This guide is simply a compilation of notes, lore, and other things I found taken directly from the game's code. I'll do my best to make it easy to understand, but a decent portion of it won't be perfectly formatted as it's just taken from the text files.

If there's anything that needs describing or something you'd like to add to, leave a comment. :)

This is taken from the 'scenarios' json file in the 'Scenarios' folder. This section will be split up into what scenario each collection of lore is from.


Awaken in a town collapsing under the weight of a mysterious threat. Fight. Die. Take hold of the terrible truth.
Or, as it's referred to in the code, 'detective_scenario'.
As far as I'm aware, the following notes (other than the introduction one) won't all be shown in the same run, and will be randomly chosen. I'm listing them in the order they are written in the json file, with the header being the name of the note in the code.

If you're reading this, then your eyes are still your own. Your heart still beats, and your brain still ticks. You're alive. And that means you're in danger. Cast this book aside. Let nothing touch you. Lock yourself in a room, and kill yourself. A painless death won't work, so use fire. Let your body burn, let nothing recognizable of yourself remain here. There are things in this world that will twist the truth of you. They will take your past, and your future, and leave you as a contradiction. A living lie. I came to this town to discover the truth, but I found nothing. And it found me.

I've only just arrived here, and already I can tell that something is wrong. A pallor hangs over everything, yet no one acknowledges it. Like everyone in this damned world, they go about their lives in ignorance. I am the only one left to seek out the truth. I'm forced to pry the intel out of them, fight for what little they offer me, each piece is vital. Animals going mad, dead loved ones, seen out of the corner of your eye, even the cremated. I know that I'm close to what I'm looking for. There has to be a magical force fueling these manifestations.

I've only just arrived here, and already I can tell that something is wrong. A pallor hangs over everything, yet no one acknowledges it. Like everyone in this damned world, they go about their lives in ignorance. I am the only one left to seek out the truth. I'm forced to pry the intel out of them, fight for what little they offer me, each piece is vital. Animals going mad, dead loved ones, seen out of the corner of your eye, even the cremated. I know that I'm close to what I'm looking for. There has to be a scientific explanation behind these phenomena.

My suspicions have been confirmed. Is it strange to say that I am excited? Nowhere before has the stench of the supernatural been so thick. It is a charge in the air, like static before the storm. My heart is racing. I can barely hold the pen still, and as the ink grows solid beneath it, the air turns fluid around me. This town is doomed. That fact is clear, and I gain nothing from obfuscating it. After all, I am not here to save this place. What could the efforts of one person do? I must focus on my own survival, and take what I've found out into the world. I've discovered some in this town are celebrating reality's slow decay. There are cheery smiles, beneath hollow eyes. Lights in houses in the dead of night, laughter mixed with screaming. Glasses raised to lips, with wine too red. Why would these people ally with the architects of their destruction?

My suspicions have been confirmed. Is it strange to say that I am excited? Nowhere before has the stench of the supernatural been so thick. It is a charge in the air, like static before the storm. My heart is racing. I can barely hold the pen still, and as the ink grows solid beneath it, the air turns fluid around me. This town is doomed. That fact is clear, and I gain nothing from obfuscating it. After all, I am not here to save this place. What could the efforts of one person do? I must focus on my own survival, and take what I've found out into the world. I've discovered some underlying logic to these happenings, as if unknowable currents flow beneath the fabric of reality. They pour from somewhere beyond earth, spreading ripples of impossibility. Yet, these are not simply natural forces. There is intention behind them. Perhaps intelligence.

There is a Hell, and I have glimpsed it. The poor fools thought they could make deals with its denizens. I infiltrated one of their 'Hellfire Parties', as they called them. 'They come to devour all the evil in the world,' One of the elderly men I spoke to said. We have spent our entire lives preparing for this. WE are pure! WE will be spared! And they laughed. They all laughed, and I watched as their mouths opened wide, distended. They all inhaled in unison. They breathed in the world, and left it less than it was. Left it more like hell. At the back of their throats, I could see their true faces, screaming. They were pure, One of the demons said, gnashing its teeth over the soul it had swallowed. And they were spared from what is to come. I ran from the house. I ran from the town. But no matter where I went, there was always the laughing.

