Malthus had done it.

He'd actually used his little demonic walkie-talkie to order my family's death.

Because of course, when a warlord loses in combat, the only logical next step is "murder someone's parents for emotional balance."

He pressed that button faster than a teenager hiding browser history.

By the time I smashed the device to pieces, it was too late — the order had already been given.

The bastard had beaten me by one syllable.

So yeah. I was angry.

Like, biblical flood but with swear words angry.

I started cursing him so hard even demons in hell were taking notes.

But then… someone had the balls, the celestial-grade audacity, to interrupt me.

"Is that a way to talk, young man?"

Excuse me?

Someone just tried to teach me manners during a live war broadcast.

I paused mid-rage.

Even Malthus blinked.

The soldiers who were half-dead looked confused — like "wait, is there moral policing in apocalyptic battles now?"

"Who the hell said that?!" I roared.

And then came the voice — soft, firm, and dripping with that specific tone only one person in the multiverse can pull off.

"Is that a way to talk to your mother?"

My brain rebooted.

Was this a prank?

A hallucination?

A divine intervention?

Or had schizophrenia finally won?

But no — that voice. That sweet, terrifying voice. The same one that could turn an entire childhood into obedience through sheer tone modulation.

I took a deep breath.

"…Mom?"

Even Malthus froze mid-gloat.

Both of us stood there like two schoolkids caught fighting in front of the principal.

And then another voice spoke. This one was different — smooth, grand, holy.

"Yes. She's your mother. And not only her… wait, let me come there myself."

That voice.

That tone.

That unnecessarily majestic audio quality like it came with built-in reverb.

"Come here then!" I shouted.

"Right away," the voice replied.

And then—

WHIIIIIIISH!

Seven lights burst into existence beside me, sparkling like God had just dropped his disco ball.

Every single head on the battlefield turned toward it.

The Nano Bites stopped fighting.

Even Malthus, for the first time in his life, looked like he might need therapy.

And out of those lights — stepped seven figures.

But the one leading them?

Oh, that bald, glowing, radiant menace of a man?

That wasn't just anyone.

That was the Supreme Man — the literal God of this world.

The same guy who'd died years ago.

And not the "kinda died but we didn't check the pulse" kind.

No. The "exploded into cosmic glitter and left behind religion" kind.

"HOW THE FUCK ARE YOU ALIVE?! YOU WERE DEAD! ALSO, WHY ARE YOU STILL UGLY?!" Malthus screamed.

The Supreme Man's smile dropped like a stock market.

He turned to Malthus, eyes narrowing like a divine laser printer.

"You're worried about me being ugly? Bitch, I resurrected. Put emphasis on that."

Malthus blinked. "That's not—"

"Shut up," I interrupted. "I'm the main character here. It's my turn for dialogue."

Both gods looked mildly offended. I didn't care.

I took a step forward, katana gleaming.

"Forget the skincare insults — how are you alive? Where were you hiding? And don't give me that vague mysterious crap, I want details."

The Supreme Man looked at me and smiled — the same patronizingly kind smile adults give when you ask "how are babies made."

"Yes, I wasn't here," he said calmly. "But I wasn't dead either. I was hiding."

Malthus snorted. "Where, in a fridge?!"

The God looked him dead in the eyes. "In plain sight."

Silence.

Tension.

The kind of moment you could frame as an NFT.

I squinted. "Okay, cryptic Gandalf. What does that even mean? You hiding in the clouds? Inside my taxes?"

The Supreme Man exhaled dramatically, because of course he did.

"When I fought Malthus, I realized I couldn't win. So I gambled on you — on your potential. I split my divinity among you and your allies. And with the last bit of my power, I hid myself."

"Where?" I asked.

The Supreme Man looked down, his gaze landing on Malthus.

Specifically… on his head.

"Inside his horns."

Everyone's collective jaws unhinged.

Even Malthus froze.

For once, the demon looked like he was buffering.

The battlefield fell silent.

"You what?" I said.

"You heard me," Supreme Man replied proudly. "I hid in his horns. The last place anyone would check. I stayed there, listening, watching, waiting."

Malthus's face twisted into pure existential dread.

"You… you were inside me!?"

The God smirked. "Yes. Rent-free. And loud."

The gasps from the audience were loud enough to shake heaven.

I was half-impressed, half-disturbed.

