The humidity in the capital of Wilwatikta was thick enough to taste, jasmine and clove heavy in the air, rotting sweetness layered beneath, the unmistakable perfume of a decaying empire pretending to be divine.
Nnael leaned against a sun-warmed stone pillar of the Inner Temple, posture lazy, expression bored. His guard's sarong hung low around his hips, loose enough to expose a chest shaped more by tavern brawls and hard living than formal drills. He wasn't supposed to be slacking. He also didn't care.
The view was worth the risk.
Twenty paces ahead, High Priestess Serra knelt before the Sun-Shrine.
Serra wasn't just famous, she was myth. Songs were written about her restraint, murals carved in her image, prayers whispered with her name trembling on lips. But none of them did justice to seeing her in the flesh.
Her skin glowed like pale honey beneath the afternoon sun. The silk of her kebaya was so fine it bordered on translucent, clinging to the heavy, rounded curves of her breasts as she bowed in devotion. Every measured movement set the gold ornaments in her hair chiming softly, and the tight wrap of her batik skirt emphasized hips so full they seemed sculpted for a man's hands.
Nnael took a slow sip of palm wine from a hidden flask, his gaze tracing the elegant line of her spine down to the generous swell of her backside.
Gods, he thought. The Scriptwriters really outdid themselves with her.
Too bad she was destined for a monster.
[Oh, Nnael… your heart rate is spiking.]
[Are we admiring the Priestess's assets again? Or just enjoying the little 'Tragic Virgin' tag hovering over her head?]
Nnael nearly choked.
The voice wasn't external. It slid through his skull like velvet, low, sultry, accompanied by the faint, unreal sound of clinking gold jewelry.
"Who's there?" he whispered, fingers snapping to the hilt of his kris.
[Relax, handsome.]
[Name's Kirana. I'm the upgrade you didn't know you needed.]
[Think of me as your personal guide to ruining the Heavens' favorite story.]
[And trust me, I have far better taste than the Gods.]
Before he could respond, the heavy sandalwood doors of the courtyard slammed open.
"Serra!"
The voice was arrogant, loud, dripping with entitlement. Nnael felt his spine tighten before the man even appeared.
Ares strode into the courtyard like the world had been written for his feet alone. Tall. Draped in radiant gold silks. His face was undeniably handsome in a technical sense, perfect symmetry, sharp features, but ruined by a permanent sneer that said everything exists for me.
Above his head, a glowing golden icon hovered.
[Target Identified: Ares.]
[Status: Protagonist.]
[Plot Armor: 95%.]
[Current Mood: Horny. Entitled.]
Ares didn't wait for Serra to rise.
He reached down, seized her by the chin, and forced her face upward. His grip was rough, fingers digging into skin meant for reverence, not ownership.
"The Oracle has spoken," he sneered. "You're to be my consort for the ritual tonight. Stop wasting time with prayers."
His eyes roamed her body, not with desire, but possession.
"Your duty is to supply the Yin energy I need to advance my Sun-Cultivation."
Serra's breath hitched. Fear flickered behind her eyes, chased by disgust.
"Prince Ares," she said, voice trembling but firm, "the ritual requires a willing heart. I am a servant of the Temple, not a tool for your advancement."
SLAP.
The sound cracked through the courtyard like a whip.
Serra collapsed to the stone, clutching her cheek as it bloomed red beneath her fingers. Tears welled in her eyes, making her heartbreakingly, devastatingly beautiful.
"You are whatever the Script says you are," Ares laughed, already reaching for the ties of her kebaya. "And right now, you're my reward."
Something hot and ugly twisted in Nnael's gut.
He didn't care about honor. Or justice. Or chivalry.
He cared that a man with the personality of a rotten brick was touching a woman who deserved to be worshiped.
And more than that, he hated the way Ares knew the world wouldn't stop him.
"He's going to ruin her," Nnael muttered.
[Correct.]
[Original Script: He takes her tonight.]
[She loses her purity.]
[Dies three chapters later to motivate him to slay the Demon King.]
[Honestly? Such a waste of a woman who knows thirty-two Kama-Sutra positions.]
Nnael's jaw tightened.
"Can we stop him?"
[I was hoping you'd ask.]
[Interrupt the 'Hero Claims the Maiden' scene and I can loot his attributes.]
[Care to try?]
[System Quest Initialized: Narrative Hijack.]
[Objective: Interrupt the Hero's Claiming.]
[Reward: Looted Agility + Priestess's Favor.]
Nnael stepped out from behind the pillar.
"You know," he drawled, "Temple rules are pretty clear about touching Priestesses."
Ares froze, disbelief flashing across his face as he turned.
A guard stood there. Smiling.
"And for someone who spends that much on hair oil," Nnael added, "you've got surprisingly little charm."
"A guard?" Ares snarled. "You dare speak to me, you flea-bitten extra?"
"Extra?" Nnael winced theatrically. "That stings."
He glanced at Serra. She was staring at him, stunned. He gave her a slow, deliberate wink.
"I just think the lady said no," he continued smoothly. "And when a woman says no, it usually means you're not man enough to earn a yes."
Ares roared, fury erupting. His ceremonial blade flashed into existence, burning with solar fire.
"I'll have your head!"
He lunged.
To anyone else, Ares was a blur, level forty power tearing through the air. To Nnael…
[Activating: Narrative Slow-Motion.]
[Looting Agility in 3… 2… 1…]
The world thickened. Sound dragged. Heat slowed.
Cold electricity surged through Nnael's veins, rewriting muscle, bone, instinct.
[+5 AGI Looted from Target: Ares.]
[Current AGI: 20 — Surpassing Hero Speed.]
Ares missed.
Nnael sidestepped like a ghost, the flaming blade slicing nothing but air. As he passed, he gave the Prince a casual, humiliating shove.
Ares flew.
SPLASH.
The Hero of the era disappeared headfirst into the temple's koi pond, golden silks soaking up mud, algae, and fish waste.
Nnael didn't even look back.
He knelt before Serra, not looming, not grabbing. He took her hand gently, thumb brushing her knuckles.
"Are you hurt, my lady?"
His voice dropped, deep and steady.
Serra's chest heaved. The kebaya strained with every breath. Her fingers trembled in his.
"You struck a Prince," she whispered. "He will kill you."
"Let him try."
Nnael leaned closer. She could smell palm wine and heat and danger on him.
"I'd fight a hundred Princes," he murmured, "to keep those eyes from crying for the wrong reason."
Serra flushed deeply, warmth flooding her face, and something far lower. No holy man had ever looked at her like this. Hungry. Respectful. Dangerous.
"I… I must go to the inner chambers," she said, though she didn't let go. "He will come for me."
[Oh, she's vibrating, Nnael.]
[Lust stat jumped from 0 to 60.]
[Play this right, and tonight's ritual won't be for the Sun-God.]
Nnael stood, pulling her gently to her feet. Her body brushed against his, soft thighs, radiant heat.
"Go," he growled. "I'll be at your door tonight."
A promise. A threat.
"And trust me," he added, "I'm far better at rituals than he is."
Serra inhaled sharply, almost a moan, before turning and fleeing into the inner sanctum, hips swaying as she vanished into shadow.
Nnael turned back just as Ares clawed his way from the pond, screaming for guards, his golden aura fractured.
Nnael smiled.
"How was that, Kirana?"
[Exquisite, darling.]
[You've officially derailed the Script.]
[The Heavens are furious.]
[And I'm already wet thinking about what we'll do next.]