Phase TWO—Wraithborne

What the hell were they talking about?

A little mistake? Weapon? Phase TWO?

Suddenly Zane began to feel the blow of wind through the endless space and code. Squares began to illuminate reality around him, snapping into focus one after another—glass panes of city architecture, flashing lights, and motion. Streets, sidewalks, towers that were all formed out of shimmering fragments as if the world was rebuilding itself from shattered data.

And he was at the center of it.

Falling.

The wind tore at his body, screaming past his ears as the reconstructed world stretched out beneath him. A full cityscape—steel towers, wide roads, neon signs blinking in unintelligible languages. Below, hundreds of people walked the streets. Civilians. Or… something close.

NPCs.

Their faces moved. Eyes blinked. Some even laughed.

"Wait—am I? Am I freefalling?"

Zane's thoughts stopped as panic rushed in. The distance between him and the street was closing in fast.

[CORE: Altitude drop detected – fatal collision imminent.] [Recommendation: Brace or align for controlled impact.]

"I don't even have a parach—"

Then, something clicked. A memory of a similar experience.

Rika.

Right, she had pushed him off a building once. In the real world.

No warning. No time to react. Just a hard shove off the ledge of a NexaTech rooftop. " Don't worry," she'd shouted. "You'll survive"

His breathing slowed. Guess she knew better.

Zane straightened his body mid-air, arms tight to his sides. He rotated, legs down, knees bent. His eyes locked on the pavement.

And with an explosive thud, he landed, feet-first, shattering the ground beneath him.

A ripple of panic surged through the crowd. Gasps and screams. People stumbling back in fear.

From the crater's center, a hand emerged, dust-covered, trembling slightly.

Zane dragged himself out of the hole, dirt clinging to his suit like ash. He coughed violently, waving away the smoke and debris clouding his vision.

His boots scraped against broken pavement. But he stood unharmed, covered in dust.

But—a notification popped up.

[NOTIFICATION: Your health just decreased by 30 percent, Player One. Ascend carefully.]

Zane scoffed underneath like he was expecting it. After all, he couldn't land perfectly.

Eyes met eyes.

Zane stood motionless, his gaze sweeping across the crowd encircling the crater. Men. Women. Children. All frozen in place. Shock painted every face. Some mouths hung open. Others blinked as if still processing what they'd just seen.

They weren't NPCs. No generic idle animations. No scripted responses. They were watching him…truly watching him.

"They're reacting… like real people. NPCs aren't built like that," he thought, heart pounding.

"Did that human just fall from the sky?"

"I swear he did!"

"Since when do humans fly like that?"

Whispers rippled through the crowd.

Zane didn't move but stared back, half from caution, half from disbelief.

Whatever simulation this was... it felt too real.

Cracks spidered from where he landed, dust still swirling in the air.

Around the crater, food carts had toppled, their contents scattered. Horse-drawn carriages lay tilted to the sides, wheels still creaking. The air smelled of scorched stone and roasted meat.

Zane slowly took it in.

A city… but not the kind he expected.

No gleaming towers. No neon signs. No drones buzzing overhead. This place didn't hum with circuits, it breathed like something old.

"Where the hell am I?" he muttered.

Then—

A gasp cut through the tension.

He turned.

People were backing away from the street's center. Some ran. Others just froze.

Something stood up ahead, a few meters away, wrapped in a tattered black cloak. Its fabric fluttered unnaturally, as if responding to a wind no one else could feel.

It didn't move.

It just… stood there.

Humanoid in nature but definitely not human.

Not with the way the air around it felt heavy, charged, like static before a lightning strike.

Zane's eyes narrowed.

"What are they afraid of?"

And why did it feel like it was waiting for him?

[CORE : You're now encountering a rare threat.

Probability of winning—10 percent]

"10 percent? Seriously?" Zane muttered to himself.

He took one slow step forward.

The cloaked figure didn't flinch. It remained rooted to the cobbled street, the edges of its dark shroud twitching like static caught in wind. A faint humming pulsed from it—low, droning, mechanical, but layered with something almost… wrong. Like corrupted audio trying to whisper in a language not meant for humans.

[CORE: Test Trial – PHASE TWO ENGAGED.]

[Objective: Neutralize hostile signals.]

[WARNING: Unknown class opponent. Threat level: ?]

Energy began to compress in front of Zane, like a core. Its radiant light brightened up the surrounding more until a weapon materialized before him.

A rusted sword.

It fell lazily to the floor and the hilt was cracked. The blade jagged, with corrosion spreading like rot along its edge.

[Trial Weapon Acquired: Antiquated Blade – Integrity 12%]

[Note: Success rate in current state increased to 15% ]

Zane frowned. "You're kidding me." He picked up the sword and stared at it in disgust.

Click.

The figure standing took a pose as if reacting to Zane's hold of a weapon. Its hood peeled back without movement, revealing a head formed from smooth black alloy…faceless, save for a singular slit of glowing red light. Like an ancient furnace buried in an artificial skull.

The shift in atmosphere was almost immediate.

The whispers ceased. The murmurs died.

And then—panic.

