The festerhulk looms on a titan's frame, its hide a patchwork of swollen shelf mushrooms, bruised blue and violet, stacked like crumbling armor over dissolved ribs. A lipless maw gapes where a face should be, lolling a black-mold tongue amid purple mycelium curtains that drape its hollow chest. Ropey root-tendrils drag and twitch from the cavity, spilling spores like dirty snow that cling to skin and seep into wounds. Fresh pale caps gleam wet on its arms and thighs, feeding on the rot within as it lurches forward, recoiling from sunlight that crisps its edges.