The sector of the Hyperverse where Shub-Niggurath drifted had become a grotesque nursery of the void.
The Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young did not resemble a living being so much as a cancerous forest of pulsating, obsidian flesh.
She was a mountain of quivering, multi-mouthed tissue, with thousands of stilt-like hooves that kicked against the vacuum, and a forest of writhing tentacles that acted as umbilical cords for the abyss.
From her countless weeping orifices, Shub-Niggurath continuously birthed the Silent Wailers.
These infant-like anomalies were not just soldiers; they were fragments of her own biological corruption.
They poured from her in a constant, visceral river, a black tide of screaming matter that overwhelmed the divine defenses by sheer, biological volume.
Several minor gods—deities of minor rivers, hearths, and harvests—had already been swamped by the tide.
