 Don't forget. Something must be forgotten. Shadow hunting me. I must hurry. My name is Daniel. I live in London at Mayfair. What have I done? This is crazy. Don't forget. Don't forget. I must stop him. Focus. My name is... 18th of August, 1839. I wish I could ask how much you remember. I don't know if there will be anything left after I consume this drink. Don't be afraid, Daniel. I can't tell you why, but know this. I choose to forget. Try to find comfort and strength in that fact. There is a purpose. You are my final effort to put things right. God willing, the name Alexander of Brandenburg still invokes bitter anger in you. If not, this will sound horrible. Go to the Inner Sanctum. Find Alexander and kill him. His body is old and weak, and yours young and strong. He will be no match for you. One last thing. A shadow is following you. It's a living nightmare, breaking down reality. I have tried everything, and there is no way to fight back. You need to escape it as long as you can. Redeem us both, Daniel. Descend into the darkness where Alexander waits and murder him. Your former self, Daniel. Alexander, is it inside the castle? In a manner of speaking. Come, bring the lamp. You've been to the refinery, have you not? I don't believe I have. Is it connected to the... what did you call it? The Inner Sanctum. My most precious chamber, Daniel. And it lies well beyond the refinery. In fact, it lies beneath the very stone of Brandenburg. 16th of May, 1839. The unflinching African sun has continued to plague our expedition, making it impossible to dig until dusk. How Professor Herbert managed to find the location in these vast plains of nothingness remains a mystery to me. When I asked him about the tomb again, he told me about the legend of Tin Hanan, the mother of us all. An interesting story in its own right, but I can't help feeling there's more. Later that evening, we uncovered a passage beneath the dunes, leading to a sand-covered stone structure. The professor was confident it was the tomb we sought and ordered the others to clear the way, late into the dark cold night. Tomorrow, I shall lead the men into the ancient structure, hoping to reach the burial chamber. No matter what the professor is keeping from me, the dig should yield something interesting to take back to London and the British Museum. 17th of May, 1839. My hands tremble as I write. I feel a need to document my tribulation before I fear that my memory will fail me if I linger. Today, I took some men and ventured into the dark, ancient passage we uncovered. Our torches burned faintly in the murky air as we slowly made our way underground. The men were superstitious and fearful. They argued loudly, and I felt their strange language getting to me. I mustered my strength and yelled at them to continue down the slopes and broken steps. The crudely carved passage confused me. It looked much older than the fourth-century structure we had expected. The twisting path emerged into a great antechamber. The walls were lined with statues unlike any I'd ever seen. Despite their unearthly quality, I felt a strange familiarity toward them, which haunts me still. At the far end of the chamber, a great slab of stone sealed off would ever lay ahead. I gave the order to raise it, and as I pushed through the narrow space, the heavy stone suddenly dropped, sealing me inside. I was trapped. All is old and I'm falling apart. We're just buying time anyway. Let's do what we can. There isn't much to be done about the walls. We should reinforce weak structures. The ground will tremble and there's a risk everything will cave in on us, especially downstairs. Here, here, and there. Let's get the servants working on it. 17th May, 1839. After pounding the unforgiving stone wall for what seemed like an eternity, I realized it was hopeless. I was trapped. I fell to the ground, gasping for air, trying to focus. That's when I saw a faint blue shimmer. My weakened body was heavy to carry, but I managed to push myself toward the enchanting light. It was waiting for me. Enclosed in dark nothingness, I felt myself drawn to the mystic light, closing it in my hands. The faint glow escaped my fingers and began to spark brightly and spirit me away, unlocking alien memories of aspiring towers, endless deserts, and impossible geometry. The next thing I can remember is the grating sound of stone being lifted. The voices of the Arabs pulling me to safety and grasped firmly in my hands are pieces of a most peculiar relic. You have to be swift when you activate the first one. You hear that. If it stops, you'll have to start over. Isn't all this a bit excessive? You can never be too careful with that. There should be more cooperant. There is dark in here. Yes, and there's a good reason for it. But you can light the lamp now if you wish. What's the reason for the darkness that is? Stay close. Be careful not to stray. What's the reason? Why is it so dark? Pay attention, Dandall. It's important that you keep going straight and make sure not to stray. 