"Show them what I raised."
Grandma's words reached my ears, ringing with the kind of emotional power that could make a hardened warrior weep. Everyone else heard her too, but it hit me differently. If anyone else in my family had said it, I'd have just chugged milk in front of Malthus
But certainly, my grandma's words gave me courage. She had me fired up.
One by one, the rest of my dysfunctional support group chimed in.
"You can do it, my son," my mother encouraged.
"Make your dad proud," my father added.
"After defeating him, bring his wife to me," my grandfather cheered. Of course, he had to make it weird. Not that it mattered, Malthus probably didn't even have a wife. If he did, she'd probably just be his housekeeper since he can't exactly be a dad and all.
Then came my aunt, the family strategist.
"Your aunty believes in you, Racis! Throw sand in his eyes and then you can kill him. Easy as fuck.
