THE GOD OF MISFORTUNE
Chapter 5: (CH4)LAYING LOW

Chapter 5: (CH4)LAYING LOW

The second they stepped into Luis’s cramped apartment, Zyx flopped onto the couch like a dropped marionette, limbs sprawled, feet kicked up on the old coffee table without a care in the world.

"Ahhh," he sighed dramatically, lacing his fingers behind his head. "Sweet, sweet obscurity. Nothing better than being a nobody in a crowd of a million Hosts. Keeps you off the radar and off the kill lists."

Luis didn’t answer. He locked the door, checked it twice, then yanked the curtains shut. Only then did he finally let out the breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. His hands were still shaking.

"You said something earlier," he muttered, tossing his ruined hoodie into the corner. "About cheating?"

Zyx let out a snort. "Kid, there’s no such thing as cheating in the Ascension Royale. The gods upstairs are watching this thing 24/7. It’s the biggest divine reality show since mortals invented drama. Try to game the system, and the system just... adapts. Usually by making your insides your outsides."

Luis frowned. "Then... what’s the move?"

"The move," Zyx said, sitting up and gesturing vaguely toward the outside world, "is to stay off the radar. Right now, every flashy Host out there is basically waving a giant neon sign that says ’please kill me.’ The veterans, the WHI, the monsters—they’re all targeting the ones who look dangerous first. So we don’t look dangerous. We keep low. We stay boring. And when we do kill monsters, we do it where no one’s watching."

Luis rubbed his temples, exhaling slowly. "So... we hide?"

"We strategize," Zyx corrected, pointing at him. "You’re Level 1. You’ve got me—God of Misfortune. Which, yes, sounds like a joke because it is. You’re not beating some dude who throws lightning or turns into walking titanium. So we don’t fight them. We let them thin each other out."

Luis didn’t like that answer. But he didn’t have a better one.

He picked up the remote and flicked on the TV, expecting snow or a blank screen. Instead, the news was still airing—shaky, chaotic, but on.

"—riots have erupted in multiple districts as reports of superhuman individuals clashing with military responders"

"—monstrous entities are emerging globally, with casualty numbers now in the tens of thousands"

"if you are among the chosen, the government is urging you to come forward. Assistance, compensation, and protection are being offered to all compliant Hosts—"

Luis paused. The feed cut to a press conference. A man in a crisp black suit stood at a podium, flanked by armed soldiers. His face was all steel and zero emotion.

"To all individuals exhibiting extraordinary abilities," he said, steady and rehearsed, "the Global Defense Initiative offers sanctuary. Work with us, and you will be rewarded. Act against us, and you will be treated as a threat to humanity."

Luis’s eyes drifted to the bottom of the screen.

[GDI OFFERS 6-FIGURE SALARIES TO REGISTERED HOSTS]

He sat up a little. "Okay... that’s actually tempting."

"No, it’s actually stupid," Zyx snapped without missing a beat. "You think you’re the first broke Host to consider joining the GDI? Half my past Hosts went for it. Want to know how many made it to the end?"

He held up a single finger.

"Zero. You sign up with the government, you start playing by their rules. You follow orders. You share kills. And in this game, power equals survival. If you fall behind? You die."

Luis bit his lip, conflicted. "But if we’re alone, we’re vulnerable."

"And in a group, you’re visible," Zyx shot back. "You think those GDI squads are safe? To veterans, they’re feeding troughs. Easy pickings. Nobody aims for the guy hiding in a sewer. They go for the base full of Hosts wearing matching jackets and broadcasting their power levels."

Outside, something exploded. The windows rattled. The screen flickered, cutting to a shaky live feed of downtown—where a hulking, twisted monster the size of a building was tearing through the city like a toddler smashing toy blocks. Missile fire bounced off its hide like confetti.

[SURVIVING HOSTS: 996,401]

The number just kept dropping.

Luis leaned back on the couch, staring up at the stained ceiling, trying not to imagine the screams behind the broadcast. "So what now?"

Zyx grinned, all teeth and mischief.

"Now?" he said. "Now we wait. Let the flashy ones die first. And when the dust clears—" He made a casual slicing motion across his throat. "We clean up what’s left."

Luis didn’t like the sound of that.

But right now?

He didn’t have anything better.

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