11. But, oh, her war! such a war with herself.

Chapter 11

But, oh, her war! such a war with herself.

NYXION

"Sugar" by Sleep Token

"The Dark of You" by Breaking Benjamin

"Blood Sport" by Sleep Token

Z enya weaves a dress into being for herself.

Fuck, I flex my hand bones. It's a two-piece dress showing a narrow gap of midriff skin. Black and short with a ruffly tiered skirt. Tiny spaghetti straps I'd love to tear away with my teeth.

All her tattoos embrace her. They come together in a great fusion of swirling light and shadow.

She could shine this dark light to splinter both our realms.

She belongs to adrenaline and dopamine.

If anything, she does not belong to the amygdala abnormalities. She has more gray matter, granting her empathy and spirit. She may have the MAOA gene like her father, but she's channeled her aggression into extreme adrenaline highs and global travel.

But, oh, her war!—such a war with herself. The only daughter of her father's dark and doting obsession. Too tempted to follow in his bloody footsteps.

I feel the weight of Zenya's inner storm, her embrace of darkness and her demons. This endless war, it's her relentless struggle. Once, she tried to cut those demons out, hoping to expel them from her blood like they were foreign invaders.

Now, she adorns herself with inked symbols, mocking their presence with each tattoo.

And yet, I see her soul. In those still, quieter moments, she retreats into the shadows, unable to face her reflection so entwined with darkness—a soul that tasted the thrill of power over life and death. She loved it so much, she spent her life running from it.

"She fears not infamy," I muse as I watch her dance with her tattoos like they are her entranced partners.

Morpheus makes his way to my side, so I lower my voice. Only he may hear.

"She fears its allure," I say. "The exhilaration of wielding such ultimate control—snuffing out life, feeling bones yield beneath her grasp. That is her true dread."

I contemplate her viral following in the waking world. The viewers with the sharpest teeth and tongues. "They hunger for her past sins, craving to taste her darkness, longing to know if the salacious sins of her past lurk in her blood. They do not desire the dark drama that is Zenya. She is more than their perception—her needs run deeper, driven not by base instincts but by a mind that craves more than mere survival."

"She has survived too long," Morpheus adds with a nod and drinks more of his wine. He has not ripped his sightless eyes from her—like he's able to haunt her.

I ponder her unique balance of how she wrestles with the ghosts of her father's legacy. Ghosts that live inside her soul, but they do not command her heart. It is too wild. And too great for any world. Fuck, she sends shivers into my very soul.

"Ah, Zenya," I murmur, feeling the tug of her conflicted desires, "she yearns for more gray matter, seeking to transcend the shadows that haunt her. Those ghosts of her father's violent road of broken bones, strangulation scars, and blood stains."

Her journey mirrors my own—a forever quest for dark dreams and beautiful nightmares. A desire for understanding, acceptance, and the elusive redemption from within the deepest darkness.

My brother listens in solemnity—as if he understands how I'll never let her go.

I posture on my throne and steeple my fingertips, a silent proclamation of my authority. He is but a visitor in my realm.

Gods, I want to seize her sweet, dancing flesh, lift that black lacy skirt, and ram my cock to the back of her cunt. Show her how to dance with a real demon.

I know full and well the fascination she holds for me, her willingness to seek my nightmares and play with them. In her, I have found a vessel refined through trials. I'm cutting her—facet by facet like a black diamond to refract my darkest visions. And she is shining for me.

My heart beats with steadfast resolve, this ancient rhythm.

While they dance still, Morpheus gestures to the opposite end of the great hall.

I stand because it's time for a brotherly discussion. As I adjust my robe, I feel Zenya's eyes on me and note the lift of her brows, her chest rising as if hope swells there. Hope does not exist here.

I follow my brother with his irritating shadows trailing him while stragglers still chase after her, my chest tightening. His wings fold casually behind him. Mine harden with my purpose as we leave the playful chaos behind.

As we depart from the supper hall, I clench my hand into a fist, ready to conquer my brother.

The tension thickens between us as we convene in a nearby meeting room.

"No, Morpheus," I rumble a low growl, sitting opposite him at the table of bones.

"You're a damn fool, Nyxion. Do you need a reminder of what has happened to all your attempts at creating a weaver?"

Arrogant fucker. "It's different this time." I leer at him, knowing he can sense my triumph.

"Obviously." Sarcasm doesn't simply drip. It drowns his tone.

"She's a rare dream weaver, Morpheus. The balance between her light and darkness is both perfect and paradoxical."

His shadows swell. "Oh, spare me the poetry, Nyxion. You had no right to steal my Eye while I slept. Even for you, that's low."

