The corridor outside the bathing chambers was silent—too silent for this hour. Morning light still filtered through Sancthorn's tall windows, cold and pure, leaving long pale stripes across the stone floor. This part of the building was usually empty by now; the women completed their bathing immediately after the dawn bell, before the day's duties began.
But Elias—no, something inside Elias—moved with a strange, quiet hunger that belonged to no innocent boy.
His steps were slow. Controlled. Nothing like the trembling, awkward gait he had earlier while following Elizabeth. His shoulders were straight now, but not with discipline—rather with an unnatural, predatory confidence. A faint curl of a smile touched the corner of his lips, wrong for his gentle face.
His left eye darkened again, that same shadowy, demonic tint flickering like a hidden flame.
He paused at the entrance of the women's bathing hall.
Warm, humid air drifted from inside—carrying with it the faintest scent of soap, rose oil, and damp skin. The smell struck him like a blade made of silk. His breath hitched. His pulse throbbed. Every gentle, holy fragrance of the Sancthorn turned sinful in the presence of that darkness inside him.
Then came the sound.
Water.
Body.
Skin brushing stone.
A single, soft gasp carried through the steam.
That was all it took.
The demon personality surged.
Elias' fingers curled at his sides. His head tilted slightly as if listening for prey. His right eye—still normal—showed confusion and faint fear. His left eye, dark and inhuman, cut through the haze with wicked hunger.
He took a step forward.
Then another.
His bare feet were soundless on the smooth floor as he slipped deeper into the restricted area. Even now, the real Elias inside him tried to scream, tried to turn around—but the darker presence drowned him out completely.
He moved through the steam as if it welcomed him.
The vast women's bath chamber opened before him. White marble floors. Tall arched ceilings. Hot water collecting in carved stone pools. Towels folded with flawless precision. Perfume jars lined like sacred offerings.
Sancthorn had no tolerance for taking baths this late. Whoever was inside… was breaking a rule. And Elias' shadowed side wanted to reward her for that.
He followed the soft splash and breathy hums—moving behind one of the carved stone walls dividing the chamber, where he found a narrow gap between the ornate marble. Peering through, his demon eye drank in the sight.
There she stood—around twenty-one years old, young and lithe, her smooth skin dripping water that slid slow down every soft curve of her fat young boobs and tight hips. Her long brown hair clung wet to her shoulders, framing that pure untouched pussy mound and perky ass cheeks made for brutal fucking—the demon inside throbbing to ruin her completely.
That faint soft downy pubic hair caught his eye first—delicate peach fuzz above her swollen wet pussy lips glistening with soap and slick cream, tender folds parted as smooth thighs rubbed together. Her full round boobs bounced gently breathing, rock-hard nipples begging sucked raw. That perfect fat ass clenched tight washing, plump cheeks screaming spread wide. Demon growled—wanna grab those perky boobs squeeze till she cries, ram fingers deep that virgin pussy stretch gaping, yank that fat ass back wreck tight asshole while she begs mercy.
Elias' dark hunger exploded—pin this holy slut against wet stone, bury throbbing cock balls-deep her tight dripping pussy pounding till womb breaks, choke fat young boobs purple while face-fucking her gagging throat cum-drooling, flip over split virgin asshole gaping till she crawls begging demon mercy as pure sister turns filthy cock-whore leaking seed everywhere.
His hands burned rip towel slam her against marble, shove thick cock down throat while fingers wreck sopping pussy and asshole stretched wide, force hot screams till steam room echoes nothing but ruined whore cries begging more brutal demon fucking.
He gasped raw, eyes darting her shining wet pussy lips puffy dripping, creamy thighs slick soap trails, that soft peach fuzz framing perfect untouched clit begging crushed—mind reeling visions paint her entire young body thick cum ropes shaking shattered.
Every sacred scent—soap, rose, damp skin—twisted sharply into carnal desire inside him. He leaned closer, pressing his burning eye to the gap, hands clawing the marble until his nails bled, lost in the violent intoxication of lustful reverie.
The girl took a small step, moving closer to his side—washing her arms and humming softly to herself. Then, for a moment, her face tilted enough for him to see her fully.
Elias' heart stuttered.
She was beautiful.
Soft eyes.
Gentle cheeks.
A warmth to her features that didn't belong in the cold halls of Sancthorn.
She looked untouched by the harsh discipline of the place. A girl who still held innocence in her expression, even while bathing alone against every rule.
Elias' breath came faster.
Steam clouded the gap.
His eyes strained, desperate not to lose the sight.
But then—
His foot slipped.
A tiny scrape on the stone.
Just loud enough.
The girl froze.
Her eyes—still hidden from him—widened. A quick gasp escaped her lips. She snatched a towel with panicked speed and wrapped it around her body tightly.
"Hello?" she called, voice trembling. "Is—someone there?"
