Gundyr's eyes fluttered open.
The scent of blood and rot filled the air, thick and suffocating. Bodies—giants and humans alike—were strewn across the battlefield, their massive forms twisted in unnatural angles, their armor shattered, their weapons broken. But what unsettled him most was not their lifeless forms. It was the black, viscous substance covering them, pulsing like a living thing.
His heart pounded in his chest as he struggled to sit up. Then he saw it—his right arm was gone.
Yet, there was no pain. Only the cold, creeping sensation of something unnatural slithering over his body. He turned his gaze downward, his breath catching in his throat. The same black goo was clinging to him, tendrils of it crawling up his flesh, trying to integrate with him.
"No... the Blight."