The ceiling of the Precipice was coming down, and it was bleeding.
Thousands of tons of black rock and uncreated grey ash plummeted out of the pitch-black void above us, and they weren't falling alone. The corrupted dead that had spent millennia clinging to the upper layers of the abyss were losing their footholds. They rained down onto the collapsing seabed in a torrent of twisted limbs, bloated pale flesh and rusted iron, and they hit the crushed pumice with heavy, wet thuds.
They didn't die when they hit the ground.
A multi-limbed beast the size of a carriage slammed into the wet ash twenty yards away. Its bones snapped like kindling, but the corrupted essence animating its flesh knitted the fractures back together on the spot. It twitched, righted itself, and lunged straight for us.
Kassie met it halfway.
