In a shattered grayscale city bleeding into static and dust, the wraith stood defiant, its hollow gaze fixed outward, unmoved by the entropy swirling around it in thick, glitching waves—each pixelated gust a reminder that decay was more than mere metaphor, that ruin was the last true architecture, and that even spectral figures, caught between flickering absence and bleak existence, were ultimately helpless against the merciless gravity of oblivion.
