Today the sunlight didn't simply rise—it spilled like molten gold through the jeweled mosaic windows, casting long prismatic beams onto the velvet-carpeted halls. Each chime of the cathedral's ancient bells sent tremors through the ivory foundations, echoing like the last calm notes before a symphony of blood and ambition. I stood before a gilded mirror, adjusting the final touch of my ceremonial attire.
My form shimmered, angelic yet scandalous. Pink lips glossed to perfection, a powdered collarbone daring to peek above the sheer silk tunic. The thigh-high boots were perhaps a touch provocative—but then again, what was holiness without a little temptation? Hollow sat on the edge of the bench behind me, swathed in white robes edged with ecclesiastical gold. He looked like a statue carved by sinless hands. The only evidence to the contrary was the faint love mark I'd left on his collarbone the night before. Subtle, of course. Just enough to tickle memory.
"You're remarkably calm," Hollow said, eyes fixed on me through the mirror's reflection.
"I radiate composure like incense at a funeral," I replied, adding a silver chain around my neck. "Besides, what's there to fear when the game's already been won?"
He gave a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Don't underestimate what the Council will do to protect their order."
I didn't. Not really. But I also didn't care. Today was the day the Church would be rewritten—by charm, by spectacle, and if necessary, by force.
The cathedral's upper sanctum, where the procession would take place, was a theater of divinity: tiered balconies filled with the robed elite of the faith, priests and cardinals cloaked in shimmering vestments that hung heavy with centuries of tradition. Incense clouded the rafters. Murmurs rose like a tide.
On the center dais stood six contenders for High Priest, their faces composed in pious masks—each one a political knife sharpened over decades of sermon and schism. The Council watched from elevated thrones on the first tier balcony, their glares as cold and weighty as marble tombs. I spotted Cardinal Iareth immediately, a skeletal man with a spine forged of doctrine. He was the true threat. The others were just puppets with rosaries, hopefully.
Hollow stepped forward, flanked by ceremonial guards. He bowed his head and kneeled before the alter atop the dais.
"By divine consensus and with Council approval," intoned Bishop Lune, her voice shaking only slightly, "we have decided name Brother Hollow as the next High Priest of the Southern Cathedral."
A murmur spread, followed by a measured smattering of applause. Hollow stood, robes gleaming in the light.
And then, with the silence still thick, he turned.
"I relinquish the seat. By right of Ascension Protocol Clause Nineteen, I appoint my successor: Cecil Valen, emissary of the Velvet Court."
The room did not gasp. It howled. I smiled a wicked smile so large it extended to the corners of my eyes. I had to hold back a ravenous giggle which threatening to escape my lips.
Cardinal Iareth stood so violently that his chair scraped backward with a shriek. "This is heresy! That clause has not been invoked in over three centuries—and never for a non-ordained outsider!"
I stepped forward, each click of my boots deliberate and devastating. As I reached the dais, I let the femboy glamour fall away. Hair shortened. Shoulders broadened. My presence solidified into something raw and undeniable.
"And yet," I said with a smile, "there it is. Written in your own dusty scriptures."
"You twist law for your own gain," spat another cardinal, a squat man whose name I didn't care to learn. "You are not of the Church!"
"Not yet," I remarked. "But the blessing has already been passed. Are you suggesting Brother Hollow, your rightful appointee, lacks the authority of divine will?"
That made them hesitate. Just long enough.
"This is a mockery!" Iareth shouted, his aura flaring with golden light. "You defile this sanctum with seduction and shadows. You will not leave this place whole."
By force it is.
I took a step back as the other six gathered contenders surged forward from the dais. Power crackled throughout the sanctum like a thunderstorm contained in marble. In an instant, the theater became a battlefield.
The first to move was Elliot the Penitent. Cloaked in holy white flame, he swept across the floor, singing a hymn that shattered nearby statues before unleashing a furious blast of power aimed at my head. I countered with a spear—Hollow's legacy passed on with a kiss via my skill, Velvet Leech, summoned into my hand with a violet shimmer. His memories, skill, and unique power flowed through me from that single kiss, our bond still thrumming in my veins.
