Manor Of Sin 6

The dust settled, revealing a battlefield scarred by destruction. The silence hung heavy, an unspoken declaration of victory. But just as relief threatened to take root, the rubble shifted.

A low, guttural groan echoed across the ruined landscape. Stones tumbled aside as a figure emerged—a man barely standing, his body a testament to the battle's brutality. Duke Erisia's shirt was in tatters, his body riddled with wounds, yet his eyes burned with unyielding defiance.

"You fools," he spat, staggering forward. "You have no idea what you're doing."

His voice carried something beyond fury—desperation. His breaths were ragged, his body swaying as he fought to keep himself upright. He clenched his fists, his knuckles white, as he glared at his adversaries.

"If he finds me," the Duke seethed, "I am dead. But more than that, the Forge of Sin will fall into hands far worse than mine." He took another step forward, the weight of his words heavier than the injuries he bore. "If he gets his hands on it... there will be nothing to stop the Great Drowning."

Silence. The statement hung in the air like a curse.

"I will not be defeated here." His voice rose into a raw, anguished roar, a refusal to surrender.

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Celtor, years ago—a city of splendor, one of the richest nations in Lumen. Among its shining streets and towering buildings, a young boy named Ishamon wandered through a bustling artifact shop, his eyes glinting with admiration.

"Look at this one!" Ishamon's voice rang with excitement as he pointed to a small golden compass, its glass shimmering with an ethereal glow. "This must be a high-grade artifact!"

"That one?" The shopkeeper chuckled. "Not quite. It's just a simple navigation tool, boy."

Ishamon scowled, crossing his arms. "Hmph. You just don't recognize its true value. I bet this thing can lead me to hidden treasures across the world!"

A soft giggle interrupted his musings. A girl with short silver hair and bright green eyes stepped forward, holding a small blue pendant. "You're always making things sound grander than they are, Ishamon."

Ishamon turned, smirking. "And you never dream big enough, Iza."

The girl, Iza, placed the pendant on the counter. "I'll take this one."

Ishamon blinked. "Wait, you have money?"

Iza grinned, tossing a small pouch onto the counter. "Unlike you, I actually saved up."

The shopkeeper chuckled as he accepted her payment, handing her the pendant. Iza turned, grabbing Ishamon's wrist. "Come on, let's go to the hills."

They left the shop, stepping through the sunlit streets of Celtor. The city stretched out before them, white stone roads gleaming under the light of the twin suns. Merchants called out from their stalls, the scent of roasted meats and sweet spices filling the air.

The two eventually reached the hills overlooking the city. The grass swayed with the gentle wind as they lay down, gazing at the vast sky above.

Ishamon rested his arms behind his head. "One day, I'll explore the world. Discover lost ruins, uncover the secrets of Lumen. Maybe even become a hero like the Celestial Rudra."

Iza laughed softly. "A hero, huh? You, the great Ishamon, savior of the world?"

"Of course." He turned his head towards her. "You think I can't do it?"

She shook her head. "No, I think you can. And I'll be right there with you."

Silence settled between them, the warmth of the sun wrapping around them. Then, footsteps approached. Ishamon sat up as a group of soldiers strode up the hill.

"You two again?" One of them, a broad-shouldered man with a graying beard, chuckled. "Always up here watching the skies."

Ishamon grinned. "Well, someone has to keep an eye on things. What if an enemy attacks from above?"

The soldiers laughed. Another handed them each a small flask. "Here. Juice from the southern vineyards. Drink up."

Iza smiled, taking a sip. "Thanks!"

As the group settled in, one soldier spoke, his voice tinged with curiosity. "Did you hear? The Third Emperor of Etrea is supposed to visit Celtor soon. Trade agreements, peace talks. Big things for our nation."

Ishamon tilted his head. "What does that mean?"

The soldier ruffled his hair. "Grown-up stuff."

Ishamon pouted, but Iza nudged him. "Tell us a story, then! About Rudra!"

The soldiers exchanged glances before one of them smiled. "Alright, listen well. The Celestial Rudra was Luminous' right hand, a guide for mortals. He watched over the world, bringing peace to those in need—"

"Then that's what I'll do." Ishamon's voice cut through the air, his eyes gleaming with determination. "I'll be like Rudra. I'll protect this world."

Iza giggled. "Then I guess I'll have to follow you to the end."

The night came with a quake. The walls of the Grand Ruler's palace shook as a dark cloud loomed over Celtor.

