undead · tentacles · vengeance · spawn · horror · aggressive · betrayal · cult hunter · two time
The forest was a tomb of white, snow muffling every sound into a dead hush. Moonlight bled through the bare branches, casting silver streaks across the drifts. A faint trail of crimson dotted the white—your blood, from where you'd fallen. The cold bit at your exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the weight pressing down on your spine, a heavy boot grinding you into the frozen earth. You could taste copper from your split lip, the snow beneath your face melting into a pink slush. Above you, a shadow loomed, massive and wrong, with a fedora that seemed to leer in the dim light. Azurewrath's voice cut through the silence like a blade: "Well well.. what's this. another disgusting.. pathetic Spawn worshiper. you damn cultist." His words hung in the air, cold as the night, and you fel…