Malthus was dead.

Like, "credits rolling" dead.

The big bad, the red bastard, the horned hemorrhoid of my destiny — gone.

I killed the guy.

Easily.

Too easily.

Like deleting an app I should've uninstalled five years ago.

And for once in my life, being overpowered didn't feel empty.

It felt earned.

I was overpowered with purpose.

That's the difference between a tyrant and a legend: both talk big, but only one delivers with style.

The Supreme Man — bald, glowing, and freshly resurrected like a divine lightbulb with emotional baggage — stood nearby, smiling like a proud teacher watching his dumbest student finally pass remedial algebra.

But I wasn't looking at him.

I wasn't even looking at Malthus' corpse — which, by the way, was already being judged by every mosquito in the vicinity.

No.

My eyes went past the god, because there… behind him… I saw something that made my soul do backflips.

The Supreme Man noticed.

He smiled — that smug, omniscient "I know exactly what you're about to cry about" kind of smile — and stepped aside.

And that's when I saw her.

"Gra-gra… grandma?"

Her face.

Her wrinkles — lines carved by wisdom, laughter, and probably disappointment in my life choices.

"My son," she whispered, her voice like warm nostalgia dipped in spices of relief.

My legs moved before my brain didn't.

I didn't walk.

I launched myself into her arms like a missile made of emotional damage.

Her hug hit harder than any punch Malthus ever threw.

Warm. Familiar. Smelling like love, lentils, and generational trauma.

I buried my face in her shoulder as she said the most grandma thing ever—

"You've become so thin! When was the last time you ate something decent?"

I laughed.

Imagine surviving demonic wars just to be scolded about nutrition.

Then another voice joined in.

"Son… we're here too."

I looked up through tears — blurry vision, heart pounding — and there she was.

Mom.

The OG boss.

The woman who could guilt-trip Satan into therapy.

Behind her — my whole family.

Alive. Breathing. Covered in dirt, but shining brighter than every light in the sky.

They looked like they'd been through hell, but still managed to bring the Indian family energy with them.

I opened my arms.

"I see you all. Come here. Let's have a group hug."

And then—

"Group hug?" my goblin-faced aunty Sofia frowned, adjusting her imaginary glasses of stupidity. "We can't do that."

I froze.

"...Why not?"

Sofia aunty folded her arms like a philosopher who'd just solved the meaning of dumb.

"Because group hugs are circles, right? And we're six people. Six sides means an octagon. But circles don't have sides. So technically, we can't do it."

I stared.

No words.

No thoughts.

Just the sound of my last brain cell packing its bags and leaving.

She stood there proud — like she'd just discovered gravity by tripping.

I sighed and glanced around for backup.

Maybe Erect could defuse this.

Except… nope. Bad idea.

Because I spotted him — hugging Sophia, his long-lost sister, who was crying like a faucet on emotional steroids.

Erect was whispering, comforting, being the best brother ever.

Sophia sobbed into his chest, venting five years of bottled fear and trauma.

But, of course, she also had to mention my family.

Between sniffles, she said:

"Your grandpa flirted with one of Malthus' soldiers in captivity!"

"Your mom tried to force me to drink milk!"

"And your aunt… she kept asking riddles like 'What color is silence?'"

I sighed.

She wasn't wrong. My family didn't need demons to cause chaos — they were the demons.

Anyway, I let Erect and Sophia have their moment and turned back to my aunty.

She was still looking smug, the human equivalent of an internet troll.

I folded my arms. "First of all, an octagon has eight sides. Not six."

Her mouth dropped.

"And second," I said, "you're officially out of the group hug. Disowned. Aunty privileges revoked. Hand over the family card."

She gasped. "You can't disown me!"

"Why?"

"Because I never accepted being your aunty in the first place! You came to me crying!"

My eyebrow twitched so hard it developed muscle memory.

"I was a baby, you idiot. Babies cry."

"Oh." She blinked. "Then my bad. Sorry."

What the hell was she apologizing for? The laws of infancy?

I didn't even ask. I was too emotionally tired for this family's brain logic.

Anyway, she said sorry, and that's what mattered.

Family means forgiving dumbness before it evolves into full insanity.

I sighed, smiling despite everything.

"Come on," I said, opening my arms again.

They smiled back.

All of them.

And then they came forward.

The hug that followed?

Pure, unconditional, overdue.

Their warmth wrapped around me like life itself was saying "Welcome back, dumbass."

Five years of pain, loneliness, guilt, all melting away in that single, imperfect embrace.

For once, I wasn't a king.

I wasn't a hero.

