The Rot That Crawls

The ash didn't settle.

It crawled.

Slowly. Methodically.

Like it was alive.

Jin tightened his grip on the staff, watching as the scattered remains of the Face of Self-Destruction began to slither across the cracked ground — the blackened debris squirming like maggots.

It piled together, twisting and compressing, sinew and rotted tissue weaving itself into a shifting mass.

Bones splintered and reformed.

Flesh bubbled and curdled, constantly collapsing and rebuilding.

The smell hit them like a sledgehammer.

Thick. Vile. Suffocating.

Joon gagged, stumbling back.

"Oh my god," he choked. "What the hell is that?"

Seul doubled over, coughing, her hand over her mouth.

"It's like… like a rotting corpse," she rasped. "But worse."

Jin wiped his mouth, his stomach churning.

It smelled like decay — but amplified.

Like every dead thing in the world had been compressed into a single, toxic stench.