The scent of wet earth, horse sweat, and victory filled Thomas Vance's lungs. The roar of thousands of spectators still echoed in his ears, a reverberation from the moment Thunder King, the black stallion he rode, crossed the finish line. The horse's neck was slick with sweat, its powerful muscles trembling beneath Thomas's touch. He patted its neck, a gesture of appreciation understood only by the two of them. They had done it. They had conquered the Belmont Stakes.
That night, the atmosphere changed. The celebratory party hosted by the farm owner, Mr. Henderson, felt alien. Thomas stood in a corner of the room, holding a glass of untouched champagne. He was the jockey, the hero of the day, yet he remained an employee. He watched men in expensive suits and women in evening gowns, their laughter sounding hollow.
A soft touch on his arm made him turn. Clara, Henderson's daughter. Her blue eyes sparkled under the crystal chandelier, her smile implying a promise. She didn't say a word, only her gaze drew him away from the crowd, out through the back door, into the quiet night and cool air.
They walked in silence towards the stables, Thomas's true world. The sweet scent of hay and the distinctive smell of horses greeted them. Inside one of the stalls, Thunder King snorted softly, recognizing his master's footsteps.
Clara gently pushed Thomas against the rough wooden wall. Her lips immediately found his, their kiss urgent, full of long-suppressed passion. Thomas's hands circled her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space between them. He could feel the heat of Clara's body radiating through her silk dress.
The dress slipped easily to the hay-covered floor. The dim moonlight filtered through the wooden cracks, highlighting her pale skin and her full, firm breasts. Thomas lowered his head, his mouth capturing one of her hardened nipples. A soft moan escaped Clara's lips, her hands clutching Thomas's hair.
She pulled Thomas onto the thick pile of hay in the corner. The hay felt itchy against their naked skin, but they didn't care. Thomas's pants were already off, his hard, turgid manhood standing erect in the cool night air. Clara guided him with her trembling hand, her abundant wetness already hot and ready.
With one powerful thrust, Thomas entered her. Her wet, narrow vagina gripped him tightly. Clara let out a soft cry, her back arching as she received the full length of Thomas.
Their movements began, slow at first, then growing faster and more urgent. The sound of their sweat-slicked bodies colliding, accompanied by their increasingly loud sighs and moans, filled the quiet of the stable. In his stall, Thunder King began to stir restlessly, snorting louder, his ears twitching at the strange sounds disturbing his tranquility.
"Ah... Thomas... keep going," Clara gasped, her breath ragged against Thomas's neck.
Thomas felt his climax approaching, a wave of burning pleasure coursing through his entire body. He accelerated his thrusts, pushing deeper, each thrust bringing them both closer to the precipice.
"I... I'm going to..." Thomas's voice was hoarse with passion.
At that moment, as Thomas's world exploded in a blinding burst of pleasure, as his hot semen gushed into Clara's womb, his climactic cry merged with Clara's scream of ecstasy.
Their combined sound became the final trigger.
From the stall next to them, there was a loud, panicked snort, followed by the deafening sound of cracking wood. Before Thomas could even process what was happening, a black flash burst through the wooden partition separating them. Thunder King's hoof, kicking back with full force due to shock and panic, struck Thomas's head with horrific power.
There was a blinding explosion of pain. The sensation of being thrown off Clara. A moment of absolute confusion.
Then, only darkness. Silence. And cold.
The darkness was total. The silence was deafening. The cold was no longer the chill of the night air, but an absolute void. There was no pain. No hay. No Clara. Nothing. Thomas Vance was no more.
Then, a sound.
Slurp...
A sound out of place. Soft, wet, like someone leisurely sipping a hot drink.
Clink.
The sound of a spoon gently tapping a porcelain cup.
Slowly, consciousness began to return, crawling out of nothingness. The darkness before Thomas's eyes began to thin, like fog blown by the wind. His blurry vision slowly came into focus on an impossible sight.
He was not in a stable. He was in an endless void, but before him, sitting in a plush armchair floating in mid-air, a creature was stirring a cup of tea. The creature was a cat. A giant blue cat the size of a human, with fur as blue as a summer sky and liquid gold eyes that stared at him with amusement.
The cat took another sip of its tea before speaking. Its voice was calm, relaxed, and slightly bored. "You're finally awake. The tea's almost cold."
Thomas tried to open his mouth, but no sound came out. Where was he? What happened? The pain in his head... gone. Everything was gone.
"You look confused," the blue cat said, placing its cup on a small saucer floating beside it. "It's understandable. Most souls are when they first arrive. Consider this a waiting room. I'm Tom. The God of Chaos."
