Marvel: Sin Lord

It had been a week since the New Mutants arrived at the Massachusetts Academy. Under Emma's guidance, their conditions had improved significantly. Her telepathy helped adjust their memories, allowing them to function more normally, but the nightmares persisted, haunting them nightly.

Inarius watched them with a growing sense of empathy. They had been through something terrible—something no one deserved. He went out of his way to be kind to them, offering smiles, jokes, or just a listening ear whenever he could. Slowly, the New Mutants started warming up to the Hellions, though the same couldn't be said for Empath. He continued to antagonize everyone, proving himself an unrepentant thorn in everyone's side.

That night, unable to sleep, Inarius decided to hit the training grounds for some late-night practice. The crisp night air and quiet gymnasium always helped clear his head. Sword in hand, he made his way to the sparring area—only to find it already occupied.

Illyana Rasputina was there. Her platinum blonde hair shimmered in the dim light as she wielded her glowing, otherworldly sword with practiced precision. The blade's radiant energy cut through the air, leaving faint traces of light in its wake.

She noticed him immediately and turned, her expression unreadable. "Can't sleep either?"

"Something like that," Inarius replied, stepping closer.

Illyana raised an eyebrow, studying him. "Want to spar?"

He grinned. "I was hoping you'd say that."

Their spar began slowly, each testing the other's skill. Inarius moved with a calculated fluidity, his own blade catching the light of Illyana's as their swords clashed. She fought with a blend of raw power and unorthodox technique, using bursts of her magic to throw him off.

"You're holding back," she said, smirking as she parried one of his strikes.

"Maybe I'm just being polite," he shot back, stepping into her space and delivering a sweeping strike. She blocked it, but the force pushed her back a step.

"Oh, please," she said, retaliating with a burst of energy from her sword that sent him skidding across the training mat. "Politeness doesn't win fights."

The battle escalated. Illyana teleported mid-combat, appearing behind him with her sword aimed at his back. He spun just in time, their blades meeting in a clash that echoed through the empty gym.

"Nice trick," he said, breathing heavily.

"You haven't seen all of them yet," she replied, teleporting again.

Inarius anticipated her move this time, stepping aside as she reappeared and locking her blade with his. They grappled briefly, their swords grinding together, sparks flying.

"I know your tricks, remember?" he teased, exploiting a gap in her stance and forcing her to retreat.

Illyana scowled, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Fine. No more holding back."

With a flourish, she unleashed a wave of magical energy that nearly knocked him off his feet. Inarius rolled with it, countering with a quick series of strikes that forced her on the defensive. Their sparring turned into a chaotic dance of blades, each pushing the other to their limits.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Illyana called it. "Enough," she said, lowering her blade. Her breathing was ragged, and her glowing sword flickered slightly as she dispelled it.

Inarius leaned on his own sword for support, sweat dripping from his forehead. "Not bad," he said with a grin.

She gave him a look, one that was almost a smile, before shaking her head. "You're annoying."

They walked back to their rooms in silence, the tension of the spar replaced by a quiet camaraderie. As they reached her door, Illyana hesitated.

"If you need anything, you know where I am," Inarius said, his tone sincere.

She glanced at him, her expression softening. "Thanks," she said quietly before disappearing into her room.

Inarius headed back to his dorm, feeling oddly satisfied with the night's events. When he saw Empath sprawled out on his bed, snoring lightly, a mischievous idea struck him. Grabbing a Sharpie, he leaned over and carefully drew a ridiculous handlebar mustache on Empath's face.

He stifled a laugh as he admired his handiwork. "Perfect," he whispered, slipping into bed.

But his peace didn't last.

Inarius found himself once again in the dark, apocalyptic realm that had haunted his dreams. The air was thick with heat and dread, the fiery background casting eerie shadows across the jagged landscape.

Then he saw it—the figure.

Clad in armor as black as night, with glowing red undertones and spiked pauldrons, the imposing figure radiated malice. A jagged, flaming warhammer rested in its hand, and its crown-like helm gleamed with malevolence. The glowing red eyes behind the helm locked onto Inarius, sending a chill down his spine.

"Prince of Sin… Prince of Darkness…" The words echoed like thunder, shaking the very ground beneath him.

Inarius bolted upright, his breath coming in gasps. His chest heaved as he realized he was back in his dorm. The vividness of the dream still clung to him, his skin clammy with sweat.

Rushing to the bathroom, he barely made it to the toilet before vomiting. After a moment, he staggered to the sink, splashing cold water on his face.

When he looked up into the mirror, his heart stopped.

His reflection wasn't his own. His eyes glowed an ominous red, and his skin was pale, almost sickly.

He blinked and splashed more water on his face, and when he looked again, the reflection was normal. Just a nightmare, he told himself, gripping the edge of the sink until his knuckles turned white.

When he returned to the dorm, Empath was sitting up, scowling. "What the hell is this?" he snapped, pointing to the mustache still scrawled across his face.

Inarius burst into laughter, all the tension from the dream momentarily forgotten. "You look great. Really pulls your whole look together."

"You're dead," Empath growled, storming off to the bathroom.

Still chuckling, Inarius flopped back onto his bed, willing himself to sleep.