CHAPTER 113: TINY SPERM MEETING GRIM REAPER!

Being alive was one thing, but living a life packed with memories, soaked in happiness, drenched in pleasure, was something else entirely.

If you couldn’t taste the marvels of civilization, couldn’t breathe in its luxury, couldn’t feel its weight on your tongue and spine, then that was a life not worth a damn.

If you were poor, fine, but climb out.

Get rich.

Rich enough to light cigars with your own laziness. Rich enough to sleep in silk and wake up in the arms of someone soft and moaning.

That was it. That was the whole damn game.

Bang hot chicks, waste money on flashy crap just because it makes you smile, eat till your belly’s round and laugh till your throat’s raw. Live. Fucking live.

That was what Rae had wanted all his damn life back on Earth. Freedom. Real, raw, unchained freedom.

He was an orphan, yeah, with thievery as his trade, crawling through alleyways like a rat in heat, but at least he wasn’t some wage slave.

No chains. No masters. Just the thrill of the steal and the taste of adrenaline on his tongue.

He hated being beneath someone. Hated orders. Hated ceilings.

He wanted sky. He wanted chaos. He wanted everything.

And when he landed in this new world, this place where the rules melted and anything was possible, he had thought, maybe, just maybe, this was it.

The beginning of the life he used to dream about when he was stealing bread with bloody knuckles and an empty belly.

But of course, fate had its own shitty sense of humor.

Rae got transmigrated as a damn goblin.

A green, ugly, tutorial-level punching bag.

The kind of monster that shows up just so the protagonist can practice swinging a rusty sword.

Still, he wasn’t too bitter about it. Not entirely.

For one, he had a quest—one that, if completed, would let him choose any race he damn well pleased.

High elf, demon lord, fucking vampire prince with fangs and groupies.

All on the table. Just a matter of time and patience.

And second, and this was the juiciest part, the body he got stuck in had connections. Real, tight connections.

Access to the hottest, baddest, most breedable babes in the kingdom.

Play his cards right, and he could line them up, bend them over, and cross off every single fantasy he ever had. That was the plan.

And hell, he was good at it.

So good, in fact, he managed to die doing what he loved most—getting a sloppy, soul-sucking blowjob from a succubus who didn’t know the meaning of mercy.

Body gone. Drained dry. But his spirit? His filthy, stubborn little soul?

Still alive.

In a vast white void, clean and endless, one lone drop of sperm floated like a lost star.

It should’ve gone forward, into the ether like all other other sperms gliding past him. But it didn’t.

No.

By sheer fucking willpower, it twisted, wiggled, and swam desperately backward—desperate to return to the small, tight, sinful brown star it had been violently shot from.

If someone took a long, proper look at that brown star, they’d notice something disturbing.

It looked way too much like an asshole.

Not just any asshole either, but one that had been thoroughly used—wrinkled, gaped, worn like a mouth that forgot how to close.

Floating toward it was a single speck of sperm. Small. Defiant. Wiggling against fate itself.

Watching from the edge of the void stood a grim reaper.

Tall, dark, wrapped in black robes that bled shadow, his whole brooding presence clashing against the endless whiteness of the world around him.

"Ah, an indomitable spirit that refuses to die."

He had seen them all. Trillions upon trillions of souls. Lost kings, broken peasants, lovers, murderers, bastards, saints.

All drifting in from distant stars, passing through brown stars just like this one, never once resisting the pull. Never once fighting back.

They died. They accepted. They moved on.

Even the most vengeful, the angriest, the ones who swore revenge with their last breath—they still floated toward him, silent and resigned, once their bodies crumbled.

But this one. This stubborn, squirming little swimmer. It was different.

"Its no use little one, just give up already."

He snapped his fingers.

Time paused.

The current halted mid-surge.

And for a moment, the tiny sperm soul, glowing faintly with desperate fire, was given rest.

The head of the sperm twisted mid-float, turning to glare at the towering figure behind it.

Two tiny, furious eyes popped into existence on its bulbous head, burning with raw defiance.

A little mouth formed beneath them—snarling, shaking, spitting rage.

