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 came sooner than expected. The Solstice Parade had just hit its climax—the part with the fireworks, the drunken clergy, and, apparently, the Cathedral's emergency kill-switch, complete with a full set of sword wielding priests. How festive.
Moments ago, we had narrowly escaped our rendezvous point atop the south transept tower, only for the backup route to go up in flames. 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 named 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 me, 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 me, 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," 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 shimmered like moonlight spun through crystal, and his robes billowed with impossible stillness. His eyes were pure white—no pupils, no mercy.
"Thieves," he said, voice echoing like cathedral bells. "Perverts. Blasphemers."
"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 fire crashed into the wall where I had been standing. Ash dove for cover. Marius screamed. Roderick swore so violently that the stones cracked.
And I—well, I grinned.
Finally.
Combat.
I rolled to my feet and flicked my dagger forward. It shimmered with enchantment, 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 somebody in terms of power the pen would have its instant effects. However, if my opponent was of equal power or higher, they would needed to be defeated first in order to submit to my will. In this case, that would be quiet the challange.
Hallow struck again. This time, I moved with more grace. His spear of light met my dagger in a shower of sparks. My arm trembled. He was strong. Divine blood, or perhaps just divine ego.
"You cannot win," he said, calm and cold.
"You haven't seen me at my peak yet"
He sneered. Arrogant. Predictable.
I lunged. He parried. Our blades kissed with fury.
But I was tiring fast.
Lysaria scrambled beside me, 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 Hallow's face.
And then—something shifted.
A pulse echoed in my skull. A ringing chime, ancient and mechanical, like clockwork striking midnight on a cursed cathedral tower. A voice—clear, feminine, tinged with amusement—spoke in my mind:
Skill Unlocked: Velvet Leech
Through intimate contact, you may now temporarily absorb skills and combat memories from those you have bonded with. Duration scales with intensity. Effects stack.
Consume. Become. 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 me.
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 smelled lavender and old parchment.
I stood up, licking my lips. "Mmm. Combat priestess training. You're full of surprises."
Hallow paused. His expression actually changed. Suspicion.
"Now we're even," I purred.
And I charged.
This time, 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 memories guided me. Every sacred parry, every sanctified dodge, now belonged to me.
I flipped over Hallow 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 Hallow's face. I could see the cracks in his sanctity now—not holy, just hurt. Used. Programmed.
A perfect little weapon, forged in guilt.
"You're not protecting faith," I growled. "You're protecting control."
He screamed and lunged. I met him halfway.
We clashed in a maelstrom of fury and velvet. Light against sin. Doctrine against desire.
He stabbed through my shoulder. I hissed. Blood ran.
Elian screamed. 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 knife and kissed Lysaria again, quick and sharp. His power flared through me anew. Then I grabbed Elian and kissed him too—a different flavor, sweet and electric.
Speed. Grace. Deception.
Now we were flying.
Hallow couldn't keep up. My body blurred with motion. I struck low, high, spun, slashed, ducked and occasionally retreated to recive more support. Every kiss amplified me, even Roderick's, though he looked back at me with a slight flush and a tinge of distain. Every pleasure became power as I slowly caught up to Hollow's power. After a few long moments, 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.
"Mercy," 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 shimmered through him, reshaping body and mind. His features softened. His hair fell in elegant curls. Muscles slimmed, lips plumped, and the glint of holy fire faded into something tamed.
When he awoke minutes later, Hallow 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 around us. Runes burned out. Relics clashed in our bags. Ash kicked open a grate, and we emerged into the sewer 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.
"Someone bring wine. And Lysaria. And Elian. Preferably naked."
They came quickly—the wine, and then the femboys.
I was bleeding, radiant, giddy. They crawled onto the divan beside me.
Lysaria licked the blood from my chest. Elian kissed my throat. I shuddered with every touch, every brush of lace and breath. The adrenaline became arousal. My pain became want.
"We almost died," Elian whispered.
"Exactly why we need to live harder."
The night became sweat and moans and velvet heat. I took them both, claimed them in the afterglow of battle, power still humming in my skin. Every kiss was a weapon. Every thrust a victory.
And when I came 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.