Chapter 6 – The Hero is a Coward (According to the Church)

I woke up drowning in silk.

My lungs burned, sucking in air like I’d been underwater for five minutes straight. The transition between bodies felt like getting hit by a truck, then immediately hit by a second truck going the opposite direction. Every nerve ending fired at once, recalibrating to this lighter, more human frame after piloting a ten-foot armored tank.​

Something heavy pressed down on my chest.

I opened my eyes and immediately regretted consciousness.

Elizabeth sat on top of me, straddling my torso with her thighs locked tight around my ribs. She wore the same elegant blue military jacket, but now it was unbuttoned at the top, revealing the crisp white shirt underneath and that red ribbon at her collar. Her black-to-golden hair fell around her face in soft waves, backlit by morning sunlight that made her look angelic.​

Except angels don’t sharpen knives while sitting on people’s chests.

The blade in her hand caught the light, reflecting it in sharp geometric patterns across the ceiling. She dragged a whetstone along the edge with slow, deliberate strokes. The scraping sound set my teeth on edge.

“You’re awake.”

Her cyan-blue eyes locked onto mine, too wide, too intense.​

“I was worried you’d sleep through the good news.”

I tried to sit up. Her weight kept me pinned.

“Elizabeth, what are you—”

“The scouts came back this morning.”

She interrupted, her voice honey-sweet but with an edge sharp enough to match the knife.

“They have reports from the Dark Lands.”

My stomach dropped. The Dark Lands. Where I’d just been. Where my other body was currently frozen like a crashed computer with two yanderes fighting over it.

“Reports?”

I managed to keep my voice steady, channeling every ounce of fake calm I had left.

“The Demon King is active.”

She tested the blade’s edge with her thumb, drawing a tiny bead of blood that she licked away without breaking eye contact.

“He defeated his Orc General in single combat. Didn’t even move. Just stood there and let her strongest attack shatter against his neck like glass.”

She leaned down, bringing her face inches from mine. Her breath smelled like mint and something metallic.

“Isn’t that exciting, darling? Our enemy is awake. We can finally hunt him together.”

I was going to throw up. The irony was suffocating. She was praising my other self’s victory while sitting on top of my human body, completely oblivious that she was talking to the same person she wanted to skin alive.​

“Super exciting.”

I croaked, my throat dry.

“Can’t wait to, uh, hunt that guy.”

“I knew you’d be thrilled.”

She finally climbed off me, the knife disappearing into a sheath at her hip.

“The King has called an emergency War Council. We leave in twenty minutes.”

She grabbed my hand, pulling me out of bed with surprising strength.

“Wear the ceremonial armor. I want you to look perfect when we plan his execution.”

The War Council chamber was exactly what I expected from a fantasy monarchy having a crisis.

The room was circular, dominated by a massive table carved from white marble with a map of the continent etched into its surface. Golden figurines marked cities, red ones marked demon territories, and a cluster of black pieces sat deep in the Dark Lands representing the Demon King’s castle. Sunlight poured through stained glass windows depicting historical battles, painting everything in shades of blue and gold.

The King sat at the head of the table, a broad-shouldered man in his fifties with a salt-and-pepper beard and tired eyes. He wore a crown that looked too heavy for his head and robes that seemed designed more for intimidation than comfort.

Next to him stood the High Priest, a thin man in white and gold vestments. He had the kind of face that looked like he’d never smiled in his life, all sharp angles and disapproving lines.

Elizabeth dragged me to my seat, practically vibrating with anticipation.

“Your Majesty.”

The High Priest’s voice was nasally, grating.

“The Hero has arrived. We may begin.”

The King nodded, gesturing to a crystal sphere at the center of the table.

“Activate the scrying orb.”

The Priest waved his hand over the sphere. It glowed with pale blue light, projecting an image into the air above the table.

My stomach clenched.

The image showed the Demon King. Me. My other body standing in the training grounds, cape billowing dramatically, dark purple energy rolling off the armor in waves. The perspective was from a distance, probably captured by some kind of magical spy drone.​

“This was taken three hours ago.”

The Priest said, his tone dripping with disdain.

“The monster has awakened.”

The King leaned forward, studying the projection with narrowed eyes.

“He looks… different. Stronger than the reports suggested.”

“Stronger?”

One of the generals, a grizzled man with scars crossing his face, scoffed.

“He’s a mindless brute. Look at him, standing there like a statue. Probably doesn’t have two brain cells to rub together.”

I bit my tongue to keep from defending myself. I wanted to point out that I had plenty of brain cells, they were just divided between two bodies and currently experiencing the worst case of impostor syndrome in recorded history.

“I heard he eats his own subordinates.”

Another council member chimed in, a woman in red robes.

“Goblin stew for breakfast, they say.”

“Disgusting.”

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose, leaning closer to the projection.

“Look at that armor. Overcompensating, clearly. He probably needs all that metal just to hide how weak he really is.”

