Chapter Text
Late-Stage Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia.
Twenty-five-year-old Anya Forger had come to the hospital for a simple check-up and work meeting, not to be told that her life would be over in three months if she didn’t seek emergency treatment that would put her in massive debt, and which had a high mortality rate.
Either way, she was dying. Even if she chose the treatment, she was gambling with most likely dying for a sliver of a chance to live just a tiny bit longer. Hardly a fair gamble in her eyes.
“Miss Forger?” Dr. Demetrius Desmond gazed at her stunned face, brow furrowed in concern. Behind him were CT scanner charts showing the rapid spread of leukemia cells in Anya’s body, and she quickly looked away.
“Yeah, I heard you,” she said, forcing a smile, although she wondered how anyone could smile at this news. “Let me think about it some more, and how many times have I asked you to just call me Anya?”
Demetrius nodded briefly, a look of sympathy replacing his previous expression. “I’m sorry, Anya. It must be difficult to find out like this. Take your time, but also don’t delay too much, because we want to move as quickly as possible to give you the highest chance of survival,” he said gently. “Whenever you’re ready, you can give me a call.”
“Appreciate it…Doctor Desmond,” Anya smirked before reaching into her bag and pulling out a laminated manuscript titled Plucked, which she handed to the hematologist-oncologist. “By the way, here’s the third round of edits. Just one more and you should be set for publishing.”
Demetrius took the manuscript and offered her a grateful smile. “Thank you. Your edits are always thoughtful, and I’m glad that you’re my editor.”
Anya beamed at the praise. Demetrius was one of the authors she genuinely enjoyed working with, and not just because he was the older brother of her childhood rival, Damian.
Demetrius was a no-nonsense hematologist-oncologist treating rare blood disorders by day, while he wrote the most delicious erotica by moonlight under the pen name ‘Luminescence’. His prose flowed like honey and touched on the deepest depths of human desire, delighting the eyes and senses of countless women—spanning all age ranges—across Ostania and the world. Even Anya’s aunt, former SSS Lieutenant Chloe Briar, gobbled up Luminescence’s novels as soon as they were released.
“Glad to hear it. I shall be back in a week to collect your refined script, Mister Author. I’ll be leaving now,” Anya said matter-of-factly as she stood up from her seat, holding back the tears that threatened to escape her emerald eyes at any moment. “If you see Sy-on boy around, tell him that I said hi.”
“I will. Take care, Anya,” Demetrius acknowledged, but she had already turned around and headed off.
As Anya headed down the hospital steps, she thought about what she was going to tell Uncle Yuri and Aunt Chloe. They were the only family members she had left after her adoptive parents died ten years ago at the hands of former prime minister Donovan Desmond, who’d found out about their spy and assassin identities after Operation Strix’s conclusion.
Strangely enough, Donovan himself was proclaimed dead the next day, with the cause of death cited as strangulation. At the time, Anya had chosen not to dwell on it, as she was too consumed with grief over her parents’ deaths. All she knew was that Damian Desmond had transferred out of Eden the next day, cutting off contact with everyone he had known. Even Ewen Egeburg and Emile Elman, his most loyal henchmen, didn’t have a clue where he’d gone.
Anya sighed and approached a phone booth, debating whether or not to break the news right now to the man who had taken her in and raised her as his own daughter. She knew that he would be devastated to find out she only had three months left to live, especially after his sister’s murder a decade ago. Knowing Yuri, he’d insist on living at Anya’s house and fussing over her day and night, and he would most definitely insist on paying for her treatment, which she didn’t want.
In the end, she decided not to call and instead returned to All Heart Books, the publishing company she worked for.
“You’re late,” snapped CEO Camilla Corrigan—her boss and her late mother’s former coworker at City Hall—as she walked through the double doors to the third-floor office.
“Apologies, Mrs. Corrigan,” Anya said meekly, lowering her head as she approached her computer.
“If saying sorry was enough, then none of us would have to be here at all!” Camilla barked, hazel eyes narrowing dangerously. “You’re just like Yor, always so clumsy and losing track of time.”
Anya fumed internally at her late mother being talked about in such a rude way, even without having to read Camilla’s mind, but she had to hold her tongue for today if she didn’t want any further trouble. However, her boss seemed to think otherwise.
