"I said… become my friend."
It takes a special kind of insanity or stupidity to say something like that to someone who could erase me with a thought.
But this isn't one of those easy-mode stories where the main character gets a protective bubble and strolls through life unscathed.
No.
I've been trying to survive for a month straight, crawling, bleeding, bargaining, and somewhere along the way, I think I stopped caring about sense.
Maybe I have just been alive long enough to realize… the only way to stay sane here is to embrace the madness and right now, I was doing exactly that.
If death wanted to play with me, then fine, I would play right back.
"And why would I do that?" The Demon King, Ashavar, raised a brow, his tone light but his eyes sharp.
I mean, yeah… fair question.
Why would he want to be friends with me?
I'm a transmigrator.
The so-called successor of some useless but maybe powerful god.
