The imposter creature was now shifting, the tendrils that served as its arms coiling together to form a black-red spike on one side, the other two tendrils on the other side weaving into a shield. Nevin noted that the thing let out a slight bubbling sound that he was able to identify as pain - he didn't know how but he knew the sound indicated pain - as a tendril rubbed against the brighter red spots where he had defended himself. The two stood there, crimson and blackened scarlet, each waiting for the other to make a move.

It was Nevin's anger that prompted him to move first. He suddenly lashed out with his thread-whip, knocking the bowl of blood on the table up into the air. Bending to his will the crimson threads snapped forward, smacking against the bottom of the bowl and shooting it at the beast. The red fluid in the bowl scattered through the air as the bowl tumbled, and the creature's gaze shot to track the sudden projectile, its 'shield' coming up to block the attack.

The distraction working, Nevin lunged forward, throwing his arm towards the creature's legs. His whip snaked through the air and cracked against the tendrils that held the creature upright, leaving a vibrant slash of red against its inky skin. There was a gurgling roar of pain as the beast tried to stay upright through the sudden wave of pain, but each time it tried to steady itself one tendril brushed against the bright red mark on the other, and the 'leg' collapsed.

Nevin thought this would mark the end of the creature - greatly limited mobility like this often spelled doom in a fight - but he was completely unprepared for what happened next. The mass of tendrils burst apart, sending blackened red ichor across the walls of the chamber, separating into a writhing multitude of tainted scarlet worm-like beings. The being's repeated usage of 'us' and 'we' to refer to itself suddenly made sense - it was an amalgam creature. The 'worms' started slithering, sliding, oozing their way across the floor towards Nevin.

The blood mage backed away from the oncoming horde of dark red beings, fury and disgust mixing into a potent blend of nauseating feelings in his gut. He did note that any of the 'worms' that were marked with the bright red that indicated his threads had struck them were still, lying motionless in the stone floor. He started lashing out, his whip dancing across the wave of hostile creatures, leaving some 'dead' - at least he thought they were dead - behind with each strike. But it didn't seem to be enough, more were still coming towards him, undulating over each other in a writhing mass.