"Hss…"
Cillian drew in a long breath, spraying out fragments of burning soul that shimmered in the air before fading into ash. His gaze lingered on the seven angels before him, his lips curling into a smile that was half amusement, half malice.
He let his body dissolve into black mist, the shape of his form unraveling until only shadow remained. From within that darkness, his voice seeped out with a venomous whisper.
"Desire," he said softly, "is like a spring that never runs dry."
The mist swirled, thickening around the angels, pressing against them with the weight of countless unseen souls.
"No matter how you teach people kindness, no matter how you preach about light," Cillian continued, his tone smooth, almost playful, "deep inside, there is always a shadow. Always an urge to sin. You have another word for it, don't you? Original sin."
