[BL]Hunted by the God of Destruction-Chapter 289: Family

Five years later, Elias would sometimes look back on that conversation and marvel at how simple the answer had been. Yes. He did want more.

The rest of life, of course, refused to be simple.

Clarke Industries hummed around him with its usual low roar of controlled brilliance: engineers running simulations, departments exchanging information like a living organism, and meetings overlapping with meetings that required meetings to process. It should have felt overwhelming.

But in the middle of all of it, in the CEO’s private office, Elias sat with a toddler on his lap and the same steady composure he used to handle billion-dollar acquisitions.

His toddler, dark-haired, wide-eyed, and currently gnawing on a silicone dinosaur, seemed determined to prove that chewing was a full-time career.

"Otis, don’t bite his head off," Elias murmured, adjusting a spreadsheet with his free hand.

Otis paused mid-gnaw, his tiny brows knitting together as if weighing the moral implications of decapitating a rubber stegosaurus. Then, in true Numen-Clarke fashion, he opened his mouth wider and bit down with renewed commitment.

Elias sighed. "You are your father’s son."

Otis offered him a proud, dinosaur-muffled "Mm!"

Before Elias could finish annotating a projected revenue column, a ripple of energy shivered through the glass walls, subtle at first, like static from a sweater, then building fast into a crackling bloom of golden ether that made the lights flicker overhead.

Elias didn’t look up. He simply reached over and slid the fire-retardant folder cover onto his desk like a man who had lived this exact moment more times than he could count.

A split second later, a delighted shriek echoed down the hallway.

And another burst of ether raced past the glass.

Otis gasped and kicked his legs, thrilled. "’Ria! ’Ria!"

"Yes," Elias murmured dryly, "your sister has apparently discovered combustion as a learning tool."

Two executives speed-walked past the office, whispering frantically and carrying what looked like a child-proofed containment net. A newly hired intern flattened himself against the opposite wall when another flare sizzled by.

Elias tapped a key on his keyboard. "Do not panic," he said aloud, mostly to himself. "She always stops after the third burst."

A fourth burst detonated.

Elias closed his eyes. "Of course she doesn’t."

The doorknob rattled once, violently, then twice with far too much enthusiasm before the door swung open and Victor appeared, looking like the perfect monster he was.

Not a hair out of place or a wrinkle in sight.

He stepped into the office with the leisurely grace of a man arriving at a gala, not a father escorting a five-year-old miniature storm system through a corporate building. His suit, charcoal black with a subtle iridescent sheen, fit him with incredible accuracy. His tie was a deep, disciplined red, and only because Elias was the one who chose it. His cufflinks gleamed like tiny declarations of supremacy.

And tucked neatly on one arm was Aria, five years old and radiating chaos like a portable supernova.

Golden ether sparks trailed behind her in a delicate, glittering ribbon that would have been breathtaking if it weren’t also a violation of three safety regulations.

Victor smiled, that smooth, charming, devastating smile Elias had fallen for and now regretted twice a week.

"Good morning, love," he said, as if he hadn’t just walked through an active security hazard.

Elias did not return the smile. "What did she blow up?"

"Nothing important," Victor said cheerfully, shifting Aria so she could wave both hands at her brother. The shift released another small burst of ether that danced along the floor tiles. "Just the snack kiosk."

"The entire kiosk?"

"Well, the term ’entire’ is subjective..."

"Victor."

Victor’s grin widened, unfazed. "Fine. Half of it. But that machine was overpriced anyway."

Aria, nestled against Victor’s hip, chirped proudly, "I made gold fire!"

"Yes, sweetheart," Victor praised, brushing her hair back. "You made a beautiful fire."

Elias stared at him, horrified and resigned in equal measure.

"You encouraged this."

"I supervised," Victor corrected, immaculate in every sense except judgment. "And she showed exceptional control."

"She melted a chair."

"A controlled melt."

"And set fire to the rug."

"In the corner," Victor said helpfully. "Far from any exits."

"And vaporized a vending machine."

Victor cleared his throat. "Well... she redirected the initial burst. I vaporized the vending machine."

Otis laughed so hard the dinosaur fell out of his mouth.

Victor strode across the office, completely composed despite the ether crackling around his wrists from carrying Aria. He looked like a CEO arriving for a photo op, not the cause of three minor evacuations on the same floor.

He leaned down and kissed Elias on the cheek, soft and warm and annoyingly charming. "You look beautiful," he murmured.