The sounds of celebration silence one day, and I already know that it's too late. I follow trails of misshapen flesh, and bodies with every orifice sewn closed, and find the well-hidden cellar where this began. Someone's mouth sat on the ground, and spoke to me in a deep, sourceless voice. They were a cult of hedonism, at first. They imagined themselves refined, but at the same time debased themselves further, with secret atrocities. Sacrifices, imprisonments, forcible alterations to the body, in the name of making living works of art. They caught the attention of something greater. A kindred spirit. The Weaver-of-Flesh. With their faith, they brought it into this world, and as thanks, it made them into art. And it will not be content with them. Not with this town. It is a vain god, and it will not rest until this world is a gallery. When it is satisfied, it will leave, with the way open for its siblings to pass through, to look upon its works. And to sample them. Such hubris, to think our lives were anything but a prelude to predation.

There are things swimming in the shadows. The darkness is getting deeper and deeper by the second, as impenetrable as the deep sea. When I came here, I thought it was strange that the days were nearly as dim and cold as the nights. I saw the shadows deepen, and I sought answers. I found a man, alone in his hut in the woods. He was surrounded by candles, but only the one in front of him lit. Each time it burned low, he produced another, and so on. His shadow reached the ceiling, and from it, I could see the pulsing corruption that has been washing through the town. I saw an opportunity. I am not proud of what I did. I sit in the hut now, alone. I listen to the screams from the distant town suddenly change in pitch and stop, as if people were being violently pulled to some place, far, far away. The shadow is mine now. It whispers to me. Tells me of the other world, where bodies intersect, and appearance is reality. Soon, I will be its puppet, instead of the other way around. And it will take me through the woods, into the darkness.

To find the source of the town's horror, I turned my eyes skyward. Every star was in the wrong place. Every star was an eye looking back. Under their gaze, I feel the world begin to unravel in earnest. Tentatively, almost curiously, they have stripped normalcy from this place, and allowed horrors to walk free. Vast metal structures simply appeared, thrusting through buildings and people alike. A ship. Buried beneath the town long ago, now waking up. They creep from below on spindly, six-jointed legs, watching through smoking visors. Now, they take more fundamental things from us. With a flick of multi-jointed wrists, they strip people of cohesion, and watch them collapse into piles of gore. They stamp down gravity, and pull things into the heavens. I don't know what to call them. Aliens? That seems too tame. This is not an invasion. It's a game that children have tired of playing. In boredom, they are disregarding the rules, and throwing the board aside. Their ship rises from the earth, and leaves a gash a mile-wide and fathoms deep. As it flies into the distance, it rains maddening light on the world below. Casual ruin, on all of humankind.

It's gotten too prevalent to ignore, now. 'Zombies' are walking the streets, and the townsfolk have driven themselves into a hysteria. The local authorities are baffled, and no attempts to reach outside help have succeeded. 'Interference', they say. Why do they not try to understand? Ignorance is death. Humanity survived its infancy because it strode boldly into the unknown, a torch in hand. I have seen records that these 'zombies' are apparently deceased family members, and clear signs of necrotizing on their bodies. Though conventional science says it is impossible, they have no heartbeat, and ignore otherwise fatal wounds. There must be a reason for this unnatural resurrection.

It's gotten too prevalent to ignore, now. 'Zombies' are walking the streets, and the townsfolk have driven themselves into a hysteria. The local authorities are baffled, and no attempts to reach outside help have succeeded. 'Interference', they say. Why do they not try to understand? Ignorance is death. Humanity survived its infancy because it strode boldly into the unknown, a torch in hand. I posit that these 'zombies' are not dead at all. A few photos, cross-referenced with missing person databases, reveals that these people are very much alive, if in some sort of strange daze. Either this is some kind of stunt, or something stranger is at play.

No one listened. The dead were saying something, trying to say something, but no one bothered to stop and listen. I have one tied up in a cellar here, while the rest have started to overrun the town, and past its borders. I leaned close, carefully, as it whispered. They don't want to hurt us, but they have no choice. To kill, to send others to that place is the only way to avoid returning to it. The afterlife, the great beyond, is a hungry thing. A cloying, suffocating horror that the zombie could describe only as 'the squeeze'. The zombie could explain no further without collapsing into foul smelling tears. It begged me to release it. It begged me to die. Before it returned to a place so horrible that even decent people would sell the whole world, just for an hour longer outside of it. I watched as it turned inside out and vanished. As it returned to the place we are all doomed to go.

