Page 83 of The Sin Binders Ascent

They're organized. That’s the worst part.

They don’t just attack. They herd. Push us toward an edge that disappears into mist. I see the drop. It’s not survivable. The air glows below, lit by rivers of what looks like lava but smells like perfume and blood.

And still, the bugs come.

One slams into my back, its legs curling around my shoulder, trying to pin me. I roar, spinning and stabbing upward, the blade sliding between its plates. It shrieks, a sound that isn’t made for human ears, and dies twitching.

Luna grabs my shirt. Not gently.

“We need cover.”

“No shit.”

“Now.”

Her power should’ve made fire by now. Should’ve licked across the ridge in a fury of violet and silver. But she’s not lighting anything. Whatever this place is, it’s feeding on her. On me. On everything that makes us what we are.

More bugs descend, and they’re faster now. Smarter.

She ducks beneath my arm, dragging me with her down a sharp incline that splits off the main ridge. The rock underfoot is slick with fluid, and we slide half the way, swarmed on every side, and just barely outpacing the next wave of wings and venom.

I don’t know where we’re going.

But anywhere away from the swarm is better than staying. And behind us, the shrieking climbs higher, higher still, like the world itself is singing, and it wants us dead.

My hand finds Luna’s without thought, fingers closing around her wrist, around the cuff, yanking her behind me just as a winged thing clips past her ear and slams into a tree. Bark shatters like glass. The trunk splits halfway down, coughing black dust into the air.

There’s no logic to this place. No rules. But the sound I’d caught before, the low hiss and burble of moving water, is real. It coils through the fog now like a whisper with teeth, and I chase it with everything I’ve got left.

The terrain turns to stone slick as oil, spiked with veins that glow a pale blue beneath the surface. It hums underfoot, like it’s alive. Like it’s watching.

“Faster,” I mutter, not to her but to myself, to whatever ancient part of me knows what’s coming if we don’t move faster.

We crest a jagged slope, and the river is just ahead. If you can call it that. It pulses more than it flows, a wide, sluggish thing that glows green in the center and bleeds into a murky gold near the banks. The water doesn’t reflect anything. Not the sky. Not the trees. Not us. It looks like the surface of something half-asleep and dreaming of rot.

“Are you sure…” Luna starts, but I don’t let her finish. There’s no time for debate. Another one of the bugs slams into my back, and this time I don’t stop to fight it. I dive, dragging her down with me.

The water sucks us under like a mouth closing around prey. It’s cold, but not in any way that makes sense. It burns and freezes all at once, tingling against skin, pressing against our chests like fingers counting ribs. I hold her close, my hand still tangled with hers, our cuffs yanked tight between us like some sick joke that just keeps getting worse.

We swim down, down, deeper than the river should go.

Shapes flicker past, glimpses of things with too many limbs and glowing eyes, things that curl away just before they touch. The water vibrates around us, like it’s carrying sound from above, and then we feel it. A slam against the surface. Then another. We need to breathe.

We surge up.

Break the surface, gasping.

And they’re waiting. Three of them dive from the air, their mandibles gnashing, wings cutting the sky into ribbons. One clips my shoulder, and I grab Luna by the waist, twist, and shove us under again before it can latch on. She claws at my arm as we go down, but doesn’t fight the motion, and I know she feels it too. This is the only way.

The second time we come up, they’re thicker, angrier. The sky’s turned a sickening orange now, like it’s bleeding light, and the fog pulses with it. The bugs dive again. We barely make it down in time.

There’s no rhythm to it. No countdown. We surface and are attacked. We sink and are hunted. I can’t tell how long we’re in the water. Minutes. Hours. Lifetimes. Her body stays close to mine, her fingers bruising my arm, her legs kicking in tandem with mine like we’ve been trained to move as one.

And all around us, this river groans and shifts. It doesn’t want us here. The current drags at us now, pulling sideways into a bend we didn’t see coming. The banks are gone. The fog’s too thick. And beneath the surface, something massive moves past. I feel the wake. Feel the gravity of it.

Luna’s nails dig into my shoulder. I don’t need words. I feel the same thing crawling across my spine. The water isn’t just unnatural. It’s cursed. Alive. Maybe both.

We swim, even though there’s no direction. We swim because stopping means letting it take us. And whateveritis, I’ve never wanted anything less in my life.

---