Jean stared at the holographic map like it had insulted his entire bloodline. Swirling red markers pulsed menacingly across multiple realities, all converging on a fresh portal in the 9th Realm. The "Pantheon of Heroes" sounded exactly like the kind of overly dramatic superhero team that would ruin his already-ruined week.
Fantastic. Multiversal Justice League incoming to cancel the guy whose body I'm currently I got reincarnated in.
Varak loomed at his right, practically bouncing with murderous glee. Lirael leaned against a tent pole, testing the edge of a knife that had more runes than sense. Elara sat in the corner under guard, arms crossed, watching everything with deep suspicion.
She'd eaten the food (still reluctantly), but her death glare suggested she was mentally calculating how many ways she could heal someone just to hurt them again later.
"So," Jean said, aiming for his best bored-office-manager tone, "these Pantheon people. What's their deal?"
Varak boomed a laugh. "The usual, my Lord. They want your head, your realms, and probably a parade for 'saving the multiverse.' They're assembling because you've toppled six realms already and they're next on the menu."
Jean pinched the bridge of his nose. "Right. Obviously." He waved vaguely at the map. "Maybe we… don't charge in immediately? Send a polite messenger. Say we're open to… discussions."
Dead silence fell over the tent.
Lirael's knife froze mid-twirl. "A messenger? Not delivered via flaming skull or impaled on a banner?"
Elara let out a bitter laugh from her corner. "This has to be some kind of elaborate trap.
The Crimson Devourer doesn't discuss."
Jean gave her a weary look. "Can we stop with that nickname thing ? It's boring."
Varak's eyes gleamed with devotion. "Even his own titles bore him… the mark of a true conqueror."
Jean resisted the urge to scream. "Just send the messenger. Polite. No creative torture attachments. Tell them Lord Jan Harris is willing to talk boundaries."
The word "boundaries" made Lirael scribble notes like her life depended on it. Jean was certain it would end up in some legendary tome titled The Warmonger's Whims.
Two hours later, the messenger staggered back through the portal looking like he'd lost a fight with a porcupine made of holy arrows. One glowing shaft still stuck out of his shoulder.
"My Lord," he wheezed, kneeling. "They laughed. Then they shot me. The Radiant Sovereign declares you a plague on all existence and is marching through as we speak."
Jean let out a long, suffering sigh that turned into a coughing fit. Blood speckled his hand again.
The messenger's face lit up with fanatical joy. "Even now you mock them with your sacred essence! Glorious!"
Varak slammed his fist down on the table and stood up. "They reject your mercy? We crush them immediately!"
Jean held up a hand, trying to sound commanding but mostly sounding tired. "Prepare the legions… but hold at the portal edge. I'll handle this personally."
Personally? What am I doing?! I'm a novel writer, not a warmonger!
Elara raised an eyebrow but said nothing. The guards looked at each other, then shrugged and started mobilizing.
The army moved with horrifying efficiency. Soon Jean stood at the shimmering portal's edge, flanked by Varak, Lirael, and a very tense Elara who had been "invited" along as a witness. On the other side waited the gleaming Pantheon army flags waving, armor shining, tragic backstories practically radiating off them.
At the front stood the Radiant Sovereign, glowing like a human flashlight.
"You dare show yourself, Harris!" his thundered voice magically enhanced. "Your reign of terror ends here!"
Jean stepped forward, intending to say something reasonable like "Can we all just calm down and grab a coffee?"
Instead, his voice rolled out low and chilling: "Terror? This is merely… Tuesday."
Tuesday coffee... anyone?
The heroes faltered. A few paladins gripped their weapons harder.
An overeager hero charged through the portal with a heroic war cry. Jean panicked, stumbled backward, and swung his massive sword in a wild, flailing arc. Jan's muscle memory kicked in hard, the blade sang through the air, unleashing a shockwave that sent the charging hero flying back.
Jean coughed violently from the effort, spraying blood.
The Pantheon collectively gasped.
"He toys with our champion and spills his own blood to show how little it costs him!"
"The Warmonger is barely trying!"
Jean waved his hands desperately. "Wait, that's not—"
The Sovereign raised his holy sword, channeling a massive beam of radiant light straight at him. In full panic mode, Jean ducked behind Elara and shoved her glowing healer barrier forward like an improvised shield.
The energies collided weirdly, probably thanks to Jan's absurd latent talent, creating a chaotic multicolored explosion that carved a massive crater between the two armies.
When the dust cleared, both sides stared in stunned silence.
Jean peeked out from behind Elara, covered in dirt and looking like a startled raccoon in warlord cosplay.
The Sovereign lowered his sword slightly, voice wary. "What manner of sorcery…?"
Varak roared with laughter from the sidelines. "Using the enemy's own healer as a living shield while barely moving! Masterful!"
Jean groaned. "This is really not helping…"
Elara turned and glared at him, but said nothing. She just looked deeply unsettled.
Before anyone could recover, the earlier clash destabilized the portal further. New cracks spiderwebbed outward, leaking strange energies from unknown realms.
The Sovereign pointed dramatically. "See? Your very presence corrupts reality itself!"
Jean wiped blood from his mouth and muttered, "Yeah… welcome to my life."
As both armies braced for what was clearly about to become a very messy brawl, Jean felt another wave of existential dread.
Step two of not-conquering-the-multiverse: Also failing spectacularly.
At least no one seemed to suspect he wasn't actually Jan Harris. Small mercies