Mother of Midnight

Chapter 246 – F***ing Gods

“You’ve been having lots of fun down there. I’m almost jealous.”

Vivienne’s claws twitched. Fun? Her daughter had been tortured. Her people hunted. Her love turned into a half-feral shell of herself.

But snarling at a goddess—even her goddess—would do nothing but amuse the creature seated across from her. Maybe that was why Akhenna said such things. To provoke. To observe.

So instead, Vivienne curled her lip and forced out, “It has been… busy.”

“Yesss it has,” Akhenna purred, stretching the word as if tasting it. “That lovely battle at the city gates. That whole ‘captured and experimented on’ ordeal. Then your daring escape… oh, and let’s not forget: Yenhr finally decided to appoint a champion with some actual initiative. And Praxus, ooooh, Praxus—breaking the Accord by unleashing that abomination.”

“The angel?” Vivienne asked, gaze narrowing.

Akhenna grinned wide—too wide. Her mouth unfolded like a blooming predator, full of needle-thin teeth and shadow. It was eerily familiar.

Too familiar.

Vivienne’s stomach gave a strange little twist. That grin looked like hers.

“The angel,” Akhenna confirmed, voice silky. “A Concept from your world, yes? Though… not usually so… mechanized.”

“No,” said Vivienne, “not a fusion of flesh and machine. Not normally. They're usually just magic and zealotry.”

“Fascinating. Fascinating.” Akhenna’s fingers fluttered with delight, her many-jointed arms bending at unnatural angles. “So—” she leaned in, eyes shimmering with prismatic light, “—why have you called upon me?”

Vivienne folded her arms, tail swishing slowly across the not-floor beneath her. “You already know, don’t you?”

Akhenna tilted her head, then casually lifted two fingers to her temple and flicked them outward. Her head cracked sharply to the side, and for a moment, wisps of aether curled out the other side like evaporating fog. Her smile sharpened.

“Not anymore.”

Vivienne blinked. “You removed the knowledge?”

“Temporarily. It’s so much more fun that way.”

Vivienne exhaled slowly. Gods weren’t omnipotent or omniscient, that much she knew. But Akhenna was something else—she chose to not know. Because she enjoyed the story more that way.

She rubbed the bridge of her nose with clawed fingers. “Fine. I’ll ask the damn question. Can I trust Lyridia?”

Akhenna hummed like she was savoring a wine, long and low. “Mmm. Straight into the meat of it. No flirting? No teasing? No games?”

“I’m not in the mood for small talk.”

The goddess pouted. “Shame. I liked you better when you were more playful. But fine.” Her eyes narrowed with uncharacteristic seriousness. “Yes. You can probably trust her.”

Vivienne’s glare returned. “Probably?”

Akhenna raised a clawed finger. “Unless certain… factors were to change, you can. But said factors—” she wagged her finger—“are not going to change. So the likelihood of her betraying you is almost nil.”

Vivienne didn’t relax. “I want specifics.”

“And I want to watch the world tumble into story-ash and be rebuilt in blood and glass, but we don’t always get what we want, do we?” Akhenna bared her teeth again. “Let me summarize: Lyridia isn’t here to hurt you. She isn’t trying to control you. She’s curious. She wants to be part of the story, not its author. That’s rare, for one of us. More so for her. Lyridia prefers to record, not participate.”

Vivienne studied her goddess a moment longer, then finally asked, quieter now, “And if she does betray me?”

Akhenna leaned back, her clawed fingers folding neatly in her lap like she was preparing for a bedtime story. “Then eat her.”

Vivienne narrowed her eyes. “But she is a god.”

“And you are you.”

“That doesn’t explain anything,” Vivienne growled. Talking to Akhenna was like trying to wrestle a shadow—it slipped through her grip no matter how tight she held.

Akhenna smiled with too many teeth. “Let me put it another way: Since you were dropped into this lovely little world, you’ve been feeding near constantly, haven’t you? Aetherbeasts. Soldiers. Even champions. You faced down a titan made of your opposite aether. Most of the pantheon wouldn’t dare to try that. Sure, you lost—badly, I might add—but you held out far longer than any rational being should have.”

