[@Gregorr232: Bruh, I really like this book but why did you have to kill off Veresha? She was peak waifu material fr.]
[@Renegade: BRO, I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE… IT'S A GOOD NOVEL BUT WHY ARE YOU KILLING THE WHOLE CAST?! ESPECIALLY AFTER GIVING THEM SUCH GOOD BACKSTORIES!]
[@Williamloh245: At this point, the author has to be rage-baiting us.]
…
The chapter comments under [The Protagonist's POV] were already full of rage.
Chapter 808 had been out for only a few hours, yet the comment section had exploded with complaints.
Edwin Cliff leaned back in his chair, pushing his glasses up with one finger.
His expression didn't change.
"That damn Veresha," he muttered. "What do you all even see in her?"
He closed the comment tab and stared at the screen for a moment.
His name was everywhere… not his real name though but his author name… Godofworlds, one of the biggest online authors in the world.
Two years ago, his book had exploded across every platform.
It was still top-ranked even now.
People either loved it or hated it, but they always read it. He had millions of fans and an army of haters, and both paid his bills.
The only thing they agreed on? He had a habit of killing everyone.
The first villain he'd written had been a hit.
Readers cried for that one… He was a broken man after all.
After that, he never bothered again.
The villains that came after were doomed from the start… they were broken, pathetic, and dead before they even got a chance to redeem themselves. Hell, the only current surviving villain was the main villain and he was a ball of trauma thanks to Edwin.
The extras? He erased them without mercy.
Background characters existed only to die for the plot.
The heroines? He gave them trauma for the sake of it.
He didn't care.
Their pain made the story stronger… Their deaths gave the hero purpose.
"What good are extras if they can't die properly?" Edwin said, smirking at the screen. "You people need to learn storytelling."
Readers called him cruel.
But he called it something different… it was balance.
Without suffering, the world he built would feel fake. And if the weak died, that only proved the strong deserved the spotlight.
He shut his laptop with a click and stood up.
"You can't please these idiots," he muttered. "They beg for more chapters and then whine when I make it interesting."
He stretched and sighed. At twenty-five, he had already achieved what most writers dreamed of.
His book had given him fame, money, and peace. He lived alone in a mansion far away from the city, where no one could disturb him… well apart from his rich neighbors.
The income had dropped a bit compared to its prime, but it was still more than enough to keep him rich for life. Now all he had to wait for was a Manhwa adaptation.
Edwin walked to the kitchen and placed his phone on the counter.
The house was quiet… just how he liked it.
He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a cola, pouring it into a glass.
As he lifted it to his lips, his phone vibrated on the counter.
He sighed.
"Another one?" he muttered. "Persistent little gremlins."
He picked up the phone.
As he expected… it was another comment notification.
[@Thanato23: Even I, a god of death, don't find this much joy in killing people.]
Edwin almost spat his drink out.
Then he laughed, hard. It was the kind of laugh that came from pure disbelief.
"Who is this clown?" he said, wiping his mouth. "A god of death? In 2025?"
He scrolled again.
[Thanato23: While I enjoyed this novel… you've killed the fun from it. I hope you're ready to have a taste of your own medicine.]
Edwin snorted.
"Oh no, the edgy role-player is angry." He typed a reply without thinking.
[@Godofworlds: What are you going to do about it? Send a truck?]
He hit send and chuckled.
It had been months since he last replied to anyone, but this one amused him.
The idea that a stranger online could threaten him? Ridiculous.
He put his phone down and leaned against the counter, still smiling.
He waited for a few minutes and… nothing happened… no divine retribution… no nothing.
"Figures," he said. "Even gods respect me."
He finished his drink, set the glass aside, and headed toward the front door.
He opened the door, letting cool air brush against his face.
The neighborhood outside was peaceful.
One could only see the big houses, empty driveways and old money silence… It was truly peace.
He took a slow breath.
"Not bad," he muttered. "Could use more fans worshiping me out here, though."
He leaned on the railing and stared down the street. At the far end, a large truck was turning the corner.
It looked overloaded, swaying slightly on the road.
He frowned.
"Some people shouldn't be allowed to drive," he said, shaking his head. "Idiot probably forgot to check his brakes."
He watched it for a moment, then shrugged. The truck was still far away. He turned back inside, closing the door.
As it clicked shut, the sound of tires skidding ripped through the air.
He froze.
Then came a deafening crash.
The wall behind him exploded.
For one second, he didn't understand what happened. Then something slammed into his back with impossible force.
He felt his bones shatter and his body was thrown forward like a toy.
He hit the opposite wall with a sickening crack, blood spraying across the white tiles.
The air rushed out of his lungs.
His vision flickered.
Pain screamed through his nerves and then… vanished. His body went numb.
He slid down the wall.
Dust filled the air and the smell of gasoline and metal overwhelming his senses.
Through the hole in the mansion, he could see the truck's headlights glowing like two mocking suns.
It had crashed straight through his house.
'No…' he thought, staring blankly. 'That's not possible. That thing wasn't even going fast enough.'
His thoughts blurred.
He tried to move his fingers but they didn't respond.
'What the hell…'
Blood dripped down his body and pooled on the ground.
He wanted to curse, but his lips barely moved.
'Fucking hell,' he thought weakly.
Then everything went dark.
…
When Edwin opened his eyes again, he wasn't in his mansion.
The smell of smoke and concrete was gone.
He couldn't hear his fridge too…
He was staring up at a ceiling he had never seen before… and the air felt a bit colder?
He blinked.
His hands wouldn't move.
His legs either.
He tried lifting his head, but something held it down.
A metal strap pressed across his forehead.
He looked sideways. His arms were bound by thick restraints that dug into his skin. His ankles were tied down too.
He couldn't even turn his wrist.
The surface under him was smooth like some kind of stone table.
His heartbeat quickened. "What the…"
Then he heard a voice.
"Don't be afraid, young master…"
It was a woman's voice.
A shadow moved into his view, the outline of someone tall and slender. She carried a pair of shining tweezers that glimmered under the torchlight.
He couldn't see her face… only a glimpse of brown hair and a white uniform.
"It'll all be over soon."