Elara led us deeper into the Cathedral of Hands.
Not toward the Reliquaries this time. Away from them. Through passages formed by interlocking stone fingers that created tunnels of frozen prayer. The hymn of the Choir echoed differently here—softer, more distant, like hearing it through layers of grief.
"There's something you need to see," Elara said. Her eclipse-marked eyes reflected the golden light emanating from the walls. "Before you face the Angel again. Before you think you understand what you're fighting."
"What is it?" Lucy asked. Her hand stayed close to her Lightning Wand. Ever since the Angel's demonstration, she'd been tense. Wound tight like a spring ready to snap.
"The truth about the Reliquaries. About what you stole when you bound to the Eclipse." Elara glanced back at me. At the mark on my forehead that pulsed faintly with stolen divinity. "You think you gained power. You're right. But you also inherited something else. Something the Angel carried. Something it tried to escape."
We descended. The passages sloped downward, spiraling into the Cathedral's depths. The golden light faded. Red bioluminescence took its place—dimmer, flickering, like dying embers.
"How deep does this place go?" Gery asked. His new katana was drawn. Ready.
"To the foundation," Elara replied. "To where the Angel first fell. Where it tried to bury what it couldn't carry anymore."
Somi's Strategic Omniscience flared. "Tactical assessment: we are descending approximately two hundred meters below surface level. Atmospheric essence concentration increasing. Detecting secondary essence signatures. Classification: dormant but responsive. Probability of hostile encounter: rising."
"Nothing down here is hostile," Elara said. "Not in the way you think. The things below don't attack. They judge. They measure. They test."
She stopped at a massive stone door. Unlike the praying hands that formed the rest of the Cathedral, this door was carved with seven symbols. Each one different. Each one pulsing with faint light.
I felt them immediately. My Essence Detection painting a picture in my mind.
Seven essence signatures. Seven distinct patterns. Each one corresponding to something inside me.
To the seven swords.
"What is this place?" I asked quietly.
Elara placed her hand on the door. It responded to her touch, grinding open with the sound of stone scraping stone.
"The Chamber of Original Sin," she said. "Where the Angel locked away the seven burdens it carried when it fell."
The chamber beyond was vast. Circular. Maybe a hundred feet across. The walls were smooth stone—no hands here, no prayers, just bare rock that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it.
And in the center, arranged in a perfect circle, were seven pedestals.
Each pedestal held something. Not reliquaries. Not essence spheres. Something else.
Artifacts. Seven of them. Each one different. Each one radiating power that made my corruption veins ache.
"Jesus," Lucy breathed.
I walked closer. My boots echoed on the stone floor—the sound too loud, too final, like each step was a commitment I couldn't take back.
The first artifact was a chalice. Black metal, ornate, with silver engravings that depicted mouths consuming mouths consuming mouths in an endless spiral. It sat on a pedestal marked with a symbol I recognized from the door.
An empty stomach. Hunger.
"The Chalice of Endless Thirst," Elara said from behind me. "The Angel's first burden. When it tried to save the dying sun, it consumed divine essence to sustain itself. But the hunger never stopped. Even after the sun died, it kept consuming. Kept feeding. Until the hunger became part of it."
I stared at the chalice. Felt Hunger—the sword—pulse inside me. Responding. Recognizing its origin.
"The seven Reliquaries you saw upstairs," Elara continued, "those grant you the Angel's powers. Mourning. Judgment. Salvation. Remembrance. Eclipse. But these—" she gestured at the seven artifacts "—these are what the Angel tried to abandon. The seven sins it carried. The seven burdens that broke it."
I moved to the second pedestal.
A mirror. Cracked. The reflection it showed wasn't mine—it was something else. Someone else. A version of me that didn't exist but could. Should. Would.
The pedestal was marked with a symbol: A crown made of ash. Pride.
"The Mirror of False Divinity," Elara said. "The Angel believed it could save everything. That its power was absolute. That its judgment was infallible. Pride blinded it to the truth—it was never meant to carry the sun alone. But it tried anyway. And when it failed, the pride shattered into this."
Third pedestal. A blade. Jagged. Broken. Still sharp enough to cut reality if you looked at it wrong. The metal was red—not painted, but red in its essence, like it had been forged from crystallized rage.
Symbol: A clenched fist breaking itself. Wrath.
"The Shard of Divine Fury. When the sun died, the Angel raged. Screamed. Tried to tear reality apart to bring it back. The rage consumed it. Became it. Until the fury was all that remained of its righteousness."
I felt Wrath—my fourth sword—resonate with the artifact. Felt the connection. The origin.
"Wait," Gery said slowly. "These artifacts. They're the source of Sidd's swords? The seven weapons he can manifest?"
Elara nodded. "When you bound to the Eclipse Reliquary, you didn't just gain the Angel's power. You inherited its sins. The seven burdens it tried to abandon became seven weapons you can wield. Hunger. Pride. Wrath. And four more."
She gestured at the remaining pedestals.
Fourth: A silk cloth. Beautiful. Shimmering. Stained with something that might have been tears or might have been essence or might have been both.
Symbol: A hand reaching but never touching. Lust.
"The Veil of Desire Unfulfilled. The Angel wanted. Craved. Longed for what it could never have again—the light it failed to save, the prayers it couldn't answer, the salvation it couldn't deliver. Desire became obsession. Obsession became sin."
I felt it then. Joy—my fifth sword. Not joy as happiness. Joy as desperate, manic pleasure seeking. The kind that comes when you've lost everything else.
Fifth: A scale. Perfectly balanced. But both sides were empty. Weighing nothing. Measuring void.
Symbol: Closed eyes refusing to see. Envy.
