too."
I looked up through tears — blurry vision, heart pounding — and there she was.
Mom.
The OG boss.
The woman who could guilt-trip Satan into therapy.
Behind her — my whole family.
Alive. Breathing. Covered in dirt, but shining brighter than every light in the sky.
They looked like they'd been through hell, but still managed to bring the Indian family energy with them.
I opened my arms.
"I see you all. Co here. Let's have a group hug."
And then—
"Group hug?" my goblin-faced aunty Sofia frowned, adjusting her imaginary glasses of stupidity. "We can't do that."
I froze.
"...Why not?"
Sofia aunty folded her arms like a philosopher who'd just solved the aning of dumb.
"Because group hugs are circles, right? And we're six people. Six sides ans an octagon. But circles don't have sides. So technically, we can't do it."
I stared.
No words.
No thoughts.
Just the sound of my last brain cell packing its bags and leaving.
She stood there proud — like she'd just discovered gravity by tripping.
I sighed and glanced around for backup.
Maybe Erect could defuse this.
Except… nope. Bad idea.
Because I spotted him — hugging Sophia, his long-lost sister, who was crying like a faucet on emotional steroids.
Erect was whispering, comforting, being the best brother ever.
Sophia sobbed into his chest, venting five years of bottled fear and trauma.
But, of course, she also had to ntion my family.
Between sniffles, she said:
"Your grandpa flirted with one of Malthus' soldiers in captivity!"
"Your mom tried to force to drink milk!"
"And your aunt… she kept asking riddles like 'What color is silence?'"
I sighed.
She wasn't wrong. My family didn't need demons to cause chaos — they were the demons.
Anyway, I let Erect and Sophia have their mont and turned back to my aunty.
She was still looking smug, the human equivalent of an internet troll.
I folded my arms. "First of all, an octagon has eight sides. Not six."
Her mouth dropped.
"And second," I said, "you're officially out of the group hug. Disowned. Aunty privileges revoked. Hand over the family card."
She gasped. "You can't disown !"
"Why?"
"Because I never accepted being your aunty in the first place! You ca to crying!"
My eyebrow twitched so hard it developed muscle mory.
"I was a baby, you idiot. Babies cry."
"Oh." She blinked. "Then my bad. Sorry."
What the hell was she apologizing for? The laws of infancy?
I didn't even ask. I was too emotionally tired for this family's brain logic.
Anyway, she said sorry, and that's what mattered.
Family ans forgiving dumbness before it evolves into full insanity.
I sighed, smiling despite everything.
"Co on," I said, opening my arms again.
They smiled back.
All of them.
And then they ca forward.
The hug that followed?
Pure, unconditional, overdue.
Their warmth wrapped around like life itself was saying "Welco back, dumbass."
Five years of pain, loneliness, guilt, all lting away in that single, imperfect embrace.
For once, I wasn't a king.
I wasn't a hero.
I wasn't a chosen one.
I was just… ho.
When the tears slowed, I looked past them — at the Supre Man, who was watching us like a proud director at the end of a blockbuster.
I called out, "What about you, Supre Man? You okay with just a little divinity left? Or are you gonna yoink it back from us now that the world's saved?"
He waved a hand dismissively, his glow dimming like a divine nightlight. "Nah, I'm good. I'm staying here. The sky's too quiet. Gonna find a job, a house, and maybe a wife."
I blinked.
"You… you're gonna start dating mortals?"
He shrugged. "Why not? Even gods need midlife crises."
I laughed. "Just make sure she doesn't have horns. We've had enough of those for one lifeti."
But then, I sighed — the kind of sigh that carried both relief and regret, like a man realizing the world is saved but his DMs are still empty.
"A wife," I muttered softly. "I wanted that too."
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
A confession. A whisper. The romantic equivalent of a midlife crisis haiku.
I almost started reciting poetry — sothing deep, sothing tragic — like 'She was the moon, I was the ntal illness' — but then—
"My lord."
Erect's voice.
I turned toward him, my emotional monologue dissolving faster than cheap ice cream in hellfire.
The group hug had finally ended, thank the gods. Don't get wrong — I loved my family. But they slled like a mix of sweat, nostalgia, and soone else's basent trauma.
I dusted myself off. "What is it, Erect?"
He stood tall for a mont, eyes serious, before placing his right hand over his chest — the universal gesture of "sothing stupid is about to be said."
Then he knelt. One knee. Full knight mode.
My heartbeat spiked.
Oh no. Oh hell no.
"For your wife, my lord…" he began and before he could carry on…
"I am not that desperate to make you my wife, Erect. I like the thought but let's think about it at night."
He jerked his head violently — shaking so fast he nearly invented electricity.
"N-No, my lord!" he shouted. "I an my sister! Marry my sister, my lord — not !"
I blinked. My brain short-circuited for three full seconds.
Then it hit .
Oh.
Sophia.
I turned my head slightly, finding her standing there — grown-up now, glowing in that "fantasy heroine finally has trauma and a skincare routine" way.
My brows rose.
I had planned to rizz her up back in the day. That was the original blueprint. But then she called "brother." And once a girl says that, your romantic hopes die faster than Malthus' head count.
I opened my mouth to politely decline — maybe deliver a heartfelt line about destiny, or boundaries, or how incest-adjacent relationships confuse Reddit —
But then Sophia spoke first.
"...I don't mind marrying the lord hero."
There was a pause.
A deep, divine, world-stopping pause.
Even the Supre Man's divine glow dimd for a second — like "Wait, what?"
I stared at her. She blushed slightly, eyes shy, voice trembling like an ani confession in Dolby Atmos.
And because I'm — a man powered entirely by chaos and confidence — I smiled.
"Alright. Let's get married."
Boom. No hesitation. No proposal. No ring. Just instant matrimonial commitnt with the speed of a man ordering fries.
Erect clapped first.
Then everyone else joined in — the battlefield, the Nano Bites, even my grandma, all applauding like this was the world's most confusing rom-com finale.
The Supre Man gave a thumbs-up like a divine wedding planner.
I grinned, soaking it all in — the applause, the chaos, the absurdity.
I had it all now.
The power.
The fa.
The love life.
The traumatized in-laws.
I'd conquered gods, saved worlds, cracked jokes, and sohow secured a wife before lunch.
And I knew exactly how to summarize my legacy — the legend that would echo through galaxies, through ti, through the weirdest fanfictions imaginable.
I inhaled, grinning at the horizon as my story — our story — ca full circle.
"I am Overpowered… Codian… and Married in Another World."
———
[[I Am Overpowered And A Codian In Another World, Finished!!]]
-: Author Notes :-
-: Hey there, I am using Whatsapp—wait, sorry, wrong place. Anyway, KhyaaL here. I'll be honest, this was a rush ending. I'll be honest again, no one gives a fuck about it. I thought this would be the funniest novel in the whole Webnovel. A trend setter and sothing like that. But I was wrong.
I must have made so mistakes otherwise I wouldn't be poor at the mont with only forty fans of this novel. It's not your fault. I should have written better. Also, if you are reading this, thank you for coming all the way here. My heart goes out to you. If you want, I can even co to your house and do what Sexis wanted to do with Racis.
This was my third novel and I am glad that I was able to finish it without dropping it midway. I have written over 1.7 million words by now and I will write so more.
Thank you for being with for all this while. I will write sothing good for my next work. Take care. :-
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