Yo, wa's up everyone! ✨ it's ya boy, the author.
First off—sorry for the delay in getting the next chapter out. Life's been hitting me with its own kind of boss battle lately (college… the true final dungeon before life starts to slap you in your face for real). Between assignments, projects, and just trying to keep my sanity intact, my writing stamina has been a little drained.
But don't worry—I haven't forgotten about you or the story. It just means the next chap 'might' take a little longer to cook, and you know me… I like serving it up with all the extra flavor and a good amount of spice. 🍲
Cheesy joke time: Why did the writer go to college?
…To major in Cliffhangers! 😅
Thank you all for being patient with me—it means the world. Much love to every single one of you. ❤️
Chapter 332: Candle and Tail
The inner chamber of Inariko's temple was unlike any other part of the mountain shrine.
Gone were the carved hallways, the foxfire lanterns, and the tests designed to peel at his mind. Here, the air was still in a way that didn't feel empty—it was saturated. Saturated with her, Malik smiled at the smell, "What type of wild flower is that? I wonder if it only grows in cold climates." But pushing thoughts of getting presents for loved ones aside, he kept walking.
The space opened wide, a vast domed hall carved entirely from pale marble streaked with warm gold. No incense burned here. No attendants lingered. The only light came from soft lines of foxfire winding along the ribs of the dome, all converging upward into a nine-tailed spiral of flame at the very top. The sound was almost nothing—just a faint hum, like a heartbeat hidden under snow.
And there she was.
Not in body.
Not in form.
But Malik could feel her, just as keenly as if she were sitting across the room with a half-smile on her lips. This was her territory, her den. And he was in the center of it.
The altar was not on the floor.
It rose above him on a singular, narrow pillar of white stone that thrust upward into the air like a tree trunk stripped bare, holding a platform barely wide enough for a prayer mat and the ceremonial offerings placed there over the years. The stone had been polished by countless hands—smooth, unblemished, sacred.
Malik tilted his head up, letting the sight of it fill his view.
Of course, it couldn't be simple.
If he wanted to pray at her altar, he had to reach it.
He flexed his fingers, summoned a shimmer of magic under his feet, and let the incantation lift him skyward in an easy, smooth arc. The robes fluttered around his ankles, the weight of the cloak tugging gently at his shoulders, but he didn't waver. He landed on the pillar's top with the ease of someone who'd been making impossible leaps for years.
The altar itself was small—smaller than he expected—but perfect. A circular slab of white jade inlaid with gold filigree, each line curling into the shape of fox tails meeting at the center. A silver bowl sat at the heart, holding a flame that burned neither hot nor cold, just steady. No smoke. No scent.
Malik lowered himself to his knees. The jade was cool beneath him.
He didn't rush the prayer.
He closed his eyes, bowed low, and let the words come—silent, not spoken aloud, because she didn't need sound to hear him.
He thanked her first. For letting him through. For the trials. For the patience she had with mortals bold enough to step into her space.
Then he asked—not for power, but for clarity. For the cunning to know when to use his gifts and when to hold them back. For the grace to see through the illusions of others and the wisdom to weave his own without losing himself in them.
Finally, he promised her—whatever path this quest led him down, he would walk it to the end.
The flame in the silver bowl flared.
It didn't scorch, but its light pushed through him, filling the air, the floor, his chest. The glow wrapped around him like fur brushing against his skin, warm and alive, and he felt it—something new settling into the weave of his magic.
Her voice wasn't sound, but it was in him: playful, knowing, pleased.
"Little shadow, little spark. Let's see what you do with my gift."
[New Boon Acquired: Nine-Tailed Veil]
Blessing/Boon from: Inariko, the Great Fox Goddess
Lv 1 of 5 → Lv 2 of 5
Benefits:
Illusion magic grows sharper, richer, harder to distinguish from reality.
Slowly grow fox tails over time, one by one, until nine in total.
At nine tails, illusions become reality for as long as they are sustained—reality warping at will.
More tails = more energy drain. Turning the boon off resets the tail count.
The moment the power settled into him, the familiar golden text shimmered into view in his mind's eye:
Quest Update
[Quest Unlocked: Find, pray, and speak to the old gods at their lost temples.]
Reward: The gods will bless you.
Progress: 2/5
Aethyra, the Goddess of Wisdom and Strength — Candle in the Dark: Illuminator of Hidden Paths (Lv 2 of 5)
Inariko, the Great Fox Goddess — Nine-Tailed Veil (Lv 2 of 5)
The text faded, but the warmth didn't.
He stayed there for a long time after the light dimmed.
Kneeling. Thinking.
His mind turned over the two blessings he now carried. Aethyra's candle—a clear, cutting light that revealed paths and potential, guiding him toward truths others would miss. And now Inariko's tails—magic that could make unreality so perfect it would become reality, if he mastered it.
They were… dangerous together.
One blessing showed the world's hidden cards. The other could swap them for whatever hand he chose to play.
