Sin.<br/><br/>Wrath, for love of justice perverted.<br/><br/>Lust, for desire left uncontrolled.<br/><br/>Gluttony, for hunger never sated.<br/><br/>Greed, for excess unfettered.<br/><br/>Sloth, for potential wasted.<br/><br/>Envy, for the covetous heart.<br/><br/>Pride, for hubris unbowed.<br/><br/>There was beauty in sin; a fleeting whisper of perfection unrivaled in every aspect. Sin was so much more than impulse or instinct; some primal need that demanded satisfaction. The Princes of Hell often quarreled over the root of all Sin, the apex vice that ruled above the rest and also served as a basis for the flaws of their Father’s most beloved creation – mankind.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Lust!</span>One would cry.<span style="font-style: italic">For is not man a slave to his desire?</span><br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Pride!</span>Another would claim.<span style="font-style: italic">For does not man think himself above the Laws of God?</span><br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Greed!</span>Again, the Princes would wallow in their chosen Sin, surrounded by whores on a gilded throne.<span style="font-style: italic">For do not all sins stem from the want of man?</span><br/><br/>They were all wrong.<br/><br/>The greatest of all sins came in the form of a gift; a neat, carefully wrapped package in the most unassuming of fashions that it wasn’t surprising at all that it had been so easily overlooked. It was the root of all things, the creation of all sin and virtue alike, a seed of duality that bore poisonous fruit; toxic and sickly sweet. Unlike the seven, it could not be avoided, could not be forgiven. There was no virtue to stem the tide of corruption, no prayer written to bolster the spirit and steel the wind. It came as easily as breathing, a power so absently exercised that the weight of it was rarely felt by those who carried it.<br/><br/>The greatest of all sins was none other than the most precious of God’s gifts – free will. The seven cardinal sins were a poison, true, but they were mere stepping stones to something vastly darker. The sins were as much a part of humanity as the blood that flowed freely through their veins, a small animal constantly scratching at the back door to be let in. Sin was a gnawing, ceaseless hunger that always demanded to be satisfied – which is where the act of choice came into play.<br/><br/>“Take yourself, for example.” Nicodemus offered, having explained these thoughts out loud just moments before. “Your homeland lost a war you didn’t start; you were broken, bullied, and humiliated. Your people suffered in poverty while the dying beast of your government struggled to pay increasingly heavy reparations. So how does this make you feel? Angry, for having been charged with crimes you did not commit? Jealous, perhaps, of the victors and their happiness; naturally, there’s also your pride in your country, you’re refusal to believe that Germany – Germany, was being reduced to a mass slum.”<br/><br/>He paused, taking a moment to clasp his hands together and allow his words to sink in. He enjoyed moments like this. He imagined it as akin to teaching a child the ways of the world, and while his Father hadn’t approved the curriculum, was it not his calling to educate his younger siblings? There were plenty, most even, in Hell who hated humanity. They despised the mortal world, a cloying and toxic anger that stemmed most commonly from jealousy. For millions of years they’d sat at the feet of God, marveling at his creations and sharing in their glory – and then daddy brought the new baby home. Lucifer, and many others, simply couldn’t handle it.<br/><br/>Nicodemus, on the other hand,<span style="font-style: italic">adored</span>them.<br/><br/>“Now, these feelings are natural for a species your age – expected, even.” Nicodemus smiled. “But then you did something very, very naughty.” He clucked his tongue like a disappointed mother, wagging a finger disapprovingly. “You made a choice. You chose to act on those baser instincts; resulting in the slaughter of millions of your own people. It’s absolutely beautiful.”<br/><br/>“For instance, look at where we are now,” The room was dim, the shadow of his aura hungrily creeping along the walls. The lights remained, however, and the dull fluorescent tones only served as an accent to illuminate the crimson gore splashed against the walls. Doctor Dreschner couldn’t respond of course, but surely as a man of science, he could appreciate the point Nicodemus was trying to make. His encouragement came in the form of increasingly pathetic mewling as he was dissected by a pair of hounds, the large beasts toying with him for their own amusement. The size of a small pony, the ugly mutts were little more than skin and bone, heavily emaciated animals with wicked looking teeth that jutted out from the tattered folds of their jaws. The dark, mottled flesh of their bodies was more scar tissue than actual skin, a sparse mane of coarse fur running from the base of their necks down to the middle of their backs. Thin, rope-like tails whipped through the air in a flurry of sadistic glee as they watched him crawl helplessly towards a metal desk on the other side of the room. Occasionally they would allow him to almost reach his perceived sanctuary only to grab the raw, broken bone of his ankles and drag him back to the other side to watch as he repeated the process, huffing with excitement. “My pets are apt in destruction. As you can tell, they easily flay flesh from bone, causing excruciating agony to your person. That being said, they’re very limited beasts.” He patted the largest of the pair, Deimos, on the head, offering an affectionate scratch behind the ears.