Screams filled the air all around Dorvo.

He grit his teeth, tried to push the sounds of terror that surrounded him out of his mind. Dorvo adjusted his grip on his sword, slid his feet into a new stance—the Osprey, this one was called.

“Should you ever find yourself battling a creature in the water, it is with this stance that you should approach it,” his old teacher, Ta’Farda, had explained to him a long time ago. “The osprey is a bird who spreads his wings and dives down to the water’s surface. His talons break through the sea, and they grasp his prey. So too shall you spread yourself wide and strike out with your talon—your blade—and break the surface of the water to pierce your foe.”

That was all well and good in theory, but now that Dorvo found himself in a situation that actually called for the Osprey Stance, he was quickly recognizing a few practical problems in its application.

The first issue was that he was on a boat, and that the deck was rocking back and forth. He was constantly having to shift his weight to compensate for how the vessel moved, leaving him unsteady and vulnerable. And that wasn’t even taking into account the other factors of this environment: how the floor was wet and slippery with the sea spray, or how the passengers were panicking all around him.

Still, that was not an insurmountable obstacle. The second issue was, unfortunately, a bit more pressing: it was the simple fact that Dorvo had not practiced this stand in about five years, and to call his technique “rusty” would have been a grave insult to rust.

A tentacle lashed out, whipping toward Dorvo with such swiftness and with such force that he was surprised he did not hear a whip-crack. Somehow, he managed to side-step the thing, and he slashed at it. This time the sea creature, whatever it was, was not unprepared, and the tentacle managed to evade the brunt of his blow, taking only a shallow cut before retreating.

Two more tentacles lashed out then, and Dorvo braced himself against them. He needn’t have worried, however—Garban was rushing past him, swinging his hammer wildly. The head of the weapon caught one of the tentacles, and Garban responded by quickly swinging his hammer up and then down, smashing the appendage against the desk. With one tentacle out of the way, Dorvo was free to focus on the other.

This time instead of dodging out of the way, Dorvo opted to strike as quickly as he could. His sword moved in a blur toward the approaching appendage, and the tentacle was sliced in two.

Fire burst forth from behind Dorvo, and turned to see one of the passengers, a handsomely-aged woman of middle years, gathering Fire Magic to herself and throwing bolts of flame at the mass of tentacles in the water. He nearly asked her what she thought she was doing, but his eyes tracked the arc of her attack, and he realized that even more of the damn things had burst out of the bay as he was fighting.

There was now a massive, undulating mass of the things. They writhed and moved together, almost as one, twisting about each other and thrashing like worms in death throes. The fire bolt splashed against them, and the drops of water that still clung to the tentacles burst into a sizzling steam. But while Dorvo thought perhaps he saw a spot of blackened flesh where the spell had struck, the tentacles did not seem any worse for wear.

As more of the tentacles whipped toward them, someone else stepped forward and let loose a burst of Air Magic. The wind did very little to dissuade the lashing tentacles, though it slowed them down enough for a third passenger to send an arc of lightning at the things.

The creature seemed to dislike the Lightning Magic more than the fire. For an instant, it seemed too stunned and pained to react, sparks flying off it and tentacles jerking back and forth unpredictably. Then, the limbs all burst forward at once, lashing and whipping at anyone and everyone they could. Dorvo saw a man scream as one wrapped itself around his throat and then tossed him into the air.

This needed to end. The tentacles, Dorvo realized, must merely be but a small part of the beast. The full creature resided in the water below, and the only way they would escape it was if the main body was either killed or driven off.

Osprey.

Dorvo took a deep breath, cleared his head, and sprinted forward.

Summoning his Fire Magic, he wreathed his blade in flames. With his Air Magic, he pushed and propelled his body as he spn, swinging wide in a dizzying spiral, cutting through the tentacle mass and extending his flames outward. Those limbs that he did not sever retreated from the heat, and for a brief moment a path was cleared across the deck.

That brief moment was all Dorvo needed.

He ran, summoned a gust of Air Magic, and jumped, pushing himself high above the water, above the bubbling source of the tentacles. Then, with another, downward, gust, he shoved himself straight at the mass of bubbles, into the water below.

In an instant, Dorvo was submerged. The freezing water bit at his flesh and bones, and the murky darkness filled his eyes, but Dorvo dove deep, and he thrust his sword forth as he did so. He was rewarded by the feeling of his blade plunging into something solid and soft.

But his moment of victory was over all too quickly. The blow he had delivered did not kill this creature, nor did it frighten the beast away. Instead, tentacles wrapped around his limbs, around his waist, his neck. He felt himself being dragged deeper and deeper, and it was all he could do just to maintain his grip on his sword.

His lungs burned. He felt the grip of the tentacles tighten, felt agonizing pressure building up in his head. Dorvo struggled, but his strength soon failed him.

He looked up. He thought he could see some lights far above him: the torches which illuminated the ferry. But they were so distant and dim now. The pressure inside his head grew, and an odd, giddy sense of elation rose up within him, though he did not know from whence it came.

Dorvo opened his mouth. Water rushed in. Bubbles of breath rose up to join the others on the surface. It was difficult to fight now, and it was becoming too difficult to think as well.

The sword slipped from his fingers.

The lights above went dark.