The corpse beneath the monument twitched and moaned in time with the groaning fury of the Shroud. The soil that swaddled it both gripped desperately at flesh and bone, seeking to contain and restrain the nightmare that had been forced upon it, and shuddered away, repelled viciously by the profane shadows that wrapped its shallow grave. Fungi seeking to carry out their inexorable duty of reconstitution withdrew their many hyphae from the corpse's form, and even the tiniest of microbe could find no purchase on its sick flesh.Â
The corpse beneath the monument drew a ragged breath.
Dirt filled its mouth, its nostrils and ears, pressed in at the corners of its eyes, compressed ribs that still felt the memory of being crushed under a metal terror but no longer felt that pain. Oxygen fled that place, and in its absence there came desperation. The corpse saw fire above, blood below, heard the screams of hundreds, no, thousands in their death throws - crushed, flayed, burned alive beneath the mighty heat of a falling sky.
Fingers curled in the dirt, pushing up towards the fire, fearing more the blood below and the ill shadows that wreathed its scent than whatever purifying oblivion would greet it in the flames. They clutched and clawed and tore at the earth that had inexplicably swallowed it until the corpse felt certain nothing but polished bone remained. With its remaining, meager air, it expelled a sound of a dying beast into the pitiless heart of the Shroud. A sudden surge of frenzied strength bore through its limbs, and with that sound it broke through the earth to the fire raging above.
But no blinding, blazing agony greeted its grasping hand, only cool air and emptiness, like a void.
The corpse beneath the monument drew a ragged breath.
Dirt filled its mouth, its nostrils and ears, pressed in at the corners of its eyes, compressed ribs that still felt the memory of being crushed under a metal terror but no longer felt that pain. Oxygen fled that place, and in its absence there came desperation. The corpse saw fire above, blood below, heard the screams of hundreds, no, thousands in their death throws - crushed, flayed, burned alive beneath the mighty heat of a falling sky.
Fingers curled in the dirt, pushing up towards the fire, fearing more the blood below and the ill shadows that wreathed its scent than whatever purifying oblivion would greet it in the flames. They clutched and clawed and tore at the earth that had inexplicably swallowed it until the corpse felt certain nothing but polished bone remained. With its remaining, meager air, it expelled a sound of a dying beast into the pitiless heart of the Shroud. A sudden surge of frenzied strength bore through its limbs, and with that sound it broke through the earth to the fire raging above.
But no blinding, blazing agony greeted its grasping hand, only cool air and emptiness, like a void.
![[Image: AntiThalSig.png]](https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/179079766/AntiThalSig.png)
"Song dogs barking at the break of dawn, lightning pushes the edges of a thunderstorm; and these streets, quiet as a sleeping army, send their battered dreams to heaven."
Hipparion Tribe (Sagolii)Â - Â Antimony Jhanhi's Wiki