<br/><br/>“While they’re very,<span style="font-style: italic">very</span>good boys,” He pandered to the hounds like small children, only further eliciting the furious wagging of their tails. “<span style="font-style: italic">Yes you are; you’re daddy’s good boys</span>– they can only kill you in so many ways.” They continued to watch the good Doctor crawl feebly towards his desk, whimpering and sobbing the whole way. Occasionally one would turn back to look at the door of his lab, the feverish sobs of Adler drawing their attention. The man had sold his soul, and furthermore, sold out the scientific leader who’d apparently been like a father to the soldier for years. He’d pleaded for there to be another way, but in the end, Nicodemus simply had to insist. After all, a deal was a deal, and Nicodemus was nothing if not a man of his word. Adler’s life had been on the line – and he too, had made a choice; one that had sealed both of their fates. It would’ve only been a simple matter of time before he’d located the man, but Nicodemus was a practical man and valued efficiency. Why bother searching a facility when he could simply have someone lead him to the door step?<br/><br/>Also, as it had turned out, Dreschner had a crippling fear of dogs.<br/><br/>“But you; you’ve turned murder into an art form,” Nicodemus continued, waving a hand dismissively towards his pets. Immediately the hounds ceased their games, lithe bodies turning away to sit patiently at their master’s side. “You’ve mass produced slaughter, invented new ways of doing it – this world was created as a paradise for you, and you’ve dug up, hacked off, and melted down each and every gift so you can forge it into exciting new ways to kill one another. Your endless violence only serves to consolidate my own power of course, because what better time to make a sale than in war? The British and Americans are buying themselves into debt purchasing machines of iron and steel  - bonds and brands and bolts; and all the while business is booming for me because I’m buying your souls.”<br/>“For some reason the Princes, my brothers, and Lucifer want to wipe you off the map. They think that by killing you, they’ll be able to inherit the paradise that was given to you by our Father.” He took a seat on the edge of a cabinet, watching as Dreschner struggled to the edge of his desk, bloody fingers fumbling with one of the drawers. “But why wipe you out when you’re perfect the way you are? Why destroy the world, when you could simply own it? I don’t need to kill you;” Nicodemus smiled, glancing back at the door where Adler wept. “I simply need to control you.” He clapped his hands together in finality, hopping off of his position on the edge of the cabinet. “Well, sadly, I actually do have to kill you. Someone opened a contract to do so, and hey, I figured while I was in the neighborhood I might as well swing by.”<br/><br/>Nicodemus smoothed a hand over the front of his suit vest, adjusting the level of his tie against it. Sure, he was about to beat a man to death, but that was no excuse for poor fashion. Absently he checked his watch, mulling over how to quickly he needed to end this, after all, he was on a schedule. “Ah, what the Hell,” He said with a grin, leaning over one of the operating desks and picking up a blunt, heavy surgical hammer. “I’ve got time to kill.”<br/><br/>Dreschner mumbled something frantic, incoherent. Nicodemus approached a t a steady pace, rolling the hammer over easily in his hand. The bloodied, beaten man pulled something from the desk and clutched it to his chest, his eyes wild and afraid as the fallen Angel drew closer. With a desperate scream, he rolled onto his back and stretched out his farm, brandishing a worn cross stained freshly with the blood from his hands. A brilliant white light boiled out of the cross, searing and purifying. Nicodemus looked away, shielding his face with the crook of his arm, his own cries mingling with that of the man collapsed in a bloodied heap on the ground. Dreschner grinned, fierce and victorious. He howled something indiscernible as the hounds bayed in the background.<br/><br/>His grin faltered as the surprised cry was replaced will a roll of mocking laughter, and he lowered the holy relic with trembling hands.