Marvel: Sin Lord

The air crackled with tension as the general lunged, his blade pointed directly at Inarius's chest, aiming for a fatal strike. Inarius's heart pounded, his instincts kicking in as he twisted his body to the side, narrowly avoiding the blow. The blade scraped against the air where he had been, and in a flash, Inarius summoned his fiery purple sword, its flames crackling to life with a low hiss.

The arena blurred as he surged forward, slashing at the general's exposed neck. the general was fast—too fast. He parried the attack with brutal precision, the sound of metal clashing against metal ringing in the air. The force of the block sent vibrations through Inarius's arm, but he didn't falter.

They circled each other, blades flashing in the dim light of the ruined arena. Each strike was met with a deflection, each dodge just inches too late. Inarius could feel the heat in his veins, the rush of adrenaline pushing him forward. But the general was no ordinary opponent. Every attack the general made was like a force of nature, relentless and precise. Every strike carried a weight behind it, the fury of a man who had earned his title as the God of War.

The general struck again, his sword cutting through the air with deadly accuracy. Inarius twisted, narrowly avoiding the blow, but the edge of the blade scraped against his leg. A sharp pain shot through him, and he stumbled back, gritting his teeth.

Blood oozed from the wound, but Inarius's fury only grew. His mind flashed with images of the Hellions—his family—falling at the hands of the Sentinels. The battle, the chaos, the deaths. Every memory fueled his rage, and with it came the raw power of his abilities.

A low growl rumbled from his chest as he dug deeper into his sin powers. His eyes glowed with a fierce light as he reached into the depths of the general soul, trying to claim it, to absorb his sins.

Inarius's mind surged with violent images—the general memories flooding his consciousness. He saw flashes of bloodshed—millions of innocents slaughtered at the general hand, the brutal rapes, the merciless killings, and then the most damning act of all—the general murdering his own brother to ascend to the throne, to claim the crown prince's power for himself.

Inarius recoiled, disgusted beyond measure. The rage within him intensified, growing uncontrollably, as if every bit of the general malevolence was feeding into his own anger. He could feel his sin abilities pushing forward, urging him to take everything—to take it all.

In that moment, Inarius saw everything. the general pain, his twisted desires, and the weight of the sins he had committed. Every atrocity was an open wound in the man's soul. Inarius reached deeper, pulling at the heart of the general darkness.

And then, just as the general's power was about to be absorbed, something sharp and unforgiving cut through Inarius's mind. It was like a chain, a binding force, anchoring him away from the power he sought to claim. He tried to push through it, but the chains held fast.

No! Inarius screamed inwardly, the chains constricting around his mind, stopping him from claiming the general power. He tried to force them away, but they remained steadfast, digging into his consciousness, like invisible shackles that prevented him from fully using his powers.

Inarius's breath came in ragged gasps as he clawed at his face, the overwhelming sensation of being trapped inside his own mind nearly breaking him. His mind was his prison, and he could feel the weight of it now more than ever. The chains wrapped tighter, suffocating his will.

And then, he remembered. He remembered Emma.

Emma. The one who had put these chains in place, locking him in a cage of her control. The thought of her, of the way she had manipulated him, of the false promises, the lies she had fed him—it ignited a storm within him. The rage swelled, consuming everything. His hands clenched into fists, and he screamed, pouring every ounce of his anger and hatred into one final, destructive surge.

I will not be controlled!

With a roar that shook the very foundation of his mind, Inarius's power erupted like a volcano, and with it, the chains broke. The sound was deafening, like the shattering of glass—no, like the collapse of a mountain. The chains splintered into nothingness, dissolving into pure oblivion.

Freed from his mental prison, Inarius's power surged uncontrollably. He could feel every sin, every ounce of darkness inside him, growing stronger with every passing second. His eyes flared, the flames of his sword matching the inferno inside him.

He stood tall, his energy radiating as he turned to face the general, who was now crawling weakly on the stone ground. The general's once-pristine armor was dented and bloodied, his sword lying discarded beside him. The fire that burned in Inarius's eyes was merciless.

With a cruel smile twisting his lips, Inarius walked toward the defeated general, his boots echoing in the silence of the arena. The flames of his sword flickered, casting long shadows across the ground. He grabbed the general by the leg, dragging the once-proud warrior across the arena floor like a ragdoll.

"Do you feel it?" Inarius's voice was low and dangerous, like a predator toying with its prey. "Every single person you hurt, every life you destroyed… you will feel it now."

Inarius shoved the general into the center of the arena, where the ground seemed to pulsate with dark energy. He leaned down, grabbing the general's skull in his hand and forcing him to meet his gaze.

"You don't deserve an honorable death," Inarius hissed. "You'll know what it feels like to be a victim of your own monstrosities."

He pressed his mind against the general, forcing him to relive every single painful moment he had ever caused. the general cries filled the air as Inarius tore into his memories—burning them, shattering them.

"Feel it!" Inarius roared, his voice a thunderclap that echoed through the arena. "Feel every scream, every drop of blood you spilled!"

The general writhed, but Inarius didn't relent. The memories, the pain, the suffering—they all surged into the general mind at once, overwhelming him. And then, with a twist of his wrist, Inarius shattered the general soul. The flames of his sword flickered brightly, consuming the general's very essence, leaving only ash behind.

The arena fell silent, save for the sound of Inarius's labored breathing.

The Dark One's voice rumbled through the air. "Well done, son. You have completed the second trial. But what you've faced here... is nothing compared to what awaits you next."

Inarius stood over the smoldering remains of the general soul, the flames of his sword burning brighter.

"Get ready for the third trial. It awaits you in the citadel. Only there will you find your true challenge."

Inarius's heart thudded in his chest. He was no longer the man he was before—he was something far darker, far more dangerous. The trials had only just begun, and he would face whatever came next with the same relentless fury.