ACROSS ENTRAILS DEVOURED BY PUTRID WINDS

A miasma of rot hangs heavy in the air, thick with the savor of obliteration. The wind, a putrid serpent, writhingly around the mangled corpses, tearing flesh from bone. The bones gleam like gems in the morbid light. A symphony of screams echoes through the depths, a chorus of suffering as the innards are devoured by the winds of oblivion. This is