Although he no longer had hairs on the back of his neck to rise the Haunter could feel the icy chill of impending death fill the air before he even felt the air pressure of the beating winds disturb his gaseous form.
The pupil of his tired red eye contracts to a pinprick dot of black as the sudden inexplicable fear washes over him and a remembered nausea rises in his incorporeal throat.
His mouth seems so very dry and his old body moves slowly, too slowly to save anyone.
"
Watch out!" He manages to coarsely cry as the clouds are split by the decayed form of the Harbinger descending like an angel of death.
His warning comes far too late as the bolt of feathered death strikes them squarely.
Again the ghost tries to raise himself to fight but a single glimpse of the Xatu's glowing red eyes freezes him mid attack. A deep feeling of fear blooms inside him along with the darker purple clouds of the infection and numbs him from the inside out; his three clawed fist refuses to ignite and the Cruse born of bubbling hatred he had yearned to release sinks back down inside him.
Those eyes were portals to a unique form of twisted hell.
Then the massive shock wave from the Psychic blow hits him and Namdnas cannot protect anyone any more. His frail gaseous form fares far less well than even the buildings, he is literally being torn apart by the psychic as large wisps of his gaseous form are scattered in opposite directions. He can't tell which way is up or down and he's helpless to defend himself or anyone else from the wrathful blow. Instead of being ripped completely to shreds the aged Haunter is bowled over backwards and smashed hard into the solid bedrock base of the town. Gratefully he sinks into the alternate dimension he can shelter in, regathering as much of his form as he could while he crouched in the grey space between the stone before drifting back out as the last wave of destruction ceases.
Namdnas's red eye is blurred from the experience and he reels in mid-air, struggling to regain his bearings.
With one last shriek from its curved yellow beak the Xatu is gone back to whatever dark place had spawned it.
All it leaves behind are the two bodies and a few bloodied feathers.
Although Namdnas has been rendered incapable of actually performing the action he wishes to vomit and bring up what ever black bile of the infection has cursed them so.
He feels as if some dark hearted god of death has condemned them all to die, one by one to fill its own bloated belly and a metallic bloody feeling rises up inside of him, equal parts hatred and despair.
Drifting on the faintest of breezes after the wave of destruction the Haunter drifts solemnly over to the two new corpses and closes their eyes for them. The gaze of their dead eyes was still wide with surprise.
A chill night wind stroking its icy fingers down the Haunter's back Namdnas lays one hand on the Persian's creamy furred flank and another on the Torterra's black tipped beak.
"
Resquiat in pace." He murmurs solemnly, looking not at the bloodied ground but at the almost mocking beauty of the stars above.
Under his breath he whispers an apology to their spirits and a prayer they would find peace. With a heavy heart and a sinking feeling of dread in what used to be his stomach Namdnas ignites his hands.
Brightly the blue tinged flames course over the ghost's semi-corporeal fingers, burning away the gases that oozed from his spirit for their fuel, the light dancing over the creamy fur and the fallen leaves.
The stabbing pain of his own approaching death becomes deeper and deeper, each time the Haunter used one of is moves it was like a blade being plunged into him and twisted. His spirit shrinks away from the pain but he shows no sign of in on his face, he must stay strong for the others even as he feels another piece of himself break free from his control and bubble away into nothingness.
Blinking his weary eye, fogged from his old age, Namdnas sees the dark spot of cloth resting on the bare dusty ground from where it had been torn from him.
Namdnas's wound, any trace of the original bite marks long since gone, shows the unnatural deep void cutting through his head. Edged with the dark purple of the relentless infection and entirely consuming one of his eyes. Like a fire eating away at the edges of a piece of paper the infection hungrily devours his gaseous flesh, destroying the spirit and sending wisps of the purple gas loose where they dissolve harmlessly into the surrounding air.
As the flames fade from his hands the the foul disease's bite begins to slow to a more insidious creep, although it will never stop entirely.
With an absolute calmness Namdnas retrieves the cloth from where it rests besides the two, keeping it clutched in one hand like a child's security blanket as he nervously waits beside the two. He does not put his hood back on, letting to other two know he has nothing to hide but neither can he bring himself to approach, lest the signs of infection upon him provoke them into attack.
No matter how desperate his desire to comfort her he cannot bring himself to hug Courtney until he knows they will not fear him for his appearance.
