In the Eye of The Beholder(chap17) Belly of The Beast

The ground trembled beneath Silas's feet as the shadow of the collapsing spire loomed over the battlefield. He didn't need the Beholder's sight to know the spire's fate—it was destined to pulverize them both, gravity pulling the crippled structure to its inevitable end.

Silas looked at the incoming threat, his legs desperately trying to pull him away from the impact. But the terror showed no such concern. With a deafening screech, its woven flesh chest split open, releasing even more tendrils that shot forward.

'Goddamn terror, LET ME GO!' Silas screamed internally as the monster's whips tore through the soil, aiming to gore him. He ducked and rolled, [Frenzy] fuelling his every move. Without it, his body wouldn't have the strength to keep up, but even with the boost, he couldn't avoid both the tendrils and the spire.

With a cataclysmic boom, the spire's tip collided with the castle, shattering the bonds that had held the thousands of stones together. The impact sent the connection between structures flying apart, unleashing a rain of rubble and clouds of choking dust. The mid-section of the spire broke off, continuing its deadly descent.

Silas, under the brutal assault, could only glance in horror as the tower loomed mere meters away. His heartbeat skyrocketed, his mind freezing under the realization of what was to come.

Death.

Summoning every ounce of strength into his legs, he leaped, using [Way of Wind] to further propel his escape. The [Ashen Veil] trailed behind him, just barely caught by the spire as he made a desperate dash, narrowly escaping the crushing stone.

But in his panic, he forgot one crucial thing: the terror. As he fled, the monster roared with fury, rampaging in pursuit. Its tendrils lashed out, flying with all their might to slay him.

Yet the terror reacted too slowly. The spire slammed into the dirt, flattening the wheat-covered flesh of the beast. The crash echoed across the endless fields, momentarily silencing the terror's screams as it fell.

The tendrils, with their pointed edges, still remained vigilant and continued flying to Silas. 

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Silas crashed into the soil, the fabric of [Ashen Veil] dirtied as he tumbled, rolling to an eventual stop.

He gritted his teeth, pushing himself up with his sword hand. When he tried to support himself with his left hand, excruciating pain shot up his arm, cutting through the adrenaline and even the fog of [Frenzy].

With laboured breathing, he glanced at his arm—only to find his hand completely missing. The remains of his wrist were fractured and bleeding profusely, each second worsening the flow. 

Silas stared at his life's essence pulse from the stump, His mind deafened by the immense shock, he nauseous from horror building up, as the feeling tugged on his oesophagus.

The scream building in his lungs only to be overpowered by disgust, throwing the leftovers of yesterday's lunch onto the dirt, he felt utterly defeated, his mind was still between the conflict of [Frenzy] and the terror, there battle exhausted him even then. 

So, with that, it meant the terror had made it out alive, although not unscathed, if that were the case then he would have been ripped to shreds by now. 

'Come on Silas, get up...you can do it' Silas encouraged sombrely.

He tried his best to see past the mass of upthrown dust, yet his blurry vision could not pierce it to reveal the dreadful terror, though a small part of Silas soul seemed to move once he stared deep enough into the cloud.

[Soul's Sight] activated as his pupils sharpened, an abstract warmth filling there unusually cold depth, with the aid in vision, Silas saw six putrid orbs orbiting around each other, the surface seemed smooth as if shaped to perfection, yet the energy that flowed around and through the spheres was atrocious and malicious, frankly he felt like ripping his eyeballs out. 

"There's the bastard... he, he... ah fuck, I'll really have to kill it myself."

Silas mused internally, it was a tall task to ask an awakened to kill a terror of the same rank, and to propose the idea to a severally injured aspirant. one must be truly insane. 

Although now that Silas thought about it, with the influence of [Frenzy]. the terror, as well as the agonising pain that drove his every step. 

He was probably already driven mad. 

Silas attempted to laugh, but only felt himself coughing blood, he wiped away his mouth with the snub of his hand, and then eventually the tears that began forming under his eyes. 

So, with what little left his strength he postured up, gripped the [Mad Cows Canine] and swung outward, the slash cutting through the veil of clouds, assisted by the [Way of Wind]. the dust finally parting and revealing the beast.

It seemed the deranged slug of flesh and wheat was pinned under the spire, its mouth contorting outward, as if screaming its deranged anger out to the world, its ear screeching tantrum only being heard by the wheat, Silas already been deafened, so he could only watch the bizarre horror.

Despite attacking his mind, the terror seemed unaware of his presence behind the dust, maybe with the help of [Ebony silk] the monster had trouble locating him, as it kept swinging its tendrils, seeking and hoping to catch its prey, though with the dust parted, the eerie branches on its head shivered. 

craning its head directly at Silas, the tendrils freezing for a moment, before bursting forward to impale him.

Even with the imminent threat hurtling right at him, Silas stood still, his gaze focusing on the six corrupted cores of the terror, his focus dead eyeing the one spot, that was where he would cut, where he wound finally put down the undying terror. 

His will burned, as if sparked by the goal and defiance, sending ethereal strength to his faltering body. the power surging from his soul and through his veins. his breath quickened and his focus sharpened. 

