The air between them crackled, thick with unspoken animosity, the weight of centuries-old resentment pressing down like an unseen force. The blood-red glow of the moon reflected in Amor’s fox-like eyes as she fixed Satisiel with a sharp, burning glare.

  Then—she snapped her fingers.

  Darkness.

  Satisiel’s vision vanished in an instant, swallowed by an unnatural void. A blind, suffocating abyss.

  For a lesser being, the sudden loss of sight would have been disorienting. For Satisiel, it was merely an inconvenience.

  Heat surged toward him—fireballs, fast, precise, and burning with divine wrath.

  With a flick of his wrist, the glow of blue paint illuminated the air. He twirled his brush, summoning barriers of shifting strokes, their vibrant color shielding him as the fire collided and exploded into embers.

  Amor laughed, her voice rich with amusement, her flames dancing hungrily in the night.

  “A mere angel thinks he can stand against a goddess?” she scoffed. “Give up, you trash.”

  Satisiel smiled, though there was no warmth behind it.

  “A goddess?” His voice dripped with mockery. “Don’t kid yourself, Lux—”

  A searing ball of fire slammed into his torso, cutting him off as the force sent him careening backward, the heat licking at his skin. He barely had time to regenerate before another barrage of flames rained down upon him.

  “DON’T YOU DARE!” Amor’s voice cracked like a whip, her fury igniting the very air. Her flames flared higher, brighter, painting the battlefield in violent hues of crimson and gold.

  She descended like a storm of wrath, launching another series of scorching fireballs.

  “Don’t you dare… Don’t you dare say that name!” Amor shrieked, her fury flaring like a wildfire. Embers crackled around her, dancing along the edges of her gown.

  Despite the burning in his limbs and the blindness clouding his gaze, Satisiel chuckled. “What’s wrong? Don’t want to be reminded of your true nature… you false goddess?”

  Satisiel barely dodged, twisting mid-air as he retaliated. With a fluid motion, he swiped his paintbrush through the void, releasing a hailstorm of blue paint-blades that shot toward Amor like streaks of divine lightning.

  They tore through her.

  Or at least, they should have.

  Her body melted—the vibrant red of her dress shifting into something grotesque. Her flesh turned viscous, fluid, reforming seamlessly as the paint-blades passed harmlessly through.

  Satisiel clicked his tongue. “Slime? How terribly unsightly.”

  Amor’s mouth curled into a smirk. “You’re quite observant,” she purred. “Even blind, your senses are infuriatingly good.”

  With a snap of her fingers, the sky above Satisiel erupted in fire.

  Flames coiled like living serpents, striking from every direction—above, behind, below.

  But he was already moving.

  Satisiel dipped his brush into the air as if it were a canvas, swiping downward with a flourish.

  The moment his brush met the ground—green paint blossomed into thick vines, twisting and surging like living roots, weaving together into an intricate net.

  Before Amor could react, the vines lashed out, coiling around her limbs, wrapping around her like an artist’s final stroke on an unfinished masterpiece.

  Satisiel tilted his head, his lips curling into a small, amused smile.

  “I’ve spent plenty of time painting with my eyes closed,” he mused, twirling his brush lazily. “I’d say I’ve gotten rather good at it.”

  Amor’s gaze flickered downward, her expression unreadable as the vines wrapped around her wilted instantly. Their once vibrant green shriveled into ashen husks, their energy drained in mere seconds.

  She didn’t need to move—the life was already hers.

  Not missing a beat, Satisiel struck again.

  With a flick of his brush, a bolt of yellow paint crackled into existence, electricity surging through the air before streaking toward her at lightning speed.

  Before Amor could react—it struck her arm.

  The force tore through her like a divine lance, her entire forearm ripped away in a burst of searing light, the detached limb sizzling as it hit the ground.

  For a moment, her body remained human, her form disrupted before she could shift.

