Seven Sins System Chapter 649. Hit and Cold
Seven Sins System Chapter 649. Hit and Cold
Puriel’s PoV
Puriel’s jaw clenched. The marble rail felt cool beneath her palms, grounding her as the warmth of the Goddess’s words coiled around her spine like an invisible tether—gentle, but unyielding.
She stood there for a long moment, breathing. Thinking.
Then her eyes narrowed slightly.
“…The necklace,” she said at last, voice low.
Selaphira hummed beside her. “Hm?”
“You put spells on it,” Puriel said, turning her head sharply. “Didn’t you?”
Selaphira didn’t even blink. She just arched a delicate brow.
Puriel crossed her arms. “Why?”
Selaphira’s gaze lifted to the darkening sky, as if the stars might answer for her. “You’re going to have to be more specific, darling.”
Puriel exhaled sharply through her nose. “Don’t play coy. My head spun. Our heads. My pulse wouldn’t stop racing. I couldn’t think straight. I could feel him. Wanting me. Needing me. And I… I—”
She stopped herself.
Her cheeks flushed red. Wings twitching.
“You made us horny!” she blurted. “Why the hell would you do that?!”
Selaphira’s lips curled into the softest, most infuriating smile. “Well. At least you’re being honest now.”
Puriel groaned and turned away, dragging both hands down her face. “You’re literally the worst.”
“I’m literally the Goddess of Love,” Selaphira countered lightly.
“That doesn’t mean you get to enchant my neckwear like some divine aphrodisiac!”
“No,” Selaphira agreed calmly. “But it does mean I know the weight of what you’re feeling. And I needed to show you something.”
Puriel stared at her, baffled and indignant. “What? That I’m no different than him?”
Selaphira chuckled—a sound like velvet torn in moonlight. “I showed you that your bond isn’t broken. That you won’t combust. That this connection won’t unravel the heavens.”
Puriel’s expression darkened. “You enchanted us so I’d give in?”
“No.” Selaphira’s voice went soft again. “I enchanted it to tell you… Your union won’t destroy the realms. It’s not a sin. And you needed to feel that truth in your bones.”
“That sounds ridiculous,” Puriel muttered, biting the inside of her cheek.
“I know,” Selaphira admitted. “But here I am. Still hoping you’ll have what I couldn’t.”
Puriel stilled.
Her wings slowly lowered, brushing the floor.
“…You loved him,” she whispered. “Didn’t you?”
The air changed.
Selaphira turned her head. Her face—so often playful, unreadable—wavered. Her gaze flickered with something ancient and fragile.
“Yes,” she said, not hiding it. “I loved Asmodeus’s father.”
Silence fell like snow.
Puriel slowly moved closer. “Even though he slept around? Indulged in every carnal thing imaginable? You still loved him?”
Selaphira’s eyes shimmered with starlight now. “Yes.”
“Why?” The question cut out of Puriel’s throat before she could temper it. “Why him? Why love someone who… who gave himself away to anyone who asked? Who touched and teased and tasted everything like it was his birthright?”
Selaphira took a breath.
Then another.
The silence stretched again, but this time Puriel didn’t interrupt it.
The Goddess walked forward a few steps, arms loosely folded behind her back, gown trailing behind like mist. When she spoke, her voice was distant. Like someone confessing to a ghost.
“He was cruel to his enemies. Insatiable. He moved through the underworld like a storm with a grin, painting pleasure in his wake and chaos behind him. He was arrogant. Vain. Addicted to sensation. And he never apologized for any of it.”
Selaphira stopped, just before the balcony edge.
“And yet…” she smiled faintly, voice growing gentler, “he would always find me.”
Puriel watched her carefully.
“In the middle of the debauchery. The madness. The noise—he’d find silence. Just long enough to sit beside me. Just long enough to be still. He would say nothing. Not even try to touch me. He’d just be.” Her hand drifted to her chest. “And in that stillness… I saw him. Not the Lust Lord. Not the demon lord. Just… him.”
Puriel’s lips parted.
She could see it.
Feel it, almost—
That quiet love buried beneath the roaring fire of their legends.
And suddenly, in the middle of Selaphira’s confession, her thoughts weren’t on the Lord of Lust anymore.
They were on him.
Azrael.
The past.
The one who always climbed the tallest trees first just to yell, “You can’t catch me!”—and then jumped anyway, even if he landed flat on his back with a groan.
They’d been children back then. Mortal children.
Neither knew they were angel and devil.
Neither knew they were weapons forged by ancient forces.
Back then, they were just…
El and Riri.
She remembered running barefoot through a field of poppies with him, laughing like the sky wasn’t watching.
Remembered how he once cried when a bird he tried to rescue died in his hands. He buried it with ceremony. Spoke to it like it had been royalty.
He was… wild.
But always gentle with her.
They separated, became nemesis, and met again in the mortal realm, here in the modern realm.
She remembered how he’d given her breakfast every day, “I had extra,” then shoved the paper-wrapped sandwich into her hands like he hadn’t just risked poisoning her.
Hot and cold.
Sharp one day, soft the next.
One moment he was rolling his eyes at her, and the next he was hugging her like he was afraid of losing her.
He was ridiculous. Infuriating.
But real.
Azrael had changed. And yet… not really.
Selaphira’s words blurred in her ears now, not because she wasn’t listening—but because her heart had begun to race. Not the overwhelming, enchantment-induced kind.
This was different.
This was her own damn heartbeat being too loud for her thoughts.
She turned slowly toward Selaphira, voice tight.
“I thought you hated him,” she said quietly.
“I hated how he needed the world to look at him. I hated how he ran from pain and buried it in skin and sighs. But gods help me…” Selaphira exhaled. “I loved him. Because when he did stay still, when the fire quieted… he saw me, too.”
“And you think… Azrael is like that?”