Adamas..

Adamas was once one of the revered gods of the ancient pantheon, the second eldest of his siblings, following Hades but preceding Poseidon and Zeus in age.

Long before the rise of humanity, Olympus was ruled by 13 gods. But only 12 were ever known to mortals, for Adamas, the God of Conquest, was exiled after a calamitous war that left a scar upon the very fabric of divine existence. His name became taboo, forbidden to speak.

Though the relationship between Hades and Adamas was strained, as the oldest sibling, Hades took Adamas’ remains to Helheim, where Beelzebub, a master of both biological science and mechanics, transformed Adamas into a half-cyborg.

Yet... something had changed recently. The more Adamas’ body became a vessel of metal and wires, the colder he felt, as though the human warmth within him had been replaced by the bitter chill of machinery. His skin, now a cold and lifeless metal shell, seemed to radiate a chill no matter how long he sat unmoving.

And that.. wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part was that Adamas couldn't understand why he’d asked * Beelzebub of all people, to be the one to comfort him in his vulnerability.*

At this very moment, Beelzebub sat on his lap, an effort to warm Adamas’ body with his own. Adamas sat stiffly in the chair beneath him, tense, unwilling to acknowledge how much he craved the warmth, the closeness. It was awkward, unbearably so. Beelzebub, for his part, would have reported this to Hades, but Adamas had insisted Hades knew of their arrangement... though it was a lie.

Adamas could feel Beelzebub’s breath against his neck, both of them struggling for composure. The silence stretched, their breaths shallow and uneven.

Finally, Adamas broke the quiet, his voice strained, almost defensive, “...I’m telling you... it gets better, my body gains its warmth.”

A bitter thought crossed his mind. Stupid fly. It was so easy to fall into this... to need him. Their hands intertwined, and slowly, like a reluctant thaw.