King of Cups howled wordlessly, using his power, and the phantom limbs started emerging from every surface around us.

My back arched as one thrust itself free from my chest.  A tentacle.

A claw emerged from the ground by my neck.

Every surface in sight, marked with the ebon-black limbs, faces, even the upper bodies of indistinct lifeforms.  Some humanoid, some very not.  From horizon to horizon, the landscape turned dark as phantom images peppered it, growing denser with every passing second.

Wildbow, Worm, 29.2