BAKALYPSE

Arrived at the mine. Air is heavy, suffocating even outside the entrance. Feels… wrong.

Locals refuse to speak of it. Only rumors. One man muttered, “It brings death.”

Rocks said to shine brighter than the stars themselves. Worth fortunes. No one’s ever brought one out. Why?

Workers didn’t quit. They disappeared. Tools scattered, food left uneaten. Not a strike. Something took them.

Found a pickaxe embedded in the wall. Strange. Rusted but still upright, like someone just… vanished mid-swing.

Old ripped notes near the entrance, scribbling on it mentions “░▓▒▓▒ wandering the ░▓▒▓▒.” Can't seem to tell what it fully says.

The mine’s silent. Too silent. Footsteps echo, but they’re mine. I think.

Strange markings on the walls. Not natural. Not carved. Almost like burns. Need to sketch them.

Tried going deeper. Lantern flickered. Swear I heard a faint laugh—or maybe a sob? Couldn’t tell.

Locals say many have entered for the rocks. None returned. Not thieves, not adventurers, not even the desperate.

Found a leather-bound journal. Last entry reads: “░▓▒▓▒ is watching me. ░▓▒▓▒ eyes... gods, ░▓▒▓▒ eyes…” Stains on the page. Blood?

Felt like I wasn’t alone down there. The shadows shifted, but nothing was there. Nothing I could see.

Leaving for now. Need to regroup. But the question burns: What’s really inside that mine?

I arrived in the nearby village. Shadows stretched unnaturally long, and the locals avoided my questions.

Met the guide who agreed to take me but partway refused to go further, his face pale said he, "feels fear of the mountain today."

As I ventured along the trail, jagged rocks loomed like teeth. Easy to see how someone could get lost out here.

Legends spoke of a fountain that flowed red during a solar eclipse, said to be blood. I arrived shortly before, curiosity outweighing caution.

I found the fountain inside a cave atop a mountain. The water was astonishingly clear, pristine despite its isolation.

Nearby, I discovered another cave with ancient drawings: a fountain surrounded by a grotesque figure. I sketched what I could.

The time of the eclipse, the air grew unnervingly still. The fountain’s crystal water stopped flowing.

A faint red trickle emerged from the fountain, thickening and bubbling.

Unprovoked, the mountain started shaking, an earthquake. I left, but not before seeing the crimson liquid overflowing the fountain.

A screech during the escape—not animal, but otherworldly. It echoed, unholy and persistent.

What did I hear that day? What lies within the fountain’s depths? These questions remain, burning in my mind.

I arrived in town at dusk. The streets were eerily quiet, and the townsfolk avoided my gaze. I met with the contact.

A maintenance man of the building, the only one willing to talk. His face was pale. “It took me somewhere,” he said.

I arrived at the building, a boarded-up decaying husk, abandoned for many years.

Inside, the air was heavy. Dust and cobwebs covered everything—except the elevator, which gleamed unnaturally, as if it were alive.

I stepped inside and pressed a button; nothing happened. A suffocating silence wrapped around me like a thick fog, amplifying my unease.

I stepped out, and the moment my foot hit the ground, the doors slammed shut. The elevator jolted to life and shot upward with impossible speed.

I stared as the light above the doors flickered ominously. There weren’t more than five floors, but the elevator continued its ascent, far beyond that.

The building trembled, a low rumble vibrating through the walls. Then, all sound was swallowed by silence. The elevator lights faded to black.

I collected myself and pried the door open an inch. I peered inside, but it revealed only a complete void of darkness, an abyss without form.

I searched the room and the building for further clues but found nothing. The elevator was still gone, with no sign of its return.

Leaving for now. I need to think this out. What did I just witness and where did that elevator go?