The blightbeast

I watched Blackbeard approach the corpse with measured steps. I'm no sorcerer, I don't have the talent for it and I wouldn't see through an illusion if it was dangling under my nose, but the way he moved was artificial, ritualistic; he had started working on his spell already.
I took another glance at the body, what was left of it anyway. The black stuff—like mold, or tar but so dark it absorbed all light—had spread to the lower limbs. The body was visibly bloated, now, much more than when we found it only half an hour earlier. Its face was torn to shreds and you could see the white of the skull under each ribbon of meat. The smell was unbearable, something straight out of the pits of hell, so much that half of us had emptied their stomachs right where they stood. Whatever did it was angry and brutal and savage. Our quarry.

Blackbeard mumbled something I couldn't quite catch. I shifted my attention back to the theurg as he knelt beside the corpse. His right hand crept to his waist and reached for the plum-sized censer hanging from his belt; it ignited as soon as his fingers touched it, and smoke rose to the ceiling in dense swirls accompanied by a pungent and sticky smell. The sorcerous smoke shone as if lit from within, casting shadows under Blackbeard's hood, and yet there was no glimmer on the dark stains. Black spots surfaced on his hands not unlike the taint infesting the corpse, but I learned it was the cost for his spells. I shivered. I never liked sorcery, it was the stuff of madmen, daemons and nastier beings. Except, of course, when it was on our side, but even then I never got used to the tricks the Talented can pull.

Blackbeard was chanting now, somehow both loud enough his voice filled the room and yet too soft to make out individual words. The temperature dropped abruptly and my ears started ringing. Tom had retreated the furthest corner from the theurg. The large man was shivering like a wet kitten, and he never feared any sorcery. The boys were shifting nervously on their feet—no doubt sharing my feelings—and eyed every dancing shadow like they were going to come to life. Then one actually did; but they were looking the wrong way. I almost missed it too.
The black ooze curled and shivered like a colony of angry worms, before slithering inside the corpse through every orifice. Its belly ballooned so quick I thought something was going to tear its way out, and an unholy screech sent us withering in pain on the floor. Then I saw it emerging, ripping a hole through the bloated abdomen. It was the same color as the corrupted mold. Four unnaturally long limbs uncurled and clawed the ground seeking purchase. Its mouth—filled with teeth—twisted in a parody of a smile and a single, malicious eye, darker than a starless night, stared me down with such an intensity I felt my soul scream.

Blackbeard hadn't moved an inch, still kneeling with his hands clasped in front of him and concealed in part by curls of smoke. He said something again, and this time I understood him perfectly:"Kill it."
But my hand had already drawn my sword and I was on my feet in an instant. I stepped towards the blightbeast ready to strike but Tom beat me to it. He raised his sword—a bastard sword with a wide, chopping blade and flat point—and threw a wild overhead cut that could bave beheaded an ox. The blade sunk halfway into the beast and stopped as if caught in tar. The thing looked right at him and conjured another blood-curling screech. Tom went pale and lost his grip on the sword, and I almost regurgitated my guts.

"And His light shall protect you, and smite the unholy." Blackbeard was standing up now and filled the room with his presence despite being half Tom's size. He clutched his censer in his right hand and glowed like an icon of wraith. A beam of blinding light shot forward from his palm and pierced the blightbeast in its flank. I almost wished he hadn't done that, for the thing howled and wailed in agony; it writhed like a snake in its death throes and clawed mindlessly at the corpse and floor, tearing up chunks of flesh and stone.
Blackbeard's sorcery infused new strength and courage into us, or maybe it was the fact he looked more frightening than the abomination. All ten of us charged it and hacked away, with so much fury our weapons clashed against each other. A minute or an eternity later we stopped. The tainted beast was a scattered collection of smoking chunks, some of which belonged to the poor sod who had been infested. I tried to recover from my shakes and inspect my companions. Tom was heaving and foaming at the mouth, while Skinny kept screaming "It's on me! It's on me!" A bit of the black stuff got on his sleeve and he shied away so much I though he was going to jump out of his bones. Doc and John stepped towards him and tried to calm him down, but he dropped them both on the floor with a backhand. Skinny produced a dagger and feverishly cut off his sleeve, and got to work on slicing his flesh away, until Blackbeard spoke.
"It is over. You are safe, you won't be contaminated." I felt myself fifty pounds heavier and realized he cast something on us. I lost my ability to speak, so I thanked him silently.

A curtain dropped on the room and everyone got to business. Tom shouted at everyone to gather wood in order to burn everything. Doc was already on Skinny—who was now restrained by three men, though no longer necessary. The physician spread a foul-smelling unguent on Skinny's arm and wrapped it in bandages to staunch the profuse bleeding of the mangled limb. Another movement caught my eye. Blackbeard was peeling the blotched skin off his hands, like a lizard shedding its scales, and winked when he noticed me staring.
I felt Tom's giant hand on my shoulder and composed myself. He was back to his usual self, grinning as if nothing happened. Maybe the captain should have put him in charge.