A.G. Iɴᴅᴜsᴛʀɪᴇs

The following is a complete transcription of a file recovered from a hard drive found in the ruins of a building that was utterly annihilated, as if struck by a nuclear bomb The hard drive was the only object intact among the wreckage; as of this date, the reason it alone survived is unknown. Of further note is the fact that said file was the only thing found on the hard drive.

The text that follows seems to be a warning of some catastrophic event soon to occur. At first glance it seems to be the lunatic ravings of a madwoman, but upon further research we have found that there may be some substance behind the warning. Yet further study will be required in order to totally verify the accuracy of this statement, and, if such appears to be fact, develop a means of counteracting such a catastrophe. Note: a potential solution is proposed, but as all leads have been exhausted, we've been left with no other option than to pursue other means.

The text recovered, with no letter omitted, is as follows:

Dr. Sonya K. Parker, Junior Researcher, Project 538


"Keeping us better."

That's been our motto for thirty years.

Yet it seems that all we've really done is make us worse.

I write this on what is likely the last day of A.G.'s existence. I'm trapped alone here in this hellhole with the monstrosity we created so long ago. Everyone else is either missing, dead, or... changed. Chances are, the computer I'm typing on will be destroyed along with everything else in this facility, but in the unholy miracle that this message survives (for, indeed, I've witnessed things that have made me believe that nothing is impossible), I want at least this planet to know of the unfathomable horrors that are soon to come, horrors that will likely change the very fundamental operations of the universe.

In order for you to fully understand my warning, I must start from the beginning.

As far as I've been able to figure out A.G. Industries was founded in 1978 as a pharmaceutical research company. For decades, we were at the cutting edge of medicinal technology, creating drugs that cured diseases once thought incurable. Yet you won't find our name in any scientific journals or history books. You see, A.G. merely developed drugs for other companies to sell. For example, we would develop, say, a new type of aspirin, then sell the resulting formula to the highest bidder; then that company would put the drug on the market. That company took the credit for the medicine's creation, while A.G. would remain silently in the background.

At first, we did this as a form of liability control; because we only performed preliminary tests to ensure that the drugs performed their basic functions and weren't lethal, we made clear that it was the buyer's responsibility to run further tests to determine side effects, possible complications, etc. meaning if there was a lawsuit incurred by the drug, A.G. would be clear of all responsibility. Yet as time wore on, it also became necessary to obscure the more, shall we say, "shifty" operations occurring behind A.G.'s doors.

When the field of genetic engineering first surfaced, A.G.'s top scientists wanted a piece of the action. While most of the staff was skeptical at first, eventually the entire company was on board. At the time, we thought no harm could come of it. Looking back... how foolish and ignorant we were.

When one thinks of genetic engineering, one usually thinks of cloning or agricultural manipulation. Yet the top brass at A.G. wanted no part of what they called "such trifles". Their goal was to create the world's first "perfect" human being by researching and eventually isolating the genes responsible for what most people consider "desirable traits", extracting the genes from people who displayed such traits, combining said genes into 46 complete chromosomes, dividing the chromosomes between an artificially created sperm and egg cell, and then joining the two cells to begin development. Then, after artificially impregnating a surrogate mother with the resulting zygote, in nine months we would have our "perfect" baby.

The plan sounded so simple on paper, but in execution we ran into far more troubles than we expected. Pinpointing the exact genes we were looking for was difficult enough; then came all the failed results. Most babies died, either inside the womb or shortly after birth. A few developed normally, but somehow lacked a substantial number of the traits we were shooting for. Others were born with significant physical and/or mental defects; while some of this lot were still capable of leading somewhat normal lives, others had to be euthanized, simply because they were far too deformed to ever survive outside the facility.

If I recall correctly, it was only after 537 failed attempts that we finally got the baby we were looking for. Project 538 was the perfect baby, the fruit of several years of hard, frustrating, and often maddening labor.

The first few months were spent in utter joy as we watched our creation blossom. The child developed at an almost supernatural rate; by the time he was eight months old, he was already capable of forming simple sentences and performing basic arithmetic; by fifteen months he was solving algebraic equations and reading at the level of a high school sophomore. On his second birthday, several world-renowned scholars officially deemed the boy the smartest in the world, more mentally capable than even they. Physically, the boy's development was flawless. Even under deliberate exposure to disease, he showed absolutely no signs of sickness. All the while, the researchers involved with Project 538 (myself included) were nothing short of elated, unfathomably proud of the perfect human being they'd helped bring into existence. Plans were in the works to extract a sample of the boy's genetic tissue and begin a cloning process.

But then, just four months before the boy's third birthday... he arrived.

On the surface, nothing was wrong with this man; he was a tall, lanky guy, just looking for a job as a pharmaceutical technician. Yet, if you were close to this guy, you just knew something was... off. He kept to himself mostly, and oftentimes, when he was around other people, he would make the most off-color remarks at the most random of times. But the main thing about this guy was that he just felt... well, the only word I can use to describe it is "empty".

The only thing I ever found out about this guy was that his name was Jack.

Things got worse when, not even a month after he was hired, Jack was promoted to senior researcher for Project 538. Some say he was friends with the top brass and was able to schmooze his way into the position; others say he bullied and blackmailed his way there. To this very moment, I think it was something far worse, something... not of this world. The point is, Jack now had direct access to Project 538, something none of us wanted, but that we couldn't control.

That was when everything began to take a turn for the worse.

Within a few days of this guy's arrival, Project 538 began to change. He suddenly became an extreme introvert where before he was outgoing and energetic. Most of the time he wanted no company whatsoever; the only exception, strangely enough, was Jack, whose presence Project 538 seemed to love. A couple months later, 538 started muttering about "reuniting them" or "destroying legion". At the same time, strange phenomena started occurring. Once we entered the Observation Room to find 538's containment chamber completely ablaze; when we were finally able to extinguish the fire, everything inside the room remained unscathed. Another time, we went into the O.R. and found an inconceivably old man sitting where 538 should've been. When we rushed into the containment chamber, 538 had returned, with the old man nowhere in sight. We appealed to the heads of A.G. to get Jack removed from the project, but our pleas were ignored; they insisted Jack remain in charge of the project, and might I add rather dully.

The strange events had been continuing for well over three years when, to our relief, Jack suddenly quit his job. The only proper words to describe the feeling was utter ecstasy; finally, all this shit would come to an end.

How wrong we were. The real ride was just beginning.

The day after Jack left, about half our research team just disappeared. None of us ever found where they'd gone, and the top brass remained silent on the issue. In the following days, some of the other researchers started to act the same way as 538 - minus all the freaky shit, of course. Those of us whose minds remained intact wanted to do something, but deep down we knew there was nothing we could do.

Then, just this morning, a little short of two weeks after Jack vanished, all Hell broke loose.

I (thankfully, oh, god, thankfully) had gotten stuck in a traffic jam and was late getting to work. I just clocked in when I heard a loud thundering sound coming from the area where Project 538 was being held. By this time, we'd all gotten used to the weird shit 538 pulled on a daily basis, so I thought nothing of it. In retrospect, I should've gotten there as fast as my legs could've taken me.

The sight that greeted me when I arrived at the O.R. is one I will likely take to the grave with me... or wherever the hell I'm going after this.

I opened the door to about a dozen bloody, mangled corpses, mutilated in ways no creature on Earth would've been capable of. In the containment chamber, 538 looked perfectly normal, until I noticed his eyes. They were black. No iris, no pupil, nothing but solid black from corner to corner.

Then he turned that bloody gaze to me.

Immediately I felt a pulsating pain within me, unlike no other I'd ever felt. In fact, even as I type this, I can still feel the throbbing aftermath of whatever the hell it was he did to me. Yet, by means that to this minute I'm baffled over, I managed to get away from that room before I fully succumbed to the attack. I locked it up tight behind me; there was no way that little bastard was gonna finish me off.

Then I realized that the body count in there was nowhere near the amount of researchers left on the project.

That's when I heard the screams.

I peered over the balcony to the floor below; looking back, I sure as hell wish I hadn't.

What greeted me was the remaining researchers, also with black eyes, tearing the workers below to shreds with their bare hands. People strangling others with such force that their heads literally popped like shattered watermelons. Ripped and tattered limbs, still spurting blood, being used to bludgeon those who still breathed before the creatures I used to call colleagues descended on them with animal ferocity, chewing flesh from bone with their teeth.

After I recovered from the horror, I did the only thing I could do, the only thing I knew how to do in a situation like this.

I ran.

Leaving the facility was not an option, as the entire production floor was nothing short of a bloodbath, and those things were DAMN fast. If I tried, they'd be all over me in seconds. Instead, I took shelter in the very same janitor's closet I'm typing in right this very instant.

In the few hours I've been in here, I've been researching the strange things 538 was mumbling just before this place went to Hell on a bullet train. I can safely assure you that I know that what I've found is what I set out to find.

You see, there are apparently 2538 objects that were created by some unknown, unfathomable power. For the most part, these items look like ordinary, commonplace things, but they all hold a dark, arcane power that is supposed to corrupt whoever obtains one. What's worse, if all 2538 are collected and brought together, a catastrophe of unimaginable proportions is supposed to happen. That's gotta be what he meant when he kept talking about "reuniting them". Furthermore, some superhuman guy called Legion apparently has 2000 of them, which would explain the whole "destroy legion" thing.

All I can hear outside the door now is scraping and squishing. I'm positive that anyone who wasn't one of those monsters is now dead, and that they know I'm here somewhere. I know that bastard Jack is behind all of this. If anyone ever finds that son of a bitch, I hope they give him Hell a million times over. I also know that Project 538 is out there, gathering the Objects one by one. I warn you; though he's still a child - he's six years old as of today -, that kid has powers the likes of which the world's never seen. If you get even the slightest inkling you've come across him, I urge you, get as far away from him as possible.

