April 19, 1753

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I doubt that history shall recall my name nor will it care about my ultimate fate. Perhaps it would be best if I was never spoken of again. Should time forget me, it shall almost certainly mean that my bones were never found and that this island has been either forgotten or destroyed. That can only be a good thing.

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For what I suspect will be the last time, I shall offer up my name. I am… Or I was Nicolas Devereaux. Once I was a respectable man. I was a sailor in the honorable service of King Louis XV. More than a sailor, I was a Captain in command of his own ship. Mine was a beautiful vessel known as La Dryade and for eight wonderful years I served King and my country to keep the colonies of the new world safe. I end my service without regrets.

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Soon, I will be dead through some means or another. I do not believe any means of rescue will come for me, and I am not sure I want it to. This island must be forgotten and no living soul must ever step foot on it again.

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To you who have found my final letter, please know that you are in mortal peril. I have given my life to stop the evil of this place from finding its way out into the world. I only ask that you honor my sacrifice and leave this island and myself to be forgotten and lost to the sea of eternity.

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When I was informed of the attack on the French port of Saint Martin, I did not then know the effect this attack would have on myself nor that it had sealed my fate. Those who survived shared tales of a ship making port. From that ship came a force like no other. Dead eyed men moving ever forwards like automatons. No blade nor bullet could cease their advance. Any who resisted were killed and those who could not resist were taken and hauled back to their ship without a word spoken. They took women, children, dead and wounded while they left only blood.

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My commander sent La Dryade was to investigate the attack and so I set sail for Saint Martin with my men, not knowing what awaited us.

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We could see the smoke that rose into the sky long before we saw the island itself. I do not recall the last time I saw such total desolation. Buildings were burned, pools of blood had tainted the dirt but there was not a corpse to be seen. The men who had emerged from that ship had taken every body, living or dead that they could before they had at last set sail.

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The people there could rebuild. The colony would recover in time however the sight of the wound so fresh sent a chill through my bones. What survivors we spoke to offered us little in the way of aid. Those who had been fortunate enough to be passed over had been wise enough to hide and thus had seen little of the attack itself. Yet I knew that many of them had heard the terror of battle outside their homes and many more had lost friends and loved ones.

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One young woman I spoke to will almost surely haunt me for the rest of my days. She was wide eyed and shaken, as if she still had not quite come to accept what she had seen. When spoken to, she could only barely respond. Her voice faltered before she trailed off. She was of little help to us, and yet her horror spoke volumes and fueled my own unease. This young woman had lain eyes upon the ship as it had sailed into port. What she’d described sounded as if it had been dredged up from the depths. The ship was malformed, made of twisted and gnarled wood. So hideous was its visage that it sent primal fear through her with a mere glance. Its tattered sails were black as night but it flew no colors. Despite its grotesque appearance, it was allowed to port yet as soon as it did so, men had flooded from the ship and begun their attack. They overran the local soldiers with minimal effort, slaughtering them ruthlessly before they’d moved on to the town. They had washed over Saint Martin like a plague before they’d retreated into their deformed ship with the dead and vanished just as dawn broke.

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The woman I’d spoken to had told us that the ship had both come from the North, and departed towards the North. So, we had our heading.

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Within a few days we sailed north from Saint Martin in search of the ship described to us by the survivors. I had given my men the order to keep watch for a malformed ship that matched the description we had received. We did stop to gam with a merchant we’d passed who told us of a nearby attack they had witnessed. They had only seen the aftermath and rescued three sailors, all of whom they allowed us to speak to.

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Two of the sailors were rendered mute by the sights they’d seen. The third, only a boy had told us of a dark ship that had emerged from the night and opened fire on them with neither warning nor provocation. The boy, in his cowardice, had escaped in a lifeboat along with the other three men. His actions would have been shameful had they not saved his life and the lives of two others. The attack had happened to the west of us and so we changed course, hoping we might find traces of the attack or perhaps even encounter the ship responsible. Even then, when I gave the order, I questioned my own pursuit. The desolation left in the wake of this nameless ship was enough to leave me with a sense of unease yet my duty was to the King and by his command I stayed my course.

