My Wives Are Seven Beautiful Demonesses Chapter 33 - No.33 Hence Proved Premium Tissue Paper Is God!

[Location: Penalty Zone]

And in the pulse of heat, sand, and molten fury, I realised sothing terrifying...

It can breathe fire.

Not just a little puff, not so pathetic torch-fla. No—this was a furnace, a volcanic eruption housed inside a throat the size of a house, and I was dangling from its chin like an idiot who had just volunteered to be the main course.

The glow in its gullet deepened, shifting from dull ember-orange to a white-hot incandescence that painted the desert night like a sunrise. Heat shimred across the sand, warping the stars above, bending the very air until it looked like the heavens themselves were lting.

I coughed, choking on the air, because it wasn’t air anymore—it was molten breath, each inhale like dragging razors down my throat. My lungs scread, blistering on the inside, and every survival instinct in scread louder than ever before. Jump off. Run. Crawl. Die in the sand, but don’t stay here.

And I am hanging by its chin, holding Muramasa like my life depends on it, which it does. If this bastard breathes fire from its mouth, then I am toast.

Because Muramasa is plugged so deep inside its chin, that fire will leak from the hole.

And I was right there to receive it.

The first sputter wasn’t even a breath, just a hiss of escaping pressure—like a boiler venting steam. But the heat alone seared my eyebrows off, peeling skin from my face in blistering patches. Then ca the main blast.

The desert turned into a hellscape. A geyser of white-hot fire howled out of the wyrm’s maw, the sound less like a roar and more like a collapsing sun. Sand vitrified instantly, glowing into rivers of glass beneath us. The air howled, blistering, thick with the scent of cooked flesh—mine included.

I didn’t let go. Couldn’t. Because if I fell, I was ash. If I stayed, I was char. Either way, I died. The only difference was whether I dragged this molten bastard closer to death with .

"BURN WITH THEN, YOU BASTARD!" I howled, throat shredding raw, and jamd Muramasa deeper.

The cursed blade drank. Venom sizzled into the wyrm’s molten bloodstream, lifesteal pulling molten vitality through my hands. My HP ticked upward even as fire peeled skin off my back. A sick trade. My health rose and fell in a nauseating seesaw, System windows blinking red so fast they blurred.

[HP -41]

[HP 23]

[HP -19]

[HP 11]

My body was cooking alive, but Muramasa’s lifesteal held just above the edge of death—like a sadistic teeter-totter where the only prize was more agony.

The wyrm thrashed, shrieking molten rage, trying to wrench free. But every twist, every convulsion only buried Muramasa deeper, locking tighter into its furnace-flesh. My arms trembled, Armant Core flaring black around my hands to keep them from disintegrating.

The fire kept spewing, pouring not just out of its mouth but through the wound I’d carved. Flas gushed sideways like a ruptured pipe, splashing across the sand in random, chaotic arcs. The wyrm was bleeding its own weapon into itself, searing its chin with its own inferno.

That was when I laughed.

Not because anything was funny, but because I’d broken past fear, past reason. My brain had boiled into sothing new—battle mania. I was clinging to the chin of an A-rank desert god, cooking alive, laughing like a lunatic as I turned its fire back on itself.

"Y-YOU LIKE SPITTING FIRE?!" I rasped, voice shredded into madness. "SPIT HARDER!"

...

I don’t know how much ti has passed, but I was still hanging in like a stubborn roach stuck on the kitchen wall after a nuclear blast.

Every nerve was fried. My muscles were cooked at held together by sheer willpower. But sohow, sohow, I was still there. My nails had split, my palms were raw and bleeding, and Armant Core was the only thing glueing to Muramasa’s hilt.

I looked at the system panel showing remaining ti in this hell—

[Duration: 00:02:59]

OH GOD!

My great-grandfather. If you’re listening, then fuck you too!

For creating that grandfather of mine. Lucifer. Who, I suspect, created this system?

Three minutes remaining, then I’m gone.

I swear from now on, I will never miss Daily Quest.

RAWWWWWWWGGGG!

But of course, the wyrm thrashed like a mountain co alive, the desert splitting with every violent convulsion. Fire geysers erupted from its maw, spilling through the wound I’d carved, spraying the world in molten chaos. My body was screaming, nerves flaring so bright I couldn’t even feel pain anymore—just raw, white-hot existence.

[HP -27]

[HP 15]

[HP -33]

[HP 19]

The notifications flickered like mocking laughter in the corner of my vision. Two minutes, thirty seconds left. An eternity. A lifeti.

