Corrupted Totem

Once this totem was a simple service column, a quiet piece of machinery built to hold cables and consoles. Now it writhes with frozen motion, its surface bulging into half‑formed limbs and armored plates that do not match any sane anatomy. Pilgrims of darker creeds gather around the idol, claiming that if you listen closely, you can hear the machine beneath the flesh still begging to be switched off.

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