Chapter 11: An Evil God's Whim

 The café’s back door slammed shut, cutting off the sounds of chaos. The group huddled in the narrow hallway, but the silence was brief. A deafening crack echoed from the front of the shop, followed by the splintering of wood. The orcs had breached the main entrance.

“They’re not just breaking things,” Mei said, her voice strained as she pushed a sack of sugar against the door. “They’re looking for something.”

She jabbed a finger toward the front, where a head-sized hole was appearing in the door. “It’s like they know we’re here.”

Allen grabbed a cast-iron skillet, its weight a familiar comfort. “I can’t believe they have already made it inside the settlement,” he said, his voice grim. “We can’t outrun them. These must be the same ones from the caverns,”

“But why is he doing this?” Monica’s eyes were wide with a desperate, terrible clarity. “When we fought the Orc Lord, he looked at me… and I think I saw something in his eyes. He’s not just a monster. I think he might be from our world.”

The words hung in the air like smoke.

Reincarnation had always been part of their isekai fantasies—heroic souls reborn, destinies rewritten. But this wasn’t a game. This was obsession wrapped in flesh and tusks.

“So what?” Allen's voice was low and laced with venom. “Are you going to go out there? Tell him you understand? Do you really think he's some tragic hero who just needs to be saved?”

He raised his voice, his rage breaking through. “You can't just sacrifice yourself for him, Monica! Not for some twisted, reincarnated psycho!”

His words were a jagged shard of glass, cutting through the thin veil of their fantasy world. The Orc Lord's eyes in the cave hadn't held regret or pain, but a cold, calculating obsession. An obsession for her.

The air went dead. Allen's words hung in the silence, heavy and final. The frantic noises of the orcs abruptly stopped, creating a moment of pure dread. The very air in the room seemed to go cold as a pair of small feet appeared, dangling just above the kitchen counter.

A boy, no older than ten, sat perched there, his legs swinging as he looked down at them with an amused smirk. His blood-red eyes seemed to drink in the light, and his presence was enough to send a chill down their spines. He was the eye of the storm

The boy began to speak, his voice a mocking imitation of their conversation. "Oh, Monica, my dearest, please don't sacrifice yourself for the Orc Lord... I'd hate for Kon to win again."

He sighed dramatically, a theatrical pout on his face. "She's always butting into my fun. Always ruining my plans."

He looked at the chaos outside, a wide grin spreading across his face as the sounds of destruction resumed, louder and more furious than before. "This was going so well, too. All that delicious despair, and then... ugh. The hero complex. So trite."

Allen, shaken from his stupor, stepped forward. "Who are you?"

The boy's amusement vanished in an instant. His blood-red eyes narrowed, and a palpable, crushing weight descended upon the room, making it hard to breathe.

"You dare interrupt me?" he asked, his voice now flat and filled with a terrifying, contained rage.

A bead of sweat trickled down Allen's temple as the boy's gaze intensified, the air crackling with dark energy. The pressure built, pushing down on them like a physical force, a crushing hand ready to squeeze them out of existence.

Then, just as quickly, the pressure released. The boy's face softened into a saccharine smile, as if a switch had been flipped.

"Ah, I forgot. If I press too hard, you humans turn into squishy little bugs." He made a disgusted face. "And where's the fun in that? It’s so hard to find toys just as entertaining to play with as the five of you."

He hopped off the counter, landing softly. "My apologies. Where were my manners? My name is Khaos, and I am the Evil God who brought you all here."

Mei, ever the pragmatist, stepped forward, her voice trembling slightly but her demeanor pleasant. "A pleasure to meet you, Lord Khaos. Might I humbly ask why you've blessed us with your presence?"

Khaos laughed, a high, tinkling sound that grated on their ears.

"Mei, you're a hoot! I told you, Kon keeps getting in the way. She's supposed to bless the heroes I bring to this world, but it's only supposed to be one of them."

He pointed a finger at Protag-kun, who was still standing silently in the shadows. "She blessed all of you... but not him. She missed him.”

His smile widened. “And that makes you perfect. A blank slate. A protagonist without a script. I could write anything on you.”

The instant Allen and Monica heard that, they tried to protest. "We're not your playthings! We're going to be the best girl idol group!" Monica shouted.

Khaos sneered. "Really? I have heard many beg for their lives the instant they see me but you are more interested in fulfilling your so called Otaku fantasy. More importantly Monica, why don't you tell Allen the real reason that you have been hindering Allen this entire time?"

A pulse of dark energy surged through the room. Allen and Monica were flung backward, crashing through the splintered doorway and landing hard on the blood-slick cobblestones outside. The orcs roared, their eyes locking onto them like predators spotting prey.

"Monica..." Allen shouted as he struggled to get up.

Monica scrambled to her feet, reaching for the locket at her neck. “By the power of friendship and justice—transform!”

Nothing.

The locket stayed cold. No glow. No music. Just silence.

Allen’s locket was the same—dead weight in his palm.

Khaos’s voice echoed in their minds, smug and cruel. “I’ve turned off your toys. Now you’re just squishy little bugs."

A hulking orc charged Monica. She ducked under its swing, her isekai training kicking in, not from magic, but from years of playing video games. She rolled, dodging another axe swing, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The orcs, however, were not a mindless swarm. They were hunting her specifically. They formed a gruesome semicircle, trying to corner her. The Orc Lord's obsession was their command.

Allen, seeing her trapped, launched himself at the nearest orc with a skillet he picked up. It snarled, swinging its club at him. But Monica was faster.

Two more charged. Monica jabbed with a mop handle, catching one in the throat. Allen ducked low and swept the legs of the second, sending it crashing into the wall.