  Satisiel aimed another strike, but Amor moved—her figure blurring into a flash of red and white as she narrowly dodged, her severed limb already snapping back into place, reattaching itself seamlessly.

  She scoffed, flexing her fingers, golden ichor dripping from the tips.

  “Even if you harm me, the gods are immortal!” she declared, her voice ringing with defiance. “You can’t do anything to me!”

  Satisiel let out a low, unimpressed chuckle. “Again with this ‘god’ talk.” His wings flared, his ethereal presence pressing down on her like a suffocating weight. “At most, you’re only a seventh of a god. Your immortality is great—but it’s flawed.”

  Amor’s fox-like eyes twitched.

  Her lips curled into a snarl.

  “Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!”

  The ground ruptured beneath her feet, columns of searing flames exploding upward, twisting into a vortex of raging inferno.

  The fire swallowed Satisiel whole.

  Or, at least, it should have.

  “Oh? How adorable.” Satisiel chuckled, his tone laced with amusement as he watched the so-called goddess seethe. “I’ve gone and made the false god angry.” His piercing blue eyes gleamed with a predatory glint as he spun his paintbrush, a blade of shimmering color solidifying in his grasp.

  “Now, let’s have a little fun.” He surged forward, his speed almost blinding. “I know demons of your caliber possess six different abilities—why don’t we count them together?”

  With a single fluid motion, his blade of paint sliced through her torso, a clean, precise strike—but her form melted into crimson slime, the wound meaningless as her body reassembled itself.

  Satisiel’s smirk widened.

  “Ah, there's the first.” His voice was sickly sweet with mockery. “A shapeshifter, through and through. Though, I imagine there’s one thing you can never become—”

  His voice darkened, a cold grin curving his lips.

  “Anything more than a wretched imitation.”

  Amor barely had time to snarl in response before Satisiel snapped his fingers.

  A barrier of turquoise paint slammed down around her head.

  Then—he clenched his fist.

  The barrier contracted instantly, crushing her skull in a violent burst of paint and celestial energy.

  Her body convulsed—before instantly regenerating.

  She barely needed to lift a finger—a nearby tree withered into dust, its very life force ripped away, feeding into her.

  Her head snapped back into existence, seamlessly reforming as her fox-like eyes burned with absolute rage.

  She barely had time to gloat before Satisiel’s fist drove into her stomach.

  She gasped, her body jerking forward from the sheer force, only to be met with his piercing, amused gaze.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “And there’s the second one,” he mused, his voice silkily condescending. “Like the vampire you are, you can drain the life from nature to heal yourself.” He smirked, twisting his wrist slightly as his knuckles pressed against her ribs.

  “And I imagine,” he continued, “doing the same to a living being requires touch.”

  His voice dipped into a mocking coo, his grin widening.

  “How inconvenient.”

  Satisiel let out a long, exaggerated sigh, rolling his shoulders as if he were growing bored. “It’s truly a shame,” he mused, his tone dripping with mock pity. “You don’t seem to have any ability to compensate for your sheer lack of skill. But I suppose robbing me of my sight to even the playing field will have to suffice.”

  With effortless precision, he drove his fist into her jaw, the impact rippling through her form—only for her body to liquefy, shifting into a mass of crimson slime before she reformed.

  “Do you ever shut up, you damn angel?!” Amor snarled, her voice laced with barely contained rage. She hurled a barrage of fireballs, each one bursting with intense heat.

  Satisiel yawned.

  Without lifting more than a finger, he lazily flicked his paintbrush, forming a radiant barrier of swirling paint that absorbed the fire with insulting ease.

  "Ah, and there it is—the next one." He smirked, twirling his brush between his fingers. "Your pathetic, lukewarm flames."

  Amor’s face contorted with fury. "Shut up!"

  "But of course, we can’t forget your signature trick—" Satisiel continued, his voice taking on an almost singsong quality. "Complete authority over the mind. Such an insidious ability. It’s rather useful, I suppose… on weak-willed fools." His smirk widened. "Though for those of us who know it exists, it’s nothing more than a cheap party trick. I imagine it’s quite handy for keeping that idiot cult of yours in line."

