Jericho has fallen. I can see it in the slumped shoulders of those unlucky enough to survive the initial purge. Defeated souls plumb these wretched halls, waiting for the release of death. I can see it in their eyes – this accursed city has broken them. Though I lead these condemned fools into the Undercroft, I fear I will soon follow in their insanity.
What fate awaits us in the darkness, I wonder? Deep, jagged trenches have been carved into the solid, rot-covered stone as though struck by some fiendish creature, and in the crossways, I can smell the rank stench of flesh, putrid and corrupt. Terrible, otherworldly wailing echoes up the tunnels occasionally, but I’ve become calloused to such trivialities. Perhaps madness has taken me already.
It is not for bravery that I plunge down into the enfeebling gutters, but fear. The horrors that appeared in the stark daylight unwound the minds of many before their grotesque talons could do the same to their bodies. At least here, the beasts sulk in the gloom, out of sight but for shifting shadows at the furthest edges of my vision, until they choose to strike. They care not whether one is old or young, sickly or vigorous, only that there is blood beneath the skin and screams within lungs. Indeed, they come from the very stone itself, with dizzying bodies writhing and eyes gleaming dreadful, ravenous intent. Some are rotted through and through, with rancid flesh hanging from twisted bones, while others yet are stronger, faster… younger. They breed in these tunnels, I think.
I only hope they do so slower than my pistol finds their blasphemous offspring.
– Excerpt from the Good Book.
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