Transmigrated As An SSS Ranked MILF Overlord-Chapter 133: Even Heros Die(1)

A heavy silence blanketed the battlefield, so dense it seemed to smother even the wind. Nothing moved. Not the leaves. Not the clouds. Not even breath—except for Tonya’s, which came in trembling, ragged waves, each exhale a fragile vibration against the stillness.

She lay sprawled across the blood-streaked earth, her gaze locked ahead, wide and unblinking. Her body refused to move, frozen in a blend of shock and horror.

Ahead of her, something shifted.

The stone bat. It had been dropped after the strike—a monstrous slab of jagged rock, half-cracked and soaked in crimson. And now... now it moved again. With a low grunt, the beast—towering, misshapen, inhuman—moved it.

Tonya’s eyes didn’t leave the spot. Her heart thudded against her ribs like it was trying to escape her chest.

The blood pooled beneath the bat was thick, darker than it should have been.

And amidst the ruined mess... a hand.

Not just any hand.

Steve’s hand.

Shattered fingers. Skin torn open like wet paper. Blood smeared across the ground like an artist’s careless brushstroke.

Her mind reeled.

’No.’

’No, no, no—that’s not his...he got out. He got out! That can’t be him. That can’t be Steve. He—he couldn’t be—’

But there was no denying what she saw. Her mouth moved, whispering his name like a prayer too afraid to be spoken aloud.

"Steve..."

Her voice cracked. Not a scream. Not a sob. Just a breathless, broken murmur that barely reached her own ears.

The beast grunted again.

She blinked—once, slowly—and saw it straighten its spine, thick limbs dragging the bat upright. And then it stopped. For a moment, it was still. Its head tilted, and with a slow, deliberate turn, its golden eyes—monstrous and glowing like molten metal—locked onto her.

Tonya couldn’t breathe.

She was paralyzed, every muscle coiled tight, yet useless. She didn’t run. She didn’t scream. She just stared—at Steve’s broken hand, at the thing that had done it, and at the death creeping toward her in steady, thudding strides.

The goblin began to move.

Its footsteps were loud, deliberate. Every step it took vibrated through the dirt and straight into her bones.

Her hands braced the ground. Her knees began to lift her body, slow and shaking. The blood wasn’t hers, but it clung to her skin, to her fingers. She didn’t notice. Her eyes were still on Steve. Or what was left of him.

She didn’t want to believe it. Couldn’t.

But without a single care, the beast raised his bat in a smooth, terrifying motion—its metal surface glistening with streaks of blood. His massive chest rose and fell, a slow heave that made the air feel heavy. Dust hung in the broken silence as he tilted his head down, eyes settling coldly on Tonya.

She didn’t move. Couldn’t. Her limbs were frozen, as though her body had already accepted death. All she could do was watch.

The beast’s gaze shifted to the dark pool where Steve’s broken body had once been. And in one fluid motion, he brought the bat crashing down with terrifying speed.

BOOM!

The impact shook the ground, splitting stone and sending clouds of dust and jagged debris into the air. A monstrous silhouette formed through the smoke, the beast still hunched, still breathing, as if savoring the destruction.

And then... he paused.

Lifting the bat slowly, he looked.

No blood. No body. No organs. Just the shattered ground beneath him—empty.

His eyes narrowed.

And then—he saw her.

Tonya. Standing several feet away. Sword in hand. Her eyes glowing faintly blue, shimmering with tears and grief. Her shoulders trembled, but she stood. Breathing.

Alive.

Even she couldn’t believe it.

Why?

Why did I move?

I thought... I thought I didn’t care anymore.

The pain in her chest ached like a wound that would never close.

The beast turned to face her, taking a single step—then another. Slow, steady, and full of intent. Each movement sent tremors through the floor.

Her eyes widened.

Steve is dead... that’s right.

It hurt. Just thinking about it made her legs weak.

Steve... the last family I had left.

Her tears fell freely now, streaking her cheeks as her body trembled.

Maggie’s gone. Fiona too. And now Steve...

She whispered, barely audible.

"Why... why am I still moving?"

Her voice cracked as her grip tightened around the hilt of her sword.

What more do I have to live for?

Why should I keep going?

The beast roared. Loud. Shattering. Raising the bat again.

