The Rip
J.J.F. MUSGRAVEprimordial demonsdemons vs angels warelemental godselementals mythology
The gym reeked of sweat, glue, and aerosol paint. Heat pooled beneath the rafters and refused to leave; the wheezing fans only pushed it around like a bad smell. Streamers hung in arterial swags—deep reds, bruised browns, oily blacks—dripping from beams as if they’d grown there, pulsing on their own. Jasmine crouched over a row of fake headstones, a slash of grey on her cheek where she’d absently wiped at sweat with paint still wet on her fingers. The names were jokes, inside references and petty digs—HERE LIES MATHS, R.I.P. CURFEW, TRAVIS’S BRAIN (ABSENT)—but every time she wrote R.I.P. her stomach pinched. She kept seeing the letters scrawled in the sand, perfect and wrong, with no footpri
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