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Spotify 👽

Razihel / Kordhell / Fkbambam - Too Hell and Back

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https://songwhip.com/yvetzal/calamity
https://open.spotify.com/track/2wmFehkDd7qd2vsdc6TiC5?si=a7c45a2847eb4fee

Calamity

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Spotify track: https://open.spotify.com/album/0WfBCkqIALKN7HzUPgMIdn

VØJ - Catastrophe

A MILLION WAYS TO MURDER

ZEP TEPI

ENDLESS

STRIKE (ft. ACXD PLAYA) [OUT ON ALL PLATFORMS]

BODIEV – Фантом 2022

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Spotify track: https://open.spotify.com/album/4WjXuV20O7EcvpjA5hAdqk

VØJ & TRVNSPORTER - Destination

CURSEDEVIL, HIDEOUS MORBID - BLEEDING

Still to Kill

Still To Kill

IT'S TIME TO RELAPSE
Listen to OVERDO$E https://soundcloud.com/pharmasix/overdoe

Follow me on ig https://www.instagram.com/pharmasix/
Cover by https://www.instagram.com/sqdlygraph/

$potify

OVERDO$E 2 - RELAP$E

Night Club - Tenda

Unknown

Well holy hell Andre it's mushroom-spaceship bananza or maybe it's just a banana OOORRR MAYBE a bandana! :) enjoy crew!
Hahah I might of taken it too far with the spaceship scene but I just couldn't get enough :)

(●'◡'●)
Stream / download / buy ➜
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https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
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https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
ᓚᘏᗢ


The Story ➜
The first time the stars breathed, Kiera thought the station’s windows were fogging from the inside. A ribbed pattern shimmered over the night—fine, parallel lines radiating outward, folding and unfolding like the underside of some celestial creature. Then the pattern vanished and the sky returned to the ordinary cold scattering of points.

Kiera held still, counting. Three seconds. Five. Eight.

The pattern returned, faint but certain: silver lamellae sliding across the constellations, as if the dark itself wore gills.

She killed the cabin lights of the Kite of Radials and let her eyes adjust. The ship—a grafted thing of bone-white ribs and black ceramic tissue—hung docked on Harbor Nine like a seed caught in a spiderweb. In the dim, the cockpit felt more grown than built: vein trails in the console resin, organ-glass curled around the navigation core, the slow pulse of the hull’s self-healing membranes.

“Show me the sky raw,” she said.

The glass peeled back its filters. Deep field flooded in, along with the faint photonic noise the station usually scrubbed. There—again—the slow, tidal sweep of lines, not atmosphere, not lensing, not a glitch. It was a rhythm. A breath.

Kiera’s left hand eased toward the lamina compass she wore on a cord around her throat. It was an old, illegal thing: a coin of frost-glass with a thin gold filament threading inside it like a living maze. At first breath the filament trembled; at the second it traced a curve to starboard. By the third, it formed an arc that settled toward a patch of nothing near the Mirror Belt.

“Coordinates,” she whispered, and the Kite woke by degrees—panels unfurling, thrusters whispering, marrow engines tasting vacuum.

Three months earlier, a courier had handed her a cloth-wrapped bundle with no name. Inside: the lamina compass and a single line of handwriting, shaped like a sigh.

Find where the stars learn to breathe.

Kiera had laughed then, because she had spent years mapping lies dressed as mysteries. Contracts with extraction fleets taught her that most wonders hid pipes and price tags. But now, with the compass thrumming and the windows showing parallel ridges slipping over starfields, the old skepticism felt thin and brittle. This wasn’t a trick. The sky had gills.

She undocked without asking permission. Harbor Nine came from a culture that never said no if you didn’t ask first, and Kiera had long since learned to protect that balance.

The Kite drifted, then glided, then became a line spreading away from the station into the black.

Continues on the website.


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ZEP TEPI

KORDHELL

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