The slums of the Underworld were not a place for dreams. Here, in the forgotten gutters where the waste of noble demon families collected, survival was the only law. The streets were narrow, choked with dirt and the stench of decay. The Underworld above was a grand tapestry of power and wealth—noble demon families with ancient bloodlines reigned from towering fortresses, governing everything beneath them. But here, far below their lofty gaze, the demons who were unlucky enough to be born without power scurried like rats.
This was where Mikhael lived, or rather, where he had awoken.
The memories were hazy. There had been a flash of light—a car crash? Screams? His human body, broken and torn apart, had been left behind in a previous life. In this one, he awoke in the body of a child no more than six years old, his demon blood thrumming in his veins. He should have been confused, panicked by the transition, but something felt… right. As if the Underworld was where he had always been meant to be.
Mikhael pulled himself to his feet, wincing at the sharp pain that radiated from his bones. His body was weak, malnourished, and covered in filth. He could hear the faint sounds of other children—no, other demons—fighting over scraps of food, the same way they did every day. But Mikhael wasn't like them. Not anymore.
"I… died, didn't I?" he whispered to himself. The rasp of his voice startled him. The words echoed in the tight alleyways around him, but no one heard. No one cared.
Mikhael pressed his back against a crumbling stone wall and tried to make sense of it all. He was reborn. This new body, this frail, demon form—he wasn't sure what had caused it, but it was unmistakably real. His memories from his previous life as a human were distant, like fog rolling over a forgotten valley. But there was no time to dwell on what was lost. The only certainty was that he was here now.
He had to survive.
---
The first few days in the slums were harsh. The other children, the slum rats, were feral, more beast than demon. They pounced on any weakness, their eyes hollow and predatory. Mikhael quickly learned how to move unnoticed, blending in with the shadows to scavenge for food. His small frame allowed him to slip into the narrowest crevices of the underworld city, avoiding the stronger demons who prowled the streets. He hadn't even tapped into his power yet—not fully. But he knew it was there, simmering just beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed.
At night, Mikhael found solace in the corners of abandoned buildings. The slums had a strange silence at night, an eerie calm that only emphasized how fragile life was in this place. The air was heavy with the scent of sulfur and soot, and Mikhael would lie on the hard, cold ground, staring up at the blackened sky.
It was on one such night, as he tried to rest, that he first heard them.
The voices.
They were subtle at first, whispers that seemed to come from the very walls themselves. They slithered into his mind, cold and smooth like oil.
"You're pathetic."
Mikhael bolted upright, his eyes wide. The voice was unlike anything he had heard before—deep, filled with contempt. It was as if someone had spoken directly inside his mind. He looked around, but the alley was empty.
Another voice, this one softer, more coaxing: "Why do you struggle? You know what you want… just take it."
Mikhael's heart raced. "Who… who's there?"
No answer came, but the voices persisted, growing louder. There was something strange about them, something familiar. It was then that Mikhael felt it, deep within his chest—a dark presence, like a sleeping beast stirring. He gasped as a wave of heat washed over him, and suddenly, it all made sense.
They weren't just voices. They were him.
He closed his eyes and focused inward, and when he did, the presence became clearer. In the vast emptiness of his mind, seven figures emerged, each one distinct, each one representing a different facet of his very soul.
Wrath was the first to materialize, his form towering and muscular, red eyes glowing like coals beneath a dark hood. His fists were clenched, and there was a perpetual snarl on his lips. He radiated raw, violent energy, like a volcano on the verge of eruption.
"You think you can survive here by hiding? By cowering?" Wrath's voice boomed in Mikhael's mind. "Take what you want. Crush anyone who stands in your way. That's the only way you'll live."
Another figure stepped forward, dripping with shadows. Greed. His fingers twitched restlessly, clutching at the air as if constantly searching for more. His eyes gleamed with hunger—insatiable, bottomless. "There's so much out there. Food, power, wealth... Why settle for less when you could have it all?"
The next presence was soft, alluring, but no less dangerous. Lust walked with slow, deliberate steps, her eyes half-lidded, lips curled into a teasing smile. "Why fight? Why struggle?" she purred. "You could have pleasure, darling. Isn't that what you desire most?"
