The investment of his time and energy in Nyx had hardly been a chore, but nonetheless, the little Protogena had been a tough nut to crack. He hadn't lied when he'd said he'd never had to try so hard for a woman, mortal or divine, in his life.
And she'd been right when she'd said no other woman would have been worth it. He traced imaginary patterns on her back, and enjoyed the way it made her shudder slightly when he touched a sensitive spot. When she swatted his hand away, he contented himself with slipping his hand into her heavy, dark, silken curls, and dropping a kiss on her shoulder.
"Well, love, that was rather outstanding, wasn't it?"
And then, perversely, he could feel her presence in his bedchamber. He lifted his head and looked, but she was not manifesting herself. It was a good thing. It was a very good thing, for he would have done violence to her had he seen her at that one moment.
No.
No.
He tore his mind away from the idea of closing his hands over that delicate throat of hers and squeezing. His mind settled instead on doing the same to Krios, the weakling titan god.
And then he was standing at the foot of their bed in Constantinople. Standing. Nothing more. He did not quite look at them. Only at her. And his eyes were dead.
It displeased Erebos, as he watched. But it was necessary. That cheeky bastard, that motherfucking cheeky bastard. Down again, Erebos went, this time in form. Form was slower. Slower was better. More pain. More relief.
And it was relief, re-breaking bones, re-spilling ichor, absorbing those groans. Erebos enjoyed it. He reveled in it. It was good, this punishment. It was right. It was fitting. It was everything that it should be.
Except.... It had not lasted as long as he wanted. Once again withdrawing, leaving the Titan to heal himself again, he waited. This time, he waited in form, standing at the foot of the bed just as he had arrived.
She hadn't gone far, when she'd flown away. Not far at all. She stood by the doorway that led to the veranda, trembling in the bedsheet she wore, her wings folded around her. She saw nothing, heard nothing, but felt...
felt everything.
This was not right. This was not her Ere. Her Ere was gone. He was gone. And perhaps she had done it. Perhaps she had. But this could not stand.
What could stop him? What could stop him?
She couldn't. He was stronger than she. Always, always, always accursedly stronger than she. Her ways were subtle, her ways were sly. And Nyx had Power, as much as her husband. But physical strength?
He was always, always stronger.
But.
There was one.
If he came, he could stop Erebos, quite likely without having to raise his hand or his voice.
Quicker than thought, Nyx shot through the door, into the sky, up, up, up into the Heavens.
Currently, he was silently reminding the Titan that looking at another man's wife, his heart, his counterpart through eternity, was foolish. Very foolish. The jelly of the Titan's eyes were washing Nyx's kisses from his skin. As if all the ichor had not already done it.
Better safe than sorry.
And then he heard Aither... Aither? And Aither was draining the shields around them... He was doing a good job of it, too. Never mind that. The Darkness had lungs to puncture. The Titan was putting up only the most token of struggles, and it was pointless. They both knew it. Krios was his now, his alone. Not even the Deaths that were outside...
There were no Deaths outside... Erebos turned his head and looked toward the graying shield. Had Aither done that?
No, it did not matter. Even if Aither made it through, it did not matter. Krios was his, and none of the children of Darkness would take the Titan away.
Erebos was not yet satisfied. Not at all. It pleased him to be cruel.
Comments 28
After the initial disbelief came horror, then rage, then the crushing, crushing hurt, like nothing else.
Like nothing else, yetWhen his Nyxie left the Underworld, he knew. When she arrived in Constantinople, he knew. When Krios met her... he knew ( ... )
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The investment of his time and energy in Nyx had hardly been a chore, but nonetheless, the little Protogena had been a tough nut to crack. He hadn't lied when he'd said he'd never had to try so hard for a woman, mortal or divine, in his life.
And she'd been right when she'd said no other woman would have been worth it. He traced imaginary patterns on her back, and enjoyed the way it made her shudder slightly when he touched a sensitive spot. When she swatted his hand away, he contented himself with slipping his hand into her heavy, dark, silken curls, and dropping a kiss on her shoulder.
"Well, love, that was rather outstanding, wasn't it?"
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Reply
No.
No.
He tore his mind away from the idea of closing his hands over that delicate throat of hers and squeezing. His mind settled instead on doing the same to Krios, the weakling titan god.
And then he was standing at the foot of their bed in Constantinople. Standing. Nothing more. He did not quite look at them. Only at her. And his eyes were dead.
Reply
It displeased Erebos, as he watched. But it was necessary. That cheeky bastard, that motherfucking cheeky bastard. Down again, Erebos went, this time in form. Form was slower. Slower was better. More pain. More relief.
And it was relief, re-breaking bones, re-spilling ichor, absorbing those groans. Erebos enjoyed it. He reveled in it. It was good, this punishment. It was right. It was fitting. It was everything that it should be.
Except.... It had not lasted as long as he wanted. Once again withdrawing, leaving the Titan to heal himself again, he waited. This time, he waited in form, standing at the foot of the bed just as he had arrived.
He said nothing.
Reply
She hadn't gone far, when she'd flown away. Not far at all. She stood by the doorway that led to the veranda, trembling in the bedsheet she wore, her wings folded around her. She saw nothing, heard nothing, but felt...
felt everything.
This was not right. This was not her Ere. Her Ere was gone. He was gone. And perhaps she had done it. Perhaps she had. But this could not stand.
What could stop him? What could stop him?
She couldn't. He was stronger than she. Always, always, always accursedly stronger than she. Her ways were subtle, her ways were sly. And Nyx had Power, as much as her husband. But physical strength?
He was always, always stronger.
But.
There was one.
If he came, he could stop Erebos, quite likely without having to raise his hand or his voice.
Quicker than thought, Nyx shot through the door, into the sky, up, up, up into the Heavens.
There, she hovered, and called out to her son.
"Aither. Your father... needs you."
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Currently, he was silently reminding the Titan that looking at another man's wife, his heart, his counterpart through eternity, was foolish. Very foolish. The jelly of the Titan's eyes were washing Nyx's kisses from his skin. As if all the ichor had not already done it.
Better safe than sorry.
And then he heard Aither... Aither? And Aither was draining the shields around them... He was doing a good job of it, too. Never mind that. The Darkness had lungs to puncture. The Titan was putting up only the most token of struggles, and it was pointless. They both knew it. Krios was his now, his alone. Not even the Deaths that were outside...
There were no Deaths outside... Erebos turned his head and looked toward the graying shield. Had Aither done that?
No, it did not matter. Even if Aither made it through, it did not matter. Krios was his, and none of the children of Darkness would take the Titan away.
Erebos was not yet satisfied. Not at all. It pleased him to be cruel.
Reply
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