Seven Sins System Chapter 617. Lust Domain I

Seven Sins System Chapter 617. Lust Domain I

I didn’t waste even a second.

The second I turned from the throne dais, I swiped my hand through the air.

[You have opened a portal.]

A rift tore open in the space beside me—pure black at first, but pulsing with subtle hues of crimson and violet, like velvet soaked in sin. The scent that came out was unmistakable. Sultry. Spiced. Like someone had set aphrodisiacs on fire and told incense to behave.

Yeah. No shit.

I stepped in.

The transition was instant. One moment I was standing in the chill shadows of my father’s throne room. The next?

Warmth.

Not heat. Not fire.

Warmth. Like silk sheets after a long night.

I emerged into the grand entrance of the Lust Palace. And yeah, it was exactly as stupidly decadent as I remembered.

Marble floors. Pink-veined. Glossy as hell. Mortals could probably see their souls in the reflection if they weren’t already corrupted. The walls were covered in murals—moving ones. Magical frescoes depicting scenes that definitely wouldn’t pass any Light Realm censorship board. A nymph tangled with a minotaur in one corner, giggling like this was just Tuesday.

And the statues.

Oh, the statues.

Somebody in the decor department here needed a serious intervention.

There was a two-headed snake twisted around a moaning angel statue, wings arched, mouth open like she was in mid-opera... or something else. A demoness frozen mid-backbend, one hand holding a tray of wine, the other... let’s just say not suitable for tea parties.

“Still haven’t updated their definition of ‘art,’ huh,” I muttered to myself.

At least the guards looked normal.

Thank the hells.

Clad in sleek obsidian armor, trimmed with blood-red threads, their faces were calm, respectful. No suggestive helmets. No orgy in progress.

Yet.

The one closest to the entrance stepped forward. His eyes widened just a fraction—enough to show surprise but not enough to trigger a diplomatic incident.

“Your Highness,” he said quickly, bowing low. The others followed suit. “Forgive us. We didn’t know you were arriving today.”

“Yeah, well. I like ruining people’s schedules,” I replied dryly.

“Understood.”

Damn right it was.

“I’m just here to kill time.” I folded my arms. “Asmo around? Or is he pretending to work in his office?” I snorted. “No, wait—don’t answer that. I doubt it.”

The guard didn’t flinch. “He’s here, Your Highness. I’ll summon a servant to escort you.”

“No need.” I waved him off. “He’s in his usual place, right?”

A pause. Then a nod. “The Play Room.”

I clicked my tongue. Of course he was.

“Right. Thanks.”

I snapped my fingers. A flicker of dark magic pulsed around me—fast, clean, sharp.

‘Teleport.’

The world blurred. When it came back, the air was thicker.

I appeared at the edge of a grand hallway, this one less ‘throne room chic’ and more… sensual chaos. Velvet carpet. Floating lanterns that flickered with suggestive illusions. Walls that pulsed with a heartbeat-like glow.

I swear one of the paintings winked at me.

“Still a damn walking seduction trap,” I muttered, walking forward.

The double doors to the Play Room were ahead. Massive, curved, crimson wood etched with gold—designed to look like parted lips. Of course. This was Asmo. Subtlety was something he’d sacrificed centuries ago in exchange for better lighting and scandalous interior decorators.

I pushed the door open.

And yeah.

This?

Was peak Asmodeus.

Lounge pillows in every shade of sin imaginable. Silken sheets scattered across the marble floor like they’d been thrown in the air and left wherever they landed. The scent of hell-baked spice and brimstone-laced sweetness filled the air, thick enough to chew. Candles floated overhead in gentle orbits, each one casting warm light like it was trying to flirt with your shadow.

And there—center of the room—Asmodeus.

Reclining on a curved couch like he was the poster boy for divine depravity. Shirtless, naturally. His short, perfectly tousled hair looked like it had been styled by lust spirits who moonlighted as runway stylists. He had one leg draped over the armrest, and he was feeding a fruit to a blushing succubus who looked two seconds from moaning—or passing out.

“Oh for f—” I started.

Asmo blinked. Looked up. Then smiled.

“Azrael,” he said, voice smooth as melted chocolate over sin. “Now this is a surprise.”

I rolled my eyes and stepped into the room. “Cut the theatrics, Asmo. I’m not here to join your harem-of-the-week.”

The succubus scrambled away like I’d just thrown holy water on her. Good instincts.

Asmo chuckled. “You say that, but you always drop by after dramatic events. Let me guess.” He sat up, spreading his arms. “Fate, danger, doom... or daddy issues?”

I didn’t answer.

His smile faded just a bit. Enough to show he knew I was serious.

“...You alright?” he asked.

“I’m fine.”

A lie.

But it’d do for now.

“I need to talk to you,” I said, stepping closer. “Privately.”

He gestured, and the remaining servants in the room scattered like well-trained ghosts. A flick of his fingers, and the doors sealed with a soft thump.

Then he leaned forward, resting his chin on one hand, suddenly more demon lord than playboy. The air shifted. No more jokes. No fruity cocktails. Just velvet tension and the distant pulse of something old stirring beneath our feet.

“Alright,” Asmodeus said, voice low. “What’s that ripple everyone’s whispering about?”

I hesitated. Not because I didn’t have something to say. But because I couldn’t say everything.

Not yet.

“I don’t know,” I said, settling into a seat that looked like it was designed for orgies, not interrogations. “Not exactly. I’m still investigating.”

“Investigating?” His brows flicked up. “You?”

“Yes, me.”

He leaned back with a light scoff. “And yet here you are. In my palace. Not exactly the center of inter-realm research.”

I shot him a look. “Because when it happened…”

I paused. My throat felt dry. Damn velvet air.

“I smelled something,” I continued. “Something… familiar. Unusual. Something that used to belong to this place.”

His brows furrowed. “Wait. You’re saying it’s connected to me?”

“Not to you,” I clarified, voice firmer now. “To this palace. To your father’s time.”

That got him. His shoulders stiffened just a bit—only someone who really knew Asmodeus would catch it.

“…You mean the scent?” he asked quietly.