The Afflicted

This is a private roleplay between me and ToErrIsInhuman. Feel free to read along but there won't be a background/roleplay explanation in here since we both already discussed it together.

So please do not attempt to join this roleplay out of nowhere.

It was the stench that jarred the dark haired man to his sense. Upon reflection, it wasn't a horrible scent. Merely it was the scent of stagnant air. A place that had been devoid of activity for at least a few years, and now everything had been stirred up. At the moment, that didn't really matter. The stench may have awoken him, but it was a throbbing pain that greeted him good morning.

"Shit..." He cursed quietly.
He shook his head, which only made it worse. The man's hazel eyes opened slowly, the only shaft of light in the room stabbing him directly in the retina. The back of his head felt... odd. Sticky was the word. He tried to reach around to feel his throbbing skull, but for some reason was unable to move his arms. Shaking his head again, he looked down at him.

He was tied to a wooden chair. The kind you'd see at someone's dinner table years ago. At least, his wrists were. What the hell? He pulled against the ropes, they crackled a bit, but held firm. His legs were shoddily tied together at the ankles, as well. Obviously someone hadn't been a very good boy scout.

He tried to think back to where he'd been before this. He had come upon an old house, and was checking it out more out of habit than hope of finding anything useful. That was it. Next thing he knew, he was here. Obviously someone had battered his skull. Could probably thank a concussion for the memory loss. Damn it all. The chair wasn't going to break, he knew that. This wasn't an action movie, and that was solid hardwood.

The rope was complete shit though. Rough and frayed, his wrists were already getting raw from exposure to it. Either he'd been captured by some really dumb scavengers, or The Afflicted. He didn't much like the idea of the latter, but considering he hadn't just been killed or mugged, it seemed more likely. Fortunately for him, they didn't seem the smart kind. Without a leader, unorganized. Still dangerous however, especially if they still had these kind of motor skills.

He looked around the room. It was definitely the old house. The room was damn near dark, save for the morning sunshine stabbing through the boarded windows. It seemed to be a sitting room. Nearly everything was covered in a fine layer of dust, and it filtered lazily through the air before him. Illuminated by that single, obnoxious shaft of light. There was a couch off to his left, a bit tattered but overall nice looking.

There was also an old recliner, and a stone-faced fireplace at the far end. Lamps and other various homey things were organized about the room, old shelves still holding the knick-knacks of the former occupants. Suddenly, another large shaft of light filled the room. He blinked, turning his head to see. A door had swung open to his left.

"Oh, Harold. Our guest is awake." A voice croaked. It was horribly degraded. He could see the silhouette of what looked like a woman. Short, bent, and giving off the overall look of an elderly woman. He couldn't see her features, but that voice was all he needed. It was common for polyps to form on the vocal cords of the Afflicted. Her voice sounded like it was being squeezed out of her with great difficulty. Raspy, low. Her breaths were loud and ragged. The sound of her violently sucked air in through her mouth was sickening.

"About time. I was getting hungry." Came another strained voice, this one male. He assumed that. They both sounded indistinguishable from one another, so much had the quality of their voice degraded. The figure shuffled slowly into the room, dragging one leg along behind her as she did so. Her arm lifted, and she fumbled about. The man cursed as light flooded his eyes. She had flipped a switch, turning on the old lamps in the room.

"Jesus Christ, lady. Turn the lights back off, would you?"
He asked, his voice booming compared to their own. He wasn't just being rude. Frankly, he had been better off without seeing her face. It was that of an elderly woman. Her face was covered in sores, some of them oozing a clear fluid. Her lips were peeled back, her yellowing and decaying teeth displayed for all to see. Her milky eyes were wide, pupils dilating wildly. This woman had been infected for a long time, possibly since the beginning of the outbreak.

"Don't worry about a thing, son." She spoke slowly, with great effort. "You'll be joining us soon for supper."
"Can't wait. I'm starving." Came the other again. An elderly man had shuffled into the room. Aside from looking a tad more mobile, he wasn't any better off than the old lady.

His clothes were ragged and washed, the same as her's. His lips thankfully could close between words, preventing the man from suffering the sight of his teeth. His face was just as disfigured however, pulsating boils and various lesions decorating his sagging skin. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, his old hands shaky and covered in the same thing.

"Oh Harold. You're always starving." Debra replied, shuffling closer to the restrained man. He wished she wouldn't Now he could smell her putrid breath.

"We haven't eaten in ages, Debra." Harold replied. The man noticed the elder male was holding a steak knife in one hand, as he slowly came closer. It was covered in dried blood, and several layers of it at that. The restrained man raised an eyebrow, a tad incredulous at this point. Honestly, he'd seen a lot of shit. This had to take the cake in the weird shit category, however. He tested the ropes on his wrist again, ignoring the two for the moment. Honestly, he was scared shitless. Giving into it right now wouldn't do him any good.

"Our guest is restless, Debra." Harold said, stepped forward and offering her the knife.
"Goodness, we best get him ready for supper then." Debra replied, taking the knife. He pulled at the ropes, drawing blood from his wrists as he pulled at the frayed and decayed bindings.

"Give me a god damn break!" He cursed. He did that a lot, he thought. Then he wondered how he was thinking any of this at all. He struggled again, the ropes slowly beginning to pull apart as he forced his hands up and away from the arms of the chair. The old woman brought the knife up suddenly, moving much faster than she had before. The tip caught the light of the lamps, glinting in his eyes again. Damn it, that was pissing him off! She brought the knife up to his cheek. He yelled in fury and panic, pulling harder at the bindings. He felt the metal bite into his cheek. Searing pain was followed by the warmth of his own blood as she drew it across his right cheek.

"Hurry up, woman. I need me a slice!" Harold urged. Neither seemed to notice he was slowly pulling free of his bindings, fueled by pure adrenaline. With a resounding snap, the frayed ropes pulled apart, even as the knife was pulled through his flesh...

”Did you hear that?”

Two eyes opened, staring up to the ceiling created by the forest above them. Some cracks of the sky could be spotted here and there, but they were still protected in the shadow of the forest. ”No, what are you talking about?” She sat up and tried to brush out the small twigs and dust from the short dirty blond hair, “I can only hear the birds.”

“No, not them,” The second woman looked around her. Searching for the sound from earlier. “I’m not sure of what I heard. But I’m certain that there was something… strange.”

“Nah,” The first one just shrugged and glanced around them lazily, “You probably just imagined something… or there could be an animal somewhere near.” She covered her mouth as she yawned, realizing by now that she had dozed off for a few minutes or more. But she wasn’t alarmed by that. She felt secure.

