Thousand Years of Hunger

'Here we go…'

Sunny faced the stairwell and stood motionless, looking at the black rot through his trembling shadow. Sensing something, Saint turned around, too. The tip of her sword hesitantly rose into the air.

The next few moments were going to decide whether he was going to live or die... or maybe be condemned to a fate much worse than death.

One level lower, the harrowing corruption that had been spreading from the severed arm of a deity was moving. The black ulcerous flesh was rising and falling, as if in the throes of… death? Or transformation?

Sunny gritted his teeth, waited for a second…

And then breathed out with immeasurable relief.

'Dying… it's dying.'

It felt as though he had been sentenced to execution, only for a pardon to arrive at the last possible moment, when the rope was already pressing on his neck.