> "You can't kill a god with a sword. You kill a god by making them beg."
---
The moon split at midnight.
Not in the sky—but in the reflection cast on Lyra's tower.
The black eclipse hovered like a wound above the spire, pulsing with silent malice. Even the stars looked away.
Dominic stood at the base of the ancient war table, shirtless, runes glowing across his chest.
Beside him, Lyra wore nothing but shadow silk, her feet bare, her fingers bleeding from the wards she had written into the very bones of the tower.
They didn't speak.
They didn't need to.
They felt it.
The Obsidian Tribunal was here.
---
It started with silence.
Then the world cracked.
A tremor.
No—an invasion.
Twelve divine executioners appeared in a ring around the tower, each cloaked in flame and judgment, their faces hidden behind masks of divine law.
They didn't shout demands.
They didn't issue ultimatums.
They marched.
Straight for the gates.
Lyra narrowed her eyes. "Let's greet our guests."
Dominic unsheathed the blade forged in the Hollow Prince's breath. "Should I bow?"
Lyra smiled. "No. Make them."
---
The first god fell without a scream.
Lyra didn't touch him—she undid him.
With a single whispered command, the threads of his celestial flesh unraveled like silk, drifting into the air in glowing strips before disintegrating into stardust.
The Tribunal hesitated.
That was their mistake.
Dominic surged forward, his shadow-steel blade splitting a second executioner in half, not down the middle—but from the soul outward.
The two halves screamed as they died, begging a god that no longer answered.
---
The tower itself fought.
Every stone that Lyra had bled upon now rose up in defense, hurling obsidian shards like knives made from the bones of dead angels.
Flame clashed with void.
Wards pulsed.
Screams echoed.
And in the middle of it all, Lyra and Dominic danced.
Not clumsily. Not recklessly.
But in rhythm.
His sword met her curse.
Her scream matched his roar.
Every time one reached out, the other was already there—covering, striking, loving.
Because that's what this was.
Not just war.
It was intimacy.
---
"Behind you!" Lyra shouted, but Dominic had already spun, plunging his blade through a Tribunal priest's ribs before hurling the body over the parapet.
She landed beside him with a kiss.
No words. Just a promise.
I've got you.
He kissed her back with blood on his lips and fire in his eyes.
And I'll kill gods for you.
---
The Tribunal didn't retreat.
They brought in their judge.
A being taller than the tower itself, its face a shifting void of every soul it had ever sentenced.
It raised one hand.
The sky shattered.
But Lyra didn't flinch.
She walked forward, barefoot, power radiating off her in waves.
The judge spoke in a thousand voices. "You. Will. Kneel."
Lyra lifted her hand.
And dropped her robe.
Her bare skin glowed, runes carved across her breasts, hips, and thighs—sigils of dominion, forged in sex and sealed in blood.
Dominic stepped behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, pressing his lips to her neck.
"She only kneels," he whispered, "when she's on top."
---
The runes ignited.
The judge screamed.
And the sky burned.
---
Lyra raised her hands, her voice a siren's scream. "I am the curse that taught gods to beg!"
Dominic lifted his sword, his shadow fire roaring. "And I am the man who made love to that curse until she became a queen."
Together, they unleashed everything.
The tower erupted in black flame.
Shadows clawed at the heavens.
Blood rained upward.
And one by one, the Tribunal fell—not by force alone.
But by seduction.
By fear.
By love so violent it shattered divinity.
---
When the battle ended, only ash remained.
Twelve thrones—empty.
One judge—gone.
The sky—still black.
But the world… changed.
Because now it knew:
The cursed girl and her dark god were no longer hiding.
They were claiming.
---
Back in the tower, Lyra collapsed into Dominic's arms.
He was still bloody.
She was still glowing.
He kissed her hard, lifting her onto the war table, laying her down among the sigils of conquest.
"I need to mark you again," he whispered.
"I'm already yours," she gasped.
He pushed inside her.
"That's not the point."
---
Their sex this time wasn't about strategy.
It was raw.
Rough.
A celebration of defiance.
He bit her.
She scratched him.
They cried out in languages older than time.
And when she came, she screamed his name so loudly that the mountain beneath the tower cracked.
He followed with a roar, slamming into her, shaking the air itself.
Then silence.
Sacred.
Satisfied.
Sinful.
---
They lay there for a while, bodies tangled, the war table still smoking beneath them.
"I think we're getting better at this," Dominic murmured.
Lyra chuckled, breathless. "At killing gods or f***ing on altars?"
"Both."
She kissed his chest. "Good. Because it's not over."
---
As they dressed, a raven landed on the windowsill.
Not just any raven.
Its eyes glowed silver.
Its feathers shimmered with moonlight.
It dropped a scroll and flew off.
Lyra caught it midair.
Dominic leaned in. "Another death threat?"
She opened it.
Read it.
Paused.
"Worse."
"What is it?"
She looked up, expression unreadable.
"My mother wants to meet you."