---
The second village is different.
Where Millbrook was modest—a cluster of simple buildings and dirt roads—this settlement sprawls across a fertile valley with the confidence of prosperity. Stone buildings with tiled roofs. Cobblestone streets. A central marketplace with colorful awnings. Gardens bursting with flowers and vegetables.
*Culture.*
*Community.*
*Life.*
"Riverton," Ghatak says, reading the weathered sign at the village entrance. "Population: six hundred forty-three."
I smile.
"Not for long."
We ride into the village at midday, when the sun is high and the marketplace is bustling with activity. Merchants call out their wares. Children chase each other between stalls, laughing. A street musician plays a cheerful tune on a wooden flute.
It's *idyllic*.
And I'm going to destroy every bit of it.
But not quickly.
Not efficiently.
*Slowly.*
I want to *savor* this.
We dismount in the marketplace, and I take my time surveying the scene.
A young couple browses a fabric stall, the woman holding swatches of cloth up to the light while her partner watches with obvious adoration. An elderly man sits on a bench, feeding breadcrumbs to pigeons. A mother carries a toddler on her hip while negotiating the price of vegetables with a vendor.
*Normal.*
*Peaceful.*
*Fragile.*
"Excuse me," a voice says, and I turn to find a middle-aged woman approaching with a friendly smile. "Are you travelers? We don't get many visitors this far west. Can I help you find—"
I raise my hand, and chaos magic erupts.
But I don't kill her.
Instead, I wrap the magic around her throat like a noose—tight enough to choke, not tight enough to kill. She claws at her neck, eyes bulging, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
The marketplace goes silent.
Everyone turns to stare.
"Please," I say pleasantly, "continue what you were doing. Don't mind us."
No one moves.
The woman's face is turning purple now. Her struggles are weakening.
"I said," I repeat, my voice hardening, "*continue*."
The merchant at the vegetable stall fumbles with a carrot. The street musician's flute produces a shaky, discordant note. The young couple at the fabric stall clutches each other, frozen in terror.
*Good.*
Let them be afraid.
Let them understand what's coming.
I release the magic, and the woman collapses to the cobblestones, gasping and sobbing.
"Now then," I say, addressing the crowd. "Let's talk about what happens next."
Ghatak moves through the eastern section of the marketplace like a predator selecting prey.
He doesn't kill indiscriminately. He *chooses*.
The elderly man feeding pigeons? Ghatak wraps void energy around him and lifts him into the air. The man screams as the void begins to *erase* him—not killing, but *unmaking*. His legs disappear first, then his torso, then his arms.
His head remains, suspended in midair, eyes wide with incomprehension.
"Do you know what it feels like," Ghatak asks conversationally, "to cease to exist? Not to die—death implies an ending. But to simply... *stop being*?"
The head tries to scream, but it has no lungs.
Ghatak lets it hang there for a full minute before finally erasing it completely.
The pigeons scatter.
I find the young couple from the fabric stall trying to flee down a side street.
They're holding hands, running as fast as they can.
*How sweet.*
I let them get almost to the end of the street before I act.
Chaos magic wraps around the woman's ankle and *yanks*. She goes down hard, her hand ripping free from her partner's grasp. He stumbles, turns back, reaches for her—
And I freeze him in place.
Not with magic. With a look.
"Don't move," I say softly. "Or I'll make this so much worse."
He freezes, tears streaming down his face.
The woman is sobbing, trying to crawl toward him. "Please," she gasps. "Please, we didn't do anything—"
"I know," I say. "That's what makes this so *delicious*."
I crouch beside her, tilting my head. "What's his name?"
"T-Thomas," she whispers.
"And yours?"
"Elena."
"Elena and Thomas." I smile. "How long have you been together?"
"Three years," she sobs. "We're getting married next month—"
"Were," I correct. "You *were* getting married next month."
I stand and walk over to Thomas. He's trembling, his eyes locked on Elena.
"Here's what's going to happen," I say. "I'm going to wipe your memories. Both of you. And when I'm done, you won't remember each other. You won't remember your love, your plans, your future together. You'll be strangers."
"No," Elena gasps. "No, please—"
"But first," I continue, "I want you to say goodbye. Really say it. Because this is the last moment you'll ever share as the people you are now."
Thomas's mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
Elena is sobbing so hard she can barely breathe.
"Go on," I encourage. "Tell each other how you feel. One last time."
"I love you," Thomas finally chokes out. "Elena, I love you so much—"
"I love you too," she sobs. "I love you, I love you—"
I let them have thirty seconds.
Then I place my hand on Thomas's forehead, and void magic flows.
His eyes glaze over. His expression goes blank.
I do the same to Elena.
When I'm done, they stare at each other with no recognition. No emotion. Just... *nothing*.
"Stand up," I tell them.
They obey mechanically.
"Walk to the marketplace."
They turn and walk away from each other without a backward glance.
*Perfect.*
The mother with the toddler tries to hide in one of the stone buildings.
I find her in a storage room, crouched behind barrels of grain, her hand clamped over her child's mouth to muffle his cries.
"Shh," she's whispering desperately. "Shh, baby, please be quiet—"
I step into the doorway, and her eyes go wide with terror.
"Please," she gasps. "Please, he's just a baby—"
"I know," I say. "That's why I'm taking him."
"No!" She clutches the child tighter. "You can't—"
Chaos magic wraps around them both, prying them apart despite her desperate grip.
The child screams as he's lifted into the air. The mother lunges for him, sobbing, reaching—
I let her get close. Let her fingertips almost brush his foot.
Then I pull him higher.
