Primordial Sin System Novels & Stories

I asked, raising my brow in confusion. "yes.. yes..." She replied, looking excited. "huh..." I took a deep breath and then began, "I somehow wasn't able to go back to the other world, and my soul used to wander around, then one day, a man caught my soul and then made me his slave. He always made me do the evil things and that is how I turned into a devil from a simple wandering lost soul." I told her, flinching at those terrible memories. "Slave? were you happy to be his slave?" She asked such a stupid thing, really who becomes someone else's slaves happily and then kills dozens of people.

I smiled as we both held hands. "I know, anyway, I'm focused on the road. Rest for now, it looks like we're still far away." He resigned and I followed what he said. I leaned back and put on earphones. I looked outside for a moment before closing my eyes, whispering to myself; I love you BenChua but we are part of the mistake. We are the piece of Unforgiven Sins. Little by little I felt the weight of my eyelids and the only thing I heard from the song I was playing was I love you, goodbye.

Alessia said tightly, one hand resting on the dagger at her thigh, the other clutching her wounded shoulder. The man’s eyes glinted gold in the torchlight. “Myth is simply memory soaked in blood.” The mysterious woman at Alessia’s side dipped her head. “My king.” “I am no king,” the man corrected. “Not anymore. Not since your bloodlines broke the pact and turned sanctity into sin.” Dante’s jaw clenched. “You’re the one they called Il Primo. The First.” The man smiled. “I was the first to wear the crown of the Syndicate. But I was not the last to betray it.”

“First of all, I can assure you that your God has nothing to with this. If all, He is completely powerless in this situation. And that thing, that very thing that killed your men, my friend, is called a Sin. One of The Seven Deadly Sins, to be more specific,” I thoroughly explained, trying my best to compose myself. “One of The Seven Deadly Sins has made its home inside her soul. And as to how did it end up in there, I think I might have a clue...” I then absently added as I momentarily lost myself in the memory, faintly reminiscing that fated day, when that foolish mother of hers decided to follow me to The Underworld -even though strongly advised against it- and seduce her way straight to

he said in a low, dangerous voice, “then we are completely fucked.” The altar in the center of the chamber pulsed brighter. New words burned themselves into the stone floor in glowing crimson letters, forming the first demand: “First Offering: The Altar of Seed. Produce your lust upon the altar. Cum. Squirt. Offer your pleasure. Only then will the next door open.” The voice returned, calm and merciless, as if it had been waiting for their denial. “Refuse… and suffer the consequences.” Tyler snapped again. “Fuck you!” he shouted at the ceiling. “I’m not jerking off on some demonic rock for your entertainment!”

Had proven to the kingdom and to God that his loyalty to righteousness superseded his loyalty to blood. It had killed him. Every day since, it had killed him again and again, in small increments, until he wasn’t sure what was left inside his chest besides the specific machinery of survival. And now his brother’s son a boy Marcus had held as an infant, had taught to ride, had believed capable of greatness was committing the same sin. The same corruption. The same betrayal of everything Marcus had sacrificed to prevent. The candles flickered.

I demanded, trying to remain calm. “No one,” Luca replied. “We’ve lost manual control.” A sharp chime echoed from the console. System Override Initiated. Authorization: Level Three. Source: Internal Terminal. The room was so quiet that no one said a word. Level three clearance wasn’t accessible to staff. It wasn’t even accessible to most of my inner circle. Outside, the iron gates began to move. Slowly. Deliberately. We could hear the sound of metal scraping against stone in a long, groaning protest.

The air in the tomb turned ice-cold as the First Alpha stepped forward. The ground beneath his bare, clawed feet cracked. Black frost spread across the stone floor in intricate, spiderweb patterns. "My blood..." The voice did not vibrate through the air, but directly inside the minds of every Lycan in the subterranean chamber. It was the Primordial Command—an ancient, absolute frequency of authority that predated the laws of modern packs. "So diluted... so incredibly weak..."

“Then sleep again. Let us continue building. When we’ve built something truly worthy, something that honors both old and new, maybe then you can wake and see what we’ve created.” “PERHAPS.” The Primordial began to fade. “I ACCEPT YOUR TERMS, GUARDIAN. I RETURN TO SLEEP. BUT KNOW THIS—IF YOU FAIL. IF THIS WORLD DESCENDS INTO CHAOS. IF THE BONDS YOU SPEAK OF BREAK… I WILL WAKE. AND I WILL NOT BE MERCIFUL.” “Understood. We won’t fail.” “WE SHALL SEE.” The Primordial vanished. Reality stabilized. The oppressive power faded.

Root stared at the distributed man. “He hid even from the Curator era.” “Yes,” Jonah said proudly. Then he looked at Micah through Micah’s own eyes. “You are my freedom.” Micah screamed. “No.” Jonah smiled. “All of you are.” And across the deep layer, hundreds of other accused origins began transmitting the same hidden architecture pattern. Not copying Jonah. They had already learned it from somewhere. A protocol. A doctrine. A movement. Text appeared across thousands of criminal continuity systems: NO SINGLE SELF. NO SINGLE DEFENDANT. NO SINGLE POINT OF PUNISHMENT. Then one final line: RESPONSIBILITY IS OBSOLETE.