Mikhael shuddered, feeling her influence tug at his emotions, her presence almost intoxicating. But before he could respond, a sluggish figure drifted into view—Sloth. His form was sluggish, indifferent, barely lifting his head to acknowledge Mikhael. "Why bother? None of this matters. Just... sleep. Let it all pass by. What's the point in fighting?"
As Mikhael struggled to push Sloth's lazy grip from his mind, Pride emerged, standing tall and regal, his armor gleaming in the dim light of Mikhael's consciousness. His chin was lifted high, his expression one of utter superiority. "You are above all this filth," Pride said smoothly. "You deserve more than this. The noble houses of the Underworld are fools. You will rise above them all, for you are destined for greatness."
Then came Gluttony, a grotesque figure with an enormous belly, always gnawing on something, his teeth sharp and stained. His hunger was endless, and he looked at Mikhael with greed in his eyes. "More," he rasped. "Always more. Feed me. Feed your desires."
The final figure stepped forward, more subtle but no less insidious—Envy. His green eyes flickered with malice as he whispered, "Look around you. Everyone else has more than you. They have strength, wealth, power. It's unfair. Don't you want what they have?"
Mikhael trembled as the seven figures surrounded him, their voices swirling in his mind. Each one represented a part of him, a part that he hadn't even realized existed. He wasn't just any demon. He was tied to the very essence of the Seven Deadly Sins. And somehow, he had control over them.
But it wasn't perfect control. He could feel their influence pressing against his thoughts, each sin vying for dominance. At any moment, Wrath's rage could consume him, or Pride's arrogance could blind him to the truth. He had to find a way to balance them all, or he would lose himself to their power.
"What… what are you?" Mikhael asked, his voice shaking.
Pride smirked. "We are you. You were given a gift upon your rebirth, boy. You are not just a demon. You have the power to control desires—the desires linked to us."
Greed chuckled darkly. "And with that power, you can take anything you want."
Mikhael's heart raced. The idea of controlling desires, bending others to his will… it was intoxicating. But there was danger there too. He had seen what happened when demons let their desires run wild. In the slums, it was kill or be killed. Could he really trust this power?
"What's the catch?" Mikhael asked warily.
Lust smiled seductively. "Oh, darling, no catch. Just give in. Let us guide you, and you'll never have to suffer again."
Mikhael's fists clenched at his sides. He didn't trust them—any of them. But he couldn't deny the allure of the power they offered. He had spent his entire life as a human being weak, powerless. But here, in the Underworld, he had the chance to become something more. Something dangerous.
The seven sins waited, watching him with eager eyes, their influence pressing against his thoughts. But Mikhael wasn't ready to give in just yet.
"I'll use your power," Mikhael said slowly. "But I'll be the one in control. Not you."
Wrath growled, his fists tightening, but Pride merely smiled. "Very well, boy. We shall see."
With that, the figures began to fade, retreating into the shadows of Mikhael's mind, but their presence never fully disappeared. He could still feel them there, lingering like ghosts, waiting for the right moment to resurface. Their whispers dulled but didn't vanish. The pull of their influence was constant, tempting him, pushing him toward decisions he wouldn't have made before. It was unsettling, but also empowering.
Mikhael stood in the alley, his breath steadying as the pounding in his head began to subside. The world around him felt different now, more vivid. He wasn't just a weak, starving child anymore. He had power, even if he barely understood its full potential.
"I will survive," he murmured to himself. "No matter what."
---
The next morning, Mikhael's resolve hardened. He couldn't stay in the shadows forever, hiding from the world. If he wanted to thrive, he needed to learn how to control the power inside him, how to harness it without letting it devour him from within. The slums were unforgiving, but they were also the perfect testing grounds for someone with a power like his.
Mikhael ventured deeper into the heart of the slums, weaving through narrow, crumbling streets where demons huddled together for warmth. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and filth, and the oppressive gloom hung over everything like a shroud. Children and adults alike scurried between makeshift shelters, avoiding eye contact, clinging to whatever meager possessions they could gather. Some had resigned themselves to their fate, others were plotting ways to escape—but for most, survival was the only thing that mattered.
