You watch in horror as the druid’s body twists and bulges, bones cracking like dry twigs as their flesh peels back in long, sinewy strips. Their arms snap and elongate, fingers curling inward until they fuse into brutal, serrated claws. Their eyes balloon outward, glowing an eerie, stomach-churning yellow, while their mouth splits open, mandibles clicking and chittering like an overexcited cockroach.

Then comes the worst part—the wings.

Thin, veiny, and shimmering with a sickly green translucence, they burst from their back with a wet, sucking sound, unfolding like something that’s been festering in a too-tight cocoon. The creature—no, the thing—now stands twice as tall, its head twitching in unnatural jerks as it locks onto you, mandibles clicking in what might be laughter.

"Ah, hells," you mutter, taking a cautious step back. "It talks, doesn’t it?"

And then, in a smug, buzzing voice, it speaks.

“Greetings, puny mortal.”