The Landship loomed in the distance, its massive silhouette standing in stark contrast against the shifting hues of Carcosa's sky.
As Kuzunoha and I made our return, the terrain beneath us rippled like a living canvas, reality itself bending ever so slightly under the weight of our sole memories and exposure that we received from the center of the spatial distortion.
The knowledge we carried back was heavy, though the greatest burden of all was the realization that there was nothing—nothing—that could be done about the god's corpse.
It wasn't simply an untouchable relic or an object beyond mortal comprehension. It was an absolute existence, a thing so far removed from the conceptual framework of interference that even the most potent of attempts to alter it simply ceased to be.
Physical tampering? Nullified. Conceptual distortion? Meaningless. The corpse was frozen in a state of perpetual finality, its existence both undeniable and utterly indifferent.
