The third rule of Abyssos: Never let a Templar touch your skin.
I abided by this code for three hundred years, until that rainy night, a saint from the temple held my hand under the glove.
Not an attack, not a cleanse—she was trembling, but firmly against my skin, letting her holy light seep into my long-dead nerve endings.
Pain. Then comes the warmth.
The moment I realized the seriousness of the problem was already too late: I wanted to feel it again.
Alois's third rule: Never be curious about a succubus.
It only took me three seconds to violate this rule - the strand of black hair that slipped out from under his mask actually reflected star-like silver in the holy light.
The Holy See says succubi are ugly, twisted, and full of lies.
But they didn't say that some lies are so beautiful that you are willing to walk in and lock the door with your own hands.
Now, he stood in front of me, his gloves dropped to the ground, his bare hands cupping my face.
"Lord Saint," his thumb grazed my lower lip, his smile as sweet as poison, "Did your god tell you -"
"When you set out to save a devil, you'd better be prepared..."
"Dragged to hell by him for eternity."
I should have pushed him away.
I should summon the Holy Light.
But I closed my eyes.
Because in his hell, there are answers that the Holy See has never given me.
——What we are resisting is not each other, but the distorted world that regards purity and desire as tools to be exploited.
Purpose: On the ruins of collapsed faith, rebuild your own gods with mortal hands.