Samuel's POV
Henry turned toward me with that cold, calculating smirk of his—the one he always wore when he was about to say something brutal. His eyes narrowed just slightly, golden glow dancing in their depths like flickering judgment.
"Well, Samuel," he said, his voice calm yet sharp like a blade under silk, "I must say—you made your pathetic cheating wife's death into a goddamn masterpiece."
I chuckled darkly, resting my gauntlet-clad hand on my waist as memories flashed—bloodied silk sheets, the stench of betrayal, and the look in her eyes when she realized I remembered everything.
"What did you expect?" I asked, my voice low, rough. "A woman like Abigail Bardot… deserves nothing better. What she did to the original Samuel Gebb—" I clicked my tongue, shaking my head. "—she got exactly what she deserved. No mercy. No redemption. Just the same pain, served cold and slow."
Henry didn't even flinch—he understood. He always understood.
And then Owen chuckled from the side, rolling his shoulders like a beast too big for its own skin. "Alright, alright," he said with that cocky glint in his eyes, "enough with that trashy novel talk." He stepped forward between us again. "The way the Heavenly Demon transmigrated into that world and ended that bitch's career? Legendary."
He made a mock explosion with his hands. "Boom. Whole genre of drama and betrayal just got deleted."
I snorted. "I didn't just delete the genre. I rewrote it in blood."
Henry laughed, shaking his head. "You're both insane."
Owen grinned, fangs barely showing. "And proud of it. Now that the trio's back... the New World's got no idea what's coming."
And standing there, between the cracked battlefield and the echo of old wounds and brotherhood, I knew one thing for sure:
I glanced at Henry, the quiet hum of mana still flickering in the air after our brief clash. The battlefield around us was cracked, scorched, but now the conversation turned from fists to old wounds.
"Well," I asked, smirking, "you also made your cheating wife, Katerina Maa, humiliated beyond belief, didn't you?"
Henry let out a soft, cruel laugh—the kind that comes from a man who has truly moved on, but not without fire.
"Yeah," he said, eyes flashing with calm satisfaction, "I transmigrated after the end of that story. Original Henry Hans already left her in despair. Broken. Alone. So I didn't need to lift a finger… but still, watching her crawl for forgiveness when it was already too late? That was a good end."
I chuckled, rubbing the back of my neck as I stared at the sky. "Tch… lucky you. At least you saw the ending. In my case, I don't even know how the original Samuel's story ended. Just woke up in the middle of hell, wearing his scars."
Henry nodded, then turned to Owen with a raised brow. "Well Owen, seems like you're the real lucky one in all this. Your ex-wife, Yvette Jennings… at least she had the decency to not show off her lover until after the divorce."
Owen scratched his jaw and gave that trademark beast-king grin. "Damn right I'm lucky," he said with a laugh, "I transmigrated right in the middle of the story. Original Owen had just signed the divorce papers and cut her off clean."
Then he stretched, cracking his knuckles with a satisfied pop. "And to avoid all that unnecessary drama or whatever tragic redemption arc the author had planned, I left that world entirely. Came here—for challenge. For blood. For war."
I smirked, arms crossed. "So we all walked out of broken stories… and into a battlefield of our own making."
Henry nodded slowly, that fire burning behind his eyes. "Now this is the real story. No script. No betrayal. Just three monsters shaping their own destiny."
Owen chuckled. "And gods help the poor bastard who gets in our way."
I stood between Henry and Owen, the three of us forming a triangle of raw power beneath a blood-orange sky. The wind carried the scent of smoke and steel from our earlier clash. My smirk deepened.
"So..." I exhaled, staring at the horizon, "what now, boys? We burned the past. Walked out of lies. This new world—it's ours to tear open."
Owen stretched his neck, his beast-like aura pulsing faintly. "We didn't survive betrayal and war just to settle down like saints. We came to conquer, didn't we?"
Henry chuckled darkly. "Damn right. But this time... not as pawns. Not as characters written by someone else's hand. We write the script now."
I looked at them both, then turned toward the distant mountains that marked the edge of the Third Realm. I could feel the chaotic energy building there—strongholds, tyrants, beasts... and perhaps other old friends or enemies who crossed into this world like we did.
"There are kings to dethrone," I muttered, eyes glowing faintly with Shadow Dominion, "and gods to kill."
Owen let out a feral grin. "First to ten million corpses wins?"
Henry nodded solemnly, unsheathing his black-bladed executioner's sword. "Let's see who rises the fastest. But be warned—Divine Executioner doesn't play second to anyone anymore."
"Neither does the Harbinger of Destruction," I replied coldly.
Owen laughed. "Then may the Beast King stand tallest when the dust settles."
We bumped fists—an ancient gesture, unspoken promise.
Three former kings.
Three rewritten legends.
No leash. No past.
Only blood, power, and purpose.
Let the new era begin.