Seven Sins System Chapter 842. A Depressed Necromancer II
Seven Sins System Chapter 842. A Depressed Necromancer II
She didn’t want to be here.
That was obvious.
Which meant…
Someone did this to her.
My anger stirred.
Quietly.
Not explosive yet.
But awake.
[Target Analysis: Living Bride]
[Physical Status: Suspended Vitality]
[Soul Status: Bound To Body]
[Will Suppression: Severe]
[External Control Threads: Active]
[Condition: Long-Term Ritual Preservation]
[Recommendation: Identify Controller Before Separation]
The chamber lights flickered.
Then footsteps came from behind the altar.
Clean footsteps.
Not dragging.
Not undead.
Someone alive.
A man stepped into view.
Young.
Maybe twenty-five.
Fresh skin. Bright eyes. No rot. No corpse stiffness. Not undead.
But he wore old clothes. A vintage black suit with a waistcoat, polished shoes, cufflinks, and a white flower pinned to his chest. His hair was styled like a man from old photographs, neat and glossy, parted to the side. Everything about him screamed from another era.
Except his body wasn’t old.
And beside him… A soul.
A male soul with the exact same face.
The ghostly version looked desperate. Panicked. He stood near the body, pushing at it, clawing at the chest, trying to shove something out from inside.
But failing.
Oh.
Interesting.
The body was occupied.
The real owner’s soul was outside, displaced, while something else drove his flesh around like a stolen car.
The man looked at me and Luci.
His eyes lit with theatrical delight.
“Ah,” he said, voice smooth, with that old mortal accent from black-and-white films. “Another man who tried to take away my bride.”
Luci almost answered.
I felt it.
The insult rose in him like a reflex.
His mouth opened slightly beneath the sheet mask.
Then closed.
Good.
He remembered the plan.
The undead servants released us and stepped back. We remained standing where they placed us, perfectly still.
I kept my gaze unfocused but watched everything.
Because what the hell was going on here?
The possessed man descended from the altar slowly, hands clasped behind his back, smiling like a host greeting guests at a dinner party.
“My dear,” he said toward the bride without looking back, “it seems another admirer wandered into our home.”
The bride’s body didn’t move.
But her soul flinched.
That tiny reaction was enough.
Yeah.
She feared him.
The man stopped in front of Luci first.
He tilted his head.
“What an odd specimen.”
Luci’s fingers twitched.
I prayed for patience. Which was ironic since I was the Lord of Wrath.
The man leaned closer, studying the sheet mask. “Is this… a face covering?”
Luci’s eye twitched.
Oh no.
The man smiled. “How peculiar. Modern fashion is truly strange.”
Luci’s pride almost detonated.
I felt the air sharpen around him for half a breath, then he suppressed it.
The possessed man then turned to me. “And you.”
His gaze moved over my flu mask, my lowered head, my deliberately blank expression. “Another intruder.”
He lifted one gloved hand and touched my chin, raising my face slightly.
It took an obscene amount of self-control not to remove his fingers and snap it in half.
“You came for her, didn’t you?” he murmured.
Behind him, the displaced soul shook his head wildly, pointing at the man’s body, then at himself, then at the bride. He was trying to explain.
I couldn’t respond.
The man smiled wider. “They always come for her.”
The chamber pulsed softly.
The dead wedding guests shifted slightly in their chairs, heads turning toward us with dry creaks.
“She was promised to me,” the man continued, voice calm but sharp underneath. “Before the world became vulgar. Before men forgot honor. Before women forgot loyalty.”
Ew… Possessive ghost with era issues.
Lovely.
He walked back toward the bride, gesturing grandly around the chamber.
“I preserved everything.”
The old souls sobbed harder.
“I preserved our day.”
The younger souls glared.
“I preserved our guests.”
Luci’s voice entered my mind again, low and dangerous. ‘I changed my mind. I want to kill him.’
‘Get in line.’
The man reached the bride and gently touched her hair.
Her attached soul recoiled violently, but her body remained still.
My Wrath stirred harder.
The man smiled down at her. “My beloved ran from me once.”
His voice softened in a way that made the room colder.
“Death took her before I could forgive her.”
The bride’s soul shook her head, sobbing.
Fantastic. We had reached professional insanity.
The possessed man turned back toward us. “But now,” he said pleasantly, “all thieves become witnesses.”
He lifted one hand.
Necromantic threads rose from the floor, wrapping around the corpses like puppet strings. The dead guests straightened in their chairs. Some began clapping slowly.
Dry palms hitting dry palms.
A horrible, papery sound.
The man smiled. “Welcome to the wedding.”
I stayed still.
Luci stayed still.
The man’s eyes narrowed, suddenly sensing something odd.
He took one step closer. “You two are rather quiet.”
Oh?
He noticed.
Not enough, maybe.
But close.
He lifted his hand toward me and snapped his fingers.
“Bow.”
A command thread struck my chest.
Tiny.
Pathetic.
Like someone threw a wet noodle at a fortress and expected the wall to apologize.
For half a breath, I let my body tilt forward.
Just enough to sell the act.
Just enough for him to smile.
Then I stopped.
Because okay.
That was it.
There were limits.
I could pretend to be poisoned. I could pretend to be dragged around by corpse servants. I could even tolerate the smell of this graveyard wedding reception without immediately turning the entire mansion into ash.
But bow?
To him?
No.
Absolutely not.
My head lifted slowly.
The blankness left my eyes.
And I smiled.
A devil’s smile.
The kind that made old instincts buried in mortal blood remember why their ancestors invented prayers.
“Bow?” I repeated softly.
The room stilled.
The possessed man froze.
His smile twitched.
I straightened fully, my shoulders rolling back as the false obedience fell off me like dust.
“To you?” I asked.
Then I chuckled.
“I don’t think so.”
The man’s eyes widened. “W-what?”
My shadows split.
One tentacle slid out behind me.
Then another.
Then another.
Five of them unfurled slowly, thick and black, their surfaces shimmering like wet obsidian under candlelight. Each tip sharpened into something different. Blade, claw, hook, mouth, spike. Not fully unleashed.
Just enough.