And yet…
Power like that had weight. Responsibility. The wrong call could crush someone. The wrong illusion could warp more than just perception—it could change fate itself.
The old gods were not giving him toys. They were giving him tools sharp enough to cut the future open.
Malik sat there, eyes closed, until the hum of the temple softened in his awareness.
When he finally rose, his mind was quieter. Focused.
The fox flame still burned behind him.
And somewhere in the unseen, he thought he heard the sound of soft, amused laughter.
The pillar released him easily. Malik floated down on threads of controlled magic of pink and gold drafts, his robes trailing faintly behind him like the wake of a comet. The air below was thicker than when he'd ascended, as though the flame above had marked him, and now every inch of the chamber hummed with awareness.
His sandals had just touched marble when warmth pressed against his back.
Not imagined. Not illusion.
Her.
Arms slipped half around his waist, a playful hold that carried no true weight but all the intention in the world. The press of her body was undeniable—silken fabric brushing, warm breath curling against his neck, and the soft yet insistent pressure of her bosom pushing into his back.
Malik stiffened, his jaw tightening as a flicker of confusion cut across his face. It wasn't anger, not exactly—more the sharp, startled tension of a man who had just been nudged sideways by something he hadn't expected. His shoulders squared instinctively, pink-golden eyes narrowing ever so slightly, the way someone might when trying to read fine print in dim light.
"...Really?" he muttered, slipping sideways in a smooth pivot.
Her arms caught air.
She let them, deliberately, stepping back with a foxlike grin tugging the corners of her lips.
Inariko.
Not the painted illusion this time. Not the distant hum.
She stood before him in her hybrid form—snow-white hair spilling over one bare shoulder, fox ears twitching high, nine tails flicking lazily behind her in arcs of golden firelight. Her gown clung and shifted as if alive, teasing glimpses of collarbone, waist, and thigh with every subtle motion. The goddess looked at him like a predator cornering prey she had no intention of eating quickly.
"Well," she purred, her voice low velvet. "You fly well for a little mortal incubus. Graceful. Balanced. Strong enough to reach my altar. And now…"
She sauntered forward, hips swaying, tails brushing the floor like lazy flames. Her eyes never left his face.
"...now I think you've earned more than just blessings."
Malik exhaled through his nose, slow, steady. "I didn't come here for that, Inariko."
She tilted her head, mock-innocent. "Didn't you? You kneel at a goddess's altar, you breathe in my name, you carry desire in your veins like second blood… and yet you expect me not to taste it?"
He gave her the barest smile, quick and sharp. "Two birds with one stone, huh?"
"Exactly," she said, delight sparking in her tone. "Pray to me, serve me, please me all in one breath. Efficient."
Malik shook his head, stepping back, hands loose at his sides. "No."
The word hung heavy.
Her smile didn't fade.
It deepened.
Inariko's lips curved into a pout that was too calculated to be innocent, and her ears twitched as she gave a little tsk. She crossed her arms beneath her chest, pushing her bosom up deliberately, then tapped one clawed finger against her lower lip.
"Little incubus tells me 'no.'" Her tone was half-teasing, half-curious. "Do you know what that does to me?"
Malik's gaze flicked once over her—acknowledgment without indulgence. "You're making it obvious enough."
She stalked forward again, tails spreading in a fan of foxfire light behind her, the glow painting her curves like living art. "You can't fool me, shadow boy. I can smell it on you."
Malik raised an eyebrow, " . . shadow boy . . .?"
"The heat," she murmured, circling him now, one hand trailing dangerously close to his shoulder, his arm, his hip without quite touching. "The want. The ache. It's pouring off you like incense smoke."
He chuckled once, but there was no softness in it. "I'm an incubus, Inariko. That's always going to hang off me. Doesn't mean I let it control me."
She paused, just long enough for her tails to sway. Her smile thinned into something sharper. "So what—you don't find me sexy?"
Her body shifted, every line of her posture turning into a deliberate pose. One leg forward, gown sliding up to reveal flawless thigh. Ears tilted back, eyes narrowed, lips curved into a smirk that could have toppled kingdoms. Her tails arched high, spreading wide, each flame-tip sparking as if punctuating the question.
Malik took a slow breath, then met her gaze squarely.
"You're beautiful," he said. Simply. Direct. "No denying that. Maybe one of the most dangerous kinds of beauty I've seen. But I'm trying to do better than letting that be enough."
For the first time, her smirk faltered—just a flicker.
Then—
"Ohhh," she exhaled, stepping closer, voice a silken thread. "You are delicious. Do you know what denial does to a goddess who thrives on temptation?"
Malik's smile widened, calm, deliberate. "Guess I'll find out."
Her laughter spilled into the chamber, bright and sharp. Mischief laced every note, but beneath it was something hungrier, something that refused to let go.
She leaned in, eyes glittering with violet-gold heat. "No," she repeated in a whisper, mocking his tone. "You say no like it's an end. But with me?" Her grin showed teeth now, sharp and sweet.
