[color=#1A1A3B][b][u][h1][sub][sub][sub]Farren[/sub][/sub][/sub][/h1][/u][/b][/color]		    was struck by a chill–bone deep and sinew freezing, making every part of him feel frigid and brittle even as his body [i]shook[/i] as if to throw frost from ever corded muscle, soft tissue, and rigid bone within his being. His nerves made him twitch, little jittery motion that went in a way down from his face, which was startlingly the most still as he laid eyes upon that [i]thing[/i]. To call it horrid would be a compliment compared to the truth. To call it dreadful not simply an understatement, but a dismissal of how truly abhorrent it was to his every sense.

Farren breathed, but couldn’t stop his jaw from locking, his teeth from gritting so hard that they almost felt as if they’d crack.

[i]‘Gods blood,’[/i] he swore internally, driven speechless, rendered mute.

His mouth and throat were dry as bone.

His eyes were wide, pupils dilated as adrenaline surged through his body, trying to get him to flee. He didn’t.

Farren stood, stock still, like if he moved the [i]thing[/i] might notice him, like he was fighting against himself.

A memory, a flash of a golden [i]something[/i], massive and spearing up from the earth, flickered in his mind, followed by skittering pricks of paranoia through his awareness. Farren had almost missed Gerlinde lowering her profile, trying to stay out of sight–actually being serious…for the first time perhaps since they’d met? Reunited? Didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered.

Just this thing and its bloated head, roving unfocused eyes, insectoid protrusions and limply hanging arms. Farren suddenly wished–more than ever before–that he had more firearms and fewer blades. He regretted never having pulled the Beastflayer from the place the Messengers stowed it. Regretted that he couldn’t do it now.

He’d have to speak, make sound, move, draw attention to himself. He’d have to act.

It felt impossible.

Farren took a barely quiet, shuddering breath. Willed himself to take a step forward…to the side…anywhere but back.

He didn’t move.

[i]‘This is who you are,’[/i] something seemed to say. Farren would have violently shaken his head to try to dispel it, but he was scared even to do that.

[i][b]‘No,’[/b][/i] he insisted.

He took a step. It was quiet, but felt too loud despite that fact. Farren raised his pistol, trained it on the abomination’s bulbous, fleshy, eye-covered head…and fired.