The dust settled. The air was still heavy with the echoes of destruction, but the world, despite its wounds, remained intact. Freya stood unmoved, her demons at her back, the Architect before her—a god undone by a truth he never anticipated.
He had fought for control. She had fought for nothing at all.
And that terrified him more than any war.
Dearest stepped beside Freya, golden eyes unreadable. "He's hesitating," he murmured.
Freya nodded. The Architect had power—more than most gods she had encountered—but power meant nothing when shackled by doubt. And now, his perfect world lay fractured beneath his feet, his creations no longer immune to chaos.
"Your people will wake soon," Freya said casually, glancing at the frozen city. "What will they remember?"
The Architect hesitated. His hollow eyes flickered with something distant, something dangerously close to uncertainty.
"Nothing," he admitted. "They will continue as they were."
"Convenient." Havoc scoffed. "You erase the cracks and pretend they never happened."
The Architect's gaze darkened. "This world must remain as it is."
Freya exhaled, stepping forward. "You built something fragile," she said softly. "And fragile things always break, Architect."
A silence stretched between them. Then, the Architect spoke.
"Leave."
Freya smiled. "We will."
The Architect's fingers twitched, and in an instant, the city resumed as if nothing had happened. The people moved again, unaware of the battle that had nearly shattered their reality. Laughter returned. Trade resumed. The illusion held.
But something had changed.
The freya and her demons had left their mark.
A New Game Begins
That night, Freya stood on the balcony of their temporary home, watching the city below. The Architect had allowed them to stay, but his gaze never left them. She could feel it—a watchful, uneasy truce.
Dearest leaned against the railing beside her, silent as ever. Dash slept at her feet. Havoc was somewhere in town, indulging in mortal pleasures. Boss kept to the shadows, ever the guardian.
"This world won't last," Dearest murmured.
Freya sighed. "I know."
Perfection was an illusion. A lie. And lies always unraveled.
Dearest turned to her, eyes gleaming. "What will you do when it does?"
Freya smirked. "That depends."
"On what?"
Freya's gaze drifted to the stars.
"On whether the Architect is still standing when it falls."
Dearest chuckled, low and knowing.
The game had just begun.
And Freya?
She was very, very good at winning.
A Warning from a Broken God
The wind was still. The city slept, unaware that its peace had been shattered and stitched back together in the same breath.
Freya remained on the balcony, the Architect's presence still lingering in the air like a ghost that refused to fade. He was watching. Hesitating. Thinking.
Then—he spoke.
Not aloud, but within her mind. A voice that slithered into her thoughts like a whisper from the void.
"You have defied the Law."
Freya smirked. "I do that often."
A pause. A flicker of something inhuman pressing against her mind. "You do not understand," the Architect murmured. "There are laws even I cannot break. And now that you have shattered this world's balance, others will take notice."
Freya's amusement dimmed. "Others?"
The Architect's voice was lower now, a shadow of something old and weary. "You think me powerful, but I am only a builder. A keeper of order. There are those above me—true gods, those who shape existence itself. They will not ignore you."
Freya tilted her head, considering his words. "Let them come."
The Architect's hollow eyes glowed in the darkness. "You do not fear them?"
Beside her, Dearest stirred.
The golden-eyed demon exhaled slowly, a smirk curling his lips. "Fear?" he mused, voice as smooth as velvet. "We do not fear, Architect." He turned, meeting the god's empty gaze without hesitation. "We wait."
Freya leaned on the railing, unfazed. "You built this world to be perfect. I wonder, have you ever met a being who didn't care for perfection?"
The Architect did not answer.
Freya smiled. "You will, soon enough."
The god exhaled, and for the first time, she heard it—not frustration. Not anger.
Resignation.
"Then prepare yourself, Mother of Demons," he murmured. "For when they come, they will not ask. They will not warn. They will erase."
Freya's gaze did not waver. "Let them try."
Dearest chuckled, low and dark. His golden eyes burned as he stepped forward, his power shifting the air itself.
"My Queen will stand," he said. "And we will be ready."
The Architect lingered for a moment longer, then—he was gone.
The night remained still, but Freya knew the silence was temporary.
---
"I won't keep living in your shadows!" A young Freya shouted, her voice echoing through the grand hall. Her fists clenched at her sides as she glared at the man before her—a towering figure in a mask, his body covered in scars from past wars. Around them stood the high-ranking members of the kingdom, their eyes cold, their silence deafening.
