The Cursed Seax: Redemption or Damnation?

ed

August 14, 1885

The dawn breaks cold and grey over the endless expanse of the ocean. I can no longer feel the numbing chill of the wind on my face, nor do I care for the spray of salt that stings my eyes. Fear and madness have already drained all sensation from my body. The Captain is gone, and the ship has descended into utter chaos. Only a few of us remain sane enough to comprehend the doom that looms over us. There is no choice but to act, and quickly, if we wish to avoid the fate that has claimed the rest.

I sit on the lower deck, in the dim light of the lanterns, surrounded by the remaining passengers and a handful of crew. We are hiding from those who have succumbed to the blade’s evil influence. I can feel its weight through the sack, almost as if it has a heartbeat of its own. I know it is cursed, just as Nolan warned. The longer I hold onto it, the stronger its pull becomes. I see the madness creeping into the eyes of those around me, like an invisible fog tightening its grip on their souls. I must make a decision.

The ship is now a prison, its timbers groaning under the strain of the sea and the pounding of those trapped in the grip of insanity outside our barricaded door. We are running out of time, and every second that passes brings us closer to a fate I dread to imagine. I glance over at Annabelle, her face pale, her eyes haunted by a fear she tries to hide. The others huddle together, whispering prayers or clenching weapons in trembling hands. I do not know what is worse—the fate that awaits us from the madmen outside, or the fate I hold in my hands.

I know what I must do. The young deckhand spoke of gunpowder and explosives stored below, hidden away in barrels and crates. I have no doubt that the cursed seax is the cause of all this madness. The elder blade must be destroyed, or at the very least, buried beneath the waves, far away from the reach of human hands. If it remains, it will continue to bring death and ruin wherever it goes.

But there is a price. I must sink this ship and everyone aboard to rid the world of its evil. I have no other choice.

August 15, 1885

I write these final words by the dim glow of a dying lantern. The decision has been made, and the course is set. I have resolved to end this madness by using the explosives stored below deck. I have left instructions for those who may find this journal. I pray that, in the end, I will be forgiven, if not by those aboard this doomed ship, then by a higher power.

As I prepare to light the fuse, I take one last look at Annabelle, who clutches the remains of her dress and mutters a prayer. I hope she finds peace in the next world, for I fear that in this one, there is none left to find.

I hold the blade close, feeling its coldness seep into my skin. For a moment, I see Nolan's face, his eyes accusing, yet somehow pleading for release. I whisper a final apology to my friend, to the passengers, to the crew, and to the family I will never see again.

The match is in my hand, and the gunpowder awaits. This is the end.

May God have mercy on us all.

Belg, August 15, 1885