"That's… the most unholy real-estate story I've ever heard."

The Supreme Man chuckled. "And when you cut his horns, Racis — when you finally sliced them off — you freed me. I was inside those horns, aware of everything, watching you grow, watching you rise. I was proud."

I blinked. "You were proud of me while living inside another man's head appendages?"

"Metaphorically speaking."

"Sure, bro."

Still, hearing that made my chest warm.

I didn't cry though. I'd done enough emotional damage for one lifetime.

Instead, I smiled — calm, strong, and slightly traumatized.

The Supreme Man raised his hand, light swirling around it.

"I heard everything while trapped — even the location of your family. The moment you severed his horns, I used my remaining power to go there, kill the guard, and bring them back."

My breath hitched.

My heart — the one that had been clenched since this fight began — finally eased.

My family was safe.

I exhaled slowly, staring at Malthus.

He looked hollow now, his power flickering, his ego broken.

A once-immortal tyrant reduced to a trembling loser who just realized the God he killed had been living inside his skull like a cosmic tapeworm.

"So," I said, stepping closer, katana gleaming with divine rage. "That means…"

The Supreme Man nodded. "Yes. You can kill him now."

A grin spread across my face — slow, feral, cathartic.

Finally.

Malthus fell to his knees, eyes wide, hands limp.

The mighty ruler of the red domain — now just a bald dude with trauma and regret.

I walked toward him. Each step echoed like divine judgment.

He didn't move. Didn't resist.

Just watched me with those empty, defeated eyes.

I stopped in front of him.

Looked him dead in the soul.

"Say your last words."

Malthus looked up at me.

Those empty, blood-red eyes — once symbols of terror — now just looked… tired.

The rage, the pride, the arrogance — all gone.

Just a man staring at the end of his own villain arc, trying to process that the universe no longer revolved around his ego.

He didn't speak.

He just… stared.

Silence fell like divine judgment.

The kind that crawls into your lungs and makes even the wind too afraid to move.

Somewhere in the distance, ashes settled.

The war had stopped — not because of peace, but because the world was holding its breath to watch a god die.

I waited.

Because no matter how evil he was, I wanted to hear it — the final words of the monster who took everything from me.

The devil's last confession.

The villain's dying curse.

Something profound. Something heavy. Something worthy of this ending.

And then…

He smiled.

The bastard smiled.

My brows rose. My grip tightened. The blade hummed in my hand like it was eager to taste that arrogance one last time.

And then, with a cracked voice that still carried a ghost of pride, Malthus whispered—

"Your last words."

...

For a moment, I blinked.

Then it hit me.

He just hit me with my own line.

The same damn thing I said to him, word-for-word.

I couldn't help it — I smiled too.

The irony was too perfect, too stupidly poetic to ignore.

The guy who'd spent centuries hating humor just cracked a death joke.

Character development speedrun complete.

"Well played," I murmured. "You finally got a sense of humor… right before losing your head."

And then, I lifted my katana.

The air itself seemed to back away — scared of what came next.

My blade began to glow — not with light, but with disrespect.

Golden, radiant, blinding — the kind of glow that makes angels wear sunglasses.

I inhaled slowly.

My heart steadied.

And I whispered:

"Pervert Breathing… Final Form."

The clouds trembled.

The wind froze mid-gust.

Even the gods leaned in.

My sword gleamed like holy sin — gold lightning wrapped in intention.

"Molestation… In Public!"

The ground cracked beneath my feet.

The air screamed.

And before the echo even faded—

SHRILL!

THUD!

Malthus' head left his body with a clean, almost artistic slice — the kind that would make even Death clap once in appreciation.

His eyes stayed open for half a second longer — just long enough to register that he'd been out-punched, outplayed, and out-joked by the same man he once called weak.

Then gravity took over.

His head rolled.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

Before stopping — staring blankly at the blood-soaked ground like it still couldn't believe this was the ending.

And just like that — the greatest evil this world had ever known… was gone.

The wind blew through the battlefield, carrying with it the faint scent of smoke, victory, and justice served with extra humiliation.

I sheathed my katana slowly, eyes still on Malthus' fallen form.

"…Guess even devils die funny."

And with that, the war ended — not with a prayer, not with peace — but with the sound of laughter echoing through heaven and hell alike…

Malthus died.

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