All along the long street, demon corpses lay haphazardly...
Sherlock couldn't recognize the type or name of these demons, but they were undoubtedly dead, for their bodies had become nests for tentacles just like the carrion dog in his room, with thick or thin black tendrils growing over the carcasses. They resembled seaweed soaked in seawater, swaying frantically with the raging currents yet also stretching mightily toward the sky.
Sherlock looked up at the terrifying sun overhead, the myriad kilometers-long tentacles twisting as if to establish an incomprehensible connection with the ground.
This scene undoubtedly exuded a sense of the eerie and unknown, but what was even more disturbing was the fact that many of these tentacles, nourished by the corpses of demons, had already fallen off. They crawled and wriggled on the ground, making their way to the edge of the territory, frantically crawling outward, as if mercilessly devouring the control of the surrounding space.
