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rpsquad · 5 years

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“Never heard of being used as a murder weapon before?” Bellum and Ghirahim

Over the many years that the grueling war between Hylia and Demise had consumed, Bellum had come to dread victory for one reason and one reason only: having to wear an uncomfortable outfit at the celebration events. It didn’t matter if it was with Hylia or Demise, the suit was just as stuffy and suffocating as ever. If there was one positive to being stuck in Demise’s parties over Hylia, it would have to be getting to avoid Oshus’ over-enthusiastic requests to dance. No, the only person who asked him to dance these days was a person he would say yes without hesitation to every time.

Ghirahim.

“This is ridiculous,” Bellum groaned dramatically, looking at said individual while leading on a pillar. “Why do I have to be here? I didn’t even go to the battle! Where even was it? How many people even died? Ugh, when’s a socially acceptable time to leave, do you think?”

Ghirahim smiled "Is it really that bad?" he asked, "I mean, you do get to hang out with me! And after a victory you know I won't be going back out to battle for at least a little longer."

“I hope you know you’re the only positive, Diamond.” Bellum huffed. “I wish Demise would let me fight already. ‘Your injury is still healing,’ my ass, he just doesn’t want me involved until I pick him as my wielder, ugh..” After looking annoyed for another moment, he looked over at Ghirahim nervously. “War is war, so people have to die, but how can you stand letting him use you all the time? Figuratively and literally, it sounds like a very un-fun time.”

Ghirahim shrugged "I am a powerful weapon." he said "It is only right that my master use me extend his power and reach."

“But.. You’re okay with being treated like an object? It doesn’t bother you even a little? I mean yeah, both of us really are objects at the end of the day, but you really don’t mind being treated like that?” Bellum looked concerned, if not for Ghirahim’s mental wellbeing, then the thought that he might be alone on this front.

Ghirahim shrugged “I don’t really care.” he said “As long as I help him achieve his goals, then it doesn’t matter to me.”

“Oh.” Bellum looked away. “Guess I’m just being weird then, sorry, forget I said anything.”

Ghirahim looked at him “What, never heard of being used as a murder weapon before?” he asked “Sorry, it’s just, well, this is how it is. It’s not going to change.”

Bellum appeared to shrink into himself slightly. “You’re… right, but what really bothers me is…” He turned his attention to the ground to make it impossible to accidentally look at anyone. “What if everyone here is lying to me…?” he asked quietly. “What if you’re all just being nice for now, and the second I choose Demise as my wielder you all just-” Bellum’s voice broke slightly and he turned to the nearest exit. “...Sorry, I think I should leave.” he said quickly.

Ghirahim's face turned worried "Bellum- wait." he said "I'm sorry if I made it seem like I'm lying to you. I swear to you, I won't leave or stop talking to you or anything of the sort when you choose Demise to be your wielder. If anything it will just make me happier. But Bellum, even if you never choose Demise as your wielder I would still love you, I promise."

Bellum faltered, turning back slightly and revealing a face that was likely about to burst into tears. “C-Can we… talk about this somewhere else…?” he asked quietly.

Ghirahim nodded quickly “Of course, c’mon, let’s go.” he put his arm around Bellum and started walking towards the exit.

Bellum did his best to hold it together, yet the moment they were alone, tears flooded his eyes. He turned to hug Ghirahim tightly, burying his face in his shoulder. “I hate this war!” Bellum sobbed, voice muffled. “It exists to objectify me! To say that I’m only good for granting wishes and giving power and I-” He tightened his grip on Ghirahim’s coat. “I don’t care who wins anymore! I just want it to be over!”

Ghirahim held Bellum tightly to him “Shh… Shh… I understand Bellum, it’s okay… I swear that no matter how it seems or how people act, you are worth everything. So much more than just granting wishes.” he paused “If-” his voice stopped “If it wasn’t for the fact that I want to stay with you, I’d tell you to run, to just go far far away from either side of the war. I want you to be happy Bellum.”

“Y-You can stay with me, just-” Bellum pulled away slightly and held one of Ghirahim’s hands between his own. “Just run away with me. Their… Their problems shouldn’t be ours anymore so let’s just..” he sniffled. “Let’s just leave.”

Ghirahim placed his free hand on top of Bellum's. He smiles sadly "I can't Bellum, you know I can't." he placed a gentle kiss on Bellum's lips "I'm sorry, I wish I could leave with you, but… this is my home."

