Chapter 14 – Please Die Quickly, My Bedtime is in 5 Minutes

The Berserker came at me like a freight train that had discovered cocaine and decided velocity was its new best friend.​

His flaming greatsword cut through the air in a horizontal arc aimed directly at my neck. The heat from the blade was intense, washing over my face in waves that would’ve cooked a normal person’s skin. But I wasn’t normal. I had maxed stats, infinite mana, and a defense rating that made fortress walls look like wet tissue paper.​

I dodged.

My body moved on pure instinct, muscles responding faster than my conscious brain could process. I leaned back, the sword passing inches from my nose, close enough that I could see my reflection distorted in the flaming steel. The movement was effortless, smooth, like dodging raindrops in slow motion.​

Then I stumbled.

On purpose.

I let my foot slide on loose gravel, throwing my balance off just enough to make it look like I’d barely escaped. I windmilled my arms dramatically, nearly dropping my decorative sword, and caught myself at the last second. My silk pajamas flapped around me, making the whole display look even more pathetic.​

The crowd gasped. Civilians watching from doorways and windows, too scared to run but too curious to look away. They saw their Hero, the legendary warrior with maxed charisma and divine power, nearly face-plant while dodging a basic attack from a mid-tier demon.​

“Darling!”

Elizabeth’s scream cut through the air like a siren. I glanced toward her position near the burning bakery. She’d stopped evacuating civilians and was staring at me with an expression of pure horror, her hand pressed against her chest like she was physically restraining her heart from jumping out and running to my rescue.​

Great. Now I had to sell this performance even harder.

The Berserker laughed, a booming sound full of arrogant confidence.​

“Pathetic! The great Hero can barely stand!”

He swung again, this time vertically, bringing the greatsword down like he was trying to split a log. I sidestepped, letting the blade crash into the cobblestones where I’d been standing. Stone exploded, fragments flying in every direction. The impact left a crater the size of a dinner plate.​

I countered with a half-hearted swing of my decorative sword. The blade connected with his armor, bounced off harmlessly, and I made sure to grimace like the recoil had hurt my wrists. In reality, I could’ve cleaved through his armor like it was made of cardboard, but that would raise questions I couldn’t answer.​

The Berserker pressed his advantage. He swung in wide arcs, each strike meant to overwhelm me with pure power. Fire trailed behind every movement, painting streaks of orange and red across my vision. I dodged, parried, stumbled, recovered. I made it look like a desperate struggle, like I was one wrong move away from getting bisected.​

Then I felt it.

The pull.

It started as a tingle at the base of my skull, then spread through my body like ice water in my veins. The connection to my Demon King body was strengthening, coming back online after whatever hibernation cycle it had been stuck in. My consciousness was being tugged in two directions, split between the Hero standing in silk pajamas and the armored nightmare sleeping in a castle throne room.​

I had maybe five minutes before the transfer initiated. Five minutes before I switched bodies involuntarily, leaving my Hero form unconscious in the middle of a burning market square with Elizabeth hovering over me like a psychotic guardian angel.​

I needed to end this. Now.

The Berserker stepped back, creating distance. His flaming sword pulsed, the fire intensifying until it blazed white-hot. Magic gathered around him in visible waves, distorting the air like heat shimmer off asphalt. He planted his feet, raised the sword above his head, and grinned.​

“Hellfire Blast!”

Oh no.

I knew this move. It was a classic Berserker skill, a massive AOE attack that traded accuracy for raw destructive power. Fire would erupt in a cone-shaped blast, incinerating everything in a thirty-foot radius. Dodging was easy. Standing still was suicide.​

Except I couldn’t dodge.

Behind me, maybe twenty feet back, stood the orphanage. A three-story building with chipped paint and boarded windows. I could see faces pressed against the glass, small faces, children who hadn’t evacuated in time. They were watching the fight, probably thinking they were safe because the Hero was here.​

If I dodged, the blast would hit them. If I moved left or right, the cone would adjust and still catch the building. The only option was to tank it.​

The Berserker released the attack.

Fire erupted from his sword in a massive torrent, a wall of white-hot flames that roared toward me with the sound of a jet engine. The heat was apocalyptic, turning the air itself into plasma. Cobblestones melted, wooden beams disintegrated, metal twisted and warped.​

I activated Holy Barrier.

