It stretched out its clawed hand, and the spear embedded in the octopus's forehead began to vibrate.
Then suddenly, the weapon tore itself free with a violent burst, leaving a spray of inky black ichor in its wake.
The spear spiraled back through the water, returning to Morthas's outstretched hand like a loyal companion as it was a soulbound weapon with a sentience that answered only to Morthas.
The octopus screamed again, furious and in agony.
Black ichor oozed from the gaping wound on its forehead, staining the water.
It writhed, its massive tendrils lashing out randomly in its pain and fury.
For the first time in its existence, the creature had been injured this badly.
But the pain it fet was short-lived.
Before Morthas could strike again, the octopus's injury began to close up, the torn flesh sealing itself as if it had never been damaged.
