Chaos’s Daughter: Sweet But Psycho

Chapter 44: Toying With a Bad Queen

Her bare feet floated just an inch above the molten marble, her twenty-four wings arching high like the jaws of a cosmic predator stretching before the hunt.

And she smiled.

It was not the sweet kind. Not the smug kind. It was the kind of smile you give a helpless fly before plucking off its wings—just to see if it’ll try to crawl away.

Her glowing gaze swept lazily over the frozen Olympians.

“So tense.”

Her voice coiled around their ears like a serpent brushing across bare skin.

She took another leisurely step forward, letting the tension stretch taut, savoring their flinches—watching Zeus shift on his throne, white-knuckling his lightning bolt like it would actually help him now.

“So quiet.”

She dragged her fingertip through the air, drawing glowing sigils that unraveled and rewove themselves in impossible patterns—meaningless to mortals, but to the divine? Suffocating.

Apollo flinched first.

Sweat beaded on his brow as he clutched his lyre, swallowing hard. His eyes darted toward Artemis, seeking silent reassurance.

But Artemis… Artemis wouldn’t even meet his gaze.

Crack.

The air fractured—subtle, like glass groaning before it snaps.

Hespera’s gaze flicked toward Apollo without moving her head.

“Oh, darling Sun Prince…”

Apollo stiffened.

Hespera tilted her head, that smile sharpening at the edges.

“Play me something.”

Apollo’s throat bobbed.

He didn’t move. He couldn’t.

“Play,” she purred, her voice dipping into something sickly sweet and lethal all at once. “Or shall I start with your tongue?”

Hermes snorted loudly behind a scroll, looking like he wanted to bolt but was too morbidly entertained to do so.

Apollo’s trembling fingers plucked a note—weak, off-key.

Hespera sighed in mock disappointment.

With a flick of her wrist, Pandemonium Noctis rippled into existence across her back, humming like an apex predator waking from a nap.

Zeus jolted to his feet. “Enough! This is our hall, our rule! You—”

“Sit.”

She didn’t shout.

She didn’t even raise her voice.

But the weight of that single word cracked the air like a whip.

Zeus’s body buckled instinctively—his knees slamming down onto his throne so violently the marble cracked beneath him.

His jaw locked.

His body shook.

But he couldn’t rise.

Couldn’t even lift the lightning bolt that had once made the cosmos tremble.

Hespera’s wings flared wider.

“Good boy.”

Erytheia cackled softly behind her hand, clearly enjoying the show.

Aigle only shook her head in silent disbelief.

Khrysothemis raised a smug eyebrow at Hera.

The Queen of Olympus stood slowly, power lacing her every step.

And Hespera turned to her with all the indulgence of a cat watching a mouse think it was safe.

“Ah. The loyal wife,” Hespera crooned, floating closer until they stood nearly nose-to-nose. “Tell me, Hera… how many times did you know he strayed? How many times did you stay anyway?”

Hera’s lips twitched.

She slapped Hespera across the face.

The crack of it echoed like thunder.

Silence.

The Olympians held their breath.

Hespera slowly turned her head back, rubbing her cheek with mock admiration.

“…Nice form.”

She leaned in, lips brushing Hera’s ear.

“Do it again.”

Without hesitation, Hera struck again.

Harder this time.

The impact echoed through Olympus like a gong announcing divine judgment.

The marble beneath Hera's feet cracked. The force rippled through the air. Ambrosia toppled from goblets. Plates shattered. Gasps filled the breathless chamber.

And Hespera…

…laughed.

Not the composed, amused laughter she’d offered before.

This was different.

It spilled out of her. Low at first, curling in her throat like the rolling rumble of distant thunder. Then louder—richer—curling through the air like wildfire consuming a forest of dignity and pride.

She doubled over slightly, clutching her stomach as if Hera’s fury had tickled her soul.

The Olympians stared in disbelief.

Even Hera took half a step back, her hand twitching at her side.

And when Hespera finally straightened—her glowing, paradoxical eyes locked onto the Queen of Olympus—her smile was pure madness wrapped in flawless control.

She leaned forward, whispering so only Hera could hear—yet the words seemed to slither into every divine ear present.

“That’s the spirit, Hera. Go on… hit me again. Break something real this time.”

She spread her arms wide, wings flaring behind her like a cosmic guillotine poised above every Olympian throat.