The last orc hit the floor with a thud, its tusks cracked, its breath shallow. The café was a wreck—splintered chairs, flour-dusted tiles, blood smeared across the counter.

Allen pulled Monica into a hug, breath ragged. “Great job Monica.”

Monica grinned, lifting the mop like a trophy. “And that’s how you clean house.”

But then the air shifted.

A red mist began to seep into the room—slow, creeping, unnatural. The fallen orcs twitched. Their eyes turned crimson. Veins bulged. Muscles swelled.

Allen’s voice cracked. “Not again!”

The orcs rose again, stronger, faster, more feral. One snatched Allen up like a rag doll, lifting him into the air.

Monica saw the gap in their formation. She didn’t hesitate.

She shoved Allen aside and stepped forward, arms raised. “Stop!” she shouted, voice shaking but firm. “You want me, right? Then take me. Take me to your leader.”

The orcs paused. Then, with surprising gentleness, they surrounded her—like she was something sacred. A prize. A prophecy fulfilled.

Allen, bruised and breathless, tried to speak. “Monica, don’t—”

She shook her head, eyes locking with his. There was no fear in them. Just clarity.

“Save Protag-kun,” she whispered.

And then she was gone.

Allen collapsed to his knees, the fight drained from him. Tears blurred his vision as he scrambled back into the café, past the shattered doorway and the blood-slick floor.

***

The café was no longer a sanctuary. The walls, once lined with mismatched teacups and faded menus, were now cracked and bleeding smoke. The scent of curry and spices had been replaced by iron and ash.

Near the shattered counter, Mei lay curled around Miyu, shielding her with her body. Blood streaked her temple, and her braid had come undone, strands clinging to her sweat-slick face. Cinnamon trembled beside them, his fur matted and singed, one paw twitching.

 And in the center of it all stood Khaos.

He looked untouched—his white tunic unwrinkled, his bare feet clean despite the soot. The boy’s blood-red eyes shimmered like polished glass, reflecting the ruin around him with amusement.

He turned to Protag-kun, who stood motionless beneath the flickering light of a broken chandelier. Shadows clung to him like a second skin.

“You’re the one she missed,” Khaos said, voice lilting like a lullaby. “The blank slate. The unchosen. That makes you mine.”

He extended a hand, palm up, fingers relaxed. “Come now. Let me give you a story worth telling.”

Protag-kun stared at the hand. His fingers twitched, but not from hesitation—habit. The same twitch he’d had when hovering over a keyboard, deciding whether to log off or reply. His gaze drifted to Mei, to Allen, to the wreckage. All this time, he’d told himself friendship was a lie. That people were masks. That connection was weakness.

“If I agree…” His voice cracked, barely audible. “Will you let them go?”

Khaos’s grin widened, teeth too perfect, too symmetrical. “That depends on you.”

Before Protag-kun could move, Cinnamon launched himself from the floor, tiny jaws snapping. He latched onto Protag-kun’s wrist, squealing in protest. The pain barely registered. Protag-kun’s eyes were glassy, his body slack. He shook the hamster off with a motion too smooth, too practiced—like he’d already given up.

Khaos’ hand hovered inches from his.

Then—

 “NO!”

Khaos’ face twisted, the grin curdling into something ancient and cruel. “You again,” he hissed. “Always interrupting.”

He raised a hand. The air warped. A bolt of black energy surged toward Allen, jagged and pulsing.

But Protag-kun moved.

He stepped into the blast, arms wide, body taut. The impact threw them both backward, crashing into the remains of the café’s stage. Dust and splinters rained down.

Khaos advanced, eyes glowing like coals. “You’ve made your choice then. So be it.”

Allen crawled toward Protag-kun, his breath ragged. The locket in his hand pulsed—dim, erratic, like a dying heartbeat.

Protag-kun reached out, fingers trembling. “Hold it steady,” he rasped.

Allen nodded, barely conscious. Their hands met.

The locket flared.

The air shimmered, vibrating with a frequency that made the walls hum. Light bled from the cracks in the floorboards. The café groaned, as if the building itself were trying to flee.

Khaos laughed, arms spread wide. “You think that’s going to stop me? A broken trinket and a half-dead protagonist?”

Allen and Protag-kun locked eyes.

“Explosion!”

The word was a whisper. A scream. A prayer.

The blast was instant. Blinding.

Light erupted from the locket, white-hot and deafening. A shockwave tore through the café, ripping wood from nails, glass from frames. Allen felt the world tilt, his body flung backward, weightless.

Silence followed. Heavy. Absolute.

The air tasted of ozone and dust. Allen’s ears rang, a high-pitched whine that drowned out everything else. He blinked through the haze.

The kitchen was gone.

Where the back wall had been, there was only sky—smoke curling into the dusk. The floor was scorched, the counter reduced to splinters. A crater smoldered where Khaos had stood.

Protag-kun lay beside him, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Mei clutched Miyu, both singed but breathing. Cinnamon limped toward them, dragging a broken spoon like a sword.

And Khaos?

No body. No smoke. Just a scorch mark in the shape of a child.

Allen stared. “Did… did we…?”

Protag-kun coughed, voice hoarse. “You don’t kill gods,” he said. “You just send them away. For now.”

Allen looked down at the locket. It was no longer a symbol of hope—just a jagged shard of black metal, still faintly glowing.

Then came the sound.

Footsteps. Heavy. Rhythmic. Orcs.

Torches flickered in the ruined doorway. Shadows stretched across the floor.

 Their victory had lasted seconds.

 Allen pushed himself up, legs trembling. “Monica,” he said, voice cracking. “We have to go after her.”

Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait. I'm really sadden to tell you this but we are getting close to the end. Please show your love and give a like and comment.