"Please!" she screams. "Please, give him back!"
"Why?" I ask, genuinely curious. "What makes him worth saving?"
"He's my *son*—"
"So?" I tilt my head. "What does that mean to me?"
She collapses to her knees, sobbing so hard she can barely speak. "Please... please, I'll do anything..."
"Anything?" I consider this. "All right. I'll make you a deal."
Hope flares in her eyes.
"I'll let you keep your son," I say. "But you have to forget he's yours. I'll wipe your memory of him completely. He'll be a stranger to you. And you'll watch me take him away, and you won't feel a thing."
"No," she whispers. "No, that's—"
"Or," I continue, "I can kill him right now. Quick and painless. Your choice."
She stares at me, horror and desperation warring on her face.
"Ten seconds," I say. "Choose."
"I—I can't—"
"Five seconds."
"Please—"
"Time's up."
I place my hand on her forehead, and void magic flows.
Her eyes glaze. Her sobbing stops.
I lower the child into her arms, and she holds him mechanically, with no recognition or affection.
"Take him to the marketplace," I tell her.
She stands and walks away, the child crying in her arms, and she doesn't even notice.
By the time the sun begins to set, the village is ours.
Six hundred and forty-three people gathered in the marketplace—some injured, most simply terrified, all of them broken.
Ghatak stands beside me, surveying our work with obvious satisfaction.
"You enjoyed that," he observes.
"Yes," I admit. "I did."
"Good." His hand finds the small of my back. "You shouldn't hide what you are. Not anymore."
"And what am I?"
"A goddess of destruction." His fingers trace up my spine. "Beautiful and terrible and absolutely *perfect*."
I turn to face him, and there's something in his expression that makes me pause.
"You understand this," I say. "Don't you? This need to... to *hurt*."
"Better than you know." His smile is dark. "Do you know why I was sealed away?"
"No."
"Because I couldn't stop." His eyes gleam with memory. "I harvested thirty million souls, Astraea. I reshaped an entire continent. And when they begged me to stop, when they pleaded for mercy... I *laughed*."
*Thirty million.*
"They sealed me because they were afraid," he continues. "Afraid of what I'd do if they let me continue. Afraid I'd unmake the entire world just to see if I could."
"And would you have?"
"Probably." He cups my face, forcing me to meet his gaze. "But I'm free now. And I have you. And together, we're going to do things that make my previous work look like a *warm-up*."
The words should horrify me.
Instead, I feel a thrill of recognition.
*We're the same.*
*We've always been the same.*
"Eleven more villages," I murmur.
"Eleven more harvests," he agrees.
"And then Vesper."
"And then Bia." His thumb traces my lower lip. "But first..."
He kisses me, and it's not gentle. It's claiming. Possessive. Fueled by the adrenaline and satisfaction of what we've just done.
I kiss him back with equal fervor, my hands fisting in his shirt.
We're surrounded by destruction—collapsed buildings, scorched earth, the lingering scent of blood and terror.
And I've never felt more *alive*.
The memory wiping takes hours.
I move through the crowd systematically, creating blank spaces where identities used to be.
The mother doesn't recognize her child. The child doesn't cry for his mother.
Thomas and Elena stand side by side, strangers who will never know what they lost.
The elderly man's widow stares at nothing, her grief erased along with her memories.
*Perfect.*
When I'm done, I open the portal to Draconis.
Six hundred and forty-three people file through mechanically, bound for reeducation and repurposing.
The portal closes, and silence falls over the empty village.
We make camp in the ruins of what used to be the marketplace.
Ghatak builds a fire while I stand among the rubble, looking at what we've created.
*Destruction.*
*Emptiness.*
*Power.*
"Do you feel guilty?" Ghatak asks.
"No," I say honestly. "Should I?"
"Not if you're being true to yourself." He pats the ground beside him. "Come here."
I join him by the fire, and he pulls me into his lap, his arms wrapping around me.
"You were magnificent today," he murmurs against my hair. "Absolutely magnificent."
"So were you."
"We're good at this." His hands slide under my shirt, warm against my skin. "Destruction. Harvesting. Building our empire on the bones of those too weak to stop us."
"Is that what we're doing?"
"Isn't it?" He nips at my neck. "We're not heroes, Astraea. We're not even anti-heroes. We're *villains*. And the sooner you accept that, the happier you'll be."
*Villains.*
The word settles over me like a cloak.
And it fits *perfectly*.
"Eleven more villages," I say.
"Eleven more opportunities," he agrees. "To indulge. To enjoy. To take what we want without apology or restraint."
His hands map my body with possessive certainty, and I arch into his touch.
"I want you," I breathe.
"I know." His smile is wicked. "And I'm going to give you exactly what you need."
We make love among the ruins, our bodies moving together with desperate intensity.
It's not gentle. It's not tender.
It's *primal*.
Fueled by adrenaline and satisfaction and the dark knowledge of what we are.
When we finish, we lie tangled together, breathing hard, the firelight dancing across our skin.
"Tomorrow," Ghatak says, "we find the third village."
"And we do it again."
"And again." His fingers trace patterns on my hip. "Until we reach Vesper. Until we find Bia. Until we've harvested every resource we need."
"No mercy."
"No hesitation." He kisses my shoulder. "Just us, being exactly what we were always meant to be."
*Predators.*
*Conquerors.*
*Villains.*
I close my eyes and let the satisfaction wash over me.
Tomorrow, we'll find another village.
Another harvest.
Another opportunity to feed this hunger that's been growing inside me for so long.
And I'm going to enjoy every single moment.