<br/><br/>“Did you really think that<span style="font-style: italic">your</span>faith would be enough? That<span style="font-style: italic">you</span>had someone in your corner?” Nicodemus grinned, lowering his arm and regaining his composure, smothering derisive laughter between his words. “Oh my dear, dear Doctor, haven’t you ever heard?” Nicodemus crouched down before the trembling man, his shadow hungrily crawling across the ground filling the room with an oppressive black murk. “The brighter the flame,” He leaned closer still, wrapping a hand around the cross and smothering what little glow remained, leaving only darkness. “<span style="font-style: italic">The deeper the shadow.</span>”<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>*		*		*<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>“M-my Lord?” The question was delivered with the faintest of stutters, a tremble of fear running through the words.<br/>Nicodemus rose from his kneeling position on the floor, setting the bloodied surgical hammer on the desk Dreschner had desperately attempted to crawl to. “Yes, Mr. Esser?” Nicodemus turned to the frightened man in the door way, wiping some of the gore from his face and absently smoothing the tangled locks of his copper hair with it. On the floor just outside of the door, Kristoff Adler, the man who had sold his soul, looked up in shock at his fellow soldier.<br/><br/>“You…you’ve, ah, received a…missive, sir.”<br/><br/>Nicodemus paused from wiping the blood from his chin, cocking his head to the side like a curious dog hearing a new sound. His thumb paused wiping the blood from his chin, tongue poking at his lower lip thoughtfully. “From?”<br/><br/>“The letter is marked with a seal, My Lord, but there is no name.”<br/><br/>A broad grin, manic and genuine stretched his macabre features and Esser took a tentative step back. “Of course there isn’t,” Nicodemus replied, raising a hand to accept the letter from his trembling messenger. The paper flapped loudly in the distance it crossed the room, Esser’s hands shaking profusely despite his obvious attempts to conceal it. Without another word Nicodemus snatched the parchment from his hands and dismissed the frightened soldier, unconcerned by the audible sigh of relief he elicited as he hurried out of the room. There were few, if any, who knew of Nicodemus’ location at any given time; not that the fallen Angel attempted to hide his location, and certainly not while he was working – but one would have to know<span style="font-style: italic">how</span>to look, and that knowledge was very,<span style="font-style: italic">very</span>limited.<br/><br/>The paper itself was plain and unassuming, humble even. The faintest taste of a familiar aura ran along the length of the edges, and Nicodemus turned the folded parchment over in his hands with a gentle fondness. The letter, folded into thirds, was sealed neatly with dried wax, an insignia he hadn’t seen in thousands of mortal lifetimes stamped into the face. Undoubtedly a subtle nudge from the sender had directed the soldier to Nicodemus, as it was free of other markings or address, and at that, Nicodemus smiled.<br/><br/>“God works in mysterious ways.”  He murmured, scanning over the writing within.<br/><br/>“He called you his ‘Lord,’” Kristoff interrupted, bleary eyes shadowed with loathing. “Why?”<br/><br/>“Ah, yes,” Nicodemus replied, not taking his eyes from the missive. “Much like I own you, I own most of this camp. As I’ve mentioned war is very profitable time for me; did you really think you were the only hairless ape in this compound that wants to survive?” He glanced up and offered a mock frown to the clear upset on the man’s face. “Don’t be a grumpy Gus; you’re the ones who invented the camps. Think about it, this place is like a farm for deals – you lot just happen to be the cattle.”<br/><br/>Nicodemus neatly closed the letter and placed it in his suit pocket, snug and safe. A soft pat on his leg roused his hounds, Deimos and Phobos, from their place on the floor and they attended to his side, waiting patiently for him to move. “Oh, before I forget – Kristoff,” The angry man cleared his eyes and looked up at Nicodemus from his place on the floor, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “You used to live next to the Bachstetter family, no?” Realization slowly dawned on his haggard face, an epiphany that turned to bleak horror in a precious few moments. “Good; you remember them. I want you to remove the head of your beloved mentor and deliver it, as well as her family to their doorstep.”<br/><br/>Adler began to protest, but clamped his mouth shut, rising with trembling legs and making his way into the room. Nicodemus turned from the man to one of the medical carts and picked up a grotesque looking saw, throwing it at his feet. “Leave the cross in, though; I think it’ll add a nice touch. Now if you’ll excuse me, I seem to have tea plans with an<span style="font-style: italic">old friend</span>.” Without another word, he walked from the room, leaving Adler to tend to the corpse of his mentor, the wooden cross hammered deep into his broken, open mouth.