Unflinching, I rise higher. "Naturally. I am the God of Nightmares."

"Your jealousy was once endearing, brother. Now, it's tedious. In your desire to reap those delicious emotions, you know you will break her."

"She's already fucking broken. So damaged, she can take my damage."

"Don't act like you're doing her a favor." He leans closer, hand balling into a fist on the table.

"Never." I lean back and open my skeletal palms. "I have made no excuses, given her no guise. I will use all her broken shards to cut her, reach inside her, and create beautiful nightmares with all her succulent humanity. What could be more pure in its dark simplicity?" My cock hardens at the mere thought of wreaking havoc on her.

Morpheus scoffs, shaking his head. "She almost died earlier because of you, Nyxion. She was on the brink."

I sober with a rare twinge of remorse. "I'm well aware. Death has stalked her all her life. Death has had an infinite number of chances to take her. She blew the goddamned Grim Reaper a kiss every time. She is strong, strong enough to hold your Eye. And I will selfishly keep her as long as I can. If Death dares to touch her, I will rip him apart piece by piece until he surrenders her soul to me."

Zenya Alice Myre will be my comatose Queen, my Queen of Nightmares for eternity.

Morpheus's gaze softens slightly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Ever the romantic with your grand dark gestures. But once she learns the truth of what you've put inside her, she could do the Trials."

I frown, chest throbbing as I'm unwilling to entertain the possibility. "She's too alive, Morpheus. She prefers to escape her nightmares rather than face them."

Morpheus smirks. "We will see, won't we, brother? After all, not everyone enjoys wallowing in darkness like you."

"Oh, I assure you, brother. She never wallows when she's wrapped around my cock."

He lurches, shadows lunging for me. As annoying as those flecks of diamonds may be, I crook my lips into a grin and surge my bone dust, ricocheting his shadows and returning them to him.

"I almost regret not inviting you to our first session." I dig the knife in deeper, my cold bones warmer than ever with the fever of my lust. "How lovely she was strung up with my skin ropes and a noose around her pretty throat. She fell so hard for me."

His fist strikes my jaw, breaking the bone. I laugh, hardly moving from my throne while fusing it back into place. Sandy shadow bastard. He's on his ass the next moment, imprisoned in a giant rib cage.

"Mmm, the nearer the bone, the sweeter the meat, eh, Morpheus?"

He breaks the cage with his shadows, gets to his feet, and prowls toward me again.

"Come," I beckon him, easing into a crouch. "Bring it, you glorified sandcastle."

Just as he raises his fist with a snarl, I freeze, locking up. He senses it, too.

"The music stopped," he points out.

" Zenya ."

I grit my teeth, grind my jaw, and teleport to the hall, finding Phantasos and Ivy in a silly match of arm wrestling. Zenya has vanished. Her essence lingers in the hall, but I know she's no longer in the castle.

"Where the fuck is she?" I advance toward Phantasos, flicking my gaze between them.

"Oh." Ivy looks up like she's suddenly aware of my presence. "She left."

The fuck?

"When?" I growl.

"Couple minutes ago." She shrugs and narrows her eyes on Phantasos. "Come on, Phanta. I'm going to prove I'm stronger than you."

Morpheus's shadows swarm all around him, and I know he's sensing my inner state, the dark storm brewing inside me.

I approach the table, bearing down on each of them with lethal eyes. "How did she get out?"

Ivy gestures to the walls. "She asked how I got in. I figured she knew already. She's a weaver. Walking through dream walls should be self-explanatory."

She could not have gone far.

With a low snarl, my bones on the verge of rattling, I charge for one of those walls and emerge on the other side. Her essence is like a shimmering trail of floral musk, decay, and incense. One that leads away from my fortress, my forest—in the opposite direction where the great canyon divides my realm from the World of Dreams.

A gust of wind assures me she is not on foot. She wove herself a goddamn flying horse, one that leaves a glittery trail of nightmare essence. Emphasis on the mare. The thought of a chase, of a hunt tightens my insides and sends heat surging to my cock.

"Nyxion," Morpheus says, tone darkening with predatory suspicion.

"Don't," I warn him. My black intentions practically shiver through me, spreading an icy chill through my bones. The ice congeals my very godly blood as I consider the horrors I will deal upon her for her audacity of running from me.

So stubborn, so spirited. So…alive.

The tension inside me magnifies as I release my wings, open my jaw, and unleash the greatest roar—great enough to fill my realm so all my lovely nightmarish things that go bump in the night shudder—aware of my power and possession. Great enough to bleed her ears and carve fear through her heart.

Morpheus wisely doesn't follow.

