Star Child (part 8)

Her armies march, implacable, merciless. Scarecrow soldiers of bone and skin. Terrors swoop, cackling, from the skies. Skeletal dragons, claws tipped with razor-metal. And the harvest beetles, gathering the remains to spawn more abominations.
The people fight back with bullets and fire. It’s a losing battle. There are always more monsters, less time. And then time runs out.
She scours the land clean. The beetles bring her tribute, the spoils of war, the flesh of the fallen.
And she feeds. She grows, enormous now, fat with flesh and life and sacrifice.
She is becoming.
Across the world, they march.