Chapter 212: A trap

Real connection, real trust, real human bonds that were messy and complicated and infinitely more valuable than this perfect illusion.

His merged power surged again, but this time it was different.

Not explosive, contained, and controlled.

A tempest held in perfect stillness, waiting to be released.

“This is beautiful,” Jaenor acknowledged.

“Perfectly crafted to appeal to exactly what I might want. But it’s empty. These women aren’t real. This pleasure isn’t earned. It’s borrowed, artificial, and meaningless beyond the immediate sensation.”

He stepped back from the women, and they reached for him with expressions of confused disappointment.

“I don’t want gifts from a demon,” Jaenor continued.

“I don’t want pleasure that comes from manipulation rather than genuine connection. And I definitely don’t want to be the kind of person who accepts bribes, even when those bribes are wrapped in attractive packaging.”

His wings spread, and his origin aura intensified. The grand hall began to crack, Lilinathara’s perfect construction unable to withstand his focused rejection.

“You’re good,” he admitted.

“Better than Pride at this particular game. He tried to threaten me into compliance. You’re trying to seduce me into it. But the result is the same; I’m not interested.”

The illusion shattered more violently this time, reality snapping back with force that would have stunned someone less prepared.

They were back in the forest, but Lilinathara’s expression had changed. The playful seduction was gone, replaced by something colder.

“You’re proving more resistant than anticipated,” she said.

“Most men, most people, break at that stage. The offer of pleasure without consequence is surprisingly effective.”

“I’m sure it is,” Jaenor agreed.

“For people who’ve never had real connections. For people who are lonely or desperate or convinced they don’t deserve better. But I’m none of those things.”

“Then let’s try something different,” Lilinathara said, and now there was an edge to her voice. “Something less subtle.”

Reality shifted again, more violently this time.

Jaenor found himself back at the Ki’thara clan village. The ruined temple, the devastated village, and the scorched ground where his battle with Wendelina had occurred.

But it was different now. Worse.

His companions’ bodies were scattered across the battlefield. Morgana, her healing magic having failed to save her from catastrophic wounds. Rena, small and broken, her fingers clutched. Taeryn and Darian, their weapons shattered, their armor torn open. Baren in dragon form, his magnificent scales were dull and lifeless.

Ba’narussa lay in pieces, her seven heads separated from her body, divine blood pooling beneath her.

And standing among the carnage was Wendelina, covered in their blood, smiling with satisfaction.

“They died protecting you,” the Mother Supreme said.

“Died because they followed a boy with a cursed bloodline into battles they couldn’t survive. Their loyalty killed them, Jaenor. Your existence killed them.”

The scene shifted.

Now he was in Frostvale, but again, it was different. Again, worse. Rosaine is dead. Valara is dead. Every villager who’d shown him kindness, who’d helped raise him despite the fear his bloodline inspired, all dead.

And the cause was clear. Demons had come seeking him, and when they couldn’t find him, they’d taken their frustration out on everyone he’d ever cared about.

“This is the price of your existence,” Lilinathara’s voice said.

“Everyone you love becomes a target. Everyone who helps you becomes collateral damage. The Seven Sins want you, and they’ll burn down the entire realm to claim you. How many will die before you accept that surrendering yourself might actually save more lives than continuing to resist?”

The scene shifted again.

Drakenten, his duchy, his ancestral home.

Burning.

The Arkwright estate collapsed. The vassal houses were destroyed. Bodies of people who’d sworn loyalty to his bloodline scattered across blood-soaked ground.

Lady Corvina, who’d sworn renewed oaths. Lord Danarry, who’d welcomed him home. Lady Curnow, who’d promised support. All are dead because of him.

“How many deaths can you accept?” Lilinathara pressed.

“How many people need to die before you recognize that your resistance is more costly than your surrender? Pride told you, We need you alive.

Surrender now, accept your role as vessel, and this all stops.

The war ends.

The deaths end.

Everyone you care about gets to live.”

Jaenor stood among the illusory carnage, and for a moment, the weight of it was crushing.

Because this one wasn’t entirely false.

He was a target. His existence did put others at risk. The Seven Sins did want him, and they would absolutely sacrifice countless innocents to claim him.

