Date unknown, Time unknown
Goland Colliery, deepest floor.
It would seem that I have met my fate at last. My fears are confirmed now. An archaic demon is after the stone that allows me to think, the stone that keeps me sane and knowing at the very least what I truly am. Here I sit, barricaded, blocking the entryway to this very room that I will soon think become my tomb. Here I sit, etching this, as the demon pounds on the stones that I have piled up, as he tries to knock my barrier with his minions.
How many years has it been, since I have been cursed? I will never know, as I have lost track of it. Several years, at least. Several long, torturous years, hunted, persecuted, attacked in the dark, not allowed to rest or lower vigilance. Several violent, bloody years of killing to not be killed. Weeks and months of fear, of foreboding that I will not see to live another day—as if it matters now, for I have never seen the light of day in years.
It is as if…I have stayed down here to repent for my sins, sins that I don't even know if I did. If I even sinned. If I even did anything wrong. I don't know…and I probably will never know, until the time when God will call me to his judgment. Torture me, strike me, stab me, bleed me to death if you will—just liberate me from this sense of dread, this sense of fear, this sense of…I don't know what to say…
I sit here, waiting for my doom. I sit here, dreading the pain. I sit, reflecting on my life over these past years. Have I done something wrong, to deserve such a dreadful death? Have I done something wrong, defending myself, fighting for life every day, eating only mice and rats? Have I sinned, simply protecting my own life? In a world with no laws, no rules, no mercy? I have been merciful enough, not killing where other creatures would.
Hours passed, and the demons continue their pounding of the stones. The occasional pebble would fall on my head, doing little more than annoy me. Still, I am grateful to be alive for so long. To be in here, protected by a wall of crumbling stones, it is like a death sentence; the crumbling of the rocks following the steady beat of time. You can hear the time…you can see it crumbling…you can see it moving, steadily, unwilling to budge back.
I can see the swarthy, filthy face of a floating imp, its hateful single eye staring straight into mine own. Its visage I would like to bite out—and that I did. I spit out its horrible flesh, its horrible blood. Stinking, filthy, inedible masses of a once-living thing. I dare not touch it for fear that it may rise again from the dead; its demon master is just on the other side, pushing out more of them through the tiny gap he had punctured in the wall.
Hundreds of them I have dispatched in the age that I have spent defending myself in this last bastion of my peace, of my life, of my existence. Mutilated and shredded, bloody, covered in their own flesh, I disposed of them in the corner; they reeked and stank, something that I wish I could get rid of. They stink of blood. Monster blood. Bad blood. My blood. I am…a monster…right now. A mere monster. Killing and destroying.
I hear the voices of humans. Humans this far down in the colliery. This far down in the damp, dark hole that they themselves dug, a place where no miner would go. I am grateful; for it may mean my salvation, no matter how slim. The demon had broken a larger hole into the wall; now he is entering my chamber. I must defend myself. For my freedom. For my life. For existence of my soul and spirit. For the stone.
A human approaches me as I write this last part of my memoir. He strokes me. I like that feeling…a feeling of care, how long ago I had felt it. It felt as though…I'm beginning to remember more of my past. Not much of it. Moments of love. Moments of caring. Moments where I was a human. This man reads my writing. He reads down until this very part that I write. He caresses my neck. I somehow…don't feel threatened. Not a single bit.
He calls me 'Reis'. He says it's a 'name'. A name? What is it? He explains that it's something people are called. People. I'm a monster. He says that I'm a person too. I may have been, once. I don't know. He says that I was. He kisses me on the side of my head. I don't know if I should return it…but how? Am I beginning to remember more? From my past? A past that I don't know if I even had? He hugs me on my neck. He says that I have to go. Go where? 'Follow me' he says; I think I'll follow him. He's the only person that shows something other than anger or the will to kill me. I think I like him. There's an emotion that's stirring up in my heart, something that I can't recognise. I want to protect him. I want to be with him. I want to be close to him.
I think I'll leave now.
Reis Dular…or so the man says.