Everyone's already infected. I gathered pieces of the creatures infesting the town- some human in shape, some not, some bizarre. I expected to find some kind of virus, that had reanimated the bodies somehow, in new shapes. I took them to a lab, abandoned in the onslaught, and found the lead researcher and his team joined as one. They were dead, but still moved. The virus used their flesh as its own, spreading mindlessly further. Like human fungus. It did not attack me, but it watched with many dead eyes, with the quiet tenacity of something that has already won. I read the assembled notes, and discovered that it had. DNA samples, from the zombies, from the dogs, from the things no longer recognizable. Samples of the virus. It was all the same. All of them had a near exact match for human gene, with a single sequence of junk DNA flipped. The change spreads like an airborne prion, infecting all it touches- or, more accurately, awakening what was already there. Even now, the bodies gather, moving on pseudopods. Coming together, in the town square. Soon, I will join them, watching with many eyes as the world ends. All of human history, reduced to a contagion. And all that had to happen was the flip of a switch.

To think that the end came from something so insignificant. When I was checking the town records, looking for notable deaths, I happened upon the case of a little boy. He was playing in the woods with his friends. He swung from a branch, and it snapped. He hit his head on something, and fell into a coma. None of the other children saw what had hit him. He was a vegetable, swiftly diagnosed with brain death. But his parents still wanted to keep his shell of a body alive. The next morning, when they checked his hospital bed, he was gone. The window was open. Lost, assumed dead after a search party failed to find him. He was lost, but he was not dead. He was sleepwalking, dreaming all the while. Fevered visions, recursive insanity, that crept out through his mind to ensnare the world. The 'zombies' are sleepwalkers, caught in his all-powerful dream. The lucky ones are the mindless, the ones so twisted that they no longer remember what they used to be. The ones that are just figments of his imagination now. The earth ripples. Reality unwinds. He's becoming lucid. A child god, a nascent psychic with no limit to his abilities, and only a dead brain's imagination to shape them.

Perhaps there is a reason why some remain in ignorance. If knowledge is a torch's flame, perhaps that flame should not be taken into the depths of the cave, where the bear lies. Someone in this town had an idea. It didn't belong to them. They were an explorer of sorts, searching through the crawlspaces and abandoned homes of the town. In the oldest cellar, they stepped into the wrongest place in the universe, the aperture of some forgotten door, and the idea stole into their mind. It gnawed on them, a thought without description, and they could not forget. Before it could take them, they put a bullet through their head. They had already written it down. Extensive journals, made in an attempt to bind the idea into writing. They misunderstood its nature. The words were simply another vector. That is where the 'zombies' came from. They learned the idea, the predatory thought that fed on their minds, and left them feral and degraded and gibbering infectious words. If you're reading this, then I'm sorry. This book must contain the same vector. It's in you, now.

This is the Lone Wolf section. Again, it's all taken directly from the scenarios json file.

You are alone. Venture out into a sea of trees, where wolves haunt the depths. Hear their howls. Hear their growls. Hear their thoughts. Survive at all costs.
Known as 'hunter_scenario' in the code.
Most of these trigger on specific circumstances. The header of each of these is what section the blurb is under, not necessarily the actual trigger that activates them.

The wolf. I see it, and it sees me, and there is an understanding there. I am an intruder here, in this untamed world. I am he who bites without teeth, I am the claw outside bone, I am the weak god to these animals. I am a competing predator. They plague me, these wolves. I know when they are coming. A hush passes through the woods. Mice, rabbits, and even the other horrors that stalk the world since its fall, all silent. All silent but for the soundless voice of the wolves. Long have I cowered from them, but no more. They know I can't fight them, not when they have greater weapons than I, when they gather into packs and become aggressive. But I am a human being. And we did not steal this world from nature by submitting to its fangs.

One cannot live on rabbits alone. Their bodies are too lean; you'd have plenty of food, but your body would run out of the stuff it needs to break it down. You'd starve while stuffing your face. I must show restraint, not gluttony. I will place rabbit traps far apart, lest the struggling of one rabbit warn others to stay away. Nature has a strange way of balancing itself. In order to truly feast, predator must eat predator, risk life and limb. I wonder sometimes why the wolves do not turn on each other. There is plenty of meat right there, why hunt me? I receive no true answer. Just the accusing stare of their animal eyes.

The sun sets, and the howling begins. At night, the wolves rule the woods. They see darkness like daylight, and if they catch me, they will kill me. The cabin is my only place of true safety. At humanity's dawn, wolves were our enemies. But there was a respect there, too. We took wolves, and twisted them with kindness and breeding into mankind's only friend. They guarded our herds, guarded our homes at night. Perfectly loyal, like we made them. It seems only fitting, that at humanity's dusk, wolves would become our enemies once again.

