My eyes stand shut, under duned sand. Laid down I see torment forthcoming. Sky glows black. Wind blows sand. Charred remains of... a cross called death. Darkness spoils the sun. The crypt pried open. The master chosen. The mist spread spores, of artifacts wicked. Never has this realm seen before, such artifacts of myriad and tragic expressions. Scourge of ridges, settled and aged. Mirage of exits. Lost inside my mind. Writhing through vast desert. Only time will tell. After years relapse. I return.