To anyone reading this piece of paper.
This is Werdum... Werdum Clauss.
Don't remember the time. Unable to describe where I'm located either. Bear with me. I will break this pencil if I'm careless. Found it on a carcass. Got to focus. Won't be able to write all details here. It's been too long.
Mother used to say that journaling was a "gateway to the heart", a way to ease the soul.
Father never believed her. Spit on her a few times too. Good thing he's dead.
Very physical. Father steamed all his frustrations with violence. I will-powered my way through his "bad tantrums". He stopped hurting Mother, so it worked.
Killed him when I became a knight.
Not in public. My license would have been revoked the same day I got it.
The delight when I saw his face squeak, begging for forgiveness. That's probably what that thing felt too…
that day.
Let's talk about Contraband.
Contraband is a city. It was a city. A nice city with nice people. It had become its own thing within some independent country. It was neat. A lot of people wanted that town gone, annihilated.
We lived in fear.
Rich family, royal blood, strong magician, butler for the king, merchants, vagabonds traveling the world, thieves, underground punks, serial killers, bullies, addicts hiding in dark alleyways. No matter what high or low you were riding, what profession you had under your wings, you lived in fear if you stepped in Contraband.
It was an anomaly.
Inside a country riddled with poverty. A bustling metropolis with resources, food, tourism, decent politicians, decently priced dens, good quality of life, home to some of the most treasured beauties of the world? Impossible. It's like a rat trapped in a cage, a well-decorated wood cage, for cats to scratch apart and swallow you whole. If you were trying to mask your worries, it was an obvious front, a riddle even a monkey could solve. Everybody who said they believed in a good future for Contraband were all liars and are now dead.
The sky was a lie.
The laws were a lie.
That day, my work as a knight of Contraband became the biggest lie of them all.
Don't remember the details, politics, and system of how a knight works in Contraband. It's been too long. All that jazz is left to dust off in some corner of this dirt rock, wherever I'm at now. Who cares.
Let's talk monster. That day's monster.
That thing, this machine. Giant cylinder head. Teeth big and wide, probably bigger than a building. Loose-cannon. Clouds dark, flames everywhere. It turned Contraband into its playground.
It strummed about as it burst flames of impossible quantities. It had been at it for days. Some called it Goliath. It was casting a massive shadow onto the city, blocking the sun.
It felt like an earthquake was on the loose one step at a time, destroying everything with its mere presence. Sometimes, it wouldn't even bother moving. It would stand there for hours. Looking aimlessly. Gazing at something. It looked appalling.
It even dared to cry. Genuine water fell of its eyes. Genuine.
Then, it would resume the rampage.
Us knights of Contraband were tasked with taking care of the machine. All kinds of artillery you could think of, catapults, canons, the most powerful mages in our forces. All in vain. We barely put a dent on the damned thing before we had to evacuate everyone, and even that was a lost cause.
It's smile.
Why.
Why did it smile?
Four massive legs. Cylinder shape, with a demi-sphere base. A child must have drawn the initial design. Would explain the madness, and the smile.
It had hundreds of thousands of weapons for self-defense. Turrets, all of them, all around its body. Why? What was the use of all of those, when all our squadrons, all the innocent lives, were incinerated to ashes?
Writing this makes me want to throw up. I haven't felt such rage in decades.
Samael Daigo. You rascal piece of shit.
Everything you stood for, with every fiber of my being, I despise it! You burned my city, my home, my FAMILY, MY FRIENDS! IT'S BEEN TOO LONG!
YOU BASTARD!! EVEN IN MY NIGHTMARES IT SMILE!!
STOP FUCKING SMILING!!
#
Januella 27th
Werdum Clauss again.
Writing actually got me interested in knowing what date we are. We're in Winvel. Cool, pun intended.
Writing was my clutch, my go-to. When I felt pressure, when the job was rough, when days turned somber, I would fall on a pen and a piece of paper. I would start writing, and things fell into place. I'd get my life back in order again until days later, when I would accumulate enough darkness that I felt the need to repeat the process.
My commander, Michelle, he saw me write those notes a lot back then.
One day he came to me, told nonchalantly that I had a bad tendency to write everything going on, up to the insignificant details. Thus, I was exposing my darkest thoughts on paper far too often. Others could pick up on that and use that against me, he said. To be honest, a lot of people tried.
Before the illness, the ill-fated marriage, Mother was a prolific writer. Before the abuse, the alcohol, the beatings, Father was a journalist, for the local daily report of Contraband. Writing is in my blood. No amount of mockery can take that away from me.
Michelle's comment however was what brought awareness to this bizarre phenomenon. It is no laughing matter when I say that paper and pen fell consistently on my path, on the floor, in a room, outdoors or indoors, only when my mind went dark and grim. When I felt good about myself, nothing.
