[BL]Hunted by the God of Destruction Chapter 227: Wandering mind

Victor Nun had always prided himself on patience, patience that turned storms into sumr drizzle and ti itself into a manageable inconvenience. But as the third eting of the morning droned on, he began to feel that patience stretch thin, like silk pulled taut over the edge of a blade.

The boardroom was designed for immortals: ceilings lost sowhere in the glass glow above, walls lined with living ether circuits that pulsed faintly like veins, and a long black table that reflected power as much as it absorbed it. The directors sat in two neat rows, their suits immaculate, their fear better concealed than their boredom. Holographic reports flickered between them, cascading columns of figures, projections, and percentages, all important but none particularly interesting.

Victor sat at the head of the table, one hand resting loosely on the armrest, the other drumming once, twice, against the smooth surface. It was a nearly human gesture, the kind that made lesser n believe he was listening.

He wasn’t.

Not to the words, at least.

He was listening to sothing else entirely, the quiet thread of connection that humd sowhere far beyond this sterile chamber, a steady, familiar pulse that belonged to Elias. It wasn’t loud, but it was constant, like a heartbeat under his skin. Occasionally, it would flicker a sigh, a flick of irritation, or the faint ripple of sarcasm that sohow made it through their bond like static through an old transmission line.

He could almost hear him.

"Ashwin, I’m a pregnant oga in his first trister, clinginess is technically my middle na now."

The ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of Victor’s mouth before he caught it, suppressing the reaction as the head of Operations droned on about containnt ratios and power losses in the western sector.

"Mr. Nun?" The voice broke the air like glass under pressure. "Your stance on the adjustnt proposal?"

Victor’s gaze flicked toward the speaker, a man with too many words and too little conviction. "Postpone it," he said smoothly. "We’ll proceed once the prototype passes stress simulation."

"Yes, of course..."

The conversation resud, the rhythm of bureaucratic obedience restoring itself around him. But his thoughts had already drifted. He’d left Elias in his office that morning, their office now, technically, with the pretense of shared work and equal authority. It had lasted all of three hours before Ashwin started sending ssages.

Ashwin: Doctor Clarke is reorganizing your side of the desk.

Ashwin: He’s drinking his third coffee.

Ashwin: He just asked if your paperwork "slls like arrogance."

Victor had read the last ssage twice before replying.

Victor: Supervise him.

The answer ca faster than expected.

Ashwin: I am. He’s winning.

Now, as the fourth presentation began, sothing about market expansion, sothing he had already decided on yesterday, Victor let his attention slip again. His mind drifted to the image of Elias in that high-backed chair, stubbornly occupying the left half of his desk as if proximity to a god were just another nuisance to tolerate. He could imagine him now, sleeves rolled to his elbows, glasses reflecting the soft blue light of the monitors, every inch of him radiating the kind of sharp, restless energy that Victor found impossible to ignore.

He shouldn’t have left him there. Not with Ashwin.

Not because Ashwin was incapable, the man could probably fend off a rebellion with a single raised eyebrow, but because boredom made him dangerous. It loosened his tongue and sharpened his humor, and Victor had seen enough of that dry amusent in action to know it could drive Elias insane within the hour.

A whisper of movent at his right drew his gaze back to the table. His aide, a young beta with perfect posture and the fear of gods in his eyes, leaned closer. "Sir, the next item..."

"Reschedule it," Victor said quietly, standing before the man could finish.

The aide blinked. "For... for when, sir?"

"Tomorrow."

"But..."

Victor adjusted his cuffs, gaze distant, voice mild in that way that suggested finality. "I have more pressing matters."

No one in that room dared to question what a god considered pressing.

By the ti he stepped out into the corridor, the temperature itself seed to shift. The faint hum of the building’s ether channels deepened as if recognizing its master’s impatience. His footsteps were soundless on the polished floor, though the air bent slightly in his wake, a subtle distortion that followed him like the weight of a silent storm.

Halfway down the hall, his phone vibrated.

Ashwin: Doctor Clarke says he could design a better containnt system if you let him rewrite the entire research protocol.

Ashwin: He also said "your paperwork slls like arrogance," again.

Victor’s brow lifted slightly. His thumb hovered above the screen before typing two words.

Victor: Keep him alive.

Ashwin’s reply ca after a pause long enough to be insubordinate.

Ashwin: I’ll try. No promises.

Victor slipped the device back into his pocket and stopped at the end of the corridor. The city stretched beyond the glass, pale light over steel and shadow, ether lines threading through the skyline like veins of light. It was a beautiful view. Cold, immaculate, and dull.

Elias was warr than this entire tower.

He could finish his remaining etings, keep the illusion of control intact, and return in three hours. Or he could do what he wanted, what his pulse had already decided before his mind could interfere.

Reality bent around him, the air cracking softly with static gold. His outline blurred, edges dissolving in a shimr of light until the corridor was empty once more.

—

The first sign of his return was the way the air changed.

The faint hum of ether in the office deepened, the light flickering for a second, as if the room itself recognized him before his body had even reassembled.

Ashwin looked up from his post by the door, unsurprised but not entirely pleased. "Sir," he said dryly, "the concept of doors still exists."

Victor ignored him completely. His gaze swept across the room, settling instantly on the desk.

Elias sat at the far side, still imrsed in data, his brow furrowed in quiet concentration, his hand resting near an untouched mug of coffee. His tie was loose now, his posture slouched, sowhere between exhaustion and defiance. The blue light from the floating monitors painted faint reflections against his skin, softening the sharpness of his features.

Victor didn’t hesitate. He crossed the room in three deliberate steps.

Ashwin exhaled. "I’ll... guard the hallway," he said, the tone halfway between resignation and self-preservation.