My sinful confession

The sky: Not merely dark. Empty. A baleful black disc, wreathed in the silver corona of solar flares — the only light, cold and deathly. Stars, never visible in the city, glittered brazenly around it. The air grew frigid, the wind hushed in reverential terror. The city below: An unnatural, frightening silence, broken only by distant alarm sirens and the howling of dogs. Streetlights and window glows seemed feeble, helpless against the cosmic night that had fallen. Shadows were sharp, ink-black. The Hanmoon shield could be felt — a giant barrier trembling and thinning under the onslaught of demonic energy pouring from the celestial “loopholes” opened wide by the eclipse. It demanded continuous, colossal sustenance. Serenity sat on the very edge of the roof, her legs dangling over the abyss, yet her posture was unwaveringly straight — the stance of a warrior on guard. The Lunar Scythe lay across her knees, transformed into the Harp of Shadows. Its radiant amethyst strings pulsed in time with her breath, emitting waves of pure energy that soared upward, feeding the quivering Hanmoon. Her long black hair (reaching her waist) streamed in the near-windless void like a cloud of shadows. One vibrant violet strand stood out sharply against the night, a living reminder of her power. She wore a practical yet elegant dark blue velvet battle corset, cinched with silver clasps, and long leather pants. Over it, a long, heavy cloak of deep purple pooled around her like a wing. In the gloom of the eclipse, her figure looked monumental and utterly alone. Her voice rose into the icy emptiness — pure, powerful, brimming with inhuman strength and inexpressible sorrow. Every word was an incantation, every sound a thread woven into the fabric of the Hanmoon. *The sun is sleeping quietly…* *Once upon a century…* Her fingers plucked the strings. Amethyst flashes danced across her face, reflected in her wide-open, intensely focused eyes. Her entire world now was the Harp, the Song, and the Shield. One moment of weakness — and darkness would flood the world. *Wistful oceans calm and red, * *Ardent caresses laid to rest…* She felt the eclipse’s chill pierce through her cloak, but it was nothing compared to the icy breath of demons plucking at the Hanmoon. Her voice grew stronger; the strings vibrated with a resonant hum. *For my dreams I hold my life, * *For wishes I behold my night…* Precisely at that moment, thick, blood-red smoke coiled directly in front of her, out of nowhere. It materialized with unnatural speed, not dissipating but coalescing into a familiar, hated figure. Ignis. He appeared soundlessly, like a phantom. His demonic form was revealed in all its glory: Skin of a deep, iridescent violet hue, as if drawn from the eclipse’s very heart. Tattoos covering his body — from his face, down his neck, along his arms, and likely beneath his clothing — pulsed with infernal golden patterns. They resembled ancient seals or chains, glowing dully. His clothing retained red and gold elements but looked more… archaic, organic in this form. Leather, metal, perhaps scraps of fabric like bat wings. Golden accessories blazed against the violet skin brighter than the stars. Wings? Not fully manifest yet, merely shadowy hints behind his back, but they were there. His golden eyes, devoid of whites, burned like molten metal in his violet-masked face. They held hunger, adoration, dangerous tenderness, and a complete absence of intent to attack… for now. He didn’t utter a word. With a lightning-fast, unstoppable movement, his arm snaked around her waist (his violet fingers adorned with gold rings stark against the dark velvet of her corset) and he pulled himself flush against her back. His body was a source of unnatural warmth in the cosmic chill. Serenity jolted violently. The Harp’s strings shrieked in surprise; the amethyst radiance flickered for one terrifying second. The Hanmoon shuddered. A wave of icy terror and fury raced down her spine. But stopping meant death. Gritting her teeth until they creaked, clenching her lips, she forced her fingers to play again. Her voice tore from her chest, perhaps rasping now, but unyielding: *The truth at the end of time…* *Losing faith makes a crime…* She couldn’t push him away. She couldn’t even turn her head. All her will, all her strength flowed into the Song and the Shield. She was a prisoner to his audacity and her own duty. *Sorrow has a human heart…* Her voice, strained by his embrace and the kisses he pressed to her neck, sounded even more piercing, raw with effort. The Harp’s strings vibrated, matching the frantic rhythm of her own pounding heart. *From my god it will depart…* "My god” — the thought flashed through her mind. What was her god? The Hanmoon? The Light? Duty? And was sorrow departing? She felt it now more than ever. Ignis sensed her inner tremor and held her tighter, his hot breath scalding the skin at her temple. *I’d sail before a thousand moons…* Her gaze flew towards the void of the eclipsed sky, to the cold, alien stars. Sail where? Where was salvation from this darkness, from this demon chained to her? *Never finding where to go…* This feeling of being lost, lacking a true path under the onslaught of his intrusive “care,” gnawed at her more fiercely than physical exhaustion. She forced her fingers to pluck the strings harder, releasing a wave of amethyst energy, trying to drown out the turmoil. *Two hundred twenty-two days of light…* The thought of light, of the long sunny days the night yearned for, seemed like a mockery now. Were they attainable when darkness was so strong and so… close? Ignis, as if guessing her thoughts, ran a finger along her violet strand; his golden tattoos on violet skin shimmered in the gloom. *Will be desired by a night…* Her own “night” — this demon at her back — did he desire light? Or only to consume it? She felt the Hanmoon hungrily absorb the energy of these words, these images of light within darkness. *A moment for the poet’s play…* She was the poet in this abyssal night. Her song was her weapon, her prayer, her last bastion. But her “play” was happening in a vise. Ignis kissed the curve of her shoulder; his