Page 25 of Prince of Gods

“Where is she?” Creation growled into the ground, wishing his magic would recover faster. Wishing he was just strong enough to wrap his hands around this woman’s narrow neck until she turned purple.

“I don’t know. You made her mortal, so she’s somewhere out there . . . but I can’t seem to get a sense of where.” Chaos sighed. “And, to make matters worse, this age—thisAge of Magic—was not meant for Gods. You and I will fade away soon. Our powers seem to seep into the ether in this time.”

She patted his back and with it, electricity shot straight into Creation’s core. The woman was pure madness and disorder—an upset to the natural order itself.

“Don’t worry though,” she whispered into his ear. “I have an idea to spare us. You made this lovely little bubble outside of time. Why don’t we expand on it?”

Chaos waved her hand and the world around them rippled. Creation lifted his eyes just in time to see reality stretching to the point of breaking. Rooms popped into existence, nonsensical, out of order, impossible. Chaos’s magic surrounded him, and he was helpless to do anything to stop it.

“You and I, we’ll live here, spread the word of a magical wish granter to the mortals. You can just keep destroying worlds at people’s will for me until we find her and then I can take back what’s rightfully mine.” Chaos stood, walking toward the other side of the room where a mysterious door suddenly materialized into view. “Do take your time getting up. We’re in for a long ride, you and I.”

Be it the magic still sapping his strength, the crushing agony of their failure, but Creation’s body moved of its own accord.

“Y-You can’t . . .” His voice croaked. He stretched his hand in her direction, magic pouring out. The effect was minimal, most of his power drained, but it caused Chaos to pause, glancing a cat-like eye over her shoulder before turning around.

Despite his magic attempting to swirl around her, hold her in place, alter her design, something,anything, Chaos merely waved it away. Fury in his magic spiked and sought out new directives. The nonsensical amalgamations Chaos had brought into existence righted themselves into rooms filled with power and luxury. The layout of their new surroundings—their newprison—organized themselves into what Creation couldn’t deny, in his agonizing, grieving half-daze, was a beautiful place.

A mansion outside of time and space.

As his magic finally stuttered and faded, Creation laying limp, Chaos knelt back in front of him, forcing his chin up. He met her eyes, her face blurring as his body began to collapse beneath the weight of all he’d done.

“You can’t,” he repeated through gritted teeth.

“I can’t what?” Chaos purred, her breath on his face faintly registering as candy-sweet. “Creation, Lord Snow, Prince of Gods, protégé and son of the once-god Light? What can’t I do?”

His tongue stayed numb and useless in his mouth.

Somehow, Chaos must have noticed the concession. She let his head fall heavily against the hard floor. Creation groaned, his already fracturing awareness fading further. Though not before he felt Chaos shift back to her feet, her words wrapping around the last vestiges of his consciousness like a noose.

“Pity,” she sighed, possibly pouted. “Well, whatever it is youthinkI can’t do, Creation, I guarantee you this: I can.”

With that, Creation knew nothing but true despair. And darkness.