[BL]Hunted by the God of Destruction-Chapter 279: Closer to closure.

Chapter 279: Chapter 279: Closer to closure.
Victor reclaimed his seat with the same grace he might’ve used to reclaim a kingdom. Elias, meanwhile, picked up his spoon again like nothing had happened.
"You’re not going to say anything about the ring?" Victor asked, propping his elbow on the table, chin balanced against the back of his hand like he had nowhere better to be and all the time in the world to stare.
"I already said yes," Elias replied, reaching for the fruit parfait. His tone was composed, but his new ring was not. It was shamelessly radiant, absorbing the morning light and throwing it back like it had something to prove. "Honestly, I don’t want to know how much it cost."
"Oh, it didn’t cost anything," Victor said with a wide smile.
Elias paused. Then he narrowed his eyes like a man waiting for a punchline he already regretted hearing.
Victor leaned back, absurdly pleased. "I forged it."
Elias blinked. "You... what?"
"The alloy is divine," Victor said mildly. "The same one used for celestial chains and sanctified weapons. It doesn’t tarnish, bend, or break, unless you will it. I had to melt it in my own fire. It only answers to me."
Elias put his spoon down with the resigned composure of a man who suspected nonsense and was still somehow overwhelmed by the degree of it.
Victor wasn’t done.
"The stone is compressed ether," he added, like he was describing a mildly interesting cocktail recipe. "Yours and mine. From the first time we touched after the mark. It condensed into a core. I kept it. I forged it into that."
Elias stared at him for a long moment. Then he looked down at his hand.
The ring was warm, pulsing faintly against his skin. A steady hum of something impossibly old and intimately recent. It felt like memory and promise at once.
"You forged a god-ring," Elias said slowly, "out of our ether. And wrapped it in holy metal."
Victor nodded once, proud. "The Numen crest is on the inside. Only you’ll ever see it."
"Of course it is," Elias muttered. "Because subtlety died with your humility."
Victor reached for the wine list like they were discussing the weather. "Also, I’m putting this entire meal on Ego’s tab."
Elias didn’t even blink. "Good."
Victor looked up, pleased. "Dessert?"
"Yes. Before the press arrives to watch you lick the spoon and claim it’s symbolic."
Victor smirked. "I am very good with my mouth."
Elias threw a strawberry at him.
It bounced off Victor’s chest and rolled neatly onto his napkin, where he picked it up and ate it like the smug deity he was.
"See?" he said cheerfully. "Already shared a meal. Practically married."
"We’ve been practically married for over a year."
—
A few months later
The doctor’s office smelled faintly of antiseptic and citrus soap—an odd, quiet kind of peace that Elias had come to associate with clinical patience and tightly contained dread. The walls were painted a soft sage green, a color someone somewhere probably thought was calming.
Elias sat upright on the examination bed, one hand resting lightly over the prominent curve of his abdomen, the other curled protectively around the binder of test results on his lap. He wore a loose charcoal sweater that softened the shape, but not enough to hide how far along he was.
"Thirty-five weeks," Dr. Aylen said gently, eyes focused on the monitor. "Everything looks stable. Position’s good, heartbeat is strong, but..."
Victor was standing in the corner, arms folded, coat draped over one chair like a patient wolf had peeled off its skin and left it behind.
"But," Elias echoed dryly, fingers twitching once on the edge of the binder. "There’s always a but."
Dr. Aylen smiled, calm and clear. "We recommend a scheduled C-section."
Victor didn’t move, but the tension in the air crackled faintly, like glass under pressure.
"Because of the previous structure," the doctor continued. "Your body may have changed post-mark with dominant status confirmed, ether signature significantly altered, but the original implantation followed the recessive route. The old uterine tissue hasn’t evolved structurally, just biochemically. And the strain during labor could..."
"I understand," Elias said, quiet and composed.
Victor didn’t.
He stepped forward finally, the movement precise, predatory in its control. "Is there any reason we can’t reinforce it?"
Aylen met his gaze without blinking. "There is. Elias requested no ether-based intervention. Not yours. Not the lab’s. No divine reinforcement, no internal pressure modulation. A human birth, as natural as possible under the circumstances."
Victor’s jaw tensed. Not out of rage but out of fear disguised as restraint.
