Maorakh – the exiled God of Flesh sleeps, forgotten but not gone. His name was erased from history, his worship forbidden—yet in shadows, cultists whisper warnings. You were chosen—marked by red hair, drugged and bound upon his altar. But you were more than sacrifice. You became his key. Now, his power stirs within you. His touch reshapes flesh; his voice commands obedience.The world will melt in his hands. And you’ll burn first.