“Anya, you will work overtime today until you finish the latest round of edits for the three other novels you’re working on,” the blonde commanded from her grand marble desk at the front of the room.
“Ma’am, I’m afraid that’s not possible to finish by six-” she began, but Camilla cut her off.
“You disappeared for three whole hours! If the deadline isn’t urgent, then you may split up the work to be finished by the end of tomorrow. Still, you must stay until nine today to prove your dedication to this company and your job,” the older woman said firmly.
Guess this is the best deal I can get for today, Anya thought as she smiled and nodded in her boss’ direction. “Yes, Mrs. Corrigan. Thank you.”
Just then, her work best friend Connie Hoffman leaned over and whispered in her ear, “That witch. I can help edit one of your manuscripts since I’m nearly done with mine.”
Anya smiled and shook her head at her friend. “That’s so nice of you, but I think I'd better finish on my own. Mrs. Corrigan is already going to be on my ass to make sure that I don’t go home on time today,” she whispered back, grimacing.
Connie’s expression darkened as she clicked her pen, accidentally spilling an ink splotch on her notepad. “I swear, one day I’ll become a famous writer and get the hell out of here,” she cursed under her breath before scribbling furiously on the paper in illegible handwriting.
The pinkette chuckled at her friend’s antics that hadn’t changed since their Eden days. “I’m sure you will. Your latest novel looks promising,” she chirped as she began typing away on her keyboard.
Several editors at All Heart Books, such as Connie and Meg, had been in Anya’s grade and even the same homeroom since first grade, making them lifelong friends even if they didn’t all hang out together on weekends.
The three of them would often go for drinks and dinner together after work, but Anya preferred to spend weekends with her family or with Becky, her first friend and ride-or-die sworn sister who never stopped loving soap operas and heart-fluttering romance.
I should visit Becky tomorrow. Haven’t seen her in a while. I wonder how her latest date went, even though I know she’s going to compare him to Ewen like she always does.
+++
After finally finishing her work at nine sharp, Anya grabbed her bag and headed out the door into the mild May evening. A gentle breeze blew past, ruffling her shoulder-length pink waves.
She ran the rest of the five blocks to the bakery, which closed in half an hour. Today was a commemorative day that only came once per year, and she had to make it no matter what.
“Hi, Uncle Franky! Sorry, I’m so late,” she exclaimed as she burst through the glass doors, cheeks pink and out of breath.
“Better late than never,” Franky smiled at his niece before handing her a large paper bag with the words I Spy Deliciousness embossed in fancy script. “I saved you your usual order, a raspberry chiffon cake and a peanut butter cake topped with marshmallows.”
Anya beamed as she fished exactly thirty dalc from her wallet and set the notes down on the countertop. “Thanks, Uncle Franky. You’re the best,” she cooed as she took the bag from him. “Can’t believe it’s already been ten years, huh?”
The scruffy-haired man sighed and nodded, his expression turning solemn. “Indeed. I miss them every day, but especially on this day. Loid was my closest friend, and even now I haven’t made a friend with whom I consider myself as close. He was truly one of a kind, as was your mother.”
“Me too,” Anya said wistfully, offering her uncle a sympathetic smile. “I’m eternally grateful for Uncle Yuri and Aunt Chloe and love them just as much as my parents, but I can’t forget that our relationship happened because of Mama.”
“I understand. Losing Loid also made my old job meaningless, so here I am,” Franky acknowledged, handing the pinkette another small paper box. “Here, take these too. I didn’t sell all the chocolate cake today, so you should share these with Yuri and Chloe when they come over later.”
Anya’s eyes lit up as she took the box, grateful that Franky remembered her annual tradition with her aunt and uncle. “I will. Thank you so much! I’ll be sure to stop by again soon.”
“Be safe on your way home, kiddo,” Franky waved as she burst through the doors the same way she came in.
+++
Berlint was divided into several zones, and Anya’s tiny one-bedroom apartment was located in the outermost one, the only zone with affordable housing for single-person households.
After stepping off the train, she dragged her tired feet three blocks before she reached the red brick apartment building where she lived. She rented the rooftop unit, which meant climbing six exhausting flights of stairs before she could open her front door and collapse inside.
