Seven Sins System Chapter 338. A Psycho

Seven Sins System Chapter 338. A Psycho

'Oh, she did it,' I thought in shock, my mental gears grinding as I processed what I had just witnessed. As far as my understanding went, goddesses weren't known for their hands-on approach when it came to meddling in mortal affairs. There was a supposed rule, a divine guideline, that dictated a hands-off policy, allowing the tapestry of fate to weave itself without their direct intervention. It was a stark contrast to the devilish nature, always itching to stir the pot of mortal drama just for the thrill of it. However, Puriel's decisive act shattered that preconceived notion.

“What are you going to do to her?” I inquired, my eyes flicking towards Puriel, a mix of curiosity and concern etched on my face. “You know, threatening her might work, but it might not. She might do the same thing next time once our eyes leave her,” I pointed out, my tone a mixture of caution and advice.

Puriel seemed caught off guard, her pupils darting from side to side in a visual manifestation of her internal conflict. The confusion was palpable, and her response came in stammering waves. “I – I don't know,” she admitted, a trace of uncertainty in her voice.

I let out a long exhale, a sigh that carried the weight of annoyance and disbelief. "Clueless as ever," I scoffed, a mocking smirk playing on my lips as I regarded Puriel. It wasn't just a comment; it was an observation, a reminder of the stark difference between our perspectives on handling mortal matters.

My provocation didn't go unnoticed, and her gaze sharply shifted towards me. "But you can help me," she declared, a glimmer of hope coloring her words.

"To kill her?" I responded, a note of surprise and perhaps a touch of shock in my voice. The thought of taking a mortal life seemed to be a line I hadn't expected Puriel to consider.

“To punish her. But don't kill her," she clarified swiftly, her voice carrying a tone of moral responsibility. "Maybe alter her memory and make her love these children," she suggested, unravelling the threads of her plan.

I tilted my head, considering the proposition. "Memory manipulation, huh? Well, that's playing with fire, but hey, I need more chaos. I can cripple her," I mused, my devilish nature shining through as I contemplated the potential repercussions.

“Just do it,” she argued.

I clicked my tongue in disappointment, a sound that carried the weight of a devil's expectation. "Tch! You need to pay for that. I don't want to work for free," I declared, my tone steeped in the business-like pragmatism that defined my devilish nature.

"Okay. I agree," she responded, the words slipping from her lips in a moment of unguarded agreement.

I couldn't help but smile, the satisfaction of a deal well-struck playing on my lips. "Nice to do business with you," I chirped happily, the devilish charm in full display. It was a facade, a mask of affability that concealed the subtle currents of negotiation and self-interest beneath.

'Envy,' I muttered silently to myself.

One of my Envy's tentacles slithered out from my back, reaching toward the mortal woman's face. Its touch was delicate as I delved into her mind to read and manipulate her thoughts. The allure of a well-deserved payment made this part of my devilish craft almost enjoyable. However, as the tendrils of Envy intertwined with her memories, a frown creased my forehead.

What I uncovered was a complex narrative, a tale of adoption shadowed by neglect and abuse. These children were not her biological offspring but rather victims of her desperate desire to play the role of a mother. In her past, she had adopted a six-month-old baby who tragically perished due to her neglect. Undeterred by the harrowing experience, she adopted these two with a new identity, subjecting them to various forms of mistreatment.

Essentially, she was a 'mother wanna-be,' craving the experience of having biological children. Yet, her attempts at motherhood were tainted by her own inadequacies. The desperation to fill the void of not having biological children had driven her to adopt, but she lacked the fundamental qualities of a caring mother. The children became a painful reminder of her unfulfilled longing for biological offspring.

Digging deeper, I discovered her husband was oblivious to the true nature of her actions. He, too busy with his own affairs, accepted her narrative without questioning. The intricate web of deception she wove around her husband and herself painted a portrait of a woman living a double life, torn between her unmet desires and the harsh reality of her actions.

I turned to Puriel, my expression a mix of disbelief and concern. "Are you sure you want to give her a second chance?" I asked, making sure the weight of the decision wasn't lost on her. This woman, twisted by envy and tainted by a sick way of thinking, seemed beyond redemption. It was a bad case, a convoluted mess that made me question the very concept of second chances. This was so messed up.

Puriel, however, remained resolute. "She deserves a second chance," she affirmed, her confidence cutting through the heavy atmosphere of moral ambiguity. Her belief in redemption, a testament to her divine nature, clashed with the grim reality of the woman's actions. "As long as you change her mind, I'm sure those kids will be fine," she added, her words carrying the weight of conviction.

I arched an eyebrow, skepticism etched across my features. "A second chance for someone like her? You're playing with fire, Puriel," I remarked, my devilish instincts cautioning against the risks of granting mercy to the undeserving.

Puriel's gaze remained unwavering. "People can change. It's my duty to guide them toward the right path," she asserted, her faith in the potential for redemption unyielding.

"I don’t think so. This woman has sadistic tendencies. A psycho," I explained, attempting to convey the gravity of the situation to Puriel.

Her curiosity piqued, Puriel inquired, "What do you mean?"

I extended my hand towards her, a silent offer to share the gruesome truth that lingered within the woman's mind. "Take it. I'll show you what I saw," I urged, my reluctance to delve into a lengthy explanation evident in my gesture. Actions spoke louder than words, and in this case, showing Puriel the dark recesses of the woman's thoughts seemed a more efficient way to convey the severity of the situation.