ACROSS ENTRAILS DEVOURED BY PUTRID WINDS

A miasma of decay hangs heavy in the heavens, thick with the reek of annihilation. The wind, a putrid serpent, coils around the mangled corpses, ripping flesh from bone. The remains gleam like trinkets in the morbid twilight. A symphony of wails echoes through the chasm, a chorus of agony as the innards are devoured by the winds of oblivion. Which