[Location: Naless Cafe, New York]
"So, let get this straight; now that I’ve sohow killed Ares’s avatar while devouring a piece of his divinity at it, Olympus got their panties in a twist and will hound to the end of ti."
I leaned back in the chair, the cheap wood creaking as if it, too, shared my disbelief. The Naless Café wasn’t much to look at—dim lamps, peeling wallpaper, the faint sll of roasted beans cut with sothing almost tallic—but it was quiet. Quiet enough for to hear Artemis grinding her teeth across the table.
The goddess sat rigid, her bow leaning against the wall beside her like a silent executioner. Her silver hair frad her face in soft strands, but nothing about her posture was soft. Every line scread tension, from the way she tapped her finger against the porcelain cup to the way her eyes—moonlit and sharp—cut across the space between us.
"You don’t understand," she said, her voice low, dangerous, yet trembling beneath the weight of sothing she refused to na. "You devoured what no mortal should even touch. That fragnt of war-god authority isn’t just a trophy. It marks you. It stains you."
"Marks ," I repeated, swirling the dregs of my coffee as though divinity and death were just another Tuesday. "Stains . Adds to the list of reasons everyone wants dead, I guess."
Her hand slamd down on the table, rattling the cups. A few patrons glanced over—mortal eyes, unknowing, unfocused. The wards around the café blurred their perception, ensuring they’d forget this mont the instant they stepped outside. Convenient.
"Don’t make light of this!" Artemis snapped, her cheeks faintly flushed. "Do you think Olympus will let you live after humiliating Ares? His pride alone will demand vengeance. And Zeus—" She bit down on her words, biting her lip until a bead of blood welled at the corner.
"Zeus will throw a tantrum. What else is new?" I countered, folding my arms. "Let guess—thunderbolts, proclamations of divine law, and a new ’mortal plaything’ to distract him when things get boring. Sounds like a Tuesday for him, too."
For a heartbeat, her composure cracked. The goddess of the hunt, who should’ve been a pillar of divine restraint, let out sothing dangerously close to a laugh before she smothered it with a scowl.
"You are insufferable."
"And yet you’re still sitting here."
Her glare sharpened. A goddess of chastity and discipline, a predator who had hunted monsters since the dawn of myths, was blushing. Not from wine, not from rage, but from the ss of contradictions tangled around .
I leaned forward, lowering my voice until only she could hear. "Tell , Artemis... if Olympus cos knocking, are you hunting too?"
Her shoulders stiffened, and for the first ti since the fight with the minotaur, the silence between us carried more weight than any blade. Her lips parted, then closed again, as though every answer she might give was poison.
Finally, she whispered, "If it were that simple... I would’ve shot you already."
The words should’ve been a threat. Instead, they trembled like a confession.
I smirked, breaking the tension with a shrug. "Then I’ll take that as progress. Lesson one in How to Handle Yanderes 101: if she hasn’t killed you yet, she probably doesn’t want to."
Her face went scarlet. "Y-Yanderes?! What nonsense are you spouting now?"
"Just a term," I said smoothly, sipping my coffee. "For won who can’t decide whether to stab , kiss , or chain up in a basent. And considering my track record, I might need to start writing a manual."
The porcelain cracked in her hand, a jagged line splitting the cup as divine energy flared in her aura. Patrons didn’t notice, of course, but the air around us warped as though reality itself braced for her wrath.
"You dare compare to those—those—!" she stamred, torn between rage and so deeper, darker emotion she refused to na.
I tilted my head, my grin widening. "Tell I’m wrong."
Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. The huntress of Olympus, goddess of the moon, scourge of beasts and tyrants alike... couldn’t form a denial. Her trembling hand set the ruined cup down, and her eyes—bright, furious, wounded—t mine with a ferocity that was almost too human.
"I should kill you," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I should."
"Maybe," I agreed softly, leaning closer until the faint scent of moonlit forests clung to . "But you won’t."
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was heavy, electric, alive—like the breath before a storm. She looked away first, her silver lashes veiling her eyes, but not before I caught the flicker of sha and longing that burned hotter than any thunderbolt.
Yeah. Olympus could send their armies. Ares could howl for blood. Zeus could throw lightning until the skies ran dry.
But sitting across from , trembling between pride and obsession, Artemis was already lost. And that was a war none of them could win.
Ding-Dong!
The mont dissolved just as the entrance door was pushed in.
