He saw the axe that came for her back. He tried to cry out for his fellow man to stop, but with a dull thud, the heavy blade crashed into her.
She looked over her shoulder, twisting her neck at an inhuman angle, with inhuman noises coming out of her mouth, more similar to the hiss of a snake than the cry of a woman.
Dark black blood well up from her mouth, but she didn't fall yet. She turned to the man that had wounded her, and attempted a swipe. But by now, another woman had come from the side, a still-sane woman, unafflicted by Ingolsol's curse, wearing a look of pity on her face. She stabbed the Cursed woman in the stomach, slowing her once more, but not quite yet killing her.
"No..." Her husband had collapsed to the floor a short distance away, his own heart flickering towards the realm of despair and hopelessness. It was a crushing attack. Seeing it as he could, Beam soon realized that despair was a disease.
When wielded by Ingolsol, and by this mage, it could be described as no other such thing. A terrible, fast-acting virus, as one man became Cursed after another, forcing his friends and loved ones to kill him, only to afflict them with the same despair, as they were forced to do the unimaginable.
"DO NOT YIELD TO IT!" Beam shouted. It was an order. They'd subordinated themselves to him, and given him the authority to give such an order. An order without explanation, for there could be no explanation.
What good reason could there be to hold on, surrounded as they were, in the most pitiful of circumstances? What other cause could he demand that they fight for?
There was one cause – his cause. That was what he demanded. He took a slash at the chaos of the situation by reinforcing the familiar, the known, those bonds that had managed to lift them up over the impossible. Nothing had changed, they still had their leader, and they still had his commands that they needed to listen to.
"Unfortunate... How unfortunate," he said. Beam could practically hear his head shaking as he lamented his situation.
He was not the only one. By the time the last of the Cursed had been slain, and the villagers reorganized themselves as a pack, standing next to each other, with firm and unwavering hearts, unified as they had been just a short while ago, there was quite a malice developing in the air.
The air was cold already – cold enough for the few inches of snow that sat upon the ground – but now it dropped to a considerably colder temperature, as the mage's power leaked out of him, and his anger froze the air.
"WORRRRRRRRRRRRRMS!" He hollowed in outrage, as though someone had just kicked over a sandcastle that he'd spent hours crafting.
Beam allowed himself the smallest of smiles. His mind was exhausted as everyone else's, having been put through such an amount of chaos, and having endured such an evolution. It was taking all that he had merely to keep his eyes open. But there was something about hearing the lamentations of one's foe that inspired a smile, no matter the situation.
"HOW DARE YOU?" The voice thundered.
"HOW DARE YOU? HOW DARE YOU? HOW DAREEEEE YOU???"
"LOOK AROUND YOU, INSECTS. I HAVE YOU SURROUNDED. YOU WILL ALL DIE THE MOST AGONISING OF DEATHS – YOU HAVE NO CHANCE OF VICTORY," the mage shrieked, his voice shrill and feminine. "WHY DO YOU NOT DESPAIR?"