Daryl felt it before he heard it, a pressure deep in his bones, a wrongness that pushed against the floor like an incoming tide that refused to be ignored.
He had been ready when the hand punched through the wall and ready again when the ape first charged, but being ready and surviving once did not mean fear simply vanished, and it certainly did not mean he could stop being scared now.
He tasted metal in his mouth while his ribs stung dully, and the whip's after-images dragged across his vision as residual energy burned through his nerves, forcing him to blink hard and refocus.
The building around them groaned in protest as dust drifted down from above, and every footstep the ape took landed like a small earthquake that rattled through the atrium and into his spine.
He had the whip, and he had the beacon, and he still had adrenaline burning through his muscles, while the vacuum of ghosts hummed at his back like a living storm, but more importantly, he had the knowledge of what the creature had done to him last time.
He would not be killed the same way twice, not if he could help it.
---
The ape rose higher and grew bigger and more terrible with each second, towering like a broken column torn loose from the building itself, and when it stepped forward the rafters above quivered as ancient nails complained under the strain.
Daryl tasted fear, sharp and acidic, and forced himself to channel it into focus instead of panic.
"Okay," he breathed quietly.
"Think."
The chat had devolved into a frantic riot across the stream overlay, messages flooding in faster than he could read.
[IT'S HUGE NOW]
[PLEASE END STREAM]
[MOONPETAL: Daryl, be safe!]
[SPAMMER: GIVE ME THE CLIP]
MoonPetal's message cut cleanly through the noise, grounding him.
[MoonPetal ⭐]: Don't get cocky. Wait for an opening. Use the rigging.
Daryl latched onto that thought instantly, his gaze snapping upward as he took in the atrium's structure and remembered what was still hanging above them.
There was rigging, old ropes, a half-broken lighting grid, and a steel counterweight stuck on a pulley, all relics of a theater that had not been maintained in decades.
That was a plan.
He marked each point in his head and mapped a path through the space, carefully and deliberately, while keeping his mouth shut because the last thing he needed was the chat panicking him into a mistake.
---
He moved like water, neither running nor slow, but flowing smoothly through the ruined space as the Phantom Whip cracked out and wrapped spectral energy around the ape's wrist.
He tugged, and the beast countered immediately as claws scraped against concrete and sparks flew when whip met talon, sending violent vibrations through the weapon and into Daryl's palms.
The whip burned his hands, the pain sharp and immediate, but it was not crippling, and he welcomed it because pain meant he was still alive.
He was not here to beat the creature head-on.
He was here to bait it.
The Spirit Beacon pulsed as he drove the ghosts forward, and they streamed like a smoky current through the atrium, slamming into the ape's shoulders and back while clinging, gnawing, screaming, and tearing at its massive frame.
The ape howled and swatted at the spirits in blind fury, and one massive blow caught Daryl full-on, sending him flying as a support beam cracked under the sheer force of the impact.
He slammed into a stack of seating, wood splintering beneath him as pain lit his ribs and his breath rattled in his chest, and for one terrible beat he tasted yesterday's blood.
He spat it out, coughed hard, swallowed the pain, and forced himself upright.
He could not stay flat.
He had to keep moving.
---
He needed to make the ape use the building against itself because the theater was older than either of them, and age meant weakness.
There were beams that were propped instead of anchored, a lighting rig held together by a rotten cable, and a storage room filled with abandoned stage props made of plaster, concrete forms, and heavy metal pieces.
He needed noise, direction, and timing.
He needed the whip for reach and the beacon to herd the ghosts to the right place like bait.
He needed to pull a line, snap a support, and let gravity finish what he started.
It was violent, messy, and dangerous, but it was the best tactic he had.
---
He baited the creature as the whip lashed across the ape's flank, drawing its attention instantly while the beast turned and drove the apex of its shoulder toward him like a battering ram.
Daryl pivoted and ran under the swinging arm as the ape swung again, forcing him to roll across the ground just as the thin, rotten rope above him began to sway.
The whip wrapped around the rope, whether by accident or intent he could no longer tell, and he yanked hard as the rope groaned and creaked under the strain while the old lighting grid trembled overhead.
He kept pulling.
The beast realized too late and spun, its immense weight dragging against the rope as the grid held for one breathless second before the rotten cable finally snapped.
A cascade of cables and lights fell straight down toward the ape, and for a single heartbeat everything slowed as metal clanged against fur and chain hooks bit deep into its side.
The ape howled, the sound like mortar cracking through stone, while Daryl rolled clear and came up coughing in the dust.
He had hoped the impact would stop it.
It didn't.
It only enraged it.
---
The creature moved faster now, faster than logic should have allowed, stepping over the crashed rig like a predator brushing aside shrubbery as claws dug into plaster and dust billowed while sparks flew wherever its weight scraped exposed metal.
Daryl felt the whip vibrate and the beacon pulse behind him as points ticked rapidly through his mind, and though ghosts still swirled through the space, he knew he needed another play.
He needed the counterweight.
He needed leverage.
Above them was a balcony, old and rotted, with a heavy ornamental balustrade lying loose along its edge, and if he could throw the ape's center of gravity off balance and yank the right cable or shatter a few key supports, the balcony might collapse.
And if it collapsed the right way, it could drag part of the ceiling down with it.
That would buy time.
Maybe bury the monster under tons of rubble.
Maybe crack its spine.
Maybe, just maybe, immobilize it.