"God...?" Thomas's voice finally came out, hoarse and unreal. "I... I died?"
Tom chuckled, his laugh sounding like a deep purr. "Very dead. Spectacularly so, in fact. Done in by your own horse at the moment of your climax. A masterpiece of chaotic irony. It's been a long time since I've been so entertained."
Thomas could only stare, the horror of his last memory mingling with the absurdity of the situation.
"Since you've given me such a delightful laugh," Tom continued, examining his claws, "I'll grant you a gift. A second life. In a much more interesting world, full of true chaos. And since I'm feeling generous, I'll grant you two wishes."
Two wishes. Thomas's still-shaken brain tried to process it. A second chance. Power. He thought of all the stories and movies he'd seen. He had to choose wisely.
"I want..." Thomas said with newfound conviction. "I want all the powers of Superman."
Tom stopped admiring his claws. He raised his head and looked directly at Thomas. His expression was flat. His golden eyes showed no emotion.
Then, with a movement too fast to follow, Tom extended his hand to the side. A pink electric fly swatter appeared in his grasp. Without warning, he swung it and smacked Thomas hard on the head.
BZZZZT!
A sharp, humiliating electric shock coursed through Thomas's skull. He staggered back, his eyes watering from shock and pain.
"You are not worthy of that," Tom said in a monotone voice, before making the fly swatter vanish.
The stinging sensation still lingered on his scalp, leaving a faint ozone smell in the void. Thomas cautiously touched his head, feeling the lingering humiliation of the electric shock. He finally understood. This was not a genie in a bottle who would grant wishes merrily. Tom, the God of Chaos, had rules, and pain was Tom's way of explaining them.
He had to think. Not about limitless power, but about advantages he could gain without being presumptuous. He discarded ideas of flight, immortality, or magic. He needed something at the peak of human potential, not a god's. He remembered the heroes from his old comic books. Not a god from another planet, but a soldier. Someone who was made the best version of a human. Strong, fast, tough, with a sharp tactical mind, yet still capable of being hurt, still capable of dying.
Thomas raised his head, looking at Tom with a more cautious expression. "Alright," he said, his voice steady. "For my first wish... I want to have all the physical and mental enhancements granted by the super-soldier serum to Captain America."
Tom raised his blue eyebrow. He took another sip of his tea, considering the request. "Hmm. That makes more sense," he said after a moment of silence. "Quite grounded. Strong, but mortal. I like that. First wish granted."
Thomas felt a strange wave of energy flowing within the essence of his soul, a promise of unmanifested power. He didn't let himself be distracted. He had to focus on the second wish. If the first was about personal power, the second had to be about influence and resources. Something that could give him an army, expertise, and a strategic advantage.
"For my second wish," Thomas said, choosing his words carefully. "I request the ability to create clones of any living creature I touch."
Tom's golden eyes narrowed. His interest was piqued. The idea had limitless chaotic potential, and that greatly appealed to him. "An interesting request," he purred, his tone full of intrigue. He tapped his long claws on his chin, deep in thought.
"Alright," he said after a while. "Second wish granted as well, but with some strict limitations from me. Listen carefully."
"First, you cannot clone mythical creatures. Dragons, ghosts, or other strange monsters. Only creatures from the ordinary biological world."
"Second, each unique creature can only be cloned once. Once you touch and clone someone, you cannot create a second clone of the same person."
"Third, all clones you create will be stored in a special dimensional space that only you can access. They will not take up space in the real world until you summon them."
"Fourth, each clone can only survive for thirty days within that dimension. If you do not summon them within that time, they will vanish forever."
"And fifth, most importantly," Tom leaned forward, his eyes glinting. "Once a clone is released from the storage dimension, it cannot be put back. It becomes a permanent entity in that world until it dies. Do you understand?"
Thomas nodded slowly, his brain racing to analyze every rule, every loophole, and every potential. This was more than enough.
"I understand," Thomas replied.
"Good," Tom said, leaning back into his plush chair. He seemed satisfied. "Then, the deal is done."
The Blue Cat God snapped his fingers.
The sound of the snap echoed like thunder, and the entire surreal void around Thomas began to crack and shatter like glass. An uncontrolled feeling of falling gripped him as the floor beneath him vanished. Darkness swallowed him again, but this time, the darkness felt full of promise and impending power.
AUTHOR'S THOUGHT: In my country, we commonly use address terms ( Label ) when speaking, which significantly impacts how it translates into English. So, this might cause a bit of awkwardness. I haven't double-checked this yet, as it's a new fanfic and might not gain many fans, so I won't put in extra work for it.