by Elise Kova
“I’m not like them, Creation. I go for the kill—and not the easy one.”
“You’re going after Chaos?”
“Yes. I do not want her magic in the world at all. The Goddess of Earth is on my side as well in this, she’s the one helping me know where Chaos’ and Destruction’s feet fall. Since they’ve both forsaken the pantheon they’re out of reach from Light’s eyes and the scrying pools that give us eyes to all things on this world.”
“So you can help me find her? Destruction, that is?”
“I can.” Hunt nodded. “But, better than that, if you agree to help me, you will not need to chase her. You will not need to force or tame her. You will find your answer—if you were truly meant to be with each other—by creating a space where you both can live as you are. In that space, you can see if you come together not by force but naturally.”
Creation couldn’t help but imagine it: an existence together not by force or design, but by choice, on both of their parts. He imagined Destruction at his side willingly, her words filled with fondness instead of harsh accusation. He imagined himself looking into her eyes with no doubt or hesitancy about his feelings for her. The thought caused his heart to swell, a hope blossoming within him. For such a possibility to even exist, however, meant first—
“You’re asking me to kill Chaos.”
Laughter burst from Hunt. “You? No. Besides, there are rules in the pantheon—we cannot kill other divine. It’s why Oblivion was merely split, not killed. Why Light made you rather than just smiting one of the two. Killing a god—or demigod—is far more troublesome.”
Creation frowned. “Then, how do you intend to accomplish it?”
“I have found a mortal champion who will shoot Chaos down from where she stands.” Hunt folded her arms and leaned against one of the nearby trees.
Her eyes raked over him, assessing him. Was he measured up to task? He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to. This was a dangerous deviation to what he had been made to do . . . but there was something equally thrilling about it. Perhaps she was right; this could be his opportunity to see if what he felt for Destruction was real.
“What I need from you,” she continued, “is a weapon for my champion to wield.”
“And if I refuse?” A nervous voice from the corner still deeply loyal to his makers asked.
“Then I will find another way. Chaos is my target because of her volatility . . . but all that matters is one of them dies so that Oblivion cannot be reformed.”
The roots of the tree around Hunt’s feet shot up and curled with Creation’s magic in daggers. He vibrated with anger. But no matter the ferocity of his objection to the mere idea of harming Destruction, he was unable to harm Hunt.
It was true—the pantheon did not have many rules—but not allowing their magic to harm their fellow divinities was chief among them.
Hunt’s wolf snarled at his feet. The goddess merely continued to smile.
“Do not hurt her,” Creation growled through clenched teeth. Even if Destruction never turned her eyes favorably on him, even if he was broken down by Light for failing his task, he would rather accept the punishment than see harm or heartache come to Destruction.
“Then help me.” Hunt twisted, stepping away from Creation’s root-daggers. “Help me and we all get what we want. Earth and I see Chaos dead, no more of her magic mucking about. The pantheon gets their assurance that an Age of Oblivion will never rise again. And you . . . you get to see if your lover will care for you when the fate of the world doesn’t hang in the balance.”
She presented it like a choice, but as far as Creation could see, there was none. There was only one path that led to where he truly wanted to be.
“Very well. I will help create your weapon.”
“I had hoped you would say that.” Hunt looked skyward. “I’ll see to finding you a workshop away from prying eyes. It’ll be somewhere here, on earth, not on the pillar of the gods.”
Creation nodded.
“Stay here until then.” She took a step away and paused. “Actually, you may want to continue pursuing her, if for no other reason than to keep Light’s rage off you, should he decide to check in.”
“But—”
“She’s gone to the beaches of High Luana. You’ll find her at the furthest point from the high elf encampments.”
With that, Hunt was off, sprinting again until she was just a blur that disappeared over the horizon.
Creation leaned against a tree, catching his breath for a moment. What had he just agreed to? It should feel wrong, yet a sense of liberation emerged from his decision.
He started on his own trot across the globe, heading for the home of the elves. And more important, the current hiding place of the woman he dared hope he would fall in love with all on his own.
Six
Once he’d made it within the borders of High Luana, it wasn’t difficult to pick up on Destruction’s essence. He followed on autopilot all the way to the crystalline beaches Hunt had pointed him towards. He could practically taste her magic on his tongue the closer he got.
It surprised him that her presence stayed stationary upon his approach; surely she felt him just as potently in the air now that she was aware of his existence. As he navigated the coarse sands, traveling the perimeter of the vacant beachscape, her presence grew stronger and more pronounced.
He was taken aback at the sight of her again, standing ankle deep in the sapphire waves, staring out at the horizon.
But her voice held exhaustion. “So you intend to seek me out, then, for the rest of my days?”
The bitterness—the blatant disgust—in her voice sent a lonesome pang through Creation’s chest. But that was why he was here, to let her know how very untrue that assumption could now be. Creation stepped forward, off the sun-bleached sand and into the seafoam to stand at her side.
From every angle, she was breathtaking.
“No,” he offered her simply, and had he not been staring at her so intently, he would have missed the momentary furrowing of her brow as it changed the delicate lines of her face in profile. Though she still refused to look at him, eyes locked upon the vast stretch of sea, her surprise was palpable. So, before she could demand explanation, he offered one. “Hunt plans to kill Chaos, and if she succeeds, you will be free.”
