He raised his sword and swung down splitting a chunk of an incoming tentacle whilst redirecting the rest to the side.
Above. Below. And from the front. He was surrounded by them.
One came crashing down from above– an attempt to crush his head perhaps.
Tentacles weren't that big, 15 centimeters in diameter at best, 7 centimeters at lowest.
Every tentacle ended with a pincer like that of a crab.
If caught it could very well snap his body in half, from the waist.
He drove his sword into the side of another tentacle and instead of cutting it cleanly, he used the hilt as a foot hold to stand onto the tentacle.
He ran atop the tentacle, sword in hand; a different sword– a katana
Rowayne had tried to recreate the phenomenon by which he got the sword and succeeded, and he did so in the middle of the battle.
A total insanity, but perhaps insanity was exactly what was needed to fight a losing battle.
Running on the tentacle which could hold his weight surprisingly well,
