Seven Sins System Chapter 894. Which Lord?

Seven Sins System Chapter 894. Which Lord?

I released their necks.

They remained standing.

I stepped around them, examining my work. “Nice.”

One groaned. “Mmmgh…”

I frowned. “Hey.”

He groaned again.

I snapped my fingers in front of his face. “Silence.”

His mouth shut.

Much better.

I tucked my hands back into my pockets. “Take me to the coffin.”

Both cultists twitched.

Their bodies turned.

One tried resisting.

His shoulder spasmed.

Blood Curse tightened.

He walked anyway. “Or whatever you idiots are worshipping.”

They led.

I followed.

Casual.

Their movements were stiff, almost mechanical. Each step fought their own intention, which made their terror smell stronger.

Deliciously humiliating.

No killing.

See? I could be restrained.

We passed more corridors.

Down one staircase.

Through what had once been a preparation room. Rusted metal tables sat against the wall, old drainage channels running through cracked tile.

The blood smell grew heavier.

Then voices.

“Hold him!”

“No! Please!”

“Stop moving!”

A body hit the floor.

I stopped.

My two puppets stopped with me.

Ahead, through an open doorway, four more robed mortals surrounded another homeless man.

He was older.

Gray hair.

Thin.

One ankle chained.

Two cultists held his arms while another dragged a large metal container across the floor.

That explained the scraping.

The fourth held a knife.

Not even ceremonially impressive.

Kitchen knife.

Seriously.

The man struggled. “Please! I didn’t see anything! Let me go!”

One cultist slapped him. “Your blood will awaken the Lord.”

My eyelid twitched.

The Lord.

Which lord?

Did they know how many of us existed?

Did they have documentation?

Proper summoning title?

No?

Amateurs.

The knife lifted.

I sighed.

Loudly.

Everyone looked toward me.

The cultist holding the knife frowned. “Who are you?”

My two puppets stood beside me.

Their eyes begged for help.

That confused the others.

One pointed. “Brother Marcus? Brother Joel?”

I looked between them.“Oh. They have names.”

Marcus groaned through sealed lips.

I patted his shoulder. “Cute.”

The cultist with the knife raised it higher. “What did you do to them?”

I stepped into the room. “Temporary management restructuring.”

Nobody understood.

Fine.

I looked at the chained homeless man.

Blood ran from his forehead, but he was alive.

“Can you walk?”

He stared at me. “What?”

“Can. You. Walk.”

“I—I think.”

“Good.”

I pointed toward the corridor. “Once I remove the chain, go the way I came. If you see another scared homeless guy, follow him.”

The cult leader, or whoever had the knife, laughed. “You think you can walk in here and command us?”

I looked at him.

Really looked.

His robe had symbols stitched into it.

Bad symbols.

Not even proper Infernal.

Some were upside down.

One looked suspiciously like a bakery logo.

My core hurt.

“You people killed eleven mortals,” I said.

His smile widened. “For our lord.”

“My condolences.”

He frowned.

I walked closer. “For being stupid.”

His face twisted.

“Get him!”

Three cultists charged.

I didn’t move.

One tentacle emerged from beneath my coat.

Then another.

Then three more.

Eyes opened.

Mouths grinned.

The cultists stopped so abruptly one nearly ran into another.

My disguise dissolved.

Horns curved from my head.

Red light filled my eyes.

My human face remained mostly the same, which somehow made their terror better.

One cultist dropped his weapon.

The knife-holder whispered, “Demon…”

Finally. Someone with basic observational skill.

I smiled. “Yes.”

His fear immediately turned to religious ecstasy.

Oh no.

He fell to his knees. “My lord!”

I cringed. Actually cringed. “Don’t.”

The others followed. “My lord! You came!”

“I said stop.”

“Our sacrifices pleased you!”

Something in my forehead started throbbing.

The homeless man looked between us like he had accidentally wandered into the worst family reunion in existence.

I rubbed my temple. “No.”

The cultists stared.

I pointed toward myself. “First, I’m not your lord.”

Their expressions cracked.

“Second, whoever is inside that coffin isn’t a Sin Lord.”

More cracking.

“And third…”

My smile sharpened.

The tentacle mouths opened. “…you’re really starting to annoy the actual Lord of Wrath.”

Silence.

The knife slipped from someone’s hand.

-Clang!

Recognition.

Not because they knew my face.

Because they understood the title.

Their fear changed.

Deeper.

The kneeling leader started shaking. “You’re…” His lips trembled. “The Lord… of Wrath.”

Behind him, something deep inside the building thumped.

Once.

Heavy.

Ancient wood creaked.

Then again.

-THUMP!

The cultists’ faces lit with desperate hope.

Mine?

I just turned toward the sound.

Finally.

The coffin.

A demonic aura leaked through the wall.

My tentacles spread behind me.

The eyes turned red.

One mouth licked its teeth.

I stood. “Well.”

Another thump shook dust from the ceiling.

My grin widened. “Let’s see what discount-store demon you idiots have been feeding.”

I had barely taken one step toward the source of the thumping when a weak voice came from behind me.

“Uh…”

I stopped.

Slowly turned my head.

The last homeless man was still sitting on the floor with one ankle chained to the rusted pipe beside him.

Right.

Forgot about him.

He raised one hand carefully, like someone trying to ask a dangerous teacher for permission to use the bathroom. “Mind releasing me, demon sir?”

I stared.

He swallowed.

“Please?”

One of my tentacles shot forward.

The man flinched hard enough that his head almost hit the wall, but the tentacle ignored him. Its tip wrapped around the chain, the eye blinking once at the cheap metal as though personally insulted.

Then…

-CRACK!

The chain snapped.

The broken links flew across the floor.

The homeless man stared at his ankle.

I waved one hand dismissively. “Go.”

That was all the encouragement he needed.

He scrambled upright so quickly he nearly fell again, caught himself against the wall, then ran.

I watched him disappear through the doorway before turning back toward the cultists.

They were still kneeling.

Still shaking or trying very hard not to breathe loudly enough to annoy me.

I hooked one finger. “Now.”

Several heads lifted.

“Bring me to that lord of yours.”

Nobody argued. Excellent.

Maybe terror really was the most efficient management style.