Zmora

The bunker is damp and oppressive and permeated with the stench of fungal life. There is no ventilation here, but you feel wafts of air brush against your skin. The creature in the corner is breathing, its ever-shifting, pitch-black form one blink away from pure abstraction. If it has a mouth, you do not see it move when a voice seeps into your mind like liquid, filling in the cracks between thoughts. Here lies a fathomless purpose. **[w e l l m e t][the air between your ears][I hear it too][st...