I wake up in my own bed.

I call it my own because on the rare occasion it’s used, I’m the only one using it.

Boredom.

I understand it now.

Every day is the same. Exactly, exhaustingly same.

There’s only so many times you can exterminate entire cities of mortals before it feels like all you do.

And so I stopped.

…

And then, I slept.

Who was it that told me, long ago, that the gods can choose to sleep?

I don’t even know how long it’s been. I just, went to sleep and hoped that something would be different when I awoke.

I haven’t even lifted my head a full minute before Nula and one of the other maids are already present, ready to serve.

…

It occurs to me that at this point, the only parts of my castle still intact are my private quarters, the armory, the treasury, and the dungeon… all but the first specifically because they’re barricaded underground.

The rest has long since fallen to ruin. I can only imagine how many years, decades, possibly centuries it would take for this to happen naturally.

But of course, it didn’t. I did this. I did all of this.

And my attendants say nothing. One can’t help but wonder if they’d even still be here if they weren’t dungeon monsters created specifically for the purpose.

That doesn’t matter either. Nothing matters.

I snatch Nula’s companion from the ground with a feeler, dragging her close to latch my teeth onto the side of her neck.

It’s been far too long since I fed, and it wouldn’t do now to lose control over something as stupid as this.

DO YOU UNDERSTAND NOW, CHILD?

I debate whether I should just let grandmother’s words hang in the air, unanswered, unacknowledged.

She’s one of the last few of the gods strong enough to face me, after all the souls I’ve consumed.

After all the humans. The mortals.

But I do understand. I understand too well.

How do you stay sane? How do any of us stay sane? I ask the ancient beast.

MOST OF US DON’T, she echoes. ARE YOU STILL SANE? AM I? THESE ARE QUESTIONS FOR THE AGES. BUT I CAN TELL THAT YOU UNDERSTAND THE MORTALS, AND WHAT THEY ARE.

Food.

They’re food for the gods, and nothing more. Prayers, bodies, souls… it doesn’t matter. They’re all nothing but sustenance.

And so the gods play games, to idle away the time before they’ve had enough and choose to start over.

Do you know where she is? I find myself asking, for at least the hundredth time. I can’t imagine the feared demon of old wouldn’t have heard something. How long have I been searching?

DOES IT MATTER? WHY DO YOU SO SINGULARLY SEEK ONE LONESOME BEING? IT SERVES NO PURPOSE.

It… it does matter. To me, somehow.

Why?

She’s right to ask the question.

Why do I feverishly hunt for my missing wife?

What did she offer that I can’t get elsewhere? Why does it have to be her? I certainly don’t obsess over Artemis to this degree… not remotely.

Although I have to admit… I do wonder what she’s doing with her own life sometimes.

…

I rise from my bed, wiping the gorgon’s blood from my mouth. What was her name again? I forget. Although it isn’t as if it matters.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

A monster, perhaps, but still a mortal. Just another mortal.

Materializing my robes without a thought, I drift over to the old disused closet on the wall, pausing briefly to glance at the long-since empty and now dilapidated dresser and vanity that Izahne had insisted on… even though we’d had plenty of usable space in my dimensional storage, least of all her own.

She’d finally gotten skilled enough to dress consistently with it, hadn’t she?

Why didn’t I notice these things before? Why do I recall noticing them now?

I sigh. It doesn’t matter. And so I continue drifting toward the closet.

And sure enough, the connection I’d created linking to the Feral Isle is long since closed. I wonder how she did it… Maybe my fox wife found another god talented enough or even specializing spatial connections and had them sever it.

Asking why she’d go to those lengths is a wasted query.

She did it because of me.

Because I’ve reduced myself to a monster. A vicious and unpredictable beast, one moment docile and indifferent, the next devouring mortals by the thousands.

And she was different.

Even with how little regard she often showed for them, she still cared for her mortals, even enough to allow them the illusion of a chance to wed her.

A challenge that Astraea apparently took and won, although I’m not sure how. Maybe because she was still masquerading as ‘Olive’… and ‘Olive’ was no goddess of the hunt. Maybe she counted that anyway, a loss as a loss.

But I don’t know for sure. Of all the memories my victim has offered me, that isn’t one of them. Not that it matters.

Hello, Artemis, I project through our link, still ever present. Are you busy?

I feel a multitude of emotions ripple forth from her. Hope, worry, concern… relief?

But all of it carries an undercurrent of disappointment. Despair.

