Sexis' mom had a voice so heavy it could be used as a gym weight.

When she ordered everyone to "ATTENTION!", the entire basement straightened up like we'd all been caught watching furry porn.

Spines cracked, knees clicked, and even the air got disciplined.

All eyes locked on Boob-Sexis. Yeah, I'm still calling her that until someone gives me an official birth certificate.

She was holding a thick metal rod, tapping it against her palm like she was one bad mood away from committing justified homicide.

I had no idea why Sexis never mentioned his mother. Probably because saying "My mom could one-shot God" kills the vibe on friend night.

What was she even doing in this basement? And why did she look like she just retired from the Galactic Military's 'I'll Slap Your Soul Straight' division?

She was an alien—taller than all of us humans, with two antennas twitching like they had Wi-Fi.

And weirdly… She didn't look down on humans. Which was new. Most aliens treat us like walking diseases with tax returns.

Though, she did give me a face of disgust earlier—but that's probably because I compared her to an insect. My bad.

Right now, she was scanning all of us with eyes that screamed "I've buried men for less."

Sexis stood beside us, head hanging low like a kid caught failing Moral Science.

This was the same pervert who once moaned at a doorknob, and now he looked like a saint in confession. If he was scared, we were officially doomed.

Then—

"All of you…" her voice thundered.

"ARE TRASH."

Her tone had the softness of a blender full of nails.

And the worst part?

Nobody argued.

Because deep down, we knew she was right.

I mean, look at me—The Hero King. Once the savior of mankind, now standing in a basement smelling like regret and alien deodorant.

"But," Boob-Sexis said, her glare sharpening like a tax audit, "I will refine you all into diamonds."

Every head jerked up like "Wait, what? Character development?"

"My name is Stronges Trum," she declared. "I am the mother of the Alien King. I trained him into what he is."

She paused, cracked her knuckles, and her antennas flicked like twin whips.

"But it seems…" her tone dropped to hell itself, "he forgot my training—and died like a weak little bitch."

Sexis flinched so hard I thought his soul tried to uninstall itself.

Now it made sense—why he was acting like a deflated balloon.

He wasn't scared of death.

He was scared of mom.

And honestly, if my mom was this scary, I'd delete my existence too.

Stronges continued her verbal execution, "I trained him to the bone—and yet, he lost to that red mass of meat. I am ashamed of him."

Sexis' head dropped even lower.

Then her death-ray eyes moved to me.

"You were the King of the Heroes, weren't you?"

I gulped. Oh no. Oh no.

"I don't give a fuck about alien-human relations," she growled. "But you failed your kind just like my son failed his."

Her words hit me right in the guilt gland.

"You had power. You had anger. You had potential. But you wasted it doing fuckery. You let that red meatball of a bastard kill you. Be ashamed."

Goddamn.

Her insults didn't just hurt—they built a summer home inside my soul.

I didn't even argue. Because she was right.

Then, as if reading my mind, she continued, "You must be wondering who I am to say all this—and where I was during the war."

Yes, exactly that! Finally, someone addressing the plot hole!

She stomped her leg on the ground—THUD!

The shockwave alone could've sent my sins flying out of me.

"I was sleeping."

….

Silence.

Utter silence.

Even time paused to process that one.

"…Excuse me?" I said, the only idiot brave enough to question the intergalactic drill sergeant.

"Yes," she nodded calmly, "I was asleep when the war happened. When I woke up, everything was over."

I blinked. "We were fighting an apocalypse! How do you nap through Armageddon? Did your pillow come with noise cancellation and sedatives?!"

She said, "This basement is soundproof. I trained here."

"Training?? Lady, your training failed the moment you didn't wake up to planetary genocide!" I threw my hands up. "What's the point of being strong if your alarm clock is stronger?! Also, if you were asleep then how do you know what happened in the war?"

She sighed. "After you lost, that red mass made sure that the whole world sees your defeat. So for one whole month, he replayed the entire fight in the sky he did with you so that we all could see what will happen to those who will try to come in his way or even as much as speak against us."

My jaw dropped.

Even Erect's jaw dropped so low it was touching spiritual rock bottom.

'Why didn't you tell me about this, system?' I asked. The system had told me everything but left out this part. Why?

[ What could you have done knowing this? I only told you what you needed to know. Now shut up. ]

This damn system had the attitude of a god with no customer support.

Anyway, back to Boob-Sexis—let's see what she has to offer. Not her body that's for sure.

"I am a fighter," she said, chest out, voice shaking dust off the walls. "This planet is my home. I will not let anyone take it. With the Hero King here, humans and aliens are now allies."

Everyone nodded, mostly out of fear that disagreeing would end with a rod through their soul.

"I have instructed all aliens not to argue with Malthus' guards," she went on. "If we can't win, we endure. We survive."

Wise words from someone who slept through global genocide, but I kept my mouth shut.

Then I asked, "So… now what?"

She put her hands on her waist like she was about to ruin our entire lifestyle.

"From tomorrow, I will train you all."

Oh no.

Her smile was the kind of smile that boyfriends give before asking for nudes.

"Aliens will join you too. I'll make your bodies steel, and your hearts forget fear. I'll turn you all into monsters."

Erect fainted in spirit. I swear I saw his soul filing for annual leave.

It sounded cool though. Even if she was terrifying, at least she had a plan.

"How long till we're strong enough to take on Malthus and his army?" I asked.

She smirked. That smirk said "You're going to hate that you can breathe."

"Five years exact."

The way she said it, it wasn't a prediction. It was a sentence.

Like—"You have five years left to live, bitch."

And that's when I knew—

This wasn't just training.

This was HELL'S GYM.

Run by a woman who once bench-pressed her own disappointment and probably Sexis' father.

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