Dance of the Wraith

Orion found himself in a foreign environment. The sky above him looked somehow cracked, filled with swirling colors that blended together. 

Around him the battlefield stretched endlessly littered with dead bodies, ruins and broken monuments. Orion stood there surrounded by towering stone spires that rose jaggedly from the ground like the ribs of a long-dead leviathan. 

The air felt oppressive, thick with the mingling scents of blood and decay. 

It was then that he heard it.

A deep, slow breath, resonating through the void. Each inhalation seemed to pull at the fabric of reality itself. A primal instinct screamed in the back of Orion's mind.

The creature wasn't just big.

It was colossal.

It emerged from the haze, walking upright on two legs, its humanoid frame almost reaching four meters long. Its body rippled with muscle beneath dark, iridescent scales, each step sent tremors through the fractured earth. 

Its arms were unnaturally long, ending in clawed hands that flexed lazily. A tail dragged behind it, its spines clicking softly against the ground with every movement.

But it was the eyes that froze Orion in place.

Twin golden slits burned into him, radiating intelligence. They weren't just looking at him—they were assessing him, sizing him up. 

Fear rooted him to the spot, his legs refused to obey even the most desperate commands screaming in his head.

The giant creature took another step forward.

A shudder ran through Orion's body, cold seeping into his bones. His thoughts spiraled into chaos, consumed by the inevitability of his death. How could he possibly fight something this massive? This powerful?

His fingers curled into fists, nails digging into his palms and he furiously bit his lips. Something inside him snapped.

Raw, reckless desperation surged through him stripping the fear away into a frenzied fury.

He moved.

In his hands, he finally took note of the weapon he wielded, a double-tipped spear with a side blade. On the right side of one of its tip, the blade was curved like a Khopesh, honed to a deadly edge. On the left side their was a small dagger like blade. The other tip of the spear could be extended with a retractable chain. 

Orion's first strike lashed out with the chain, snapping toward the beast's throat. The spiked tip dug into its scaled flesh, but the creature showed no reaction. He yanked hard, aiming to tear open its jugular if it even had one, but the weapon barely left a scratch on its scales.

Transitioning instantly, Orion swung the Khopesh-bladed side in a wide arc, targeting the tendons in the creature's leg. 

But again, the monster didn't even budge at all, standing firm like an immovable mountain.

And then it countered.

Orion barely registered the motion before it struck. 

A clawed hand slammed into his side with monstrous force, lifting him off the ground and hurling him backward. For a brief, agonizing second, time slowed. He hung weightless in the air, his senses overwhelmed by the rushing wind.

The ground greeted him like a hammer to glass. His back collided with the ground, driving the breath from his lungs in a choking gasp. Agony exploded through his body. Black spots danced across his vision as he struggled to breathe.

Through sheer force of will, he forced himself to move. He had to get up.

A massive shadow loomed over him, stretching across the cracked ground like an omen of doom. 

The monster began to advance again slowly, its movements unhurried, almost casual. As if Orion were nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

A wheezing breath escaped his lips. He rolled onto his side, forcing himself to his knees, his limbs trembling under the strain.

As the creature took another step, its tail flicking lazily behind it, it spoke. A guttural, otherworldly sound filled the air—a language Orion couldn't comprehend. Orion somehow understood that this wasn't just noise; it was speech.

Orion looked around trying to find a way to escape, it was then that he he realized—he wasn't alone.

Ingrid was there, her stance tense, her breathing ragged. And beside her stood two unfamiliar figures.

One was a chubby boy with dark hair and green eyes, his expression a mix of awe and terror. The other was a petite girl with pink hair and sharp, calculating dark eyes, her gaze darting between Orion and the creature.

Orion exhaled shakily. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest. His mind teetered on the brink of collapse, fraying under the absurdity of it all.

Orion finally realized that this wasn't a fight.

The creature was toying with him.

The weight of that realization almost broke him, threatening to crush what little resolve remained. 

But Orion fought back the desperation.

He had to live.

He steadied his breathing, ignoring the pain lancing through his ribs. Adjusting his stance, he tightened his grip on the Wraith Spear.

And he lunged again.

Orion surged forward with renewed ferocity. His movements became fluid, almost hypnotic.

Every shift of his weight, every twitch of his fingers on the spear's grip, felt perfect. 

He feinted left, spinning mid-motion to pivot right. The spear blurred in his hands, slicing through the air with lethal precision. His footwork was flawless, his balance shifting effortlessly as he carved toward the creature's flank.

For a fraction of a second, he felt detached from his own body, as if he were watching someone else move. 

One moment he was moving. The next moment the world blurred. A single, effortless swipe of the creature's claw sent him hurtling through the air once more, pain erupting in his left arm.

Before he could think, he was already on his feet.

Orion's fingers trembled around his spear. He exhaled sharply, trying to steady himself, but his chest ached. His ribs screamed in protest, his lungs struggling to draw in breath.

And then he felt it.

Something was different.

His grip on the spear felt... more natural. His stance was somehow more stable. Looking down, he realized his body was taller—by several inches—and his frame was lean and more defined. 

Orion swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the weapon as his heartbeat thundered in his ears.

The monster took another step, its golden eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.

Orion's body reacted before his mind could even process the movement. His spear twisted in his grip, his feet gliding across the bloodstained dirt with unnatural precision. 

~ Dance of the Wraith: Second Form ~

He executed it flawlessly—his footwork sharper, his timing impossibly precise, slipping beneath the beast's crushing body, he aimed at its legs hoping to use its own weight to unbalance it.

For a single, fleeting moment, Orion thought this could work.

The creature however saw through the feint before Orion had even finished moving, before he had even begun to pivot into the final step of the technique. The beast shifted its weight, planting its clawed foot down with surgical precision, halting the momentum of his weapon with a single claw.

Orion barely had time to comprehend what that meant before the counter came.

He felt his shoulder rip from its socket with a sickening pop, pain roaring through his nerves. 

The pain was everywhere, a throbbing, overwhelming pain shot throgh his ribs, his shoulder, his arm.

Orion gritted his teeth, his jaw tightening even as blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. His muscles was shaking from the effort of simply trying to stand up.

The monster exhaled again, that same mocking rumble vibrating through the air. 

Then Orion saw Ingrid's head rolling past him.