“Close your eyes,” Destruction repeated, the smirk from before pulling at the corner of her lips. “I want to try something.”
With his eyes closed, the heat of her hand on his neck, her arms around his shoulders, seemed to intensify. When plush lips pressed first feather light and then more intently against his own, he registered no other sensation at all. The universe narrowed down to the feel of her tongue asking for permission, which he easily granted.
He melted into the kiss, thrilled to soak into each shared breath, each smothered moan. Eventually, when the kiss deepened, the same primal and desperate feeling from on the beach began to rise within him. Creation’s grip on Destruction’s waist tightened as he forced their pelvises flush.
Destruction gasped. Heat boiled low in his belly at the sight of her. He dove back in for another fierce kiss, lowering his arms to her upper thighs so he could pick her up, get her as close as possible. Destruction wrapped her legs around his waist and moaned at the shift in friction. Creation was almost stunned to find himself suddenly lowering her to the bed, his legs on autopilot.
For a moment, she simply rolled her hips against his growing hardness, a motion that had his eyes drifting back in pleasure. But he wanted more. Truly, he wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted. All he knew was that he needed to be as close to her as she would allow him to be, and his body seemed to have no problem pointing him in the right direction.
Instead of dipping back in for another kiss, as much as he wanted to—he wanted so much, too much, more than he’d ever wanted before—Creation lowered his lips to just below the hollow of her ear. She shuddered, a breathy sound leaving her parted lips. He gently nipped at her pulse point before kissing away the small mark, humming contently when one of her hands tangled in his hair.
“I want you,” Creation said, his voice alien and rough to his own ears. Destruction nodded, letting her legs drop and pulling on his hair to get him eye to eye.
“I want you, too,” she breathed.
Creation buried his face in the crook of her neck, groaning at the desire that coursed through him. It took everything he had to pull away just enough to shed his clothing. Destruction watched him disrobe, eyes traveling his half-naked body with shameless appreciation, before joining him. She kept his gaze as she removed each layer of clothing. They stood naked before each other in mere moments.
Destruction backed into the center of the bed, and Creation wordlessly followed, arms caged on either side of her head.
Mesmerized, they admired each other for a long breath, their magic mingling between them. When they finally recovered that minute distance, Creation lowered himself in for a kiss that pressed them skin to skin—electrifying.
The heat of her skin, her nails raking down the taut line of his back seared him. His hands traveled from her shoulder, hip, and back, cupping the swell of her breasts. He pinched each nipple between finger and thumb. Destruction’s back arched off the bed, her head falling back in pleasure, a pleasure that Creation felt like a second skin.
“Creation,” Destruction moaned. Her hand disappeared from his back to reach between them, wrapping her fingers around his length and guiding him towards her. “Creation, please.”
With her consent written so plainly on her face, in her words, Creation slowly thrust forward.
He was met instantly with tightness and heat, though the wetness between her legs had him gliding easily to the hilt, the two of them connected as deeply as they could be. Creation kept himself still, allowing Destruction to adjust, and listened to their panting breaths until she started rolling her hips, pulling him in deeper.
Creation groaned, leaning into the thrust and shuddering. Destruction gasped, voice cracking in pleasure as his name escaped her lips over and over again until he smothered that voice with a rough and passionate kiss.
Her ankles locked at the small of his back as Creation picked up speed, chasing the sensation that his magic, his heart, his very essence seemed to be searching for. Destruction met him thrust for thrust, the kiss deteriorating into nothing but shared gasps and the wet brush of lips.
Around them, the fire flickered and blazed and the plants strewn about in corners died in mass before being reborn even more lush than before. But Creation paid little mind to anything but the woman writhing beneath him, the most beautiful woman and demigod. The love of his life—this one, the next one, and all others.
“Yes, my love, yes,” Creation moaned, his love for her growing alongside the heat at his core until he feared it would kill him with its intensity. But there was surely no greater death.
Whether it was his words or the pace of their coupling reaching its peak, Destruction cried out, back arching against the onslaught of her release. Her tightening around him was all he needed to follow her over the edge. He held her in his wave of ecstasy, allowing it to drown them both.
Three
Destruction stood at the window, staring out at the world below.
Creation continued to lounge on the bed, admiring how the early morning sunlight seemed to cut her form from darkness and hugged all those womanly curves perfectly. She hadn’t said anything in a while, but he found himself content with the silence. There was something perfect about the moment.
She, however, did not seem to share the same feeling.
“It must be nice,” she said finally.
“Admiring you from this vantage truly is,” he quipped back.
Destruction turned, a coquettish smile playing about her cheeks. But that was all the reward she gave him for his remark before turning back to the world. “Being admired—it really must be nice.”
That grabbed his attention, the atmosphere in the room shifting despite his desire to bask in the afterglow a while longer. “Admired? By the humans?”
“Yes.” Her voice had gone soft with thought. “They’ve given you this whole place, a temple—a palace—in your honor. They call you the prince of gods. Even their king has decreed you as their patron.”
