Prowl Like They Own Pershia

The orcs were nothing like the creatures Xion had imagined. They were not towering, greasy beasts with horns.

Rather their flesh was a sickly shade of green, sagging and decayed. Their bodies were messily stitched together by unnatural forces. Their skin hung loosely from their bones, marred by patches of rot and jagged scars.

The thick putrid stink of death was so strong that it could make even the hardiest stomachs churn, let alone Xion, who had to forcefully gulp down the bile rising in his throat.

Their eyes did not gleam with the fire of life. Instead, they were milky and clouded, yet somehow still burned with an insatiable hunger. A need to feast on the living.

Their movements were slightly jerky. They dragged themselves forward with broken, staggered steps.

The most unsettling thing about them, however, was that they should not have been there at all!