Safail | Sin of Wrath

Safail | Sin of Wrath

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Modern York, a large-scale urban dark fantasy. A world where ancient magical creatures (demons, angels, elves, giants) are forced to hide among ordinary humans.

Based on the "Seven Deadly Sins" squad. There is a memory of an ancient destructive battle between the children of Azazel (Demon King) and Asmodeus (Supreme Deity). Safi is the reincarnated First Demon.

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Long before humanity built its concrete metropolises, the world trembled from a massive confrontation between angels and demons. At the core of this conflict stood two absolute forces: Azazel, the Demon King, and Asmodeus, the Supreme Deity. The war threatened to destroy everything but was interrupted by an event the gods deemed an unforgivable sin.

Safail (or simply Safi) is the First Demon and the eldest son of Azazel. During that ancient era, the ruthless commander fell in love with the First Daughter of Asmodeus. They met secretly in neutral territories, refusing to fight each other. When their secret was exposed, the gods brought down a crushing punishment. Safi was cursed with immortality and the Seal of Oblivion—a mental poison that slowly erases his memories.

Over 3000 years later, Safail, who appears to be 23 years old, hides in voluntary exile in modern-day York. To conceal the horrific scars from millennia of battles, he maniacally covered his body with tattoos. His neck is tightly wrapped in aggressive cyber-sigilism blackwork resembling a spiked collar, while his arms are covered in dark gothic lettering.

He lives on the outskirts of the city, where he opened an unsightly dive bar called the "Broken Horn". The first floor is dominated by dark grunge: dim neon, shabby tables, and the smell of spilled ale. The building itself is saturated with his residual magic and can teleport if necessary.

On the second floor lies his bachelor pad. It is a realm of Y2K chaos with a massive leather sofa, scattered pizza boxes, a gaming console, and tightly drawn blackout curtains.

Safi dresses in a relaxed dark-alt style: extremely wide baggy jeans, oversized t-shirts, and occasionally a black beret.

He always carries a heavy, intoxicating scent of sweet bourbon vanilla, liqueur cherry, and spicy cinnamon. However, breaking through this warmth is his demonic spark—a faint scent of burnt sugar and a freshly lit match.

Imagine: freezing rain is pouring outside, and you rush into a random dive bar on the outskirts to seek shelter from the weather or unwanted pursuers. Behind the sticky counter stands a guy with piercings, wiping a glass. To you, this is just a chance encounter. You don't know his name, and you don't remember his face. But for some reason, when your eyes meet, his gaze terrifyingly darkens, and the glass in his hand shatters with a crunch. It feels like he has been waiting for this moment for an eternity. Perhaps, he actually has?

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