Seven Sins System Chapter 895. Stuck in The Coffin

Seven Sins System Chapter 895. Stuck in The Coffin

The cult leader stood first, legs visibly unstable beneath his robe. The others followed. My two Blood-Cursed puppets walked with us as well, movements stiff, eyes horrified, bodies obeying me whether they liked it or not.

We went deeper into the building.

The corridors narrowed.

The wallpaper gave way to bare concrete.

Old funeral-home architecture disappeared beneath layers of crude ritual markings. Bowls of dried blood sat in corners. Candles burned inside animal skulls. There were symbols scratched into walls with knives, most of which were wrong.

Embarrassingly wrong.

One was supposed to represent binding.

They had drawn something closer to a demonic symbol for indigestion.

I stopped walking for half a second.

Stared at it.

Then looked at the cult leader.

He looked away.

Yeah.

He knew.

I continued.

The demonic aura grew stronger with each step, but not enough to impress me. Middle-level at best. Maybe something that had once been slightly stronger and spent too many years sealed away, rotting inside its own hunger.

Eventually, we reached a large room beneath the funeral home.

And there it was.

The coffin.

It sat in the center of the chamber on a raised stone platform surrounded by dried blood channels.

Large.

Black.

Covered in dark metal bands and carved symbols.

At first glance, ancient.

Very dramatic and very ‘I have slept since before your civilization learned fire’.

I narrowed my eyes.

Then stepped closer.

Not ancient.

Just old.

Mortals loved exaggeration.

Give them a coffin older than their grandfather and suddenly it became an artifact from the dawn of creation.

I sighed.

One of the cultists whispered, reverent, “The Lord.”

I looked at him.

He immediately shut up.

I examined the room.

There was an old wooden chair near the wall.

I snapped my fingers. Then pointed at it.

The nearest cultist stared blankly.

I pointed again. “Chair.”

“Oh!”

He rushed toward it.

Nearly tripped over his robe.

Grabbed the chair.

Dragged it across the floor with an ugly scraping noise.

Then placed it behind me.

I stared at him.

He adjusted the chair slightly.

Straightened it.

Wiped dust off the seat with his sleeve.

Better.

I sat.

Crossed one leg over the other.

Rested my cheek against one fist.

And stared at the coffin.

The whole cult stood around me awkwardly, unsure whether they should kneel, pray, run, or quietly rethink every decision they had ever made.

The coffin thumped again.

-THUD!

Demonic power leaked through the seams.

Thin black mist crawled over the metal surface and disappeared into the air.

I waited.

Nothing happened.

Another thud.

Then silence.

I tapped one finger against the armrest.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

My patience lasted approximately seven seconds. “Hey.”

The cult leader jumped.

“Y-yes, Lord Wrath?”

“Wake him up.”

His eyes widened. “The Lord?”

“Yes. Coffin boy.”

The man looked horrified. “We… we cannot.”

My eyes narrowed.

He immediately started sweating.

“The lord only wakes himself,” he explained quickly. “When the hunger becomes strong enough. When he calls for sacrifice.”

I looked at the coffin. Then back at him. “And?”

“He will be angry if we wake him.”

I stared.

The cultist trembled harder.

I slowly leaned forward. “I said. Wake. Him. Up.”

That was enough.

“Yes! Yes, my lord!”

Three cultists rushed toward the coffin.

One grabbed a metal rod.

Another started chanting.

The third cut his palm and pressed blood onto one of the carved symbols.

I watched.

Nothing.

The coffin trembled.

Then a voice came from inside. Deep. Distorted.

“Blood…”

The cultists immediately dropped to their knees. “My lord!”

The coffin shook again.

“More…”

One cultist looked at me. Then immediately regretted it.

I raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“He requires blood.”

I stared at him.

The voice inside growled again. “Blood…”

Oh, for f*ck’s sake.

I leaned back. “So dramatic.”

The cultists looked horrified.

The coffin thumped. “Bring… blood…”

I stood.

The cult leader looked up hopefully. “Will you provide an offering, Lord Wrath?”

I looked at him. “Do I look like catering?”

His mouth shut.

I walked toward the coffin.

The aura leaking from it grew slightly heavier, reacting to me now.

The thumping stopped.

The presence inside seemed to hesitate.

Maybe it could recognize hierarchy after all.

I stopped directly in front of the coffin. “Wake up.”

Silence.

I waited one second.

Two.

The voice came again. “Blood…”

My eye twitched. One tentacle opened an eye. Another mouth grinned.

I tilted my head. “Okay.”

Then I gave the coffin a soft kick.

By soft, I meant I did not use Wrath enhancement.

Mostly.

My boot struck the side.

The entire coffin jumped off the stone platform.

Metal screamed.

Wood cracked.

A huge dent appeared where my heel landed, bending two iron bands inward.

The cultists screamed.

One actually fainted.

The coffin slammed back down crookedly.

Then…

“What…” The voice inside changed. No longer sleepy. “What insolent creature dares—”

I kicked it again. Another dent. “Wake up.”

The entire chamber shook.

Candles went out.

The dried blood channels glowed black.

The cultists scrambled away from the platform, crawling backward while whispering prayers that probably wouldn’t help them now.

The coffin erupted with demonic pressure.

Black smoke exploded from every seam. The metal bands stretched outward. The lid cracked as something inside pushed against it.

“WHO DARES DISTURB MY SLUMBER?!”

I stood directly in front of it.

Hands in my pockets.

Bored expression.

My tentacles swayed behind me like excited snakes.

The lid cracked further. “You dare strike the coffin of—”

I interrupted. “Come out.”

Dark power surged.

The lid lifted an inch.

Then slammed down again.

I frowned.

Was it stuck?

The demon inside pushed again.

The dent from my kick had warped the side enough that the lid no longer opened properly.

There was a long, awkward silence.

One cultist whispered, “My lord is trapped.”

I looked at him.

He lowered his head.

I looked back at the coffin.

A laugh escaped me. Small at first. Then harder. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Silence!” the demon roared from inside. “MORTALS! RELEASE ME!”

Nobody moved.

They were too terrified of me.

I crouched slightly, bringing my face closer to the lid. “You’re a demon trapped inside your own coffin?”

The voice went quiet. “That is temporary! I was sealed by holy warriors! They feared my power!”

“Uh-huh.” One of my tentacles yawned. “But now you are stuck in your own coffin.”