The black mass was almost upon him, and Handy knew his hammer would do no good against it, the same way he knew that when it touched him he was gone. It was a clasping feeling, one that gripped him and physically imprinted upon him the fear of prey which looked upon a predator as it fell upon them. Time seemed to slow in his mind as he turned to regard the mass of blackness approaching him, a knot forming in his throat as he fought the urge to retch. His very being was offended by its presence. Its proximity and the very sight of it almost forced him from his feet. He gripped his hammer and raised it. He knew it was futile, but it was all he could do. He couldn’t run, neither back the way he came nor forwards towards his goal. It was all he could do as he simply watched the thing advance upon him.