The desert air crackled with tension, lightning splitting the clouds above. The Darkbloods stood unwavering, their weapons gleaming in the storm’s glow.
Remiel’s crimson gaze swept over them, his voice steady but sharp. “Why do you call yourselves by the names of sins? Pride. Envy. Wrath. Sloth. Greed. Gluttony. Lust. Who do you serve?”
For a moment, silence fell, broken only by the hiss of Nyxelle’s whip as it curled lazily around her arm. Then a low voice answered—not from the Darkbloods, but from beside him.
Remael’s golden eyes narrowed, his tone grave. “They are the Darkbloods — servants of the Seven Sinlords. Once, they were demons like countless others. But by drinking their master’s blood, they inherited a fragment of their power. Now, they exist as living extensions of those Ki
