Infante

The Infante turned his head.  His hand went up to catch one of the experiments that launched at him.  It was like a primate, black, and matured, and as it clutched at his arm and hand, tendrils snapped out of its fingertips and toes, taking curious geometric patterns as they seized him.  They flayed flesh and dug in as they went.  More leaped on.

“This on its own won’t stop me,” the Infante said, simply bearing the burden of the pack of flesh-flaying primates that was tearing into him.

https://twigserial.wordpress.com/2017/08/22/crown-of-thorns-20-8/