The creature's mouth stretched wide in what might have been a smile—if smiles could split flesh like overripe fruit peeling from the bone. Its fangs glistened in the crimson moonlight, a jagged cemetery of broken teeth, each one dark with rot yet sharp enough to flay muscle from bone. It waddled forward on limbs that bent too many times, the sound of its approach a wet squelch of roots pushing through dead flesh.
The hunter staggered back, his boots catching on the writhing vines beneath him. His breath came in ragged gasps, his pupils dilated until only a thin ring of color remained around black voids. "It's—it's calling me!" he choked out, one hand clutching at his chest as if trying to rip out whatever had taken root there. His other hand trembled around the hilt of his falchion, the blade reflecting the Perturbant's approaching form in warped fragments.
