In the sixth century anno domini, the mists of Loch Ness writhed like restless souls, their tendrils caressing the shore with an otherworldly chill.
Columba stood at the water's edge, his weathered hands gripping his gnarled staff of white oak, his chestnut eyes scanning the shrouded expanse. The weight of his holy mission pressed upon his broad shoulders.
"Lord, grant me strength," he murmured, his Celtic lilt barely audible above the lapping waves, "for the creature that plagues these waters must be vanquished."
Beside him, his loyal mare pawed at the peaty earth, her flanks quivering with unease. The courser's instincts, honed by years of faithful service, sensed a malevolence that lurked beyond mortal ken.
Columba placed a mildly calloused hand upon her neck and soothed, "Easy, Skye. We've faced darkness before–together."
As the rays of dawn began to burn away the ethereal veil, a figure emerged from the mists. An old woman draped in deep blue silk glode across the shore with an easy elegance. Woven silver hair spoke of nobility and refinement.
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"Cleric Columba," she called, her voice a melody that rippled across the loch's surface. "I have heard whispers of your holy works, carried on the winds from distant shores. I come seeking the benediction of your blessed touch."
Columba's brow furrowed. In all his years of hunting the loch's monstrous denizen, he never encountered such a figure. Caution warred with compassion in his heart.
"Peace be with you, Good Woman," he replied, taking a measured step forward. "What brings one of such evident nobility to these misty shores?"
The woman's lips curved in a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Oh, it is you who brings me here, holy one. Your reputation precedes you–the great future saint who would rid our lands of... unnatural creatures."
As Columba drew nearer in curiosity, Skye reared back with a whinny of primal terror, her ironed hooves striking sparks from the stones beneath them! Instinctively, the cleric's hand flew to the holy symbol at his neck, a prayer of protection on his lips.
In that instant, the old woman's form shimmered like a summer day's haze. Her fine gown melted, revealing coal-black scales gleaming with an oil-slick iridescence, each one edged with the promise of blood. Elegant hands twisted into razor-sharp claws capable of rending flesh from bone with terrifying ease. The kindly visage contorted, features elongating into a ghastly visage. Eyes that had sparkled with warmth now blazed with cyan hellfire and ancient malice!
"By all that is holy..." Columba breathed, his voice a mixture of awe and revulsion.
The legendary Loch Ness Monster–Nessie–had revealed her true form! She was a half-freshwater, half-nightmare terror upon humankind, her elusive existence a centuries-old affront to all that was sacred and pure.