Seven Sins System Chapter 650. A Limbo With No Gods

Seven Sins System Chapter 650. A Limbo With No Gods

Puriel’s PoV

Selaphira turned her head slowly. “No.”

Puriel blinked.

Selaphira’s gaze was soft, but steady. “Azrael isn’t hiding his pain. He’s bleeding it into the world. He doesn’t distract himself with lovers. He drowns in wrath, not pleasure. He doesn’t seduce to forget. He rages to remember. That’s why he’s dangerous. And that’s why he needs someone like you.”

Puriel’s mouth went dry.

She felt her pulse spike again—but not from desire.

From fear.

Or maybe awe.

“You think I can save him.”

“I think you already have,” Selaphira replied.

Puriel stared down at the necklace again. The one she still wore. Thin gold and divine crystal. It shimmered faintly now, as if echoing the memory of Azrael’s touch. Her hand drifted to it, fingertips brushing the pendant lightly.

“I didn’t mean to fall for him,” she whispered. “I hated him, at first. I thought he was the worst thing that ever existed.”

“He was,” Selaphira said.

Puriel let out a shaky breath.

“And then… he wasn’t,” she finished. “He… listened. To me. Argued, sure, but never ignored me. He remembered what I said. Even when it hurt him.”

Selaphira’s smile returned—wounded, but warm.

“That’s love, Puriel. The kind that hurts because it matters.”

“But I don’t want to be the leash,” Puriel muttered, voice cracking. “I don’t want to be the holy chain. I don’t want to hold him down.”

“You won’t,” Selaphira said. “You’ll lift him. If you let yourself.”

A long silence followed.

The stars above had multiplied.

Crickets chirped distantly. The roses along the balcony began to close their petals for the night.

Puriel’s heart beat in her throat.

She looked out again over the celestial horizon. Below, cities twinkled like stars fallen to earth.

“I don’t know if I’m strong enough,” she finally admitted.

“You don’t need to be,” Selaphira said softly. “You just need to try.”

“…And if I break?”

“Then I will be there. Just like I wasn’t for myself. Just like I should’ve been.”

Puriel turned toward her. She didn’t know what to say.

Selaphira reached out—lightly, carefully—and brushed a stray lock of hair from Puriel’s cheek. A motherly touch. A friend’s gesture. A goddess's prayer.

“You’re not alone in this,” she whispered. “And if this ends in fire, we’ll stand in it together.”

Puriel’s throat tightened. Her voice caught again.

“…Thank you,” she whispered.

Selaphira smiled, stepping back.

“Now go,” she said with a wink. “Before I enchant your shoes to start dancing toward him.”

“Don’t you dare,” Puriel deadpanned.

Selaphira gave her a mock-innocent look and raised both hands. “I’m just saying, divine footwear is a thing. Ask the Fates. I could make yours hum love songs.”

Puriel groaned and turned away, rubbing her temples like she had a goddess-induced headache—which, to be fair, she absolutely did.

She took two steps toward the archway—then paused.

Turned back.

Selaphira tilted her head, sensing the weight shift in the air.

Puriel’s tone changed, quieter now. “One more question.”

Selaphira leaned her hip against the marble railing. “Just one?”

“…Is it you?” Puriel asked. “The ruckus. The war whispers. The celestial borders thinning like wet paper. The demons crossing over. Angels responding in kind.”

The air grew still. Even the roses stopped moving.

Selaphira didn’t answer immediately. Her expression was unreadable now—not playful, not mocking. Just… quiet.

“No,” she said finally.

Puriel blinked. “No?”

Selaphira’s voice was soft, almost sad. “The mortals did that.”

“What?”

Selaphira exhaled, lifting her eyes to the sky again, where the constellations pulsed faintly like sleeping hearts.

“They poked the veil,” she said. “Pried it open in places it was never meant to bend. Some did it out of desperation. Others… out of arrogance. Some just wanted power. Knowledge. To live longer. To become like us.”

Puriel frowned. “You mean—like cults?”

“Cults, scholars, governments with too many secrets and too little caution.” Selaphira let her fingers trail along the banister, drawing glowing runes that flickered, then vanished. “They want divinity. Immortality. Control.”

“And… you let them?”

“I didn’t,” she said calmly. “But they found ways. Relics. Forbidden texts. Cracks left behind from the last war.” Her voice dipped lower. “Mortals are resourceful. When they want to open a door, they don’t always ask what’s behind it.”

Puriel’s mind spun, piecing fragments of recent events together.

“You’re saying this wasn’t Heaven or Hell’s plan?” she asked, still reeling. “It was mortals?”

Selaphira nodded. “Some want to be like us. Others? They want to break us.”

Puriel blinked. “Break… what do you mean?”

“They know the system,” Selaphira said. “If the angels and devils are both dragged into the mortal realm… we clash. We fight. Old grudges ignite. Rules bend. Walls break. And when that happens…”

She stopped.

The wind picked up again, colder this time.

Puriel stepped closer. “…Then what?”

Selaphira’s lips pressed into a line. “Then balance crumbles. Souls start slipping through the cracks. The damned… and the pure… all start mixing. Heaven and Hell both flood the mortal world.”

“And what’s left?” Puriel whispered.

Selaphira looked at her.

Eyes gleaming, like stars remembered something before the sky did.

“What’s left,” she said quietly, “is chaos. A realm of in-betweens. A limbo with no gods. No laws. No judgment. Just raw, unfiltered will.”

Puriel’s stomach twisted.

“You’re saying they want to destroy both realms. To rebuild something new.”

“I’m saying,” Selaphira replied, “some mortals want to burn the old order—because they think they can handle what comes next.”

“But they can’t,” Puriel murmured.

“They never could,” Selaphira said. “Even we couldn’t.”

Puriel stared at her feet. At the marble floor etched with sigils, old prayers, flower petals fallen and crushed. Her heart beat faster.

A part of her wanted to scream. Another part wanted to fly straight to the nearest gate and shove this intel down every angel council’s throat.

“Why didn’t anyone say anything?” she asked. “Why didn’t Heaven speak of this?”

“Because pride,” Selaphira answered. “And fear. The angels think admitting weakness gives devils a foot in the door. The devils think admitting care makes them soft. So both sides keep quiet, pretending the house isn’t on fire while the curtains burn.”