Drowned graves and burning lard fouled the cold river air.
Across the churning black surface of the Cangwu River, the River Mother closed the distance with terrifying, high-pressure speed.
The hundred-meter mountain of bloated corpses plowed through the water, creating ten-foot swells that shattered the leftover floating docks of Gu Ning into kindling.
From its flanks, three massive tendrils—each thick as an ancient cedar trunk, woven from hundreds of twisted cadavers and rusted anchor chains—rose thirty arm-lengths into the air.
WHIP.
The nearest tendril lashed downward, striking the western embankment of the canal with the bone-shaking force of a falling watchtower.
Granite blocks shattered like brittle pottery.
A spray of crushed stone and black slime rained down upon the empty wharves.
