Alistair POV
I woke up to Christopher still laughing—half an hour later by my universe's time.
"It's not funny!"
Christopher howled again, unable to stop himself.
"Kid, it's freaking hilarious! Of all the ways to die, this one's easily top ten in your universe. Hell, it's the funniest shit I've seen in ages!"
I should be angry. I should be furious with Robert. I've never felt such a powerful urge to pummel someone into the dirt. The man couldn't wait a single night before I sealed the deal with my sweet Emily? Seriously? Couldn't he have gone to the gym, lost a few pounds? For God's sake, we had free premium gyms with personal trainers on hand—but no, that fat bastard just had to jack off while standing on faulty flooring. Killed me with 500 pounds of wasted flesh, lube, and building materials.
"I should be furious... but I can't even work up the energy. Is that your power messing with me?"
Christopher just waved his hand, smirking.
"Partly. That music in the waiting room? It's got a calming effect. Helps souls transition to death without screaming bloody murder or shouting revenge to the heavens."
"The Persona music?"
"Yep. Damn good series. Once I'm done with you, I'm off to play Persona 7."
"Wait—how? There are only five out now!"
"I'm a platinum tier cosmic being, kid. Time's my bitch and space is a plaything. When I want a new game, I just pull the best version of it from all possible futures."
"Damn, that must be nice."
"It was—until Mass Effect 3's ending. I used to be like you mortals and just wait for a game to come out, and avoid spoilers. But after that ending, I snapped and went to a timeline where they actually got it right. That ending made the Hall of Fame."
"Any chance I can play it?"
"Nope. You're dead. Not sticking around long enough to pick up a controller."
"A tragedy for gamers everywhere."
"Let them suffer. Like you."
I narrowed my eyes. "You keep implying about being nice, but your actions say otherwise."
He shrugged.
"Kid, I know you're coping. You lost everything—your family, your life, your future. But I'm here to offer you options. So go ahead, let it out and ask your questions before we move forward."
My aura shifted, a solemn sadness filling the air. I felt it deep—crushing loss. My family... my friends... all gone.
"Okay. Before we go further, can I ask some things? Just to ease my mind."
Christopher snapped his fingers. A white tux appeared on him again, pristine. Four cards floated in front of him, face down. His tone grew serious.
"Sure, kid. Ask away."
"What happened to my family after I died?"
Snap. A thick folder appeared in his hands. He opened it and began reading.
"Your father broke down—hard. Hit the bottle for a few years. But eventually, he sobered up for your siblings' sake and didn't want you to be ashamed of him in the afterlife. A pep talk from your grandfather helped. Your mother? Her hair went gray overnight. Then she went on a warpath—against AI porn and adult websites. Burned a vast portion of the family fortune trying to nuke them from the internet. Took down over 300 companies. Imposed strict anti-AI legislation across half the globe. Armageddon, kid."
"Damn. Mom went nuclear."
"Like I said—three things you don't mess with: a woman's age, weight, and her kids. Cross any one, and you're begging for hellfire."
The weight of that love hit me hard. She always loved me, but with my younger siblings, she'd seemed more focused on them.
Christopher interrupted my thoughts.
"She loved you more than you'll ever know. She focused on your siblings because she trusted you. She believed you were destined for greatness."
Tears welled up. "What about my siblings?"
Chris took a breath.
"Your sister, Rebecca, went mute for two years. Lived like a doll—no speech, no emotion. After therapy and your brother stepping up, she healed. Joined your mom's crusade. Later became a world-famous doctor and scientist. Two decades later, she cured cancer. Named it after you: 'The Defender of Life—Alistair Serum.'
"And your brother Elijah... he stepped up. Took over as man of the house. Built a vault in your honor. Collected your journals, used them to build the family fortune even further. In old age, he led humanity to the stars. Named the project The Alistair Initiative. The grand ship? The Maxson. You were his guiding light."
He set the folder down gently.
"Rebecca had a daughter—named her Alastriona after you. Elijah's firstborn son? Also named Alistair. Your parents passed peacefully, side by side at age 120, expecting to see you again."
I wept. A quiet, broken moment of mourning and pride.
"Will I see them again?"
Christopher's face grew still.
"Not the way you are now. But depending on your choices after this, there may be a way."
I swallowed hard, nodding.
"Okay… my second question. What happened to Emily?"
Chris winced. A bad sign.
"She didn't... she didn't commit suicide, did she?"
"No. But you should've never asked this one. Time to rip off the band-aid."
