The forest clearing stretched around Destruction like a cocoon of its own world—a horizon of trees encircling a field of dewy grass, expansive sky looming dark and flecked with stars above. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend it was a haven from Chaos’ mortal slaves. But the gods, too, were still undoubtedly on the hunt for her scent. It seemed as if the whole world were out to track her down.
Yet, as beautiful as false safety could be, closing her eyes made that whirlwind of energy in her chest, the euphoria of power, the lack of direction with which to utilize it, grow more pronounced, hyper focused. So, her eyes stayed pinned on the sky instead. Or, more specifically, on each bright, pinpoint of light.
Slowly, and with a heaviness brought on more by distraction than everything else, Destruction raised a hand from the grass, feeling the moisture soaked into her back and hair drip in beads down her arm. It had been so easy to rip the forest apart, to drag the mortals into its fray. It made her wonder.
In anticipation, that whirlwind inside her, that rumbling, buzzing, electrified need, began to thrum impatiently. And, as she carefully held one of those distant lights between her thumb and middle finger, that thrum grew loud, ready to burst, to destroy. Just like before. Just like she was meant to.
A single pinch, a snap that echoed from dewy glade to the universe beyond—and the star was no more.
Although brief, Destruction soaked in the sensation, eyes fluttering closed at the relief that filled her veins. While the naked eye saw no more than a sparkle of light flickering out Destruction felt tremendous power, absorbing the death and devastation of billions upon billions of energies—of an entire world. It settled into her very being, a calm to the storm within her. Destroying the forest, and Chaos’ lackeys with it, had barely given her a fraction of this sensation.
But even still, even before it had had a chance to settle, the whirlwind picked up speed again, a demand blowing fierce and deep that she had never needed to satisfy.
And therein lay the real issue, didn’t it?
After being torn away from Chaos, after being forced into her own life (and fleeing from the gods so that she might truly feel what it meant to be alive), her understanding of purpose had wavered and shifted. Now, as she plucked another star from the sky in attempts to fill that void, Destruction felt that understanding fade all but completely.
It had been easier as Oblivion, a natural existence that was older than time itself, and a part of her longed for that simplicity like she longed for the bursts of relief she gained from every stolen star.
And yet . . .
Now that she had a taste of her own sentience, now that she knew what it felt like to be trulyalive, she was torn. Being Oblivion had beeneasier. But being Destruction wasmore. Like finally waking from an unknown slumber to lay eyes on the real world for the first time.
Now where to go and what to do next?
After pinching another star into nothingness, Destruction let her arm fall back to her side. She knew it would be unwise to stay in this glade much longer. Other poor villagers Chaos had corrupted were probably hot on her trail. And, if not them, then the next pawn of the pantheon. But while her mind knew to run was the most logical course of action, her body remained still, her eyes lazily trailing the remaining stars.
No longer one half of a whole, she felt her own heartbeat thrumming beneath her breastbone, her own lungs filling with air. Her own magic, that brutal need to destroy, coursing beneath her skin and crackling alongside her nerves.
She was Destruction now, regardless of Chaos’ plea and Oblivion’s pull. Nothing would make her relinquish her autonomy . . . even if Destruction still had to figure out what being truly autonomous meant.
