Marvel: Sin Lord

Three weeks under Sebastian Shaw's leadership had changed the dynamic at the Massachusetts Academy. The Hellions weren't sure how they felt about it yet, but Inarius? He knew exactly how he felt.

He hated Shaw.

It wasn't just the way Shaw carried himself—arrogant, smug, always acting like he owned the room. It wasn't even his cutting remarks or the way he treated the Hellions more like assets than people. No, what bothered Inarius most was what he could sense.

Shaw's sins weren't born out of desperation or survival. They weren't mistakes or lapses in judgment. They were deliberate, calculated. Every single one of them screamed of greed, selfishness, and an utter disregard for anyone else. To Inarius, Shaw wasn't just a bad man—he was the embodiment of everything wrong with power.

And yet, even Inarius couldn't deny that Shaw was an effective teacher.

Their training had intensified. Shaw didn't just make them stronger physically; he pushed their minds, tested their resolve, and forced them to work as a unit. His missions were frequent and grueling, designed to force the Hellions into situations where failure wasn't an option.

And it worked.

Inarius felt his skills sharpen, his swordplay more precise. His reaction time was faster, his instincts honed. The Hellions had become a more cohesive team—though that didn't mean they liked Shaw any more for it.

After yet another exhausting day of combat drills and tactical analysis, the Hellions gathered in their dorm common room, collapsing onto the couches and chairs like a pile of discarded laundry.

"That man's a demon," Empath grumbled, tossing a stress ball against the wall.

"Demon might be underselling it," Tarot muttered, rubbing her sore shoulder.

Jetstream, who usually tried to stay neutral, nodded. "He's intense, but I'll give him this—he knows how to push us."

Inarius stayed silent, leaning against the window frame, looking out into the night. The glow of the moon reflected off his sharp features, his grey eyes distant.

"You're quiet," Catseye said, tilting her head at him.

Inarius glanced back at her, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "What's there to say? He's not wrong about making us stronger. But that doesn't mean I have to like him."

Empath snorted. "That's the understatement of the century. You practically glare holes into him every time he talks."

Inarius shrugged. "I can't stand people like him. Everything he does, every word he says—it's all for himself. He doesn't care about us."

"He's Hellfire Club," Tarot said with a laugh. "That's their whole deal."

"Still," Jetstream interjected, "Emma's coming back eventually. We just have to hold out until then."

Later that night, Inarius sat on his bed, polishing his sword. The purple energy glowed faintly, illuminating his face in the dim light of his room. He thought about Shaw, about the missions they'd been sent on.

They were harder, riskier than anything Emma had assigned them. And though Shaw's methods were harsh, the results couldn't be ignored.

Inarius's grip tightened on the hilt of his sword. He hated Shaw for what he was—but part of him hated that he was getting better under him.

The door creaked open, and Empath peeked in. "Hey," he said, leaning against the doorframe. "Don't stay up too late. Shaw's got some insane mission planned for tomorrow."

Inarius didn't look up. "Thanks for the warning."

Empath hesitated for a moment before stepping inside. "You really don't like him, huh?"

"No," Inarius said flatly.

"Yeah, me neither," Empath admitted, sitting on the edge of his own bed. "But… I don't know. Part of me wonders if that's the point. Like, maybe we're supposed to hate him."

Inarius finally looked up, meeting Empath's gaze. "Maybe. But that doesn't make him any less of a bastard."

Empath laughed. "True."

They sat in silence for a moment before Empath spoke again. "You think Emma's really coming back?"

"She will," Inarius said with certainty. "She has to."

Empath nodded, and they both sat there, the glow of the sword casting long shadows in the quiet room.