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((Triple Wednesday -- Page 1 of 3))
Another cough, and the black increased yet again. This time, however, it was different. This time, it didn’t splatter anywhere. Instead, it stopped halfway down the length of his arm and retracted.

Then it moved. On its own. Like some sort of tentacle. It stirred and swirled and soon began to coat Ettol’s entire body.

Parson could only watch with wide eyes. The way the black goop moved... he’d seen the like before. It was similar to that of those monsters in the Undercrust. Perhaps that was mere coincidence, but he doubted it.

However, as the coating completed, he noticed the blackness begin to shift and change. Where before it had been a liquid-like substance, it now seemed sharper and thinner.

Like a living shadow, perhaps.

That, he had most definitely never seen before, and he had no idea what to make of it, either. It was difficult to tell if the goo itself had transformed into the shadow or if the shadow had simply appeared on its own and encapsulated the goo.

Ettol’s pained groans grew quieted, muted behind the coating, and his movements became more rigid and slow, until at length, the man stopped moving altogether.

Parson thought it was done, until the black coating began to change again, this time cracking faintly and turning deeply gray.

Stone, Parson realized, though that did little to alleviate his confusion.

The sludge that had splattered near his feet earlier was still black, he noticed. And it was still moving, too--weakly, perhaps, but moving, nonetheless. It oozed out in all direction, then contracted again into a trembling, uneven lump before repeating the process.

‘A pulse, perhaps,’ said Overra.

‘Hmm?’

‘Capture that sludge so that we might have it examined later,’ she told him.

Parson knew of a few eager men who would be most interested in doing so. He was not one of them himself, however. ‘Capture it, how? I’m not a materializer, and I don’t exactly have a glass jar on me.’

‘If it is the same material which comprises worms, then such a small amount should be safe enough for you to touch.’

‘If.’

‘Yes. If.’

‘I can also imagine it trying to consume me the way that it consumed him.’

‘That is very unlikely.’

‘What makes you sound so confident?’

‘Look at it. It is hardly moving. It seems to me that it is struggling even to retain its shape.’

‘I’m content to let it keep struggling,’ said Parson. ‘I can’t believe you want me to touch it.’

‘Where is your courage?’

‘Where is your common sense?’

‘Hmph. Fine. Do what you will.’

Parson pulled his eyes away from the small sludge pile to look at Ettol--or what remained of him, anyway.

A stone statue.

How strange.