Seven Sins System Chapter 786. Standard Operating Procedure

Seven Sins System Chapter 786. Standard Operating Procedure

“They believe proximity equals power,” he continued. “If they manage to summon us and receive even the smallest confirmation, they will escalate.”

“And in escalation,” I said slowly, “they expose structure.”

He nodded once.

There it is.

Structure.

Patterns.

Hierarchy.

That’s what we need.

Puriel folded her arms loosely. “In bigger case, we would need containment measures.”

“Yes,” I said. “We choose the environment.”

Algan’s voice cut in. “Not a random basement.”

“No,” I agreed. “We redirect.”

Lumira blinked. “Redirect?”

“Alter the environment,” Luci said smoothly. “Shift the coordinates. Take them to another place.”

I stared at him. “You can do that?”

He gave me a look.

Of course I can.

I rolled my eyes slightly.

“Fine,” I muttered. “We intercept high-risk summons. The ones requesting physical manifestation or tangible proof.”

“And we leave the harmless ones alone,” Lumira added quickly.

I nodded once. “Yes.”

The word came easier than I expected.

Algan crossed his arms. “And if it’s a trap?”

“Then we spring it first,” Luci said calmly.

That calmness unnerved me more than fear would have.

I ran a hand down my face slowly.

This was the first plan that didn’t feel like blind fumbling.

It felt like… hunting.

And that scared me a little.

Not because of the danger.

Because I was good at hunting.

Algan glanced between us. “We move as unit,” he said firmly.

Luci picked up the phone from my pocket without asking and scrolled again.

“Also, we’ll find the ones who said about sleeping with me,” he said.  “I am still offended by that headline,” he added under his breath.

I snorted softly despite myself.

“You’ll survive,” I said.

Luci looked personally attacked by the concept of survival without public admiration.

“I do not ‘survive,’” he replied dryly. “I persist.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “Like a stubborn wine stain.”

He narrowed his eyes at me.

And then...

It hit.

Not physically.

Not loud.

Just… there.

A thread.

Thin.

Cold.

Pulling.

A whisper that wasn’t sound but pressure.

'O' Wrath… please answer my call…'

My spine went rigid before I even processed the words.

The system flickered behind my eyes like a notification I couldn’t mute.

[A mortal has summoned you.]

[Do you want to answer his summon?]

[Yes / No]

I frowned.

That voice…

It wasn’t arrogant.

It wasn’t greedy.

It wasn’t chanting with cult confidence.

It was small.

Young.

I swallowed once.

“I got a summon,” I said quietly.

The room stilled immediately.

Algan’s head snapped toward me. “Source?”

“Live,” I replied. “Right now.”

Puriel stepped closer. “Who?”

I tilted my head slightly, listening.

It echoed again.

Not loud.

Just persistent.

‘O Wrath… please…’

“…A kid,” I muttered.

Lumira’s expression shifted instantly.

The air changed.

The joking tone we’d had earlier dissolved like it had never existed.

I exhaled slowly.

“Greed,” I muttered.

A ripple of dark energy slid from my spine like oil separating from water. One of my tentacles emerged smoothly, coiling once before detaching at the base with a clean, quiet snap.

It reshaped midair.

Bone. Skin. Coat.

Dr. Allen stood in front of me in less than three seconds.

Perfect copy.

Same tired eyes.

I handed him my card without ceremony.

“Cover,” I said.

He nodded once and walked toward the infirmary desk like this was just another Tuesday.

Algan didn’t even blink.

Puriel, Lumira, and Luci each summoned their own doubles with practiced efficiency. Subtle manifestations. Clean.

Lumira’s copy looked serene.

Luci’s copy looked slightly more smug than necessary.

Algan’s looked like it would report him for minor breathing violations.

They grabbed my shoulders.

Or hands.

Grounding.

I glanced at the prompt again.

[Yes / No.]

“Let’s go,” I said.

I tapped Yes.

The world folded.

Summoning Teleportation was never graceful.

It’s compression.

Like being sucked through a vein of shadow and exhaled somewhere else.

I materialized first.

As shadow.

All demons do.

It’s not dramatic.

It’s instinct.

Form before flesh.

The space was dim. Marble floors. Gold trim. Heavy curtains. Expensive furniture. It smelled like polished wood and antiseptic.

Behind me, I felt them arrive.

Invisible.

Silent.

The summoner stood in the center of an elaborate circle drawn on the floor.

Blood.

His blood.

Crude but functional sigils.

My eyes adjusted.

Seven.

Maybe eight.

Thin.

Too thin.

Bruises along his forearm.

Fingertips cracked.

His shirt was clean.

Too clean.

The kind of clean rich people maintain while ignoring everything else.

Around the room…

Beds.

Not luxurious ones.

Clinical ones.

More children.

Five.

Six.

Maybe more in the shadows.

Sick.

Pale.

Needle marks.

Bandaged wrists.

Puriel gasped behind me.

Lumira made a sound I’d never heard from her before.

Algan’s stance shifted instantly into silent assessment mode.

Security.

Entrances.

Camera placements.

And I… I felt something ugly crawl up my throat.

Not rage.

Something colder.

Systematic.

The kid’s hand trembled as he held it out over the circle. Blood still dripping from a cut across his finger. He’d drawn the formation himself.

No adult in sight.

No ritual candles.

No chanting cultists.

Just… A child.

‘O Wrath… please answer my call…’

I let my shadow thicken. The temperature dropped slightly.

His eyes widened.

I let my form coalesce slowly.

Not full demonic spectacle.

Controlled manifestation.

I wanted to say ‘what the hell is going on?’, but I stepped forward.

Standard Operating Procedure.

Always the same.

Never skip it.

“A wish for a wish,” I said evenly. “Soul or body. Which will you offer me?”

Behind me, Luci leaned slightly closer and whispered, “Why do you say it like you’re a McRonald’s employee.”

I didn’t move.

“Shut up,” I muttered under my breath. “It’s a kid. If he faints, we get nothing.”

The elven boy didn’t faint. He stared at me like he’d just seen a myth breathe. His lips trembled.

He didn’t say anything for a second.

Not because he didn’t want to.

Because his brain was tired.

That’s the thing about trauma. It doesn’t make you dramatic. It makes you slow.

“I…” His voice cracked. “I want to get out of here.”

His fingers twitched against the dried blood on the floor. The circle was smudged where he’d redrawn lines over and over, probably terrified he’d mess it up.

“I want mommy.”

That one hit weird.

Not like a sword.

Like something small and sharp pressing under the ribs.