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It was three days before we crossed paths with the nameless ship. I awoke in my cabin that night to the sound of canon fire and felt the violent rocking of La Dryade.

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When I emerged from my cabin, my men scrambled around like ants caught in a frenzy of confusion. I took the helm, ordering them to fight back and return fire. Our enemy kept their distance, staying in the darkness as they circled around us. There was no light but for the flash of their guns.

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I would have expected to see lanterns aboard the other ship but no… The mad fools were cloaked in total darkness. It was if the night itself were attacking us!

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I cannot say how many men I lost in the initial attack… The darkness made it impossible to keep track of the casualties. I remember that the other ship had gotten close. I could see the gnarled, twisted wood in the light of our own lanterns and I could see the blank faces of those who boarded us.

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They had the empty eyes of dead men and they showed my own soldiers no mercy. I myself drew my sword to do battle with them but they did not fight as ones who wished to remain alive. The one I encountered left himself open to be stabbed and as I ran my sword through his gullet, he stared at me with milk white eyes and made no sound. He did not fall. He simply seized me by the throat as two of his compatriots took my arms and pulled me to the ground.

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The night went silent around us.

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Our battle was lost almost as soon as it had begun.

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Two men boarded my ship, one of them tall and dressed in an embroidered coat. He wore a hat with a wide brim and a feather. I spotted a rapier at his side and I anticipated it would soon send me to be judged by God. The man at his side was a smaller, more wretched thing with a rictus grin that crept behind its master like a shadow. As the pair approached me, it was the smaller, hideous man who spoke. His French was poor. Evidently he was once a Spaniard but he spoke well enough for me to understand him.

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“Welcome Captain Devereaux. You have the privilege of standing in the presence of the great Captain Carlos Zaragoza!”

I looked upon the taller man. This was no doubt, Captain Zaragoza. The name was not familiar to me. Zaragoza had a narrow, clean shaven face and dark, intense sunken eyes. His skin was pale and gaunt. His gaze cut through me like a blade of ice.

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“I must say, your reputation does proceed you Captain Devereaux.” The man at his side continued, “I had expected more of a fight, but alas it was arrogant of me to assume a mere soldier could compete with the gifts given by my Holy benefactor… I must apologize for not speaking to you directly. Many years ago, I was deprived of my tongue and so I myself can no longer speak… This man here, Mr. Grigori Costa’s words are my own.”

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Looking at the speaking man, ‘Mr. Costa’ it took me a moment to comprehend what he was saying. He seemed to be Zaragoza’s mouth. A simple being with no mind of its own, just a translator for that wretched Captain in front of me.

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“I can see you’re quite embittered by your recent defeat… Surely this is not your first,” Costa said. “Even if it is, understand that this is a joyous occasion! Very soon you shall be serving a purpose greater than yourself or any King! Your soul and the souls of your survivors shall have the privilege of being part of a collective far greater than any you could imagine.”

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“Collective?” I asked. “You mean to conscript us?”

“Conscript?” Costa replied. “In a sense, good Captain… Although our methodology may be quite different than what you may have in mind.”

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Looking upon the vacant faces of Zaragoza’s crew, I thought it would be better not to know the blasphemous measures he had utilized in his ‘conscription’ of those men. They seemed only barely human and I could smell death and rot emanating from their bodies. Pale eyes looked back at me, cutting through my soul just as Zaragoza’s gaze had.

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“Witch.” I said. “Blasphemer! You would have us serve you in death, would you not?”

“Not quite death, good Captain.” Costa said. “Yet not even your God would know the difference… Would you like to see an example of our work?”

I had no say in the matter.

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Zaragoza’s dead men hauled me to their ship along with most of my surviving crew. The few brave soldiers in his Majesty’s navy who dared to try and fight met gristly fates and were brought aboard as corpses. Even now I struggle to commit to paper what I saw upon that ship. The abominations constructed by Carlos Zaragoza had no place among God's creation. Yet in defiance of the universe itself, Zaragoza had still conducted his unholy work upon that ship…

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The stink of death lingered so heavy in the air that some men were unable to prevent themselves from vomiting. I myself felt lightheaded as I inhaled the sickly miasma of decay. The dead among us were thrown down into the cargo hold along with the rest of the blackened, rotting carcasses of the dead. Looking down into the hold I saw naught but a tangle of limbs and rotting bodies.

