Logbook

I've lost track of how long I've been doing this goose chase, and he hasn't changed his mind once. He's even more dedicated than I am to find them. His requests to continue exploring to me are desperate. Afterall I could be playing a fool, he might just be using me so he can finish what he started. But that's nothing but a thought in the back of my head now. I avoid the discussion of our original world, but he seems to bring it up every day. He can't stop talking my ear off about people that aren't alive anymore, or the ones he killed. He's not bringing them up in negative remark or reminiscing their deaths, but instead about how they were as people or stories about them before he went berserk. 

I don't know how close we are, I don't know how long it will take, but we'll find them eventually.

It opened up to me recently. It was dazed, obviously exhausted after the day, but it spoke it's mind. He misses our world, truthfully. I didn't get to ask why he destroyed it in the first place, but it seemed he couldn't answer that anyway. He told me about how others perceived him, and he was devastated that his existence was nothing but terror. He eventually went to rest, after slurring those words.

I still can't get myself to believe him, so many died that day. He got me thinking though, and made me realize how much I truly miss our world too. I miss all of those people. Even if some of us didn't get along or the people who were simply malicious, I miss the feeling of knowing them. Sometimes I wake up and still expect Maxwell to come into my room rambling about the next plot of his adversary. 

But he's gone, and his whimsy is not as prevalent as it was. The disaster changed both the victims and the catalyst. God must be cruel, cruel enough to put evil in peril such as Minky's. 

I see it destroy worlds occasionally in our travels. It's a terrifying sight, but you can't feel anything beyond it. I don't know those people, I don't know how good or bad the world was, all I know now is that it's gone. He does it so easily, zero effort. I asked him why he feels the need to do it, and what wrong did the people do to him.

His words: "It's what I do isn't it?"

He moved on from the discussion, but he seemed unsure about that answer. Almost as if he was actually questioning me. If anything, we did worse to him than these entire populations. We're under 10 people, and yet he hasn't vaporized us like he can do to MILLIONS.

Why?

Does he want us to suffer knowing he's always around? Does he enjoy watching us fear his face? Or are we all he has left? (Unlikely)

I may never know, and the people may never know the things I've let him do.

I've heard nothing but descriptions of this "Steamblack."

Not many know of his origins, but he certainly doesn't have a world of his own to call home. One old man trying to take down an entire empire. I admire his dedication, and his spite towards limits.

I'm shocked we haven't encountered him already, since we've already seen a place where he's been. A vast desert full of refugees just like us. One of the inhabitants has shared her personal stories about the man to me. His own world was overrun and destroyed by the Crimson Empire, but his father allowed him to escape with the Portal Travel technology. He was burnt by a terrible fire, causing him to wear a prosthetic and to be blind in one eye. 

Something tells me we'll know it's him when we see him.