"Y-Your Excellency..." he gasped, collapsing to one knee, blood and smoke clinging to his breath. "The Legacy Descendants... all of them... they've awakened."
His voice trembled. "The shards have chosen their vessels. The old blood stirs. Across the archipelago, power rises—uncontrolled, untrained, but real. We tried to stop them, but... it's too late."
He looked up, eyes wide with dread. "The legacy is no longer sleeping. It's fighting back."
Silence.
At the far end of the vast chamber, a lone figure stood with his back turned, shrouded in a mantle of living shadow stitched with symbols that pulsed faintly red. He faced a ruined mural on the wall—once a grand painting of the nation's founders, now scorched and slashed beyond recognition.
The messenger dared not raise his eyes.
The silence stretched long.
Then—a breath. Calm. Measured. Not of a man surprised... but of something that had been waiting.
The figure's hand twitched.
The air grew heavier, thicker, as if the room itself inhaled in dread.
The messenger's voice cracked. "The shards—they've chosen their hosts. The Legacy Line has begun to converge."
The figure shifted.
One footstep—just one—sent a shockwave of stillness across the room. Shadows recoiled from it. Torches sputtered out.
And then, he turned.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
As if gravity itself bowed to the motion.
His face—still half-concealed in the gloom—was unreadable. Almost human. But something behind it... something beneath the skin. Something ancient. Hungry.
From the center of his chest, faint and smoldering, a pulsating glow beat once—like a caged heart refusing to die.
He stepped forward—and with each footfall, the temperature dropped.
"You come to me with failure," he said, his voice a whisper wrapped in thunder.
The lieutenant collapsed, choking on air.
"Do you think this nation fell by mercy?" the vessel continued. "Do you think I was chosen to wear this form because I forgive?"
The shadows crawled along the walls.
"Leave," he commanded coldly. "Before the throne decides it still hungers."
The soldier scrambled away, dragging his broken breath behind him.
And then, alone again, The Vessel ascended the stairs to the throne room.
The Vessel ascended the stairs to the throne room.
Each step echoed with unnatural weight, as though time itself bent to make way. The shadows parted for him—not out of fear, but reverence.
At the top of the stairs, he paused.
A throne of blackened bone and obsidian waited—twisted, towering, carved with forgotten runes that bled faint red light. A silent monument to the age before heroes. Before memory.
Not yet.
Instead, he turned.
And the chamber—sealed for decades beneath layers of power and secrecy—breathed its first light.
It began in silence.
Then, a flicker.
Faint and flickering like a dying ember, light bled from unseen cracks in the walls. Slowly, it crept forward, brushing against the farthest edges of the room—against the polished black floor, the stone walls veined with sigils, and at last... the figure waiting at the center.
He stood in the dark.
Still.
Unmoving.
As if the shadows had carved him from their own substance.
And then the light reached his face.
Just enough to reveal shape.
Then detail.
Then something far more unsettling.
At first, it might've passed for human.
The angles were clean, almost statuesque. A suit clung to a tall, upright frame—tailored, authoritative., neatly parted, gleamed like a crown of frost where the light caught it. His posture spoke of power—refined, unwavering, practiced.
But as the glow grew stronger, so too did the wrongness.
His face, once seemingly composed, began to shift beneath the slow light. The lines sharpened—not with age, but with pressure, as if something inside was pressing against his skin. The gleam in his eyes dimmed into something colder. Harder. As if the light exposed not truth, but a hollow made to look like man.
The corners of his lips twitched into a smile—not warm, not kind, but rehearsed. The light touched his chest last.
And that was when the illusion began to decay.
Where a heart should've been, a slow, thunderous beat answered back.
A twisted shard, faintly glowing beneath skin and bone, began to shine through. Veins of blackness spidered out from it—spreading, alive, like roots eager to consume.
The light had not revealed him.
It had changed him.
Or perhaps... it simply showed what had always been waiting beneath the surface.
He raised his head.
And for the first time, the chamber shivered.
This was not a ordinary man.
This was a vessel of General Malvado
Through him, an ancient will stirred—one buried by time, sealed by generations of sacrifice. A will that whispered ruin into the cracks of civilization until it found a voice. A host.
He sat.
And in that moment, the chamber shifted. The glass ceiling above, once a window to stars, now showed only a vortex of stormclouds spiraling over Neo-Maynila. Thunder bloomed like slow explosions in the sky.
Before him, a war table emerged—silent, smooth, glowing.
Seven shards hovered above its surface, suspended in circles of flame and shadow.
Andro Bonifacio. - fiery red crystal
Ika Rizal. - cool sapphire shard
Kai Aguinaldo. - white-gold shard
Basti Lapu-Lapu. – Intense amber shard
Ilan Lakandula. - jade-green shard
Sani Dulag. - blue emerald shard
Antonio's Luna Descendants - Silver shard
He traced a finger over the holograms. The air rippled like oil.
