Chaos’s Daughter: Sweet But Psycho

"Now that’s out of the way…”

Hespera rolled her shoulders with a satisfied sigh, stretching her wings wide, blocking out the shattered remains of the Olympian sky.

Her eyes flicked toward a particular lounge chair, where Kuroka lay like a queen on her personal throne, tails lazily flicking back and forth in perfect feline rhythm.

Nestled at her feet, heads bowed, Artemis, Apollo, and Dionysus sat on their knees like discarded puppets—eyes glazed, mouths slightly open, drool hanging in strings from their slack jaws.

The entire room turned to stare.

Kuroka, sensing the attention, arched her back with a long stretch, claws flexing lazily in the velvet cushion.

"Mou~ You spoil me too much, my mate," she purred, fangs flashing in a wicked grin. "But of course~"

She snapped her fingers with a soft pop of dispelling magic.

Artemis gasped as if surfacing from deep water, clutching at her throat. Apollo sputtered, blinking wildly. Dionysus—

…actually stayed drooling for another two seconds before blinking in confusion.

All three jerked upright, scrambling to their feet, horrified.

"Wh-What did you—" Artemis started, fury building.

But Kuroka waved her hand lazily, interrupting with a bored drawl.

"Relax, I didn’t touch ya. I just… borrowed your senses for a bit. You know, to keep you from ruining my mate’s moment."

Apollo looked mortified.

Dionysus looked like he wanted to die.

Artemis…"You used me as a footrest…!"

Kuroka stretched again, completely unapologetic. "And you were very comfy, mou~."

The Hesperides all burst out laughing, Khrysothemis actually clutching her side as she leaned on Aigle for balance.

Hespera chuckled darkly, stepping toward them with slow, deliberate steps.

"Now, little schemers… tell me," she purred, "how does it feel knowing you failed before you even started?"

Artemis bared her teeth.

Apollo rubbed his temple, defeated.

Dionysus… looked like he might cry.

Hespera gave them that slow, knowing grin—the one that made demigods quake and kings question their worth.

She leaned toward Kuroka, voice soft as silk:

"Keep playing, kitten. I’ll take over when you get bored."

Kuroka’s eyes lit up, her twin tails flicking eagerly.

"Mou~ You’re the best mate ever, nyaa~" she purred, hopping off the lounge chair with the kind of bounce that promised violence disguised as affection.

Artemis backed up, fists clenching.

"Don’t you dare—"

But Kuroka was already in front of her, faster than a blink, grabbing the huntress by the chin with just two fingers, tilting her face side to side like she was inspecting fruit at a market.

"Tch, still full of pride, this one. Might have to break her in properly."

With a snap of her wrist, a thin shimmer of chaos-forged silk chains appeared, binding Artemis's wrists behind her back in an instant.

Apollo lunged to intervene—

Too slow.

Kuroka slammed him to the ground with one foot on his back, tail curling around his throat, cutting off his breath just enough to make him go pale.

Dionysus?

Poor Dionysus tried to sneak away toward the back.

Kuroka pointed a finger without even looking—

and the wine god froze, his own grapevine crown suddenly tightening like a leash, dragging him back onto his knees.

The Hesperides roared with laughter,,Erytheia literally rolling onto the floor, clapping.

Kuroka purred louder, circling her three new toys like they were personal entertainment.

She whispered something into Artemis’s ear that made the moon goddess’s face flush deep crimson, struggling even harder against the chains.

Minutes ticked by with mockery, taunting, and Kuroka basking in her victory—

Until she finally looked over her shoulder, letting out a soft, disappointed sigh.

"Mou… getting bored now, nyaa~."

She stepped aside with a playful bow, waving her mate forward like presenting a gift.

Hespera exhaled long and slow, stretching her fingers.

"About damn time."

She raised one hand.

And the air collapsed around the three schemers like reality itself was compressing.

They all froze in place, locked not by chains but by the sheer domination of Nihility itself. Their knees buckled without choice, crushed by the weight of Hespera's will.

She knelt down in front of them, tilting her head.

"I could erase you. Truly and completely."

