Extra's Life: MILFs Won't Leave the Incubus Alone-Chapter 228: THE SHATTERED VESSEL

The cathedral roof ruptured beneath Elan’s falling body, stone tiles cracking like eggshells beneath divine flesh. He hit the floor in a burst of broken radiance—an impact heavy enough to shake dust from ancient beams and send fractured moonlight scattering across the shattered surface.

Aiden descended behind him with the unhurried grace of someone stepping off a carriage. His boots kissed the stone lightly, almost politely. Holy aura shimmered around him once more—soft, pure, comforting. It wrapped his form like a warm sunrise, hiding the shadowed storm he had just unleashed.

The small pendant clicked when he clasped it back onto his chest.

A simple, gentle sound.

Yet the moment it fastened, the world exhaled in relief.

The incubus aura—the true abyss—vanished.

In its place blossomed a gentle, radiant glow of holy warmth, the sort that soothed wounds and calmed frightened hearts. The sort the saintess knew. The sort Elan remembered.

Aiden rolled his shoulders, loosening tension as though shaking off a trivial inconvenience rather than the violent, sky-shattering battle that had preceded it.

His voice held only boredom.

"Get up."

Elan did not move.

Broken wings twitched uselessly in the moonlit ruin. His halo flickered faintly, a dying ember that no longer knew if it belonged to heaven.

He managed one shallow breath—ragged, trembling.

Then Aiden’s hand closed around his throat again.

Not with the raging force from before.

But almost gently.

Almost tenderly.

Like a cruel parent lifting a misbehaving child.

His grip tightened.

Elan gasped, the sound caught between pain and disbelief.

Aiden dragged him across the roof, steps unhurried, the way one might haul a sack of grain rather than a divine Vessel.

"No more theatrics," Aiden murmured, lowering his voice to something almost intimate. "and for your information....You’re fucked."

Elan tried to resist, wings twitching, fingers scraping against stone. His muscles tensed—broken arcs of divine instinct urging him to move, flee, fight, anything—

Aiden scoffed softly.

The grip tightened by the smallest measure.

Elan’s entire body went still.

His limbs dropped helplessly to his sides as Aiden pulled him along, each breath stabbing through his ribs like carved ice.

Aiden pushed open the cathedral stairway door.

And the world inside froze.

The young saintess spun toward them, pale hair fluttering like soft moonfire. Her eyes—those gentle, faithful eyes that had once healed entire villages with a smile—shone with terror and worry.

"—A-Aiden!" she cried. "You... you’re hurt! I felt—your aura— it exploded across the whole capital, I—"

She rushed to him, hands trembling as they clasped his.

The warmth of her touch never reached him.

But he let her hold him anyway.

He let her see the holy glow.

He let her feel the "gentle protector."

He let her believe.

Aiden smiled softly.

"I’m fine," he murmured, voice a balm. "But you’re friend....isn’t."

He swung Elan forward.

The Vessel smashed into the floor—stone cracking beneath him, breath exploding from his lungs. Before he could lift himself, silver shackles burst into existence around his wrists and ankles, holy-scribed runes snapping shut with a harsh metallic ring.

The saintess gasped, covering her mouth.

"Elan!? Why—why would you attack him—? Why would you attack me?"

Her voice broke.

Her heart broke.

And Elan’s spirit cracked with them.

He lifted his head slowly.

Vision blurred. Bones aching. Blood dripping down his cheek in luminous streaks.

But none of that hurt as much as seeing her.

Fear in her eyes.

Fear of him.

He reached toward her, hand trembling violently.

"I... I’m trying to save you...Bela, why...why don’t you understand?"

The saintess took a step back.

And something inside Elan fractured.

A subconscious memory flickered—

Her younger self reaching for his hand in the orphanage garden, promising,

"We’ll always protect each other, right?"

Now she flinched from his touch as though he were a monster.

Aiden’s hand settled on her shoulder.

Steady.

Warm.

Safe.

"He’s corrupted," Aiden said softly, sorrow lacing his tone like a priest delivering a tragic truth. "Something inside him changed. He tried to kill me...he tried to kill you, all because he couldn’t handle a simple rejection..."

"That’s not true!" Elan screamed, his voice shredding. "You’re being manipulated—he is NOT what you think—he’s—!"

Aiden’s fingers touched his forehead.

Just two fingers.

A light tap.

A holy sigil erupted—a burning brand of gold shaped like a cross enclosed in runes. It seared into Elan’s skin, the scent of scorched divinity filling the air.

He screamed as it embedded into him.

When the light faded—

His voice did too.

Now his words came out broken, distorted, jagged like cracked glass.

Aiden smiled faintly.

"He can only speak the truth I allow," Aiden said calmly. "For your safety."

The saintess trembled.

Her tears fell freely now.

"Elan... why? Why are you saying these awful things...just because, just because I want us to remain friends?"

Elan tried to speak.

The sigil twisted his words into incoherent, maddened fragments.

He wasn’t speaking madness—

the magic only shaped it that way.

