Marvel: Sin Lord

Inarius stood in the center of the ruined city, his chest rising and falling steadily as his fiery form flickered. A sensation washed over him like cool water, extinguishing the flames and pulling him back into his human form. He looked down at himself, his once-burning body now flesh and bone. His black hair clung to his face, damp with sweat, and his pale, grey eyes reflected the eerie green glow of the distant tower.

"Consider this a reward," the Dark One's voice rumbled, still carrying its dissonant symphony of countless tones. "Your humanity restored—for now. But do not mistake it for a reprieve. The second trial awaits."

Inarius flexed his hands, reveling in the familiarity of his human form. It felt grounding, though the weight of his situation remained as heavy as ever. "What's next?" he asked, his voice resolute.

"The arena," the Dark One replied. "On the outskirts of the city. There, you will face a challenge far greater than the wraiths. Find it. Prove yourself worthy."

Without another word, the voice faded, leaving Inarius alone in the oppressive silence of the ruined streets.

The journey to the arena was grueling. Though his human body gave him a sense of normalcy, it also reminded him of its limitations. His muscles ached from the effort of navigating the labyrinthine streets, and the weight of his sword—now sheathed on his back—felt more pronounced. The green glow of the city seemed to dim as he reached its outskirts, where the ruins gave way to jagged cliffs and blackened sands.

Finally, he found it—a coliseum rising like a grim monument against the dark horizon. Its walls were cracked but intact, and ghostly flames flickered in sconces along the perimeter.

The Dark One's voice echoed in his mind once more. "Inside awaits your second trial. Face it, and claim what is yours."

Inarius entered the arena through a massive iron gate that creaked open as he approached. The interior was as desolate as the city—a wide, circular battlefield of cracked stone and scattered debris. The air buzzed with an unseen energy, heavy and foreboding.

At the far end of the arena, a figure emerged from the shadows. It stood tall and imposing, its armor glinting in the dim light. The skeletal motif of its design sent a chill down Inarius's spine: exposed ribs carved into the chest plate, a leering skull helmet, and jagged spikes adorning its shoulders. A tattered black cape billowed behind it, and in its right hand, it held a wickedly long, pointed sword that seemed to hum with power.

The figure raised its left hand, palm open, as if issuing a silent challenge. Its posture was regal yet menacing, exuding an air of confidence that bordered on arrogance.

The Dark One's voice returned, resonating with grim amusement. "This is the supreme general of this world, God of war, and Crown prince. He was their greatest warrior, their greatest leader—and now, he is your second trial."

Inarius instinctively reached for his sword, unsheathing it with a metallic hiss. The purple flames licked the edges of the blade, casting an eerie light across the battlefield.

The armored figure tilted its head, as though sizing him up, before stepping forward with deliberate precision. Its boots struck the stone with a rhythmic cadence, each step echoing through the empty arena.

"You must defeat him," the Dark One continued. "Take his sin, his power, and make it your own. Only then will you be closer to freedom."

Inarius tightened his grip on his sword, his grey eyes locking onto the glowing slits in the skull-shaped helm of his opponent. He could feel the weight of the challenge ahead, the oppressive aura radiating from the figure before him.

The two stood facing each other in silence, the tension thick enough to cut with a blade.

And then, without warning, the general lunged.