"I’m pregnant and exhausted," Elias replied, not looking up from his spreadsheet.

"Yes," Victor said fondly, shifting Aria to his other arm, "beautiful."

Aria beamed, delighted to have both parents within arm’s reach, and reached out to tap Elias’s stomach. "Baby hiding."

Victor stroked Elias’s abdomen with the same reverence he gave handwritten soul contracts. "He kicks for me," he whispered.

Elias raised a brow. "He kicks because you talk too loudly."

Victor pretended to be offended, a performance of injured dignity delivered while Aria sparked like a small solar flare in his arms.

Otis, jealous and determined, reached both hands toward his father. "Da! Up!"

Victor scooped him up effortlessly, shifting into the impossible position of holding two children while still maintaining the posture of a man about to walk into a boardroom and command the economy. Both toddlers clung to him, sparking and drooling, respectively.

Victor remained pristine.

Elias wanted to scream.

Victor looked from one child to the other, glowing with paternal pride. "They’re thriving."

"They’re going to destroy my office," Elias corrected.

Victor adjusted his tie one-handed, because of course he did, while Aria happily pulled at that same tie with sticky fingers.

"My love," Victor said earnestly, "you say that like it’s a bad thing."

"It is," Elias replied.

Victor glanced over Aria’s head, crimson eyes warming as they landed on Elias again. "You asked for a family."

"I did," Elias said. "I did not ask for live weapons."

Aria giggled, and ether popped above her head like champagne bubbles.

Elias gestured. "Case in point."

Victor leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a soft murmur that curled warm around Elias’s ear. "We make exceptional children."

Elias tried very hard not to melt. "You make hazards. I make spreadsheets compensating for those hazards."

Victor looked personally offended. "Aria is not a hazard."

A burst of ether behind him singed the corner of Elias’s succulent.

Elias simply stared.

Victor cleared his throat. "She is... expressive."

Before Elias could respond, a soft knock tapped at the glass door rhythmically and confidently unhurried. Victor’s grip on both children shifted subtly, a reflex born of instinct and ancient memory.

Elias didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

The lights overhead dimmed just a fraction, the air thinning with a presence that was deep, like the ocean tilting just enough to remind every living thing who controlled the tides.

Uno stepped inside without waiting for permission.

The Creator of their world wore a long slate coat and soft black gloves, as if he had just strolled out of a museum opening. His expression was mild, peaceful even, but the faint shimmer in his pupils gave away the star-forged power beneath.

"Good morning," Uno said, his tone perfectly polite, perfectly calm.

Elias exhaled, long-suffering. "Why are you here?"

Uno looked around the office with pleasant curiosity. Papers half-singed. Carpet still warm from Aria’s last burst. Otis chewing on Victor’s expensive tie. Victor himself was somehow glowing with fatherly pride and borderline delusion.

"I sensed noise," Uno said mildly.

"That is not surprising," Elias replied. "They’ve been awake since six."

Uno’s gaze drifted to Aria, perched on Victor’s left arm, crackling with delighted ether. A small smile tugged at his lips.

"Oh," he said softly, "she’s getting stronger."

Victor brightened like someone had just validated his entire life.

"I told him that," Victor announced.

Uno nodded. "Of course. She’s clearly inheriting your affinity."

"And your recklessness," Elias muttered.

Uno’s eyes sparkled with amusement. "Children often do."

Elias stared at him. "No. She is like this because of you."

Uno blinked, serene. "Me?"

"Yes," Elias said, gesturing at Aria with a pencil he’d been using to calculate risk mitigation. "You created the world. You created the gods. You created him." He pointed at Victor. "You created his power." He pointed at Aria. "And now my daughter is rewriting the building’s electrical grid every time she laughs."

Victor nodded sagely. "It is adorable."

"It is dangerous," Elias corrected.

Uno tilted his head, unbothered. "I created the world," he said, lifting a gloved hand as though presenting a fragile truth. "But I did not create this."

He motioned gently toward the three of them, Elias seated behind the desk with a financial report, Victor immaculate in his tailored suit with two children clinging to him, Aria sparkling like a star about to ascend, and Otis drooling on Victor’s cufflink.

"I built the framework," Uno continued, "but life develops on its own. Power develops on its own. Choices shape outcomes, not blueprints."

Elias narrowed his eyes. "So you’re saying this..." he gestured broadly at Victor, at Aria’s ether bursts lighting up the carpet "It is not your fault."

Uno smiled. "Correct."

"Liar."