The Purifiers arrived at dawn.
Clad in armor white as bone and etched with rigid lines of anti-sensuality, they marched in silent formation. No warmth in their eyes, no curve in their steps—just stiff, sharp purity. At the head rode Chancellor Viron, a man whose body was untouched by anything but prayer and cold baths.
He sneered at the temple.
"It reeks of sin," he muttered.
Indeed, the scent of arousal clung to the air—thick, heady, irresistible. Even the horses beneath the Purifiers shifted uncomfortably, nostrils flaring.
Acolyte Saren, the youngest monk, fanned himself, sweating. "Chancellor… I think something's wrong with me."
"You're just weak," Viron snapped. "Stay close and breathe through your mouth."
Meanwhile, inside the temple, Solara was already awake—and naked, as usual.
She stood beneath the Fountain of Dripping Grace, letting a slow trickle of her nectar cascade down her body, pooling at her feet. Every drop sparkled with warm power, infused with life-giving heat and a taste of obsession.
Vess arrived, breathless. "They're outside. Forty of them. All… stiff."
Solara smirked. "Not for long."
She turned, water dripping from her thighs like divine ambrosia. "Ready the altar."
---
The Seduction Begins.
The gates creaked open. Not with resistance—but invitation.
Viron raised his hand. "Stand back. This is a trap."
But already, Saren had stepped forward. His eyes wide. His pupils dilated. A moan escaped his lips before he realized.
He dropped to his knees.
Inside, Solara approached slowly, hips swaying like pendulums of temptation. Her skin shimmered with the temple's glow, lips parted in a smile too sinful to be anything but divine.
"I welcome you," she purred, "to a holy cleansing... of body and faith."
Saren's armor clattered to the floor as he crawled toward her. "Please… save me."
Solara caressed his cheek, guiding him to drink from her fingers. Just a taste. But that was all it took.
He came instantly.
Eyes rolled back, hands gripping her thighs in trembling worship, he moaned loud enough to make even the horses outside whinny in shock.
The other monks staggered. One dropped his sword. Another touched himself through the fabric before gasping in horror.
"Hold your ground!" Viron shouted.
But it was too late.
Solara's acolytes descended like erotic angels—bare-skinned, oiled, whispering forbidden scriptures directly into ears. Moaning prayers. Kisses like spells. Every touch a sacred sin.
Lady Vess pinned a monk to the floor with a single finger to his chest and murmured, "You look tense. Let me... release you."
He screamed. Then begged for more.
---
Viron stood alone now.
His men had fallen, not by blade—but by body.
Solara approached him slowly, her steps silent over moaning bodies and squelching satisfaction.
"You think chastity is strength," she said, circling him. "But repression? It's just fuel. And I burn hot."
Viron drew a dagger, trembling. "You're evil."
"I'm inevitable."
She leaned close, lips brushing his ear. "Even now, your body betrays you."
And it did.
Armor bulged. Breath shook.
"Drink," she whispered, pressing a drop from her breast onto his lips.
He resisted—for half a second.
Then his mouth opened.
And he fell.
---
Aftermath:
Bodies lay tangled across the temple floor. Sighs echoed like hymns. Acolytes whispered names of new converts.
Solara sat on her throne of silken thighs, sipping wine infused with her own essence.
Wraith appeared, shirtless and annoyed. "You really did it. You beat them with orgasms."
Solara grinned. "I always come first."
Lady Vess rolled her eyes. "What now?"
Solara looked toward the horizon. "Now? We march. If this world wants salvation—then I'll drip it across every damn city."
---
[==== SYSTEM NOTICE ====]
New Title Unlocked: Temptress of the Templars
Skill Acquired: Orgasmic Overload – Converts targets into zealots upon climax. AOE effect within 10 meters. Cooldown: 24 hrs.