It started with the eating.
Not the usual Bob eating—the kind that involved oversized plates and sounds no one should make while chewing—but something more.
More frequent.
More intense.
More… bottomless.
By the third day, Bob had cleared half the mansion's food stores and was still hungry.
Derek watched as Bob shoved three rolls into his mouth at once. "That's not normal."
"It's not," Bam agreed. "It's Bob-normal, which is worse."
The doll—sitting on a shelf, legs crossed like a grumpy old monk—waved a stitched hand dismissively.
"It's fine. Expected, even. He's the vessel of Gluttony now. The Sin's presence is subtle, but it amplifies desire—especially hunger."
Derek crossed his arms. "And you're saying that's normal?"
"For someone hosting ancient spiritual hunger magic? Yes," the doll said flatly. "Be glad he isn't trying to eat you."
Bob looked up mid-bite. "Wait, is that an option?"
"No," the group said in unison.
Life at the mansion settled into a strange rhythm.
One afternoon, as Bob stacked meat skewers with supernatural precision, he frowned. "Hey. Bam."
Bam glanced over, lazily flipping a flame over a teacup.
"You haven't said your usual line in a while. You know—the one with 'exceptions.'"
Bam blinked. "Huh. Guess I haven't."
He leaned back, watching the tiny flame shift between his fingers.
"It is what it is—for now."
Bob narrowed his eyes. "That's not what you usually say."
"Exactly," Bam replied, smiling faintly.
Upstairs, Anna and the doll sat at the library table, surrounded by papers, diagrams, and half-empty teacups.
"Bam's progressing," Anna said. "His control is improving. His chaos is… narrowing."
"Still dangerous," the doll said. "The Sins are worse. If he isn't prepared, he'll be a liability."
Anna nodded. "Then I'll make it official."
"Make what official?" the doll asked.
She closed her book and stood.
"I'm going to teach him magic—properly."
So began Bam's training.
And it was merciless.
Anna didn't hold back. Precision casting, glyph formation, mental conditioning—she drilled it all into him with the cold patience of someone who expected excellence and would accept nothing less.
By the third lesson, Bam had incinerated four training dummies, created one accidental fire cyclone, and burned off part of his left eyebrow.
He grinned anyway. "This is kinda fun."
Meanwhile, Derek trained alone.
His blade strikes were faster now. Sharper. He could feel Excalibur's presence responding, sometimes even guiding his movements.
But without a proper teacher, he was hitting his limit.
He could swing harder.
He couldn't swing smarter.
Still, he pushed himself.
Because something inside him told him that whatever was coming—he wasn't ready.
Not yet.
Marcus, unusually quiet these days, had claimed the old study room.
Piles of books surrounded him—arcane theory, magical history, mechanical engineering, even strange texts on ancient constructs and mana systems.
When asked what he was doing, he just mumbled, "Upgrades."
No one asked further.
They'd learned better.
One evening, with the sun dipping low behind the hills and casting gold across the training yard, Derek stepped forward, sword across his back.
"Bob," he called, voice calm but firm. "Spar with me."
Bob looked up from where he was gnawing through his sixth roast skewer. "You serious?"
Bob grinned, dropping the bone and grabbing his massive tower shield and steel-forged warhammer. "Alright then. Try not to get pancaked."
They circled each other under the orange sky.
"Ready?" Derek asked.
Bob planted his feet, shield raised. "Let's see what you've got."
Derek struck first, fast and low. His blade skimmed under Bob's guard, but the hammer swung in return, massive and unforgiving. Derek ducked just in time. Dust scattered as they traded blows—Derek's sword singing, Bob's hammer pounding like thunder.
Then Derek feinted left and stepped in. Bob met him shield-first.
"Still slow," Derek muttered.
Bob narrowed his eyes. "Still standing."
He twisted suddenly, putting all his weight into a short, sharp punch—not with his hammer, but with his shield arm, straight at the stone wall beside Derek as if venting frustration.
BOOM.
The wall exploded.
A thunderous shockwave blasted outward as stone shattered like glass, sending chunks and debris flying across the yard. Dust surged like a wave. The entire corner of the training wall was blown out, leaving behind only a jagged hole and a few twitching support beams.
Silence fell.
Everyone stood in stunned shock.
Derek lowered his sword slowly, staring at the crater. "...That wasn't normal."
Bam coughed through the dust cloud. "Did he just—obliterate a wall?"
Marcus, still shielding his face, muttered, "That was reinforced stone... What the hell?"
Bob stared at his own arm. No pain. No wound. Just a faint, flickering orange shimmer glowing around his knuckles, fading slowly like embers in the air.
"…What the actual fuck," he whispered.
The doll, who had been watching from atop a barrel, hopped down, eyes wide.
"Well. That explains it."
They all turned to him.
"What just happened?" Derek demanded.
"It's Gluttony," the doll said. "Of course. It's starting to awaken."
Bam raised a brow. "Gluttony can blow up walls?"
The doll nodded, pacing. "It makes sense now. Gluttony isn't just about hunger. It's consumption. Growth. Expansion. The more Bob eats, the more the Sin's power builds inside him."
"So you're saying…" Marcus asked slowly.
"The more he consumes," the doll confirmed, "the stronger he becomes."
Bob blinked. "So you're telling me—eating makes me stronger?"
Everyone stared at him.
"Don't," Bam warned.
"No promises," Bob grinned.
Derek glanced at the smoldering crater in the wall. "We'll need to keep this in check."
"Or reinforce the mansion," Marcus muttered again, defeated.
The doll crossed his arms. "Gluttony is the most passive Sin. Imagine what the active ones will be like."
Everyone fell silent again.
And somewhere inside Bob… something was stirring.