The instructor walks in, and he is... huge. Not just tall, but wide. Like someone dropped a slab of wrath into a man-shaped mold and forgot to add a personality. He has a scar that cuts across one cheek and disappears into the collar of his uniform, and when he speaks, it’s with a voice that makes the walls tremble.
“Name’s Instructor Marrik,” he booms. “You’ll call me Sir, or Instructor. Anything else, and you’ll be running laps around SinVail until your kneesgive out.”
Charming.
“Welcome to Wrath Combat Training. Some of you think you’re already soldiers. Commanders. Big Balled Generals. You’re not. Not yet. But you will be. Because Wrath doesn’t just fight — we win. Every faction dispute. Every raid. Every skirmish with the Sloth Rebellion. We are the tip of the blade and the muscle of Vail.”
His eyes sweep over us, lingering just long enough on each face to make it feel like he’s measuring our worth.
“In this class, you’ll learn to push your sin powers to the edge. To fight smart. To strike first andfast. Wrath isn’t about rage. It’s about control. Precision. And when to turn loose.”
I sit a little straighter. The words hit deep, even if I can’t put them to use. Yet.
Marrik’s tone shifts. “Where’s the Sinless?”
And there it is.I raise my hand but refuse to cower at his blunt question.
“You observe. You take notes. You wait. You stay quiet. This class doesn’t pause for wishful thinking.”
The words burn, but I keep my face blank. I don’t need pity. I need a spark.
Sly catches my eye from a few desks over and raises one brow, like he’s daring me to deck the instructor. Holly leans over and brushes her fingers against my arm for half a second. No words, but I get it — you’re still one of us.
Marrik turns back toward the pit. “Alright. Let’s see what we’re working with. You—brunette, goggles. Down here.”
Holly stands without hesitation, sliding her goggles over her eyes like a knight lowering her visor.
“Let’s make this fun,” she mutters as she passes us.
Brix grins. “Ten seconds before he regrets calling on her.”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on the desk. No power, no problem. Watching Holly fight is the next best thing.
And if I can’t light something on fire, I can at least feel the heat from hers.
I swear the temperature jumps ten degrees the second Holly steps into the ring. One second she’s adjusting her gloves like it’s nothing, and the next—boom—a pillar of flame roars up from her hands, licking the ceiling before slamming down into the dirt like it’s got a personal vendetta against gravity. Her control is terrifying.Beautiful.She shapes the fire like it’s an extension of her, sending waves and spirals across the pit as Marrik barks commands.
He doesn’t praise her. Of course not. But when she finishes, he gives the barest nod and mutters, “Functional. Aggressive. Needs tempering.”
I'm guessing that's a standing ovation coming from him.
The rest of the class is a blur of fire, fists, and sheer fury.
Next is Brix, who gets called up with a grunt and a lazy salute.
The second he moves, I remember why Wrath takes him seriously. He doesn’t explode with flashy power—he flows. He ducks, flips, strikes with surgical precision like he’s been fighting in that pit since he was born. I’ve seen him fight before, but not like this. Marrik tosses impossible challenges at him that increase in difficulty—dodging fire runes, catching daggers midair, identifying threats blindfolded—and Brix just… does it.
His enhanced senses aren’t flashy, but watching him fight? He has to be one of the best combat students at the academy. I bet he will dominate the arena fights here.
“Underrated,” Marrik mutters. “But efficient. Weaponize that instinct and you’ll kill gods.”
No big deal.
Then there’s Sly.
Marrik doesn’t even call on him. He just appears in the pit, bored with waiting his turn.
What follows is less of a demo and more of a performance. Sly doesn’t throw a single punch, but somehow nothing can hit him either. He ducks, weaves, vanishes and reappears using his super speed sin power to maneuver like shadows. Marrik tries to trip him up with a power mimic—standard training rune that mirrors your moves—but Sly just grins and uses it against itself, trapping the mimic in its own pattern like he choreographed the whole thing in advance.
