Seven Sins System Chapter 792. The Fake Greed I
Seven Sins System Chapter 792. The Fake Greed I
The investor stared at me.
His brain struggling to reconcile the child form with the room full of shattered marble and restrained donors.
“You— you’ll need to stand in the circle,” he stammered.
“Draw it,” I ordered.
He drew over it with trembling hands.
I stepped forward without hesitation.
“Call him,” I said softly.
He began chanting.
Not ancient infernal.
Just… a mess.
A corporate prayer.
“O True Lord of Greed… embodiment of evolution… accept this innocent offering…”
I stood there.
Small.
Hands loosely at my sides.
I felt ridiculous.
No… I felt like a clown.
The room grew colder.
Mamon, Luci and Algan went to hide.
Mamon’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses.
Luci folded his arms, wings slightly twitching.
The investor’s voice shook.
“…descend and claim what is yours…”
The air warped.
Different from Mamon’s arrival.
Mamon’s presence bends space with economic inevitability.
This?
This felt… forced.
Manufactured pressure.
The air thickened with golden light.
Too bright.
Too clean.
A silhouette formed.
Wings.
Golden.
Polished.
He stepped into existence like a luxury advertisement.
The fake Greed.
He looked at me first.
Always the offering first.
His lips curved slightly.
“Well,” he said smoothly. “What do we have here?”
His voice was layered.
Artificially deep.
Market-tested evil.
I didn’t flinch.
I looked up at him with wide, childlike eyes. “I was told you’re the real Lord of Greed,” I said softly.
He laughed.
Not amused.
Not charming.
It was the kind of laugh that tried too hard to sound powerful. Like someone who practiced villain monologues in front of a mirror and believed their own hype.
“Yes,” he said, spreading those disgusting, over-polished golden wings. “I am Greed.”
The word echoed unnaturally, like it needed reverb to feel important.
He leaned down toward me, breath hot and metallic.
“Now tremble before me.”
Luci didn’t move.
Algan didn’t move.
Mamon didn’t move.
To an outsider, it would look like betrayal.
Like they were just watching me get cornered.
But I knew better.
They weren’t hesitating.
They were tracing.
Mamon’s pupils flickered faintly with data streams. His fingers twitched almost invisibly, mapping mana frequency. This thing didn’t just appear, it came from somewhere. And if there’s one thing Greed does better than anyone, it’s following origins.
Luci’s posture had shifted. Subtle. Weight slightly back. Wings angled. He wasn’t relaxed anymore. He was calculating angles for interception.
Algan? Oh, Algan was already in kill-range without looking like he was.
They weren’t stepping in.
Because I could handle this.
And because we needed more information.
The fake Greed glared down at me again. “I said tremble.”
He roared this time.
Loud.
Overcompensating loud.
His smell hit me first.
Not sulfur.
Not money.
Cheap cologne layered over sweat and artificial mana.
I didn’t flinch.
I wanted to punch him.
Seriously, I wanted to punch him.
Because that’s what Wrath does, right?
We punch.
We break.
We simplify conversations.
But I couldn’t.
Not yet.
So I smiled.
Or forced something that looked like one.
“You don’t look terrifying,” I said.
Luci coughed behind him. Definitely hiding a laugh.
The fake Greed’s golden aura flickered.
“Am I?” he growled.
And then he shifted.
The illusion peeled away.
And yeah.
Even I almost winced.
Mamon looks like old money.
Tailored suit. Clean lines. Cold confidence.
This one?
This one looked like someone who just discovered wealth yesterday and decided to bathe in it.
Gold wings, literally painted, mana-glossed, tacky.
Gold teeth flashing when he sneered.
Hair dyed metallic.
His body thick, not powerful thick, just indulgent thick, armored in overlapping gold coins welded together like some parody knight costume.
Even his aura felt… sticky.
Like melted bullion.
I felt my face twist on instinct.
Not fear.
Disgust.
Even Wrath has standards.
“Now tremble!” he roared again.
The sound cracked glass.
I didn’t tremble.
I froze.
Not because I was scared.
Because my brain was trying to process how ugly this thing was.
And that half-second…
That’s when he moved.
Fast.
His hand shot out and wrapped around my neck.
And suddenly I was lifted.
Small body.
Kid form.
Dangling.
His grip was strong.
Stronger than I expected.
My toes barely touched air.
My fingers instinctively curled around his wrist.
Not clawing.
Not yet.
Just measuring pressure.
His grip tightened.
“Look at you,” he sneered. “A small kid. Yet arrogant!”
And yeah.
I froze.
Not because I was scared.
Not because I couldn’t move.
But because my brain genuinely stalled for half a second going…
…Why?
Like actually why?
If you’re going to impersonate Mamon, can you at least commit properly? Tailored suit. Understated menace. Old money vibes. Clean aura. Sharp diction. Not… whatever this gold-plated carnival float situation is.
I stared at him.
And the expression that formed on my face was not fear.
It was pure, unfiltered, involuntary cringe.
The kind you make when someone confidently misquotes themselves.
The kind you make when a villain says “Behold my ultimate form!” and it looks like a melted trophy.
His golden aura flickered.
Oh.
He saw it.
He saw the disgust.
His eyes twitched.
“You dare—” he growled.
I didn’t even respond verbally.
I just looked at him up and down like someone assessing fake designer shoes.
That did it.
His claws rose, long and exaggerated, dripping artificial gold light.
“Then I will spill your blood,” he roared, “and see if you still disgust me!”
Ah.
Threat escalation.
Predictable.
His arm swung down.
And I…
Didn’t.
Move.
At least not forward.
The space where I stood collapsed into shadow.
And I was gone.
He sliced through nothing.
The air warped.
And I reappeared behind him.
Not kid form.
Not camouflage.
Real form.
Full height.
Full presence.
Armor sliding back into place like it missed me.
Wings spreading with a low, controlled thunder.
Five tentacles erupted from my spine, dark and elegant and absolutely not tacky.
Their tips had already shifted.
Blade edges glinting cold.
One tip reconfigured smoothly, hollowing at the end, needle-like, filling with something viscous and faintly glowing.