Her voice dropped to a whisper that gnawed at their sanity.

"But you’re far more useful humiliated than gone."

She raised two fingers, marking their foreheads with a burning rune only she could see—a symbol of absolute submission.

Not mind control.

Not slavery.

Debt.

A reminder that their lives now belonged to her.

"You’ll behave now, won’t you?"

Dionysus nodded frantically.

Apollo swallowed hard, lowering his head.

Artemis… trembled, but nodded once, hatred smoldering in her glare, but defeated.

Hespera stood and turned back to her Court.

"Good. Now let’s finish what we started."

The throne room, still reeling from divine judgment, fell silent once more as Hespera stood tall at the center of the ruined dais. Her twelve magenta-and-black wings expanded, shimmering like dusk made manifest—until they split again into twenty-four radiant feathers of divine and abyssal light.

She gazed across the assembled gods—old power made quiet by newer, louder, inevitable power.

The air was heavy. The atmosphere? Tense. Sacred. Trembling.

And then—

She raised her hand.

A single snap of her fingers echoed like a gunshot through the heavens.

A pulsing sigil formed above her palm, shaped like a shifting crown of paradoxical flame and runes—

a seal of Chaos-born sovereignty.

“Olympus has fallen,” she said simply.

“And I’m building something better from the ash.”

Gasps rippled through the room. A few of the remaining Olympians who hadn’t knelt—including minor deities, demigods, and messengers—shifted nervously, some considering escape.

None dared move.

“You’ve ruled through fear, pride, and favoritism for eons,” she continued, voice clear and cold. “Let’s try something new. Let’s try… functional divinity.”

She smiled. “Radical, I know.”

She turned toward the thrones—the great seats of power that had loomed over the world’s fate for millennia.

She snapped again.

And they shattered.

Each marble throne crumbled, not violently, but elegantly—like old myths gracefully bowing out of a story they no longer owned.

In their place, nine new thrones rose—less grand, more grounded. Each shaped from reclaimed divine power, stabilized by Chaos, Void, and Elemental Flame.

They weren’t thrones of rulers. They were thrones of function.

Hestia took the Throne of Foundation, pulsing warmly, anchoring the divine order with the flame of unity.

Persephone seated herself upon the Throne of Renewal, balancing death and life, spring and rot.

Hades, with the calm of the truly ancient, claimed the Throne of Judgment, shadows coiling at his feet like loyal dogs.

Demeter took the Throne of Balance, vines spiraling around its arms.

Hermes, ever the breeze between borders, sat upon the Throne of Motion, a symbol of communication, diplomacy, and transition.

Athena, stern and pensive, accepted the Throne of Insight—her mind still a fortress, but now open to growth.

Astraea, luminous, took the Throne of Justice, her blade sheathed beside her.

Eirene, silent and tranquil, claimed the Throne of Harmony, her aura instantly easing the room.

Hephaestus settled into the Throne of Creation, a forge-heart pulsing beneath the seat.

And then—

Hespera turned to the last throne.

The one without a name. The Throne of Chaos.

She approached it slowly, then stopped just before it.

“My seat will stay empty,” she said aloud, voice low. “Consider this seat a reminder and a warning that if ever I have to sit here... chaos and destruction will be the only outcome."

The words rang like iron through the trembling silence. Not a threat. Not a promise. A fact.

Hespera stood in front of the empty Throne of Chaos, its swirling crown of paradoxical flame spinning slowly above it—silent, watchful, waiting.

She turned to face the gathered gods, her wings folding behind her like a mantle woven from the end of days.

Her voice dropped to a cold whisper, yet it carried with unnatural clarity to every ear in Olympus.

“Do not… make me come back here… to clean up your messes.”

Her eyes narrowed, glowing with that unholy blend of Chaos and Nihility.

“Because next time… I won’t be so nice.”

The air fractured under her words.

Her wings flared once more, filling the sky with a ripple of dimensional static, then snapped shut like a judge slamming down a gavel.

With a casual flick of her wrist, the Chaos sigil above the throne sealed itself, locking the seat in stasis—untouchable, unclaimable by any other hand.

