Taitenschild

4-1 || The Hero Reborn (Part I)

The Fal'mor hit the ground with a splatter. Black acid showered the centre of the pit, disintegrating everything it touched. Tucking himself behind his shield, Aramir leapt back, the metal alloy flickering blue as the rain of black droplets struck its surface.

Blackblood. The vile substance made up most of the creature's body, oozing out of its flesh through its pores. A single drop on Aramir's skin would melt through flesh and bone. A spoonful of it in his bloodstream and he'd disintegrate, slowly and painfully, from the inside out.

Looking up at the creature, he swallowed. He'd listened to the Teachings – heard the recounts from his grandfather. Reality, however, was far more chilling.

Fal'mor were supposed to be monsters, with cavernous maws, thin, wretched torsos and spindly limbs that could change from sharp, slashing claws to fists like hammers in an instant. The stories about them had frightened Eliah so much as a child that she'd created them in her dreams. But the nightmare creature in front of him looked more like a grotesque fusion between monster and man. Its round head seemed to have no features, and its shoulders and torso devolved into a bulging, writhing mass of thin, elongated limbs that made Aramir's skin crawl.

Cold sweat trickled down his temple. Ignoring the tremble threatening to overtake his hands, Aramir raised his spear and held it at the ready – watching. Waiting.

Something told him that to make the first move was to invite death.

Red lights blinked to life on the Fal'mor's smooth, featureless face. Silently, it surveyed the arena, head twisting all the way around on its neck like a bird's. He flinched as it spotted him. A crescent-shaped split, dripping with blackblood, appeared beneath the pair of beady red eyes. Raising itself higher on its mass of wriggling appendages, the Fal'mor let out another scream.

Dripping black tendrils flew at him, faster than he could fathom. Ducking underneath them, Aramir ran. Three made a grab for him and missed. A fourth cut off his path. He batted it away with his shield and stabbed.

The watching crowd let out a roar.

The injured limb flailed madly. The spear embedded inside it flickered blue. A gush of red fluid bled from the wound as the flesh around it bubbled like a pot reaching the boil. Aramir grimaced. So the stories were true - aeonite could cut through blackblood after all.

The Fal'mor shrieked in fury.

With a sudden jerk, the limb retracted, wrenching Aramir's spear from his hands. He cursed – and raised his shield as another set of tendrils whipped through the air. They twined around each other, fusing together to form a tentacle as thick as the trunk of a small tree. It smashed into his shield like a battering ram.

Blue light flashed as Aramir was launched sideways across the pit. He hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from his lungs. Numbing pain flared up his side.

'Aramir!' cried Eliah from somewhere above.

'Get up, son!' bellowed Regis's voice.

Gritting his teeth, the youth got to his feet. His shield was miraculously unbent – courtesy of the aeonite blended into the steel – but something on that side was definitely broken. There was no time to figure out what. A second whip of merging tendrils lashed out at him. Aramir dove out of the way. Blackblood cratered the ground behind him.

Rolling to his feet, Aramir drew his sword. A third merged appendage swung at him. Shield raised above his head, he dropped under it and spun. With an arc of blazing blue metal, he severed the limb. A fountain of red sprayed the air.

The remainder of the tentacle spasmed, the blackblood beneath its surface bubbling and bulging, turning harmless and red as it flooded out from where the aeonite had sliced through.