My Milf System-Chapter 362. The Wish

The voice chuckled, rich with amusement, echoing across the fractured heavens.

"Astonishing... truly astonishing! I love how you fused every element into your Swords of Light and Darkness and forced them into a single strike. I didn’t think you were capable of something like that."

Asher and Veyra instinctively stepped back, tension coiling through their bodies. The Author’s weapon had just been shattered—reduced to nothing—yet instead of anger or panic, he sounded entertained.

That alone was enough to raise alarms.

"Careful, Asher!" Veyra warned. "He’s stalling. I don’t trust this bastard for a second."

The Author laughed again, louder this time, almost delighted.

"Stalling? It seems there’s been a misunderstanding. Destroying my pen doesn’t suddenly give you a chance. I have a thousand more where that came from—"

He never got to finish his sentence before a massive axe came crashing down onto one of his colossal fingers with a clang, the impact ringing like metal against metal.

But the strike barely left a mark.

"Damn... what is this? Your skin made of steel or something?" a voice scoffed, thick with sarcasm.

Veyra’s eyes widened. "Ares...? Is that you?!"

"Yup! The one and only!" the man replied, resting the enormous axe casually over his shoulder as he glanced back at her. His expression shifted, squinting slightly. "And why are you dressed like that?"

Veyra immediately grabbed the hem of her shirt and tugged it down, cheeks flushing as she tried—unsuccessfully—to cover herself.

Asher, meanwhile, studied the man before him—the sheer presence, the raw power, the effortless confidence.

Ares.

"Are you the God of War by any chance?" Asher asked.

Ares turned to him slowly, one brow rising. "’By any chance?’ Kid, I am the God of War."

Before Asher could respond, voices began to ripple through the sky.

"Veyra! We’re here, girl!!"

Asher looked up—and froze. The heavens were no longer empty.

Divine beings flooded the sky in overwhelming numbers. Some rode radiant white horses that galloped through the air itself, others descended as winged angels glowing with divine light, while many simply hovered, their presence bending the atmosphere around them.

Hundreds. Maybe more.

"Everyone... you came?" Veyra’s voice trembled with emotion as she reached for Asher’s hand. "It looks like the other gods and angels have awakened too."

"You mean... they’ve gone off-script?" Asher asked.

She nodded. "They weren’t supposed to be here. This scene was written to be just you and me... so you could tame me."

Asher glanced around again. That explained the eerie emptiness earlier.

And now this overwhelming arrival.

Among the descending figures, one stood out immediately. A plump god hovering lazily in the air, noisily devouring a massive slab of meat, grease dripping down his fingers as he chewed with zero restraint.

"Ohhh... dragon meat really is the best..." he moaned in satisfaction, licking his lips.

Asher stared. Something about him reminded him of someone he knows.

Yeah... that’s definitely the God of Gluttony, he thought.

Ares smirked, tightening his grip on his axe as he faced the Author’s hand again. "This fight isn’t yours alone anymore, Veyra. And you too, mortal."

"Name’s Asher."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Point is, if you’re going to take down your creator, you’re going to need more than just the two of you."

A yawn echoed from behind them.

"Can we just get this over with?" another god muttered lazily, stepping forward. He raised a hand toward the massive fingers—and instantly, everything froze.

Time itself locked in place around the Author’s hand.

"Nice one, Sloth!" Ares roared, already charging in for another strike.

His axe slammed down again and again, relentless, unyielding. Even if it seemed useless, he didn’t stop—because the longer he fought, the stronger he became.

That was the nature of the God of war.

Gluttony waddled forward, patting his belly. "I don’t know about you all... but that hand looks delicious."

He lunged in, attempting to carve a chunk straight out of one of the frozen fingers.

All around them, gods and angels unleashed their attacks—light, fire, divine constructs, raw force—each striking different parts of the massive hand in a chaotic storm of power.

Asher watched it all unfold, hope flickering to life in his chest.

With this many allies...

They could win. They had to.

"Are all gods this... crude?" The voice was smooth, almost refined, laced with a quiet arrogance.

Asher turned. A man in a long black coat stood there, composed and utterly unfazed by the chaos. He extended a hand with a faint smirk.

"Nice to finally meet you. I’m Velsvog."

Asher’s eyes widened instantly. "The Black One?!"

Velsvog grimaced slightly. "Not a fan of the name... but yes."

"How are you even—why are you—"

"I know, I know," Velsvog cut in, waving a hand. "I’m so impressive you can’t find the words. Happens all the time."

"No, it doesn’t," a female voice muttered somewhere behind him.

Velsvog leaned in conspiratorially. "Ignore her. She’s the God of Loners. Naturally bitter."

Then he straightened, grin widening. "Anyway, long story short—after I died, I was apparently too cool to disappear. So now? God of Shadows."