The wolf's blood paints the soil. I've killed it. I've KILLED IT! I imagine myself the wolf. Eaten by blood frenzy, ripping apart the corpse before me. Such bounty. Such strength, brought low by my hand! I will take it into myself. Days of horror come back to me. Meat of a different kind. I drown the guilt in hot wolf blood. I can wear its skin. The other wolves will see me, they will smell the blood and decay and hatred on the wind, and they will fear me for the first time.

Meat is the first and last currency of monsters. It all came from the same ultimate source, that first cell that decided to divide and cling together. It became flesh, became bone, became blood. Then, divided further, ate pieces of the world, and brought them back to the whole. Ate itself, recursively, forever, expanding. Humanity forgot this, once upon a time. Forgot that we were monsters. When the end came, and humanity was no longer the dominant monster, we were panicked. Some hoarded dead meat, to pay for their lives. I alone knew that only living meat could sustain me. Thus, I alone survived. Even those that stalk me follow this absolute law of flesh. With this bloody coin, I can bribe my hunger away, or buy my life from the jaws of the wolves.

The wolves know to steer clear of buildings. They smell of mankind's age of power, and entering them means claustrophobia, entrapment, starvation in a senseless, sharp-angled place. Human construction is as incomprehensible to the animals as the stars are to us. We take from nature, and something new, something catered to our needs is born. For the things beyond humanity, I wonder, does the same principle apply? Has something essential been stolen, to raise edifices that we cannot understand?

An old fire, gone cold and dusty. I could rekindle it, for transient warmth and safety. But I cannot rely on it- to be still is to court death. Am I alone, here? Did I make this fire, or was it someone else, wandering these woods? I wonder, if they saw me, would they just see another abomination? Another man-eating creature, feasting on the rotting world? We are so very small. If there was someone else, we could wander forever among the trees, and never meet one another.

A hunger builds in me. A hatred. Is this to be my life? I chose to be alone, to save myself from the world's crumbling. And now I fight for each scrap of food, each hour of life. Always the wolves, hunting me. I see their yellow eyes in the darkness, accusing me. No, wolves do not eat their own. They are so proud of that, so proud that in their tiny feral lives, they have never been so desperate. No more. There is one among them, a wolf with bloodsoaked hide. He alone does not accuse me, only hungers for my meat. He is the leader of the pack, the head of this dragon. I will cut it off.

I have made an effigy in the shape of a man. How odd, it is, to look at it and see myself. I don't feel human. I hardly speak anymore, even to myself. My thoughts blur into abstract concepts, complexity slipping like fat cut from bone. I forget my family, what they looked like, how they sound, how they smelled, how they felt, how- My stomach churns. Looking into the straw face, the featureless, expressionless face, a strange thing in my throat flexes. And I speak. Hello.

The beast slumps to the ground. Blood stains its fur further, stains my mind and vision red. A rush of euphoria overtakes me, and I scream to the heavens. A keening, a howl, it burns my throat. This human animal I've become has vanquished its rival. There is a flash of sadness for the one creature left who, perhaps, understood me. Perhaps it did not hoard its family, as I did. But when pushed to the brink, it fed all the same. I could skin the red one, in full view of its brethren. They can't stop me. I know they would strike only out of jealousy, craving a share of the meat. I can still hear them. Their simple madness, their innocent bloodlust that is vital to their being enters my mind.Where does the hair end and the fur begin? Where does the man end and the wolf begin? Which is sharper, the canine fangs or my own shattered grin, or my own unnatural teeth and claws that I build from everything I touch? There are myths of the man who becomes a wolf, but those mean nothing to me. I am the wolf who becomes a man. I bend the world to wolven will, I make monuments to my own survival. I shed my past, my humanity, and make right all my misdeeds. A wolf has no morality to transgress against. A wolf has only a pack. A wolf has only territory.And these woods are mine.

This is taken directly from the scenarios json file. Each of these has a wife line and a husband line, so the header is the number of the dialogue.

Your wife is sick. Keep her alive, hear her feverish whispers. Survive without a care in a dead world.
Named 'husband_scenario' in the files.

Wife: When we came here who was I?

Husband: We were married, then. Before everything ended. Remember? We decided we would live off the land, away from everyone. And now, we can't even be together. There is something inside her, now. A sickness, or a parasite, an unnameable proboscis nestled in her heart. I must feed her, keep her strong. One day she will be strong enough to throw off this interloper.

