[PROLOGUE]: Since the beginning of the world, God created man in His image; you might say he was a mirror of God, and his name was Adam. But as Adam walked the earth, he felt a hollow longing for a companion. He looked upon the world and saw that God had made every creature in pairs—two by two—yet He had created only him. In that singular solitude, the mirror began to crack. The desire for a companion, once pure, began to distort within his hollow chest. From the shadows of his loneliness, the Sins were born: Pride, Sloth, Gluttony, Envy, Wrath, and Lust. These were not just feelings; they were a rot that began to corrupt the heart of Adam, a curse that would not end with him. This darkness was destined to bleed down through his descendants, eventually twisting the very shape of humanity into something unrecognizable turning some into the horrific creatures known only as "The Sin".
THE BEGINNING
The church was quiet, heavy with the weight of old stone and flickering candlelight. Children filled the pews, sitting close together. Their eyes were fixed on the pope at the altar, who read from his worn Bible.
"And from Adam's fracture," he said, "were born the Six: Pride, Sloth, Gluttony, Envy, Wrath, and Lust. These SINS were not thoughts, but wounds that bled into the blood of man."
A boy rose from his seat. His boots scraped against the stone floor. Heads turned. Whispers ran through the pews.
The pope looked up. "Yes, child?" he asked.
Calvin's eyes were steady. "If Adam was made in God's image, and he still became corrupted… Why didn't God heal him? Why allow the Sins to be born at all?"
The pope hesitated, unsure what to say. "God's will perhaps it is not for us to understand
Then a huge explosion erupted beside the church.
The force tore through the stone walls, throwing the children from their seats. Bodies slammed into pews and pillars as screams filled the air. Dust, fire, and shattered stone swallowed the sanctuary.
From the rolling smoke of the explosion, a hand emerged.
It was skeletal and wrong—stretched too thin, as if it had forgotten how to be human. The fingers were long and sharp-boned, wrapped in strips of flesh that clung like spoiled cloth, gray and blackened, peeling at the edges. It reached blindly, trembling, grasping at nothing but ash and heat.
The air around it stank of burned metal and rot. Each movement pulled wet sounds from ruined skin, as though the hand itself was screaming without a mouth. Behind it, still swallowed by smoke and fire, its owner screamed—raw, desperate, and animal. A voice shredded by pain and panic, begging for help that might never come.
The hand kept reaching towards the being who dared to question God's will.
Calvin's ears rang. He couldn't hear the screaming clearly anymore—only a dull, crushing roar, like the world had sunk underwater. Dust burned his eyes. His chest hurt when he tried to breathe.
Through the smoke, he saw the hand.
It was reaching. Searching. Coming closer.
Calvin tried to move, but his body would not listen. His legs felt numb, his arms heavy like stone. The hand twitched, fingers stretching, scraping against broken stone as it pulled itself forward.
Then someone appeared.
Calvin did not recognize him.
A tall figure stepped through the smoke, outlined by firelight. Steel caught the light in his hands. The man moved fast—too fast. There was no hesitation, no fear in his posture.
The blade came down.
The hand was cut clean off.
Blackened flesh split. Something dark spilled onto the ground. The hand dropped and twitched once before lying still.
The creature screamed.
The sound ripped through Calvin's head, sharp and painful. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the noise followed him, echoing inside his skull. The heat, the smoke, the smell of rot and fire—it was too much.
The last thing Calvin saw was the stranger standing between him and the smoke, sword still raised.
Then everything went dark.