For a long moment, Destruction didn’t seem to know how to respond, jaw clenched as she processed his words. Then, she asked, “And you intend to take this as an opportunity to gain my interest? Manipulate me into your good graces with the promise of freedom just like Carver manipulated wood and clay to make your body, or Light manipulated your thoughts to feel fondness for me?”
Though Creation’s heart ached at the implication, however understandable, he pressed on, stepping toward Destruction. The motion brought on Destruction’s gaze at him, her expression carefully blank. He saw her emotions, locked behind her eyes like animals pacing a cage. “If the plan to kill Chaos succeeds, then you will no longer matter to the pantheon as you do now. With her gone, Oblivion cannot be formed—by you or her. Which, yes, means your freedom to carry on as you are. Not just from them, but also from me. If that is what you wish.”
The words sat heavy at the back of his throat, choking him, but he willed them out, desperate for their truth to reach Destruction’s ears.
“I’ll alleviate myself from the equation. If you choose for me to never approach you again, for the rest of our days, then that is your will as a free demigod. And I will honor it.”
When the admission left him, his throat sore and chest hollow, Destruction faced him properly. Surprise sprung free from its cage and now ran amok on her features. It no doubt mirrored his own as Destruction filled the silence between them with one hesitant step towards him.
And then another.
Creation held his breath, watching as she slowly breached his personal space, almost unconsciously. Her eyes never left his, flitting about his face as if looking for the lie. She pushed the bo
undaries even further, stepping so close that he could almost feel the heat of her body, their breaths mingling in the air.
There wasn’t much height difference between them, but enough that Destruction had to tilt her head up to keep his gaze. At the look of determination flickering in her eyes, Creation swore his own heart stopped. There was so much magnificence before him. The natural splendor of the world around them paled in comparison to the woman who could keep him in perfect thrall with a mere look.
“If we decide to be together,” she said in a breathy and low whisper that restarted Creation’s heart double time, “and one day I decide to leave—” Creation let out a breath, that same heart clenching “—does that free will still stand?”
All at once, hope coursed through him, a challenge lingering within the question that made it easy for him to reply.
“If Chaos dies, your life is your own. You will be free to do as you please. In any regard, in any age, at any time. You have my word on that.”
Destruction inhaled the answer, using it to fill her lungs with new air—an air laced with freedom and opportunity. Yet still, as she exhaled, she did not take her leave. Instead, she placed a hand over Creation’s heart. Surely she could feel how fast it was beating, could hear how hard and loud it was beating for her.
“What if . . .” Destruction whispered, letting her hand trail up his chest until fingers were digging into the nape of his neck. His eyes nearly fluttered closed at the contact, but he forced them open, unwilling to miss even a second of her face so perfect, so near. “What if you find, even with free will, that you love me so much you can’t let me go?”
Please don’t ever go, his mind cried, every inch of him, magic and body alike, begging for her to stay right where she was, in that moment, forever. He didn’t even know if he could handle another bout of separation.
“What if you find you love me so much that you can’t let me go?” he dared.
Her eyes widened barely a fraction. She quickly hid the surprise from him before he could discern what else was there. “Answer me.”
“I will never go back on my word. Your life will be your own.” He breathed in, then let out a pained exhale. “I would let you go.”
For the first time since their eyes had met, something not unlike relief seemed to flash across Destruction’s face. Relief and what Creation thought—hoped, pleaded—was akin to fondness.
“You would give me up?” she repeated, barely a note to her voice, though Creation heard each word like a song, one that his entire being mourned despite its beauty. When she pulled him in further by his neck, he selfishly let it happen. This might be the closest she ever wanted him to be, so he sank into her touch, allowing himself to pretend.
Closing his eyes to whatever his words might illicit in her, he gave her what she wanted. “I would do anything you asked of me.”
There was no way for him to prepare for the sensation of his companion’s lips against his own. It was even more overwhelming than that first tickle of her magic in the air, more all-encompassing than their first moment of physical contact. More primal. It sunk deep, deep into Creation’s being, made it sing with new life.
Though he was only half-aware—too lost to the feel of Destruction’s teeth against his bottom lip, her tongue soothing the bite—he swore her nails dug into his scalp. He wrapped her up in his arms, pulling her chest to chest with an arm around her waist and a hand tangled in her hair.
Even as his lungs were straining for air, he still felt as though he was breathing for the first time since awakening to this new form.
Just as quickly as she had lured him in, sunk into every fiber of him, Destruction pulled away. Again, that voice that screamed to keep her close protested, an arm reaching to pull her back, though he stopped himself in time.
Destruction watched his movements with wary eyes. She was testing him; he knew it and he let her. He would pass every test she gave him if that’s what it took to win her favor.
When Destruction turned her back on him, he let her walk away without a single protest.
He had expected it, had been waiting in agony for her to run away from him again since the moment he’d stepped onto the secluded beach, but it still ripped him apart as he watched the line of her back and the wave of her hair vanish quickly from sight.
