The Supreme Monarch of Continuum

It was the morning of the next day, and Klaus, still without a place to stay or sleep, had spent the night on a bench in the city park. It wasn't uncomfortable, not to him. He didn't need the comforts mortals longed for. Money didn't interest him, nor did the idea of work. Shelter was a convenience, not a necessity. Hunger and thirst existed in his body more as echoes than needs, as if his biology had signed the paperwork of humanity but never fully committed to it.

He didn't need to eat for months. Water? He could go weeks without it. His body, still influenced by the laws of his origin, processed sustenance like a ruminant might, recycling what he'd already consumed, deriving more from less. He was, in a way, like a cow. A divine cow, perhaps. But also, not.

The dawn crept in, dull and heavy. Klaus rose from the bench with slow, deliberate movement, not sluggish but unhurried, like a man who had all the time in the world, which, arguably, he did. He looked less like a homeless drifter and more like someone recovering from a long night of wine and bad poetry. His dark clothes hung loose but clean, and his presence carried the strange kind of gravity that made people hesitate before approaching.

He rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, did a few basic stretches, the kind mortals did to remember they had bodies. A few bones popped. A joint snapped lightly. All familiar sensations.

The park was quiet at that hour. Only the dedicated joggers, early dog walkers, and the elderly, the faithful congregation of pre-dawn stillness, were scattered along the walkways. Crickets still chirped, defiant against the growing hum of the waking city. The lamps that lined the paths flickered uselessly, neither fully broken nor fully working, casting uncertain pools of light that glowed more from memory than electricity.

Occasionally, Klaus would catch a glimpse of something illicit, a hasty handoff, a hidden puff of smoke, the kind of activity people pretend not to see. Boston wasn't a haven of crime, but like any city, it had its shadows. In fact, statistically, it was among the ten lowest-ranked cities for drug trafficking. Klaus had read that in a local paper he found on the bench. He liked to be informed.

He began a casual stroll, enjoying the insects buzzing close to his face, the way the dew clung to the grass, and the serenity of a world that didn't yet know it had been judged.

Then, something off. Two men.

They walked with the confidence of people who didn't deserve it. Average height, both pale, blond, and trying to look tougher than they were, hoods up, faces shadowed, but not hidden. Nothing about them screamed criminal, yet something in the way they moved sent Klaus's instincts into motion. Not the instincts of a man, but the instincts of something older, something that had watched empires rise and fall in a single blink.

They were trailing a woman. A young woman, alone, jogging with her earbuds in. Her body swayed slightly with the rhythm of her music, Katy Perry, if Klaus's supernatural hearing served him right. Her hands were clasped behind her back, resting against the top of her hips, as if walking alongside an invisible lover. She was smiling, lost in her own peace.

Completely unaware.

Klaus's eyes narrowed. The two men began to close the distance. They weren't sprinting, weren't rushing, but their intention was painted across their posture like blood on fresh snow.

Still, Klaus didn't rush. Not yet. Just suspicion wasn't enough. Humans, after all, were flawed creatures. Fitting the profile didn't mean guilt. And despite being something far beyond mortal, Klaus didn't believe in unnecessary intervention.

He picked up his pace, walking faster, his stride lengthening. Not drawing attention, but not letting distance become danger.

Then the man on the right, shorter than his companion and with the uneven gait of someone who had once been kicked hard and permanently in the pride, reached out and tapped the woman on the shoulder.

She turned around.

Klaus stopped. Recognition hit.

It was the nurse.

From the hospital the night before. The one who had flirted with him while patching up Emmett, full of nervous laughter and soft glances. He had dismissed it then. But now she looked very different, no makeup, her hair tied in a practical ponytail, sweat glistening at her temples. She looked ordinary. Human. Innocent.

And now, she looked confused.

The men said something. Klaus couldn't hear from this distance, but he read their body language like a scholar reads runes. She took a step back. One of them leaned forward, grinning. The other glanced around, checking the surroundings, missing Klaus entirely. Their energy shifted, no longer just a creeping hunt. Now a pounce in waiting.

Klaus sighed. Not dramatically, just long and slow, like an ancient tree finally bending with the wind.

Then, from nowhere, a squirrel dropped from the branches above and landed squarely on one of the men's heads.

The man screamed, high-pitched and ridiculous.

The squirrel, presumably equally shocked, clung to his hood with tiny claws, chattering furiously. The second man tried to swat it away but only managed to slap his friend across the face. Twice.

Klaus blinked.

The girl staggered back in confusion as the first man spun in circles, arms flailing. The squirrel, seemingly offended, took this as a declaration of war and began attacking with renewed vigor, scratching, biting, and hurling acorns from an unknown reserve in its cheeks.

The second man, losing patience, tried to help but tripped over his own feet and fell into a bush, face-first. He didn't get up right away. He was making some kind of gargling sound. Possibly crying. Possibly choking. Possibly both.

The nurse removed her earbuds. "What the—?"

Klaus stepped in, his hands casually in his pockets. "Trouble?"

The squirrel looked at him. Dead in the eye. And nodded.

