Zdzisław Beksinski style, oil painting, grotesque horror surrealism—A towering, faceless robed figure looms before a vast cavernous maw, its entrance framed by eroded, bone- like spires that twist unnaturally toward the suffocating ochre sky. The figure’s tattered robes, woven from shadows and sinew, billow as if caught in an unseen current, its presence merging with the decayed ruins lining the pathway. Flickering torches cast a sickly, greenish luminescence upon the fractured stone, their feeble glow barely illuminating the abyss beyond. At the entrance, an immense tarantula, its carapace glistening with an oil- slick sheen, crouches in grotesque stillness, its multiple black eyes reflecting the distorted shapes of the crumbling archways behind it. The cave walls pulsate with sinewy, petrified flesh, cryptic sigils carved into the organic stone bleeding an ink- like substance that vanishes into the darkness. The ground, cracked and brittle, exudes tendrils of thick, mist- like decay, curling around remnants of skeletal structures barely distinguishable from the cavern itself. In the distance, skeletal bridges stretch into an endless void, their warped, flesh- fused railings crumbling with each passing moment. Silence hangs heavy in the air, an oppressive weight pressing upon the landscape, as if the very world is suffocating beneath the burden of its own forgotten horrors