[BL]Hunted by the God of Destruction

The alley didn't feel like an escape route.

It felt like a trap disguised as freedom, narrow and slick, the kind of space that echoed your breath and refused to let you go.

Elias landed hard, barefoot and half-dressed, the cotton of his pajama pants instantly soaked with grime, his palms scraped raw from catching himself. He didn't stop. Couldn't. The burner was still pressed to his ear, and Victor's voice was the only thing keeping him together.

"Left. Go now," Victor said, clipped. "You have thirty meters before the alley splits. Take the right. Fence ahead."

"I'm not wearing shoes," Elias rasped.

"You're alive. Prioritize."

He didn't argue.

The cold bit into him, his breath leaving clouds in the air as he sprinted through the alley, thin cotton clinging to his skin. Every step sent shards of pain through the soles of his feet, gravel digging in like the pavement itself wanted to slow him down. His legs were already trembling, but adrenaline numbed the worst of it for now.

Behind him, the window stayed open. The door never slammed.

But the scent was still there.

That pressure.

The alpha.

Elias didn't need to turn around to know he was being followed, not yet visually, maybe, but pheromones didn't lie. They reached for him like hands, not touching, not yet, but dragging against his skin all the same. Thick and musky, threaded with dominance, the kind of scent that bypassed logic and struck the spine first. It was the chemical whisper of you belong to me, and Elias felt it settle in the pit of his stomach like lead.

His lungs burned. His feet were already bleeding. His breath came in sharp bursts that didn't feel like they were pulling in air anymore.

Victor's voice cut through again, steady as steel.

"Climb the fence. Chain-link. Nine feet. You'll see it in three... two…"

It emerged from the dark like the edge of a decision he didn't remember making. Rusted metal, sharp in places, torn in others, like it had already seen too many escapes.

Elias didn't stop to hesitate.

He hit the fence hard, hands scrambling for grip. The cold bit into his fingers, skin raw from the climb, but he barely registered it. The burner was wedged under his chin, held in place by the side of his jaw. Victor's voice still fed through the static.

"You're doing fine. Ignore the pain. Get over it, and drop. Now."

He swung one leg up, barefoot, barely dressed in threadbare pajama pants and a cotton shirt that clung to his sweat-soaked skin. Somewhere below, gravel waited to bite.

He dropped.

Landed hard.

Pain jolted up his ankle, sharp enough to blur the edges of his vision for a second, but he didn't cry out. Just hissed through his teeth, rolled onto his side, and scrambled upright again.

"You okay?" Victor asked, the sound glitching slightly over the line.

"I'm alive," Elias gasped. "Barely."

"That counts."

The burner vibrated again, another call trying to cut through.

Matteo.

Still calling. Still persistent.

Elias didn't look. Didn't press decline. Just kept moving, the device slick in his grip now, all plastic and heat.

"Alley ends in twenty meters," Victor continued. "Black sedan, left curb, across from the laundromat. Driver's name is Andrew Park. Plate ends 7X-473. Say nothing until you confirm. Copy?"

"Copy."

The street was ahead now, cracked pavement glinting under a flickering streetlamp. The air here felt thinner, like the pressure had eased slightly, but Elias knew better. That alpha wasn't gone. Just behind.

He reached the mouth of the alley, heart pounding against the cage of his ribs, lungs scraping like they were made of rusted metal. And there it was.

The sedan.

A black sedan, sleek and way too expensive to pass unobserved, parked with surgical precision across from the laundromat. The kind of car that didn't belong on a street with cracked pavement and broken signage but somehow looked exactly like it had been waiting for him all night.

Elias didn't move.

He stopped just shy of the sidewalk, still half-shadowed by the alley's mouth, the burner tight against his cheek. His bare feet ached, bleeding and cold, with gravel pressed into the skin like reminders of every second he didn't slow down.

"Confirm," Victor said in his ear, calm, steady, and never out of breath like Elias was. "You have thirty seconds. Read the plate."

Elias angled his body, eyes flicking to the bumper.

"Seven-X-four-seven-three," he whispered, jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

"That's it. Approach the car. Don't speak. If the driver identifies himself first, by name, we're green. If he doesn't, or he stalls, you walk away. No hesitation."

Elias stepped forward, slow, each movement measured like he was walking across thin glass. His legs were shaking. He hadn't noticed until now.

The burner vibrated again in his hand.

Not a call this time.

A message.

Matteo.

He didn't open it.

Didn't look.

He was close enough now to see the shape of the driver behind the tinted glass, hands on the wheel. Still. Waiting. No movement to roll down the window. No gesture to wave him in.

Elias swallowed thickly. "He's not—he's not opening it."

Victor's voice came, firm and low. "Take three steps back. Slowly. If it's the right driver, he'll follow protocol."

Elias did as he was told. Backed up. One step. Two. Three.

And then…

The window rolled down. Smooth. Silent.

A man leaned forward, black jacket, dark cap, mid-forties, clean-cut in a way that said professional more than friendly. 

"Robert Moore," he said. "I'm your ride. You can get in."

Victor's voice came through the burner, low and even, the sound of control wrapped in static.

"That's the code. Get in. Lock the door and dispose of the burner."

Elias didn't move at first.

Not because he didn't believe him, Victor didn't make mistakes, but because everything in his body was still wired to run. It took a second to realize he was holding his breath. Another to force his legs forward.

He slid into the back seat and pulled the door shut behind him. The lock clicked with a clean, mechanical finality.

Outside, the night stayed still.

No alphas. No footsteps. No chase.

Just the hum of the engine and the weight of the burner in his hand.

Elias looked at it.

The screen had gone dim, but Victor was still there, waiting.

"I'm in," Elias said softly, voice cracked and raw.

"You did well," Victor replied, voice lower now. "Now break the SIM. Snap the phone. Drop it on the floor and leave it there."

Elias hesitated. Not because he doubted the instruction, but because the phone suddenly felt like the only thing left tethering him to something.

But he obeyed.

He pulled the SIM with shaking fingers and cracked it in half, then snapped the cheap casing down the center, wires and screen splintering in his hands. It made a small sound as it hit the car floor.

The car pulled away from the curb.

No questions from the driver. No glance in the rearview. Just motion, smooth and quiet, the city lights sliding across Elias's lap as if none of it had happened at all.

And in the silence that followed, he finally looked down at his lap.

He was still in his pajamas.

Still barefoot.

Still bleeding.

But he was alive.