Berries and Greed

It wasn’t that humans who lived outside of the compound were destitute. Most of them weren’t at all. Many of them had completely normal jobs, normal lives, and treated the demiurgus as what they were—just other folk.

But by the time I turned eighteen and could legitimately go out into the world and make my own way, I’d gotten scared. I may not have been a true member of the cult, my aunt had made sure when I was a kid that I didn’t get sucked into their fervent worship of the demiurgus, but it was basically all I’d known. And I hadn’t gotten a proper education here. I knew I’d struggle to find a job, especially one that paid well enough for me to get my own place.

So I’d stayed. I liked living with my only family—I had no idea where my dad was now—and I liked my simple way of life. I wasn’t lazy. I worked just as hard as all the others on the vineyards we ran. We had two of them here—a standard one for human wine, and a subterranean one within the hill to grow the nightberries that the demiurgus made their own wine from. It was a pretty lucrative business. The demiurgus loved having easy access to their favourite wine without having to make the long journey back underground to the mysterious place they came from, to procure the nightberries. At some point in the cult’s past, a demiurgus had gifted the members with some of the berries, and from there the subterranean vineyard had grown.

Most of the other members suspected I wasn’t as gung-ho about becoming a demiurgus’s fucktoy as they were, but I displayed just enough deference when the “Greater Beings” were brought up, and I made sure to keep my mouth mostly shut when the high priest was around. If he realised I wasn’t all in, that I wasn’t here in the hopes of one day becoming a demiurgus’s mate, I’d be out the door in an instant.

Besides, it wasn’t like there was any danger of that actually happening. In the entire time I’d lived here, not a single demiurgus had stepped through those doors declaring that they were here to choose a human mate. And even if that did happen… well, I would not be their first choice. Or even their last. We had regular health check-ups here, and our medical backgrounds were recorded in painstaking detail so that if a demiurgus did ever come here, they’d be able to make sure they were choosing a healthy mate who suited their needs.

And I would not suit their needs. I made very fucking sure I didn’t.

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.

My lip curled as I reached the top of the steps, eyeing the large, pale-stoned building that sprawled across the hill overlooking the city. It looked drab and lifeless. Beige. Too many windows. Too much light seeping in. But even as I eyed it warily, half expecting to hear duelling banjos somewhere close by, a stab of worry tightened my gut. I smoothed down my stifling suit and hesitantly approached the front door.

Would a human hate my home?

My house was dark and cluttered. To me it was soothing. Lots of nooks and cra