1839. It's been more than a month since my last entry. After the event inside the underground chamber in Algeria, Professor Herbert insisted I return to England. He said he didn't want to risk forfeiting the entire expedition lest I took a turn for the worse. An excessive decision, in retrospect. But I'm glad it turned out that way. I found my journal this morning in the haphazard collection of things brought home from Africa. Next to it lay the broken stone orb wracked in cloth. I tried to assemble it, but couldn't. The pieces wouldn't fit together as if they weren't from the same object. Could I have imagined it all? Was there ever a complete orb for the June 1839? I feel the need to continue this journal even though it was intended for my journey to Africa. This must be something very important. I just know it. I've taken it upon myself to piece the orb back together, but it's been more difficult than one might think. The pieces are behaving strangely. They seem to change colour, shape and texture, but ever so slightly. Yesterday I took careful measurements and notated any significant markings. Today I confirmed my suspicions. They were changing. I was terrified and rushed off to see the finest geologist in London, Sir William Smith. I approached the subject with care and we discussed how rocks change form. He told me about the nature of glass, how it eventually collapses on itself, like ice slowly melting over the course of centuries. Smith eased my mind a bit, but I can't escape the feeling that these shards have other worldly properties. 2nd of July, 1839. I received a letter today from the Algerian governor's office disclosing the fate of Herbert's expedition by departure. Abdullah, one of the men travelling with us, returned from the desert. He was badly injured, as if maimed by a lion. The man rambled deliriously about the expedition being attacked by something horrible. The French quickly dispatched a search party to look for the expedition. After searching for days, they found the camp abandoned without any trace of Herbert or his men. Tomorrow, I'll retrieve the things they recovered from Herbert's tent at the customs house. I don't know what to make of it, but I'm worried for him. 3rd of July, 1839. Today I picked up Herbert's things at the customs house. I dug through the trove of documents he had carried and found a lot detailing the expedition. The nature of this text ranged from quick notes to colourful accounts of transpired events. I skimmed the pages trying to figure out what might have happened. May 17th, the day I was trapped inside the orb chamber, Herbert dryly states, recovered Daniel after one hour of entrapment. This confused me greatly. I was suffocating within minutes. How could I have lasted an hour? He continued reading the peculiar text. Herbert states his facts without judgement or passion, but suddenly I could read frustration into his text. He pushed his men to investigate the underground tomb, an effort which seems to have strained the minds of his men. Madness spread through the ranks and Herbert had to take some extreme measures to continue. He finally visits the chamber himself, where he retrieves the orb to the surface. His account confuses me greatly. If he has the orb, what are those pieces in my drawing room? Fourth of July, 1839. It's done. The orb is assembled. I was awakened by an exhausting nightmare, shaking and sweating. I retired to the drawing room with a cup of tea. The relic pieces lay spread across the table as I'd left them, but somehow I knew how it was supposed to be. I fetched the tar, which I had prepared to fix the pieces together, and without fault I joined them, producing the orb I remembered so clearly. The tar proved unnecessary. It was pushed out from the joining pieces as they merged on their own, with no adhesive. The ancient stone relic now rests on my table. Its immaculate surface and perfect shape could have been molded by a factory. This is all too strange. Oh, there it is. I guess it is a good place to hide it, then. From the saw, but I can sense it. It's definitely there. I won't, Herbert. There is no shame in using a parasol in the den. As it happens, it's imperative to your survival. But it looks ridiculous. The shade will hurt much less than died, I assure you. Sending room. Will it take us to the inner sanctum? It will definitely take care of the vertical part of our journey. So, you have ridden an elevator before? Yes, the Colosseum or Regent's Park as well. It takes you to the gallery where you can view the panorama. Good. This ride might be a little longer, and in the other direction. Today, I went to the university looking for answers. I was able to sneak into Herbert's office and pick up an address book along with some relevant textbooks. Professor Taylor at the Faculty of History was very helpful, and I managed to approach the subject of the orbs. The most interesting aspect was the prevalent trace they had left in our culture. The mythic orbs may, in fact, have inspired the Globus Crucica, which so many royal regalia holds to this day. In ancient times, the orbs were held by priests as a symbol of the sun and its power. As I was leaving, I overheard a disturbing conversation. So William Smith, the geologist, was killed last night. Less than a fortnight had passed since I'd asked for his expertise. I know it's silly, but I can't help feeling responsible somehow. By 