CHAPTER 233: CHAPTER 233: THE HONEYMOON PROBLEM

Victor Numen didn’t smile often.

When he did, people tended to assume the world was about to end.

This morning, however, he smiled for a far more dangerous reason: Elias Clarke, who is rational to the point of arrogance, had slipped during a conversation and referred to their upcoming diplomatic operation as a honeymoon.

He’d replayed the word at least six times since breakfast. It improved with repetition.

The command center shimmered in quiet light, a cathedral of glass, steel, and restrained power. Holographic maps stretched across the air, the northern ocean glowing with red ether scars, storm signatures spreading like veins through Poseidon’s domain. The technicians worked in silence, careful not to draw Victor’s attention unless they had to.

He watched the projection without blinking, one hand resting loosely on the console. "The readings are worse," he murmured. "That’s not just a storm. Something is feeding on the current."

One of the officers swallowed hard. "Poseidon claims a trespasser is distorting his domain. A new divine presence is bleeding through his waters. The ocean gods are in revolt."

Victor’s gaze sharpened. "Name."

"None, sir. Poseidon says it’s... human in origin."

The air grew heavy for a heartbeat. Then Victor said softly, "Of course it is."

He turned, the crimson in his eyes catching the light like a blade unsheathed. "Jonathan Clarke."

The name rippled through the room.

Someone near the back made the mistake of whispering, "Dr. Clarke’s father..."

Victor’s tone sliced the air. "Was," he corrected, "human. Now he’s something else."

He didn’t elaborate. The data spoke for itself, with ether readings that did not belong in a mortal body and power signatures twisting through Poseidon’s territory like rot. The rebirth of a man who should have stayed ash.

Jonathan Clarke was a scientist, zealot, and murderer of his own people. When Uno’s experiment went wrong, he devoured his unborn grandchild’s essence alongside Anna’s. The fusion of divinity and corruption had transformed him into something unrecognizable: a parasite god hidden beneath the sea, feeding on currents other than his own.

Poseidon wanted vengeance. Uno wanted silence at last.

Victor wanted both.

He dismissed the officers with a flick of his hand. "Seal the feeds. I’ll handle this personally."

"Sir..."

He didn’t even raise his voice. "Now."

They scattered.

The room emptied into stillness, leaving only the hum of the ether conduits and the soft shimmer of light across the map. Victor stood alone in front of the storm, his fingers brushing absently against the gold band of his ring, Elias’s gift from months ago, its black stone still soaking up the light.

Poseidon had petitioned him directly the night before, his voice dragging through the ether like the roar of collapsing tides. "He hides beneath my kingdom. He carries your scientist’s name and reeks of the Creator’s sin. Remove him, Executioner, or I will drown the world to find him."

Victor’s answer had been simple: "I’ll come myself."

The elevator doors hissed open behind him. Elias didn’t need to announce his presence; Victor always detected it first, that subtle shift in the air, warm, grounding, and maddeningly mortal.

"You’re enjoying this far too much," Elias said, stepping into the room with his tablet under one arm.

"On the contrary," Victor replied, eyes still on the map. "I’m enjoying it precisely the right amount."

Elias crossed his arms, his gaze flicking toward the projections. "That’s not just Poseidon’s tantrum, is it?"

Victor’s lips curved faintly. "No. It’s your father."

Elias went still. He didn’t flinch, didn’t speak, and only stared at the roiling red pulse over the ocean. "I thought Uno said he was going to deal with him."

"He was," Victor said. "But he slipped when Uno was preoccupied with his heartbreak and problems larger than a parasitic god lurking like a worm."

Elias’s voice was quiet but steady. "And you’re going after him."

"Yes," Victor said simply. "By Uno’s request."

That earned him a sharp look. "Uno asked you?"

Victor turned to face him fully now. "He can’t fix what he broke, and he knows it. Jonathan was drawn to the residue of his essence, to the same divine spark that infected Anna. Poseidon wants blood and I can either put him to sleep or kill him for good."

Elias took a slow breath, then asked, "And what do I want?"

Victor smiled, softer now, but no less deliberate. "Apparently, a honeymoon."

Elias exhaled through his nose. "You’re insufferable."

"I’m adaptable," Victor corrected. "If we’re going to hunt a god, we may as well make it romantic."

"That’s not what ’romantic’ means," Elias muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I swear, you have an emotional vocabulary entirely built out of war metaphors."

Victor stepped closer, lowering his voice until the distance between them thinned into heat. "You said it first," he murmured. "I’m only honoring the spirit of the word."

Elias looked up at him, caught between exasperation and reluctant fondness. "You’re impossible."

"I’m divine," Victor said with that quiet, lethal arrogance that made every syllable sound like fact.

"Same difference," Elias replied, already turning toward the exit. "Just promise me you won’t kill him if there’s another way."

Victor’s smile didn’t reach his eyes this time. "If there’s another way, I’ll find it."

Elias paused at the door. "And if there isn’t?"

Victor looked back at the map, the storms pulsing red like open wounds. "Then I’ll erase him. Cleanly."

For a moment, neither spoke. Then Elias sighed, resigned. "Fine. I’ll go pack. And for the record, this is not a honeymoon."

Victor didn’t look away from the glowing sea. "Of course not," he said, the faintest glimmer of amusement threading through his tone. "It’s just a private trip with your fiancé to exterminate a god who happens to be your father. Entirely ordinary."

Elias muttered something that sounded very much like, "I’m marrying a lunatic," before the doors slid shut behind him.

Victor stood in the fading hum of light, his smile gone and replaced by something colder.

"Jonathan Clarke," he murmured, watching the storm surge across the digital ocean. "Your godhood ends when I arrive."