Over the next few days, their relationship stalled. Elaviel agreed to handjobs when needed, her skill now masterful, effortlessly milking Truman's cum. It gave him the odd feeling that in future romps, he might be the one overwhelmed.
The curse's fading was noticeable but incomplete. If that first wild night had purged 30%, the subsequent handjobs only cleared another 15%. Dark veins still clung to her body and soul.
Truman figured Elaviel should be the anxious one, but since his own pleasure was at stake, he decided to take the initiative.
On the fourth day after that debauched night, after dinner, he saw Elaviel standing by the window, gazing into the sky. He approached, standing obediently beside her.
A night breeze ushered in the first snow, flakes dancing between heaven and earth, blurring up from down, white the world's only hue.
Truman nearly lost himself in the sight. Catching Elaviel's glance, he seized the moment. "Your Highness, would you walk with me outside?"
She almost refused, but this was her first snow since her descent, novel and distinct from her divine power—a natural marvel. Unlike mortals, she could trace each snowflake's formation, fall, and melt, finding it profoundly beautiful, resonating with the Lord's teachings.
So, she nodded, stepping out with Truman into the snow.
Snowflakes danced onto Truman and Elaviel's shoulders like tiny sprites. Such heavy snow was rare in Harvest City, a first even for Truman.
It brought to mind a poem: "If we share this snow, we'll have grown old together." Oddly fitting, he thought, glancing at Elaviel's soft profile, finding the verse strangely apt.
As they walked, Truman noticed a mother and son huddled by the roadside, clad in tattered rags, shivering in the cold.
He recognized them from the church, expelled during the angel-summoning rite. Their plight tugged at him, and eager to impress Elaviel, he approached.
The boy, simple-minded, grinned at Truman despite his frostbitten hands and runny nose, waving innocently. The middle-aged woman squinted, not recognizing him at first—Truman had changed, wealth polishing his edges.
When he drew closer, she gasped, her hoarse voice breaking. "You… you're that kind man from before!"
Elaviel, still clinging to her mythical status, remained invisible to mortals.
Truman nodded gently. "Madam, why're you out here so late? It's too cold—bad for the kid."
Her eyes reddened at his words. "Bless you, kind sir. The money you gave last time saved my boy's life. He'd have died from fever otherwise. I owe you everything—would work like a beast to repay you."
Truman flushed, embarrassed. It had been a casual act, yet it made a difference. "No big deal, Madam. Just saw you needed it. But why're you still out here? Ain't it freezing?"
She shook her head, reluctant to elaborate, then choked up. "Been like this lately. Me and my boy got nowhere to go. The night we got kicked out, some bastards broke in, killed his dad, took our home, and threw us out. We won't survive this winter."
Her sobs grew, raw and helpless. Her son, confused, teared up, thinking she was cold like him, hugging her small frame to warm her.
Truman couldn't stand it. In the slums, such evictions were common—he'd faced them himself. As a young, able-bodied man, he'd survived, but he'd heard countless such tales. He'd stayed out of them, too busy surviving to care for others' woes.
But now, having climbed up, he acted. Pulling out a few Harvest City-issued bills, he pressed them into her hands. "Madam, take this for you and the boy. Head to the East Side relief station—they're settling refugees now. Don't lose hope."
Trembling, she took the money, nearly dropping to kowtow. Truman stopped her, urging them to grab food at a diner first.
That was his way: fend for himself when poor, help when able. No saint, but not rotten either.
Watching them shuffle off, he sighed. Without latching onto an angel and crossing class lines, he'd likely have rotted in the slums, ending just as miserably.
Lost in thought, a melodious voice broke through. "I didn't expect you to show kindness, following the Lord's teachings. A pity…"
Truman chuckled. "Your Highness, if you're the sun shining on all, we're fireflies in the muck, huddling for warmth. That's mortal survival wisdom."
Truman grinned cheekily. "Your Highness, you should know, aside from my thing for women, I'm practically a model citizen. Not as bad as you make me out to be, right?"
Elaviel shot him a glare, though her tone warmed slightly. "A single thought can lead to good or evil. Your good deeds are touching, Truman, but they don't erase your blasphemy."
Stubborn angel, Truman thought, but smiled. "Fair enough. Then let's say I'm atoning in advance for my past and future sins. Maybe it'll earn me a ticket to paradise."
Future sins… Elaviel's gaze grew complex. She glanced at the departing mother and son, sighing softly.
Her steps seemed lighter, as if this sinner didn't seem quite so vile anymore.