“Come on, Queen of Olympus. Show me why they all bow to you…”

The air hummed with raw pressure.

Every god knew—

If Hera struck again, there would be no going back.

For the first time in millennia, Hera smiled.

It was not elegant.

It was not polished.

It was not queenly.

It was feral.

Her knuckles cracked one by one as she leaned in, her voice dropping low, rich with venom.

"Gladly."

And then—she struck.

Not with her hand.

With her power.

Hera’s divine crest ignited like wildfire doused in godly oil. Golden energy erupted from her skin, wreathing her in burning light that flared with the raw authority of marriage, birth, loyalty, and wrath.

She clenched her fists, ripping the divine fabric of Olympus itself, pulling power from the very Oathstone beneath the throne room—an ancient relic tied to the laws of loyalty and betrayal.

With a snarl fit for a Titaness, she slammed her palm into Hespera’s chest—

And unleashed a blast of pure Oathfire, the most sacred and lethal punishment known to Olympus—designed to burn away treachery and erase unfaithful gods from existence.

The shockwave hurled the long table into the pillars.

The thrones rattled.

The ceiling splintered.

Even Zeus flinched, covering his face with his arm as raw golden fire engulfed the space between Hera and Hespera in a cyclone of divine judgment.

The light roared.

And for a breathless moment—

The Olympians thought they’d won.

Until…

The fire stopped.

It didn’t fade.

It didn’t burn out.

It simply froze—suspended in the air like it had been caught by something far, far older than the law it served.

And from within the swirling, frozen blaze—

Hespera emerged.

Untouched.

Her twenty-four wings flared wider, tearing the frozen fire apart with nothing but a breeze of Nihility-laced power.

She reached out.

Took Hera by the wrist—gently, almost affectionately.

“Wrong answer.”

And without warning—

She flipped Hera onto her back, pinning the Queen of Olympus to the shattered marble floor in a heartbeat, straddling her like a predator claiming victory over prey.

The court erupted in gasps.

Khrysothemis burst out laughing.

Kuroka howled in approval.

Aigle sighed like a disappointed mother.

Erytheia started counting down under her breath.

And Hespera leaned down until their noses nearly touched. “You should’ve stuck to throwing fruit.”

The throne room held its breath as Hespera lowered herself even further, her silver-violet hair cascading like liquid starlight over Hera’s pinned body.

The Queen of Olympus—regal, radiant, untouchable for millennia—lay helpless beneath her, pinned not by brute strength, but by the oppressive gravity of someone who had already won.

Hespera tilted her head.

Smiling.

Dangerous.

“You know what the real tragedy is, Hera?”

She leaned in close, her lips ghosting across the shell of Hera’s ear.

“You rule a pantheon that fears you… but no one actually respects you.”

Hera stiffened—teeth grinding, body trembling not with fear, but humiliation.

Hespera tutted softly and cupped Hera’s cheek like she was comforting a child who had just lost a game they were never going to win.

“You keep the title of Queen,” she whispered, “but you’ve been nothing more than Olympus’ prettiest excuse for centuries.”

Gasps broke across the room like shattering glass.

Aphrodite’s jaw dropped.

Poseidon shifted uncomfortably.

Even Athena flinched ever so slightly.

But Hespera wasn’t done.

She shifted her weight, leaning in with infuriating casualness, her lips brushing against Hera’s trembling cheekbone.

And in a voice dripping with venom and mock tenderness, she murmured:

“…Tell me, Hera… when’s the last time anyone here feared you more than they feared your husband?”

Hera snapped.

With a wordless cry of fury, she swung her arm upward, but Hespera caught it—one-handed.

Effortlessly.

Hespera leaned back slightly, straddling Hera’s hips, and raised her free hand toward the ceiling.

A pulse of Nihility shimmered in the air, bending the light itself.

Chains.

Beautiful, glowing, paradox-forged chains of starlight and anti-matter snapped into existence—looping around Hera’s wrists, ankles, and throat in a flash.

The Queen of Olympus arched off the floor, fighting—but the chains tightened, glowing brighter with every pulse of Hespera’s will.

“Let’s fix that crown of yours,” Hespera whispered.

With a flick of her fingers, the chains yanked Hera up—dangling her in the center of the throne room like a puppet on display, her divine robes tearing at the seams, her golden crown tumbling to the floor with a soft, mocking clang.