Maybe this is it.

Maybe it’s better this way. No more sorrow. No more pain.

She stared blankly as the bat came down once more—an executioner’s strike aimed straight at her.

And again—she moved.

Just in time.

Crash!

The bat slammed into the ground, cracking the stone where she’d stood a heartbeat earlier.

She landed a few feet away, panting.

"...Tsk. I did it again," she muttered bitterly.

Looking up, her eyes locked onto the beast’s. Rage swelled within her—twisted and raw. Her sword shimmered in her grip, the weight of it grounding her as her hands clenched harder.

And then—he grinned.

A twisted, toothy grin. Rows of jagged, animalistic teeth gleamed from the shadows of his mouth.

Tonya’s body tensed.

Why do I still want to kill this thing?

Her heart pounded against her chest.

Is this... vengeance?

She didn’t know.

But she wasn’t done yet.

The beast—no longer sluggish—lurched forward, gaining speed rapidly. The dust from his previous strikes still hung in the air, but she could see him. Every step thundering across the floor, rattling the stones.

It killed Steve. That’s right.

It killed Steve.

Her breath hitched.

I might have no purpose... but I have to live for him. That’s what he wanted, right?

He didn’t want me to die here.

Her eyes narrowed. The trembling didn’t stop. She was still afraid. Her knees shook. Her chest felt hollow.

But her grip on the sword was firm.

She faced the beast head-on.

I’m not going to die. Not yet.

"I’m going to kill this goddamn fat ass!" she yelled.

The beast charged, roaring as he raised his bat again. She braced herself, stance solid, sword raised—waiting for the moment.

He closed in.

Ten meters.

Five.

Then—just as the bat stretched backward, moments from swinging—

A flash of light burst from the doorway behind him.

Poof!

A presence surged forward, slicing through the dust and silence like lightning.

It was—

Steve.

Disbelief hit her like a wave.

His body was bruised, torn—bloody. Barely standing. But he was there. Alive.

He held a sword in one hand. His eyes glowed with rage. His jaw clenched. And with a furious shout, he launched himself at the beast, blade raised.

The goblin turned just too late.

SHUNK!

Steve’s blade pierced straight into the beast’s eye. Blood sprayed as the creature howled in agony, staggering backward with its hands over its face.

The sword still stuck out from the creature’s socket as it stumbled, its roar echoing like a banshee’s death cry.

Steve dropped to his knees, gasping, his body trembling from the effort.

He turned to Tonya—bloodied, breathless—but fierce.

"Do it now!" he roared.

"Attack!"

Tonya only paused for a moment before she moved.

Without hesitation, she charged forward. The goblin was still staggering from Steve’s last blow, its roar guttural and weak. Gripping her sword tightly, Tonya inhaled sharply. She drew in the moisture from the air, pulling it toward her blade. Pebbles—no, bubbles—began to form, gathering and layering along the sword’s edge, swelling into what looked like a growing wave. Her voice rang out in a chant:

"Streaming Hallows!"

In one fluid motion, she struck—her blade slicing into the goblin’s left foot, the same one Steve had injured earlier. The cut wasn’t clean enough to sever, but it was deep. Deep enough.

The pain shot through the goblin’s leg, already weakened by Steve’s earlier assault. It lost balance, collapsing with a thunderous thud, its massive body crashing to the ground. Dust scattered. The goblin growled, slamming a hand against the earth, trying to push itself back up.

But Steve was already moving.

Despite the blood spilling from his mouth, hands, and sides—despite the fact that his body was on the verge of collapse—he still moved.

He unsheathed his remaining dagger, rolled forward, and launched himself into the air.

The goblin, still flat on the ground and just beginning to rise, didn’t react in time. In one brutal, fluid motion, Steve drove the dagger straight into its thick neck. The impact forced his whole body forward. Using every last ounce of strength, he dragged the blade through flesh, ripping it across the goblin’s throat.

It wasn’t a perfect cut. But it was deep—deep enough for blood to burst forth, pouring from the fresh wound.

Steve landed hard, his body crashing to the floor, now soaked in both the goblin’s blood and his own. His limbs shook. His chest barely moved. Still, he forced his eyes upward—and he saw it.

The goblin, though bloodied... was still standing.

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