From the Ashes |18+| ✔️

48: Dimwitted

Jessaphina

Pressing against my stomach has me questioning with confusion. The lack of blood or pain amplifies the perplexity. Pulling at the fabric cladding my torso only escalates the incomprehension until I hear his hideous laugh.

"Relax, little one," his irritating voice echoes with humour. "You might think I've gone mad, and honestly," he laughs that high-pitched hyena sound, "I might have. But I'm far from stupid." My eyes float up to meet his before travelling around the pristine white setting. No walls, ceiling, or floor seem to be absent as I focus on where we are. "A holding cell," Porteous answers as I cautiously take a step.

"A cell?" I query, trying to gather my bearings. Moments ago, I watched the chaos unfold, cloaked in invisibility, thanks to Porteous. Standing muted in the middle of pandemonium as I stared, hindered by a spell, while many suffer before they met their death - all the while, the pompous ass laughed. "You likely killed your son," I whisper, forcing my eyes on him. "Or was that an illusion too?"

"Nah, that was real," he smirks while picking at the nail beds of his fingers. He shrugs one shoulder like it's no big deal before continuing. "He couldn't die otherwise. You know this," he huffs with irritation. "A God can only kill a God... blah, blah, blah," he fluffs his hand like he's bored. "Besides, he's a demigod and has no real competition. I was only being fair, Jessaphina."

My mouth is agape as I shake my head in horror. "Fair? Fair would have never been starting this fucking war, to begin with. Fair would have never invented a clone army of shifters, let alone weaponized hybrids with Celestial steel fangs and claws. What the fuck, Porteous?"

Anger gets the best of me as I raise my hand, hoping to inflict an ounce of pain on the immoral excuse of a God. His outburst of laughter infuriates me further as nothing is happening.

"For such a powerful little thing, you can be so naïve and dimwitted." Squinting his eyes, he casts them around before smiling that fucking irritating grin I despise. "Our abilities have been suspended. Hence, the holding cell," he spreads his arms wide open and spins without a care in the world.

How is he so calm and collected? He purposely, single-handedly started a war. He manipulated unsuspecting shifters and humans for a century—fail to mention the Fates, as well. How can he think he will survive the needless mass destruction he has caused and imposed?

"He won't." The words come firm and clear, directly behind me as I turn. The breath leaves my lungs in a gust.

What the fuck?

"Welcome home, Jessaphina," Honorable Gaea coins. Poised on her throne, flanked by the other six Fates', her smile is present, but just barely. Her eyes drift to the left as I follow. Porteous stands in a circular platform similar to mine. Wrist cast in shiny Celestial steel... a universal metal not even the strongest of deities could break unless that is their given power. I look down at my bare wrists and smirk. There is no sense in holding me with the metal I can forge and break like paper. "I'll remind you that your arrogance is not welcome here. We are all listening, Jessaphina," Gaea burns out as my eyes lower, conspicuously darting around the same room I was in only days ago, it would seem.

Mind you, that was probably an illusion. Nonetheless, here I stand with all eyes on us as the entire Heavens bear witness to the immensity of all the shit that went down that is presently going down on Earth.

"Your Honour," Porteous smirks, raising his hands, causing his chains to rattle and clink. "Don't you think these are a little much? I mean, you've suspended my powers—"

"The only way you would know that is if you've tried to use them here in the Heavens. Which, as you know, is forbidden unless you are granted permission for training purposes," she reminds with a slight cock of her chin. "You will wear the restraints until we feel it is necessary to remove them," she ends with little emotion. Lowering his hands, he grasps the baluster exposing white knuckles. He's pissed. I can sense it from ten feet away.