Chapter 2: The God Of Chaos Enters Stage Left (His POV)
By the time I bothered to show up, the Pantheon was already halfway to murder. The doors swung open in a burst of black and gold glitter, my glitter, and absolutely no one reacted. Which was rude. Normally, at least one of them groans when I arrive. A few muttered curses. Maybe Tairochi threatening to throw me into a mountain. Today? Nothing.
I paused on the threshold, brows lifting. They weren't ignoring me; they were too consumed by whatever they were clawing at in the middle of the chamber. The air was thick and sharp, heavy with magic and something that tasted faintly like desperation. I hate walking into things I didn't cause. I stepped in anyway, letting illusions toss confetti from nowhere, because I deserved applause whether they gave it or not. Silence. Not directed at me, directed at the center. That actually stung. Just a little.
"What in all nine shiny hells are you screaming about?" I called. No one turned. Instead, the words kept overlapping—
"—legacy—""—tradition—""—you don't understand what she represents—""—devotion—"
"She is MINE!"
That last one, of course, was Aerion. I could pick his entitled snarl out of a crowd of a thousand. If Aerion wanted something that badly, I immediately wanted it more. I drifted toward the dais, hands deep in my pockets, pretending I wasn't trying to figure out what had them this worked up. Above the dais, a hologram spun slowly. Numbers. Skill markers. Language codes. Training notes. Very neat. Very clinical. I refused to look at the image in the center. Strictly on principle. Never let them see you curious. I let my gaze skim the edges instead.
Diplomacy. Combat conditioning. Seductive arts. Observation mastery. Fluency in multiple tongues. Religious protocol for each god. Ah.
The Sacred Heralds. Technically, their full title was The Sacred Heralds In Tribute & Sacrifice. Everyone else, very solemnly, called them "the Sacred Heralds." To me, they were the SHITS
Once, they'd been important. A prestigious order managing offerings and ceremonies. Then the mortal world moved on. Temples modernized. Worship diluted. People started treating us more like myth and metaphor than absolute terror in the sky. The Heralds didn't adjust. They clung to the old ways, white-knuckled. Obsession dressed up as reverence. About sixty years ago, they held a week-long festival dedicated to "purging chaos from the world." They chanted my name like it was a curse.
So I cursed them back. Most of them sadly, didn't make it. They never forgave me for that. I never stopped laughing. Now they'd sent a mortal. They hadn't done that in… at least a century. Most mortals barely believed in us anymore. Holiday prayers, occasional curses, a little seasonal panic when crops failed. That was it. Human sacrifices were several political scandals out of fashion. If the SHITS had chosen her as a tribute now, she wasn't random. She was intentional. Crafted. A weapon wrapped in silk and obedience. Which explained why the gods looked like they were circling fresh prey.
"Malvor," Ravina hissed finally, still not looking at me. "You're late."
"Oh good," I said. "I thought this might be a support group."
Yara threw an arm toward the hologram, bracelets clattering. "We've been bidding for an hour!"
"For what?" I asked. "A relic? A lost grimoire? Please tell me someone finally found the cursed spoon."
"It's a mortal," Luxor said quietly. I stilled like I hadn't seen that information. "A mortal? In this decade?" I glanced up at the spinning data, still refusing to look at her face. "Let me guess. The Sacred Heralds?"
Ravina's mouth curved. "Of course."
"Ah, yes. The SHITS I'm surprised they forgave me long enough to send anything through my door after the whole curse incident."
Ahyona's jaw tightened; she did not find that amusing. Aerion slammed his palm on the dais. The hologram flickered. "You, will not interfere Chaos!"
I grinned, slow and sharp. "Oh? Aerion wants something? Then naturally I have to interfere."
That got a few looks.
Calavera watched from the shadows, skull-pale and still. Navir studied the mortal on the hologram like they were an equation he couldn't wait to solve. Ahyona looked like she was one breath away from tears or violence.
Maximus shouted another offer. "I'll grant you mountains of gold—"
"I will give you the richest, most fertile lands in all of Exsos—" Ravina sweetened her bid with influence and sanctuaries.
"I can provide information no one else has—" I raised a brow. Finally a decent offer from Vitaria.
Aerion threw out words like destiny and divine order as if that meant anything. They were all circling the same thing, teeth bared in different ways. I watched them and thought, none of this is priceless. Pretty, yes. Impressive, sure. The kind of things mortals would sell their souls for. But not priceless. Not to a god. Then Aerion snarled, "I WILL NOT BE OUTBID."
