Seven Sins System Chapter 720. Between Identities

Seven Sins System Chapter 720. Between Identities

I told him what I knew.

No theatrics. No overblown monologue. Just facts. Cold, grim, and scarred at the edges. Like every word was soaked in the memory of that battlefield. The stench. The ash. The screams that still hadn’t stopped ringing in my skull.

But it wasn’t just my memory. Me. The bat. Even Puriel.

It started with the blood.

Mine and Puriel’s.

And someone collected it.

Our mana too. Our dying soldiers. Demonic and angelic both. They didn’t care what side we were on. Just that we were powerful. Just that we were bleeding.

Harvested.

Like cattle.

My dad didn’t interrupt when I talked. Not once.

He just stood there, silent, hand half-curled under his jaw, tail lazily swinging behind him like he was reading the flavor notes of a fine wine while I explained how mortals might’ve just built gods.

But even if his face didn’t move, I felt it.

His aura was shifting.

Tightening.

Heavy enough to warp the floor under his feet just slightly.

And yeah, the bat stood quietly too. Shivering in the corner. His wings twitching every time I mentioned the battlefield, like he could remember the smell. Like his body remembered being dragged out of that hell as little more than instinct and pulse.

Then we got to the thing, the hybrid.

And how we tried to pull information from him.

Not through brute-force interrogation. That was too slow. Too messy. I had better ways. Dad had even better ones. Ways that didn’t involve blood or blades.

We tried to manipulate him.

Erase the mess in his mind.

Make him docile. Obedient. Maybe even useful.

Something like what they’d done to me before.

Back when I went full insanity after my fight with the Ancient One.

Back when my mind cracked and my rage nearly swallowed the core of my being.

Dad’s magic had helped pull me back, helped me reshape myself. Reinforce the mask. Twist the soul just enough to stay sharp without cutting myself open.

It had worked. For me.

But for him?

Didn’t even scratch the surface.

No spell stuck. No seal held. No suggestion took root. The hybrid’s mind flickered between identities too fast. One moment a loyal soldier. The next an angelic martyr. The next a mortal kid choking on a memory that wasn’t his.

Nothing stuck.

That scared Dad.

He didn’t say it.

But I saw the way he looked at the hybrid’s body. The way he didn’t move closer after the second attempt failed.

And yeah, that explained a lot.

That explained how this Frankenstein of the three realms, this bastard child of chaos, could actually stand against me. Could counter my attacks. Could hurt me.

Me.

The fucking Lord of Wrath.

So yeah. Not simple.

We assumed, if this creature was a failure, an unstable product, and he still fought like that… then how bad would a successful one be?

Because the implication was clear.

This wasn’t a one-time accident.

If they could make this? They could make others.

Some would be stronger.

Some would be stable.

Some could rival me. Or Puriel. Or worse… both of us combined.

Yeah.

The theory that mortals were trying to make gods?

It wasn’t just theory anymore.

It was a success.

At least… partial.

And if this was just their failure?

Then the others, where were they?

Were they hiding? Buried? Or already among us, walking, breathing, waiting?

We didn’t know.

And that was the part that made my chest feel like it was full of boiling nails.

Because neither the Shadow Realm nor the Light had any idea mortals were this close to making their own pantheon. Not just contracts. Not just rituals. Not just praying for favors.

But building deities. Stitching divine power together like patchwork dolls and sticking them into corpses.

And us?

We couldn’t detect it.

Not unless we were close.

Because the mana inside these things? It was disguised. Wrapped in mortal neutrality. Demon cores and angelic ones tied together by mortal essence. The balance point. The binding glue.

I dropped the bomb after that.

I told him about the coffins.

The ones I’d swallowed.

And yeah. I spilled them right there in his office.

With a twist of my tentacle, I spat them from my tentacle’s mouth. All of them. One by one. My tentacles laid them down gently across the obsidian floor, each one glowing faintly, humming with power like wombs still pregnant with monsters.

The air changed.

Dad’s office wasn’t warm anymore.

It was quiet. Cold. Like the world was holding its breath.

We opened them. Slowly. Carefully.

Some?

Rotten.

The cores had rejected each other. Mana flow turned toxic. Fused too fast, then ate itself from within. Some were cracked. Some smelled like spoiled blood. Like meat kept under a prayer circle too long. Gone bad.

Others?

Empty.

Failed.

They tried to spark something inside, but nothing took. Stillborn gods.

But some?

Some flickered.

Dim lights. Barely alive. But there.

And the worst part?

They weren’t just raw mana.

Some had flesh.

Some had veins. Eyes. Spinal cords twisting in fetal coils. A finger twitching. A twitch of muscle responding to presence.

They weren’t weapons.

They were gestating.

Each coffin a womb.

A holding cell.

Not designed to awaken until the time was right.

Until the coffin cracked.

Or until they found a host.

Which, yeah—had to be mortal.

That’s why the one I found activated.

It fell on a human body.

The core slipped inside.

Here in the Shadow Realm?

They couldn’t awaken.

No vessels.

Too much demonic saturation. Nothing neutral enough to bind them.

That’s why they rotted.

Failed.

That’s why they were discarded.

But in the mortal world?

They had everything they needed.

Host bodies.

Blood.

Access to ley lines.

And time.

Time to learn.

Time to grow.

Time to wait.

I didn’t destroy them. Of course I didn’t.

We needed proof.

We needed them to see.

Because now?

This had to be brought to the meeting.

To the fucking angels.

To the Thrones and every smug celestial who thought mortals were just cute animals with delusions of importance.

This?

Needed to stop.

And if they didn’t listen?

Then I’d make them listen.

Because these things, they weren’t just threats.

They were declarations.

The mortals were done worshipping.

They were building gods now.

And we were already late.