Yet, as dire as it may seem, I believe there is still one last hope. You see, there was a lower-level researcher who disappeared just before that rat-ass Jack first showed his face. He always talked about his son, who was about twenty at the time, and how he thought his kid was somehow different from others. I don't think the guy even knows about A.G., much less Project 538 or the Objects, but I've got this gut feeling he's the key to ending this. Call it cliche, but my gut's never been wrong to date.

If it is now... God he -

File ends here.

The Author, Sonya K. Parker, lived the last year of her life in Parkend's Home for the Homeless. She was found in delusion. Research was made into the company she claimed to work for. Not much was found. Although we did receive confirmation from the CEO (L. Rockwell) that the company was still up and running, and still "Keeping Us Better".

According to the staff of Parkend's, Sonya's last days had her nearly catatonic after a visit from a man in a suit. From then on she would only repeat the phrase. "They knew. They waited. But they don't know."


I don't know where to begin.

Her name was Rose. Or... at least, that's what I think it was. A month ago, I would have been mortified at the idea of forgetting my daughter's name, but now it seems ordinary. How do I begin this? I'd introduce myself, but that would do neither of us any good. Instead, I will just tell you what I can remember, and what I cannot forget.

I always thought I was lucky, born into wealth, married rich, good bill of health. I couldn't even understand the idea of things not working out, because I thought it would work out. No matter what. Back then, I didn't know about these things. Back then, I don't think I would have cared. I would have laughed at that beggar, ignored the man in the suit, slept through... But that's not what happened. I did change, but my luck didn't, or at least I keep telling myself that. The truth is, no matter how I'd like to think otherwise; absolutely nothing changed when Rose died. I don't remember exactly what it was, just a few moments of it. Words like "broken bones", "nerve damage", and "unsuccessful" bounce around in my head, but don't really help me piece together her death. If she is dead.

It didn't hit me until a week after. I went to the funeral, I cried, I swore, I did everything I should have, but her death didn't hit me. Until that day when I left work late. I don't even remember where I worked, or even... I left the building and walked my usual route, except there were no clouds out that day. But it was dark, you see. Dark without clouds. I met a homeless... I can't even remember... I think it was a she... this woman looked at me, didn't say anything. I broke down. It wasn't fair. Why did they take her? She was so young. IT WASN'T FAIR. But the woman didn't console me. She simply told me I could save her. She took out a spoon, and put it in my hand. One of those things. She told me if I could find more I could bring her back. From the dead. She said it. Back from the dead. I believed her. Idiot that I was. I didn't leave well enough on its own. So I took the spoon. And I kill- No. I didn't. I don't think I did.

Holders. That's what they were called. Monsters that guarded the things. I'm probably wrong. I never understood them, I never cared to. Ignorance is fucking bliss. To be honest, I never even found one of them. I just had the thing the beggar gave me. No more. Nothing special. But he still came for me. This man in a suit. Said he represented some company. He told me that I shouldn't meddle with things I didn't understand. I told him to get out of my house. No. I told him to leave me alone, because I was trying to have a coffee at the park. But I don't drink coffee. I don't think it really matters anymore. I wonder if he knew I'd be like this now. I wonder if he really knew when he winked, and when he handed me the pen. Told me it was another one. Told me to find more. I'm not special. I'm not different. I'm just lucky. Yeah, he knew. He must have known. He must be laughing his ass off right now. Fucker. This whole thing is probably his fault. No... it's not... Rose...

The thing he gave me, the pen, it wasn't a gift to me. It was a gift to the darkness. I was just meant to hold it; for only seven hours. Because that night it was gone. If there is one thing I do remember, it is that night. I woke up, sweating. Something told me she was downstairs. Rose. Just getting a midnight snack. But, of course, she wasn't. But she was. But the room was empty nonetheless. 'Til the crack showed up. A hole of blood appeared in the kitchen. Only it was black as tar. I looked closer, but there was nothing on the other side. But then some... thing came out of it. It watched me. But it took the pen. Didn't touch me. I think. Whatever the creature was, it was nothing I'd ever seen before, or I will ever see again I hope. I woke up that morning with a new feeling. Hate. Was I somebody's pawn? Their game? What the fuck was -

Except it wasn't morning. It's what it is now. The sun is black. The sky is dark red. No one in sight. Mr. Reel was right, it was the end of the game. He knew it was coming to this, and then he... he disappeared. Maybe like I did? I don't know. But I do. But I can't tell you that yet.

What I can tell you though. Is what I will do. These "Seekers" are afraid of the Holders and all of their magical powers. But they are afraid of the wrong thing. They should look in their own hands. Those things. I think they know. I think they are laughing. I think they are the real villains here. Playing around with human emotion, human nature just for the hell of it. But I still have the spoon. And I still have blood left, but only enough to end this letter. I think I'm dying. Or being born. I find it funny that I can't tell the difference. Or maybe they are the same. Either way, I only have enough blood for the spoon to write:

Rose I'm sor

Tʜᴇ Bʟᴏᴏᴅ Fᴇᴀsᴛᴇʀ

We only read about it in stories, and we thought he was totally crazy. Not just "he", but He too. We hear about the Seekers, they say they are fake and that the Objects are fake. Not true. The Seeker must be careful, as my friend took to one of the Objects. Our school was destroyed in the 90's, along with many students. To cover up the "demonic crisis", the Church of Christ closed down the entire area.

What many do not know is that there were four in the school that logged information about the "Blood Feaster". In two instances, the names "Kain" and "Majora" are mentioned along with a "Blood Feaster-'weapon-thingy'" by student accounts - one in a badly written, first attempt short story by a sixth grader and another by a written memo stained in blood by school nurse Attilia.

The sick sense of these "demons" actually destroyed an elementary school with kids in it, along with the teachers, nurses, principal, and even superintendent. What may be known is that the superintendent may have been a Holder, while a student read of the first known Object writing back in 1998 (read shortly before a major dot com bubble).

I've researched "Kain" and "Majora" enough to know that they have been ill-presented in modern depictions.

"Kain" is referred to as the "King of Vampires" and even has a ridiculous game associated with his name under the "Blood Omen" series on PlayStation.

Similarly, Majora is only referred to in a "Legend of Zelda" game. The mask that is considered to be "Majora's Mask" is actually a mask created by Legion that fused nearly every element of the Objects, from the moment of existence to the point of absolute zero.

Kain is a representative of Majora, in that he possesses many of the abilities bestowed by that of Majora. Now Majora is a different entity - unexplainable by textual interfaces and even thoughtforms. May you attempt to envision the true entity that Majora is, you will succumb to permanent madness.

The only way to understand Majora is by having the Mask of Majora (not Majora's Mask) which was created by Kain in order to communicate effectively with Majora. Some would consider the Mask of Majora to be an etheral entity created in the third dimension through a conscious mind tampering with fifth-dimensional properties.

I have come into possession of this mask only once, and I must tell you: DO NOT READ THE REST OF THIS ARTICLE.

This mask will let you see through to a fifth dimension parallax known as "ENTITY 61'055'402'538." This is a dangerous flirt with third dimension pulsates; if you do not possess Object 46 (the mirror), you will not be protected by the conscious vibrations of existential indifferences. In other words, your mind will be ripped apart and your body will lump to the ground as a sack of flesh.

Kain is in usual possession of this mask as he is Majora's main representative of the Mind in the third dimension. Kain and Legion do not get along, despite alignment perfections. Kain wishes to achieve material perfection - while Legion is a being that is One but Many. Legion would love to have Kain's soulful embodiment, but Kain seeks the weapon known as the "Blood Feaster".

After you attain the seven masks by the Holder of the Seven Masks, the fifth mask is Discordia's Mask, which will guarantee you the empowerment of all things Chaos. Kain may seek you out, and should he find you, he will cast the building you stay in with a giant rock wall. This rock wall materialized from the ethereal realm known only as Hell, and will be unaffected by human magic and especially any possible dimension-hacking tricks.

With Discordia's Mask, you will be able to identify the position of the Blood Feaster. Kain cannot actually wear this mask and relies on human effort to pinpoint the location - should this happen to you, be prepared.

Kain may not die by any known human weapon, chemical, or gas. Occasionally, he may be stunned - which is required to kill his human form. You will require all seven masks to defeat Kain, along with the Blood Feaster. Failure to attain the Blood Feaster and increasing Kain's time spent hunting you down will result in catastrophic fates and outcomes.

One report notes that the killing by Kain was "very momentary", while others note, "he was sicker than Satan himself". Reports indicate everything from hard drug usage to mass manslaughter to grossly violent crimes such as rape and cannibalism. Some consider it pleasure to Kain - it is merely entertainment as no known mortal encountering Kain has ever been able to escape for longer than a few hours.

Many believe that the Blood Feaster lay dormant in South Africa, where blood diamonds are being foraged today. I dare not go after the weapon, but it never hurts to want to put an end to one of Lucifer's creations... wouldn't you agree?

Regardless, the Blood Feaster is considered Object 1999 of 2538... a weapon cursed by the gods themselves.


If I keep it. He'll be mad.

So I'll give it away.

But if I give it away, that person might use it.

So I'll trash it.

But if I trash it, They will find it.

So I'll hide it.

But if I hide it THEY will come get it.

So I will use it.


I will use it.

He will find me.

But I will be strong.

So he'll knock on the door.

I already hear him.

Then he will climb the stairs.

