A Night in the Lair

The creature roared in frustration when it saw the mage’s knowing smirk. As his blood pooled on the floor beneath him, the mage asked it, “Have you truly won?” The creature’s piercing shrieks echoed off of the black, blood-spattered stone walls of the chamber. The mage stared the thing down, seeming almost amused at the cacophony, perhaps because of the gash across his torso. “You think to hunt us, you believe we cannot defend ourselves. This was your final error,” whispered the mage. Bathed in the unnatural purple glow of the surrounding torches, the creature seemed inescapable. It should have been unknowable as well, but this human had known how to enter its lair, despite the many traps and barriers it had put in place. It writhed in fury, and its tendrils raked the walls. The tendrils lashed out at the mage’s wounded form, shredding the soft flesh from his body with the rows of razor teeth housed in their suction cups. The sharp snap of breaking bones filled the room. Retracting its blood-soaked limbs, the beast surveyed its slain nemesis, feeling a smug pride welling up in its oily black abdomen. It began to turn away from the corpse, but noticed something out of place. Its myriad eyes focused on the unexpected event. The mage’s ruined remains began to evaporate into the stagnant air of the tomb, becoming a red mist that flowed with purpose. As the miasma filled its every pore, the creature felt something it had never felt before, a feeling that often radiated from the minds of its prey just before the kill. For the first time in the eternity that it had lived, that monstrous abomination felt terror. It would never again feel the starlight shining down on its chitinous back, or the blood of its human prey flowing between its mandibles. Not even the magic that kept it immortal could save it now. The beast knew there was no escape.