The Ironburrow Tick is a hulking mass of swollen metal and scar tissue, shaped like a nightmare interpretation of a natural parasite. Its body is a distended, dome-backed bulk of fused chitin and iron plating, each segment overlapping like mismatched armor torn from forgotten war machines. Faint seams glow beneath the shell, pulsing with a dull furnace light as internal pumps circulate whatever stolen energy it has most recently consumed.

Eight articulated limbs extend from its underside, each joint reinforced with pistons and cable-like tendons that twitch even when the creature is still. The forelegs taper into serrated hooks capable of anchoring into stone or flesh with equal ease. Its rear limbs are broader and heavier, digging into soil as it drags its immense weight forward with unsettling patience.

The head is low and recessed beneath the armored bulk, half hidden in shadow. Clusters of ember-red ocular nodes flicker irregularly, scanning in abrupt mechanical jerks rather than fluid movement. From beneath the headplate protrude layered mandibles, part organic, part forged steel, designed not to tear wildly but to clamp, hold, and remain.

When still, the Ironburrow Tick resembles a mound of corroded scrap or a collapsed mining engine half swallowed by earth. Only the faint hum of internal machinery and the occasional drip of dark fluid from its mouth betray that it is alive.

When engorged, its abdomen swells grotesquely, plating stretching tight as the seams between segments glow brighter. A low, rhythmic thrum radiates from within, like a buried engine revving under too much pressure.