"When Sin Chooses You"
"Power doesn’t corrupt. It reveals. And sin... sin chooses who it kills and who it shapes." — Lost manuscript of Solanir, the Golden God.
They say Sins were born long before the concepts of law or morality. Forged from the remnants of dead Gods, each Sin is a living entity — dormant in distorted planes, waiting for the perfect host.
These sins aren’t learned. They aren’t taught.
They are entities. Parasites.
Whispers of power echoing through relics, marks, and contracts.
The Fatal Choice
When someone tries to summon or wield a Sin without being “accepted,” the result isn’t just failure.
It’s a death far worse than any execution.
The victim’s body begins to deform instantly — as if the flesh itself is rejecting the forced essence. Bones shatter inward, eyes turn void-black, and blood boils, evaporating through the nose and mouth. The heart races so fast it explodes, crushed by the spiritual pressure of the Sin.
In some cases, a monstrous reflection of the Sin entity appears — as if the creature itself came to collect the price of defiance. — This event is known as Absolute Despair.
"I saw my sister try to summon the Sin of Lust. She thought it was just a ritual to repeat. I still hear her bones breaking... even in my sleep."
— Anonymous report, Ruinbar Abbey Archives.
The Chosen
Only those with soul-scars — trauma, uncontrollable desire, or a corrupted past — can be seen as “worthy” by a Sin.
Once accepted, they receive the Mark, a living symbol that grows like a tattoo, burn, or scar.
Alongside the Mark, a Sin Beast manifests in parallel planes — a creature that represents the pure, twisted form of the emotion the bearer harbors.
These users are altered over time. Their senses sharpen. Their aura warps. Their spiritual presence leaves echoes wherever they go.
The more they use the power, the stronger the Sin Beast becomes.
II. Gods and Divinities
"Where there is a God, there is Judgment."
Long before the first Sin devoured a mortal soul, the world knew the so-called Primordials — absolute entities born from the collapse of the void itself.
They didn’t create the world — they conquered it.
There were seven Originals, each ruling a domain not by right, but by force.
They did not demand worship. They demanded fear.
Solanir, the Devourer of Horizons, ruled the skies and swallowed suns.
Uthellen, the Mother of Bleeding Roots, fed on life and buried souls in flesh.
Vexis, the Heart of Lies, didn’t speak — it poisoned truth with its mere presence.
These "gods" had no comprehensible form. Their presence tore reality. Their voices caused cerebral hemorrhage. Their blessings killed faster than their curses.
Through the ages, mortals dared to worship them.
Some were turned into vessels.
Others... devoured alive — from the inside out.
A profane cult known only in ancient books — The Children of Judgment — tried to merge divine essences in a forbidden ritual.
The result?
An entire city turned into black glass.
The souls of its people trapped in the windows — still screaming at sunset.
But from that chaos, Sins were born.
Emotional fragments. Divine distortions.
Birthed when the gods tried to understand humanity.
They failed.
What remained became Sins — ideas turned into monsters, monsters turned into curses.
"Gods are not love. Gods are necessity. They exist because the world needs a punishment greater than death."
Today, few dare to worship such entities.
Their names are whispered in ruins or carved into the blood of forgotten pacts.
But rumors speak of something rising...
Not a Primordial.
Something hybrid.
Something that carries the essence of a Sin — and the human desire to become more than just a vessel.
This will be true chaos.
The birth of a god who understands human hatred —
And chooses to feed on it.
III. Curses and Blessings
"Every gift is a debt."
Not all destruction roars. Some come as promises.
Curses were born from the imbalance between divine will and mortal fragility.
When someone touches a power they don’t understand — it answers.
And the answer is always a trade.
Something is given.
Something is taken.
"A curse is a blessing gone wrong.
A blessing is a curse on a timer."
There are three known sources for such forces:
Those born from Gods:
Divine gifts carved into flesh.
They can heal, protect, or elevate — but each use consumes a piece of the soul.
Those who overuse them become Exiles of Light — twisted aberrations, trapped between dimensions, screaming for eternity.
Those born from Sins:
These are not granted — they choose.
When a Sin sees someone broken enough, it offers power — and a Mark.
Each Sin-curse brings a symbol, a mutation, and a unique price:
Eternal pain, isolation, emotional ruin.
But in return... power that rivals the gods.
Those born from the world:
“Natural” curses formed by places drenched in death, botched rituals, or sheer human despair.
Some spread by touch.
Others, by words.
And there are those hidden in forgotten names: speak one — and it becomes yours.
Until your throat rots out.
True blessings are rare.
A blessed being carries a light that repels monsters and condemns sinners.
But this light does not protect — it attracts judgment.
With every enemy that falls, the blessing shines brighter... until the heavens themselves send something to reclaim what is theirs.
“The cursed live longer.
