The Twelve Apocalypses: A Damned Soul's Path to the Abyss-Chapter 87 140: Growing Hunger

The memories of one Tridsten Hall were like a giant tidal wave, and I was a foolish sailor who decided to jump right into its path.

Most of the earlier memories were insignificant. I noted them, of course, but then let them wash right over me and pass away. Tridsten was a member of a minor family branch, and as such, her early childhood was spent in basic education and frolicking about with her siblings.

The first shift came when her talent for magic emerged at the ripe old age of seven, three years later than the typical noble house scion. That was when the main family branch demanded Tridsten be turned over to them for her training. While the Hall family ruled over vast tracts of Ao, it was the city of Fimbulgrint where their true seat lay, and where the main house directed the course of the family's fortunes. Tridsten went, because of course she did, and thereby gave me the first inherited memory I could truly cherish.

The city was glorious.

Its walls pierced into the sky. Formed of nearly transparent crystal in various shades of blue, this outer barrier was covered in so many runes that no invading army could ever destroy it. Despite this obvious security, a variety of beasts and monsters swarmed around the bulwark, pacing at its base or patrolling atop it. The gates opened or closed only at the order of a Hall house member, which is why a contingent of mages was always assigned to the defenses, even during the times of greatest peace.

Within hid the jewel of the realm. The town was bustling, chock full of people and commerce that necessitated homes be built ever higher. Seeing as how every single establishment was wrought of Hall magic, this was no terrible imposition. Raising an additional few floors was only a matter of petitioning the family.

Through the winding city streets Tridsten went. I walked with her, marveling at my family's accomplishments, until we arrived at the inner castle.

It was made of the same crystal as the wall, though so dark that it rivalled the blue of a night sky. Still, at the height of noon, the building refracted light every which way. My eyes were as dazzled as young Tridsten's.

More notably, magical beasts were even thicker here. It seemed like not a single member of the house or even the servants ever moved without a familiar nearby. When a dragon launched itself from one of the castle's spires, Tridsten almost passed out on the spot.

In spite of her fear, though, she forged on. She was a Hall, no matter where she'd grown up. There was a chance she might walk the path of a summoner in the future.

To my family's credit, they welcomed her warmly.

Far too many cousins introduced themselves, adults and children both, all eager to assure her of her place among them. I felt Tridsten's gratitude and eagerness to please her new relatives. If some were a bit more interested in her talent than her personality, she didn't blame them for it.

I saw so many faces that looked achingly similar to my own. So many women and girls I hoped would turn out to be my mother, if only to give me a brief glimpse of her.

At last, during dinner, Tridsten was presented to the Patriarch and his closest advisor. Melchom, the stern vision of cold propriety, and his much more affable brother, Michola.

Michola.

I finally knew my grandfather's name. My heart both soared and soured at the sight of him. I eagerly drank in his interactions with Melchom, how he tried to tease humanity out of his brother, and the way his face lit up when the Patriarch occasionally spared him a smile.

Michola was… well, not overly kind, but warm and reassuring. Her certainly put more effort into making Tridsten feel welcome than his brother. Melchom spared the girl nothing but a brief glance and an assurance that she would be tested for her family magics compatibility the following day.

I let the memories flow faster after that, carrying me through Tridsten's testing and induction as a crystal mage. Then I slowed down to immerse myself in her training.

I knew from the sense of Mia's warmth against me that the absorption lasted a matter of moments. Yet, the amount of time I spent in my head, brain whirring away to absorb all the knowledge, felt like years. Decades.

I dove in eagerly, aware only of my greed and growing hunger.

For all my previously stolen memories and personal study, I'd never had the privilege of focused learning. And now, here it was, all laid out in patient lessons with private tutoring. I was taught how to wield mana more optimally, how to grow my strength the Hall way, and how to nurture my gift.

Next came the lessons in family magics. I learned how to shift small crystals around, and how to manipulate bigger pieces. I practiced growing small bits of crystals myself, and then manipulating that growth in ways I never could have imagined.

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The one thing that mired the experience was frustration. Tridsten was talented enough to be summoned to the main branch, but once there, she wasn't remarkable. Her progress was infuriatingly average for a human mage of her standing.

I briefly skipped ahead, then seethed in impotent anger upon realizing Tridsten never made it past Grand Mage. But my anger wasn't directed towards the relative whose soul I was devouring. No, it was reserved for the Patriarch and his pathetic branch.

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Throughout the years I spent in Tridsten's head, I got to watch for myself as tensions grew. I witnessed the turning points when the summoners' experiments grew riskier, more reckless. I noted one particular occasion when a grand ritual went awry and sent hostile monsters, foreign to Ao, spilling out into the streets of Fimbulgrint. The resulting argument between the Patriarch and his brother made the entire city tremble as their anger twisted the ancestral castle into jagged, unfriendly shapes.

I also got to meet my mother.