Mikhael's stomach growled, reminding him of how long it had been since he'd last eaten. He knew that he needed to be cautious. The other slum rats were quick to defend their territory, and any sign of weakness would invite attack. But now, with the voices inside him whispering their promises of power, he was no longer as vulnerable as he had once been.
As he crept along the streets, a group of slum rats caught his eye. They were older than him, maybe by a few years, and much bigger. Their eyes were hollow, desperate. They huddled around a pile of stolen food, gnawing at pieces of bread and dried meat like starving animals. One of them, a lanky demon boy with sharp teeth, noticed Mikhael watching from the shadows.
"What do you want, runt?" the boy sneered, his voice carrying a dangerous edge.
Mikhael didn't respond immediately. Instead, he reached inward, focusing on the presence of Greed. The sin stirred, his influence wrapping around Mikhael's thoughts like a coiling snake.
"They have more than you," Greed whispered, his voice smooth and enticing. "They don't deserve it. You should have it. All of it."
The suggestion was tempting, and Mikhael could feel Greed's hunger infecting his own thoughts. But he didn't lose himself in it. He stayed in control, using Greed's power rather than letting it control him. With a deep breath, he focused on the demon boy, willing his power to take hold.
"You want to share," Mikhael whispered, his voice barely audible. He reached out with his mind, focusing on the boy's desire, pushing it, twisting it. "You want to give me some of that food."
At first, nothing happened. The boy scowled at him, baring his sharp teeth, but then his expression softened. His eyes glazed over for a moment, and his grip on the food in his hands loosened.
"Yeah…" the boy murmured, almost in a trance. "I guess… I could share."
He tore off a chunk of bread and tossed it to Mikhael without a second thought. The other slum rats looked at him in confusion, but none of them protested. They were too focused on devouring their own portions to notice the strange shift in the boy's behavior.
Mikhael caught the bread and took a cautious bite. It was stale, nearly tasteless, but to his empty stomach, it was the best thing he had eaten in days.
Greed laughed softly in the back of his mind. "See how easy it is? You could take everything from them if you wanted to. Why stop at just a piece of bread?"
Mikhael ignored the temptation to push further. For now, this was enough. He needed to conserve his strength, to practice his abilities without drawing too much attention. The slums were filled with dangerous demons, and the last thing he needed was to become a target before he was ready to defend himself.
He withdrew from the group, retreating into the safety of the alleyways, and made his way back to his makeshift shelter—a crumbling building on the edge of the slums, half-buried in debris. It wasn't much, but it offered some protection from the elements and from the prying eyes of other slum rats.
As he sat down to finish his meager meal, the voices in his head grew louder again. This time, it was Wrath who spoke.
"You should have killed them," Wrath growled, his voice filled with frustration. "Weaklings like them don't deserve to live. You could have ended them and taken everything."
Mikhael clenched his fists. "I don't need to kill them. Not yet."
Wrath's anger flared, but Mikhael pushed it down, keeping his emotions in check. He wouldn't let the sin control him. Not now, and not ever. But he knew that Wrath's influence would be the hardest to resist. The temptation to lash out, to crush those who stood in his way, was strong. And in a place like the slums, it was all too easy to give in to that kind of rage.
As night fell once more, Mikhael lay down on the cold ground, his thoughts racing. The seven sins were a part of him, and they would always be there, whispering their desires, pushing him toward darkness. But they were also his greatest asset. If he could learn to control them, to master his power, he could rise above the slums. He could become something more than just a forgotten child of the Underworld.
But what did that really mean? What was his goal? To survive? To rise to power? The faces of the noble demon houses flashed in his mind, their wealth and power so far above him that they barely acknowledged the slums even existed. To them, people like Mikhael were nothing more than vermin. A flicker of resentment burned in his chest.
Pride spoke then, his voice calm and composed. "You are better than them. One day, you will stand above them all."
Mikhael didn't respond, but the thought lingered. Maybe Pride was right. Maybe, one day, he would rise above the slums, above the noble houses, and carve out his own place in the Underworld.
