[center][img]http://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/b3RmLjEyOC5lN2ViZTYuUVcxaGNuVERyV0UsLjA,/old-type-personal-use.regular.png[/img]

[color=gray][i][b]Sin, The 7 Sins, The Sinner, Pride, Gluttony, Wrath, Envy, Sloth, Lust, Greed[/b][/i][/color]
5 MP, Level 4[/center]

The stairs before Sin were twisted in a perfect spiral, like a child's slinky toy pulled from each end. Each stair was likely a deep walnut, but with the thick layer of undisturbed dust it was hard to tell. The inner edge was painted antique cream, and when Amartía disturbed the dust layer the paint was quite perfect underneath; no dirt and no flaking or dents. It was as if it was perfect one day and forgotten the next, just like the rest of the world. He let his hand fall on to the grey stone rail, rough in it's ancient charm and placed his weight on the first step. There was no crack or sign of rot, they were as solid as the day they were made. He walked swiftly to the bottom, leaving his footprints behind. The silence was quickly broken by the pounding foot steps of his entourage behind him. 

Four Victors followed him on command, curious as to why thier master called to them, and where they were going, each holding a item of interest. They themselves were affected by the Sinosphere, worst of all in some cases. Battles of old replayed over and over in thier minds, the mere thought of men screaming in pain clutching their grievous wounds as bow twangs sent snakes of deaths into the never ending army. Often, they would play out thier desires, slaughtering anyone who attempted to enter Cipher without Sins' permission, giving them slow, painful deaths. The effects could also be visibly seen, there white knuckles grips and ragged breaths evidence of thier self control under Sin' company. The urge to snarl, bite, slice and dice flesh plagued them, but it was a down hill battle, especially in the presence of what lay before them.

Bellow the stairs was a huge chamber, the walls - half naked rock, half smooth stone, a hollow cube of minerals, one way in, and deep underground. In there, on could have no idea how much time had passed or even if it was night or day. It was totally disorientating by design. Given enough time a mortal could forget their own name in there. The isolation in such a large sanctum was total and the stimulation was zero. No sound, no light, no furniture or cloth of any kind. 

Not that it mattered though, its only inhabitant lay lifeless on the the cold monolith. It was a woman. Her auburn hair was scattered in multiple places, stained with dried blood; crimson. Her emerald green eyes were wide open, but her jade irises held a sudden sadness. Her clothes, a lime green tunic and some black capers, were bloody. Her body was laid spread eagle.

At that moment, the Victors didn't know how to feel, secretly glad that thier emotions were hidden by thier wraps. Amartía on the other hand, grinned from ear to ear. [color=Crimson]"Beautiful!"[/color] he proclaimed, starting towards the body. The Victors, growing confused, followed Sin, thier hearts pounding in unison with the sudden ethereal beat. With each thump, they could feel thier locked fury fighting to break out, clawing its way out of thier throats.

Sin was silent despite the Victors discomfort, it was to be expected, planned even, he even chuckled at their burning desire to kill; it was what they were made to do. Amartía kneeled to caress the unusually warm forehead of the woman, his eyes full of pride. [color=Crimson]"I find you so much more alluring like this She'ma."[/color] he whispered, knowing full well she could not hear him. 

He motioned for a Victor, who quickly stepped forward and offered him a knife, which he wordlessly took. He advanced slowly, the knife in his hand trembling slightly, pointing towards his Sin Heart. The knife met flesh, soft and pudgy, and made a satisfying squish as the tip of the blade sank deep enough to make his victim blanch. He twisted the blade in His hands, all the while sinking it deeper and deeper. Her skin was tearing to shreds as the knife rotated, the sound of her muscles and nerves being gouged growing louder. Then, without warning, Sin jerked it all the way into her back, until the shiny metal had disappeared inside her and the black handle was pushing against her broken skin. He smirked, and pulled the blade out as thick blood flowed freely from the gaping hole in her thigh. The cascade of the girl's life source gushed out in all directions, rainbow colored liquid squirting up all over his silken robe. The sweet tang of blood tingled in his nostrils, and sent the Victors into a frenzy, but they remained in thier place.