1839. I've read every book I can find on the subject. While rich in legend and hearsay, my knowledge is lack for the insight I crave. I've sent letters to many in Herbert's address book and received answers of varying importance. Today, I got one which differed greatly from the others. From a baron in Prussia. He said nothing about the quaint stories of priests in underground temples. He didn't even mention them. He simply wrote, I know. I can protect you. Come to Brennenberg Castle. Signed Alexander. What am I to make of this? Protect me from what? Is someone after me? I looked up Brennenberg and traced it to the Prussian woods near the Baltic Sea. While being the least informative letter I've received, it causes me greatest distress and interest. As I write, my thoughts are drawn to my nightmares in which her most disturbing sound calls to me. A sound defying description. A voice from the void. The last few weeks have been awful, with so many sleepless nights dreading a repeat of those horrid dreams. Tomorrow, I shall visit my physician, Dr. Tate, in hope that he can provide me with sedatives to help me sleep. July 1839. How has this escaped me? They're all dead. Limbs scattered. Head split down the middle. Their skin flayed as if boiled. I feel like I'm falling into myself. What's happening? So William Smith, Professor Taylor, now Dr. Tate. Is it following me? How can it not be? It's the damn thing I brought from Africa. Something is after me. I have no choice but to trust the Baron. He better know what he claims. If he is wrong, I suspect he'll regret it as well. One of my responsibilities as a Baron is that of a prison warden. This is where criminals are locked up. Like in a dungeon? Very much so. Come. Don't linger. You're just making things worse. Look, this is no place for a young girl all by herself. She could be hurt all worse. There's no tenning. What horrors await down there? Just 1839. I have arrived at the village of Alstadt. It's a haven in the midst of a vast forest on the last stop before my final destination. Castle Brennenburg. It's late in the evening and the outrider, who has been with the coach since Bremen, advised me to wait until morning before I venture further. I've arranged for a bed at Der Mühle. The village is only in and I'm now waiting for the sun to rise. I try to sleep, but as I close my eyes, I see the man who fell victim in London. My fear and shame forces me to witness the same scenes over and over. They are dead because of me. For his own good. I deserve this? It wasn't my fault. Why did he have to go in there? Don't go into burning houses. He should have known better. 3rd of August, 1839. I feel like I have fled the world and all its worries. Brennenburg is a majestic creation perched upon a forest clad hill with towers reaching well above even the highest pine trees. Following the winding road leading to the gates gives the impression of discovering something forgotten as if journeying with Marco Polo to the hidden Zanadu. Alexander the Baron is a peculiar but gracious man. He seems well-versed in worldly matters and is not at all as eccentric as I assumed. My room is exquisite and I'm confident that no hotel for miles could even hope to match it. As the sun sets on Brennenburg, its fairytale varnish turns to an eerie gloom. Alexander's strange servants are never far away. They are a quiet lot and their behaviour could only be described as skulking. Alexander seems pleased by my presence. As he puts it, it seems like I got here just in time. 4th of August, 1839. The nightmares woke me in the early morning and for a moment I forgot where I was. Shortly after there was a knock on my door. Alexander had heard my screams and asked me to join him in the parlour. As we drank our tea, Alexander began to tell me what he knew. It seems like the orb I found casts a long and dark shadow. It's not only a powerful item, but a dangerous one. Simply by touching it, you invoke the powers within and if you are too weak to control it, it will devour you. The shadow is a sluggish thing, lagging behind the wielder, killing anyone or anything in its path to reclaim the orb. I said I didn't care about its powers and that I should throw it away. Alexander advised against this as I'd still be a part of the path to the orb and eventually suffer death. Having the orb, I would at least have the chance to fight back when the time came. I asked Alexander what he meant when he said he could protect me and he answered that things can be done but at a price. So you used the drain sewers as a means of transport? Yes. They were built to divert water from an underground spring and are quite spacious. It seemed only natural to incorporate it into the overall structure. But we won't be using them. Today, the flow is seasonal and when the spring runs dry, the damp tunnels produce a rather poisonous type of fungi. There is an antidote, of course, but we won't be bothering with you today. Come, this way instead. We're almost there. Why isn't he with us? Didn't he want to come? He wanted to, Daniel, but things don't always turn out the way we plan. Conserving water from the spring? Yes. It enables me to control the water in the drain sewers to some extent. Also, it can be used for all sorts of purposes. Like for drinking? Eh, well, that too. But mostly to run different machines. What a world. Exactly. 