Across the chained isles of dead woodland, rising constantly upwards at a rate that held no concern for whoever might be clinging to the side, corpses of monsters half-stuck in the ground, buried under ashes and dirt, littered the aberrant battlefield.
White worms, only comparable to the length and girth of any moderately-sized snake from the Earth before the Tower; their aversive, slimy bodies ringed in countless segments were all cleaved through one way or another, and yet remained writhing even off the back of death.
Leaking small streams of consequential green and purple blood, the residual forces of life dripping from the revolting monsters all flowed to the edge of the island, descending as a cascade of miniature waterfalls to the next, until all that was left was the trailing river of plasma and the adjacent void below.
