Skyfall landed rump-first in the sludge with a resounding splat, the pooling ooze eagerly swallowing and climbing over her limbs without a hint of hesitation. Even as she looked back up at her assailant, the weight of the dense muck settled around her, the slow gurgling filling the trench failing to drown out a mocking voice.

“Did you really think that we could abide by your kind, spy?”

Departing hoof steps were soon lost in the oppressive slop of the morass, leaving Skyfall trapped in a struggle not against the cruel will of another, but the dispassionate press of cold ooze slowly but surely burying a pony alive.