It was huge, about six meters tall. In appearance, it resembled an old, hairless dog with a long snout fringed by dense, drooping whiskers.
But an ordinary old dog couldn't float, nor would it be covered in constantly writhing lumps of flesh, and it certainly wouldn't curl up like an old man.
Beneath its loose skin, clusters of something kept squirming, glowing faintly green through the aged hide. They looked like pus-filled boils, making its body appear bloated and misshapen.
Charles felt no sense of awe, as one might when facing a God. Although this being called itself a God, it was merely a self-proclaimed false god.
"You are the Wise Bogro?" Charles asked.
Bogro, hovering in midair, shifted its body slightly as if Charles had just woken it up.
It opened its slack eyelids, and several purple eye stalks slid out from within. "Charles…"
Bogro's voice was deep and rough, sounding like that of a man in his forties.
