Seven Sins System Chapter 382. How A Devil Could Feel Love And How A Goddess Could Feel Lust?

Seven Sins System Chapter 382. How A Devil Could Feel Love And How A Goddess Could Feel Lust?

"About what?" she asked again, her voice soft with curiosity. Puriel's question hung in the air, lingering between us like an unspoken challenge.

‘About us,’ I wanted to say. But the words felt too heavy, too laden with the ghosts of our past. I didn't want to open that can of worms, didn't want to dredge up memories that were better left buried in the depths of my mind.

My mind raced, torn between the urge to spill my guts and the instinct to keep my guard up. There were so many things I wanted to say, so many feelings I wanted to express—but the words caught in my throat, trapped by the weight of centuries of history and unresolved emotions.

Instead, I opted for my usual defense mechanism: cold detachment, the mask of indifference that I wore like armor whenever we crossed paths on the battlefield. "None of your business," I replied curtly, my voice clipped and devoid of emotion.

For a moment, there was silence—a heavy, oppressive silence that seemed to stretch on for an eternity. And then, just as quickly as it had appeared, Puriel's blush vanished, replaced by a frown that creased her forehead in a subtle display of disappointment.

"You're back to being your annoying self," she remarked, her tone tinged with reproach. I could sense the hint of disappointment in her voice.

But I couldn't bring myself to meet her gaze, couldn't bear to confront the tangled mess of emotions that simmered just beneath the surface. So instead, I kept my eyes trained on the horizon, my expression carefully blank as I willed myself to push down the torrent of conflicting feelings that threatened to engulf me.

"Yeah, because I have no choice," I said, my tone softer now, tinged with a hint of resignation. "We can't mess with the balance between light and dark, Puriel," I added, my words a gentle warning laced with disappointment.

I watched as Puriel's expression shifted, her lips pressing together in a tight line as she withdrew slightly from me. Her gaze dropped to the table, sadness etched into every line of her face.

"You're right," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you for reminding me," she added, her words tinged with a loneliness that tugged at my heartstrings.

The unspoken truth hung heavy in the air between us, a silent acknowledgment of the impossible situation we found ourselves in. Puriel and I were bound by the thread of fate, a web woven by forces far beyond our control. But even as it drew us inexorably closer together, we both knew that our union could only spell disaster for the delicate balance between light and dark.

I didn't need to voice my thoughts aloud—we both understood the implications all too well. Maintaining the balance was paramount. A political marriage, a strategic alliance—those were all fair game. But love? That was a line we couldn't afford to cross.

We weren't talking about colors here, about blending shades of gray or straddling the line between light and dark. No, it was much simpler—and much more complicated—than that. Love between us meant attempting the impossible, trying to bridge the unbridgeable gap between two diametrically opposed worlds. And in doing so, we risked unraveling the very fabric of existence itself.

How a devil could feel love and how a goddess could feel lust? How could we from two different realms understand each other?

The thread of fate was a mistake, a cruel twist of destiny that bound us together inextricably, like two prisoners shackled to the same chain. We knew that our relationship could only ever lead to imbalance, to chaos and upheaval on a cosmic scale. A devil and a goddess, two beings from opposite ends of the spectrum, could never hope to understand each other, let alone find common ground.

And then there was the matter of the legendary demon that dwelled within me, a dark and primal force that pulsed with power and potential. Its presence only served to complicate matters further, casting a shadow of uncertainty over our already precarious situation.

So we remained trapped in a cruel paradox, bound by fate yet unable to act upon our true feelings. We couldn't afford to mix emotions with destiny, couldn't risk the consequences of defying the natural order of things.

I glanced at her, a mischievous glint in my eyes as a devilish thought crossed my mind. 'Well, turning her into a fallen angel doesn't sound bad tho,' I thought, a smirk tugging at the corners of my lips. Corrupting a goddess would be a clear win for me, right? But then again, it could easily go the other way. What if she managed to brainwash me with all that light realm ideology of hers?

The idea sent a shiver down my spine. 'Will that make me an Ascended Devil then?' I mused, concocting an absurd term on the spot. The thought of suddenly finding myself surrounded by blinding divine light, forced to abandon the darkness I'd always known, was enough to make me recoil in horror. I couldn't even begin to fathom how anyone could find joy in such a boring, monotonous place.

'Nope, nope, nope,' I thought, shaking my head to clear away the crazy thoughts that had crept in. Sure, I could toe the line between good and bad, but the whole morality gig of the light realm? Definitely not my vibe.

The waiter returned with our food, setting down our plates with a soft clink against the table. Puriel offered him a polite "Thank you," her voice carrying a hint of gratitude as she glanced up at him.

I nodded in acknowledgment, my attention already drifting back to the food before me. Grilled cheese sandwiches and a bowl of salad—simple fare, but it would do. I picked up my sandwich, the warmth of the melted cheese seeping through the bread, and took a bite.

Across from me, Puriel was already digging into her salad, her movements precise and measured. There was a certain grace to her actions. It was a stark contrast to my own haphazard manner of eating, but I paid it little mind as I focused on sating my hunger.

For a while, the only sound was the soft clinking of utensils against plates and the occasional murmur of conversation from the other patrons.