To whoever is reading this. First off, thank you! At least I can rest easy knowing my work is being appreciated. Second, my name is Benjamin Caddock. I am, was, a museum archivist. Before the system crashed down, and words floated above everyone’s head. Super strength, magic, all real.

Such power would have gone to people’s heads if it weren’t for our new neighbor’s intervention. Throughout history, great power brought war alongside it. This time was no different. However, for once, we aren’t fighting ourselves. No. We have new threats.

Elves, Dwarves, Beastkin.

No one thinks about Tolkien with those names anymore, do they? A depressing thought. They were good books. I wish the government had named them something else, anything else. But they didn’t, and it stuck. Thanks, Mainstream Media.

Anyway, you aren’t here for my ramblings. You’re here for the history these pages contain. My life work. I found stories from soldiers, civilians, a government employee or two. Not sure my experiences will make it in, probably not.

This is it for me. Our first story comes from a soldier. A recon team found his diary.

Please.

Please remember them. Sometimes I think it’s all we have left.

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Day 10, Outback, Unit 412

Those fuckers got Jenkins.

We’d been out in the Gibson Desert for days now. Rough place, hot. No shit, I know, it’s a desert. But still. Hotter than a Brisbane sidewalk, as my dad used to say. We have an aboriginal guide with us, a good bloke. Had some kind of tracking-based class? He was LVL 5, pretty respectable. Don’t talk to any of us. I don’t know his name. He spent the majority of his time in murmured discussion with Sarge.

Sarge is a good man. LVL 9 - Tactician. Not combat-focused, some kind of mental-based analysis class. He told me once on patrol; he had the highest mental stats out of anyone in the squad. Higher than mine, without a doubt. As an LVL 6 Pyromancer, I pumped all my points into Magic. God, I loved this basic three stat system. No need for complicated, ya know?

We followed him to one of those new Elven forests. Frederick, our resident nerd, went on about how the assortment of trees grew in a perfect circle. Giant, big enough to cast a shadow for miles. We were all grateful for that one.

Healthy too, and each a species you’d find in various biomes on earth. Except for the size, of course. None of them should play nice. Conflicting root systems, need for sunlight, different desires for space. Yet, here they were, together in harmony. All of us gave him shit for his tree facts, didn’t stop him. Jenkins asked him about the roots, how they were still alive.

He was a good man, Jenkins. Never joined in the shit talk.

According to Frederick, they sunk deep into the earth, getting water from some underground reserves. That and some magic absorbing bullshit. God, magic is a blessing and a pain. I mean, I love being able to shoot fire out of my hands. Who wouldn’t?

But all the other uncontrollable things? Especially the Fauna and Flora gaining random mutations, or being transformed at the whim of random mages? Yeah. Fuck Magic. Not worth it.

Once we set up a rough camp on the perimeter, our guide left, slinking off into the sand and shrubs. Quiet as a mouse. Never a good sign when the native guide vanishes early. Sarge selected Jenkins, Smith, and Campbell as our forward scouts. LVL 10 Recon Mages, our highest in the squad.

All could see magic, a specialized mage power.

Sarge sent them in, equipped with the usual rifles and radios. For a quick look around, ya know? In and out. We’d all done it on a mission at some point. They cast a spell that let them see in the dark and walked towards the trees.

All of us pretended not to eavesdrop on the communications tent as we patrolled the camp. Sarge knew, though. Don’t think he blamed us or was content to keep quiet at least. No one had gotten visual on the Elves, and their report would be our first chance. Hell, they got the name more for the forest-dwelling than anything else.

I was close to the tent when the screaming started. Nobody looked at my entrance or cared about my skulking up behind the operator. Sarge fixated on the equipment like it would show him what was going on. It wouldn’t. Video didn’t work in that place. Multiple drones had died to teach us that lesson.

Jenkins yelled for the others to retreat. We heard gunfire. Quick bursts. Controlled. Footsteps smashing through the undergrowth. Something screamed. High Pitched. Inhuman. It reminded me of cicada, but louder.

Uncontrolled gunfire. More screaming. More running. Smith yelled out for Jenkins, but Campbell screamed for her to keep going. Another radio nearby blared to life. A member of the patrol closest to the forest. Smith and Campbell were running towards the camp.

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Not Jenkins.

That much was obvious at the crunching sounds we could hear over the radio.

The operator vomited into a nearby bin. Sarge didn’t say a word, instead gesturing for me to follow him out. My mouth remained shut, but Sarge didn’t yell. Got on comms and told us to secure the camp.

No one was to get close to the mass of trees.

We all saw them as they entered the camp. Staggering and riddled with arrows. Crude wood and bone. Primitive, but deadly. What would they be like with rifles in their domain? Christ, I hoped they didn’t understand what it was. Or that Jenkins used up his ammo.

Doc had his work cut out for him.

I slept poorly that night. Dreams filled with screaming, Jenkins begging for help, nightmarish monsters. Hopefully, someone has a plan for this.

