Battle one: A discordant drone broke the silence as the fly drifted lazily between the bars of the cell. Coming to rest gently upon the giant’s upturned palm, it’s compound eyes stared upward at the mirrored faces above. Murk closed the fist. Insect carapace shattered, a thick yellow ichor erupting from between his fingers like spent boils releasing their boon. Murk stood, palming the crushed viscera into the slack maw of his idiot twin. A paper thin wing, incongruously intact through the carnage, began to decend slowly down a cloudy strand of drool. “The bell tolls” Murk intoned as the door slid open, internal mechanisms corroded with millennia of rust. ————————————————————— Ribald looked back as the banshee-thing fled into the gloom. Though the twin-prophet’s form lay crumpled amongst the others that had fled alongside them, the deep gashes covering his form had already begun to close, seams expelling pus as they resealed themselves. “They will see the plague lord’s gifts and rejoice” Ribald slurred as he begun his work. Amongst the survivors of the tug, the ranks of the family would swell this day.