#6 - Herald of the Pretender

There are sounds in Posterra that raises the fur, prickle the skin, pop the pustules and dull the scales. There is a buzzing hiss of air burning out from the discharge of the Remnants weapon, for example. Or the dead silence of the Sea of Acids, stifling all life into obedient stillness. Warcries of the brutal Skeeters. the arrhythmic cascade of heartbeat of the Collector. And then, there is madness. Dreadwake in all things do not follow the rules that the feeble reality try to bound it with. When it spreads, you can see music, taste colours, touch aromas and hear the textures. It uncoils the reality before you, and there are no words suitable to describe how it is, but merely sad attempts and how it is perceived. From the dark abyss of endless hues shapes forms and dissolve, rushing like a tide, fragmenting the world into dizzying fractals. And you can hear it, oh yes, hear it in your bones, the unsounds, antithesis to melodies, the vibrations that should not be.