“Ophelia, I’m positive that I heard something!” Mollie was shaking now, if it was because she was angry or scared wasn’t certain. But Ophelia guessed the later because Mollie was rarely angry. So, she just sighed and shook her head before reluctantly standing up. Feeling how her back protested and ached after lying down on the not so comfortable ground their forest provided them.

“Alright, stop with the complaining, will you? I’ll take a look around. See if anything has gotten stuck in the traps or something like that. Perhaps it was dinner knocking on the door?” She laughed at her own joke, Mollie wasn’t laughing. It didn’t concern Ophelia anyway, she just shrugged it off before she took off and started walking down the hill where they had built their camp for the time being. Perhaps it was about time they moved again. She hadn’t seen any suspicious activity yet but you never know.

As she walked downwards she kicked a stone before her, placing her hands in her pockets, casually walking along the small almost invisible path they had trampled up. It was so they wouldn’t accidentally walk right into their own traps. Or well, so Mollie wouldn’t stumble upon one. She wasn’t of so much use, but at least she was good company at times.

Why Ophelia bothered with her? Well, at times she didn’t even know herself. This was a time like this. But at the same time, it wasn’t like she could abandon the girl. They had a history. No, they were not sister. And no Ophelia had never met her before the world fell to pieces, she wouldn’t probably pay much attention to the petit girl if it wasn’t for the fact that they both had ended up at the same place at the same time when everything went straight to hell. Basically, Ophelia’s unit had sent out to the same part of the city were Mollie had been in at the time. How it went? Good at a start, at least that’s how she chooses to remember it. They saved as many as they could, they created a safe haven. At least that was what they thought until it got destroyed, the whole base was crushed to bits. Some escaped, Ophelia and Mollie was two of them. They stayed together as a group and as time went by the group got smaller and smaller until there were only them left. Good memories.

No, she had no idea why she was thinking about this now. It was just depressing. She had already walked halfway around the camp now but she hadn’t seen anything. Nothing had been touched. As she returned to the small path once again she still hadn’t seen anything out of place. No movements in the forest or anything.

She sighed once more before she started to walk upwards again, there was nothing in the forest. Just like she said! But no, Mollie had to insist that she had heard something. At times like this she just wished she was by herself instead. But she would miss having someone to talk to. There wasn’t many of them left by now. At least that was Ophelia’s guess. At times, she felt like Mollie and herself was the last “humans” to walk on earth.

Once she was back up at the camp she sat back down besides Mollie and shrugged, “I didn’t see anything.”


“Oh…” Mollie looked down at her shoes and sunk down a bit, “Perhaps it only was my imagination then…”

Ophelia leaned against the tree that she sometimes for fun imagined being their protector and yawned once more, “Yeah, I told you so.”

His hand wrapped around the old woman's wrist. Roaring in pain and adrenaline, he wrenched her wrist away, twisting it violently with every snap of strength he possessed in his arm. He felt her old bones crack, and she shrieked in a muffled way.

"Debra!" Harold croaked. One might take it for concern for his wife. It would be touching in other circumstances.

With a hard shove, he pushed the crone away from him. She toppled to the floor, and he rocked hard to the side. The chair tipped, toppling to the floor. He grunted at the impact, reaching down and tugging at the knot around his ankles. He felt the chair being picked up. He glanced sideways, up into the awful face of Harold.

He was a wiry old shit. He tipped the chair back up easily, which was no small feat. At six feet of height and one-hundred and forty pounds, he wasn't exactly a feather. Debra still shrieked on the ground, clutching her ruined wrist. Harold had retrieved the knife.

"Now you're just going to have to die, son." Harold croaked. He lifted his legs, forcing the frayed rope with brute force once more. He had made some progress on the lazy knot, and felt it pulled away even as he tried to fend Harold off with his hands. He had to be careful. Their sores were open, and now he had a nice, deep cut on his face.

"I'm pretty fucking done with this shit, Harold!" He roared, his legs pulling free with the snapping of frayed rope. He planted his feet flat on the ground, standing to his full height. He shoved Harold back with his full strength, lifting his boot and delivering the tip directly into the Afflicted's groin. Rather than dropping to his knees, he fell entirely to the ground. Much too old and weak to sustain himself after such an injury.

Debra tried to pull herself to her feet, crying out for her husband. The heel of his boot was delivered directly to her pocked face, bursting some of her sores and busting her open.

"Thanks for the hospitality, you two. But I won't be staying for dinner."
He said, spitting upon her prone form. The two had made a grave error in all of this. They had attempted to prey upon a monster. As he came down from his rush of adrenaline, he felt little in the way of remorse. Perhaps once upon a time, in a better time, he would have. He would have been sickened by the idea of two little old folk being physically beaten.

He felt little but a need to end their misery at this point. He checked around the room. He still had his clothes. The red checkered flannel over his black T-shirt. Both were filthy but they provided decent protection against the chill. Unless it rained. His tattered jeans, and his old hiking boots. He was, however, missing his hiking pack. The sturdy, hefty thing had been loaded down with supplies and his meager selection of offensive tools.

Ignoring their croaking whimpers, he walked out of the living room and into the door they had come from. it was a kitchen. It wasn't quite as dusty as the rest of the place. There had been much more activity in here. The wallpaper and countertops were covered in dried blood. He could make out a repeating mural of veggies in a bowl on the wall paper. It once might have been a quaint little room. Homey, even. Stained meat hooks now hung from the ceiling. Given the congealed pools on the floor under them, it didn't take a genius to assume what had been going on.

The kitchen was bare of any human remains. It looked like they really had run out of food. How troubling for them. He spotted his pack in the corner of the room, besides an old trash can. Some of the contents had been rummaged through and tossed onto the floor. Mostly the canned goods. He guessed The Afflicted had little taste for beans and store-bought chili. After retrieving the cans, he did a quick inventory as he packed it back in. Patting it thankfully, his hand brushed across a name that had been stitched into it long ago. Peter.

Everything was accounted for. Thankfully Afflicted rarely stole. They weren't raiders or thieves, just cannibalistic shells of what they once were. It was the utility machete he drew now from the pack that he needed. Peter walked back into the living room. The two were still attempting to drag themselves up to their feet. There was no hesitation as he crossed the room and wound his arm up. Peter swung downwards, the machete's blade biting into the back of Harold's neck as he attempted to use the chair to stand.

Debra tried to scream. It was an awful sound. He sawed the machete free, swinging again. The Machete bit deep, severing Harold's spine as blood pooled out around the blade. He dropped to the ground, the machete wrenching free. Peter turned to face Debra. Some part of him hated that he had become this. Some part of him deep inside. He ignored it, stepping forward as he raised the machete.

"He's waiting for you, Debra." Peter spoke softly, the machete swinging down.

