Marvel: Sin Lord

The man lunged at Inarius, his blue flaming sword cutting through the dim air of the sewer like a streak of lightning. Inarius ducked low, the blade slicing just above his head, and spun to the side, his body reacting faster than his thoughts.

The fight began in a blur. The man was relentless, swinging the glowing weapon with deadly precision, but Inarius moved like water, flowing out of reach with each strike. Memories of the animals he had absorbed flooded his instincts—sharp turns, quick dodges, and an awareness of movement that bordered on premonition.

As the man swung again, Inarius twisted, delivering a powerful punch to his ribs. The impact echoed through the tunnel, and the man staggered back, surprised. Inarius grinned, realizing that despite the glowing weapon, he was faster. Stronger.

The memories of countless lives coursed through him, guiding him like a symphony. He could sense the rhythm of the man's attacks, the subtle shifts in his stance that betrayed his next move. Inarius dodged another strike, then countered with a swift kick to the man's side.

The man stumbled, his sword wavering.

"You're not as tough as you think," Inarius said, confidence dripping from his voice.

But that confidence proved to be his downfall. Inarius saw an opening and went for a high kick, aiming for the man's head. In an instant, the man's hand shot out, grabbing his leg mid-air. Before Inarius could react, he was lifted off the ground and slammed into the tunnel wall with bone-crushing force.

Pain exploded through his body as he crumpled to the ground. The back of his head throbbed, warm blood trickling down his neck. His left arm hung limply at his side, broken and useless.

The world blurred as he lay there, gasping for breath, his own blood pooling beneath him. The man approached slowly, his boots splashing in the shallow water.

"You're just a child," the man sneered, towering over him. He unsummoned the blue sword, the flames disappearing into his hand, and reached into his coat to pull out a small, jagged dagger.

"I had high hopes for you," the man continued, crouching down beside Inarius. "But now... you're just another failure. And failures must be punished."

He twirled the dagger between his fingers, the blade catching the faint light of the tunnel. "I'll make this slow. Painful. You'll wish you'd taken my offer."

As the man reached for him, something inside Inarius snapped. It wasn't fear or anger—it was something deeper, something primal. He felt the man's presence, not just his physical body but the weight of his sins. It was overwhelming, a suffocating wave of cruelty and bloodshed that made Inarius's stomach churn.

"No," he whispered, his voice weak but steady.

The man paused, raising an eyebrow. "What was that?"

"No," Inarius said again, louder this time. He lifted his unbroken hand, his fingers trembling, and reached out toward the man.

A surge of energy erupted from within him, a deep, resonating force that he had never felt before. Purple light flared around his hand, bright and vivid, as if it had been waiting for this moment to emerge.

The man froze, his smug expression shifting to one of fear. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, the energy engulfed him.

Inarius felt it all—the man's memories, his thoughts, his sins. The horrors of countless murders, the screams of children, the cold satisfaction he had taken in every life he had ended. It was sickening, a flood of darkness that threatened to drown Inarius, but he held on, letting the power flow through him.

The man's body disintegrated into the purple light, his screams echoing through the tunnel before fading into silence.

As the last of the energy seeped into him, Inarius's injuries began to heal. The pain in his head and arm vanished, replaced by a strange warmth. He sat up slowly, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and looked at his hands.

He felt different. Stronger. Changed.

When he clenched his right hand, the same purple light flared to life once more. This time, it shaped itself into a weapon—a glowing, ethereal sword that radiated raw energy.

The blade was sleek and sharp, its edges shimmering with a flame-like aura that seemed alive. It wasn't like the man's sword, cold and blue. This one was vibrant, almost alive, its purple glow casting strange patterns on the tunnel walls. The hilt felt weightless yet solid in his grasp, as if it were an extension of his own being.

Inarius stared at the weapon, his heart pounding. He had taken more than the man's memories—he had taken his power.

The realization hit him like a tidal wave. He could absorb not just the lives and sins of others but their abilities as well. The weight of it was staggering, but alongside it came a flicker of determination.

The man's final expression flashed in his mind—the look of pure, unadulterated fear as he realized he was going to lose. Inarius hadn't just survived. He had won.

He stood, his legs shaky but steadying with each passing second. The sword in his hand flickered for a moment before vanishing into nothingness, leaving him alone in the quiet of the tunnel.

Inarius looked down at the spot where the man had stood, his resolve hardening.

Whatever he had become, whatever this power meant, he wasn't going to run from it. Not anymore.