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(Extra- Lina, "the castrator".)
(Pov- Sandro.)
Lina, Lina, Lina, the biggest fucking bitch I've ever met in my life. Piece-of-shit old hag. First of all, what the hell is she doing here? She loves (and brags about) working alone. What's she doing in this crowd? What is she planning? And most importantly, why the fuck does she want to talk to me?! That woman already has me fed up! Why doesn't she just die already?!
Ah… Deep breath. Ah… Just remembering her makes my blood boil with rage.
My few encounters with her have all ended in a "draw." I'm not ashamed to admit that, judging purely by raw power, she's far superior to me, but I surpass her in speed, which has allowed me to tie with her in every fight we've had. So, considering that last part, there's a chance she just wants to talk to me to pick a fight.
Tsk. I don't have time for her bullshit; I already have enough problems in my head right now. I'll let her win and move on with my plans.
… That demon survived without its head. I definitely cut its head off. Can it survive without a heart? How?
So far, if my memory serves me right, I've defeated 7 demons (8, but I didn't deliver the final blow to that female demon), and they all share one thing in common: they can't survive without their heart.
Some of them could regenerate almost instantly, but once their heart was destroyed, they stopped regenerating, their magical attacks failed, and eventually, a few minutes later, they ran out of energy. Just like humans, if their heart is damaged, they can't use magic. They absolutely need their heart.
So how did it manage to survive without its heart? How could it use magic without its heart? Does its body have two minds? Can it control its body from a distance without using magic?
A head capable of surviving without the body… How do you even kill something like that?
… Ah, I definitely don't have time for nonsense. I hope this isn't some stupidity.
Yeah, yeah, I'm almost there; the atmosphere has become pretty obvious. Men have stopped showing up in my path; there are only women around me. I've always wanted to know why Lina hates men so much. My first guesses would be that she was raped or her heart was broken. Though, well, in both cases something ended up broken. I mean her ass, which got wrecked. Hahahahahaha! I don't usually make jokes that harsh, but I hate that bitch so much that my empathy and good side hide from her.
Her hatred for men is so over-the-top that not even I can see her as a woman. Is she sexy? Yes. Does she have a huge ass? Yes. Gigantic tits? Twice the size of my head. Would any guy get hard instantly just looking at her? Yes, but only if they meet one single requirement: knowing absolutely nothing about her.
She's 73 and I'm 27; she's 46 years older than me. Ah, speed, my great ally, you surpass the vast experience of that old bitch. If you were a girl, I'd fuck you to death, precious speed.
I think I got off track. What was I saying?
Hmm? Oh, yeah, this shitty day is finally going to get better! It's that huge woman! And she's wearing makeup? This is the first time I've seen her look so feminine. And she swapped her full white armor for a simpler one that leaves her abdomen and legs exposed—those gorgeous, tanned legs. I'm definitely hard now!
I've always found that masculine woman attractive, but her more feminine version? I love it so much more!
Hehe. Lina can wait. You've always rejected me, but today I won't take no for an answer!
Snif, snif. I smell like a man.
Exhale. Snif. My breath smells like mint.
I'm ready.
I stood in front of her, blocking her path, and looked up to meet her eyes. Hehe. What a beautiful look of contempt. You'll be mine.
"Hello, Kassam, what's up today? How's life treating you…? Hmm?"
She covered my mouth with her hand. Hey, hey, why so aggressive? This isn't normal.
"I'm sick of you. Leave me alone or I'll report you to Lina."
Huh?
She pushed me aside and kept walking.
… Wow… This is new. Usually she just says "no"—that's the only word she's ever said to me since we met—but this time she said more than one word. This is weird.
She's changing a lot; even today she looks way more attractive, she no longer looks like a man with huge tits. Why did she suddenly decide to look feminine? Did she fall in love with someone…? Ah, let me guess.
"Daniel?"
She immediately turned to look at me, clearly excited. I can feel the vibe coming off her—dilated pupils, a wide smile, eyes full of joy, parts of her body trembling. Ah, fuck. This is definitely too much.
"Is he here?!"
"… Are you serious?"
Realizing he wasn't there, she clicked her tongue in irritation and kept walking.
… Ah. Two years trying to win her over, and Daniel does it effortlessly without even trying.
Sara, Rose, and now Kassam. What's next? A princess…? Ah, the rumors confirm that. Let me correct myself. What's next? A…? A Goddess? Damn it, I can only say that because the other options are way too likely to happen. Give me some of your luck—you don't even use it!
Well, after my latest romantic disappointment, better keep moving. Time to go see that bitch.
Or, well, considering the old hags circling me, I guess I don't need to. She's already here.
Ugh. Not all women age well. Don't wear sexy clothes at your age, idiots! My eyes are burning!