Except it wasn’t Holy Barrier. It was just my raw mana condensed into a defensive shell, but to anyone watching it looked like divine protection. Golden light flared around me, forming a translucent dome that intercepted the flames. Fire crashed against the barrier like ocean waves against a cliff, splitting around me in twin streams that scorched the ground on either side.​

The orphanage remained untouched.

The Berserker’s eyes widened. He hadn’t expected me to block it. He’d expected me to dodge or die, not stand there and tank his strongest attack like it was a mild inconvenience.​

I stood in the center of the charred crater, my barrier flickering and fading. I let it drop slowly, dramatically, making it look like I’d used the last reserves of my life force to survive. I wobbled, catching myself on my sword like it was a cane.​

The crowd murmured. Whispers spread through the onlookers, awe mixed with concern. Elizabeth looked ready to murder everyone in a five-mile radius if it meant getting to my side faster.​

I sighed.

“I don’t have time for this.”

The Berserker charged again, desperate now, realizing his trump card had failed. He swung wildly, putting all his strength into one final overhead strike meant to cleave me in half.​

I stepped forward, inside his guard, and delivered a simple chop to his neck.

My hand, bare and empty, struck the exposed gap between his helmet and shoulder plate. It looked like a tap, like I’d barely touched him. But I’d channeled just enough mana into the strike to make it lethal without being flashy.​

I leaned in close, my lips near his ear, and whispered.

“Bad dog.”

His head separated from his shoulders.

The body stood for a moment, frozen in place, before collapsing backward. The head rolled across the cobblestones, bouncing twice before coming to rest near an overturned vegetable cart. The flames on his sword flickered and died, leaving only smoke and the smell of charred meat.​

I stood there, my hand still extended, looking way more heroic than I felt.

Blood splattered across my silk pajamas. Dark red stains spreading across the expensive light-blue fabric like abstract art. I stared at the damage, feeling a spike of genuine annoyance that had nothing to do with the demon and everything to do with laundry.​

Elizabeth was going to lose her mind. These were her favorite pajamas on me. She’d picked them out personally, probably spent an hour selecting the perfect shade of blue, and now they were ruined. She’d cry, then get angry, then probably burn down whatever remained of the Market District out of spite.​

The crowd erupted in cheers. Civilians poured out of hiding spots, celebrating their Hero’s victory. Some were crying, others laughing with relief. A few tried to approach me, hands reaching out to touch my clothes, my hair, anything to confirm I was real.​

My vision blurred.

The pull intensified, going from a gentle tug to a full-body yank. My consciousness stretched thin, splitting like taffy being pulled in opposite directions. The Hero body was shutting down, preparing for the transfer, and I had zero control over the timing.​

I wobbled.

My legs turned to jelly beneath me. The decorative sword slipped from my grip, clattering against the stones. I tried to stay upright, tried to at least make it to a wall or something I could lean against, but gravity had other plans.​

“Darling!”

Elizabeth materialized at my side, catching me before I hit the ground. Her arms wrapped around my chest, supporting my weight like I was made of glass. Her face was inches from mine, her cyan-blue eyes wide with panic and something darker, something possessive.​

“You idiot! You beautiful, reckless idiot!”

She was crying. Actual tears streaming down her face, dripping onto my bloodstained pajamas. She clutched me tighter, her fingers digging into my skin hard enough to bruise.​

“I told you not to push yourself!”

I tried to respond, tried to tell her I was fine, that this was just a scheduled nap, not actual death. But my mouth wouldn’t cooperate. My vocal cords had already checked out, leaving me mute and useless.​

The world tilted. Colors bled together, sounds became muffled and distant. I felt Elizabeth lifting me, carrying me like a bride being swept off to the honeymoon suite, except the honeymoon suite was probably my prison bedroom and the honeymoon was indefinite medical captivity.​

The last thing I saw before darkness swallowed me was the orphanage, still standing, windows intact, children safe.

At least I’d saved someone today.​

Then everything went black, and my consciousness slammed into my Demon King body with all the grace of a car crash in slow motion.​