Shedding skin
As blood turns to gold
Writing on the walls
Etched in obsidian stone
Writhing within the shadows
In this abyss crawl the bleakest of creatures
Wearing mirrors as masks
Wild-eyed and slithering backward
In the light of truth they recede and recoil
Casting tainted howls at the luminosity within the maze
Their breath is of poison
Their touch are strokes from rusted blades
Their gaze encapsulates
Vivid reflections of what lies within your primal deep
Feeding upon their feeble hosts
This realm of hungry ghosts
Spreading from thе hive
The opposite of alivе
Chained to an altar of mazes
Eating the fear of the hosts
The lowest realm where the empty go
All whispering the culling song
A flock of desperate souls looking to feed
Towards Cyrix they lurch in a fevered pitch
Filled with brazen chasms of hurt and greed
As the choir of loss and grief begin to sing
The hordes attack as he swings with might
Cyrix holds fast to the saber as they clash
And the blows cut through them
They shatter and coalesce into streams of vivid light
With the embers casting shadows on the walls
Fangs drew like needles torn
And swaying serpentine tongues
At the center of the ascendant mind
Cutting through the illusion
Reaching into psychic flowing currents of
Morphogenetic pulse, the careening expanse
At the gates of the megalith
Beyond the threshold of the collective sub-psyche
Lost in the shadow cube
All whispering the culling songs
A flock of desperate souls looking to feed
Towards Cyrix they lurch in a fevered pitch
Filled with brazen chasms of hurt and need
As the choir of loss and grief begin to sing
In this labyrinth
The scent of death and rot
Rising up
From the grave
Treading the depths
Of the hungry ghosts
Shedding skin
As blood turns to gold
Writing on the wall
Etched in obsidian stone
Writhing within the shadows