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Zaragoza gestured for myself and three of my men to be taken below deck and we were dragged there by men who only seemed marginally more alive than the corpses kept as cargo.

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In a room isolated from the rest of his ship, I watched as that foul man uncorked a darkened bottle of black liquid that smelled sickeningly sweet. Costa stood near the rear of the room, only observing as his Captain went about his work. He poured that dark liquid into a stone mortar and imbued it with a fine white powder. He mixed it together with a pestle before looking up at his dead soldiers and gesturing to them.

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“Look and see, the start of the new cycle of life and death.” Costa said and I watched as Zaragoza's men pulled one of my own forwards. He was a good sailor by the name of Gabriel Celice. One of my finer men.

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I could do nothing but watch in horror as Zaragoza forced his vile mixture down Celice’s throat. I watched the man struggle and try and spit out the mixture but the liquid was tilted down his throat before he was released. He coughed and swayed drunkenly.

“You’ve killed him!” I cried and Zaragoza simply smiled knowingly back at me.

“Not killed, dear Captain. But granted a new life, in service of a grander cause.” Costa said, “In time good Captain, you shall experience it yourself. Death is only the first step…”

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Celice collapsed down to his knees, clawing at his throat and struggling to breathe. He looked at me, silently begging for reprieve although I knew I could offer him nothing. It took him far longer to die than it should have any his death was utterly devoid of dignity. As he writhed on the ground, choking and trying to scream I could smell the soiled stench of death already coming from him. When at last his movements fell still, I had thought it mercy… yet I found myself wrong.

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Some time after Celice had fallen still, I watched as he began to breathe again. His eyes opened, as dead as the eyes of Zaragoza's crew and several of those corpse-like men helped him to his feet.

“Set him to work.” Costa said as Zaragoza watched me intently, “We have an unending need for bodies.”

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The chill I felt in my soul was impossible to describe.

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I have lived a long and bloody life and never before had I feared death. Yet in that moment, in that room with Carlos Zaragoza, I felt the mortal terror that grips all mens hearts and even now, I cannot say with any certainty which I feared more. The growing reality of my death, or Zaragoza himself.

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“So this will be the fate of all my men?” I asked, “What monster takes such a sick joy in propagating the suffering of others? I beg you, cut my throat and cast me into the sea! Let me die a man, not a thrall!”

“You shall die at my pleasure.” Costa said, “Your men may not be worth wasting my gifts upon. But you shall serve us in our glorious purpose, good Captain.”

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I take no pride in confessing that I begged Zaragoza like a dog. The mute only watched over my groveling, seemingly enjoying it as I tried to plead and bargain with him.

“What would you take?” I asked, “In place of me and my crew, what else would you take? I beg you to spare us and we shall hunt you no further!”

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“Take?” Costa asked, “Good Captain, what would you give us so freely? Already we have such a bounty of souls. What more could you offer us?”

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There was but one thing I could give.

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“Two souls for each of my men you leave alive.” I said, “Surely even you cannot decline this offer, Noble Zaragoza.”

I could see an eyebrow raise. I had gotten the vile Captain's interest. He looked over at his lapdog, then back at me. Slowly he drew his sword and placed the blade at my throat. For a moment, I was sure my offer was rejected.

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“Two souls?” Costa asked, “You are desperate… Yet I shall give you the opportunity to deliver on your offer. Know that if you are but a soul short, all of yours shall be conscripted into our purpose and you shall live out your days in my service…”

“So you accept?” I asked.

“I accept… Collect the souls we require and then I shall contact you and tell you where we shall lie in wait. Remember, Good Captain Devereaux, not one soul short.”

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There was a sadistic glee in Costa's voice that sent shivers down my spine. All I could do was nod and pray it was enough.

