Chapter 8 - seven sins and a sinner
The sky above Hell burned like blood — deep crimson waves rippling across every estate(basically the sky red because they are in one of wrath estate territory in different place it could be different colored sky by the different sin dominating it), each hue echoing the nature of its ruler's sin. Mary led Armin, the Orphan Maker, out into the burning horizon.
He hadn't spoken until now. Finally, after her gentle questioning, he revealed his name.
Mary nodded, watching the red glow flicker across his sharp features. "Armin…" she said softly. "Show me why you became… this."
He exhaled, and the world shifted into memory.
Long ago, he had a nephew — Mikey. A boy with a fragile heart, a heart so weak that even his grandmother's prayers seemed barely enough to sustain him. Every day, he would stare out his window, whispering to the sky:
"God… please don't let me die. Mom and Grandma would be so sad… God, aren't you supposed to help orphans? I am an orphan… answer me."
Armin's eyes darkened. Mary leaned in, voice gentle. "Where were you in that story?"
"That same day," he murmured, "I was at home, convincing my wife to sell my brother's car — Mikey's father — so we could pay for his surgery." He paused, letting the memory carve itself into the night. "We managed. The money was ready, bundled tight. I even called a coworker to help. For a moment, we believed Mikey would be saved."
Three days of travel had left him starving. At a gas station, he stepped out to buy a small meal, his coworker retreating to the restroom. They left the car unlocked, unaware of the silent watcher lurking in the shadows.
The thief struck in the instant they were gone. By the time Armin and his coworker realized, the money had vanished into the night — into water. They chased him, frantic, but he disappeared.
Hours later, hollow and defeated, they returned home. They didn't tell anyone. Mikey's frail heart could not endure such a truth.
Armin sat by his nephew's side, forcing a smile. "Mike… let's brawl, like we used to." But the boy remained asleep, too tired to stir.
They placed the bag of lost money aside, desperate, but the week passed. The doctors never started the surgery — they waited for funds that would never arrive. Mikey died. Buried. Gone.
Armin fell to the ground, grief gnawing at him. And yet… a smile twisted across his face, dark and hollow. He grabbed a knife, pressed it to his chest, and carved Mikey's name into his skin, crimson droplets falling to the floor.
"Time," he whispered through blood and tears, "for God to answer more orphans."
From that day, he began his path. He broke into homes, killing parents indiscriminately, leaving only one of the parents (either mom or the dad he only kill one)and the child alive — a reminder, a warning, and a promise to the world.
One night, while carrying out another grim task, a child cursed him. Armin paused, blade in hand. He smirked, eyes cold as stone.
"Pray to your God," he said softly. "I heard He answers orphans."
And the world whispered in shadows, as Armin's laughter echoed through the alleys of sin.
The sky of wrath burned overhead, mirrored by the darkness in Armin's heart. The Orphan Maker had been born, not from evil alone, but from grief, desperation, and the bitter injustice of the world.
Mary watched him, understanding that some sins are born from love, twisted beyond repair. And for Armin, every step forward was a dance between vengeance and sorrow, a promise carved in blood and fire
In marmon pov was sooo different
Marmon's lab hummed with a quiet intensity, tubes glowing faintly, shadows dancing across cracked walls. Curiosity had always been his weakness — the need to know, to understand, to see what others could not. Tonight, it threatened to consume him.
He stared at the empty space before him, trying to force the hidden knowledge of the Boogyman into manifestation. He had pieces, fragments, whispers of the entity's mind, but nothing complete.
"If I can map the threads…" he muttered, "connect what I know to what I don't…"
Hours passed, and nothing emerged. His frustration boiled into desperation. He knew what he needed: fear.
A cold blue dagger appeared in his hand — angelic in form, delicate yet sharp enough to pierce the soul itself. Without hesitation, he slashed across his palm.
Time froze.
Marmon felt himself pulled into a void — a space where reality itself dissolved, replaced by an endless nothingness. He was inside the mind of the Boogyman, the dimension of terror: a place where the demon realm, the underworld, and every dark corner of existence were merely fragments of a greater whole.
He walked through the nothing, reading history like pages of a cursed book.
The first eras: Erebus and Nyx ruled the darkness, their shadows dominating all that existed. Then the first light emerged — Aether — born as a counterforce. But even before that, the awareness of darkness had taken form: the Boogyman himself. The two clashed, the first war between primordials erupting across reality, giving birth to Heaven, Hell, sins, and the archangels.
