A singular consciousness, a hive mind, inhabits this bowl. Forever churning in the sludge it was born in. Dripping, bubbling, oozing, as the screams of what were once many blend into one. All that they were, all that could have been; was lost to the boiling sea. Leaving nothing but bitter rage in the one, in them all. There is now only a vast empty expanse left for it - them - to rot in, decay, die.