And there it was, something. Far away? Yeah, probably, it sounded like that. At least she thought so, it sounded like it came somewhere south of them. Probably somewhere closer to civilization or could she even make that statement now? Somewhere outside or close to the forest.

She wasn’t really sure what it was that she had just heard, it was muffled, hard to even detect. But it was all so quiet around them, except the bird somewhere up there closer to the sky, so just a snap of a branch would be easily detected. But this wasn’t a snap, it was a muffled, strange sound. It felt somewhat familiar in a strange way.

Ophelia couldn’t really put her finger on why she felt that way but she could see that Mollie had heard it as well. It was so obvious and sadly Ophelia had to admit, to herself, that perhaps Mollie had been right earlier. By the look of it this was the same sound as before. Not that she could know for sure since she hadn’t heard it the first time and she wouldn’t ask either. Her dignity wouldn’t allow her to do that.

“Did you hear that?” As she whispered the words Mollie was looking around them, searching for something or someone. Scared once again.

“Yeah…” Ophelia was looking around as well, but not like a maniac like Mollie. She wasn’t that alarmed. But perhaps a little. Maybe there was something going on close by? That thought gave her chills, she stood up and continued to scout their surroundings.

“W-What do you think it was?” Mollie was trying to crawl up as well, looking like Bambi on ice. If the situation wasn’t so creepy Ophelia would laugh at it, well not openly but on the inside. It looked funny. But the only thing she did was help her up by reaching out her hand and pulling Mollie off the ground.

“I’m not sure… It sounded like it came from south but heck… we are surrounded by nothing but trees so perhaps I got it wrong.”

Mollie nodded slowly, “Oh okay…”

“But,” Ophelia stopped herself before she could continue thinking over what they should do.

“What?” Mollie approached her, standing closer while still glancing around them.

Ophelia stayed silent for a while before sighing, “I think we should pack or things and move on again. I don’t think we have to hurry but I think it’s better to start moving instead of staying here another night.”

Ophelia could feel the small twitch coming from Mollie, “Oh…”

She looked down at her, too tired to even try to bring forth a smile, “Not looking forward to it?”

“Not really… It’s difficult and tiring. And scary!”

“Yeah, yeah,” She patted the shorter female’s head, “But it will be fine. No problem. But please help me pack our stuff this time. Don’t try the whole ‘I’m tired and sick’ bullshit again.”

Mollie only silently nodded in response, Ophelia could see how Mollie’s lips went pouty for a second. She only laughed silently at it before starting to stuff her sleeping bag down inside her backpack.

"Fuck!" Peter cursed. He had finished searching the splattered cabinets of the old house. He had found little of use, save for a bottle of strong whiskey and a sealed bottle of wine. He saved the wine for later. He didn't care for low grade whiskey much, but it made an excellent substitute for rubbing alcohol. So he had opted to use it rather than his dwindling supply in his first aid kit.

The curse erupted from his mouth as he splashed it over his sliced cheek. It burned like someone had lit a fire inside his mouth. He inhaled sharply and splashed it again, before capping the whiskey and storing it inside his pack. His kit was out, a pad of gauze and tape ready to go. He let it drain a bit, before patting it dry with a piece of tissue. He carefully took the lose flap of flesh and meat, laying it flat as he applied the gauze over it and secured it in place.

He'd have to hope that would be the worst to come of it. He packed everything back up, slinging it all on his back. He found running water in the tap. He was wary, but after a search of the property he found a holding tank in the utility room. He opted to fill some spare water bottles. He would boil it later just to be sure, but was unlikely there would be any viral infection present in it. Holding tanks were mostly safe all over the country, even during the initial outbreak. The water table in most major cities wound up infected, which spelled doom for everyone in packed communities.

Satisfied for the moment, he double checked his supplies and left the place behind. He walked outside into the sunlight, enjoying the fresh air. He wasn't actually sure where he was right now. GPS services had gone down sometime last month. He knew he was in the rural south of the United States, somewhere. He was just heading north. Not that there was any particular thing he expected to find up north. He expected more of the same really. He just traveled for the sake of it. Checking his compass, he turned and began heading north once more.

It would take him off the road and into some woods. Well, he did have his hiking boots on. Why the hell not, he thought. It was good as any other direction.

The worst part of it all was definitely building up the camp and then take everything down to pieces, otherwise living like you were on the run was fine. Sometimes it actually felt relaxing, like you were free. No strings attached to anything. Just settling down and then moving when you felt like it. Well, at least it felt like that until you thought about what could be waiting on you once you got to careless or settled down for too long.

While Mollie was packing down the last items Ophelia was studying their compass, trying to figure out what to do next. She silent looked at the small pointer that showed her in which direction North was while scratching her scalp. They were heading North in hope that they would find something good up there, but just heading right into the forest without knowing if they would be able to exit soon enough did feel like a bad choice. At least now when they were running low on food and water. They would need to scavenge before doing something like that.

On the other hand, they could just head back and try to follow a road that was heading North, they weren't that close to any big cities right now so that should be fine, right? But she couldn't say that for sure either. It was not like they had a map, it was just a guess because they hadn't seen anything when traveling here.

"Where should we go?" Mollie's words pulled Ophelia back to reality, realizing that Mollie was staring at her and probably had been doing for a while.

"I'm not really sure, I'm thinking that we should head back to where we came from, I think that road was Southwest from here," Mollie nodded in agreement, "I think that's our best choice because if we get lost and run out of food and water that would be pretty bad."

"Yeah..." Mollie was still nodding while trying to force a smile, "That sounds good..."

Ophelia patted her shoulder loosely before heading down the small path, from behind she could hear Mollie's footsteps following her closely. They were walking quietly, what were there to talk about? Small talk seemed overestimated by now, they had already talked about their past and since they were together most of the time they couldn't discuss how the day had been. So even though they had each other's company they mostly stayed quiet in each other’s presents.

But suddenly Mollie noticed that she couldn't hear Mollie's steps nor the heavy breathing behind her, so she turned around and saw how Mollie had stopped a few meters away. The girl was staring to the right and Ophelia followed her gaze, wondering what she had seen. Slowly she walked back to Mollie before whispering, "Did you see anything?"

Mollie first nodded and then shook her head, still staring intensely on the same spot, "I'm not sure... I think I saw something or heard something... But I don't know... Perhaps it's just my imagination...?"

It's true that Mollie had an overly active imagination, it had happened many times in the past that Mollie had thought she seen anything and in the end, there had been nothing. But you never knew, it was always a chance that there actually was something there.

Ophelia took a deep breath and nodded, turning her eyes towards Mollie once more before whispering, "Alright, stay here and hide while I check it out."

