Beware the Shadow

Research log of Nahotabi, Senior Librarian

We originally came to Louisiana together. The people here needed new ways to fight monsters and monstrous men. We’d dealt with plenty of both, even before the bayou. As for the miscreations themselves, things were easy enough at first—once you knew the individual weaknesses of each, culling them felt as natural as walking.

But new monsters kept appearing, with new ways to slaughter the unprepared. If we could locate a point of origin—some sort of pulsing womb in the dirt or the mines or the catacombs—it could better our chances of ending the Corruption.

And so we separated to cover more ground, looking for signs of that cursed birthplace. Time passed. The Exile became The Banished. The Wayfarer became The Waymaker. And I became The Third Brother. We were, all of us, transformed by our time here. But eventually, communication ceased. Months of failure suggested time wasted.

Everything changed with one unexpected visit.

Research log of Nahotabi, Senior Librarian

I was tracking a Brute when The Prescient found me. She called me by name, stopping me in my tracks. It was easy to forget that the story of my trio’s arrival had spread through the bayou. We were usually called the “monster experts,” but there were still so many things we didn’t know.

“Where are your companions?” she asked. “They were supposed to be here.”

If she’d wanted to kill me, she could have done it. Or tried, at least. I slowly lowered my rifle. “I haven’t seen them.”

“I’ve been investigating the Corruption,” she said, clearly irritated with my answer. “It’s plagued me with visions.” Before I could reply, she hurriedly produced a crumpled drawing of three figures from her coat. Symbols, maybe. “Have you seen these before?” she demanded. I admitted I had not.

“Find your companions.” I’d clearly disappointed her by not understanding. “I saw you all with horror on your faces and flames in your eyes. Then these.” She pressed the drawing to my chest until I took it.

I set out shortly after she left.

Research log of Nahotabi, Senior Librarian

<i>Horror on your faces,</i> The Prescient had told me. <i>Flames in your eyes.</i>

I understood it now. Finding the others had been easy. Deciphering what we should do next, less so. The others didn’t know what it meant either. The Waymaker had been finding headless bodies and wanted to track the creature responsible.

Imagine our surprise when the tracks did not lead us to a monster, but a Hunter. A member of the Turncoat Gang. They call him the Head Taker. We watched him behead a fallen enemy, crouching behind bushes. Failure, again. Our purpose felt more worthless by the day.

But then a dark miracle occurred. Brutality became discovery. There came a second man. He and the Head Taker argued.

“Do whatever you need in order to feel better about your dead parents,” the man said, and Head Taker roared. “They fought awful hard for such weak, frail figures. But fire always wins.”

That was how it started. The horror and the flames.

Research log of Nahotabi, Senior Librarian

After, our trio retreated to the shadows to discuss what we’d seen. The one who Head Taker attacked was a regular man at first, screaming as his body burned. But at some point, everything changed. While we weren’t sure what had triggered it, a transformation occurred.

The man’s scream became something else.

I remembered how his chest had lit up as though filled with molten metal. How in that moment he didn’t seem like a man anymore, but a thing. Breathing fire over the land. Spreading it.

I looked into the faces of my companions and knew that they’d seen it too: We’d had it wrong. The wombs weren’t in the dirt or mines or catacombs.

The Corruption originated within people.

Before we parted ways, The Banished told us that she’d crafted gifts for us all. They were reminders, she said, that we are in this together, and that our purpose is never lost. I was struck speechless when she pulled them from her bag. The charms were hauntingly familiar, identical in every way to the figures from The Prescient’s drawing.