Bill twisted from side to side yet was unable to move, feeling as if his body, mind and soul had all just been set on fire and extinguished at the last second by an army of brave Lego firefighters wielding ice picks. There was no sign of any flames—or anything else recognizable for that matter—but his ears were ringing like crazy, thoughts wandering aimless and erratic, and each ragged, gasping breath carried heavy notes of burning plastic. Judging by the horrific screams echoing in his brain, it seemed that none of the tiny men were likely to survive their daring rescue attempt.

Without warning, an oppressive silence descended. Although he was thankful that the demonic howling had ended, he felt weirdly conflicted. All that remained of his selfless little saviors was the foul odor of their vaporized synthetic corpses that was smeared across the insides of his lungs. It made him sad. But thanks to their sacrifice, he was still alive to remember the bewildering experience. Wait… what am I even thinking right now?

The surroundings slowly came into focus, hazy and muted, everything distorted by an opaque dome that reminded him of being inside a soapy water bubble. A booming crash reverberated as something collided against the exterior of the seemingly pliant enclosure, revealing it to be surprisingly rigid. Hairline fissures appeared at what he assumed to be the point of impact, chipping away at its integrity, spreading at an alarming pace like a pane of bulletproof glass under concentrated small arms fire.

The fissures began to mend before his eyes, closing slowly of their own accord, but the process was unable to match the pace of whatever was out there hammering on the wall.

Unsure where he was, sporadic sparks of searing pain making him numb and delirious, Bill tried to stand, only to discover that he lacked the limbs required to do so. Huh? Confused, he watched as a collage of blurry images depicting his most recent memories appeared, displayed on the surface of the barrier as if someone had hijacked his thoughts and was now projecting them in flipbook format.

With a general idea of what was going on, a part of him wished he would have remained oblivious. Shit! Nero turned into One Punch Man and popped The Blacksmith's head like an infected pimple. What am I doing?! I don't have time to be hiding out in my head, those bumpkins are going to riot! If they haven't already…With a concentrated effort, he wrangled his desire to remain in isolation and focused his attention towards two swirling orbs of light that were embedded in the barrier far above him.

Bill opened his eyes and was instantly blinded to everything but a pile of annoying neon signs that were hanging in his face. Eyes squinted, he focused beyond the glare, studying the first small row of text like a complicated algebra equation. “You have resisted the [Voidscream] debuff… what?” It didn't make any sense. Isn't that the robot noise from the Transformers movies?

Although he had no issue reading the words, and did so several times over with each glowing notification, something was pounding against that strange barrier in his head with such determination that he was having a hard time grasping the meaning behind the text. The last few prompts were especially confusing.

That one was odd, but not overly bothersome. Although he couldn't remember being under the effects of a debuff, it actually went a long way towards explaining his current state of mental imbalance.

Well that definitely wasn't me… probably. Goddammit… I don't even know enough to make a decent guess… Maybe [Voidscream] is some kind of compulsion skill? That wasn't a pleasant thought. If there were enemies out there who could override people's awareness and utilize their skills from a distance, essentially turning them into System-empowered meat drones, how was a person expected to trust anyone?!

This was where Bill began to seriously rethink everything he'd previously assumed. If he was already under the effects of [Voidscream] then why would the system register that he'd avoided being afflicted with it? I guess it could be a stackable debuff?

(C) [Bastion] Lvl 1- This passive Skill erects a mental stronghold, protecting the user's psyche from external threats. Additionally, this Skill provides ongoing protection against undesired attempts to merge your dual personalities. Effects increase with Skill level.>

A disturbing sense of wrongness and foreboding blared like a police siren in the back of Bill's mind, a primal sensation that was hard to explain, yet impossible to ignore. It wasn't his imagination. This was no migraine; his very individuality was under assault. The tiny hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stood on end.

It suddenly felt as if his sanity was encapsulated within a glass bottle that was being kicked across the pavement by a belligerent hobo. That aggressive entity lacked a body, but upon closer study, he realized it had an unmistakable presence. Wild Bill? What are you doing, man? Get a hold of yourself!

