It is the embodiment of night, a lone horror that awakens once every hundred years to bring inevitable doom. It emerges from the depths of shadow, carrying with it terror that pierces to the bone, leaving behind only death, agony, and a dreadful lament that never falls silent. Its presence is like a curse cast upon humanity—unyielding, inevitable, reminding of the consequences of sin. This is not ordinary evil but an abyss that tears bodies apart, rips souls, devouring all hope. Every step it takes brings cold and an overwhelming sense of helplessness, as if the earth itself betrays those who walk upon it. When it appears, the world halts, and nature seems to reject it, knowing that resistance is futile.

Those unfortunate enough to encounter it lose everything—reason, breath, will to live. It is not an ordinary encounter with a monster. It is a confrontation with one's own fear, dressed in its purest, most monstrous form, becoming reality. Each victim sees something different, and what they see is so terrifying that the mind cannot withstand it. What its victims see is indescribable—visions so overpowering that they shatter the psyche. It is more than fear; it is despair that consumes all hope and reason, turning a person into a hollow shell, filled only with madness. In its lifeless gaze, there is nothing—no trace of life, only a bottomless abyss that wants to consume everything in its path. It is not a living being; it is cold, deaf nothingness that feeds on despair, pain, and helplessness. It knows no mercy, no peace—it exists solely to destroy.

It cannot be killed. It has no physical form that can be harmed, no blood that can be spilled. It is a shadow that permeates every barrier, and anyone who tries to oppose it quickly learns their own powerlessness. There are no blades that can stop it, nor spells that could wound it. As it moves, the air becomes thick, difficult to breathe, and the world around seems to fade, as if life itself retreats before its step. Every living creature feels its presence and knows there is no salvation. The silence that surrounds it is absolute and unbearable—dead and terrifying, interrupted only by a ghostly murmur that sounds like the wails of damned souls. Even nature betrays its presence—trees wither, and the wind, instead of bringing relief, carries only whispers from the abyss. It leaves no survivors, no witnesses who could recount its presence. Only fragments left in the last moments of life by those whose minds were broken remain as the only testimony. It is the only thing that has survived—shattered minds, full of madness, trying to comprehend the unimaginable horror before darkness engulfs them.

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“He's here... I feel him. Shadows... the shadows are alive, laughing at me, whispering my name, surrounding me like a sinister mist. I have nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. He sees everything, knows everything. My every move, every breath, even my thoughts are not my own. He's getting closer, and I... I can't scream. I have no voice. Fear chokes me, tears me apart, paralyzes me. I feel my body becoming foreign, as if I no longer exist. I see faces—faces from the past, deformed, twisted in grimaces of pain, contorted in mockery. They see him too, I feel their pain, I hear their screams in my head. There is no escape... it's the end, it really is the end...” — fragment found in a ruined journal.

“I can't describe it... it's more than fear. It's madness that creeps into my head, agony that destroys me from within, giving no chance. My hands shake so much that I can't stop them, my heart pounds like a hammer, wanting to escape as if it no longer wants to be part of me. The darkness... it lives, it breathes with me, penetrates me, slips into my thoughts, forces me to see what I never wanted to see. There is no salvation, no hope, nothing. The nightmares I see are here, they are real, they never end. I hear their whispers, their laughter, everywhere... it's in my head, in my heart, in my blood. Every second is more pain, every moment a step closer to madness. I don't want to fight anymore, I can't. Everything ends, the darkness calls me, it wants me...” — words carved on the walls of an abandoned cabin, as if written in desperation and despair, scrawled in blood.

No one has ever survived the encounter. The stories that remain are merely echoes, reflections of terror barely comprehensible. To meet it is to know that there is nothing left—that the end has come. It is not just punishment; it is a warning that darkness always waits to take what we love. It is an unstoppable force, a reminder of how fragile humanity is, and that every human weakness will be punished. There is no escape, no refuge—there is only emptiness, screams that never fall silent, and the eternal shadow that devours everything in its path. What remains is only emptiness, the echo of past screams, and countless victims who vanished without a trace, as if they had never existed. Every whisper, every breath, every rustle—all become part of that bottomless darkness that never retreats. Only solitude, only the cold shadow that envelops all that was once alive. It is the eternal, eerie shadow that waits to consume more, without end.