Mollie nodded and crouched down behind the nearest tree, before she left Mollie by herself Ophelia took off her backpack and left it beside Mollie, "Take care of it." And then she slowly grabbed the knife she always had with her before carefully moving towards the direction where Mollie had seen something.

Peter had always found the woods relaxing. At least, he had before all of this. Truthfully there few things he enjoyed anymore. Even just staying alive was more of a reflex. He did it because he had no desire to die, not because he had anything tying him to this life. There was something different than that here, however. He was apprehensive of this all.

The dirt and bramble crunching beneath his boots. Growth both new and old along and in his path. As he circled around an old bur oak, he couldn't place his finger on it. It seemed to simply be a copse of woods like any other. Yet there was a presence... Yes, that's what it felt like. It seemed as though he wasn't alone, and he didn't think that feeling was due to the chirping of song birds.

That's when he heard the snapping of undergrowth. He came to a hard stop, the world around him suddenly seeming to go silent. He didn't move, didn't even breathe for a moment. His ears strained for any sound at all, as his right hand reached slowly up to the machete on his pack. He couldn't help but think back to his past experiences. He didn't really know what town he was in, but he had passed through one a ways back. It wasn't a big town by any means, but it looked like a decent hub of activity. He was sure it also serviced the rural areas he'd gone through, including the numerous homes he'd passed. Even the one he'd been captured in.

All of it had been abandoned. At the time he thought that wasn't right. The Afflicted sometimes went fully feral, but for the most part they weren't anything as contrite as zombies. They organized, had leaders. What reason would they have had for leaving the town, which surely attracted many with the hope of loot?

His heart leapt in his chest. Something was happening, he was sure. His survival instincts were screaming at him. He grabbed the machete, pulling it free as something sprinted out of the underbrush. He spun, setting his legs and exploding towards the charging figure. It was humanoid, he could make that much out before his forearm caught it in the chest. His charge won out, and he took the thing to the ground.

She did try to move without making any sound, scanning the surrounding after anything out of the ordinary. Anything that moved or tried to hide. Something that could be called a threat. But even though she tried to place her feet’s as lightly as possible she could still hear the tiniest dreadful crunch as she placed her feet’s upon rocks or dead leaves. The only thing she prayed for was that this would be nothing, no one was here, and everything would just be a play of mind once again.

However, she only believed and hoped for that for a short moment before something caught her eye. It was a shadow in the corner of her eye, not the shadow created by trees or rocks, dead things. This was something that moved. She could feel how her heart started racing the moment she noticed the shape, the adrenalin sparked right away. But she knew it was too late the moment she saw it, perhaps if she had seen the thing just a teeny tiny moment sooner so she would get the upper hand this would have ended differently.

But now, even though she did try to react as fast as possible, turning towards the threat in an attempt to fight she knew the moment she saw how the shape charged at her. She knew the moment she saw the size of the attacker that she probably had made a poor choice. She should had tried to dodge the attacker instead. However, it was too late to change her mind now because she could feel how the attacker struck her by the chest as she got knocked down to the ground. The sudden impact forced the air out of her lounges and as she landed she could feel the sharp pain in the back of her head.

This was a stupid idea, she was stupid. She had dropped her knife the moment she had landed onto the ground, she should had held onto it but the impact had been too explosive. For a short while she could only see the world in a sharp white light and once she got her vision back she knew she was somewhat screwed.

It all happened so fast, she tried to grab after her knife that lied somewhere on the ground. Not caring if she found the blade first, she just needed something, some kind of weapon she could use. She did have that gun in its holster, but grabbing after that didn't seem like the best choice at this point. She only had one bullet left and she hadn't found any ammo for a very long time. That bullet needed to be saved, in case she got out of this. You never know.

The first thing she got a hold of was not her knife, but it was good enough, so she grabbed the stone and held it tight as she swung it towards the attackers head.

It wouldn't have been the first time he'd been knocked upside the head by someone pinned underneath him. He picked up the movement out of the corner of his eye, and reactively ducked down. His arm slipped up from their chest to their neck, just in case they tried to bite him. He felt the heavy object fly just barely past the back of his skull.

Moving fast he raised up, taking a risk by pulling his arm away from their throat to grab their wrist. They had swung a rather stout rock at his head. Roughly he pulled their arm back down and around their own throat, leaning into the pin with his machete raised above his head. This was the first time Peter could get a good look at the person beneath him.

It was a woman. That was obvious. He didn't care to check her facial features much beyond that. He scanned her face for signs of rashes, lesions, and pox. Peter then examined her arm, roughly turning it over and scanning her skin. He ignored any sounds of indignation or renewed thrashing as he pried her lips apart with two fingers. He trusted the very real threat of his machete. Not even The Afflicted would let hunger override their human instinct for survival. Her gums were clean, figuratively speaking. As least as much as anyone's were. Not like brushing was a priority these days.

"Who the fuck are you?" He finally spoke, and bluntly at that.
Before they could reply, he shushed them. He hadn't lost the feeling of eyes on his back, and he had just heard something. At least, he thought he had.

"Are there others with you, woman?" He asked, glancing around the clearing. Even as he asked, the reply wouldn't matter much. Every bit of essence of his three years of experience was screaming at him that there was danger nearby.

It was a failure, a big one at that. Just as she could taste the sweet taste of success it was all ripped away from her. The man’s reflexes were too damn fast, he dodged her attack, she could feel the frustration build inside her. But the frustration was mostly just trying to conceal the apparent fear. The feeling of that now was her time to die. But she didn't feel like she was ready to die yet, Mollie still needed her.

As soon as she had gone after his head he grabbed her wrist and pushed it down, she felt trapped. It was hard to breath, but hey at this moment it felt like suffocation was a sweeter death than what could be her fate otherwise.

The next move did surprise her however, suddenly her arm was examined, she couldn't help but look up at her attacker in confusion. But what greeted her didn't make her any wiser. It was not what she had been expecting, thinking that she had gotten caught by one of the Afflicted and this... this person didn't look like one of them. Didn't really act like one of them either.

She was about to question the man her mouth was suddenly forced open, the first thought that came to mind was "disgusting". She could taste the dirt, the filth and yeah terrible things. No, having fingers shoved up her mouth was not something she would want to experience ever again. At the same time, it felt humiliating, being treated like some sort of animal. But she wasn't dumb enough to try anything funny, she could see the blade above her. She knew that she was not in any position to fight back right now. If she did that would probably make everything worse or be the end of her.

So, she let him be until he removed his hand, the first thing in her mind was not trying to reason with the man. The first thing she did was turning her head to the right and spitting, trying to erase the taste from her mind. It didn't work like that sadly. Even after all the hawking and spitting the taste was still ever so clear.

