Chapter 26 Anything #2
“Oblivion…” I breathed against him, half in protest, half in shock, my voice barely audible over the cascading destruction.
“Easy now, I have you,” he answered calmly, tightening his hold when my shoulders jerked at the next explosive crack.
His hand did not waver from my ear, his palm firm and protective, shielding me from the worst of the sound.
While the other arm anchored me so completely that I could not have stepped away even if I tried.
The floor trembled again as something larger fell, the deep, resonant crash of a full figure collapsing into ruin, no doubt.
I felt the impact through the soles of my shoes, through his chest, through the space between us.
To where my heart pounded unevenly against the steady rhythm of his own.
There was no strain in him. No visible effort.
As if the destruction hadn’t come with gritted teeth or a snarl of temper.
It was as simple as a choice, and I was left in utter shock against him.
But then another statue split apart, stealing my thoughts.
The air thickened faintly with the dry scent of fractured marble, a fine grit settling into the quiet spaces between crashes.
My mind tried to grasp the scale of what he was doing, to count them, to understand whether he meant the destruction of only those closest to us.
But the sound continued further down the hall than I had realized the line extended.
He was not stopping at the nearest threat.
He was removing the possibility entirely.
I shook my head faintly against him, not in fear, this time, but in disbelief.
“You didn’t have to…”
The next impact swallowed the rest of my words, and his hand at the back of my head tightened fractionally, pressing me more securely into his chest as though shielding me from my own protest.
The final crash came heavier than the others. A rolling collapse that seemed to travel the length of the corridor before the echo dissolved into a settling hush. Stone scraped across stone in a slow, grinding shift as fragments came to rest. The scent of dust clung to the air, tickling my nostrils.
Then there was nothing.
No echo. No movement. No silent line of pale watchers.
Only the faint sound of my own breathing, still uneven against the steady rise and fall of his chest. His hand slid slowly from my ear to the back of my neck, fingers resting there in a warm, grounding hold.
The other remained firm around my waist for a moment longer, as though confirming the world had finished shaking before allowing me space.
“It is done,” he said quietly, and there was no arrogant triumph in it, no theatrical edge, only a calm and unwavering certainty.
For a heartbeat, I didn’t move. I didn’t trust that the silence would hold.
But when nothing followed, when no second wave of sound cracked through the hall, I drew in a cautious breath and lifted my face slightly from his chest.
He eased his hand from my neck but didn’t step away. He made no move to give me space, instead his arm continued to hold me steady as I slowly opened my eyes.
The hall beyond us was unrecognizable.
Where elegant figures had once stood in composed stillness, there was now only ruin.
Marble torsos split cleanly through the spine.
Limbs shattered into jagged arcs across the polished floor.
Faces broken through the eyes, through the mouth, through the serene expressions that had unsettled me minutes before.
The destruction extended far beyond the nearest few but down the length of the entire corridor.
Even in the alcoves where smaller statues once lay were now reduced to fractured stone and pale dust.
All of them.
My breath left me slowly, disbelief eclipsing the remnants of panic as I took in so much more destruction than I could have imagined.
“What… what did you do?”
He followed my gaze with a brief, assessing glance before returning his attention to me. There was no regret in his expression, no hesitation, only the steady resolve of someone who would make the same choice again.
“What was necessary,” he replied evenly.
“You didn’t have to destroy all of them,” I said, my voice quieter now, less frantic and more stunned as the scale of it fully sank in. His jaw flexed once, and it was the kind of movement that spoke of resolve rather than rage.
“I will not have you uncomfortable in my home,” he stated firmly, and there was a steel beneath the calm that left no room for argument.
“Not for decor, nor any other meaningless indulgence… not for anything.” The authority in his tone wasn’t for show but something deeply personal.
Before I could process that fully, he bent and lifted me in one fluid motion, one arm sliding beneath my knees while the other secured my back. The sudden shift in height stole the rest of my breath, my hands instinctively bracing against his shoulders as the floor dropped away.
“Wrap your arms around my neck,” he instructed firmly, as though there was no room for hesitation.
Still dazed, I obeyed, my fingers threading into the fabric at his collar. He adjusted his hold slightly to ensure my weight was balanced before stepping forward into the rubble without hesitation.
“If you don’t wish to see the remains, avert your eyes now,” he added as he began to move, and I tried not to look, I really did.
But despite the warmth of his chest beneath my cheek and the steadiness of his stride, my gaze flickered over his shoulder.
The marble had not merely fallen. It had been obliterated.
Smaller fragments crunched faintly under his shoes, the sound of stone shifting aside as though even the debris yielded to his passage.
Dust lingered in faint shafts of chandelier light, turning the air pale and hazy in places where statues had once stood immaculate.
It was as if he hadn’t just made a path, but more like he had cleared a history. My arms tightened slightly around his neck as the weight of that knowledge settled over me. He carried me as though I weighed nothing at all, his steps unhurried, the strength in him undeniable and unstrained.
“Why?” I asked quietly, my voice no longer shaking, though the uncertainty still clung to it.
He didn’t answer straight away, instead, his hold on me shifted.
Tightening almost imperceptibly as he stepped over a fractured slab of stone.
Now drawing me closer against his chest as though the world itself were something he needed to shield me from.
One of his hands spread more securely along my back, his thumb moving in a slow, absent stroke between my shoulder blades, soothing me.
“There will not be a single thing in my home that makes you afraid or uncomfortable,” he said at last, his velvet voice close enough that I felt the vibration of it beneath my cheek where it rested against him. His thumb traced once more along my spine before he continued,
“Not if I can remove it.”
The weight of what he had done pressed in again as my eyes scanned the destruction once more.
“But I could have just closed my eyes, so why…?”
He shook his head, cutting me off by reminding me,
“Because you asked me if there was another way.”
The simplicity of his answer struck harder than any grand declaration could have, but he wasn’t finished.
“And I would do anything you asked of me,” he continued, his voice softening into something both intimate and unyielding.
My heart stuttered at that.
Anything.
That single word clung to me until I let it out in the form of a question.
“Then you’ll let me go,” I said before I could stop myself.
The reckless words fell between us like a heavy weight crashing to the floor. And for the briefest moment, something dark and dangerous flashed in his eyes. Something not born from anger or surprise. But more like…
A warning.
His thumb traced once more along my spine in a gentle sweep, as though I had asked for something trivial instead of the one thing he would never surrender. I knew that when he replied with a simple, yet soft,
“No.” As if this were final.
His gaze held mine as he spoke again, and though his touch remained tender, there was nothing uncertain in him now, telling me he had limits to what he would grant me.
“I would do anything you asked of me,” he repeated quietly.
“Anything…”
“…but letting you go.”