Titan for Lunch?

Detecting an opportunity, the daemon sprouted a clump of fat tentacles which it thrust towards the ailing Titan. The war machine brought its other arm to bear but only managed to rattle off a handful of shots before the vulcan mega-bolter seized, the clack clack of a jammed shell issuing forth in place of the roar of full automatic fire. The probing limbs clasped hold of the Warhound, wrapping around it massive arms to stop them from being used as cudgels, acrid steam rising from where corrosive slime met the ancient metal of its body. Servos and motors screeched in protest as the princeps fought to prevent his charge from being dragged into the beast and subsumed into the daemonic mass.
The fleshy tentacles stretched as the Titan struggled to move backwards until, just as it seemed it was breaking free, the tendrils suddenly withdrew. Momentum did the rest.



Chapter Seventeen