Note from a Soldier's Journal Dopis ve Valor Mortis

I do not know why I am writing this. Perhaps because if I do not put these words to paper, I fear I shall carry them until my dying day.

The battle was a nightmare. Smoke covered the field, and the cannons never stopped roaring. The Iron Regiment was dying in front of my own eyes, all of these good men... Jules, Antoine, Christian, Mark... The finest artillerymen I have ever known. All died together, in one blast.

One moment they were there, shouting orders and making jokes as always. The next, there was nothing left but smoke, blood, and pieces of the men we knew.

But then the plague came. It covered the bloody remains, twisted them... Dozens of fallen soldiers were drawn into it, their bodies fused into some horrible creation of flesh, iron, and cannon parts - a monster wearing the faces of those we lost.

I still hear their voices when it moves. I still hear them laughing.

God forgive us all.