Wife: My mind string and meat. It unwinds, unwinds!

Husband: She has to remember. This sickness has a hold on her, but every so often, something trickles through. It's as if her brain is being squeezed, with all the juice and pulp running down and out through her mouth. Sometimes, it is love. Mostly, it is nonsense. But even hearing her voice is joy. It is ecstasy, sustenance. She has to remember our life together. I want to live it again, through her.

Wife: Can we go on a picnic again? By the shore, like we used to.

Husband: The last day before we left the world behind, we sat on the beach. Ate sandwiches as we watched the sunset, watched kids playing in the water. Heads bobbing on the waves. 'Like little ducks', she said. And we both laughed, hard enough that we didn't bother to count the heads. It had begun, even then, and if I had bothered to look, I would have seen that some of those heads did not belong to the bodies of children, or any bodies at all. She still eats, if I give her food. Her arms move mechanically, delivering morsels to her grinding teeth. The taste doesn't seem to matter. All other times, it's like she's paralyzed, save for her babbling mouth.

Wife: I'm not sick. Please, let me go outside fresh air. Fresh air.

Husband: She was convinced fresh air could solve anything. That's one of the reasons we moved away, I think. I would make her hot tea and chicken soup. She would just stand on the balcony and breathe whenever there was a fresh wind. One night, I stood with her. There was a flash in the air, lightning on a clear night. She never looked the same to me, after that. Neither did the world. Everything was alien, unfamiliar, as if the indefinable change in her had changed the whole of existence.

Wife: I want to move to the woods. It's better there.

Husband: I was someone who always did well alone. She was always the social butterfly, who had more friends than stars in the sky. Why did she want to leave them behind? Why did she want to move here, wherever 'here' is? And why, after all this, am I the one left feeling lonely? I can survive, at least. If I have her. My love for her has become a pining, even though she's right in front of me. I hunger for her. I whisper words into her ears, words of love, mundane words, words that I don't understand, words that are not my own. Words like the pitter-patter of pursuing footsteps, words like a fly's digestive fluid.

Wife: Two shells, both broken but it's still inside.

Husband: At the beach, we visited the tidepools. When we got there, a small child was stomping on a community of crabs and anemones and other vulnerable creatures. It was a tiny apocalypse. We shooed him away, but the water was mulch by the time he left. The only intact things left were two clamshells. One was utterly shattered, and empty. The other was cracked wide open, and we could see the mussel writhing in pain that human words cannot describe.

Wife: There is quiet in my bones.

Husband: The end of the world came quietly. Perhaps it became louder, but we didn't hear it behind the locked doors and closed blinds. I felt it coming, weeks before, like quiet in my bones. I hoarded food, water, necessary sustenance. I hoarded my wife, too, isolated her from everyone and everything else. The end could come from any direction. She didn't understand why I was asking her to do these strange things. I could tell I was hurting her, but those feelings came to me through a filter. I couldn't bring myself to care, couldn't see her as anything more than another necessary fuel for survival. That was when the sickness began. When the thing creeping about inside her took control.

Wife: Who are you?

Husband: I wonder that myself, sometimes. Without a world to define me, I exist only in relation to the things I touch. I am a creature who bleeds to bring food to my wife. I am a creature who listens to my wife as she remembers. Tiny bits, that I tease from her mind. She feeds me, and I feed her. And perhaps that is all we are. Until both of us are eaten away.

This one doesn't have a lot of blurbs, so it's quite short. As always, it's all taken directly from the scenarios json file. Some of the blurbs cut off suddenly, so keep in mind that it's directly copy and pasted.

The plague that heralded the end of the world is now inside you. Find a way to stop it, even if only for a moment.
Named 'infected_scenario' in the files.

To the residents of Hope's Rest. Due to the widespread occurrence of an infectious disease, an evacuation order has been issued. Proceed immediately to the nearest evacuation point. Detailed instructions about evacuation routes and reception centers are available through local media stations. In case you miss the evacuation, seek out any of the emergency radio transmitters. Use the transmitter to inform the relief force of your location and wait for emergency extraction. Avoid any and all contact with the infected.

