In the tavern. There was commotion on the whereabouts of a Woodsman and a red-headed girl searching for the Tome of Unknown.
"She may be a witch." Someone said the Master in concern.
"Or she could just be running in a circle. That book's a myth." The midwife said with an indifferent tone at the severity of said woman.
"But what if what she said about an apprentice for the Beast was true? What then?" The tailor asked in fear.
"You should be careful what you say about her, she ain't cried in front of us for nothin', give her the benefit of the doubt." Said the Butcher in good hope.
"The lot of you shouldn't really put too much thought into this." Said the Tavernkeeper. "We are more than capable of defending ourselves if need be." She said with a knowing grin as almost everyone had something that more or less could be qualified as a weapon.
"Good." Said a familiar voice that caught everyone's attention, as they had not noticed her presence, or the man next to her's, in the room. "Because I have to ask all of you one more favor." She said as she held a black book in her hand. The Woodsman standing next to her.
"Because we are going on a hunt." He said.

Outside of Pottsfield stood a lone figure, axe in hand. A stressed look on it's face. It looked like a walking tree that hasn't been watered in years and was in the process of decomposing.

"No...please don't..." A fragile and whimpering voice said.

"You have no resistance for my bidding. You used up almost all of your own oil in your attempt to refrain of using my gift. If you don't replenish that oil, you will become useless not only to me, but your brother as well." Another voice said, seemingly out of nowhere, but it was heard within the head of the figure. The figure was struggling in vain to resist its own movements, only to make its own walk appear more menacing. Said figure would have cried oil, but it's body was nearly dry and needed more. Once it made it to a busy part of the town, it stopped.
In town, many pumpkin folk were going about their daily lives. Some took the occasional glance at the figure. Some in interest, others curiosity, and others paid it no mind.

"Hey there stranger what brings you to our humble town?" One of them asked.
Wirt stood there. Hoping he'd be strong enough to resist the Beasts will. Unfortunately, it wasn't so.
Without warning, Wirt unwillingly raised the axe over his head and swung it down on the pumpkin wearing citizen. Normally, the concept of death and pain in Pottsfield was subject to humor, as they were all skeletons underneath. However, with the eerie presence surrounding the boy, they had reason to think twice. They all watched in horror as the pumpkin shriveled and rotted around the skull of the skeleton. The man himself was screaming as if some unknown force were hurting him, all before it was clear that he was nothing but a pile of bone ash and pumpkin paste. Wirt stood still for a moment, and the remains of his victim became a black liquid that made its way into Wirt. The way water is absorbed in the ground, the black liquid was absorbed into him, which made his dry and withering, bark like skin, stronger.

Wirt felt almost intoxicated. The oil seeping through his artificial veins made him feel rejuvenated. As if he had gone by days without food or water and now he was feeling more satisfied, the more oil he took in. Momentarily letting go of his inhibitions as he began to cut them down, like a macabre gardener.
It was at this point, that the towns folk went from their serene and busy atmosphere, to one fear and panic. Many tried to escape the wrath of the cloaked, axe-wielding boy. No one had recognized him, as his skin was not organic anymore. As some more were cut down and others ran into the safety of their homes, one managed to get to the barn of the town, where a tall, spender being was unawares to the outside going-ons.

"Enoch! Some maniac is attacking our town, he's turning them into oil!" The citizen screamed in understandable fear.
Enoch rose up from the ground, a sort of anger radiating from him as he made his way to the center of town.
Wirt has cut down several pumpkin folk, and his own cloak drenched in rotting pumpkin paste. He looked around and something in him snapped, causing to look around at the very horror of what he has caused.
"Oh no..." He fell to his knees as he saw many clothes on the floor that were deep in decomposed carved pumpkins, who appeared to have faces of fear, pain, and misery. "I-I don't want to do this anymore!" He yelled at the Beast, who was nowhere in sight. Now that Wirt had oil in his body, he began to cry it through his eyes, only to have it be absorbed on his cheeks once it teared from his eyes. Wirt began to stand up against his will, picked up the axe, and began to run away from the town. Confused, he asked the Beast. "Why?" He asked, still crying.
"Because Enoch is on his way." The Beast said in his head. "Your body cannot withstand his attacks at this point. You're still too weak." The Beast said.
"...I know..." Wirt replied, hoping he remained this way. Weak, so as not to be able to hurt any one but to keep his brother alive in the teapot.

Elsewhere.

In an emergency room were two boys in hospital beds. Both were unconscious, one with a frog laying on top of the youngest. However, the smallest of the two opened his eyes tiredly and looked around the white room, before turning to look at his at his brother in concern.
"Wirt..."