Page 60 of The Sin-Binder’s Fate (The Seven Sins Academy #1)

“You have no moves,” I say, turning back to my own fight. “You’re nothing but a puddle of piss in front of Luna.”

Silas gasps. “That is false.”

Another wraith lunges, I let time flicker, pulling it into a sluggish, dreamlike state, before stepping around it, dragging my blade cleanly through its chest.

“I have moves,” he argues, dodging wildly. “She saw them. She was looking at me.”

“She was looking at you like she was mentally preparing your obituary.”

Silas grins, breathless, covered in someone else’s blood. “That’s still looking. ”

I roll my eyes, twisting to block a strike, the ground beneath us quaking as something much bigger slams into the battlefield.

A wraith, but, not just. This one is hulking, dripping void-black smoke from its jagged mouth.

Silas and I glance at each other. And because he can’t ever be normal,

“Rock, paper, scissors?” he says, raising his daggers.

The wraith-thing lumbers toward me, its body twisted, jagged, wrong, like something spat out of a nightmare and hastily stitched together with pure malice.

Its mouth splits in three different directions, oozing void-smoke, and its limbs, too long, too jointed, drag spiked claws through the dirt as it moves.

Silas, ever the useless critic, whistles. “Big guy. Hope you have a plan, sleepyhead.”

I do.

I just hate that I’m about to spend this much energy on it.

The wraith lunges, and I breathe in deep, letting the world fracture.

Time bends. Everything slows, not just the creature, but everything near me, its movements warping into a thick, syrupy crawl.

The battlefield distorts, wraiths caught in sluggish half-steps, weapons suspended in the air, flickering like a shattered frame of reality.

I move through it like I’m walking through water, deliberate, measured, my veins already aching from the strain.

The creature snarls in slow motion, its eyes like void-lit chasms, trying to track me.

Too late. I reach up, palm open, and then snap my fingers.

The earth answers. A crack splinters beneath the creature’s feet, jagged veins of golden-red light searing through the battlefield, opening into a chasm of pure abyss.

It falls, slowly, stupidly, beautifully.

Its entire body suspended mid-collapse, as though some cosmic force is dragging it under grain by grain.

I let time hiccup, just enough for it to register its own demise.

The second its grotesque, too-long fingers scrape the edge of the pit, I exhale sharply and release.

Time snaps back. The thing plummets, its scream echoing as it’s dragged under, its body splintering into pieces before the chasm seals shut like it was never there.

I stand there, breathing hard, drained as hell, but satisfied.

Silas slow claps.

“Eh. Two out of ten.”

I stare at him. “Two.”

He shrugs. “I’m sorry, where was the flair? The showmanship? A little razzle-dazzle, maybe?”

I exhale sharply, already regretting every choice that has led me to knowing him.

Silas grins, twirling a dagger between his fingers, utterly unbothered. “You’re all power, no pizzazz.”

“Say ‘pizzazz’ again and I’ll personally put you in a stasis coma for a week.”

“Oh no.” He presses a hand to his chest, mock-wounded. “I’d hate to sleep all day. What a nightmare.”

I flip him off and start walking, already feeling the exhaustion creep in .

The ground shifts. Not in the cataclysmic way it did earlier when Riven tore through the battlefield with his rage, not in the way Caspian moves with that damn predatory grace, but in a skittering, unnatural pulse, like a nest of something had just been unleashed.

I look down.

Well.

That’s new.

They’re small, hunched things, about the size of a dog, but with twisted, too-sharp limbs and hollow pits where their eyes should be. Their skin is scaled and split, like they’d been cobbled together out of nightmares and leftover hellfire. And there are hundreds of them.

“Oh shit,” I mutter, straightening. “Silas, tell me you see this.”

Silas, standing atop what’s left of a crumbling pillar, grins like he’s just been given a new toy.

“Look at them,” he says, delighted. “They’re like little gremlins from hell. You think they bite?”

One of them hisses, baring a mouth full of needle-thin teeth, and then launches itself straight at his face.

Silas laughs. Fucking laughs. He dodges at the last second, flipping backward with a showy, unnecessary flourish, and lands gracefully. The gremlin-thing skids in the dirt, snarling.

I sigh. “I hate you.”

Silas ignores me, tilting his head. “You think Lucien will let me keep one?”

Before I can answer, the creatures swarm. A wave of snarling, shrieking bodies, claws scraping, fangs snapping.

I don’t have time for this. I exhale, let time stretch, let the world slow. The creatures lurch mid-leap, caught in a molasses-thick drag. I move through them easily, stepping past the suspended chaos, palming a dagger as I press it to the first one’s throat.

“Goodnight.”

I cut through it, the motion seamless, and move to the next.

Behind me, Silas is cackling, flipping through the slowed battlefield like he’s in a damn stage play. He grabs one of the creatures mid-air, pulling it into a ridiculous embrace.

“I’m keeping this one.”

The thing snaps its jaws at his throat.

Silas tuts, wagging a finger at it. “Rude.”

I groan, kicking a frozen creature out of my way. “Silas, put the hellspawn down.”

“No.”

“I’ll make you.”

“No, you won’t.”

The thing snaps again.

Silas sighs. “Fine.”

He spins, tossing the creature like a ragdoll into the approaching horde.

Then he turns to me, grinning. “Race you.”

I stare at him. “Are you deranged?”

But he’s already moving, slipping between slowed creatures, knives flashing, illusions weaving in a way that makes it look like there are three of him at once.

I curse under my breath.

Then I run .