My hand flattened against the Deadly Seven's temple doors. It reacted to my sin. Outlining with black light, it took a second to open for me. What was once exhilarating, having darkness wrap around in unholiness, was now exhausting. I stepped into the temple ready to present the soul I harvested from the officer. Instead, I approached the seven chairs circling the center with a grumble. I didn't want to be here, nor did I need the night I'd just had.

I dropped into my chair. Specifically made for the Gluttony before me, a voluptuous woman with a dazzling smile, the chair was made with obsidian stone, a demon steel, and painted red and gold within the swirls carved into the armrests. It was beautiful. It appealed to me when I first joined the Seven. Now, nothing did.

"Shit," I whispered, tracing the engravings with one hand as I stroked my chin with my other hand. Sitting back against my seat, J observed the temple. The other six chairs were empty. The tall statues of Him and Her, our Lord and Mistress of the darkness realm, stared off into the distance. If they knew how divided I was, how detached, depressed, and dissociated, would they appear to me? Would they convince me to live and stay? Or would they kill me? It would be nice to have some sort of kindness from my dark lords.

"Well, well, could we not desire death? It is sickening." I jumped at the soul of a nasally drawl. Quickly looking to my left, I saw Sloth. Perched on the back of his chair like a vulture waiting to consume humanity, he stared at me. His oily hair was pulled away from his face in a ponytail tied together with a golden ribbon that matched the yellow of his eyes. He grinned, revealing teeth of a similar shade.

I pulled my gaze away from him and looked at the temple's entrance. If someone else could walk inside, that would be lovely. Regardless of our position and family status within the Deadly Seven, Sloth was least likable and made my skin crawl.

He pouted. "You're depressing," he said.

My gaze snapped in his direction. "I want to be left alone."

"But you're here." Sloth jumped off of his seat and walked to me. He slid his fingers along the side of my chair as I eyed him. A scowl took over my face. He continued, "You're home where you know everyone would be—"

"Sins are allowed to return and leave as they please." Stroking my beard, I sighed and looked at the ceiling. The mosaic glass glistened with moonlight.

"You're lonely." Sloth crossed his arms. "You're lonely and want to die. So pathetic."

I closed my eyes. This was Sloth. Unable to move fast enough for himself, he was quick to put another person down. The normally quiet and lazy sin was actually one of the most vile.

Growling, I pushed myself up from my seat. Sloth laughed. "Have a struck a chord? The sin of Gluttony is angered by his most relatable brother."

I gritted my teeth and stared into his yellow eyes.

With a smirk, he looked me up and down. "You're stronger than Him and Her accepted you with open arms, muscular—have you gotten taller?" He looked up at me. "Or is the height actually you're desperation for death anxiously reaching for the heavens not open to us—"

I reached out and grabbed his neck. Instantly, I squeezed. His eyes bulged as he gasped, but he didn't fight me. This was normal for us. The bickering, the violence. I should kill him.

"All right, enough." Slow footsteps entered the temple's main room. "Both of you."

I didn't put Sloth back on his face. While holding him in the air, I looked toward the voice. My gaze settled on black, hollow eyes that changed as they got closer. They shifted, like a chameleon's, before changing in color, gracing me with a bright cerulean blue. The color, dazzling enough, that I loosened my grip.

Sloth gasped and dropped to my feet, coughing as he clutched his neck. "I hate you," he hissed in a hoarse voice.

I didn't look down at him. My attention was on the man who'd entered. A demon, a sin, much like myself. He was smaller in height, barely feet tall, but his status, his aura, and deep seniority gave him a menacing. The perfect sin to lead the Deadly Seven.

Gulping, I placed my hands behind me and focused on the smaller man walking toward me. "Pride," I said.

"Gluttony." Pride smiled, observing me with sincerity. Knowing him, I wasn't sure it was genuine. He cleared his throat when he was a foot away. "It's been weeks since I last saw you."

My jaw tightened. It had been weeks. Days when I avoided my sinful duties. Nights I tried to kill myself. I didn't want to come back to this temple. I didn't want to be alive.

"It has." I passed my hand over my chest, retrieving the soul I'd taken from the officer at the bar. It burned as it exited my body. It dully brightened my palm with small, whisps of grey light. Pride frowned at it. "I've brought a soul," I said as I handed it to him.

He lifted just his eyes to peer at me, but nothing else. He didn't take it from me. "This?" He sighed and stepped back. "Glutton, my brother. . ."

I cocked a brow. "Yes? Gather it."

