(The flesh coating the ship is gone, and the vines are shredded--)

Something as formlessly flexible as Mogget curls upwards, into the air and the light: a column of many intertwined strands of red-black blood and silver water and bits of offal, tiny red eyes and sharp-toothed mouths like a leech's opening and closing, devouring themselves and respawning. Its voice is flat, inhumanly deliberate, and hungry.

Crusnik 03: area override authorized and acknowledged.