The silence was suffocating.

All of Olympus watched. None dared to move.

And Hespera?

She stood beneath Hera’s suspended form, looking up with those paradox-marked eyes—cold, patient, inevitable.

“…Who’s next?”

Zeus rose.

For the first time since Hespera had returned, the King of Olympus finally moved—not in panic, not in posturing.

But in murderous silence.

He didn’t raise his lightning bolt.

He didn’t summon a storm.

He just walked.

One heavy step after another.

Each one shaking the thrones themselves.

His face was dark.

His beard crackled with sparks.

His veins glowed faintly with raw, unfiltered skyfire.

And when he reached the center of the ruined feast, standing just a breath away from Hespera…

He spoke.

“Let her go.”

No thunder.

No roaring god-voice.

Just that quiet, crackling demand—like a storm barely caged behind clenched teeth.

Hespera didn’t move at first.

Didn’t even blink.

Then slowly… so painfully slowly… she turned her head toward him, her silver-violet hair cascading like a curtain of starfire over her shoulder.

Her lips curled into the softest, sweetest, deadliest smile Zeus had ever seen.

“…Or what?”

Zeus’s eyes twitched.

The air around him exploded in white-hot arcs of lightning, vaporizing nearby columns, vaporizing air itself, turning the very floor beneath his feet into scorched glass.

“You don’t want me as your enemy, Eveningstar,” he growled.

“Too late, Thunderpants. You have angered me.”

And with that—

She crushed her fist in the air.

The paradox-forged chains tightened viciously around Hera’s suspended form, eliciting a strangled gasp from the Queen of Olympus as the magic constricted her breath.

"And I did warn you about angering me."

Zeus snapped.

The air howled as Zeus materialized it—His most sacred weapon. His true lightning.

The Vajra. Forged from the bones of the Titans themselves. The god-killing thunderbolt. The instrument of Kronos’s fall. The symbol of Olympus’ absolute rule.

It didn’t hum. It screamed.

The moment it appeared, reality buckled—cracking like a windshield under the weight of something too old and too powerful to exist unchecked.

The Olympians flinched.

Even Ares… took a step back.

Hespera… smiled.

Zeus roared with every ounce of divine hatred he had left,

and hurled the Vajra.

The weapon tore the air apart as it flew, trailing arcs of skyfire and star-death behind it, heading straight for Hespera with enough power to erase even a Primordial’s favored.

And then—

She caught it. Barehanded. No shield. No spell. No hesitation. Just one elegant, flawless catch.

The moment her fingers closed around the roaring, universe-splitting weapon, the ground beneath her shattered outward in concentric waves.

The Olympians reeled.

Aigle’s hand flew to her mouth.

Kuroka gasped, her pupils shrinking.

The Hesperides froze, staring wide-eyed.

Hespera held it up… and examined it. Like a child inspecting a new toy. Turning it this way and that, testing its balance, feeling the pulse of Titanbone and God-Slaying Skyfire in her palm.

She clicked her tongue softly.

“This is what you’re so proud of?”

The Vajra shuddered in her grip, as if trying to resist.

Hespera tilted her head. A cruel little hum curling from her throat.

“Let’s fix that.”

Her mana flared—not golden, not silver, but magenta, threaded with black anti-light and white paradox runes. It poured into the Vajra, seeping into its ancient cracks, rewriting the very essence of its being.

The once-proud god-killer… began to scream.

Not aloud. Not for them.

For the cosmos.

Zeus’s face drained of color.

“No… No! That’s mine! That’s—”

“Not anymore,” Hespera whispered.

And without sparing him another glance—

She turned toward Hera.

Suspended. Gasping. Beaten. Humbled.

Hespera’s grip shifted on the Vajra.

“Let’s see if Olympus will mourn their Queen as much as they feared her.”

And with unflinching precision—

She drove the Vajra straight through Hera’s heart.

The crackling impact was deafening.

Hera’s body convulsed once, light spilling from her mouth and eyes, as the Titanbone-infused weapon pinned her to the very Oathstone that Olympus had sworn its laws upon.

The chains snapped like glass.

But Hera’s body remained—skewered, frozen, lifeless.

The Queen of Olympus…was dead.

Hespera turned—slowly—toward Zeus.

And she smiled.

“Now it’s your turn, 'King' of Olympus.”