"Who the fuck are you?" She was about to ask him the same thing but just as she opened her mouth the hand was there again as he told her to be quiet by shushing. If this couldn't be more humiliating already.

"Are there others with you, woman?"

"No," it was a reflex. She couldn't tell him about Mollie, she had no idea who this man was. She had no clue if he posed a threat or not, right now he didn't seem that friendly. Ophelia had no hope in Mollie saving her from all of this, she knew that Mollie probably was still hiding behind that tree while keeping her eyes closed and covering her ears with her hands. No, Mollie wasn't about to become the saviour of the day any time soon.

But since the guy had heard her she had probably gotten curious and peeked out from behind the tree, what she had seen had probably just startled her even more. If she'd seen anything. Ophelia couldn't really judge their position from the ground. But as the man apparently searched after Mollie Ophelia took the time to study him closer, even though she couldn't shove her fingers down his throat. But that would've been a sweet revenge. But disgusting.

Peter glowered down at the woman pinned beneath him. She didn't seem to be infected, although he couldn't be fully sure. Not without stripping her down, at least. The thought didn't appeal to him for multiple reasons. The most prominent one in his mind was the desire to not waste any more time with her. They weren't alone here.

He stood up abruptly, letting her breathe properly for the first time in the last thirty seconds. His eye scanned the treeline, giving the woman her first decent look at his face. He certainly wasn't what one would expect a survivor to look like. He looked young. It was obvious from his build that he was a man, but one could mistake his face for that of a teenagers.

"Get out of here." He spoke. His tone was light as well, but carried a sort of authoritarian finality. He continued, "I don't want your life or your supplies. Take your friend behind that bush and run. I think they're coming."

Even as he spoke, he saw the ghost of movement. Shifting shadows in the shadows of the trees. Ever so slightly disguised by the rustling leaves. A light breeze blew through the clearing. The leaves shaking upon the gently wavering boughs. Several figures emerged ahead of him. Some of them clutched thick branches and baseball bats. They were dressed in a variety of clothing, most of it dirty, some of them looking like they'd been washed in a stream.

Some of them sported rashes on their exposed forearms, others were riddled with bumps and sores. At least none of them were leaking. One of them stepped forward. He was a tall fellow, his blonde hair slicked back against his head. He was obviously one of the luckier Afflicted. While he sported a mild rash that looked like it spread up his arm past his sleeve, he was free of other visible mutations. He looked at the scene, and decided to address Peter.

"Hello, stranger. Welcome to our humble little copse." His voice was accented, as one would expect. Otherwise, there was nothing else going on with it. His vocal cords were obviously clear of mutation. What a genetic lottery winner, Peter thought dully. Peter didn't reply, which prompted the Afflicted man to continue.

"Have you come to pay respect to our Seer? Or perhaps seeking the guidance of Renovamen?"

At this, Peter raised an eyebrow. "The Afflicted are starting cults now? Holy shit, that's actually kinda hilarious." Peter gave a dry chuckle, although he didn't crack a smile. The Afflicted man had been standing with a small smile, which now leaked away slowly from the corners of his mouth.

"I see. Another close-minded fool who has yet to have been touched by the transformation." He said.
"Looks like we've got us a disbeliever, Bill. Maybe we should... make him see the light?" One of the other said, his voice cracking in a symptomatic way.

"Perhaps your... idol? Leader? Well, whichever. He should transform your friends into something less fucking horrendous to look at." Peter snapped.

"Really? Are we going to do this?" Bill asked. He shrugged, lifting his bat in both hands. "We aren't non-violent, you know. We've all gotta eat, and Renovamen has touched our palettes with an appreciation for... finer things."

"By all scientific accounts, human flesh is actually quite stringy. Can't you just go hunt a deer instead? I bet that asshole's fetid breath alone could drop it." Peter replied, pointing to one of the more horribly disfigured with his machete.

Bill merely stared at the man before him in utter bemusement. There were at least ten of them, and only one of him. He might get one or two of them pretty bad with that machete, but the odds were heavily in their favor. Was he suicidal? It wouldn't be the first time time someone who hadn't been transformed simply gave up before them.

Peter had already seen several routes to take flight in. What was beyond he couldn't know. He did not care if he died, honestly. He would not, however, lay down to die. He took off, shooting into the trees to the west of him. He heard the shouted order of pursuit, and heard them tearing after him. He assumed the woman had bolted out of there during the conversation. He gave her more time than he should have. What happened to her now was her own damn fault.

The moment the man moved away from her she sat up as fast as possible, looking around her after her knife. The moment she found it she quickly grabbed it before standing up as the man began to speak. She examined the man slowly, letting her eyes travel all the from his head to his feet’s without saying a word. She let him speak, let him say what he wanted. But the moment he mentioned her “friend” she couldn’t help but stiffen, she didn’t glance towards Mollie but that didn’t apparently matter because he had already seen her.

The second thing that he mentioned did take her even more by surprise however, she had been to focused on the man himself because he seemed to be the biggest threat at the moment but now another threat suddenly appeared out of nowhere. At least it felt like nowhere to her.

She noticed the movement in the corner of her eye and glanced over there, feeling how her heart started racing once more as her body grew cold. It had gone a while since she had actually seen one of the Afflicted, since Mollie and she tried to avoid their natural habitats as much as possible. But now there wasn’t even just one of them it was ten. She almost couldn’t believe what she was seeing. But they started to address the man and it all sadly seemed to be true. No, she couldn’t be imagining this, but she did hit her head pretty hard back there…

No, this was true. They had been staying at the same place for too fricking long. This was her fault she should have known. But no, this could be the man’s fault as well. They could have followed him! In reality whose fault it was didn’t matter. She knew that. She shouldn’t be thinking about this right now. She should be thinking about what to do. But her mind was spinning with all the thoughts. She glanced down at the gun in the holster, still only one bullet. Not nearly enough to do anything good in this situation.

Ophelia knew that it was a cowardly thing to do and she truly hated herself for it, but as the man and the Afflicted talked she slowly started to back away. With every step that she took backwards it hurt inside, it felt like she stabbed herself. But she was not dumb enough to think that she could take on ten Afflicteds by herself or with the help of just one stranger. But it still hurt, she felt terrible for her decision.

But Mollie couldn’t defend herself. If one of the Afflicted went after her while Ophelia tried to help this total stranger Mollie would be dead for sure. At least this stranger seemed to be able to take care of himself. Defending Mollie was the main priority, it was her mission. Without it she would absolutely lose herself completely. Every last inch of her would be wiped out. That was the situation she saved that one last bullet for. If she would ever find herself without any reason to stay behind on this god forgotten planet that would be the only solution. She needed that safety belt, she had a plan. Without a plan, you go insane.

