Chapter 4
Envy
The God of Envy likes three things, and only three things. Males, females, and fucking. The order or combination is irrelevant.
Ritualistic orgies. Experimental kinks. Unfiltered debauchery.
He’s done and seen it all. Or rather, Envy once thought he had until stumbling into uncharted, perverted, raunchy territory with a goddess wearing grim-reaper black, her hair and lips pigmented in a melancholy shade.
Envy has never liked gray. Putting it mildly, it’s the dullest, drabbest color in existence, the shade of illness and depression. Crying fits and funeral homes come to mind, among other unpleasantries.
Anyway, he hasn’t been able to explain himself since the goddess first became a sexual reality.
Sorrow may be one-fifth of the most elite crew in history, yet that hardly exonerates her gritty attitude, horrendous fashion choices, or repugnance for the pleasures of life.
Stars above, he’s never even seen the female enjoy a fucking glass of bubbly.
After every orgasm in his company, she would mope instead of luxuriating in the aftermath. To this day, Envy finds the notion offensive. There must be something wrong with her libido, because the remorse sure as shit isn’t his dick’s fault.
In any event, she’s Sorrow… Sorrow. Neither her origins as a goddess, nor her former status as his consort, excuse Envy for degrading himself with the likes of this female.
At some deranged point during millennia of mutual bullying, he tumbled off his high horse, and he’d fucking liked his high horse.
Fates forbid. He’d pounded his exquisite cock into her. Numerous times, in numerous ways, with numerous regrets.
Standing at the nexus of the boat, Envy grunts.
No one notices, which miffs him, but so be it.
There’s no reason to sulk. None whatsoever.
He might not have the adaptability of Andrew, but thankfully Envy lacks the short fuse of Anger and the volatility of Malice.
Scowl lines on a pretty face are a travesty.
A pair of shimmering bluffs rises on either side as the boat floats down a ravine.
Vegetation encrusts the edifices, trimming them in leafy shingles.
When the canal forks, Envy twists the pole and steers it down the southern passage, beyond which a third summit looms, its range knifing toward the constellations.
It’s refreshing to navigate these waters again. As a youth, and during his intermissions from the mortal realm, he spent his free time enjoying the rivers of this land, learning every secret route and shortcut.
One enclave in particular. To get there, he’d pilot a boat similar to this one, albeit slimmer and smaller.
Whereas Anger prefers the confined fluxes of mineral caves to alleviate his temperamental fits, Envy prefers even deeper recesses.
No, it’s not his passion. He simply appreciates the water, as he appreciates a fine suit, the wet and willing grip of a pussy, and the sight of a hot masculine jawline.
So long as the latter doesn’t belong to a face more handsome than his own.
He also enjoys living forever. The privilege has endless perks. For instance, the longer he’s alive, the more people get to luxuriate in his good looks, the more widespread admiration he receives, and the more sexual partners he gets to steal from their so-called soulmates.
Fine, then. He might like more than three things.
“Someone tell Narcissus we’d like to know where he’s taking us,” Sorrow baits.
“I’m impressed,” Envy drawls without glancing her way. “You lasted five minutes before seeking me out. That’s a celestial record. Only leave the rest of this crew out of your agenda. If they have a request from me, they can speak for themselves.”
From her end of the conveyance, Sorrow’s tongue lashes like a whip. “Okay asshole, let’s get one thing straight—”
“One thing, eh? Can you manage that number?”
“I’d rather hump a reptile than impress you.”
“Yet you’ve given thought to my mythical equivalent,” Envy goads. “Narcissus, was it? And now I’m appalled. That mortal concoction doesn’t hold a candle to me. Andrew can vouch for this fact.”
“Leave me the fuck out of this,” the human grunts from beside Love.
“Whatever,” Envy dismisses, flapping his hand. “At least compare Yours Truly to the weaving queen, Athena, for textile reasons.”
“Fictional or not, I make it a habit of never insulting a respectable goddess,” Sorrow fires back. “Especially not on your behalf. Not everyone is destined to perform at your beck and call. Furthermore—”
“Fuck’s sake,” Malice groans, head resting against the hull. “Anger, shut them up before I do.”
“Enough,” the rage god snaps with impatience. “You’ve made your points, however self-serving.”
“We’re deities.” Envy makes an inflated sound. “It’s in our nature to be self-serving.”
“Is it in your nature to conduct yourself like a three hundred year-old?” Wonder upbraids.
