Across Entrails Devoured by Putrid Winds

A miasma of rot hangs heavy in the air, thick with the stench of obliteration. The wind, a fetid serpent, writhingly around the mangled corpses, ripping flesh from bone. The skeletons gleam like trinkets in the morbid light. A symphony of groans echoes through the chasm, a chorus of agony as the entrails are devoured by the winds of oblivion. That

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