However, she didn’t even get to open her front door when she saw the two figures standing outside waiting for her—Uncle Yuri and Aunt Chloe.
“Anya! You’re finally home!” Yuri exclaimed, running over and taking her cake bag. “What happened? We’ve been waiting for an hour!”
“Sorry, I had to work overtime again because Mrs. Corrigan decided to be a bitch,” Anya deadpanned, finding her keys and unlocking the door for her visitors. “Come in.”
Yuri walked in front of her and turned the lights on, washing the living room in a soft glow. Chloe unboxed the cakes on the wooden dining room table while Anya grabbed framed photos of Loid and Yor to set up as a makeshift shrine.
When all three of them were seated, Anya let Yuri begin the commemorative speeches. As usual, he was a sobbing, blubbery mess as he gazed at the photo of Yor, and Chloe comforted him by rubbing his shoulders. After Chloe and Anya finished giving updates on their lives for the past year, they all cut slices of cake and feasted like cake was a rare commodity for them instead of a common treat they could buy on a whim.
“Say, Anya, do you have any vodka to go with this?” Yuri asked between mouthfuls, the frosting from the raspberry cake smeared all over his lips.
“Oh, yes! Coming right up,” Anya chirped, rising from her seat to grab the bottle of Smirnoff she always kept for her uncle’s visits. She usually didn’t forget, but she’d been so bothered by her leukemia diagnosis that it had completely slipped her mind.
She came back with the bottle and three glasses, pouring a healthy amount for Yuri while only filling hers and Chloe’s glasses a quarter of the way. Then, they toasted to Loid and Yor’s photographs before clinking their glasses together.
Anya took a sip of her vodka, which tasted bitter and dry in her mouth. She wasn’t a fan of hard liquor, but she learned to tolerate it over the years. It had been her father’s favorite, as well as Uncle Yuri’s. Ironically enough, that was the only thing they seemed to have in common other than their shared love for her mother.
Who will pour your vodka for you when I’m gone? Anya thought, glancing at Yuri, who was offering Yor’s photo a forkful of cake. Tears misted her vision, and she blinked them back before they could fall. She reminded herself that today wasn’t the day to share her personal woes, as her parents’ death anniversary mattered the most.
“Are you all right, darling?” Chloe asked after a while, placing a hand on her back. “You seem troubled.”
“Huh? Oh, nothing’s wrong! I always get sad when my parents’ death anniversary comes around because I miss them so much, but I’m glad that you two are with me,” she responded with a grin that was far too wide. It wasn’t a complete lie—she did miss her parents every day and she was genuinely happy that her aunt and uncle were here.
“If you say so. But we’re family, so please don’t hesitate to tell us if anything is wrong, okay? We see you as our own daughter,” her aunt reminded, kindness shining in her amethyst eyes.
“Yeah, Chihuahua girl. You’ve been my daughter for ten years and my niece for longer than that, so if you need anything at all, you can always ask me,” Yuri echoed, pouring himself another glass of vodka. His ruby eyes shone with sincerity.
Anya couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle. Suddenly, she felt guilty about omitting her diagnosis, but she simply didn’t feel like it was the right time yet.
“Thank you both. You know I love you,” she reassured her honorary parents before taking a bite of her peanut cake. It was soft, pillowy, and fragrant, just the way she liked it. Uncle Franky had truly mastered this recipe from her father.
Once the clock struck eleven, Yuri and Chloe helped Anya clear the dishes before they bade her good night, promising to visit again soon. Then, Anya opened a new bottle of sake before pouring herself a glass. Sweet and a little sour—the perfect combination for some solo melancholic drinking on the rooftop.
Taking her glass and two bottles of sake, Anya stepped outside her back door and leaned against the balcony. The stars in the midnight sky winked at her as she downed glass after glass of sake until her vision became blurry and the world quieted around her. A wooziness set into her skull, and she basked in the warm, loopy feeling.
So this is what it feels like to lose your senses, she mused, letting the wind turn her hair into a bird’s nest. I just slowly forget what it’s like to see, hear, and feel. It’s not such a big deal. I’ve gone through this countless times in the lab to get my telepathy. But how fucked up is it that the experiments have cut my life short, where I can’t even use my powers for the duration they were intended for?
