When a person dies, their soul is judged. 

The rightous and kind are accepted into our fathers loving embrace, to live in emerald fields free of their mortal woes. I do not pretend to know the implications of what truly makes a soul worthy, for I have seen many who I deemed worthy of Heavens respite, and found them at the mercy of the mirrored hell of Limbo. Truly this level, on my part I digress, is the most alienating and despair enducing to the damned. Like through a shattered mirror, it is a hellish reflection of our own world, the sky dominated by an enourmous red sun, filming the land with crimson light that suffocates the eye. Geologically, the landscape is the same as our world. Cities, forests, towns, and otherwise located in the same space, but the similarities end there. Every piece of land, every building and natural formation is either warped or crumbling in this place, as if the apocolypse had already occurred.

It is here that the damned first go, later filtering into the deeper levels after their gradual degradation of their souls in the first level. Naked and still cognizant, their confusion and shock are short lived, for the denizens who have not descended to the lower levels hunger for the humanity they devalued in life. It is speculated that most newly damned only last at most, an hour before they are absorbed by the teeming masses of hollowed ferals. The very atmosphere is tainted, draining those who dwell in it of their sanity and essence, compelling them to hunt any other fresh souls who wind up there. The gradual degredation results in the loss of most extremities: eyes, nose, genitals, and the outer epidermis. Skeletal and frail appearances are enough to deceive most Squires, who are among many found after our treks through the circle. At only three fourths the strength of a normal healthy man or woman, their strength is not counted by their physical abilities...

... It is their numbers.

Before humans aquired the blessing of faith, the curse of damnation has been ever present. Hundreds, thousands, millions of years of mankinds lost souls filtering into the first level has made one essential truth to all Paladins who venture through there: 

If you see a Husk, run. Because there is never just one.

Each denizen of Limbo imitates a pack mentality, with Alphas leading the groups in pursuit of fresh feeding. Most Alphas are not much more physically impressive than their sunken kin, however it is their telepathic capabilities that set them aside. Retaining a spark of intelligence, the Alpha has the ability to guide their more feral and simple minded kind, flanking and overwhelming prey with themselves set at the middle, first to feed.

Regardless, young acolytes still find the ignorance to disregard this threat, so I'll leave you with the above image taken by our surveillance Cherubmim, of the last moments of one of our valient units. Dated years ago when the holy crusade first began, the squad below was outfitted with the then Mark ll Holy plate power suits, which stand at 9 feet tall. Inspection of the area hours later found each power suit face down on the ground, the weaker back plates removed by frenzied claws. Bits of bone and tooth embedded in the areas around the openings told the short story of a great sea of teeth and claw. Swirling around our compatriot before tearing them from their armor, the terrified knight was left several feet away, a sunken and drained shadow of their former selves, and their souls lost forever.

Since these incidents, the Holy Plates have been upgraded to provide more balanced armor, and increased mobility.

However, yearly mortality rates in Limbo have only decreased by 31%..."

- Seneschal Felix