Tightly gripping one of the Feracule’s outstretched limbs in both hands, Alistair yanked downward and unfurled his fingers, throwing his body upwards. With perfect, studied accuracy, he dug the toes of his boot into the soft flesh and kicked off, leaping even further. Repeating this pattern again and again, he ascended, sweat dripping off his brow and a dumb grin plastered on his face as he executed the riskiest plan of his life.

His target loomed above him: the misshapen core of the Feracule’s body, hanging high in the air, supported only by the numerous tentacles hooked into the ground all around it. Determined to stop his ascent, it began to stretch the tentacles he was climbing.

As they were already embedded into the ground below, their extra length pooled up at the top, creating some slack. Then, the Feracule suddenly whipped the added length up and down, sending a rolling wave down the length of the tentacles. Gripping a different one in either hand, Alistair held tight despite the great rocking motion.

Seeming irritated, the Feracule lashed out with another wave, and then another, its limbs stretching out further to create an even larger motion each time, the peaks and valleys of the great wave reaching lengths of several meters across. Gripping the thrashing limbs so hard they bled, Alistair grit his teeth as he held fast through the torrential whipping motion.

As yet another huge wave approached, he changed strategies. This time, as the tentacles rose up to their peak and whipped his body upward, he yanked backwards on them and released, sending himself flying up and towards the Feracule.

The beast fired off a shotgun blast of bladed limbs at him, at which he drew his blade, throwing his arms out in front of him to send his body tumbling in a whirling spin; there was little more he could do to dodge midair. Blades shot past, their edges digging into his side and one of his legs, lines of blood trailing them through the air; at the same time, Alistair’s blade cleaved through one tentacle, grazing two more with shallow cuts.

Just after the tentacles passed him, they began to rapidly retract back. This time, Alistair took hold of one of the retreating tentacles, letting it yank him back towards the Feracule’s main body. His grip gradually slid down the length of the smooth limb, friction burning his palm, but he refused to let go.

Realizing he was hitching a ride on its attack, the Feracule reared its whole body backwards, whipping the returning tentacles overhead rather than fully retracting them. Alistair dug his nails into the Feracule’s flesh, nearly losing his grip as his body was jostled by the lashing motion. He reached forward with his blade, sinking it deep into the center of the tentacle.

The enraged Feracule lashed its tentacles back and forth above its body, whipping Alistair through the air, the wind and pressure enough to make him light-headed. Absolutely determined not to let go, the old man let but a fraction of a second pass between Recesses, carefully observing every movement, twisting his body to suffer the least possible strain.

In taking such frequent breaks, he noticed something moving in the darkness below them.

And so, he waited, maintaining a desperate grip. The monster knew it could not pause to attack him, as he would use that chance to leap onto its main body; thus, they were locked in a stalemate of thrashing limbs, only to be broken when Alistair finally lost his grip—or when a third party intervened.

The Feracule noticed the attack at the last second, momentarily pausing its movements as it coiled several tentacles together in one place, forming a shield of flesh. From below, a javelin came rocketing up at the Feracule, embedding itself deeply into its self-made meat shield. It successfully blocked the projectile, but this moment served as proof the beast was still an amateur—it’d let itself become distracted, taking its focus away from Alistair for but a moment.

What a terrible mistake that was.

The tentacles lashed upwards, jostling Alistair’s body again. He waited with gritted teeth, identifying the exact moment that the upward force finished running through his body, and then he threw himself downward, yanking his sword free of the tentacle. He spun as he fell, crudely dismembering the tentacles around him.

Blades and hands shot up to meet him, the hands clawing at him with their twisted fingers, the blades biting into his skin. Alistair grit his teeth and cut through them with a flurry of quick, frenzied slashes; the wounds they inflicted were shallow, and they’d managed to cushion his fall.

The core of the Feracule’s body was built like a lumpy, flattened sphere, oblong and repulsive. Barely an inch of skin rested between each of its tentacles, emerging from every surface of the core. Many of its tentacles were fully retracted now, granting Alistair a rare glimpse of a body littered with hands and nails like flowers in a field.

The Feracule let out a shrill shrieking sound—the first sound he’d heard it make at all—and began to extend its tentacles all at once, the eerily still field of limbs erupting into motion. Each and every tentacle curved towards Alistair as they rose, converging on him all together.

Alistair swung his sword in a wide arc, the wicked squelch of tearing flesh filling his ears and a torrent of hot blood coating his arms as he cleaved through five tentacles with a single move.

