The tip of the dripping appendage curls, delicate, deliberate, coquettish in its obvious mockery. It sways before him, pantomiming a cobra's dance, and then it lunges for him, wrapping around first his ankle but frightfully quickly it has twined up his leg, twisting, tightening. Clammy and wet, its ooze seeps into his clothes as it flexes. Its touch is horrifying, blood freezing in his veins, panic and adrenaline blinding.

And then the others join. Tentacles roping out of the darkness to entwine around arms, legs, torso, neck. Encasing him in their spoiled flesh.

"My, what a mess you've made... Noct."

He knows that voice.