A thing of nightmares, a thing of horrors.
The chamber's darkness parts around its form - segmented body coiled against earthen walls, chitin plate like obsidian. Multiple limbs unfold from its segments, too many joints clicking as they reach for huddled villagers. The tunnel walls bear deep grooves where it has shaped its hunting grounds, widening passages for its bulk while leaving others deliberately narrow.
But it's the face that draws these hollow sockets.
The elder's face stares from above mandibles that click beneath stolen skin, worn by something that should have no face at all. Eyes flat and wrong watch from skin pulled too tight. The first to feed its hunger.
The skin shows no decay, no rot, preserved through means these fragments have no memories of.
Fresh marks score the walls - desperate tallies counting days since it began its hunt. Two weeks of villagers vanishing into the dark. The destruction of Haven's corruption must have drawn it from deeper slumber, ancient evil waking to ancient evil's death.
No sounds emerge from those lips, it cannot talk, it cannot speak. This thing needs no voice to hunt.
[Boss Encountered: The Harvester (Level 12)]
[Warning: Ancient Evil Detected]
[Nested: Enhanced movement within tunnels]
The villagers huddle against the far wall, eyes wide with terror. Its first victims were the curious. Then the brave, who went to find the missing. Now only the fearful remain, those who barred the gate, knowing too late what hunts beneath their feet.
These borrowed bones recognize an ancient hunger in its movements, something that predates even these fragments of memory.
My shield rises as scythe-limbs unfold from its segments. The chitinous plates with a black sheen bear marks of old battles. Ancient knights, perhaps, or others who tried to stand against its hunger.
The first strike comes from below.
A limb bursts through packed earth, aiming to impale. The shield turns it aside as borrowed bones step back. My sword finds the limb but merely scrapes chitinous plate. Simple steel cannot easily pierce natural armor that has defeated better blades.
Its body flows, segments rippling as it changes position. More limbs emerge from hidden joints. The elder's face remains fixed above its writhing mass, eyes staring at nothing while mandibles click beneath stolen skin.
I scan the horror's form, these hollow sockets seeking weakness in its natural armor. The chitinous plates interlock like blackened scales, but where segments meet...
There. At the joints between segments. Places where the horror must flex and bend.
My sword angles toward these gaps as I circle, shield raised against its striking limbs. The elder's face tracks my movement, that preserved skin stretched in an expression that never changes.
A scythe-limb whips toward my skull. I move, sacrificing my shield arm to preserve position. Bones scatter across packed earth as the shield clatters away. No matter. The sword remains, and that is enough.
Another limb bursts from the tunnel wall. I drop, feeling it pass through where my spine had been. My blade finds the unprotected joint beneath. Black ichor sprays as the limb thrashes, severed.
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The horror recoils, segments bunching together. Its mandibles click faster beneath that stolen face. More limbs emerge from hidden points in its mass. Each strike exposes vulnerable flesh where the plates must separate.
The villagers press tighter against the far wall as the horror's segments ripple. That preserved face never changes expression as its body coils for another strike.
My shield arm crawls back, bones reconnecting. The mission requires both sword and shield for what comes next. These fragments understand - the horror's weakness is found, but reaching it will scatter these bones again.
No matter. The mission drives this form onward.
The horror strikes from three directions at once. Scythe-limbs tear through dirt walls while its main mass surges forward. My shield catches the frontal assault as the sword parries a side strike. The third limb takes my leg at the knee.
A child breaks from the group, panic overwhelming reason. The horror's head snaps toward movement, mandibles clicking faster. Its segments coil, then explode into motion. Not toward these bones, but toward softer prey.
These fragments understand its purpose now. It cares nothing for threats - only quiet kills, methodical hunting. Each victim drawn deeper into its nest by the screams of those taken before.
My sword takes a limb reaching for the child. Black ichor sprays across packed earth. But the horror has already forgotten this frame, focused only on prey that bleeds. Its segments compress as it flows into a side tunnel.
More screams echo through the passages. The villagers scatter, exactly as it planned. These bones pull together, giving chase through darkness it has shaped for its hunt.
The horror moves through its domain. Each turn reveals new horrors, half-consumed remains in alcoves, preserved faces hung like trophies on walls. The elder was simply first among many masks it wears to lure prey deeper.
My blade finds another joint, but the horror barely slows. It abandons pieces of natural armor in its hunt for softer targets. These fragments recognize its confidence - it believes damaged bones pose no threat to ancient hunger.
The tunnels split and merge, designed to separate prey. But these bones need no light to track black ichor on stone. The horror's arrogance marks its own path.
The passage opens to its true nest. Webs of secreted thread cross the ceiling, cocoons hanging like ripe fruit. Some still move. Some have been here longer.
The horror rises from the chamber's far side, segments uncoiling to full height. A young boy dangles from its grasp, wrapped in fresh webbing. The elder's face watches as more limbs emerge, ready to add him to its larder.
But something changes. The preserved face turns, seeing borrowed bones still in pursuit. Its segments bunch together, recognizing a threat that refuses to break.
Ancient remains scattered across the chamber call to these fragments. Warriors who died marking its weaknesses. Warriors who found spots where scales grew thin. Each fallen victim adds their knowledge to borrowed bones.
My shield catches a strike while the sword seeks joints they died testing. Black ichor sprays as steel finds gaps discovered in final moments. The horror releases its current victim, segments coiling tighter.
Its body splits beneath the elder's face, revealing rows of grinding teeth. Mandibles snap at borrowed bones, trying to drag this frame into its feeding chamber. The shield pushes into its maw, holding the mouth apart while the sword strikes deeper.
Steel parts natural armor. Ancient knights guide the blade between plates they died testing. The horror thrashes, but each movement exposes new weaknesses these fragments now remember.
Black ichor fountains as my blade finds vital joints. The horror tries to retreat but these bones now know better. Injury pins its bulk against chamber walls while the sword continues its work.
Its segments bunch together, trying to protect vulnerable spots. No matter. These bones remember where others struck before failing. My blade slides between plates they died testing, finding softer flesh beneath.
The horror's limbs strike wild, taking arm and leg and skull. The remaining fight on, each piece remembering borrowed purpose. The sword cuts even when separated from this frame.
Steel follows paths carved by failed attempts, guided by memories of final strikes. The horror's armor cracks. Plates fall away revealing vulnerable flesh. My scattered pieces press the attack, each fragment remembering how others died.
When the final segment splits, the elder's face remains. Still wearing that fixed smile as borrowed bones pull back together. My blade rises one last time.
"Aeternus."
Light flares. The preserved face crumbles to dust. What remains of the horror settles into stillness as these fragments rebuild their frame.
The chamber grows quiet. Only the soft sounds of survivors breathing break the silence. Steel remembers how to cut binding threads. The shield helps catch those who fall. Some move. Some don't move at all. These fragments sense the difference.
The dead remember duty longest. .
[Victory! The Harvester has been destroyed]
[Level up! You are now level 6]