Tentacles poured in from all directions. He whirled his body around in a circle of death, deflecting incoming nails with his blade, weaving his feet between the fallen limbs of dismembered tentacles, cutting through stretched limbs and curled fingers, twisting his old, creaking body to avoid incoming attack after attack after attack. Evading and deflecting and cutting and evading and deflecting and cutting and evading and deflecting and cutting and evading and deflecting and cutting and evading and deflecting and cutting and evading and deflecting and cutting and evading and deflecting and cutting and evading and deflecting and cutting and evading and deflecting and cutting and evading and deflecting and cutting.

What transpired over the course of just seconds in reality took the form of several hours of careful study and calculation for Alistair, mere fractions of a second passing between each movement. He double- and triple-checked the position of every tentacle, keeping a perfect count of their number, a perfect track of their positions, a perfect record of their movements and velocities. Blades and fists grazed just inches past his skin, attacks weaving between his limbs as he twisted his body almost unnaturally.

Limp, bloodied limbs rained down around Alistair, forming a wriggling meat shield as they fell in the path of the other tentacles attempting to rise up and attack him. With all of the tentacles immediately around him dispatched, he began a lap around the flattened top of the Feracule’s body, hacking through as many more of its tentacles as he could, cleaving through three or more with each swing. The death toll of flailing limbs rose to 30, 40, 50, rising and rising.

Alistair: “Your pain’s just getting’ started, damn monster! Don’t say I didn’t warn ya!”

He shouted something thoughtless from sheer adrenaline. Tentacles rose up around the edges of the Feracule’s body, twisting their way between its own falling limbs as they poured over the edges of its writhing body. As they made their way towards him, Alistair fell to a crouch and sank his sword down into its flesh. He carved a long circular gash into the beast, causing it to roar in pain again.

Flicking his sword free from the Feracule’s skin, Alistair then leapt into action again, weaving past several incoming blades and dismembering them all in one fluid swing. It was clear the Feracule was unaccustomed to pain—its movements had become much simpler and sloppier. It was almost pathetically easy for Alistair to run another lap around the edge of its body, cutting down each of the rising tentacles as they came. With the immediate threats removed, he made a third lap, this time cutting numerous gashes into the Feracule.

A rumble rang out around them as all the Feracule’s limbs released their holds on the ground below, causing the monster to suddenly plummet downwards with Alistair atop it as its tentacles rapidly retracted. The old man sank his blade into its flesh again, holding on for dear life as it fell.

The Feracule’s tentacles slammed into the ground as it crashed down with a meteoric impact, each bending like legs to try to soften its fall. This was only partially successful, its body crashing into the mud, rocked by the impact. It was still for a moment as if dazed, but then it began to thrash its main body around, trying to throw Alistair off of it. He only dug his blade deeper into it, until finally it extended half of its tentacles, rotating its entire body upside-down.

Alistair was finally forced to leap off as the beast crashed down onto its bloodied head, the old man rolling through the mud and up to his feet. The creature seemed to groan as it weakly extended several tentacles, cutting winding paths through the air, but it was interrupted as a second javelin suddenly shot towards it, this time slamming unimpeded into its main body, embedding itself deep into its flesh.

Its tentacles fell limp as it shrieked. After a moment it began to move again, its tentacles clawing at the ground like desperate hands, its body shuffling as it tried to drag itself forward. Alistair sighed, slowly stepping forward to cut each of the remaining tentacles as they dug into the mud.

Alistair: “Ya didn’t listen to me before, so I suggest ya do it now. You’ve lost. Just give in—no need to make this more painful for yourself.”

The Feracule seemed to growl, whipping a bladed tentacle at Alistair, which he easily deflected and then cut. Watching its bleeding limb fall to the ground, the monster’s movements gradually slowed.

Alistair watched the Feracule carefully, finally seeming satisfied as it became completely still after a few seconds. “Well, looks like it took my advice. Loid, put it out of its misery.”

A third javelin shot at the beast, and finally its core body almost seemed to deflate as it fell limp.

Alistair took a long sigh and let himself fall to a sitting position, overlooking the great corpse of the Feracule. “Thanks for the assist. Roy?”

Loid: “Unconscious. And missing some teeth.” Loid replied matter-of-factly as he emerged from the shadows, stepping up to the huge body of the Feracule and climbing onto several of its limp tentacles in order to retrieve his javelins.

Alistair: “And Jacqueline? Jackie?”

Loid: “He got Lyn’s arm bad, but... Well, you know how she is. I already treated it, so she’ll be fine. Jackie’s unharmed, as well.”

Overcome with relief, Alistair collapsed backwards into the mud. “Thank Eve. This bastard got me in a few spots.”

Loid: “Can you walk?”

Alistair: “Drag me inside. I’ll be alright, but I’m damn exhausted.”

Tracing his gaze along the bloody, deflated form of the Feracule, Loid simply nodded. “Yeah, I can guess why.”