CHAPTER 7: CHAPTER 7: LOCKED

The god almighty—nothing more than a name carved into stone, robed in incense smoke and blind worship. A silent throne.

No voice. No presence. Just... rewards.

In this empire, the god was a myth wrapped in golden embroidery. A promise of power. The more one worshipped, the more mana and ember surged through their veins. That alone was enough. Enough to build cathedrals. Enough to build armies. Enough to feed the wild hunger of the faithful.

From whispers in gutters to vows in noble courts, the god’s influence slithered upward. Politics bent to pulpits. The crown bowed before the altar. Even the Empress herself—drenched in silk and pride—offered her prayers like a beggar begging for bread.

And now, there were rumors. Prophecies. A messiah, they said. The chosen. The vessel of flame and glory.

Typical religion things, Aiden thought.

He had no time for gods.

He had no room for prophecy.

Not when the horns on his head began to itch again. Small, barely nubs—but there. A whisper of his bloodline pressing to surface. The hunger ravaging his mind and body...

He tilted his head slightly. Let the long strands of silver fall to obscure the truth pressing beneath his skin.

Dhuk.

The church door shut behind them. Heavy. Echoing.

Inside, the air was cooler, laced with candle smoke, lavender oil, and something older—wood rot beneath white paint. A few faithful knelt at the pews. Nuns in white robes chanted their hymns, soft like lullabies, sharp like chains.

"...I don’t see the Father," Amber beside him whispered.

Her voice was quiet, unsure. Not fearful, but uncertain. Her name was Amber. A minor nun. Background beauty for the church’s outer court. Decorative. Dismissed. Yet here she was.

Aiden turned to her, weak but poised. His fingers reached, trembling slightly, and rested on her shoulder.

She felt it—a strange gravity in his touch. Not pressure, not weight. Just pull.

"...Sister, please....You can heal me," he said, voice like velvet dipped in wine. "I trust you... and your kindness...."

The words coiled around her spine like a question she couldn’t answer.

Amber swallowed. Deep.

The chapel lights flickered as if something unseen had passed by.

"...Okay," she said finally, her voice finding its edge. "Come with me."

She guided him toward the back, past the columns and brass candle stands, into one of the private quarters. The walls here were quieter. The hymns dimmed. Dust settled on the corners of stained glass.

Aiden stumbled a little as she led him. His shirt clung to his skin, drenched in sweat. His body flushed with unnatural heat. His breath shallow, ragged.

Amber wasn’t trained for this. Healing was the Father’s duty. The Sisters merely sang and smiled. Amber had always hated that—being reduced to a face, a body meant to lure men to the altar.

She had wanted more.

And maybe... maybe this was her chance.

She laid Aiden gently onto the cot. The room smelled faintly of frankincense and medicinal herbs, but it couldn’t mask the scent of him. Sweat. Musk. Something... primal.

Her hands hesitated at the edge of his chest, unsure whether to touch or bless.

’No. I’m a nun. I live for the god....I will die for the god.’

She muttered it like a mantra in her mind. But her fingers still tingled as they brushed against him, and a part of her—the rabbit blood within—thrilled at the sight of him. Tall. Lean. Beautiful. Dangerous.

She turned away. Fumbled through her bag.

A vial of green potion. A worn spellbook. The pages curled at the corners from years of use.

’This is it. My chance to be useful. Not just a pretty distraction. I will heal him..... I will serve.’

She opened the book. Whispered the holy words under her breath. Her hands glowed faintly—a soft green shimmer.

The light trembled in her palm, then spread toward Aiden. The warmth danced across his skin. His breath slowed. His eyes fluttered.

For a moment, the hunger receded. The thirst. The clawing fire in his belly. He felt... human.

Peace. Is this what peace feels like?

But it was fleeting.

The moment the spell faded, the hunger surged back.

Aiden clenched his jaw. No. This wouldn’t do. The light wasn’t enough.

’...I’ll have to improvise,’ he thought.

He jerked slightly on the cot, arching his back. A shiver. A cough. A tremor.

Amber gasped. "Oh—are you okay? D-did I do something wrong?"

Her hands fluttered over him, unsure where to land. Her green eyes wide, brimming with fear.

"I...I will go look for father." She voiced in panic. But as she was to leave, her hand was grabbed by another. Aiden.

He looked at her, lids heavy, lips parted.