A figure walked past the approaching barista as her gaze of a predator locked onto —calm, precise, and unassuming in every possible way... yet carrying the weight of inevitability.
Her crimson hair cascading like rivers of molten rubies, sharp cheekbones glistening with healthy blush and excitent, her eyes—god her eyes carried sin of wrath like a violet storm ready to ignite.
But one could see her discomfort as she tugged at the collar of her white blouse, fingers fidgeting with the edge as if the very fabric contained the answer to a riddle only she could solve.
"D-Darling~" Her voice was soft, almost hesitant, but it carried over the gentle hum of the café like a bell tolling a warning. "I... I found you."
Seeing her like this, no one can say she is the mistress of wrath, the slaughterer of the hell realm, the daughter of Satan of Wrath— Amon Baelgorath.
And the fiancée of the Prince of Hell realm— AKA .
I froze mid-sip, the warmth of my coffee suddenly feeling like it had been replaced by molten lead. My eyes t hers, and in that instant, every rational thought I’d ever had about dealing with fiancées, Yanderes, and centuries of supernatural politics abandoned entirely.
Zeraphira Baelgorath—the daughter of Wrath, a being whose very na could make armies shiver, whose presence in the Hell Realm alone could reduce legions to ash—stood before , trembling as though she were approaching a wounded bird, yet radiating a heat that could sear the soul. Her crimson hair seed to flow even without wind, and her eyes glimred with that dangerous violet storm, sharp enough to pierce armour, shield, or mind.
"Darling..." she repeated, the word trembling at first, then gaining strength, as if saying it aloud made it real, tangible, undeniable. The subtle quiver in her voice—soft, intimate, yet laced with unyielding obsession—struck a chord sowhere deep in my chest. Sowhere I didn’t want to admit even existed.
I tried to form words, any words, to sohow navigate this apocalypse disguised as a café encounter. My throat betrayed , locking like a stubborn trap.
But her gaze wandered to Artemis and was instantly filled with her—or his stolen sin, Wrath.
Her mind imdiately ca to a conclusion— she die.
As control slipped and a tsunami of bloodlust and killing intent flooded the small space of the cafe.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
One by one, every other custor lost their consciousness by just sheer force of her presence, collapsing onto the floor like puppets cut from their strings. The barista froze mid-pour, eyes wide, and the faint clink of silver spoons hitting porcelain echoed in the stunned silence.
Artemis stiffened, her body instinctively shifting into a defensive stance, bow hand twitching as if to draw her weapon, though every nerve scread that movent would be suicidal. I, on the other hand, stood up from my seat, keeping a poker expression.
And I did what any girl missing her love would want.
My arms slipped past her waist and locked behind her, and I gently pushed her head onto my chest.
"It’s been a while, Zera~" I said softly, my breath brushing her ear. "How’ve you been?
"I won’t forgive you!" She muttered in my embrace, stiff as a log.
I just started petting her hand, tightening my hold on her.
"I...won’t...you..."
"Will you now?" I said playfully, blowing air directly onto her ear.
"I-I will... I will forgive you!" As she lted in my arms, her resistance crumbling like ice under a sumr sun. Her fingers dug into my shirt, trembling, but no longer with wrath—only the desperate ache of a love that refused to stay caged.
"See? That wasn’t so hard," I murmured, voice low, soothing, letting my hands trace the tension from her shoulders down to her back. Her crimson hair spilt over my arm like a river of fire, her violet eyes fluttering closed as she finally let herself breathe.
The café around us remained eerily still, every patron still unconscious, silverware scattered like fallen soldiers. Artemis’s bow remained untouched, though her body was taut, every muscle coiled, yet her gaze flicked between us, assessing, calculating. She understood the stakes instantly. One wrong move, one misstep, and Zeraphira could annihilate everything within a breath.
I tightened my hold just enough to anchor her, letting her feel the certainty that nothing in this world—Olympus, Hell, or the chaos in between—could take her from .
"I’ve missed you," I whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The words were gentle, almost casual, but carried the weight of centuries. The fire in her eyes softened, lting into sothing that flickered between relief and adoration, but the storm of obsession simred just beneath the surface.
"I... I’ve waited," she breathed, her voice barely audible, trembling with a mixture of longing and lingering fury. "I... I will kill anyone who touches you..."
...
What I didn’t know was that Artemis was shivering... from jealousy, looking at Dominic embracing soone else—even if that soone was his fiancée.
***
Stone , I can take it!
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