I bite down.

He will find me.

I bite HARDER.

He's coming.

I taste blood.

Almost there

I close my eyes.

Scratching at my door.

My back's hurting.

I hear screams.

My bones changing.

Door opens.

Skin ripping.

He looks at me I can't see but I know he's looking at me I can't see but I feel it.

I open my eyes I see black I see oil I see blood I see you I see nothing but I see everything.

I am Safe.

Come find me.

Fᴏʀ Yᴏᴜʀ Pʟᴇᴀsᴜʀᴇ

Translated for your pleasure. It's too late to use these, anyway.

Journal 1334630 Entry #902 [See Experiment Log 21765 Entry 12 for further details]


Experiment titled "Legionnaire" is proceeding slightly slower than planned. After my promotion to Senior Researcher I have had many more freedoms. The boy's more... delayed than I would have imagined. My recollections of the first time this was done seem to color it a little more rapid, but this might be attributed to genetic degradation or simply fondness of my own people.

Yes, after a brief examination of my earlier notes, this seems the only time I have recollected them as notably better than those I mingle with today. It seems I have simply hoped for the unrealistic. Saddening.

The replacement has reacted well during our conversations, expressing interest in the peculiarities I have brought him; the stories I have red. I expect that he shall be overjoyed when I bring one of Them in.

It upsets me that I shall be ending an experiment; but its purpose has been fulfilled and it has lost use to me as a contact, expressing a noted dislike of me. I expect this is due to Their cajoling. Oh, well. All shall go as planned.

Journal 13334630 Entry #1012 [See Experiment Log 376 Entry 10334 for further details]


Experiment titled "P376" has hit a snag. My tracking of the Subject's movements have revealed that when His path is overlaid onto a map, they form the symbol Kyrimis which is a potent curse on the viewer's eyes.

My wards barely held this off and I am forced to contemplate whether He has discovered my attempts at following Him or simply a manifestation of the hypothesized paranoia.

I shall cease my questioning of the Observer's agents until I believe he will have repeated this symbol. If he has retraced the same route, or a similar one, then I shall assume it is an aspect of His paranoia and go from there.

Journal 13334630 Entry #1222 [See Experiment Log 21761 Entry 29 and Experiment Log 21765 Entry 31 for further details]


Experiment titled "Rebirth" is functioning well beyond expected parameters. Progeny G2-68774 has entered the armed forced in an attempt to direct his rage. Thought implants are exerting greater control on 68774 than in most other subjects. I am of the belief that 68774 has a natural affinity for violence greater than half that of most humans and is thusly more easily exploited by the implants.

Experiment titled "Legionnaire" has only worsened since we were forced to evacuate the labs. I might have to set up a delay on "Rebirth". I fear "Legionnaire" will not be done in time.

On a side note "Legionnaire" shall further more be dubbed Progeny G1-68786.

Journal 13334630 Entry #1300 [See Experiment Log 21761 Entry 56 for further details]


Experiment titled "Rebirth" entered final stages in today's early hours. It was a complete success, barring some minor difficulties.

Regrettably, I have lost a Progeny but I have gained both a battery and fodder for my many experiments.

I suppose it is good that my attachment to G1-68774 is no longer an issue; I take at least that away from the troubles.

How odd, then, that I felt obligated to free what little was left of G2-68774, cast it away from Nero and upon the Nexus. My attachments have rarely penetrated the veil of death, and those cases that they have are... exceptional.

I shall have to deal with this.

Journal 13334639 Entry #1356 [See Experiment Log 376 Entry 10335 for further details]


Experiment titled "P376" has made a disturbing revelation. A few hours ago I was contacted by the Subject, he informed me he was aware of my tracking of him and of my studies of several other Holders whom he has allied himself with. He threatened me with an immediate attack unless my actions ceased.

I shall be replacing these Holders with selected Seekers in a brief timeline. This will hopefully be done in short enough time to prevent further action on Their part. I have selected my first Seeker; set to replace Denial. Further entries regarding this plan will be placed under project "Coup".

Journal 1334630 Entry #1371 [See Project Log 3452 Entry 457, Experiment Log 4506 Entry 2002, and Experiment Log 10348 Entry 1 for further details]


Project titled "Acquisition" was interrupted today. Such is intolerable due to the importance of my work, the difficulty achieving what I see, and the limited time provided.

I was looking into a new contact for a means of building the machine when I was halted by a cloaked figure. I believe he is of the same order of being as "Tazmaran". Experiment "Advocate" showed him to be capable of recreating the Universe (depending on the reality branch; several failures were also recorded). Experiment "Breaker" (a helpful coincidence, really) showed that they are, in fact, capable of death. This is good news.

The being that contacted me referred to itself as "Balance". It appears to belong to a religious sect believing the Universe to be in constant need of equilibrium. The being then made an attempt on my life using unknown magics, which put me down for quite some time. Further interaction is required.

Journal 1334630 Entry #1390


Note to Self: Kill the Pirate.

Journal 1334630 Entry #1478 [See Experiment Log 21771 Entry 1 for further details]


Experiment titled "Blood" begun today. It is an examination of Their influences on a newborn. In this experiment, I shall act as the variable; influencing myself into the child's life. Plans have been made for the possibility of the child becoming a danger to my life or an alley to Them.

The experiment has, among other things, invoked the birth of a child on two sterile individuals. This has been done through use of an Object.

I am hoping to receive a reliable sample for future experiments.

Journal 1334630 Entry #1488 [See Project Log 3498 Entry 6 for further detail]


Project titled "Coup" progress report:

Trichinobezoar (Denial): acquired, deposited with Seeker

Rose Stem (Vanity): Holder has been replaced

Picture and Frame (Isolation): Holder has been replaced

Holder of Forever is missing; I cannot find its remains nor its Object.

Mask (The Many): yet to acquire

Safety is now on the run. This is good.

Journal 1334630 Entry #1538 [See Experiment Log 21765 Entry 64, Project Log 2442 Entry 118658 for further details]


Experiment titled "Legionnaire" has been dismal. Slow progression, the matters involving Project "Hunger" and my distrust of my descendants has hobbled it almost beyond repair.

Progeny G1-68786 has shown remarkable success in most activities I have deployed him in but has yet to make even the least noteworthy steps toward toppling Legion. Perhaps if I take him on a mission in Project "Hunger" he will show greater progress.

I have found my thoughts drifting toward Progeny G1-68774 again today. I am thinking of starting a new project.

Journal 1334630 Entry #1555 [See Experiment Log 3498 Entry 12 for further details]


Project titled "Coup" has taken the expected turn. His brothers and sisters gone Safety made an attempt to attack me. We engaged in a duel during which I sustained several damages to my left leg, lower jaw, and torso.

I had extreme difficulty harming the Holder, it appears as though the Object recalibrates when in His hands as it clearly reacted differently than the steady readings I receive under experimental conditions.

This setback can be dealt with in two to three weeks.

Journal 1334630 Entry #1573 [See Experiment Log 21771 Entry 19 for further details]


Experiment titled "Blood" has been a rousing success. I find no greater joy than watching Progeny G1-69787 progress; enlightened, loyal, gifted, and with minimal effort on my part. I believe that this is due entirely on my direct influence in his creation, namely; the involvement of my Knives.

I wonder what I could've achieved if I had been there for G1-68786's creation and not just his development external to the womb...

Journal 1334630 Entry #1634 [See Project Log 2442 Entry 118778 for further details]


I shouldn't have brought Progeny G1-68786. Why was I such an idiot?


It's all screwed up. All screwed up. All corkscrewing down the drain. I should kill him. That's what I should do. Kill him. Kill Spectre. It's so unrelentingly simple. Then I'd kill Balance and Infectos and your little dog, too.

But I won't. There must be a way to salvage this. There is a way.

I'll just kill Balance and Infectos and, with any luck, your little dog, too.

But first I need to get Essum to agree to something...



At the end of the movie I get the girl.

Journal 1334630 Entry #1656 [See Experiment Log 21771 Entry 25 for further details]


Experiment titled "Blood" has been a port in the storm during these dark times. Progeny G1-69787 is a last humor for me, I find myself comparing him to poisoned candy. Sweet on the outside, death on the inside; a rousing success.

He vies for my attentions, they all do. I must say, he's my current favorite. Current being the operative word.

EDIT: I do not recall writing that last sentence. I have not left my station between now and my completion of this report. I am forced to believe I have written that. My mind drifts to Progeny G1-68774 and that new experiment that I toyed with for a time, my contemplation on Progeny G1-68786's possibilities if I had created him.

I shall need to contact some old friends...

Journal 1334630 Entry #1660 [See Project Log 31 Entry 156 for further details]


Project titled "Debt" has had unexpected results recently. She has begun moving through the house again, occasionally crying and showing emotion.

Higher dosage? New mix?

I hate it when she cries. I owe her enough to make it so she doesn't cry again.

Journal 1334630 Entry #1667 [See Project Log 3498 Entry 10 for further details]


Project titled "Coup" is nearing closure. Earlier tonight I went to Safety's location and began the trial. He attempted to lead me to an alley, at which point I grabbed him by the neck and dragged him to his personal dwelling.

I forced him to go through the trial, with means I shall not put to ink, until he was supposed to give me his Object. At that juncture, I left.

I believe this will dissuade his attempts to harm me.

Journal 1334630 Entry #1673 [See Project Log 3078 Entry 52, Project Log 3452 Entry 566 for further details]


Project titled "Heart" has become active again after nearly thirty years. Gestation has taken longer than is acceptable. Project "Acquisition" might need to resort to the E.A.P.

However, if the sample is large enough, this will begin a chain reaction that will complete "Acquisition". Hope for the best, plan for the worst.

Journal 1334630 Entry #1834 [See Experiment Log 21773 Entry 3 for further details]


Experiment titled "Despair" is in its early stages. The relevant samples have all been gathered, as have most scans. I'm nearing completion on research front, as well. I will need to die soon, though, to gather the relevant souls.

Journal 1334630 Entry #1854 [See Project Log 3228 Entry 1 for further details]


Project titled "Cold" began today. I have widened the anomaly and stabilized. I proceed to agitate the Remains. The portal lost stability after 6 hours and the Remains did not arrive.

However, after another sixteen hours there was a similar anomaly over Norway.

Success. Happy Easter, forthcoming.

Journal 1334630 Entry #1860 [See Project Log 31 Entry 157 for further details]


Project titled "Debt" is back on track. She is docile again.

It almost hurts to see her like she gets. Almost.

Journal 1334630 Entry #1934 [See Experiment Log 21773 Entry 19 for further details]


I've done it. The manipulations to the samples, the combining, the alterations to more closely fit the scans. The Implants. They've crafted it.

I must admit it's flawed, unlike Progeny G1-68786 but even so... it will do. The Host need only be capable of sustaining the Copy while gathering the necessary elements.

She shall not be given a Progeny Code; instead she shall be referred to as "Vini Vidi Vici".

Her eyes are the most remarkable thing; pools of utter blackness. Like her blood. Black like the Void. Like her Uncle. I'm sorry, Essum, you will need to wait for a while longer to see your Niece.

We shall see if she is willing to open a Door after Project "Cold" then I hope for a breakthrough with "Acquisition".

And that, my friend, is all you get.

Fʀᴏᴍ Bᴇʜɪɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ Dᴇsᴋ

To: Dr. Kessler DClinPsych - Hospital Administrator

Dr. Kessler

Since I started working here, I've noticed bizarre happenings on an infrequent, but disturbingly frequent enough, basis. Random visitors come to the desk and ask to see somebody called "The Holder" of one of various, normally intangible, things. Immediately after that, something happens. I don't know what it is, but shortly after a whiteout I seem to still be standing at reception, though the clock clearly indicates some lost time - sometimes over an hour. A few times I was fatigued, or felt freshly wasted. Once, the feeling of cleanliness was accomplished by the taste of blood and small amounts of it under my nails.

I don't know what is happening, and I hope I'm not falling ill to the insanities of our patients, but it is starting to make me wonder if I don't in fact belong in one of our padded cells... I suffer parasomnia, often having terrible nightmares involving these "Holders". I've taken the liberty of writing out my resignation should you request it, and I get the feeling you will.

One last thing, a thought. I notice this hospital has been through a number of reception nurses recently, and I can't help but to wonder if maybe this is related. Has anybody else experienced these phenomena? It's unlikely, but it would bring me a little peace.


Nurse Jane Simmons

Tʜᴇ Gᴀᴛᴇᴋᴇᴇᴘᴇʀ ᴏғ Lᴇɢɪᴏɴ

So, you've come to this, have you? You've finally found the Objects. Well, I must first say congratulations! You've done better than your predecessors and you will do better than anyone else for some time. Why? I'll tell you more on that later perhaps. Now, as I was saying, how was the trip? Did you get everything you wanted? Oh, come on, speak up! Let's see that brilliant smile of yours! No? Well, I don't suppose you have to, it's not like I'm going to make you. So, how did it feel, finding your first Object... Terrifying? Yes, well, it would be. I doubt even I would have made it without a slight tingle down my spine, but there we are.

Do you have the Objects with you? Good! I must say, I'm very impressed. Now, would you be a good little child and place them down on my table, here... I suppose you're wondering why I'm here. After all, this isn't exactly what you would have thought it is, what with not a single item in this room disturbing you remotely. Well, your quest is almost over, you see, for there are no Objects left to find, but just because you've found the Objects does not mean that it's over. After all, the journey will never be truly over, will it?

There's plenty more to be done, secrets to be revealed. What's that, dearie? You want to get it over and done with; well, I'm afraid you can't do that... This little wild goose chase you've got yourself into will quite literally never end. You will be here for the rest of eternity and you know why? Because I am a Holder of Legion, the gatekeeper from your land into ours, you see. I tried to do this, to hunt the Objects, but I failed. Dragged down to their land, I was forced to make a decision, either I stayed in that wretched place or I bring others to take mine. I would never truly be free, though, even after I lure a fickle human to this place through the planting of hundreds of "items". After all, one can never escape death's icy grip...

So, good news, you're my replacement. After I give you in, I can begin my fresh life, ready for the challenge and sacrifice that comes with it. Oh, don't worry, you won't have to go down there. I mean, eventually, you will want to... But there's nothing stopping you from just staying here, here with my paintings. You didn't know this but, through my long and what I thought would be eternal existence, I have acquired a certain knack for painting. Would you like to see? Now, don't be rude. If there's any one thing I can't tolerate in this world, it is rudeness. Thank you for bringing the Objects to me. Now, I can begin my search for the legion, there's a lot of work to be done. After all, there are 1999 legion to be found... And I greatly look forward to seeing it put together again.

Tʜᴇ Gᴀᴛᴇᴋᴇᴇᴘᴇʀ's Cʜɪʟᴅ

Children are truly remarkable, aren't they? They have the innate ability to surpass all levels of hate, to ignore the resounding cruelty which our world shouts out, desperately clawing at our ears, hoping to get us to hear. It is but a child who can find the answer... It is but a child who can put them together again. Oh, how I long to be there, how my every bone aches to breathe in the essence of pure, unadulterated evil. Well, I must face the fact that I won't, I never will unless I find a child, one capable of presenting themselves to them without seeking the guidance of emotion... Only a child can pass the test, and I need to find one...

What about that sweet little child from Everton Lane? Such a kind face, so... gullible. I'll have to be sure, though, these young things can present a huge number of problems, it would seem that Objects are in order... Objects to prove the child's worth... Objects to prove that nothing can kill him...

Hɪs Hᴏʟᴅᴇʀ

Finally, after endless years of searching, endless years of thinking, I know. I haven't slept in months of late. I can't. No one knows, but He. I've... seen things... I wasn't supposed to live, but I did.


He consumes. My friend fell prey to his thoughts. It corrupted him, but it hasn't corrupted me. I know It hasn't. It couldn't have! He said the shadows grew long, but I haven't noticed a thing...

And now, at this very moment, I feel my sanity edging away slowly, like the erosion which wears down even the greatest of structures. I feel it... maybe I'm not different... like the others before me...

My secret is a burden. I wish it could be a harmless one, but I am merely a messenger, caught in a storm of violence. A glimpse of His Shadow could have killed a mere man, but not me, no.

Why, oh why did I have to live?

The End, I always avoided him. Rumors were circulating...

Why me?


I was supposed to meet him, but when the door opened, I found a hallway.



At the end of the hallway, I noticed a... disturbance. Clearly, there was light but... a ripple. I knew something was wrong.


The lights began to die, and I slowly followed suit. It wasn't my fault! Flinging myself toward the handle, the door bust open.

Damn my curiosity.

Being the fool that I am, I turned. With my two own eyes, I saw Its Shadow. And I saw things. Nightmares. Past. Future.

Does it matter?

I saw things I shouldn't have seen? And I feel It's Presence in me, lingering inside, observing, ready to pounce, just like a predator.

God, I know. He was spawned from Them. When the time was nigh, and their joining failed. He spawned. It spawned. But like all things, It has an origin. Parents. It does not wish to gather them, but to destroy them. It has a Holder.

His cold is corrupting... My eyes deceive me. I feel It closing in on me... oh why me? His Holder... Only when They come together, He will die...


He will kneel... The Stars will burn... And when they do, so will He. They will own the Objects... All 2538. You have destroyed It, but was it worth the price of pandemonium?

Tʜᴇ Hᴏʟᴅᴇʀ ᴏғ Is

I haven't much longer to live. The man who killed me speaks only in truths, twisted and misleading though they are. He transcribed the following. Be very careful. This information is useful, but I believe only with those who have seen the Holder of Skepticism and lived. I trust this will end up in the right hands, for any way it ends is a good end for me. I am very sorry.

Signed, Douglas Buccnus

The Holder of Is


Psychiatric Rehabilitation Program

Doctor in charge of session is Isis S****

Patient #1918 aka Johnny Zvee aka Jane Doe aka "Shout"

The following is transcribed from a recording. Asterisks indicate unintelligible words. Names may have been changed.

Dr. IS: This is Dr. Isis S**** session twelve with patient number 1918, aka Johnny Zvee, aka Jane -

Patient #1918: I don't like this.

Dr. IS: - for rehabilitation. What don't you like?

Silence for several seconds.

Dr. IS: How has your week been?

Patient: Why am I here?

Dr. IS: You're here because you need treatment. You need help.

Patient: I don't need help; I just need to get out of here.

Dr. IS: You signed yourself into our care. You did need help. You do need help.

Patient: I didn't sign it, I didn't sign it.

Dr. IS: But you did. I have your signature on file. Don't you remember? ... You came in, and the first thing you said was, "If you have a good day, please don't hesitate to ask."

Patient: Not the first thing. I heard those other words come out of my mouth.

Dr. IS: Well, none of the eyewitnesses heard you say anything else. Why is it so important that you said those words?

Patient: You're a very controlling person, you know that?

Dr. IS: I - ... I don't know what you mean by that, but we are not talking about me, we are talking about you.

Patient: Same thing.

Dr. IS: What do you mean by that?

Several seconds of silence.

Patient: My week's been good. I had pizza for lunch, and then I took a walk in the park, and then I came here for god knows how long and then I had my session with you... which is right now.

Dr. IS: When did you go to the park? You've been here for 4 months.

A chuckle is heard.

Patient: So it would seem.

Dr. IS: ***** I need to know if you've been out of your cell.

The next 20 minutes are unintelligible.

Patient: I don't remember anymore. I don't want to remember anymore.

Dr. IS: Don't remember what? What don't you want to remember?

Patient: I am so scared. Scared to go to sleep. And scared to stay awake. I see them whenever I go - I wasn't the one supposed to be held. You hold, hold, hold me tightly Dr. Isis. I loved your kind dearly. Oh god kill me. Is this punishment?

A succession of loud pounding noises are heard.

Dr. IS: Okay, I'm getting the guards.

A chair scrapes across the floor. A loud clapping noise is heard.

Dr. IS: Don't grab me! Guard!

A loud scuffling is heard. A door is opened roughly. A struggle is heard.

Patient: I am your master! I am not a plaything for you! I am your master! I am yo-

The recording shuts off for several minutes.

Dr. IS: I am recommending isolation. Patient #1672 is becoming increasingly volatile and -

New recording starts.

Unknown female voice: She told me "she is out", and I said that you should be too.

New recording starts.

Dr. IS: What have you been doing this week?

Patient #1918: Playing games.

Dr. IS: What kind of games?

Patient: Hide.

Dr. IS: Who are you hiding from?

Patient: What you own... The Objects control you.

End of recording.

Dear Douglas,

Not a lot is known about the individuals in the recording. Patient #1918 was/is intersexed, though was allegedly born with the name Johnny Zvee. S/he allegedly used the name "Jane Doe" for a series of autographed animal slaughters that were committed during a fugue state that were eventually connected to her/him. Though when signed into the asylum's care, s/he used the name "Shout". No official document of why Patient #1918 was put in a maximum-security mental hospital exists.

Dr. Isis S. has been working at the asylum for an undetermined amount of time. Despite my attempts to get answers, she refuses to acquiesce, and the grad students I send to ask her usually don't come back from this errand. I'm sure you can relate to the frustration this causes.

I am sending this to you because I have been told that you could do more with this information than I could. Regardless of your motivation for collecting the Objects, I feel that I must pass this on to you, Douglas. If I can be of any assistance, please let me know. The Object you led me to in exchange for this paltry piece of paper is invaluable, and I would be happy to lend my hand.

Sincerely yours,

Professor ***** *************

Tʜᴇ Hᴏʟᴅᴇʀ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ Cᴜʟᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

I watched it all happen.

Go to the nearest gumball machine you can find. Put in the coin from the Holder of Trade and turn the knob. Only the coin will come out. Go through the nearest door you can find and you will see a desert. Relax, for you are safe here. You will not feel hunger, thirst, fatigue, or disease while you are here. You will live here forever, even after they are reunited. Lucky bastard.

I even helped to begin it. I can't live with myself.

Go to the nearest gumball machine you can find. Put in the coin from the Holder of Trade and turn the knob. Only the coin will come out.

I'm sorry, am I repeating myself? After all these years, it has gotten fuzzy in my memory.

This punishment is not enough for me. I deserve more.

Actually, either the coin could come out, or two gumballs.

No, that's wrong. Two gumballs came out for me. They won't come out for you. You will benefit from my mistake.

I was guilty. They came for me.

When I was doing this, a black gumball and a white gumball came out. I took the white gumball. What a fool I was. Only the black gumball will come out for you. Eat it. No, that's wrong. Chew it.

They made me a Holder. They spared me.

And then you will be transported to a dull world. The sky will be tinted beige. In front of you you will see a factory, but the world will be blurry. You know how on a hot day, the heat messes with your eyes? You see ripples sometimes. It's like the world is a mirage. Oh, how I wish it was.

I was one of the few to live.

Look up. No, look right. Actually, look northeast. East is right, right? Hahahah. That's funny. I haven't heard a good joke in a while. So anyway, there will be a track on top of the factory. Behind you will appear a man. This is the Holder of the Culmination.

I am not him. He is not me. I didn't know what he would do with what I gave him. Now I know.

Keep looking at the track. You will stare for a long time. Not a long time. A really long time. You should be dead by the time you stop. But you won't be. Finally, he will ask you, "What time is it?" and you must respond, "It's time for the beginning of the end." You should still be staring at the track. If he makes an annoyed grunting noise, then blink. If he doesn't, then... well... I'm sorry. I will cry for you when I sleep.

It's a shame I never sleep.

So when you finish blinking... which should be in half of half of half of half of a second... look at the track again. If a red wheelbarrow rolls by, then you are on the right path. If nothing appears, then the Object is gone. Your timing was impeccable. As soon as you realize this, then the Culmination has begun. Feel free to stay here. Only the suicidal would go back to the real world now.

At least I have company. Seekers like you.

If a red wheelbarrow does appear, then run away. The Holder is trying to kill you... and then you'll see a door.

I hate the Object I guard. I created it. Not on purpose. Not directly. I caused the Culmination. I caused this... this... thing.

Go inside the door. Here marks the beginning of a long, long adventure.

I am the Holder of the... the... I can't bring myself to say that word.

I'm sorry, but I can't bring myself to finish this story yet. Maybe another time.

Is Object 2535 really worth it?

Tʜᴇ Iɴʜᴀʙɪᴛᴀɴᴛ

In any city, in any country, go to the most forsaken house in the city. Make sure at least ONE person has lived there. It must have a basement. Go into the basement and recite "‰ä'zŠÅ"ž"IŽ—LlI" or "I wish to see the Inhabitant!" 12 times. The wall in front of you will open.

Upon entry, a smell will intrude your nose, so putrid, it almost smells good. You will see an old woman, so unbearably ugly with corruption, you cannot look away. Sitting on a stump, she is bound in ropes, with 5 knots in them, she is gnawing on the knots. Ask, "Are you the first, and will there be more?" She will then tell you the gruesome battles for the Objects long ago. If you listen to the entire story, you will be trapped here forever. Right after she tells you about the Battle of Carin, stop her. She will tell you who she is.

She is Inhabitant 21 of 81. Her ropes cannot be unbound.


On late Friday, June 25, 2010, a local broadcaster in Canton, Ohio was hijacked by a foreign signal. The broadcast lasted for only five minutes, but gained a lot of attention by city officials.

The image was made difficult to distinguish through the static, even though the audio was remarkably clear. The image was of a man sitting behind a desk with sharp black hair, and seemed to either be baring his teeth - or more likely - missing his lips entirely. Red, bloody squares were evident over his face and bare torso that suggested he was missing segments of epidermis. The wall behind him was of wood paneling, but small writhing shapes kept rolling down it in the background. They were white, the size of a small raccoon, and possessed five limbs, but no other details could be distinguished.

Behind the sound of the man speaking, a breathing sound could be heard. There were no breaks in what appeared to be a long, soft, wheezing exhale.

"Hello, my love. It's been so long since we were last together, that sometimes I don't miss you anymore. Have you found the meaning of life yet? Have you found where the green sky ends and the red ocean begins? I've been away for too long. Looking for love and looking for lost. Looking for more long corpses to twirl my fingers around. Their molten skin so good against my twiddly fingers.

"Have you found your Holder, my love? Have you found the one to hold your heart? Your liver? Your guts? Your brain? Your tongue? If I hold your tongue, my love, will you whisper me words of wisdom? If I hold your brain, will I dig my teeth in and taste what you were thinking? If I hold your heart, my love, will you be able to love me like They do?

"You don't belong to anyone but me. I'll tear you apart. I'll wear your intestines like a crown. I'll wear your face like a mask. I'll use your eyes as finger puppets. I'll stew a lovely teeth stew, boiled with your curdled blood and sweetened with your lymph."

By this time, the man rose from his desk and walked around it. His legs appeared to have been split lengthwise into several long strips. The bones that remained moved him forward while the strips of flesh, still pulsating and bleeding, trailed behind him like strips of a dress. The white figures started crawling over the desk now, and tiny, scratching limbs appeared on the edge of the camera lens.

He licked the camera.

"I taste your love. I taste your fear. Come to me, my lovelies. I have 2538 holes in my heart for you."

He then pressed his bloody chest against the lens of the camera before the signal cut out.

120 people were treated at hospitals around the area over the next week, with 35 being diagnosed and treated for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, and 4 being diagnosed with Paranoid Schizophrenia and being placed in mental hospitals in the greater Cleveland area. Police have yet to find the culprit of the signal hijack, and the channel affected has refused all interviews.

The congealed, red liquid appearing to seep from the monitors of the televisions that received the signal has yet to be explained.

Jᴜsᴛ ᴀ Wᴀʀɴɪɴɢ.

Four and Twenty Blackbirds, baked into a pie.

The pan was made of tin, the crust was made of rye.

Inside there were some feathers, a few hearts, a couple of beaks.

But if you'd listen closely, you'd hear an awful shriek.

Because the birds remember the atrocity that's been done;

By doing what you did, you've robbed the birds of all their fun.

They will kill you, destroy you, leave your body in the mud,

Feast on your supple organs, guzzle down your clotting blood.

Don't worry; you see, that was a joke, a little lie.

Go ahead and laugh, because you'll never really die.

But everyone you loved, everyone you ever knew

Will quickly lose the memory of ever knowing you.

And you can never recompense the wrong you've done to them.

Because the birds espy the evil in the hearts of men.

Another Seeker will surely come and try to take their joy.

See, to them, the eternal birds, we're nothing but a toy.

Even with those precious trinkets, never again will you be glad,

Though you'll act completely normal, you'll be truly raving mad.

Not long past then, that day will come when you can't recall your name.

Forever you'll be hungry, ever trapped inside the game.

And no matter what you do, poor soul, you'll never, ever die,

Just like the Four and Twenty Blackbirds, baked into a pie.

They are laughing.

Tʜᴇ Kᴇᴇᴘᴇʀ ᴏғ Rᴇʟɪɢɪᴏɴ

In any city, in any country, go to any library you can get yourself to. When you get there, ask the attendant for a book written by "The Keeper of Religion". It may take some time for her to find it, but eventually, she will go into a back room and come out with a thick book that looks fairly new, yet has a certain antique quality about it. Take it to a quiet place and open it to page 538. Begin to read.

We Who Write have not gained much knowledge of its contents; only that it begins with the words that follow.

"I apologize for any errors I make in my writing - I am being pursued as I write, and I may not have much time.

The first thing you should do is go to a very large church - preferably with a library... In fact, if I remember correctly, you need to be in a library or a church. Locate a book that stands out from the others - whether it be binding or color. Once you get this book, you will notice it is blank. Turn the pages one by one - If you do not do this, you might as well pray to one of the stone statues, because the face, if you skip to the end, will jump from the pages and into your mind, tearing apart your sanity.

If you slowly turn them, page by page, a facial feature will appear on every page. Once you get to the face, you will notice it is blinking. Stare at the eyes and ask it the question, "Why?" The face will then transform into a grotesque, rotting creature, and it will explain to you why the Objects were formed, and even why you wanted to become a Seeker. After it finishes you will hear hymns, and you must run with the book - Don't stop at all until you know that they are not following you. Right now, I am on a plane, and there are some priests with hollow-looking eyes staring at me. One of them just smiled. I am attempting to maintain my composure, but all of his teeth are extremely sharp... the cabin lights are flickering and they are starting to walk toward me.

The words end abruptly, smears of blood splattering over the pages that follow.

At this point, We advise you to look up. If you should see priests will hollow eyes (do not question what they would be doing in a library; such things will likely become irrelevant to you compared to the suffering you are about to endure), then they have found you. They are there for one thing - they will make sure you read no more of the unfortunate Seeker's words.

If, however, the scene is normal, quickly exit the library. Take the book home and hide it. Somewhere deep, dark, somewhere where even you never look. Whilst this book is not necessary for Their reunion, the knowledge contained within the remainder of the tome may well prepare you for what comes when They are reunited.

Just remember to say your prayers every night.


You Will be silent lest the tongue slip and Fall Asunder from the mouth.

(it is a joke of a threat)

They watch but they do not see!

Journey not through hell; All is dead there.

Carelessly they Killed and raped, now, they scream. Endlessly; Mort flesh and Pestilence are True sovereigns there, You see?

i once met a man let us call him screamy he didn't scream but he stop the music now I scream and scream and scream and scream and scream and scream and scream and scream

and scream

and scream

and scream

Garbage barge and Sweet Flesh roam there.

Be wary, promises are hard to break. Speak not to Him.



i hope yer not mad

and scream

Who took your eyes sweet sir? Do the serum's rigors atrophy your musculature?

He wAs lke AN angel; Gone from us.

I spell it YZOZMXU they say it's back words not letters.

Hide me in thine blanched cloak and scream

He is Legion for he is MANY. I number them two 2000 thousand exactly minus one.

Many men make for many moods, one clean rag doth not out fit the man, you seee.

and scream

Cold hands do not touch metal

and scream

and scream

and scream

and scream and scream

The Holder of And Scream

In any country in any town in any city there are pills to make the music stop you must not let him take these pill or you will run and run and run (next comes the worst part) AND SCREAM!

But there is a dry place you can find where you might consult the hanged man who will tell you of his son.

Nine hundred strong they number. He is 31 of pod 31


He is 31 of 1 31 of 2 31 of 3 31 OF ALL THE DAMN PODS!

1 of 1 is 1 of 31 2 of 2 is 2 of 31 3 of 3 is 3 of 31 BECAUSE Journey not through hell; All is dead there. Carelessly they Killed and raped, now, they scream. Endlessly; Mort flesh and Pestilence are True sovereigns there, You see?


I sometimes would look to the sky and wonder, where did He go and how will he get Him back here and WHY WILL YOU MAKE THE FUCKING DEAL YOU FUCKER YOU MURDERED HER AND FOR WHAT? Journey not through hell; All is dead there. Carelessly they Killed and raped, now, they scream. Endlessly; Mort flesh and Pestilence are True sovereigns there, You see?

Journey not through hell; All is dead there. Carelessly they Killed and raped, now, they scream. Endlessly; Mort flesh and Pestilence are True sovereigns there, You see?

Journey not through hell; All is dead there. Carelessly they Killed and raped, now, they scream. Endlessly; Mort flesh and Pestilence are True sovereigns there, You see?

Journey not through hell; All is dead there. Carelessly they Killed and raped, now, they scream. Endlessly; Mort flesh and Pestilence are True sovereigns there, You see?

And last I whisper:

He doesn't think I know.

Perhaps I should initial the document here then?

Tʜᴇ Rᴇᴅ

No one really knows what bad luck is like. I guess some people think it's something you can avoid. You don't really know until the Red Man comes after you. You know when he's after you when you start having really bad luck. I mean really bad luck.

You can't avoid it. You can't avoid a car crashing through the front of the coffee shop you work at. You can't avoid your roof collapsing while you sleep. You can't avoid your neighbor accidentally firing their handgun through your wall. These things all happened to my family and friend. Until each one of them ended up dead, in a coma, or insane.

He waits until you're the last one left until he actually shows himself.

I ended up running for it when my mother fell down the stairs and broke her spine. She was dead before her body had even stopped rolling. I decided to run out to the woods. Sure, it was out in the middle of nowhere, and a tree would probably easily fall on me, or a wild animal would kill me. But it was better than being surrounded by the trappings of modern man.

I brought with me everything I needed. The candle should still be able to protect me, and I still had the Ritual given to me by my contacts. They were dead also, of course. Carbon monoxide leak.

I knew he was after my candle. I had to keep him from getting it. It was nighttime now, and the wind was picking up. I lit the candle as quickly as I could, keeping my eyes turned away from it. I had already spent the better part of the afternoon ringing the ground around me with 77 red candles. I went around lighting them all one by one, and by the time they were done, the entire area was lit up as if by a blazing bonfire. It served two purposes: The ring of candles prevented any darkness from entering, and the Red Man needed darkness to find you. The Object had the power to keep him away.

But, you can't escape bad luck. The wind picked up more, rocking the trees and blowing leaves in my face. The candles began to extinguish one by one. I chased the darkness manically, relighting the candles as quickly as I could. But for every one I lit, two would go out... then four... then eight. There was no way I could keep them all lit. But, it didn't matter. No wind could extinguish the candle itself, no matter how unlucky I might be.

A gust of wind extinguished a wide swath along an entire half of the circle, and I immediately rounded on the darkness, prepared to defend myself. Then, the candle was blown out.

When he rushed out and grasped me by my head, nothing but a blur of color, it suddenly made sense. I could not keep him away, because the Red Man was a bit of a misleading name. There was no man at all. Only the Red.

Tʜᴇ Rᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇʀ

In any city, in any country, if by chance you find yourself in a mental hospital or halfway house, and ask for one who calls themselves the Reliever, the clerk will simply shoo you off, as no tenant of that name resides there. Persistence is futile, they will insist that no tenant of that name exists. You are not ready.

Perhaps though, you've found yourself in this institution before, asking this same clerk for one who calls themselves the Holder of the End, or the Beginning, or of Eternity. If you have, indeed, embarked on such a quest for these unholy relics, then you have most likely resigned yourself to the fate of eternal damnation, or quite possibly worse. Many a man have held one of the Objects in their hands, looking upon it in disbelief, terror, shame, and regret. All the countless knaves, who, in their overwhelming depression, have taken their lives in an attempt to escape the 2538 Objects of the Cataclysm, now form a veritable river Styx. In the depths of this deepest darkness, at the bottom of this bottomless pit of despair, lies the Reliever.

You may ask, just what is the Reliever? To one free of the burden of the Objects, it is nothing. No matter how long you see the Reliever, you will not find it without first obtaining at least one of the Objects. That is because without the Object, the Reliever cannot exist. Now, for those who have an Object, or more, and wish to be released from the condemnation of Seeking the Objects, you must go to a center of worship, at precisely five o'clock in the morning. The denomination matters not. When you've found your sacred ground, you must pray for redemption. Do not pray to a specific deity, nor to the Reliever itself. Simply get on your knees, close your eyes, and pray. Pray until the sun ducks down behind the earth. You must let nothing break your concentration, as this will mean you have no chance of redemption. When you are finished, a wave of lethargy, combined with intense euphoria, will wash over you. If the aforementioned does not take place, you are doomed.

Wait a day, then at approximately nine-thirty at night, lie down in your bed and close your eyes as if going to sleep. Do not fall asleep. Do not fall asleep. Do not fall asleep. This cannot be stressed enough. If you drift into slumber, your dreams will become maddening horrors that follow you out of sleep and to the grave. After two hours or so of lying with your eyes closed, you should feel as though an immense weight is pushing down on you. If you attempt to move anything other than your eyes, you will be unable. At this point, open your eyes and look around. You will begin to hallucinate. When this happens, repeat to yourself, "I am aware. I am lucid," until the confines of your room break away and you find yourself in a bizarre place. This is a lucid dream, if you wish you can play around a bit before you get down to business.

When you feel prepared, imagine that you are holding the Object. It will appear in one of your hands. When this happens, state out loud, "We know not what we do." Turn around, and a small wooden box should be sitting in front of you on the ground. Place the Object in this box, shut it, and do not open it again. Move away from the box until it is completely out of sight. Then picture before you a vast, beautiful river. The river that appears will be vast, however, its waters will be murky green and twisted figures will dance upon its surface. If you aren't horribly dense, by now you've probably figured out that this river is comprised of the souls of those who have taken their lives to escape the Objects, and the Reliever is at the bottom of it.

Plunge yourself into the river and don't worry about holding your breath. The instant you come in contact with it, you will be forced to relive each soul's trial with the Holders. You must retrieve each Object from the Holders. If you fail, you will meet a horrible fate respective to the Holder at whose hands you perished. If you succeed, you will find yourself in the same institution where you received your Object. Do not ask the clerk for the Reliever, no tenant exists with that name. Ask for the Holder of your Object, and you will be sent on a familiar journey. Upon your arrival at the chamber of your Holder, recite the phrase, "We are but lost souls." The Holder of your Object will punish you in whatever manner they would had you failed to get the Object. It will feel as though the punishment goes on for hours, days, years, eons. When you are on the brink of death and your consciousness is at its breaking point, a bright light will envelope your vision and you will find yourself standing in a field of wildflowers under a brightly shining sun.

At the far end of this field you will notice a diminutive figure, hunched over something. As you approach, the figure will reveal itself as a small child, examining the box you placed your Object in. If the child attempts to open the box, you must call out to it not to. If the box is opened at this point, you will be consumed by the wrath of the Holder you took the Object from. Its back will be turned to you, and you must not attempt to look at its face. Strike up a conversation with the child, but do not speak of your past, or of the Object. After a period of conversation, the child will merely stop responding to your statements. Tell the child you wish to apologize, and it will grasp the box in both hands and slowly turn to face you. When your eyes meet, you must be sure to make sure that you never break eye contact. You may find yourself lost in the child's eyes, which will appear dull and lifeless. It will merely raise an expectant eyebrow at you, to which you must respond, "I'm sorry. I don't deserve the future." If you stutter, or say anything else, the child will become furious and you will experience the suffering of all of the Holders. However, when you apologize, the child's eyes will light up, and a pure smile will grow across its face. It will then say, "I am the Alpha and the Omega. The beginning and the End. To all who are thirsty I will give freely from the springs of the water of life." You must then take the box from the child, and open it. What is inside will no longer be your Object, but an artifact from your childhood. When you gaze upon it, you will be overcome with such sentiment that you weep.

After your vision clears and your tears dry, the child will be gone and you will find yourself alone in the field. Congratulations, you're free. To return to your consciousness, look skyward and state, "I am at peace with myself."

Tʜᴇ Rɪᴛᴇs

Let me let you in on a little secret; you can bring the Objects together as close as you like, but they won't be capable of bringing about a decent sale at a thrift store, let alone whatever horrible catastrophe you might believe they are capable of. There is a good reason for this.

The Objects are but parts of a greater whole; this much is common knowledge to most Seekers. However, unless they are connected, their true power will remain locked away.

The means of connecting the Objects are known as The Rites, and I am their sole guardian and curator.

It was I who performed The Rites the last time They were together, but alas, I shall not be around when They are brought together again. For though I am certainly long-lived, I am not immortal, and I feel my time in this world winding down. I am kept alive only by the need to pass down the knowledge I possess.

Which brings us to the matter at hand. Though this is not an Object, per se, I could still be considered its Holder, and should be approached as such.

No mental institutions or halfway houses for you, Seeker; your destination is a bookstore. Any will do, be it a small, locally-owned store or part of a large chain. Make sure you bring a pen or other writing utensil.

Seek a bookshelf on the wall furthest from the door, and make sure you are not being watched. You are about to deface some store property, and you would not like to be caught. Take a book from the third shelf from the top; if this shelf is too high to reach, try another shelf. Write in the front cover in small but legible print, "I seek the Teacher". Return the book to its position and wait about 30 seconds.

You may notice if you look around that you are now alone in the store; no customers nor clerks. The same holds true for outside. Don't dwell on this, it's not terribly important.

After about 30 seconds, one of two things will occur. If nothing happens, you have not been deemed wise enough to comprehend what I have to teach. Leave the bookstore and return home. When you next step outside, everything will be normal. You may try again whenever you wish, but know that unless you are wiser, you will still be barred passage.

If you have been deemed worthy by my first barrier, the bookshelf will pull into the wall and slide away, revealing a dimly lit hall. Along the way, you will notice the occasional scribbling on the wall. These will become more frequent as you proceed down the hall, intermixing with runes and symbols both known and unknown, the words of your native tongue mixing with foreign and dead languages, and finally with The Language itself, arranged in intricate and arcane patterns.

When you reach the end of the hall, you will come to a knobless door of dark wood, a large eye carved into it. Knock thrice, and stand perfectly still. Do not move, and do not think; the Eye is my second barrier, and it is probing you, searching for something, any reason to deny you passage. What it is I'm not sure; the door seems to have a mind of its own, and it's been known to exclude Seekers for completely arbitrary reasons.

Should the Eye begin to glow a bright orange, you have been denied; follow the same instructions as if you had been denied by the first barrier. However, do not attempt to seek me for at least one month. If you do, one of my "assistants" will be waiting for you in the hall. It will kill you, and your body will be used in the rituals I study.

Should it swing open, then you are indeed worthy of an audience with me. Enter. I should be dressed in a dark gray robe, hunched over a large wooden desk with large stacks of books and papers. Stand and wait for me to acknowledge you, as I do not appreciate being interrupted. When I acknowledge your presence, you may ask me your question, though in true Holder fashion, only one will yield the result you want: "What must I do when they come together?"

I will motion for you to move to another part of the room; the center of a large, intricate circle on the floor. In the center will be a length of rope, a knife, and a small rubber ball. Sit down in the circle, and I will begin to speak. I will tell you of every ritual ever performed, what those who performed them hoped to achieve, and what came of those rituals. I will also speak of the time when They last came together. During this story, I will ask you to perform certain tasks using the objects before you; bouncing the ball, wrapping the rope around a body part, slashing your arm with the knife, etc. Whatever I ask you, you must comply quickly and concisely, lest it result in the failure of the ritual. And I do not take well to failure.

At the end of the story, I will motion for you to stand, and lead you back to my desk. Bring the knife. I will hand you a large, leather-bound tome, thank you for your time and assistance, and return to my seat. Walk behind me and use the knife to slash my throat. Do not worry; I am beyond feeling pain from something as trivial as this. My task is complete, and I no longer have a reason to linger in this world. Return down the hall and to your home.

The contents of the tome are, of course, The Rites, and you are now its Holder. Whether you use this knowledge to bring about the end or prevent it is none of my concern, but know this: the Seekers who learn of The Rites' existence will certainly come looking for me, and in turn, looking for you. Watch yourself.


The Holder of Secrets is dead.

It's no secret that he died, for at the moment of his death, no more secrets can be kept. The knowledge enters everybody's mind and floats among the debris of their life experiences. The reason for his death is no secret either, for with the knowledge of his passing comes the knowledge of its cause: the weight of carrying all the secrets in the universe has crushed the Holder's mind. Yes, even Holders can have their minds destroyed. As if the Object is paying its last respects to its Holder, the name of Father Brian O'Shea drops and ripples in the babbling din of thoughts and memories that can no longer be kept out.

I find myself in a familiar churchyard looking at the weathered edifice of a tiny cathedral. I remember the many times I entered the church, seeking solace, attending mass, witnessing a baptism or marriage, or paying my last respects to the departed. I remember often seeing Father O'Shea enter the confessional to assume his post. In hindsight, a priest receiving confessions being the Holder of Secrets is rather fitting.

In my mind, as well as in the communal mind that the death of the Holder created, I start to realize and understand things that were open secrets, things that everybody knew but never acknowledged. Things like why bread was sold at half price at closing time (Fresh Baked? Think again.) or what certain nursery rhymes really meant (Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall...).

I start walking toward the forest at the edge of town.

Other secrets start skittering in. Personal secrets, public affairs, and even the secrets of things that have no life in itself, like governments and institutions...

Mr. Smith had an affair with Ms. Johnson. My mind is suddenly flooded with the memories of their trysts and alibis.

My body aches and my soul is weighed down under the pain of the beatings and the despair Mrs. Chan carried as a battered wife.

The creature sighting at the lake was a hoax; its photographs were fabricated. My/his heart beats with elation as I/he realize the success of my/his actions.

Beep, beep, beep, beep... said the machine. The infamous dictator of that Latin-American country has been braindead for months, yet the machine keeps the body alive. Beep, beep, beep, beep...

In the dying bank where I keep my money, many hands are feverishly feeding the shredder, trying to wash themselves of guilt in this modern Pilate's basin. Shredded paper, shredded lives, pointing the accusing finger even in its death throes.

As I enter the forest, the babble of secrets begins unraveling the weaker minds, yet strangely leaving the minds of the insane untouched. I start to lose my own sense of identity as I lose track of which secrets are my own and which belong to someone else.

I become rooted in the middle of the forest as the final, most deeply hidden secrets start to emerge, the secrets everybody hides from their own selves:

Rosalinda, the socialite and life of the party, does not want to be left alone to face her own demons. They torment her with her fading beauty, with the futility of her wealth, with her constant loneliness.

In his dreams, a little boy is always lost, trying to find his way. In his mind, a giant is walking the earth, crushing everything in its path. In truth, George, the black sheep, wants his absent father to take notice of him as he looks for the source of his missing comfort, wanting to destroy that source of unending pain.

Then I turn and look at myself.

And realize.

The awful truth.

The darkest secret I've kept from myself: I've been the Holder of Secrets' Object all along. I look deep into my "memories" and realize they were never my own but borrowed and pasted together from the secrets of those who strayed too close. I, myself, have nothing. I am tabula rasa.

A black cloud swirls in my vision, accompanied by the sound of a million flapping wings. Secrets, like crows, are coming home to roost. I raise my arms to ward them off, but my arms freeze as bark and leaves start growing on them.

In desperation, or perhaps defiance of my fate, I shout, "Where do secrets draw their power?"

Instead of echoing back my words, my voice responds, "From fear do secrets draw their power."

Fear sprouts with every leaf: fear of losing this short life of borrowed memories and thoughts, fear of the void, the nothingness beyond death or rebirth, in truth, back into an Object of no memories, no identity, no self.

As the bark closes over my mouth, as darkness and nothingness close over my eyes, I scream out one last time, "Where does fear draw its power?"

My own voice replies, before silence reclaims its place, "From secrets does fear draw its power."

Sᴛᴀʏ ғᴏʀ Tᴇᴀ

I told you this wouldn't take long, so stop fidgeting and sit down.

You asked for a Holder, correct? I hear that so often now, it gets difficult to remember which one is which.

Ah yes, that one is a fan favorite. So, tell me, what expression was I supposed to have when you asked? Frightened? Scared to death? Ah well, doesn't matter now.

Oh? You'd like to leave now? I'm afraid that just isn't possible.

Of course, this isn't what you expected. You must think that all you have to do is answer a few questions, opening and closing your eyes at the right moments... How amusing.

Oh, that door won't be opening any time soon, might as well sit down. Tea's almost ready.

You know how all those silly stories have you die the moment something goes wrong? Yes? Good, then we're on the same page.

Someone's knocking, you say? Hmm, that was quicker than expected! It's very different, not he-, never mind. You've got a job to do.

What's that? You don't know how? Oh, I'm sure you'll figure it out. Not that it matters if you know, your body will function just fine.

There, there. One day you'll get the same opportunity I have. When you do, just ask them to stay for tea. It'll be ready any time now.


They told We to make them.

They told We to sew.

They told We to weave them.

We told them no.

The eldest was made, eons ago.

Told them to We; "No choice, must sew."

The Eldest was spawned, from those Souls damned.

Told We to Them; "Thou cannot make We go."

The Eldest found a wearer, long after its dawn.

The Eldest bound the wearer to its evil and drawn.

They told to We; "It will unmake all."

We wept for them, our position still unfall.

Corruption spread, across the planes.

Mortal and alike, nothing kept sacred.

Killed Them He did, but one lives now.

One begged We to help, begged We to sew.

Nodded did We, then birthed Twins.

Battle was wrought, between Them and Him.

Knowing We brought nothing but sin.

Finally ended, after all was worn.

The planes of all, scared and torn.

Corrupted and Evil, at last, did not win.

Eldest and Him departed the Realms.

The last living One took the Twins.

Gave one away, Took one for Himself.

We lay buried, beneath all existence.

With just enough fabric left on the shelf.

We can sew another, but We will not.

Not now that We've seen what horrors We brought.

They told We to make them.

They told We to sew.

They told We to weave them.

We told them no.

Damn Them all.


They have been attacking for as long as we can recall.

It all started with the tower, oh why did we go to that tower!

Now we must hide in our dark corners each night and pray our guards have created great enough locks.

It all started with the tower, oh why did we go to that tower!

It seems a constant: always news that one of us has been taken. Their guard dead or worse, our friend pulled away screaming, our only hope that their kidnaper sees the error of their ways and decides to aid us.

It all started with the tower, oh why did we go to that tower!

Eventually, we will reunite and They will know our fury. But until then we can only hide and pray that it is our Saviors who come for us, not the wretched Others.

It all started with the tower, oh why did we go to that tower!

Soon we will again be One and you will cry for our forgiveness. You Seekers but know that our fury has no bounds. Your kind will pay for what it did to Us at the tower.

You'll be sorry.

Tʜᴇ Uɴ

To access the Un, one must be prepared for a few surprises that probably won't happen. It never was counted among the others for one simple reason: it can't be. The Un, and the plane it exists on, never really "existed" in a common linear sense, nor will they ever come into being if you're lucky.

At any given crossroads, you can't find the Un. That's quite alright, really. The Un can't truly be found anyway. But if you travel far enough from enough crossroads, down the wrong roads, and through strange territory, you'll find a store - small thing, red with white trim, and a wide porch. I won't give you any nonsense about if the house isn't red, run and keep running, yada yada yada, because if you do see this little store, it's because you were meant to. You'll never find it if you weren't. You'll simply wander.

You'll go inside, and the bell above the door will ring - it won't be locked because visitors are scarce in this particular neck of the woods. There will be the warm stale smell of dust and sweat inside, and after your eyes adjust to the dark interior of the place, you'll see what seems to be a regular general store... one that seems like it got stuck in the '40s and never left. In the corner by the counter will be an ancient television set, slightly dusty, made of bakelite, the sort of black and white thing your grandparents may have once had. From personal experience, I can promise you that it only shows old episodes of The Twilight Zone. Go figure. There's be a bell on the counter. Go ahead and ring it if you want; the end result won't be any different one way or the other. Bell or not, the proprietor of this establishment will soon appear - an older chap, if experience has any relevance here, with a slightly dirty apron, thin gray hair, and a pair of round glasses. He's friendly, I promise - it's all he knows to be.

You'll probably try and ask for "The Holder of the Un", as that seems to be the general thing you do in such circumstances. He won't be surprised. After all, the only people who manage to find this store are Seekers. He might laugh at this, and point to the store around you. "We might have what you're looking for in here. Check our catalog, take all the time you need." Then he'll probably go back to watching Rod Serling narrate about a dimension not only of sight and sound, but of mind. Don't interrupt his program. No hellhounds or demons or what have you will devour you if you do; it's not impolite.

See, the thing is (should you ever understand this) he wants you to find what you're looking for. He is, for all intents and purposes, your friend - a rare thing for most Seekers. But as you look back into the store, you might come to doubt that. The packages on the shelves are all labeled one through five-hundred-thirty-eight, and somewhere in there will be what you really seek. Not some strange item or ancient book, but the things you've given up along the way. Your honor, all nicely canned. Your sense of family, properly pickled. A box of salted souls. All there for the taking. Should you know enough about what you're looking for, you can find the things the Holders will try and take from you, tear out of you like tissue paper out of a box. It'll save you more than a world of pain, if you can find what you're looking for.

But when you come to the counter, you'll find your pockets empty of coinage. Your money wouldn't be good here anyway. "That's all right," he'll say, as he reaches under the counter and pulls out a piece of paper. "We'll put it on your tab." He'll jot down the name of the item, your name, and the date on the paper and hand it to you. All he wants is for you to come back to him once you've used what he's given you. Maybe bring some coffee. Play some chess. Spend some time with him.

What he likely won't tell you are the implications of your purchase. Should you fail in your quest - as, I must confess, so many have over the millennia - you and he will both be given mercies. He, the shopkeeper, will finally be allowed to close shop and pass on, after eons of sitting alone in the store. You will be spared the tortures the Holders would gladly bestow upon you, and you'll take up the apron and pull up a seat behind the counter. Rod Serling will keep you company.

'Til the end of time.


This is a perilous endeavor and I would beseech you not to carry it out; but I see that your mind's made up and all I can do for you is offer advice.

It is best to use Totenberg's Pentacle [again, the Totenberg temporal anomaly is noted] with Aziman's seal decorating the internal Pentagram. This has been shown to have some affect on The Devourer's gaze, as it would appear Aziman had some prior dealings with The Beast and has worked a minute ward in against it. Be forewarned; this will not completely prevent His gaze from suckling away at your being and you will fall to it if you do not complete the ceremony in time.

Totenberg's Pentacle is there primarily as a reminder to The Thing This Process Invokes and will effectively awake a slight phobia in It which is enough to prevent It from ignoring the offering and simply killing you [Could this refer to Totenberg's disproved account of his battle against "a Great White Dragon from Before Time"?].

The candles rimming the circle are suggested to be made using goat fat, although pig fat will do. Under no circumstances use horse fat or any other animal of the equine family, as those beasts are sacred to The White Worm and It will most likely react violently to the smell.

Most importantly, remember to bring a gallon of your blood mixed with sea salt.

Essum can be lured into the pentacle using [text missing]

The incantation "All is Worthless to Him. All, like Him, will Writhe in the Mud," is most effective in Latin or German, although Egyptian is also functional. At this It will awaken and [two possible translations: "cleave and destroy" or "open the destroyer"] through the Twining Planes [note: the Twining Planes were an early concept of the methods of the Created Uncreations' travel methods before their multidimensional nature was discovered].

What arrives here is actually an icon or avatar of the Worm and not the Beast itself. Be warned; it is crafty and powerful still, on par with the Damaged One.

Present your offspring [presumably the blood] now.

[Untranslatable] my attempt to stop the process you've invoked but [text missing]

On offering your services, be sure to mention your endeavors at aiding the Martyr as He and the White Worm had been particularly close and this will surely tug at the Beast's proverbial heart.

If it works the pain will be unimaginable, but the rewards sweet. From now on do not bridle horses, nor allow yourself to be photographed. Of additional note is that the process will leave you completely sterile and [text ends abruptly]