I follow her scent, decreasing the distance between us within moments. Not long before I spot her. Even now, in all my thunderous wrath, I can't help but admire her. Fuck, she robs me of breath.

What deep and lovely darkness. She rides upon a flying horse, its coat shining like an amethyst in the darkness. A skeletal framework slightly protrudes from that coat. Half flesh, half bone. Clothed in a flowing scarlet gown, slit up each side to allow her to ride, and a great black cape waving wildly behind her, Zenya is a gothic and ethereal vision. Like a queen ready to dismount, open the gates of hell, and call forth the Devil himself.

How tragic she does not know the Devil bends the knee to me. She will tonight.

With a swift, predatory dive, I close the distance between us. She flings her hair from her face, eyes wide with terror but glinting with a daring madness.

I reach for her, my strong arms encircling her waist, yanking her from the horse's back with a force that sends us both falling through the air. She kicks and screams, her protests echoing through the sky, but my grip is unyielding. When I beat my wings into a ferocious upward surge, she cries from the sharp ascent.

I hold her tightly, our bodies entwined in a chaotic dance of defiance and dominance. One I will win.

"You think you can run from me, little killer?"

"Get off me!" she screeches and dares to grab my finger bones…and snaps them.

Pain howls through my hand. It doesn't matter if I'm the God of Nightmares and can instantly fuse them. With her in my arms and the hysteria of her emotions, I feel the pain more intensely than ever.

When you're dead inside…the proof of existence is the suffering you feel.

She will suffer with me tonight. And she will love my painful darkness before I give her the shattering pleasure of dawn.

"I was just going for a ride!" she cries out and tries to break my hold on her waist, snapping my wrist this time.

"Your next ride, Zenya, will not be so pleasant."

"You can't keep me in a cage," she spits out, thrashing her legs.

"I'll lock you in my own damn rib cage if I must. Closer than flesh, my strange girl." My cock throbs at the fantasy of holding her inside my very corpse.

I carry her toward the great expanse of the canyon but veer a sharp left to the vast landscape before it. Nothing but black earth where dead roses grow.

"I'm sorry, I?—"

"Too late."

"No." She casts a daggered glare at me. "I'm sorry you're such a possessive prick with control issues."

Her feminine wrath makes me so fucking hard.

I chuckle darkly and deadpan with her, my eyes dark and unfeeling. "You need someone with control issues to command you. You are mortal. I am a God," I remind her while descending toward that desolate burial ground, whipping my wings, forcing the wind to part for me. "You are my slave and my queen. And you love my dominance. You love how I can shatter you and put you back together. You love it when I cut you open, little girl, and bleed your insides before I stitch you back together. You love when I fuck you so hard, I shake your bones and your spirit. You laugh through it all, curse through it all, and silently scream ‘do your worst'. I will, Zenya."

As if understanding the gravity of my words, she goes still while I land upon the earth, her gown catching on the thorns.

I lift my broken fingers to her face. She's frozen, lost in my gaze, trembling so sweetly. "When I shatter you, my little killer, it reminds you of who you truly are. Someone sees you—all the damaged, broken, and fucking exquisite parts of you. Someone who knows how alive you are in the darkness. How at home you are with the demons.

"Breaking you, Zenya…" I brush my bent finger bones across her cheeks, touching her tears before licking their tragic, sexual essence off her skin. "…is an expression of how much I need to ruin you and consume you. You know in your innermost being that when I break you, I won't fuck it up like you have all your life."

Shaking off my fingers, she steps toward me, burning those beautiful aquamarine eyes right through mine and parting her lips to say, "Fuck. You."

I open my jaw slightly. She may not be able to see the devilish smirk, but she feels it. Down to her bones. "Oh, you will, sweet dreamer. I desire your defiance. It makes the discipline so much…sweeter. Now, are you going to bend over like a good girl, lift up your skirts, and present your pretty ass to me?"

"Maybe you have hearing issues." She sticks her pert nose in the air. "So, I will repeat. Fuck. You."

I lower my skull, leaning closer to whisper in her ear. "I will enjoy your cries tonight. But they will not be the only ones."

Without another word, I turn her to face the landscape of dead roses and release one soft breath of a silent command. As hundreds of corpses rise from beneath the black earth, shaking their selves of rot and bones from the soil, I savor Zenya's eyes grow wider and wider.

The instant she tries to run, I seize my sweet, strange girl and rip the gown off her beautiful tattooed form before forcing her to the ground. Face first. Thorns slice through her flesh. Through all her screaming, I command the vines to root her in place.

Then, I take her pretty little fingers—and snap them one by one.