"Two and a half minutes?!" I croaked, throat raw as desert glass. "System—you sadistic bastard! If I survive this... I’m—" My voice broke into a ragged laugh, "—I’m uninstalling you!"

The wyrm reared, molten eyes flaring, and I swung with it, dangling like the world’s dumbest ornant. My vision blackened at the edges, only sheer madness keeping conscious. Muramasa pulsed, venom dripping deeper, lifesteal working overti to keep clinging.

I wanted to quit. Every part of begged to. But then—

[Item: Minor Recovery Potion detected in inventory.]

My half-lted brain lit up. "Potion—potion! Yes! Give that sweet Gatorade!"

With one hand still death-locked on Muramasa, I fumbled the other toward my inventory slot. A flash of glass in my palm, cork between my teeth, and I downed it in a single desperate gulp. Cool, divine liquid burned down my ruined throat like salvation itself.

[HP 15%]

[Fatigue reduced.]

"Ohhhh yes," I gasped, chest rattling with wheezy laughter. "That’s the good shit!"

It wasn’t enough. Nowhere near enough. But it pushed a breath past collapse. Long enough to drag Muramasa another inch deeper. Long enough to spite the System’s countdown.

[Duration: 00:01:12]

One minute. Just one.

The wyrm’s throat glowed again—another fire-breath charge. My eyes widened, half-mad, half-exhilarated.

"You again, huh?!" I scread hoarsely. "Fine! Burn harder!"

It unleashed. White fla vomited across the desert, pouring into the wound at its chin. The backlash washed over like a sun detonating point-blank. My skin blistered, sloughed, healed, blistered again in a grotesque cycle as lifesteal struggled to keep pace. My laughter tore free, shredded and wild.

[HP -44]

[HP 18]

[HP -21]

[HP 9]

[Warning! Warning! HP is less than 5%!]

The crimson alert blinked furiously across my vision, blinding, mocking, screaming louder than my nerves. My body was cooked—charred at wrapped in cracked skin, hanging on by strings of willpower and venom-fed lifesteal. My head lolled, vision tunnelling, but the counter still glared at —

[Duration: 00:00:47]

Less than a minute. Less than a goddamn minute!

"I—haahh—swear," I rasped, coughing blood that instantly sizzled into steam, "if I live through this... I’m shoving Muramasa so deep up this desert’s ass it’ll burp curses for eternity!"

The wyrm shrieked again, molten eyes burning holes in the stars. Fire still leaked from the wound, pouring sideways in chaotic bursts, the desert itself lting into rivers of glass. My hands were gone—I couldn’t feel them anymore, only the buzzing numbness of Armant Core locking bone to steel.

And then—

[Item: Premium Tissue Paper detected in inventory.]

I blinked. Then blinked again. "The fuck—" My voice was shredded to sandpaper. "System... are you mocking ?!"

Another geyser of fire scread past, singeing what little hair I had left. My jaw clenched, half-hysterical. "What am I supposed to do—wipe its ass?! Or... or wipe off the desert floor when I splatter?!"

The window didn’t respond, just hovered there, smug.

The thought hit —stupid, absurd, insane. Which ant it was perfect.

Premium Tissue Paper. Absorbs mana residue. Wipes curses.

The wyrm’s fire wasn’t just heat—it was mana-fueled hellfla. My cracked grin split bloody lips as laughter bubbled up.

"Alright then... let’s see if toilet paper can save my fucking life!"

With a lunatic roar, I ripped the glowing white square from my inventory. The desert wind caught it, fluttering absurdly delicate against the backdrop of molten chaos. I slapped it against the leaking wound where Muramasa was lodged.

The paper glowed. Not burned—glowed. Mana bled from the wyrm’s furnace-blood into the sheet, absorbed like water into a sponge. The sideways torrents of hellfla dampened, sputtering, redirected back inside its own throat.

The wyrm convulsed violently, choking on its own breath, fire spiraling out of control in its gullet. For a heartbeat—just one heartbeat—I wasn’t the one burning.

[Duration: 00:00:09]

Nine seconds.

"Co on..." I whispered, teeth grit, blood bubbling in my throat. "Choke... choke for , you bastard..."

The wyrm thrashed, body cracking dunes like toy hills, glass shattering across the desert. I clung to Muramasa, Premium Tissue Paper plastered like the world’s most insulting bandage on a god’s chin.

[Duration: 00:00:03]

[Duration: 00:00:02]

[Duration: 00:00:01]

The System’s voice rang out—cold, clinical, almost bored.

[Penalty Completed. Transfer Initiating.]

And the desert disappeared in a blink.

***

Stone , I can take it!

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