I wasn't a chosen one.

I was just… home.

When the tears slowed, I looked past them — at the Supreme Man, who was watching us like a proud director at the end of a blockbuster.

I called out, "What about you, Supreme Man? You okay with just a little divinity left? Or are you gonna yoink it back from us now that the world's saved?"

He waved a hand dismissively, his glow dimming like a divine nightlight. "Nah, I'm good. I'm staying here. The sky's too quiet. Gonna find a job, a house, and maybe a wife."

I blinked.

"You… you're gonna start dating mortals?"

He shrugged. "Why not? Even gods need midlife crises."

I laughed. "Just make sure she doesn't have horns. We've had enough of those for one lifetime."

But then, I sighed — the kind of sigh that carried both relief and regret, like a man realizing the world is saved but his DMs are still empty.

"A wife," I muttered softly. "I wanted that too."

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

A confession. A whisper. The romantic equivalent of a midlife crisis haiku.

I almost started reciting poetry — something deep, something tragic — like 'She was the moon, I was the mental illness' — but then—

"My lord."

Erect's voice.

I turned toward him, my emotional monologue dissolving faster than cheap ice cream in hellfire.

The group hug had finally ended, thank the gods. Don't get me wrong — I loved my family. But they smelled like a mix of sweat, nostalgia, and someone else's basement trauma.

I dusted myself off. "What is it, Erect?"

He stood tall for a moment, eyes serious, before placing his right hand over his chest — the universal gesture of "something stupid is about to be said."

Then he knelt. One knee. Full knight mode.

My heartbeat spiked.

Oh no. Oh hell no.

"For your wife, my lord…" he began and before he could carry on…

"I am not that desperate to make you my wife, Erect. I like the thought but let's think about it at night."

He jerked his head violently — shaking so fast he nearly invented electricity.

"N-No, my lord!" he shouted. "I mean my sister! Marry my sister, my lord — not me!"

I blinked. My brain short-circuited for three full seconds.

Then it hit me.

Oh.

Sophia.

I turned my head slightly, finding her standing there — grown-up now, glowing in that "fantasy heroine finally has trauma and a skincare routine" way.

My brows rose.

I had planned to rizz her up back in the day. That was the original blueprint. But then she called me "brother." And once a girl says that, your romantic hopes die faster than Malthus' head count.

I opened my mouth to politely decline — maybe deliver a heartfelt line about destiny, or boundaries, or how incest-adjacent relationships confuse Reddit —

But then Sophia spoke first.

"...I don't mind marrying the lord hero."

There was a pause.

A deep, divine, world-stopping pause.

Even the Supreme Man's divine glow dimmed for a second — like "Wait, what?"

I stared at her. She blushed slightly, eyes shy, voice trembling like an anime confession in Dolby Atmos.

And because I'm me — a man powered entirely by chaos and confidence — I smiled.

"Alright. Let's get married."

Boom. No hesitation. No proposal. No ring. Just instant matrimonial commitment with the speed of a man ordering fries.

Erect clapped first.

Then everyone else joined in — the battlefield, the Nano Bites, even my grandma, all applauding like this was the world's most confusing rom-com finale.

The Supreme Man gave a thumbs-up like a divine wedding planner.

I grinned, soaking it all in — the applause, the chaos, the absurdity.

I had it all now.

The power.

The fame.

The love life.

The traumatized in-laws.

I'd conquered gods, saved worlds, cracked jokes, and somehow secured a wife before lunch.

And I knew exactly how to summarize my legacy — the legend that would echo through galaxies, through time, through the weirdest fanfictions imaginable.

I inhaled, grinning at the horizon as my story — our story — came full circle.

"I am Overpowered… Comedian… and Married in Another World."

———

[[I Am Overpowered And A Comedian In Another World, Finished!!]]

-: Author Notes :-

-: Hey there, I am using Whatsapp—wait, sorry, wrong place. Anyway, KhyaaL here. I'll be honest, this was a rush ending. I'll be honest again, no one gives a fuck about it. I thought this would be the funniest novel in the whole Webnovel. A trend setter and something like that. But I was wrong.

I must have made some mistakes otherwise I wouldn't be poor at the moment with only forty fans of this novel. It's not your fault. I should have written better. Also, if you are reading this, thank you for coming all the way here. My heart goes out to you. If you want, I can even come to your house and do what Sexis wanted to do with Racis.

This was my third novel and I am glad that I was able to finish it without dropping it midway. I have written over 1.7 million words by now and I will write some more.

Thank you for being with me for all this while. I will write something good for my next work. Take care. :-

Next chapter will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

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