Ishamon's father, Grand Ruler Vectaris, rushed to the window, his face grim. "It's them. The Ministry."

The city below was chaos. Shadows slithered through the streets, and flames erupted as Ministry soldiers cut down everyone in sight. Baitenkaos darted through the air, laughter ringing as he snatched up screaming children, his voice mocking. "They taste so much better when they're young!"

Ishamon only had one thought—Iza.

"Father! I have to find her!"

"Stay here!" Vectaris ordered, rallying his troops. "We fight back!"

Then, the shadows deepened, and a figure stepped into the palace.

His presence suffocated the room, his blood-red eyes swirling with unnatural rings. His voice, devoid of warmth, asked one simple question. "Where is it?"

Vectaris faced him, sword drawn. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The figure tilted his head, almost amused. "The Forge of Sin. Where is it?"

"I'd rather die."

A flick of the figure's wrist. Vectaris' limbs fell, severed in an instant. The ruler collapsed, blood pooling beneath him.

"You should've chosen differently."

Ishamon stood frozen as the figure turned his gaze upon him. "What about you, little Celtor? Do you know?"

Terror locked Ishamon's tongue. The figure grinned and turned to his mother. He gripped her neck, his voice light, almost playful. "Every five seconds you don't answer, she loses a finger."

The screams began.

Ishamon ran.

He found Iza in a burning building, the five soldiers from before shielding her. "We have to go!"

"Take her and run!" the soldiers ordered. "We'll handle him."

Iza hesitated. "Ishamon—"

"We don't have time!" He pulled her, and they ran, his father's screams still echoing in his mind.

They reached the docks, a small rowboat their only chance. Then he appeared.

The figure looked between them, smiling. "One of you dies. The other may leave."

Ishamon shook his head. "No—"

Iza stepped forward. "I'll stay."

"Don't! Please!"

She smiled. "You'll live for me, won't you?"

A gust of wind pushed the boat away. Ishamon screamed as the last thing he saw was Iza's head falling to the ground.

For days, he wept, as Celtor sank beneath the waves.

The small boat drifted toward a quiet shore, Ishamon slumped inside, his body weary from days at sea. The waves whispered against the sand as he stepped out, his legs trembling.

A voice called out. "You alright there, traveler?"

He turned to see a fisherman watching him warily.

Ishamon swallowed before nodding. "Where am I?"

"Erisia," the man said, shouldering his net. "You look like hell."

"I've been lost at sea." It wasn't entirely a lie.

The fisherman studied him before sighing. "Come on. We don't turn away strays here."

And just like that, Ishamon found himself among people again. The village of Erisia was nothing like Celtor—it was small, quiet, a place where people worked hard but found joy in simplicity.

Days passed. He worked alongside them, his hands growing calloused from fishing and lifting crates. The people accepted him, offering smiles and meals, asking nothing in return.

One evening, as he sat by the docks, an elderly woman approached him. "You never speak of where you come from."

Ishamon looked at the water. "There's nothing to speak of."

She hummed. "Pain lingers in your eyes, boy. But here, you don't have to carry it alone."

For the first time in years, Ishamon felt a warmth he thought long gone. Perhaps, in Erisia, he could start anew.

But fate was cruel.

Deep underground, in the ruins beneath the island, he found it—an artifact unlike any other. A small orb, swirling with infernal fire.

His fingers brushed against it.

Laughter echoed.

A figure emerged in the dark. "Still haunted by your past, little Celtor?"

Ishamon recoiled, but the figure multiplied—more and more of them, surrounding him, whispering his failures.

"No—this isn't real."

He fought, struck at them in a blind rage. His vision blurred.

And when it cleared—

Bodies. Scattered like broken dolls. The people of Erisia—his friends, the ones who had given him shelter—now lifeless at his feet.

A single tear fell down his cheek.

Then, a voice, smooth and chilling.

"You are not a suitable vessel," it murmured, "but your sins will sustain me."

Ishamon raised his head, staring into the abyss, his grief twisting into something unrecognizable. The figure before him grinned.

"I can give you what you desire most."

Something inside him cracked.

And Ishamon, Duke of Erisia, smiled back.

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Back in the ruins of the battlefield, Duke Erisia stood tall, his ether surging.

"I cannot lose to you mongrels!"

He created a handsign with his remaining hand —ether crackling, the air distorting. A chime echoed, sending shivers through the air.

Ubel's eyes widened. "No… it can't be—"

"Deep Chime: Fortress of Sin!"