Without a word spoken, the people understood. They didn't argue. They didn't hesitate. Like a rehearsed ritual, they scattered, grabbing children, clutching baskets, pulling carts as they rushed into their homes, slamming shutters, locking doors. A market once alive with color and sound was reduced to silence in mere seconds.

It was as if the entire city had folded inward, afraid of what now stood in its heart.

Now, only two figures remained beneath the overcast sky.

Zane, still catching his breath, dust-covered and wide-eyed…

And the thing.

A figure cloaked in torn, black fabric that flailed unnaturally in the wind as if the air around it obeyed only it. It hadn't moved, not a single step, yet its presence pressed on Zane's chest like invisible weights.

And as Zane's eyes adjusted, he noticed the details.

The head wasn't human, not even close. A sleek, tech-like helm rested over its form, smooth like obsidian, devoid of features except for a central, vertical slit that faintly glowed with a sickly red pulse. Its limbs were humanoid in shape but off joints too sharp, the silhouette too still.

Then it happened.

A cold chime echoed in his mind.

[CORE SYSTEM ALERT: You are now in a duel with the WRAITHBORNE.]

Zane's breath hitched.

"A… duel?" His voice cracked, disbelieving. "With this thing?"

His heart thudded faster, the pulsing sound in his ears louder than the wind. Panic tried to claw into his throat, but he swallowed it down.

He clenched his fists and shouted, hoping to cut the tension.

"Who the hell are you? What do you want?!"

Silence.

The figure didn't reply. It didn't even flinch.

It merely leaned forward ever so slightly, one foot sliding an inch across the ground, its body lowering into a stance that spoke one universal truth:

It was ready to strike.

Zane's pulse spiked.

This wasn't a misunderstanding. This was a fight.

He raised the blade, hands tight. "Guess you're not here to talk."

The cloaked enemy blurred forward, cloak unfurling like wings of shattered glass. It moved without friction.

Zane swung instinctively.

The sword scraped empty air.

A metallic arm clamped around his neck from behind.

"What—!"

He was slammed into the street so hard the cobblestones broke around his ribs. Pain lanced up his spine.

Zane swung wildly, the blade slashed through the air, forcing the Wraithborne to retreat several paces. A fleeting moment of reprieve. He staggered upright, chest heaving, knees trembling beneath him.

Across from him, the figure slowed.

Its posture remained elegant and mostly unbothered.

Wraithborne smoothly stepped back into its original stance, fluid and controlled, like it had all the time in the world. There was no urgency in its movements, no fear, no effort to defend.

That's when Zane realized the chilling truth.

It hadn't even drawn its weapon.

The side-sword holstered at the figure's hip remained untouched.

It wasn't trying to kill him. It was toying with him.

Zane's jaw clenched. His grip on the hilt tightened. Rage and humiliation burned through the fatigue in his limbs. He wasn't just losing, he was being mocked.

And then—

Zoom!!

The Wraithborne launched forward again, a blur of motion.

Zane barely registered the attack, but his body moved on reflex. With a grunt, he brought the sword up—CLANG!—and deflected the strike just in time. The force of the punch sent a jolt through his arms, and he stumbled backward, boots scraping across the floor.

The Wraithborne didn't even flinch.

Its head tilted slightly, the red slit across its helm pulsing once as if studying him.

Zane sucked in a sharp breath. If he wasn't a superhuman, he sure would've been sent flying miles off from the force.

Suddenly, the Wraithborne reached for the cloak that had enclosed its frame and flung it into the air.

The tattered fabric twisted, catching the light before drifting aside like ash on the wind.

What stood beneath was no ordinary machine.

Its form gleamed with mastertech plating—sleek, polished, and inhumanly elegant. Panels folded seamlessly into each other, every joint perfectly aligned, built not just for battle, but for dominance.

The sunlight caught along its armored limbs, casting cold, radiant reflections off a body designed with precision far beyond anything Zane had ever seen.

He couldn't help but stare.

Even with his enhanced senses, he'd never encountered tech like this. His heartbeat surged. His fingers curled tighter around the hilt of his blade, and he instinctively dropped into a ready stance.

The Wraithborne didn't charge. At least not yet.

Instead, it straightened and slowly rested a robotic hand on the sword at its side. The movement was graceful, almost ceremonial.

Zane's muscles tensed.

Sweat rolled down his temple, his breath shallow. Every instinct screamed at him to run. But he didn't. He stood his ground. He wasn't going to show fear.

Then, with one smooth motion, the Wraithborne drew.

The sword slid from its sheath with a hiss, the metallic whisper resonating like a storm about to break. The blade shimmered to life, glowing with crackling plasma that licked along its edge in violet arcs. The air around it sizzled with heat and static.

The Wraithborne took its stance. Sword raised to visual level.

And then it happened.

A strange energy rippled from its core. Mana-like threads began to leak from its joints, weaving smoke into the air. Every inch of its armored form hissed with dry pressure, releasing steam like a dying engine awakening into wrath.

Its single red optic flared with life.

[CORE ALERT: WARNING — Rare threat "Wraithborne" has initiated its special ability: TSUKUYOMI]

Zane's breath hitched.

The name alone froze the air in his lungs.

"Ahhh, shit," he muttered under his breath, his eyes locked onto the glowing blade. "This… definitely doesn't look good."