Necropolis Jelly!

[I]
Ooze of the hollow, breathe in the rot,
Born of the marrow the living forgot,
Crawl through the cracks where the cold dead sleep,
Bind us in silence the tunnels keep.
By bone and bile, by crypt and grime,
We kneel to the pulse of the graveslime.

[1]
Beneath the spires where the dead are crowned,
A second city coils underground,
Catacomb veins in endless sprawl,
Whispers drip from the coffin walls.
Lanterns flicker with corpse-light hue,
Guiding the damned through passages skewed,
Rust-eaten gates and marrow-stone streets,
Where echoes crawl and the darkness breathes.
Every step sinks in dust and decay,
A maze where the lost are led astray,
The necropolis sleeps up high in pride,
While rot-born kingdoms stir inside.

In the cold deep dark where the graves breathe slow,

Feel the pull of the undertow,

Silken chill in a binding glide,

Lost in the depths where the dead reside.

They wrap like a dream you can’t escape,

Soft as death in a shifting shape,

Give in close, let the shadows claim—

Graveslime touch will unmake your name.

[2] They slither in silence, they seep through bone,
No single body, no fixed throne,
Gelid monarchs of burial tide,
In every grave their fragments hide.
Eyes like bubbles that rise then burst,
Sensing the living, hunting their thirst,
They feast on memory, marrow, and name,
Leaving behind just hollow remains.
They gather in pools where the coffins crack,
A thousand forms that merge and stack,
A crown of ooze in the blackened deep,
Where graveslimes rule and never sleep.

In the cold deep dark where the graves breathe slow,

Feel the pull of the undertow,

Silken chill in a binding glide,

Lost in the depths where the dead reside.

They wrap like a dream you can’t escape,

Soft as death in a shifting shape,

Give in close, let the shadows claim—

Graveslime touch will unmake your name.

[B] Forged in the ages where curses bled,
From alchemists feeding the restless dead,
Failed to bind what they sought to command,
So rot took shape by its own demand.
Grave-dust mixed with forbidden art,
Soul-fragments torn & set apart,
What once was many became as one,
An endless hunger never undone.
Now every burial feeds their birth,
A growing god beneath the earth.

[3] They mimic the voices of those long gone,
Calling the living to wander on,
Shifting their mass to blade or wall,
A creeping tide that engulfs it all.
Acidic touch that melts through steel,
Regenerates wounds no blade can seal,
They split, reform, adapt, evolve,
A living riddle none can solve.
Through cracks no shadow could ever pass,
They flow like breath through shattered glass,
Absorbing strength from death’s embrace,
Each fallen soul adds to their mass.

[O]To claim the slime, you must descend,
With bone-lantern light and will to bend,
Offer a relic, a name, a piece,
A memory strong it cannot release.
Bind it in sigils etched in decay,
Let it consume but not betray,
Speak not in fear, but firm command,
And it may coil around your hand.
Raise it on marrow, teach it your wil