: The Entire Multiverse Knows We Fucked (And The Hero Guild Files For Benefits)
I woke up to the sound of applause… and it didn't stop for forty-seven straight minutes.
Turned out the succubus secretary had turned the castle's scrying network into a realm-wide livestream titled "His Majesty's First Morning After – Live & Uncut."
Current viewer count: 87,462,139 and climbing.
Beelzebub was still dead asleep, wing over me like a blanket, tail locked around my waist, face pressed into my neck breathing soft little puffs that tickled. He had this tiny, smug smile even unconscious, like he'd conquered the world and finally gotten to keep the one thing he actually wanted.
He was adorable.
He was doomed.
Because the door exploded open and the entire executive staff poured in like it was a surprise party and a war crime had a baby.
Leviathan led the charge waving a hand-painted banner:
FINALLY. TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH.
Asmodeus was live-commentating into a floating orb:
"And there he is, folks — the Devourer of Realms, defeated by one (1) HR manager and a single bed. Truly the greatest battle in history."
Belphegor was awake and holding a cake that said CONGRATULATIONS ON THE SEX in gothic frosting.
Mammon had commissioned solid-gold commemorative coins with our silhouettes and was already selling them in the gift shop.
Elowen was crying happy tears in her maid outfit, holding a breakfast tray and a stack of surrender documents from the hero guild.
And the succubus secretary? She had spreadsheets.
Actual spreadsheets ranking every noise from last night on a scale of 1–10 for "how whipped is His Majesty now."
Beelzebub finally registered the chaos.
His eyes snapped open, crimson and panicked.
The wing over me yanked tighter (protective instinct overriding everything).
Then he did the single most powerful thing the ruler of Hell could do in that moment.
He pulled the blanket over both our heads and tried to merge with me like a dragon guarding gold.
His voice came out muffled and mortified.
"Tanaka… there are… people."
"Eighty-seven million and counting, Your Majesty."
A long, suffering groan.
"This is your fault."
"Technically it takes two to cause structural damage to a 3,000-year-old castle."
He made a strangled noise.
The succubus secretary's voice floated in, way too cheerful.
"Director! We have gifts! The Four Heavenly Kings pooled their vacation days and got you matching couples mugs. His says 'World's Okayest Dark Lord' and yours says 'I Fixed Him.'"
Asmodeus again: "Also the hero guild just portaled over. They brought white flags and employment applications. They want to know if the dental plan covers holy damage."
Beelzebub peeked out from under the blanket, hair a glorious mess, one wing still draped over me possessively.
His voice dropped into the tone that usually made planets explode.
"Everyone. Out. Or I swear on the void I will—"
I raised one hand lazily.
The room went dead silent.
"Thank you for the congratulations," I said. "Breakfast on the eastern balcony in one hour. Anyone late gets to explain to the hero guild why their surrender forms are covered in glitter."
Eighty-seven demons, four archdemons, one former saint-queen, and an entire gift shop worth of merchandise vanished in a smokescreen of panic.
The door slammed.
Silence.
Beelzebub exhaled like he'd been holding his soul hostage.
Then he rolled us over so I was on top, hands settling on my hips, thumbs tracing lazy circles.
"They're never going to let me live this down," he muttered.
"Pretty sure the official new title trending across twelve realms is 'Beelze-boyfriend.'"
He groaned again, but his ears were red in the cutest way.
I leaned down and kissed the tip of one horn.
"You're the one who decided to scream my name loud enough to shatter scrying mirrors on three continents."
His entire face went crimson.
"…I regret nothing."
Then he kissed me properly — slow, lazy, morning-after sweet with just enough heat to remind me why the bed was currently in pieces.
We might have stayed like that forever if the scrying orb on the nightstand hadn't started blaring emergency alerts.
I reached over and accepted the call.
The hero guild master appeared on screen, surrounded by blushing paladins and a very embarrassed saint-queen (wait, no, that was Elowen's predecessor).
Guild master cleared his throat sixteen times.
"Uh… Director Tanaka? Your… uh… Majesty? We formally surrender. All territories, all artifacts, all chosen ones. Just please… turn off whatever that was last night. Our clerics can't stop crying and our barriers are… pregnant? We don't know. Please take our resumes."
Beelzebub, still under me, lazy and smug, answered without even looking at the screen.
"HR will send onboarding packets. Dental is excellent."
Then hung up.
I stared at him.
"Did you just win the eternal war with bed-head and morning breath?"
He grinned — full, sharp, and utterly besotted.
"Like I said. Team effort."
Then he rolled us again, wings flaring, and spent the next hour making sure the castle ghosts had new material for the sequel livestream.
By the time we finally made it to breakfast (wrapped in matching silk robes because someone had burned all our other clothes "for dramatic effect"), the entire Ninth Hell had new official holidays:
National One-Bed Day
Director Appreciation Week (month)
Annual Mandatory Blushing Competition (Beelzebub already won forever)
And the hero guild's new motto, painted on every banner:
"We lost the war, but gained dental."
The end of the world was officially postponed.
Permanently.
Because the Final Boss was too busy making heart-shaped pancakes for his boyfriend.