Marvel: Sin Lord

As Inarius lounged on the throne, the remnants of the Wizard King's spectral energy dissipating into the air, the room dimmed and then shifted. The oppressive atmosphere seemed to part like a curtain, and a familiar voice echoed throughout the chamber—the Dark One.

"I must say, you continue to exceed expectations," the voice rumbled, its tone a mixture of amusement and genuine admiration. "You have passed the third trial with more ferocity than I anticipated. As a reward, I bestow upon you dominion over this city and its cursed lands. The City of Chains is yours to command."

The chamber trembled as if in acknowledgment of the Dark One's words. Purple flames, a reflection of Inarius's sin-fueled power, began to creep up the walls, replacing the Wizard King's eerie green glow.

The Dark One continued, his voice growing softer but more sinister. "However, your trials are far from over. The fourth and fifth trials await in another realm—a world of ice and death. When you are ready to face what lies ahead, step through this portal."

A swirling black and purple portal materialized before the throne, pulsating with raw, otherworldly energy.

The Dark One's voice softened into an echo as he added, "I will see you again soon, Inarius Morningstar. Prepare yourself."

And just like that, the presence faded.

Inarius remained seated for a while, his grip tightening around the hilt of his flaming sword as he contemplated his next move. The city, once ruled by the Wizard King, was his now. He could feel its essence bending to his will, the shadows reshaping themselves to reflect his power.

When he finally rose from the throne, he began the work of remaking the city. With every step, purple flames replaced the green light that had once permeated the ruins. The massive tower, which had served as the Wizard King's seat of power, transformed under his command. The jagged edges of its structure became sleek and imposing, exuding an aura of dominance. The flaming purple glow radiated from its peak, visible for miles around.

The city itself reshaped in his image. The skeletal remains of ancient buildings were fortified, the streets cleared of debris, and the oppressive chains that had once bound it as a cursed realm seemed to dissolve into ash.

But even amidst his triumph, there was an itch at the back of his mind—a sense that the city held deeper secrets.

From the Wizard King's memories, Inarius had learned of a place even the wraiths could not enter: the royal graveyard hidden beneath the city. The graveyard, said to house the ancestors of the Wizard King's bloodline, was a place untouched by the curse that plagued the rest of the realm.

He descended into the hidden catacombs beneath the tower, moving through winding, crumbling passageways that seemed to stretch endlessly into the earth. Finally, he reached the graveyard.

It was vast and serene, a stark contrast to the rest of the city. Rows of intricately carved tombs lined the space, illuminated by a faint golden glow. At the center stood an enormous golden statue of a man, majestic and commanding, his gaze fixed on the heavens.

Beneath the statue was a singular, ornate grave. In its center rested a scepter, its head adorned with a glass-like orb that shimmered faintly in the dim light. The moment Inarius saw it, he felt an undeniable pull toward the object.

As Inarius reached for the scepter, his fingers brushed against the orb. A wave of energy surged through him, his vision going dark for an instant before exploding with clarity.

He saw a vision—a nightmarish scene of chaos.

Sentinels, towering machines of death, descended upon an island teeming with life. Mutants screamed as they were hunted and slaughtered. Flames consumed buildings, the sky filled with smoke, and the ground was soaked in blood. Millions of mutants were annihilated, their cries of pain and desperation echoing in his ears.

Then, as quickly as it began, the vision ended.

Inarius stumbled backward, breathing heavily. He gripped the scepter tighter, staring at the orb with a mix of awe and dread.

As Inarius ascended back to the surface, the Dark One's voice resonated in his mind once more.

"The object you hold is no mere trinket," the Dark One explained, his voice carrying a tone of reverence. "It is the Palantír of this world—a treasure of the royal bloodline. It shows glimpses of the future and allows you to see across any realm, no matter where you stand. It is a tool of great power, one that will serve you well."

Inarius held the scepter aloft, studying the orb. "A tool, huh? I'll use it my way," he muttered.

The Dark One chuckled darkly. "Of course you will. And now, I believe it's time you moved forward. Use the Belt of Ecthelion—the artifact you claimed from the Wizard King—to store the Palantír. It is not meant to be carried in the open."

Inarius did as instructed, summoning the enchanted belt. The Palantír vanished into its dimensional pocket, safely secured for future use.

With everything in place, he turned to the swirling portal.

"I hope this 'world of ice and death' has something worth my time," Inarius said, his voice cold and resolute.

Without hesitation, he stepped through, ready for whatever awaited him.