Novel & Cerita The Priest Of Corruption

Draynon coughed once more and continued the recitation. “The corridor was immense and opulence was everywhere, yet that is not what caught the attention. Nor the fact that everything was made of gold, expensive silks, satins or encrusted with jewels of bright colours. The deep gold is as pure as anyone could imagine and the satin as blood red as the heart of a lover. The floor and stately columns were as black as the soul of night yet the walls were covered in clashing colours of purples, greens and orange. The riot of conflicting colours still was not the main focus, nor the obvious and nauseating display of inestimable wealth. What would catch your attention are the two men walking do

"I'll take whatever the gods send us." "I've been fearing Agent. But why? He's just a no-fur at his core." Priest relaxed into the physical contact. "And one who has betrayed his own kind. It's time he pays for that. Time he pays for what he's done with our great works. Time to drain him." Priest suddenly felt his own weight and couldn't find his sea legs, slipping down to the floor. "We have the power to stop that little menace once and for all." Ink was looking at him like he'd lost his mind.

The priest is the same ancient man from César's world—someone who asks no questions, who marries monsters to their victims without hesitation. César takes both my hands. He faces me. "You're shaking," he observes quietly, under the music. "I'm cold," I lie. "You won't be cold much longer." His eyes are intense. "After today, you will never be cold again. I will keep you warm. Forever." It sounds like an oath but It feels like a threat. The music stops. And the ceremony begins. ********************* ~CESAR POV~ The priest drones through the liturgy in Latin.

The air in the forgotten chapel tasted of dust and despair, thick enough to choke on. Moonlight, pale and unforgiving, sliced through the shattered stained glass, painting fractured saints across the cold stone floor. In the centre of that desecrated sanctity, he knelt. Cassian. Once Bishop of the Crimson Spire, now the Ashen Bishop. His fine clerical robes, centuries out of fashion, hung loose on a frame honed by predatory hunger and endless remorse. The scent of old incense clung to him, warring with the metallic tang of the blood he no longer drank. His head was bowed, not in prayer, but in the crushing weight of damnation.

My grip tightened on my blade, Killian's shoulders squared, and every cell in his body seemed to be bracing itself for the hunt that was only truly beginning now. Killian had been pissed about the fact that the priest seemed to have the upper hand. Constantly hiding and camouflaging himself. All he did was tease and taunt us, never showing his face to us or confronting us in real time. My ruthless mafia husband had tracked all of Black Scorpion's drug warehouses and burned them all to the ground. And now he was trying to lure the priest out because the priest was undoubtedly connected to Black Scorpion. "Your kingdom is built on rot. And tonight, rot will consume it," the priest added.

It was several blocks before Lucas’s battered body wore through the strange rush of adrenaline that had powered his escape from the church. He slowed from the near-jog he’d been traveling at and sagged against the brick wall of the nearest store. The priest was crazy. No, that was disrespectful. The priest was holy, or something. Something pure, something better than Lucas. Much better. And Lucas had corrupted that purity by his mere presence, making the priest do something he regretted. Something totally natural, something Lucas totally deserved, but the priest was beating himself up about it.

On his knees on the cold tile floor, one hand gripping the sink, the other wrapped around his cock, stroking himself with frantic, desperate movements. I leaned forward, every detail consuming me. His face was twisted in shame, jaw clenched, eyes wet. He bit down on his lip as though he could bite back the groans spilling out of him. But he couldn’t. His body betrayed him, writhing and aching until he finally came with a strangled groan, spilling his seed across the porcelain like a filthy confession. A slow, triumphant smile spread across my lips. The priest. The man who once condemned me to hell. The man who prayed over my soul, who claimed to be incorruptible. And now I had him caught on

she swallowed, only realizing how hard it was to say the old priest's name, "He mentioned something to me from before. A powerful priest who had married most of the couples back home was excommunicated a couple of years ago. A corruption case. He was stripped of his powers and sent here. Only we heard rumors that he managed to hold on to his powers, after all. If that’s true, finding him might be worth a try. We can ask him to officiate the wedding." *** Gandhandi. Rose couldn't understand it. On the ground, it looked like a huge market, with stores squeezed together so tight, making the place look more crowded than it actually was. But once you look up, huge screens keep popping out of the

"No one can. Once the corruption takes root that deeply, the person you knew is gone. Only the puppet remains." "I don't believe that," I said. But my voice sounded uncertain even to my own ears. "Believe what you want," Vesper slumped back. "Doesn't change reality. The High Priestess is coming. She'll offer you a deal. Surrender yourself. Let her have the Tear. And maybe—maybe—she'll let the rest of your pack live." "And if I refuse?" "Everyone dies." Simple. "She has the warriors. The magic. The resources. And now, thanks to Leighton, she has perfect intelligence in her defense. You can't win."

"I want to see you beg, priestess. Not for mercy. For corruption." He stripped me layer by layer, pressing me against marble. His fingers traced the runes on my spine, lighting up the sacred script with each touch. My back arched. My thighs parted. My breath shattered into whimpers. When he entered me, it was not a violation. It was the fulfillment of every blasphemous whisper I had choked on for years. I screamed his name like a sacred chant, letting the temple tremble with each thrust. "You are no longer hers," he growled. "You are mine."