A few different scenarios played out in Bill's mind, each equally possible, yet when taking into consideration the exact order the System notices had arrived, one stood out as being the most probable. Wild Bill had taken the initial onslaught. And although he had resisted the first instance of [Voidscream] he had inevitably fallen under its effects and immediately tried to activate a Skill—likely [Soulsurge].

Bill wasn't exactly sure what Wild Bill had hoped to accomplish, they both knew their Skills weren't functioning after all, but he couldn't deny that it might've been an accident, or even an instinctive reaction. Perhaps it was due to Wild Bill's desire to escape the lingering effects of the initial [Voidscream]. The caustic trumpeting was not only painful to endure, but was excessively slow to recede. At the same time, the most likely scenario seemed to be that the second, equally powerful [Voidscream] that had stormed through his mindscape like an audible earthquake just seconds after the first had somehow hijacked his alter ego's sense of self. Or something along those lines.

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How long does it last? Can I snap him out of it somehow?

In either case, with his alter ego reduced to a mindless state of frenzy, Bill's consciousness had been returned to the forefront. Plucked from his mental isolation, he had been immediately subjected to the same corrupting noise and left with no choice but to retreat once more into his mind or risk joining Wild Bill in mindlessness. The next calamitous outburst of [Voidscream] had come uncomfortably close to worming through his haphazardly erected defenses.

He'd managed to endure, but as far as he could tell the only reason he still retained his wits while Wild Bill was left behaving like a savage animal was nothing more than a result of their unique constitution adjusting to the threat just in time to save his ass. Being a Dual-souled entity, it seemed, came with possibilities that he had never even considered. Mental shielding huh…

A relaxing sense of calm settled across Bill's besieged mindscape. Having reached level 5, the eggshell-thin walls of the mental fortress provided by [Bastion] shimmered as they were reinforced. The translucent shielding around his mindscape ballooned outwards, taking on a greenish hue that flared and popped like a bug zapper as Wild Bill's uncontrollable presence once again tried without success to force entry into this, Bill’s final bastion of safety. He sighed in relief when he felt the pounding in his mind ease, reduced to a dull throbbing in his temples, but any appreciation he felt was ruined by an approaching silhouette that trailed an overwhelming stench of death and decay.

It was growing more powerful by the second.

Acting on instinct, Bill tried to back away as he hastily dismissed the remaining notifications, cursing himself for his lack of situational awareness, but quickly discovered that his back was already pressed up against the wall. Literally. Fuck! This just keeps getting better… Fort Alamo's mudbrick barrier prevented any hopes of further retreat. With his vision no longer obscured by flashing yellow screens, the first thing he saw was a pair of cold, dead eyes sunken deeply into bearded, walrus-like features that—although pale and lifeless—were intimately familiar.

How could they not be? He'd taken part in killing this man not two hours past.

“Sl… Slavin' Dave?”

The only response given came in the form of blue light that welled from within those horrid eyes, becoming a faint vapor that seemed to distort reality, blocking Bill’s view of the surroundings as it flickered between ghostly shapes as if at random.

One second, blue fog danced upon the air, solidifying into what appeared to be spectral flames and suddenly it resembled clawed fingers interlocking, casting strange ninjutsu hand signs towards the moon. Thrashing roots brushed against Bill's cheeks, became insubstantial upon contact and then reformed into sucker-laden tentacles which then rapidly shifted once more, forming strange, eel-like creatures that had no eyes of their own, yet possessed far too many mouths. They lunged at Bill's face without hesitation, but regardless of their determination, once more found that their attempts were being rebuffed by a stubborn mental shield.

All the while, the creature that had once been known as Slavin' Dave just stood there, otherwise motionless, content to hover so close that, had the corpse still been breathing, Bill would've undoubtedly felt the humidity on his face. What the fuck is going on?! The sheriff became a zombie?! How? And what's with the lightshow? Shouldn't he be trying to eat my brains? Is he just going to stand there? He wasn't complaining, not at all. It was just a lot to process at once.