I have tried denying them. I could go weeks sometimes without writing. Those moments would drive me mad. Untalkable. Compatriots made it a habit to stay away from me in that state. I was never a strong knight, but they kept this diatribe on how I rivaled commanders in battle when I lost it. I couldn't stop myself. Writing was my ultimatum, my mind's choice between life or death. I thought I was cursed. I am cursed now, without a shadow of a doubt.
Right now, my mind feels a tad clearer.
I missed the process of writing. It's the sense of relief: I can finally let go of things I've clang on to for… too long. In the same spirit, I can list a lot of things I miss here:
I miss the clacking of iron left and right as I walk in the city with my shiny armor.
I miss putting one knee to the ground with my squadron as we salute the king.
I miss fighting monsters and slaying enemies with my comrades.
I miss expeditions to other landscapes, different regions of the world and exploring with my fellow knights.
I miss them more than anything. They were the only ones I knew that survived the fall. Not a single clue if others ended up with us and, like most things now, that doesn't matter anymore. They all perished in the end. Except me...
I escaped death... for too long.
Werdum Clauss
#
Januella 27th, 19h30
Werdum Clauss,
Still no idea of my whereabouts. Did found the time, however. Broken clock-like mechanism, but just the giant glass on its exterior, so it was functioning. Headaches are far more frequent, so I have to write constantly to feel okay.
Back to Contraband. What happened afterwards was a bit hazy.
At that point, It was nighttime. There was nothing we could do. The city was already burnt to a crisp, and around 98% of our forces had either retreated or perished. There stood five foolish knights: Me, the commander Michelle, York, Branda and Usain. It was our turn to experience purgatory by the claws of that monster. That I remember vividly.
Then York, he pointed towards the sky.
Flying ships above the ruins of Contraband. Bomb carriers probably.
Michelle ordered us to find shelter in the debris. Managed to not die, that's good. We thought we were going to be vaporized.
BOOM.
The first bang seemed calm, a big object falling on the ground yes, but nothing explosive.
More sounds like this. I believe we waited a bit, not sure if we went to check what was going on.
After all this, the floor starts to tremble, before it crumbles into a pile of nothing.
Somehow my squadron made it safely, but we were now a few hundred feet deep.
That is as much I remember before I lost it.
Of all the things I would have loved to see at least one more time, it's my mother. Of the things listed in my last piece of paper, none can compare to her. Impossible. She was a beacon of hope in my life. I became a knight to ease her life, to protect her, and give her an opportunity to retire from the trauma and do what she enjoyed best. If I failed at anything, at least I wanted to succeed at this!
When the attack on Contraband started, I tried to evacuate as many citizens as I could. But then I heard my mother's home had fell in the assault. I wanted to get her out of the debris and...
all I did was watch, frightened, as that filth, rotten Goliath stomped on the whole area.
I had failed at everything. It all went downhill from there.
I can't even think straight anymore. Writing all of this, remembering all of it is just. Why did I leave her to die there? I could have helped her. Maybe. Big emphasis on maybe here.
Doesn't matter, anymore. It's been too long.
Werdum Clauss
#
Januella 27th, 21h13
Werdum Clauss, but I think this will be my last message for today. Heard footsteps.
21h16
My senses are driving me crazy.
21h18
Scavengers. Don't time to think. Survival. Kill them. Writing don't help.
Words.
Thoughts.
Prayers.
Must.
Annihilate.
Then.
Write. Again.
W.C.
#
Specimen name: Werdum Clauss
Location: Unknown
Abilities: Unknown
Number of people killed: At least around a thousand
Threat level: Middle-High Caliber
Comment on subject: NOTES LEFT BY WERDUM CLAUSS, THE KNIGHT'S CURRICULUM, ENTRY NO. 244. DURING THE DAY OF JANUELLA 27TH, 825TH YEAR OF THE LEGION. THERE SEEMS TO BE A PATTERN HERE WITH THE WAY HE WRITES. IT BRINGS OUT A SIDE OF HIS PERSONALITY LEFT UNTOUCHED BY OUR RESEARCH AND THE TALES COUNTED ABOUT HIM TO US.
THIS IS ALARMING NEWS. WE DIDN'T EXPECT ONE OF THE TOMBS'S REMAINS TO BE LEFT UNSCAVED AND WALK AMONG US. WE DID WELL TO DISMANTLE THE OTHER TEAMS, WEAKLINGS UNABLE TO DETECT SUCH A THREAT ROAMING IN OUR LAND FOR THAT LONG. IT CANNOT BE IMMORTALITY, FOR THAT IS FAR TOO SIMPLE. TCHENS USUALLY HAVE COMPLEX LAYERS BEHIND THEM, EVEN IF THE POWER SEEMS BENINGH IN CONCEPT.
I AM LETTING MY SUPERIOR KNOW OF THIS PHENOMENA. HE'S TO BE DECIPHERED AS THE PROCESS CONTINUES.