I Am Overpowered And A Comedian In Another World-Chapter 77: I Like RAW, Sexis Likes it Raw—We’re Not The Same, Bro.

Chapter 77: I Like RAW, Sexis Likes it Raw—We’re Not The Same, Bro.

"Show them what I raised."

Grandma’s words reached my ears, ringing with the kind of emotional power that could make a hardened warrior weep. Everyone else heard her too, but it hit me differently. If anyone else in my family had said it, I’d have just chugged milk in front of Malthus

But certainly, my grandma’s words gave me courage. She had me fired up.

One by one, the rest of my dysfunctional support group chimed in.

"You can do it, my son," my mother encouraged.

"Make your dad proud," my father added.

"After defeating him, bring his wife to me," my grandfather cheered. Of course, he had to make it weird. Not that it mattered, Malthus probably didn’t even have a wife. If he did, she’d probably just be his housekeeper since he can’t exactly be a dad and all.

Then came my aunt, the family strategist.

"Your aunty believes in you, Racis! Throw sand in his eyes and then you can kill him. Easy as fuck.

Easy as fuck? Yeah, because every battle is just a Bollywood action scene where you can blind a guy with pocket sand and then monologue over his corpse.

I held up a hand. "Alright, thanks for the motivational speeches, but please, no more suggestions. You all have about as much battle experience as a pornstar in a marriage."

"As you say, Racis. Just come home soon."

"I will."

"Stay safe, brother."

Ah, Sophia. Erect’s sister. I smiled.

"I will."

She really cares about me.

"Um... I meant my real brother."

Or not.

"Yeah. I will make sure he stays safe too."

"Thank you."

Finally, they all went silent. My heart wasn’t leaping out of my ass anymore. I felt composed. So composed I could’ve been a Mozart piece.

Even the crowd quieted down, sensing that the endgame was near. This was my final cry, and they were holding their breath to hear it loud and clear.

"Are you ready, human king?" Malthus asked, his deep voice rolling over the battlefield like a distant storm.

"As ready as a sperm eager to escape a billionaire’s sack."

"... Gre- good. Then let’s get it rolling."

"Yeah. Sexis, Erect, the plan remains the same. Attack him when you see the chance. Fuck the fear."

"What if he kills us? We’re not gods like you right now," Erect whined.

I smiled. "Don’t worry. If I see him about to kill you, I’ll come between you and him. I’ll take his attack, saving you."

Sexis raised his scythe-like hand.

"What if he attacks me from behind?"

"Then I’ll come behind you."

"That’s all I needed to know. Red man, make sure to attack me from behind."

I scrunched my face.

"Do you always think perverted things? Your name should be Perver T."

"Actually, it was. I changed it to Sexis Trum because, well, I didn’t want to blow my cover."

I groaned. "Sexis, if my intrusive thoughts ever took human form, they’d look exactly like you."

"Oh? Am I that deep and revolutionary?"

"No. You are a degenerate. Like someone who pays during cam shows and comments show boobs. Someone who watches entire live streams from start to finish. Someone whose own father calls him a son of a bitch. Someone who picks little gir-"

Sexis stumbled, his hand on his chest.

".. That’s enough, Racis. I get it."

Erect blinked, looking at me. "My lord, you think all that inside your head?"

"Of course. That’s why they’re called intrusive thoughts, Erect. And every single one of them matches Sexis." I pointed at the antenna-headed pervert. "This guy’s character arc is wild. He went from a refined gentleman with a three-piece suit and a dictionary to a guy who probably stalks his neighbors with night vision goggles."

Erect nodded. "I agree. We should give his suit back."

"Not now. After this is over. For now, let him be the weirdo he truly is."

Sexis opened his mouth to protest, but my attention was yanked back to Malthus.

"You already forgot your grandmother’s words, human king," Malthus said, stepping forward. "She is waiting for you to kill me. And gods like us shouldn’t bother with low lives. You and I are above them all."

I sighed. "Right. You’re still here."

"What?" Malthus frowned.

I turned to him. "They’re not low lives, Malthus. They’re my friends. No matter how weird, they’re the first friends I’ve ever had."

In both my lives, for that matter. I wasn’t exactly drowning in friends back on Earth either. The only person who ever called me handsome, other than my grandma, was my barber.

"No matter what you say, human king, they are nowhere near my level or yours. Nevertheless, I would kill all three of you equally."

"You wish."

"Then I’ll rape your grandmot-"

My sword was in his mouth before he could finish the sentence.

"Not another word about my grandma."

Malthus grinned, his sharp teeth scraping against my blade.

