An airborne body can’t change its vector.
Once mass separates from the earth, flight path is dictated solely by speed, angle, and the unbending pull of gravity.
The second Corpse King had sacrificed its footing for speed.
It dropped at a sixty-two-degree angle, diving headfirst through the sulfuric fog like a black glass-tipped bolt fired from a castle giant crossbow.
Its twelve-foot mummified frame was coiled tight as a spring.
Six-inch black glass talons, grafted into each knuckle with ancient silver wire, spread wide like the talons of a hunting vulture. Along the glassy black stone of the claws, ancient Nether-venom glistened in greasy, purple beads.
The venom was cold enough to turn into glass living blood into red hail upon contact.
Descent speed: twenty-eight paces per second.
