Seven Sins System Chapter 801. Gangster Energy II

Seven Sins System Chapter 801. Gangster Energy II

The hybrid’s gaze fell on me.

It assessed.

Measured.

“You,” it said softly. “Wrath.”

I smiled. “Flattered.”

“You are bound.”

My smile didn’t fade. “Oh?”

“Your treaty limits you.”

It knew.

Of course it did.

It studied us.

Probably studied the contract clauses too.

I hate when enemies read documentation.

Lumira’s light strengthened slightly behind us.

Puriel’s wings steadied.

Mamon’s voice cut through calmly. “You have tampered with the soul cycle.”

The hybrid shrugged faintly. “I optimized it.”

There it is again.

Optimization.

Ugh! I hate that word now.

My internal monologue was screaming.

They’re treating damnation like a startup accelerator.

And somehow?

It worked.

For a while.

I exhaled slowly, tilting my head as the hybrid stood before us like a living thesis on everything mortals shouldn’t be allowed to experiment with.

My fingers twitched, my tentacles curling restlessly behind me, their tips flexing like they were already tasting blood. I swallowed the urge. Barely. The chamber hummed with trapped agony, the air thick with the residue of stolen souls, and in the middle of it all stood this… creation. Balanced. Controlled. Polished. It looked less like a monster and more like a manifesto wearing a tailored coat.

“Analyze…” I murmured softly.

My system flared immediately, its cold, neutral voice cutting through the oppressive atmosphere.

[Analyzing Target…]

[Name: Unknown Entity]

[Class: Synthetic Sin Sovereign]

[Level: 230]

[HP: 3,950,000]

[DP: 1,880,000]

[Type: Hybrid (Greed/Pride Composite)]

[Status: Non-Mortal / Half-Devil Construct]

[Threat Assessment: High (Combat Data Incomplete)]

My eyes widened before I could stop them.

Level 230.

That wasn’t just strong.

That was absurd.

Even among demons, that level wasn’t common. That was elite territory, territory earned through centuries of slaughter, conquest, or infernal politics. And this thing? Built. Engineered. Cultivated like a project.

I stared at it, my chest tightening with a strange mix of fascination and irritation.

Mortals really said, “Let’s play god,” and actually pulled it off.

The hybrid spread its mismatched wings slightly, the metallic shimmer of Greed glinting against the pristine elegance of Pride. Its movements were smooth, deliberate, almost graceful.

“Will you attack,” it asked calmly, “or negotiate?”

The audacity.

Internally, I was already leaning toward attack. My tentacles twitched again, restless, eager, whispering promises of dismemberment. I could feel the itch crawling under my skin, the desire to tear something apart, to hear something scream, to feel power break beneath my hands.

I bet Mamon wanted to negotiate.

He always did.

So I opened my mouth to say attack.

But Mamon spoke first.

“Kill.”

I blinked.

Luci blinked.

We both turned to him slowly, like synchronized puppets, expressions identical in disbelief.

Apocalypse. It has arrived. Ahead of schedule.

Mamon’s tablet vanished from his hand, dissolving into motes of gold-tinged mana. His fingers elongated, morphing into elegant but lethal claws, etched with faint contract sigils that glowed like burning ink.

His composure remained intact, but something had shifted. His eyes gleamed, cold and precise.

“I will make you pay all your debts,” he said quietly.

And then he lunged.

The chamber screamed.

Not metaphorically.

Actually screamed.

The trapped souls surged violently, spiraling toward the hybrid like a storm collapsing inward. Their wails rose in pitch as they were drawn into its core, feeding it, strengthening it, empowering it with every fragment of stolen existence.

Mamon’s jaw tightened.

Displeasure flickered across his face, a rare, fleeting crack in his usual composure.

He raised both hands sharply.

“Coin Maker!”

The words rang with authority, Greed manifesting in its purest form. The souls froze mid-motion, suspended in the air like shattered starlight caught in amber. One by one, they compressed, folding inward, reshaping into coin-like constructs, each one pulsing with trapped anguish and condensed sin.

Soul coins.

But these weren’t ordinary ones.

They glowed erratically, struggling, resisting. The hybrid’s influence tugged at them, pulling, unraveling the binding. The coins trembled violently, and then several shattered, dissolving back into writhing specters that snapped free from Mamon’s control.

Mamon’s eyes widened slightly.

“It can’t be…” he murmured.

That was all the confirmation I needed.

I stepped forward, my presence expanding instinctively, Wrath simmering beneath the surface. My five tentacles unfurled behind me, their edges glinting with lethal intent, hovering like blades suspended in anticipation.

“I’ll take off this fake,” I said quietly, voice steady but laced with something darker.

Luci laughed beside me, the sound sharp and delighted. “Count me in.”

We didn’t need to discuss strategy.

We moved at the same time.

Not toward the escaping souls.

Toward the source.

The hybrid watched us approach, its expression unchanged, calm to the point of arrogance. Its aura surged as it absorbed more soul fragments, the chamber pulsing with every heartbeat of stolen power.

I felt the pressure intensify, pushing against my skin like the weight of an ocean trench. But instead of fear, something warm coiled in my chest, excitement, sharp and electric, spreading through my veins like wildfire.

This was what I lived for.

Not mindless slaughter.

Not easy victories.

But challenges that pushed back.

Luci reached it first, his Pride flaring brilliantly, a radiant force of immaculate authority that cut through the oppressive aura like a blade of light. His wings snapped open fully, each feather gleaming with divine arrogance.

“You are an imitation,” he said coolly. “And I despise imitations.”

He struck.

A sweeping arc of Pride energy cleaved through the air, crashing against the hybrid’s raised arm. The impact detonated with a thunderous shockwave, fracturing the stone floor beneath our feet and sending shards spiraling outward like shrapnel.

The hybrid staggered, but didn’t fall.

Its lips curved slightly.

“Imitation?” it replied softly. “I am evolution.”

I arrived a heartbeat later.

My tentacles lashed forward, five simultaneous strikes aimed not at its body, but at the energy core pulsing faintly beneath its chest. The hybrid twisted gracefully, deflecting two strikes with Greed constructs, intercepting another with Pride reinforcement. The remaining two grazed its side, slicing through fabric and flesh alike.

Black-gold blood sprayed across the chamber.

It didn’t scream.

It smiled.

That irritated me more than anything.

Behind us, Mamon regained his composure, his claws tightening as he reasserted control over the remaining soul coins. They hovered around him like orbiting satellites, humming with restrained power.

“Do not let it absorb more,” he said sharply.

No kidding.