Then it vanished, literally disappeared in a blur of static.

The first man was now bleeding lightly from the scalp, sobbing. The other had managed to remove his shoe, for some reason, and was holding it like a weapon.

Klaus placed a hand on the nurse's shoulder. "You should go. Not your circus."

She opened her mouth to ask something, then thought better of it. She took a deep breath and jogged away, muttering something about needing to move out of Boston.

The two men finally stumbled off in opposite directions, dignity shredded, one still batting at his own hood.

Klaus looked up at the tree. "Thanks," he said.

A soft chittering laughter echoed through the branches.

He smiled to himself and walked away, wondering if that squirrel had just been a squirrel; or something else entirely.

As he walked away, he sensed someone lurking in the shadows. Instinctively, he summoned a fireball and hurled it forward toward where he thought the figure was hiding. But it struck nothing. He turned, frustrated, disappointed in himself for acting on a hunch that led nowhere. And there, standing right in front of him, was someone. Smaller than him. It was a girl.

The girl had an uncanny presence. Blue hair. Bangs cut sharply above her brows like she was an anime protagonist in the middle of a redemption arc. Her face, porcelain smooth, carried the kind of airbrushed perfection that made Klaus feel like reality had glitched. She looked young, mid-twenties, tops, but her stare said otherwise. Behind that innocent smile, he could see gears turning. Slowly. Patiently. Anciently.

"May I help you...?" Klaus asked, flat, narrowing his eyes.

He was genuinely impressed. She'd completely bypassed his awareness, not an easy feat, considering his senses were tuned to levels that would make bloodhounds insecure. She had to be at least B-rank. Maybe higher. He wondered how her abilities worked, and more importantly, how long it would take to jack them.

Her face lit up with that overly sweet smile you only see on HR managers or cult leaders.

"Oh, absolutely!" she chirped. "I'm Emily Donaldson. I've been searching far and wide for someone like you: a special someone. The kind of charming young warrior who can help save this beautiful, troubled nation from the rising dungeon scourge. And I think..." she pointed at him like he'd won a game show, "...you might just be the key!"

Klaus absorbed every word like he was watching a discount infomercial. And when it was over, he calmly exhaled the only response he had left: "Not interested."

Emily blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Excused," Klaus replied, already turning to leave, hands in his pockets like he'd just refused to buy Girl Scout cookies.

This, of course, was strategic. Rule number one of manipulation: people want what they can't have. If she thought he was aloof and hard to reel in, she'd only pull harder. Which meant getting dragged to whatever this "organization" was, probably a state-backed dungeon guild, where he could climb through more levels, kill more beasts, and snag more broken skills. The long con was practically writing itself.

Emily clutched her invisible pearls.

"Playing hard to get, are we?" Her grin returned, more mischievous now. "Tell you what, let's have a "sparring" match." She air-quoted the word like she was on a talk show. "If I win, you join the guild. If you win, then fine, you walk. I won't even follow you home like a persistent pigeon."

Klaus tilted his head. "How old are you, anyway? Been itching to ask."

Emily cocked an eyebrow. "Rude. But sure. Take a guess."

"Forty-two," he said without hesitation. "Though you look early to mid-twenties. Solid skincare. Parents must be thrilled."

Emily's mouth parted slightly, as if someone had just unplugged her brain. She wasn't angry. She wasn't shocked. She was offended on a metaphysical level.

"H-how...?" she stammered, voice cracking ever so slightly.

"The thing with women like you is," Klaus began, his tone casual, too casual, "you all somehow look twenty until you hit seventy, and then you morph into a librarian ghost. But the eyes always give it away. Yours say, 'I've seen the 80s.'" A wooden stake, right in the ego. "Plus, the way you carry yourself. Too confident for a real twenty-something. You've already paid off your student loans. You probably know what a rotary phone is." Second stake. "And don't take this the wrong way, but you've got a bit of that energy, you know, like someone who owns a personalized yoga mat and corrects people's grammar on Reddit. Which is fine! It's mature. Refined." Third and final stake, critical hit.

Emily's mouth twitched. She took a single step back, hands on her hips like she was trying to physically keep her dignity from leaking out.

"Forty-two," Klaus repeated. "December birthday. Capricorn vibes."

Emily was floored. It felt like someone had doxed her with the precision of an astrologer and the cruelty of an ex.

No one had ever guessed her age before. Not once. Most were off by at least a decade. Some thought she was twenty. One creep once said sixteen, he didn't live long. But Klaus? Klaus had looked at her and seen through the entire timeline.

"You insufferable twig of a man," she snapped, voice rising.

"Thanks," Klaus replied, completely unfazed. "I exfoliate."

That was the final straw.

Emily's hands clenched. Her smile returned, but this time, it was the kind people wear before flipping a table.

"DUEL ME, you arrogant little scarecrow!" she shouted, the ground beneath her cracking as mana surged.

Klaus yawned and rolled his neck. "Only if I get to choose the background music. I'm thinking either Linkin Park or Gregorian chants."

"Do whatever." She said in fury.