The new Olympus stood reborn. Not as a kingdom of pride. But as a court of consequence.

Hespera turned her back on the throne without hesitation.

And without looking back, she spoke one final time:

“Good luck~”

Hespera didn’t linger.

The court behind her remained locked in stunned silence as she turned from the empty Throne of Chaos, her boots clicking softly on the gleaming marble—each step a reminder that she was finished with politics, and now it was time for action.

She walked with purpose, navigating through long-forgotten corridors of cloudstone and starlight, her destination not found on any map of Olympus.

Not anymore.

But she remembered.

Because she had been there once—before. Before the heavens turned on her. Before her seal. Before even Olympus was crowned.

That time with her was one of few memories she still cherished back then.

She reached a wall of mist, veined with golden script in ancient dialects, pulsing faintly like the heartbeat of a sealed creature.

With a whisper of Nihility, she raised her hand. The mist hissed—then parted.

Beyond lay a long obsidian stairwell, descending deep into the bones of Olympus, where even gods feared to tread.

The Treasury.

Not the hoarded wealth that sat in golden urns above. This was where the real treasures were kept. The forbidden, the divine, the primordial.

She descended without fear.

And at the base of the stairs—

The guardian stirred.

Claws the size of tree trunks scraped the stone. Eyes like twin eclipses opened in the dark. Scales shimmered like a million living mirrors, constantly shifting color.

The creature was known only by title:

“The Vault Warden. Look what they have done to you my darling... Eris.”

A Chimera of Origin, crafted from the bones of fallen titans and the breath of the first storm.

It stepped forward, snarling—more out of ritual than malice.

Until it saw her.

Its hackles lowered. Its breath misted the air. One massive head—draconic—tilted.

It remembered her.

Hespera smiled.

“I’m here to collect. And to say goodbye. I have revenged you today. Just like I promised back then.”

With a low growl of ancient recognition, the Vault Warden moved aside, revealing the entrance to the Treasury of the Forgotten Pantheon.

Inside, relics and materials that no longer existed in the mortal world floated weightless—caged in time, sealed in myth.

She stepped in, her eyes scanning quickly.

Starblight Resin.

Titanbone Dust.

A drop of Ichor from the First Flame.

And the Seed of Ourea—rooted in silence.

All of them…for the World Tree.

She gathered them, one by one, storing them within her dimensional ring that pulsed with chaotic energy—each item recognizing her authority.

Then, she turned toward the back.

Her next stop… was the Vatican.

Because she’d need a relic only they kept sealed:

The Blood of the Crucified One.

Not for war. Not for vengeance. But to heal the roots of Yggdrasil.

And maybe… to give hope to what’s left of the mortal world.

~☆~

Hespera returned from the Vault, her arms crossed and expression unreadable as she stepped back into the center of Olympus, where Kuroka, the Hesperides, and her newly seated Court awaited.

She drew a breath, rolling her shoulders.

“Alright,” she murmured, “let’s head back to Ku—”

But the air shifted. A pulse of absolute silence swallowed the space.

Every light, every breath, snuffed out for a single, crushing heartbeat.

Even the stars flickered out of existence.

And then—light returned. But something was wrong.

At the center of the chamber, where once had stood nothing but open space—

She stood. Clad in a gown of woven void, darker than any night ever known, hair flowing like liquid cosmos, Nyx, Primordial of Night, stood in the center of the ruined throne room, her bare feet silent on the marble.

Her presence didn’t scream. It didn’t roar. It crushed. Reality coiled in submission at her ankles like an obedient shadow.

She said nothing. She didn’t need to.

The room froze. Even the flames dimmed in Hestia’s hearth. Kuroka’s ears flattened instantly. The Hesperides stiffened, their shadows twitching in instinctive unease.

Nyx raised her eyes. Those eyes—bottomless, endless, cold as the first breath of creation before the light was born.

And they were locked on Hespera.

The Mother of Night had entered the stage.

Hespera Eveningstar's breath caught in her throught. Her eyes widen in utter shock.

Her lips parted without thought, her voice escaping like a forbidden prayer slipping past cracked composure:

“…Beautiful."