Marvel: Sin Lord

It had been a year since Inarius Morningstar walked away from the only home he had ever known. A year since he turned his back on the apartment filled with his mother's anger, her bitterness, and her sins. Now, at eleven years old, he lived in a homeless shelter on the outskirts of the city. It was overcrowded and cold, the food was barely edible, and the stench of too many bodies packed into too small a space lingered in the air. But it was better than the emptiness of his old life.

The people here carried their sins differently. He could sense it, the way the weight of survival marked their lives. Most of their sins were small—petty theft, lying, moments of desperation born from hunger or fear. It wasn't the same as the black, festering rot he had absorbed from others. Here, the sins were quieter, easier to ignore, though he could still feel them pulsing faintly in the back of his mind.

During the day, Inarius kept to himself. He didn't make friends, didn't talk unless he had to. The other kids in the shelter had their own struggles, and they didn't bother him much. To them, he was just the quiet boy with long black hair who always seemed to slip away when no one was looking.

But at night, when the shelter quieted and most of its occupants fell into restless sleep, Inarius would sneak out. The city was different in the dark, its shadows longer, its silence heavier. He made his way to the sewers, slipping through grates and manholes, descending into the labyrinthine tunnels beneath the streets.

Down there, among the dripping pipes and stagnant pools of water, Inarius felt something close to peace. It was dark and quiet, and the rats and mice that scurried through the tunnels provided him with what he needed.

He killed them quickly, efficiently, and absorbed them just as he had when he first discovered his power. The purple light flickered briefly each time, pulling their memories, their instincts, and their meager strength into him. It was never much—just enough to sustain the edge he had built over the past year.

He didn't enjoy it. He didn't feel proud of what he was doing. But it was a way to survive, a way to hold onto the small sense of control he had carved out for himself in a world that had given him none.

One night, after hours in the sewers, Inarius emerged from a storm drain into an empty alley. The air was cool, and the city was quiet except for the distant hum of traffic and the occasional siren wailing in the distance. He brushed himself off, his clothes damp and smudged with grime, and started to make his way back to the shelter.

That's when he saw it.

The figure was standing at the far end of the alley, illuminated by the faint glow of a flickering streetlamp. At first, Inarius thought it was just another homeless man or a drunk wandering the streets. But as he stepped closer, he saw the body lying at the man's feet.

It was a girl, no older than he was. Her face was pale, her lifeless eyes staring up at the sky, and her small frame was twisted unnaturally. Blood pooled beneath her, dark and glistening in the dim light.

Inarius froze, his heart pounding.

The man standing over her wasn't like anyone he'd ever seen. He was tall, his figure draped in dark, tattered clothing that seemed to shift and shimmer in the faint light. But what caught Inarius's attention—what made his breath catch in his throat—was the sword in the man's hand.

It was long and curved, its blade glowing with an eerie blue flame that didn't waver or flicker. The fire seemed alive, casting shadows that danced across the walls of the alley.

The man tilted his head, as if sensing Inarius's presence, and slowly turned to face him.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Inarius felt the weight of the man's gaze, though he couldn't see his face clearly. There was something otherworldly about him, something that made every instinct in Inarius's body scream at him to run.

But he didn't move. He couldn't.

The man raised the sword slightly, the blue flames flaring brighter for a moment. And then, without a word, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving the girl's lifeless body behind.

Inarius stood there, his mind racing. He didn't know who the man was or why he had killed the girl, but one thing was clear: this wasn't just another random crime. This was something else—something far bigger than the small, dark world Inarius had been surviving in.

And for the first time in a long time, he felt something other than fear or anger.

He felt curiosity.