Unholy

They are here. Everyone leaves. Although they are just passing by, no one wants to risk to see them. They say that, if you see them, the blood freezes in you veins from fear, from horror. They are the unholy army, passing through this world, on their way to an eternal war, an eternal fight between good and evil. The mist is what follows them. Mist that takes those brave or foolish enough to look, takes wit them, makes them part of that army. I must run now. They saw me. The trees are closing in on me. I must run.

(pic and description were originally posted on my old account)