Seven Sins System Chapter 732. No Answers

Seven Sins System Chapter 732. No Answers

Golden sigils bloomed across his chest. His ribs glowed. One eye fluttered open. It was white. Empty. Scared.

And still?

No harmony.

No peace.

No answers.

Just light.

Just hymns.

Just suffering dressed in ceremony.

And I knew.

I knew it wasn’t just pain.

It was that kind of pain. The quiet one. The kind that didn’t scream or cry or rage, just... stayed. Sat there. Wrapped itself around your bones and whispered for release. Yeah, I recognized it. Because I’m a devil. And devils know pain. Even when it doesn’t bleed. Even when it doesn’t move. Even when the mouth stays shut.

We know it by instinct. By birth. By the way it stains the air.

And that thing, whatever hybrid, abomination, miracle, or mistake it was… was drenched in it.

More than any damned soul I’ve ever seen.

Luci leaned toward me, sipping his wine like he wasn’t sitting in a room full of sanctified judgment and celestial tension. “I don’t know if they see it and pretend not to… or if they’re really that blind.”

I didn’t answer. Just glanced at Kindness. Then at Puriel.

And I saw it.

The way Kindness’s fingers trembled. The way her lips tightened. The way her eyes, usually calm and gentle and annoyingly understanding, shimmered with tears she refused to let fall.

They knew.

They felt it.

Whatever they’d pulled from that hybrid’s shattered soul during their fancy hymn-powered scan… it wasn’t just pain.

It was horror.

Raw. Endless. Beyond even what Hell had to offer.

I sighed, low and bitter. “They notice it,” I said. “But they’re trying to be smart about it. Extract as much as they can while he still breathes. They’ll squeeze that pain dry if they think it’ll give them answers.”

Because that’s what we all do, right? Dress cruelty in purpose.

Still, they stopped eventually.

The chanting faded. The light dimmed. The choir in the walls went silent. Finally.

The Queen stepped forward, her tone perfectly level. “We are done. He is all yours.”

My tentacles shifted. My legs uncrossed.

Justice’s voice followed. “Since you only gave us an hour, I think it’s fair to give you an hour. To investigate. You spoke of mercy. Well, he needs it.”

I looked up at him, exhaled through my nose, and chuckled. Not kindly.

“Now you want to talk about mercy?” I said, letting my voice curl around the word like smoke. “What happened? Did Kindness sneeze too hard and knock some empathy into you?”

He flinched.

And yeah, I saw it. The flicker of shame that crossed their divine faces. Because what they’d seen in that creature was worse than anything they expected.

My tentacle slithered across the marble floor, glossy black, twitching with hunger and intent. It coiled once, then opened.

A mouth bloomed at the tip, wet, sharp, and pulsing. The sound of it was obscene in a room this quiet. Then it lunged.

And the hybrid was gone. Swallowed whole.

My gaze never left the goddesses. Especially Puriel.

“We will examine him,” I said, calm and clear. “And when we’re done, we’ll kill him. The right way. With mercy.”

Justice stepped forward. “But—”

I cut him off with a raised hand. “No more than a day. I don’t care what you think you can save. We will not let him suffer like that again.”

Temperance scoffed. “I don’t get it… out of all the sins, you? Why would fate link Puriel with you? You’re sharp-tongued. Arrogant. A complete bastard.”

Before I could reply, Luci leaned toward me again, whispering behind his glass. “You can take those. For once, I don’t feel envy at all.”

“Thanks,” I muttered back.

Then I looked up at the whole room. All of them.

“Don’t ask me,” I said aloud, voice echoing. “Ask fate.”

“Ask…” I paused. Then I let my eyes slide to Puriel.

Puriel was staring at me.

But not like usual.

No blade in her gaze. No fire. No divine fury ready to smite me.

Just something… complicated.

Something I didn’t know how to read.

And that? That was terrifying.

Because normally, normally by now, she’d be snarling. We’d be halfway into round three of “Who Can Break the Most Council Tables Before Someone Pulls Them Off Each Other.”

She usually always had a snarky comment by this point. Something sharp. Something cruel, elegant, laced with holy contempt. “Brute,” she’d call me. “Walking temper tantrum with horns.”

And I’d throw it right back. “Glorified sword in a choir robe.” “Sanctified ice queen.” “Goddess of weaponized virginity.”

And it wouldn’t stop there.

We used to fight. Not argue. Fight.

Like actual spells flying. Divine light versus hellfire. Fists, wings, magic. Broken chairs, shattered seals, glowing sigils still sizzling on the walls. There was that one time she split the floor open with a blade of judgment and I answered with a tentacle slam that cracked the ceiling.

Usually, it ended with our friends dragging us apart before someone lost a limb or summoned a third apocalypse.

And now?

I tossed a little jab, just to test the waters.

Nothing.

No flare of holy indignation. No witty insult aimed at my horns. Not even a quiet huff of disdain.

Just that stare.

Silent. Searching.

Like she was trying to rewrite the past in her head. Rethinking every war council we hijacked. Every time she rolled her eyes when I entered the room and every time I smirked just to piss her off.

Her mouth opened slightly. Then closed again.

She didn’t even sigh.

No sarcasm. No flare of anger. No glowing blade ready to turn me into a flaming memory.

Nothing but hesitation.

It was weird.

Too weird.

My spine itched. My claws tapped once on the armrest. I felt the shift in the air like pressure rising before a storm that didn’t know if it wanted to be rain or fire.

Because this? This bond? This burning line of thread linking me to her?

I didn’t ask for it.

Didn’t want it.

Didn’t even understand it.

Fate did.

And it was laughing.

And ironically… I already did fall for her. Just like how she fell for me.