Research of Nathien Mortieu, Vol. 2

Author: Nathien Mortieu

I'm simply atwitter with excitement at our latest developments. Our lovely plague has come together nicely, so nicely. Yes, I dare say at this point it's nigh incurable! We had some initial troubles with creating a delay in symptoms. Burn out the subject too quickly, and, well, there's no time for it to spread. No, we want to keep them up and about, spreading our blessing to as many as possible. How ... reverent.

And when the symptoms do come, oh, well—it goes beyond description. I could wax poetic about the succulent pus, those all-spreading rashes. Boils, nearly translucent, they become so overfilled. The mere sight of that lovely, sickening shade of green sends pleasant shivers throughout my body. Have you ever seen something so beautiful? I've always had pride in my work, but this borders on adoration.

The giants have proved useful, just as the ogres, but still their reaction is just ... wrong! They've turned my poor creation into something different, something unexpected. The heathens! Just like the ogres, it's turned them stronger, even more aggressive. They simply aren't human enough. Not right! The majority of them should be dead by now, but here they are, sturdier than ever. It makes me sick, and not in the good way!

We've lost a handful of researchers already, and I simply can't afford to lose more. The giant's matriarch has become particularly aggressive. And she just started to look so lovely, too. What a shame. I had hoped to sketch her in my spare time. Well, the path to discovery always tends to be tricky terrain. A few deaths are just unavoidable if we ever hope to reach our goal.

Speaking of our goal ... oh, yes, yes, yes! She's begun to wake up. I feel it in my bones. Such a sleepy head, that one is. I hear her though. Oh, I hear her! She whispers to me of our glorious plans, how we will usher in a new age. I know we will. We must keep her safe, for the time being. And then she will become the shepherd.

I'm hoping to look my best when we finally meet. My nose has begun to rot, but the progress is slow. I'm half tempted to chop it off myself! But no. No, no, it would just look all wrong. I must be patient, in all things. My blessed beauty will come in time.

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