Those untouched by Sin or Virtue were called the Unmarked.
Some were lost. Others wandered, unaware of their potential. There was no way to predict one's fate before the Awakening. Once marked—whether by Sin or Virtue—one ascended to the realm of the Tainted.
Becoming Tainted meant gaining access to one's Anima, the very essence of the mark. Through it, a wielder could harness the power of Hollow Energy. The rank of the Anima determined its strength, granting one or multiple abilities—but always at a cost.
Every Anima demanded a price.
The Sin of Murder came at the cost of self-harm. Each time a Sinbound used their power, they had to mutilate themselves in exchange for their sanity. The Virtue of Honesty allowed its wielder to discern truth from lies, to see through deception—but in turn, they could never lie. Their tongues were cursed to speak the truth, even against their will.
Some drawbacks were manageable. Others were life-threatening.
This was the double-edged sword of power. Strength at a cost.
However, the Anima offered more than just abilities. Through it, a wielder could absorb Hollow Energy, strengthening both their Anima and their body. In combat, this made even physical attacks devastating.
No one could discern another's Anima or its drawbacks unless it was one of the well-documented ones. Keeping this knowledge hidden was vital—because in battle, one's weakness could become their undoing.
Every Tainted developed a Hollow Scape—a space unique to their soul. The elders had long debated its nature, but one truth remained: no two Hollow Scapes were ever the same.
It was a manifestation of self.
Orion closed his eyes, steadying his breath. He had drilled this exercise countless times during his days in the Seed Pits.
When he opened them, he stood within his Hollow Scape.
He found himself in his hollow scape. It was bronze circular platform, with a night sky dome, clear of ambient light and cloud. The stars were glowing illuminating the darkness. The sky dome rotated fast enough to give the filling of a galaxy.
He even recognized some constellations. "Gemini, Andromeda, Aquila," he murmured as he walked toward the center of his hollow scape's circular platform. As he recited the constellations overhead, what he beheld chilled him to the core: instead of the single Anima he'd always known, his hollow scape now hosted two distinct manifestations.
To his right, bathed in radiant golden light, a serene figure materialized—a sitting, humanoid form clutching prayer beads like a meditative monk. Draped in flowing white and blue, its head took the shape of an hourglass, its sands rotating in a disjointed, almost hypnotic rhythm. Behind it, a clock displayed an infinity symbol, its hands moving in perpetual, enigmatic cycles.
On the left, a stark counterpoint appeared. An emerald-green mirror pulsed with life, encircled by a swirling, blood-red energy. Within its depths, hand-shaped marks seemed to claw desperately at the surface, as if yearning to break free.
"How is this possible?" Orion thought, his heart pounding. Dual marks were mere myth—no one spoke of a body housing opposing powers. Yet here he was, confronted with an unthinkable anomaly.
Despite the surge of dread, he stepped forward and extended both hands toward the two Animas. In that instant, their energies collided within him—a fierce battle for dominion over his soul. His forehead ignited with a deep crimson glow as the sin mark manifested in cracked, shifting patterns, like broken glass under a relentless assault. At the same time, his navel radiated a luminous golden light, etched with a spiraling design that grew, stretched, and never quite closed—a ceaseless, evolving symbol of virtue.
A torrent of information flooded his mind, secrets and insights from both Animas, until he abruptly snapped back to reality. Opening his eyes, a drop of blood escaped from his nose, and his face paled from exhaustion.
He now possessed an extraordinary bargaining chip, though a nagging question remained: How much did the red-eyed man know about this unprecedented duality?
At that moment, his eyes glowed in perfect equilibrium—one red, one gold. He had awakened the Virtue of Patience, the Anima of Endless Stillness. This power moved imperceptibly, like the slow erosion that sculpts mountains over centuries. It was a paradox—embodying both motion and stillness, teaching him that true patience is not inaction, but controlled, deliberate persistence.
As an absolute virtue, the [Anima of Endless Stillness] bestowed three distinct abilities—two active and one passive:
[Stillness Perception: The user can extend their awareness of time, processing the world in slow motion and reacting with near-impossible precision.]
[Golden patience: Pain, exhaustion, and mental distress become mere transient ripples; the user can delay their effects.]
[Calm the Storm: The user projects an aura that dampens aggression, slowing enemy reactions and forcing even the most violent adversaries into hesitant caution.]
Furthermore, his aura transformed—the air around him felt weighted with the passage of centuries. Each breath was heavy with the weight of time, expanding his perception until every detail shone with near-omniscient clarity.
But this power did not come without a cost. Every activation of his Anima chipped away at his will, eroding his urgency and drive. Overuse risked trapping him in an endless cycle of contemplation, leaving him paralyzed when decisive action was needed—a slow descent into depression.
Balancing his virtue was the sin he now bore: the Primordial Sin of Envy—an equally formidable force. The[ Anima of the Dark Mirror] granted him its powers, comprising two active abilities and one passive trait:
[Imitation: He could copy the abilities of those he envied, with the strength of the imitation growing in proportion to the intensity of his envy. If the envy was strong enough he could steal the ability.]
[Covetous Erasure: An oppressive force, fueled by jealousy allowing with the appropriate sacrifice to erase a part of someone, ability, anima, talent.]
[Emotional Manipulation: With subtle influence, he could plant seeds of resentment, jealousy, or admiration in the hearts of those around him.]
His dark aura further distorted reality—the space around him seemed to warp, light bending unnaturally, rendering his own face into a fragmented illusion. Shadows moved where they shouldn't, and whispers of buried desires echoed faintly in the air.
Yet, like every gift it bore a price. The sin mark's drawback—The Loss of Self—meant that each time he imitated another, a piece of his original identity faded away. His voice would change, his mannerisms shift, until one day, if he stole too much, he might look into a mirror and see nothing but an empty void—no memories, no essence, no trace of who he once was.
For all the power now coursing through him, he was willing to sacrifice his very soul if that was the cost.