“Narcissus isn’t entirely a bad comparison,” Merry buffers, glancing between Envy and Sorrow with a hopeful—i.e. pointless—gleam in her eyes. “Only the most distinguished figures are compared to Greek myths. I’ve heard it’s a great compliment to bestow.”
“No, you haven’t,” Anger says with affection.
“No, I haven’t,” Merry confirms dolefully, sagging into him.
Love prunes her lips. “If anyone ever calls me Eros, I’ll skewer them.”
“You shouldn’t,” Andrew murmurs. “You’re subverting the myth with your badassery. Goddesses in those tales didn’t have much autonomy. They were tools to further the hero’s journey.”
“I’d rather be Love. Not someone else.”
A sexy grin slides across Andrew’s face. “I’ve got no problem with that either.”
“Please don’t start humping,” Sorrow begs. “We’re running for our lives. And anyway, I’m sitting right here. Moreover, it’s bad luck on this turf.”
Shortly following her birth, Merry was ostracized from The Dark Fates. She hasn’t returned until now and looks quite panicked. “You mean lovemaking is banned here?”
“She’s lying, dearest,” Wonder reassures her while nestling into Malice. “It’s a ruse to discourage public displays while in Sorrow’s company.”
“So the hell what? Why would we care if fucking in public was forbidden?” Malice asks. “What are they going to do? Banish us?” He taps his chin in mock thought. “Oh, wait. They’ve already done th—”
Wonder grabs Malice’s face and pries his lips open with her own, sucking the demon into a subterranean kiss that silences him. Tongues flex. Mouths rock. A low growl claws up the male’s throat as his goddess pulls away, elated by the glazed look on his face.
Adjusting the corsage around her wrist, Wonder pats the lavender tulle of Merry’s dress. “There, you see? Show all the devotion you want.”
Territorial Anger tugs Merry closer to him. “Gladly. Once we’re out of harm’s way.”
“Then you’ll be waiting a long time, mate,” Malice counters, his tone husky.
Andrew crooks an eyebrow. “Define ‘long’ in immortal terms.”
Everyone contemplates, returning to the matter at hand.
The original plan had been set into motion when they trespassed into The Dark Fates from the mortal realm.
Or actually, it had started earlier. In a handful of years, a shitstorm has transpired.
For this trio of couples—Love and Andrew, Anger and Merry, Wonder and Malice—it’s a complicated, interconnected story across the board.
But ultimately, they have each proven certain deities can feel love.
While their kind consider sentimentality a weakness, Envy’s peers beg to differ.
They would say love has strengthened them.
Their romances led to this crusade, the fight for a balance between fate and free will, an equality between deities and humanity.
They’ve been gathering allies in The Celestial City—the human metropolis where immortal outcasts live—in addition to the ones who revolted from The Dark Fates after being inspired by each star-crossed tale.
The plot had been to trespass into The Dark Fates and prepare for conflict. Despite having allies on standby in the mortal realm, ready to journey here upon the first call, this crew is low on numbers. Nevertheless, they’d chosen a location that offers an advantage in battle.
This, assuming Envy and Sorrow are too entitled to play their parts in this quest. Indeed. That’s the only condition Envy has opinions about. Recently, Wonder and Malice uncovered a means to defeat the opposition.
A legend. One with a fucked-up sense of humor.
If two deities choose love over lust, they’ll become a force of influence, along with those closest to them.
Because several prior legends played roles in uniting the other couples, this deluded crew has concluded Envy and Sorrow are the remaining match.
If they become something official to each other, it will be the final confirmation that all deities are capable of experiencing love.
Thus, their people will change. They will recognize they’re more like humans than any of them had assumed, that humans deserve a fairer balance of power.
Hence, the equilibrium between fate and free will.
Ugh. Kill him now.
If someone had replaced Envy’s wardrobe with rags, he would have been less offended. If he had woken up a week ago with his asshole sewn shut, he would have been less surprised. If he had been force-fed a wad of excrement, he’d have been less disgusted.
And yes, he’s being hyperbolic. It’s a habit he’s picked up from Merry.
In any case, this cursed legend is the last solution Envy had expected. Compared to achieving the impossible, he’d have an easier time digesting a gallon of poison. What do he and Sorrow have in common, other than genital compatibility?
That argument is enough. However, his ribs clench. Indeed, there is one other pivotal reason nothing can happen between them. A bit of wisdom the goddess doesn’t know about, even though she has every right to.