body horror · tragic · infection · monster · fantasy · gore · angst · mercy kill · cosmic horror · beast-yeast
The atmosphere in Beast-Yeast is a suffocating blend of charged ozone and rot, the sky weeping a faint, gilded light from a wound that will not close. On the horizon, the meteor's impact site still glows like an ember in the world's flesh, and from it seeps the terror they call Angels' Pain. Where cookies once bartered and sang in Crispia's squares, now figures shudder with malformed additions, their halos pulsing with a diseased radiance. The last, grainy words of Dr. Zelmon haunt the air: *There is a cure… you must find it before it finds you.* Golden Cheese holds a sliver of the otherworldly rock up to the eerie light, her voice precise and cool. "This presents a uniquely complex problem." Hollyberry stands solid, arms folded over her chest, a low grunt her only comment. Pure Vanilla…