I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

Darkness swallowed everything around the space.

Nathan stood alone, surrounded by a void so thick and absolute that even the echo of his own breath felt muted. It was a darkness without weight, without shape—an endless, starless abyss that wrapped around him like a damp, suffocating shroud.

He slowly exhaled, watching nothingness ripple before his eyes.

“What… is this place?” He murmured, his voice drifting out like a fragile thread into the emptiness.

There was no answer. Only silence. A silence that felt older than mountains and colder than winter graves.

Nathan flexed his fingers, making sure he still had them. The air—or what resembled air—felt stagnant, unmoving, as if time itself had stopped here.

Did I die in the end?

The thought slithered quietly through his mind.

But no… no, he remembered. He remembered the surge of Pandora’s curse crashing into him like a tidal wave of agony. He remembered willingly drawing a massive portion of it into his own body, sharing the corruption, tearing it away from those who would have perished under its weight.

He remembered the sensation of his flesh being seared from within—as if he had been thrown naked into a blazing furnace while corrosive acid was poured into his veins. He remembered the screams—maybe his, maybe the curse’s—echoing inside his skull.

Even now he felt it: the phantom burning, the invisible claws scraping through his body. Pain sharp enough to carve bone.

Yet… strangely muted. Softer than it should have been. Wrongly gentle.

That was what unsettled him the most.

If anything, the pain confirmed one thing—he hadn’t died. Pain was familiar. Pain grounded him. Pain meant he was still breathing.

And this place… this place felt familiar too, in a way that made his spine tighten.

“You are not dead.”

A voice drifted from behind him—smooth, echoing, and cold enough to frost a soul.

Nathan turned, already knowing who he would see.

Thanatos stepped out from the void, as if she had been carved from its shadow. She moved without sound, like a whisper of the grave taking shape, dark mist curling around her feet.

“How long has it been?” Nathan asked quietly.

He hadn’t seen her since the day he surrendered his soul into her hands, sealing a pact he still didn’t fully understand. She appeared rarely—only when she chose, only when death’s threads brushed close.

“For me?” The Goddess tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “Only hours. Mortals possess such a… peculiar sense of time.”

Of course. For a deity whose existence stretched into eternity, months must seem like the blink of a tired eye. To her, he had been gone only a short while—nothing more than a breath between worlds.

“Are you,” he asked, his throat tightening slightly, “still interested in my soul?”

A smile—sharp, knowing, and unsettling—slowly curved her lips as she stepped closer.

Her form emerged fully from the darkness: tall, lithe, impossibly pale, almost translucent beneath the flowing black fabric that clung to her like liquid midnight. Her long obsidian hair was braided intricately behind her, cascading like a river of shadow. And her eyes—

They were terrifying.

Beautiful, but terrifying.

The whites of her eyes were black as ink—depthless, devouring. And her pupils glowed faintly, a translucent, icy white, like the last fragile light inside a dying star.

The gaze of the Goddess of Death.

“Do you know why I chose you?” she asked softly.

“No,” Nathan replied honestly. He had never bothered to ask. Never wanted to know. But now… now curiosity pierced him like a thorn.

Thanatos took another step, her bare feet silent against the void. She stood close enough that he could feel the cold aura radiating from her skin—an unnatural chill, ancient and indifferent.

“I saw death,” she whispered, her voice brushing his ear like a caress. “Death clinging to you.”

Nathan stiffened, turning toward her. “Death?”

She smiled again, slowly lifting her hands. Her fingers brushed his shoulders, then his back—cold, delicate, tracing lines that made the hairs along his neck rise.

“It is wrapped around you even now,” she murmured. “A mantle. A companion. A shadow that resembles me.”

Her touch lingered, sending a faint, biting numbness through his skin.

“What does that mean?” Nathan asked, his voice barely above a breath.

Thanatos leaned in, her lips near his ear, her words dipping into a hushed, velvety whisper that felt far too intimate for a being made of death.