“They misunderstand what I am.” Creation finally pulled himself out of bed, trying to also right her unease with the situation in the same breath. The floor was cold underneath his feet and his whole body seemed to ache in the most pleasant of ways from their prior passions. “They saw me one time with Light and think I am his true son, his protégé.”
“Son,” she whispered, her back still turned to him. “Sons and daughters, a construct that they have, but that we will never truly know.”
“My love, of what do you speak?” She was talking in riddles. Pleasant ones, because the riddles were entirely in her own voice, but riddles nonetheless. Creation rested his hands on her bare hips and kissed the skin of her shoulder.
“Gods don’t have children as they do. We can’t breed—we split or we craft. But that’s not true children or families, is it?”
“Does this trouble you?” He rested his chin on her shoulder, looking beyond and trying to see the world as she saw it. Below his tower, men and women went about their business on the city’s edge.
“It doesn’t trouble me. It just is.” Her voice trailed off. “I’ve been thinking a lot about humans lately.”
“You’ve been thinking about a lot of things. I can almost hear the thoughts rushing around.” Straightening, Creation stepped slowly around her side, hand trailing along her hip to the small of her back. With a gentle grasp of her chin, he lightly tugged her attention away from the mortals below and to him. “Tell me what has been occupying your mind?”
“I fear the outcome if I do.”
“You should fear nothing with me.” He lowered his face slightly, just enough to look her right in the eye. Their noses almost touched. “I would never intentionally bring you harm or give you cause to feel pain.” He paused. “I know whatever it is you have been thinking about is significant, as your opinions toward me continue to shift.”
“My opinions are shifting in no small part thanks to you and your actions.” She gave a brief smile, just long e
nough for Creation to return.
“But it’s more than that. What is it?” His thumb lightly trailed over her cheek.
“It started on the beach, with what you said—Hunt’s idea of killing Chaos . . . that I will only be free when she’s gone.”
“And we will see her dead,” he vowed. As far as Creation was concerned, there was no other way forward for him. Light saw him to be the mate of Destruction—the natural counterpart—but that would be impossible if Chaos did not first meet her end. “I swear to you. I made the arrow myself.”
“Yes, yes, I know you do. And I am sure the arrow is impeccable.” Destruction pulled away slightly, looking back toward the window. “But what if Hunt’s convoluted plan doesn’t work? What if her champion falters?”
“She has been training her champion herself.”
“What if that’s not enough?”
Her questions were beyond his control, so Creation remained silent. No matter what reassurances he offered, her mind would still return to the same panic as before. “So what is your plan?”
Destruction hugged herself, not out of modesty—Creation doubted if the woman even knew what modesty looked like (as she shouldn’t)—but out of hesitation. It come off her in waves.
“You said you would love me, in any age.”
“I did and I will.”
“I want to see that true.”
“What are you saying?”
“I think . . .I can destroy this world.”
Seven words had his magic rallying in objection. Seven words sent sparks along his skin. Destroy the world? There was nothing more horrible to Creation.
“You don’t like it.” She laughed softly, glancing at him. “I can feel it.”
“I don’t like it. But I love you.” This was his mate. He would hear her through and hope that there was perhaps something more to her words. He wrapped his arms around her waist, tugging her close. “Tell me what you would create.”
“What I would see destroyed, you mean,” Destruction corrected. Then, sighing softly, she unloaded her thoughts. “A god split makes demigods, right?”
“Yes. Unless the demigod is one such as I and has been formed by greater gods.”
“Well, a demigod split is made mortal.” Something in Creation resonated truth to the statement so he made no objection, allowing her to continue. “If I were mortal, I could not be targeted by Chaos. I would be useless to her to make Oblivion, in such a state.”
“If you were made mortal, you would die.” His grip tightened around her. He didn’t want a single lifetime with her; he wanted eternity.
“I would, but . . .” She sighed again. “Very well, here’s my thought. If I were to split myself, or be split, part of me would be mortal and the other part of me would be my raw divine essence.
“You could craft a container, a box of sorts, to keep that essence within. As long as it survives, I could never truly die. The other lingering part of my magic and soul would perpetually seek it out.”
“We have no proof of that.” Already, visions of his Destruction fading away into nothingness flooded Creation’s mind.
“But you have no proof otherwise, and it feels right, doesn’t it?” Despite his reluctance, his godly intuition agreed with her. “You could use that magic, and with it, you could destroy this world.”
“And destroy your mortal form with it.”
“But I would return as a mortal again, in a new world—a world you created with your own two hands. I’ve felt the magic unleashed from the destruction of worlds when I destroyed the stars. I know you would have enough power to usher in a new age. Then, there, my soul would return in a new body, looking for its magic, for its other half.” Destruction turned in his arms, cupping his cheeks. “Looking for you.”
He couldn’t tell if she was saying this just to appease him, to win him over to her cause, or because she truly believed the words. But, no matter what the motive, they had the desired effect. He would do anything in the world for her.
“You could give me my magic back and with that I would stand by your side as a demigod. We would rule a new age, just you and I.”
“You’re asking to kill the pantheon, to kill this world,” he whispered.
