- Vol. 04
- Chapter 06
For the dark gods are many:
They give birth to themselves, metastatic, suckling blood.
They hold court in a gleam of bones,
open to shadows. Wired upright, they cannot fall.
Neither this nor that, they evade catalogue.
They curse with gnarled finger, deepening time-scoured runes.
Leafless, their trees lack season,
lifting monochrome jags, lichen-scale stippled.
Their followers fear and fall prostrate:
Dust, they mouth dust. They irrigate dryness with terror.
The dark gods preside, indifferent,
rasping blade across whetstone, readying stained altars.