The Desert is Cold in the Dark [Dark Data]

[Jim Raynor]

Damn it. As if he hadn't seen enough sand lately, now it has to come alive?
 
Jim grimaced. The palming from the desert monster had left grains of its hand scratching about in his suit, and there wasn't much he could do to get it out.
 
"Adjutant, could you blow that sand out of my ass?"
 
A metal door slid open on Jim's posterior and a puff of air scattered the sand from his suit before sealing shut again.
 
"Sand ejected," the adjutant said without a hint of humour in her calming voice.
 
"Right, now that I don't have sand stuck in my craw, let's-"
 
A column of sand struck Jim square in the chest and funnelled him into the wall. The collision shook him in his suit, the force of the spray consistent and strong enough to pin him in place. Thankfully his visor had been risen earlier so he wasn't choking on the stuff.
 
Jim flicked his wrist, hoping to rotate out his robotic hand and extend the flamethrower barrel that Swann had cleverly installed some time ago. Whether it was due to the accumulated damage over their adventure or the volume of sand pummelling him against the temple wall, it refused to activate.
 
Finally the barrage stopped and Jim slid to the temple floor. Trails of sand danced and tumbled in organised lines towards a central point, like armies of ants marching back to their hill. It built and climbed upon itself until a golden hand reformed, its grainy fingers flexing.
 
How the hell did they stop a creature made of sand that could just rebuild itself? Bullets could puncture holes in it temporarily, but the displaced grains would just be reabsorbed into the desert monster's mass and fill in the gaps. Water could solidify it maybe, but the shimmering heat that suffused the temple air made it seem unlikely that even a hint of moisture existed nearby.
 
The desert monster's gaping maw yawned open and a grating growl escaped it. Violet lights, buried in the dark of its hollow sockets, pulsed with malevolence.
 
Well, waiting around for the sand creature to drown him wasn't going to save him. Jim climbed to his feet and strafed, firing salvos of bullets into its sandy body to get its attention. The harsh rattling of his Impaler rifle preceded the bursts of sand as they slammed into the desert monster, leaving odd-shaped gaps in its face and fingers. Even as Jim sprinted across the temple floor, the monster bellowing at him, the wounds filled in with sand drawn from its surroundings. It flowed to him like it was a magnet, and there was plenty of the resource to fix any ailment it received.
 
A gargantuan fist crashed two steps to Raynor, rocking the temple. Jim almost lost his feet and dived as the fist came down inches from him again.
 
"Come on, Jimbo!" the terran commander berated himself as the sandy fist brushed past him again. "You've been in worse binds than this! Think o' something!"
 
His eyes wandered above him. Could he bring the temple down around them and crush the desert monster? He shook his head. No, its constituent parts would scatter, but they would no doubt funnel through the cracks of the fallen temple stone and congeal again, unharmed. Other than water, what the hell else could affect the composition of sand?
 
A peal of cackling laughter boomed from nearby. Jim spun as one of those blasted skeleton pricks jumped from nowhere, unloading its six-shooters. Bullets pinged off his armour, each projectile bludgeoning and denting his suit, no matter how small. Jim pulled the trigger on his own firearm, but the undead gunslinger adeptly pirouetted around the swarm of bullets and returned to his own assault.
 
The familiar click of empty revolvers heralded the end of his attack. Jim lined up the creature in his sights, free to aim without the hassle of incoming projectiles.
 
The two spent revolvers spun through the air and smacked against Jim's plated chest. Raynor frowned and lowered his rifle.
 
"Really?" he said. "It's gonna be like that?"
 
The skeleton cowboy chuckled, the sound like bones grinding against each other.
 
Behind him, the desert monster primed another sandy fist.
 
"Maybe you should sit this one out."
 
Flames belched from Jim's suit's back and he skated across the desert floor. He seized the skeleton by its flimsy shoulders without argument, possibly due to the ghoul's shock, and hurled him away. The desert monster's fist sailed towards Jim as he dashed out of its path. Turning, the terran commander watched as the skeleton disappeared behind a solid fist of sand.
 
Jim clicked his fingers and a blue blade of energy burst from his right forearm. He skimmed over the temple floor, past the perpetually oscillating grains of sand, and made a beeline for the desert monster's other hand. With a flourish, the psi-blade pared three fingers like a hot knife through butter. The monster howled as the separated digits exploded on the floor. Blue glowing wounds topped the severed fingers, the ridiculous heat of the psi-blade having melted the stubby tops.
 
The splattered sand crawled back up the hand, but any and all attempts at crafting the appendages failed as the heaped sand collapsed again and again. The desert monster roared in protest.
 
"Heat," Jim said. "Sand fuses into glass with enough heat. Heh. Think I might have a plan after all."
 

908 words. Sorry, kinda running low on ideas.
Jim got punched by a big sand fist. He got free and started shooting, but it barely did anything.
Assist 1 (the skeleton that Somerled threw down into the pit) started attacking, but Jim managed to throw him in to the way of the next swinging fist, buying him some time.
Jim got out his Psi-blade (Special weapon) and sliced off three fingers of the desert monster on the other hand. The heat of the blade turned the tops of the severed fingers into glass, making them impossible to rebuild over.