The Almighty War God's Karma System

Chapter 3: Negotiating with the Ice Queen

Julian turned to her, his mind reeling. It wasn't the blood on the floor or the groans of the unconscious hitmen that bothered him—it was the blue holographic text floating in his peripheral vision.

[Urgent Sub-Task: Save the Royal Bloodline!] [Goal: Prevent Elara Vance from finalizing the divorce within 60 seconds.] [Penalty: Permanent 'Structural Failure' of the male anatomy.] [Time Remaining: 45 seconds...]

Julian’s eyes widened. He had faced the armies of the Void without blinking, but the threat of losing his "manhood”made a cold sweat break out on his forehead. This body was weak, yes, but he intended to keep all its parts intact.

Across the room, Elara’s thumb hovered over the ‘Send’ button on her smartphone. Her face was a mask of cold resolve. "I'm sending the final filing to the lawyers, Julian. After tonight, I don't care if you're a junkie or a secret assassin. I'm done."

"Wait!" Julian shouted.

He moved toward her, trying to summon the charm of a celestial prince. In the Upper Realm, a single look from him could make goddesses swoon. He swooned. And smoothed back his matted hair and struck what he thought was a seductive pose, though in Julian’s battered body, he looked more like a man having a mild seizure.

"Woman," he began, his voice dropping into a deep, regal rumble. "You shall not cast aside the privilege of being my consort. To be the wife of Kaelus... I mean, Julian... is a grace bestowed upon you by the heavens themselves. Look upon me. Am I not a vision of masculine sovereignty?"

Elara stared at him, her thumb pausing out of sheer confusion. "Consort? Sovereignty? Julian, did you hit your head on the tub or did you take a new kind of pill? You sound like you’ve been watching too many historical dramas."

[Time Remaining: 25 seconds...]

"Dammit," Julian hissed under his breath. The 'Emperor' approach was failing. He needed to be more... human.

"What I mean to say," he tried again, stepping closer until he could smell the faint scent of jasmine on her skin, "is that the contract between us is not yet fulfilled. You seek a divorce because you believe this vessel—sorry I mean am a hollow shell. But look into my eyes, Elara. Do you see a coward?"

Elara looked. For the first time in two years, she didn't see the watery, shifty gaze of a man looking for his next fix. She saw a pair of golden-flecked irises that seemed to contain the heat of a dying sun. The sheer intensity of his stare made her heart skip a beat—not out of love, but out of a primal, involuntary respect.

"I see... someone I don't recognize," she whispered.

"Then give me forty-eight hours," Julian commanded, his hand gently but firmly covering her phone. "Forty-eight hours to settle the Thorne Group’s debts. If I fail, you may not only divorce me; you may have my head on a silver platter."

[Time Remaining: 5 seconds... 4... 3...]

Elara looked at the 'Send' button, then at the man who looked like her husband but spoke like a conqueror. "Fine," she snapped, pulling her phone away and locking the screen. "Forty-eight hours. But if you're lying, Julian, I will make sure you end up in the gutters where I found you."

[Ding!] [Sub-Task Cleared! Penalty Averted.] [Reward: 500 Karma Points + 'Divine Marrow Cleansing' (Initial Phase).]

Julian let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He felt a sudden, violent heat surge through his bones. It was the Marrow Cleansing. The drug toxins, the alcohol rot, and the years of physical neglect were being purged in an instant. A faint, dark mist began to seep from his pores, and he felt his muscles knit together with newfound density.

"Ugh, what is that smell?" Elara wrinkled her nose, stepping back. "You’re literally sweating black ink. Go back to the bathroom and actually use the soap this time."

Julian ignored her. He was too busy looking at the tiny, golden ball of light that had just popped into existence over his shoulder.

"Whew! That was a close one, Big Guy!" the ball squeaked. It unfolded into a miniature creature with shimmering wings and a tiny suit. "I’m Pip, your Guardian Interface! If she’d hit that button, you would’ve been singing soprano for the rest of eternity!"

Julian swiped at the air, trying to swat the creature, but his hand passed right through it. "Vanish, pest," he muttered.

He looked at Elara, who was staring at the black puddle on her expensive rug with an expression of pure horror.

"The debt," Julian said, his voice now steady and cold. "The Lecter family. They are the ones who hold the Thorne notes?"

Elara nodded slowly, still baffled by the transformation. "Yes. Silas Lecter. He’s been buying up our debt through shell companies. He wants our tech patents. He's coming to the Boardroom tomorrow morning to force a liquidation."

Julian adjusted his silk robe, looking like a king who had just dressed in his finest armor. "Silas Lecter. A fine name for a man about to go bankrupt."

"Julian, you don't even have a dollar in your bank account," Elara reminded him, her skepticism returning. "How are you going to fight a man worth ten billion?”

And by the way "Who are you talking to?" Elara asked, her suspicion returning. "Julian, if you're hallucinating, the deal is off."

"I am... speaking to the spirits of my ancestors," Julian lied smoothly, his eyes narrowing as he sensed something through the open balcony door. "They tell me that our evening is about to become much more crowded."

Elara frowned. "What are you—"

A loud, screeching of tires echoed from the street below, followed by the heavy thud of car doors slamming.

"The Black Vipers," Julian whispered. He could feel their killing intent from twenty floors up. "They’ve come to collect their trash."

He turned to Elara, his expression shifting from the awkward 'charmer' back to the Cold War God. "Go to the kitchen. Lock the door. Do not come out until I say so."

"Julian, there are at least three cars down there!" Elara shouted, panic finally setting in as she saw the flash of red and blue lights—not the police, but the neon underglow of gang vehicles.

Julian grabbed a heavy, gold-plated umbrella stand from the foyer. He weighed it in his hand, a dark, hungry smile spreading across his face.

"Good," Julian said. "I was worried I wouldn't have enough points to buy breakfast tomorrow."

"Pip," Julian commanded the empty air. "Open the shop. I want to see how much it costs to make a mortal regret at being born."

"Ooh, I like this version of you!" Pip giggled, fluttering his wings. "Let's see... 'Internal Hemorrhage Touch' is 300 points, or we have 'Terrifying War Cry' for 150! What’s your pleasure, Mr. CEO?"

Julian stepped toward the hallway, the umbrella stand dragging on the marble with a menacing skreeeee.

"I'll take them all."