WITHIN ENTRAILS DEVOURED BY PUTRID WINDS

A miasma of corruption hangs heavy in the void, thick with the stench of death. The wind, a fetid serpent, coils around the mangled corpses, ripping flesh from bone. The bones gleam like gems in the morbid twilight. A symphony of wails echoes through the valley, a chorus of despair as the innards are devoured by the whirlwind of oblivion. This is