Max woke in his hotel room to thin bands of sunlight slicing across the floor through crooked blinds.
For a few seconds he didn't move.
He just listened.
The distant hum of Hell. The faint shouting from the street. Someone screaming happily. Someone screaming less happily.
Normal morning.
He groaned, stretched, and rolled out of bed toward the calendar pinned to the wall.
It wasn't a normal calendar.
Every date was layered in annotations written in glowing script only he could read. Threads of probability branched from certain days. Red marks signaled disasters. Gold marks signaled opportunities.
All mapped with assistance from [Raphael] — an ability that let him track timelines with surgical precision.
He focused on today.
The glow sharpened.
And something clicked.
Painfully.
"Shit…" he whispered.
The annotations rearranged themselves.
Two red marks pulsed in sync.
The next Extermination.
And the arrests for illegal magic use.
Same day.
Max dragged a hand down his face.
"So all the knowledge I have," he muttered, pacing, "everything I remember… diverges in six months."
The future fractured in front of him.
Possibilities splintered.
"Perfect," he sighed. "Just perfect."
Two crises.
Opposite sides of the Pride Ring.
No room for mistakes.
"Well…" he muttered. "I didn't want to recall everything. But there's that clause."
He tapped his temple.
"And if the others added theirs too… Parallel Existence should let me run both fronts."
He laughed weakly.
"Equal power to God and I'm doing crisis scheduling before breakfast."
A knock startled him.
"Max?" Charlie called sweetly through the door.
He snapped the calendar shut. It dissolved into smoke before the handle turned.
He opened the door with a dramatic bow.
"Hello, my star. What catastrophe brings you to me this fine hellish morning?"
Charlie clasped her hands nervously.
"My dad called."
"That alone concerns me."
She giggled.
"He said we can go to Heaven in his stead. Meet the angel leading the Exterminations. I want you to come with me. I thought… maybe you'd like to see Heaven too?"
Her hopeful smile crushed any chance of refusal.
"Absolutely," Max said. "Give me an hour. I need to finish a few things."
"Okay!" she beamed. "I'll meet you soon!"
She vanished down the hall.
Max shut the door and crossed the room to the enchanted chest at the foot of his bed.
When he opened it, soft light spilled out.
Memories in physical form.
A tailored black suit Octavia had commissioned personally.
Fingerless gloves from Loona, with a handwritten note tucked inside:
so your dumb soft hands stop bleeding
A flask from Bee, humming faintly with forbidden Beelzejuice.
A gold-and-onyx ring from Charlie and Vaggie, layered in protective wards that pulsed gently against his skin.
He dressed slowly.
Carefully.
Each item a promise.
"Heaven prep," he muttered, fastening the ring.
"Check."
Then he teleported.
He landed in Vox's private broadcast tower.
Screens towered to the ceiling. Static crawled across walls of glass. Vox stood at the center, puppeteering Hell's information flow like a conductor.
Max inhaled.
This had to be quiet.
Clean.
Final.
"Better safe than sorry," he murmured.
Reality sealed.
[World Isolation Barrier]
The tower vanished from the universe.
[Dimension Lock]
No escape.
No interference.
[Anti-Magic Area]
Power died.
The lights cut instantly.
The screens went black.
The hum of electronics vanished.
Vox froze.
"What the—? Who killed my power?!"
He turned.
Saw Max.
Stumbled back.
"How the hell did you get in here?! My security— you're a brand-new Overlord! You shouldn't—"
He lunged.
Grabbed Max by the throat.
Nothing happened.
No shock.
No strength.
No authority.
Just a hand resting awkwardly on skin.
Vox stared at it.
Then at Max.
Max lifted him one-handed and slammed him into the reinforced floor hard enough to rattle the tower.
"I'm not a petty Overlord," Max said calmly.
"You won't remember this. So I may as well be honest."
The barrier trembled.
The building groaned.
"I am Hell itself."
Vox's screen cracked.
"Your power came from me," Max continued. "And you pointed it at me."
Vox's voice spiked into static panic.
"Erase my memory all you want!" he screamed. "Every device records everything! I'll relearn it all! I'll make your life—"
Max smiled faintly.
"Remember what I said," he whispered.
"Your power came from me."
He released the Anti-Magic Area for one heartbeat.
Reached into Vox's network.
Screens across Hell flickered.
Archives collapsed.
Backups dissolved.
Digital ghosts vanished.
Every trace died.
The Anti-Magic Area slammed back into place.
Vox stared.
Horrified.
Empty.
He lunged in desperation.
His fingers tore Max's sleeve.
A mistake.
Max's aura leaked.
Just a fraction.
The tower screamed.
Vox's glass face spiderwebbed with fractures.
Reality itself bent away from him.
Then Max pulled it back.
The pressure vanished.
Silence returned.
"You won't remember this," Max said quietly.
"But your essence will."
A flash of angelic and demonic light struck Vox's mind.
He collapsed.
Breathing.
Alive.
Blank.
Max repaired the tower. The suit. Vox himself.
Everything returned to perfect condition.
He exhaled slowly.
"Time for Heaven," he muttered.
"Technically my first visit. Since I existed before it."