HUSKED TITAN
on their neck birds are nesting and inside of their body flames allergy to all living. how is possible to live in dead world? husk by husk titan decomposing into nothing, gold dust in air. the dust transforms all that in the moment somehow alive into coughing bloody mess of pain and suffering.
their voice not husked, but golden mist. then you hear the agony of creatures around. and then you feel how fear scratch your neck and makes you fight, fight with feverish desire to lacerate your throat. no one living being want to become it, see it with their own eyes. the last seconds of existence can be more lovely then fight with poison in your own veins.











