Real Family(1)

Adonis, for the first time since waking up, finally grasped the sheer absurdity of his situation.

Either he was experiencing the mother of all hallucinations, or he had, in fact, been yeeted across dimensions into a world filled with goddamn superheroes.

No cap.

At least, that's what he gathered from the doctor's memories.

But honestly?

Fuck all that.

Because right now, something far more monumental had his attention.

'I-It's a good thing I have a working dick after a decade… and it looks like it's seven inches…'

Seven. Solid. Inches.

Now, let's be real.

What? Did people expect him to suddenly sprout a 13-inch horse dick like some overpowered protagonist in a pornhwa or smut novel?

Get the fuck outta here.

Who the hell were those guys even planning to impale with that thing?

A fucking whale? A goddamn T-Rex?

Like, be fucking for real.

How was anyone supposed to enjoy that shit? Was there a secret cult of women with reinforced titanium uteruses he wasn't aware of?

Not to mention—what about deepthroat?

How the fuck was a girl supposed to gulp down a whole-ass third leg to the base without choking to death and filing for workman's comp?

Nah, fuck that.

Seven inches was the perfect balance.

A humble king.

A manageable hero.

A dick that understood the importance of pleasure without the risk of causing internal hemorrhaging.

And goddamn, wasn't that beautiful?

'This is the perfect length. Anything bigger is just biological terrorism.

Stupid-ass readers thinking the main character can have fun with something that can't even fit inside the heroines.

What a joke.

Like, what? Were these MCs supposed to be breeding centaurs? 

He scoffed and looked down at his newly acquired member.

Veiny as hell. Girthy. A true work of art.

This thing wasn't just a dick.

It was a goddamn Excalibur.

And he?

He was finally worthy to pull it from the stone.

'Boy, boy, boy... how long have I been waiting for something like this?'

How many nights had he cried into his pillow, staring at the ceiling like a man in a tragic war film?

How many wives and girlfriends had he let go—not because he was unworthy, but because he was a soldier without a weapon, a knight without a sword?

And now?

A sinister smile curled on his lips as he watched his new flesh Excalibur twitch in anticipation.

It was time.

Time to reclaim his manhood.

Time to—

"For crying out loud, cover yourself, at least…"

A deep, unimpressed voice yanked him out of his euphoric dick-worship.

Adonis blinked, his daydream of penile supremacy interrupted by the frail-looking man shaking his head at him.

With great reluctance, Adonis snatched a bedsheet and threw it over his rising star.

'Fine, time to listen… for now.'

He turned his attention back to the man, while the doctor had already stood up and bowed.

The trio approached him, their faces serious.

Adonis, however?

He was still grieving.

The world had just reunited him with his long-lost sword…

And now they were asking him to sheathe it.

"Do you… have… any idea what could have happened to you if Winston hadn't tracked your location…?"

The frail-looking man spoke slowly, shaking his head like he was one bad moment away from yeeting himself out the nearest window.

Adonis just stared.

Not a word. Not a reaction.

Because, frankly?

He had no goddamn clue what this guy was on about.

Who the fuck was Winston? Why was this human breadstick acting like they had some deep emotional connection?

Best to just shut up and let the drama unfold.

"You were this close…"

The man pinched his fingers together dramatically, his eyes full of Oscar-worthy anguish.

"THIS CLOSE to dying, Azrael! I swear to the gods, I can't take another loss—haa… haa…"

Then—he grabbed his chest.

And started wheezing.

Like full-on, dramatic, soap-opera levels of clutching at his ribs and gasping for air.

'The fuck?! What is this guy's problem?'

Adonis narrowed his eyes.

So let's get this straight—

The first person he met in this world was a literal angel with healing powers.

A divine medic who had somehow managed to reconstruct his half-mutilated dick like it was a Minecraft build challenge.

Something that, in his original world, would have taken months—years even—if it even worked again at all.

And now, the second person he meets is this dramatic motherfucker dry-heaving like a Victorian widow on a fainting couch?

'And you're telling me that this guy—this walking anxiety attack—can't cure his own asthma… in a world with literal fucking magic?!'

'Man, what the actual fuck is wrong with this place?!'

It was a valid question.

A world of miracles where some divine nurse just Frankensteined his dick back together, but this rich, important motherfucker is out here getting bodied by dust particles?

Nah. That didn't add up.

'There's gotta be some kind of limitation system in this world. Like, you can have magic, but if you go too OP, the universe slaps you with crippling asthma or some other dumbass weakness.'

'That's gotta be it. There's balance.'

Before he could spiral any further, the woman in pajamas suddenly sprang into action.

"Oh dear, here, here…"

In an instant, she, the black-suited bodyguard, and the doctor formed a whole-ass rescue squad, scrambling like this dude was about to keel over and die on the spot.

The pajama woman fished into his pocket, pulled out an inhaler, and shoved it in his hand like she'd done this a thousand goddamn times before.

"Thanks… Livvy…"

The frail man wheezed, sucking in the medicine like it was oxygen from heaven itself.

The big guy in black shook his head, looking like a disappointed dad watching his kid eat crayons.

"Sir, you really should be careful. This is the fifth attack this month…"

Adonis blinked.

'FIFTH?! Bro, at this point, you don't need an inhaler, you need a new pair of lungs.'

"How can I even breathe properly when my own brother is out here giving me a goddamn aneurysm?!"

The frail man dramatically chucked his inhaler at Adonis—or at least, he fucking tried.

The poor thing fell pathetically short, barely making it past the bed, like a dying goldfish flopping for life.

Adonis just stared.

'So, I'm his brother, huh? And my name is Azrael? Man, that's metal as fuck.'

Honestly, if he had to be some random dude in this soap opera of a world, Azrael was a name he could absolutely vibe with.

'But… who the actual hell am I?'

The frail man, now fully spiraling into his drama king era, clutched his head like he was starring in his own tragic Broadway play.

"I should have listened to Mom and just sent you to the Oblack! I'm not even capable of taking care of you!"

And to emphasize just how much he was suffering, he started punching himself in the head.

Adonis blinked.

Yeah, no. That did not hurt.

His hits were about as effective as a toddler angrily patting a pillow.

Before Adonis could even process this melodrama, Livvy—the goddess in silk pajamas—was already gunning for his ass.

Her perfectly manicured finger stabbed through the air like she was about to smite him on the spot.

"No, husband, don't do this to yourself!"

She cried, her voice practically shaking the goddamn walls.

"It's because of HIM that you're suffering like this! HE should be the one punished! We should strip him of his titles and dump his sorry ass into the streets to fend for himself like some stray dog!"

Adonis' brain short-circuited.

'Holy shit, what a raging bitch! Here I was thinking she was some classy, elegant goddess, but nope—turns out she's just a premium-grade asshole wrapped in silk pajamas.'