"Never. I’ll never give up until I get what I want."

The words cracked through the silence like thunder from a pissed-off god.

That voice, tiny and high-pitched as it was, carried a weight that didn’t belong in something so... gooey.

The Grim Reaper tilted his head, shadows writhing around the bones beneath the hood. He studied the speck with growing curiosity.

"Tell me, little one. Even after two lives... what is it that pushes you to such lengths."

The sperm clenched its invisible jaw, body trembling like it was holding back the force of an entire backstory. Its glow pulsed. It grit its microscopic teeth.

"Because..."

It shivered violently, as if even speaking the reason pulled from a depth deeper than death.

The Reaper watched closely. For someone who usually couldn’t give less of a shit about mortal affairs, he felt something strange stirring. Curiosity.

And maybe, just maybe, a sliver of admiration.

What could drive a soul like this to claw its way backward through the afterlife?

What desperate mission. What unfinished business.

What noble cause could a damn sperm possibly have?

But he didn’t know. Couldn’t know.

He had never bothered with mortal messes, never cared about their highs or lows, their pain or pleasures.

His only job was to usher souls into heaven or hell and slam the door shut behind them.

And yet, here this one was.

A glowing, throbbing speck of raw willpower. Refusing to go quietly. Refusing to fucking die.

Why was this tiny, slippery little sperm so damn special that a god gave him a second chance?

The Grim Reaper didn’t know, but now, after countless millennia of numb routine, he felt something stir.

Interest.

Real, bone-deep interest.

"Why are you fighting so hard to return?" He asked again.

The sperm’s eyes burned hotter. Its tiny mouth curled into a snarl of purpose.

"Because there are so many pussies that still need to be bred."

"..."

"..."

[...]

Silence.

Not just awkward silence, but the kind that echoed through the void like thunder.

Even the other drifting sperms paused in their tracks, floating mid-stream, their tiny heads slowly turning to stare at the defiant one.

The Grim Reaper blinked his non-existent eyes. Did he just hear what he thought he heard?

A soul—no, a sperm soul—refusing death because it wasn’t finished banging?

What kind of unholy stupidity was this?

He groaned, bony fingers sliding down his hollow face in disbelief.

"You... Is your patron god that guy?"

The sperm blinked. "Who?"

"Helel."

"Who?"

The Reaper stared, his sockets twitching in frustration. Face-palmed again. Harder this time.

"You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you."

Honestly Rae was here for one thing and one thing only—tits, moans, milfs.

The entire buffet of lewd dreams that had haunted his mind since his first wet dream in a stolen orphanage blanket.

He wiggled awkwardly.

"Err... is there something I should know?"

But the Grim Reaper didn’t answer.

He just stood there.

Silent.

Hands clasped behind his back.

Staring down at the most stubborn, horniest little soul he had ever seen.

The Grim Reaper didn’t speak for a long time. Just stood there, unmoving, unreadable.

Then, with a slow, sweeping whoosh of his hand, two massive doors cracked open behind him—one glowing soft gold, warm and holy, the other oozing fire and shadows like a demon’s breath.

Suddenly, the floating sperms all around began to stir, lining up into two silent streams.

One heading toward the warmth. The other dragged toward the pit.

Little sperm Rae wiggled in place, watching the flow, and slowly pieced it together.

Those were the gates.

Heaven and Hell.

And judging by the direction he’d been drifting in just a moment ago...

He gulped hard.

Hell.

’What the fuck? Is it because I cucked both Alex and Bryce?’

’Or because I stole...?’

’But those were just morally grey things. Petty shit. Nothing that actually put someone’s life in danger.’’

He gulped again, this time tighter. The void suddenly felt hotter.

His glowing little form trembled, not from fear exactly, but from confusion laced with a splash of guilt and a fat dollop of what-the-fuck-did-I-do-wrong.

Then his mind snapped back to what the Grim Reaper had said earlier.

You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you.

’What the hell did he mean by that?’

As the last of the drifting souls passed through the twin doors, some screaming, some moaning, some sighing with relief, the Grim Reaper slowly turned his attention back to Rae.

Alone now.

One sperm. One Reaper.