[Confessions of an English Zombie Fancier] Nothing Else Remains, Beside That Great Decay…

Stripped of his armour, Darion was a god in decrepitude. He barely registered the stink of methane and bile; his attention was rooted in his own body, a cage of splinters sewn up with steel sinews. Through the secondary skin of the black carapace - now tinted yellow-green as rotting parchment at its edges - he glimpsed the distorted, torn, broken-out and never-splinted plates of bone beneath. He