I felt cold. "What happened?"
Chris gave a long exhale.
"You knew her as a sweet, smart, artsy girl. Loving, supportive, from a decent family. She was beautiful—body like Tsunade from Naruto, big curves, warm smile. That figure made men pause. But... you only saw one side."
I narrowed my eyes. "What side didn't I see?"
"In certain circles, she's not Emily. She's known as Cock Guzzler 3000."
I froze. "You're joking."
Chris snapped his fingers. A portal opened. Dozens of clips rolled—Emily with gang members, biker thugs, flirting, sleeping around... sometimes with multiple men at once.
I collapsed into a chair.
"My future… it was all with her. Marriage. Kids. Supporting her dreams. All of it... a lie."
"She picked you because she recognized the Maxson lineage—despite your humble demeanor. Saw the noble behavior, your looks, the wealth behind the curtain. Her plan? Get pregnant, lock you down, siphon the family fortune to her gang, then have you 'accidentally' killed. All while continuing her affair with her real lover in the gang."
I held my face in my hands.
"She would've even used a baby that wasn't yours just in case you didn't knock her up. There was a gang member who looked vaguely like you—just enough to fake it."
My grandfather's words echoed:
"Don't trust bitches. Use the Maxson intelligence network before you sign anything. It'll save your mind—and your life."
I muttered, "It would've never worked. The family would've known."
Chris laughed. "She assumed her looks would carry her through—big tits, blond hair, seductive smile. Life had always bent to her will. Add in decent smarts? Most men became barking dogs."
"Then how'd she end up in gangs?"
"As a teen, the gang leader's son saw her. With his father's manipulative coaching, he 'tamed' her so well that people joked—when he said 'my bitch,' you had to ask if he meant his dog or Emily."
"And her parents?"
"Simp father. Never questioned anything. Her mother? A whore herself—occasionally visited the gang. It was mother-daughter bonding... of the worst kind."
"What happened after I died?"
"She tried seducing Elijah two days after your funeral. He rejected her—grief-stricken, but respectful of your memory. Still, he offered support for her interests. Hired investigators to back her passions... until they learned the truth."
My heart pounded. "And then?"
"Your brother brought everything to the family. Your father quit drinking. Your mother redirected her fury. Your sister spoke—just once: 'Destroy her.' Your family waged war."
I paled. "How bad?"
Chris smiled coldly. "28,000 gang affiliates purged from America. Blood ran."
"Jesus Christ!"
"Emily's father was forced to face reality. Divorced the mother. The family made sure no one hired them. Her mother froze to death in an alley. Emily? Ended up in a trailer park, taking street jobs of nightwalker kind. Died alone, childless, from a drug overdose at 50."
I leaned back, then started laughing. It was so bitter, so deep, so manic... it echoed.
Chris chuckled. "Damn. Your family scares me."
I said with pride, "When a Maxson sees an enemy... don't destroy them. Make them wish being born was hell."
"Oh, you cheeky bastard."
I just grinned. What they did wasn't enough. If I'd been alive, I'd have gone further.
Chris handed me lemonade, smiling.
"Any other questions before we move on?"
"Three more. What happened to Robert?"
Chris snapped another folder into existence.
"Dead. Arrested. Sent to a high-security prison. Worked to the bone. Eventually killed by inmates trying to earn favor with your family."
"Did it work?"
"No. Your family wanted suffering. Not a quick end. So the guy who killed him took his place... and died from exhaustion."
I nodded. That sounded like them.
"What was Robert even looking at when the floor collapsed?"
Chris smirked.
"He was watching an AI video—his creation. Rangiku from Bleach, Tsunade, and Sydney Sweeney, all on a beach in barely in what you hard to argue call bikinis... and him as the alpha chad getting it on with all of them."
I blinked. "...I can't even be mad at that."
"Honestly? Neither can I. Want to see it?"
Tempting. But knowing it contributed to my death?
"No thanks."
"Last question: what happened to my friends?"
Chris shrugged. Another folder popped open.
"Most did well. Some named artworks and music after you. The rest worked twice as hard to honor your legacy. With Elijah's support, many of them became wealthy, respected figures."
I sighed, a bittersweet pride swelling in my chest.
"They were good friends. I had a good brother."
Chris nodded.
"You did. But now... it's time to get to the main subject."
He leaned forward, folding his hands, a cosmic gleam in his eyes.
"How do you feel about reincarnation... and maybe getting a job?"
"Huh?"