Doomchurch by Dovahkiief

Sandstorms buffet across the flat plains, rippling about towering rock formations that mark the boundaries of deserts. The blast furnace sun hammers down upon the naked sands, where water hits the ground only to vanish as brief steam. The air is liquid with the heat. There can be no shadows here.

His every step is burning agony, his sweat evaporating as it is shed, his skin sticky with its residue. He struggles onward, step by step through the tracklessness, towards nothing.

He cannot die, but he is not without pain. His skin is cracked and peels away with every step. He is the embodiment of punishment, the essence of suffering, burdened with the sins of mankind, so great that they were obliterated, leaving him to bear their endless retribution.

And so he walks.

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