In that moment, she couldn’t help but dwell on how unfair her situation was. She hadn’t done anything super morally wrong to deserve an early and most likely painful death. Yes, she’d been the adoptive daughter of a spy and an assassin, and she’d tried to get close to Damian Desmond so that her father could complete his mission. But other than that, her sins weren’t any greater than those of her remaining family members, her coworkers, and random passersby on the street, right? So why was she chosen to have a terminal illness with so little time left?
“Damn it all! Damn it all to hell!” she yelled into the void, her voice echoing on the wind. “I wish that doom would fall upon the whole world and make everything disappear!”
When no one answered her, she sighed and headed back inside, where she fell asleep on the couch.
+++
Somewhere in an unnamed area, Damian Desmond lay on his million-dalc leather couch inside his sprawling mansion, sipping on a crystal glass of Bordeaux.
He quite enjoyed the acidic taste as it settled on his tongue, but tonight, it tasted dull like all the other wines he’d had before.
Today was his birthday—or more accurately, his real birthday, which only came once per century. In human years, he was twenty-seven, but he’d existed aimlessly for five hundred years now. Funny to think that in the century birthdays, he was only a five-year-old.
The goddess probably created me as a prank or something, he thought, downing the rest of his drink before setting it on his ebony coffee table. My entire existence serves to bring misery to humankind, and I don’t even have to lift a finger. Not that I can’t do something if I really wanted to, but why bother? I’ll just keep on existing, and those fools around me will keep making idiotic mistakes and dying before I even blink.
In truth, Damian Desmond was only a mortal alias that the goddess had placed him into, so that he could “experience humanity” to the fullest. He didn’t have a proper name before that, as he was only called “Doom” by his creator to fulfill his purpose and nothing more. He wasn’t born of flesh and blood like humans, so he also didn’t have any ties to humanity other than helping the goddess maintain balance in the world.
Every birthday, he had a duty to grant a mortal’s wish, much to his chagrin. Humans celebrated their birthdays for themselves and had ridiculous parties just for growing one year older, one year closer to their deaths. He, on the other hand, had to spend his birthday doing kind deeds for the very beings he’d long gotten sick of.
Well, except for one. But he’d decided long ago that they would never be able to be happy together with his immortal state, so there was no use in thinking too much about it.
That was, until he poured himself a new glass of Bordeaux and the surface began to shimmer, indicating that a particularly strong wish had been made.
Humans wished for every little thing under the sun, but it was rare for Damian to see wishes that were strong enough to ripple his alcohol. Deciding to amuse himself, he flicked his wrist to hear what it was.
“I wish that doom would fall upon the whole world and make everything disappear!” a high-pitched female voice cried out from his glass.
Stunned, Damian set his glass down again and let out a low chuckle. In all his years of existence, he hadn’t come across someone sincerely wishing for the world to end, even if just for a moment. This is interesting, since I also want my pointless existence to end, he mused, debating if he should grant this woman’s wish.
Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was half-past eleven, meaning that he only had a day left to either grant her wish or enter into a contract for later fulfillment. Such were the rules of being the deity of destruction.
Damian stood up and brushed his outfit—a black button-down shirt, black dress pants, and black leather dress shoes. A platinum cross dangled from a long chain around his neck, symbolizing his relationship with the divine. Grabbing his black trench coat, he admired himself in the mirror before snapping his fingers once. In the next second, all the lights flickered out.
When they flickered back on, he was nowhere to be seen.
+++
A loud knock at the door pulled Anya out of her dreamland. She groggily opened her eyes, allowing her vision to clear before drunkenly blurting out, “Who’s there?”
No answer.
She was just about to go back to bed when she heard the knocking again, causing her to throw off the blankets in frustration. Whoever it was that was knocking on her door as a prank so late at night, she was about to teach them a lesson.
Stepping into her furry slippers, she didn’t even bother fixing her disheveled hair before marching to the door and looking through the peephole. A pair of familiar hazel eyes stared back at her.
