Marvel: Sin Lord

Inarius Morningstar was ten years old, but he looked nothing like most boys his age. His hair was long and black, reaching down to his hips, unkempt and wild. His clothes hung off his frame, far too large for his thin, wiry body. He was malnourished, his ribs visible beneath his shirt, but there was a strength in him now—a strength he had worked for in secret over the past two years.

Since the night the rat was consumed in that strange, purple light, Inarius had discovered that his power was far more than just a trick. It was terrifying and fascinating, and in his broken, lonely world, it became his only source of control. He had experimented relentlessly, starting with the rats that scurried around their apartment, then moving on to stray dogs and cats he found in the alleys around the outskirts of the city.

He learned something new each time. When he absorbed a creature, it wasn't just their memories that became his—it was a piece of their strength, a fragment of their speed. It was small, only about 5 percent of what they had, but as he absorbed more and more, the changes in him began to add up.

By the time he turned ten, Inarius could lift more than most grown men. His speed rivaled that of athletes he saw on the cracked television screen in the corner of their apartment. But he kept it all hidden. He moved with the same timid quiet he always had, keeping his head down, never drawing attention to himself. The streets of the city had become his playground, though. He knew every alley, every shortcut, every corner. The memories of the creatures he absorbed had mapped the city in his mind like a living, breathing thing.

He didn't feel pride in what he had become, though. If anything, he felt... hollow. Every time he absorbed a creature, he felt their life, their fear, their sins. It was like carrying pieces of them inside him, fragments that never truly went away. It made him wonder what kind of person he was becoming. But the power it gave him was undeniable, and in a life where he had been powerless for so long, it was impossible to resist.

One night, as Inarius sat cross-legged on the floor of his room, the door creaked open. He looked up to see his mother standing in the doorway, swaying slightly. She was drunk again, her makeup smeared, her eyes bloodshot. "Someone's here for you," she slurred, her words barely audible.

"What?" Inarius asked, his voice wary.

She stepped aside, and a man entered the room. He was tall, with a thick build and a leering smile that made Inarius's skin crawl. His clothes were rumpled, and his breath reeked of alcohol.

"This the kid?" the man asked, glancing back at his mother.

"That's him," she said, her tone flat. "Hundred bucks, like you said."

Inarius felt his stomach drop. "What are you talking about?" he asked, his voice trembling.

The man chuckled, stepping closer. "Don't play dumb, kid. Your mom says you're a quiet one. This'll be easy."

Panic surged through Inarius as he backed away, his heart pounding in his chest. He looked at his mother, hoping—praying—that this was some kind of sick joke. But she just stood there, leaning against the doorframe, her eyes glazed over and indifferent.

"Mom," he said, his voice breaking. "What are you doing?"

"Just shut up and do what you're told," she muttered. "I need the money."

The man reached for him, and something inside Inarius snapped. It wasn't fear this time. It was rage—pure, unfiltered rage. The purple light exploded from him before he even realized what he was doing, engulfing the man in an instant.

The man screamed, but it was cut short as his body convulsed and disintegrated into nothingness. Inarius felt the memories flood into him all at once—flashes of violence, cruelty, and unspeakable acts. The man was a monster. He had hurt others, children like Inarius. He had killed before.

The weight of the man's sins crushed down on him, making him feel like he couldn't breathe. He stumbled back, his hands trembling as the light faded. For a moment, the room was silent except for his ragged breathing. Then he turned to look at his mother.

Her face was a mixture of shock and horror, but it quickly twisted into anger. "What the hell did you just do?" she shouted, stepping toward him.

Inarius stared at her, the memories of the man still swirling in his mind. "You let him in here," he said, his voice cold and flat. "You were going to let him—" His voice broke, and he couldn't finish the sentence.

"I needed the money!" she snapped, as if that justified everything. "Do you think it's easy keeping a roof over our heads? You think I like living like this? You're just as worthless as your father was!"

The words hit him like a slap, but this time, they didn't hurt. They didn't matter. He wasn't scared of her anymore.

Something inside him shifted, a cold, dark certainty settling over him. Without thinking, without hesitating, he raised his hand, and the purple light erupted again.

"No! Wait—" she started to say, but it was too late.

The light consumed her, and he felt her memories pour into him—the drugs, the desperation, the bitterness, the hatred. But there was something else, too. There were moments, fleeting and buried, of love. The way she had held him as a baby, the nights she had cried herself to sleep clutching his father's picture. But those moments were drowned out by everything else—the cruelty, the selfishness, the sins.

When the light faded, the room was silent again. Inarius stood there, his hands still glowing faintly, his chest heaving. He felt sick. Not from the memories, though they were horrible, but from the realization of what he had done.

He looked down at the empty space where his mother had stood, then at his hands. The power that had once felt like a gift now felt like a curse.

In the silence, he whispered to himself, "What am I?"

He didn't have an answer. All he knew was that he was alone now—truly alone. And for the first time in his life, he felt free.

But freedom, he realized, came at a price. And he wasn't sure he was ready to pay it.