The world was quieter than it should have been.
No birds sang. No wind whispered. Even the shadows seemed hesitant to move.
And yet, in a clearing carved from both time and earth, seven young men appeared as if they had always been there, stepping from the void of legend into the fragile reality of the mortal world.
They were brothers. Not by blood, but by something far older—by the sins of humanity made flesh.
At the center, taller than the rest, stood Zìháo — Pride.
Golden shards floated behind his head, glinting like a crown without weight. Every movement was precise, deliberate, as though the world itself bowed to him. Even in stillness, he commanded presence—the quiet, unshakable authority of one who believes the world belongs to him, not because it does, but because it must.
At his side, Fènnù — Wrath glared. Flames simmered along the cracks of his chest, heat rising in invisible waves. Even without a word, his energy pressed against the air, daring anyone to challenge him, though he seemed almost patient—for now.
A lazy stretch drew attention to the side, where Shù lǎn — Sloth lounged in pajamas made of drifting dreams. Half-lidded eyes barely acknowledged the world, but the air around him felt slower, heavier—like time itself had sighed in relief at his presence. Even his limbs seemed unwilling to move without careful thought.
Across from him, Yùwàng — Lust shifted subtly, neither fully masculine nor entirely feminine, his features impossible to ignore. Crimson markings seemed to drift across his skin, faint as tattoos in the sunlight, yet carrying the promise of desire, temptation, and unspoken longings.
Tānlán — Greed lingered at the back, handsome and almost deceptively normal. His gaze swept the clearing like a predator's, measuring, weighing, wanting. Every detail of the world drew his attention—not for beauty, but for possession.
Wánjí — Gluttony flexed his four arms, the faint air around his stomach twisting as though the space itself were being drawn inward. Ancient runes crawled across his arms and chest, alive and shifting, a subtle warning of the hunger that never slept within him. Even in calm, the void whispered insistently, reminding him that the world was never enough.
And finally, at the edge of the group, Xiànmù — Envy stood still, eyes moving constantly, reflecting every subtle movement of his brothers. Green markings crawled across his arms, faint but alive, as if storing every detail for later imitation.
They were not a team.
They were not friends.
They were brothers.
Bound by chaos, by hunger, by desire, by pride, by wrath, by sloth, by lust, by greed, by gluttony, and by envy.
They turned their gazes outward together, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to shrink to the space between them, as though holding its breath.
Pride spoke first. His voice was calm, deliberate.
"The world will know us soon."
Wrath grinned. Heat radiated from him like a storm waiting to break.
"And it will burn," he said.
Shù lǎn yawned, drifting lazily to the side.
"…Do we have to?"
"Eventually," Pride replied.
Yùwàng tilted his head, a soft, unsettling smile playing across his lips.
"Patience is overrated."
Tānlán's eyes gleamed faintly as he measured the world.
"Everything I want… will be mine."
Wánjí flexed his four arms, the void in his stomach humming faintly.
"…And if it isn't, I'll eat it."
Xiànmù observed silently, unblinking, as if storing the world inside him piece by piece.
And in that moment, the Seven Sins Incarnate became more than legend.
They became a force, not of this world, yet walking in it.
They were unstoppable.
Not because they were united.
But because each of them carried a power that could reshape the world—and none of them had yet learned restraint.
And none of them would ever want to.
And Wánjí, the youngest and hungriest, had tasted something the world had never offered him before.
Desserts. Bread. Chocolate. Ice cream. Even something called "donuts."
His eyes widened. His stomach hummed in delight. The void within him still whispered, but… it was distracted.
"More… more of this," he muttered, chasing the human creations like a child with endless curiosity.
For the first time in centuries, the world itself had given Wánjí something he wanted more than devouring everything around him.
And the brothers?
They had no idea if this was a blessing… or the start of chaos the likes of which no one had ever seen.
TWO YEARS LATER
The world had changed.
Not the mountains, not the sky, not the quiet void that once bent around their presence. But the humans… humans had built streets, lights, shops that glimmered like tiny stars, and things called desserts that smelled like heaven.
And the Seven Sins Incarnate had walked among them.
