Free Diablo III: Morbed by Micky Neilson

out in primal fury, rendering Morbed temporarily deaf. It yanked the anchor from its side, cast it to the sand, seized the thief’s right shoulder and arm, and flung him in a high arc.
    Morbed somersaulted through the air and plunged into the forest canopy. He collided with several branches, felt ribs break, and slammed into the unforgiving ground, where he lay gasping. Blood flowed where the manacle had cut into his wrist. The lantern sat unbroken in the loam.
    With mighty strides the hulking demon swept aside timber in a mad rush to overcome its prey, even as healing powers within Morbed fought to mend the damage to his broken body. He had seemed so invincible, but although he had felt as the crusader felt, his physical constitution was not that of the holy warrior.
    Movement above shook Morbed to his senses. The demon had struck a thick, burled cypress, and the barrel-like column of its trunk was crashing down, a heartbeat away from crushing the thief. The presence of the crusader was gone and replaced instantly by the rugged steadfastness of Aedus.
    A collection of esoteric entreaties rolled over Morbed’s tongue. All of a sudden, he felt a oneness with each individual species of tree, grass, fern, and shrub on the island. He was aware of every nearby insect, and for the briefest instant he believed he could hear worms burrowing in the earth beneath him.
    Incredibly, a long branch jutting from the falling cypress lashed out, striking the ground inches from Morbed’s face, intending not to smite him but to arrest its own descent. The trunk twisted, and two more branches on the opposing side groped and snared the raging demon about its torso. Nearby, a rangy pine leaned in and snagged the creature’s right arm. The demon strained against its arboreal bonds, reared, then raised a massive leg to stomp the prostrate thief.
    Aedus receded. Morbed felt his stomach churn . . .
    Boom! Morbed found himself outside the tree line, lying on his back just inches from the chain of the cast-off anchor. Pain, white-hot and agonizing, flared up and down Morbed’s right side. His hearing had returned enough to register terrible thrashing sounds erupting from the forest. The violent cacophony persisted until at last the demon reemerged, its thick hide marred by wide gashes, its right flank a black and bloody ruin, the handle of Morbed’s dagger thrusting from its left eye. It strode slowly, battered but still alive and far from beaten.
    For his part, Morbed was now acutely aware of Jaharra’s dominant presence. Words of power passed his lips; his muscles tensed; a singular mental focus came upon him. He felt reserves of strength and power welling up, building, then channeling out and away, and he heard then the thunderous roar of waves crashing to the shore.
    The nightmare-behemoth had not seen Morbed; its malefic gaze was set on the shoreline and something forming there.
    A light rain fell on the thief as he wheeled. Towering columns of ocean water swelled, gushed, and thrust upward, shaping what looked like three heads rearing and swaying against the ice-gray sky. To Morbed, the elemental construct resembled the legendary hydras of old.
    Wind whipped at Morbed’s hair. Waves pounded the shore. The demon advanced even as each of the water hydra’s heads slammed down onto it, driving it to its knees. Then, as quickly as the force of nature had appeared, it was gone, its salty form soaking into the sand.
    An empty, desperate lethargy stole over Morbed in the spell’s aftermath. He knew that Jaharra had little energy left to give, at least for now, and the demon was rising. He felt a coalescing of strength, a final whisper of an arcane command, and then, incredibly, he saw himself standing just in front of the whale bones, hands on his hips, chest thrust out, taunting the behemoth—who turned, huffed, then stood and set off after the false image.
    The debilitating pain in Morbed’s side