Berries and Greed

I still had a somewhat active sex life. Despite all the cult members here pining for demiurgus lovers, they were still human, and lots of humans liked sex. Sure, some of them were “saving themselves”—have fun with that—but others enjoyed sex with one another as they waited to be swept off their feet by a big, looming demiurgus.

I was pretty sure they’d all be waiting a long, long time. As far as I knew, demiurgus very, very rarely took humans as partners. Maybe not ever. But that hadn’t stopped legends being spawned about their sexual prowess, their virility, their unquenchable lust. About how having sex with one of them was akin to lying with a god.

When I heard the others talking about it in hushed, breathy voices, I always wanted to snort. I was pretty sure the demiurgus had started those rumours themselves. Why not make the gullible humans believe you were dynamite in bed? Why not feed your ego by allowing them to form cults and build statues and dedicate their lives to worshipping you? It wasn’t like some humans in history hadn’t done the same thing.

At least, with the demiurgus, it appeared to be all for show. They weren’t showing up here to peruse us like cattle and take one of us home as their new living sex toy. They didn’t seem to be taking advantage of this weird little subsect of humanity by demanding anything from us or overpowering us for their own gain. We were just the strange bunch living up the hill in a big compound built in their name. They probably thought we were freaks.

But seeing as my aunt and I had worked the system flawlessly, I had no motivation to leave.

Sure, sometimes I got lonely and thought it might be nice to get an interesting job and be around other regular people. To find someone, to settle down and live in a proper house and have a normal, quiet existence in the real world. But it wasn’t the driving force in my life.

So yeah, maybe by staying here I was coasting, playing it safe by remaining in my weird little bubble. At least I was doing it in style.

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Chapter Two

Greid

What the fuck are you doing, dude?

With every step up the wide stone staircase to The Order’s compound, my brain tried to convince me to turn back around.

This is weird.

This is a bad idea.

You’ll never live this down if anyone finds out.

You have literally no experience with humans. You barely have experience with other demiurgus. Go back and hide alone in your house like the socially anxious goblin that you are.

My skin prickled with sweat as I kept going, despite my own brain trying to sabotage the plan I’d spent weeks agonising over. Well, not really a plan. More like a loose, half-formed idea that had come to me when I was super stoned.

But I was used to my brain betraying me. It liked to make me feel like a total loser every time I was out in public—which was very, very rarely—second-guessing everything I said, convincing me that everyone around me thought I was a creep or a weirdo.

Well, you’re really cementing your weirdo status now, Greid. Awesome job.

I was used to being made to feel like a weirdo—not just by myself, either. It seemed like most of my life, I’d been made to feel strange or endured some form of humiliation. My shitty dad calling me the runt of the litter. My douchey brother picking on me mercilessly when we were kids. My former girlfriend telling me she couldn’t think of anything worse than spending the rest of her life with someone so miserable and closed off. Our mutual acquaintances avoiding me after Agma had spread vicious rumours among our circles that I was weak and defective somehow. That there was something wrong with me.

Well, fuck all of them. Fuck everyone. It wasn’t even like they’d been my friends. As a rule, I disliked and avoided all people, which was something else Agma had hated about me. Apparently I was “antisocial” and “practically a hermit”, and wanting to stay in and get high and watch shitty TV was “immature”. How was that immature? I was old enough to buy legal drugs, so technically getting high was the most mature thing I could do.

Whatever Agma had told her social circle after our break-up, it had been enough to make me a pariah. Any loose acquaintances I’d made through her suddenly started avoiding me like the plague. I had my suspicions about what she’d shared with her friends. My kind, demiurgus, craved battle and constant power plays in relationships, especially during sex. That I craved something else apparently made me defective.

So yeah, fuck all of them. I didn’t need them. Assholes.