The blessed die better.”
In the hidden halls of the Fragmented Church, priests stitch scrolls from human skin and pray for a new blessing to be born — one that can be controlled.
But the world already knows.
No blessing comes free.
And every curse has a master, waiting in silence... for the right moment to collect.
"Everything ever forged was once meant to kill someone."
Before the first God died, He left a request.
Before the first war began, He left a weapon.
Before the first lie was spoken, someone carved it into stone.
Relics are more than mere objects.
They are witnesses.
Forged in moments of fury, despair, worship, or utter hatred.
And like everything born of emotion... they feel.
There are levels among these creations:
Forged by blacksmiths, imbued with small amounts of mana.
They break. They rust. They’re useless against stronger entities —
but sometimes, it's not the steel that cuts. It's the one who wields it.
Objects with unique properties, infused with basic spells:
a torch that never extinguishes, a ring that warms in danger, an arrow that seeks the heart.
Their effects are limited — and if misused, they explode. Literally.
Created with purpose.
To kill a king.
To seal a demon.
To avenge a people.
Each relic holds a dormant consciousness — and it only awakens if it respects its bearer.
Otherwise, it devours them.
Mentally. Spiritually. Physically.
Some speak.
Others scream the names of former wielders every time they’re used.
There are relics that feed on sin.
Others on good memories.
Some grant power — others make you pay with the life of someone you love.
“You don’t wield a relic.
It wields you.”
Some weapons may fuse with their bearers. Others choose to reincarnate.
A spear used by a warrior dies with her, and is reborn as a dagger in the hands of an orphan a thousand years later.
The name remains.
So does the thirst for blood.
There are lost relics.
Hidden.
Traded for a night of pleasure or a plate of food.
The entire world hunts these artifacts.
Because the right sword, in the wrong hands, rewrites history with fresh blood.
“Not every monster is summoned. Some answer out of love.”
When the first pact was made, it wasn’t sealed with blood.
It was sealed with respect.
A human knelt. A beast bowed its head.
No words were spoken — but the bond was formed.
That was the birth of Familiars.
They are not pets.
They are not servants.
And they were never "cute little creatures."
Familiars are living, conscious beings — sometimes older than the gods themselves.
How is a Familiar created?
It isn’t.
Familiars are not forged or summoned like spells or tame monsters.
A pact only occurs in two cases:
— When both parties recognize each other — a bond beyond logic.
— Or when one party completely defeats the other, and instead of killing, offers partnership.
“The strongest bonds are forged between enemies who chose to stop killing each other.”
Types of Familiars:
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Beings who fight alongside their bearer.
They may be dragons, beasts, shadows, or entities.
They absorb damage, amplify magic, or distort reality itself.
Each has its own will.
If the bearer hesitates… the pact breaks.
And the familiar devours their former “master.”
Ghosts, living memories, remnants of forgotten gods.
They have no physical form, but enter the bearer’s body and grant momentary abilities.
Some heal. Others curse.
And some simply whisper forbidden secrets into the user’s ear at night.
Innocent appearances — a butterfly, a brooch, a speck of dust.
But they live inside the body or soul, feeding on the bearer slowly.
In exchange, they offer absurd powers.
The more you use them… the less you remain yourself.
Rules of the Pacts:
— One cannot have more than one true familiar. The soul can’t endure it.
— If the familiar dies… a piece of the bearer dies as well.
— If the bearer dies… some familiars take their own lives.
Others wander eternally, seeking revenge.
Some familiars, once freed, destroy entire cities.
Others fall in love with their masters and kill anyone who stares for too long.
There are entire families created by a single familiar, passed from generation to generation, watching the world and interfering in wars as a god disguised as an animal.
"To name your fear is the first step to face it."
The world has always tried to understand the creatures that devour it.
But there are beings that were never meant to be understood.
Even so, men dared to classify them.
They created the Class System. Not to control… but to survive.
Cinéreo Class — “Those Who Crawl in the Dust”
These are the leftovers. The remnants of chaos.
Deformed goblins, grotesque rats, shadows whispering in forgotten ruins.
They are weak… but not stupid.
In groups, they can wipe out entire villages in the blink of an eye.
Underestimating them is the mistake that starts massacres.
Rubrum Class — “Blood Spilled on the Earth”
Every footprint of a demonic wolf in this class already carries the scent of death.
They are the terror of caravans, the doom of unprepared adventurers.
It's not uncommon for them to hide behind human faces or corrupt ordinary beasts.
Fighting them is like dancing with a blade pressed to your neck.
áureo Class — “Those Who Defy Kings and Armies”
Basilisks that turn soldiers into statues.
Young dragons that breathe fire hotter than the gods' own forge.
Chimeras that scream with three voices and bring down walls with a single kick.
