There are few things in life that get the blood pumping more than running through ancient catacombs in a silk robe, one hand gripping a jeweled dagger, the other pulling along your divine ex-priestess-turned-femboy lover while explosions echo behind you. It looks like those retributions ca sooner than expected. The Solstice Parade had just hit its climax—the part with the fireworks, the drunken clergy, and, apparently, the Cathedral’s ergency kill-switch, complete with a full set of sword wielding priests. How festive.
Monts ago, we had narrowly escaped our rendezvous point atop the south transept tower, only for the backup route to go up in flas. So now we were sprinting full tilt into the underground catacombs—the ancient ossuary beneath the Cathedral itself, our only path out of this sacred deathtrap.
Unless, of course, you count battling a radiant demigod nad Albrecht Hollow, with a vengeance complex and cheekbones sharp enough to slice bread.
"Move!" I barked, throwing myself down a winding corridor as the ceiling behind us collapsed in a rain of gold-tiled rubble.
Ash sprinted beside , curls bouncing, boots stained with holy oil. Marius had the relic tucked under his arm like a sacred rugby ball, face pale with panic. Lysaria clung to , his lace robes scorched and scandalously tattered. Even in the midst of divine chaos, he still managed to look like a runway model escaping purgatory.
"We’re almost to the vestibule leading into the sewers," Elian shouted from ahead. "But there’s—oh fuck."
I rounded the corner and saw what made him curse.
Standing in the center of the chamber was Hollow himself.
He looked like a statue carved from starlight and holy writ. Long white hair shimred like moonlight spun through crystal, and his robes billowed with impossible stillness. His eyes were pure white—no pupils, no rcy.
"Thieves," he said, voice echoing like cathedral bells. "Perverts. Blasphers."
"You forgot stunning," I offered, breathless. "And slightly overdressed."
He didn’t flinch. Just raised his hand.
Light exploded.
I flung myself to the side as a beam of holy fire crashed into the wall where I had been standing. Ash dove for cover. Marius scread. Roderick swore so violently that the stones seed to crack.
And I—well, I grinned.
Finally.
Real combat.
I rolled to my feet and flicked my dagger forward. It shimred with enchantnt, tips kissed with anti-divine venom. A gift from a very bitter, very horny succubus I once dated. I couldn’t use my faithful pen, not yet. If I rose far above sobody in terms of power the pen would have its instant effects. However, if my opponent was of equal power or higher, they would need to be defeated first in order to submit to my will. In this case, that would be quite the challenge.
Hollow summoned a softly glowing spear which materialized out of thin air and struck again. This ti, I moved with more grace. His spear of light t my dagger in a shower of sparks. My arm trembled. He was strong. Divine blood, or perhaps divine ego.
"You cannot win," he said, calm and cold.
"You haven’t seen at my peak yet."
He sneered. Arrogant. Predictable.
I lunged. He parried. Our weapons kissed with fury.
But I was tiring fast.
Lysaria scrambled beside , eyes wide. "Cecil... you’re not strong enough."
"Darling, I always rise to the occasion," I said with puckered lips that brought a slight look of distain to Hollow’s face.
And then—sothing shifted.
A pulse echoed in my skull. A ringing chi, ancient and chanical, like clockwork striking midnight on a cursed cathedral tower. A voice—clear, feminine, tinged with amusent—spoke in my mind:
Skill Unlocked: Velvet Leech
Through intimate contact, you may now temporarily absorb skills and combat mories from those you have bonded with. Duration scales with intensity. Effects stack.
Consu. Beco. Command.
My lips twitched. "Well, well. That’s new."
Then I grabbed Lysaria by the waist, dipped him dramatically, and kissed him full on the lips.
Power flooded .
My veins surged with light. I felt warmth bloom from my spine outward, like sunlight trapped beneath my skin. My limbs lightened. My senses sharpened. I tasted divine resonance on my tongue and slled lavender and old parchnt.
I stood up, licking my lips. "Mmm. Combat priestess training. You’re full of surprises."
Hollow paused. His expression actually changed. Suspicion.
"Now we’re even," I purred.
And I charged.
This ti, I moved like flowing silk and lightning. My blade moved with premonition. His strikes missed by inches. I could feel where he’d move next, as if Lysaria’s mories guided . Every sacred parry, every sanctified dodge, now belonged to .
I flipped over Hollow and sliced across his back. A hiss escaped him. Angelic blood hit the floor with a sizzle.
"You dare!"
"Constantly."
He threw a pulse of light toward Elian, who barely managed to duck. Rage twisted Hollow’s face. I could see the cracks in his sanctity now—not holy, just hurt. Used. Programd.
A perfect little weapon, forged in guilt.
"You’re not protecting faith," I growled. "You’re protecting control."
He scread and lunged. I t him halfway.
We clashed in a maelstrom of fury and velvet. Light against sin. Doctrine against desire.
In a flash of motion, he caught off guard and stabbed through my shoulder with his spear. I hissed. Blood ran.
Elian scread. Lysaria surged forward—but I shouted, "No! Stay back!"
Hallow laughed. "You bleed."
"Yes," I said, eyes wild. "And now you’ll see what I do with pain."
In a sudden flash, a stepped back from the tip of his bloody spear, dashing with montous speed, and kissed Lysaria again, quick and sharp. His power flared through anew. Then I grabbed Elian and kissed him too—a different flavor, sweet and electric.
Speed. Grace. Deception.
Now we were flying.
Hollow couldn’t keep up. My body blurred with motion. I struck low, high, spun, slashed, ducked and occasionally retreated to receive more support. Every kiss amplified , even Roderick’s, though he looked back at with a slight flush and a tinge of distain. Every pleasure beca power as I slowly caught up to Hollow’s power. After a few long monts, it was over.
He collapsed as I stabbed him through the liver.
I stood above him, panting, silk robe in tatters, eyes glowing with purloined divinity.
"rcy," he whispered.
"Only if you say I’m prettier."
He groaned.
I leaned close. "You serve no god. Only tyranny. Consider yourself fired."
And with a final incantation, I marked him with my pen—searing a velvet sigil onto the smooth skin of his chest. Power shimred through him, reshaping body and mind. His features softened. His hair fell in elegant curls. Muscles slimd, lips plumped, and the glint of holy fire faded into sothing tad.
When he awoke minutes later, Hollow was still beautiful—perhaps even more so—but quiet now. Reserved, still sporting those dead eyes of his.
He was mine.
He’ll be useful for later.
We ran. The Cathedral shuddered above us. Runes burned out. Relics clashed in our bags. Ash kicked open a grate, and we erged into the sewer connected to the catacombs with the stink of victory and excommunication clinging to our skin.
We reached the Velvet Court by sunrise. Smoke smudged the horizon. The city had noticed our absence.
I collapsed onto a divan.
"Soone bring wine. And Lysaria. And Elian. Preferably naked."
They ca quickly—the wine, and then the rest.
I was bleeding, radiant, giddy. They crawled onto the divan beside .
Lysaria licked the blood from my chest. Elian kissed my throat. I shuddered with every touch, every brush of lace and breath. The adrenaline beca arousal. My pain beca want.
"We almost died," Elian whispered.
"Exactly why we need to live harder."
The night beca sweat, moans, and velvet heat. I took them both, claid them in the afterglow of battle, power still humming in my skin. Every kiss was a weapon. Every thrust a victory.
And when I ca to after my stupor, it felt like the gods were watching.
Let them.
I’d just stolen fire from heaven.
And I wasn’t done yet.
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