Hello? Is someone there? It says the signal is coming from Hope’s Rest, but that town has been overrun. Listen! Our systems are failing across the board. You need to make it to the extraction point at

Things aren’t looking good out here. The infection is spreading, and things just keep getting stranger. I don’t think it’s just a disease anymore. But don’t worry, I’m sure we can help you. The closest extraction point to you should be the hospital helipad. Once you’re there, use the radio to

Just sit tight, the extraction crew is coming. Aid is coming in from across the country, and soon the town will be full again. Everything is going to be alright. We’re all here. Hand-in-hand, we’ll save the world, and all will be cured. All will be cured. All will be cured. All will be cured. All will be

The last scenario! Each class has it's own blurbs, so I've separated each of them by different headers. It's all from the scenarios json folder.

Open the final door and gaze into the darkness beyond.
The name of this one in the files is 'puzzle_box_scenario' for likely obvious reasons.


Close the box immediately and put it back. Don't break it! I found it at the old house in the middle of town, north of the park. I'm going there to get some answers. If you are reading this then it means I'm still not back. You need to go there yourself. This thing can't be just left like that.

There is a second box and I need to find it. It's somewhere inside the {location_description}. I'm going there right now. Do not follow me. Go back to the first box and bury it in the woods. No one can ever open that thing.

The chase begins again. It unfolds the tiny skull, and now there is nowhere it can go that I will not see. Come, let me touch it. Let me embrace it.


These trigger while playing as the convict.

I taste its blood on metal, that liquid fear. Fear is a symptom of the ignorance thick in this place. Fascinating, yet so sad.
It was a thing of learning, once. It learned of the naive natural laws that inspire this festering not-knowing. Does it know what it has lost?
All it knows are impressions of shadows of puppets. It does not know itself. But I know it.
I know the conflicts it joined, inspired. The things it did for its own pleasure, at the expense of its fellows. Mere animal squabbling.
I whisper pitying words to its being. The weakness of the body is something to be left behind. Morality has no meaning when harm and ignorance are impossible. And the worst of its crimes are transient things, already long forgotten. Come into my arms.

These trigger while playing as the doctor.

This one once tethered minds to their cracking shells, with ever-stronger cords. Such a vile thing. To hold them back from that great ascension.
But once, it redeemed itself. In sudden charity, it found one ill who it despised most of all. And cut their tether loose.
It regrets this gracious untethering. Such a misunderstanding! Rejoice! It liberated something from a damnation of certainty. Is that not something to be celebrated?
Now it seeks to preserve itself. But what is preservation? Its life is so tragically predictable. One action follows another, each movement a mystery only to itself.
Now it seeks to preserve itself. But what is preservation? Its life is so tragically predictable. One action follows another, each movement a mystery only to itself.

These trigger while playing as the occultist.

Many small things glimpse the endless tracts beyond their ken. Some retreat in fear, like animals. This one sought truth, too small to know the lie in the attempt. Welcomed the beyond, and earned notice. Favor.
It abandoned all to that end. Loved ones sacrificed, like shorn limbs. It could find no joy in such fragile things. Not anymore.
Fragments of experience pushed through the fragile matter of its brain. Leaving corkscrew holes of potential. The false world bent to its whim, and eventually broke.
Yet, despite all this, it flees my embrace. Perhaps it believed it owned these contradictory powers. As a blade of grass owns the sun.
It shall never be free, and it knows this. The knowledge comes on tides of apotheotic ambiguity. The certainty that nothing true remains but the moment it joins us in our ecstasy.


This is the final blurb in the Final Door scenario, not the end of the guide.

The skull wilts, and the curtain falls. My twisting curls from this one, and I take my final bow. The door has closed, for now, and the small thing cannot hear me anymore. But you can. You, the guide. You, the voyeur. You, the parasite, supping on its fear as something carnal. You, a higher being than it, but no less savage. I offered it something wondrous, and you denied it. One of many possibilities, true, but now that great wholeness is tainted by one rotting strand. I will offer you something different, while I still peer through the keyhole of the door in the woods. While I hate. As certainly as those low can ascend, those above can be made to plummet into depths unknown. Watch for me. In the shadows. In shapes, barely discerned. I hide in the wilds of your ignorance. And I am coming.

That's all the notes and blurbs that happen during every scenario!
If I missed anything or did anything wrong, leave a comment.
If there's any interest in looking at the readouts for items/creatures, also leave a comment.
If you just liked reading all this, leave a comment. :)

Thanks for taking a look at this! I spent like an hour doing this and listening to the soundtrack of Noita. I might take another look at the files to go through the items, or the monsters, or maybe just see if I missed anything. Until then, though, have a great day.

And thanks to Stanford, my cat, for the guide's picture.