A Profane Recipe

Now that Northern had uncovered the Catastrophic Behemoth's true form, there was only one thing left to do.

Drag it out of its safe haven.

But how exactly was he supposed to do that when this creature was the very embodiment of calamity, an amalgamation of all things vile and demonic?

Its form was a grotesque fusion of bone and stone-like sinew, its ribcage gaping open as though it had been flayed from within, exposing an eerie luminescence that pulsed like a dying heartbeat.

The blue glow inside was not light, but the illusion of it—an afterimage of something ancient and forsaken, flickering like an eldritch ember within the gaping ruin of its chest. Its so-called scales were jagged, cracked husks, blackened and encrusted with the remnants of the wretched things it had devoured.

But the most abhorrent feature was the halo—a grotesque ring of rotting flesh and sinew, bound together by an unseen, malevolent force.