That was what Ophelia had started to believe as things progressively got worse. Suddenly the man bolted away while being followed by some or most of the Afflicted, Ophelia didn’t take the time to look closely at it because the moment he took off she sprinted in the other direction. She had no idea if the Afflicted cared about her at all or if the sass provided by the man had pissed them off so much that they only cared about him.

But she wasn’t going to assume that she and Mollie was safe yet, not until the Afflicted was either dead or far away. So, as she got to where Mollie where she turned around behind the tree and crouched down in front of her backpack, searching after something she could use in a situation like this. Sadly, she and Mollie mostly worked with a prevention tactic and straight up fighting was something completely different.

Since she didn’t know if they were safe or not, or if she stupidly would go after the man to help because she was already regretting her decision, she turned towards Molly with a concerned look, “Run. I will stay behind and prevent anyone from following you. Run!” She hissed the order as quietly as possible, but that was easier said than done.

Mollie had a terrified look plastered on her face, at first it seemed like she wouldn’t obey but shortly after she nodded franticly before standing up and starting to run as fast as her shaky legs could take her.

Peter silently marveled at the sound of his breathing. It came easily, his lungs taking oxygen just as readily as it was expending it. That was the only sound, save for the labored breathing behind him and the crunching of undergrowth. He ducked under a low hanging branch, the scenery shooting by him in a blur. He was keeping head of them but just barely.

Peter had marveled at the shape he was in now compared to when he first started surviving. The truth was that he couldn't keep this pace forever through rough terrain. Every other second he was dodging branches and jumping over various growth that wished nothing more than to trip him up. It was time to start tipping the odds in his favor.

He broke hard left, shooting around a particularly thick oak. The majority navigated around it the same direction. Peter had spun on his heel, cutting back hard to the right and shooting off through some saplings. He could hear several of them curse, the pack breaking apart as those closer to him changed direction the quickest. It wasn't much of a difference, but it was one he could work with.

He turned to face the three that emerged through the shroud of saplings first. He spun into a charge once again, piling into the unguarded center of the first. The three were completely taken aback by this, preventing them from lifting their weapons. He drove the first back into a second, their legs tangling as they stumbled to the ground. The third of them screamed in fury, swinging his baseball bat towards Peter's head.

Peter barely ducked in time. He felt the passage of air directly over his scalp from the passing of the instrument. Swinging from the left of his body, he arced the machete low and into the side of the Afflicted's knee. It bit deep, bouncing off the side of the kneecap and scalloping as the blade deflected. The Afflicted dropped to its knee, the screams of fury turning to those of pain.

The others were up, one of them coming towards him with a short piece of 2x4. Peter wrenched the machete free, not thinking logically. He instinctively leaned away from the blow, trying to deflect it with his machete. The sturdy piece of wood wrenched the machete free of his hand on impact, clipping the tip of his nose as it passed. It was Peter's turn to stumble backwards and trip. As soon as he was on his back The Afflicted one was upon him.

It sat on his hips, pinning him down as it raised the 2x4 above its head to strike. He swung down, Peter reaching up in desperation as his hand found the Afflicted one's wrist. Stopping the momentum of the swing was jarring to say the least, and now Peter struggled to maintain wrist control. With a hard yank, he pulled the one atop him down slightly, his other hand scrabbling at his face. Peter's thumb found an eyeball, and he worked with what he had by pressing hard.

The Afflicted's fury quickly turned into horrified pain as Peter mercilessly squished his eyeball. The two roared, Peter slowly lifting off the ground and sweeping the Afflicted over as his turned the eyeball in a mashed pulp. The third one was coming. Peter pulled his thumb free, clenching his fist and smashing it hard into the Afflicted's throat. He felt the trachea collapse under his thunderous hammer blow. There was a second baseball bat getting ready to come for his head. He seized the 2x4, lifting it barely in time to block the devastating strike.

The sound of wood off wood was severe, but Peter had no time to be bothered by such a thing. He parried the bat off to the side, grabbing the 2x4 with both hands as he swung back around. With a satisfying thunk, it made contact with the last one's head. He stumbled, dazed as cognition went out of his eyes. Peter reared back, striking downwards with all his might atop his foe's skull. They fell, convulsing to the ground. Peter didn't care if he was dead or not. He dropped the piece of wood and instead took up the bat.

Bill had been watching, almost as if he was curious. Even now Peter wondered why they hadn't all piled on him. They fully emerged from the saplings as he turned and ran. He didn't know the Afflicted one's motives, but if had to assume if he wound up on his back again there would be no curious mercy.

Ophelia didn’t move a muscle, she sat as still as possible behind the tree that Mollie had been hiding behind earlier. She listened closely after movement, she could clearly hear the sound of the Afflicted rushing after that man. It sounded like a large part of the group had followed him, good. She was just about to breath out a sigh of relief when the swift sound of someone brushing against a bush made its way over to her. It wasn’t as distant as the heavy steps of the other Afflicteds.

As soon as she heard it she stiffened up once more and hugged the knife harder in her right hand. She turned her head towards the direction the sound has come from and continued to listen closely without moving even an inch. She didn’t dare to let go of her breath either in case that would make the creeper aware of her position.

As the sound got closer she slowly stood up from her crouched position, she was not about to get thrown to the ground once more. No, she refused to let that happen, this time she would be the one to surprise the threat instead.

She just had to wait for about a second before the Afflicted passed into her vision, he wasn’t sprinting like the others. Her guess was that his direction hadn’t been to pursue her and Mollie all by himself since their attention had been on the man. But sometimes they were smarter than expected, this Afflicted could been sent her to track them for all she knows. He could just be here to check if they left anything by chance even if Ophelia couldn’t guess what the Afflicted could want with their stuff. You never know. She had no clue what the Afflicted thought or needed in fact, it could be anything.

Before the Afflicted could notice her presence as he moved pass her she took her chance and attacked. In a swift movement, she raised her knife as she moved closer to the Afflicted, he had no chance in reacting. Before he could turn around she had already dug her knife deep into his skull. The Afflicted dropped to his knees and as he did so she removed the knife with ease.

The Afflicted’s body hit the ground and she stood still for a moment, listening to the sounds of the forest. Making sure that no one else was approaching them, she couldn’t hear anything so she crouched down and cleaned the knife on the deceased’s clothes. They weren’t clean in the first place but it was better than making a bigger mess on her own clothes.

Once she was done she picked her backpack of the ground and stood still for s short while once more to make sure that absolutely no one was close by. Once she had convinced herself and taken a look towards the direction the man had headed without seeing anyone approaching she started running in the same direction as Mollie. She knew that the girl would be waiting for her somewhere close by but not too close. To be honest, she had no clue at the moment but they always found each other in the end because Mollie had a tendency to hide instead of continuing to run for her life.

