When the first questing appendage lashed out, a slithering tendril of corded muscle tipped with a claw-fringed maw, Northern was already moving.
He flowed around the probing attack with liquid grace, the crimson lance a cunning feint in his hands.
As the appendage surged past where he'd been standing, over-extended by the momentum of its lunge, Northern struck.
The crimson lance of flames slammed into the offending limb just above its gnashing tip, instantly cauterizing the flesh in an explosion of red, withering energy.
A shockwave detonated outwards with enough concussive force to splinter nearby tree trunks.
The severed, smoking length of tentacle ragdolled away, crashing through the tortured earth until it finally lay twitching in rapidly dissolving ruin.
But it was just another opening salvo.