He heard himself speaking clearly.

But she heard only a monster raving.

"I’m not—! I’m TRYING— to— to—!"

The words broke apart, sharp, disjointed.

The saintess sobbed, stepping back into Aiden’s arms.

Elan reached toward her again.

This time Aiden stepped on his wrist.

A soft crack.

A soft cry.

"Don’t touch her," Aiden said gently.

Elan lifted his head.

Eyes burning with unfiltered hatred and raw heartbreak.

Aiden only smiled down at him—calm, holy, beautiful.

To her, he looked like a protector.

To Elan, he looked like the devil wearing heaven’s skin.

Aiden crouched beside the saintess, thumb brushing a tear off her cheek.

"You’re safe," he whispered. "I’ll protect you."

Her body collapsed into him, grief and fear pulling her into the warmth of his chest. She buried her face in his robe, fingers clutching the fabric desperately, seeking salvation.

Elan watched.

Helpless.

Crushed.

Silent except for the ragged breaths tearing through his throat.

That sight—

her holding Aiden, not him—

hurt more than any wound carved into his flesh.

When her sobs softened and her body finally relaxed, she fell asleep against Aiden, cheek pressed over his heartbeat.

He held her carefully.

Tenderly.

He carried her to her room, laying her on her bed with exquisite care. He brushed her hair from her forehead, eyes softening with an affection so convincing it made Elan want to vomit.

Then Aiden turned.

The softness drained away.

His smile died.

His eyes burned with gold as heavy and ruthless as a collapsing star.

He stepped toward the bound Vessel.

"Now," Aiden said quietly.

"Let’s talk about your ...Goddess."

Elan’s breath shuddered.

For the first time since he had descended from the heavens—since his divine mission began, since he first believed he was chosen, protected, guided—

he felt true fear.

But Aiden did not strike him.

Not yet.

He knelt beside the restrained Vessel, head tilted slightly, studying him with a predator’s patience.

"i was surprised...You really thought you could win," Aiden murmured. "You really thought your shitty goddess would save you." 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

Elan clenched his fists, silver blood dripping between his fingers.

Aiden leaned forward, voice lowering to a near-whisper.

"You should have realized it by now."

Elan’s chains rattled.

Aiden smiled.

"She doesn’t answer you anymore."

Elan’s breath caught—

a tiny, involuntary sound of pain.

Aiden’s eyes glowed, sharp as twin suns.

"She abandoned you the moment I arrived. Because she knew."

He touched Elan’s chin lightly, lifting his face.

His voice was calm.

Cold.

Absolute.

"I’m the one thing she cannot rewrite...she cannot predict..."

The saintess stirred faintly on her bed, a soft noise tugging Aiden’s attention for one heartbeat.

And in that heartbeat—

Elan saw it.

The shift in Aiden’s gaze.

The possessiveness.

Not love.

Not tenderness.

Ownership.

Claim.

Aiden rose, stepping away from Elan—ignoring the Vessel’s frantic struggles—and returned to the saintess’s bedside.

He sat on the edge of her bed, brushing soft hair from her cheek. His touch was gentle, almost reverent. His thumb stroked her cheekbone. His fingers threaded through her pale hair with practiced affection.

Elan strained against his restraints.

"No—" he rasped, voice distorted. "Don’t— touch— her—"

Aiden didn’t look back at him.

"She trusts me," he murmured softly. "She comes to me. She believes in me more than anyone. Even more than you."

He leaned down, brushing his lips against her forehead in a soft, lingering kiss.

The saintess sighed in her sleep, unconsciously reaching for him.

Elan’s heart cracked.

Aiden whispered into her ear, voice a warm hum:

"It’s alright... I’m here."

He gathered her into his arms—her body instinctively curling into him as though seeking shelter.

Elan trembled, fury and grief ripping through him like knives.

Aiden turned his head slightly so Elan could see the way he held her.

The way she clung to him.

The way she breathed his name even in sleep.

His lips curled.

"You see?" Aiden murmured. "This is what you lost."

Elan’s body twisted violently against the chains—

but the holy sigils only tightened, forcing him to his knees.

Tears carved glowing streaks down his face.

Aiden stroked the saintess’s cheek again, savoring the warmth of her sleeping breath against his neck.

"She doesn’t fear me," he whispered.

"She fears you."

Elan’s scream was silent—choked by the bind.

His entire body convulsed with anguish.

Aiden held her closer, letting her rest her head against his shoulder.

Then he looked directly at Elan.

"Tell your bitchy Goddess," Aiden said softly,

"that the world doesn’t revolve around her...magic, around her vague predictions anymore."

He pressed a final, gentle kiss into the saintess’s hair.

"And neither does she."

Elan’s chains rattled with the force of his despair, holy metal glowing with the strain of his resistance.

Aiden stood, still cradling the saintess in one arm.

The room trembled around them—

with fear, with fury, with inevitability.

Aiden’s eyes shone brighter than the moonlight seeping through the shattered window.

And in that glow, Elan’s hope died.