[BL]Hunted by the God of Destruction Chapter 21: Another one

The mory slipped like a needle being withdrawn, quiet but leaving sothing sore behind.

Back in the present, Elias opened his eyes. The room hadn’t changed, but sothing under his skin had shifted, just slightly, like an old bruise rembering the shape of impact.

He lay there for a mont, unmoving, eyes unfocused, letting the ceiling blur into shadow. He wasn’t angry. Not anymore. There was nothing left to burn.

What his parents never understood, what Jonathan would never understand even if Elias drew it out in charts and blood, was that he never wanted to be part of their ga. He had never craved godhood or legacy or the weight of being a na whispered in prayer. He didn’t want it then, and he doesn’t want it now.

There was a peace in being nearly beta. A stillness. He wasn’t watched. He wasn’t tested. He didn’t rupture walls by existing too loudly. His heats ca late, rarely, and quietly, and no one marked their passing with concern. He could walk through most rooms without triggering dominance or reverence. And for a long ti, that had been a gift.

He liked that space. The quiet kind, where no one expected him to shatter glass or channel divine resonance. Where he could simply build things—models, systems, proofs—and be left alone.

Ruo hadn’t been that lucky.

She had been brilliant. Loud in the way Elias never was. A storm wrapped in a skin too bright to be overlooked. She hated the attention, loathed the way people stared at her like she already belonged to a future they didn’t understand and yet she never hesitated to stand in front of him when the pressure closed in. She’d taken Elias under her wing without asking, sharp-edged and irreverent, threatening him like the big sister he should have had in Anna but didn’t, dragging him to coffee shops and library corners like companionship was mandatory. She’d taught him how to disappear in plain sight, how to protect the fragile line between being known and being used.

And then she vanished.

A deep buzz from his phone pulled him back into the present.

Elias didn’t move at first, just stared at the ceiling while the vibration persisted. Then another buzz. Sharper this ti.

He reached over and glanced at the screen.

Anna Clarke.

He sighed.

’Of course.’

He answered without ceremony, pressing the phone to his ear without lifting his head from the pillow.

"Did your calendar break?" he asked, voice flat. "You already called once this year."

There was a beat of silence, just long enough for him to imagine her irritated inhale. The kind that didn’t smudge makeup or ruin the shape of a sentence.

"I wanted to check on you," she said, tone clipped but polished, like she was reading from the opening line of a corporate condolence letter.

Elias let out a soft huff. "Touching."

"You’ve been avoiding the family threads."

"I haven’t been in the family in, what? Eight years now? Sounds about right." He shifted slightly, voice still dry. "So tell what you want. And don’t insult my intelligence by pretending your call and Father ruining my night are just coincidences."

There was a pause. Not long. Just enough to confirm he was right.

"He asked to check in on you," Anna said, carefully neutral.

Elias let his eyes fall shut, exhaustion crawling in behind his ribs like sothing familiar and heavy. "Of course he did. Couldn’t manage it himself, so he sent the polished one."

"Elias..."

"No, really," he cut in, still quiet, still composed. "Did he tell you what he said? Or are you just here to do the cleanup part?"

Another pause. This one is longer.

"He said you were difficult."

Elias smiled, but it didn’t reach anything that mattered. "Well, I was just exiting a bar with a man, and we were on our rry way until Jonathan Clarke showed up to remind of my holy duties, or whichever part of the Doctrine he thinks still applies to . That alone would’ve ruined the night."

He shifted slightly on the bed, his voice cooling further. "But then you called. So forgive if I’m starting to suspect so coordinated family concern."

"You’re not that important," Anna replied, her voice cold in the way one speaks to a misbehaving pet, laced with disappointnt too mild to be personal.

"Sure," Elias said smoothly. "Then there’s no need for us to talk. If you want to know sothing, ask your God. Or Victor. They might be the sa."

He didn’t wait for her to answer. There was nothing binding him to this family, no blood oath, no divine string. They’d made it clear long ago he was only wanted if he ca carved into a shape they could recognize.

He ended the call and set the phone down on the blanket beside him, letting the silence settle again. There were no strong emotions or lingering anger. Just that familiar stillness, the kind that lingered after conversations you’d already rehearsed in your head a dozen tis before they happened.

He exhaled once and reached for the phone again, scrolling through his screen out of habit more than purpose. ssages. Campus alerts. A poorly formatted departnt mo about lab usage hours.

And then—

A new notification.

Voice ssage.

Unknown contact. Tistamp: 01:12

But Elias didn’t need a na; he knew that phone number by heart.

Ruo.

His thumb hovered above the screen, then dropped it back to the bed, the ssage unopened, the glow of the notification blinking like it had nowhere better to be. He closed the screen and waited, eyes shut, spine still, hoping, uselessly, that the events of the day had tangled his thoughts past the point of clarity. That maybe he was dreaming. Maybe his mind had latched onto the last threads of mory and grief and shaped them into sothing cruel.

But when he unlocked the phone again, sa pattern, sa drag of muscle mory, it was still there.

Still her.

"Fuck," he muttered, under his breath this ti, more reflex than language.

And then, instinctively, as if the decision had already been waiting in him for days, he sat up, shoved the blanket away, and pulled his laptop toward him. The hinge creaked faintly in the silence. The screen flickered on. There, tucked inside the digital contract he had signed before going out with Matteo, was the phone number of the one that could help him.

Victor’s.

He stared at it for a mont, then rubbed a hand over his face, the disbelief catching up with him only now, slower than the fear.

"Can I even trust him?" Elias asked the room. The air didn’t answer.

"Would he even pick up?" he added, quieter.

Then, dryly, bitterly: "Gods, I’m mad."

But his fingers were already moving, typing the number into the dial pad, his body betraying the part of his brain still trying to convince him to wait until morning. Until he was clearer. Until he had a plan.

Instead, he pressed Call.