"You are not like your brother," her father's voice was as sharp as steel. "And you never will be."
The words cut deeper than any blade. Freya felt them sink into her soul, burning like fire. She stared through the mask, searching for something—anything—in the eyes of the man she called father.
"You will always be a shadow of the gods and nothing more"
Freya bit back the tears threatening to spill. No one spoke for her. No one ever did. All she wanted was a name of her own, a place beyond the shadows. Without another word, she turned and stormed out, her heart pounding with anger and pain.
She ran from the castle, her destination unknown. No one knew her face, after all. To them, she was nothing. A nameless shadow.
The night stretched endlessly as a storm rolled in. Cold winds bit at her skin, and rain threatened to fall. She needed shelter. Up ahead, a small cave sat nestled between jagged rocks. She ran toward it, taking refuge inside. Curling up against the stone wall, she whispered to herself, "I will make a name for myself."
Sleep came slowly. But when she awoke, something was watching her.
At the entrance of the cave stood a creature—unlike anything she had ever seen. Its body was sleek yet powerful, its presence commanding. There was something majestic about it, but the aura it emitted made her wary.
She ignored it, stepping out of the cave to continue her journey into the unknown. Yet, the creature followed. It stopped when she stopped. Moved when she moved.
After hours of walking, frustration got the best of her. "Stop following me, you weird creature!"
But it didn't listen.
No matter how many times she tried to chase it away, it remained. She hunted for food—one portion for herself, another for the creature. Days passed, and against her own will, she grew attached. The creature, in turn, seemed to enjoy her company.
"My name is Freya," she said one evening, watching it closely. "What about you?"
The creature said nothing.
Weeks passed, and she found herself in a bustling city. The creature was still at her side, silent but ever-present. She fought to survive, stealing what she could, doing whatever it took. And the creature never left her.
Then, one day, she made a mistake.
She stole something precious—too precious. The kind of mistake that got people killed.
Dragged before a crowd, she was condemned, a god with nothing. A failure.
As she knelt, waiting for the blade to fall, she turned to the creature beside her. "Go find a new friend," she whispered. "I'm sorry."
Silence.
Then, the creature spoke.
"I never knew what loyalty was, never knew what it meant to protect someone," Dash said, his voice trembling with emotion. "But you... you've shown me a kind of love I never thought I deserved. I won't let you die, Freya. Not while I breathe, not while I'm still here. You are everything to me."
Freya's breath caught.
Before she could react, screams filled the air.
The creature moved—too fast, too brutal. A flash of claws, a blur of teeth. The scent of blood filled her lungs as bodies dropped, lifeless. The world erupted into chaos, and all Freya could do was watch.
It was beautiful. It was terrifying.
And she ran.
The creature ran with her.
As they fled into the wild, her heart pounded. She looked at it—this beast, this force of destruction.
Then, she smiled.
"Dash," she said.
The name felt right.
From that day forward, they were inseparable. They fought together, killed together, survived together and grew stronger together.
And Freya?
She knew that before she died her name would echo to the hearing of gods.
---
Freya's mind snapped back to the present, tearing away from the memories of cold nights, spilled blood, and the endless war that had shaped her into what she was now.
She stood at the edge of the ruined tower, the wind howling like a beast in her ears.
Behind her, Dash stretched lazily, his massive form coiled like a predator waiting for the hunt. The air around them was thick with something unseen—watching, lurking.
Her fingers twitched. We are being watched.
She turned slightly, feeling the presence before she saw him.
Dearest.
The little demon she had pulled from the jaws of death just yesterday. His silver hair shimmered in the low light, his cold, soulless gaze locked onto her. There was something unsettling about him—something ancient for a creature so small.
"How long do we stay?" he asked, his voice emotionless.
Freya said nothing at first, letting the silence drag between them. She could still feel it—that unseen force pressing against her, watching her every move.
A smirk tugged at her lips. Let them watch.
She exhaled, tilting her head slightly. "Not long."
Dearest didn't react, simply staring at her like he was waiting for something.
Freya turned away.
"This isn't my idea of freedom," she muttered. "Being watched by some… thing."
The shadows flickered.
Dash let out a low growl, his ears twitching. Even Boss, who had curled himself around her shoulders, let out a faint hiss.
Something was coming.
Freya smirked. "We leave at dawn."
She walked past Dearest, not waiting for a response. "Let's eat," she called over her shoulder. "No point fighting on an empty stomach."
--