Bellum frowned, looking disappointed. He glanced away briefly before catching Ghirahim’s gaze again. “I won’t push you, but just answer this: are you happy here, Diamond?”

He said nothing for a long moment, before offering a half smile, “Yes.” he said simply.

“And what if I wasn’t here?” Bellum asked, smiling sadly. “What if Superbia, Libi, and everyone else weren’t around? If it was just Demise, would you be happy?”

Ghirahim tried to think about it for a second, but found he wasn’t able to. He put his hands on his head, as it had suddenly started hurting immensely “I-I can’t—” he stopped “I would be happy.”

“Diamond…” Bellum trailed off before moving to hug him again. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, resting his head on his shoulder. “I should’ve been here sooner so you weren’t so alone.”

Ghirahim said nothing, but inside he was fighting with himself. He hugged Bellum tightly.

“It’s okay,” Bellum reassured, kissing the top of his head. “Whatever you decide, I’m sure that everything will turn out okay.” He smiled gently. “Now how about we officially ditch this party? We can go dance outside like last time. I bet it’ll cheer us both up. What do you say, Diamond?”

He smiled “Yes please.”

#Ella and Rain wrote this #bellum #ghirahim #bellum & ghirahim #angst #prompt #lozrp

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iamvegorott · 6 years

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New Form Chapter 16

The Sins

“When you woke up this morning, were you expecting to have our boyfriends and two demons that look like our boyfriends to be passed out in your living room?” Signe asked Amy as the two sat on the couch with Henrik.

“This is just an average Tuesday afternoon for me.” Amy weakly laughed. “Chica, sweetie, come here.” Amy clicked her tongue and snapped her fingers, getting Chica’s attention. She had been sniffing at Mark’s hand and licking, trying to get him up. Chica went over to Amy and sat her chin on her knee, worry in her eyes. “It’s okay, honey,” Amy said, rubbing the top of Chica’s head.

“How long do we have to wait?” Signe asked Henrik.

“By the looks of it, everything should be kicking in…” Mark, Jack, Anti, and Dark all started screaming. “Now.” Amy and Signe had both flinched in shock and moved away from the screaming men.

“Oh, fuck, my chest.” Mark groaned in pain while Jack just cried out, both hands over his crotch.

“I feel like I ate too many burgers,” Anti commented, punching at his chest as if trying to force a burp out. Dark didn’t say anything while curled up, his face telling everyone that he was in pain as well.

“It’s complicated,” Henrik said before either woman could ask what that was about.

“Everything about this is complicated.” Amy huffed.

“It’d be great if we understood one thing,” Signe added.

“I think I’m going to be sick.” Mark placed his hand over his mouth and Signe quickly got up when Jack started crying.

“Sean? Sean are you okay?” Signe wasn’t ready for Jack to suddenly wrap his arms around her in a hug, sobbing into her shoulder.

“Do you need to go to the bathroom?” Amy asked, going to Mark and her hand just barely touching his shoulder.

“Don’t touch me!” Mark shouted, scrambling away from Amy. “Please, don’t. Don’t touch me.” Mark’s eyes were wide with fear.

“It’s really complicated.” Henrik got out of his own seat and went to Anti. “How bad is it?” He asked. Anti could only shake his head, staring down at the ground and hugging his knees. “Dark?”

“I’m fine.” Dark got off of the ground.

“We both know that’s not true,” Henrik stated.

“And we both know this is how I deal with it,” Dark stated back.

“You’re allowed to-”

“Enough.” Dark cut Henrik off.

“What about Jack and Mark? Are they going to be okay?” Amy asked.

“It’ll take a few minutes for it to wear off, but they'll return to normal after they heal.”

“Heal?”

“We severed the connection between them, they have a part of their souls just hanging out of them since they have nothing to cling to. It won’t take long for it to go back into its original form before Dark and Anti came in, but it takes a lot out of a being to do so.” Henrik explained.

“That doesn’t explain why Jack’s crying and Mark’s scared,” Amy said.

“We’re Creatures of Libidine,” Dark said.

“Of what?” Signe was rubbing Jack’s back as he worked on catching his breath.

“Libidine, of Lust.” Dark translated. “When we were formed, Libidine was the phase of the Seven, the seven deadly sins. Superbia, which is Pride, Cupiditas, Greed, Furorem, Anger, Gula, Gluttony, Invidia, Envy, Acedia, which doesn’t really translate to Sloth, but it’s a good representation of it and Libidine, which you already know is Lust.”

