Armbranch
This thing… Wait. Calling it a ‘thing’ is no good. It only creates distance. It says its name is Armbranch, and I’m going to call him that. It makes a certain, twisted kind of sense. Its limbs, especially the new one, do look like branches. Earlier I noticed what looked like stubby fingers sprouting at the tip of the growth. Its strength is growing fast. He can walk now. (I know it’s a he because he told me.) I led it up the tunnel to show it the remains of the skeleton. It used its remaining strength to do a vicious, stamping dance on those bones. I let it be. Who was I to stop it?
It told me that they were the remains of a sly, ambitious beast called a Basilod. Something unexpected occurred when it was sealed up here. It metamorphesized into what Armbranch called ‘a second level creature’. He says it’s a spirit thing with no need for a pure body anymore.
Is that what dragged Maya down here? It must be. And I don’t think Armbranch is referring to any ghost. No. He says that only powerful magicians can metamorphosize to the second level. He can’t explain how the change took place. The Basilod was an opportunist. It couldn’t have learned how to do that. Now it’s loose.
Armbranch was so exhausted after his ‘hate’ dance, I had to help him back to the barricade. I recognise that look in his eyes now. It’s not simply hatred. The fires of revenge are simmering in there, too.
But revenge on whom? That’s what troubles me.
I can’t help thinking that when that second hand fully grows, he’d happily wrap both of them around my throat.
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