Branded For Evil: Sin Hunter, #1

By Frank Kiefer

In a world where darkness reigns and the line between good and blurs, a young boy named Balthazar is thrust into a chilling journey of redemption and retribution. Bound by a sinister pact with death, he must navigate a treacherous path with the guidance of the seven deadly sins. As he hunts down the most wretched d, his fate becomes entwined with forces beyond his control, leading him into a harrowing confrontation with his deepest fears. Will Balthazar find salvation in a realm tainted by sin, or will he be consumed by the shadows that lurk within?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Frank Kiefer
• Release date: May 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9798231600953

Book preview

Revised Branded

Frank Kiefer

Copyright © [Year of First Publication] by [Author or Pen Name]

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Contents

1.In the Beginning

2.The Council

3.The Past

4.Pride

5.Envy

6.Greed

7.Wrath

8.Gluttony

9.Lust

10.Sloth

11.The Medallion

12.Corn

13.Deputy Sheriff Foster

14.Sheriff Mays

15.Derrick Sparks

16.Roots

17.Mistakes were made

18.Chapter 17

19.Chapter 18

20.Chapter 19

21.Chapter 20

22.Book of Sin

In the Beginning

Chapter 1

The story of my life—or what I can remember of it—begins with fire. I was too young to understand what I was doing, too young to comprehend the horror of my actions. But the flames that consumed my home on that fateful night in 1935 marked the beginning of my descent into darkness. My name is Balthazar Bennett, though I’ve always gone by Bart. I was born in the small, rural town of Alma, Canada, a place where nothing ever happened—until it did.

It was August 31st, the day before my fifth birthday. By all accounts, I was a normal child. I was kind, energetic, and full of life. The neighborhood children and I played together without a care in the world, my chubby cheeks always lit with a bright smile. But beneath that innocent exterior, something dark stirred, something I couldn’t understand. And that night, it took control.

My parents put me to bed at my usual time, 8 o’clock sharp. There were no fights, no complaints—just the quiet routine of a family settling in for the night. My parents retired to their room shortly after, unaware that their lives were about to end in a blaze of hellfire.

The clock struck midnight, marking the start of September 1st—my fifth birthday. But there would be no celebration, no cake, no presents. Instead, I jolted awake as if struck by lightning, my body moving on its own. I rose from my bed and descended the stairs, my small feet carrying me to the basement. There, I grabbed my father’s rusted monkey wrench, its weight unfamiliar in my tiny hands. I returned to the main floor, my movements mechanical, as if guided by an unseen force.

In the kitchen, I opened the drawer to the left of the refrigerator and pulled out a half-empty box of matches and a candlestick. With the wrench, I detached the gas line from the stove, the metallic screech echoing in the silent house. I left the wrench on the floor and made my way upstairs, this time heading for my parents’ room.

I entered quietly, the moonlight casting long shadows across the floor. My parents lay in bed, their breathing slow and steady. I sat at the foot of their bed, facing my mother’s vanity. In the mirror’s reflection, I could see them sleeping peacefully behind me. I opened the box of matches, struck one, and lit the candlestick. The flame flickered, casting an eerie glow on my face.

The smell of gas began to fill the room, sharp and acrid. I stared into the flame, transfixed, as it danced in the darkness. Then, with a sudden whoosh, the gas ignited, and the room was engulfed in fire. My parents never stood a chance. Even if they had been Olympic sprinters, they wouldn’t have made it out alive.

My father died first, his body shielding my mother in a final, desperate act of love. But it only prolonged her suffering by a few seconds. As her last breath left her body, my consciousness snapped back into place. I was suddenly aware of what I had done, the horror of it crashing down on me like a tidal wave. I looked down at the candle in my hands, my skin charred and fused to the wax. The pain was unbearable, every nerve in my body screaming in agony. I should have died then, but for some reason, I didn’t. My body clung to life, forcing me to endure the excruciating pain as my flesh melted away.

When the flames finally consumed me, I thought it was over. But I was wrong. Death was not the end—it was the beginning of something far worse.

The Dark

I awoke in darkness—a suffocating, endless void. I couldn’t see, couldn’t feel, couldn’t breathe. The only thing I was aware of was my own mind, screaming in terror. I didn’t know if I was awake or asleep, alive or dead. All I knew was that I was no longer in my home, no longer burning. But the memory of what I had done was seared into my soul.

I killed them, I cried, my voice echoing in the emptiness. I killed the people who loved me most. I curled into a fetal position, sobbing uncontrollably. The guilt was unbearable, a weight pressing down on me until I thought I would suffocate. I rocked back and forth, my mind spiraling into madness.

Time had no meaning in this place. There was no light, no