The Financial District was a canyon of steel and glass, and its spiritual signature was a pulsating, overwhelming energy of Greed. The entire area vibrated with the collective avarice of a thousand institutions, creating a spiritual density that was almost physical.
Ethan, dressed in a stolen maintenance uniform, felt the familiar pull of the ambient sin. But the greatest pull was now internal: the crushing, poisonous self-assurance of the Pride soul he carried.
He identified the target: the Gilded Tower, a skyscraper that stood as an arrogant monument to wealth. The host, CEO Julian Thorne, was in the penthouse, and his aura was a beacon—a blinding, dense column of pure, focused Greed, a spiritual black hole that consumed all light around it.
The Greed soul was perfect integration: it had fueled Thorne's ascent, making him the ultimate accumulator.
Elias had provided a convoluted infiltration route through the HVAC system, requiring four hours of slow, silent climbing. Ethan looked at the skyscraper, and the Pride in his core scoffed at the inefficiency.
Four hours? I am the Emissary of Wrath and Gluttony. I will not crawl.
Ignoring the logical warning bells—the fear of a chaotic Gatewalk while the Sloth dampener was straining—Ethan chose a reckless shortcut. He would use a minimal power Gatewalk to reach the roof access in seconds, bypassing all physical security. It was a move born of sheer, confident arrogance.
He stepped into a supply closet and executed the jump.
The spiritual transfer was agonising. The Gluttony core roared, trying to devour the surrounding electrical energy, and the Reality Warping fought the Sloth inertia violently. The Gatewalk itself was a sickening, distorted lurch.
He materialised on the penthouse maintenance deck, the air thick with ozone and the faint smell of burned spacetime. The single flickering light bulb here was a testament to the chaotic residual energy that clung to him. He was on the roof, but the risk had been immense.
Miles away, Seraphina and Kane were in motion, their tracking now cold and precise, informed by the infernal logistics provided by Morian.
Morian had predicted the target: Greed. Seraphina had calculated the location: the city's largest repository of organised wealth. Kane had supplied the physical access methods.
Seraphina descended, her celestial energy contained in a silver light bubble, onto the roof of the adjacent tower. She watched the Gilded Tower, her Sin Perception focused on detecting any flare of infernal fire or signature. She was ready to contain, not purge.
Kane, meanwhile, was positioned in a hidden tunnel beneath the lobby, his non-electronic kinetic sensors humming, tracking the faint, physical disturbance of the Emissary's arrival. He was waiting for the inevitable escape path.
"He's in the tower," Kane communicated via a shielded radio link. "I just caught the thermal residue of a fast transfer on the roof access."
"We move to containment," Seraphina replied, her voice cold and professional. "Do not engage unless he attempts escape. We isolate the cell."
The two hunters had finally shed their disparate methods. They were a coordinated, efficient, and methodical trap, thanks to the Emissary's own predictable need to complete the ledger.
Ethan slipped through the roof access and into the penthouse office. CEO Thorne was alone, staring at a massive, holographic stock chart.
Ethan launched the attack immediately, channelling his power for Gluttony Consumption. He aimed to shatter the Greed soul's control by consuming the host's focus, his desire, and his conviction.
"You're done, Thorne," Ethan projected, releasing the precise, cold hunger of his intellect.
The attack hit, but the result was negligible.
Thorne turned, his eyes glazed with an inhuman, cold clarity. The Greed soul was impervious to the psychological assault. The reason was immediately and terribly clear: Greed is pure self-preservation.
The soul's entire existence was focused on acquisition and retention. It consumed all threats, all distractions, all doubt. It had no ego to consume (like Pride) and no inertia to combat (like Sloth); it was pure, relentless will to retain.
"You want something from me," Thorne stated, his voice flat, devoid of emotion, the Greed soul speaking through the host. "I am not for sale. And I will not give up my assets."
Ethan slammed the Gluttony harder, trying to overwhelm the target's sheer avarice. It was like trying to fill a spiritual black hole with ambition—the Greed consumed the attack, using the energy to further entrench its own spiritual armour.
The Pride in Ethan's core screamed in outrage at the failure of his superior intellect. The Reality Warping surged, flickering the office lights violently.
My logic is flawed! My method failed!
Ethan withdrew the Gluttony, recognising the tactical error. He could not consume the will of Greed; he had to shatter it.
He looked down at his own hands, the gold rings blazing. His subtle methods, the cunning of Gluttony and the camouflage of Sloth, had failed. The target required the one weapon he was desperately trying to avoid using: Wrath.
He had to use raw, overwhelming physical force—Hellfire and focused destruction—to rip the Greed soul from its spiritual fortress.
He closed his eyes, accepting the bitter necessity. The surge of Wrath would immediately alert Seraphina's spiritual sensors on the roof and trigger Kane's kinetic alarms below. The stealth mission was over.
"Forgive me, Thorne," Ethan whispered. "But you've forced the Emissary to stop being subtle."
He unleashed the cold fire, ready to break the cage and face the inevitable confrontation.