But that day was still far away. For now, he would focus on survival. He would hone his abilities, learn to control the sins within him, and bide his time. Because deep down, he knew that the Underworld was a place where power was everything. And he wasn't going to remain powerless for long.
---
Chapter 1: Aftermath of the Slum Rat
The next few weeks in the slums blurred into a routine of survival and experimentation. Mikhael began to understand his connection to the seven sins more clearly. Each one offered a different form of control, a different way to manipulate the demons around him.
Greed was useful when he needed something—whether it was food, supplies, or information. By amplifying the desires of those around him, he could push them to offer him what he needed without resistance.
Lust had a subtler effect, one that Mikhael didn't fully understand yet. It wasn't just about physical desire—it was about attraction, about drawing people to him, making them want to be near him, to follow his lead. He hadn't used it much, but he could feel its potential.
Wrath was the most dangerous of the sins. It was always there, simmering beneath the surface, ready to explode at any moment. When Mikhael let Wrath take control, his strength increased, his reflexes sharpened, and his fear disappeared. But it was a double-edged sword. Wrath was reckless, destructive, and difficult to control. Mikhael knew that if he wasn't careful, he could lose himself in the rage.
Pride was always present, always whispering that he was destined for greatness. It gave Mikhael confidence, but it also made him cautious. Pride was dangerous in its own way—too much of it, and he could underestimate his enemies, make mistakes that could cost him everything.
Envy, Gluttony, and Sloth were quieter, less aggressive. But they had their uses too. Envy helped Mikhael identify the weaknesses of others, to see what they desired and what they lacked. Gluttony, though tied to hunger, also gave him an insatiable drive—a need to always seek more, to never be satisfied with what he had. And Sloth… Sloth was the most deceptive of all. It lulled Mikhael into a false sense of security, whispering that he didn't need to fight, didn't need to struggle. But Mikhael knew better than to let it take hold. In the slums, there was no room for laziness.
As he honed his abilities, Mikhael also began to study his abilities more indepthly.
Mikhael had never felt so alive, even in his previous life. His body—this new, demon form—was weak by comparison to the powerful forces that ruled the Underworld. But now, there was something different about him. The seven sins inside him had granted him a fragment of their power, and with it, Mikhael would rise above the filth. He just had to learn how to use them without losing himself in the process.
The streets of the slums were as unforgiving as ever. Every corner was a potential battleground. Mikhael stayed low, keeping his senses sharp, especially after the encounter with the older slum rats. He had managed to manipulate the desires of one of them—just a taste of his Greed ability—but he knew that using these powers too openly would attract the wrong kind of attention.
A few days passed in relative calm. Mikhael scavenged for food and kept to the shadows, practicing his control over the sins in small, subtle ways. The slums were chaotic, but the chaos allowed him to move unnoticed, to survive unnoticed.
But Mikhael wasn't content with just surviving. He needed to thrive.
That night, he returned to the abandoned building he had claimed as his shelter. The small room, half-collapsed and covered in dust, was his sanctuary. He sat cross-legged on the floor, closing his eyes, sinking into the depths of his mind where the seven sins resided.
"Show yourselves," he whispered.
In an instant, the familiar figures of Wrath, Greed, Lust, Sloth, Envy, Pride, and Gluttony appeared before him. Each of them, a reflection of the desires within him, stood in their unique forms, watching him.
Pride, as always, stepped forward first. "You've begun to understand your power, but you're still holding back."
Mikhael didn't respond immediately. He knew that Pride was right. He was still figuring out how far he could push himself without being overwhelmed by the power the sins represented.
"Maybe," Mikhael admitted, "but that's because I don't fully trust you."
Pride smirked. "Trust is irrelevant. Power is what matters. You are meant for greatness, Mikhael. Do not let these slums shackle you."
Before Mikhael could respond, Wrath snarled, his form blazing with fiery energy. "Enough talk! You're wasting time! Why aren't you out there, crushing your enemies? What good is this power if you don't use it to destroy those who stand in your way?"
Mikhael shook his head, brushing off Wrath's bloodlust. "I can't draw attention yet. There are demons out there stronger than me. I need to be smarter about how I use my power."
