The Battle

Wrenching itself from the portal, the creature's vulgar musculature set itself square-on to Samir. Tendons cracking, sinews stretching, veins bulging; with each heave of its gargantuan chest the beast became yet more corporeal – and yet far from natural. The foul stench of its crude anabolic metabolism hung heavy in the air; its pollutants and toxins animating tendrils of shadow from the darker recesses.

Malandanti.

The word was starting to acquire a mantra-like quality for Samir.

Malandanti.

Percussive.

Malandanti.

Insistent.

Malandanti.

Or had those qualities always been there; lying dormant; his consciousness only now awakening to the words rhythmic potential: the war-drum heralding the imminence of battle?

Malandanti.

Hungrily snorting air, the beast coiled itself backwards. With the assurance and synergy of the waking-dreamer, Samir’s left shoulder rolled forward, assembling a symmetry with his right leg’s half-crouch. Muscles relaxed, centre-of-gravity lowered, the grip on the balls of his feet secure … time stretched and contracted beneath Samir as the beast flung itself across the room at him. 

Weight shifting onto the left foot, Samir pivoted out of the Beast's trajectory and slammed his fist into its leathery flank in one fluid motion. Twisting his fist on impact to rip its skin, Samir pressed the advantage and moved-in on the beast as it turned – stunned – from the wall where Samir had been standing. He smiled as he pulled his right leg back to deliver a roundhouse-kick to its grossly muscled-neck.

Malandanti.

Samir had found his heritage.

The End

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