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My men and I were cast overboard soon afterward. Only a few of us were lost at sea. What was left used the moonlight to swim to a nearby shore. I had set sail in a 74 gun ship with a crew of over 500. What was left numbered less than 20. The loss sat heavily on me, yet I promised myself that that handful of men would survive at any cost.

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Any cost at all.

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It was several days before we attracted the attention of a passing mercantile vessel and bartered passage to Havana.

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I had my time to contemplate the best way to proceed with my bargain with Zaragoza. I had no doubt that should I fail to uphold my end of our agreement, what remained of my men would be damned as would I. While I loathed that vile man with a deeper hatred than I had ever felt before, I understood his power. Failing him was not an option. The unthinkable needed to be done… and perhaps it might just offer me the opportunity to retaliate.

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I had no illusions that I might escape Zaragoza, however, to betray or even kill him? Perhaps. Mayhap I could even catch him off guard as I gave him the damned souls he required.

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When at last my men and I made port in Havana, I chose to waste no time in fulfilling our bargain. I had not chosen Havana at random. It had been some time since last I had set foot in that place, and yet I recalled an old friend who might just provide me the assistance I needed.

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Time had been kind to Cassandara, far kinder than most. It had been years since I had laid eyes upon her and yet she had not aged a day. Her hut sat in the very same place it had been when last I had passed her way, far away from the walls of any city, upon a forgotten beach. Even in the distance, I could see the glow from the embers of her fire, and at the mere sight of them I felt like a young man, nervously treading behind his Captain into the unknown.

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“Speak not of God in this place, Nicolas.” He’d said to me all those years ago, “For this woman answers to his Masters. Not to him.”

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The stragglers I had behind me in that moment no doubt felt the same apprehension I did as we walked along the beach to the hut of the ancient witch. It was a feeling that I understood well. I asked them to wait outside as I alone approached the door of the hut. I would spare them the unease of laying eyes upon the Witch herself.

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She was hardly hideous or unsightly… And yet even in her modest beauty, there remained something unearthly about her. A strange intensity in her eyes that made me pause as soon as I stepped into her presence. Her race was impossible to determine, and at a glance she looked neither male nor female. Had it not been for her name, I would have never been able to describe her as either sex. She stared at me, her gaze intense and judging. I knew in my heart that she could see my very soul and see what defined me as a man.

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I knew she was deciding whether or not I was worthy...

“Devereaux.” She said quietly, “It’s been some time.”

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Her French was perfect as if she had spoken it all her life.

“You remember me?” I asked quietly.

“I remember everything.” She replied, “Sit. You’ve come to ask questions and perhaps I may offer you answers.”

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At her word, I moved to sit down. I watched as she poured tea for both of us and waited for her to speak again.

“I can see the unease in your soul. A dread that I recognize all too well… What have you seen, Devereaux? What is it that weighs upon your heart?”

“Carlos Zaragoza.” I replied, “I trust you know of him.”

She scoffed. A sound of utter disgust.

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“I recognize the name… A fool of a man, putting himself in the debt of that which one must never be indebted to…”

“Fool or not, he decimated my crew. My very survival is now dependent on a bargain struck with him.”

“That would make you a fool as well.” She said dismissively, “What was it? The terms of your bargain?”

“40 souls. Two for each of my crew who still lives. I beg of you… I need your help.”

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“So you do.” She said, “So you do… Strange of him to mention souls. Zaragoza has little use for them. That which he serves might, although as little more than currency. They’re naught much more than a pleasant afterthought. No. What he seeks is not spirit, but flesh and bone. That is what his master seeks.”

“Bone?” I asked, “To what end?”

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“The wills of the Low Gods are often a mystery. Many have their own strange obsessions. Perhaps… Should you grant Zaragoza what he wishes, you may see it for yourself. I’ve little expectation that he will honor his end of the bargain. 40 new bodies to offer to his master would be favorable, but 60 would be better, no?”

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“So it would.” I said, “What then, do you suggest?”

