"You know me?" I asked in disbelief.
One of the men winked at me and smiled, "How could we not? You're the hottest celebrity both on Earth and in Hellsgate right now!"
He stretched out his hand in front of him as if trying to draw a rainbow.
"The Reaper who has no limit. Arch demon slayer. The unofficial 8th Revenant. Saviour of North America. Commander of Hellsend. Husband of the Seven Sirens! All mighty impressive achievements." The pretty boy praised in a lively voice.
As a close to middle-aged man with an average face, pretty boys with handsome faces have always irritated me. An ugly man needs either an inborn talent or an insane work ethic to prosper; pretty bastards do not.
I, for one, knew that the world was not fair. Beauty was a commodity worth its weight in gold. And handsome men, like beautiful women, oftentimes got it way easier.