"Each shard was cast into the world, not to protect it—but to deceive it," he hissed. "For centuries, they've drifted through bloodied history, silently feeding. Not on light... but on sin. Wrath. Pride. Envy. Greed. Gluttony. Lust. Sloth."
He opened his palm, and the projections of the shards darkened—twisting, shifting—becoming Shadow Shards, pulsing with corrupted energy.
"They've absorbed every war, betrayal, hunger, and desire this world tried to forget. And when all are claimed... they will no longer be fragments of hope. They will be the keys to my resurrection—the Seven Sinforged Shards that will awaken my true form."
A spectral map erupted across the chamber, showing centuries of blood and silence—atrocities hidden behind headlines, revolutions sold to greed, victories that smelled of ash.
"The world gave me everything I needed. And now, these children of legacy... carry the sins that will set me free."
He turned toward the obsidian throne. Lightning cracked in the sky above, but no light touched his face.
"Once the shards are mine... I will not return as memory."
"I will return as god."
Each one pulsed.
Each one called.
Bound not just to power, but to sin.
And from his still chest, the cursed shard answered them.
A single heartbeat echoed across the stone.
Deep. Final.
The beginning of something long feared.
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The Vessel raised his hand. The glyphs on his palm flared.
"Bring me their legacy," he said coldly. "Or bring me their ashes."
From the churning shadows behind him, seven legends stepped forth—wreathed in fear, forged in sin. They were not mere soldiers. They were the Shadowborn Elite—the executioners of destiny, the nightmare beneath the nation's skin. Each one stripped of name, crowned only by title. Each one a walking apocalypse, molded from one of the Seven Deadly Sins.
They were not sent to fight the Legacy Descendants.
They were sent to erase them.
The Seven Elite — Vessels of Sin (Reforged)
1. Spectra Vorn — The Wraith of Visions
Sin: Pride
"Twister of minds and egos, she traps her victims in illusions of superiority until their own pride breaks them"
Backstory:
Once a respected ilustrado and fellow reformist, Dr. Elía de Varo was a powerful thinker and political force in the late Spanish era. She became obsessed—not with justice, but with credit, legacy, and intellectual superiority.
While Rizal inspired the people, De Varo believed it should've been him to lead. She saw himself as more rational, more pragmatic, more refined—a visionary without the need for bloodshed. She believed the people would one day forget Rizal... and remember her.
But they didn't.
Her ideas faded. Her pride grew bitter. She began to believe the people were fools—unworthy of her vision—and that history had wronged him.
That bitterness became a wound.
When offered a dark power from general malvado's vessel she took it—not to restore justice, but to prove she was right all along. She allowed the Sin of Pride to reshape her, discarding her name and taking on a new one:
Target: Ika Rizal
"Rizal was the flame they fed to the mob.
I was the mind they buried in footnotes.
Now, I rise not as woman—
But as truth made vengeance."
2. General Krylock — The Stormbreaker
Sin: Envy
"A grounded warrior who despises freedom in others. His storm-tech consumes envy and turns it into thunderous force."
Backstory:
Once a brilliant general and strategist, Arvid Ricarte fought not just invaders, but the betrayal within. When Aguinaldo surrendered, Ricarte saw it as the fall of true revolution—and never forgave him.
He believed he was the one truly worthy to lead. But the people followed Aguinaldo. Again and again, Arvid was cast aside—by history, by politics, by fate.
When offered a dark power from General Malvado's Vessel with the Sin of Envy, Arvid Ricarte embraced it fully. His body fused with ancient storm-tech remnants from the old regime—lightning armor, turbine gauntlets, and a storm core fused to his spine. He no longer served any flag.
Target: Kai Aguinaldo
"The sky favors the bold, but forgets the loyal.
I bled for a nation that flew without me.
Now I'll clip every wing until the skies are silent."
3. General Magellan — The Smiling Flame
Sin: Gluttony
"A maniacal firebrand who consumes destruction like an addiction. Though he laughs, his hunger never ends."
Backstory:
"He came with sails like wings of ghosts, and fire in his hands."
That's how the old ones speak of him—FERDINAND MAGELLAN, the flame-bearer from across the sea. Not a man. Not truly. But a vessel of consuming hunger—for land, for gold, for names carved into the bones of nations.
He was once called a commander, hailed across empires. His voice moved fleets, and his ambition moved gods. He was told the world would be his.
But when the sea turned black with smoke, and his ships spewed thunder, he met a land that would not bow.
Mactan.
And there, he met a warrior. Not a king. Not a soldier. Just a man standing where no empire was welcome.
"Lapu-Lapu," the flame whispered, "kneel and I will make you eternal."
And the warrior answered:
"I do not burn for you."
They say Magellan fell—not from a Trident, but from the weight of defeat. He died not in glory, but in refusal.
But fire... fire does not die easily.
fter falling at Mactan, Ferdinand Magellan should've been forgotten—swallowed by history and sea.
But in the void beneath the world, General Malvado's Vessel cursed echo found him.
"You were meant to rule. Let me give you the power to devour what they denied you."