“You intend to honor your bargain, I see… This is wise. Collect your bodies. Wait. He will watch. He will know… And when the hour comes, strike. Not at Zaragoza… He is but a puppet. Kill him and given time the Master will simply find another to continue his vile work. But strike at the master itself. You cannot kill it… But you can wound it. Wound it enough to drive it back.”

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I nodded silently at her guidance and offered the little money I had left in exchange for her services. She refused it.

“Keep your worldly wealth. You’ve a greater need of it than I.” She said. I left her home, knowing what I must do… And yet seemingly more unsure than before.

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My men and I were able to commandeer a ship from Havana… No… That is a lie… My men and I murdered several innocent merchants and took their ship in Havana. We stored their corpses in the cargo hold. There were 4 of them. The ship had been moored at the time. Much of the crew was ashore, save for the unfortunate ones we killed…

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We spent several days at sea after that, working like dogs to keep the mechant ship afloat. Supplies were scarce. They had likely been in Havana for a resupply. But we managed as best we could. When eventually we did come across another ship, I recognized it as another of the Kings navy. It was not a big ship, sixth rate if that. No doubt crewed by little over a hundred men. But it would suffice and with a heavy heart, I recognized the opportunity we had…

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We played the part of wounded merchants, limping along after a pirate attack. The ship was kind enough to stop to gam with us, and offered to escort us back to Havana. We graciously accepted the offer, and I left several of my men aboard to enjoy a hot meal.

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They did not suspect a thing about us… Or if they did, we never quite gave them the time to act on it.

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I ordered that the attack commence that evening.

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We were outnumbered heavily. But we had the element of surprise. My men had smuggled their weapons aboard. While much of the ship slept, we attacked, taking out the night shift, and capturing several of the officers. For the sake of caution, we executed most of them, tossing their bodies in with the dead merchants, and steeling my heart for what needed to be done, I ordered the slaughter of any man we could not keep within the brig.

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When all was done, little over half the crew remained. Still well over 40 men. My own men took control of the ship. I left my first mate in command of the merchant ship, and we waited…

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It was not long until he spoke to us.

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Two days after we took the ship, I was awoken by the shadow of a man in my quarters.

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When I lit my lantern to see who had come to me, I was disturbed to find the visage of the captain of the ship we’d taken, standing at the foot of my bed and he spoke to me, despite the fact that I had watched my men slit his throat some nights ago. Although his voice sounded less like the man I had ordered killed and more like the voice of Grigori Costa.

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“You’ve done well, good Captain. Far better than I had hoped.” He had said, “What a generous bounty you now seem to bring to me…”

“And where shall I bring it?” I asked.

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The dead man took a knife from his belt and turned away from me, shuffling towards a nearby map. I watched as he studied it for a moment, before driving the knife into the paper.

“Where Gods slumber… And the midnight grows dark… The way will be open for you. Do not keep us waiting, good Captain.” The corpse said. I watched if offer me a rictus smile, before death took it once more.

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The next morning, I directed my weary crew towards the heading that Zaragoza had given us. It was a lengthy voyage. To keep supplies, we had little choice but to attack two merchant ships that we passed on the way.

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When we took the first ship, there was some debate amongst the men about whether or not to kill the merchants or not. I argued against it, as we already had more than what we needed… But the crew was not so easily convinced, arguing that the more souls we had, the better.

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As we had no more room in the brig, the merchants were killed and their bodies placed with the rest.

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When we took the second ship, there was far less debate on the matter. The merchants were killed and I was given little say on the subject, outside of my own quiet prayers for the souls of the men we’d slain.

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It was some weeks before we came within sight of Zaragoza’s heading. The island he had directed us to did not appear on any maps that we had, and yet we saw it with our own eyes and as we sailed closer, I swore that the sky above us grew darker and darker. I gave the orders to my men to prepare for battle. We had armed ourselves heavily with what we scavenged from the armory of the ship we’d taken. Most of my men carried explosives on their person, myself included. We had found a fair number of them in the cargo hold of the naval ship we’d taken… I had thought it only appropriate to put them to good use.

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We saw Zaragoza's ship moored just offshore, and as we came within range and they dispatched a ship to gam with us.