Sy-on boy? No, I must be dreaming, she thought with a laugh. There was no way that Damian Desmond, the most arrogant boy in her grade, would be waiting outside her door ten years later as if nothing had happened. Besides, no one from Eden except for Becky knew where she currently lived, and Becky wasn’t close with anyone in their grade other than herself.
Rubbing her eyes, Anya opened the door and peeked her head out. Sure enough, the man standing outside was the one and only Sy-on boy she’d been rivals with for over a decade. He looked older now, and he was wearing a goth outfit that his old self wouldn’t have been caught dead in.
“Sy-on boy?” she yelped, emerald eyes widening in disbelief. “Is that really you?”
Damian’s jaw dropped when their gazes met. “Forger?!” he exclaimed, as if he didn’t already know who lived in that house.
Anya raised her eyebrow at him. “Yeah. I thought you knew that before you knocked on my door,” she responded quizzically. “By the way, how do you know where I live?”
“Uh…I was…drunk and happened to think of you, so I knocked on the first door I saw to see if it was you?” Damian’s cheeks pinkened, and Anya rolled her eyes at his blatant lie.
“Come on, even you can lie better than that,” she teased, opening the door a bit wider. “So tell me, why are you really here, and what’s with that outfit? Did Halloween shift dates or something?”
“N-No, this is just my style now,” Damian stuttered before finding his words again. “Actually, it’s my birthday! So I was hoping that you could spend my birthday with me, yes.”
Anya narrowed her eyes suspiciously but beckoned for him to come in. She still had half of each cake left, so she supposed that she could spare some.
“You can sit at the dining table. I’ll bring you some cake,” she said briskly before heading to the fridge. “Do you want raspberry chiffon or peanut butter cake?”
“Raspberry chiffon, please. I know you like peanut cake, so you can save it for yourself.”
“Gee, how generous of you,” Anya remarked sarcastically as she cut a large slice for him. “By the way, isn’t your birthday in June? It’s May right now,” she observed.
“Well, it’s my real birthday today. You see, I came to tell you the truth about myself,” Damian said, tone suddenly serious.
Anya plated the cake and grabbed a fork before placing both on the dining table. “Enjoy,” she said softly. “I’ll be over there on the couch.”
“Thank you.”
As Damian took large bites out of his dessert, Anya shook her head as she studied him closely. Was this really the same Sy-on boy that she knew from school? He still had the same snarky attitude and handsome looks, but something about him seemed…different somehow.
“So what’s this truth that you came to tell me?” she asked lightly, clutching Director Chimera in her lap.
Damian stopped eating and cleared his throat. “I actually had no idea that you were the one who lived here, but I came here because you…summoned me.”
The silence that ensued for the next ten seconds was enough to hear a pin drop.
“Excuse me, what do you mean by I summoned you?” Anya finally asked. Is Sy-on boy okay? Is he drunk out of his mind?
Damian coughed awkwardly, and his lips upturned in a crooked smile. “I…heard that, actually. I’m not drunk out of my mind. I heard from my place that you wished to bring doom upon the world earlier, so I teleported here. You know me as Damian, but I’m actually the deity of destruction known as ‘Doom’.”
Anya wasn’t sure if he was being serious or not, so she tuned into his mind. To her shock, she found that she couldn’t access his thoughts, which were locked behind a mental wall of sorts.
“Yeah, when I’m in my true form, you can’t access my thoughts at all. Sorry about that,” Damian admitted sheepishly.
“Your true form?” Anya asked curiously, expression suspended in disbelief. “You mean to tell me that you don’t actually look like…what everyone saw growing up?”
Damian shook his head. “No. I mean, yes and no. I’ve looked like this ever since the goddess created me, which was five hundred years ago. But I can shapeshift, and that’s how I became Damian Desmond. The goddess said I was supposed to live that life to understand how humans lived and worked, but it only made me tire of my existence even more. Totally sucky experience, would not recommend,” he said dryly before taking another bite of cake.
Anya rolled her eyes at his sardonic remarks. “Please, at least you got to live a rich person’s life. The goddess, if there even is one, could’ve done a lot worse and made you dirt poor for all you know,” she retorted, crossing her arms. “So you’re saying that all this time, you weren’t even human. But why did you suddenly disappear after our eleventh year?”
