"Dr. Klein, the ever-studious, sits with the mummies in the dusty dark, studying a black fluid he calls the Filth. It has gone by names he is not cognizant of — the Devouring Plague, the Zero Point Pathogen, the Blackworm Jism. Daily he microdoses the ebony liquid, at first via syringe, but soon he holds the droplets in his hand, cooing until it slithers up his nose with a lusty slurp."
— The Buzzing, The Secret World
Black, inky slime would appear wherever he pointed that brush. And it terrorized the warriors.
They formed gripping hands, that dragged people into pitch black pools. Or towering spikes, that seemed intent on impaling. Or large, round balls of muck that chased people around. Swallowing whoever they ran over.
All those who were touched by the ink were left in shivering, quivering, nearly catatonic states. As if their minds couldn't handle whatever it was the slime made them see.
They formed gripping hands, that dragged people into pitch black pools. Or towering spikes, that seemed intent on impaling. Or large, round balls of muck that chased people around. Swallowing whoever they ran over.
All those who were touched by the ink were left in shivering, quivering, nearly catatonic states. As if their minds couldn't handle whatever it was the slime made them see.
