Points to: John Ryder/Plague
He could feel skittering of rat feet, no longer singular soft and padding, but a mad wave washing over under and inside his skin. Tiny claws latched his throat till he coughed up blood and worm tails that scattered into the surrounding dark. Over the ledge, out into the beyond, so to would he go. The thing that rose from the shadows of the pit beneath Byzantium, shaking skeletal thin, with head like carrion bird would follow the footsteps of rats..Or the rats would follow its footsteps...In circular ring around the rosy life of mankind.