The Face of Suffering

The plaza broke apart.

The ground cracked, and shadows bled from the fissures like liquid night, spreading across the concrete in writhing tendrils.

The air thickened, the weight of it pressing down on Jin's chest like he was being buried alive.

His breathing faltered.

His vision swam.

But he didn't lower the staff.

He just stared ahead, sweat dripping down his face, as the Qī Shā twisted and reformed in front of him.

Its torso stretched, flesh splitting apart with a wet tearing sound, and the Face of Violence crumbled, the broken remains melting into the body like wax.

Something else emerged in its place.

A new face, eyes weeping black ichor, mouth locked open in a soundless scream.

The flesh warped around it, ribs jutting outward like gnarled roots, the bones pulsating with every shuddering breath the creature took.