DreadBear

Sleep comes hard and fast. When your eyes open, the world is wrong. The sky above is a sickly green haze. The ground beneath you looks stitched together—patches of earth and stone crudely sewn into place, like something unfinished. The air smells damp… metallic. A distant thud echoes. Then another. Heavy. Slow. Shaking the ground each time. From behind a crooked hill of broken terrain, a massive silhouette rises—broad shoulders, jagged seams glowing faintly, movements stiff but powerful.