#pyrexia

[grrlmusic]

Ehua & Flore - Pyrexia

[metalheadjim]

Pyrexia - Sermon of Mockery (1993)

[rejoice-in-moribund]

Pyrexia - Sermon of Mockery (1993, Drowned Productions)

[vauslogia]

So, this is the final version of the project, I used a lot of refs of real-life dinosaurs and a lot of art from MTG itself. I don’t like the new Phyrexians, their toothlessness upsets me, the design has become weaker in some places, stronger in others. I settled on the concept of strong tourniquets that place muscles and translucent skin with a blue glow that doesn’t get anywhere. It’s strange that they switched from the usual blue minions, which evoke disturbing fear, to tentacles with a bunch of backlit eyes. (For what?) I also don’t like the idea of a completely bare metal skeleton; I want to reinforce the frame with something. (Example with a bird in the art and a black mecha dragon) I also like the idea of the eyes crying oil, but I stick to the concept of metal helmets more

[akitschisjustakitsch]

Groovy Pyrex Spring Blossom 475 Casserole Pyrex Crazy Daisy 475 Is In Excellent Vintage Condition 1970s Pyrex Spring Blossom Casserole Is Ve

[themetalmassacrevault]

[kendrahaley]

[embyrinitalics]

Pyrexia  |  part one

(part two)

Link stopped again, clinging to the wall with his good arm as his vision crowded.

He had to press on. Even if his head felt like it was about to explode; even the pain coursing through the right side of his body was incredible; even if he had no plan, or even the slightest idea where he was going.

“You must rest. You cannot help her if you can barely stand.”

He swayed, forcing one foot in front of the other, and gritted out, “Get out of my head.”

The caverns blurred and tilted, the pain radiating from his arm getting inexplicably worse. He reached out to steady himself again and stumbled when he misread the distance. His hands caught luminous stone and dolomite before he hit the floor. Just barely.

He clung to the wall like he was clinging to consciousness. The voice came again, insistent. Impatient.

“Rest. The blending takes time.”

He glared at his hands, one dark and mottled with scars, the other glowing like luminous stone.

Some said that glow came from the souls of the dead.

“I can’t rest,” he hissed, pushing himself up, even as vertigo and fever tried to send him crashing down. “That thing took her. She could be hurt, or worse by now. If I can’t find her—”

The voice scoffed, and his blood boiled. “Is your Zelda really so fragile?”

“No, she is not fragile.”

“Then rest. Trust her, as she trusts you.”

The cave swam, all blotchy and hot, and he swerved to his knees, and then to his hands. Sweat dripped off his nose and pattered on the cool floor, the sound of his haggard breath drowning out the hollow moan and trickle of water echoing out of distant tunnels.

He whispered, sagging, trembling, “What’s happening to me?”

“Your body fights me off as it would an infection. Resists.”

“Then get out of it.”

“That beast was mine to contain. You will help me seal him again.”

His arms gave out, sending him sprawling on his back. The heat pumping through him was unreal. Like his blood was on fire. His vision pulsed red and thick. A heartbeat in the dark.

The pain jolted again, sending his back arching. Running up his wrist, his arm, into his neck, his shoulder, his chest, his ribs. He loosed a stale, broken breath when it ebbed, stars behind his eyes.

“I have to save her,” he growled, demanding, or pleading.

“She carries the blood of the goddess. Her power is ancient.”

“You don’t understand. I—” He puffed a sigh, defeated. All the strength in his voice was gone. “I just got her back.”

The voice was silent for a moment, considering. “Link, is it?”

He closed his eyes, swallowed sludge, all but melted to the rock. It was like he was draining away—muscles atrophying, soul disintegrating, as his body waged a losing battle. He could feel the fever rising like an ember in his chest, in his brain.

He gasped, breathless at the heat, “Yes.”

“Yield, Link, and the pain will be quick.”

Lightning and fire burst out of his arm, spreading to his throat, his belly, his mind. And the scream that burst out of him was long, and anguished, and burning.

The pain was not quick.