There it was. That tone. That feral edge of need. It snapped everything into focus. I straightened slowly.
"Well, now I absolutely have to intervene." Silence slammed into the room. At last. "I'd like to place a bid," Every head swung to me.
"You haven't even looked at her file," Ravina snapped.
"I've seen enough, training, languages, SHITS stamp of approval. She's a weapon or a worshipper depending on who's holding the leash. I get the idea."
"You don't even know what she looks like," Vitaria murmured.
"Didn't come here for aesthetics," I said. "Came because Aerion's making grabby hands. Clearly this one insignificant creature is worth bribing other gods for. Gold? Land? Secrets? Remind me, you do realize you're gods, don't you?"
Ravina bristled. "It's about what's at stake."
I clutched my chest in mock horror. "Oh yes, of course. How silly of me." Then I let the grin creep back, slow and insufferable. "But really. Gold, Maximus? We control wealth." He shrugged and smirked. I swung to Ravina. "And you, land? What, are you drawing up a deed? Try harder at least make it interesting." Her eyes narrowed. Legacy. She always equates land with legacy. Then Vitaria. "Secrets, though? Better. Points for effort. But if your secrets were truly worth something, you wouldn't be tossing them out like candy." She didn't flinch. That meant she was holding back. Delicious. She always has the best secrets.
On the outside, I stretched lazily, popping my neck, the picture of bored amusement. On the inside? Every piece was sliding neatly into place. That's the game, then. They want this mortal. Perfect. I'll take her. I slipped my hands into my pockets, strolling forward slow, deliberate. "I offer something far more precious." I paused. Let them itch. The faint rustle of robes. A flicker of interest behind their disdain. Good. "For the next ten years, I won't prank any of you."
The silence that followed was… exquisite. Aerion stared at me like I'd just dropped my own head on the table.
"You lie," he said.
I spread my hands. "You wish."
"You would never surrender your chaos," he said quietly, greedily. "Not for a mortal."
"I'll seal it, with Old Law. Bound and done." The room gasped.
Ahyona's voice broke. "Malvor, don't."
Leyla muttered, "You're out of your mind."
Ravina looked almost… delighted. Of course she did.
Aerion stepped closer, smugness rolling off him in waves. "Do it. Let the Law bind you where nothing else can." He smiled. Actually smiled. The righteous fool. I took his hand before he could savor it further. Old Magic snapped between our palms. Hot, sharp, absolute. It bit into bone and power and history.
"Bound is bound, done is done," I murmured. A sigil seared across both our hands and vanished beneath the skin. Unbreakable.
Aerion exhaled like he'd just won a war. "Finally, you're bound by something you can't twist."
I smiled back at him. Warm. Friendly. Almost gentle. He had no idea. Law and Chaos were made to counterweight each other once, long before any of these little dramas. Aerion clung to that story like scripture. I treated it more like an embarrassing family anecdote. He thought this binding meant he'd declawed me. Leashed me. Anchored me to his precious order. But Old Law, for all its iron edges, still had corners. And Corners belonged to me. Unbreakable didn't mean unwriggleable.
Not that I'd ever enlighten him. Let him glow with triumph. Let him believe he'd caged the monster under his bed. I flexed my hand. The sigil pulsed once, settling like a secret under my skin. "Well, now that we've all committed to terrible life choices, I suppose I should go see what I just bought."
I still didn't look at the hologram. Didn't need to. Something in the universe had already shifted. A tug, faint and electric. A ripple of possibility. It slid along my spine in a way that felt uncomfortably like fate. Interesting. Very interesting. I turned, glitter drifting in my wake, and headed for the exit. "Hope she's worth the trouble," I murmured to myself. For the first time in a very long time, I wondered if, just maybe, I'd finally agreed to something I couldn't laugh my way out of.
I didn't rush. Why would I? I'd just bound myself to Aerion with Old Law. Still not sure whether that was clever, stupid, or a beautiful combination of both. Either way, if I was going to chain myself for a decade, I was damn well going to stroll into this temple like I owned the place. Which, technically, I did. I'd paid for the merchandise. The high priest met me at the entrance wearing the kind of tight, sweaty smile mortals reserve for approaching divinity. He bowed as if the movement might keep him alive. Overcompensating. Nervous. Hiding something. Ah. A typical SHITS priest.
