The Sword of Retribution

The Caves of Shanathin - Part 2

     It was an amoeba. A monstrously huge version of a creature normally so small as to be barely visible to the naked eye. The descendant of an ancestral creature that had grown to huge size as the result of the stray, fallout magic from some ancient wizards duel. Normally, they fed on bacteria and other forms of microscopic life, but this one was so huge it could feed on elephants.

     The three wizards and the slaver shot a salvo of eight firebolts at the thing, each of which disappeared into its protoplasmic flesh with a sizzle and a wisp of smoke but had no effect on the creature, the tiny scars in its skin healing almost immediately. They backed away as it advanced and Thomas and the slaver shot four more firebolts at it, with no more effect then before. The four spellcasters retreated in bafflement and Shaun stepped forward, raising his sword. He slashed at it, slicing a gash in its skin, but as the gash widened and the soupy protoplasm welled out, a new layer of skin formed over it and the new pseudopod thus formed shot out at lightning speed, engulfing Shaun’s arm up to the shoulder. Shaun stared in horror and struggled madly to pull free, but it came with him as he backed away, flowing across his chest and up his neck, and then it pulled him back, trying to swallow him completely. The soldier yelled in fear as he felt its digestive juices beginning to work on his hand, but he was held fast and his screams were cut off abruptly as the pseudopod covered his mouth and, a second later, his entire head.

     Diana screamed and the others ran forward to help, but the slaver swept them back angrily, knocking Matthew and Thomas to the ground. The cthillian then strode up to the hapless fighter, who was now lying limply with only his legs sticking out of the creature’s body, and plunged its three fingered hands deep into its protoplasmic flesh. The protoplasm immediately began to flow up its arms, but then pulled back as its hands began to glow with magical fire. It grabbed the fighter’s legs, and the protoplasm pulled away again, partially releasing him. The slaver moved its hands up Shaun’s body an inch at a time, driving the amoeba’s pseudo-flesh away as it went, until it was able to pull him free and carry him back to the others in its arms. Diana took him gratefully and began to wash the creature’s digestive acids off his face and hands with a damp cloth.

     The amoeba sat still for a few minutes, all its pseudopods pulled in to form a huge hemisphere of protoplasm while it healed its burns, but then it began to flow towards them again. Matthew picked Shaun up as they retreated before it again, and Thomas pondered whether or not to use his flaming sphere spell. It was the only thing likely to stop the creature and drive it away, but using fire magic in a confined space was always risky, as another wizard he’d briefly known, an externum called Mikos the Magnificent, had discovered to his cost. They’d been attacked by a horde of buglins in a deserted trog mining village and he’d tried to drive them away by casting a fireball at them. Part of the force of the spell had rebounded from the walls of the corridor, however, and burned him alive. Thomas definitely didn’t want the same thing happening to him.

     It seemed like the only chance they had of getting past the creature, though, so he decided that, so long as he took some sensible precautions, it should be all right. The flaming sphere spell had a range of about ten yards, which meant that as long as he was more than half that distance from the creature, there was no chance of it reaching back to him if it rebounded. The monster was about twenty four yards away from him now so, allowing for the time it would take to cast the spell it ought to be between five and ten yards away from him when it fired. He took a pinch of iron filings from the pouch at his belt, therefore, turned to face the creature and began casting.

     It loomed ominously in front of him as he chanted the magic words, pseudopods reaching hungrily along the floor ahead of it and the vast, protoplasmic bulk behind quivering greedily as it closed the distance. For a moment he thought he’d miscalculated, that it would sweep around his ankles before he’d finished the spell and then climb up his body to swallow him whole, but it was still six yards away when he completed the final tongue twisting syllable. A globe of orange flame sprang into being in front of him, filling the tunnel with dancing shadows, and then it began rolling along the ground towards the monster.