Truman had braced for an unbearable time coexisting with the angel, but adapting proved surprisingly easy.
It wasn't just her enigmatic aura or stunning beauty. Elaviel's presence was faint, almost ethereal. As a high-tier supernatural being, she had no need for mortal necessities like eating or sleeping. She spent most of her time sitting quietly in a corner, like a painting from the Old History, occasionally murmuring as if pondering the Creator's intentions.
It wasn't that she was hard to notice—she simply regarded all things as dust, neither caring for others nor being noticed by them. Her detachment was otherworldly.
Mythical beings were like that. Unless they chose to reveal themselves, they appeared as fleeting shadows to mortals and lesser supernatural creatures, exerting little influence. Yet Truman was an exception. He'd noticed her from the start, gazed upon her divinity without going mad with fear or being blinded by devotion. Unlike other feeble beings, he saw her as a powerful entity, not an untouchable myth.
"Perhaps this is the Lord's true intent?"
Elaviel narrowed her eyes, beginning to notice the man's peculiarity.
Despite prolonged observation, she detected no trace of cultivation or holy relics in him. His actions were utterly mundane, so she withdrew her scrutiny.
She had more pressing matters to attend to.
A deafening rumble shook the air.
As Truman finished washing dishes with rainwater collected from the eaves, he returned to witness a staggering sight: Elaviel sat on the floor, surrounded by countless golden inscriptions. Light and shadow wove around her, as if guarding the Lord's emissary.
No myth or epic could capture this scene. Sacred words echoed, gospels sang, and the heavens seemed to offer praise. Golden light surged, threatening to engulf the entire slum, shimmering like scales or sunlight dancing on water. Yet neither neighbors nor enforcer cultivators seemed to notice.
The surroundings warped. Though Elaviel sat in the corner, she felt millions of miles away. The dusty room transformed into a vast, glorious expanse, as if a mustard seed held a mountain.
A sharp ding rang out, like a god forging in the void. Truman watched a small golden vortex form behind the angel, its faint glow resembling the gates of heaven, birthing form and color from nothingness.
"Your Highness, what… were you just doing?" Truman ventured, emboldened by her apparent indifference to his crude use of the master-servant contract and his earlier defilement.
After hours together, he'd shed some of his initial fear. What was the worst that could happen? He only had one life to lose.
He'd never witnessed such power and suspected she was a figure of immense importance—perhaps someone who could help him cultivate.
Though he still lusted after her divine form, dreaming of ravishing and taming her, the situation was clear: his only means of controlling fantasy creatures had been effortlessly ignored. He didn't dare show disrespect.
Who wanted to be a lust-driven loser forever? Truman dreamed of being a hot-blooded hero, battling the heavens. He'd crossed worlds—couldn't he have some ambition? Thus thought Truman, the embodiment of lust, the so-called "fuck-waste." Besides, getting stronger meant more conquests, longer conquests…
"I am forging my own Eden, the foundation of my existence in this world. I come from nothingness, and this ensures my flame endures…"
Elaviel answered calmly, recovering from her earlier exertion. Even as a mythical being, creating something from nothing taxed her spirit. She should have performed this feat in the holy city, where it would've been easier, but her surroundings didn't limit her—just demanded more effort.
Eden? A foundation for existence? Truman's eyes widened in realization. His previous summons couldn't stay because they lacked this method, unable to carve a foothold in reality, forced to fade back into fantasy. He marveled at the angel's power—creating something from nothing. As far as he knew, even high-tier supernatural cultivators couldn't do that.
"It will take seven days, as the Almighty Lord created the world. Then I shall return to the holy city…"
Elaviel murmured to herself. She would remain here for seven days, building Eden from nothing. Due to her mistaken arrival, she was still weakened, but once Eden was complete, no enemy would threaten her. If she couldn't discern the Lord's intent by then, she'd leave—her mission was to vanquish demons and restore the Church, not linger here.
Seven days… Truman's mind raced, recalling the Church's creation myth. Excitement surged. With this divine noble staying in his home, wasn't this his chance? He had to seize it, to see if he could kickstart his dream of a heroic cultivation journey.
His hopes were dashed. The next day, tamping down his excitement, he asked Elaviel if he could cultivate. Her answer was merciless.
"You lack the aptitude. This life holds no path to mythical legends…"
She shook her head faintly, then, perhaps sensing she'd wounded a devout follower, added, "Even without cultivation, steadfast faith will one day draw the Almighty Lord's gaze."
Elaviel's aloofness applied only to those she deemed dust. Once someone entered her sight, she showed due regard. Every blade of grass here might tie to the Lord's design, and the eternal God acted with purpose. Thus, she refrained from harming her surroundings and answered her followers' queries.
Crushed by the verdict, Truman wilted like a frostbitten eggplant, his dreams of greatness snuffed out. The blow shifted his gaze from reverence to raw, primal desire as he eyed the angelic beauty—though he buried it deep, not daring to show a hint.
Fuck, so I'm doomed to just be a fucker? I summoned her, used my materials, but I can't touch her or get her help. What a joke… Truman gritted his teeth. His desires had always burned hot since arriving in this world. Before the scroll, he'd managed to suppress them, but after tasting flesh, how could he starve?
Days without release, with a divine beauty in his home and no way to relieve himself, were driving him mad.
"That's it—I'm jerking off outside today!"
Munching a bun at the table, Truman's eyes locked onto the divine envoy, memorizing her for later use as mental fuel.
Elaviel didn't notice his gaze—or didn't care. She resumed building her Eden, the sacred ritual glowing with divine splendor. Today, she would craft the sky and earth…
Truman trudged through the slum's main street, arriving at the church for prayers. Unlike before, he eyed the haughty priest on the dais with disdain. He was a man with an angel at home—closer to God than anyone!
His frustration over being unable to cultivate faded amid the sparse prayer chants. He opened his prayer book and began the day's routine. Cultivator or not, he still needed to earn a living.
The sun rose and set, another dull day passing. This time, Truman didn't rush home. For one, the divine presence at home, though subdued and somewhat vacant, was oppressive. He couldn't ignore her entirely or act freely. For another, he desperately needed to relieve his pent-up desires before he exploded.
He couldn't turn to a streetwalker—broke as he was, and after tasting exquisite fantasy creatures, mortal women seemed like tasteless dregs.
Glancing around to Filled with a mixture of excitement and trepidation, he slipped into an unnoticed corner, shielded by bushes and a wall. To his surprise, the act sparked an unexpected thrill.
"What, am I an exhibitionist now?"
He brushed the thought aside, diving into his fantasy.
Elaviel's holy visage appeared before him, her aloof facade replaced by a dreamy, eager expression, her divine robe torn open. The white fabric bunched at her waist, revealing her flawless, peach-like hips. She faced away, obediently leaning forward, hands braced against the wall, her stunning rear raised high, enticing him like a siren's call.
Her wings folded neatly at her waist, resembling an elegant white gown.
Truman didn't hesitate, thrusting into her in his mind, gripping her hips and pounding as he savored the sultry look on her divine face.
"An angel, huh? With a body this lewd, you're just begging for it! I'll fuck you senseless!" In his fantasy, he humiliated her relentlessly, reducing Elaviel to a pleading, broken mess sprawled on the ground.
The vision brought him both mental and physical ecstasy.