Entry 1: The Seed of Hatred
The night is my ally, and within its embrace, I find solace and strength. I sit in my dimly lit study, the flickering candle casting eerie shadows on the walls adorned with sinister artifacts and arcane symbols. The scent of old leather-bound tomes fills the air, and the crackling of the fire is like a sinister lullaby, whispering dark secrets to me.
My name is but a whisper, a forgotten echo in the depths of the world. In this realm of shadows, titles and identities are inconsequential, for all that matters is my relentless pursuit of power and vengeance. The seed of hatred has taken root in my heart, growing like a gnarled tree with deep roots and twisted branches. It feeds on every injustice I have suffered, every betrayal I have endured, and every ounce of contempt I feel for the wretched race known as humanity.
The journal I now write in is bound in a black leather cover, its pages made from the finest parchment stained with the tears of those who have succumbed to darkness. It serves as my confidant, a repository of my darkest desires and malevolent thoughts. With each stroke of my quill, I pour forth the raw essence of my being, the essence that resonates with the Neat.
I recall the first time I encountered these monstrous beings. It was in the depths of an ancient tomb, where the air was thick with the scent of decay and the echoes of forgotten whispers. The walls were adorned with cryptic symbols, hinting at the Neat's existence and their appetite for chaos.
As I delved deeper into the tomb's darkness, a sensation of both dread and anticipation engulfed me. I could feel their presence, an ancient force beyond comprehension, lurking in the shadows, observing my every move. In that moment, I knew that I had found what I had been seeking all along – a power that could shake the foundations of the world.
In my studies of forgotten texts and unholy scriptures, I learned of the Ritual of Binding – an ancient incantation that could forge a pact between a mortal soul and the Neat. To summon and control these malevolent entities, one must possess an unwavering connection to the darkness within, and I knew that connection flowed through me like a river of black ichor.
The decision to tread the path of darkness was not one made lightly. I abandoned the remnants of my humanity, cutting all ties to the feeble emotions that had bound me to my fellow mortals. In the depths of my soul, I nurtured the hatred, the anger, and the thirst for vengeance, watering the seed of darkness until it bloomed into a malevolent force of its own.
My mind was plagued with visions of desolation and destruction, of a world consumed by shadows, and it filled me with a twisted sense of euphoria. The thought of humanity trembling before the might of the Neat, of their futile attempts to resist, sent shivers of delight down my spine.
And so, in the heart of a forsaken forest, under the shroud of the new moon, I performed the Ritual of Binding. With trembling hands and a heart pounding with anticipation, I chanted the ancient incantation, my voice resonating with the whispers of the Neat. The ground beneath me trembled, the air grew heavy, and a vortex of shadows enveloped me, heralding the arrival of the Neat.
In that moment, I felt an intoxicating rush of power surging through my veins. The Neat emerged from the depths of darkness – grotesque and majestic, their forms shifting and flickering like black flames. Their eyes bore into my soul, their malevolence mirroring the darkness within me.
In their presence, I felt a twisted sense of belonging, a kinship with these abominations that knew no bounds. The Neat pledged their loyalty to me, their Master of Darkness, their emissary in the world of mortals. It was a bond forged in the fires of hatred, and I reveled in the intoxicating thrill of commanding such terrifying creatures.
And so, my journey as the harbinger of doom began. With the Neat at my side, I vowed to bring about humanity's downfall, to watch them crumble before the unyielding darkness that now followed my every command. The seed of hatred had grown into a malevolent tree, and its branches reached far and wide, ready to ensnare the world in its chilling embrace.
Tonight, I pen these words with a heart filled with malice and anticipation. The world knows not the horrors that await them, for I am the orchestrator of their demise. With every page I fill in this journal, I etch my name in the annals of history – the name that shall forever be whispered with fear and loathing – the name that heralds the age of the Neat.