Marvel: Sin Lord

Inarius stood before the massive gates of the ruined city, their iron surface scarred and warped, as if the passage of time had fought a losing battle against an unimaginable force. Beyond the gates stretched a once-majestic city, now drowned in desolation. The streets were cracked and overrun with ash, the buildings jagged skeletons of their former grandeur. At the heart of the city, a colossal tower radiated an eerie green glow, its light illuminating the oppressive, smoke-filled sky.

"This," boomed the Dark One's voice in his mind, as vast and unyielding as the landscape itself, "was the heart of a proud civilization that dared to challenge me. Their hubris condemned them. I obliterated their world, but I spared their souls—twisting them into wraiths, eternal reminders of their failure."

Inarius's fiery purple sword materialized in his grip, its blade humming with raw power, as though it shared his simmering resolve.

"You will face them now," the Dark One continued. "Your first trial is to destroy and absorb one hundred wraiths at once. Only then will you move closer to your freedom."

Inarius gritted his teeth and pushed open the gates. The sound of their groaning hinges echoed through the city like the mournful cries of the damned. The moment he stepped inside, an unnatural chill crept over him, an oppressive force pressing down on his fiery form.

The city was silent, but not empty. Inarius felt them before he saw them—shadows flickering at the edges of his vision, the faint sound of whispers carried on a nonexistent wind. His grip on the hilt of his sword tightened as a wraith emerged from the ruins ahead.

It was a grotesque figure, its form skeletal and twisted, as if its humanity had been burned away. Its hollow eyes glowed green, and its translucent body seemed to ripple like smoke caught in a storm. Slowly, more wraiths appeared, spilling out from crumbled walls and rising from pools of green fire that dotted the streets.

They were dozens at first, then scores, surrounding him in a tightening circle. Their hissing whispers grew louder, clawing at his mind like nails on a chalkboard.

"Let's do this," Inarius muttered, raising his fiery blade. The weapon seemed to respond, its purple flames flaring brighter.

The first wraith struck, lunging at him with claws that dripped ethereal venom. Inarius sidestepped, his sword slicing clean through its torso in one fluid motion. The creature shrieked as it disintegrated, its essence drawn into the blade and then into him. He felt a surge of energy, dark and fiery, fueling his strength.

The others charged.

The battle was chaos. Inarius spun and dodged, his movements precise but desperate as the wraiths came at him in waves. His sword tore through them, each strike a blazing arc of purple fire that lit up the darkness.

One wraith leapt at him from above, its claws aimed for his head. Inarius ducked and drove his blade upward, impaling the creature and sending it screaming into oblivion. Another darted in from the side, but he pivoted, delivering a devastating horizontal slash that cleaved it in two.

Despite his efforts, they pressed in closer. A clawed hand raked across his back, tearing into his fiery form and leaving a burning, searing pain. He roared in anger, spinning and unleashing a burst of purple flame that engulfed several wraiths, reducing them to ash.

More wraiths replaced the ones he destroyed, their numbers seemingly endless. They attacked with a feral hunger, their claws and teeth relentless.

Inarius began to adapt. His fiery blade wasn't just a weapon—it was an extension of his will. He let it guide him, its flames burning brighter with each wraith he absorbed. When a cluster of wraiths surrounded him, he thrust the sword into the ground. A shockwave of purple fire erupted, incinerating them in a blinding flash.

The wraiths grew more aggressive, their attacks more coordinated. One wrapped its smoky tendrils around his legs, dragging him to the ground, while another lunged for his throat. Inarius roared, his free hand igniting with sin-fueled fire. He grabbed the wraith's face, crushing it as its essence flowed into him.

He pulled himself to his feet just as a towering wraith appeared—a leader among the damned. This one wielded a spectral blade, its strikes swift and deadly. Their weapons clashed, purple fire against ghostly green energy. Sparks flew with each impact, their duel a violent dance in the ruined street.

The larger wraith slashed at his chest, but Inarius parried, twisting to deliver a counterstrike that severed its arm. The wraith howled, its body flickering as it staggered back. Inarius didn't hesitate, plunging his sword into its chest and unleashing a burst of fire that reduced it to nothing.

By the time the last wraith fell, Inarius was panting, his fiery form flickering as he struggled to contain the power he had absorbed. The street was littered with the fading remnants of his enemies, their essence swirling around him before being drawn into his core.

He dropped to one knee, his sword resting on the ground as he tried to steady himself. The oppressive energy of the city seemed to lift slightly, replaced by a profound silence.

"Well done," the Dark One's voice rumbled, resonating from the air itself. "You have passed the first trial. The wraiths were once proud souls, and now their torment fuels your strength. But this is only the beginning. The second trial awaits."

Inarius stood, gripping his sword tightly as he stared toward the glowing tower in the distance. His fiery form flared brighter, a sign of his growing determination.

"Bring it on," he muttered, his voice steady despite the exhaustion.

The Dark One's laughter echoed through the ruins, chilling and triumphant. Then, all was silent once more.