"Hello, crybaby."
The old women opened the circle, letting her through with those gigantic, inhuman, painful-to-look-at tits.
Well, buddy? Yeah, yeah. I agree. I just feel disgust and repulsion.
Long, slightly fluffy black hair, gray eyes, a gaze full of contempt toward me. Don't worry, the feeling's mutual, bitch. Wide hips, a huge and weird ass, a tight red one-piece dress, black heels, black-painted nails. And her wrinkled skin, yet at the same time she looks younger than she actually is.
… Yeah, I don't feel even a hint of arousal looking at her. Let's get this over with quick; I want to go eat something.
"What do you want from me? My dick? I'll lend it to you for a while if you want."
Hehe. That's the only good thing about my encounters with her—pissing her off.
She stood in front of me and started staring straight into my eyes.
…
…
…
"Do you like me so much you're paralyzed? Wow, I'm more charming than I thought."
She's staring at me a lot. How long has it been? Two minutes? What the fuck is wrong with her? My neck already hurts.
She's like 1.40 meters tall. It's uncomfortable looking at her like this.
"Finally you were useful for something."
Huh?
After saying that, she turned around and walked away.
… Huh?
They all left, leaving me behind with confusion as my only company.
"… What?"
Usually we always fight and never talk, but today she just stared at me and left. What is she planning? I'd ask her, but I'd rather avoid any interaction with her.
"Fucking bitch."
… Everyone's gone; the army is moving forward without me. They're getting farther and farther away. Getting farther… Can I use this for a philosophical metaphor?
…
I looked behind me. Nothing. To the sides. Nothing.
I think no one can see me.
… Ah.
I lay down on the ground.
… I try, I really try, but…
"I don't feel like myself anymore."
I don't remember how I used to think naturally. I don't remember how I reacted. I don't know how to act natural. So much is changing in my life so suddenly that I no longer know how to behave or adapt. What should I think? What should I do? How should I react?
I like sex and women, that much I'm sure of, but I'm also sure it's not the time to be thinking about that right now. Why do I keep wasting time on it? Was I like this before? I… don't remember anything anymore.
I feel so strange.
I try to be the same old Sandro, but I keep feeling guilty about everything. I won't feel better until I kill that fucking demon. So, for now…
"I'll just keep pretending everything's fine."
As always.
•
•
CHAPTER 25.5 - The Power of the Dictator. Part 2.
(Froulen's Base.)
Cutting-edge technology, devastating weaponry, an army that obeys his every order without question. Froulen had it all. There was no force on the face of the Earth capable of rivaling his power. His word wasn't just law—it was inevitable destiny. No discussion, no appeal. Anyone who stood in his way had only two options: submit or disappear.
Over the years, hundreds of thousands had tried to defy him. Legendary heroes, assassins trained in the shadows, desperate rebels, mad scientists with impossible inventions. All with a single goal: to end him. And all had failed. Not because they lacked skill, not because their attacks were weak, but because Froulen was, quite simply, indestructible.
They had hurled flames as hot as the sun's core at him, and he had kept walking as if they were a warm summer breeze. They had frozen him in absolute zero ice, beyond absolute zero, yet his steps never stopped. They tried to drown him in oceans, praying the pressure of the seabed would kill him, but it never worked. Entire lands were dropped on his body, cutting winds that split mountains, acid rains that dissolved metal—and nothing worked. He never even got a scratch, and no, that's not an exaggeration. He never received a single scratch.
And when desperation gripped the world, they tried the impossible. Forbidden powers, techniques that defied the very logic of existence. They tried to erase his being in an instant, rip him from reality itself, eradicate him with the pure conceptualization of death. But even that had no effect. Because Froulen wasn't just a man. He wasn't just an enemy. He was an idea made flesh. The end of the world. The apocalypse.
The terror he inspired was so absolute that nations stopped making weapons to kill him. It was pointless. Instead, they poured all their resources into one single goal: preventing his arrival. They built colossal walls that encircled entire continents, invisible force fields that covered whole cities, spy networks dedicated exclusively to predicting his next move. Leaders and generals spent sleepless nights with the weight of uncertainty on their shoulders, praying their barriers would be enough to keep him away.
But while all that happened, Froulen… Froulen was calm.
He held a porcelain cup in his hand, the aroma of café con leche gently rising into the night air. His sharp, piercing eyes watched with the calm of a patient predator. His next target was already on his mind: Daniel.
"He's on his way. I see."
The air in the vast hall grew thick, charged with tension impossible to ignore. The sound of five kneeling men's ragged breathing was the only thing breaking the sepulchral silence. Their bodies trembled slightly, as if the presence of the man before them drained the courage from their hearts.