He tensed his calf's and leaped, ducking one tendril before parrying the other, he kept running and running as the world speed up, the stones kicking up as his feet stomped against the fallen stones one after another. 

With his destination Infront of him, all Silas had to do was arrive, sword in hand, head on neck, heart in chest, on two legs. everything else was meaningless in the pursuit. 

New tendrils began to form from the terror's chest, each one launched with tremendous speed, whipping around and leaving only destruction in their path. Yet, as the beast focused on intercepting Silas, it traded the flesh on its body for more offense, sacrificing its own mass for power.

Silas ran with all his might, the wind brushing against his skin and fluttering his cloak, pushing him forward. The air filled his lungs, and his mind, overwhelmed by the pressure of the inner conflict, desperately begged for relief. So he fulfilled it.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!" Silas yelled with every ounce of strength, his voice a primal roar as he continued his relentless charge toward the terror. He couldn't hear his own voice but felt the vibrations in his throat and the power resonating from his chest.

The tendrils reached him, desperate to continue their destruction. They lashed out—Silas quickly jumped over one aimed at his legs, then ducked and slid under another tendril seeking to swipe his head off. Another tendril aimed to pierce his heart, but with a quick twist, the attack just barely missed.

In this storming dance of flesh and death, Silas pressed on, the storm of tendrils growing fiercer as he closed in. Each near miss sent a shiver of death down his spine, yet he kept running, every brush with a tendril making his resolve burn brighter.

Silas tried to dodge every tendril, but beggars can't be choosers. Sacrifices had to be made to escape the instant death carried in each strike.

One tendril brushed by his head, slicing off his right ear. Another pinned him between three more, so he let the beast take his left arm, using the moment to escape the tirade.

As he got closer, each interaction ended in pain. Like a sculpture, he was chipped away piece by piece by the carver. Every bit of skin, flesh, and blood removed was deemed unnecessary in the pursuit of the kill.

His blood flowed out with the wind, his body resembling a corpse, yet still, it kept its momentum, drawing ever closer to the terror. The screams that once filled the air reduced to guttural, violent groans as the strength that filled his body weakened.

The terror's branches loomed closer, the tendrils desperately launching to stop his advance. Yet in every deadly swarm, he managed to slip through, avoiding certain death by the slimmest of margins.

The terror's intricate weave of wheat over pulsating flesh grew closer and more defined as Silas reached mere meters from the monstrosity.

Time seemed to slow as Silas gripped the rough edge of the [Mad Cows Canine], his eyes piercing through the blood and into the beast's terrible jaws. Surprisingly, the mouth was hollow. The tendrils the terror had sent out had diminished the monster, making it less.

An outline of a graceful woman appeared, her head morphed into the flesh that spread throughout the entire beast's body. Within her chest, an oversized, veiny heart beat, the organ grotesquely large for the corpse that contained it.

In the putrid flesh of the organ, Silas found hope. His goal, his fate, was right in front of him.

So, carried by momentum, Silas was sent right into the terror's mouth, its jaws closing, ready to bite him in half. But a powerful breeze manifested, pushing him slightly further—[Way of Wind] assisting in the dash.

The heart drew closer with every heartbeat, Silas's emotions burning at every second. Even as the shattered teeth of the terror closed down, effortlessly severing his feet from his legs, Silas did not look back. He continued to fly forward, his momentum carrying him closer to the pulsing heart.

And with a final moment, Silas readied his blade.

His life flashed before his eyes—the pain, hope, fear, desire, and even the little joys he had experienced. The images flickered by, each memory desperate to burst forth. Feeling the life he had lived pass by, he channelled it all into his blade.

And thrust.

Only the lustrous void of black filled his mind, the detail being lost in the moment. 

He opened his eyes to see a mutated heart, convoluting and leaking as a dull grey blade pierced it, the flesh bellow him convulsing and shaking as the liveness of the terror faded, the active flesh slowing to a stop. Silas of the outskirts had triumphed. 

[you have slain an awakened terror, Howling Harvest]

Silas listened blankly as the spell whispered.

[you have received a memory!]

Even then Silas remained unmoving. 

[Wake up, Silas! Your nightmare is over]

[Prepare for appraisal...]

Only then did the dead gaze of Silas start to fall, his eyes quaked as the reality hit him. 

'I did it, I won.'

Silas looked down as the emotion hit him, the built up and repressed sorrow, anger, and thankfulness crashing into him like a tsunami. The grey hair aspirant expressions broke as tears welt in his eyes. 

Silas in the embrace of dead flesh wept he had actually done it! the pain, the regret, and so much more, was worth it, he had proved himself, not as inconsequential string in the weave of fate. 

He had conquered the unundoable, he had surpassed far from what he expected even from himself. 

So, all there was left to do cry. 

The oblivion of death tugging at his mind closer and closer, as the blood left in his body left dry on the carcass floor. 

But before he could be pulled into the solace of death, the spell whispered in his ear, the corpse that contained him fading and eroding, showing a black abyss encroaching. 

[prepare for your appraisal...]