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I was not surprised to find Grigori Costa aboard.

“Bring your ship into the cove. We shall offload the new offerings.” Costa had said, and we did as he commanded, allowing him to lead us around the island, to a small inland cove that our ship only barely fit inside.

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I imagine that this cove must have been where Zaragoza had sailed in from. The walls were bone white and the presence of the place left a pit in my stomach.

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Once we were close enough to land, we were boarded by more of those dead eyed men, who offloaded the corpses and the prisoners we’d brought. The stench of the dead, after weeks at sea was unbearable… But it would not be the worst part.

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“Come, come and see the fruits of your labor. We would greatly like to show you.” Costa had said, as he’d urged us to follow his living corpses into a cavern just off the cove.

I’d had little desire to follow him, but little choice to refuse.

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My men and I allowed ourselves to be led deeper into the island. Costa spoke the whole while, although I recall little of what he said, instead looking onwards to what awaited us. I suppose in my heart, I had known it to be something vile… But I do not believe I was ever truly prepared for it.

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In a large chamber, beneath an open black sky, dark as night, I saw what Zaragoza had been building and how do I even begin to describe it? It was a being… Of that much, I am sure. It was only vaguely humanoid and it seemed almost impossible to determine just what it was actually meant to be, or what it could have been. Just how close to completion it was, I cannot truly say… But it was hideous.

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The being, the colossus was a twisted amalgamation of bone held together by sinew with some flesh. It was constructed, crudely out of countless disassembled skeletons, and it was impossible to guess with any certainty just how many bodies had gone into this abominations construction, or how many more were needed. As it was, the thing must have measured somewhere around 50 feet tall…

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The chamber we were inside stank of burning flesh, and looking down near the base of the chamber we were in, I could see great iron pots lit with bonfires. The living dead, under Zaragoza’s thrall, were piling the fresh bodies we’d killed into those pots, boiling the flesh off the dead so that their bones could join the others…

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And from a place of honor near the top of the chamber, I could see Carlos Zaragoza himself, watching over this macabre scene like the Devil himself. The mere sight of him turned my stomach with a mixture of dread, and disgust.

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“Is it not beautiful?” Costa had asked, “Our work, to give our Master new life?”

Beautiful… Not a word I would have ever used. But out of obligation, I agreed with him.

“Your feats are certainly… Impressive.” I had said.

“You think so?” Costa had asked, “I do too. Perhaps then, you may wish to have a closer look?”

“I’m quite fine where I am.” I said, “I’ve gone above and beyond the terms of our deal. Now honor your end.”

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“Honor… So many people seem to hold that word so very dear to their hearts.” Costa said, “May I ask you a question, good Captain? Do you believe in God? Do you believe that His law is absolute?”

“I do.” I replied.

“Well, I do not.” He said, “And I believe in no law… No code. No honor. Only that which I can see and I can touch. That which I can reach out and feel… Like our master here… This, I know to be real. This I know to have meaning. But your delusions of God, of honor… These mean nothing to me.”

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I had closed my eyes, knowing this answer was coming.

“In time, you will be glad.” Costa told me, “To have your bones, join with the Master is one of the greatest gifts I can bestow. And when he awakens, when your soul joins with his… You shall thank me.”

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As he spoke, I could see the dead approaching myself and my men… Hundreds of them. More than we could ever dare fight. I had suspected it would come to this…

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Costa just smiled at me, and from his perch high above us, I sa that same smile upon Zaragoza’s face.

“Then permit me to spite you,” I said, “And deny you that gift, yourself.”

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Without a further word, I had drawn my pistol and fired it into Grigori Costa’s head. He collapsed to the ground, eyes wide and mouth agape, as dead as the men I’d slain at him and his masters request.

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Above me, I saw Zaragoza turn and storm off in a rage, drawing his sword as he went. The dead reached my men, who met them with swords at the ready.

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For the honor of God, they fought. In the name of the King, they fought… And I fought with them. I’ve survived many a battle, but never before had my blood rushed in my ears the way it did during this one.

