Seven Sins System Chapter 727. Just Rage With a Brain
Seven Sins System Chapter 727. Just Rage With a Brain
I stepped forward, letting the light catch my shadow just right. “Because I’m a devil, Your Radiance.”
A beat passed. My voice dropped.
“Even in the mortal realm… I’m still a devil.”
Pause.
“No heart. No chains. Just rage with a brain.”
Diablo’s voice cut in. “Azrael.”
I stopped. Huffed through my nose. Sat back down. My claws curled against the stone armrest, nails tapping once, twice, before I let them still.
Yeah, yeah. I got it. Don’t provoke the queen. Even if she provoked me first. Even if I had every reason to rip this whole room down and drag her through every ruin she left behind.
“Rather than argue or posture, how about we ask for the evidence you collected? Puriel told us you took some. Maybe it’s time to show us what exactly we’re dealing with.” Serene’s voice came soft but firm. She was always the reasonable one among the Virtues... Temperance, right? Her tone always carried that blend of concern and high moral ground that made my teeth itch.
I gave her a long look. Not mocking. Just… tired. Then I exhaled.
“Fine,” I muttered. “Don’t say I never share.”
One of my tentacles slithered down from the chair’s spine and crawled across the marble floor like a slow, curious serpent. The others remained curled behind me, twitching with restrained energy. The one moving forward… long, black, glistening with faint helllight, opened at the tip. The mouth split like an obsidian flower, slick and sharp, and spat two things with a wet, pulsing thud.
The first hit the floor with a heavy clang. The coffin. Metal and flesh fused together. Spikes driven inward. Celestial seal fragments cracked and dangling from the hinges like torn scripture.
The second? A limp body. Still breathing. Barely. Twisted. Grotesque. A fusion of mortal, angel, demon.
“The coffin,” I said slowly, voice flat, “you can take. Examine it. Smell it. Lick it, if you're into that. But the hybrid—” my gaze slid to the limp, unconscious form on the polished floor, “—that one’s ours.”
I didn’t have to elaborate. I meant Hell’s. Mine. For dissection, study, or revenge, depending on my mood.
Lysathie descended from her throne like she wasn’t made of bone and pride and the kind of power that made suns weep. She didn’t walk. She moved, pure glide, effortless. Her white robes shifted with each step like they were made of star silk, light threading every motion with untouchable grace. Even when I hated her, I had to admit. She was beautiful. That kind of beauty that killed empires without ever lifting a blade.
She stopped right at the edge of the ward. The faint shimmer of barrier magic hummed in the air between us, scented like lilies and ash, strangely enough.
Her eyes didn’t go to me. They dropped to the hybrid. Her brows drew together in something that might have been disgust… or curiosity. Probably both. She tilted her head slightly, like a scholar examining an unfinished painting.
Puriel didn’t move, but I could feel her tension. It pressed into the space between us, tight and uneasy. Like me, she didn’t know what her mother would do. Or say. Or condemn.
“What is it?” Lysathie asked quietly.
“Something the mortals made,” I replied, folding my arms. “They stitched it together from corpses, mana fragments, maybe even bloodlines. It’s hard to tell. Its soul signature is scrambled. It has infernal traces. Celestial echoes. Mortal instability. It’s still breathing.”
Lysathie didn’t flinch. She crouched… crouched, the Queen of Light, robes pooling around her like moonlight puddled on marble and studied the hybrid closer. One of its hands twitched. She didn’t step back.
“It’s still alive.”
“I told you I’m a devil. I don’t kill unless I have to. Or want to.”
Puriel approached more slowly. Her hand hovered near the hilt of her blade but didn’t draw. She stared at the thing in the coffin, her lips parting.
“It has wings,” Serene said.
“Two angelic. One demonic. One… unknown,” Justice added.
She looked at me. “This wasn’t supposed to be possible.”
“Exactly.”
Mamon’s fingers danced over his screen. “We need to crosscheck this DNA. The organ structure alone—”
“No one cares,” Asmo yawned. “Can we burn it now?”
Lysathie straightened and turned toward Diablo. “You say you brought your children here for a joint operation.”
“I did.”
“Then what’s your plan?”
Diablo folded his hands. Rings shining like stars on his fingers. “We send in more soldiers. Specialists. Extract and destroy all trace of this ritual.”
“No.”
That shut the room down fast.
The queen’s voice echoed like a bell.
“I will not allow demons to march through the mortal realm unchecked.”
I could feel Diablo’s aura stir. It made the coffins rattle slightly. Beel froze mid-bite.
“Careful,” Diablo said softly. “You’re implying my people can’t be trusted.”
“I’m stating a fact,” Lysathie replied. “Wrath isn’t the only one with memories of the past.”
Silence again.
Tight. Sharp. Old scars reopening.
I sighed and stood again. “Then what do you want us to do? Hold hands? Light candles?”
Puriel finally spoke. “We’ll form a team. Mortal volunteers. Angels. Devils. Mixed.”
My jaw dropped. “Mortal volunteers?” I repeated, deadpan. “Are you serious? Are you—do your brains rot up there in Heaven?”
Luci laughed. “Disaster waiting to happen,” he said with a smug smile. “Mortals caused this mess. You want to recruit them now?”
Beel snorted through his burger. “What’s next? Let ‘em babysit a Sin Lord?”
“Maybe give ‘em keys to the vault while we’re at it,” Levi muttered.
“Not if we choose carefully,” Puriel countered, calm but firm. “There are mortals worth trusting. Not all of them are cultists.”
Luci raised a brow. “You sure about that? These hybrids didn’t stitch themselves.”
Asmo rolled his eyes. “She just wants to play mortal savior.”
“I heard that,” Puriel snapped.
Before the bickering spiraled, Lily perked up with a mischievous grin. “I volunteer to break stuff.”
“No,” Diablo and I said at the same time.
She pouted instantly and flopped back onto my armrest with a theatrical sigh. “You guys never let me have fun.”
“Dad let you burn a monastery last year,” I reminded her.
“That was small fun,” she grumbled. “I want epic fun.”
Yeah. This meeting was doomed.