Peter cursed internally. Externally, it was all he could do to keep oxygen in his lungs. He wasn't a marathon runner, and the terrain was only making the extended exertion worse. His face was covered in tiny scratches from branch after branch. Sharp sticks and protruding twigs did their best to poke him in the eye, attempting to render him effectively blind for a moment.

The Afflicted had broken up behind him. It seemed they knew these woods a lot better than he did. They kept appearing in front of him at various angles. He would cut and change direction, only to see two or three more pop up. After the seventh or eighth time, it occurred to him that he was being herded. What was the end goal here? Surely it didn't make a difference where they killed him. By his guess, he had been turned north-east.

He was pretty sure he had already shot past the clearing he'd started in, but he couldn't be sure. He had no idea where he was in this copse, and he only thought he had glanced it as he shot by. A sudden realization hit him. There was nobody behind him. Okay, he thought, what the fuck is going on? He skipped to a halt, bending over as he heaved deep breaths.

He lifted his head, attempting to get a lay on the land. His hearth leapt in his chest a bit. The trees were more than a little different here.

"Holy shit." Was all he could manage.
Limp human corpses hung from the high branches, secured by a very short piece of rope around their neck. Someone would have had to climb high to hang them. He became acutely aware of the smell, lifting the collar of his shirt up over his nose. Some of them had been cut open in various ways, some of them bound in what looked like specific manners.

Beneath the canopies of bodies, hanging guts, and bound limbs were odd symbols. Peter recoiled in a kind of repulsion he hadn't felt in some time. It was cliche as hell, but to see it in real life, something painted in dried human blood...

"The symbols are a guide to his people." Peter jumped at the voice, bringing the baseball bat up to fight. "I'm alone, relax."

It was Bill, the leader of the small group of Afflicted that had been chasing him.
"You were leading me here." Peter stated, breathing heavily still.

"Well, yes. Sometimes it takes a careful hand to guide someone to Renovamen's glory." Bill stated, his grin sickeningly sincere.

"This is glory? That guy probably shit himself while he died on that branch. I fail to see the glory in it." Peter snapped. Bill merely grinned, brushing past Peter and motioning for him to follow.

"Come, sir. I wish to show you something. Follow me, and you will be fine. Attack me, and we will consume you. You might just get out of this with a bit of reverence yet."

She had no idea for how long she had been running but she could feel how she was running out of adrenalin and the lactic acid was tearing her legs apart by now. The pain was so intense that she could feel the taste of blood in her mouth, at times she lost her vision. Feeling like the world turned into a long tunnel that got dimmer by the minute.

When she woke up again she was lying face down on the ground. She could still feel how her heart was beating like crazy, only hearing a buzzing sound like bees in her ears. Once the world had stopped moving around her she slowly sat up and took a deep breath. She had no idea where she was at the moment. She had no clue where Mollie was either.

There was a pressure in her chest, it felt like a rock, no it felt like her heart was about to burst out of the ribs. She felt like exploding. She was scared that she had missed Mollie on the way, she felt ashamed for her cowardly retreat. While thinking about it she could only cover her face with her hands while trying to take a deep breath and focus.

She couldn’t change the past, she had to accept that. What’s done is done. No turning back. The anxiety lifted a little and she removed the hands, noticing how dirty they were and suddenly she could feel the sting of the grazed hands. The wounds looked nasty, she tried to clean the hands by brushing them against a somewhat clean place of the clothes but it only made them hurt more.

She had no more time to waste so she slowly stood up, she felt bruised all over. From falling and getting plunged to the ground earlier. No, today wasn’t a good day. This day sucked. She didn’t need to scan the environment one more time to know that she had no idea where she was, so she picked up the compass once more to check which way was North.

She had no idea what she should do with the information since she still had to look after Mollie, the anxiety grew inside her stomach once more. She felt responsible, she felt like an idiot. She shouldn’t have done… no fuck that she had no idea what she should had done differently. She just felt tired and angry. Nothing was going as planned.

The only positive thing she could think of was that the Afflicted’s probably was far away from here. They had been going in a completely different direction, they should still be far away from here. At least she hoped that was the case.

Yeah, they were far away. They had to be. In case they had been followed her, they should already had gotten here by now, at least it felt like that. She had no idea if she had just been out for a few seconds or more. In any case she had to gamble, if it was a bad choice… well, she just had to deal with it.

But now she could only think about how she would be able to reunite with Mollie, so she did a stupid thing, but the only thing she could think of. She shouted out Mollie’s name one time to see if she was close by.

Peter was silent the entire trek. Bill tried to continue preaching to him as they walked along, but soon gave up. He could tell Peter wasn't listening, and it soured his expression. Peter was merely biding time, looking for something he could exploit, some way to gain leverage. Some way to escape. As they walked, the forest floor gave way to a well-trod path. It had been cut through the growth by sheer foot traffic. Soon after, the smell hit his senses.

It was a sickening scent. The smell of cooking flesh, of human flesh. He'd encountered it before, and it never failed to send chills down his spine. There was also the smell of decay. The rotted totems hadn't stopped. In fact, they'd become more numerous as they approached their destination. He could hear the sounds of people now. Of a camp, or possibly an enclave. His fears were confirmed as they entered another clearing. This one man made, many stumps of cut down trees still not removed.

In the center were various shacks. Logs, sheet metal, and whatever else had been taken from the town. Others made due with tents of various shapes and original purposes.

"Fucking hell..." Peter whispered. In the center, the Afflicted were gathered. A large bonfire had been constructed, and within were two charring bodies embracing the inferno. Black, acrid smoke curled upwards, and at least a hundred of the Afflicted were present. The clearing was massive, taking a large swath of the once impressive forest with it. Peter could guess these were the inhabitants of the town, and it likely had a larger population still.

"Sacrifices. Two of our own. A brother and sister. They volunteered for the ritual." Bill spoke, grinning as he gazed at the sight. The Afflicted were bowed around the flames, murmuring chants skywards.

"A ritual?" Peter asked, sickly curious.

"Rebirth. A renewing of spirit and body. We offer ourselves fully to Renovamen, enduring the pain with good faith and a steady heart. For this, he blesses our hunts, and strengthens our earthly bodies against the consumption of the virus."

"Curious you would consider this a virus." Peter prodded.

"We are not fools. We understand this is not humanity as it existed. It is a virus, a condition created by man. It was a condition sanctioned by Renovamen, the first stage of the rebirth. It was his will that we stumbled upon this specific formula, this pathogen I suppose." Bill replied.

