A constant chorus of mindless, primal screams echoed through the marsh. Even with his fifteen years of travelling the Forsaken Continent, that sound sent a shiver down Redmun's spine. There were other sounds, the shouts of the still sane villagers trying to help, or merely trying to scream their terror, but it was drowned out by that ceaseless miasma of terror.

Then the smell came. The same stench of madness that had come from that dripping root. It came slowly, but didn't stop rising. A chaotic medley of scents, even the sweet ones turned sour. In one breath, the mouth-watering aroma of burnt flesh. In the next, a field of roses. In the next, the sweat of the dying plagued. The thing that made it unbearable, though, that made Redmun want to stop so he could slice out his nose was that it was all the same smell.

They saw the bank, and in a few more moments, crested it, weapons at the ready. The mist had lessened, but they could still see no more than fifty feet away.

Don't stop, the Evil said. They're near. Go and see.

“Find him!” Redmun yelled but could barely be heard over the sounds of the horror being enacted upon the village. Jessa, her face grim and filthy, nodded, and sprinted into the mist. “Who is 'they'?”

Go and see.

Redmun spat. It was useless to even talk to the thing. He dashed between the houses, and out onto the street.

A young woman staggered by, half of her face covered in the bubbling, sizzling ooze, adding her voice to the constant shrieking of the village. She brought her hands up to it to wipe it away, and her hands came back covered too. All Redmun could think to do was stab her. As she did, staring at him, that other half of her face stretched out, mimicking the living side. The woman slid off his spear, dead, but that other half continued its silent screaming.

All about him, the sounds and shadows of the villagers writhed in agony, their flesh consumed by that dripping foulness. He'd seen the aftermath of this once before, but never had he seen it in action. It was worse than he'd imagined.

Frail Redmun. Why do you hesitate? The voice pushed its burning energy into him, demanding to be used, lest Redmun be torn asunder by it. Again, with the pain came that sweetness, that deserving agony. Redmun's mind revolted at the sensation, even as other, smaller parts yearned for cleansing.

Before him, one of the Mayor's brutes flailed in the mud, the continuous rain slapping against the ichor-arm that had consumed his old one. It flailed about him, spreading its deadly contagion to more parts of his body, and everything within reach. The man's eyes begged Redmun, just as surely as the Light begged to be released.

Use it Redmun, the Evil said, as they watched the man being consumed. Put him out of his misery, and ensure our power over your Father's. Isn't that what you want? Isn't that what Rose made you for? The question sounded genuine. It was just mocking him.

“Go to hell, Evil.”

But the energy was so bright inside of him, so pure and cleansing and searing. It was agony, and fighting it like this always grated at his mind.

Redmun reached out with his hand, setting it aglow with blazing Light, and reached for the suffering man before him. The man's body gave way under the power of the light-consuming blast almost instantly, disintegrating into ash which disintegrated into nothing.

What was left behind was an insane, mindless imitation of the human body. It flailed just as the man had, but it made no sounds, and its black expressions were an affront to all that was humanity. It had both arms, and one leg and even part of a head.

Redmun tried to stop, to shut away the Light, but it just kept coming. “He's dead, Evil!” Redmun screamed over his agony. “Enough!”

Touch it, it said. Touch it, and I shall be satisfied.

Around him, the village tore itself apart, and he heard it. Behind the living corpse of the Mayor's brute, another villager, consumed from the neck down in the ooze, flailed, his untouched head not even trying to scream. From out of the echoing mist, a little girl ran, screaming her father's name. She ran to the man, tried to help him, tried to hug him. She all but melted in his arms.

Redmun watched it happen, unable to move, bound by the agony crippling his body, and began to sob. He wanted to help these people, and maybe he could, but only by using the Evil's power. That was his curse.

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Screaming his rage, Redmun lunged forward and touched the ichor-man's flailing arm.

The energy coursing through his veins snapped into nothingness at the touch, like two forces nullifying. The limb shattered, the pieces flying apart and then dissolving into the air.

Oblivion, the voice said. Redmun could feel its alien pleasure. He fell to the muddy earth, the ringing in his ears repeated inside his spent mind.

A hand grasped his shoulder. He spun, spear pointing forward, and blessed his slow reactions. “Jessa.” Her eyes were wide, her pupils down to a point, but he was damned glad to see her. She yanked him up, face set with purpose, and they ran through the village.

Buildings were falling, their supports melting into ooze and sliding onto the mud like tides against the sand. Most of the villagers were now gone, the black abominations born in their place. They were all shapes and sizes, as if trying to become their former hosts, but they couldn't figure out how. With no-one alive to scream, the village became silent. Potsdoor was dead.