  “Are you done yet?!” Amor shrieked, her voice raw with frustration. “How much longer are you going to keep running your damn mouth?!”

  Her arm morphed, bulging grotesquely into an oversized, stone-like fist before she launched it straight into Satisiel’s ribs.

  The force of the blow sent him careening backward, crashing through the air like a meteor, but even as he steadied himself, his grin never wavered.

  “And now for the last one,” Satisiel mused, tapping his chin as if deep in thought. “This is the one that still puzzles me. But… if I had to make a guess—”

  His smirk sharpened into something cruel.

  “A whore like you would only get stronger the more people have faith in her.”

  Amor’s entire body froze mid-step.

  For the first time, her mask of rage cracked, giving way to something far uglier—pure, unfiltered shock and fury.

  A slow, knowing chuckle escaped Satisiel’s lips. “Oh? What’s this? Did I strike a nerve?” He tilted his head, his tone almost giddy with sadistic amusement.

  “I can’t see your face right now, thanks to your little trick—” His voice dropped lower, laced with venom. “And yet, I can feel your rage. A shame, really. It’s the only time your expression must be truly honest.”

  His smirk deepened, his next words a dagger of absolute mockery, dipped in pure loathing.

  “I was right, wasn’t I?”

  A single breath.

  And then—

  “Luxuria.”

  The name fell from his lips like a curse, dripping with disdain, laced with absolute contempt.

  Amor snapped.

  Satisiel exhaled slowly, his expression darkening, his grip tightening on his brush. The surrounding air crackled with restrained contempt, his usual composure fraying at the edges.

  “Let me say it again.” His voice was slow, deliberate—poisonous in its precision.

  "Luxuria. The Sin of Lust. One of the Seven Sins.”

  Each word dripped with venom.

  “The most disgusting creatures alive.”

  Luxuria’s body stiffened, her breathing ragged. She flinched—not from fear, but from pure, unfiltered rage.

  “Shut up.”

  Her voice trembled, but whether from anger or something deeper, even she didn’t seem to know.

  “Shut up! I said not to say that name!” Her flames flared violently, the very air distorting around her in a feverish haze. “I told you not to—”

  The first tear fell.

  She grit her teeth, clawing at her own skin as if trying to rip something away.

  “I’m not her anymore,” she hissed, voice cracking. “Not again.”

  Her breath came out shaky, her body trembling.

  “I’m done with that title… I refuse it. I’ll live as a goddess, as I should have been in the first place.” Her blood-red eyes burned with something wretched—a twisted mixture of self-hatred and defiance.

  “If that bastard Superbia hadn’t stolen my murder plot.”

  Satisiel’s lips curled, amused despite his contempt. “Oh?” he mocked. “I thought you two were allies?”

  Luxuria scoffed, pure loathing bleeding into her voice.

  “Not in a million years.”

  Her fingers twitched, curling into fists.

  “We just happened to want to kill the Demon God on the same day. I already had him poisoned. I spent years weaving the perfect slow death, but that arrogant fucker just had to interfere.”

  Her eyes gleamed, a bitter smirk forming on her lips.

  “And then he had the audacity to deal the final blow.”

  Her gaze flickered toward Satisiel, lips curling further.

  “Though your precious God must have been even more pathetic.”

  Satisiel’s pupils shrank.

  Luxuria tilted her head, savoring the moment.

  “No poison needed to deal with him.”

  She giggled—a sound filled with cruelty.

  “Superbia never even became a god after killing ours. And because of that?”

  Her smirk sharpened.

  “A mere demon killed him.”

  Satisiel snapped.

  “Die.”

  He lashed out, bolts of searing yellow paint ripping through the air, electricity crackling through the battlefield.

  Luxuria twisted, her form melting into flames, dodging the bolts with unnatural grace.

