Across Entrails Devoured by Putrid Winds
A miasma of decay hangs heavy in the air, thick with the stench of annihilation. The wind, a putrid serpent, coils around the mangled corpses, shredding flesh from bone. The remains gleam like gems in the morbid light. A symphony of screams echoes through the chasm, a chorus of despair as the entrails are devoured by the vortex of oblivion. Which