Froulen stood tall and firm, with the confidence of someone accustomed to absolute control. His mere presence was an impending sentence. He was over 1.90 meters tall, with a robust build and firm muscles that age had failed to weaken. His broad shoulders and upright posture gave him undeniable authority, but it wasn't just his physique that dominated the scene.
His clothing was a perfect reflection of his nature: a tailor-made suit of impeccable cut, divided into two absolute tones. The left half, pure white, gleamed even under the dim lighting, while the right half, black as night, swallowed the light around it. The symmetry continued in his trousers, perfectly aligned with the jacket's design. His shoes, polished and dark as obsidian, completed an image that seemed taken from a painting of inflexible justice.
His face was that of a man seasoned by experience, with wrinkles reflecting his long life. His gray hair, long and well-groomed, fell in strands over his shoulders, giving him an almost regal air, like a judge whose word was final. Yet the most terrifying thing about him wasn't his build, his age, or his clothing. It was his gaze.
Eyes sharp as blades, a grayish color that seemed to see beyond flesh and bone. There was no compassion in them, only judgment. The seriousness they reflected was absolute, and the silent yet searing anger they contained was enough to make even the bravest man feel like a helpless child. He didn't need to raise his voice or make a single aggressive gesture. His mere presence was already a condemnation for those who dared defy him.
The five kneeling men couldn't hold his gaze. They kept their heads bowed, fists clenched on their knees, as if awaiting a verdict they already knew.
"Daniel, Daniel, Daniel. A boy with more than three powers. A boy that interesting couldn't have appeared out of nowhere. And you're telling me you found nothing about him?"
"There's no information about his existence in the world, my lord!"
"Even with our powers, we couldn't get any information!"
"It's as if he was born today!"
He took a sip of his coffee while watching Daniel through the surveillance cameras. Daniel suspected the dictator was just toying with his enemies, but this confirmed it completely. He knew the secret base, its members, their powers, their weapons, even the enhancement drugs. If he wanted, he could have killed them all with a snap of his fingers, but he didn't. Why? Simple entertainment. He wanted to see the desperation on their faces when they realized everything they did was in vain.
And Daniel knew it. He knew it perfectly.
He was staring straight at the surveillance camera, which looked like an ordinary fly. Why would a fly follow them for so long? Daniel came from a world of technology; spy cameras were real to him. Daniel knew they were being watched but said nothing and chose to ignore it. Why? Because he knew the dictator just wanted to have fun, didn't see them as a real threat, and he would use that to his advantage.
"So what you're trying to say is that you failed…"
Froulen's tone was calm, almost indifferent, as if confirming something obvious. But the five kneeling men felt the temperature in the room plummet. Not because of the weather or some external power. Pure terror was what froze their bones.
They watched him stand. His movements were fluid, precise, unhurried, as if time itself had no authority over him. He didn't need to raise his voice or strike an aggressive pose. His mere presence was enough to make them feel their end was written. And as he rose, they saw their lives shatter in an instant.
Images flashed in their terrified minds. Their families, their children, their parents, siblings, friends. All of them would be dragged into nothingness. It didn't matter if they were innocent. It didn't matter if they had never touched a weapon or gotten involved. They would all die because these five condemned men had made one single mistake.
"Right."
It wasn't a question. It was the confirmation of their sentence.
Tears soon began to flow. Two of them, still young, still clinging to the vain hope of mercy, threw themselves to the floor, begging desperately.
"We're sorry!"
"Please, we need more time!"
But the other three, the older ones who had served him longest, only cried silently. They knew pleas were useless. There was no mercy in Froulen. There were no second chances. Those who failed, failed forever.
They couldn't escape. They couldn't fight. They could do nothing.
The worst part was that they weren't even to blame for their fate. They had never chosen to serve Froulen. They had been forced, torn from their previous lives and turned into pieces of his control machine. Their only sin had been being born with a special gift: the power to obtain information just by seeing a face.
For years, their ability had been invaluable to the dictator. Thanks to them, Froulen knew every single inhabitant of his domain. No birth went unregistered. No matter how well someone tried to hide, they found them. They knew every corner of his nation, every individual with a hidden power, every potential traitor. They were the omnipresent eyes of his empire.
But then Daniel appeared. And when they looked at him, they saw nothing.
Daniel didn't belong to this world. The rules of the universe didn't affect him. There was no information to extract, no trail to follow. Their power, infallible until then, had failed for the first time.
To anyone else, this would have been a minor inconvenience. To Froulen, it was an unforgivable sin.
There were no exceptions. A mistake was a mistake.
Slowly, he extended his right arm. The gesture was simple, but in that room it meant the end of their existence.
The men, drowning in tears, knew their bodies no longer belonged to them. They knew there would be no last will, no final words. They wouldn't even be granted the honor of a longer trial. Only the absolute contempt of the one they had served with forced loyalty.