These monsters aren't challenges: they're disasters with a will of their own.
Obscurus Class — “Those Who Live in Shadows and Legends”
No one knows where they come from. Not even if they have an origin.
Some say they're living curses; others, echoes of a time before time.
Real specters speaking in dead tongues, demons who laugh when cut.
Facing one is like trying to stay sane at the bottom of the ocean.
Arcano Class — “Creatures Beyond Mortal Understanding”
If you see one… run.
If you can’t run… pray.
But pray softly, for these creatures hear prayers—and feed on them.
They are titans who step over mountains, ancient dragons who’ve forgotten their own names, demons who laughed on the gallows of the gods.
They say these can only be sealed.
But those who sealed them… were never seen again.
Nihil Class — “That Which Should Not Exist”
They weren’t born.
They weren’t created.
They simply are.
Abominations that defy time, space, and logic.
Entities that walk between realities, draining reason, corrupting the ground they pass.
They cannot be classified. Nor studied.
The Guild’s only recommendation is: do not think about them for too long.
The world tries to protect itself.
But every classification is just a desperate attempt to cage the mouth of a monster.
And every time a new one appears, the list must grow.
Because fear evolves too.
Monster System (with Origin Legends)
Men created classes for monsters, but each name… came from trauma.
Each word… from catastrophe.
They named horrors—not out of wisdom, but from scars.
Cinéreo Class — “Those Who Crawl in the Dust”
Name Origin: The Cinéreo Tragedy
The village of Cinéreo was small, hidden in the mountains, forgotten even by the maps.
In a single day, it turned to dust.
Infected goblins rose from mining shafts, giant rats multiplied in empty houses, and shadows licked the walls.
There was no warning. No chance.
What remained was a blanket of fine dust, like ashes.
Since then, any miserable crawling creature carries the name of the village that couldn’t scream.
Rubrum Class — “Blood Spilled on the Earth”
Name Origin: The Red Hill
The Battle of Red Hill was supposed to be easy.
Well-armed soldiers against a band of common monsters.
But the wolves came with fire in their eyes, trolls with natural armor, and the dead rose to fight alongside them.
When the battle ended, there was no grass left. No flesh.
The earth drank so much blood it stayed crimson for three seasons.
The Guild never again underestimated “common” monsters.
áureo Class — “Those Who Defy Kings and Armies”
Name Origin: The Golden Massacre
King Aldomar IV sent two thousand men, three royal mages, and a celestial knight to hunt a golden basilisk.
The beast not only melted the army with one acidic breath but buried the knight beneath a melted mountain.
The royal armor gleamed under the sun while the bodies rotted around it.
The Guild called these creatures áureos…
Because the gold of blood and glory comes at a high price when the creature strikes back.
Obscurus Class — “Those Who Live in Shadows and Legends”
Name Origin: The Veil of Obscurus
In the forest of Haren’thul, something appeared.
It was made of wind and despair, with eyes that blinked in different places every time you looked.
No one knew what it was, where it came from, or what it wanted.
They called it “Obscurus,” as the old bards once named the darkness that devours reason.
The forest is still there.
But those who enter… come back speaking dead tongues. Or don’t come back at all.
Arcano Class — “Creatures Beyond Mortal Understanding”
Name Origin: The Day of the Fallen Angel
In the holy city of Vel’Dor, a creature descended from the skies.
It had golden wings, translucent skin, and a thousand eyes scattered across its body.
They called it an angel.
It responded by reciting the true names of the inhabitants… and evaporated them.
The churches burned. The altars bled.
Only one priest survived and said:
"That was no angel… it was the warning that even the heavens can bleed."
Since then, monsters that defy the divine have been marked as Arcanes.
Name origin: The Fracture of Nihilum
When the star fell into the black ocean, the whole world trembled.
From the impact, something was born.
It had no shape. No color.
But it had hunger.
Within minutes, it evaporated three islands. Swallowed the rain. Silenced sound.
The Guild sent mages, oracles, warriors, lesser gods.
All vanished.
A single scroll was found floating in the sea of bones. On it, only one word:
“Nihilum” — the absolute nothing.
From that point on, any creature that bent reality in its presence was named:
Nihil.
Not as a warning…
But as a prayer.
"Before gold, there was only hunger… and the blade." — Chronicle of Raduum, the First Merchant.
Long before any kingdom had a banner, before gods were worshiped by name, the world lived in direct trade: blood for land, iron for protection. Value was defined by survival. A chunk of meat could buy a night of peace.
But as beings evolved — humans, elves, demons, and all the rest — a cruel need was born: the value of something had to be measured.
It was after the First War of the Silent Thrones, a conflict unrecorded in ordinary books, that a new era was forged — quite literally.
It’s said that seven legendary merchants, each from a different race, gathered among the ruins of Tir Valen, a city burned by the graying dragon Vantharh.
