Second Encounter(part 3)

The murderous beast wasted no time. It had sensed Michael's presence from below the ground and rose to feed. Michael hadn't the time to make out its shape or take in its appearance. He switched back to normal sight but he was a second too late.

Moving almost like a blur, it hit him with the force of a falling boulder knocking the wind out of him and sending him crashing through trees and into a golden barrier. He felt something crack on impact, but he felt no pain. He would have loved to puzzle over this but he felt a presence moving fast towards him.

Responding to the feeling, he planted his feet on the ground and pushed himself off it at frightening speed. He needed space to think. However, the beast was not going to offer him respite. It chased after him. He could not see it, only feel something breathing down his neck and hear the sound of tree bark snapping under the force of his imposing foe.

His breath was heavy and ragged and his body drenched in adrenaline as he tried and failed to think of a solution. Having not seen the face of his foe he was ill-equipped to think of something useful. The last time, it had attacked him with tentacles leading him to believe it was some kind of octopus creature that walked the land. Yet now, in his mind, all he could see chasing him was a four-legged bloodthirsty nightmare of a beast. He felt as if bloodshot eyes bore at his bark and he could feel palpable killing intent in the air.

"I am fucked", he huffed under his breath as he weaved his way through the forest floor.

To his luck, he was faster and more agile this time. He was having trouble, however, controlling his speed. Dodging the projectiles hurled by the devastation of his pursuer while also dodging the trees ahead of him was a chore. Fatigue threatened to make him easy prey, so as he ran he tried to clear his mind and steady his breathing.

It was a desperate attempt, he needed an edge; what else was he to do?

'Fucker should have taught me magic instead. I should have asked for lessons.' he managed to berate himself amidst his imminent death.

Lady Luck hid her face from him as he felt something wrap around his foot and pull him back. It did so with so much force that his momentum was broken. However, his insides still maintained their inertia. He felt his whole body shudder as his organs crashed into one another and he coughed out a mouthful of blood.

However, he kept his terror at bay; at least he tried. He was disoriented, his mind hazy and thoughts fuzzy. He wanted to think up a solution, but what solution was there? To fight the thing with his bare hands?

Well- straws and dying men.

He dug his fingers into the ground to slow down the drag to his death. The ground under his fingertips broke and his fingers left deep groves in the ground as he attempted to pull himself away from the vice grip.

Caster stared in amusement from high above. Michael was yet to falter, he had not screamed in pain yet or drowned in frenzied panic. The man almost smiled. Almost.

More tentacles gripped his legs and Michael failed again to imagine what horror he was up against. Yet that was not as important as getting away from it. His grip found the stems of bushes and grass and he desperately grasped at them like a drowning man grasping at straws to slow his death. Unluckily, it worked similarly.

His eyes danced around looking for something, anything. He saw nothing that would be of help. The beast was pulling fast, drawing him closer to its maw. At least that was the image in his head.

Giving up on trying to get away; it was futile anyway, he twisted his body so he faced the forest's roof his eyes scanning for the demon that saw him as prey. And he saw it finally.

Grotesque, repulsive, and covered in slime.

It looked like a giant had covered the thing in mucus, its body was slippery, glistening in the light of the fireflies. Its body was covered in what Michael could only assume to be barnacles and its face was replaced by a giant hole covered in its rim by tentacle-like protrusions. The tentacles that gripped at his feet, threatening to crush them, sprouted from its back. It stood hunched over at almost 7 ft, it's whole dripping in gut-wrenching mucus that turned the ground soggy and slippery.

Michael repressed the urge to throw up. The being gave off a foul stench that got stronger the closer he was pulled towards it.

In his mind, he was preparing himself to fight the thing with his bare hands, yet after seeing how repulsive it was, he almost rethought his plan. Yet he lacked a better one.

A tentacle shot for his head, aiming for a quick kill. Michael remembered the beast being faster before, almost invincible to his eyes, yet now, it appeared... slower. He could see the tentacle coming, he had enough time to react. He smiled savagely allowing fear to be drowned by his desire to come out of this alive, or at least try.

This was out of character for him. However, for the first time in a while, he saw hope. Somehow, there was a light that made him believe he had a chance. He pushed back the fear that crippled his limbs and forced his mind to imagine himself coming out of this alive. He had to. No, he wanted to. Michael wanted to prove to himself he was capable, he wanted to not feel weak. And he had been afforded that chance. He took it by the horns.

With the tentacle a few inches from him, his arm shot forward and grabbed its slippery icky surface while he slid his head to the right dodging the hit only barely. It still managed to graze his temple spilling blood and sending pain through his head. It didn't matter, he had the thing in his hand.

It retracted the tentacle as quickly as it had shot it out. Yet not Michael was on the other end, flying through the air like a human projectile. The momentum caused his cheeks to flutter in the wind and his eyes to turn dry. Yet he didn't care. He could tell the beast had been taken by surprise. It hesitated slightly, his heightened perception allowing him the luxury to notice this subtle detail.

His grin turned almost savage. Something deep inside surged. A feeling dark and old, a desire for destruction. His soul rattled and his heart beat wildly. He didn't care for who he was, for who he would become, for what he wanted. He wanted to tear through the thing before him. To rip it to shreds. That part of him was alien, yet it resonated with him. It was an odd feeling, but he embraced it as he tore through the air towards the repulsive creature.

"Kill or be killed" he yelled into the air as his fist connected squarely with the side of the creature's head.