"A... a Harem God?" Andre repeated, the words feeling ridiculous even as they left his mouth. "You've got to be shitting me. I died and got picked up by a God of Thirst?"
"I prefer 'God of Conquest,'" Humsdrig growled, the golden light of his skin flaring like a dying star. "And you, Andre Simmons, are about to become my most pathetic investment."
Investment? What the fuck is he talking about?
"Why did you stop me?" Andre asked, his voice echoing in the vastness. "Why didn't you just let me pass on to whatever comes next?"
"Because I've been watching you, Andre," Humsdrig said, leaning back as if lounging on an invisible throne. "I've seen the life you lived. Pathetic. Unwanted. Weak. You were a ghost in the world of the living—a shadow that consumed bandwidth and produced nothing but crusty tissues and regret. You lived like a coward, and you died like a joke."
Andre flinched. The words were a serrated blade, cutting through the numbness.
"A life without meaning," the God continued. "A loop of endless, digital degeneracy. But you have a chance to change that. To finally be the man you spent six years pretending to be behind a screen."
"Change?" Andre looked out at the swirling stars. The void was quiet. It was dark. For the first time in eighteen years, the "noise" of his own failure was silent. "Why would I want to change? Why can't I just stay here?"
This space—this silent, empty womb between worlds—was freedom. No more fumbling conversations. No more rejection. No more comparing his life to a Ten-out-of-Ten fantasy.
Here, he was nothing, and nothingness was peaceful.
"I like it here," Andre said, his voice flat. He wasn't trying to be defiant; he was just tired. "I don't want to go back to a world where I'm just a punchline."
Humsdrig's laughter was a low, dangerous rumble. "So, you'd rather take your chances with the Pit?"
"What?"
"I told you, boy—I'm the only thing holding you here. The second I pull my hand back, you'll be sucked into the Great Beyond. And let's just say, once you're in the hands of the Judges, your fate is no longer a conversation."
Humsdrig leaned in, his massive, golden face casting a terrifying shadow over Andre. "Your odds? Fifty-fifty at best. And between you and me, the 'Heaven' crowd doesn't usually roll out the red carpet for professional gooners."
Andre's eyebrows knitted together. "Fifty-fifty? That's it?"
"When you cross over, you get weighed. Your life, your choices, your... excesses... they all go on the scale. If the scale tips the wrong way? Well, let's just say that the stories about hellfire and screaming weren't metaphors."
Andre felt a chill that had nothing to do with the vacuum of space. "Hell actually exists?"
"I'm a five-meter-tall golden god with a meter of divine cock between my legs," Humsdrig sneered. "I think that's all the proof of the 'unbelievable' you should need. So, what's it going to be, trash? Do you want to gamble on eternity in the fire, or do you want to play my game and earn a second life worth living?"
"Okay, fair enough," Andre muttered, the cold reality of hellfire winning out over his desire for eternal sleep. "So what's the catch? What did you mean by 'change'? What the hell are you offering me?"
Humsdrig turned, his massive golden heels clicking against the void. There was no floor, yet the fabric of space-time seemed to crystallize into solid glass wherever he stepped.
"I'm offering you a contract, Andre Simmons," Humsdrig said, his voice dropping into a low, tectonic vibration. "A chance to return to the world of the living—but not as the pathetic, shivering worm who died in a three-star brothel."
"Then as what?"
"As my representative. My vessel in the mortal realm."
Humsdrig stopped pacing and loomed over him, his golden eyes glowing like twin suns. "I will grant you a fragment of my essence. You will be gifted a System—a digital interface burned into your soul. It is built on the pillars of desire, degeneracy, and conquest. It will track your progress, measure your growth, and reward your... appetites."
Andre blinked. "A System? Like in the novels? I get to level up?"
"Don't get too excited, trash. You aren't the only one." Humsdrig's grin turned sharp and predatory. "The other Harem Gods are just as bored as I am. They've picked their own candidates—twenty other boys from your world, each just as desperate and broken as you. All of you will be sent back to Earth simultaneously."
"Wait, twenty others? From my world?" Andre's mind raced.
"The rules are simple," Humsdrig continued. "You will return to your life, but you will be playing for keeps. You will compete to build the ultimate harem, to gather power, and to crush the other candidates. We call it The Harem God King Tournament."
Andre stared, his brain struggling to process the scale of it. "A tournament? You want us to play some kind of twisted dating game?"
"Dating?" Humsdrig let out a bark of laughter that felt like a physical blow. He leaned down, his face inches from Andre's, his expression suddenly grim and lethal.
"This isn't a game, boy. It's a war."
"Each player competes in the shadows," Humsdrig explained, his voice like grinding stones. "Seducing women, expanding your harem, harvesting Lust Beasts, and surviving the encounters that follow."
"Lust Beasts?" Andre's brow furrowed. "What the hell are those?"
"The manifestations of repressed desire," Humsdrig dismissed with a wave of a massive hand. "Forget them for now. The System will explain the biology of monsters soon enough. All you need to know is the prize: The last one standing will merge with their patron and Ascend."
"Ascend to what?"
Humsdrig's eyes gleamed with a terrifying, ancient hunger.
"To become the Harem God King. You will rule over the gods of desire, master every facet of lust, love, life, and death for the next five centuries. Absolute sovereignty over the hearts and bodies of the mortal realm."
He leaned in, his golden radiance blindingly bright. "Power. Respect. Godhood. You can have everything the world denied you, Andre. You can be the predator instead of the prey... or you can take your chances with the fire."
Andre looked into the golden abyss of the god's eyes. He didn't want to find out if Hell was real, but he sure as hell didn't want to go back to the empty, gray existence he'd left behind.
This wasn't mercy; it was rebirth. Humsdrig wasn't offering a hand up; he was offering a sword.
He wouldn't be Andre the Gooner anymore. He would be a Vessel. A Player.
"What do I have to do?" Andre asked, his voice finally steady.
"Survive," Humsdrig said, his grin fading into something cold and sharp. "Play smarter than the other twenty. Use the power I lend you with ruthless intent. Victory is your only way forward. In this game, there is no second place—only the throne or the pit."
A heavy silence fell between them, thick as a signed contract. The deal was struck.
Andre nodded. "Then I accept."
The moment the words left his mouth, the void didn't just shake—it screamed.
The infinite stars above began to bleed together into long streaks of light. Andre opened his mouth to ask one final question, but his voice was swallowed by a sudden, deafening roar. The darkness shattered. Humsdrig vanished.
Like a television screen snapping shut during a power surge, the universe flickered and died. A blinding, clinical white light swallowed his vision, wiping away the stars, the god, and his own memories of the pain.
It was a clean swipe. A hard reset.