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As it turned out, “just fixing” Xephos was easier said than done. The massive branches of the greatwood shrouded them in shadow just a tad darker than those given off by the surrounding trees. The mortal lay prone, eyes shut as if sleeping, while Ridge knelt over him, taking a moment to contemplate the task ahead. Contrary to popular belief, he was not omnipotent. When he’d stumbled into the lives of these mortals, it had been just that. He had found them, not created them. Immortality, or a very close approximation of it, was something in his very nature, making the lines between life and death malleable and easy to blur when he saw fit.
Creation, at least on this level, was beyond him. Alternate realities and new worlds were all well and good, but the fabrication of a soul, the very essence of life itself, was something entirely different. Unfortunately, it was this exact knowledge that he’d need if he were going to help Xephos.
He hadn’t seen it at first, hadn’t wanted to, but the unraveling threads of Xephos’s being were all too clear now. In his folly, he’d thrust divine power unto a being never meant to wield it, like a child forcing two pieces of a puzzle together and fraying the edges. When he’d come to visit his friend only to find this facsimile of a man working feverishly away in isolation, he’d immediately known. After all, it was his own power he saw behind his eyes, barely contained within the fragile form, spilling forth in an ominous light.
What was required of him now would not be easy and there was the very real possibility that he himself might not emerge unscathed. While he wasn’t exactly creating a soul from scratch, he would still be handling one very raw, attempting to mend it. Even just extracting his power from Xephos, really just remnants left behind from when he’d last opped him, had sent him into a catatonic state. He would have to tread very carefully to avoid obliterating the soul altogether. Destruction, Ridge was realizing, came all too easily to him. Still, he wasn’t one to leave behind messes and debt was a terribly unattractive look for him.
His own power, needless to say, wouldn’t suffice. Thus, their present location. As a demigod, there were certain things, few as they were, that preceded him. Greatwood trees were among those things, ancient and holding vast reserves of energy, specifically of the creative variety. Perfect, really, for his needs.
Steeling himself, he rose and approached the tree slowly, arms outstretched. His fingertips brushed along the bark, feeling it pulse rhythmically, like a great heartbeat. He felt it warm to his touch and shut his eyes, probing for what he needed. When he found it, the thick rope of pure creation anchoring the tree to the world, he plucked only the thinnest strand, a shining gossamer thread, and took it within himself.
When he opened his eyes, he felt full to bursting. Stumbling back from the tree, his knees buckled and it was everything and nothing and he’d never felt so terribly finite in his life. His teeth ached and buzzed, the acrid taste of metal making him nauseous and he needed this thing out of him right now.
Crawling over to Xephos, he shut his eyes and fought down another wave of dizziness. For this to be effective, he’d need to concentrate.
In his mind’s eye, he imagined his friend as he was before. One memory in particular stood out to him and he threw himself into recalling every detail. Xephos, standing with him, toasting another game well played. Smartly dressed, hands wrapped delicately around the stem of a champagne flute, features sharply defined in the light of the setting sun. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Ridge realized he’d never been so attracted to the mortal as in that moment, but he shoved the thought aside.
Struggling against his growing disorientation, he pressed his lips firmly to Xephos’s, tilting his chin down with his thumb and exhaled.
It was like a dam breaking. At some point, he had stopped pushing the energy forward and it had started rushing into Xephos. Endlessly, it poured from him and his head swam, a helpless conduit for the constant flow of scorching power.
When the last of it trickled from him, Ridge tore himself away and drew a painful breath. He had just enough time to absently note that one of his lungs was at least partially collapsed before Xephos jackknifed off the ground, eyes darting around wildly.
“Take it easy,” he croaked, stifling a cough as he steadied Xephos with a hand on his shoulder. Slowly, the man began to calm, confusion clear in his gaze when he looked at Ridge.
“You look terrible,” he said, and Ridge grinned. Tactful as ever. “What happened.”
Letting out a wheezing laugh, Ridge shook his head. “Never mind. I’ll tell you later. When I can breathe.”
The exhaustion he’d been fighting finally hit him and, listing sideways, Ridge caught himself with one arm before lowering himself to the ground. Waving off his friend’s look of alarm, he patted the space beside him invitingly. Xephos frowned but settled back against the grass, knowing better than to pry. He’d have his answers, in due time. For now, Ridge thought, it was better to just enjoy the moment.