  She let out a slow, exaggerated hum, eyes filled with cruel amusement.

  “Oh? Now you’re the angry one?”

  Her smirk widened, a knowing glint in her blood-red eyes.

  “Did I touch a nerve?”

  Satisiel ground his teeth, fingers clenching so tightly around his brush that his knuckles turned white.

  “Maybe it’s the fact that the Ten Commandments were supposed to protect your god—”

  Luxuria’s voice dripped with mock sympathy as she vanished in a flicker of heat—

  Reappearing behind him.

  “Yet you don’t even know how he got corrupted in the first place.”

  Her clawed fingers dug into his shoulder, scorching his robes.

  “How he ended up like that.”

  Satisiel twisted to strike, but she was faster—

  She gripped his throat.

  Hoisting him into the air with ease.

  “So tell me, angel.”

  Her voice was honeyed—sickly sweet, dripping with venom.

  “Which one of us is truly pathetic?”

  Her nails dug deeper, her flames licking at his skin.

  “Do tell me.”

  Then—she pried the paintbrush from his grip.

  Satisiel’s heart dropped.

  His fingers twitched, his body seizing with fury.

  “D-damn you—”

  Her lips pressed against his.

  Slow. Intimate. Poisonous.

  Satisiel froze.

  Then, her whisper curled against his lips—soft, chilling.

  “Take your own life.”

  She let go.

  Satisiel collapsed, hitting the ground hard.

  Luxuria wiped her mouth with a delicate flick of her fingers, as if the act disgusted her.

  Her footsteps were slow as she turned away, muttering under her breath.

  “How’s that for a cheap party trick?”

  The world spun.

  Satisiel’s vision returned—but something wasn’t right.

  His breathing hitched.

  A faint, crimson glow burned in his irises.

  His mind—his very thoughts—began to unravel.

  Inside his skull, her voice echoed like a dreadful melody.

  "Take your own life."

  "Take your own life."

  "Take your own life."

  Satisiel’s fingers tightened around his brush, trembling.

  His body moved on its own.

  No.

  His breath hitched, but his arms refused to listen.

  The crimson glow in his irises pulsed, Luxuria’s voice drilling into his mind, wrapping around his thoughts like suffocating chains.

  "Take your own life."

  A command, absolute.

  He clutched the paintbrush tighter, his grip unsteady as the artifact pulsed violently in his grasp.

  The glow of the paint darkened—red, deep and unnatural, a color more akin to blood than art.

  He tried to resist—tried to fight it—but his hands were not his own.

  Slowly, painfully, he lifted the brush to his throat.

  A whisper of heat against his skin.

  The bristles dragged against his neck, leaving behind a streak of red that burned like divine fire.

  His muscles tensed. His wings shuddered.

  He could still hear her voice.

  "Take your own life."

  It slithered through his consciousness, louder, more overwhelming—a siren’s song woven into his very being.

  He pressed harder.

  The paint shifted.

  From liquid strokes to hardened steel.

  A blade of crimson formed, trembling against his throat.

  He gasped, his breath coming out in uneven, desperate stutters.

  No.

  No.

  This wasn’t how it was supposed to—

  In a single swift movement—the blade of blood-red paint severed his head.

  A clean, precise stroke—like an artist’s final signature.

  His body crumpled to the ground, paint pooling around him in slow, delicate streams, as if painting its own tragic masterpiece.

  His severed head landed softly in the dirt, blue eyes still wide—not in fear.

  But in defiance.

  And yet—

  The unthinkable had happened.

  An Archangel had been killed.

  For the first time in history.

  Luxuria stood still, watching the scene unfold before her with an unreadable expression.

  Then, slowly, she let out a breath—long, drawn out, almost laugh.

  Her gaze flickered over the fallen angel, his lifeless body now nothing more than a discarded relic of a dying god.

  “…Hmph.”

  She turned away.

  “Looks like I win this round.”

  And with that—she vanished into the flames.