And All Things Will End
You dodge the grasping hands and send the tip of your sword deep into one of the monster's bulbous red eye. It pops like a zit, spewing blood and pus onto you and the nearby wall. You continue to force the blade deep, utilizing your weight. The beast does not scream, or react at first. Then it ponderously moves a heavily calloused hand on your blade and squeezes it tightly. With little difficulty, it yanks the sword out of its eye. Fecal matter coats the upper half of the blade.
The beast forces you against the wall, slamming you heavily against it while still retaining a grip on your sword. The sharp edges of the cave wall tear through the skin on your back. Immense pain flows through you, but you remain conscious. With your other hand, you retrieve the dagger on your belt and plunge it into the remaining irritated eye on the beast's face.
Blood and vomit spew through these newly formed holes, running down the front of the creaure in rivulets. Undeterred, it puts its palm on your head and presses. Your skull holds out for as long as it can, but it begins to crack. You struggle wildly, your blade flailing frantically against the skin. It cannot make a dent.
Shards of bone crack and stab into your brain. The physiology of this beast is wholly alien. Your eyes glaze over, drawn to the rapidly fading light of the torch. It seems to be getting smaller.
Then the skull gives out, and all of your identity and consciousness is reduced to fleshy chunks of brain interspersed with bone.
Not that different from before, come to think of it.
The beast forces you against the wall, slamming you heavily against it while still retaining a grip on your sword. The sharp edges of the cave wall tear through the skin on your back. Immense pain flows through you, but you remain conscious. With your other hand, you retrieve the dagger on your belt and plunge it into the remaining irritated eye on the beast's face.
Blood and vomit spew through these newly formed holes, running down the front of the creaure in rivulets. Undeterred, it puts its palm on your head and presses. Your skull holds out for as long as it can, but it begins to crack. You struggle wildly, your blade flailing frantically against the skin. It cannot make a dent.
Shards of bone crack and stab into your brain. The physiology of this beast is wholly alien. Your eyes glaze over, drawn to the rapidly fading light of the torch. It seems to be getting smaller.
Then the skull gives out, and all of your identity and consciousness is reduced to fleshy chunks of brain interspersed with bone.
Not that different from before, come to think of it.
