Fredda, the Sin of Envy, paced at the circle’s edge.
They appeared androgynous, with features that shifted subtly depending on who looked at them—always becoming whatever the observer found most attractive or worthy of jealousy. Their clothing changed similarly, never quite settling into one style. Their eyes were the only constant—solid green that held bitter resentnt toward everything that existed.
And finally, Vorakka, the Sin of Gluttony.
She was striking—tall and voluptuous, with curves that suggested excess and indulgence. But there was sothing predatory about her beauty, sothing that suggested consumption rather than pleasure. Her hair was blood-red, her eyes were golden with vertical pupils like a cat’s, and when she smiled, her teeth were slightly too sharp.
She was a vampire, ancient and powerful, and her hunger extended beyond blood to encompass everything—experiences, power, life itself.
The Seven Sins gathered together for the first ti in centuries.
Draelusa spoke first, his cultured voice carrying easily in the thin air.
"The boy continues to develop. Our observations suggest his power is stabilizing, consolidating into sothing that might actually be sustainable rather than self-destructive."
"Which ans he becos a more viable candidate," Malphues rumbled, his deep voice resonating with suppressed violence.
"If he can control what he’s beco, if he can wield that rged power without burning himself out—"
"Then he could serve as the vessel," Lilinathara finished, her tone mixing excitent and dark hunger.
"A body capable of containing our lord’s essence. The resurrection we’ve been working toward for centuries."
"And you let him escape." She looked at Draelusa with narrowed eyes.
"And where were you when he did?"
"Dealing with the babysitter."
"Can you two stop already?" Avaryx said.
Avaryx’s calculating eyes glead.
"The question is whether he’s truly compatible. Our liege requires specific conditions—power, yes, but also will strong enough to maintain consciousness during the transformation. Most candidates break. Their minds shatter, and we’re left with empty shells."
"This one won’t break," Vorakka said, her voice carrying certainty. She licked her lips, a gesture that suggested she was already tasting what Jaenor might beco.
"I’ve observed him through my networks. He’s resilient. Stubborn. The kind of will that bends but doesn’t snap."
"Assuming," Henrietta said lazily from her seated position, "we can actually claim him. Which brings us to the problem."
Fredda’s pacing stopped, their shifting features settling briefly into an expression of bitter frustration.
"Magdalyna," they spat the na like a curse.
"Ancient, powerful, inexplicable Magdalyna, who’s decided the boy is her personal project."
Malphues’s hands clenched into fists, the gesture making the air around him shimr with heat.
"She has no right. She’s not one of us. Not a Sin, not bound by the sa rules. She’s a rogue elent, operating outside our hierarchy."
"She’s also more powerful than any of us individually," Draelusa reminded them, though his tone suggested the admission galled him.
"And her nature makes her unpredictable. Magdalyna doesn’t follow the patterns we understand. She’s not driven by sin or concept—she’s sothing older, sothing that predates our current understanding of demonic hierarchy."
Lilinathara pushed away from her column, moving to stand at the terrace’s edge and stare toward the distant city.
"What does she want with him? That’s what I can’t understand. What could possibly interest soone like her about one mortal boy, no matter how powerful?"
"Maybe she sees the sa potential we do," Avaryx suggested.
"Wants to claim him for her own purposes."
"Or maybe," Vorakka said thoughtfully, "she sees sothing else. Sothing we’re missing. Magdalyna has always operated on longer tilines than we do. What looks like protecting the boy now might be part of plans that won’t co to fruition for decades."
Henrietta yawned, the gesture almost certainly exaggerated for effect.
"Does it matter? Whether she’s protecting him for her own reasons or genuinely cares about the boy—the result is the sa. She’s between us and our goal."
"Then we remove her," Malphues stated flatly.
"Challenge her directly, force confrontation, eliminate the obstacle."
"Suicide," Draelusa said imdiately.
"Magdalyna in direct combat is death. She’s destroyed demons more powerful than any of us. We’d need to face her together, all seven, perfectly coordinated—and even then victory isn’t guaranteed."
"So we’re just supposed to let her interfere?" Fredda’s voice rose with frustration.
"Watch as she ruins plans we’ve been developing for centuries?"
"We evolve," Draelusa said firmly. His authority as Pride—first among the Seven—showed in how the others quieted when he spoke with that tone.
"We work around her. The boy won’t stay under her protection forever. He has connections, commitnts, and people he cares about. Those beco leverage."