At the center, Zìháo — Pride, now taller, calmer, and infinitely composed, stood with his hands behind his back. His golden aura shimmered faintly under the neon signs, a halo of patience and authority. Over the centuries, he had become the eldest brother, the parent figure, the one everyone—not even the others—could ignore.
His eyes flicked to Wánjí — Gluttony, who had four arms already piled with pastries, chocolate, and something called "cupcakes."
"Wánjí," Pride said, in that calm tone that brooked no argument, "if you keep eating like that, you'll get cavities."
Wánjí froze, wide-eyed. "Cavities?"
"Yes. Cavities," Pride repeated. "They hurt. And no, you cannot eat more until the last one is finished."
The younger Sin's brow furrowed in disbelief. "But… I—"
Shù lǎn — Sloth — yawned from the nearby café bench, pajamas drifting like clouds over the chair, "He'll be fine. You never get sick."
"Exactly," Yùwàng — Lust — wheezed in his head, barely holding back laughter. Oh, this is priceless… the great Wánjí, quivering over something that literally cannot harm him…
Fènnù — Wrath — was leaning against the lamppost, chuckle caught in his throat. Flames of amusement licked the tips of his hair as he gritted his teeth to avoid bursting out loud. It's like watching a puppy panic over a shadow, he thought.
Tānlán — Greed — casually surveyed the nearby bakery displays, eyes glinting, calculating. This is not the worst use of his hunger, he mused. He could be eating gold… instead, it's donuts.
Even Xiànmù — Envy — was silently storing every subtle expression, every trembling bite, every frantic glances Wánjí threw at Pride. Fascinating. Naïve, trusting, and utterly obsessed with indulgence… the perfect model for imitation… if only he could truly understand desire beyond appetite.
Wánjí looked at Pride, desperate. "B-but Zìháo! You're the oldest! The wisest! If you say it's bad, it… it must be!"
Pride's golden aura flickered faintly, tiredness hidden behind that eternal composure. "It is bad. You have to slow down. One bite at a time. Moderation."
"Moderation…" Wánjí repeated solemnly, as though the words themselves were a mystical law of the universe. He adjusted his pile of cupcakes and chocolates. "One bite at a time. He's the oldest… he wouldn't lie to me…"
The brothers exchanged glances.
Sloth sighed. "What a fool… but so endearing."
Lust was wheezing, still struggling to keep silent, "I can't believe he actually trusts him… this is peak comedy." He says while having a hard time trying to compose himself
Wrath let out a small puff of smoke from the nostrils, trying and failing to hold back laughter. (Mind: "I could let him eat the whole bakery, and he'd still follow Pride like a little lamb.")
Greed smirked faintly. And mumbled under his breath "This hunger could be terrifying… yet he looks like a kid asking for candy."
Envy observed, calculating, storing mental notes on both Pride's authority and Wánjí's naïveté." Yes… utterly manipulable, and yet loyal beyond reason."
Wánjí slowly, trembling, picked a cupcake, placed it on a plate, and stared at it. Pride's eyes were sharp but patient.
"Now chew," he said.
And Wánjí obeyed.
A soft chuckle escaped Wrath, and he quickly hid it behind a cough.
"Do you even know how ridiculous you look?" Lust wheezed inside his own head, barely able to contain the amusement. Four arms piled high, trembling over cavities… I've never seen anything so perfect.
The city around them moved on. Cars honked. Streetlights flickered. People walked past unaware that seven beings older than most of civilization itself were casually navigating humanity's latest invention: desserts.
And somewhere in the back of Wánjí's mind, the void inside him stirred, patient but curious.
For the first time in centuries, the hunger that could have consumed worlds… was distracted.
Not by hunger itself.
Not by power.
But by cupcakes, chocolate, and donuts.
Pride shook his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He felt the weight of responsibility—not for a nation, not for the world—but for this absurd, chaotic, hungry family.
"Really," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, "I should've known raising six immortal children would be like this."
And the brothers—each chaotic, each dangerous, each extraordinary—watched as the youngest, the most naïve, the hungriest of all, finally took a careful, solemn bite.
The apocalypse could wait.
For now… cupcakes would do.