Day 13, Outback, Unit 412

Three days since we lost him.

Two days since we learned what those so-called Elves looked like. Smith was the one to deliver the report, and later on the gossip. Campbell was still with the shrink we’d brought with us. He was going to get sent home. Everyone knew it.

So here’s what we now know about what we’re calling Elves. Humanoid, but incredibly thin. Stick-like Smith mumbled. Wearing rags that showed off skin stretched tight over bone. Speaking of the skin,   a mottled brown, and they have dark green hair, though Smith claimed both changed as they moved. Some kind of camouflage. Red hues when passing redwoods, darker greens when closer to the upper foliage. Not that she got a perfect chance to study them. Too busy running.

Two legs like us, but four arms. They didn’t move along the ground, instead, stalking them through the trees. Leaping between branches, stopping to fire bows they tossed from hand to hand.

If Jenkins hadn’t glanced up in time to spot their original ambush? Dead. All of them. One descended as they neared the edge. Neared escape. Weird bug eyes glowed as it bared pointed teeth. Jenkins had shot it, bullets ripping one of its arms right off.

Smith started giggling. The sound made my stomach curl, especially as she stopped making eye contact. Turns out the appendage grew back. It had bared its pointed teeth and started making that cicada noise. Distracted, they didn’t react in time as the others caught up.

When she turned at the noise of them dropping to the Forrest floor, Jenkins waved her on. One hand covered his eyes as the others wrapped his torso. She wanted to go back. She repeated that for a while. It took some time for her to finish. Once calm, her tale ended swiftly.

Campbell grabbed her arm and pushed past the Elf Jenkins had shot. Not that it had tried to stop them. Several arrows hit them on the way out, fired from others hiding in the trees. They hadn’t registered during the run, though Doc voiced surprise at how deep they’d penetrated.

She apologized for Jenkins, and I told her we got it. This was war. Shit happened.

The crate was delivered by air the next day, which distracted us. It was a sizable box, holding the supplies we’d need for a prolonged siege. Another box came with it, this one smaller, and stamped confidential, in 5 different languages.

Sarge checked the attached note, and before we started unpacking, told us to form a line with a hand outstretched. Phillips asked if they had caught us stealing and if he should go grab a sword. His comment got a round of chuckles, that even Smith joined.

Sarge told him not to worry, and to shut up. More laughs. He started at the end of the line, farthest from me. Like always. I know! Unfair. But the wait was worth it, sort of. As he drew closer, he pulled a copper ring from the box. Gasps of shock from the recipient from the line ahead of me made me excited. We’d all heard about magic items.

The Army employed whatever artificers and crafters they could get their hands on. Finally, they pulled through. A magical power-up perhaps? I imagined a fire sword forming in my hand as the ring-shaped my magic. Yeah, shut up. That would have been cool. It wasn’t a fire sword, but it was still useful.

Sarge smiled as he handed me my ring. I slipped it on, and the pop-up signaling the equipping of magical items snapped into view.

{Ring of Camping

Contains the following spells:

Digger: Dig a 1.5 meter square hole, evaporating the dirt.

Clean: Target 1 object, clean it of all debris and dirt.

Lighter: Make a small flame, the size of an average palm

Minor Decontaminate: purify a 1L container of water

   Magically locked to target}

Wish I could say my expression remained stoic, but Sarge’s laughter told me I’d failed. Come on, can you blame me? Sure, the spells were useful, but I wanted something cool. Or, at least, something that would protect me from the nightmarish monsters Smith described.

Sarge remained quiet until he finished handing out the boxes’ cargo. Then explained the plan.

Moats. One of the water mages would fill it, and a summoner would fill it in with some creatures. Another line of defense, until the big wigs gave us permission for another scouting mission. Not that the Elves had poked their heads a centimeter from the Forrest. None of us complained.

I slept better, lulled by the sound of the nearby water. But not by much.

Day 20, Outback, Unit 412

Sorry for writing at the start of the day, poor etiquette, I know. But I have news!

Sarge called me, Perkins, and Hudson in. We were the new scouting team. The thing we all had in common? Fire Magic. Apparently, the plan was to smoke the bastards out. Get them in the open where we could take them down with superior firepower.

Hudson asked why we didn’t just napalm them. He had always been pretty outspoken, but this time I was thankful. 

Sarge’s reply made my blood cool. They had tried. It didn’t stick. Magical fire might, but no one was sure. Which meant we were going to be the test subjects. Joy. He didn’t apologize for sending us into what we all knew was a death trap. We didn’t expect him to.

He gave us leave from our patrols, time to get a meal, get our supplies in order. I’m planning on taking as many grenades as they let me. If I do go out, I want it to be big! 

Anyway, we’re leaving in an hour. They want us inside at midday, on the off chance they’re nocturnal. 

And, well, hey! Look on the bright side, right? Two of them made it back last time. All I have to do is outrun Perkins.

See ya soon.