The guilt was real. The responsibility was real. The knowledge that people died because of his choices was real, too.

But.

“You’re right,” Jaenor said quietly.

“My existence does put others at risk. Fighting the Seven Sins does create casualties. Being who I am means people I care about are in constant danger.”

His merged power began to build, slowly but inexorably.

“But surrendering doesn’t fix that. It makes it worse. Because if I become your vessel, if your daemon lord resurrects in my body, how many will die then? Not just people I know, entire kingdoms. Entire civilizations. Everything the Sins have been planning, all the destruction they want to unleash, would be empowered by my merged capabilities.”

His six wings manifested, blazing with golden-red light that pushed back against the illusion.

“So yes, people die because of me. People suffer because I’m fighting rather than surrendering. But they’d die anyway, just in greater numbers, with no hope of resistance. At least this way, some survive. At least this way, there’s a chance.”

The illusions of dead companions began to fade, unable to maintain coherence against his certainty.

“You’re trying to make me believe I’m responsible for deaths I haven’t caused. For futures that haven’t happened. For consequences that might occur rather than definitely will. That’s clever manipulation, but it’s not reality.”

His power surged, and this time he directed it aggressively. His origin aura exploded outward as a wave of pure force, not attacking Lilinathara directly but destroying her constructed realities completely.

The forest reasserted itself, solid and real, and Lilinathara stood perhaps twenty feet away.

For the first time, her expression showed something other than confidence.

She looked… unsettled.

“You’re stronger than you should be,” she said slowly.

“Not just physically. Mentally. Most people break when confronted with their deepest fears and guilts. But you’re metabolizing them. Processing and moving past them in real time.”

“I’ve had practice,” Jaenor said.

“Months of people telling me I’m cursed, that I’m dangerous, that I’ll inevitably become a monster. You’re not telling me anything I haven’t already heard and rejected.”

His power was fully manifested now—a tempest of unified energy that made the air itself shimmer with barely contained force. His six wings spread to their full extension, each one radiating light that existed in multiple spectrums simultaneously.

“So here’s what’s going to happen,” Jaenor continued, his voice dropping to something cold and absolute.

“I am going to kill you right now.”

For a moment, Lilinathara looked like she might die at his hands.

Then her survival instincts overrode her ego.

Lilinathara’s expression went cold, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she began backing away, shadows gathering around her in preparation for departure.

Jaenor decided he’d had enough.

His speed, enhanced by his merged power, made him effectively teleport.

One moment he was standing twenty feet away.

The next, he was directly in front of Lilinathara, one hand formed into a blade of origin aura, aimed directly at her throat.

His blade moved forward, and Lilinathara’s eyes went wide with genuine fear.

That was when the others appeared.

Not emerging from the forest or manifesting gradually, simply existing in positions they hadn’t occupied a moment before, surrounding Jaenor in a perfect circle.

It was a trap set by the sins.

Jaenor realized it, but it was too late now.

Pride stood directly behind him, close enough to touch.

Wrath to his right, massive and radiating barely controlled fury. Greed to his left, calculating eyes already assessing the situation. Sloth draped against a tree, looking half-asleep but unmistakably present. Envy paced at the circle’s edge, their form shifting constantly.

Gluttony—the vampire demoness Vorakka, licked her lips with a tongue that was slightly too long.

All seven Sins, together, surrounded him in a formation that suggested extensive planning.

“Now,” Pride said, his cultured voice carrying satisfaction.

“Did you really think we’d let Lilinathara engage you alone? That we wouldn’t anticipate you might prove resistant to her techniques?”

Jaenor’s blade was still at Lilinathara’s throat, but his attention was divided now.

Seven Sins.

All of them are here.

This was bad.

“She was bait,” he said, understanding flooding through him.

“You wanted me to focus on her. To commit to the fight. To be distracted.”

“Precisely,” Pride confirmed.

“You’re powerful, Jaenor. More powerful than any of us individually, perhaps. But together? Coordinated? With weeks of preparation?”

Symbols began to glow on the ground, a massive circle surrounding their position, inscribed with runes that predated the Separation itself. They’d been there all along, hidden, waiting to be activated.

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