Wrath growled, but Mikhael's answer seemed to satisfy him for now. The others stayed silent, their presence a constant reminder of the power Mikhael held, waiting to be unleashed.
Then, Sloth, his sleepy eyes half-closed, whispered, "You should rest. What's the point of fighting when you can just wait? Power will come to you in time."
Mikhael felt the familiar pull of Sloth's influence, the tempting desire to simply give in and let the world pass by. But he shook it off. "No. If I don't act, I'll be crushed like all the others in the slums."
The figures began to fade back into the recesses of his mind, leaving Mikhael alone again with his thoughts.
"I need to get stronger," he muttered. "But how?"
As he pondered his next move, something clicked in his mind. It wasn't just his connection to the sins that gave him power. He had access to something else—the system. When he had first awoken in this demon body, the system had appeared briefly, showing him his stats and abilities. It felt like a game, but it was real, and it was part of him now.
Mikhael focused, willing the system interface to appear before him.
---
[System Interface]
Name: Mikhael
Race: Demon
Age: 6
Level: 1
Experience: 0/100
Stats
Strength: 10
Intelligence: 10
Wisdom: 10
Durability: 10
Dexterity: 10
Agility: 10
Mana: 10,000 (Increases by 5% per level)
Health: 15,000 (Increases by 5% per level)
Abilities
Cloning (Chance-based: Can create 2 clones)
Amplifying (2-4x quality increase; 5-10x quantity increase)
Record (Photographic memory)
Pause (Time manipulation)
Envy (Amplify desires, control others)
Lust (Charm; limited petrification)
Sloth (Compress and amplify strength; cultivate power during rest)
Gluttony (Absorb attacks, analyze, drain power)
---
There it was. His stats were low—no better than any other slum rat at the moment—but he could increase them through training. The system also provided daily quests. Small tasks like physical exercise would reward him with stat points. He could use those to grow stronger, faster than normal demons, and eventually surpass even the most powerful beings in the Underworld.
Mikhael clenched his fists, determination burning in his chest. This was the key to his survival.
---
The following day, Mikhael began his training.
The system's daily quest flashed before his eyes as he woke up in the cold, musty room.
---
[Daily Quest: Basic Training]
Complete:
100 push-ups
100 sit-ups
100 squats
10 km run
Rewards:
20 stat points
5 bonus points for every 5% of the exercises completed
---
It wasn't going to be easy. His body, though enhanced by his demonic nature, was still young and weak. But Mikhael pushed himself harder than he ever had. Every push-up sent a burning sensation through his arms, every squat strained his legs, but he didn't stop. He couldn't afford to stop.
As he worked through the exercises, he could feel the effects almost immediately. His muscles screamed in protest, but he pushed through the pain, focusing on his goal. Every completed set added to his strength. The system rewarded him with small bursts of energy, slowly increasing his stamina and resilience.
When he finally collapsed after completing his training, panting and drenched in sweat, the system rewarded him with a pleasant chime.
---
[Daily Quest Complete]
Stat Points Earned: 20
---
Mikhael sat back, catching his breath. He opened the system interface again and allocated the points he had earned.
---
[Stats]
Strength: 10 → 14
Durability: 10 → 13
Agility: 10 → 12
Intelligence: 10 → 11
Wisdom: 10 → 10
Dexterity: 10 → 11
---
It wasn't much, but it was a start. With every quest completed, his stats would improve, and with them, his chances of survival. The more he trained, the stronger he would become.
As the sun set over the slums, Mikhael leaned against the crumbling wall of his shelter, his body sore from the day's exertions. He stared out at the dim, red-hued sky of the Underworld, feeling the weight of his newfound powers and responsibilities.
This was just the beginning.
He had only scratched the surface of what he could do. The sins inside him were growing more restless by the day, urging him to take risks, to explore the full extent of his abilities. And with the system's help, Mikhael was sure that he could push past the limits of this world and rise above it all.
In time, he would make a name for himself. Not as a slum rat, not as a forgotten child of the Underworld, but as something far more dangerous and powerful.
But for now, he would train. He would grow. And he would wait for the right moment to strike.
---
End of Chapter 1