"The Scale of Cosmic Injustice. The Angel envied those who didn't carry burdens. Who weren't chosen. Who could simply die instead of living with failure. Envy poisoned its compassion. Made every act of salvation feel like punishment."
Sorrow. My sixth sword. Not sadness—envy disguised as melancholy.
Sixth: A throne. Small. Simple. Made of stone. Empty.
Symbol: A figure sitting while others fall. Sloth.
"The Seat of Divine Negligence. When the weight became too much, the Angel stopped. Sat. Rested. Let the world collapse while it grieved. Sloth wearing grief's mask. The sin of choosing stillness when action was needed."
Mercy. My third sword. Not kindness—the sin of doing nothing when something was required.
Seventh: A coin. Golden. Beautiful. Stamped with a face that might have been the Angel's or might have been something else.
Symbol: Hands grasping coins while prayers go unanswered. Greed.
"The Coin of Hoarded Light. The Angel held onto the sun's corpse. Refused to let it go. Kept the eclipse close, locked it inside itself, made it the center of everything. Greed masquerading as preservation. The sin of holding what should be released."
Truth. My second sword. Not honesty—the greed of knowing everything, seeing everything, keeping every truth for yourself.
I stood in the center of the circle. Seven artifacts. Seven sins. Seven weapons I could manifest from my own corruption.
"So when I create the swords," I said slowly, "I'm not just using power. I'm wielding the Angel's sins. The things that broke it."
"Yes," Elara confirmed. "And each time you manifest one, you carry that sin's weight. Use Hunger too much, and you become insatiable. Use Wrath too much, and rage consumes reason. Use them all—" she looked at me seriously "—and you become what the Angel became. Broken by the weight of seven sins."
Lucy stepped beside me. "Then he shouldn't use them. We'll find another way."
"There is no other way," Elara said flatly. "The only weapons that can harm the Angel are weapons forged from what the Angel was. These sins are your arsenal. Your curse. Your only chance."
Somi's multiple voices hummed. "Tactical question: if Sidd manifests all seven swords simultaneously at one hundred percent corruption, does he carry all seven sins at once?"
"Yes."
"Probability of maintaining consciousness under that burden?"
Elara's smile was grim. "No one has ever tried. But theoretically? Less than ten percent. The Angel couldn't carry them. What makes you think a human at one hundred percent corruption can?"
I looked at my hands. At the corruption veins. At the eclipse mark on my forehead.
Seven sins. Seven weapons. Seven ways to become the thing I was fighting.
"There has to be balance," I said. "A way to use them without being consumed."
"Maybe," Elara said. "But you have eighteen hours to figure it out. Less now. Sixteen hours. And when the Angel descends, you'll need every weapon. Every sin. Every piece of power you can manifest."
She turned to leave. Paused.
"One more thing. The Angel will recognize its sins when you use them. Will know you're wielding what it tried to abandon. That recognition will either enrage it—or break it. I don't know which. No one's gotten far enough to find out."
After Elara left, I stood in the Chamber of Original Sin and did something stupid.
I manifested all seven swords at once.
Not at one hundred percent. At seventy percent. Pushing my corruption to its limit, forcing my essence to create seven weapons simultaneously when I should only be able to manage two.
The swords appeared. One by one. Orbiting around me like satellites.
Hunger. Truth. Mercy. Wrath. Joy. Sorrow. Nothing.
Black. Silver. Blue. Red. Purple. Grey. Void.
Each blade was six feet long. Each blade was perfect. Each blade carried a sin I could feel trying to sink into my soul.
The hunger wanting to consume everything. The pride showing me how I could be more. The wrath begging to be released. The lust promising satisfaction I'd never find. The envy whispering about those who had it easier. The sloth suggesting I could rest. The greed demanding I take everything.
Seven voices. Seven sins. Seven weapons orbiting me in a deadly constellation.
I held them for five seconds. Ten. Fifteen.
Then the weight became too much.
The swords dissipated. I collapsed to my knees. Blood dripped from my nose. My corruption veins glowed so bright they hurt to look at.
[WARNING: ESSENCE OVERLOAD]
[CORRUPTION TEMPORARY SPIKE: 75%]
[REVERTING TO BASELINE: 70%]
Lucy was beside me immediately. "Sidd! What the hell were you thinking?"
"Testing limits," I gasped. "Need to know... how much I can handle."
"And?"
I wiped the blood from my face. Looked at the seven pedestals. At the seven sins waiting to be wielded.
"At seventy percent... I can manifest all seven for about fifteen seconds. Maybe twenty if I'm not fighting. But using them? Actually attacking with all seven?" I shook my head. "I'd pass out in five seconds. Maybe less."
Gery knelt beside me. "So what's the plan? Fight the Angel with one sword? Two?"
"Three," I said. "At seventy percent, I can fight effectively with three swords simultaneously. Hunger. Truth. Wrath. The core combat trinity. The others I'll use situationally."
Somi's analysis confirmed it. "Tactical assessment: three-sword combat style provides optimal balance between power output and essence sustainability. Recommendation: primary loadout should be Hunger for offense, Truth for defense, Wrath for burst damage."
I stood slowly. The chamber spun. Stabilized.
"Sixteen hours," I said. "We have sixteen hours to figure out how to kill a god using its own sins as weapons."
I looked at each artifact. Felt each sin calling.
"And I need to learn to carry the weight without breaking."
Lucy touched my arm. "We'll help. You don't have to carry this alone."
I wanted to believe her. But my Truth-Seer showed me reality—when I faced the Angel, when I manifested seven sins at once, when I stood at one hundred percent corruption with the mask on my face...
I would be absolutely, terrifyingly alone.
Just me and seven sins and a broken god.
The only question was: who would break first?