No "dirty bomb" could make this war any more putrid than it already looks or feels to the wretched citizens of southern Ukraine.
On their news feeds, this week's metronomic war of misinformation brought threats that an explosive device laden with radioactive material might be the next horror to befall them.
Between air raid sirens, rockets falling out of the night sky and water pipes pumping brown, briny water, the spectre of low-grade atomic weaponry seemed too far removed from their daily struggles to take seriously.
The dismissive response to the Kremlin's sabre-rattling blunted some of the psychological punch Vladimir Putin's henchmen no doubt intended to land.
In the same week, and with the same numbing effect, the war also ticked over into its eighth month.
The lived experience of the 150,000 Ukrainians who remain in the occupied southern port city of Mykolaiv doesn't allow for reflection anyway.
The more pressing concern is the intensity of strikes and counter-offensives still creeping upwards as the arrival of an energy-starved northern winter looms.
Russian forces undeterred by early setbacks persist with nightly bombings
Just last week, a housing block in central Mykolaiv was blown apart in another late-night shelling.
Chunks of concrete and twisted steel remain, a warped monument to that suffering.
"Such wonderful people died," former resident Tetiana tells the ABC.
She'd been watching television in her upstairs apartment when the first Russian missile struck.
At first she ignored the small puffs of concrete dust around her, bothered more by the latest blackout interrupting her evening viewing.
By the time the second bomb landed, seven people around her had been killed, including an 11-year-old boy, who neighbours tried desperately to pluck from the rubble.
"My son turned on the light on his phone and said to me: 'Mum, I can't help him'," she says.
"I was hysterical, I screamed so much, calling out to God."
Another neighbour, a much-loved blind man, likely died in his sleep, though powerful shockwaves had thrown his body metres away from his bed.
Today, shrapnel and glass fragments remain scattered across the playground still being used by kids from neighbouring buildings.
Ukrainians don't hesitate to call this terrorism.
Mykolaiv has been racking up heavy civilian casualties in the eight months of almost nightly strikes — though verifiable and reliable estimates are hard to come by.
It's not that the Russians are mounting any serious threat to re-invade this historic ship-building centre.
They tried that in late February and were repelled in a savage fight about 15 kilometres from the city centre.
The Ukrainians not only halted the Russian advance, but 50 soldiers seeking to storm the place were killed, more than 100 were taken prisoner and 20 of their tanks were captured.
To this day, Ukrainian ground forces celebrate triumph in the Battle for Mykolaiv as pivotal in the south.
But the Russians, undeterred by their failure on the ground, subsequently switched to air assaults instead.
Incoming rocket and artillery bombardment has been recorded on more than 200 days in Mykolaiv, in volleys that can only be described as lethal harassment and intimidation, inflicted more to divide than to conquer.
The region's young, popular, and charismatic wartime leader Vitaliy Kim holds out hope that Ukrainian military successes nearby might soon bring some respite.
"Not 'if' but 'when' Kherson will be occupied, it will be easier for us," he anticipates.
"One of the biggest problems for us is the S-300 missile with a 100-kilometre range. If we can occupy [territory] more than 100km from Kherson, it will be better for the city."
What lies ahead in Kherson
In the absence of any clear military objective, the constant ambush of Mykolaiv begins to make more sense 35 kilometres down the road.
In the city of Kherson, Russian pride and momentum are on the line, in a campaign that could soon give the world a clearer idea who's gaining the upper hand in this war.
It is a crucial strategic port for both sides, where the mighty Dnipro River makes its entry to the Black Sea.
Information control is at near-blackout on the exact situation, but the Russians have unquestionably been driven back inside the annexed city.
It remains the only large metropolitan centre Vladimir Putin's troops have managed to capture and hold anywhere in Ukraine.
Military losses are simply described as "heavy", but are likely to number into the thousands when combining casualties on both sides.
Perhaps in understatement, Moscow's top commander of the war in Ukraine, General Sergei Surovikin, has admitted the Kherson situation is "tense".
Defence Minister Sergei Shoigu has gone further, speaking recently of a "rapidly deteriorating situation" and ordering the "relocation" of tens of thousands of residents to Russian territory.
On the frontline, Ukrainian forces now occupy trenched positions the Russians once built for themselves, only to have since been pushed out by the defenders.
"There is not much left to Kherson. The Russians are fleeing, our boys are moving forward, we are confident only of victory," says one Ukrainian who stands guard at the last checkpoint outside of Kherson.
The tables appear tilted in Ukraine's favour at the height of this pre-winter fighting season, but misinformation cannot be discounted.
Ukraine's military intelligence chief Kyrylo Budanov has suggested the invaders might be lying about troop drawdowns in Kherson in order to lure Ukrainian ground forces in, where they may be struck by an enhanced Russian army presence.
The physical and humanitarian costs of the protracted fight for Kherson are already staggering, and would only escalate in the event of a doomsday attack on the Kakhovka Dam upstream of the city.
Apart from a devastating torrent of flooding below the hydro storage, Budanov has warned any move to blow up it up would "destroy the possibility of the existence of the Zaporzhzhia nuclear power plant", which relies on supplies for cooling its reactors.
In the villages around Kherson, the 'stench' of invaders remains
Prized and savoured as it would be, the fall of Kherson would place heavy burdens on Volodymyr Zelenskyy's central government and its allies to make the city function once again.
So far most of the destruction has been caused by Ukrainian forces trying to retake the city, rather than the initial Russian occupation.
But assuming Kyiv's forces can get in to assess the bill, they expect damage to bridges, as well as communications, power and water infrastructure, will be immense.
Yet for those in the smaller communities within the Kherson oblast, there are already some examples of post-invasion resilience in action.
In Arkhanhelske, to the north of Kherson city, Viktoria is picking up the pieces of her family home, after it was used as a Russian army squat when Putin's troops laid waste to the village.
"They left behind a stench and dirt," she says, surveying the damage
Everything can be fixed, down to the fridge pocked by bullet holes from rounds deliberately fired into it.
The lingering memories of the invaders' conduct, who are rumoured to have killed those who would not meet their demands for alcohol, will take longer to erase.
"They wanted vodka, and they said they could kill or take [things] away for vodka," she recalls.
"In the nearby villages, they said that women and children were raped.
"They shot my colleague and her husband. It is still unclear why — whether they wanted vodka or something else."
Wearing a shirt emblazoned with the words "I Am Ukraine", Viktoria contemplates the daunting task ahead.
"I was born in Ukraine. I am a sincere Ukrainian. My parents are Ukrainian. This is my Ukrainian land," she says.
To prevail, the Kherson region will draw on much more of that sentiment before this war is over.