I didn't bother with a greeting. Just nodded for him to lead the way. My hands slid into my pockets, steps slow and lazy as I took in the surroundings. Not a temple, a polished box dressed up as holiness. Classic SHITS architecture. Flashy, empty, and desperate to be taken seriously. We reached the center chamber. Her. Chained to a marble pillar like a painting nailed to a wall. White ceremonial robes. Tall. Still. Not trembling. Not crying. Not seducing. Not pleading. Just… watching.
I stopped. Tilted my head. She was beautiful, yes, hair like fire, skin brushed with candlelight, a body mortals would write poems and bad decisions about. But that wasn't what made me pause. Her eyes. She wasn't afraid. Not hopeful. Not curious. Just aware.
The high priest puffed up, overflowing with the desire to narrate. "My lord, this is Anastasia. She is the one we have cho—"
I flicked a hand. "I'm not here for your dramatics. She's here. I'm here. Let's not drag this out."
He wilted and retreated, still bowing. Good riddance. I stepped closer, letting my boots tap across the stone, studying her. She didn't flinch. Didn't track me. Didn't try to charm or cower or perform. She regarded me the same way I regarded her. Sharp. Measuring. Completely unmoved. I smiled. "So. You are it? The grand prize? The jewel of the SHITS? I guess I excepted more trained enthusiasm."
A slow blink. "Enthusiasm? Why would I be enthusiastic? I've done this before. A thousand times. You may think you're different, but you're not."
Oh, that was interesting. Sharp tongue. No heat behind it. No seduction. No fear. Just truth. I circled her slowly like a cat mildly curious about something that refused to play. "Fascinating. Mortals usually beg. Flatter. Occasionally try seduction and fail, which is always embarrassing for both of us. But you…" I studied her stillness. "You're not trying to survive me. You've already decided you will."
Her gaze didn't follow me. "I'm not here for your entertainment, I belong to you. That's the arrangement. But don't expect me to pretend I enjoy it." Not resigned. Not hopeless. Just finished. That was worse. Much worse.
"You've done this before," I murmured, stepping back into her line of sight. "How many times?"
She didn't answer. But I didn't need her to. Her body spoke. The deliberate stillness. The faint shimmer under her skin, magic soaked into bone. "You've made a life out of this, giving people what they think they want. Pretending to be what they need."
Something flickered across her lips, almost a smile. "I don't pretend, I give them what they're paying for. I know the difference." She didn't shape her voice to please. It was real. Gods forget what real sounds like. I didn't realize how starved I was for it.
"You're not broken," I said before I could stop myself. It slipped out, an accident. I never slip. "That's what bothers me. You should be shattered. A puppet. A shell. But you're not. You're intact."
She raised a brow. "Disappointed?"
I grinned. "Not yet. You might surprise me."
With a flick of my fingers, the chains fell. Metal clattered across marble like dying snakes. She stepped back from the pillar, rubbing her wrist, then lifted her gaze to mine. "Thank you." The word was simple and shockingly sincere.
"You're thanking me for unchaining you? Not for sparing your life? Not for claiming you? Nothing dramatic?"
She shrugged lightly. "I didn't expect kindness. Even small ones deserve notice." Her calm rattled me more than hysteria ever could.
I cleared my throat. "What do they call you?"
"Anastasia."
"Anastasia, alright then." I extended my hand with a flourish. "Come. My realm awaits." She took it without hesitation. Just obedience carved from survival.
Reality bent, folded, and split open and we stepped into my realm. Skies bled violets and molten gold. Trees grew upside down. The ground breathed like a living dream. Anastasia looked around once…and gave the smallest breath of acknowledgment. "It's beautiful, but it doesn't change anything."
Without warning her posture shifted. A tiny tilt of the head. A softening of the shoulders. A change so subtle I almost missed it. Her training taking over. She stepped close. Too close. Her hands slid up my chest with practiced ease, fingers tracing my coat like she'd done it a thousand times. Her chin lifted. Her breath mingled with mine. Then she kissed me. Perfectly. Technically flawless. Warm lips. Steady rhythm. Expert pressure, expert angle. A kiss engineered to satisfy any god with a pulse.
Gods help me, my body responded. A pulse of want shot down my spine, fast, sharp, instinctive. For half a heartbeat, I almost leaned in. Almost. Something cold slid through the feeling. This wasn't her. It wasn't desire. It wasn't even seduction. It was performance. The realization soured the kiss instantly. I caught her wrists gently. Not to hurt but to stop. "Anastasia."