Blood oozed down the blade in thick droplets as Amartía motioned for another Victor. A cup of bronze was handed to him, and like taking water from a well, a filled the cup with the abnormal liquid. Unrefined sin bubbled within the blood, active and unchecked. Sin held up the liquid as if he was a scientist observing a test tube. [color=Crimson]"An unexpected byproduct of perfection."[/color] he mused. He tuned to the Victors who squirmed and twitched, also a byproduct of his power. He could feel the Wrath that boiled in thier hearts, the urge to kill rolling off thier skin. 

Flashbacks to his most recent fight with Keriss quickly began to resurface. He remembered the rage he felt, the boiling of the cobblestone under his feet, the bubbling of his skin. Abruptly, the gears inside his mind began to turn and whir, a maniacal smile growing on his face with each idea solidifying. [color=Crimson]"Maybe I'll play with Wrath a little bit more today."[/color] he cackled, red mist drifting from the surface of his skin and into the cup. Amartía searched through the cup, absorbing its unwanted qualities; Pride, Sloth, Gluttony, Lust, Greed and Envy, leaving behind Wrath. The thick liquid quickly changed color from motley to cadmium red. To add a little extra strength to the concoction, he flooded the liquid with untamed rage; causing the liquid to boil and froth within the cup, its contents refined pure, Wrath made physical. 

Sin nodded in approval of his creation, holding it up for the Victors to see. [color=Crimson]"Which one of you is brave enough to drink?"[/color] For a few moment, none moved, frozen with the fear of the unknown. Just as Amartía was about to give up and force it down thier throats, one stepped forward, the first. Sin licked his lips. [color=Crimson]"What is your name?"[/color] The Victor quickly answered, [b]"Asmod."[/b] Amartía grinned, [color=Crimson]"Asmod,[/color] he handed the cup towards the Victor. [color=Crimson]drink."[/color] 

Exuding the very pride that picked him for, the young warrior bravely took the warm cup, unwrapped his mask, and downed it without without hesitation. The moment the liquid his his tongue, he screamed, dropping to the floor and spilling what little remained in the cup. His throat scorched as the liquid entered his stomach and then absorbed into his body. He screamed desperately for mercy, but the blaze within his innards swallowed his voice and engulfed his body. He was in too much pain to think properly as he convulsed. His body began to warp and grow, his muscles filling with energy, his core filling with power. His body only understood rage, his blood boiled with fury as he was made wrath real. Bubbles and boils formed on his body, popping and reveling red skin underneath. Just as his mind yielded to the fury, one tracking as to kill or be killed, so did his body, which adapted to his unquenchable primal rage. Skin melted off his body, and what remained underneath hardened and thickened, teeth and nails sharpened to a long and nasty points; his jaw seemingly unhinged and dropped, molten-like liquid leaking from his mouth; muscle and bone warped and grew on his shoulders, bulging and withering and without warning, whole arms broke from the skin, red liquid pouring from thier newly formed and broken skin; horns sprouted out of his forehead, curving upwards into the air. 

Just as quickly was it began, it all ended. Asmod stilled, and only his rasping breath gave evidence to his still living. Minutes passed, and no one moved, even Sin seemed to be confused. Just as a Victor stepped forward to voice his concern, Asmod rose to his feet, his crimson eyes wide and unblinking, his new hulking height on display. What stood before them now was no longer human, his very essence brutality, anger distilled into a single, towering form of sinew. His skin was now a deep red similar to that of encrusted blood. 

Amartía gazed down at the Victors whitened hair and burning red eyes, and his chest swelled with pride.

[color=Crimson]"Truly magnificent!"[/color] Sin murmured to himself.

Asmod himself could not describe the power, the entity that ran through him.  He was consumed by an increasingly uncontrollable feeling of bloodlust, anger, and wrath that could only be sated for a few moments by taking a life. Even as he stood, the urge to rip apart and consume the flesh and blood of his own brothers nipped at him.

Sin smiled, his creation perfect in his eyes. [color=Crimson]"You have achieved the height of perfection Asmod, you, and soon many other ."[/color] he praised. Sin motioned for the other three Victors. [color=Crimson]"Call to the rest of your brothers and sisters, gather them in my courtyard."[/color] he commanded. The Victors, shaken by the ordeal, scurried up the steps. Amartía simply shook head, they too, would soon feel the true pleasures of sin.

