Oblivion's Throne-Chapter 75: Locket

Orion's breath came in ragged gasps, his ribs screaming in protest with every motion, the taste of copper thick in his mouth. His vision swam, black spots flickering in and out of the fractured world around him, but he forced himself up, spitting blood onto the scarred earth. His limbs trembled—not from exhaustion, not yet, but from the shock of the impact that had nearly torn his body apart. His bones ached, his nerves burned, his muscles screamed. Every fiber of his being urged him to stay down, to stop, to submit.

But he adjusted his stance instead.

He had no other choice.

The beast exhaled—a deep, rattling sound that rumbled through the battlefield like a distant landslide, shaking Orion to his very core. It was not the growl of an animal, not something born purely from instinct.

This was a mocking sound. And now, it watched him, waiting, as if giving him time to process the sheer absurdity of this fight.

Orion swallowed against the rawness in his throat. He could feel the weight of the creature's gaze pressing down on him like an invisible force. There was no underestimation in those slitted, reptilian eyes, no carelessness in the way it stood before him. It knew what he was capable of. It had read his movements, absorbed them, dismissed them. He could feel it now—this wasn't just a battle.

It was massive, a towering nightmare of muscle and scales, but its speed was impossible. One moment it was a looming shadow against the fractured sky, the next it was upon him, tearing through the battlefield like a storm.

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. His stance shifted in a way he had never quite felt before, like muscle memory that had never belonged to him, like movements honed over years that had not yet passed.

Second Form: Dance of the Wraith.

He executed it flawlessly—his footwork sharper, his timing impossibly precise. His body felt different, taller, stronger, faster than it had ever been before. He moved like liquid shadow, slipping beneath the beast's crushing momentum, aiming to use its own weight to unbalance it, to send it stumbling forward.

For a single, fleeting moment, Orion thought—this is it.

It 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 its momentum in a way that should not have been possible.

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

His entire body was wrenched into the air, twisted like a broken marionette, spinning out of control. He felt his shoulder rip from its socket with a sickening pop, pain roaring through his nerves in white-hot agony.

The pain was everywhere, a throbbing, overwhelming thing that crushed him beneath its weight. His ribs, his shoulder, his arm—everything hurt.

Orion could feel it—this was deliberate. The monster had seen his movements, read his techniques, dismissed them, toyed with him just to show him how futile it all was.

Orion gritted his teeth, his jaw tightening even as blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. His fingers dug into the dirt beneath him, his muscles shaking from the effort of simply trying to move.

The monster exhaled again, that same mocking rumble vibrating through the air. It was enjoying this.

Then he saw her.

A head.

Rolling past him.

His breath stopped. His mind refused to comprehend what he was seeing. His stomach twisted violently, a hollow, wrenching feeling spreading through his chest.

Ingrid.

Her body still stood motionless where she had been just moments ago, her stance still frozen in place, the battle-ready tension still locked in her lifeless limbs. But her head was gone—severed cleanly, detached, as if reality itself had rejected the idea that she had once been whole. Her eyes...

Still wide. Still frozen in horror. Still seeing.

A choked noise clawed its way out of Orion's throat, something between a gasp and a strangled cry. His knees nearly buckled, his stomach convulsing as something in him broke, splintering into shards of raw, visceral agony.

Then another body fell.

Then another.

And then—

The monster smiled.

It stood there, looming over the carnage it had wrought, its twisted grin splitting its face. Blood dripped from its claws in slow, languid rivulets, trailing down its blade-like claw—a monstrous scythe extending from its forearm, freshly slick with the remnants of the fallen. The battlefield was painted red, and yet, to the beast, this was nothing more than... play.

He would die today.

The realization settled into his bones like ice, a cold and merciless truth that strangled the air from his lungs. It crushed him, paralyzed him, suffocated him.

His fingers twitched. His pulse pounded against his skull. His body locked into place, muscles rigid, frozen between the instinct to flee and the futility of it all.

A deep, sorrowful weight that crushed his chest, heavier than any wound, more unbearable than any pain. It wasn't just his life that was ending here. Ingrid. The others. They had dreams, hopes, lives beyond this battlefield. All of it gone in an instant. Reduced to nothing more than corpses, forgotten in the shadow of this monster.

Then came the rage.

A slow ember at first.

Then a roaring inferno.

A fire that burned away the fear, the sadness, the doubt—until nothing remained but the singular, all-consuming desire to fight back.

He would not die like this.

His fingers clenched so tightly around his weapon that his knuckles turned white. His breath came sharp and fast, heat searing through his veins, his body thrumming with raw, unrestrained fury.

Then he roared.

The sound ripped from his throat like a war cry, but it was more than that. It was defiance, a rejection of the inevitability of his own death. It was a declaration, a refusal to accept his fate.

And he moved.

And the monster—

Tore off his right arm.

For a moment, the world shrank to a singularity of pure agony, his mind barely able to register the reality of what had just happened. One moment, he had been moving, his spear lashing out like a storm—the next, his arm was gone. Severed at the shoulder, torn away as easily as one might pluck a leaf from a branch.

Blood exploded from the wound splattering against the dirt in violent bursts. A strangled gasp escaped his lips. His vision blurred, his body nearly faltered.

But—

He didn't stop.

His legs coiled, his muscles reacting on instinct. He launched himself up, twisting through the air, locking his thighs around the beast's thick neck in a reverse triangle choke. His remaining hand shot down to his boot—

Knife.

A flicker of steel. A heartbeat of movement.

And then—

He stabbed.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

Straight into the monster's eye.

A shriek—monstrous, inhuman, deafening.

The beast reeled, its body convulsing as its grip faltered. Orion didn't stop. He couldn't. The world was nothing but blood and chaos and pain, but he kept stabbing. Again. Again. Over and over, driving the blade deep into the soft, vulnerable flesh.

Then—

Snap.

The knife broke.

The beast roared.

Its massive claws closed around his left leg, lifting him like a ragdoll, preparing to slam him into the ground with enough force to break every bone in his body. The creature won't give him a quick death.

But Orion was ready.

In the fraction of a second before impact, he wrenched his Wraith free—

And drove it deep into the monster's throat.

For a moment, there was only silence.

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Then—

A wet, gurgling noise.

A tremor.

And the monster—

Collapsed.

Orion barely had the strength to pull his weapon free before he hit the ground, his body spent, broken, drenched in blood—his own, the monster's. He noticed that his leg also was missing.

His locket.

The one his mother had given him on his fifth birthday.

His vision blurred. The photo inside—his family.

His fingers clenched around it.

Then—

It vibrated.

A pulse, weak at first. Then stronger.

Then something stabbed into his chest—

A pang of energy, ripping through his heart.

His breath caught. His eyes widened.