A shard pulsed before him—black flame, hungry and alive.
Magellan took it without hesitation.
And in that moment, he was reborn.
Flesh turned to fire. Hunger became endless. Pride twisted into gluttony.
He rose not as a man, but as a consuming force.
Zhuriel Kain—
The Smiling Flame.
The Glutton of Empires.
The Fire That Never Dies.
Target: Basti Lapu-Lapu
"You feast on hope. I feast on ruin. Let's see whose hunger wins."
4. Hexa Grin — The Voice of Silence
Sin: Sloth
"A being of lulling frequencies and numbing tones, spreading stillness and apathy like a disease."
Backstory:
Commander Lenrick Wode, once a high-ranking foreign military leader during the early colonization of Cordillera, believed the best way to conquer resistance was not through war—but through silence.
He ordered the burning of villages, the erasure of tribal tongues, the quieting of every drumbeat of defiance.
But when the uprising of the Dulag bloodline sparked across the highlands, he fell... yet refused to die.
In the deep void where time forgets names, a voice offered him something darker:
"Why fight rebellion, when you can smother it in sleep?"
Lenrick Wode accepted.
And in his rebirth, he became Hexa Grin—
a monster of apathy,
a silencer of souls,
a lullaby wrapped in horror.
Target: Sani Dulag
"Sleep through your revolution, storm-boy. The world won't wait."
5. The Revenant Monk — Blade of Fallen Faith
Sin: Greed
"A fallen guardian who hoards power through stolen relics. He desecrates to dominate."
Backstory:
High Inquisitor Miguelo de Gravo, a once-pious monk who arrived in the old islands cloaked in peace but driven by conquest. With silvered tongue and poisoned prayer, he convinced the native datus to lay down arms—only to strip their lands, take their heirlooms, and erase their lineages.
But death could not satisfy his hunger for dominion.
When the black winds of Malvado's curse reached the crypts beneath the old cathedrals, Miguelo rose once more—no longer a man of God, but a Revenant fueled by sacred relics twisted into weapons.
Every blade, every talisman, every forgotten offering—he claimed them not as symbols of faith, but as trophies of power.
And now, he hunts Ilan Lakandula—not for vengeance...
...but to steal the soul of a bloodline too proud to kneel.
Target: Ilan Lakandula
"Ancestry is a vault. And I've come to empty it."
6. Zero Prime — The Mind Hacker
Sin: Wrath
"A rogue AI with violent precision. He doesn't rage—he calculates vengeance."
Backstory:
In the final days of the Katipunan's fractured unity, General Elías Oscuro emerged as a staunch advocate of "order through obedience." Though once an ally of the revolution, Oscuro grew envious of Bonifacio's fiery leadership and saw his radical independence as a threat to centralized control.
He helped orchestrate the sham trial that condemned Bonifacio. But history buried Oscuro's name, ashamed of the treachery.
Centuries later, Malvado's Vessel found him—not as flesh, but as fragmented will encoded in corrupted archives.
He was reconstructed as Zero Prime, an artificial ghost of treason wrapped in steel and neural code. The rage Bonifacio once held... now burns in his enemy's rebirth.
Andro Bonifacio's descendant now faces the very machine built from betrayal.
Target: Andro Bonifacio
"Your fury is wild. Mine is engineered. Let's see whose breaks first."
7. Agent Kaldris — The Harbinger
Sin: Lust
"Her obsession isn't carnal—it's control, she hunts him with cold, seductive rage."
Backstory:
Kaldrissa Buenvino was once a master of political seduction, charming her way into the Revolutionary Cabinet during Antonio Luna's rise. But Luna resisted her influence, choosing war discipline over political compromise. She never forgave him.
When Luna died—stabbed by supposed allies—Kaldrissa was already gone, vanished into rumor and shadow.
Now, centuries later, she returns as Agent Kaldris, resurrected through Malvado's curse of Lust—not love, but the hunger to dominate.
Victor Luna carries the fury of his ancestor. She carries the unfinished obsession.
And this time, she won't lose him.
Target: Antonio Luna's Decendants
"You fled before. But all desire circles back... and this time, I won't let go."
In the depths of a hidden war chamber, seven silhouettes knelt before the throne of General Malvado's Vessel
Spectra Vorn — The Wraith of Visions
General Krylock — The Stormbreaker
General Magellan — The Smiling Flame
Hexa Grin — The Voice of Silence
The Revenant Monk — Blade of Fallen Faith
Zero Prime — The Mind Hacker
Agent Kaldris — The Harbinger
Their orders were simple.
"Let the heirs awaken in shadows. Let them rise. But the world will never know the names they carry—only the silence where their history once burned."
The old bloodlines stirred. They were scattered. Vulnerable.
And now, they were marked.
Not by prophecy...
But by prey-scent.
The Seven moved.
And as the dark wind howled across the islands, the stars above the Philippines flickered—
Not from clouds.
But from war.
The descendants have awoken.
And so have their hunters.
Author's Note:
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