“What language is that?” Signe asked. “It sounds really familiar.”

“It’s what humans call Latin,” Dark stated. “When the Sins formed, that was the language they chose to use. The Otherworld still uses it for naming but we all have knowledge of every language and adapt to which is needed.”

“So, when you say you’re Creatures of Libidine, what does that mean?” Amy asked.

“Each Sin fights to have the main control of the Otherworld, meaning that they have reigns of being of being the head of everything until they’re defeated in battle and then that Sin takes over. Whenever a Demon or Virus is formed, the Sin that is in the throne is the one that controlled most of the process, since it’s their energy we’re using to become alive and that makes us a Creature of that Sin.

“Oh…” Signe chewed on her lip. “I mean, I can see how that fits with Anti, he makes that very clear, but what about you?”

“Lust is more than just the physical feeling of wanting to have sex,” Dark said. “When a Virus is formed, they come through the electricity of the realm, they come through the internet which makes them born with a full knowledge of life and everything. But since they come from there, they mostly take to the most...approved version of words until they’re taught otherwise. It’s also known that Virus’ can only be formed during Libidine’s reign so they have a certain...trait everyone assumes that they have.” Dark grumbled the last sentence, showing his annoyance before taking a deep breath and going over to Anti. He took Anti’s hands and helped him to his feet, keeping his hands covering Anti’s as they began to glow red. “Lust can also form from love, of course, love is a complex feeling, but it’s common for Love and Lust to be connected. Love-Lust comes from the strong desire to be with the person the affection is aimed towards. Your mind and your soul controls that part of Lust.”

“Lust of the body and Lust of the soul,” Henrik said, looking into Anti’s eyes and nodding his head.

“And both have harsh effects when broken...very harsh effects.” Dark swallowed thickly. “Lust of the soul doesn’t happen often in the Otherworld. It’s not how Demons work, it’s not what we care about. We don’t love.”

“Bullshit.” Henrik crossed his arms. “I love Anti.”

“He’s your son. You should love him.” Dark blinked slowly, face dropping in sorrow. “But that’s not always the case.”

“God damn, I hate that feeling.” Anti groaned, showing that he was back. “It’s really gross and-” Anti yelped when he found that Jack had gotten up and was now hugging him.

“I’m sorry, Anti,” Jack said. “That shit just isn’t right.” Anti was frozen for a moment before he relaxed and hugged Jack back. Dark raised a brow when he saw that Mark was standing in front of him as well. Mark only smiled and held out his hand, knowing that Dark would prefer that. Dark couldn’t stop his own small smile and he shook Mark’s hand.

An understanding had now formed between all of them.

Tag List: @allimeraine @readeatfightlove13 @sketchy-scribs-n-doods @blueyeswhitedragon16 @books-are-books @i-am-not-anon @bartonisamess @littlekindfriemd @superdltpurplerage @pleasesavemebae @amberangle965 @hypercat360

#antisepticeye #darkiplier #jacksepticeye #markipler

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connosaurusrex-blog · 7 years

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Forgive Me Father, For I Have Sinned

The sound of heels clicking on the stone floor echoed throughout the hall as Pope Pius VIII made his way through the Vatican. Halfway down the hall, Pius realized there was a second set of steps about a half second behind his own. A smooth and calm voice spoke out “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

Pius began to sweat, “I am sorry, my son, but I cannot hear your confession at this time. It is very late and I need my rest if I am to communicate with the Lord.”

“He will not here you, Father. He never hears anyone. Which is why I am here. It has fallen upon me to become the arm of God. It is I who will bring about divine justice and you, dear pope, must be brought to justice,” the man said just as calmly as before.

“But, my child, what could I be guilty of? I who must spread the word of the Lord, our God to the world,” Pius replied trembling.

The man ran a knife into Pius’ shoulder, knocking him to the ground. “Superbia, sir. The original and most dangerous sin of them all. Your pride has led you to throw the title of “pope” around as if you deserve it. You deserve nothing. You are nothing. I will teach you to be prideful,” the man said taking the knife out of the shoulder.

Pius clutched his shoulder, crying. “What are you going to do to me?”

“I am going to put through what the humblest man to ever exist went through,” the man said. He smiled down at Pius and then shifted his gaze to the large wooden cross on the wall.

“You could not possibly…”

“Oh, but I could and will.”

The man took the cross from the wall and laid it flat on the ground. He ripped the pope’s robes and then laid Pius on the cross and bound his hands and feet in the same position as the Son. “If you have any last words, now would be the time,” the man said.