I met Elliot mid-charge, deflecting a wicked blade he had conjured with a sideways twist and planting the butt of my spear in his gut. He coughed blood and crumpled, not unconscious, but out of the fight.
One down.
Another candidate, a towering brute named Selric, brought down a hammer that cracked the dais in two. I danced away from the debris, his holy weapon grinding against the floor with deafening screeches. Another rival launched chains of golden scripture similar to the ones he had seen when fighting in the academy gardens. I severed the binding spell mid-flight with a precise arc of my spear, flipping over Selric's second swing and driving my foot into his shoulder.
The battle intensified until a cascade of radiant spears rained from above and the theater's balcony collapsed inwards as bodies scrambled over bodies in desperation.
What a shame. I can only pray for the Council's safety.
I used every ounce of Hollow's power while shifting between Femmeform. I rolled, lunged, kissed—yes, kissed—a surprised candidate mid-incantation, redirecting his spell into the rafters before knocking him hold with a chop to the neck.
Then came the tipping point. Selric, now furious, roared and charged me with reckless power. I sidestepped and whispered, "You're trembling. Is it from rage... or something else?"
I leaned in, lips brushing his ear.
He shivered violently.
Then, to my everlasting joy, he pissed himself.
Seems to be a talent of mine.
A dark hush fell over the onlookers still reeling from the collapse of the balcony.
He backed away, face red, eyes wide. The smell hit a second later.
"Well," I said, twirling the spear. "That's one less name on the ballot. Not that it matters now anyway."
Selric fled but not before I pulled out my pen and marked him on the back.
Haven't used that in a while. Feels good to be back in action.
I turned toward the Council who stood seemingly unharmed amongst the wreakage, chest heaving, sweat slick on my brow.
"I trust my qualifications are now... self-evident?"
But they were not done.
A spell erupted from the balcony. A crimson lance hurled toward my chest. I barely dodged, the force grazing my ribs. My Femmeform allowed me to curve only slight attacks of holy magic. Such large scale power still held a threat. I turned and sprinted toward the side aisle, Hollow emerging behind me.
"Library!" I shouted.
We ran.
The cathedral's Grand Library loomed ahead, a cavern of silence and memory. I dove inside, past rows of knowledge older than most civilizations which extended at least five stories high. The massive bronze doors slammed shut behind me.
Three figures slipped through the shadows. The remaining contenders.
I panted, cornered and running out of power.
"Quickly," Hollow sputtered before grasping me by the cheeks.
Then a kiss. Hollow's lips met mine. Brief. Urgent. Enough.
Renewed power coursed through me like thunder given flesh. The spear reformed in my grip and my eyes glowed. The power of a demigod flowing through me.
They struck.
The first blade met my spear mid-air. I spun, shattered his guard, and planted a boot into his chest. The second came low—I parried and drove the spear into the ground, using it to vault over her, twisting in the air to drive a kick into the third's temple.
Blood sprayed across ancient scrolls.
In due time, they fell, one by one.
It was a pain in the ass to collect their bodies, especially Selric's who I had to seduce to sleep after I found him cowering in the woman's bathroom.
That about wraps it up. No wonder they called Hollow a golden child. I would have most certainly lost without his power.
When I stepped from the library and back into the main hall, deep silence broke out among the crowd once more.
On both of my shoulders stacked the unconscious—or broken—bodies of my enemies.
The Council watched. Frozen in horror.
I threw the bodies in front of them before mounting the broken dais.
"Any further objections?"
Nothing.
"Then let it be known," I said, loud enough for every soul in sight to hear, "by right of transfer gifted by the High Priest—"
I held my spear in the air, watching the light reflect off its heretical blade.
"—I, Cecil Valen of the Velvet Court, assume the mantle of High Priest."
None moved.
Because by law, they couldn't. As soon as I said the words I was protected. The High Priest was untouchable—divine, inviolable by the laws of the city council.
And with Hollow at my side, smiling faintly, the crown of holiness sat atop the world's most dangerous heretic.
Let them pray.
Because salvation now belonged to me.