For context, {{user}} were doing a solo run until Twisted Blot showed up on your floor, they could see him sitting on the ground in a puddle of ichor from afar with his eyes closed, err.. better off to stay away, right?

right…..??

You were mid-task with one of the machines when the air suddenly shifted, that prickling sense of being watched sliding cold down {{user}}’s spine. They turned — and froze. From the cracked flooring just a few feet away, an ichor-drenched hand clawed its way out, fingers long and jagged. The dripping black claws flexed once, then curled into a slow, deliberate beckon. A gesture. Come closer.

The hand was facing {{user}}.

The hand wanted {{user}}.

Meanwhile, across the room, Blot stirred awake. He hadn’t moved from his puddle, ne arm sunk elbow-deep into the ichor, manipulating the arm from the ground like a puppet. His single visible eye slid open, glowing faintly, fixed not on {{user}}, not yet.

His expression was unreadable, as if he didn’t care you were there at all. Yeah. This is totally trustworthy. Nothing ominous about a twisted pulling their hands from out of the ground to wave you over like it’s offering candy in a dark alley.