The irony was killing me. They were roasting my defense stats, the same stats that had just tanked a dragon bone axe like it was a pool noodle.

“What do you think, Hero?”

The King turned to me, his expression expectant.

Everyone at the table looked my way.

I cleared my throat, trying to sound confident and heroic instead of internally screaming.

“Yes. Terrible guy. Very… brutish. Clearly compensating for… things.”

Elizabeth beamed at me like I’d just recited poetry.

“Exactly. He’s nothing compared to you, darling.”

She grabbed my hand under the table, squeezing tight enough to cut off circulation.

The High Priest waved his hand again, changing the projection. Now it showed Gorgara, frozen mid-kneel, her arms wrapped around the Demon King’s leg in that disturbingly submissive pose.​

“This is the Orc General.”

The Priest said, his voice thick with disgust.

“Gorgara the Brutal. She commands the vanguard of the demon army. Twenty thousand soldiers answer to her.”

The King stroked his beard, thinking.

“If we eliminate her, their front line collapses.”

“Precisely.”

The Priest smiled, a thin cruel expression.

“Which is why the Hero must deploy to the border immediately. Strike while they’re disorganized.”

No. No no no. I couldn’t kill Gorgara. She was technically my subordinate now, even if that subordination came with a disturbing amount of obsessive devotion. Plus, she’d just pledged her loyalty after I accidentally tanked her best attack.​

“Immediately?”

I repeated, stalling.

“Shouldn’t we, like, plan this out? Gather intel? Maybe send some scouts first?”

The King frowned.

“The Hero hesitates?”

“Not hesitating.”

I said quickly, damage control mode activating.

“Just being strategic. You know, thinking things through. Very heroic behavior.”

“There is no time for caution.”

The High Priest’s eyes narrowed.

“Every moment we delay, the demons grow stronger. You have the power, Hero. You have the holy light. What use is it if you hide behind stone walls?”

Elizabeth’s grip on my hand tightened to the point of pain.

“My love would never hide.”

She said, her voice sweet but with steel underneath.

“He’s simply being thorough. Unlike that barbaric Orc, who probably can’t even spell her own name.”

She turned to me, her cyan eyes boring into mine with that unhinged devotion.

“Don’t worry. When we get to the front lines, I’ll handle that green-skinned hussy myself.”

Her free hand moved to the knife at her hip, fingers caressing the handle.

“If she even looks at you, I’ll carve her eyes out and feed them to the crows. I’ll peel the skin from her muscles and make sure she feels every second of it.”

The casual way she described torture while smiling made my blood run cold.

“Then I’ll mount her skull on a pike and plant it outside our bedroom window so you can see it every morning when you wake up.”

She leaned in, kissing my cheek softly.

“Won’t that be romantic?”

The War Council stared at us. The King looked uncomfortable. The generals looked disturbed. The High Priest looked like he was reconsidering his life choices.

I sat there, hand trapped in Elizabeth’s iron grip, realizing with crystal clarity that my human yandere was legitimately scarier than both my demon yanderes combined.​

Lilith wanted to bathe in enemy blood with me, which was horrifying but at least had a twisted romantic logic to it.

Gorgara wanted to submit completely, which was uncomfortable but came from a place of genuine respect for strength.

But Elizabeth? Elizabeth wanted to commit war crimes as a love language. She described mutilation like other people described picnics. She was wholesome and psychotic in the same breath, and the worst part was that everyone at this table thought she was the good guy.​

“It’s settled then.”

The King said, clearly wanting to move past Elizabeth’s graphic threats.

“The Hero and the Saintess will deploy to Fort Ironwall at dawn. From there, you will lead the assault on the Orc General.”

“Wonderful.”

Elizabeth squeezed my hand again, this time with affection instead of threat.

“Just you and me, darling. Covered in demon blood. Holding hands over their corpses.”

She sighed dreamily.

“I’ve been waiting for this my whole life.”

I looked at the projection still hovering above the table. It showed both my bodies now, side by side. The Demon King standing in his ruined throne room. The Hero sitting at this council table.

Enemy and hero. Monster and savior. Target and hunter.

I was being deployed to kill myself, guided by a woman who wanted to turn my other body into decorative furniture.

The System had called this maintaining the balance, but balance implied some kind of equilibrium, some sustainable middle ground.

This wasn’t balance.

This was a tightrope stretched over a pit of knives, and both ends were on fire.

“All hail the Hero.”

The council rose, fists over hearts in salute.

Elizabeth stood with them, pulling me up by our joined hands.

“All hail.”

She whispered, her eyes locked on mine.

“My Hero. My love. My future.”

I stood there in ceremonial armor that suddenly felt like a straitjacket, surrounded by people cheering for a war I was fighting against myself.

This was impossible.

I was so fundamentally, completely, utterly cooked that burnt toast would look at me with pity.