Tristan quickly snapped his head back, searching for the origin of the voice. He prowled about slowly, skulking the ruined scene like a meticulous officer. He kicked aside the scattered scraps of paper strewn across the ground, imagining there might be something concealed beneath, but there was nothing. He then resolved to address the disembodied voice after uncovering nothing.
"Who... or what are you?"
"Fatherrr..." it hissed, drawing in a long, almost sickly breath, "You do not remember... meee."
Tristan continued circling, though he could see nothing, yet he was certain something was speaking to him. He dragged his feet deliberately across the fractured floorboards of the broken-down shed as he searched.
"I may have struck my head somewhere and forgotten who you are. If you do not mind, then remind me... of who you are."
The voice exhaled with another long, ghoulish breath before replying, "No... you are... not Father."
"Well, perhaps I could be. Maybe if I got a good look at you, I might recognize the resemblance," he said with a mocking tone, jesting in the face of the unknown and most likely imminent peril.
Then Tristan heard it—the frantic scurrying of tiny feet racing toward one corner of the room before hiding beneath the strewn papers. Tristan advanced cautiously, wary of what horrors might lurk beneath. As he drew closer, the creature began to stir—or rather, it began to grow. What first appeared like a rat grotesquely expanded, its body stretching and distorting until it towered at a staggering fifteen feet, standing upright upon two legs like a man. Its arms extended monstrously long, reaching down to its crooked legs. Its claws were honed sharper than knives—no, even sharper than that.
Tristan began to edge backward from the monstrous thing. The beast fixed its solitary, gleaming green eye upon him.
"You... resembled him so very much, but you... are... not... Father!" it growled in its nauseating voice.
The abomination released a deafening screech as its ribs violently tore through its own flesh, exposing the throbbing black heart within.
With a grotesque motion, the beast pressed its fingers together, forging a long sword fused from its very body. It lunged, driving a piercing strike toward Tristan.
From the shadows emerged his soldier, cloaked in darkness, clad in his elegant suit. With precision, the soldier interposed himself, turning his blade to the flat and blocking the beast's savage thrust. The monster retaliated with its other hand, slashing down with its elongated, bone-like claws. Killington twisted swiftly, casting aside the first attack and aligning the edge of his weapon against the second strike, attempting to sever the monstrous limb.
But the result was horrifying—though his blade halted the strike, it inflicted no wound. No blood, no cut—nothing. The beast calmly withdrew its claws and released a chilling, guttural laugh.
"Your... blade... is not sharp enough... to harm... me."
Then, with monstrous strength, it unleashed a devastating backhand that sent Killington hurtling away as he crashed through a partially crumbled wall, leaving Tristan perilously exposed before the nightmare. Killington arrested his momentum by driving his blade into the ground, steadying himself before lifting his gaze toward the beast, which prowled relentlessly forward toward Tristan.
"This creature could be a mid-level Three-Star... For me to be overpowered like this, it must be at least that," Killington murmured, his voice edged with dread.
In a burst, Killington dashed toward the monster, his blade extended like the stinger of a wasp. Gripping the hilt with both hands, he aimed to pierce its chest. But the beast anticipated him—it abandoned Tristan and turned its full attention to the soldier rushing at blinding speed. Raising its skinny right arm, it intercepted the thrust, the weapon striking uselessly against the flesh of it's palm. Yet the force of the strike drove the beast back a step.
Tristan watched helplessly, unsure of what to do. His reserves of energy, though bolstered, dwindled at an alarming rate. Within minutes Killington would vanish, his master's strength exhausted. Tristan's mind raced, desperate for a more efficient solution that would preserve what little remained of his stamina.
It was then the solution came to him.
"Killington—return to me, and leave your blade with me!"
Killington turned slightly, his eyes still fixed upon the beast. "My Lord... are you certain?"
Tristan nodded grimly, his determination unwavering.
Killington dissolved into shadow, vanishing into Tristan's form. From the pool of darkness left behind, the soldier's sword ascended slowly, until it hovered upright before the crimson-haired boy. Tristan gripped the hilt with both hands, lifting it, readying himself in the battle stance he had trained tirelessly for nearly an entire week.
With eyes blazing with resolve, he spoke in a calm, calculated voice, "Necromancer's Mimicry."
[Necromancy Skill activated: Necromancer's Mimicry.]
The beast inhaled a sickly, rattling breath before dropping to all fours, charging forward like a rabid hound, saliva dripping from its gaping maw.
As it closed the distance, it raised its claws, outstretched and poised to strike. It slashed viciously toward Tristan, but he dodged with the augmented speed granted through Killington's strength. The beast continued its relentless assault, swiping again and again. Tristan, blade in hand, evaded and deflected with the evasive techniques drilled into him through Killington's training.
The further the beast lunged, the more Tristan was driven back, its fury escalating, and with its fury, its exertion, each strike growing more desperate, more consuming.
Then the abomination loosed another ear-splitting screech, raising its claws high before slamming them down in a single devastating strike. The claws embedded deep into the shed's floor, splitting the boards as its body quivered with exhaustion, its ragged breathing echoing in the hollow silence.
At last, Tristan saw his opening.
With the beast's talons lodged firmly into the ground, Tristan poured every last drop of his waning energy into a single, decisive blow—one aimed directly at the exposed heart. He raised the sword high overhead and brought it down with unrelenting force, intent on cleaving the monster's life away.
Clang!
The shriek of metal upon bone reverberated through the forest like a funeral bell.
Tristan's expression twisted into horror, yet no words escaped his lips. The beast had shielded itself—the protruding cage of ribs had intercepted the strike.
"Was... that... all?" the beast sneered mockingly, its voice dripping with venom.