The prisoners and aliens—my so-called allies—had already turned about sixty percent of Malthus' castle gates into scrap metal.

Sixty percent. Not bad.

They could've walked inside right now if they had two brain cells and one ounce of patience.

But no.

They wanted perfection.

They wanted total annihilation.

One hundred percent destruction. Because apparently, breaking into a castle was less about strategy and more about "emotional fulfillment."

They had trained their asses off—literally, some of them no longer had asses—and now they wanted proof of their strength.

Proof in the form of door obliteration.

And while I admired the commitment to vandalism, I also had this tiny thing called a sense of urgency.

We didn't have time to hold a grudge against architecture.

So yeah, I decided to "help."

Not personally, of course. I'm a leader, not a laborer.

I turned to Erect and Sexis, my two favorite demolition tools disguised as people.

They had been itching for action since forever, like two toddlers denied sugar.

I gave them a look. They understood.

They bumped fists, radiating enough testosterone to fertilize a desert.

Malthus' castle had double doors—because one wasn't dramatic enough for rich villains.

Erect took position in front of the left one, Sexis in front of the right.

They didn't even stretch. Didn't pray. Didn't think.

They just clenched their fists like men about to propose violence to gravity itself—and then—

BAAAM!

The sound was biblical.

The gates screamed like they'd just seen their browser history exposed.

THAAM!

Both doors flew inside the castle like projectiles of pure disrespect.

One punch each.

That's all it took.

I swear, the gates didn't just break—they resigned.

The prisoners and aliens erupted into applause like it was an award show for destruction.

Some even looked emotional, probably because this was the first time they'd seen teamwork not end in manslaughter.

I raised my hand, grinning.

The crowd went silent instantly.

Then I brought my hand down.

"KILL!!"

The word ripped through the air.

And just like that—the floodgates of hell opened.

Everyone charged in.

Fire torches lit the black walls of Malthus' castle, casting long, angry shadows. The place looked magnificent, sure—if you ignored the vibe of "gothic tax evasion."

But no one cared about the interior design because, right after stepping in, my allies were greeted by an army of guards.

More than a thousand.

All standing there, trying to look confident but failing miserably.

They had those nervous smiles people get when they realize the "haunted house" isn't fake.

They were smirking because we looked fewer in number—and trembling because two giant metal doors had just been yeeted past them like frisbees of doom.

And then—the war began.

My allies lunged like rabid dogs with gym memberships.

The guards tried fighting back, but we'd trained with Nano Bites on Impossible Mode.

That's basically fighting Satan with DLCs unlocked.

Hand-to-hand combat? We'd mastered it.

Weapons? We had them.

Morality? Never heard of her.

The guards got folded faster than laundry in a dictatorship.

Heads rolled one after another, painting the floor red like someone spilled ketchup during a psychotic episode.

The master always said, "Go for the head."

Why? Because if you waste time playing around, the enemy might get lucky and stab you in the emotional trauma.

I'd learned that lesson well. That's why I'd sliced that monster's head earlier like I was cutting coupons.

Anyway.

Me, Erect, and Sexis stood at the back, watching the chaos unfold.

It looked less like a battle and more like an R-rated ballet choreographed by God's disappointment.

We didn't even feel the urge to join. It was too easy.

Like watching toddlers fight over crayons.

"I think we should go see the master," I said casually. "She was upstairs, right?"

Erect nodded.

"Yeah. She hasn't come down. Maybe she's fighting Malthus… or a bunch of guards."

Sexis opened his mouth, but I raised a hand to stop him.

He was probably about to say the exact same thing for the sake of word count.

He shut his mouth without complaint. Respect.

We started searching for stairs leading to the upper floor.

Found them pretty quick.

We could've sprinted up using our speed, but nah.

We walked.

Because walking slowly up a staircase while chaos rages behind you?

That's called main character energy.

And also, it gave us a chance to kill any stray guards wandering in our path.

Sexis and Erect, bless their violent hearts, treated it like a buffet.

They were hacking, smashing, and flattening anyone dumb enough to breathe near them.

I was more civilized.

I only killed those who came close enough to annoy me.

Still, the looks on their faces—oh, priceless.

Some guards froze mid-swing when they saw me.

They recognized me instantly, their eyes screaming: "Wait, didn't we bury this guy?!"

Worse, when they saw Erect and Sexis—they straight up malfunctioned.

Malthus had killed them. Publicly.

So seeing them alive again? Yeah, that broke a few brains.

Their courage deflated faster than my will to live on a Monday.

They dropped their weapons, muttering things like, "Impossible…" and "They're back from the dead…"

And then they just… died.

No battle, no struggle. Just pure psychological self-destruction.

Honestly?

I loved it.

Watching your enemies lose hope before you even touch them?

That's the kind of satisfaction caffeine can't buy.

As we climbed higher, I could hear Erect's hammer turning skulls into modern art, while Sexis' scythe sang through the air like a murder lullaby.

Their weapons worked perfectly with them—proof that the Master knew her students. She crafted weapons tailored to their fighting styles.

Every swing, every hit—it was poetry in homicide.

I could tell she'd succeeded.

Even the way Erect swung that hammer had rhythm.

He was basically composing a symphony of skull fractures.

Sexis moved like a dance of death. Elegant. Deadly. Questionably horny.

If not for my own "All Weapon Masturbation" skill, I'd probably be jealous.

Still, I couldn't help but smirk—my katana practically purred in my grip.

Everything was going according to plan.

The stairs spiraled upward, endless and dark, each step echoing with the promise of violence.

My heartbeat picked up, like it was preparing a drumroll.

Because soon—I'd face Malthus.

The one who'd been hunting me all these years.

The one who thought he'd seen me die.

When he saw me again… oh, he'd regret keeping receipts.

Our battle will be legendary.

As legendary as a virgin writer writing smut.

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