1839. There is no denying that Alexander puts a lot of faith into what I can only describe as magic. I'm not surprised. Even while travelling across Europe, I assumed I would have to embrace the supernatural to save my mind and life. As a novice, I do everything in my power to stay focused and not dwell too much on my own doubts. Alexander woke me up early and told me it was time we got started on our work. He was obviously excited to get going and we headed downstairs to the old dungeon where he preferred to attempt his rituals. It turns out that Alexander is a true renaissance man, paralleled only by Da Vinci, I'm sure. He showed me several rooms fitted for specific research, such as anatomy studies, alchemy, and botany. The crown of Brennenberg must be the inner sanctum, a most hallowed ground where we shall attempt to permanently banish the orb's shadow. 8th August, 1839. I could never be certain until today that I was on the right path. Using my orb, Alexander managed to channel its power unto us. The inner sanctum flared with blue fiery light and I could feel the same things I felt in the dark chamber in Algeria. It was like standing in a mad whirlpool of impressions. It was terrifying, but Alexander kept calm and wielded strange tools of science in order to tame the storm. Suddenly, the blue light was stained by strains of red and the walls burst with pulsating tissue resonating with the scene. Alexander quickly covered the orb in some cloth and the unspeakable thing vanished. Apparently, the orb's shadow is closer than Alexander thought. He said I should prepare for a warding ritual tomorrow. I'm not sure what he expects, but I have a bad feeling about this. It's of August 1839. It is still early and Alexander is busy preparing for the ritual later today. Seeing him this worked up makes me question why. What does he stand to gain? I realize he is curious about it all, but surely there must be more. Is he so foolish he will attempt to tame the power of the orb? I must admit that yesterday when Alexander flooded the inner sanctum with blue light, I realized we had but graced the orb's true potential. This might turn out to be more than escaping a creeping shadow. It might be the beginning of something truly extraordinary. Daniel, it has yielded the shadow. Come, let's get this out of here so we can get some peace. Yes, let's. Where to? Just down the corridor to the morgue. Are there more dead men there? You did well, Daniel. Come, let's get going. Daniel, inch to your mind. Agrippa, I need you to stay awake. Can you feel the syringe? No, I can't feel anything, Alexander. Yes. Soon, I won't even be able to move, will I? Your life is safe. I do doubt that. But, will it be... Thank you. You have my gratitude. My name is Agrippa. Fall into the lion's den. Tell me, are you among the lions, Daniel? You want to stop Alexander? Oh my, so barbarian shall follow you, sir. You hurry too much. Alexander is toothless without an arm. That's not very promising, though. The sector is basically a marathon, but I'll guess that my arm... It could be bleached by an arm, but Alexander broke his... I mean, my arm a long time ago. Really? There, he tells the truth by all of you. Seek out some pieces of broken ore and mend the way. I believe he uses them for torture now. They practically lead matters, which is quite useful, I understand. There should be six of them. Look around the choir and the transect. You should be able to find them there. 9th of August, 1839. I can't stop sweating and shaking. The warden ritual was not something of a sane mind. I did not even realise the dungeon was still in use. Alexander had his servants bring one of the prisoners, a murderer, he told me. Alexander made all the arrangements, but he said I had to perform the ritual in order to have the right effect. The shadow could be led astray by the blood of another. Killing the man would provide us precious time. What else could I do? Alexander said it had to be done. He is saving my life. I don't have the luxury of argument. Just a little further. It's like Orpheus descending into the underworld. Are you hiding something? What do you mean? Never mind. Your intuition is remarkable. I'm not sure I'm following. It doesn't matter. It's just a myth after all. 8th of August, 1839. The banishment ritual is taking longer than expected and we have to do what is needed. I spend my time helping out the prisoners. Being around these degenerates makes me ill. None of them even tries to face their punishment with any kind of dignity. They taunt me with their lies of innocence and their cowardly pleas of mercy. What can make a man fall so far from the grace of a civilised existence? They are all wicked men and I remind myself of it constantly. Still, I am thankful for God sending these monsters our way as they will serve as the instruments of my salvation. I try to study the different tools in the torture chamber and learn how to use them effectively. Last time was messy and the effect suffered from my inexperience. When the next warning is to be performed, I