*I stole this journal, thinking it would expose his sins, bring an end to his monstrous work. But his curse found me before I could escape. He calls it “mutation,” a blending of life and death, but it is a lie. It is rot. It is torment.

He called me “vital” to his plans, and now I understand. My soul feeds his abomination, a spark for his nightmare. I feel it pulling away from me, tearing me apart to fuel its hunger. I write this with trembling hands, my body no longer my own. The pain is endless—an inferno in my veins, a clawing madness in my mind.

They moan and twitch in the dark, their eyes hollow, begging for rest even death cannot give them. And still I envy them. No matter the torment, their souls are their own, while with every burning breath I lose my own. Dildrath’s creation is no saviour - it is hunger and death. Another monster to roam this accursed land.

May the dawnbreaker have mercy on my soul, if anything is left of it.

(The writing trails off in jagged lines).
*