Max woke to thin bands of sunlight slicing across the floor through crooked blinds. For a few seconds, he didn't move; he simply listened to the chaotic symphony of the Pride Ring. The distant hum of industry, the faint shouting of a street brawl, the rhythmic thud of an execution—it was a normal morning in Hell.
He groaned, rolling out of bed toward the calendar pinned to his wall. It wasn't a standard calendar. Every date was layered in annotations written in a glowing, multi-dimensional script that only he could perceive. Threads of probability branched from certain days like golden spiderwebs, while red marks pulsed with the heat of impending disasters.
With the assistance of [Raphael: Lord of Wisdom], Max could track timelines with surgical precision. He focused on a date six months away.
The glow sharpened. The annotations rearranged themselves with a violent, mechanical click. Max's heart sank.
"Shit…" he whispered.
The future fractured. Two distinct red marks pulsed in perfect synchronization. On the same day, six months from now, the next Extermination would descend upon the hotel, and the arrests for illegal high-level magic use would begin on the opposite side of the Ring.
"So all the knowledge I have," he muttered, pacing the small room, "everything I remember from the show… it all diverges there."
The path was no longer a straight line. It was a splintered mess. To save everyone, he'd have to be in two places at once. He tapped his temple, recalling the deeper functions of his Primordial essence. [Parallel Existence] would allow him to manifest on both fronts, but the strain on the environmental stability of Hell would be catastrophic.
"Equal power to God," he laughed weakly, "and I'm doing crisis scheduling before breakfast."
A soft knock startled him.
"Max?" Charlie called through the door.
He snapped the calendar shut. It dissolved into a wisp of purple smoke just as the handle turned. He opened the door with a dramatic, sweeping bow, masking his anxiety with a practiced grin.
"Hello, my star. What beautiful catastrophe brings you to my doorstep this fine hellish morning?"
Charlie clasped her hands nervously. "My dad called."
"That alone concerns me."
She giggled, though her eyes remained wide. "He said we can go to Heaven in his stead! To meet the angel leading the Exterminations. I want you to come with me, Max. I thought… maybe you'd like to see Heaven too?"
Her hopeful smile was a weapon he had no defense against.
"Absolutely," Max said. "Give me an hour. I need to… finish a few things."
"Okay! Meet you in the lobby!" She beamed and vanished down the hall.
Max shut the door and crossed to the enchanted chest at the foot of his bed. When he opened it, a soft, multidimensional light spilled out. These weren't just clothes; they were anchors. He dressed slowly, with the care of a knight preparing for a crusade.
He pulled on the tailored black suit Octavia had commissioned for him—the fabric woven from shadow-silk. He slid on the fingerless gloves Loona had given him, touching the handwritten note tucked inside: so your dumb soft hands stop bleeding. He pocketed the flask of "Beelzejuice" and finally slid the gold-and-onyx ring from Charlie and Vaggie onto his finger. Its protective wards pulsed gently against his skin, a reminder of the women who held his heart.
"Heaven prep," he muttered. "Check."
Then, he teleported.
He didn't go to the lobby. He landed in the heart of Vox's private broadcast tower.
Screens towered to the ceiling, a digital panopticon of Hell's movements. Vox stood at the center, puppeteering the information flow like a frantic conductor. Max inhaled. This had to be quiet. Clean. Final.
"Better safe than sorry," Max murmured.
He extended a hand. [World Isolation Barrier].
The tower vanished from the universe. To the outside world, the building was still there; internally, it was now adrift in a void where time didn't exist.
[Dimension Lock]. [Anti-Magic Area].
The power died instantly. The screens went black. The hum of the servers vanished, replaced by a silence so heavy it felt like physical weight. Vox froze, his screen-face flickering in the sudden dark.
"What the—? Who killed my power?!" Vox turned and saw Max. He stumbled back, his internal fans whirring in panic. "How the hell did you get in here? My security—you're a brand-new Overlord! You shouldn't be able to—"
Vox lunged, his hand glowing with blue electrical energy. He grabbed Max by the throat.
Nothing happened.
No shock. No strength. No authority. It was just a hand resting awkwardly on Max's neck. Vox stared at his palm, then up at Max's violet eyes.
Max lifted him one-handed and slammed him into the reinforced floor hard enough to fracture the obsidian tiles.
"I'm not a petty Overlord, Vox," Max said, his voice echoing with the resonance of the abyss. "You won't remember this, so I may as well be honest."
The barrier trembled as Max's aura began to leak. The building groaned under the pressure of a god-tier presence.
"I am Hell itself," Max continued. "Your power came from me. Every electron in this tower exists because I allow it. And you chose to point that power at me."
Vox's voice spiked into high-pitched static panic. "Erase my memory all you want!" he screamed. "Every device in this city records everything! My backups are cloud-based! I'll relearn it all! I'll make your life a digital nightmare!"
Max smiled faintly. It was a cold, terrifying expression. "Remember what I said. Your power came from me."
Max released the [Anti-Magic Area] for a single heartbeat. In that micro-second, he reached into Vox's network. Screens across the Pride Ring flickered. Digital archives collapsed. Backups dissolved into binary dust. Every recording of Max's "unmasking," every bit of data Vox had gathered, died in an instant.
The [Anti-Magic Area] slammed back into place.
Vox stared at the dark screens, looking horrified and empty. He lunged one last time in a fit of desperation, his fingers tearing the sleeve of Max's jacket.
A mistake.
With the fabric torn, Max's aura leaked—just a fraction of a percent. The tower screamed. Vox's glass face spiderwebbed with a thousand fractures. Reality itself bent away from Max, the air curdling into shadow.
Then Max pulled it back. The pressure vanished. Silence returned.
"You won't remember this," Max said quietly, looking down at the broken CEO. "But your essence will. You will feel a primal, soul-deep terror every time you see my face. And you will never know why."
A flash of combined angelic and demonic light struck Vox's mind. The Overlord collapsed, breathing but blank. Max repaired the tower, the suit, and Vox himself with a thought. Everything returned to perfect condition.
He exhaled slowly, checking his watch. "Time for Heaven. Technically my first visit... since I existed before the foundation was even poured."
He vanished, appearing in the hotel lobby just as Charlie was reaching for the door.