shall be ready. These cells are meant to hold prisoners who are under treatment. The people you send for will end up here. Remember that the confinement itself works as a preamble to the torture and you should pace yourself. Don't take anyone before they are ready. Understood. Sounds from the torture chambers are shuttled in through those pipes in the ceiling. Manage your victims well and let one prisoner's pain instill terror in his cellmate. You're all ready. I know this taste. The taste of Damascus rose off the skidding truth in the dead man. They may sweep the traces from my memory, but my body remembers. He has cut spit volumes. It is a great reason and this one's quite important to you. Far and Alexander has sustained my soul in this dead house for years. Who knows how many? Hundreds of souls. This one, prepare him. You all right? He is one of the wicked. Don't pay his lies any attention. He's set a man on. It wasn't my fault. Why wouldn't anyone listen? That's horrible. Of course. He's coming. You seem to have found all the ore pieces used in the transfer. Go to the choir and find the rest. Seed any further. I'm sorry, my friend. There's something else. You got the doors open? Good going. 15th of August, 1839. The blood wards are failing. The shadow beckons and its cry disarms my actions. No time to spare. You have to kill another. Alexander produces a knife. He wants me to cut the flesh. Do it. Save yourself. He is a murderer, Daniel. He is evil. A cold-blooded killer. Hurry. Alexander, you must let me be. I have to concentrate. Paint the man. Cut the lines. Cut the flesh. Watch the blood spill. Let it come. Oh, oh, oh. Please, I didn't do anything. Paint the man. We must act swiftly. I will do whatever it takes. Tensions, Daniel. Salvation. It used to be yours, but now you only seek misplaced revenge. How do you justify your violence? Is it for the greater good? Are you doing the world a service? It is you who caused all this pain and death. If you had accepted your fate and submitted to the orb when you first discovered it, none of this would have happened. It is curiosity in league with your selfishness that is killing us both. Good for keeping your victims still during the procedure. They can be bound around the circumference or simply stretched across, tying limbs to the spokes in rim. All tools are by this point useful, and you may administer the torture in any way you like, but the forte of the wheel is the gaps. When you have decided that the victim shall die, you can smash their limbs with a hammer, making them fold in between the frame. But they'll die too quickly, I mean. No, don't worry. The human body is much more resilient. They can survive for days until they finally succumb. The recipe sets out might still be a challenge. Listen carefully. Alexander is working on opening a gate. A door to another world. It's where he wants to go. If you could put your anger aside, let him open some portal before you take your revenge. Let me pass the gate down. Please, find the ingredients that the positonic via disguise, and do so before you assemble the orb. The barrier keeping you from the inner sanctum will only be breached for a short time, unless everything is taken care of before mending the orb. You won't be able to save me. Much the same, you and I. And save our work. It's the shadow hunting me. I feel it closing in on me, and I fear for my life more than ever. Just outside Olstadt, there's a small settlement. A Zimmerman, a dairy farm, lives with his wife. Our visit was unexpected. Alexander was able to strike Zimmerman down without a letter as he went to take care of the farmhands. I began to look for our prisoners to finish the ritual now. The chance of collapse. The laboratory might be accessible now. Now, pay attention. 1839. I cannot believe what I have become. One of the girls escaped, and I chased after her all the way upstairs. I hunted her down, and what is her life worth? How many lives can I take before I surrender my own? Sure, I would kill a murderer to save an innocent. But to kill an innocent? To save myself? A cold, blooded murderer. To August 1839. It's not fair. I'm not to blame. I've been manipulated by that demon. He plagued my guilty conscience and duped me into facing the shadow alone. That vile, conspiring man. He expects me to meet my death as he steals power beyond imagination. Alexander, I will kill you for what you have done. If only the shadow had caught me in London or Algeria, I wouldn't have to suffer this humiliation. You made me a murderer. A monster. I merely await my death. I am too weak to press on. I can hardly stand as my knees fail me. I cannot see as my eyes are dressed in tears. I am as broken as the man I've tortured. If only I could wipe my fear away as we did with them. I'm going to show up. I see a gripper convinced you to run, son. Tell me, is everything nice and clear? You are so close. I am a prisoner of circumstance. Deny me mine, my greatest triumph. You think I was afraid, fleeing Brennenberg? Quite contrary. I knew it was my purgatory. Hellfire made to wash away my sins. There's no denying the things I've done, but I have paid my tribute. I gave them that awful man. I did the right thing.