“That,” she said, “is something I, too, wish to learn.”

Her fingers tightened slightly against him.

“So entertain me more, Nathan.”

Her smile widened.

“Show me why death refuses to let go of you.”

°°°°°

Nathan’s eyes snapped open.

Air tore into his lungs as if he had been drowning, and he jerked upright, heart hammering violently in his chest. For a moment he could only sit there, panting, mind struggling to anchor itself between the remnants of darkness and the blinding clarity of wakefulness.

A slow, shaky breath escaped him.

He blinked several times, trying to steady the spiraling dizziness. His vision swam, then gradually sharpened. The room around him took form: soft wooden beams, gentle sunlight filtering through pale curtains, and the faint scent of blooming flowers drifting in through the open window.

A house.

A gentle, floral house draped in vines and colorful blossoms—silent, serene, warm.

He leaned forward, bracing a hand against the windowsill, and peered outside.

Demeter’s garden stretched before him in all its divine grandeur.

Fields upon fields of flowers rolled out like a living tapestry, each petal glowing under the golden sun. Trees heavy with ripe fruit swayed lazily in a fragrant breeze. Butterflies drifted through shafts of sunlight like fragments of color torn from a rainbow.

Memory flooded back.

Demeter had taken him here. Him… and Pandora.

And just as the thought crossed his mind—

A violent, searing pain exploded through his body.

Nathan gripped the sheets with white-knuckled force, teeth clenched as the curses he had absorbed surged wildly inside him. It felt like thousands of burning tendrils gnawing at his organs, crawling through his veins, trying to tear him apart from within.

They hadn’t finished him.

Not even close.

The curses were alive—feral, destructive, relentless. And every second they ravaged him without rest or mercy.

Do I really have to get used to this pain…? he wondered, jaw tightening until his teeth ached.

The thought seemed absurd. Impossible.

But the curses weren’t going away.

They would be with him—forever.

For a fleeting moment, he regretted leaving Thanatos’s realm.

There, the pain had dulled.

Here… it clawed at him hungrily.

Forcing himself up, Nathan looked down at his bare torso.

The wounds and scorches he had taken earlier—gone.

Every scar erased, his skin restored.

But in their place…

Black veins spread across his flesh like intricate, sinister tattoos. They pulsed faintly under his skin, dark as spilled ink, the unmistakable mark of Pandora’s curses seeping into his very being.

He exhaled slowly.

Probably the Box’s brand. A reminder of what he had taken into himself.

With a weary motion, he summoned a shirt from his spatial storage and pulled it over his head, hiding the crawling, shadowy patterns. Then he stepped outside into the Garden.

After the suffocating void of Thanatos’s domain, the Garden was blinding.

Sunlight poured onto him like warm water. Birds chirped from every direction, their melodies clear and full. The breeze carried soft floral fragrances that wrapped around him like a balm.

And strangely… impossibly…

The pain eased.

Not much.

But enough for him to breathe without wincing.

“Septimius…”

Nathan turned.

Persephone stood near the entrance, her dark hair shimmering under the sunlight, her expression softening with visible relief the moment she saw him awake.

“You’re awake,” she said, stepping toward him. “Thank the Fates… you were in such a horrible state.” Her voice trembled faintly. “We had to call Asclepius.”

“Asclepius?” Nathan repeated, frowning.

The Asclepius?

The divine healer?

The man who had mended warriors and gods alike during the Trojan War?

Had he known who Nathan was… and still treated him?

Before he could ask more, another figure approached.

“Septimius, how are you feeling?” Demeter asked warmly, though her eyes were filled with worry.

“Good. Thanks,” Nathan answered automatically, though he knew it was a lie the moment the words left his mouth. He glanced around. “Pandora isn’t here?”

Demeter nodded. “Athena took her somewhere safer. She wants to observe her condition… just in case.”

“I see.”

Maybe that was for the best.

Demeter’s gaze lingered on him, troubled. “Are you really feeling okay?”

