The Priest Of Corruption Novels & Stories

He held it to me as if to offer me more, and I shook my head. “It’ll be okay.” He said, “It’s been long enough since you took the meds.” I shook my head again. I doubted I would even be able to finish this glass. Robust, my ass. This shit was hard. “The Corrupt are typically in positions of power.” He said as he sat the goblet down. I sat and mulled over what he said. “But not always. Some lie low, infiltrating like termites.” “So, like government?” I asked.

Part of me—the part that was still sore and satisfied from last night—wondered if he’d be anywhere near as dangerous as Father Chris. All day the thoughts chased each other. At my desk I kept replaying the way Father Chris had licked my taste off his fingers, the way he’d promised his tongue next. Then the image of some faceless new priest standing beside him ruined it. I wanted the repentance book to be endless. I wanted chapters and chapters of kneeling, reading, aching, coming. I wanted Father Chris to keep breaking me open night after night. I didn’t touch myself once. Not even when the temptation hit hard in the office bathroom after lunch—door locked, panties already damp just from rem

Finally David reached over and took it, setting it on the table between them. "You became a priest," Sarah said, her voice getting harder. "You killed my son and then you put on a collar and pretended to be holy." "I became a priest because I couldn't live with what I'd done." Damien leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "I saw you on the news after Marcus's body was found, saw the way you fell apart, and something broke inside me. I realized I'd become a monster and I went to a church and confessed everything and the priest told me there might still be hope for my soul if I was willing to do the work."

he says softly, “your corpse will join theirs.” The priest visibly pales. Then, shakily, he begins the ritual. Ancient words echo across the field while the crowd watches in terrified silence. The entire ceremony feels wrong. Corrupted. Like the Moon Goddess herself should strike this place down any second now. Keal answers each vow eagerly. Proudly. Like this is everything he’s ever wanted. Then suddenly, the priest turns toward me. “Future Luna,” he whispers shakily, “repeat after me—” “No.”

“From what I know, though, the man is the devil, and he corrupts the priest, makes him kill people on the altar, fuck him in the blood. Real deep shit.” My hand tightens on the wheel. “I want to read,” Serena shouts, climbing into the back and knocking me. “Are you two for real right now?” I glare at them. “A priest and a devil, fucking in blood on an altar?” Rich grins and nods. He’s delusional. Utterly lost it. “You’re not serious, are you?” I ask, my grip on the wheel tightening. “You’re telling me that’s what you’re reading? That’s what’s keeping you occupied back there?”

My blood runs cold at her words, as I realize that this is a detail she didn’t tell us before. “Who is it?” Leon says calmly, as if Cora just told him she saw a pretty bird and he’s asking what color its feathers were. His voice betrays none of my shock and anxiety. “A priest,” she murmurs. “A priest?” Leon continues. “What kind of priest – a catholic priest? Or a priest of the goddess?” “No,” she murmurs, shaking her head as if that’s a silly suggestion. “No, this one’s robes are like the goddess robes. But they’re all black.”

The walls groaned, and the ground quaked beneath their paws as new dangers rose to meet them. From the farthest recesses of the Citadel's heart, a shadow moved, flickering, almost liquid in form. The High Priests of the Order—those twisted souls who had corrupted themselves with forbidden magics—emerged from the depths of the Citadel. Their robes were tattered, their faces gaunt and hollowed, their eyes burning with the light of their false gods. They had become something else—something that was no longer entirely human. "We meet again, Veyra Hale," a voice hissed, its tone an unnatural rasp. The High Priest who spoke stepped forward, his bony fingers reaching out toward her. "You cannot def

Rhychard jerked his attention to the stage where the band and choir were, worried they might have seen him, but everyone had their head still bowed and their eyes closed. Rhychard surveyed the people below him. He knew most of them, had worshiped with them back before Renny dumped him. Those people had been his friends at one point, but that was before being a Warrior of the Way consumed him. However, it wasn't the people before him who had changed, not really; it was him. The type of corruption it took to transform sacred ground didn't happen overnight. It took years of compromising the little things and ignoring the big things to weaken the power of the Way. They stopped seeing everything

"There's a parish in another country, a missionary outpost, that will take me in a secular capacity while I… transition. I've booked two tickets." He was leaving. And he expected me to go with him. To abandon my life, my identity, for this sin we’d created. "Say something," he pleaded, the priestly composure utterly gone. I thought of the wild passion, the sacred spaces defiled, the power I’d held over him. I thought of a life as the former mistress of a defrocked priest, hiding in some remote corner of the world, our entire relationship born from and defined by sacrilege. The thrill had been in the corruption, the chase, the danger of the forbidden. Not in a mundane exile.