Seven Sins System Chapter 710. Harvested

Seven Sins System Chapter 710. Harvested

We turned a corner and stepped into a chamber that hummed.

The smell hit first—iron and sulfur and burned herbs. Not fresh. Not ancient either. Somewhere in between.

It looked like a tomb mixed with a forge.

The walls were etched with countless runes—some celestial, some infernal, some neither. Hybrid scripts. As if someone had stitched together languages just to describe things that weren’t meant to exist.

The air buzzed. Like it remembered screaming.

Tables were scattered, half-rotted wood and scorched stone. Instruments rested on them—things that might’ve once been surgical tools, but longer. More vicious. Barbs, hooks, syringes the size of daggers. There were diagrams too, sealed in crystal to preserve them—outlines of bodies. Not angel. Not demon.

Mixed.

Twisted.

Experimental.

“What the hell,” I muttered.

The more we looked, the more it became obvious.

This wasn’t a lab.

It was a conversion chamber.

A place built to dissect divinity. To extract it. To weaponize it.

Not just study. Not just experiment.

Refine.

Puriel didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Her eyes were locked on a table near the center. It was darker than the others. Stained deeper.

Something was still strapped to it.

Not a body.

A shell.

Bone-like. Twisted. Drained of mana. A creature that had once pulsed with either holy or infernal energy, now nothing more than a dry husk.

I stepped closer.

And it hit me.

I recognized the shape. The jawbone. The armored plating on its ribs.

One of mine.

One of my old warbeasts. Something only my generals could summon. A creature of Wrath.

Dead. But not from battle.

Harvested.

They’d kept it alive. Drained it piece by piece. Turned it into a source.

I clenched my fist.

I wanted to shatter every rune in this place. Blow it to ash. Grind it into nothing. That was what I used to do. That was what made things simple.

But this time…

We weren’t here to destroy.

This was an investigation.

A puzzle. A crime scene. A chain that linked the past to now.

We needed to know where it went.

When it started.

What it was building toward.

And most of all—what happened to the man who started it.

That mage.

That fanatic.

The one who consumed divine and demonic essence.

The one who turned mana residue into fuel.

Did he turn immortal?

Did it work?

Because if it did—if that ritual succeeded—then somewhere out there, a man who was once mortal might’ve become something new. Something outside the cycle. Not angel. Not demon. Not god.

Constructed divinity.

I felt something crawl beneath my skin. Not fear.

Anticipation.

Because if he lived—then he left a trail.

And that meant we could find him.

We had to find him.

Before someone else followed his blueprint.

Before this place became more than just a scar on the world—before it became a factory.

Because yeah, that’s what it was starting to look like.

Not a lab. Not a ritual chamber.

A goddamn factory.

An hour passed. Maybe more.

Time didn’t feel right here.

The further we went, the more the air warped around us—like reality itself got tired of trying to keep up.

The deeper levels weren’t just larger. They were structured. Organized in a sick, almost industrial way.

Pillared halls with etched runes, trap runoffs that looked like mana canals, empty cages built into the walls with restraints still locked open.

It wasn’t mansion big.

It wasn’t castle big.

This was palace big. A damn complex. A hidden kingdom beneath the dirt.

And every hallway? Every twist and corner? It asked the same question—

What else did they take from us?

Holy relics, corrupted.

Demonic sigils, redrawn in reversed symmetry.

Scrolls written in angelic tongue, soaked in dried blood and stitched together with skin.

I couldn’t tell if the skin was human.

Honestly, I didn’t want to.

The walls whispered in silence.

Not metaphor. Literal whispers. The residue of spellwork and pain lingering like ghosts.

Every ten steps I had to stop myself from punching through the stone.

My wrath kept rising.

It wasn’t loud. It never started loud.

It was a pressure in my chest, like something hot curled up just behind the ribs.

The deeper we walked, the more it grew.

Until the walls felt too narrow. The air too tight.

I wanted to tear something apart.

I wanted to rip this place open.

Turn the entire mortal realm into a field of ash and bone—just like I almost did centuries ago.

I could feel it boiling under my skin.

The same instinct. The same rage.

Mortals.

Sinners.

Filthy. Greedy. Cowardly.

Always taking.

Always asking for salvation or punishment, depending on which suited them better.

They begged the angels.

They feared the demons.

And now—now they stole from both.

But still, I didn’t move.

Because somewhere in me, under all the rage, there was… something else.

Something that kept me grounded.

I lived here now.

Among them.

Pretended to be one of them.

Drank mortal wine. Ate mortal food. Had mortal clothes, mortal bills, and mortal headaches.

I laughed with them.

Fought beside them.

Got annoyed by them.

And some of them?

Some weren’t that bad.

Some were decent.

Flawed, yeah. But trying.

And maybe that was the only thing keeping me from snapping.

From turning into the monster they always feared I was.

But Puriel?

She was silent the whole time.

Didn’t speak. Didn’t blink.

Her steps were slow and deliberate, but I could feel the storm inside her.

The tremor in her grip.

The shake in her breath.

This wasn’t just rage.

This was betrayal.

And the kind that cuts deepest?

It’s not the one from your enemies.

It’s from the ones you protected.

The ones you stood in front of.

The ones you bled for.

I glanced at her.

She looked pale.

Eyes distant.

Like she wasn’t fully here anymore.

And how could she be?

This place wasn’t just some horror show.

It was proof.

Proof that the mortals she spent lifetimes defending—

Worshipped, even—

had torn open her kin just the same.

Used their wings.

Drained their light.

Turned divinity into currency.

This?

This was a massacre in reverse.

No battlefield. No blood-soaked grass or burning skies.

Just cold stone, hooks, chains, and silence.

And it all came to a head when we reached the next room.