The Chronicles of Jonathon Postlethwaite: The Seed of Corruption by David S Denny

feel.
                                Now from the streets below flowed a moist grey, billowing fog. It was the soul of this foul city. It cascaded over the tiles and roof top ridges, began to take on burning eyed wraith-like forms, the ghosts of  every  deceased and  corrupted  being  that  had  died  in  Dubh;  and there  where millions, melded into one sentient being.
                                Jonathon was being forced down inside himself, the animal that is inside us all rising with an uninhibited fury for control, it listened  to  no  reason,  no  moral  codes, no religion other than the church of pleasure.
    He fought it as his own hands tore his clothing from his body. He resisted, but could only slow his advance to an agonized crawl towards the ridge where Milly's body, and the pleasure he could take from it, beckoned him like a beacon.
                                All around him the grotesque watery faces of the dead urged him on, their ice cold insubstantial hands brushing his body as they attempted to physically push him to the roof ridge and his prize. Individually they would have had little effect, but there were millions of them and the pressure of their collective touch propelled him upwards. Still he  fought, contradictory  signals from his brain throwing his muscles into wild spasms. From every pore of his body sweat poured in torrents. Animal and spiritual where locked in a defining combat inside the vehicle of Jonathon's flesh. Only one  would  win  and the other would be become the other's slave, reason enslaved to animal passion or a being propelled by reason and finer feeling.
    Jonathon felt as if he were drowning, he felt himself slipping slowly into a grim pit of  suffocating  darkness. Inch by inch he still crept towards her. He felt himself swollen and hot in his loins.
                                With his eyes locked upon her radiant body, he moaned and slobbered with expectation, becoming more and more a mere observer of his spiritual demise. Slowly the distance closed. He saw now that Milly too was possessed by the awesome power, the great dark horse of unbridled human passion.
                                Her eyes were entirely black, her pupils dilated to such and extent that no iris pigments remained. Her hair streamed in the humid rising wind, her body tensed and ready. She stretched out her arms to him again implored him to take her, beseeching him for that savage embrace.
                                Crowding around her, the misty forms of wraiths coalesced, attempting to paw her breasts, run their hands over her smooth skin, thrusting and rolling their hips towards hers,  their devilish muzzles distorted in paroxysms of ecstasy. They looked down at the slowly advancing Jonathon and in their sneers Jonathon saw their anger at what he and Milly were. Their physical purity was an abomination to them and the cause of corruption and degradation they served.
                                Visions of himself and Milly enveloped in a violent, brutal,  bucking  embrace  filled  Jonathon's mind.  The  wraiths howled encouragingly. In a few precious seconds Jonathon and Milly would be one with one another and would be consumed, lost forever, swallowed up in the great, dark soul of Dubh. Jonathon searched for the strength to defeat it.
                                He focused his mind, if he touched her all was lost. He remembered Tefkin and Dale, how they had taken him in, how they had trusted him. He remembered Flax and his oaths of revenge. He remembered his own Mother, the victim of Flax and this city, his Father, his Grandfather, all its victims. If he failed now, he would fail them all. He loved, Milly but he did not want her this way.