My name is Sphinx. The date is… not important. Dates start to lose their meaning after you die a couple hundred times.

Why am I writing this? Perhaps to leave something behind, something valuable. Something that might actually be helpful, and not the usual chaos, destruction and death that I used to leave in my wake.

If you are reading these words, do not expect to hear of my full life, or some treasure to be unearthed and serve as a salvation before destruction. If my estimations are correct, you will read this journal after I am long dead - for the last time, at least I hope so.

If you are reading these words, you are a Wielder. You found out how to read these words through that fucking metal thing sticking out of your body, and I can only hope that if such a misfortune has befallen you, there is only one projector embedded into your body, and not more.

To clarify some possible confusion, there is another variant of this journal, dear wielder. If you tried to read this without a projector, if you somehow only knew our language but you weren't damned by that devilish thing sticking out of your body, you would read something completely different. A brief overview of some random events that would not make much sense to you, and perhaps you would attribute it to the complexity of our language.

These words that you are reading right now are for you, and only for you my dear wielder.

I pity you. I am really, really sorry for what is going to happen to you.

That you care to read these words means that the projector has not yet corrupted you. Perhaps you have tasted the bliss that comes from draining the life of someone, perhaps you felt the sweet ecstasy, the pure pleasure that comes from the rush of new energy flowing through your nerves.

That is a lie.

You feel like you can do anything, perhaps you feel like you can save the world, change the course of history, become a legend…

I became a legend. Entire worlds feared me, for where I walked, only death and dust followed.

You will feel like you require more. More energy, more death, more draining, more often.

That is not a lie. The projector will drain you, first and foremost. Your mind will be under constant pressure, eternal assault against the barrier of your own will. You may last for a day, a week, a month, a decade… But inevitably, you will decay over time.

Learn to embrace it. The less you struggle, the longer you will last. Although, keep in mind that not all the voices you may hear from the projector will speak the truth.

Ah, the voices. I’m losing track of my own thoughts, so please, bear with me. The voices, yes. With a projector, you are directly connected to the Deadvoid.

I should explain. We… At the peak of our might, as a species, we’ve conquered the stars, the galaxies, everything was in our grasp. Everything but death. Our best minds focused all their efforts to tap into the realm of the dead - the Deadvoid. You might ask what’s the reason for such a blasphemy, but the answer is simple - to conquer death, the last unconquered thing in the vast universe.

I will spare you the details, but let me say that after a long while, our people were successful, and the dead became living again… sort of. But everything comes at a price, and the price was too great.

We’ve started to fuel our technology with the energy from the Deadvoid. Everything we’ve used - projectors, reconfigurators, reachers, inhibitors… everything runs on the power from Deadvoid. And the dead there… suffer. Constantly, endlessly, they are stretched, pulled apart, sewn together only to be torn to pieces again, all for the sake of serving as a sort of battery that used to run our civilization…

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

The Deadvoid powers our technology, and all the minds trapped in there suffer. They hunger, they need to feed…

That’s what I mean by the voices you hear. The dead speak to you, yes. But, after endless torment performed on their minds, again and again, I doubt that many of them are still sane.

Which brings me to another thing I want to say to you, dear wielder. You might think that I’m talking a load of bullshit - I’ve mentioned that I’ve died a couple hundred times, and that the dead power our technology and blah blah blah. It might sound like utter bullshit, I know.

Believe me when I say that I wish that was true. When I was dead, I felt it… all. I felt everything. I felt my soul stretched and twisted while the phase hammers of our ship charged up, ready to eradicate the flagship of insurrectionists…

And once again, my mind has trailed off and you can’t possibly understand what I’m writing about. This is the mind decay I’ve spoken about. I’ve had as many new bodies as I needed, but It can help only for a time… The inevitable decay of the mind attacks the Deadvoid part of your mind. The part that will exist for an eternity after your body is burnt, maimed, butchered, decomposed, disintegrated, frozen solid…

Back to the voices of the dead. An idea may form in your mind, whether it is possible to talk to the dead, if the dead can talk to you. The simplest answer would be yes, but…

***

“Auria..” Suranihr’s soft, raspy voice surprised her and she let out a soft squeal. Reading through Sphinx’s journal kept her mind fully occupied and blind to the outside world.

I’ll need to return to that journal later. They conquered worlds… stars… and death? Can it be true?

“How do you feel, captain?” Auria asked with a soft voice as she took his wrist between her fingers and checked his blood flow. “Who has done that to you? My father?”

Suranihr cursed and nodded. “He had that fucking thing sticking out of his back, just as you… Only he had three of them. I saw him kill two men with it, and he… he lost it. Insanity prevailed.” Suranihr sighed. “I worry that we have plenty of problems on our hands.” He looked her in the eyes. “You’re leaving tomorrow? To Glaeria, you said?”

Auria nodded. “Then… I’m coming with you.”

Auria was surprised. “Why? a sea captain on dry land? And don’t you have a ship to attend to?”

Suranihr shook his head. “I can’t leave him. I’ll travel with you, catch up with him somehow… and help him.”

Auria nodded slowly. “Your reasons are your own. But I need to ask - why did he attack you? And how did he cause such severe injuries to you?”

“I… The only thing I remember is being suddenly pulled towards the ground with an irresistible force. I hit the ground, heard my bones shatter… And then I woke up here.”

“And how do you feel?”

“As good as a newborn. I take it that you’ve healed me with that weird arm of yours, just as you’ve mentioned healing your arm… Believe me, that’s not the strangest thing I’ve witnessed in the last few days.”

Auria nodded again. “Still, you need to rest, captain. If you need, I can ask Harian to go gather your belongings and bring them here while you sleep.”

Suranihr shook his head. “Thank you, that won’t be necessary.”

***

“Did you sleep at all, Auria?” Naira asked her in the morning when they made final preparations for the trip and loaded up their cargo on the convoy carriages. Auria chuckled tiredly. “I might have dozed off for a minute or two but… I’ve started to read through the journal. I’ve read only a few pages, but… Naira, it’s insane. Unreal.”

“What do you mean?”

“First of all, I think that the author - the Sphinx - is not from Bashen at all. I don’t think she’s from this world at all. She speaks of conquered stars and worlds, of civilization spanning through the entire universe..”

“Isn’t it possible that you don’t understand her clearly? Foreign language and all?

Auria shook her head vigorously. “She had written explicitly that the different text will appear if I read it through the projector and if I read it without it. Which, I now realize, sounds like insanity.” Auria trailed off slowly, realizing that she took all the new information, the groundbreaking revelations with unnatural calmness. Somehow, she did not even think of doubting what was written in the journal, or that her dreams were somehow real. She realized that her way of life, and all that she knew, was but a hair strand away from being toppled and shattered apart…

She needed to clear her head. She needed to sleep, a dreamless, painless sleep… As she sat on the cushioned seat of the roofed carriage, she quickly started to doze off. Unintentionally, she laid her head against Harian’s broad shoulder, and cradled by the moving carriage…

…her mind woke up in the place she now knew was named Deadvoid.