“And I don’t ask it lightly.” Destruction shook her head. “Despite my name and magic, I don’t celebrate wanton destruction. I celebrate the natural breakdown of the universe, feeding its natural order. But I don’t know if there will be any other way to be truly free. I can’t explain it . . . but I’m not confident in Hunt.”
“You don’t know her.” Creation nuzzled her cheek.
“Neither do you.” Destruction tilted her head, kissing his lips gently. “Think on my idea. Go back to Hunt if you must. I have faith you’ll see this is the best way.”
Creation was helpless to do anything more than nod. Even if he offered resistance and even if it was well-founded, he couldn’t protest her. She was everything to him, and if she wanted the world only to destroy it, then he would give it to her.
Perhaps Light had made them too perfectly matched, for Creation was discovering he was truly loyal to only her.
“I will see what the status is with Hunt, and I will return to you. Hopefully she has already made strides in finding Chaos.” Creation kissed her gently on the lips. “Stay here if you would like. If I am the mortal’s prince, then you can call yourself my princess—though queen is far more accurate.” Was that the faintest of blushes he saw on her tan cheeks?
Destruction nodded, looking back out the window. “Perhaps, it would be nice to have a home to rest in for some time. One that’s slightly more sheltered than my own.” She laughed, then added, mostly to herself, “It’s comical how much your home and mine look alike.”
Just that statement alone sent Creation’s mind wandering. He daydreamed of a world to call their own, a place that would be wholly theirs. But first: Chaos. First, he had to find a solution that ensured his love’s freedom.
To gain everything, he may first have to destroy the world.
Two
He decided to start his search for Hunt at the Pantheon, having found her there last time.
But when Creation arrived, she was nowhere. In fact, no one seemed to be present at all in the vast hallways and lush landscape surrounding the domed building. Perhaps they were all still off dealing with Chaos?
Creation passed through a massive entryway into a lavish and equally massive room. He’d never been given the chance to explore the place of his birth, but even so, he couldn’t have imagined this: a lounging room filled with finery. Silks in various deep colors—all warm tones—hung about the walls and decorated plush furniture. Pillows were strewn about, and incense swirled through the air in blue trails of smoke.
“Oh! You must be the new demigod!” A god approached him with a smile. This must be Love.
It looked as though he’d taken to wearing one of the room’s many silks as a draping robe, the nakedness of his lithe, tan body still evident beneath. His hair hung about his shoulders in multiple thin, dark brown braids and his bright green eyes sparkled with excitement when he was within arm’s reach of Creation.
“It’s Creation, right?” Love asked, placing a hand on each of Creation’s shoulders for a moment before pulling him into a tight embrace. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I heard about your making from Life.” Love pulled away, eyes scanning his stunned face. “What brings about this sudden return? Did you come to see me?”
Creation stepped back, not so much to put distance between them but to catch his breath from the whirlwind of the presence before him. “No, not you, apologies . . . I’ve come looking for Hunt. There’s something I wish to discuss with her.”
“Last I heard, the gods had gone to do some battle, and Hunt is not one to miss a battle.”
That sounded right to Creation. He wondered if, despite Hunt’s earlier words on it being too quick, the arrow had already been used. He almost hoped it had, because that would mean t
he notion of destroying the world would be off the table.
“Why aren’t you with them?” he asked Love.
“I’m a lover, not a fighter.” The man spun in place. “Have you checked the scrying pool for them?”
“No.”
Crossing his arms over his half-naked chest, Love grinned. “Follow me.”
He led him into the back of the quarters, to an ornate table, upon which was a large, marble bowl filled with water. Creation leaned in for a glimpse and saw nothing but the bottom of the bowl.
“Last I heard, Hunt was currently leading a group of warriors somewhere in Ollafùr,” Love said, waving a hand over the water, causing ripples to expand from the center. “Let’s see if we can find out where exactly, shall we?” He threw Creation a wink and the water began to shimmer with a newfound iridescence.
The rippling liquid now revealed faint shadows of movement, an image beginning to form. Hunt’s visage was the first to solidify into something recognizable, the area around her hazy and out of focus. She appeared to be leading a group of men, her wolf charging along at her side.
“Yes, she seems to be within the Ollafùrian Wilds,” Love explained his scrying as the images shifted. Creation watched, captivated, as Hunt drew an arrow from her own quiver and fired it swiftly and precisely—though at what enemy, he couldn’t tell. “If you go now, you might be able to get to her before she leaves.” With a wave of Love’s hand, the images faded into nothingness.
“Thank you, Love,” Creation said, pulling his gaze from the bowl and offering the god a smile. “I appreciate all your help.”
“I’m here if you need me.” Love winked again, and Creation chuckled softly to himself at the flirtatious display. The more gods he met, the more he began to realize how different they all were. How different he was from them all.
Once again, Destruction’s words filtered through his mind, about being her own person, regardless of the god she used to be a part of. Even if Creation had been given life from fragments of the other gods, not split as she had been, he still hadn’t even considered his own autonomy, his own personality until her. At least not in the ways that mattered. But now, he desired a chance to be himself, to be not just what he was meant to be, but what he wanted to be. And it was all thanks to Destruction and the love she’d chosen to give.