Everyone was doing great like Christopher Nolan.

The master, the Nano Bites, the prisoners, the aliens, even that mohawk merchant who looked like he lost a bet with Satan.

And if they were all winning… then obviously, I had to win too.

Because what kind of king lets his subordinates carry the plot while he stands around like moral support with abs?

I turned my focus back to Malthus — my favorite cosmic hemorrhoid.

He'd thrown a damn sun at me.

And I'd turned it off like a lightbulb.

Now that's progress.

Honestly, I was stronger than I was during my "Hero King" era. Back then I was a glorified motivational speaker with a sword.

Now?

Now I was a divine pest control who eats pests to get rid of them.

[ That's because I'm running the show now. You don't have useless skills anymore. And I'm the one activating them. You'd probably use Fireball to light a cigarette without me. ]

'You're a narcissist.'

[ Who do you think I'm doing this for? I could delete you in a heartbeat, you flesh folder of mistakes— ]

'Whoa whoa, calm down bro. I was kidding. You're doing great. Love your work.'

[ Hmph. ]

The system shut up — probably sulking in binary — and Malthus vanished.

Not teleported. Not blinked. Just… ceased existing for a second.

Like my motivation on Mondays.

He reappeared right in front of me.

We were still fighting in the ruins of his castle — his precious castle — but he didn't even glance at it.

Typical tyrant behavior. Priorities? None. Aesthetic sense? Negative two.

I gripped my katana, fluid as water.

He held his big red sword, thick as generational trauma.

Then he stared at me. Long. Hard. Uncomfortably close.

"What?" I asked. "Do I have something on my face? Victory, maybe?"

He flared his nostrils — the international sign for villainous self-importance.

"Now you are truly the Human King," he said. "You've become strong. I couldn't have liked it any better."

I waved dismissively. "Cut the compliments, redhead. I'm not into men with planetary ego disorders. I'm here to kill you."

He smirked. "You won't kill me."

"Why not?" I frowned. "You think I'll marry you? Or myself? I've done dumber things, but not that dumb."

He laughed — deep, rumbling, demonic. The kind of laugh that sounds like a blender full of gravel. "You don't have a sister. You don't even have a girlfriend. You've never been loved by the opposite sex, have you?"

Ah. So we're doing emotional damage now.

"I know how it feels to be loved!" I snapped.

…Just not by anyone legally dateable.

Still, I had faith in my rizz.

If I could make men risk their lives for me, then women were just the next DLC.

"Also," I said, smiling sweetly, "you talk about love? You can't even reproduce. You're infertile, you expired chili pepper."

A vein popped on his head so hard it deserved its own postal code.

Victory. Mine.

He clenched his fists, clearly fighting the urge to rage-transform into the Hulk's red cousin.

But then, he did the unthinkable. He calmed down.

"You won't kill me," he said coolly, "because I'm the only one who knows where your family is."

…

Well, shit.

My brain rebooted like a lagging Windows 98 machine.

He wasn't wrong.

If he died, who'd tell me where they were? What if he had some trap in place? A dead man's switch or some magical murder failsafe?

I clenched my teeth.

"Where have you kept my family, you demonic Elon Musk wannabe?!"

Malthus laughed — that cruel, arrogant villain laugh that makes you want to punch God for giving people lungs.

"If you kill me, your family dies," he said. "If you let me live, maybe I'll free them… right after I kill you. Choose wisely, Human King. Will you save your family or your pride?"

The bastard was playing 4D emotional chess.

I tightened my grip on my sword.

"I'll—"

And then, from behind him, came a voice that could only belong to one chaotic ghost.

"Um, pal?"

Both of us froze.

It was him.

Jack. Mihoff.

The only ghost who could make divine battles feel like open mic night at purgatory.

Jack floated behind Malthus, looking like Casper after a midlife crisis.

"Your family," he said cheerfully, "is in the underground chamber of K-Cup City, Titilis Continent. Each member in a separate cell. Still alive. Guarded by one guy. The guard's orders are: if the red-boy here doesn't check in today, your family dies. Oh, and if you're gonna rape him for that info, please save me a front-row seat."

My jaw dropped so fast I almost swallowed my own dignity.

Malthus froze mid-breath.

We both turned to look at Jack, whose expression screamed I'm too dead for this shit.

Malthus' glare could melt glaciers.

Jack just smiled, the ghostly equivalent of flipping someone off politely.

"I used my skill on him," Jack explained casually, "as soon as he started his little speech. He thought all that stuff inside his head, and I just… shared it. Publicly. Because privacy is for mortals."

I smiled. "You're a legend, Jack."

Jack winked. "Don't mention it, pal. You thanked me once already — that's one too many. Take care, I'm checking on Master now."

He turned around.

But before he could float away — Malthus snapped.

"You bastard!"

The red demon roared loud enough to shake the dust off the castle ruins.

He bolted straight at Jack, fury exploding from his body like a nuke made of pure ego.

Jack flinched for half a second — then remembered, oh yeah, he's dead.

So he just floated there.

Malthus swung his fist, powered by hate, testosterone, and sheer stupidity—

THUMP!

His fist passed through Jack like an unpaid loan.

Malthus stumbled, hitting nothing but regret.

Jack looked down at him and smirked.

"You can't hit everything you see, big guy. Nice try though."

And in that moment — no cap, no exaggeration — Jack's aura leveled up so hard it could've started its own religion.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.