The boss was not what they expected.
They expected big. They expected aggression — the forward lean of a creature built for violence, designed by whatever deep dungeon logic created these things to be an obstacle, a wall, a final answer to the question of whether the hunters who reached it deserved to leave.
What they got was stillness.
It stood in the center of the chamber — vaguely humanoid, but wrong in the proportion of it, too long in the arms, too wide across the shoulders, its head featureless except for two vertical slits of dim red light where eyes might have been. It was the color of deep water. It didn't move when they entered.
It was waiting.
"Siegal," Sawn said quietly.
Kara looked at her. "You can read its talent?"
