In the mental realm, the disintegrating Spiritual Entity turned into something with the texture of fine sand or liquid. Unbound, it shrieked with a sound like a sharp hiss from the void, bursting and splattering outward to form a dull ripple that swept around the fireplace.
Even without Spiritual Senses, everyone present—including the Duke, who had just stopped convulsing—felt as though they had heard some strange noise. Something like a shapeless mass of threads crawled out of the charred, brittle Leather Tube, struggled briefly, then burned away completely.
Wherever the ripple passed, long-dormant mold on the wooden furnishings sprang back to life. It seeped outward like water soaking into paper, sucking up the moisture and organic matter around it as it swelled into bubbly clusters of fungal growth.
The leftover food sprouted a dense coat of fuzz, while mushrooms unfurled in the cups and dishes, blooming with mottled spots of rot. Even the most steadfast guards felt an overwhelming panic and scrambled to get away.
Kraft sensed the ripple's range and shifted slightly. The wave of rot stopped half a step behind him, its momentum spent.
"That concludes the treatment for now, Your Grace." He pulled out the needle and pressed a piece of cotton cloth against the puncture site. "I recommend you lie flat and rest until at least noon. Don't exert yourself."
"You lot over there, don't just stand around watching. Help move the bed somewhere else and give this place a thorough cleaning. Better yet, burn it all."
Thank goodness that thing hadn't come out of his mouth. The Duke might not hold it against him for long, but judging by his current state, he was clearly not doing well. For the first time, he wore an indescribable expression, one dominated by disgust and revulsion.
The guards