The Mireborn Terror
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop.
In the darkest heart of the jungle swamp, where roots strangle the light and the air hangs with breathless decay, something stirs beneath the black water — ancient, unblinking, eternal.
The Mireborn Terror emerges slowly, its obsidian-scaled body slick with algae and age. Yellow reptilian eyes glow from the shadowed shallows, reflecting the last light of a sun long drowned. Its lipless grin exposes serrated teeth built for silence — and ambush. Its spine ridges crackle faintly as it moves, disturbing the water only in whispers.
Around it, the jungle is still. No birdsong, no frogs. Even the insects avoid this stretch of mire. The trees here do not grow—they shudder.
Some call it a legend.
Some say it’s the last of a species thought dead before fire met stone.
But the villagers know better.
They leave offerings on the water’s edge.
And they never stay after dark.
The Mireborn Terror
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop.
In the darkest heart of the jungle swamp, where roots strangle the light and the air hangs with breathless decay, something stirs beneath the black water — ancient, unblinking, eternal.
The Mireborn Terror emerges slowly, its obsidian-scaled body slick with algae and age. Yellow reptilian eyes glow from the shadowed shallows, reflecting the last light of a sun long drowned. Its lipless grin exposes serrated teeth built for silence — and ambush. Its spine ridges crackle faintly as it moves, disturbing the water only in whispers.
Around it, the jungle is still. No birdsong, no frogs. Even the insects avoid this stretch of mire. The trees here do not grow—they shudder.
Some call it a legend.
Some say it’s the last of a species thought dead before fire met stone.
But the villagers know better.
They leave offerings on the water’s edge.
And they never stay after dark.