How had this happened so fast? What the hell had his father unleashed, to create something like this? All these people dead, and all he could do was put a few of them down. What good was he?

Jessa led him through the streets, the air silent save for the slaps of ooze against mud, and the squelch of their boots. They ran for the stables at the edge of town, and hoped that their horses might still be safe. With all of the shapes which faded in and out of the fog, all of the homes still standing or imminently falling, and all the silent shapes raging all about them, Redmun almost didn't notice the motionless silhouette before them.

“Stop!” He tugged the hand Jessa held, nearly tripping them both in the thick mud. The thing before them in the fog had the same shifting, changing silhouette as the others, but the ooze did not drip. From where they stood, it looked like a cloaked figure, whose hands fumbled all about under the cloth.

There they are.

Redmun tensed at the thing's voice. It sounded excited. That couldn't be good. Redmun glanced about his surrounding, taking stock of their situation. “Where's your axe?” he asked Jessa.

“One of them touched it, and the Banshee's claw doesn't work for shit against these bastards. Hurts like a bitch, too.” She turned and spat, face mad with fury. “I'm useless here, Redmun. Maybe…” She growled under her breath. “Maybe we should retreat.”

Redmun let out a hollow laugh, and shook his head. “Never heard you say such a thing, Jessa. I don't blame you, but I have to do it,” Redmun said. This is what he'd been waiting for. If he stopped his father, stopped what he'd become, then maybe it could all mean something.

He locked his eyes to the figure, breathing deep and even, and stepped forward.

“Redmun,” Jessa growled, her footsteps following. “You owe me drinks for this.”

Redmun turned, and managed a smirk. “Don't I already?”

Jessa smiled back, and nodded. They moved forward together.

The abomination was a cloak of the chaotic ooze that seemed at once firm and fleeting. While the other lifeless ooze had dropped to the mud and become indistinguishable from it, the thing stood apart from the earth, not even affecting it. It's man-shape was clearer, firmer, and as Redmun circled it, near shaking with fear, he understood why.

The thing was calm, its form clearer, because the man it once was wasn't dead.

A gruff, horribly gaunt face looked down. Redmun's father could have been in his late forties, though how long since the ooze had taken over, and whether he'd aged since, Redmun didn't know. Unlike the others, the ooze covering him wasn't completely black. It seemed to be almost a rainbow, though its oil-like sheen was of the purest midnight. Cream-white, and then banner-red and then sky-blue danced along the edges of the thing, shifting back and forth. Whatever the stuff was, the thing before them was its purest form. As if 'pure' could be applied to that stuff. Then he realized that the man hadn't been consumed by the mass at all, he was wearing it.

“Hello,” the man said with a weak smile.

“Fuck!” Redmun flinched back, shocked to hear him speak. His tone was almost conversational, but in that dreary, half-hearted way, like a widowed wife hiding her pain behind politeness. “Uh, hello,” Redmun replied, a hollow, sinking feeling settling in his chest. This was all so much worse than he'd imagined. How could Rose have not known his father was still alive?

The next question came without thought. “What's your name?”

“Gelstadt. Gelstadt Briandry.” A twitch of pain etched across the man's face. “And you?” Again the smile.

Redmun's eyes flashed to Jessa, unsure. “Redmun.” He paused, wetting his dirt-dry mouth. “And this is Jessamine.” His partner stepped forth, her light feet touching the ground with reverence and care, as she approached the abomination.

“Ah.” Monstrosities shifted behind the man, still reliving their counterparts' last agonies in twisted pantomime. “Good names. Strong names, especially for Possessors.” The smile went away. “Are you here to kill me?”

Whether it was his fear, or his and the Evil's combined wish to have it done with, the words set his heart racing. “Yes, friend Gelstadt. We are.” Redmun raised his spear, and the Light-Evil began pushing forth its power once more in anticipation. The throat was still exposed. A single thrust, and death would be instant.

“I see,” Gelstadt said. “Then, my only friends, I am sorry.”

Now, Frail Redmun. The light flared within him. He sent it down his spear. Strike.

Redmun loathed to obey the thing, but it was right. He planted his feet, and the ichor that Gelstadt wore began to change. Redmun brought the spear forward, thrusting with every muscle he could recruit for the effort towards the throat, straining to contain the light being forced out of his heart. In a flash the Ichor covered Gelstadt's face, a formless mask of coalescing oil. Redmun's spear touched its slick surface. It exploded.