Finn staggered back, bile already rising in his throat. The moment his eyes registered the thing inside, he doubled over and vomited hard, the splash smearing across the otherwise clean floor.
It was grotesque—wrong—like something that had crawled straight out of an eldritch nightmare and decided to settle here.
The "body" in the center of the room had once been a person. Now it was a half-melted, bloated carcass fused with faintly glowing blue slime. The skin was shredded in ribbons, exposing patches of translucent, quivering tissue beneath. In other spots, the slime had eaten away the flesh entirely, leaving slick bone glinting in the dim light.
The stomach cavity had ruptured open, and from the gaping wound oozed dozens of tiny, malformed slime fetuses—sickly, translucent blobs with flickers of human and bird-like features. They crawled out sluggishly, writhing in the viscous pool beneath their host.