Elias backed away instantly, the demon inside him pulling him with frightening speed. His heart thundered—not with fear, but exhilaration.
The girl stepped toward the edge of the chamber, still clutching her towel—
But Elias was already gone.
He sprinted silently down the hall, breath ragged, the dark smile pulling wider across his face.
Only when he turned a corner—completely out of sight—did the smile drop.
His left eye flickered.
And the darkness vanished.
Elias collapsed against a wall, gasping, horrified.
"What… what was that?" he whispered. "W-what did I just…?"
His hands trembled violently. Fear crept into his bones. Shame burned across his skin. He pressed both palms into his hair, shaking his head as if trying to shake off the memory.
"That… that was a sin. I didn't… I didn't want to…"
His voice cracked.
He stumbled backward, turned, and ran toward his room—his breaths were quick and terrified.
As soon as he burst into the room, Aron stood up from the bed, looking both annoyed and worried.
"Where were you?!" Aron half-shouted. "Why did it take you so long, Elias?!"
Elias froze, still pale.
"I… I got l-lost," he stammered, the shy boy returning instantly. "I'm sorry… I'm really sorry…"
Aron groaned, rubbing his face. "No, no, forget it—listen! Sister Elizabeth asked for you. Right now. She wants you in the prayer hall immediately!"
Elias' stomach dropped.
Elizabeth.
No. Not now. Not like this.
Aron continued, waving his hands frantically, "Go! Run! She doesn't like waiting. And she will not tolerate lateness."
Elias didn't wait another second. He bolted from the room—
Aron calling after him, "Your clothes! They're dirty! At least change—!"
But Elias didn't dare waste time. He ran.
His footsteps echoed so loudly through the sacred hallway that even he winced at the noise.
He reached the prayer hall breathless.
The hall itself was breathtaking—vast ceilings, grand pillars, stained glass casting colors across polished floors. At its center stood the colossal statue of the Holy Truth: a figure carved from white stone, faceless yet somehow alive, both divine and terrifying.
And beneath it…
Elizabeth.
Tall.
Still.
Strict.
Her posture perfect, her eyes sharp—yet there was a faint, unmistakable anger in them.
Elias' heart almost stopped.
He stumbled forward and bowed deeply, trembling before her.
"Sister Elizabeth…" he whispered.
Her voice cut the air like a blade.
"Come here."
He obeyed instantly, trembling.
Elizabeth looked at him—wet hair still neatly tied, robes immaculate, aura powerful as ever.
"I knew from the very moment Father assigned you to me," she said coldly, "that you would be the type who breaks discipline."
"I—I'm sorry, Sister Eliz—"
"Silence."
Her voice snapped like a whip.
"You speak only when asked."
Elias' chest tightened painfully. He bowed deeper, eyes locked on the gloss of her black robe hugging her heaving chest, the swell of nipples hardening beneath, the faint outline of her soaked cunt daring him to glance up.
Elizabeth stepped forward, gripping his collar roughly, shaking him once as if to crush his defiance.
"Look at yourself. Dirty clothes. Late. Unpresentable. Sancthorn is not your home, boy. It is not a place where you wander freely."
He groaned softly, shame burning his skin.
Elizabeth inhaled slowly, trying to steady herself. She wasn't cruel—but she was severe. Her discipline was a devotion, not a punishment.
"Listen carefully, Elias," she said, voice firm but calmer, simmering with restrained fire. "Breaking rules will not be tolerated. Ever. Not for you. Not for me. No one in Sancthorn is above discipline."
Elias nodded desperately.
"You will meet me at midday for the gathering," she continued. "There is no excuse. No delay. You will learn every rule of Sancthorn today. And you will obey."
"Yes… Sister Elizabeth…"
"Good. You may leave."
He bowed deeply again—too quickly, neck craning low as eyes stole forbidden glance at sinful curves under holy robes: heavy fat boobs pressing tight fabric nipples rock-hard begging pinched raw, thick hips cameltoe outline soaked pussy mound radiating fuck heat through weave, thighs slick unconscious wetness demon craving pin down rip robe choke fill defile completely.
A flicker of the dark power inside him surged fiercely, clawing its way to the surface. His left eye darkened, glowing with an unholy hunger, shadows licking at his iris as the demon whispered wicked promises of possession and sin. In that moment, all restraint shattered—his body thrummed with the urge to rip her robe open, to grasp those swollen tits, to shove his aching cock deep into the wetness he could almost taste on his tongue.
Elizabeth did not see the transformation. Her gaze remained flawless—unmoved, unreadable. She was discipline incarnate: cold, commanding, untouchable.
Elias straightened quickly, forcing his usual shy innocence back over every trembling inch of his body, ashamed yet hungry, and hurried out.
But inside him, that demon eye kept smiling—hungry, waiting, craving.