In the center of Rakmogak, mother earth has spit out an artifact of fabled importance. Before you looms a stony statue of depraved, brooding aura. It is graven in the image of a beast of a man, standing savagely invincible, mandibles outgrabed. Under one arm splatter the remains of a kill mutilated beyond recognition. In the other accoutres a fearsome parody of a glove, furnished with vile blades designed to kill rather than to protect the wielder.

The statue is entirely stained with jungle filth with earthen muck seeping in its cracks. The rust of primeval blood trickles in static patterns alongside the scratches of desperate creatures from beyond the gaze of the sun. At either side flank the ruined remains of other anthropogenic statues of indeterminate form. They have been submitting to Kalmogal's might for centuries. The gods must have deemed these figures of lesser importance, lest they would not be reduced to rubble.

If there is a hell, Kalmogal has slain its master and reigns evermore with inimitable perversity, this mere ornament has resurfaced from the depths of the blackness as a testament of his postmortem triumph.