"It’s on."

SHRILL!

Malthus jerked my sword from his mouth, then swung his massive blade down. I crossed both my swords just in time, catching his strike with a bone-rattling BAANNGG!!

The impact blasted shockwaves in all directions, sending Erect and Sexis flying like debris from a cheap explosion scene.

"Can you feel my strength?" Malthus taunted, grinning.

"Your strength is the only thing you can make others feel anyway."

"Enough remarks about my manhood!"

He slammed a foot into my chest, forcing me back. I recovered quickly, lunged forward, and grabbed his horns, yanking his head down.

CRACK! His face met my knee.

As he staggered back, I spun, hooked my arm around his head, and yanked him down with me. His skull smashed into the ground with a sickening crunch. I rolled to my feet, brushing imaginary dust from my shoulders.

"RKO, bitch. Outta nowhere."

Malthus stayed on the ground for a second, long enough for me to get bored. So, like a generous nurse forcing a lazy patient out of bed, I muscled him onto my shoulders. His legs dangled like a half-empty sack of potatoes, his head lolling like a drunk uncle at a wedding.

"This one’s for the crowd!" I roared, spinning on my heel like I was about to launch him into the cheap seats. With a twist of my torso, I yeeted him into the air, sending him plummeting back to the ground like a meteor with self-esteem issues.

CRASH!

He hit the dirt with the enthusiasm of a phone dropped face-first onto concrete. His limbs splayed out in all directions, like a badly designed action figure that just failed its durability test.

I cupped my hand to my ear, leaning towards the silent Malthus. "Your attitude needed some adjustment."

Before he could recover, I scooped him up again, flipping him upside down like a phone screen you just want to shake to reset. His legs dangled helplessly over my shoulders, his body as stiff as a new pair of jeans.

"Say goodnight," I whispered, my voice a low growl, because what’s the point of being a hero if you can’t drop a cheesy one-liner before a devastating move?

I dropped to my knees, spiking his skull into the earth like a cursed flag. The ground cracked beneath the impact, thin webs of fractures spreading out like the roots of a dying tree. His body slumped to the ground, lifeless, his eyes rolling back like I’d just erased the last Chapter of his story.

I crossed his limp arms over his chest, leaning in close. "Rest in pieces."

I stood up, rolling my shoulders. "All that WWE finally came in handy."

Many MCs use magic skills or some other overpowered BS. But not me. I’m out here changing genres like a drunk director. I’m the kind of guy who’ll hit you with a finishing move and then flex for the non-existent camera.

Of course, Malthus wasn’t going to die from just this. I’d need some Spirit Bomb-level fuckery to actually finish him off.

But he wasn’t moving, his back flat against the ground, hands still crossed over his chest like a lazy vampire who missed his wake-up call. The Undertaker’s Piledriver must have rattled his brain a bit because he hadn’t twitched since.

His head was just in front of my feet, eyes closed, breathing shallow.

"Alright, let’s make this quick."

I raised both my swords, their blades glowing golden, the light reflecting off his red skin like a butcher’s knife catching the morning sun. I’d chop his head off in one clean swing, or as many swings as it took. Fuck the pacing, fuck the story, fuck the fans, Malthus dies today.

I brought the blades down, aiming for his exposed neck. Two swords, two directions—no way he was dodging this.

Except...

WHISH!

His eyes shot open, and in an instant, he was on his feet. My swords sliced through nothing but air, whistling past his throat like two very disappointed mosquitoes.

Malthus straightened up, his grin stretching wide. "That’s how he gets up, right? Suddenly. The Undertaker?"

My brows shot up.

"Did you think only you know such moves?" Malthus taunted, flexing his massive shoulders. "I know one too, Human King."

I snorted. "Which one? The Commentators’ move?"

"Don’t JOKE!"

Before I could blink, he lunged. His body blurred, closing the distance faster than a kid who heard the ice cream truck.

BAAM!

His shoulder crashed into my gut, folding me in half like a badly written joke.

My ribs creaked under the impact, and the world blurred into a dizzying spin as he drove me into the ground, every ounce of his weight hammering me into the dirt.

The air shot from my lungs like a punched balloon, and my back screamed in protest as pebbles dug into my flesh. I lay there, gasping like a fish on dry land, the taste of blood creeping up my throat.

"Alright... not bad," I wheezed, blinking the stars out of my eyes. "But... this move is only allowed while there are ropes. So this one doesn’t count."

Th𝓮 most uptodate nov𝑒ls are publish𝒆d on freew(e)bnove(l).𝓬𝓸𝓶