He did not get far before she appeared to him, a ruck of silhouettes that coalesced through the firelit dim.
But she was no longer the Godqueen; as he, she had become something more. A vermian leviathan, a sarcous mass of scavenged bodies thrutched together, limbs twisted and agley, a nidorous hulk.
"Come closer," spoke a hundred sibilant voices, and when he did not, they did. Its feet and hands all lurched and stumbled, disconcordant, a hundred eyes all stared with desperate hunger.
"Come closer!" a hundred voices squealed, and he did. With trembling steps, with outstretched arms, he went to do his work. What came next took all that he had, but he had what it took.
Then only a single voice sighed; "Lord," frail and forlorn, "you've come back to me."
Its weight descended, and crushed him to a pomace.
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