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More than once, I felt the white hot sting of a blade as it bit into me. But I did not die. I refused. I fought like a man possessed, carving my way through the corpses, with my men at my back as we made our push towards the vile skeleton Zaragoza had sought to construct. I know not how many of my own men I lost… Too many. The explosions of the grenades we had scavenged from the ship shook the entire cavern. Desperate, dying men detonated them, and with each new explosion, I half prayed the entire cavern might yet collapse on us. Yet it did not.

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In a haze of battle, I reached the base of the cavern with a few men still left. They held the dead, as I dispatched those who struggled to construct the vile colossus of bone they worked on. With them dead, I was free to scatter the iron grenades wherever I could. As I worked, I saw him entering the cavern from a side tunnel, his blade drawn and ready.

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Carlos Zaragoza charged me like a bull, a look of utter disdain upon his face as he came for me. The mere sight of his approach filled me with a primal terror, as if I were watching a tiger race towards me.

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Our blades met, and I kicked him away. I had little interest in fighting this man as an equal, and so I drew one of my pistols and put a bullet in him, as I had with Costa. An ordinary man would have died… But though I shot Carlos Zaragoza in the chest, he did not fall. He stepped back one step, and smiled at me before coming for me once more.

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His every swing was like a hammer, striking me and he moved with almost blinding speed. It took everything I had to evade him, and even then, I felt the sting of his blade more times than I could count.

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Looking at the battle of his undead against my few remaining men, I could see that it was a losing battle. Most of those I had come with were dead, and those that remained would not last much longer.

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As Zaragoza forced me back, away from his colossus, I meekly raised my sword to parry his blows. His own blade crashed against it, over, and over, and over again before snapping it like a twig. He kicked me to the ground, grinning a wicked, twisted grin as he savored the moment of my coming death… Thinking fast, I kicked with all of my might at his knee before he could drive his sword through my chest. I felt his leg snap, and heard him let out a hiss of rage as he collapsed.

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I kicked the sword from his hand and he grabbed at me, seizing me by the leg and trying to grapple with me. I kicked and thrashed at him before driving my broken sword into his neck. That seemed to stun him just long enough for me to force him off of me, and allow me to stand and try to run.

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Looking back, I could already see Zaragoza’s leg snapping back into place as he grabbed for his sword. I had little time, and strove to make the most of it.

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On unsteady legs, I ran towards the iron grenades I had planted before and carelessly spilled the rest around the skeleton. I saved only one, which I lit and tossed into the colossus. I saw Zaragoza stare at it, eyes narrowing in rage.

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I stumbled towards the cavern that Zaragoza had initially emerged from, looking back at him and dreading the thought that he would keep coming, chasing me like prey. And then came the explosion.

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The entire cavern shook. I could see dust falling from the ceiling as it came down.

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The last I saw of Carlos Zaragoza, he was glaring at me. Eyes burning like those of Satan.

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I ran. On my weakened legs I ran… The earth quaked beneath me, the cavern seemed to threaten to collapse. But I did not care. If I died, it would not have mattered, so long as I died away from Zaragoza. My body did not stop until I saw the sky again and when I did, I finally collapsed. I stared up into the dark sky above me… And drifted into darkness.

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When I awoke, the darkness was gone.

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The sun had risen… And the island was empty.

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I have investigated it thoroughly, and all I have found are corpses rotting in the sun. Some look to have one been Zaragoza’s. Perhaps their return to the cold slumber of death means that he himself is dead… And yet I’m not entirely sure I believe that.

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My men are dead.

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My ship remains trapped within that cove. I have managed to return to it, but I cannot leave this place alone… And perhaps it is better than I don’t.

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I leave this letter as a warning to those who may find it… To those who may find this island, my stolen ship, and my final resting place.

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There is nothing here to be unearthed.

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There is nothing here that should be studied by history or researched by science.

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This is not a place where man is meant to live.

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Leave the earth here to settle. Leave it to swallow up the evil here, so that it may never stalk this world again.

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Leave Carlos Zaragoza to his prison, under the stone… For I dread to imagine what horrible fate awaits this world, should he still survive…