One year ago
They say the gods only reveal themselves at the edges of existence.
At the peak of things. At the breaking point. When the body is pushed so far beyond itself that the soul loosens its grip. When breath stutters. When pain blurs into death. When pleasure climbs so high it feels like it might tear you open and spill you into the heavens.
Legends claim that if you go far enough, high enough, deep enough, you can reach them.
Some meet the gods on mountaintops, lungs burning thin with air, one step from falling into the clouds. Others find them in moments of blinding pleasure, when the world narrows to sensation and the mind fractures under its own intensity. On battlefields. In temples. In the instant between breath and oblivion.
I met mine when I died.
There was no light. No mercy. No welcoming hands or voices carved from thunder.
There was only darkness--vast, intelligent, watching.
And in that darkness, something looked back at me and smiled.
It was not a god.
It was the devil.
Hands clawed and blackened beckoned me closer and I moved, transfixed by the beauty of him, the dark promise of bliss on lips like fresh blood and fangs pristine white.
I halted before the first step of the diaz. He was truly beautiful, the fallen angel that ruled the hells that my kind sprouted from. He was everything and nothing. His eyes were the redness in a bloody sky and his skin was a flawless, snowy white.
"What is your name, boy?" he asked me.
"I have none," I said.
"Ah," he purred. "Come closer."
But I'd heard the tales. Any closer and he would have me bound to him, to his will. The devil gave pleasure and stole something far more important. Your life's essence. He destroyed. He obliterated. He gave you just enough to quicken your devastation. He gifted rot.
I stood still.
He cocked his head. "Do not fear me. I only wish to grant you your heart's desire." His face changed. His body softened, taking on the form of the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. Her breasts perked and perfect, her limbs thin and graceful, her face something of an artist's impossible dream. "Is it beauty? The warmth of a body?"
His body shifted once more. He became Father. "Or is it the approval of a father? The love of a parent? Lips that care and do not denounce and rebuke you? Warm hands that wipe the dirt from your face and clothes without striking and burning you?"
I stared dully. It's not that it wasn't enticing. It was. All my life, I'd wished for even the subtlest of care, attention, love. But I was Ruin. I was simply an animal. And I made sure to live up to that.
Now, however, watching the devil shape shift into the thousand different things I've ever wanted, I realized I didn't want them half as badly as what brought me here.
It was more often that I was the Court's jester. The rabid dog worn a leash for the entertainment of the cruel. The one my brother's took their frustrations out on. It had been so for many years, and it was no different. Ceaser took out his failings on me by beating me to a pulp in the name of discipline.
Darrock thought it was fun to burn the first layer off my cock when I fucked the girl he liked, even if he very well she was mine first.
Valerian wore me a collar like a slave and fixed it to the ground, so that he could throw scraps and bones under the dinner table. And if I didn't eat those scraps, I would remain there for weeks. Starved, near dead, until I caved.
They all laughed. They always laughed at my expense.
Maybe it was why I laughed too.
Abel's speciality was reminding me that I was a dog and I would remain a dog for the rest of my life. It was in the way they ensured my rooms were in the servant's quarters in the shape of a cage, so I never forgot my place. It was in the way they brought me everywhere with them, just to show that they had a beast of a brother who had little cognizant abilities, and it was okay to hit him once or twice. He'd bay, but not react.
For the nine brothers I had, there was a different type of torture that I bore over the years, until I was reduced to something less than a person. And even then, I thought I had the most fun with them. I thought... at least, they acknowledged me enough, even if it was in their hatred. It meant, they must have loved me in their own twisted way.
For the Ivashkovs, blood mattered above all else.
But my brothers found something they shouldn't have last night. And they crossed the line. And I knew, even as I bled out and died on the pristine marble floors, that they had laughed. I heard them speculate what Father would do, and I arrived at the same conclusion as they did as I took my last breath.
Father would be overjoyed to be rid of me. There wouldn't even be a funeral for me, and even if there was, I would be some nameless gravestone, abandoned and left to wither.
All because I'd been born...wrong.
I stared into eyes that encompassed universes and beyond, and peer the devil down. "Nothing so frivolous."
His smile grew.
"I wish to stop being disposable."
The devil's eyes burned brighter.
"Make me heir in truth," I whispered. "Not just in name. Give me the power to take what I wish, the power to bend the world of men to my will. I want the Blood Crown."
Then the devil laughed.
"Oh," he said softly. "That is a very old wish."
He leans forward, red eyes splitting like a serpent's in a slow blink. "And it will cost you the one thing you crave most."
A flash of red hair, freckled skin and teal green eyes came to mind. The image burned into the back of my lashes like acid. It traveled down my gut like poison with hatred that spurs from something unrequited and unnoticed, hatred that leaked with desire.
What did I crave the most?
My brother's mate.
My hesitation cost me. It was foolish. The legends wove stories, warnings. The devil couldn't read your thoughts. He said any and everything to get the words out of you. He enticed you with everything he thought you wanted, and oftentimes than not, he was right. Only when you thought hard about it, only when you craved it so hard in front of him, could he get a hold of your real desire.
And I handed it to him without thinking.
The world caved under my feet, crumbling into dust and broken rocks as I fell into an abyss, cruel laughter following me all the way.
"Be crowned. And be damned."