On the way back, Elaviel kept her distance from Truman—not too far, not too close—mirroring her conflicted heart.
Truman remembered his goal. This wasn't a snow-gazing stroll. After a long silence, he turned to her, voice grave. "Your Highness, time's running out. Each day we delay, more of your faithful may perish."
He cast himself as a selfless saint devoted to the angel and her Church, but Elaviel saw through him. "If you hadn't summoned me here by mistake, my followers wouldn't be dying."
"How can you say that, Your Highness? Perhaps your descent here was the Lord's will," Truman said righteously.
"I thought so too, until someone defiled me…" She gave him a withering look, shutting him up.
When did this angel get so sharp? Is this her true self under that icy mask? Truman nearly choked but pressed on.
"Your Highness, my sin wasn't just chance—it was too perfect a coincidence, no? I adored you, couldn't bear your suffering, and sinned. You arrived just as I longed for you. Isn't that fate?"
Elaviel frowned, quick to counter. "I was meant for the holy city, to bask in glory, leading knights into the abyss. Now I cower here, broken. You think I'd believe this is the Lord's plan?"
Truman's mind raced. If he could clear this hurdle, the rest would follow. After a tense pause, he spoke like a thunderclap. "But hasn't someone already done that?"
"What?" Elaviel, for the first time, couldn't follow, meeting his resolute gaze—like a petrel in a storm.
"I mean, what you described—hasn't it happened? Fifty years ago, an archangel stormed the abyss, perishing with the Sin Demon. And then what?"
Elaviel knew the tale—an epic of angel and demon falling together. Yet the demon rose again, while the angel never returned.
"What's your point?" Her eyes narrowed, genuinely intrigued by this mortal's words.
"Your Highness, perhaps the Lord didn't want you repeating the last archangel's fate. Even if you slew the Sin Demon in the abyss, another would rise, restarting the cursed cycle, plunging the Federation into demonic tides."
"I am the Lord's thunder, His blade. I won't perish with the demon," Elaviel declared, pride flickering across her stoic face.
"Even at your peak, Your Highness, are you sure you could easily defeat them?" Truman emphasized "them," alluding to the vampire progenitor's link to the demon, as she'd mentioned.
Elaviel wavered. The original Sin Demon, no matter how strong, she could slay. But two mythical beings? Their combined might often exceeded the sum.
Seeing her soften, Truman struck while the iron was hot. "Your Highness, the abyss learned from the last holy war, birthing a new kind of life. Yet you'd cling to old ways? I believe the Lord sent you here, to this foreign land, for a reason!"
Elaviel fell silent for a long while before speaking, her voice tinged with vulnerability. "What does this have to do with the Lord's plan? I was summoned here, yes, but ambushed and nearly fallen. The outcome hasn't changed."
"It's completely different!" Truman seized the spark, almost convincing himself. "You're still alive—the story's far from over."
"The scriptures tell of one who built a great legacy, only for it to crumble. Yet through trials, they rose again, forging an eternal triumph. Saints aren't made overnight; true perfection comes from breaking and rebuilding. Your Highness, your journey proves this. Only by breaking free here can you truly return to the holy city in glory!"
"The difference is you met me! A man with the world's only All-Proof Immunity. Out of billions, you chose me. How is that not the Lord's will? Yet you cling to old rules. I love you deeply, but you refuse to sacrifice. Your Highness, if you'd rather let thousands of your people die than return to save them sooner, isn't that a betrayal of the Lord?"
Truman's words rang with conviction, deafeningly persuasive. Elaviel wanted to rebuke his shamelessness but found herself at a loss for words.
Poor little angel, not even half a month old, utterly outmaneuvered by Truman.
"It was just a mistake," she insisted, unwilling to accept his reasoning, no matter how plausible.
But the coincidences piled up. Summoned here, meeting a man with an unheard-of constitution, able to lift her sin curse, and… joining with him. Each piece echoed in her mind, softening her icy demeanor into faint confusion, her disbelief wavering.
If this truly was the Lord's plan, was her hatred for Truman baseless? Yet how could she accept that? Unwilling to dwell, she turned and fled, as if escaping.
Lies don't cut; truth is the sharpest blade.
Before she left, Truman caught a fleeting thaw in her frosty gaze.
He'd been right. Elaviel cared less about her defilement than about violating the Lord's teachings.
To her, he wasn't an enemy but a sinner—a crucial distinction.
If he could convince her this was fate, he could shift her perspective.
Truman smirked. Lucky for this naive angel she met him and not some con artist. The wicked Truman, nearly swindling her senseless, chuckled to himself.
...