“Who are you?” Pius said sobbing.

The man chuckled “That is what you say for final words? Well alright, if you must know my name is Santana. I derive my name from the great Satan, the embodiment of wrath. I am his human manifestation. Now that you know, it is time for you to face justice.”

Santana stuffed Pius’ mouth with a handkerchief and set the cross upright. Once he had the cross standing up, he slit both of Pius’ wrists. As Pius bled, Levi used the blood from his wrists and wrote superbia on the ground in front of Pius. Santana took a step back and surveyed his work. “Not bad, not bad at all. But it is missing something…” he trailed off as he looked down at his knife. A grin came to his face that made the blood Pius had left run cold.

“Most of these miscreants who live here do not understand the beautiful language of the Romans. So ironic. Perhaps I shall make them understand,” Santana said brandishing the knife. He jammed the tip into Pius’ gut and began to write. Soon the word “pride” was elegantly and crudely carved into Pius’ flesh. “Justice has been served, Father,” Santana said lighting a cigarette he produced from his burgundy tailcoat. “Enjoy Hell. Give my best to all the other sinners, will you?” Santana brushed back his black hair and made his way to the exit.

It was a long ride back to his home in Paris, but Santana did not mind. The knowledge that he served the much-needed justice to the now dead pope made his voyage rather enjoyable. At times, he found himself singing songs from his favorite opera “La haine d'une femme” by Adolphe Adam, much to the amusement of the other passengers. After much time had passed, Santana saw the familiar land he called home. The sight pleased him more than he could imagine.

Stepping off the train, Santana lit a cigarette from his coat and made his way through the city, he loved his Paris so. As he walked to his home, he noted that there is no architecture in the world that could hold a candle to French architecture. Santana sighed at the beauty of his own home as he entered. His favorite part of his home was his marble sinks. They were so smooth and beautiful that he wished his home could be made entirely of marble. Nothing pleased him more than to wash himself at his sinks, they made him feel on top of the world. After he cleaned up, Santana decided to go to his favorite winery, Le Vin. It is only half passed noon, but after my train ride, I deserve some wine, he thought.

The winery was a 15-minute walk from his home and well worth the walk, or so he believed. Santana sat down inside near the roaring fire pit and ordered a bottle of his favorite Merlot. He sat back and sipped from his glass in total bliss. His bliss was interrupted, however, by a very drunk Englishman. “Oi, you French sure know ‘ave no idea ‘ow to drink! Look at dis guy ova ‘ere! He goin to sleep sippin on ‘is red!”

Santana looked up, “Monsieur, I assure you I am not going to sleep. I am simply trying to enjoy this drink.”

The man looked at Santana in confusion, “’ow can you enjoy a drink by sippin on it? You need to get drunk to enjoy wine, you bloke.”

“Please leave, you are ruining the atmosphere.”

“I’ll leave when I’m good and ready!”

A man in a black tailcoat stepped forward and placed a hand on the drunk man’s shoulder, “I do believe you ‘good and ready’ to leave, Monsieur.”

The drunk man looked him up and down. “Suppose I am.” He straightened himself up as best he could and stumbled out the building.

“Thank you, Jacques,” Santana said taking a sip from his glass. “Might I be able to purchase a barrel of wine from you?”

“Oui, Santana, but it is rather expensive,” Jacques said.

“That will not be a problem, old friend,” Santana said standing up. “If I were to come back in three hours, would it be ready?”

“Oui And of course, it is off the record, Monsieur.”

“Merci.”

Santana walked outside and followed the Englishman. He was not hard to find as he stumbled through the street. Santana was disgusted by how this man behaved, everything about this man made his skin crawl. The man stumbled into an alley, which made Santana grin. Santana creeped on the man as he was hunched over throwing up. Santana reached into his pocket and pulled out his brass knuckles. Sliding them onto his left hand he said, “Thank you, Monsieur, for providing me with such an opportunity.” The man turned around in time for Santana to hit him with a left hook, dropping the man instantly.

The man woke up hanging upside down from a beam near the ceiling of the room he was in. A smooth and calm voice spoke out “I bet you are wondering how you got here, non?”

“I reckon I am,” the man said, voice shaking.

“You are what the Romans labeled as gula. Since I know you are not very bright, I will tell you what it means. It is Latin for ‘gluttony,’ you pig.”

“Why are you doing this?” the man said beginning to cry.

