Malthus couldn't touch Jack.

And that's not even a metaphor — he literally couldn't.

Because Jack was a ghost.

Punching him was like trying to slap depression — you just go through it and feel worse.

Malthus swung with the full fury of a man whose Wi-Fi just cut out mid-boss fight… and hit nothing.

His fist went through Jack like unpaid taxes through a corrupt politician.

Jack, being the disrespectful legend he is, dropped a one-liner so cold it froze Malthus' self-esteem on contact.

Then — bam — his aura shot up to max level, glowing like a spirit who just unlocked "Petty Mode."

But Malthus' punch still cratered the ground hard enough to make the planet moan.

The shockwave sent soldiers flying through the air like popcorn kernels of despair.

A few landed face-first, some sideways, but no one died. Because apparently physics respects the plot.

Nobody even turned to look back.

They knew it was Malthus.

They also knew he was my problem.

Which is flattering — and terrifying — because that meant they trusted me… the guy who once tried to cook ramen with lightning magic.

But fine. I'd take the faith.

Jack was still laughing, which didn't help.

The man (ghost? entity?) laughed like a dead hyena on helium, and that laugh probably echoed through dimensions.

Then, with a final chuckle, he floated back toward Stronges — ready to help Master smack Malthus' mom into menopause.

Meanwhile, Malthus was on one knee.

His fist still in the dirt, his shoulders trembling — not from pain, but from rage.

The kind of rage that makes villains say things like, "You'll regret this," before dying 10 minutes later.

His whole aura darkened.

The ground hissed.

The air got heavier, like guilt in a confessional.

He lifted his head — and those red predator eyes locked onto me.

I gripped my katana, ready to baptize him in disappointment.

Malthus slowly stood up, patted his knee like he was calming his inner demons, and said, "I am so fucking angry right now, Human King. I will kill you. But first, I want you to hurt. So for that, I'll kill your family first."

Instant heart attack.

Instant rage.

Instant realization that this guy had skipped every therapy session in existence.

My chest tightened.

My family was my fuel — my reason to be this deranged in the first place.

Then Malthus pulled out something shiny from his pocket.

A remote? Nope.

A walkie-talkie.

Because of course, the universal symbol of evil plans is bad communication devices.

He stared at me while speaking into it, voice cold as hell.

"Are you there, guard?"

A shaky voice crackled back, "Y-y-yes, my lord?"

"Is the family there?"

"Yes, they're here."

Malthus grinned — the kind of grin that makes you want to punch God for letting teeth exist.

"Kill th—"

"Heh." I smirked. "I won, Malthus. You lost."

That stopped him mid-sentence.

"What?"

Neither of us knew what I was doing — least of all, me.

I just said it to mess with his ego. But now I had to own it.

"Yeah," I said, doubling down with the confidence of a liar on live TV. "You already lost."

Malthus scowled. "Explain yourself before I make you eat your own legs."

I bought myself three seconds to think.

Then my mouth decided to freestyle.

"You're afraid," I said, pacing slightly, katana gleaming. "You're scared of losing to me. That's why you're hiding behind my family. If you were really confident, you'd fight me first. You'd crush me, break me, make me watch helplessly — then kill them. That's how you'd give me pain."

I was literally writing my own torture script, but whatever — it worked.

Malthus' frown deepened like a villain trying to solve math.

"So if I kill them right now, you won't feel pain?"

"Exactly," I said, bluffing harder than a broke gambler. "I've already mourned them. Five years. I accepted their deaths long ago. Kill them now, it won't mean shit."

The walkie lowered.

And I went in for the kill — verbally.

"But if you bring them here, alive — if I see them with my own eyes — then I'll feel it. I'll hope again. I'll break again. That's when you'll win, Malthus. When you destroy my heart right after I think I got it back."

Yeah.

I basically gave him step-by-step instructions on how to ruin my life.

But that's called strategy, baby.

And somehow… It worked.

Malthus blinked. Thought. Then nodded slowly, like an evil philosopher who just understood depression.

"Bring them when I say so," he ordered the guard, voice calm again.

Then he pocketed the walkie-talkie.

I exhaled — pure relief.

Did I win that round with logic or luck? Doesn't matter. Scoreboard says I'm still alive.

Malthus straightened his back. "I'll take you up on that offer, Human King. Let's go all out. I believe you can fly?"

I smirked.

[ Skill: Twin Towers Activated. ]

"Yeah," I said, stepping forward as my feet began to glow. "I can fly."

Malthus cracked his knuckles, stabbed his sword into the ground, and spread his arms.

A red light enveloped him — the kind of light that screams midlife crisis transformation sequence.

When it faded, he wasn't towering over me anymore.

He'd shrunk.

Now he was human-sized — my height.

This was his "true form."

Smaller. Faster. Angrier.

Basically, a walking blender with daddy issues.

SWISH!

He vanished.

"Boo."

He was suddenly right in front of me. Sword already raised.

I barely had time to block before his red blade clashed against my katana, sending shockwaves through my arms.

My hands trembled — the power behind that hit was insane.

But then, my skill kicked in.

Air pressure wrapped around me, boosting my strength.

I took off into the air.

Malthus appeared right behind me instantly — dude moved like Wi-Fi on steroids.

I swung my katana behind me — missed.

He ducked.

Then he lunged, horns first, like a demonic bull with something to prove.

I dodged back — barely. His horns ripped through my karate gi.

Now I was shirtless.

And apparently, that was someone's kink, because I heard distant voices scream, "OHHHHHHH HE'S HOTTTTTT!"

Bro.

Really?

I'm fighting for my family, not modeling for hell's version of Vogue.

But fine. I ignored the thirst and tightened my grip on my katana.

Things were getting intense.

The air was war. My blood was fire. My abs were apparently trending.

But as my mentor always said…

"When it gets hard, stay harder."

And so I did.

Stay Hard.

Fight Harder.

Win the day.

Even if it means shirtless sword combat under a sky that smells faintly of divine pee.

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