"You're useless."
"Unnecessary." "Unfair." But none of those words were spoken. Because although all of them knew the sentence was wrong, that their value to the dictator was incalculable, there was no way to change their fate.
He never broke his own rules. Never.
His arm began to change. At first it was a subtle transformation, as if the texture of his skin had turned liquid, twisting in a hypnotic motion. But soon it took shape, defining itself, solidifying, hardening into a lethal structure.
A gigantic knife, sharp as the certainty of death.
And in the reflection of its blade, the five men saw the terror in their own eyes one last time.
But one of them, one who still had enough air in his lungs and a shred of useless courage in his heart, dared to scream with all the contempt and desperation he had left.
"I'll be waiting for you in hell!!"
His voice trembled, not from fear, but from pent-up rage. It was the only way he could cling to a final shred of dignity. He couldn't fight, he couldn't run, but he could scream at the man who had taken everything from him. His cry wasn't just a threat; it was an attempt to prove that, though doomed to die, he wouldn't go quietly.
Yet his defiance didn't have the effect he hoped for.
Froulen, far from looking intimidated, merely smiled. It wasn't a mocking or sadistic smile. It was a light smile, as if he were hearing the world's most worn-out joke.
"How original."
His tone was so flat, so devoid of emotion, that the man's last hope shattered instantly. There was no hatred in the dictator's reply, not even annoyance. Just disinterest. As if the threat was so insignificant it wasn't even worth considering.
And then, without further ado, without another word, without warning, the air was cut.
A single movement. Precise. Flawless.
The heads of the five men fell to the floor almost simultaneously, rolling a few centimeters before stopping in the growing pool of blood. Their bodies, still kneeling, took a second to collapse, as if their flesh refused to accept that life had already left them.
The sound of the corpses hitting the floor was all that remained in the room. No screams. No final pleas. Only the echo of death executed with absolute efficiency.
Froulen slowly lowered his arm, watching his own limb as it returned to its original form. The transformation reversed in seconds, as if the blade had never existed. His skin regained its natural texture, the liquid material reabsorbed into his being, and in the blink of an eye, his arm was the same one he had used to hold his coffee cup moments earlier.
He didn't glance at the bodies even once after the final blow. To him, they were no longer people—just waste.
"Useless."
With that, he turned and walked toward the long table dominating the room. His footsteps echoed calmly, with the relaxed rhythm of someone in no hurry. He sat with elegance, settling into the chair with the ease of a man who had not a single worry in the world.
Before him on the table was a small red button. His fingers slid naturally to it and pressed it with the same indifference one uses to order a coffee.
"Someone come clean up the mess I made on floor ten."
His voice was monotone, almost bored, as if commenting on a small water spill rather than five scattered corpses. He didn't wait for a reply. He knew the order would be carried out immediately.
With that, he withdrew his hand from the button and took out his phone. His eyes, filled with an analytical glint, scanned the screen with interest.
"I need that boy soon."
The tone of his voice had subtly changed. It was no longer the cold indifference he had shown his subordinates. There was something else now. Not urgency, not desperation. Interest. Genuine interest, almost… amusement.
He tapped the screen a couple of times and opened a video. He watched it in silence, eyes narrowed, absorbing every detail of the recording.
In the video, a fight. Not just any fight. The fight between Daniel and Minsfel, from the perspective of one of the members accompanying Minsfel at the time.
Froulen leaned back slightly in his seat, resting an elbow on the table and holding the phone with one hand. His smile returned.
"He's simply perfect."
His words weren't empty praise. They were an absolute statement.
On the screen, the battle unfolded with overwhelming intensity. Minsfel, a man who under any other circumstance would have been considered a monstrous instant-death machine, was being ragdolled with a single blow. The impact was brutal, the strength colossal.
He rewound the video a few seconds.
"He advances without fear, attacks without hesitation."
He resumed it.
"My favorite part."
And then Daniel's voice rang through the speaker.
"I am Daniel, the one who makes the impossible possible."
Froulen smiled again, this time wider. It wasn't the smile of indifference he had shown earlier. It was a smile of fascination.
"'I am Daniel, the one who makes the impossible possible.' That's a good line."
He repeated the words softly, almost savoring them.
He tapped the screen again and opened another video. The fight against the other members. Every movement, every blow, every feat of strength was recorded in his mind like pieces of a puzzle he was already assembling.
The excitement on his face was evident.
"Simply incredible."
Froulen set the phone down on the table, crossed his arms, and narrowed his eyes. He wasn't a man who often felt enthusiasm for anything, but this time was different.
He could already picture it. His next toy. The real fun would begin.
A worthy rival.
"I can't wait to meet you!"