“Dong—Dong—”
The crisp midnight bell rang, echoing from the distant bell tower to the temple standing quietly under the moonlight.
Having bathed and changed, the Holy Son was fully prepared, waiting in the golden cage in a posture those nobles described as “holy,” ready to bestow “grace” upon tonight’s distinguished guest.
His hands were suspended by a black chain hanging from the top of the cage, with his thighs and ankles tightly bound by chains, forcing him to wait in a kneeling position for the guest’s arrival.
The platinum-colored clothes and the pitch-black chains wrapped and bound him tightly, exuding a sacred yet tantalizingly erotic aura, easily stirring the deepest blasphemous desires within people. As the nobles said, this was a gift from the gods.
It’s just a pity that they couldn’t unwrap this gift.
The clothes Salavira wore were specially made, with restrictions set by dozens of grand mages hidden inside, making them impossible to tear or remove. The nobles who spent a fortune to enter the temple could only look but not touch, their aroused anger having nowhere to vent, so they could only torment the poor Holy Son in other ways—
Of course, that was their true purpose for coming here.
For the rumored “divine nectar.”
Salavira maintained this uncomfortable posture for a long time before he heard the door open. But his eyes were covered with a layer of black gauze, so even when he raised his head following the sound, he could only see a blurry figure carrying a lamp approaching.
He couldn’t tell if it was Asmodeus.
Almost instinctively, Salavira’s body began to tremble slightly, his breathing becoming a bit rapid. Until the footsteps came closer, the blurry black figure leaned down, reached out to caress his cheek, and chuckled mockingly:
“Salavira, you’re actually trembling.”
The familiar voice and scent pulled Salavira out of the illusion created by fear. Despite the fact that the owner of this voice had once tormented him bitterly, at this moment, he inexplicably relaxed.
He even felt grateful.
“Asmodeus.” Salavira looked at the man in front of him through the black gauze, “Didn’t you hate humans the most? And now you’re willing to mingle with them?”
But Asmodeus didn’t answer this question, instead using the same phrase Salavira had said earlier to block him:
“It’s none of your business.”
Salavira was at a loss for words and simply stopped asking. He decided to interpret all this as a new trick the demon came up with to toy with him, after all, this guy had asked many times about his unbearable experiences over the past two years while in bed.
And always mixed with many filthy, indecent words.
At that time, Salavira chose to bite his lip and remain silent, so Asmodeus had to experience it himself.
Looking at the person tied to the bed like a gift, Asmodeus squinted his eyes, admiring him from above, then couldn’t help but lower his head to peck at those rosy lips, before leaning close to his ear to ask:
“Salavira, can you tell me now how those nobles treated you?”
The words were light, the warm breath making Salavira’s ears itch, causing him to turn his head unconsciously, only to be pulled back by the demon who pinched his chin, affectionately licking his ear with the tip of his tongue.
The body, familiar with the taste, trembled slightly, a few ambiguous sounds escaping his throat.
“Did they treat you like this too?”
The deep voice mixed with a hint of anger, a situation Salavira had experienced many times, paying a considerable “price” for it.
He simply said directly, “No.”
The unexpected answer left the demon momentarily stunned, his hand on Salavira’s waist pausing instantly.
Then, he heard Salavira let out a long sigh, his voice softening as if in compromise:
“Let me go, Asmodeus, and I’ll personally show you how those nobles treated me.”
…
When Salavira was finally released from the chains, Asmodeus felt a sense of regret for his lustful actions, knowing that with Salavira’s character, he would never demonstrate such things himself… unless he was planning to use this opportunity to escape?
But this time, he was wrong. Once freed, Salavira showed no intention of escaping. Instead, he did as he promised, pulling Asmodeus by the sleeve to the long table by the bed, where many strange instruments were placed.
“Salavira, don’t try any tricks,” Asmodeus warned.
“How could I, esteemed guest,” Salavira replied with a bitter smile, “I was trapped in this cage for two years without escaping, and it was you who broke it and took me away. Now that you’ve built an even stronger one, how could I possibly escape?”
Saying this, he picked up a metal object from the long table and handed it to Asmodeus.
It was a sharp dagger inlaid with gemstones.
But Asmodeus, holding the dagger, had no idea what it was for.
Just as he was still puzzled, Salavira guided his hand, pressing the sharp blade against his own neck, and with a forceful push in the other’s shocked gaze—
The shiny dagger pierced the white skin, and bright red blood gushed out, quickly pooling in a small puddle at Salavira’s collarbone, then trickling down, staining the platinum-colored robe he wore.
“Thud!” The dagger slipped from Asmodeus’s hand onto the carpet, making a dull sound.
He stared in disbelief at the scene before him, and once he realized what was happening, he immediately moved to check the wound, but Salavira raised a hand to stop him.
Then the silver-haired beauty gave a weak smile, leaning on Asmodeus’s shoulder, tiptoeing to bring his vulnerable, blood-stained neck to Asmodeus’s mouth, like a submissive piece of food:
“Alright… now, esteemed guest, you can devour me.”
The delicious food was right in front of him, and Asmodeus could even clearly smell the heavy, sweet scent of blood.
Then the “food” pressed against him seemed to remember something, whispering in the demon’s ear:
“If you think this isn’t enough, there are many more… ‘tools’ behind. You can use that barbed whip to lash me, or use that long silver needle to pierce my throat and wrists… The noble lords loved using these, so, Asmodeus, pick one you like.”
With that, he moved his neck closer to Asmodeus’s mouth, looking willing and ready to be slaughtered.
But Asmodeus could clearly see that he was trembling slightly.
If it were any other noble seeking “grace” here, being served so attentively by the Holy Son, they would have long since pounced, devouring the blood granted to them.
