The Sin Of Pride Novels & Stories

"I traveled far into areas that are now Hungary and Transylvania. In time, I ceased to bother with priestly trappings. My tonsure grew out. My hair grew long. But I kept my vows of poverty and celibacy, so I was convinced that I was good and righteous. God was on my side. News of my healing capabilities preceded me, and I was welcomed into each village as an honored guest. A hero, even." "That's good." He shook his head. "No, it was not. I had sworn to reject evil, but I slowly succumbed to a deadly sin. I became proud." She snorted. "What's wrong with taking pride in your work? You were saving lives, weren't you?" "No. God was saving them through me. I forgot to see the distinction. Then it

“ Say what you want to say ” “ The six deadly sins are no longer in hell but here on earth ” The six deadly sins are a part of Lucifer, Lucifer is the first deadly sin, the sin of pride. Mammon the second deadly sin, a man with blonde hair and golden eyes, he is the sin of greed. Always greedy with things. Asmodeus the third deadly sin, a man with black hair and golden eyes as as well, he is the sin of lust. Always after women. Leviathan the fourth deadly sin, a man with black hair and golden eyes, he is the sin of envy. Always envying other deadly sins.

they replied in unison, both turning to look at me at once. “Who?“ I inquired, although I suspected the answer. “The Lord of the sins,” they replied with a look of reverence and dread in their eyes. My heart trembled at their response, and I opened my mouth in awe. The Lord of the sins? I had expected them to call him “The Lord” or “Lord Draven”. I took that to heart, asking in a defensive tone and stance. “Why did you call him that?“ Their eyes darted as if they were terrified. “Because that's what he is. People say his very existence is a sin, and that was affirmed when he slaughtered hundreds of soldiers and let us live.“

“Of course she is. No argument there. You do raise her, shelter her, and risk your peace of mind over every breath she takes. My mistake.” I shut my eyes for a moment, letting the silence stretch. “You think this is funny?” I say finally. “Tristan,” Saint replies, and this time there’s no amusement — just that quiet, dangerous calm that makes the skin of weaker men crawl. “You spent years running from shadows. Try not to become one. Sometimes the devil you see isn’t the one waiting to burn you.” I grip the phone tighter. “Is that a threat, Padre?” “It’s advice. You should try taking it once in a while.”

We have sat around with hearts heavy with grief as a man who has knelt in these same pews himself has proudly boasted of a method of sin, exploiting the vulnerability of a dying man in order to satisfy his own greed and pride. We pray for his soul. We pray for the innocent families shattered by his behavior. And we affirm, unequivocally, that such a life, built upon such a foundation, is a travesty of the teachings of Jesus Christ. Servant-leadership, not seduction. Legacy based on faith and fidelity, not fornication and fraud. We call for repentance. And until the day that we may do so, we must, as a spiritual community, stand distinct from this celebration of sin.

Perfect. “See you soon.” He’d written it himself, fog blooming from his mouth in the cold like smoke from a sermon. She’d see it when she came home, her pretty mouth falling open in that little O of shock he used to love so much. She thought she was safe with that big bastard in her house. Cute. She thought she was strong now. Even cuter. Eden Cross had carried his sins once without even knowing it. Signed her name to accounts she’d never opened. Smiled beside him in church while his assistant—God bless Tiffany—warmed his bed after evening service.

He growled, “You dared to slap Nessa on the day of her wedding, no less.” My wedding, I thought, not hers. But I doubt he cared. “I didn't do anything.” I said. It was all I could muster. A simple plea. But I knew it wouldn't work. Nessa was their precious daughter. The golden child and the perfect little angel. Unlike her, I didn't know how to cry on command, point fingers or perform innocence. It wouldn't work, even if I tried. How could my dull, simple words, compare to her act?

“Then the contract breaks. The debt comes back. Your family loses everything. Is that what you want?” She backed up until her back hit the wall. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Having power over someone who hates your guts.” He stopped right in front of her, so close she had to tilt her head back to look at him. “What I enjoy,” he said, voice low, “is watching proud women like you realize they want what they’re fighting against.” Before she could respond, he grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. His other hand gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes.

Saying it to Sinclair felt like peeling back a layer I had kept hidden. His jaw tightened, eyes flashing with something protective and hungry at the same time. “He was a fucking idiot.” His voice dropped lower, intimate. “Any man who couldn’t make a woman like you lose control doesn’t deserve to touch you. Look at you, Natasha. You’re trembling right now and I’ve barely touched you.”

He told her to kneel and close her eyes. She obeyed, lowering herself to the floor, waiting for the prayer. Then she felt a soft pressure against her lips. Her eyes flew open. The priest stood above her, his robe lifted, his cock already hard, pressed against her mouth. She jerked back, "Sir… what are you doing?" He didn't flinch. His voice remained calm. "Relax, woman." "But..." "You assume you are infertile. But perhaps it is your husbands who are infertile. It is their seed that is cursed, not your womb."