Envy slashes low, spinning past Greed's backswing. Greed recovers, shoulders rolling, wooden bat cutting through the air in a vicious arc that splinters a chunk of tree trunk. Lust's twin hammers whistle overhead, forcing Sloth into a lazy sidestep — his counter a half-hearted palm strike that barely nudges her back.  

  

Beyond them, Wrath and Lucien are locked in a brutal dance — Rama's precision meeting rage like a dam holding back a flood. Bjorn circles, fists tightening, eyes cutting between openings.  

  

And in the mud, half-forgotten at the edge of the melee, Gluttony lies motionless.  

  

  

---  

  

A twitch.  

  

A low, guttural sound rattles from his throat. His massive frame jolts once, twice, then his eyes snap open — wide, glassy, and burning with hunger.  

  

His head lifts slowly, like a predator surfacing from water. He pushes himself up, shoulders rolling with a wet pop of joints.  

  

Everyone is too busy killing each other to notice.  

  

Big mistake.  

  

  

---  

  

Gluttony rises.  

  

> "How… dare you all… forget I'm here…"  

  

  

  

The words drip from his mouth in a strange, childlike tone — almost playful, almost disappointed.  

  

And then he moves.  

  

Not fast — unstoppable. Every step crushes mud, splinters wood, and shoves bodies aside like toys.  

  

Wrath swings. Gluttony doesn't flinch. He catches the blow on his shoulder, crushing Wrath's arm under his own weight, then hurls him into a tree — the bark splitting under impact. Blood sprays, but Gluttony doesn't even blink.  

  

Lucien pivots, blade aimed — Gluttony's hand shoots out like a bear trap, catching him mid-step. He hurls Lucien into Greed, whose bat flies, splintering against the ground.  

  

Lust brings both hammers down. Gluttony steps forward — her swings collide with his chest, the force barely staggering him. He grabs the nearest hammer, bends it like a twig, and tosses her into a pool of mud.  

  

Sloth steps up, hoping to strike. Gluttony's palm snaps out, catching him in the shoulder. Sloth spins, flies across the mud, and crashes into a broken tree trunk.  

  

  

---  

  

Bjorn freezes — just for half a breath — then launches forward. Rage fuels him, every muscle firing like a coiled spring. He slams an elbow into Gluttony's temple, follows with a flurry of knees to the ribs.  

  

Gluttony stumbles. Laughs. A low, rumbling sound that vibrates through the mud. He tilts his head, like a toy being nudged — then snaps Bjorn across the chest with a backhand, sending him sliding through the mud like a ragdoll. Bjorn hits the ground hard, coughing, tasting blood — and Gluttony's grin widens.  

  

Every strike Bjorn lands is shrugged off. Headbutts, bites, lunges — nothing slows Gluttony. Every opponent he meets is smashed, thrown, or simply ignored as he advances, an unstoppable tide of hunger and muscle.  

  

  

---  

  

Around them, the chaos escalates:  

  

Lust crashes one hammer down toward Envy, who spins sideways — only for Gluttony to step between them, shoving both aside like a living battering ram. Mud sprays, steel clatters, the fight folding in on itself until there's no clear sides anymore — just a storm of bodies, weapons, and raw survival instinct.  

  

Wrath and Lucien try to regroup, but Gluttony doesn't wait. He spins, swinging a massive fist, taking out anyone in range. Even Bjorn, crawling to his feet, can't approach without being slammed backward, the ground quaking beneath each step Gluttony takes.  

  

Every step is a risk. Every breath could be the last.  

  

The only thing that's certain now?  

  

This is no longer a battle for dominance.  

  

It's a feeding frenzy.  

  

And Gluttony is the apex predator.  

  

Sloth watches from the side, resting, as Gluttony dominates — the other sin leaders and Bjorn stagger, rise, and prepare to clash again.  

  

> "Hmm… this has to stop…"  

  

  

  

His voice lazy, almost indifferent.  

  

Greed, Lust, Gluttony, and Envy are poised on one side. Lucien, Wrath, and Bjorn on the other. The tension coils like a spring, every fighter ready to strike.  

  

Sloth's half-lidded eyes snap open fully, sharp and serious.  

  

> "How troublesome can these guys be…"  

  

  

  

Then he moves.  

