I am Ludwig Ketch.
I write this not as a man, but as an undying memory.
The City of Red still hums beneath my skin—its corruption spreading, its people forget.
Blood is its scripture; silences, its prayer.
I once believed the city was alive.
Now, I know it only has dreams. The streets coil and pulse with forgotten hymns, and the air is tainted with rusted devotion.
The truly faithful no longer exist. Instead, they spread like parasites whispering for a salvation that won't come.
They say Babylon waits above us, behind a veil of gold and frozen light.
But I have seen its reflections in puddles of blood and broken glass, and I know this:
What awaits us is not salvation, but damnation.
I await the hour when the accursed haven breaks its gates and floods the City with its blight.
When that tide comes, there will be no refuge.
I am Ludwig Ketch.
The Covenantless.
The last human in the city.