The Webs

The webs felt like a shriek of horror in a fetid boneyard. I staggered, almost blind with despair.

Just cut one.

The air felt tainted, a gaseous rot that crawled over my boots, turning everything leprous and foul.

Cut one.

My spirit screaming for me to run, I brought my knife blade against a festering cord. It popped wetly, releasing a noxious stench.

One more.

By inches, I advanced into the rocky cleft, one nightmarish web at a time, revulsion enveloping me like tar.

Behind me, the invading army waited silently as I carved a path into the Haunted Lands.