"My leg? What's wrong with my leg?"
The red-haired youth's voice trembled as he jerked his head down.
He hadn't felt anything.
Not a sting. Not a cut.
Just—silence.
Then he saw it.
And something inside him snapped.
His legs—his flesh—had already rotted away.
The skin was gone.
The muscle was gone.
All that remained were wet, blood-slick bones standing where his legs used to be.
And still—his body hadn't caught up.
His mind was frozen.
Stuck between panic and denial.
The blood and pus that oozed from his ruined limbs—
sank into the ground silently.
The dark-gray stone of the Mourning Depths
drank the fluid like thirsting soil.
And then—
it changed.
Beneath him, the ground turned a deep, hellish crimson.
As if the blood itself awakened something buried beneath.
"AhhhhhhHH!"
He screamed.
This time, it was human.
A sound of someone who just realized they weren't dying—they were being unmade.
