Page 6 of Lies Among Gods

Her sneakers whispered a soft thud with each angry step. The click of the bathroom door was a sharp punctuation mark to her exit.

Turning on the shower, she jumped in once the water was hot, mumbling to herself. “Wow, a club? Now I have to get dressed up and find a way to pay my mother back.” She grabbed shampoo and applied too much to her hair. “Why couldn’t I say something like going for a run or working out? That doesn’t require getting dressed up to go be alone somewhere.” A glob of shampoo dribbled down her forehead a bit, getting in her eye. “Dammit!” She twisted, feeling the spray of the showerhead hot on her face as she tried to rinse out the burning shampoo. Once her eye stopped burning, she tried to quiet her thoughts and finish showering.

She shut off the water; the steam dissipated to reveal her reflection in the fogged mirror. Her skin was flushed, and her hair dripped, but the burn in her eye was finally gone, replaced by a cold, calculating resolve.New friends, huh? I haven’t hada friend in years. I don’t know how she bought that one, she thought, a dry laugh catching in her throat.How about a temporary distraction?

Her mother’s money—the spending credits for the club—was still in her account. She would not spend it on fake friends or an evening of forced cheer. She was going to spend it on an evening of controlled illusions. A flickering thought sparked in her mind, an idea tinged with the tang of uncertainty. She couldn’t discern if it would erupt in a cacophony of chaos or settle into a dull thud of disappointment, but she didn’t care.

Lyra grabbed her phone and opened PantheiaMatch, the dating app. She hadn’t used it since her last dismal attempt six months ago. She scrolled past the endless profiles of smiling, divinely aligned people. Elio-worshippers seeking a partner for their next power brunch; Petro-followers looking for “stable foundations”; Mira-aligned singles wanting a co-captain for life’s voyages and so on. Her own profile was a blank, embarrassing wasteland, marked only by the chilling label:Unaligned (Seeking Guidance). It was a guaranteed swipe-left.

But not tonight.

She opened the edit menu. When it came to ‘Deity Alignment,’ she paused. Which lie was the most plausible, yet gave her the most reason to be out alone and desperate for company? Not Elio—too high-profile, too many questions. Not Petro—too boring, too close to home. She settled on Asmodeus, God of Lust.

It was a bold, utterly ridiculous lie. Worshippers of Lust were known for being open-door, spontaneous, and above all,wanted. They were the city’s glamorous, complicated population, and a God of Lust worshipper would never be a twenty-eight-year-old living in her childhood bedroom.

But for tonight, it worked.

She posted a new profile picture—one taken a year ago where the light caught her eyes just right—and within an hour, herphone was buzzing with notifications. Most were simply looking for a quick hookup; the casual nature of Lust-worship attracted a specific audience.

She scrolled through the match requests until she found a profile that sounded fun: Marcus, twenty-nine, aligned with Rhaziel, the God of Fire. An artisan. He was conventionally handsome, not overtly muscular like the Strife God, and his profile mentioned a love for late-night forging and “burning away the mundane."

Her thoughts drifted back to the god of strife and those dark eyes. Thinking about the differences between the two males. She shook her head and looked back down at her phone, swiping right on Marcus.

Perfect. Plausible alignment for a quick, passionate date night.

She typed out a quick message: “Your profile mentions a desire for transformation. My God loves a good spark. Drinks tonight?” She almost giggled at how lame she felt typing out the response.

His reply was instantaneous: “I know a bar downtown called The Crucible. Seven o’clock. Don’t be late."

A shiver, as sharp and cold as ice, traced its way down her spine. She could feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins, a potent mix of fear and exhilaration. She was doing it. She was stepping out of her assigned failure and into a night entirely of her own making, built on a single, audacious lie.

After carefully blow-drying her hair and applying a touch more makeup than usual, Lyra pulled on a sleek, black dress—one she’d kept hidden from her mother, who favored earth-toned modesty. It was short, a little tight, and she felt a small, wicked surge of confidence.

A slick swipe of fruity gloss coated her lips, the faint shimmer catching the light as she turned to face the mirror. Her reflectionstared back, eyes sparkling. A slow smile spread across her face, a warmth blooming in her chest – the exhilarating rush of feeling both beautiful and, even better, confident.As long as no one looks to close then I can get away with having just a little bit of fun tonight.

As she stepped out the front door, she called back to the house, “I’m meeting my new friends now!"

"May the gods ever be with you!” her mother called back.

Lyra walked away, the lie already hardening into something real, something that gave her power.The God of Lust is with me tonight, she thought, walking towards the tram.And hopefully he helps me have a good time.

The Crucible was a moody, subterranean bar that had an atmosphere that exuded a certain dark allure. Descending into its depths, a moody, subterranean ambiance immediately enveloped her. Exposed copper piping snaked across the rough-hewn walls and ceiling, glinting dully under the dim, amber lighting. This pervasive glow cast long shadows, creating an intimate and slightly mysterious environment—the kind of place Rhaziel-worshippers would favor, a mix of heat and metal.

Marcus was already seated in a dark booth, a glass of something fiery looking in front of him. He stood up when he saw her, his smile bright and appreciative. “Lyra? You clean up well for a follower of Lust. I expected something... more chaotic."

"Chaos is for amateurs,” she replied smoothly, sliding into the booth. “My devotion is controlled. Precise.” She knew that was a blatant lie, but he just smiled, taking her confidence at face value.

The conversation flowed easily, fueled by her desperate desire to be someone else for the night. She spoke vaguely about her ‘devotion’ to Asmodeus—the pursuit of pleasure, the rejection of limits, the constant need for experience. Marcus, in turn, talked about the disciplined intensity of fire, the need to burn hot but steady, and his work crafting high-end metal sculptures.

An hour in, and she felt genuinely happy for the first time in months. She wasn’t the godless reject; she was the alluring lust-worshipper, the one who commanded attention.

"You're not just beautiful,” Marcus said, leaning in, his breath warm and smoky with expensive liquor. “There’s an... an intensity to you. A hunger. I like it."

Lyra smiled, raising her glass. “Then I think this night is just getting off to a good start."

A shadow, far darker than the dim, amber glow of the bar, fell over their booth, its immense presence muffling the low murmur of conversations and the clinking of glasses, as if a heavy velvet curtain had been drawn.

Lyra looked up. Standing there was a male, his form imposing, dressed in a suit of dark, supple red. He had dirty blonde hair that fell perfectly across his forehead, and his baby blue eyes, usually associated with innocence, held a devastating, practiced heat. He was classically handsome, the kind of beauty that demanded and received attention without effort.