The dim torchlight flickered across the smooth stones as Calien and Erik watched Chief Varros step toward the oncoming humanoid twin-tentacle octopus creatures, his grip tightening around the slender knife. The hall was alive with a tense energy—each scrape of monstrous limb against the ground, each glistening glint of dark eye and slick skin making the very walls seem to ripple.
And then he moved.
It was seamless—as if his very feet glided rather than stepped. A whisper of metal flashed as Varros shifted sideways, letting one tentacle whip past him before his blade carved a deep, decisive strike across the nearest octopus's head. The thing shuddered and fell without a sound, crumpling into a grotesque heap at his feet.
"Oh! Did you see that?" gasped one of the attendants, hands clenched together in awe as he leaned toward his companion. "That's Chief Varros for you. Absolutely precise!"