"It's only the beginning."
Malik's pulse thudded once in his ears, but he didn't flinch.
And Inariko, pouting and playful, didn't take his no as serious.
Not even close.
Malik tugged his cloak back into place, preparing to turn toward the exit arch. The air of the temple still clung to him—warm, close, honey-thick with foxfire essence—but his mind had already shifted to the practical. He had prayed. He had endured. He had been blessed. He had thanked her. It was time to leave before Inariko's playful persistence pushed him past his own patience.
Of course, she wasn't about to make it that simple.
"Leaving already?" Her voice lilted like a tease, but there was something underneath—something softer. Her nine tails twitched behind her, swaying like spoiled banners. She tilted her head, violet-gold eyes widening just enough to frame herself as wounded, a goddess scorned. "I open my temple to you, I share my breath, I press myself against you… and still you treat me like another stepping stone. How cruel."
Malik gave her a look. Not sharp. Not mocking. Just… flat.
The exact look he gave Ranke whenever she pushed too far with her princess tantrums.
Inariko blinked. Then her pout deepened.
"Ohhh," she said, drawing out the syllable like a sigh, "don't give me that Ranke look. I'm divine. I am allowed to be spoiled." She folded her arms, tails flicking in agitation. "And unlike your little thunder-girl, I actually have claws. And teeth. You don't know what I'd do with them."
Malik raised a brow. "That's supposed to make me stay longer?"
Her smile returned, sly. "It's supposed to make you curious."
He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "You're impossible."
She only laughed, soft and breathy. Then, in a quieter tone, she added, "You like that about me. I just wanted to get to know you better. After all the memories I've seen inside you—little flashes, little truths—it made me want to see more. All of you. The messy parts. The spoiled parts. The soft boy under the shine."
That… stopped him.
Malik lowered his hand and studied her properly. For all her posing, her swaying tails, her sultry tone—there was an honesty threading her words.
Still, he crossed his arms. "You saw my memories. Then you made those tests. Why that way? Why so weird and personal? Hunger, restraint, whispers about failing… That's not just a trial, Inariko. That's poking holes in me. And yeah, I'll say it—honestly, it kinda hurt."
Inariko's ears flicked back, then forward again. She didn't deny it.
"I don't fully control the trials," she admitted at last, tone shifting to something more thoughtful. "They're of me, yes—my essence, my power—but they breathe on their own. They twist. They dig. Like foxes, they burrow for what lies beneath. I only… nudged them. To see how you'd react."
Malik exhaled, long and slow.
"Of course you did."
She stepped closer, expression easing into something less goddess, more woman. "Because I enjoy seeing the true Malik. The one who saved a monk from drowning in his own darkness. The one who makes tea for his friends instead of giving speeches. The one who rolls his eyes when Ranke gets too dramatic, but never fails to hold her hand anyway."
"You like to talk about my sweet and spoiled Ranke a lot," he said more to himself to allow her to continue.
Her tails lowered, fanning around her like an autumn cloak. Her eyes softened.
"You want someone to be deep and honest with you," she said. "Don't lie. You crave it. You hide it under jokes, under promises, under the legendary mask. Always that guy. Always Malik the Incubus, Malik the Savior, Malik the Charming. Malik the Baker. But you're not always that, are you?"
Malik shifted, lips pressing thin.
"And me?" she continued, voice low, almost confessional. "I'm a goddess with countless followers. Prayers on every wind. Temples are in every corner of this mountain and under a few others. But none of them speak to me honestly. They want blessings. They want favors. They want answers. They love me, but not me. Not Inariko. Just the foxfire. Do you know how rare it is for someone to tell me no?"
He looked at her then, really looked.
No smirk. No pose. No fire.
Just… loneliness dressed in fur and silk.
"Unlike you," she added softly, "I don't have a harem waiting behind doors to make me laugh, to make me forget. I have… me."
That did it.
"Harmen is a strong word for what I have, but...," Malik rolled his eyes, but the smile that tugged at his lips betrayed him. "You sound just like Ranke. Spoiled, dramatic, and somehow still right."
She perked at that, ears twitching. "So you do compare me to her."
"Don't push it."
He dropped into a seat on the wide dais, robes pooling around him. A beat later, he reached up and gave her the one thing his knights all secretly treasured, even if they'd never admit it—soft, deliberate head pats. Right between the ears, fingers threading lightly into the silk of her white-gold hair.
Inariko's tails quivered, betraying the pleasure she tried to hide. Her eyes fluttered half-closed.
"You really…" she murmured, "you really know how to disarm me."
Malik smirked. "Yeah. I promised a lot of people I'd be places soon. But I can spare a little time here. For you."
Her eyes opened again, bright and sly, but softened at the edges.
"So," he said, leaning back casually, still petting. "Where shall we start?"
And for once—just once—the fox goddess didn't answer with seduction.
She leaned closer, tails curling in a slow arc around them both, and whispered:
"Start with the truth."