Five
The floors of the pantheon were like ice on Creation’s bare feet.
Landing on the great balcony he had descended from hours, days, perhaps months ago—he knew of the passage of mortal time, but tracking it was unimportant to him—Creation was met with an oddly foreign world. The Light’s throne was dim, the god’s attention elsewhere, and Creation found it to be an unexpected relief.
This should be his home, but all Creation could muster was a cautious ambivalence toward it.
As Creation walked in the main room, his suspicions only grew. None of the divinities seemed to be present. Could they perhaps know his plot with Hunt?
Slight movement from behind had Creation leaping forward toward his would-be attacker. He nearly lost his balance.
“Your own shadow will begin to startle you if you stay so on-edge.” Hunt leaned against a large column, not unlike how he first met her. Her wolf paced back and forth between them.
“He’s restless, too,” Creation observed softly, more musing to himself. But Hunt surprised him with a response.
“So you can feel it then.”
“Pardon?” His eyes returned to the goddess.
“Chaos. You can feel the havoc she’s reaping.” Hunt frowned and pushed away from the pillar, heading toward the balcony.
“What’s happening?” He followed close behind on her heels.
“She’s made a rather big play,” Hunt said grimly, referring to Chaos, “and anomalies are popping up everywhere; the other gods descended to try to find her and pin her down . . . but she’s just making sport of them.”
“Has she found Destruction?” he asked quickly, his heart racing at the thought of Chaos taking the woman he loved so soon after the first taste of her.
“If she had, we would know.” Hunt buried her hand in her wolf’s fur, giving it a rough scratch. “I’m headed down there now to join the fight.”
He watched as she poised to take flight to earth, toward whatever madness Chaos had wrought. Uselessness settled on his shoulders, weighing him down. “What can I do?”
“The fact that Chaos hasn’t found her yet may be your doing already.” Hunt paused at the edge. “Your magic is a counterweight to Destruction’s. It may be helping reign her in, keep her tethers from running out so far that Chaos could easily pursue her.” The goddess tilted her head, as if ruminating on the idea. “Perhaps that’s why Chaos is beginning this assault. If she can’t hunt Destruction as she used to, then she may just be trying to burn her out like a fox in a den.”
This was the reality; Creation had no strength to refute it. Now he needed to search for usefulness beyond merely chasing Chaos like the rest of the pantheon. “Your weapon. I could make it now, while everyone is distracted. You could have your champion use it—”
“We don’t know where Chaos is, just where her magic has been wrought. I couldn’t navigate my champion there in time, and she is still being trained. However, you are speaking some sense . . ..” Her wolf gave a small huff and sat heavily on its haunches, as if frustrated with the holdup. “Come, I think I’ve found a suitable workshop for you. That is where we can begin working on the weapon.”
“Where is it?”
“Your kingdom,” she teased.
“My . . . kingdom?”
Hunt laughed. Without another word, she stepped off the balcony and disappeared, leaving Creation scrambling to catch up.
He landed on light feet at the edge of a great city (by mortal standards) made of stone and wooden shingled rooves. The air was thin and cool, a light breeze ruffling familiar trees. Creation turned, trying to place where he knew it from.
“This is—”
“Aristonia,” Hunt finished for him, beginning to walk. Once more, Creation followed without question. “It’s where you first found her. A town to the northwest of here is where you performed your first miracle for the mortals alongside Light, setting them to speak wonders of you.”
Back on the earth, he sensed Destruction once more, though vaguely. One kiss, and their bond had deepened enough that he felt he could find her nearly anywhere without Hunt’s help. But he resisted the urge. She desired him to let her go . . . for now.
“The king of the land lives here, in the capital city of Goddik, and he has decreed that the ‘Prince of Gods’”—Creation recognized the moniker the mortals had used for him—“will be his family’s patron divinity. They even repurposed a temple to you.”
“A temple?” Creation paused mid-step. “To me?”
“Sometimes I think mortals have little else to do than revere us. As if we will be able to truly do anything to help them. We can barely do anything to help ourselves right now.” Hunt came to a stop as well.
Before Creation could defend the work that Light did on behalf of mankind, and would continue to do once Chaos was destroyed, Hunt raised a hand and pointed. Atop a hill, wide and winding stairs led to a large structure on the edge of the city.
“May I present your temple,” Hunt said dramatically with a small smirk.
“This . . .is for me?”
“Yes.” She began walking as she spoke. “They outfitted it for you, and because it has been deemed in your honor, there’s power here, a sort of barrier if you will that prevents unwelcome gods from spying or entering. When Earth told me of it, I thought it’d be perfect for our purposes.”
“Then I could just . . .” Creation’s words trailed off mid-sentence. I could just hide her here, was what he was going to say. But Destruction wasn’t some trinket to be stored away in a vault.
“Yes, I doubt she’d take kindly to the idea,” Hunt agreed, easily hearing his unspoken statement. “And the barrier is not quite a tangible force—more of an etiquette among gods. Anyone who trespasses will feel a general discomfort. And, even if Chaos somehow couldn’t just stroll in, then she would rattle these foundations to their core to get to Destruction . . . But I think it will be a good place for you to make me my weapon.”