Desires & Heresy

Zane knelt before her.

The flickering candlelight painted shadows across the grand cathedral, casting the stained-glass reflections onto the cold marble floor. It was a scene that should have felt reverent, holy—yet there was nothing sacred about the way he looked at her.

Not as a priest.

Not as a man of faith.

But as a man who had claimed her.

Eleanor's breath trembled as Zane took her hands in his, his touch warm against her cold fingers. He lifted them slowly, deliberately, and pressed a soft kiss against her knuckles.

She flinched. It was such a simple act—gentle, reverent—yet her body reacted as if it were something more.

His lips lingered, brushing over the delicate skin of her wrist, warm breath ghosting over her pulse.

"You've spent your life devoted to the gods," he murmured, pressing another kiss along the curve of her palm. "Praying. Serving. Giving everything of yourself."

Eleanor's fingers twitched, her mind warning her to pull away. But she didn't.

Zane tilted his head up, watching her beneath dark lashes, his amber gaze unreadable.

"Has anyone ever knelt for you, Eleanor?"

Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

The answer was obvious.

No.

No one had ever done this for her. No one had ever touched her with such tenderness, kissed her as if she were something precious. She was the one who gave, the one who healed, the one who sacrificed.

But now, for the first time, someone offered himself to her.

Eleanor's heart pounded against her ribs.

Zane smiled faintly, rising to his feet, his grip on her hands never loosening.

[Velvet Whispers (activated)]

"Let me be the first," he murmured.

Before she could react, his fingers trailed up the curve of her arms, slow and unhurried, until they reached the delicate slope of her shoulders. He leaned in, his breath brushing the sensitive skin of her throat.

Eleanor gasped softly.

His lips found her neck, gentle at first—then firmer. He pressed a slow kiss beneath her jaw, then another along the slender line of her throat.

"You're trembling," Zane whispered against her skin.

She tried to step back, but his hands slid down, catching her waist.

Her robes felt suffocating. The thick fabric that had always been a shield, a layer of purity and dignity, now felt like a barrier she couldn't escape.

His lips moved lower, tracing the delicate curve of her collarbone, his teeth grazing just enough to make her shudder.

"You were always meant to be adored," he murmured. "Worshiped."

Eleanor squeezed her eyes shut. "I—"

Zane hummed in amusement, his voice velvet against her skin. "Shy?"

[Euphoric Touch (activated)]

His knee nudged between her legs.

Eleanor's entire body locked up.

Heat pooled low in her stomach, something foreign, something overwhelming. Instinct screamed at her to push him away—but her hands refused to obey.

Zane smirked against her throat.

"Your mind refuses, but your body…" His knee pressed forward again, and Eleanor nearly collapsed in on herself.

Zane chuckled.

"Has already accepted me."

She wanted to deny it.

Wanted to fight it.

But the sensation was too much.

Her thoughts twisted, tangled, trying to rationalize this, trying to justify it.

Then—she broke.

"If… If love is a sin…"

Her breath trembled, her golden eyes dark with something unspoken.

"…then I was never pure to begin with."

Zane stilled.

Then—he smiled.

It was soft.

Knowing.

And when he kissed her, Eleanor kissed him back.

It started slow—a hesitant press of lips, a trembling intake of breath. But then Zane deepened it, capturing her mouth fully, teasing, coaxing. He took his time, savoring the moment she surrendered completely.

Eleanor's fingers gripped the fabric of his robes, pulling him closer.

She wanted more.

Zane felt it.

He groaned softly, tilting her chin up, devouring every soft gasp that escaped her lips. His hands explored her waist, tracing the curve of her hips, mapping out every inch of her through the heavy fabric.

She was his.

And she had never felt more alive.

Zane pulled back slightly, his breath warm against her lips.

"Oh? No more holding back?"

Eleanor didn't answer, but the way her lashes fluttered, the way she pressed closer instead of pulling away, said everything.

Her shyness still lingered, but it was fading—melting beneath his touch.

Zane chuckled.

"How cute."

Then, without warning—he lifted her.

A gasp left her lips as her feet left the ground, but before she could even process it, her back met cold marble.

The altar.

Zane's hands framed her waist, pinning her beneath him, his weight pressing her down just enough to make her breath catch.

"You've prayed on this altar before, haven't you?" he murmured, his lips ghosting along her jawline.

Eleanor swallowed hard. "Y-Yes…"

Zane smirked.

"And yet… here you are now."

His fingers trailed downward, grasping the hem of her robes.

Eleanor stilled.

"Let me see you," he whispered.

She hesitated, her body taut beneath his. But when his hands moved again, when his fingertips traced the bare skin of her thigh, her resistance cracked.

Her legs parted just slightly.

A silent invitation.

A wordless surrender.

Zane exhaled slowly, his amber gaze drinking in the sight of her—flushed, trembling, utterly his.

Then—he claimed her.

A soft chime echoed in his mind. A final confirmation.

[Eleanor Corruption: 100%]

[Main Target Corruption Completion Reward: Divine Authority – "Holy Body"]

The host's body recovers quickly, even from serious injuries. The rate of recovery is proportional to fatigue.

Zane's lips curled into a smirk. Victory was his.

Eleanor lay beneath him, breathless, her golden eyes hazy with pleasure and something deeper—something unspoken. She had given herself to him, wholly, completely. And now, there was no turning back.

The air in the cathedral was thick with the scent of burning incense and sin. The cold marble beneath them had long since lost its chill, warmed by tangled limbs and shared heat.

Zane traced slow, lazy circles over Eleanor's bare thigh, savoring the way she shivered under his touch. His lips pressed against her temple, a rare moment of something almost tender.

He had broken her.

No—he had remade her.

And that night, beneath the cold glow of stained glass and flickering candlelight, they abandoned faith for something far more sinful.