(A Formal Field Report)
AGENT: Crusader Aurelius Thorne FILE REF: TTR/CF-771-Alpha DATE: [REDACTED] SUBJECT: Investigation of Anima-Resonant Signal, Sector Gamma-9, Carpathian Fens.
INITIAL FINDINGS: Per mission directive, proceeded to the signal's origin point near the village of [REDACTED]. Locals are uncooperative, displaying a mixture of fear and hostility. Superstitious chatter regarding "strigoi" and a "taint in the soil." Standard procedure. Anima fluctuations are minimal but persistent, correlating with a faint, rhythmic pulse from below ground. No immediate threat detected. The ground is... soft. Spongy. Unnaturally so.
UPDATE 14:30: The pulse is stronger. My boots sink with every step. The air is thick with the scent of wet pine and something else... something sweet, like overripe fruit left to rot. I've found the source. Not a structure. It's a tree. An ancient oak, but the bark is pale and venous, glowing with a faint, sickening purple light. There are carvings on it. Not Dacian. Not Roman. They look like... circuit diagrams. The pulse is emanating directly from the heartwood.
UPDATE 15:10: The carvings are changing. Shifting. I am not mad. The lines rearrange themselves when I am not looking directly at them. I made the mistake of touching the bark. The pulse entered me. I can feel it in my teeth, a low, constant thrum. My blood feels thick. I see... things in the shadows of the woods. Black, oily shapes that move with a twitching, broken gait. They are not vampires. They are wrong.
FINAL ENTRY: The sun is setting. The tree is humming a song only I can hear. It's a beautiful, terrible song of perfect, endless blackness. The shapes are closer now. Their limbs are not their own. They are wearing the faces of the villagers. The Filth is not in the soil. It IS the soil. It is the tree. It is in me. It wants me to sing along. For the glory of... for the glory of... oh, God, the beautiful song...