  

Not to fight, not to kill — but to control the battlefield.  

  

A swing from Lust's hammer comes down — Sloth sidesteps lazily, palm striking the haft mid-air. The hammer jams against his hand with a loud bang, frozen as if caught in time.  

  

Greed swings his bat at Lucien — Sloth flicks his fingers, redirecting the swing upward. The bat clatters harmlessly against a tree.  

  

Envy drives a blade toward Gluttony — Sloth drops low, sweeping a leg across the mud. Envy trips over it, her attack nullified before it can land.  

  

Even Gluttony roars and lunges toward Wrath — Sloth simply steps in, sliding between them like water. With a slow, deliberate hand gesture, he blocks Gluttony's punch against his forearm, the sound of impact echoing through the battlefield, yet Gluttony can't follow through.  

  

Bjorn and Wrath charge simultaneously — Sloth turns, leaning back, and their attacks collide against his elbow and knee, halting both mid-strike with a rhythmic bang and crack.  

  

Every movement is precise, effortless, yet impossible to bypass. Each strike that could hit, each swing that could kill, is stopped, deflected, or interrupted. The battlefield — a chaotic storm just moments ago — freezes around him.  

  

Even Gluttony, still roaring with hunger, snaps his head toward Sloth, a rare flicker of surprise in his glassy eyes.  

  

Sloth stands calm, composed, the eye of the storm amid a battlefield gone mad.  

Sloth's voice lowers, deliberate and almost hypnotic:  

  

> "You fight each other like children while the real threat watches. You cannot win this if you continue on this path. Stop now — or be devoured by forces you cannot even imagine."  

  

  

  

  

Sloth's words hang heavy in the mud-soaked air, halting the fighting. Some leaders hesitate, some bristle, but all sense the tension.  

  

Bjorn groans, clutching his injured side, stomach growling audibly — the raw sound of hunger and pain carrying over the battlefield. He staggers forward, each step deliberate, his eyes locked on the factions.  

  

> "Tch… I don't have time for your preaches," he spits, voice low and dangerous. "You think yourselves untouchable? That your pride and schemes will shield you?"  

  

  

  

He straightens, fists trembling with rage, gaze cutting like a blade.  

  

> "Mark my words… none of you — not one — will ever see me coming and survive. You're weak. Pathetic. Cowards hiding behind names and titles. If I ever set my eyes on you again…"  

  

  

  

Bjorn steps closer, ignoring his pain, each word dripping with venom:  

  

> "…I won't hesitate. I'll burn through every last one of you, and the only thing that'll be left to remember you by is the fear in your eyes. Do you understand? Never… ever… let me set my eyes on you again."  

  

  

  

He sneers, spits in the mud at their feet, and then staggers back toward the forest, each step showing both his wounded body and his unbroken spirit.  

  

  

---  

  

Factions' reactions:  

  

Lust: Her jaw drops, fury and fear colliding. She clenches her fists, too proud to show weakness but shaken nonetheless.  

  

Envy: Eyes narrow, a mix of irritation and grudging respect; she whispers to Greed, "He's insane… and dangerous."  

  

Greed: Frowns deeply, recalculating his alliances and strategy. Even his greed for advantage is tinged with caution now.  

  

Gluttony: Lets out a low, amused growl. Hunger still drives him, but curiosity sparks — someone with that much venom is worth watching.  

  

Wrath: Grinds his teeth, anger and respect warring inside him. He's impressed by Bjorn's audacity and raw force of will.  

  

Lucien: Pride burns hot, but his lips tighten. He acknowledges silently that Bjorn is no ordinary threat — someone who could upset the hierarchy.  

  

  

The forest grows eerily quiet, the echo of Bjorn's words lingering like a shadow over the factions. Even Gluttony, still roaring with hunger moments ago, tilts his head, curious now rather than purely predatory.  

  

He clutches his injured side, stomach growling audibly. The sound carries across the battlefield. He glares at the factions assembled before him, voice sharp, dripping contempt.  

  

> "You should never let me set my eyes on you again. Not one of   

  

The forest holds its breath, the pause heavy — a fleeting moment before chaos could resume, yet Sloth's words linger in the minds of all.  

  

To be continued…