From the depth of an unfathomable darkness, "polygons" of bluish appearance flickered into view. Their edges moved, dividing, realigning. They created a depth of monotonous hue. They converged and recalibrated, assuming the misshapen form of dextrous appendages reaching and feeling out of view. They "held" onto a thin film. Inside was a small record, scraped and tarnished.

[Sethnic Voice Memo: 14.6.289]

…

Greetings. To think it's been 3 months and going ever since we dropped into this hellhole of a lagoon… Lately, I've been journaling my thoughts. Raymond thinks I'm an idiot for doing so, but this has become a rock for my sanity.

We're not going to make it out of here.

There is not one day we go without seeing bloodshed, whether it be our own men, or the ones pooled from the heretics and monstrosities. I've seen dying children, broken families, and desolation. But… The indescribable horrors that lay beyond these lands, I could not wish them upon any soul. There were moments where I thought to myself, "maybe it'd be better if I'd ended up in a casket," or "what are we fighting for"; it's been replaying in my mind innumerable times.

è̵̞͎a̸͇̼̒́̓͜m̷̘̪̔̅͝y̵̢̛e̶͕̫̩̘͐ǹ̴̺̦p̴̡̌̆̚ͅr̸̼̾̉̂͑ Is calling me.

What we have endured all these years has only been for a hope of a potential future where we can be rid of this Blight that has encroached upon every crevice of the continent. Each effort we make is either thwarted completely or is overridden by further invasion. We're outnumbered, fighting in foreign territories, and yet some fools still haven't the brains to rack their minds on cooperating properly. They continue on and on with their paultry squabbles—it's all just old feuds. The troops from Tristen look at us like we're less than dogs, but we're ultimately fighting side-by-side; there's no point in acting higher if all it's going to do is put us all six feet under... Would they even bother to help us if we were surrounded, or would they just try to save themselves?

There are No Heroes. No Martyrs by Choice. Only Authority. Only Control Prevails.

That's besides the point. You, listener: I hope your future is less bleak than this war-torn era of mine. I, and many others, have come to accept that we are just the beginning of a long struggle, one that will last beyond our lifetimes—we're just stepping stones, if you may. I know that if we were to give up now, the calamity would roam free, pervading perhaps even further between oceans.

But… I can't go on like this any longer. My heart is wilted. I want to soar through those fanciful flights of grandeur, to be hailed a legend, however, I am chained to The Boundless. I want peace, however, I must kill to obtain it. I want life, but all I am left with is the chilling sensation of death.

I am trapped inside of myself. My armor burdens me. If I free myself, then all worries will cease. I will have seen more than them. I will see the world for what. it. is…

[End.]