John Harem was a normal male from the — allegedly — greatest country in the world the United States of America, Florida specifically.
Twenty five years old. Marine. Signed up for the "free tuition" contract and realized too late there was no getting out of it.
So he did what any man with no other options does — he devoted himself fully, completely, and without reservation to his nation and to the world as its protector from terrorists.
And now, apparently, he was someone's chosen champion for an entirely different kind of mission.
He had questions about why Zeus specifically was the one who picked him. He didn't think too hard about it. The world that insulted humanity had to be punished for its words. Simple as that.
"The ritual is complete!"
The light vanished.
John opened his eyes.
Dark. Deep, suffocating dark, broken only by the dim flicker of ritual candles. The walls were old brick, slick with moisture. Chained bodies hung around the perimeter, long dead, their dried blood tracing elaborate patterns across the stone floor that converged directly at the altar he was lying on.
Men in black robes trimmed with red stood in a circle around him.
He was not alone on the altar.
"Oh, praise be our lovely demoness of lust, Lilia! Please forgive us for interrupting your meal."
One of the cultists dropped into a deep bow, addressing not John but something beside him.
John turned.
She was short. Or big. Honestly hard to tell — the proportions were confusing in ways his brain was still processing. Clean white skin, bat-like wings folded behind her back, a heart shaped tail flicking back and forth with agitation. Her outfit, if it could be called that, was doing the absolute minimum required by the laws of physics.
The massive situation happening at chest level made it very difficult to assess anything else about her.
"I wasn't eating this human. Who the hell are you and why are you here?" The demoness — Lilia — shot up from the altar and hovered in the air, spinning around with visible fury. "And why do I look like this?! You people only summoned one tenth of my being! You absolute idiots, you can never do anything right!"
Her voice seethed with rage, but her followers appeared anything but upset — their breathing heavy, faces flushed, hands trembling with something that had nothing to do with fear.
The effect of lust was spreading through the room like smoke.
None of it touched John. Demi-god status had its perks.
"You. Who are you and why do I sense my mother's presence on you?" Lilia sniffed the air, nostrils flaring, piecing together exactly why she had arrived as a shortstack instead of in her full glorious form. Her eyes narrowed.
"Your mom?" John pulled himself upright and placed a hand on the holster at his side out of habit.
"The Goddess of Demon! Her presence is all over you!" Lilia's wings snapped open with fury. "She interfered with my summoning and somehow YOU absorbed most of my power! Why would she even care?! She never cares!"
The betrayal on her face was genuine. Her own mother had never paid her much attention before. Why start now, and why like this?
"If she's a goddess on their side then she's an enemy," John concluded simply, filing the information away.
"No matter." Lilia's eyes shifted to a deep glowing pink as she surveyed her followers below.
"Whoever kills him gets my first time!"
The room exploded.
Every cultist screamed simultaneously as their bodies bulged and surged with borrowed power. Weapons flew from scabbards and the entire circle charged at once.
They were fast.
The cultists crossed five meters in a split second, clearing the distance to the altar before most men could blink. John was faster. His M18 cleared the holster and rang out twice.
BANG. BANG.
The cult leader dropped dead instantly. The others didn't even slow down.
John didn't need them to. At this range, with this many targets, every shot was a headshot.
One by one they dropped as he pivoted and tracked, weaving between sword arcs, ducking under wild swings, getting the rhythm of it.
"What is that weapon?!"
Lilia watched from above, genuinely unsettled. Every time the thing screamed one of her demonically boosted followers crumpled like wet paper. But she kept her composure. Every weapon had limits. And this was her temple — the supply of bodies was far from exhausted.
"DIE! The sex with my lady must be mine!" A cultist screamed and charged. John put a bullet in his forehead, ducked the sword arc from the next one, and kept moving.
He was getting the hang of their patterns. His breathing settled. His vision sharpened. He could see the trajectory of every attack before it landed.
Then — click. Click.
Empty.
A dagger found him unprepared, driving straight into his side.
It pierced deep. Pain shot through him like electricity.
Something shifted in John's expression.
He grabbed the cultist by the face, shoved the empty M18 barrel into his mouth, reloaded one handed, and pulled the trigger. Then he bent down, picked up the fallen dagger off the floor and started swinging.
[Blessing of War: Activated]
[You have learned: Dagger Skill (E rank) Basic dagger techniques acquired.]
[You have gained: Slash Resistance (E rank) Minor resistance against cutting attacks.]
He combined it with the M18 in his other hand and worked through the rest of the chamber methodically. When the last cultist dropped he turned, raised the M18, and put his final bullet directly into Lilia.
Her pink barrier flared. Then shattered.
The power of kinetic lead was very much real in this world.
"Damn you!" Lilia's eyes went wide. She spun and flew straight up through the chamber ceiling, bursting into the upper floor where rows of lower ranking followers stood waiting in reverent silence.
"Praise our lady! The master has succeeded!"
"Kill that man. NOW!!"
"Yes, my lady!" they screamed in unison, already drawing weapons.
John appeared at the top of the stairs a moment later, blood spattered, expression unreadable.
Click. Click.
He looked down at the M18. Too many people for what he had left. He holstered it, reached to his belt, and drew his bayonet. Dagger in one hand, bayonet in the other.
He rolled his neck once.
Time to get to work!