The Fallen's Guide - chapter 6

“Could you come a little closer?” Tang Nian’s lips moved, her voice barely audible. The Angel leaned down to listen.

But what he received was the sudden, soft sensation landing on his face.

Taking advantage of his bent posture, Tang Nian lifted her head and gently kissed his cheek.

After all, it was just a Mission in a game.

She would not feel guilty toward a virtual character.

The Angel touched his cheek in confusion, pondering the meaning of a kiss on the face.

“I admire you.”

The girl’s gentle voice was both an answer and a temptation. “May I?”

“May I what?” he asked instinctively.

Her slender arms snaked around his shoulders, answering with action. The warm, soft touch landed on his sensitive Wings, making the Angel stifle a moan and tremble.

Tang Nian kissed his wounded Wings with her lips.

The movement was swift, fleeting, as light as a bubble that shatters upon landing on a Feather. The pain of the wound, under the gentle touch of her soft lips, sent waves of secret tingling through him. The Angel struggled to resist, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

“I can suppress your Gluttony.”

The face of a human woman was too deceptive. She clung to his shoulders with tenderness, as if pitying a suffering deity, and softly asked again, “May I?”

Her voice was clearly gentle, yet it sounded so much like a Curse.

No, she may not.

The massive Idol behind them resembled a tombstone, its cold gaze falling upon them.

The Angel collapsed onto the Altar, held in the arms of the self-proclaimed Believer. He trembled in confusion, gradually losing himself under her touch, his thin lips murmuring softly,

“Sinful…”

How could one perform such frivolous acts in the Temple?

“Yes,” Tang Nian sighed, “I am sinful.”

She admitted it frankly.

To desecrate God-she was sinful.

To tempt an Angel into falling was the greatest sin.

She was selfish, wanting to survive. Only when her life was truly at its end did she realize how desperately she wished to live.

As for the Angel, she would feel sorry for him, but only just sorry.

After all… his existence was part of a game, wasn’t it all fake?

When Tang Nian stroked the Angel’s trembling Wings, she still did not know what the number of Wings meant for an Angel’s rank.

The Angel in her arms had Six Wings.

In Hebrew Mythology, what does it mean for an Angel to have Six Wings?

The warmth from the wound made the always aloof and proud Angel part his lips, opening a thin gap, breathing silently.

His reason snapped.

Unconsciously resisting, yet unable to suppress his anticipation.

He truly could not distinguish between hunger and other desires, pure as a blank page. A low, meaningless sound came from his throat, and for a moment, even his craving for food faded.

But just then, the soft kiss left him.

Tang Nian waited quietly like a patient hunter. Soon, the poor Angel began to approach her on his own, seeking her with trembling Wings.

Those eyes, unable to see, searched pitifully.

“Still hungry?” Her voice was flat, “Do you still need me?”

The Angel raised his body, desperately chasing her lips, wanting her to soothe his savage wound.

But she skillfully avoided it.

Her soft cheek brushed past, bringing a shiver, yet she did not spare it a glance.

“I do.”

He compromised, his lashes drooping in shame, his voice hoarse.

So the Believer finally bestowed that softness again, a reward-like kiss on his chin. This time, the Angel did not resist, stiffly feeling her lips trace from his collarbone to his chest.

There was no heart there, yet he still felt a flutter.

She was kissing his wounds.

The Believer was kissing her deity.

The soft, moist sensation lingered, gently rubbing again and again, bringing waves of uncontrollable, unfamiliar feelings. The Angel’s neck arched high, his body honestly responding with sensitive pleasure.

His Gluttony was sated.
Since the Angel is guilty, it would be better to let him fall in another way.

“Do you like this?”

A human hand lingered repeatedly over his prominent wing bones, lips pressed against his ear, whispering soft temptations.

Fingers caressed and kneaded along the sensitive roots of his Wings. The Angel rested on her shoulder, his forehead against her warm skin, already lost in himself, letting out low moans of pleasure and agony, his holy face rendered languid and alluring.

Her fingertips grew bolder, gently stroking his lips, prying them open.

Every movement was filled with sacrilege.

“Do you like it?”

His silvery eyes shimmered more than rippling water. He parted his lips helplessly, vaguely aware that voicing his true feelings would betray God, betray his Believer.

But he was God’s messenger; he could not lie.

Tang Nian, like a Hunter gripping a swan, cupped his neck in her hands, pressing a kiss to his trembling lashes.

“You only need to speak your true feelings.”

This was a pitiful Angel, never yet corrupted by darkness.

“Tell me, do you like it?”

The influence of the Seventh Deadly Sin faded at some unknown moment.

The Angel’s Gluttony was finally satisfied.

Yet he would not let the Believer who had offended him leave.

“…I like it…”

His voice was hoarse, no longer as clear as when they first met.

Several broad, sacred Wings silently folded around her from behind. By the time she noticed, there was nowhere to escape; she was trapped in his embrace, her struggles a stark contrast to his powerful, composed form.

He entwined himself around her.

Cold fingers touched her neck, fragile and chaotic breaths spilled over her face and skin.

His whole body trembled.

“…I like it.”

His words grew clearer.

Tang Nian smiled.

As a reward, she pinched his wing bone, eliciting a sensitive shiver. “You are very honest.”

The Angel’s background described his sin vaguely: his heart was too soft, he spread light to suffering nations, thus defying God’s will.

When Jerusalem fell, he fell with it, his powers weakened as he came to the mortal world.

But how could spreading light to the suffering be a sin?

Tang Nian had no faith, was not his Believer, and felt no guilt.

His enormous Wings unfurled, their tips slowly tinged with streaks of ink-like black and white, subtle yet holy.

The sky-shrouding Wings closed in from behind, the perfect six Wings forming an independent space, locking Tang Nian deep within his arms.

Cold, slender arms embraced the human tightly, holding her soft body immobile.

Beneath the Angel’s holy white robes, black patterns emerged, utterly at odds with his slender, beautiful form, like blooming flowers.

Tang Nian grasped him, kissing his trembling fingers.

She was succeeding.

The resilient Archangel was finally beginning to fall.

Black patterns crept upward along his Wings, like strange markings.

Immersed in unfamiliar sensations, the Angel was oblivious.

Like a Sculpture gradually entwined by black thorns.

He ignored the massive Idol overhead, turned his back to his Creator, and, unable to restrain himself, bent down to kiss the Believer’s hair, leaving lingering bite marks on her slightly exposed collarbone.

Crimson blood seeped from her slender neck, only to be obsessively licked away by him.

He could no longer distinguish whether this was hunger, or some other, more secret desire.

This seventh day felt especially long.

The serpent of Eden flicked its tongue; the Angel could not resist temptation. Black crept into his moonlight-pure, holy hair, gradually staining his immaculate white figure.

He kissed the red marks on the girl’s neck with pity, licked her brows and eyes, nibbled her delicate earlobe.

Every inch of her skin fascinated him.

The humid heat lingered from eyelids to earlobe; the Angel groped and kissed her lips once more.