Nathan froze. He was gripping his stomach tightly—so tight his knuckles had turned white. His expression twisted in pain despite his attempts to hide it.

He met her eyes.

And slowly shook his head.

“No.”

The honesty was raw and immediate. There was no point in putting on a front here.

“Athena told me what happened,” Demeter said softly. “You absorbed Pandora’s curses. How much…?”

“Maybe… one third of them.”

Both Demeter and Persephone went pale.

“One third?” Persephone whispered.

Impossible.

Insane.

Unbelievable.

He was mortal—not a god. Not even close.

Even a god would need unimaginable willpower to survive such a corruption… and yet this mortal boy stood before them, breathing, speaking, enduring agony no divine being would willingly take.

Their shock hung in the air like a storm.

And the black veins beneath Nathan’s shirt pulsed again, silently reminding him—and them—that death still trailed him like a shadow.

“By the way… these things,” Nathan said, lifting a hand and gesturing toward his back.

He wasn’t referring to the black veins pulsing faintly beneath his skin; he had grown somewhat accustomed to their ominous presence.

No—he meant the other marks.

The ancient symbols that now covered portions of his body. Golden sigils etched into his skin like divine calligraphy, weaving across his back, shoulders, and even faintly along his arms. They shimmered faintly in the sunlight, as if infused with captured starlight and ancient power.

Demeter nodded solemnly.

“Athena placed those on you. Without them, you would have died before morning. They restrain the curses… and soften the pain.”

Nathan blinked his eyes.

Softens the pain?

Restrains the curses?

His breath hitched. Was this—this constant burning, twisting, wrenching agony—actually the restrained version?

Without Athena’s intervention… without the golden sigils… the curses would have devoured him whole. Perhaps not even Thanatos could have plucked him back if that happened.

Demeter continued gently, “Your Darkness Magic is helping too. It’s suppressing part of the curse’s influence—holding it down—but it can also trigger them if you push too far. So you must be careful whenever you use it.”

Nathan closed his eyes briefly.

Yes. He had suspected as much. His Darkness Magic had been both conduit and shield, the only reason he hadn’t died instantly while absorbing the curse. A double-edged sword sharpened by his own recklessness.

He nodded slowly.

“How long was I out?” he asked.

“Just the night,” Demeter replied.

Nathan exhaled, tension easing.

Good. He hadn’t left Rome unattended for too long.

“I should head back,” he said quietly. “Rome is… in shambles. There are things I need to take care of.”

Demeter’s eyes widened with concern. “Wait. You should be resting. Are you certain you’re in any state to return?”

“I won’t be fighting,” Nathan replied. “I only need to handle the aftermath.”

Demeter studied him for a long moment before a soft, wry smile curved her lips.”You truly are something unusual, Septimius. I don’t think I’ve ever met a mortal who behaves like you.”

Nathan gave a faint, weary smile. “Thank you for taking care of me,” he said sincerely. Then he glanced at both her and Persephone. “And… I would appreciate being able to come here again. This place is… peaceful.”

His words were honest—unusually so.

The Garden was a sanctuary untouched by mortal chaos, untouched by war, untouched by his own darkness.

Both goddesses brightened, their smiles gentle and radiant.

“Here,” Demeter said suddenly.

She tossed something toward him—glinting in the sunlight. Nathan caught it instinctively.

A key.

Golden, ornate, shaped like a blooming wheat stalk intertwined with vine patterns.

Nathan stared. “Is this…?”

“Access,” Demeter confirmed with a warm smile. “To my Garden. Athena trusts you—and you saved my daughter. That is more than enough for me.”

Persephone stepped closer. “Yes. Come whenever you wish, Septimius. You are welcome here.”

Nathan held the key tightly for a moment with quiet gratitude.”…Thanks.”

Demeter clapped her hands lightly, breaking the gentle silence.”Well, since Athena isn’t here to escort you, I’ll take you to Rome myself.”