The following was written on a piece of paper found within a boarded apartment in the City of the Dead God by an adventurer. Many stains from age and multiple substances stain it, rendering some parts unreadable and its age means that even the readable parts are difficult to decipher.

Supposedly, this was found within the chambers of the God of the Walking Dead himself, although the man that delivered this to the translator was obviously delusional and rendered insane by the horrors he discovered within the Dead God's palace, I find myself inclined to believe his claims.

It's a terrible moment to be doing something like this, I know, but I just have to. I need to do this. There needs to be something to be found. Something to mark our passing. I want there to be something that says that we were here at some point.

I need to leave proof of our existence...

... Because it might not last much longer.

Whoever reads this might be wondering why I leave this message, why I lost all hope. I assure you, I have very good reasons to do it. I'm not just a depressed brat convinced that god is about to punish mankind for our transgressions. I haven't believed in crap like that for a long while now. There is no god. There is no god because I refuse to believe that any deity would let something like this happen.

And to think, it wasn't even a dark and stormy night, it was a bright, pleasantly warm and sunny summer day. The kind of day where one feels like anything is possible, where we feel invigorated and cheerful. I hated that day from the get go.

We still had class. Summer Break had passed. To tell you the truth, I might even have been a little excited to begin classes anew right then and there. But that's neither here nor there. It all started that day... It's been four weeks now. Four short weeks.

Heh. With the odds we've faced, the fact we lasted this long should earn us a medal or a dozen.

I'd like to find the bastard who said it was only a flu and wring his neck myself, but I can't now. Whoever it was is probably long dead anyway. It was no goddamn flu. Everyone should have known better. It's a damn clichèd setup, yet everybody fell for it. I'm ashamed to admit, I fell for it too. I guess I'm too jaded to think that it could ever happen.

Maybe, if I had taken Mundus Magicus' lessons to heart and kept an open mind, I could've prevented all this. That thought is sobering. Or it'd be, if I were drunk. Don't ever hole up without booze, you'll just be depressed and bored.

Now that I think about it... most of my supplies are gone. I'm running out. I won't last much long, even if they never find me... But I trust that they will find me before I run out of food. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if they knew where I was all this time and have simply let me live for a while longer. They're smart when it concerns their food supply.

But I digress... It all started when that idiot, being his idiot self, decided he had to help some random girl he saw who had a bad case of the coughs. When he started coughing, we all thought he was just stressed out. It'd make sense. The idiot always was a workaholic who kept his pain to himself. I shouldn't have stepped away.

I should have known that Kagurazaka was too busy herself to really keep an eye on him.

Argh, I'm going off on a tangent again! I will keep this straight to the point. There's not much left of the human race by now. I know this. I've heard their whispers. When they pass close, I can hear them. I don't know how much longer I will even have power or when they will simply come knocking.

That stupid idiot was the first. We got scared, like bumbling idiots, when the girl died shortly after from her case of the incurable cough of death. We felt bad for someone who died young from an undiscovered illness. The nurse who attended to her, who'd contracted the sickness too, died shortly after.

We were terrified, then, that the same would happen to the idiot. He, being, well, himself, assured us he'd be okay since he supposedly had an indestructible body. It turns out, it only made all problems worse. His body... nobody knows why, but it assimilated whatever sickness it was that killed people so freely.

Whatever the hell it was, it mutated within him and became something a million times worse than a simple plague. I still can't believe what I saw in the first few days. Before I sealed myself here, I used to wander from shelter to shelter. Avoiding them during the day is plenty easy. The big ones never seem to be around during the day. I don't know where they go, but they're just not around.

(There's hole in-between paragraphs, likely made by a small, conical object)

They just seem to be stunned by the sun. Enough that I could sneak by them and gather supplies and things to block all my doors and windows with. Against one of the big ones, locking myself in is pointless, but the masses are not much stronger than the corpses they resemble. Then again, they're just as hard to kill as a corpse.

It's funny, really. A place like Mahora Academy, filled to the brim with mages of varying competence and power, and we got done in by a Zombie Apocalypse of all things. The slow, shambling kind of zombie should be nothing more than fodder to them, and they were. People rallied and the magical teachers protected them.

It would've been all too easy to terminate them. Heck, some of my classmates could've taken on entire hordes of those things on their own! (The paragraph continues, but the paper's age and multiple unidentifiable stains of different substances make it completely undecipherable)

We don't know why, but Non-humans... retained all of their intelligence and power. Humans of all kinds, magical or otherwise, were stripped of their higher cognitive functions. They're the stereotype 'walking corpse' zombies. I'm not sure how the hell the sickness could even affect non-humans, let alone in that manner, but I'll blame it to the virus gaining some of the idiot's traits.

Point is, they're basically as smart and as strong as they used to be, except now they eat people.

All pretense of resistance faded away when (the text here was made unreadable from a combination of the paper's age and a blood stain obscuring the ink) joined the fray.

I've seen many horrible things in those last four weeks.

Seen things that no one my age should have ever seen. I can feel the bile rising to my throat right now just from recalling the memories that come. There is nothing that can be done. The most powerful beings in the planet were the first and the second to turn. There is nothing but death awaiting me and I know it. I hate this. I hate this so much...

But there's nothing to be done. My time is over.

Even to this day, our pactio still works. He could have teleported me to himself at any time. But he never did so. Even if I were to outlast them all... there would be nothing for me out there. There's no point in continued resistence. You could call this a suicide note since I'm pretty certain I'm going to die soon.

I can feel him standing behind me. His presence, twisted and cold and sick makes my stomach churn.

(The author of the note was cut off as they were writing the last paragraph, it is mostly obscured by blood as well as another, indeterminable substance. There are only a couple decipherable words.)

"The worst part is... I still love him."

(It is assumed that the author was killed immediately after finishing that sentence, as there's a long ink line as well as a scratch on the paper from whichever writing implement was used to write the message.)