On the slope above Sunny, Condemnation was absorbing the strands of silk into the vastness of its tenebrous body. The mighty black tendrils binding its limbs had already been assimilated, tearing as the towering giant broke free of their hold.
So were the lower segments of the Puppeteer's legs — four of its legs, at least, which had been thrust into Condemnation's chest. The giant moth let out a strange clicking sound as its limbs snapped, rivers of eerie black ichor flowing out of the terrible wounds like a tide. Everywhere the drops of dark liquid fell, the slope of the mountain itself seethed and boiled, giving birth to grotesque apparitions.
Losing its purchase on the body of Condemnation, the abominable moth should have plummeted down from a great height. However, instead, it was flattened against the towering shade's titanic chest, slowly drowning in it, as if attracted by the pull of an irresistible force.