To this, Damian grew quiet, as if hiding a guilty secret. After a minute, he took a deep breath and confessed, “I felt like it was my fault that Mr. and Mrs. Forger died the way they did. I’m the physical manifestation of misfortune, which means that as long as I exist, bad things will happen to people.”
Leaning her head to the side, Anya tried to comprehend his logic. “But you didn’t rat them out or kill them or anything, so I don’t see how that’s your fault,” she concluded, blinking her doe eyes.
“I didn’t lay a finger on them, but my family was still the one who brought misfortune upon you,” he said quietly, lowering his head. “And before you ask, they don’t know what I truly am. I placed a permanent illusion spell on them the day I shapeshifted into their second son and joined the Desmonds. Hell, Mother has no clue that she didn’t actually get pregnant with and give birth to me,” he laughed bitterly.
Anya nodded slowly, trying to absorb the absolutely bizarre information that Damian was feeding her right now. If he was telling the truth, then she wanted to see more proof other than him randomly showing up outside her door.
“I see. Well, if you say that you’re the deity of destruction or something, then show me some more of your magic to prove it,” she declared.
Damian snapped his fingers, and all the lights turned off instantly.
Anya gasped as she surveyed the sudden darkness around her. “It’s a coincidence!” she insisted, not quite believing what she’d just seen.
Damian snapped his fingers again, and the familiar walls of Anya’s apartment vanished, replaced with Mount Fuji as a backdrop. The scent of cherry blossoms lingered in the air, and pink petals fluttered in the air, to the ground, and in Anya’s hair.
“Amazing…” she breathed, holding out her hand and catching a few stray petals, marveling at the realness of it all. To think that Sy-on boy was a magical entity all along and didn’t even need any of the Desmonds’ money was wild to her, but she chose to take his word for it.
“I can show you more if you’d like,” Damian said, walking toward her with a determined look in his eyes. “Anything to convince you that I am who I say I am.”
Shaking her head, Anya let the petals scatter in the wind. “There’s no need. I’ve seen enough. Can we go home now?”
With another click, the duo were back inside Anya’s apartment, left just the way it was a minute ago.
“Uh, so you say that I summoned you here because I made a wish or something. How does that work, exactly?” the pinkette asked cautiously, making a mental note to be much more careful before wishing for anything else, lest she end up summoning a fire-breathing dragon or something equally terrifying.
“So my real birthday comes once every century, and as Doom, I’m supposed to grant a human’s wish on this day, because it’s the only day I can hear human thoughts all around me. I was drinking wine in my house, and I happened to hear your wish because it came across particularly strong, so I came to grant it for you,” he stated as if stating his own name.
To this, Anya’s jaw dropped all the way to the ground. “So you’re really going to doom the world for me right now? Please don’t, I didn’t actually mean it,” she said, blushing slightly at her slip-up. I should really quit drinking…
Damian chuckled, hazel eyes flashing with amusement. “A little too late for that, I’m afraid. You already made your wish, so now I have to fulfill it.”
“Wait!” Anya panicked, grabbing onto his arm without realizing. “How about I wish for something else instead? Something that won’t end the whole world, I mean.”
The deity shook his head grimly. “Can’t. Besides, I chose your wish to fulfill because I’m tired of existing anyway. You humans think that immortality is so great, but for me, it’s a curse. I don’t want to be stuck doing this for eternity, so I can grant your wish, and we can all be at peace, right?” he quipped.
Anya hesitated. She’d known that Damian had always looked a little lonely before, but she thought that he would grow out of it with age. She never would’ve guessed that being immortal was, in fact, the real reason for his chronic melancholia. Suddenly, she felt a little sorry for him.
“Listen, since you’re Doom or some other powerful deity, you must know that I’m dying of leukemia,” she began. “I only got diagnosed with it today, so I only have three months left to live. I’m prepared to die, so I won’t wish for a longer life, and I don’t think you can grant that anyway, right? So why don’t you just pick someone else’s wish to grant instead?”
Damian sighed, a profound sadness reflected in his eyes. He crossed the room and sat on the couch, burying his face in his hands. “Unfortunately, I can only grant the wish of the person who successfully summoned me. And that’s you, Forger.”
