The mage insists on healing you, with disastrous results

"The least I can do is tend to your wounds," the mage is already moving in closer.

You hesitate, and try to put on a bold front to divert him, "I am used to battle, this is nothing. I will tend to them myself, later."

"Nonsense! This is the least I can do to help, and your wounds may be much more severe than even you realize. My magic will definitely help you, and may even save your life."

You know your wounds are far from truly threatening, particularly with your enhanced body. In fact, you've already stitched some of the internal damage to your host closed with your extensive network of filaments. You don't want the mage to get in touch enough with your body to heal you, you aren't sure of the mechanics of his healing but you're fairly certain that he would at least realize there was something unusual with your body, and there was a good chance he would see far more than that. Unfortunately, arguing further would almost surely be a giveaway, and you don't want to put this group on guard. You mentally go over the position of each potential combatant, and each nearby weapon.

You may have to act fast, and unfortunately you don't see a reliable way to keep the mage alive if things become violent.

The mage moves in close, and lays his hand close to your abdomen. You continue tracking the movement of the others. Two humans move in close. The seem mostly interested in the mage's work. The elf Eridoss has instead moved off a little ways, perhaps scouting the positioning of the initial ambush. The final two humans, one armed with a crossbow and axe the other with a sword and bow slung over his back are searching the bodies of the fallen looking for money, food, and any usable ammunition.

The mage's hands glow, and you tense. Sure enough he looks up and you can see his eyes shift. You recognize the emotions playing across his face from numerous lifetimes of experience. Shock, and fear. You're still unsure of the extent of his abilities, and that look is enough for you. You can't take chances, not surrounded like this, and you sadly seize his neck with one strong hand and wrench brutally, snapping his thick vertebrae with impossible strength.

You leap and cut down the two nearby humans in the blink of an eye with your axe. Neither even have a chance to draw a weapon.

Next you charge the looters. Both of them have ranged weapons, and the last thing you need is them shooting you in the back and both flanking you while you deal with the tougher-looking elf Eridoss. You draw your sword on the run, throwing your axe at the quicker-reacting of the two, the bow-user. He dives away, too late, catching the blade of the axe right on his upper arm. You clear the thirty feet of distance between you and them in an instant, slicing the crossbow-user right across the jaw, deflecting his desperate sword and you slice him again, this time straight through his throat dropping him into a massive pool of his own blood. You kick the bow-user back down as he tries to recover from the axe that had slashed his bicep, and finish by stabbing him straight through the skull.

You wrench your sword free and pick up another, facing the only remaining combatant with a blade in each hand. Eridoss.

"You... what manner of monster are you?" Eridoss' eyes flare in cold rage, but his movements are measured, unhurried as he approaches you, and his expression is fearless despite his entire team being cut down in moments. "I will watch you scream on my blade, madman." He holds a single curved sword at the ready.

You lick blood off your lips. Your entire face had been splattered in red. You are the first to move forward, closing the distance. With momentum on your side and a blade attacking from either angle, combined with your strength, you should be able to plow through the elf before he even has a chance.

You can't believe how severely you've underestimated Eridoss when he shifts one direction, then back the other way, springing to the side with perfect timing for his feint. Even with your speed, you don't recover in time, and your momentum works against you, driving you clumsily past your target. You swing anyway, which is your next mistake.

Eridoss somehow ducks under the blow, reverses his grip, and takes one of your hands off in one smooth movement. His sword whirls, and he cuts towards your unarmored hip. You barely, awkwardly deflect his blow. Only your great strength allows you to keep your remaining blade at all, and saves you from a cleaved pelvis. You're driven back again, Eridoss' footwork somehow keeping you off balance despite your superior natural speed. You're stabbed right through the thigh, and your own lightning stab back finds nothing but air.

Air, followed by steel. Your move had been perfectly anticipated, and Eridoss' sword is already in motion before you're even stabbing forward in retaliation. It meets you. You have no chance to withdraw. Your second hand goes flying, cleanly sliced from your body at the wrist.

You've officially been disarmed in the worst possible way. Blood spurts from your two bloody stumps where your hands should be. You can't help but admire the elf.

Somehow you have to turn this around, and at this unfortunate point you need a new body. You hunger for the elf, for the knowledge and expertise that had caused him to completely wreck you in melee combat despite being far weaker, far more fragile, notably slower, and with you possessing many stolen lifetimes worth of combat experience.

Eridoss circles you now, obviously confident but still wary, still ready for you, not giving up his positioning. His care would mean his victory against any other opponent, no matter your speed and strength. You still have something up your sleeve, though. Your fleshy, human-puppet sleeve. You laugh.

"You're mad. What has done this to you, warrior? Is this some new trick of the Dark Lord? Did he turn you into this... berserker? Answer me."

"You look tasty." You charge forward, and Eridoss slips backward, but this time it's you who will catch him unawares. You've built up this body more than any other, and now it is time to unleash it in a last bid to win. Eridoss has no idea what he's really up against. It will work, you're sure of it.

As Eridoss' blade descends, fleshy, waxy white-colored and pink-veined tentacles shoot forth from your hand stumps, catching both of his arms, wrenching them to the side. Straining only slightly, you dislocate the brave elf's arms at the shoulder, not wanting to do him irreparable damage. His sword drops to the ground. He somehow holds back a scream, but you can see the pain, horror, and injury written on his face. You gather yourself to carefully take on a new host. Some of the tentacles holding his arms release and pry at his clenched mouth, forcing it open. You open your own mouth, revealing a bit of your true self. You can tell his keen mind sees what is to come, sees that he is to be your next host, like your human body. Your stolen lips smile.

Eridoss stomps his heel into the ground and twists, and you hear a faint metallic sound. Suddenly the apparently defeated elf is kicking, kicking with a dagger that's sprouted from his boot. Bloody slashes and stabs appear rapidly in your body's thighs, groin, and stomach. With amazing flexibility and focus, he brings his leg around and aims high, towards your face, towards your true self. You hesitate a moment, withdrawing, trying to regain complete control so you can properly transfer yourself.

That's what Eridoss was waiting for. His true goal. Again, with his amazing flexibility, determination, and awareness he isn't striking out at you, at your face. Eridoss - knee bent and hip awkwardly displaced, somehow angles the knife right for his own throat and begins stabbing, kicking himself in the throat with the boot-knife.

He's won. Your body is severely wounded. He is dying quickly, blood spurting from his neck. Without prior connections throughout his body, a good framework to build off of, he is an unsuitable host. You lose more knowledge, more opportunity - first the mage and now this master bladesman.

"Consider your honor restored," you mutter, annoyed but honestly impressed. You let his body drop, and withdraw your tentacles into your hand-stumps. Collapsing backward, you begin suturing your wounded lower body as best you can. You can probably make this one live on, but if you're going to continue to disguise yourself and have full functionality you will still need a new body.

After several hours of sewing your body back together, feeding yourself on fallen corpses, and feeding your human host as best you are able with the supplies of the fallen, you shamble away.