Marmon's fascination surged. He already knew the legend of Lucifer — once an angel, targeted by the first sin. But as he observed, it became clear: Lucifer had not been meant to rebel. The Boogyman had planted the first sin within Heaven's ranks through him. That explained the war records: only six sins were counted among the archangels, yet Lucifer's name was absent.
A cold dread coiled around Marmon's chest. He froze.
Darkness shifted. The air itself thickened, the void contracting. From the black fog, an aura of primordial fear approached. Marmon's heartbeat faltered. He knew instinctively: this was the Boogyman.
A voice, deep and impossibly old, imposed itself over existence.
"Ever heard of curiosity killing the cat, Marmon?"
Marmon forced a smirk, though his body trembled. "And yet… you won't kill me. We are bonded."
The entity said nothing. Then, as if weighing a question, it murmured:
"True… but Marmon, tell me — what if I do?"
Before him, a manifestation of unspeakable horror took form. The Morningstar: a cosmic terror so vast that even Lucifer drew his power from it. Shadows coiled around its form, and light itself seemed to cower.
"I will unleash him upon the demon realm," the Boogyman whispered. "Show me… how you would use my knowledge to defeat it."
The void convulsed. Marmon felt himself ripped away, a violent force dragging him through the layers of nothingness. In the blink of an eye, he was back in his lab — the glow of his instruments faint, the air heavy with the residue of cosmic terror.
He gasped, trembling, knowing one thing with certainty: the Boogyman's knowledge was not just power. It was a test. And the Morningstar was only the beginning.
Marmon's obsession deepened. The line between curiosity and madness blurred. And somewhere, in the infinite dark, the Boogyman waited — patient, knowing, and impossibly ancient.
Marmon whispered to himself, a mix of fear and awe: "I need… to understand. Even if it destroys me."
And lastly
Above the endless sprawl of the demon realm, the Morningstar loomed — a cosmic entity so vast it dwarfed the realm itself. Stars bent around its presence, shadows coiled like serpents across its surface, and the air vibrated with a fear older than creation.
Lucifer sat atop a jagged rooftop, his wings folding softly behind him, eyes scanning the infinite horizon of darkness and light. Time itself seemed hesitant in the entity's presence.
A tap on his shoulder made him glance back. There stood Mammon, but not alone. Each of the Seven Sins — incarnations of desire, greed, envy, and wrath — manifested around him. Their forms twisted and beautiful, horrifying yet familiar.
"As old days, pals?" Asmodeus's voice carried across the void, smooth and mocking, yet tinged with nostalgia.
One by one, the sins acknowledged each other. Beelzebub's laugh rumbled like a dark storm, malevolence tempered by amusement. Leviathan's eyes glimmered with cold calculation, her serpentine hair shifting like liquid night. Satan's aura burned with quiet authority, commanding even the shadows to bow. Belphegor, female, lounged lazily, nodding in faint approval, her expression unreadable.
Lucifer's gaze swept the assembly. The energy here — raw, chaotic, primordial — was more than mere sin. It was the force that had shaped wars, rebellion, and the very laws of Heaven and Hell.
Mammon stepped forward, his malevolent grin splitting his face. "You know… feels like old times, doesn't it?"
Lucifer's eyes narrowed. "Old times are gone. But… some things never change."
A subtle hum passed through the Morningstar above, resonating with each sin's presence. It was a reminder: this entity existed beyond them, beyond realms, beyond comprehension. And yet, here they all were, small in comparison — yet dangerous together.
Belphegor tilted her head lazily, her voice a whisper: "I suppose it's good to be reunited… if only for the show."
Mammon chuckled, glancing at each sin. "The show's just beginning."
Lucifer rose to his full height, wings spreading wide, black feathers gleaming against the cosmic light. "Then let's see if the old powers still remember why they feared us."
The Morningstar pulsed above, a dark heartbeat echoing through space and reality itself. And for a moment, everything paused — the sins, Lucifer, the realm below — as if the cosmos itself held its breath.
This was no reunion. This was the prelude.
The prelude to chaos.
Once again they will reunite to fight a greater threa meh let's cut the drama they do met at the court like the last time at the trial of angelo-
(Remember the orphan maker aka Armin might sound cool but he still made lot of kids suffer some of them ended up on street with addictions some of them became just like him)