The wastelander stepped carefully through the ruins of the post apocalyptic landscape, lifting a rusted sheet of metal—then froze. Beneath it, a severed hand twitched, its palm warped by mutation. Two metallic eyes blinked above a jagged, toothy maw, while a writhing, pincer-tipped tongue flicked from its center.
Strange runes pulsed faintly at its base, their meaning lost to time or something far worse. The hand didn’t attack but trembled, emitting thin, desperate screams. Was it calling for something? A master? Or did it suffer in its unnatural existence? The wastelander took a slow step back, fingers tightening around his weapon. In a world of horrors, he thought he had seen everything. But this nightmare… this was something new.
