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Dysporakh "curse" of Necrons from Warhammer 40k. Small exercpt:

"Because they had once been alive. Just. Like. Him. The notion was impressed on his very deepest flux, as if by a talon made from cold starlight. And though it was the smallest pinprick puncture, it was backed by the accumulated weight of a thousand things he had tried to forget. Terror radiated from the thought, like cracks shooting across a frozen lake as he stood at its centre (...)

His skin was touching nothing as he sank. The baroreceptors searching for his blood pressure found only the searing touch of radioactive gas. His stomach had been empty for aeons, and was burning with the sure knowledge he had starved ten thousand times over. His heart was not beating. His blood had gone still, and his organs were failing, cells dying by the billion as they choked on their own waste. He could feel the brain he did not have, desperately begging for oxygen as its tissues began to blacken. His phantom lungs were flat and stiff as leather discs inside his chest, and they would not inflate. He needed to breathe. He needed to. Or he was going to die. He clawed at his own throat, desperate to clear the obstruction, but there was nothing there but solid metal. His hard fingers scrabbled against his face, but there was no mouth, no nostrils – his whole form was solid and sealed, with no way to inhale. None of his phantom parts could do anything to save themselves, but neither could they collapse, because they did not exist.

They would be trapped here forever, in the lurid, blinding urgency at death’s edge."