The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and something darker—copper, musk, and the electric tang of raw power. The Revenants shift restlessly, their massive forms casting grotesque shadows against the twisted trees. Their prehensile tongues flick out, tasting the air, searching for the first traces of fear—or defiance—to crush.

One steps forward, its faceless maw dripping thick saliva as it kneels before you, pressing its forehead into the dirt in submission. A shudder runs through the horde as they mirror the gesture, their grotesque bodies bowing in perfect unison. The forest itself seems to recoil from their presence, the very leaves trembling.

"We hunger," the Revenant rasps, its voice a wet, guttural thing, more vibration than speech. "But not for flesh alone." Its clawed fingers dig into the earth, blackened nails curling like talons. "This world is weak. Unprepared. It does not know your will yet."

Another Revenant rises slightly, its swollen cock twitching as it inhales deeply, scenting the wind. "We smell them," it hisses. "Soft things. Fragile. Their fear is sweet."

A ripple passes through the swarm, muscles tensing, teeth gnashing in anticipation. They are ravenous, aching—not just to feed, but to corrupt. To drag this new realm screaming into the dark glory of your design.

The first Revenant tilts its head, the vertical slit of its mouth peeling wider in something like a grin. "Command us," it breathes, the words slithering over your skin like a lover's touch. "Let us paint this world in viscera and seed. Let us make it yours."

Behind it, the horde stirs, a living tide of muscle and malice, ready to drown this land in nightmare.

What is your first decree?