I am alone.
Though Iqq and Apep are still with me constantly, I know they are but figments of my intellect. This cold certainly is borne out through their interactions with me now: they only speak in insults, jibes and attacks upon my abilities…who else could hurt me, but myself?
Still, the months of constant assault have dulled the words. They don’t hurt me anymore. Nothing does.
Nothing hurts when one can no longer feel.
Since my breaking, I’ve not had the will to push. The Leviathan has been skewered—not by another, fiercer, beast, but impaling itself when pursuing its prey with too much passion.
Still, I must press on, as best I can.
I tire of Iqq and Apep. In a bid to rid myself of them of entirely, I’ve created a new spell to bring these figments of fancy into reality, so that I may look upon their faces as I separate their heads from their necks. And so, Midnight Haunting of Decadent Future serves its purpose, tonight.
. . .
I have once again found my old journal.
Though it may seem irrelevant now, it is possible that some day, someone will come upon my wretched form and read these warnings.
It has been….a time…since I performed that last spell. It is difficult to remember the passage of time any more—the days, weeks and months bleed together so. To be frank, it is difficult to remember much of anything.
What I do remember, is this:
Two pairs of Long, sinewy arms rose from the cauldron, pulling horrific forms from the black fire, itself. The ghastly forms put themselves together: Warm, disgusting approximations of the ideal forms seen in my dreams. As they laughed, I knew this had been a terrible mistake, a likely my last.
Iqq and Apep congratulated me in my work, gleefully stepping over the salt of the circle. What had I done? I moved to extinguish the black flame, but I was too late—I was grabbed and the horrific piecemeal fangs of Apep sank into my neck. I was undone.
Hazily, fighting back against whatever poison coursed through my veins, I heard them say that my thirst for revenge upon them brought not my freedom, but theirs. And my station, orchestrated by their machinations over the years, gave them purchase over all the land, and the souls therein.
They then tore the circle open, and shaped the escaping black flame into pestilent hounds, hungry for the souls of the meek, eager to bring them back to the infernal well.
Iqq looked into my face as I lost consciousness, thanking me for my work. As reward, I would be left alive—and alone—in the realm.
That was the last I saw—or spoke to—anyone.
I’ve ceased to eat and drink.
It’s not long now.
I miss my family.
I miss the gods-damned Gorscht.