Seven Sins System

Seven Sins System Chapter 283. Shooting Target

The room buzzed with a newfound energy, the tension that had once knitted our brows and stiffened our postures was now replaced with a contagious sense of anticipation. The servant's deft hands danced around the bottles of wine and champagne, the familiar pop and hiss of celebration punctuating the air as the corks were pulled free.

With each bottle uncorked, the room was perfumed with the rich and heady scents of aged spirits, a symphony of flavors waiting to be uncorked much like the bottles themselves. The sound of liquid cascading into the glasses was a melody of its own.

The tower glasses stood before us, their crystal clear surfaces shimmering. The servants, like skilled conductors, poured the vibrant elixirs with a flourish, the liquid glinting in the ambient light as it filled the vessels. The glasses seemed to brim with not just wine and champagne, but with the essence of the evening.

Luci and I exchanged glances, our eyes meeting in a silent agreement that was underscored by the unspoken rivalry that had ignited the competition. With a shared nod, we rose from our seats in unison, each of us claiming a glass as if it were a gauntlet thrown in the challenge. The crystal felt cool and smooth against my fingers.

The first sip was a revelation, the complex layers of flavors dancing across my tongue. 

We didn't gulp them down in haste; instead, we savored each sip, allowing the tastes to linger and unfold like a secret gradually revealed. 

Once the final drops disappeared from our glasses, Luci and I exchanged a knowing look, our expressions mirroring the simmering excitement that thrummed through the air. The glasses were emptied, yes, but the stage had been set for a different kind of performance.

“Bring the first target!” I ordered.

The door swung open, revealing a demon servant. In his hands, he dragged something that pulsed with eerie energy, something that radiated an aura of both desperation and fear.

It was a soul, an essence that writhed and twisted, its ethereal form flickering like a candle caught in a draft. The soul's eyes—voids that seemed to absorb all light—darted around the room, its terror palpable even from a distance. It was the essence of a person and it was clear that this soul was not here willingly.

The soul's voice rose in a mournful wail, its anguish a haunting melody. It was a scream that came from a place of raw despair, a cry for help that seemed to reverberate through the room. It struggled against the grasp of the servant, its form twisting and contorting as it fought to break free.

"Please! Let me go! I beg you!" the soul pleaded. Its words carried a weight of desperation, a plea for salvation.

Julia's eyebrows knitted together, her face reflecting the collective confusion that gripped the girls. "What... is that?" she murmured, her voice tinged with a blend of awe and trepidation.

Claire added, "Is this part of the show?"

The girls were shocked once they immediately realized what was going to happen. Especially since the soul wore a white shirt with strange incantations all over his clothes.

With deliberate steps, the demon servant carried the soul a distance of around fifteen meters in front of us and stopped. Then the demon bound it with his bind skill, making the soul unable to move.

"Tell me what his sins are?" I asked without taking my eyes off my shooting target.

A demon servant answered me. “His name is Garrett. Died due to an accident at the age of 31 years. He was drunk driving after killing his wife, two children, and his own parents. He was also involved in gambling, was frequently drunk, twice sexually abused two random minors, and committed one robbery.”

“Oh, classic sins,” I answered casually. A nasty grin appeared on my lips. “Since you have sinned a lot, I should give you a lot of pain.”

I snapped my fingers. The incantation on his shirt changed to the symbol of shooting targets. There were three of them. One on the chest. One on the lower abdomen and one on the arm.

"Only three?" quipped Luci, frowning.

"Don't complain to me," I said with the same dissatisfaction. "I'm not the one who makes it," I said. All of those targets depended on how heavy his sins were. I was just giving punishment according to what he had done.

The servant demon approached, bearing in its outstretched hand a black marble. Its surface seemed to absorb the very light around it. As I reached out to take it, a prickling sensation tingled through my fingertips, a telltale sign of the strange energy contained within.

The marble, each one was a vessel, a repository of the sins that had shaped the soul before us. It was a haunting concept, a tangible embodiment of the choices, regrets, and misdeeds that colored a person's existence.

My gaze remained fixed on the soul before me, his pleas and cries a desperate chorus in the air. But this was no place for falsehoods, no haven for innocence. The depths of the underworld held no refuge for those untouched by sin.

His voice trembled with a mixture of desperation and hope as he implored me, "Please, no, sir. I'm innocent. I'm not guilty!" The words held a haunting melody, a melody I had heard countless times before.

A marble lay in my hand, its weight a measure of the choices that had led the soul to this juncture. With a deft flick of my wrist, I released the marble, watching as it sailed through the air. It found its mark with a resounding impact, piercing the soul's abdomen. His scream pierced the silence.

The room seemed to hold its breath as the soul's body tensed, his frame frozen in an agonizing tableau. It was a tableau of reckoning, a moment of confrontation with the past he sought to deny. The marble's purpose was not only to inflict pain but to unlock the hidden recesses of his memory, to unveil the sins he had so desperately tried to bury.

Each marble I held possessed a unique potency, an ability to reveal a third of the soul's transgressions. It was as if the marble held a mirror to the darkest corners of his existence, reflecting back the choices and actions that had shaped his destiny. And as those memories surged forth, so did the pain—the visceral experience of consequence that reverberated through his being.

Author note:

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