"Please...please heal me, Sister...i believe in you.." he whispered.

She froze.

That was the first time anyone had said that to her in years. Maybe ever.

Her breath caught. Her hands lowered.

"I—I need to have faith in myself," she whispered, almost to herself. Taking the vile of healing potion and slowly pouring it on his mouth.

Aiden smiled from within—small, secret, devilish.

Then his body jolted. A sharp convulsion rippled through him as he began blurbing out the potion in thick, sudden spurts, like bile forced from a cursed stomach. It dribbled down his lips, the green liquid bubbling like acid on his tongue, hissing with residual heat.

His body jerked again. Violently. As if gripped by a seizure.

"Wh—Aiden?! Aiden!" Amber gasped, panic crashing into her like a wave.

She dropped to her knees, fumbling with trembling hands as she reached for the towel. "Oh no no no please—stay with me!"

He coughed, hard, his jaw clenched, the potion spilling over like venom, streaking down his chin. His eyes rolled back for a breathless second.

Amber, frantic, pressed the towel against his face, wiping the bitter liquid away with urgency—her hands stained with it now, her breath coming in quick, terrified bursts.

"Aiden, breathe—please, just breathe—!"

She didn’t see the corners of his lips curl beneath the cloth.

Didn’t see the flicker of satisfaction in his eyes, half-lidded and burning from within.

He was testing her.

And she passed.

Again.

Aiden’s gaze sharpened.

She reached for the potion again. His hand caught hers.

He brought her closer, gently, with a plea in his eyes. His voice turning to whisper.

"Only you can do it...just....."

His voice—too soft but also too deep.... Too sincere.

But the words he spoke, made her eyes open in surprise. Made her.....waver.

Her doubts warred with the warmth pulsing in her chest.

She looked down at the vial. Then at him.

"...is it the...only way. " she voiced. Looking at his desperate eyes.

’If it’s for healing... if it’s to serve...’

She hesitated.

Then she whispered, "...It’s not a sin... if I’m helping someone."

She lifted the potion to her lips. Held it there. Closed her eyes.

Aiden watched her, fascinated. The way she fought herself. The way her loyalty twisted against her instincts. The way the symbol of virtue—the nun’s robe, the chaste demeanor—trembled on the edge of collapse.

She leaned down.

Their lips met—not in hunger, but in offering.

She passed the potion to him mouth-to-mouth. Gentle. Measured.

But the moment the liquid crossed between them, something shifted.

His tongue grazed hers.

Not aggressively. Not forcefully.

Just... there.

Ember shivered.

Suddenly the mana in her hand sputtered. She felt her knees weaken. The light around her fingertips dimmed.

A whisper of exhaustion. A flicker of heat.

Something was being drawn from her—not just mana. Not just magic.

Something deeper.

She staggered back, lips flushed, eyes unfocused.

Aiden lay still.

Then gradually sat up.

The horns beneath his skin pulled back. His body cooled. The inferno inside him was... gone.

He exhaled, slow and deep, like a man tasting fresh air after drowning for years.

The relief made him almost laugh.

He stood.

Ember slumped to the ground beside the cot, drained but breathing. Her body lay curled. Her face—soft, peaceful.

He looked at her.

Long. Hungry.

Not sexually. Not violently.

But with curiosity. With a predator’s appreciation.

She had done it. Unwillingly or not, she’d helped him cross a threshold.

And the taste of salvation lingered on his tongue.

He turned toward the door. Paused.

Then closed it gently.

A symbolic gesture.

He leaned against it, eyes tracing the carved wood, the cracks filled with incense dust.

But Inside, silence.

The nuns outside kept singing their hymns, never aware of what had just transpired behind their sacred walls.

He glanced at her again. At the nun who had doubted herself, who had stepped into fire thinking it was light.

Amber Nickson. Blessed by the god. Bloodline of the rabbit. Grade C.

Her info showed in his system like a scroll.

[Amber nickson

Status: Temporary possession.

Bloodline: blessed bunny Bloodline (low tier)

Mana: low

Grade: C class

Personality: Unconscious/Very Horny

Skills: light healing (low Tier), low Aura (low Tier), Saint blessing (locked)

Beauty: voluptuous ( High Tier)

Talent: ⭐⭐]

Then stopped.

He whispered, almost mournfully, "You were never supposed to be part of this."

But she was now.

Clank!

Aiden locked the door.

And that changed everything.