“You see, I have seen a lot of sinful people on this Earth. More than any one person should see in their life. Most people brush it off as if it is nothing or, even worse, do not know they have sinned. I am making examples out of people to teach the world of their wrong doings and to cleanse the world of those whom I deem too sinful. You consume far too much alcohol, Monsieur, making you a glutton. Gula is one of the seven deadly sins, for your sin, you must die.” Santana walked over and tied a cloth around the man’s mouth. “If you look below you, on second thought, do not do that. I will just tell you. Below you is a barrel of wine, I know how much you like that. I will lower the beam you are tied to inch by inch until your head is completely submerged. That is your punishment.”

The man cried and struggled, trying to free himself from his bindings. He immediately screamed in pain. Santana giggled “I would not do that if I were you. There are razor blades in those ropes, moving will only cause lacerations. None that would cause immediate death, just slow bleeding until death. There is no easy way out for you.”

Santana began to lower the beam with a rope to his right. Lower and lower it went, but by very small increments. “Do you like opera?” Santana asked. “I love opera. There is one from Germany that is simply divine, it is called ‘Der Freischütz’ by Carl Maria von Weber. Would you mind if I sang?”

The man hung there, silently crying. The tears rolling up his forehead.

“I shall take that as you do not mind. You really do not have a say in the matter anyhow,” Santana said wistfully. He began to sing in German while still lowering the rope. Soon the man’s eyes were covered by the wine and the cloth that hung from his mouth began to turn purple. Louder and louder Santana sang as the man’s head was becoming submerged. Santana’s voice rang out on the last note of a song as he let go of the rope, no longer needing it.

“Well thank you for that, I had a marvelous time,” Santana said with a chuckle. My work here is not finished yet, he thought. He carved “gula” into the man’s stomach and wrote “gluttony” in the man’s blood on the floor. Perfect. He lit a cigarette and made his way back home.

Several days later a knock came to Santana’s door. It was a police officer on the other side of the door. “Good afternoon, sir. I am Detective Stephen Wilcox, from Southampton, England. You are Levi Bain, yes?”

“Oui,” Santana said nervously. His birth name always made him uncomfortable. “Please, Monsieur, call me ‘Santana.’ Come in.”

Santana led Detective Wilcox into his parlor. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you. I am here investigating the murder of Benedict Shepard. Does that name mean anything to you?”

“No, Detective, I have never heard that name in my life.”

Wilcox reached into his coat and pulled out picture and handed it Santana. “This is a painting of Mr. Shepard. He was vacationing here in Paris from Southampton and then went missing. We found his body in an abandoned building, head submerged in a barrel of wine. Would you happen to know anything about that Mr. Bain?”

“Non, Monsieur, I do not know this man. We had small verbal altercation in a winery, but nothing more.”

“Well that does go along with what we were told by the winery owner. But what about after this altercation? What did you do then?”

“Monsieur Shepard ruined the atmosphere while I was drinking my Merlot, so I came back here to try and salvage the day and my wine.”

“Alright, that is all I have for now. I will be in contact as things unfold, Mr. Bain. Thank you for your time,” Wilcox said extending out his hand.

Santana looked down at Wilcox’s hand for a second before grabbing it and shaking, “Of course, Detective. Do let me know if you learn anything more.”

After he showed Wilcox out, Santana ran to his bathroom and splashed water on his face. He looked in the mirror and screamed at the reflection. He splashed more water on his face, dried himself off with a towel, and combed his hair back. “There is no need to worry. This detective will not interfere with my work. I shall continue the cleansing. He will not catch me and he will not stop me.”

A year has passed since that confrontation and in that time, Santana managed to kill three people who personified greed, envy, and sloth. He killed the sloth by tying him to an archway at the wrist, allowing him to hang there and die of starvation and dehydration, or by impaling his head on a spike that was overhead. The police found the man with the spike driven through his head. Greed was killed with melted gold poured over his body. Envy was found as a pair of women with faces mutilated beyond recognition. Santana felt more and more pleased with himself after every cleansing. He fancied himself an artist and savior.

One day, not too long after the envy cleansing, Detective Wilcox came knocking on Santana’s door. “What can I do for you, Detective?” Santana answered.

“You can start by explaining how you have been linked in one way or another to all of the victims in these ritualistic murders. People we have questioned have described a man fitting your description having some sort of interaction with the victims,” Wilcox replied.

“You really believe that it was moi who has killed these people?”

“We have a strong suspicion that you at least had something to do with it.”