"His friends," Avaryx said, understanding imdiately.
"His family. If we threaten them, force him to choose—"
"Then Magdalyna might decide he’s too troubleso to protect," Draelusa finished.
"Or the boy himself might reject her protection to save those he loves. Either way creates opportunities."
Lilinathara turned back from the edge, her violet eyes gleaming.
"And if that doesn’t work? If she continues to shield him?"
"Then we proceed with alternative plans," Draelusa said.
"The boy is ideal, yes. But he’s not our only option. There are other potential vessels, other paths to resurrection."
"None as promising," Vorakka pointed out.
"The rger of aura and origin energy—that’s unprecedented in a thousand years. It creates exactly the kind of unified power source our lord requires."
"Which is why we don’t abandon the boy as a possibility," Draelusa agreed.
"We simply don’t put all our resources into claiming him. We maintain multiple approaches, stay flexible, and strike when opportunity presents itself."
Malphues’s perpetual anger simred visibly.
"I hate waiting. Hate adapting. I want to take what’s ours by right."
"And that impatience is why you’re Wrath rather than Pride," Draelusa said, not unkindly.
"I understand the frustration. But we’ve waited centuries for the right mont. We can wait weeks or months more if it ans actually succeeding."
He looked at each of them in turn, ensuring he had their attention.
"The daemon god’s resurrection is our primary goal. Everything else—territory, power struggles, personal gratifications—is secondary. We don’t risk that goal through hasty action or poor planning."
Grudging nods circled the group. They might not like it, but they understood.
"The assault on the Silver Spire proceeds as planned," Draelusa continued, moving to logistics. "That creates chaos in Coven leadership, which benefits us regardless of the boy’s situation. The northern incursions continue, stretching imperial resources. And we maintain surveillance on Jaenor Arkwright—watching, waiting, ready to act when opportunity presents itself."
"And Magdalyna?" Lilinathara asked.
"We avoid direct confrontation. If she acts against us, we respond. But we don’t seek conflict with her unless absolutely necessary."
"Cowardice," Malphues muttered.
"Pragmatism," Draelusa corrected sharply.
"There’s a difference between caution and cowardice. I’ve survived millennia by knowing which battles to fight and which to avoid."
He straightened, his presence seeming to expand, filling more space than his physical form should occupy.
"We are the Seven Sins. We’ve endured through ages, survived the Separation itself, and maintained our power when lesser demons fell to obscurity. We will see our god resurrected and returned to full power. This is inevitable."
His eyes swept across them all.
"But inevitability requires patience. Rember that."
The eting continued for another hour, working through details and assignnts. Each Sin had territories to manage, operations to oversee, and pieces to move on boards the mortals couldn’t see.
But throughout it all, one na kept returning to the conversation.
Jaenor Arkwright.
The boy who’d achieved the impossible.
The potential vessel.
The key to everything they’d been working toward.
***
Situated between emptiness and reality, far from the realm, far from everything a mortal can perceive.
Jaenor stood on a pillar of stone that rose into infinite darkness.
It was impossibly thin—barely three feet across—yet perfectly stable. There was no ground below, no sky above. Just the pillar extending both up and down into the void that held nothing but absence.
Beside him stood Magdalyna.
In this space, she didn’t bother with her human guise.
She appeared as she truly was—tall and powerful, with features that combined terrible beauty and ancient authority. Her dark hair moved as if underwater, and her red eyes glowed with internal fire. She wore robes of shadow that seed woven from darkness itself.
They’d been standing here for what might have been hours or seconds—ti worked differently in this place between places.
"I love you," Magdalyna said quietly.
Jaenor turned to look at her, his eyes—now shot through with hints of gold and crimson—showing confusion.
"You lied to ; you deceived ."
"You said you didn’t care."
"Not when you are so god-level demon."
"I’ve watched you your entire life," Magdalyna said.
"From the mont you were born carrying that cursed bloodline, I’ve been observing. Waiting to see what you’d beco. And sowhere along the way, observation beca affection. Affection beca sothing deeper."
She moved closer, and Jaenor found he couldn’t step back—there was nowhere to go on this narrow pillar.
"We could leave," she continued, her voice taking on an almost pleading quality.
"Right now. I could take you away from all of this. Away from the demons who want to use you, the Covens who want to kill you, the expectations and pressures and dangers."
"Leave?" Jaenor’s voice was steady despite the strangeness of the situation.
"Leave where? This is my ho. My realm."
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