Lieutenant Arthur Styldrac moved silently through the trees on P4X-009. He'd been separated from his team two hours ago, during a firefight with some wraith drones. He'd been unable to raise them on the radio since, but until told otherwise he was assuming a technical malfunction.
Art was a bit turned around, possibly as a result of a stunner blast to his left shoulder that had sent him careening down a hill and into the large rock pile at the bottom. He still didn't have all the feeling back in his arm. On the bright side the boulders had provided excellent cover.
He had thought he was heading in the general direction of the gate, but things were starting to look less and less familiar. Where the hell had that bridge come from? Just as Art decided the area was clear and moved out from the tree line, a wraith leapt from behind a bush next to the bridge.
"Looking for the gate? You're close." The wraith sneered at him, "Too bad, as none shall pass by me. You'll make an excellent snack." It lunged.
Shit, thought Art, I must cross that bridge. He raised his P-90 and fired at the wraith, severing both its arms.
The wraith stopped and blinked at the limbs that had, until recently, been attached to its shoulders. Then it grinned. "You think this will stop me? 'Tis but a flesh wound! You will die!"
It lurched unsteadily toward Lieutenant Styldrac, who was staring at it in disbelief. The wraith delivered a mighty kick to Art's left shin, and grinned like a schoolyard bully.
Art gaped at the creature, "Ow! What the hell! Why aren't you dead? Do you want me to shoot your legs off too!"
The wraith pranced around Art in a circle. "Chicken, chicken! Have at you!"
After another volley of bullets the wraith's torso was balancing on the ground. Art rolled his eyes in satisfaction and turned to cross the bridge.
"That's right, run away! Come back and fight you yellow bastard!"
"Oh come on," screamed Art, "die already! I mean really, what are you gonna do, feed on me?"
He regretted his words almost immediately, as the wraith turned a knowing smile on him. There was a rustling noise in the leaves behind him. Art spun around, raising his P-90. Alas, he was too late; the wraith's severed feeding-hand launched itself into the air and latched onto his chest.
Dammit, thought Art. The last thing he heard before he lost consciousness was the wraith laughing and shrieking, "I'm invincible! The great wraith always triumph!"