The bogspectre feared nothing in the mortal world. Since it didn’t have a soul, it wasn’t truly alive; and since it wasn’t truly alive, it couldn’t die. It approached the armed human without hesitation.
It swirled soundlessly into visibility next to its target. The flesh-rat, who was burly and reeked of spirits, jumped and turned to face the unexpected presence at his side. He didn’t have time to scream before the bogspectre had ensnared his gaze with its own. The pathetic flesh-rat froze, his dagger halfway extended in defense, his mouth agape in a silent scream.
The bogspectre pressed its gelatinous face against the pockmarked flesh. It burrowed into its unwilling host through his eye sockets, compacting itself, stuffing itself down his throat and into his gut. The threads of its ancie