Tired of the instability and betrayal in bartering promises, the seven founded a pact:
The Consortium of the Broken Balance.
Each carried something:
— One bore silver extracted from the cursed plains.
— Another, gold from the ocean depths, salvaged by sea-folk who died in breath-rituals.
— The third, copper stripped from the corpses of soldiers.
— The fourth, a black nugget, unknown to the others, that whispered when touched.
— The fifth, a translucent gem that absorbed light.
— The sixth, a bar of crystallized light from the sky itself.
— And the seventh… nothing. Just a blood-stained scrap of paper with the words: “Everything has a price.”
Together, they minted the first concepts of absolute value.
But forging coins wasn’t enough — they had to give meaning to their power.
Thus were born the:
Cuprum — The most common. Made from copper stained by war blood, used by peasants and thieves. Its name comes from the ancient word "Cuprus", meaning “last chance.”
Argentum — Silver purified with the salt of a lesser goddess’s tears. Used by merchants and temples. Symbolizes balance.
Aurum — Gold forged in black embers, created by the exiled dwarves of Verkhadin. Used by nobles and guildmasters.
Aurum Grandis — A rare coin, etched with ancient inscriptions and sealed magic. Created by merchant dragons of bygone eras. Few possess one.
Astralis — Born from the fusion of matter and spell. Forged in the heart of a fallen star, minted by the alchemists of the Mad God. Only supreme churches and kingdoms own them.
And then, there is:
Oblivion — The forbidden coin. Made from the bone of a dead god and the soul of a slave. Used for black markets, life trafficking, soul torture.
Those who carry Oblivion hold more than wealth — they carry a curse.
"They created value… but forgot to price greed." — Fragment of the Legend of Solanir, the God of Hidden Markets.
Today, these coins are used for everything — from bread to castles, from favors to betrayals.
No one cares anymore about the blood that forged Cuprum, the rituals that purified Argentum, or the screams trapped in Oblivion.
They've become just money. And like all money, they've forgotten where they came from.
In a world shaped by sins born of the human soul, by gods who walked with mortals, by curses that feed on broken promises, by relics that whisper forgotten names, by familiars that carry ancient oaths, by monsters that devour logic, and by coins minted in blood and forgetfulness,
nothing is random.
Every accepted sin, every broken contract, every stained soul...
generates energy.
This energy, invisible to human eyes, feeds the ancient gods, both the fallen and the forgotten.
Every new mark etched into a bearer...
is a candle lit on the altar of a hungry god.
These gods, in turn, shaped the world:
They forged curses as instruments of punishment.
They gave blessings as golden chains — beautiful, but still chains.
Every relic, every enchanted artifact or sacred weapon, is a living record of history.
They are material scars of the past.
Some were created by gods.
Others, by sinners so powerful that their emotions crystallized into steel, crystal, bone, or flesh.
These relics are sought after, sold, forged, and stolen.
They move markets and awaken monsters.
A familiar is never just a companion.
It is an echo.
An echo of an ancestral pact, an unpaid debt, an eternal love, or an unforgivable crime.
Some are born from sin, others from blessings.
Many are witnesses to ancient monsters, and others... were monsters before becoming servants.
? Monsters are the consequence
Every creature, whether of the Cinerous Class or Nihil, is the world’s response to humanity’s excesses.
When a king’s pride surpasses the heavens, a Basilisk is born.
When a civilization forgets the gods, an Obscurus awakens.
When the world writhes in pain, the Nihil opens.
They are not mistakes.
They are corrections.
? The Economy is the mirror
Coins, even those forged in blood and silence, have become the universal language of loss and power.
They flow through everything: they buy relics, pay for pacts, fuel wars between sinners and saints.
They finance the hunting of monsters.
They give value to sin, silence the gods, enslave familiars, and corrupt what is divine.
The cycle is perfect.
“This world was not made to be saved.
It was made so that everything, eventually, would have a price.”
During a brief sigh in history, the world found peace.
Sins slumbered in the veins of the forgotten.
The Gods, silent upon their unreachable thrones, watched.
Monsters returned to the shadows they came from.
The economy flowed, contracts were honored, armies rested.
For a moment... everything held.
But then, something changed.
It wasn’t an event. It wasn’t a war.
It was a feeling.
Cold as the touch of truth.
Heavy as the guilt of a king.
A strange feeling, small… but spreading like a plague among the living and the dead.
Something no system foresaw. That no religion could explain.
Not even the oldest remember anything like it.
The world was at peace. But something happened.
The awakening of a fallen God?
A new Nihil crawling from the edges of creation?
Or perhaps...
the rise of a hero who doesn’t wish to save anyone...
or a destroyer who has yet to choose what to destroy?
Whatever it is—
He is already here.