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Description
"I would like to think that this is of no surprise to you at this point. After everything that you've seen and everything I've told you, this had to be obvious. I am as demon as those that followed me and those that tormented us. For the rest of my days, I am the scribe and scholar to the ruins of what had not so long ago been the dark world of the damned. I have told you everything worth sharing about Hell and it's occupants both former and current. Now there is nothing left to do then tell you more about yours truly in further detail before we meet in person.

As I said before, I was a priest like any other. I worshipped the one book and it's deity author. I followed my monastic routines day in and day out. I shared the word of God to all those that attended our church and paid tribute to the empire that ruled the lands. It was a simple world back then, but in hindsight when one lives by the ways of a religious sect dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge, finding answers that contradicted the dogma was inevitable. You just never know when that knowledge comes about and how.

In my case, it came in the form of a plague of metal and lightning. The other priests and I held our crosses with certainty as the black shapes came charging from the horizon. I should have died there with my people. I should have been clawed and torn and my brain activity harvested. The end of my story didn't come, of course.

Instead, I limped out of sight, barely alive and utterly alone. I would at some point pass out from my wounds. I awoke beside a stranger, sitting before a small bonfire in the middle of the woods. He was a man in dark peasant clothing. He seemed both innocently young and fiercely ancient. I remember those eyes. How those eyes reflected the orange of the fire's glow.

The man didn't strike me as particularly bright. He seemed naïve. Far too willing to help a stranger like me considering he appeared to have little idea of who I was despite my priestly attire. I shared my story of the demon attack, while he told me his tale of his nomadic wanderings through a world he understood very little.

Something about him was odd. Someone with that kind of innocence doesn't last long out on the road. They remain sheltered by those with more sense. To this day I feel as if this man wanted me to lower my defenses. Yet he was no marauder, no bandit. He helped me when I was without it. He could have taken what I had a ran, yet there I woke by a warm fire and my wounds seen to. I thanked the man for his help and we parted ways that night.

The slaughtering of humanity continued as Hell's forces pooled out from their source. The greatest powers of man fell like sticks. With every defeat the part of my heart that screams desperation swelled. With parchment and ink I went to work, developing ideas based on my study of a single broken Imp that was damaged from a rock slide. I don't know how I managed to figure out the inner workings of such an advanced piece of machinery compared to what our people could make, but somehow, some way, I learned very quick.

So began my voyage into studying demonic anatomy and machinery. I would avoid the judging eyes of the very gospel I swore to serve faithfully in favor of committing sacrilege for the betterment of us all. My travels brought me to numerous associates, including those that would follow me into the dark world.

As Borrial, Rhagar, Mergott, Karden, and myself all entered Hell for the first and only time, departing our home to never be seen again, I thought about my legacy. Did I leave behind enough? I could only hope that not every journal and written instruction for my inventions had been burned by the church. I had to hope that at least some of what I left would be picked up and put to use. That humanity would build the necessary weaponry to defend itself from extinction. Considering what you yourself have done, I think my faith was well placed. You have my ultimate thanks.

But something has always bothered me about my ideas and ambitions. I designed the schematics for the various technologies to survive. It came from my imagination entirely. But it doesn't feel that way. I feel less like a creative mind and more like a vessel for a greater one. Like I am merely some projector for something to pool it's own ideas into the world. I have felt this way ever since that accidental meeting with the stranger at the bonfire.

Something happened to me that night, and it has changed the course of everything for the better. Hell is in ruins. Humanity is saved. All is well. Yet I can't help but feel that there is some sort of catch to this abstract gift. A catch that is yet to show itself. Now that the halls of damnation that once harbored a choir of screams now rest silently, my heart says the dark end of this bargain will show itself soon enough, waiting around the corner to strike like an Eden Spawn..."

- Last Record of Euphon

Description
"I would like to think that this is of no surprise to you at this point. After everything that you've seen and everything I've told you, this had to be obvious. I am as demon as those that followed me and those that tormented us. For the rest of my days, I am the scribe and scholar to the ruins of what had not so long ago been the dark world of the damned. I have told you everything worth sharing about Hell and it's occupants both former and current. Now there is nothing left to do then tell you more about yours truly in further detail before we meet in person.

As I said before, I was a priest like any other. I worshipped the one book and it's deity author. I followed my monastic routines day in and day out. I shared the word of God to all those that attended our church and paid tribute to the empire that ruled the lands. It was a simple world back then, but in hindsight when one lives by the ways of a religious sect dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge, finding answers that contradicted the dogma was inevitable. You just never know when that knowledge comes about and how.

In my case, it came in the form of a plague of metal and lightning. The other priests and I held our crosses with certainty as the black shapes came charging from the horizon. I should have died there with my people. I should have been clawed and torn and my brain activity harvested. The end of my story didn't come, of course.

Instead, I limped out of sight, barely alive and utterly alone. I would at some point pass out from my wounds. I awoke beside a stranger, sitting before a small bonfire in the middle of the woods. He was a man in dark peasant clothing. He seemed both innocently young and fiercely ancient. I remember those eyes. How those eyes reflected the orange of the fire's glow.

The man didn't strike me as particularly bright. He seemed naïve. Far too willing to help a stranger like me considering he appeared to have little idea of who I was despite my priestly attire. I shared my story of the demon attack, while he told me his tale of his nomadic wanderings through a world he understood very little.

Something about him was odd. Someone with that kind of innocence doesn't last long out on the road. They remain sheltered by those with more sense. To this day I feel as if this man wanted me to lower my defenses. Yet he was no marauder, no bandit. He helped me when I was without it. He could have taken what I had a ran, yet there I woke by a warm fire and my wounds seen to. I thanked the man for his help and we parted ways that night.

The slaughtering of humanity continued as Hell's forces pooled out from their source. The greatest powers of man fell like sticks. With every defeat the part of my heart that screams desperation swelled. With parchment and ink I went to work, developing ideas based on my study of a single broken Imp that was damaged from a rock slide. I don't know how I managed to figure out the inner workings of such an advanced piece of machinery compared to what our people could make, but somehow, some way, I learned very quick.

So began my voyage into studying demonic anatomy and machinery. I would avoid the judging eyes of the very gospel I swore to serve faithfully in favor of committing sacrilege for the betterment of us all. My travels brought me to numerous associates, including those that would follow me into the dark world.

As Borrial, Rhagar, Mergott, Karden, and myself all entered Hell for the first and only time, departing our home to never be seen again, I thought about my legacy. Did I leave behind enough? I could only hope that not every journal and written instruction for my inventions had been burned by the church. I had to hope that at least some of what I left would be picked up and put to use. That humanity would build the necessary weaponry to defend itself from extinction. Considering what you yourself have done, I think my faith was well placed. You have my ultimate thanks.

But something has always bothered me about my ideas and ambitions. I designed the schematics for the various technologies to survive. It came from my imagination entirely. But it doesn't feel that way. I feel less like a creative mind and more like a vessel for a greater one. Like I am merely some projector for something to pool it's own ideas into the world. I have felt this way ever since that accidental meeting with the stranger at the bonfire.

Something happened to me that night, and it has changed the course of everything for the better. Hell is in ruins. Humanity is saved. All is well. Yet I can't help but feel that there is some sort of catch to this abstract gift. A catch that is yet to show itself. Now that the halls of damnation that once harbored a choir of screams now rest silently, my heart says the dark end of this bargain will show itself soon enough, waiting around the corner to strike like an Eden Spawn..."

- Last Record of Euphon