“Though nothing definitive on who may have actually killed those people?” Santana asked trying not to sound defensive.

“No, nothing definitive.”

“Then if you have nothing, Detective, I must ask you to leave. I have many very real and definitive things that need my attention. Au revoir.”

He showed Wilcox out and sat in his study. Neither he, nor any police across Europe have anything on me. I should have no problem finishing my work. Only two people left and then I will have accomplished everything, Santana laughed to himself as he thought of his next target. I shall perform my last two demonstrations on Wilcox’s soil. I will make him suffer for the rest of his life knowing he was never able to catch me. Within the week, Santana was on his way to Southampton to act on his plan.

Once his ship docked in Southampton, he checked into a hotel and then made his way to a nearby pub. Santana drank on beer that was not particularly good in his opinion, but good enough to keep up appearances. In between sips, he would look around to find the perfect person for lust. This person presented themselves rather quickly. Soon after Santana started looking for a person, a tall man dressed in all blue came strolling into the pub. The man ordered a drink and sat at the bar, talking to whomever would listen. “My name is William Saxton, my uncle is a former Duke,” he shouted at one woman while trying to feel her up. After she pushed off Saxton, he went to talk to someone else, Santana heard the bar tender tell the woman that Saxton was a pathological liar, he said whatever he could to get in bed with someone. Santana could not believe his luck, lust had shown itself so early. He watched Saxton all night, wherever he moved so did Santana’s eyes, never missing him for a second. Saxton went around talking for three hours before deciding to leave for the night. Santana made for the door after Saxton left and followed him everywhere he went, eventually leading to Saxton’s home. He was so drunk he did not notice Santana catching the front door before it closed. Santana crept his way to a chair and sat and waited until Saxton passed out on his bed.

Saxton woke to a funny feeling in his nether regions. He looked down horrified to see a metal cage attached to his waist. He went to take it off and discovered his hands and feet were bound to his bed. “What is the meaning of this?” Saxton shouted.

A smooth and calm voice called out, “You are a sinful man, William Saxton. Do you not know your lust for sex and women is a sin?”

“I mean no harm by it! I just want a little fun is all,” Saxton pleaded.

“You are truly a fool, Saxton. I pity you.”

“Please, do not do whatever you are going to do! I can change my ways!”

“Far too late for that, I’m afraid,” Santana chuckled. “Do you know what is in that cage?”

“N-no, I do not.”

“A few rats from the sewers and your manhood. What I am going to do know is introduce heat at the end of the cage. This will force the rats to burrow into your body, slowly and very painfully killing you.”

Santana reached over to the fireplace and took out the shovel. He gleefully smiled as pressed the flat side of the shovel against the cage. The sounds of rats screaming became louder and louder. Soon the screaming shifted from the rats to Saxton. He began to cry, beg, and scream as the rats dug and ate away at him. Music to Santana’s ears. “My, my. That is quite a voice you have there, Monsieur Saxton,” he said with a laugh.

Santana put the shovel back into the fire and sat down. “You know, Saxton, this is by far my best work. Well, not you in particular. My work in cleansing the world of people like you who constantly commit terrible sins. You are number six. I cannot believe how effective I have been,” Santana was speaking more to himself than Saxton. Blood started running out of Saxton’s mouth.

“Magnifique!” Santana looked at Saxton with the utmost pride in his eyes. He wrote “lust” above the bed with the blood from Saxton’s mouth as it ran down to his chest.

The door behind him busted open. “That is quite enough Bain!” Detective Wilcox shouted.

Santana combed back his black hair and turned around. “Enough? No, not quite. And there is no ‘Levi Bain.’ He died many years ago, I am Santana! I am the one to purge the Earth!”

“You are going to face justice for the atrocities you have committed!”

“My dear detective, you think I will come quietly? I still have yet to get number seven! Which just so happens to be me! I am wrath! I have gone a murderous rampage across Europe for revenge! Punishment for wrath is death by burning!”

Santana reached over, grabbed an oil container, and poured all over himself. He picked up the shovel from the fireplace, allowing his arm to catch fire in the process. Santana began swinging the shovel at Wilcox as the fire consumed his body, cackling like a madman the entire time before falling over dying.

A few months after this had passed, a news report came across Wilcox’s desk. The reports detailed bodies from several countries being found with one of the seven deadly sins carved in the bodies. Wilcox broke out into a cold sweat as the sound of Santana’s cackle rang in his ears.

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