Seven Sins System Chapter 737. Soldier of Wrath

Seven Sins System Chapter 737. Soldier of Wrath

“I will bring him with me,” I stated, pointing to the bat.

He flinched a little. Poor guy was still trembling like a rookie on his first rage-fueled deployment, except worse. He wasn’t trembling from battle high or adrenaline, he was trembling from shame.

Diablo’s gaze landed on me, slow and heavy. He didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned back in his cracked throne, fingers steepled under his chin like he was calculating several wars ahead.

Then he finally spoke.

“We still need his testimony.”

“I know,” I replied. “And you’ll get it. But first…”

I turned back to the bat. His wings were tucked in too tight, like he was trying to disappear into himself. His claws dragged nervously against the floor. He wouldn’t meet my gaze. Which, yeah, unheard of for a wrath demon. But then again, he wasn’t exactly himself right now.

“…He needs to go back to his natural form,” I continued. “As long as he’s trapped in that shape, he’s got too many limitations. Physically. Mentally. Spiritually.”

I stepped forward, voice low.

“He’s one of mine. A soldier of wrath. He fought under my banner before everything fell apart. And whatever this is…” I gestured at his current form. “…it isn’t him. So I’ll handle it.”

The bat looked up, eyes wide and wet. He opened his mouth and yeah, it almost broke something in me.

“My lord…” he choked out.

His voice cracked halfway, and yeah, there were tears in his eyes.

A wrath demon. Crying.

Hell didn’t do that. We scream. We rage. We destroy. But cry?

That’s how far they’d pushed him.

That’s how much they’d broken him.

Diablo exhaled. Then, with a rare motion I hadn’t seen in centuries, he pressed his fingers against his temple. That was a gesture he only used when he was forcing himself to not break something.

He waved his hand.

Permission granted.

One by one, the other Sin Lords rose from their seats, giving their own versions of “I’m out.” Asmo stretched like a satisfied cat and tossed me a lazy two-finger salute. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do... actually, no, do all of it,” he grinned before strutting off.

Luci passed behind me, wine glass still in hand, and whispered, “Get some rest, loverboy,” with that smug smirk before vanishing in a puff of perfume and glowing light.

Beel didn’t say a word. Just followed the scent of something edible and wandered off, grumbling about lunch part two.

Belph? Half-asleep already, dragging his pillow behind him, muttering “wake me when we’re at war again.”

Mamon, though, stayed.

Of course he did.

He was still syncing data to Diablo’s central archive like nothing else mattered, fingers tapping away at his glowing tablet. Business never sleeps, not even when Hell is on fire.

Typical.

I ignored them all.

I stepped toward the bat. Placed a clawed hand on his narrow, shaking shoulder.

“Let’s go.”

Then I teleported. The air cracked around us, bending and folding inward before slamming shut behind me.

And we weren’t in my office.

No.

I took us home.

The palace.

My palace.

I hadn’t stepped foot in it for months. Not since all this chaos began. Not since Diablo had to use that idiot puppet double to stand in my place while I fought, bled, and nearly lost my sanity dealing with cults, idiot mortals, and fate damned god projects.

The place still smelled like sulfur and metal. Like fire-kissed marble and black rose oil. Every hallway echoed with that familiar click of heels over stone. The paintings lining the walls shifted subtly, reacting to my return, the flames in their eyes glowing brighter. The sigils on the doors sparked.

And the moment we appeared, the servants noticed.

They froze. Then surged.

“My lord!” one cried.

“The real one! You’re back!”

They were running now. Almost tripping over themselves. A few of them looked like they wanted to drop to their knees. And yeah… I saw it in their faces. The quiet grief, the disbelief, the tightly held rage. Because they’d known. Even if no one said it. They’d known the thing standing in my place wasn’t me.

A puppet’s words didn’t burn like mine. Didn’t command like mine. Didn’t feel like me.

They knew.

They’d served me for over a hundred years. Of course they knew.

I lifted my hand. “Enough,” I said. “Disperse the formalities. I’m not here for a damn parade.”

They straightened immediately. Not out of fear. Out of respect. Out of relief.

I didn’t pause long.

“I need potion,” I said. “Two. High grade. One for me. One for him.”

I didn’t look back at the bat.

Didn’t need to.

He was already shrinking under their stares.

Because yeah… they noticed.

He reeked of lower demon aura. Broken body. Malnourished demonic power. A disgrace to wrath territory. His wings were small and twitching. His horns dull and cracked. Everything about him screamed not worthy.

A few servants frowned. One sniffed and looked away.

But one of them, an older female servant with streaks of molten silver in her black hair, stepped forward without hesitation. She nodded.

“We’ll prepare the potions immediately.”

“Good,” I said. Then turned to the others.

“And I need the Abyss Healing Bath ready.”

Another servant, younger, with golden eyes and sharp bone armor under his robe, blinked.

“The Abyss Healing Bath?” he repeated. “The one you only use when you return from battle?”

“Yeah,” I said. “That one.”

They paused. Eyed me up and down.

“But… you’re not—”

“Not for me,” I cut in. “For him.”

They turned toward the bat.

Who just stood there, frozen. Silent.

“This guy,” I continued. “Should be a wrath demon. Normal. Not like this.”

The servants stiffened. But they understood.

One of them nodded. “We’ll prepare it immediately, my lord.”

They scattered.

And I glanced at the bat again.

He was trembling.

But this time, not out of fear.

Out of shame.

Because in this place? In my palace? In my territory? Strength meant everything. Especially to the wrath court.

He was walking beside me. And he looked like nothing. A joke. An embarrassment.