She stilled. Her eyes lifted to mine, calm as water.
"Did I misread the situation?" she asked. Her voice perfectly neutral.
I exhaled. "No. You didn't misread anything. But that doesn't mean I want… this."
"This?" she echoed.
"Habit, rehearsal. Something you've done because it was expected."
Her face didn't change. "Most men want what they've paid for."
"Well," I said with a crooked grin I didn't entirely feel, "I'm not most men."
She stepped back. Not flustered. Not offended. Just… resetting. As if the kiss had been nothing more than a duty performed. That was worse than anything she could have done.
"Come," I said, forcing my usual swagger back into my voice. "Let me show you… the rest." Something unfamiliar flickered under my ribs. Interest. Concern. Something colder, sharper, far more dangerous: A need to see who she was without the script.
The air rippled, bending for me the way reality always does when I decide to walk through it. Reality folded, parted, and deposited us on the threshold of my home. Like a fever dream solidifying into stone, my it unfurled ahead of us. Part castle. Part mansion. Part outright madness. Towers that shouldn't balance somehow leaned into perfect symmetry. Angles that couldn't exist folded into elegance. A masterpiece of disorder.
My home. Which was… risky. I cleared my throat, trying to pretend I wasn't internally wincing. Bringing her here was like handing her my diary and saying, "Please ignore all the trauma drawings."
She stared at it for a long moment. Then, deadpan: "Your home looks drunk."
I choked on a laugh. "A little. But in its defense, so am I half the time." A flicker. An actual flicker of amusement in her eyes. Oh, glorious day. The house perked up immediately. Straightening its walls, puffing out its balconies like a bird preening under praise. Show-off. I swept an arm grandly. "Welcome to my home, Annie."
She stopped. There it was, the twitch in her jaw, the slight narrowing of her eyes. A spark of annoyance. Magnificent.
"Don't call me that," she said.
"So naturally I will," I said with a grin. The house hummed, pleased. Traitor. I pushed open the great onyx doors and led her inside. The foyer breathed around us. Floating candles orbiting overhead, obsidian floors glowing with gold veins that pulsed like heartbeats. The walls adjusted their patterns subtly, as if trying to capture her attention. She walked through like she was inspecting a museum, not a living slice of my soul. "Come, let me show you to your room."
She stopped. "…My room?"
I blinked. "Yes? You get your own."
She stared like I'd just claimed to be the patron god of common sense. "I didn't expect—"
"Privacy?" I offered.
"Choice," she corrected softly.
Something in me tilted. I masked it with a grin. "Well, darling Annie, you have one." There it was again. The twitch of irritation. Delicious.
I led her down the corridor. Doors slid away. The house rearranged rooms ahead of us like it was panicking about making a good first impression. I stopped. Because her room… Her room was not the room I assigned. It was a suite fit for a queen. Velvet-draped bed. Fireplace burning in impossible colors. A wardrobe big enough to house a small nation. Ceilings shifting like constellations in motion. A balcony that hadn't existed yesterday. The house had curated this for her. For her.
I narrowed my eyes at the ceiling. The ceiling sparkled innocently. "You…" I said slowly, "…did not have this an hour ago."
The room glowed brighter, as if saying LOOK, FATHER, I MADE IT PRETTY! I scrubbed a hand over my face. "This is not what I meant by a simple guest room."
The chandelier chimed sassily. I cleared my throat and gestured with a dramatic flourish, pretending I hadn't just been outdone by my own architecture. "Here you are. Your room."
She stepped inside without a single reaction. Just a cool, bland, "It'll do."
"It'll—" I sputtered. "This is extravagant even for MY standards."
"It's a bed," she said.
"You," I declared, "are painfully boring."
"And yet," she said, brushing past me, "you're still here." I opened my mouth. Closed it. Damn her. She turned, calm as ever. "Are you done evaluating the room, Malvor? Or would you like to watch me sleep too?"
I clutched my heart. "Tempting. Extremely tempting."
I took a step back, preparing to vanish, then paused at the doorway. My voice dropped softer than I intended. "Sweet dreams, Annie."
She stiffened at the name again. That tiny, perfect spark of real. The house warmed around her. I disappeared before she could see the way it hit me in the ribs.