The Distant Crown
The water was not just rising; it was breathing, a cold, black lung that expanded and contracted against the ribs of the trench, swallowing the world in a slow, suffocating pulse. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood waist-deep in the slurry, the mud clinging to his fatigues like a second skin, heavy and cloying, while the concrete walls of the bunker groaned under the pressure of the storm that had...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews