Excerpt from the journal of recruit Alfie Phillips, service number 2187 of the Aegis, communications officer of Section 57 of the Expeditionary Corps

Tuesday 12
Today’s the day we go down. I’m a bit jittery. The other guys are too. Word is we’re going really deep. The sergeant says there’ll be action. I’m not in a hurry to prove him right. I paid close attention in training and I’m in decent shape these days, so I’m fairly confident… and really curious to see what’s down there… This morning they had us up at dawn (not that I got any sleep last night—I was too nervous). Everyone choked down their ration at the Mess. Hestia even slipped me seconds with a smile. Then we hurried over to supply. The sergeant was grumbling because we hadn’t received the requisition slips for subterranean deployment. The quartermaster wouldn’t hand over the gear assigned to that kind of patrol. We had to wait for clearance from logistics. Luckily, the CO pulled a few strings through the Gestalt, and we only had to wait an hour. The pack is heavy, but the uniform’s comfortable enough. Way better than the Storhvit gear.

We went down by elevator. The ride was a slog… and more than a little nerve-racking. Once we hit bottom, I was floored by the greenery of the Undergrowth and the strange diffuse light down there. But we didn’t get to enjoy it for long. The sergeant gave us five minutes, then had us moving again. Pretty quick, the landscape shifted. We ended up in a ruined city. It got darker and colder the further we went. Good thing the new uniform’s well insulated. We crossed paths with some Bravos couriers. They didn’t stick around to chat. They all looked a bit dazed. The officer said it’s because they drink too much Sap beer. Personally, I think they’d been rattled by something. We kept on through the alleys of the old city. It was seriously grim. We all had the feeling something was watching us the whole time. The corporal told us that sometimes you can see scenes from the past play out here, like ghostly theater. I think he was just trying to spook us.

Eventually we made it to the camp. Kind of looked like a dig site. A bunch of scientists searching for artifacts and relics in an old building—looked like it used to be a university. They seemed glad to see us. Our medic patched up several minor injuries, but he said they’d be better off heading topside. Apparently they’d been attacked a few nights earlier. One or more creatures (wasn’t really clear, honestly) had come down on them. Specters? Ghosts? Whatever they were, they left strange wounds—scratches, almost like burns. We doubled the sentries to secure the perimeter, per the officer’s orders. The usual guards took the chance to haul their injured back up while we covered their post. They came back the next morning, and we moved on. The folks at the dig site weren’t thrilled when we pushed deeper. They looked scared, if you ask me.

Wednesday 13
We kept crossing the city. It was nothing but wreckage, a field of rubble. And that’s when I felt it. That strange impression. A pressure. It wasn’t that sensation of being watched anymore. It was flat-out the feeling that something was breathing down my neck. I wasn’t the only one. I saw the others glancing over their shoulders. Nobody cracked jokes or sang. We marched on, silent and tense. The crumbling walls, the collapsed houses, the sagging buildings… Everything looked ready to lash out at us. As if the ruins themselves were harboring some threat, trailing us step by step, slipping from one ruin to the next. The sergeant ordered us to pick up the pace. He wasn’t comfortable—you could tell.

We left the marked paths and entered a network of tunnels. Everyone lit their lanterns. We had to slow down—the way was rough going. The narrowness of the corridors did nothing to ease our nerves. Eventually, we reached a kind of labyrinth, with stairways and walkways going in every direction. The sergeant and the officer seemed pretty surprised. They wouldn’t stop bickering over some map. In the end, it was an Eidolon who came to guide us through. A decent guy. Theseus, I think. His presence lifted our spirits. We set off again with renewed energy. When we finally reached our campsite, he vanished as quickly as he had appeared. We were surrounded by carved stones of every size; some of them floated in the air. It was bizarre. We set up camp. And that’s when the real trouble began. The fear crept back—stronger than before. Then the screams came. The stragglers had been grabbed by something. We rushed back. The sergeant was shouting orders. The Gestalt wasn’t working right. Everything was confusion. We stumbled around blindly, shoving each other, not knowing what to do or how. Eventually, we made it to the rear guard. They were fighting off clawed hands bursting from the walls of the corridor. They screamed when touched. We struck at the specters, but nothing worked—they just kept tearing into the group they had cornered. I saw the officer pull out his scrolls (out of the corner of my eye, while I was dragging a comrade free from those claws). He unleashed a storm of origami on the spectral forms. They shredded them instantly. At last, we got rid of the attackers. I was covered in scratches and shaking like a leaf, but still on my feet. A handful of comrades weren’t so lucky. The officer ordered us to stick together. He told us not to leave camp and reminded us of all the directives for imminent danger. The sergeant had the fallen covered. We set aside a proper place for them. It was sad. And terrifying. We rebuilt camp, but nobody managed to sleep. All night I kept reliving the scene. Some of us couldn’t even remember what had happened, too shocked to process it. And when the time came to get up and move, I just knew this day was going to be hell.

Thursday 14
The first blow of the day came as soon as we broke camp. The sergeant told us we’d leave the bodies here and report to the Mesektet so they could be recovered later. We protested, but the officer stepped in. He said the mission came first and we needed to reach the Scholars’ Tomb immediately to reestablish contact with the ship. We’d come back for the dead with reinforcements. It’d be safer that way, if we moved fast. We eventually fell silent, like always in those situations. Everyone hoisted their packs and we marched for the Tomb.

We weren’t moving quickly. We were exhausted. Our heads were all messed up. I felt like my skull was going to split. Like a hangover. I couldn’t even remember what I’d eaten at the Mess a few days ago. I was drained. And judging from the faces of my comrades, they were suffering the same torment. We moved like a column of zombies. Even our officers looked unsettled, whispering to each other, scanning every angle. If fear was a substance, we trudged through it all day. Halfway through, we stopped inside a series of triangular passageways—smooth, dark walls. Like being inside a temple, or a crypt. But what gnawed at me most was that I couldn’t even recall my brother’s face anymore. It was blurry, fading in my memory…

It happened fast. A massive black veil dropped from the ceiling. It was cold and slimy, like rain. The worst part was that the moment after, we couldn’t see a thing. Nothing. Not even the man next to us. Then came the screams: shrieks, groans. Like the others, I had no idea what to do. Panic set in. We shoved and trampled each other. The Gestalt was silent. Chaos owned us. I stumbled in some direction, just hoping to find men, light, orders. But all I had was the knot of fear in my gut, molten magma in place of my brain. Shouts all around me, bodies colliding. In the crush, after bumping into someone (I think), I dropped my spear. The metallic ring of the tip on stone snapped me out of my panic for a second. I bent instinctively to grope for it. That’s when I saw it: a thin beam of light, right at ground level. A glimmer of hope. I bolted toward it without thinking. The sounds of slaughter faded behind me. And suddenly, I burst free of the veil, right beside the corporal. He was on his knees, a lantern on the ground before him, clutching his head and moaning. I tried to help him, no use. Then I turned, and the sight was a nightmare: figures flickering in and out of some dark fog. All of them screaming in high, piercing voices. The corporal collapsed, convulsing. I ran. Instinctively. Like an animal. I bolted straight through the triangular exit in front of me, desperate to escape the monster, that scene. Cowardly. But even now, I don’t know what else I could have done.

I ran blindly, not caring where. I ran until my burning legs buckled. I ran for what felt like forever. I ran until my mind clawed back control. I ran until I felt human again.

I hid behind a rock, panting, broken. For long minutes, every sense was alert: listening to the faintest sound, watching for the slightest movement… The dread of facing that thing again paralyzed me. I tried to make myself as small as possible, pressing into a crack to disappear. The chamber was lit with a strange diffuse glow, emanating from titanic stone blocks—some as big as buildings—floating against the ceiling. Exhaustion finally pulled me into restless sleep.

My dreams were restless. Very restless. And I felt it there. Inside me. Devouring my childhood memories, my tenderest moments, my wildest ideas. Swallowing the lullabies that had cradled my family life, savoring my victories on the field, gulping down my wildest dreams. Everything that made me who I was, everything that fed me, was being consumed.

Friday 15
I woke with a start. I was forgetting. In my head, only scraps remained. My past made no sense anymore. Like a broken record, skipping passages. As if the story of who I was was being shredded. Frantically, I dug into my pack, pulled out this journal, and forced myself to write down everything I’d lived through here, everything still clinging to memory after that night. To bear witness. To make sure I wouldn’t forget. To make sure I wouldn’t be forgotten. Then it hit me: I couldn’t just stay here. The Gestalt was horribly silent. I decided to try reaching the surface. I set out again, not knowing where to go, lost in the maze. I moved in bursts, sprinting from one hiding spot to another. And that’s when I saw it. The thing.

It was a massive shadow, black as obsidian. Its arms and hands, for all their size, were skeletal. It drifted from one stone block to the next, gliding, floating in the air. I swear it was sniffing them, though the only sound I caught was like rough cloth dragging across rock. It was hunting, I was sure of it. I froze, holding my breath to keep from being found.

Then a sound in the distance drew my attention. I panicked, thinking the creature heard it too. I was about to backtrack when I heard a familiar voice. The sergeant! It was him the monster wanted. Relief and dread tangled inside me—he had survived, but… I spied on him carefully, not daring to attract the phantom hunter’s gaze. The sergeant wasn’t alone. He was supporting the wounded officer.

Then the thing I dreaded happened. The monster turned toward them, grinning with a maw full of jagged fangs. Inside that furnace, a violet glow, a dark fire, flickered into a tongue of the same color. I froze. The two men braced themselves. The officer frantically dug for something, while the sergeant raised his sword. When the officer finally pulled a scroll from his bag, the form was already on them. Its jaws widened, splitting into four mandibles to swallow them whole. A heartbeat later, they were gone—silent—inside the monster.

Gone. They were gone, inside that thing. I bit my lip till it bled to stop myself from screaming. It spat their lifeless bodies back out. Something clattered. A container—the one the officer wore on his belt—rolled across the stones. The creature snatched it, opened it, and poured the contents into its clawed palm: Sap. The monster greedily lapped it up. That’s when I used its distraction to bolt.

I crept the other way, moving as carefully as possible, darting from hiding place to hiding place. Sometimes, the fear rose and I turned to look back. And there it was, a silhouette in the distance. Was it tracking me? Impossible to tell. Eventually, I found refuge in a vast cavern, with a massive structure at its center. I think it’s the Vault. I hope it is. I pray it is. Right in front of its entrance was where we were supposed to rendezvous with the Mesektet. If our airship passes here, I’ll be saved. I’ve set up on a ledge from which I can watch discreetly. I keep scanning the wide openings in the ceiling, waiting for the ship to break through. I must be ready to signal, to be rescued. I wonder how I’ll ever tell this story. It’s so horrible, so sad. I can’t end here. I have to warn everyone about the danger—about the monster roaming these depths, feeding on memories. I’m scared. It hasn’t left me in days. I’ll set down my pencil now and calm myself while I wait for the Mesektet. I know it’s coming soon. That I’ll be saved. I have to be.

The journal was found near the Scholars’ Vault, on the body of recruit Ordis Alfie Phillips. To this day, no survivors from Section 57 have been recovered.