The plaza smelled wrong.
Stone should have carried dust, old rain, maybe rust from broken metal. This carried something sharper. A dry, bitter scent that caught at the back of Arthur's throat. He slowed instinctively, every step measured, every shift of weight deliberate.
The broken statues were older than the city ruins he had seen before. Their faces were worn smooth, not shattered. Time had erased them, not violence. Wings curved from their backs, stone feathers chipped but still proud. Skylandia had not always been a place of collapse.
Arthur crouched behind the fallen pillar and listened.
There was movement, but not footsteps. A faint scraping, irregular, like something dragging itself across stone, stopping, then moving again. It circled the plaza's edge, never entering the open center.
Predator behavior.
Arthur tightened his grip on the blade. The metal felt inadequate. Light. Unbalanced. But it would cut if placed correctly.
He inhaled slowly and shifted position, keeping low, using the statues as cover. His injured leg protested with a sharp pulse of pain. He ignored it. Pain was data. It told him what he could still afford to do.
The scraping stopped.
Arthur froze.
The air pressure changed again, subtle but unmistakable. The same sensation he had felt during the courtyard fight, but denser now, more focused. Whatever this was, it was aware of him.
A shape slid from behind one of the statues.
It stood taller than a man but hunched forward, its spine ridged and uneven. Its skin was a dull gray, stretched tight across muscle that moved too fluidly. No eyes. Just a smooth, featureless head that turned slowly, as if sensing vibrations rather than sight.
Its arms ended in elongated hands, fingers fused into hooked blades of bone. They scraped softly against the stone as it moved.
Arthur did not retreat.
Running would invite pursuit. Standing his ground invited evaluation.
The creature paused.
Its head tilted.
Arthur felt it then. Not a sound, not a voice, but a pressure inside his skull, like a thought that was not his own brushing against his awareness. It was not language. It was intent.
Territory.
Arthur shifted his stance, angling his body, presenting less surface area. He let his breathing slow, muscles loosening rather than tightening. He had learned long ago that tension wasted energy.
The creature advanced.
It moved faster than its size suggested, covering ground in long, gliding steps. Arthur waited until it was close enough that retreat was no longer an option.
Then he moved.
Not backward. Sideways.
The blade flashed upward, aimed for where a neck should have been. The creature twisted mid motion, impossibly flexible, the strike skimming harmlessly across its shoulder instead of biting deep.
Arthur did not linger.
He rolled past the creature, ignoring the pain that flared in his leg, and came up behind a broken statue. Stone exploded as one of the bone hooks slammed into it where his head had been a moment earlier.
Fast.
Too fast for prolonged exchanges.
Arthur adjusted instantly.
He was not going to outpower this thing. He was not going to bleed it out slowly. He needed precision and positioning.
The creature turned, head snapping toward him, and rushed again.
Arthur ran.
Not blindly. Not in panic.
He sprinted toward the plaza center.
The open space forced the creature to commit fully, no cover, no angles to hide behind. Arthur cut diagonally at the last second, leaping onto the base of a fallen statue, using the elevation to pivot.
The creature overextended.
Arthur struck again, driving the blade into the joint where arm met torso. The metal sank deeper this time. Dark fluid spilled out, hissing faintly as it touched the stone.
The creature screamed.
Not a sound. A vibration. The statues around them trembled slightly.
Arthur's vision blurred for a fraction of a second. He clenched his jaw and forced himself forward, yanking the blade free and retreating before the hooks could find him.
The creature staggered.
Not wounded enough. Not finished.
Arthur felt it then. A tightening in his chest, not fear but urgency. He could not afford mistakes. He was already compromised. Another hit like the first would cripple him.
He changed tactics.
Instead of circling, Arthur closed the distance again, forcing the creature to react rather than attack. He moved inside its reach, where the long bone hooks were awkward, scraping uselessly against stone as he ducked and pivoted.
He struck low, slicing at tendons, carving shallow but targeted wounds. Each cut forced the creature to adjust its stance, slowed it incrementally.
Progress.
The creature adapted.
Its movements became tighter. Shorter. Smarter.
It lunged suddenly, head snapping forward, and Arthur barely twisted away in time. Something sharp grazed his shoulder, heat blooming across his skin. Blood soaked into his shirt.
Arthur hissed quietly and disengaged, breath heavier now.
The plaza was silent except for the creature's uneven movements.
Arthur wiped blood from his fingers and smeared it across the blade, improving grip. He looked around quickly, calculating.
One statue remained mostly intact. Its wings curved upward, creating a narrow space between stone and ground.
A choke point.
Arthur baited the creature, stepping deliberately toward the statue, keeping its attention fixed on him. The pressure in his skull intensified as it followed, territorial focus narrowing.
When it lunged again, Arthur dove under the stone wing.
The creature followed without hesitation.
Its bulk scraped against the statue, bone hooks catching briefly. Arthur turned and drove the blade upward into the soft underside of its torso, using both hands, all his weight.
The creature convulsed violently.
Arthur held on.
Dark fluid poured over his hands, hot and acrid. The vibration intensified, rattling his teeth, but he did not let go. He leaned into the strike, twisting the blade, tearing instead of slicing.
The creature collapsed.
Arthur stumbled back, breathing hard, legs shaking.
He watched it for several seconds, waiting for movement.
There was none.
Only then did Arthur allow himself to sit.
His heart pounded against his ribs. Sweat cooled rapidly on his skin. Pain radiated from his leg and shoulder, sharp and insistent.
But he was alive.
The pressure lifted.
Something else replaced it.
Arthur felt a shift deep inside, subtle but undeniable. Not a voice. Not a message. A sense of recognition, as if the world itself had taken note of what he had done.
The plaza felt different now.
Claimed.
Arthur stood slowly.
This place would draw attention. Monsters did not die quietly in Skylandia. Neither did people who killed them.
He cleaned the blade on stone and turned away from the corpse.
He would not stay.
But the world had seen him.
And it would remember.