My Lust System: I Inherited The Sin Of Lust And His Three Wives

Long before this generation of Seven Sins existed, Lazarus was born into one of the oldest elven kingdoms in existence. Among his people he was considered a prodigy.

Handsome, gifted, charismatic and terrifyingly intelligent, he mastered politics, warfare and diplomacy before most elves reached adulthood. Everywhere he went, people whispered that he was destined to become the greatest king their race had ever produced.

Lazarus believed them.

As the years passed, he came to see kingship not as a privilege to be earned, but as something the world owed him. He did not simply desire the throne. He believed no one else deserved it. Every success reinforced that belief until ambition slowly transformed into entitlement.

When the old king finally died, Lazarus expected the crown to be placed upon his head.

Instead, the council chose another. Their reason was simple.

”Lazarus would build the greatest empire in history, but he would sacrifice the world to achieve it.”

They feared his brilliance more than they admired it, and that rejection shattered something inside him.

For the first time in his life, Lazarus discovered that ability alone was not enough. The world could simply tell him no.

He refused to accept it.

At first he tried politics, then bribery, blackmail and finally assassination.

One by one, every obstacle disappeared, yet every attempt only pushed the kingdom further away from him. The more desperately he reached for the throne, the more determined the people became to deny it to him.

Finally, Lazarus reached a conclusion that would define the rest of his existence.

”If I cannot rule this nation, then no one shall.”

He opened the ancient vaults beneath the capital and unleashed forbidden magic that had remained sealed since the Age of their planet’s Origins.

For seven days and seven nights the forests burned, the rivers boiled and the mountains cracked. Entire cities disappeared beneath oceans of emerald fire.

Millions died.

The kingdom that had flourished for thousands of years became nothing more than ash scattered upon the wind. Only after the flames died did the surviving elves understand who had brought about their destruction.

Their grief eclipsed their fear.

Gathering around the sacred World Tree, the last priests, druids and survivors willingly offered up their remaining lives to invoke the oldest curse their race had ever created.

”If the world itself was not enough for you, then may the world reject you forever.”

”...may every forest deny your footsteps.”

”...may every flower wither beneath your shadow.”

”...may no tree ever answer your call.”

”...and may you spend eternity surrounded by the lifeless world you created.”

The curse took hold instantly.

Lazarus screamed as every blessing carried within elven blood was torn away from him. The forests that once embraced him recoiled. Flowers wilted the moment he approached. Grass turned gray beneath his feet.

Ancient trees shed their leaves rather than allow him beneath their shade. The spirits of nature abandoned him completely.

From that day onward, Lazarus became perhaps the only elf in existence incapable of communicating with nature. Everywhere he walked, life withered. Every forest became a cemetery and every garden became dust.

Even centuries later, the curse remained absolute. No matter how much power he accumulated, the world refused to acknowledge him. Gold and silver became his closest companions because they were the only things that would never wither in his hands.

’His inheritance is Possession. Anything he touches becomes his and answers only to him!’ Rin’s urgent voice echoed inside Damian’s mind.

A look of realization flashed across Damian’s face despite the fingers crushing his throat. There was no panic in his eyes. Instead, an unsettling calm settled over him. He casually reached across with his remaining hand, grabbed his own left arm just beneath the shoulder and pulled with every ounce of strength he possessed.

Pfft!

Lazarus’ golden eyes widened.

Damian tore his own arm free without the slightest hesitation.

Blood burst from the wound, splattering across the crimson pavement and staining the air between them.

”Ga...”

A low groan escaped Damian’s lips as he staggered backward, his breathing turning ragged while blood continued pouring from the mangled shoulder. He did not regret the decision for even a second. Against unknown inheritances, hesitation was often deadlier than the injury itself.

Pa! Pa!

Pa! Pa!

Lazarus slowly clapped his hands, genuine approval visible upon his weary face.

”You truly have what it takes to become a demon,” he admitted with a faint smile. ”And as much as I would enjoy killing you, our battle ends here.”

Buzz!

Damian blinked.

Confusion quickly replaced the cold determination in his eyes.

Who walked away from a battle precisely when it reached its climax?

Nothing about it made sense.

”What?” Damian blurted out, genuine disbelief creeping into his voice.

His arm, he had just ripped off his own arm. Now the battle was over?

”I’m saying I value this servant of mine,” Lazarus replied with an indifferent shrug, as though explaining something painfully obvious. ”He is one of the most capable demigods in the universe. Breaking him here would be an unnecessary waste.”

Damian nearly coughed blood from sheer frustration.

His expression twisted violently.

”You fucking bastard!” he growled, fury erupting from every word. ”Do you think I’ll let you leave?”

Lazarus merely laughed. It was neither mocking nor arrogant.

Buzz!

Space behind him suddenly split apart, revealing nothing but an endless abyss of darkness. A tremendous suction force erupted from within, causing loose stones and crimson mist to spiral toward the opening.

”Don’t be foolish,” Lazarus said as he calmly stepped backward toward the void. ”Even while restricted to the Demigod Realm through this body... I remain a God. This little veil cannot imprison me.”

Without another glance, he stepped into the darkness. The tear in space folded shut behind him.

Just like that, he was gone.

Damian remained standing in silence.

His purple eyes stared blankly at the empty space where Lazarus had vanished only moments earlier.

His clone had nearly been destroyed, Clara had almost been taken and Lith had died. Yet the masterminds behind all of it had simply walked away.

He was the only one who had truly lost something. His shoulders slowly slumped.

His gaze lowered toward the pool of blood gathering beneath his feet.

”I...” he muttered quietly, his voice sounding strangely hollow.

”I think I lost this fight.”