Vivienne’s tail flicked behind her, slow and coiled with tension. “And what does that make me? Some glutton with a death wish?”

Akhenna waved a dismissive hand. “No, darling. That makes you evolution. You are still becoming. The truth is, Lyridia may be more powerful than you today, but she already gave you a clue.” A wine glass manifested in Akhenna’s hand, filled with a chunky, fizzing concoction that might have been cottage cheese and cola. She sipped it like it was fine vintage. “She flinched. From you.”

Vivienne’s lip curled. “She’s a mortal god.”

“And you’re a mortal nightmare,” said Akhenna sweetly, eyes glinting with amusement. “She’s right to be scared. Gods don’t flinch from things they believe beneath them. She knows something you don’t, or at least suspects it. The divine can feel it in their bones when something threatens the weave of the world.”

“Then she knows what I am.”

“She has ideas. Guesses. Like I did. But I knew enough to take the gamble.” Akhenna leaned forward. “That’s the difference.”

Vivienne stared at her. “If you’re so proud of me, why not just tell me what I am?”

Akhenna clinked her glass against nothing. “Because you haven’t earned that part of the story yet.”

Vivienne’s voice turned to venom. “So I’m just a character to you?”

“Oh, no. Not just a character! You’re my favorite character.” Akhenna beamed, kicking her feet up onto a constantly-morphing ottoman. “I’m only indulging you this much because you’ve done so well! I mean—Praxus! The stick-in-the-mud! Breaking the Accord! That is storytelling! That is tension! Mmm, delightful.”

She cackled, full and wild, her form flickering momentarily with every color of the aether spectrum.

“Magnificent. So you get your little exposition dump,” she said with a wink. “Consider it a treat.”

Vivienne folded her arms, her voice flat. “I don’t like being manipulated.”

“Of course you don’t. But you love knowing you were strong enough to survive it.”

That held more truth than Vivienne would openly admit, even to herself.

It wasn’t the manipulation that got under her skin. Not really. It was that she’d endured it. Learned from it. Bent, reshaped, and moved on. Like iron through fire.

She might’ve snarled and hissed, but the truth was—she was proud. A little.

Akhenna’s voice drifted in again, casual and coy. “Want a drink while we’re here?”

Vivienne groaned, long and low. “I suppose. Yes. Could I have an orange soft drink float?”

It was an odd request, maybe. She was never a big soft drink person back in her first life. But the taste had lingered—sweet, fizzy, frivolous. A relic from her human days. A taste of simpler times. Not necessarily better, but simpler.

Akhenna smiled and snapped her fingers. A small café table bloomed into existence beside Vivienne, its legs twisting up from the formless ground like the limbs of a plant. Then the glass formed—tall, frosted, etched with tiny geometric sigils. Orange liquid hissed up from the bottom, fizzing softly as it climbed a third of the way. Then, a creamy curl of vanilla ice cream dropped into the top, slowly settling with a satisfying bloop.

A straw plummeted from above, landing with a gentle tink against the rim of the glass.

Vivienne gave a curt nod, murmuring, “Thanks,” and took a sip.

The flavor bloomed across her tongue like memory—bright and sweet, airy and cold, artificial and perfect.

It tasted like nostalgia.

Akhenna watched her with a wide grin, her many-toothed smile nearly splitting her face. “So! For that little problem you got through—and, let’s not forget, thoroughly succeeding in your ongoing quest to be a thorn in Praxus’s prickly backside—I’m giving you a reward!”

She clapped her hands, and the air rang like glass.

Vivienne eyed her warily over the straw.

“Go on,” Akhenna continued, gesturing grandly. “Name it. I’ll grant anything.”

Vivienne’s eyes narrowed.

“Except for many things,” the goddess added breezily. “Let’s not get greedy now. Can’t take all the fun out of the game.”

Vivienne took another long sip and let the chill linger on her tongue.

“So I get… a wish.”

“A reward,” corrected Akhenna, twirling a floating spoon between her fingers. “Not quite omnipotent wish-granting, but let’s call it a powerful nudge. Something you want. Need. Desire. Or don’t even know you desire yet. I’m feeling generous.”

