Cold flames feed on its naked flesh and gnaw into its incombustible veins, tendons and muscles.
The Pretalokan has risen from the realm of tortured-sprits and assumed the indefinable form of a sunburst – appearing footless, wide-mouthed and swollen bellied.
Blinding rays of crimson red slither into the crevices on the wall along the east wing corridors of the lost tomb.
The unwavering beams writhe through linen shrouds of century-old mummified remains and reanimate a legion of death-bearing grunts.
Soon enough the world will encounter a reign of terror, and languish in desolation and despair.
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