Haze stood his ground, his gaze fixed on the approaching tentacle as if daring it to strike.
His stance was rigid and unyielding, his muscles tensed with anticipation as he waited for the exact moment to strike.
The tentacle, sensing Haze's intent, coiled and lunged at him with deadly speed, its hooked tip aimed at the vulnerable flesh of his neck.
As the tentacle drew within striking distance, Haze sprung into action.
With a deadly precision that belied his exhaustion, he brought his blade upwards in a brutal, vertical slash that cleaved the tentacle cleanly in two.
The creature let out a terrible screech of agony, its severed halves writhing and twitching on the ground as Haze stood over it, his face a mask of cold determination as he turned to face the remaining tentacles.
He was outnumbered, but not outmatched.
As the tentacle's bottom half squirmed in the sand, the sickly green slime continued to pour forth from its gaping wound.
