The elf who entered wasn't any elf...but his elf.
The cathedral's shattered silence felt like smoke in the air, thick enough to choke on.
The assassins were unconscious.
The Pope was shaken.
And the Saintess—
—was still in Lucifer's arms.
Her breath trembled against his chest, warm and helpless, as his aura wrapped around her like velvet shadows.
She pushed lightly against him.
"L-Let me go…"
His fingers loosened—but slowly, deliberately, like a man indulging one last sinful moment.
"As you wish."
She stepped back, cheeks burning, but the moment she did—
Her divine mark flared.
Pain shot through her spine.
Light erupted under her skin.
Her knees buckled again.
"Wha—why now—?!"
Lucifer caught her again, hand sliding around her waist with infuriating ease.
"You're destabilizing," he murmured near her ear. "My aura interfered with yours."
"T-That shouldn't be possible!"
His smirk was molten calm.
"And yet."
Before she could retort—
The Pope's staff slammed down.