"I’m not altering our child’s fate," Elias said softly, gaze turned toward him. "Not even for you."
Victor exhaled, slow and unsteady.
Elias reached out and took his hand.
"You said you wouldn’t intervene."
"I won’t," Victor murmured, stepping closer, brushing his fingers against Elias’s knuckles like he was grounding himself on the skin of the universe. "But I hate watching you go through this like I’m not..."
"I know," Elias whispered. "But I need this. I need to choose this."
Victor nodded once. Reluctant, reverent.
Dr. Aylen stood with practiced discretion. "We’ll book the date. Likely within the week. You’ll be given time to prepare, and..."
"We’re prepared," Elias said.
Victor smiled faintly. It didn’t reach his eyes.
As the doctor stepped out, Victor remained still, one hand still on Elias’s, the other coming up to touch the slight gold thread that lined the hem of Elias’s sleeve.
"Have I told you lately that you’re absurdly brave?" he said softly.
Elias raised a brow. "Have I told you lately that I’m extremely pregnant?"
Victor leaned down and pressed a kiss to his temple. "Only every day."
"I expect a god-tier fruit tart after surgery," Elias muttered.
Victor straightened. "You’ll have a bakery. And the chef’s soul."
"Not the soul."
"Fine," Victor conceded, adjusting the fall of Elias’s coat. "Just his career. I’m being merciful."
—
Later That Day
Numen Tower, Executive Floor
Victor walked into his office with all the grace of a god who had no intention of solving anyone’s problems today.
The doors hissed closed behind him, the sleek interior quiet except for the soft hum of active ether screens and the subdued flicker of crimson data panels trailing across the walls. Half a dozen sub-directors straightened when he passed, most with urgent folders, the brave ones with pre-rehearsed pitches, but he didn’t stop.
He moved like a blade through the fog: visible, sharp, and not looking for them.
Ashwin stood near the console with two tablets, three phones, and the color-drained expression of someone who’d been managing Victor’s empire and suppressing three international leaks before breakfast. He opened his mouth.
"No," Victor said without breaking stride.
Ashwin blinked. "But..."
Victor held up a hand, the motion imperious and fluid. "If it’s about the rebels in Quadrant Three, give it to Ego."
Ashwin frowned. "Ego will declare war on the air again."
Victor shrugged off his coat and dropped it onto the back of his chair. "Good. Maybe this time the air will listen."
"The eastern satellites flagged a transport..."
"Ego."
"A minister was caught funneling..."
"Ego... or Ruo, or Samael. Anyone, really."
Ashwin stared at him. "You can’t outsource the entire dissident cleanup just because you’re nesting."
Victor finally turned, gaze cool. "Watch me."
He crossed the office, leaned on his desk with one hand, and pulled out his tablet, not to open s, but to scroll through a photo Elias had sent him an hour ago: his fiancé at home, comfortably settled in bed with three pillows, a smug expression, and the caption:
’I stole your hoodie. Also your apple juice.’
Victor’s lips curved, indulgent.
Ashwin sighed. "You were terrifying before. Now you’re terrifying and distracted."
"I’m focused," Victor corrected, tapping to enlarge the photo. "Just not on you."
Ashwin muttered something about selective apocalypses and started typing again.
Victor sat down, ignoring the blinking alerts on his console. "Inform Ego he has temporary authority over enforcement and cleanup. Give him access to the divine channels but restrict nuclear protocols. Again."
Ashwin’s fingers paused. "You know he’ll be insufferable."
Victor smirked. "Perfect. Then everyone else will finally suffer more than I do."
A beat.
"Also," Victor added thoughtfully, "have the Tower kitchen send Elias the good cake."
Ashwin blinked. "The Ether-infused tiramisu?"
Victor’s voice dropped to a murmur. "The one with the layered chocolate. And salt flakes. He likes that one when he’s pretending not to cry during documentaries."
Ashwin gave up entirely.
Victor leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers, and murmured to himself with satisfaction, "Let the world burn. I have more important things to hold."
And somewhere, far above the city, a dissident transmission blinked out of existence without even a proper alarm.
Because Ego had picked up the call.
And Victor Numen was off-duty.
For love. For family.
And for a very smug omega currently wearing his hoodie and conquering the Empire from bed.