The first wave was not three monsters in a street. It was a flood.
They came down the avenue from the cathedral end, a crowd of them, and the front of the crowd was barely human anymore.
[Consumed Pilgrim — Level 28]
Rotten skin, split lips, fingers worn down to the bone from praying at something long after it stopped answering. Behind them came worse.
[Rotten Devotee — Level 31]
[Hollow Knight — Level 36]
The Devotees' flesh hung off them, black and sagging, hollowed out from the inside. The Hollow Knights wore rusted armor over bodies that should not have been able to stand, and still they fell into ranks as they came, a memory of formation running a corpse.
The raid met them, and the front of the wave came apart wetly under the first exchange.
CRUNCH.
