I had to admit, there was something undeniably erotic about preparing for a cathedral heist while seated in a parlor full of sinners, former saints, and one very eager ex-priestess and council member-turned-femboy who insisted on sitting in my lap. Lysaria traced idle circles on my collarbone with a manicured finger while I spread the blueprints of the Vault of Illumination across the mahogany table. The lighting was soft, golden, and completely unsuited for criminal strategy, but I was never one to let atmosphere get in the way of aesthetic.
"We strike during the Procession of Holy Fire," I said, pointing to the rear entrance beneath the choir hall. "Most of the guards will be watching the parade. Or drunk. Or busy trying to shove holy oil up each other's robes."
Elian raised an eyebrow. "Is that... a real thing?"
"You clearly haven't been to the right temples," I replied. "Nor the wrong ones."
Lysaria giggled into my neck. His laughter was sinfully soft, like velvet over a dagger. Gods, I loved corruption. Especially when it came in high heels and kissed like an angel with a vendetta.
Roderick stood with arms crossed, his disapproval so loud it practically echoed. "I still don't approve of this. You're going to desecrate one of the most sacred places in the city."
"Desecrate is such a strong word," I mused. "I prefer 'creatively redecorate.' With explosives."
Ash snorted. "You actually have explosives?"
I gave him a look that screamed Of course I do. "A few. Nothing that'll collapse the vault. Just enough to make a bishop question his life choices."
The map was dotted with runes—my own designs. Marius leaned in to study them, lips pursed. He didn't speak much, but when he did, it usually meant something important was about to catch fire.
"We'll need another distraction," he said. "Something loud."
"That's what Lysaria's for," I grinned, patting the divine little disaster on my lap.
He perked up. "I can sing."
"And strip. Simultaneously. It's a gift."
Salem muttered something about blasphemy, but I couldn't hear it over the sound of my own brilliance. The plan was set. The stage was gilded. And I had every intention of bringing the cathedral to its knees.
We assembled our gear at dusk. Tight leather, enchanted daggers, a flask of liquefied lust that I had no real reason to bring other than it sounded useful, and a pocket-sized tome of vulgar limericks to keep morale high. Lysaria wore crimson lace under a sheer gold cloak and looked like a sin wrapped in divinity. I resisted the urge to take him against the supply crates.
Barely.
"You'll stay on the parade float," I said, adjusting his veil. "Distract them with divine whimpering. Keep them watching. Keep them desperate."
He smiled, coy and wicked. "And if they touch me?"
I grabbed his chin, tilting his face up to mine. "Moan louder."
Elian groaned. "You two need supervision."
"We need a private island," I replied.
The parade drums began to echo through the city—deep, reverent booms that masked the footfalls of our infiltration team. We split: Rodrick, Ash, and Jules through the bell tower, Elian and Salem along the catacombs, Marius and Miko handling rune suppression. I took the west gate, armed with charm, wit, and at least three poisons named after obscure sexual positions.
It was a good night to sin.
I reached the upper sanctum just as the first fireworks erupted overhead. The stained glass windows glowed with celestial light—ironically timed, as I picked the lock to the reliquary with a stolen hairpin and a whispered curse. Inside, it smelled like incense, secrets, and the kind of money that bought forgiveness.
"You're early," purred a voice behind me.
I turned. Lysaria. Already here. Already half-naked.
"I thought you were—"
"Parade's in chaos. Your plan worked too well. And I got bored."
He slid the veil off his face and sauntered forward, hips swaying like a hymn gone obscene. My back hit the reliquary door as he pressed into me, silk against leather, mouth hot and hungry.
"This is sacrilege," I whispered.
"Then let's make it holy."
He dropped to his knees.
By the time I'd regained motor function and some semblance of faith in the gods, or at least in femboys, the reliquary had been looted and I had one less vial of holy oil. Not that we used it for purification.
"We need to move," I gasped, adjusting my trousers and kissing the top of Lysaria's head. "Before someone gets curious."
"Too late," came a voice from the shadows.
Jules appeared, completely unbothered by our position or the fact that my belt was undone. "Found the High Priest's ledger. Rodrick and Ash broke through the vault, Elian and Salem are helping carry the loot. But there's a problem—"
Just then, a deep rumble rolled beneath our feet, dust sifting from the ceiling.
We all paused.
"…That's not a broken pipe," I muttered.
In mere moments, we scaled down the cathedral upper floors and bolted through the underground corridors, avoiding collapsed candle stands and overturned pews. The tremor grew louder as we turned the final corner, like something deep beneath the earth had started to stir.
The vault's entrance had been blown open, scorch marks still fresh. We slipped inside.
That's when we saw them.
Ash and Rodrick, locked in combat with two Inquisitors in gleaming armor marked with stains of blood. Their halberds cut arcs of divine light as Rodrick deflected with a crimson blade and Ash ducked low with dual daggers.
Salem and Elian dashed past us, carrying crates of relics.
"Go!" Rodrick barked.
But I wasn't about to let the theatrics end without a final act.
I stepped forward, kicked up a dropped spear, and spun it in a smooth arc. It was heavier than I liked—built for brute display, not finesse—but I made it work. Besides, I grew tired of my dagger as of late, this was something fresh.
The inquisitors turned, one lunging.
I parried mid-spin, dropped low, and used the momentum to sweep his legs out. I rose, turning the maneuver into a pirouette and slamming the haft into his ribs.
The second came down on me hard. I slipped beneath the blade, twisted the spear in my hands, and struck a three-point combo across his chestplate. It was less combat, more choreography, a deadly ballet with divine consequences.
Lysaria's eyes sparkled. "Where did you learn that?"
I drove the spear into the floor and posed, breathing hard.
"In a past best left forgotten."
Salem raised an eyebrow at this, clearly intrigued.
We finished the fight together—Ash opened a weak spot, Rodrick disarmed one, and I ended it with a well-timed flourish that sent one inquisitor face-first into a pew.
Together we regrouped with Marius and Miko at the rendezvous point atop the south transept tower. Roderick was pacing, Ash wiping blood off his blade, Salem re-tying his braid. Elian and Jules carried relic cases lined with silk. And me? I was dripping sweat, smugness, and divine residue.
"Any other casualties?" I asked Miko.
"One acolyte tripped over his own vow of chastity," Miko said.
"Tragic."
Roderick eyed me. "What were you doing up there? You were supposed to rob the upper sanctum and join us as soon as possible."
I shrugged. "Dealing with faith takes time."
He looked like he wanted to throttle me.
Marius cracked a grin. "We did it."
We had indeed.
But as I looked toward the horizon, where the cathedral bells rang in confused, off-rhythm tones, I knew this was only the beginning.
The Church would come. Retribution would follow.
And gods willing, I'd fuck my way through that, too.