The decades had sapped his speed and strength, so the Xangu shaman was critically reliant on his tranquil mind; through dutiful meditation, his wits were sharp, his planning was sound, and his reactions were serene and astute in equal measure.

Nosdyn's marauding mace whiffed right through the apparitions as though they weren't there. Truth be told, they weren't there. The mournful ghosts lost cohesion, turning to vapors in the darkness. With the illusion broken, they twisted back into the Underworld. Through the fading mist of his ghoulish spell, the shaman caught a glimpse of the Nosdyn's racing bludgeon.

But, having already conceded a modicum of ground while summoning those ghosts, he was one step ahead—or behind, rather. Still, Do Mugu stumbled. Scowling, his face became a wretched tribute to Oxxad, his foul death god. He went backwards, and felt his footing falter on the damp mud and rock floor of the cavern. Regrettably, he wasn't able to avoid the strike completely, but his head was safe. Instead, the mace smashed his left shoulder and scraped the tightly stretched skin from his bony chest.

Gum sucked in one mighty breath to dull the pain, he balanced his thoughts to dull the pain, he made peace with all outcomes to dull the pain.

The raging demon, though, had inadvertently unleashed something powerful.

SMASH!

It was the piercing sound of glass shattering against stone. In dodging the worst of Nosdyn's attack, Gum had lost control of his disease jars.

"Champion of N'Jal," he wondered, as he scrambled to put more distance between himself and his hulking adversary. "Are your kind immune to our diseases?" As he spoke, he used the cavern wall to get back on his feet.

The tainted medicine man's broken jar contained Ungotuu Magic Fever, a feared mystical pathogen. The sickness, airborne and virulent, quickly assaults the mind of its victims causing anxiety and dread, along with bleeding eyes and noses—some weak-minded fools were even known to take their own lives under its torturous influence.