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...her eys were living flames of azure blue, her hair a golden coronet around her. She held a blazing sword in one hand, in a tunic of pure white, stained in places with blood and mud from battle. Murphy, seen as she really was; a guardian angel.

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He had been ravaged. He was missing chunks of flesh, just torn out like bites. He bled and bled and bled endlessly, never stopping.

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It starts bluring the lines of whats real and what isn't. A guy could go crazy like that; fast. Just keep seeing everything the way it really is, the beauty and the horror, just let it erase everything, not worry about being hurt anymore...

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It was an abomination. It was foul, rotten, covered in phantom flames, a promise of the future. Skulls littered the yard; death was in the cards as well. It seethed with negative energy, lust, anger, pride...shadow-things clug everywhere, glutting themselves with the energy. Inside, same as the outside: only more noxious. Things clug everywhere: some reptilian, some rat-like, some insectiod, All felt impleasant, hostile. The made quiet, hungy noises, things I would have never heard with my ears normally.

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Phantom bruises slid over his skin, shapes of distorted bones poking up against the skin. Dozens of mindles, opening and closing little mouths dotted the crook of the arm, track marks from the night before.

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Pale skin became pallid, dirty, leathery. Large dark eyes grew larger, dartying around with avian nervousness- eyes of a desperate, craven survivor.