Black Goo from Outer Space

I found myself in front of obsidian gates, gaping maws of cut, black and cold stone, carved with symbols of warning and want. The winds were as fey playing catch, leaving the gates as if the current came from inside the tower itself.

Who would have thought that the fuel of life could be so repulsive? But then again, the inner workings of wonders almost always proved disappointing; still, he found himself nursing a particular disgust for it.

The beast, however, seemed unconcerned with the Scribe's preferences for order and cleanliness, and hurled itself toward Uther, splitting its featureless face open into a fleshy gullet lined with rows of barbed, grinding teeth that spun and whirled within its mouth.

A shock of energy raced up the Scholar's neck, his heart pounding like Tzortzian drums as the air fled from his lungs. He threw himself to the side of the corridor where the combatants stood; the scribe barely escaped, his satchel, however, was shredded by the aberration's churning teeth.

The stone hallways of the Tower, at least that section, were cold to the touch, in contrast to the scholar's sweaty hands as he gathered strength between short, gasping breaths to compose himself. The skinless creature, however, had no intention of ceasing its assault; its mass expanded, writhing upon itself like serpents of flesh coiling around a victim, howling into the void. For a moment, the scribe found himself unable to look away from that cursed sight, even as his instincts begged his conscious mind to flee, to escape that damned abomination, to leave the Tower and its secrets alone.

A sudden burst revealed that a new appendix had emerged from the creature's side, shooting forth like an arrow made of flesh and crimson, with a blade at its tip. Thanks to the scholar's more primitive parts, he rolled aside and hid behind a stone pillar; the "spear" arced toward Uther, finding only rock. A portion of the pillar crumbled into rubble, raising dust.

It was a moment of relief, brief yet still relief, and Uther needed to seize it.

Uther brought his hand to the dagger's sheath and drew the weapon with his right, surprised by its weight, heavier than described in his tomes. With his left hand, he rummaged through the debris for a usable piece of stone. It was a gamble, but ever since entering that cursed tower, the odds had been against him anyway; and if he was to be murdered and devoured, he would at least try to avenge his satchel. He hurled the stone to the other side of the room, hoping to strike the opposite pillar and produce as much noise as possible.

When the stone hit its target, he ran, closing his eyes to keep from screaming. In that darkness, it seemed the bricks that made up the corridor would never end, as if he would never reach the creature, and yet…

Tchunk.

A shriek followed, sounding like metal sharpening metal endlessly. Uther opened his eyes and saw the creature up close. It had worked: the beast had turned its attention to the stone. It had no eyes, but it was still alive, and in retaliation, the air was ripped from his lungs as the impact struck Uther's back, as if he had been hit by a wall, the damned "flesh spear."

The impact was quickly replaced by an intense heat, a heat that only those condemned to Gehenna should feel, spreading from the wound to the rest of his body like a parasite crawling beneath the skin. Only then did Uther look down and see the spear's bladed tip embedded in his abdomen. He was dead; his body just didn't know it yet.

And Uther saw again that pungent, horrible liquid, blood. His own blood.

In the scholar's final moments, however, the only thing left inside him was fury against the creature, a petty, almost childish fury. But Uther would use it to take the monster with him.

The scribe cried out to the corridor's ceiling, commanding, defying the gods to witness his final act, as he tore the dagger from the creature's neck and repeated the assault, plunging the blade into its flesh again and again and again and again and AGAIN, the crimson liquid gushing from his prey. The creature shrieked and recoiled, as if begging, as if afraid. Uther reveled in it, shouting and laughing as he abandoned reason in his final moments to surrender to vulgar violence.