"I don't. . ." He paused and passed his hand over his forehead. Then he smiled up at me. This sympathy was real. I knew the soul was disgusting; it hadn't been my target. No souls were. I reacted on a whim and harvested per my duties.

"You're right. It isn't worthy." I opened my palm, ready to the soul into the temple. Where would it end up? I had no idea. It could dissipate in the air for all I cared. I just didn't want to be its vessel again.

"Wait!" Pride snatched the soul before it left my fingers. "You can't let this wander aimlessly."

I blinked and watched as the light from the grey soul withered in his hand. He completely closed his fingers around it before it disappeared into his palm. "Will you keep it safe?" I asked him.

He shrugged and crossed his arms. "For now. And you, Gluttony, can search for another soul in the meantime."

I felt the color drain from my face. Sloth saw it, too, because he laughed, then covered his mouth to stifle it. I wondered how many within the Deadly Seven knew of my inner quarrels. I didn't want the world to know, but I also knew my pain seeped out of my pores like pollen and floral aromas to bees.

"Another soul," I whispered, looking down at my shoes. I hoped the officer's life would be good enough to keep the Deadly away. I suppose not.

"Yes." Pride placed his hand on my arm as if to comfort me. "Take the time you need. I won't rush you," he pursed his lips, "but remember our Lord and Mistress are waiting."

I slowly nodded and sighed. Dying would have to wait.

***

Find a soul, he says. Bring back a valuable piece of life.

For two days, I sulked. I understood my duty. For hundreds of years, I accepted my dark rite. Yet, completing the task of harvesting a soul with a heavy mind was . . . exhausting. And because the human succubus framed me for murder in San Marcos, I couldn't go back to my favorite bar.

I went three towns over to find a different bar. I needed a drink.

Outside the bar, dimly by lanterns and candlelight, I watched the entrance. There was a drunkard just to the right of the wooden doors. His hat covered his face as he slumped in a raggedy chair. When I approached, he shifted in his seat. All I smelled was alcohol and greasy food. Maybe his soul is good enough?

I paused at the door, my hand flattened against it. The drunkard and I locked eyes. I saw nothing inside of him. Dull, lifeless. Without a single ounce of motivation. My brows shot up. His soul is how I feel.

A giggling woman pushed through the door. I stepped back because her breasts were large enough to move me out of her way. I blinked as she walked into the street, a man following close behind her. His grabby hands reached for her dress and she laughed again, slapping his fingers. "Oh, sir, we need a room!" she said.

I nodded and shrugged. A small amount of decency, I supposed. They could be my targets for the night. She could've been a barmaid smitten by the gentleman and would've slept with him just anywhere. The modesty was appealing and her soul would do.

But first, drinks.

Turning back to the bar's entrance, I peered inside the lively setting. With alcohol on my mind, it was all I needed. The décor and furniture were nothing compared to San Marcos; not that any part of San Marcos was much to look at. But it was homely as if sitting in a grandmother's house. In this bar, in Dos Domingos, wasn't that. It was very. . . much a bar.

The door closed behind me as my gaze passed over the drunks and their drinks, over the barmaids grabbing the hands of men eager to betray their wives. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I squeezed my eyes shut and sighed. I am sin; I cannot escape it. It didn't mean I wished to see it while I tried to hide from it.

"A drink," I called to the barkeep standing at the far counter with two bottles in his hands. He eyed me, curious. His thoughts wondered why I was shouting. I thought the same. Nonetheless, I approached and sat on the stool across from him. "The strongest you've got," I added to my request.

"Of course," he said, passing his hand over his red hair and turned around. He made my drink quickly. I supposed everything here was strong, intoxicating, and perfect to drown out the pain of the night. The surrounding drunkards were my proof. They didn't have a worry in the world, did they?

I sighed as the barkeep returned to me with a drink in his hand. He passed it to me. Drops of alcohol slid down its side, filled to the top. Perfect. I reached for the glass ready to drink and forget the night.

"Oh, this is new!" a cheery voice touched my ear as a body took the stool next to me, sitting and making itself comfortable. I glanced at them. My eyes widened as I saw who it was. The woman from San Marcos; the succubus in a human's body. She pulled at the ribbon of her dress to flaunt her breasts. I saw them shimmer, the same glow that was in her eyes. I frowned as she grinned. "You didn't die. Can you tell me your trick?"

Rolling my eyes, I looked away and returned to my drink. I was ready to get drunk, not deal with this.