Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-5999656-20190205035159/@comment-25389303-20190830114845

Had Diaboli not moved his head at the last moment, he was sure he would have lost it. The scaled tendril had punched a hole clean through the wall behind him, and was currently writhing angrily beside his head. He stopped, dumbfounded, as the tentacle fought to free itself from the ship, and as soon as it did, it wasted no time in attacking him again.

Ducking backwards, Diaboli watched as Trago moved to intercept - wrapping his large metal arms around the monstrous limb before pinning it in place beneath his robotic leg. Within a heartbeat, Trago was raining a storm of thunderous blows upon the tendril's exposed underbelly, tearing open the rubbery skin and pouring jets of white-hot flame into the dark cavity. The nauseous smell of burnt fish blanketed the ship as the tentacle fought to escape Trago's grasp, and after much struggling, it succeeded. Smoke and steam billowed from the spasming appendage as it slithered back into the depths of the sea.

But even that small victory was fleeting, as no sooner had the initial tendril disappeared did a dozen more emerge from the dark waters surrounding them. Three lanced towards Diaboli once again, while two shot towards his robotic companion. Overwhelmed, it was all Diaboli could do to avoid being dragged down to a watery grave.

"Damn it...are there any more monsters around here that we can piss off?" Diaboli muttered to himself as he dodged, weaved and leapt over the darting tendrils. His whip (which looked unnervingly similar to the flailing limbs currently trying to murder him) was completely ineffective against the thick armour plating the Grimm's oily flesh, and crushing it was obviously out of the question...

As Diaboli rounded the front of the ship, he felt the deck beneath his feet abruptly lurch forwards, very nearly sending him sprawling. Looking up, he saw several of the Grimm's dark tentacles coiled around the bow, grasping hold of anything and everything as it began dragging the boat down to its enormous body. Each one was as thick as a tree trunk, and impervious to both whip and bullet.

But perhaps not to ''that... ''

Snapping his fingers, the Hand of Charon snaked back to Diaboli's hand, condensing around his forearm until it formed a large cylinder. The bladed metal rippled like a pulsing vein as the massive barrel began to spin, charging up the single Dust cartridge housed within. A blast from this - admittedly experimental - weapon could likely sear through anything.

Training the reformed weapon on the closest trendril, Diaboli braced himself in preparation for the awful shockwave the blast would undoubtably create. But then he hesitated, and switched targets - this time to the largest trendril. Again, he readied himself, but again he stopped. He only had the fuel for one shot, and there were just too many. Even if he had the Dust to destroy them all, they'd be at the bottom of the ocean by then. No. If he wanted to kill this thing, he would need to destroy the source.

And to do that, he would need to find it first.

"OK...I can do this...I can do this..." Diaboli muttered as he planted his foot on top of the boat's protective railing. Shrugging off the ragged remains of his shirt, the crime lord gazed into the pitch-black waters, hoping in vain to see some sign of his intended target. Shivering suddenly from the cold ocean breeze and frightening trepidation, Diaboli cursed himself. Damned if he does. Damned if he doesn't. Such had been his life for the last decade.

"I ain't dying in the middle of nowhere," he hissed through chattering teeth, a sliver of his childhood dialect slipping into his words as he steeled himself for the task ahead. Spinning the chamber of his cannon one last time, he closed his eye one last time and forced a smile onto his face.

"Time to make some monster soup!" he announced, before jumping feet-first into the churning ocean.