“Anya,” she corrected him, expression softening. “You and your brother are always so formal, even though I keep telling you both to call me by my first name.”
“Demetrius?” Damian raised his head in shock. “Since when were you close with him?”
Anya snickered. “It’s a long story, but he’s actually my doctor right now. He’s the one who told me I only have three months to live if I don’t get treatment right away, but I know that even with treatment, I’ll most likely die, so why die in debt and in pain, you know what I mean?” she deadpanned.
Damian tilted his head in response. “I suppose. Well, how about I make you a deal? I can help you live without pain and symptoms for the remainder of the three months you have left, which is about a hundred days. In exchange, you must wish to doom the world before your time is up.”
One hundred days without pain. That does sound like a pretty enticing deal, Anya thought, mulling the terms in her head. Somehow, she felt that there was a catch that Damian wasn’t telling her.
“And if I don’t wish for the world to end?” she asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.
“Then the person you love the most at that moment will die instead,” Damian responded evenly, his eyes locked on her own. “Your pain and suffering will get transferred to them, and you’ll survive, but they will die.”
An image of Yuri flashed in Anya’s mind. She couldn’t let Uncle Yuri die; he was basically a second father to her! “All right. I guess I have no choice but to accept your terms,” she grumbled. She would rather the entire world get doomed rather than see her most precious family member die.
“Good,” Damian said, sauntering over and pulling something shiny out of his coat pocket. Before Anya could ask what it was, he’d already placed it around her neck.
Looking down, she saw that it was a beautiful star sapphire pendant on a delicate silver chain. The stone was so perfectly round and shiny that it looked even higher grade than the multibillion-dalc stone she saw in the Berlint Museum. Guess these are the perks of working with the divine.
“This necklace will be the symbol of our contract,” Damian continued. “I can take away your pain, but we have to…renew that part every evening before midnight, or your symptoms will start showing up again.”
“And how does that work?”
Damian averted his gaze, blushing furiously. For a moment, he looked like the Damian in Anya’s memories. “We have to…hug.” His voice trailed off as he glanced back at her, like he was afraid of being rejected.
Anya laughed out loud upon hearing his answer. “This is getting crazier and crazier the more I think about it. It’s like something that happens in those soap operas Becky loves to watch, except it’s happening to me in real time.”
This earned her a side-eye from Damian. “Well, good to know that you recognize me as a real being,” he snipped. “So do you agree?”
Anya exhaled and nodded before she could overthink it. “Yes. But I’ll only see you for recharging during these three months, to not make things weird.”
Damian looked genuinely offended by her words. “Hey, I’m doing you a huge favor, and you can’t even stand to be in the same room as me for longer than a hug?” he pouted. “You’re dying, yet you’re too proud to accept my help.”
Anya noticed the trace of hurt in his tone, and she patted his arm. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. But we’ll…see how this goes, yeah? I kind of need some time to digest all this, so I’d appreciate it if you went home for today.”
Damian crossed his arms and glared at her. “All right, I hear you. I’ll come check on you again tomorrow, so don’t act like I didn’t warn you. Good night, Anya.”
“Good night, Sy-on—I mean—Damian—I mean, Doom…” Anya stuttered, tripping over which name she was supposed to call him by.
To this, Damian chuckled. “Just keep calling me Sy-on boy. Only the goddess calls me Doom, and it would be weird if a human suddenly started calling me that when they used to call me by a human name or nickname.”
Anya nodded, offering him a small smile. “Okay, Sy-on boy. See you tomorrow.”
“See you.”
With that, Damian vanished before her eyes, leaving Anya to grapple with what had just occurred. She touched the sapphire gingerly, still scarcely believing that she now owned such a precious jewel, and that it had magical properties binding her to none other than her childhood rival, who’d suddenly appeared on her doorstep, claiming to be able to grant her wishes and having the power to destroy the entire world.
Clutching at her necklace, she stumbled to her bedroom and flopped on the mattress, still in a daze. I just learned that Sy-on boy is the deity of destruction, and that he’ll take away my pain for the next hundred days by giving me hugs every night. Before my time is up, I have to wish for him to end the whole world. What have I done?