The wavering ritual chants reached another profane crescendo, causing the air itself to congeal into obscene, half-glimpsed shapes that made Vixen's stomach churn. Her scanner arrays pierced the billowing miasma, revealing a conclave of gaunt, hunched figures swathed in tattered robes that almost seemed to breathe.
"Well, ain't this a fun lil' book club meetin'..." Vixen muttered, fingers tightening around the steering wheel.
Each figure seemed to pulse and distort around the edges, as if their true forms could barely be contained within this reality's boundaries. Vixen felt her gut clench as the feed zoomed in on their cowled faces - or rather, the stark absence of anything remotely human beneath those shadowed hoods.
Where eyes, noses and mouths belonged, there was only fathomless darkness that dimpled inward into profane geometries. Slits and skewed angles mocked all concepts of symmetry, warping in time with the ritual's cyclopean cadence.
