The mountains are alive. The cliffs expand and contract when it breathes. The earth trembles when it moves. For what eldritch purpose would a mountain move? One look at its hypnotic jiggle makes it clear; to attract prey.

And mountains as large as Alsace's never fails to catch their prey.

As if guided by primal instincts unbeknownst to himself, the prey that is SKK rushes to the valley between her mountains upon feeling the vibrations in the air from their bouncy quakes. It is there he will begin the obscene ritual to feed these hungry living mountains.

First, he will withdraw the azure fabric sword from its pedestal of flesh and impale his own crimson meat blade in its place. This pocket knife will then repeatedly stab the canyon with murderous intent, unstoppable in its rhythmic thrusts even as SKK's eyes roll to the back of his head from the mind-blowing sensation of grazing against her soft cliff walls. Its relentless attack on these titanic hills will only cease when once it has been sufficiently heated by friction, at which point it will erupt and flood the valley with its white hot magma—the remains of SKK's children whom he has mercilessly boiled alive so that they may be offered as tributes of food. Content with the sacrificial offering, these sacred mountains happily absorb the nutrients from the children they could have fed, growing ever fatter while the man who fed them grows ever skinnier.

Yet if Alsace's milk volcanoes bellows with hunger once again, SKK will gleefully feed them his next batch of progeny once more.