Run. It's all you can do.

Some inner strength galvanizes you to action and with a powerful swing the holy sword bisects Russ... no, the abomination, in two. Unfortunately that didn't seem to be much of a problem for the writhing mass, as both halves of the once great duelist creep towards you, tendrils outstretched. As always, you feel the tingle of the Burning Rose in your mind but you weren't going to deal with this. Not now, and if you had any say in it, not ever.

You stagger backwards into the darkness, praying to your goddess for enough light to show you the way. It's a horrible thing, running in the dark from horror you can barely comprehend. It often struck you as a girl, on those occasions when you needed to venture into the darker rooms of the Abbey. This, needless to say, was infinitely worse. Hours seem to pass, fumbling in the dark as the wet slapping of unholy tentacles echo behind you.

Finally you trip, rigorous training preventing you from impaling yourself on your blade, and collapse in a sobbing mess on the cold floor of the cave. You feel raw with emotion; fear, horror, and dread clutch your heart like talons and adrenaline roars through your veins. You struggle not to retch.

Memories of War Mother Gisella come unbidden to your battered mind. Breath Sabine. Your enemies greatest strength is your weakness, don't let them have it. You are unchanged, like the rising of the sun in the face of evil. As the will of the Goddess, you are divine.

The thought seems to grow, pushing out all others, shielding you like impregnable armor. "I am Sabine St. Croix. I am the instrument of the Goddess' will. I will not be broken." Saying it aloud refocuses you and the last glimmers of emotion drain away. You are will. The sword gleams brightly in the darkness, lit by your faith, and you consider your surroundings. One stretch of cave looks about the same as the others so you don't have much to go on. However, in your earlier mad dash you managed to trip over something rather defining.