[center]***[/center]

Underneath the massive shadow of the Cipher, Amartía stood before his congregation of Victors, three-hundred in number. In one hand, that they held weapons of war; swords, spears and knives, weapons they seemingly were born with; in the other, cups of bronze. As was thier custom, silk wraps hid thier face and thick silk robs covered thier bodies; a custom that he planned on changing.

Behind them, sat twenty square acres of the entrancing if formalized beauty of Sin's courtyard, crossed by pathways so convenient that they might have been purposefully designed to lead to the centre of power, his palace. Trees surrounded the pyramid like great armies defending their citadel, thier branches protruding like vines up towards the sky, like a paintbrush. All a product of his creative talent and a testament to his greatness. 

Next to Amartía sat his ultimate concoction. In a basin, as tall as his torso, as wide as his height, and made of bronze sat a menacing red liquid. It boiled and popped angrily, paying tribute to his imagination and power. Sin turned to look over the crowd one last time, taking what ever features he could gather from them, as this would be the last time they would ever be imperfect. He would give them the gift of perfection. 

[color=Crimson]"Do you know why you are here, my children?"[/color] 

They did not answer; only stared at the demi-god standing in front of them. As was to be expected.

[color=Crimson]"Do you hate me your keeping you from the field of battle?"[/color] 

Still they did not answer. 

[color=Crimson]"You are here because you have a purpose. A purpose that myself and Fate have carefully crafted. Your purpose is to grow strong enough to kill in my name, and bring the world to its knees."[/color] 

Suddenly, the atmosphere transformed, becoming one of pure elation, the warm summer air punctuated by whoops and hollers. Sin smiled slyly, despite thier loyalty, catering to thier true desire only served to solidify thier reverence.   

Amartía made a grand gesture. [color=Crimson][b]"I will bring you closer to fulfilling that purpose! I will bring you closer to perfection, cleansing you of the vomitous countenance that the gods of cursed you with!"[/b][/color]

Sin's speech boomed over the crowd, strident and timbre, a cacophony of applause and cheering, whooping, hollering, clapping, palpable excitement buzzing through the charged air, proof of the spontaneous outpouring of emotion.

[color=Crimson][b]"Come my sons and daughters, drink from my blood! Slough of your old personalities, and submit yourself to your carnal desire! Accept the power I put into your hands!"[/b][/color] he bellowed. 

The crowd moved like a multi-headed beast that shared only one brain. Their thoughts were in lock-step as much as their feet. Dozens of cups dipped themselves into his basin, immediately taking the blood into thier mouths. Within moments, howls and whoops of excitement devolved into screams. It echoed through the terraced houses making the origin hard to pin-point. The first cries were undoubtedly terror, but not the shrill cries of a theatre, the cries of one with eyes locked wide and every muscle rigid. The next were of pain, garbling and pitiful. Blood drenched the courtyard as the withering mass of mortals transformed. 

Amartía smiled. [color=Crimson]"Welcome, my little sinlings, my Dagon. It is time to spread this perfection to the rest of our family."[/color]

Ear splitting screams, was his only response.

[hider=Summarino/Might]
-After Keriss leaves, Sin call for four Victors to enter the basement where She'ma's body, the Sin Heart is being held.

-Amartía, curious about the condition of his Sin Heart, stabs her thigh mercilessly, and siphons sin soaked blood. 

-He muses on the Wrath displayed by the Victors as a whole, and has an idea. He refines the sin gumbo and singles out Rage. (1 Might to strengthen, refine and concentrate the Wrath. Might in Chaos(Wrath) is invested.)

-He offers the Victors a drink, and after a few agonizing minutes, a young Victor named Asmod ingests the concentrated sin.
 
-Asmod undergoes a nasty transformation, his body and mind warping. (2 might used to transform the body of mortals and utilize primal wrath and gives them some extra aesthetics.) (Might in Chaos(Wrath) ia invested.)

-Sin likes what he sees and commands the rest of the Victors to be gathered to undergo the same fate.

-All 300 are gathered and after a moving speech, all ingest the concentrated Wrath and are transformed, and now calls his Victors, Dagon.
[/hider]