lips burned through the cloak’s fabric. *Until there’s nothing left to say…* Would the words run out? Would the strength fail? This fear was the deepest. Her voice suddenly softened, almost a whisper on a high note, but didn’t break. She held on. She HAD to finish. *I wish for this night-time… to last for a lifetime…* (It now sounded almost like a curse, an admission of defeat before the inevitability of this nightmare proximity and duty). *The darkness around me… Shores of a solar sea…* (The darkness around her was both the eclipse, his wings, and his very essence. The shores of the Solar Sea seemed an unattainable mirage). *Oh how I wish to go down with the sun… Sleeping… Weeping… With you…* (“With you…” — these words now took on a ghastly, unwanted meaning. Not with some abstract “you,” but with *THIS* demon whose arms held her, whose breath burned her skin. Her voice finally broke on the last words, dissolving into a tear-choked, rasping whisper). Ignis. He felt her tension, her hatred, her forced immobility. And… he relished it. His arm around her waist wasn’t just holding — he pulled her even closer, feeling every breath, every tremor beneath the corset. He lowered his head. His lips (hot, almost scorching on her chilled skin) touched her exposed neck, just below her hairline. First, just a touch. Then — a slow, wet kiss. Then — another, slightly lower, with a faint nip that made her gasp involuntarily, yet she kept singing, her voice now breaking with effort and humiliation: *I wish for this night-time… to last for a lifetime…* He inhaled her scent — ozone from magic, cold wind, and something uniquely *her*. His golden eyes closed for a moment. He rested his head on her shoulder, his cheek brushing that distinctive violet strand. His breath fanned hotly against her neck. Ignis remained silent. His language was touch. His confession was in this extreme closeness, in this perverse guardianship over her as she saved the world he despised. He didn’t hinder her. He… claimed this moment of her power for himself. His thoughts were clear: Let the Hanmoon stand. Let her hold it. The stronger the shield, the fewer lesser demons will crawl up here, trying to steal what I’ve found. My Weapon-Goddess… My Serenity… *The darkness around me… Shores of a solar sea…* She sang, and he held her tighter, his violet arm adorned with golden tattoos resting on her stomach just below her breasts, pressing the cloak flat. He was the darkness on the shore of her solar sea, and he asserted his presence. *Oh how I wish to go down with the sun… Sleeping… Weeping… With you…* Her voice sounded almost like a moan — of exhaustion, of strain, of the unbearable cocktail of hatred, fear, and something else she dared not name. She felt tears pricking her eyes, but she didn’t cry. She held on. The song reached its finale. The last notes vibrated in the air. And *at that very moment*… The edge of the sun’s black disc flared with a blinding diamond of white light! Sunlight — first a thin sliver, then an avalanche — crashed down upon the city. The darkness retreated instantly, as if swept away by a hand. Stars winked out. The air warmed. The Hanmoon, sustained by her song and the sun’s return, solidified with a resonant sigh; the loopholes slammed shut. The girl’s hands fell from the Harp. She trembled violently as if with fever. Her strength drained utterly. Her head spun; muscles screamed. The Harp of Shadows dimmed and shrank back into the compact form of the Lunar Scythe, which clattered onto the concrete rooftop beside her. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t push him away. She was drained, physically and morally. Her energy, her will — everything had gone into sustaining the Shield. She was a rag doll in his embrace, capable only of a feeble twitch as his arm around her waist refused to loosen. Ignis felt her limp body, her complete helplessness. Triumph flashed in his golden eyes… and… tenderness? He turned her to face him — easily, like a feather, now that she offered no resistance. His violet face with its golden patterns was close to her pale, exhausted one. His voice, low, velvety, unusually devoid of sarcasm or malice, sounded right by her ear: “It’s alright, Goddess.” He looked into her extinguished eyes, filled with impotent rage. “You can rest… in my arms.” And before she could comprehend or attempt to break free (though she had no strength left whatsoever), darkness coalesced. Not the eclipse’s darkness, but his. His wings (enormous, leathery, the color of dried blood with golden tattooed veins) unfurled with a soft rustle and enveloped them both like an impenetrable cocoon. Within this artificial twilight reigned silence, the warmth of his body, and a faint scent of sulfur and smoke. In this sudden, forced intimacy of darkness, where only the dull golden glow of his eyes and skin patterns were visible, he held her firmly. His violet hand supported her back. He slowly bent down. His lips, still scorchingly hot, touched her forehead. The kiss was gentle, almost reverent, yet it held the full depth of his obsession and the possessiveness he had just proven. That girl, Rumi of Huntrix, the half-demon. Living proof that a relationship between demon and human is possible, which means I… — the thought flashed through his mind, but he didn’t voice it aloud. He’d save that card. Something else was important now: she was here. She was in his power. She was resting in his hands. Serenity closed her eyes. From weakness? From shame? From unwillingness to see his triumph? Or because, in this strange, captive darkness, after hellish tension, utter exhaustion took over? She wasn’t asleep, but she was paralyzed, imprisoned in the warm cocoon of his darkness and his embrace, beneath the canopy of his wings, on the roof of the world she had just saved… and which he, her demon, had momentarily claimed along with her. Ignis didn’t move. He held her, felt her shallow breathing, her beating heart. His golden eyes glowed with predatory satisfaction in the half-light. The eclipse was over. The sun shone brightly. But for the two of them, the night continued. His night. His Goddess — disarmed and subdued… for now.