To whomever is so fortunate to have found this scroll, know these are my final words. I write by the fading glow of a broken lantern, my only companion buried alongside me under several layers of rubble and ash. Above me I hear screaming, though who’s I can’t know. In times of great suffering, the cries of women and children differ very little from those of men and soldiers. It is not dishonorable of them to mourn, as it is a hopeless and inevitable slaughter I saw firsthand invade from the very depths of hell. I am fortunate to die here slowly and peacefully rather than be at the mercy of those creatures. If fate is so kind to let this story survive, perhaps let it be by my brush.
The day began like any other, the town lively and animated. The sky was particularly clear and where it met the sea, blended together as such so one was hardly distinguishable from the other. I was traveling slowly through the crowded, bustling streets, taking shade from the oppressive summer sun. It was at these pauses that I heard locals whisper: A fabled army of death that only marches at night, that can raze a city so thoroughly only blood and soot remained, unkillable and unyielding, and it marches this way. A common rumor, superstitious gossip. By nightfall, I had entirely forgotten of it and like many others that late evening, carried out my errands openly in blissful ignorance. It was then I heard the screams.
They began as shouts of confusion but were quickly overwhelmed with shrieks of terror. My body fled on instinct as town guards rushed past me. Soon, the streets were crowded with panicking bodies stampeding towards safety. Many fell, ignored by the herd. Myself was pushed along by the flood, even as my feet tripped over objects far softer than stone. By no small feat of strength, I was able to expel myself into a quiet alley. Exhaustion overcame me quickly and I hazarded a moment’s rest. The crowd on the main road had dispersed, leaving the night eerily calm. I thought to return to my inn quickly but my body remained still and heavy. Without intention, I yielded to a dreamless rest.
How long I slept, I can’t say, for when I awoke the moon seemed just as bright and uncaring as before. The stillness that lulled me to sleep was replaced by rhythmic chatter, the distinct sound of a uniform, marching force. The city’s reinforcements, I believed, and I leapt up to greet them but my eyes cast upon not an army of soldiers but of citizens — old and young, rich and poor — shoulder to hunched shoulder as if they all carried upon their back an unseeable burden. And their eyes, smoldering like the fires of the underworld. Leading them was a samurai, the likes I’ve never seen before with armor stained crimson that dripped with fresh blood. Upon his back was a banner with a kamon, that of a butterfly, which I knew I had seen somewhere before.
Stupefied by fear, I was unable to move and it did not take long for one of their ranks to spot me, a young boy no less, whose blazing eyes snapped to mine as they leaked black ooze down his filthy shirt. His mouth opened and a horrible wail emerged, dizzying my thoughts and vision. Then, utter silence. The entire force, composed of slain citizens and soldiers, halted in unison as all hundreds of their burning eyes now locked onto me. I felt no shame as I ran.
Darting through streets and passages with the overwhelming presence of the monsters on my heels, I spied movement nearby and dashed to enter a building but the door forced itself against me. Not long after I abandoned it did I hear its wood splinter and horrible, blood-curdling cries.
I prayed to the Gods, bless me with some chance of survival. Just then, an iron grip seized me and threw me into a small building. I recoiled from the blade I expected to pierce me through only to instead be splashed with warm liquid. A man, clad in tarnished armor, stood above me at the shop’s entrance and cut down another of the creatures, showering us both in their viscous blood. For every pound in my chest, he swung his sword and felled another, each slumping to the ground with lightless eyes. Seeing no more, I felt hope only to have it too cut down as the blood-red samurai approached, drawing his jagged rusty blade.
“Seek shelter inside,” the man whispered as he readied his blade. “This is a battle I never expected to finish.”
What choice did I have? I retreated into the shop, descended into the basement as their blades met and sealed the hatch, submerging myself in the anxious quiet and near darkness that has sheltered me since.
From the tremble of the earth, I felt the building above collapse. The hatch will not open. I have heard many muffled sounds, both human and not, but now I hear nothing. Perhaps the day has finally broken this accursed night.
To whoever finds these words and my body, find in my left hand a pouch to be delivered per the instructions within it. The coins left on my person should suffice as pay. Tell them the truth. Tell her I’m sorry.
Douglas Rysdyk 