This was “divine nectar,” said to cure all diseases with just a drop, and consuming more could even grant immortality.
Therefore, any noble with some wealth was willing to spend a fortune to enter the temple and receive the grace bestowed by the Holy God. Two years ago, these people survived the great plague by this means…
But now, the demon let the sweet scent fill the temple, without taking any further action.
Salavira, leaning on his shoulder, soon felt weak from blood loss, his tiptoes beginning to tremble. Asmodeus, being close, could clearly hear his increasingly heavy breathing.
It was very much like when they made love before.
But now, what stirred within Asmodeus was not desire. He only felt as if something had stabbed his heart, making it ache and feel sour, unbearably so, and the previous thought of taking this opportunity to bully him vanished completely.
He turned his gaze to the long table with its array of instruments.
These were not instruments of pleasure.
They were instruments of torture.
Used on various parts of the body.
Asmodeus suddenly recalled the faint scars on Salavira’s wrists and neck, realizing they weren’t from the chains but from repeated torture with these instruments, scars that even the best elixirs couldn’t completely erase.
He gently supported Salavira’s waist, pulling him into his embrace as he was about to collapse from weakness.
But contrary to his gentle actions, an invisible force moved with his will, crushing all the messy metal instruments on the long table into powder!
Salavira was startled by the noise, and once he realized what had happened, he asked in confusion:
“I thought… you’d be very interested in these things.”
His voice sounded very weak, now only able to rest his arm on Asmodeus’s shoulder, barely standing with the support of the other’s hand on his waist.
Asmodeus pursed his lips, saying nothing.
He held the person in his arms, who was almost limp, but his gaze fell on the dagger on the ground, and inappropriately, he remembered how Salavira once wielded a dagger to fight him.
Though troublesome, it was truly dazzling.
But that was on the premise that… he didn’t know what the dagger meant to the person in his arms.
“Salavira, you’re not suited for such short weapons,” Asmodeus said, gazing at the dagger gleaming coldly on the ground, his mind moving to crush this last instrument of torture into powder, “A sword suits you better.”
“…Is that so?” Salavira smiled weakly but said nothing more.
He was truly out of strength.
Though the wound on his neck wasn’t deep, it continued to bleed, sending waves of fine, needle-like pain. Yet the next second, that area was enveloped in a warm, moist sensation, a soft tongue pressing over the wound with a gentle force, licking away all the blood.
Unlike the nobles’ fierce bites, this action reminded Salavira of a puppy licking someone.
But a demon and a puppy…
The contrast was too great, and Salavira couldn’t help but laugh.
“What are you laughing at?” Asmodeus asked, a bit of blood at the corner of his mouth, looking up in dissatisfaction.
Salavira shook his head, patting Asmodeus’s shoulder, “Nothing, you continue.”
Asmodeus squinted at him for two seconds, then turned to see the wound bleeding again, showing no signs of clotting.
He frowned, “What’s going on?”
The question came so suddenly that Salavira was confused for a long time, not understanding what he was asking, so he could only ask back, “What?”
Asmodeus stared directly at the bright red blood, “Why is your wound still bleeding?”
Salavira’s answer was simple and direct, “For easier consumption.”
The elixir he drank was to completely destroy his blood clotting function, otherwise, it would be too tiring for the noble lords to keep sucking it out.
After explaining this, Salavira looked up at the stunned Asmodeus. He couldn’t help but find it amusing, letting out a weak laugh from his throat:
“Asmodeus, what are you here for? Didn’t you say you wanted to see how those nobles tortured me, yet now you’ve destroyed all the instruments and even want to heal my wounds?”
After he said this, the force with which Asmodeus held his waist increased significantly, his gaze turning vicious as he leaned close to his ear, “What? Do you really want me to use those things on you?”
But for this question, Salavira only smiled, neither nodding nor denying.
Honestly, even Salavira himself didn’t know what he wanted now. He feared the torture that lasted for two years, yet he also vaguely anticipated further pain.
Because only when it hurt enough could he know he wasn’t in a dream, confirming that he had indeed briefly gained freedom, indeed sent a turning point to the resistance.
But ironically, the demon before him was unbelievably gentle.
This shouldn’t be… Asmodeus should hate him the most, should torture him to the point of wishing for death, so why now…
After a long silence, he uneasily asked, “Asmodeus… am I dreaming?”
The demon dismissed his question with a smile, then carried him back to the bed, using magic to forcibly heal the wound on his neck, ultimately giving a response that was cruel to Salavira:
“What do you think?”
With that, he stopped listening to what Salavira had to say, leaning down to silence him with a kiss.
…
In truth, Asmodeus couldn’t understand his actions tonight either.
He was the one who built the temple and locked Salavira back in, the one who wanted to torture Salavira like the nobles did, yet when Salavira revealed his past pain bit by bit and handed him the dagger, he destroyed all the instruments in a fit of nameless anger.
…He even healed Salavira’s wound.
Was the reason behind this because he was jealous that the scars on his old enemy weren’t made by him?
Regarding this question, he was very clear—
No.
Or rather, not just that.
Though he always avoided admitting it, the fact was… he had softened.
Not from the shock and disappointment of seeing Salavira weakened upon their first reunion, but from realizing that the other was still the stubborn, ruthless person he knew, and when he wanted revenge, the other suddenly revealed his painful past in an indifferent tone.
You draw a bow at a cat, and the cat turns over, showing you its scars.
So Asmodeus could no longer convince himself to pick up the weapon.
Of course, he wouldn’t forget the humiliation and pain he suffered over the past thousand years, but tonight, he wanted to rest a little, to briefly return to a time a thousand years ago, when they weren’t yet enemies.