The despair I brought her to, when I threw everything away.

We don’t have to talk, not if you don’t want to. I know I’ve… changed.

Hesitation.

She’s hesitant to see me… or to interact at all.

My wife thinks I’m going to try to fight her.

She thinks I want to kill her.

I let out a quiet sigh before I continue. I need meaning, I think. Nothing means anything. What do you do? With the boredom, I mean.

I’m not prepared for her reply. Images, pieces of memories flash across the connection between us.

It’s… us.

It’s us.

Or Astraea, rather. Her memories of her long dead wife.

The one I took from her. The one I partially became.

And I don’t know how to answer her. I don’t know how to accept that I, or even a small residual part of another person inside me, is what gave her meaning.

Maybe that’s why she was always so attentive. She wanted it back.

She wanted me back, her old life back.

I can’t give you all of that, I cautiously project. I’m not her, even if I partially am… Enough of me is different, I’m a different person.

Her despair peaks again for a moment before going silent.

But I’m still here, and I’ll give you what I can. If you want it, anyway. Nothing means anything. Help me. Help me make something mean anything. Otherwise I’m probably just going to keep meaninglessly killing, destroying. I’ve got nothing left. Maybe I never had anything at all.

Not even a second later, I feel her arms around me, holding me from behind.

I know why.

She doesn’t want me to see her, not now. Not like this. Even when she was pretending to be a simple maid, she was proud.

She was so proud.

And she doesn’t want me to see her cry, even though her quiet sobs against my back make it absolutely clear.

I’ve become an enemy of both pantheons, marked for extermination in a sense. Not overtly, of course…

But they view me like grandmother.

A force of nature. Uncontrollable, unable to be reasoned with, offering no option other than avoidance.

And avoid me they have. This moment is the first I’ve had with another divine in a very, very long time.

“How long have I been asleep?” I quietly ask.

“Hundred. Of three, more?” she shakily answers, muffled still by my robes.

Centuries.

I’ve slept for centuries. Although it doesn’t surprise me much.

I had no reason to be awake.

Maybe I can find one again though. Maybe more than one.

With her help.

Maybe.

***

Of my now-scattered retainers, the easiest to locate is Eleonor. My wife kept her close at hand, hunting her own subdomain and growing.

Gaining experience. Getting stronger.

“To kill you,” she’d said when I asked. “I wanted to kill you, big sister. I had to. I probably still have to. You do too much. You do too much to lots and lots of people. I have to be a hero, you know? Even to you.”

I offer her a somber nod. “I understand. I’m a terror, I know I am. And I know I’ve done things.”

My self-proclaimed little sister offers a weak smile before sighing and turning away.

And I can’t even pretend she’s abandoned me.

I abandoned her.

I abandoned everyone, and everything.

Not that it mattered.

I find myself absentmindedly… I don’t know.

Floating in place.

…

What did I used to do when I had nothing to do?

…

…

A vague memory comes to mind.

Izahne.

Rest.

…

I… miss her, I think.

(You think?)

Shock dominates my mind for a moment.

(What, did you think I couldn’t still hear you, ‘me’?) my former Assistant snarks.

But I don’t miss the sidenote of exhaustion in her voice.

(To your stupid musing, you used to put the infernal furniture in and out of your dimensional storage for no reason at all. It was annoying, and I had to hear it happening. Maybe find a hobby. Asshole. Also your dreams are trash.)

Then stop watching them. Distract yourself or something, you’re good at that. Go play with your toys.

…

I guess she decided that didn’t warrant a response… which is just as well.

I don’t want to talk to her.

I don’t particularly want to talk to anyone. But it’s not like I have anything better to do.

Absentmindedly, I do… exactly what she said. Picking up the rubble around me, the remains of my home… and setting it all down in a pile. Then doing it again.

And again.

And again…

I can’t imagine a time when moving this much was ever a challenge…

My memory now is murky at best, regardless of Astraea’s edits and additions, but as far back as I can remember no part of this Skill has been difficult. And it’s versatile too…

I can even…

Even…

…

Wait.

Wait.

I can…

I can take things from Artemis’ dimensional storage…

And I can put things in it…

…

Through the link… or the bond…

…

Why didn’t I think of this?

I promptly shed some ash, and compress it tightly into a simple tablet reading, “I don’t know if this will reach you. Are you alright? Where are you?”

After impatiently shoving it in my own dimensional storage, I focus on Izahne’s…

And I PUSH.