Vivienne exhaled slowly, black tongue flicking against her lip. The float had already soothed something in her chest she didn’t know needed soothing.

She leaned back, lounging more fully into the strange, morphing seat beneath her. Her eyes gleamed.

Vivienne took another sip of her float, the straw rattling softly against the ice cream.

“I’ve made my choice,” she said at last. “I want the means to kill a god.”

Akhenna grinned — that wide, unsettling grin that stretched too far, showing too many teeth for any normal mouth. “Granted.”

Vivienne waited.

Waited a little longer.

Frowned.

“…I don’t feel any different.”

“You wouldn’t.” Akhenna’s grin only grew. “Because you were already capable.”

Vivienne blinked. “What?”

“You ate a god’s champion, Vivienne. You digested divine spark like it was dessert. You’ve killed mortals, immortals, exomancers and warriors. You’ve bent creatures to your will with nothing but your voice. And you still think you need permission?”

Vivienne was silent for a long time. Then, slowly, her black tongue curled out over her lips.

“Typical,” Vivienne muttered, leaning back in her seat. “A wish wasted.”

Akhenna giggled behind her absurd drink, slurping the cottage cheese cola with a revolting amount of joy. “You have to admit,” she said between sips, “that’s pretty funny.”

“It’s frustrating.”

“Exactly.” She beamed. “That’s what makes it funny.”

Vivienne exhaled sharply through her nose. Not quite a laugh. Not quite not.

“Can you at least confirm if I’m pregnant?”

Akhenna tilted her head, a glint of mischief already dancing in her too-wide eyes. “Oh, I could! Yes, absolutely. I could reach into the strands of your narrative, pluck out the truth like a thread, and tell you what’s writhing around in that lovely, bloated belly of yours.”

Vivienne gave her a flat look. “Would you?”

The goddess tapped her chin with a single claw, expression turning theatrically contemplative. “Hmm. Should I? Shouldn’t I? Is this a spoiler? Or a teaser? Will it ruin the surprise? Should I let the audience wonder? Should I—oh, fine, fine. You’re no fun.”

She leaned forward, eyes briefly shimmering with glimmering strands of aether. “Yes. You are.”

Vivienne blinked. “That’s it?”

“Oh, don’t look so disappointed.” Akhenna cackled, swirling her grotesque drink. “Yes. You’re pregnant. You’ve been getting busy, haven’t you?” She wagged a finger playfully. “All those nights curled up with your big bad wolf, grinding those hips, heavy with hunger and—”

“Akhenna.”

“Right, right,” the goddess said, utterly unrepentant. “But yes. You are. And from what I can see? This one’s going to be… special.”

Vivienne frowned. “In what way?”

Akhenna just smiled — that same coy, infuriating smile. “Now that would be telling.”

“Of course it would,” Vivienne muttered, dry as dust.

Akhenna lifted her glass in mock salute. “You know, other gods wouldn’t suffer this much impudence.”

“If you wanted me to fear you,” Vivienne said, slowly sitting forward, “you wouldn’t have put me in a body that struggles to feel fear.”

That made the goddess laugh. Not a gentle laugh. Something deeper, richer, like the crackle of fire devouring something sacred. “Good. Keep that attitude. You’ll need it.”

Vivienne narrowed her eyes. “So is that all, or are you planning to throw another riddle at me before you cast me out?”

Akhenna just grinned wider — that maddening, carnivorous grin. “No riddles this time. Just a little parting mercy, as thanks for entertaining me.”

Vivienne tensed, just slightly. “What kind of mercy?”

Akhenna’s voice dropped to a honeyed whisper. “Expect that child in two weeks.”

Vivienne’s brow furrowed. “Pardon—?”

But she was already gone.

No flash of light. No sudden rush. Just a blink — and she was back in her own room, sprawled unceremoniously across her bed, the scent of Serkoth’s cold stone walls around her once more.

Her stomach felt heavy.

Alive.

She stared at the ceiling, heart hammering, expression unreadable.

“…Two weeks?” she murmured.

Her clawed hand instinctively came to rest over her belly. It was still. Quiet. But no longer uncertain.

Akhenna didn’t lie.

She cursed under her breath and dragged a pillow over her face.

“Fucking gods.”