The working term remains ‘non-nuclear mass energy event’ but behind the scenes, language is shifting. Quiet references to ‘targeted survival patterns’ have surfaced in internal NATO cables, though no official body has acknowledged the growing suspicion that the effect was selective.
In the absence of answers, theories continue to spread. Government messaging emphasizes calm and scientific integrity, but civil unrest in several countries suggests public confidence is eroding. Italy has extended its state of emergency. The Vatican enclave in Bonn has yet to appoint a new interim pontiff.”
* * *
Kirigan sipped his glass of whiskey, his eyes remaining on the screen as the news anchor cut to an interview with one of the survivors. A young man with wide, trauma-deepened eyes telling a story the world had heard a thousand times since the calamity in Rome, and would a thousand more times while the humans tried to make sense of what had happened that day.
The persistent, creeping sensation at the back of his neck finally made him sigh softly and turn off the TV. Silence settled in the apartment, heavy and still.
“If you’re here to kill me, you really should get on with it.” He took another sip of whiskey, eyes remaining on the now black screen. “I am in no mood to stop you. I can’t guarantee that will remain the case.”
A light, twinkling laughter brushed against his nape. Primordial instincts raised the hairs on the back of his neck, shoulders twitching as his muscles instinctively tensed up in expectation of an attack. It never came.
“What a melodramatic boy you are.” The voice was light and sweet and childlike, mocking in its innocence. It grated against his spine like claws. “Alas, I have to disappoint you. I’m not here for a bit of light murder, however tempting. I’m here to talk about your two daughters-in-law.”
Numb darkness flirted with the edges of his vision. He pushed the madness down, carefully placed his whiskey glass on the side table, and finally turned around.
The goddess stood at the other end of the room, with the sofa between them. She was in a child’s form, with bare feet and a white, flowing dress, the innocent roundness of her face contrasting the sharp wariness in her eyes.
“Hmm. I take it you are the divine creature who stole the Stone of Power from the battlefield in Maine?” His eyes swept over her lithe form. Beneath the numbness, instincts twisted and snarled to snap her neck.
She gave him a thin smile. “Stole is such a nasty word. I prefer liberated. And, may I add, selflessly gave it to the young woman under your son’s care.”
“Selflessly,” he echoed softly. “Interesting choice of words. Did you plan for her to destroy Rome? Was that always the intent? Expose us to the humans? It’s a matter of weeks before they’ll know the truth of us now. And of you. There’s no hiding our existence, our influence over them, not after a calamity of that magnitude.”
The goddess grimaced. “Not… exactly. Mind, you can’t deny, her innate magic over that cursed stone is fascinating. By all accounts, a demonic artifact unleashed to that extent should have eradicated all life, but it didn’t. It only culled the wicked. Such power is… quite something.”
“You knew that already. Since Selma. That’s why you targeted the girl in the first place. You wanted to unleash that power in her, too. How you think that would benefit you in any way, I am… curious about. Both Breeders are fiercely loyal to my sons. Any power they gain will not be used for your schemes, so it begs the question…why are you so interested in my bloodline?” He narrowed his eyes slightly, taking in the goddess’s every micro expression. She was old. Far older than he. Deceptively powerful. This was the second time she’d snuck past his defenses—not an easy feat for most divines.
“Ah, yes. Your bloodline.” She picked at her dress, voice light. “Things seem to be going well for your spawn. I hear even the objections the other lords had about another Pure Breeder being swept off her feet by one more of your sons faded quickly enough, when they realized what kind of power that union brought their side. Keen to kiss the ring, turns out. And, certainly, the sudden opening of territories in Europe after the sudden, ah, death toll, among the old royals’ supporters seems to have helped as well. Supposedly Kesh and Georgia are headed to Germany any day now, to govern the continent through the power shift. Tell me… will there be a going away party? Are you buying a nice set of luggage for the newly-mated?”
Kirigan narrowed his eyes. The venom behind her barbed question didn’t penetrate. There was nothing left for the poison to anchor into behind his ribs. Only darkness. “I grow tired of your games. If you had a point to make by coming here, make it.”
The goddess snapped her fingers. “Ah, yes. That’s right. You had a little falling out with both your sons, didn’t you? Tsk tsk. Such a shame.”
He took a single step forward. A silent warning. Despite the smile on the goddess’s youthful face, he caught the slight tension in her body at the movement.
“Now, now. There’s no need to get unpleasant. I’m simply here to sate my curiosity. You see, your sons have caused ever so much chatter amongst us gods. First a young, unknown lordling falls in love so profoundly, he awakens a power thought lost in the female of his affections. He loves her so much, he’s willing to sacrifice his own wants, his needs, for her. Not exactly usual demon behavior, I’m sure you agree.
“And then, what do you know, despite all odds… his baby brother goes and does the same. Only this time, it’s not just your power structure that’s been shattered in the process—it’s the entire magical world that’s been cracked open. But not… all the way. Not quite. A few of the sigils are still holding, if only barely.”
Kirigan narrowed his eyes. There. Finally. The reason beneath this treacherous creature’s incomprehensible actions. “You wish to break the ancient wards? That’s why you stole the Stone of Power and gave it to Georgia? In the hopes of awakening enough power to destabilize magic itself? Why? Your kind were the ones to seal the other realms off in the first place. Demons were the only magical beings you couldn’t displace from this plane. Reopening the portals will only further undermine your power.”
The goddess gave him a small smile. It held no warmth. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head with the whys, demon. That’s far above your pay grade. No, your role in this is far more… shall we say grunt-level?—”
“You truly think I will be a pawn in your schemes?” he interrupted, voice flat. “That Fate’s touch on my bloodline means I will help you break the last sigils? Tell me then—what do you think will happen? Love?”
The goddess let out a tinkling laugh. “Oh, no. You misunderstand. I’m well aware of the blackness in your heart, Lord Kirigan. Remind me what happened to the last woman to suffer your affections… suicide just to escape, wasn’t it?”
Tight, clawed darkness climbed up his spine. Not pain—he wasn’t capable. Just emptiness.
Kirigan exhaled softly. “Is that your plan, then? Convince me to break another Breeder so her sons will know pain so early that they might crack open just enough to be capable of love through sacrifice?”
The goddess’s eyes sparkled with something akin to mischief. Or perhaps malice.
“Something like that, yes.”
“And you plan to convince me to play along… how?” He tilted his head, detached curiosity at the creature’s brazen confidence just barely breaking through the hollow. “There is nothing I desire. No bargain you could tempt me with. No threat to leverage, not if my sons are so powerful, their unions with their mates have cracked the sigils holding back the fabric of reality itself. Surely, you don’t need Fate’s touch to break a woman bound to a demon lord.”