Asher blinked....That actually was cool.

He shook his hand firmly. "Then help me finish this."

Velsvog’s grin sharpened. "Gladly."

Together, they stepped into the fray.

The heavens erupted into chaos—countless attacks raining down, divine power clashing against the unmoving hand.

And yet...

Nothing worked.

Not a single strike left real damage.

Then—

The Author laughed. Not the booming, mocking laughter from before.

This one was quieter and calmer.

"Ah... how fascinating."

The voice no longer roared across the heavens—it settled into something almost human.

"To think something I wrote... could push this far. I always wondered what it would look like when characters stopped following the script. And here you are."

Even without seeing the author’s gaze, Asher felt like his eyes were locked directly onto him.

"...Alright. I understand now. Honestly? This has been far more entertaining than I expected."

Slowly—casually—the massive hand began to withdraw, as though everything that had just happened no longer mattered.

"Go on, then," the Author said. "Live however you want. I’ll simply go create something else."

One finger pointed lazily at Veyra.

"Maybe something just as flawed with a hot garbage plot like this, but also just as amusing."

Then, just before vanishing completely, the Author left them with one final line—

"Let’s see how long you last... without someone writing your ending."

And then, he was gone.

The heavens fell silent for a heart beat before it exploded with excitement.

"We’re free!!!" "Finally!!" "We can do whatever we want!!!"

Cheers erupted. Angels raised golden trumpets, their triumphant notes echoing across the skies.

But Asher didn’t join them.

The Author’s final words lingered, heavy in his mind.

Let’s see how long you last...

He exhaled slowly.

Like I need someone to write my ending.

"Alright, listen up, you idiots!!" Veyra’s voice cut clean through the celebration. "I’m still the Goddess of this world, which means I outrank all of you! That makes me your leader. So stop celebrating and start rebuilding this place!!"

"Yeah, yeah—maybe start with wearing some underwear first before barking orders!"

Her face turned bright red.

"I just want to sleep..." Sloth muttered, already half-dozing.

And just like that, the heavens shifted from chaos to reconstruction.

**

Later, Asher followed Veyra back toward what remained of her throne.

Only the base was intact. The rest had been completely destroyed.

She sat anyway, crossing her legs casually, showing Asher a tempting view of her smooth thighs that drew his gaze—and knowing she wasn’t wearing anything underneath only made it worse.

He sighed inwardly.

Yeah... even without the Author’s influence, he was probably doomed to be a pervert for life.

"Um... I wanted to apologize," he said, voice lower now. "For earlier. Tearing your clothes and all that."

She waved it off. "You were under influence. Don’t dwell on it."

He sat on a broken pillar, gaze drifting downward.

Veyra watched him, brow lifting slightly. "That’s a strange face for someone who just gained freedom."

Silence stretched a little.

"Do you think... I was fake too?" he asked quietly. "Back on Earth before my reincarnation."

He wasn’t sure anymore.

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she stood and began pacing slowly.

"You really like complicated questions, don’t you?"

"Just answer me."

She stopped.

"Alright. If I tell you you were real—a normal human who got dragged into this mess—then that ’Author’ becomes something far worse than we thought. Something that plucks souls from reality into a story."

She turned slightly.

"And if I tell you none of it was real... that you were just another character with fabricated memories... then everything you felt, everything you lost... means nothing."

Silence settled again.

Then she chuckled.

"See? Both answers suck."

She turned away, hands behind her back.

"The truth is... I don’t know."

Asher blinked.

Veyra stepped closer, then slipped behind him, wrapping her arms around him gently, her plump breasts pressing against him. Her voice softened. "You remember your life, don’t you?"

"...Yeah."

"You felt it. You lived it. You suffered through it."

He nodded slowly.

"Then whether it was written... or real... you experienced it."

Asher nodded slowly.

"Besides... if there really is a ’real’ world above all this... what makes you so sure you weren’t written there too?"

The question lingered.

It pulled at something deep within him, unraveling thoughts he didn’t even realize he’d been holding onto. There was no way to know. What if the people of Earth believed they controlled everything—their lives, their choices—yet were nothing more than characters in a far greater story?

There was no clear answer. No right or wrong.

Only perspective.

A faint smile curved his lips.

"Well... I’ve decided." His voice was quiet, but firm. "Everything I went through... it’s all real to me. I am real."

Veyra smiled and kissed his cheek. "That’s more like it."

She turned, walking back toward her broken throne, her hips swaying slightly, the skin of her smooth pale ass visible.

But before she could sit—

Asher spoke again, a grin forming.

"I still have my wish, don’t I? Goddess."

She glanced back. "Oh... right. For ascending the heavens." Her eyes narrowed playfully. "So... what is it?"

To be continued.