Now, back to our story. Karl risked a glance over his shoulder, his chest still heaving from the sprint. To his surprise, his pursuers had dropped much farther behind than he'd expected.
The leader, red-faced and gasping for air, was lagging the most, his legs barely keeping up as his anger seemed to outweigh his stamina. His two friends weren't faring much better, their pace slowing as they tried to catch their breath.
"They're losing steam, lazy boys" he muttered to himself, a small smirk creeping onto his face. His legs still burned, but the sight of their exhaustion gave him a fresh burst of energy.
"Lazy boys," Karl thought to himself, a smirk spreading across his face as he glanced back at the growing distance between him and his pursuers. The thrill of gaining ground was intoxicating, and in true Karl fashion, he couldn't resist the urge to taunt them.
"You're too slow, girls!" he yelled, his voice mocking and loud enough to carry through the alley, not slowing his pace. He knew better than to get cocky—they'd come after him again, maybe even harder next time.
But for now, all he needed was to keep that distance, to stay ahead just a little longer.
His words were a challenge, a sting meant to fuel their anger and push them further into the chase. He could already hear the leader's furious roar behind him, the sound of his frustration rising as his pace faltered even more.
The taunt felt good, but Karl knew better than to slow down too much. He didn't wait to see how they'd respond, didn't need to hear the insults they'd throw back. Instead, he focused on his feet, pushing harder, using every ounce of energy to keep his lead.
Karl watched their faces, expecting to see the rage he'd provoked, but instead, he saw something entirely different—horror. Their expressions were wide-eyed, mouths agape, and the usual fury had been replaced by genuine fear.
"Karl!" one of them shouted, his voice suddenly strained, almost frantic.
Karl almost froze, his heart skipping a beat. The warning in the boy's voice caught him off guard. What had happened? Why weren't they chasing him anymore?
With his instincts kicking in, Karl's head snapped forward. His pulse quickened as his eyes widened in confusion.
Karl's breath caught.
See, running while his head was turned back was a bad idea. If Karl had kept his focus ahead, he might have seen the danger in time. But his attention was fixed on the boys behind him, and by the time he turned his gaze forward, it was already too late.
A car, its engine roaring, was speeding down the alley from the left. Its headlights flashed in Karl's peripheral vision, but there was no time to react. He barely had time to scream before the car slammed into him with a deafening crash.
The impact was brutal, sending Karl tumbling through the air, his body twisting violently before hitting the ground with a sickening thud. Pain exploded across his chest and legs as he lay motionless, disoriented by the suddenness of it all.
The car screeched to a halt, the tires leaving black skid marks on the pavement. The driver's door flew open, and a figure rushed toward him, but everything around Karl blurred.
The last thing he heard before everything went black was the sound of shouting, a mixture of concern and panic. Then, silence...
The next moment, Karl's vision blurred completely, his body heavy and unresponsive. He felt an overwhelming weariness, as if all his energy had been drained in an instant. His eyelids grew too heavy to keep open, and despite the chaos around him, despite the voices calling out, he closed his eyes.
And then, he slept. Forever.
*****
Now, let's talk about the second thing happening. This one involved the god Eros.
Eros, the god of love, desire, and passion, had always been a force to reckon with, but over the centuries, he had become something far more than even he had anticipated. As the world descended further into chaos and debauchery, the emotions he governed grew stronger, more intense, and more frequent.
Every act of passion, every moment of yearning, added to his power, amplifying it beyond measure.
Over time, Eros grew so powerful that even he couldn't contain it. His divine essence was overflowing, spilling out like molten lava from a volcano.
To prevent this immense power from being lost or wasted, he found a way to store it. Not in a typical way, not in a vault or in the fabric of the world itself, but in something far more beautiful—and dangerous.
He began to infuse his power into crystals. These gems, radiant and shimmering, held a fraction of his boundless energy, each one vibrating with the essence of desire itself. They were small, delicate, but pulsing with such intensity that even the gods took notice.
Eros kept these crystals close, knowing that if one were ever lost or stolen, the consequences would be unimaginable. The power they contained was too volatile, too dangerous to fall into the wrong hands.
Every day, Eros walked the earth, hidden among mortals, feeling considerably weaker. The power that flowed through him, stored in the crystals, remained dormant for most of the day. He had learned to go without it, but the absence gnawed at him, a constant reminder of what he was capable of when the energy was within him.
He would wander through the cities, watch lovers and strangers alike, and feel the pull of desire everywhere. But the weight of his restrained power felt heavy, making him move through the day with a quiet sense of longing.
Then night would fall.
As the moon rose high in the sky, Eros would retreat to his sanctuary, a place of seclusion known only to him. There, he would draw upon the power stored in the crystal. He'd hold them in his hands, feel the vibrations of desire and passion pulse through him, before allowing the energy to flood into his body.
The rush was unlike anything else. It wasn't just the thrill of power—it was the feeling of being whole again, of reclaiming a piece of himself that the day had stolen. Every inch of his skin would hum, his blood would burn, and his heart would race. He could feel every heartbeat reverberate with strength as the power coursed through him, restoring his godly essence to its peak.
It was addicting, an intoxicating high that eclipsed anything mortal pleasure could compare to. Even the most powerful drugs, the substances that promised release from pain or sorrow, paled in comparison to the sensation of pure, unrestrained energy.
Eros would curl in bliss, his body trembling with the intensity of the power. And for those few moments, he was truly whole again, caught in the pure ecstasy of his own divinity.
The god of love had found his addiction.
You would hope that nothing ever went wrong, that Eros could continue this cycle, drawing upon the crystal each night and feeling the rush of power, forever in blissful indulgence. But if nothing ever went wrong, well, then we wouldn't have a story, would we?
One day, Eros returned to his sanctuary, expecting the usual—his crystal, glowing faintly with the power he had stored within them, ready to be consumed in the night. But when he entered the room, a chill ran through him.
The crystal lay shattered on the floor, broken into a dozen jagged pieces. The once radiant gem now appeared dull and lifeless, the glowing energy completely gone.
His heart skipped a beat. The power—it was gone.
Eros knelt beside the shards, his fingers trembling as he reached out to touch them. There was nothing. No pulse of energy, no trace of desire, not even the faintest hum of divine essence. The crystal was completely empty.
His mind raced. How could this happen?
His gaze flicked around the room, his senses straining for any clue. The walls, the air itself, seemed suffocatingly still. The familiar rush of power he'd felt every night was now a distant memory, as if it had been erased from existence.
Eros felt a cold panic grip him. His power, the very thing that defined him, the energy that sustained him, had leaked out—he didn't know how or why—but it was gone.
For the first time in centuries, he was just a god without power, a hollow shell.
And that wasn't the worst part.
The worst part was the realization that, without his power, he was vulnerable. The very thing that had kept him in control had been taken from him.