Orion found himself in a foreign environment. The sky was cracked, filled with swirling colors that blended together like spilled ink. It looked as though the world itself had been torn apart, leaving behind glowing rifts that flickered with strange lights.
The battlefield stretched endlessly, an expanse littered with ruins and broken monuments. Orion stood at its edge, surrounded by towering stone spires—remnants of some ancient civilization—that rose jaggedly from the ground like the ribs of a long-dead leviathan.
The air was oppressive, thick with the mingling scents of blood, decay, and something older—something primal. It pressed down on him, not just physically, as if the very atmosphere carried the weight of countless forgotten wars.
And then he heard it.
A deep, slow breath, resonating through the void. Each inhalation seemed to pull at the fabric of reality itself, steady and deliberate, as if the creature had no need for haste. A primal instinct screamed in the back of Orion's mind, warning him of what approached.
It wasn't just big.
It was colossal.
The creature emerged from the haze, walking upright on two legs, its humanoid frame distorted by sheer scale. Its body rippled with muscle beneath dark, iridescent scales, each step sending tremors through the fractured earth. Its arms were unnaturally long, ending in clawed hands that flexed lazily, absurdly dexterous despite their size. 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 predatory intelligence. They weren't just looking at him—they were assessing him, sizing him up.
His breath hitched. His muscles locked. Fear rooted him to the spot, his legs refusing to obey even the most desperate commands screaming in his head.
MOVE!
RUN!
But his body wouldn't respond.
The giant lizard took another step forward, the impact fracturing the ground beneath its feet. It moved without urgency, confident in its dominance. There was no rush.
A shudder ran through Orion's body, cold seeping into his bones. His thoughts spiraled into chaos, consumed by the inevitability of failure. How could he possibly fight something this massive? This powerful?
His fingers curled into fists, nails digging into his palms until they bled. Something inside him snapped.
Raw, reckless desperation surged through him. He clenched his teeth, his breath rasping out in ragged bursts.
Then—
He roared.
A defiant roar that burned through his fear, stripping it away into a frenzied fury.
He moved.
The paralysis shattered, and he launched himself forward.
In his hands, he wielded a double-tipped spear. On the right side of its tip, the blade curved like a khopesh, honed to a deadly edge. On the left side their was a small dagger like blade. The other side of the Wraith extended into a retractable chain tipped with a dagger-like spike. The weapon flowed seamlessly between forms, adapting to his will as though an extension of his own body.
And yet—it didn't matter.
The lizard didn't flinch.
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, but the skin barely parted under the pressure.
Transitioning instantly, he swung the khopesh bladed side of the Wraith in a wide arc, targeting the tendons in the creature's leg. The steel bit deep—but again, nothing. No cry of pain, no faltering step. Just the same unyielding presence.
The monster absorbed it all, standing firm like an immovable mountain.
And then—
It countered.
Orion barely registered the motion before it struck. A blur of movement, followed by—
Impact.
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 and the dull roar of blood pounding in his ears.
Then—
Agony.
The ground greeted him like a hammer to glass. His back collided with the ruined battlefield, driving the breath from his lungs in a choking gasp. Pain exploded through his ribs, radiating outward in waves. Black spots danced across his vision as he struggled to breathe.
Orion tasted iron. His own blood.
Through sheer force of will, he forced himself to move. He had to get up.
But—
A massive shadow loomed over him, stretching across the cracked ground like an omen of doom. The air grew colder, heavier, as if the mere presence of the creature threatened to crush him where he lay.
The monster began to advance 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 begin to comprehend. The words slithered through his ears, thick with meaning yet utterly alien. It wasn't just noise; it was speech.
The realization sent a fresh wave of terror coursing through him.
And then, amidst the chaos, he realized—he wasn't alone.
Ingrid was there, her stance tense, her breathing ragged. But beside her stood two unfamiliar figures.
One was a slightly chubby boy with dark hair and piercing blue eyes, his expression a mix of awe and terror. The other was a petite girl with pink hair and sharp, calculating eyes, her gaze darting between Orion and the creature.
Who were they? How had he not noticed them before?
The golden slits remained fixed on Orion. The monster had been watching him—but why? Why focus solely on him?
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.
This wasn't a fight.
The creature was toying with him.
His fingers dug into the dirt, nails scraping against the cracked ground. His breath came in ragged, uneven gasps.
No.
The weight of defeat pressed down on him, threatening to crush what little resolve remained.
But Orion fought back. Pushed against it.
This wasn't over.
He wasn't finished.
Even if the odds were insurmountable, even if the creature towered above him like a god.
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.
The creature's claw twitched.
Orion never saw the counter.
One moment he was moving. The next—
Impact.
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... stronger. More natural. His stance was broader, more stable. Looking down, he realized his body had changed. He was taller—by several inches—and his frame was leaner, more defined.
Orion swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the weapon as his heartbeat thundered in his ears. He didn't have time to question it.
The monster took another step, its golden eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.