Despite missing nearly the entirety of the side of his head and most of the brains it once contained, which inadvertantly caused his nose to sag inwards like a misplaced belly button, the former sheriff seemed oddly content, as if his only worldly desire was to continue caressing Bill's face with those otherworldly light appendages. The entire situation was absurd. It was hard enough to accept that he was face to face with a zombie—a zombie!—but formulating a plan on the fly was difficult when this abomination's actions were going against everything he knew of undead behavior.

However, when he considered that his knowledge of zombies was nothing more than modern Earth fantasy, it wasn't all that surprising to discover that all of his favorite authors and directors had gotten some of the details wrong. Clenching and unclenching his fists, Bill began weighing the pros and cons of reaching for the knife that was laying in the mud by his feet. The only thing holding him back was the fear that if he moved, it would cause the former sheriff to take a more hands-on approach.

“You still remain conscious, so I presume that you are the Riftwarden I was tasked to find?” A woman's voice suddenly asked in a mocking whisper that somehow brushed against his taste buds just as much as it did his ears, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere at all. The pungent, metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. “I must admit, Human, you do not look like much, but you do smell divine.”

“What?! I smell like a dying animal left on the side of the road to rot,” Bill wrinkled his nose and replied, unsure how else he was supposed to respond to that disturbing statement, or even who it was that had willfully uttered such an obvious lie. The sheriff's jaw was slack and unmoving, so he probably wasn't the culprit. Unless, of course, he actually was being controlled like a meat-puppet and somehow had the functionality of a Bluetooth speaker.

Without warning, Slavin' Dave's pulsating eyes fell dim. He shuffled several paces to the right, each movement jerky and awkward, as if he was being propped up and guided along by invisible strings. Bill was unsure how to react when the zombie turned again and strutted right past him, limping right through the gate like a guard setting out on a typical nighttime patrol.

For a brief moment, Bill was able to get a clear look at his surroundings, and what he saw nearly sent him into a blind panic. The street was empty and silent. Nero was gone, as were the townsfolk. Neither was there any sign of deputy Collins' or The Blacksmith's remains. If it wasn't for the few oil lanterns that were still casting out their harsh glow through the windows of a few buildings, it would've been a textbook image of a ghost town.

A sound like heavy flags whipping in the wind came from directly above. At the same time, a misshapen shadow appeared on the ground just before a robed figure descended from the sky, gliding on what appeared to be an oversized pair of silver bat wings that glistened under the bright moonlight as if wet.

Nope. No way, dude.

Panic won. Alone, faced with another impossible threat and assuming the worst, Bill scrambled to retrieve The Blacksmith's knife and shrieked in agony when his hip made a horrifying slurp and slid from its socket like the leg of an overcooked rotisserie chicken. Flesh tore, and tendons stretched to the point of snapping like rubber bands. No longer able to stand the pain, he flopped headfirst into the mud where his mutinous hip was immediately—and quite violently—popped right back into the festering socket the moment his knee touched the ground.

Clutching his hip, moaning to hold back the sobs, he never even noticed the winged figure landing until there were small, booted feet on either side of his chest. Before he could react, the hooded being squatted down, pinning both of Bill’s wrists beneath endless folds of heavy purple fabric that enveloped his arms and locked them in place with the subtle technique of a jiu jitsu blackbelt. The first thought that came to mind, for some odd reason, was 'bird bones'.

Despite its nearly-six-foot stature, this creature was surprisingly light. If not for the auto attack robes, he could've easily thrown this thing aside like a wonky frisbee.

“Your wonderous sicknesses, those aromatic diseases… and the suffering… yesss… Such sweet suffering! I want them all. Give them to me, now!" The creature demanded, its eerie whisper deepening into a husky purr filled with unrestrained desire.

Perhaps, Bill decided, Sam Raimi wasn't so far off the mark after all.