THE ENTRAILS DEVOURED BY PUTRID WINDS

A miasma of rot hangs heavy in the void, thick with the savor of obliteration. The wind, a putrid serpent, violently around the mangled corpses, ripping flesh from bone. The remains gleam like pearls in the morbid light. A symphony of groans echoes through the chasm, a chorus of agony as the guts are devoured by the whirlwind of oblivion. That is