"Just don't ask me to drink the poisoned Kool-Aid, okay?" Sarcasm seemed to be Peter's only real way of dealing with this. He needed a way out, and fast. He just needed to... Shit, what was that? The thought occurred to him as he heard what seemed to be muffled cries. They sounded female, but he couldn't be entirely sure.

"Don't look for a way out just yet, Peter," Bill spoke, "Our hunters returned with a prize, and soon we shall eat of the flesh in celebration."

Ophelia stood still for a while and listened, searching for some sort of response from Mollie. There was nothing. She was just about to let out a sigh of defeat when she suddenly heard a snap of a twig somewhere nearby. At first it was like a ray of sunlight inside, thinking that it was Mollie who had heard her.

But as soon as the happiness appeared it disappeared again, suddenly she realized that if it had been Mollie that was walking around in the woods she would surely answered her call. This person didn’t respond. If it was Mollie she would have which meant that this was not Mollie.

Once more her senses were on high alert, crouching down to hide from the one who was approaching. She scanned her surrounding, searching after some sort of movement, listening to the sound of the forest. At times, she could hear it, someone stepping on twigs but soon she could hear rustling as the person came closer.

She saw who was approaching, that was definitely not Mollie. The one who was approaching didn’t have Mollie’s raven black hair nor her sun kissed skin either. No, as the figure approached the first thing she noticed was the blemished skin. The moment she laid her eyes on it she knew that this thing wasn’t human. At least not that human anymore.

The Afflicted was moving straight towards her, he had noticed her. As he approached she was staring straight into the creature’s eyes. Watching how it speeded up as it came closer, soon he was running. As fast as possible she grabbed the handle of her knife and once the Afflicted was right in front of her, attacking, she tried to dodge the swinging arm. It could had gone smoother, because she felt how the Afflicted almost got ahold of her hair.

In the same movement, she made half a twirl and turned around towards the Afflicted and struck her knife into the Afflicted’s shoulder. It was not what she meant to do but better than nothing, the Afflicted grunted in pain and she swiftly dragged out the knife just to swing it towards the Afflicted’s head once more.

The attack wasn’t successful this time either, the Afflicted had already turned around and countered her attack. The knife went straight through the raised hand. It went on like that for a while, she stabbing the Afflicted with her knife and him trying to take control over the situation. In the end, he made a misstep and her knife dug right into his eye socket, the sight make her feel like her stomach was turning inside out. She felt like throwing up, but tried to keep it inside by pressing her lips together as she removed the knife from the Afflicted.

The first thing that grabbed her attention after that was a thought, or an idea, she knew what to do know. The Afflicted must come from somewhere and since she hadn’t been able to find or reunite with Mollie that was the place she should be heading towards. It was a possibility that Mollie had been found and captured. If that was the case, then she had to save her.

So she checked the direction on her compass and started to run once more, even though she knew that she was searching for a needle in a haystack at this point in time.

"Why are you showing this to me?" Peter questioned, the anger in his voice barely contained.

"To show you that we are not a plague, Peter. We are simply evolution, the culmination of a grand plan by one true ruler." Bill expressed, joy evident in his voice.

"If this is your idea of religion, I'd rather be Hindu." Peter replied in his usual snark. Bill turned to look at him, frowning.

"You resist the future, Peter. You resist the will of Renovamen himself! You can not fight evolution, Peter!" The swell of the crowd was growing. The chanting had ended, and they seemed to be focused towards an elevated wooden platform beyond the fire. Peter didn't care in the least.

"The future?! You call this the future? This looks like someone read too much fantasy about pagan rituals and decided to make a cult out of it! The future is cannibalism, the future is turning into a grotesque abortion of humanity!?" He roared. Peter soon found his fury cut short as a hand clenched around his throat.

Bill had grabbed him, and the strength he boasted as he completely impeded Peter's ability to breathe was shocking.Things were further complicated as he lifted Peter's feet from the ground, dangling him by his constricted airway.

"There's always a few bumps in the road, dear Peter. They test our resolve, our faith. If everything were perfect, there'd be no need for faith. Witness it, Peter. Witness the blessing of Renovamen in my very flesh, my tissue. For I am evolution incarnate!"

The crowd had risen to a fever pitch, their roars of approval and anticipation slowly beginning to fall as a figure appeared on the platform. The figure was tall, dark hair caked in various dried fluids. A robe adorned him. It looked as though it had been borrowed from the town's church, but there was nothing holy about it now. It had been dyed a dark, horrid red. At a second glance, it was easy to tell it was blood. If Peter hadn't been choking, he'd have been pissed at the bad horror movie feel this had to it.

The figure raised a silencing hand, and the fervor fell to a mere scattered whisper or two. His voice boomed as he began to spoke, expertly projected across the clearing.

"My fellow chosen! Today we are blessed, as two of our own joyfully rejoin the whole that is Renovamen! Today we are blessed, as our hunters have secured a sacrifice to his glory! And, today we are blessed! As we have received word from our hunting parties abroad that they have captured a small enclave, and soon our larders will be full once more!" As he spoke this last sentence, the crowd roared to life again. Hunger and zeal made their approval sound more like the roar of feral beasts.

"Praise be..." Bill whispered softly. His hand still around Peter's throat, his attention had wandered. He was staring at the platform, and though Peter's vision was beginning to dim, he still had the bat. Peter lifted and swung it haphazardly. It made solid contact with Bill's temple, the resounding thunk drowned out by the roar of the crowd. Bill fell to his knees, releasing Peter as he did so. Peter fell to the ground, gasping in air for all he was worth.

Peter wasted little time, however. Dragging himself to his knees, he wound the bat above his head in both hands, and brought it swinging down at Bill's head. The Afflicted reacted shockingly fast, his hand intercepting the arcing hunk of wood and catching it in his palm. He caught it below the point of mass, avoiding injuring his hand.

"Do you really thin-" He began, but he was cut off by Peter's boot. He followed up quickly with a flat kick to the face, unwilling to listen to more monologuing. Bill's head snapped back, and Peter kicked him again to the chest. Bill fell backwards, his grip loosening enough for Peter to violently wrench the bat free. Winding up, he swung it straight towards the Afflicted's ribs, but Bill took the blow to the bicep instead, grunting at the pain of the impact.

Bill threw himself back forwards, to his knees and scrambling onto his feet as he charged headlong into Peter, tackling him off the ground and carrying him forward several feet before slamming him down. The wind rushed out of his lungs, but he couldn't worry about that just now. Bill fell atop him, and Peter lifted the bat, using it as a lever to push him back. He leaned away from the solid punches coming his way, trying to breathe as he simultaneously kept his stronger opponent at bay.