Chapter 262: The SeconD Coming

The dog's massive foot was just inches away from turning Roland into a pancake when—

WHOOSH!

A spear shot down from the heavens, slicing through the air like it had somewhere important to be, and slammed straight into the dog's chest.

The mutt didn't even get a chance to whimper before it was nailed to the ground, the tip of the spear stopping right below Roland's crotch.

Roland stared at the weapon impaling the dog and then at how close his own precious assets had come to being skewered.

"Well, fuck me sideways," he muttered, half in relief, half in sheer disbelief.

Every cat, dog, and possibly Roland's future ghost collectively gasped. Their wide eyes traced the spear's trajectory upward to the broken edge of the bunker.

And there, standing like a goddamn heroic wet dream, was a silhouette. The sun was conveniently right behind this guy's head, making him look like the lovechild of a myth and a disaster movie. You couldn't see his face, but the attitude was loud and clear: I'm here to save your sorry asses.

It was almost like a divine figure had descended into this chaotic shitshow, except it wasn't divine intervention. No, it was much worse. It was Kaisen—probably grinning like a jackass.

"Holy fuck! That's the crazy human!"

Muttered voices bounced around the bunker like someone had just detonated a gossip bomb.

Even the cats—who moments ago had looked like they were about to soil themselves—were staring in shock, their fur puffed up like someone had hit them with static electricity.

Roland, still sprawled on the ground and clutching his ribcage like he was auditioning for a really bad soap opera, gazed up at Kaisen.

That goddamn perfectly-timed, drama-loving bastard.

The same guy he had cursed just minutes ago was now standing there, looking all heroic and probably smirking like he knew exactly how cool he appeared.

Roland, meanwhile, had just come this close to being splattered into a feline pancake.

And then, something even crazier happened. Roland started laughing—actually laughing.

Blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth, his chest felt like it was being crushed by a boulder, but he couldn't stop.

The absurdity of it all hit him like a brick to the face. His insecurities, his jealousy, all of it seemed ridiculous now.

All those insecurities, of wondering if his wife found Kaisen attractive... it didn't fucking matter anymore.

Not that it had ever made sense to begin with. Kaisen didn't have eyes for a middle-aged woman like Rodalina.

Hell, with that face and those moves, Kaisen could probably charm the panties off the kingdom's damn princess if he wanted to.

Roland laughed harder, tears streaming down his face, half from pain, half from pure jealousy.

Relief washed over him. He wouldn't have to live with his insecurities anymore.

All in good time, though. He had plenty of cards left to play.

And finally, with all the subtlety of a catwalk model, Kaisen floated down to the floor. There wasn't even a soft thud—just an otherworldly grace that made everyone stop and gawk.

He wasn't wearing a shirt, but rather a white silk draped over him like Zeus had lent him his laundry for the day.

Only his upper body was visible, and it was a masterpiece of divine craftsmanship. His chest was smoother than a baby's bottom, not a hair in sight except for the luscious mane on his head.

His muscles were so perfectly sculpted that even the gods would've sworn he was their idea of a bodybuilder's dream.

If heaven had a Yelp review, Kaisen would be the five-star, golden boy who pops in for the occasional celestial booty call.

Picture this: an angelic figure swooping down from the clouds, making love to mortals, and then zooming back up, leaving behind a beautiful, half-god baby.

Not that he actually did any of that, but if there were a divine dating app, he'd definitely be swiping right on everything.

The murmurs in the bunker grew louder, escalating into a cacophony of awe and disbelief.

Even the dogs, who had been busy trying to turn Roland into a new floor mat, were now standing slack-jawed, their expressions blank as if they'd just seen a unicorn giving a TED talk.

Kaisen's entrance was so picture-perfect, it was as if someone had dusted off an ancient prophecy and realized, "Hey, this guy's actually living it!"

Roland's labored breathing was the only thing breaking the otherworldly calm.

The dog Kaisen had speared remained stuck to the ground like a morbid piece of modern art.

As Kaisen, in all his divine swagger, sauntered over, he nonchalantly grabbed the spear, wrenching it free with a casual flick of his wrist, as if he were retrieving a fishing rod from a particularly uncooperative fish.

The dog's lifeless body slid off the spear and toppled onto Roland, who looked like he was trying to do a rather unsuccessful jig to get out from under the carcass.

Roland's desperate attempts to wriggle free were a sight to behold—think of a cat trying to escape a bath, but with added groans and the weight of a dead dog.

All the while, he was riveted by the unfolding drama, as if he'd just stumbled upon a reality TV show that promised explosive reveals and outrageous plot twists.

And oh boy, when the destruction of beauty finally happened, it was nothing short of spectacular.

Of course, this was going to be nothing short of spectacular.

How could it not be? Kaisen was the maestro of this chaotic symphony, and he'd prepped like a hyperactive squirrel on an espresso binge.

If this scene were a meal, it would be a five-course extravaganza with a side of fireworks and confetti.

Kaisen had meticulously planned every detail, like a chef with a Michelin-starred vision.

He wasn't just winging it; he was orchestrating a divine performance that even the gods would take notes on.

If his preparation was any indication, this was going to be a show-stopping, jaw-dropping spectacle of epic proportions.