It was striking, to see her face for the first time. I'd expected a vision of fury and focus straight out of the Abyss. Instead, Lethaniel's normal expression was an easy smile. She liked to wear her hair in a high ponytail. She flirted remorselessly with a young noble boy, sent as a gesture of goodwill to learn at her family's seat of power.

I got to note the exact features I'd inherited from either of my parents. My face and eyes were my mother's, or at least they used to be. My hair, though? That was all my father. Lethaniel's hair was the exact shade of gold gleaming under the sun.

Seeing them hurt so much more than I'd expected.

Being from a lesser branch, Tridsten didn't interact with them much. My father was also a quiet, shy boy who seemed fond of keeping to himself, which meant that my mother followed suit.

Tridsten did attend their wedding, though.

Annoyingly, so did Mercutio.

He popped up frequently in the memories. To my surprise, he and my mother appeared to have a cordial relationship. There was friction there, but it seemed like they were as fond of each other as relatives should be. They also spent a lot of time together, having been identified as two of the most talented young mages in the family.

I ignored his odious face as much as I could, focusing instead on each moment with my mother and father.

Their wedding was a grand affair between the houses of Hall and Gloriglen, long-term allies who would be tying their bloodlines for the very first time. My parents were radiantly happy. Even my father, somewhat surly and withdrawn on most other days, wore a happy grin throughout the day. When my mother was named heir of her branch during the festivities, it only sent the mood soaring higher.

No one mentioned the lingering tension between the Patriarch and his brother, but it was a pall over the celebration.

Then the chaos came.

True to my family's reputation and history, no one ever conquered their seat of power. Nothing outside could bring down the wall. No, the invasion came from within, so swiftly that none of the Patriarch's opponents could even attempt to interfere.

First, my grandfather was poisoned and murdered in his bed. It might have been a blessing, really. At least he didn't have to watch as demons tore apart his family's legacy.

Then, at Melchom's summoning, the Abyssal portal ripped open right in the middle of the city. Demonic soldiers came pouring out. I had no words for what I felt when I watched Crewe step out of the portal at the tail end of his armies, gleefully declaring the start of the invasion and the inevitable fall of Ao.

I didn't want to watch what came next. I skipped right over my family members getting hunted down, clasped in chains, and ripped away from their world. I paused just long enough to take in the moment when the Patriarch himself tore me from my mother's arms.

An example, he said. A reminder that no one could evade just punishment for disobeying the family head, not even his closest blood.

The memory seared itself into my soul. I skipped forward again, racing through Tridsten's life in the Abyss, only slowing down when I neared the end. Then, with a deep breath, I immersed myself again fully in my relative's awareness.

I was stumbling through the nearly deserted side streets in Torment, painfully aware of the hunger that clawed at my gut. I had failed, plain and simple, and I was being punished for it.

Sure, I had slaughtered some mortals in my first invasion. But as soon as the Abyss's artificial bloodlust waned, I had stopped fighting. While others around me pushed on and won plenty of souls, I'd numbly let death claim me at the hands of people whose friends and family I'd killed.

Except that wasn't the end.

No, that would have been too kind for the denizens of the Abyss. They declared me infirm and incapable, then decreed me one of the many unaffiliated soldiers of Torment, to be drafted in emergencies but otherwise left to sink or swim on my own.

For most, that was a death sentence. To claw your way back into regular combat troops was a daunting task. The only options left were starvation or debasement.

I chose starvation.

Oh, I managed to pay my way into the lowest level invasions once or twice. I was a Grand Mage, after all. But every time ended the same way. I'd try, I really would, just for the faint hope of one day making Melchom regret his choices. But then I would come across a child, or a young couple, or a brokenhearted teen, and I'd fall apart at the seams.

Who was I to steal their lives for my own ambition, then prey on their souls as well?

I didn't even know where I was headed. It wasn't like I could afford any food, nor did I have a place to sleep. Maybe I was just searching for a nice place to expire. I could almost feel the moment drawing near, death hounding my steps.

When someone grabbed my shoulder, I almost jumped out of my skin. I knew what bored demons sometimes did to abandoned mortals, and what sort of offers they made. I wanted none of it. But when I spun around on my assailant, I froze.

I knew that face. So much like my own, yet utterly foreign, too. The features were so familiar, it took me a moment to realize they were attached to a demon.

The demoness was stunningly beautiful. She had hair as golden as the purest sunshine, with actual flames dancing over it in waves and sparks. Her eyes burned, too, their green flames casting shadows over her face. Wings fanned out from her back, batlike and immense, sparking and shimmering in waves of red light. She was dressed in a long, flowing gown. Her feet were twin hooves that looked perfectly suited to trampling enemies underneath.

Then, I noticed the small differences in our features. Her ears were no longer straight, but more reminiscent of an elf. Her smile was sad, but wide, treating me to a glimpse of wickedly sharp fangs. Her skin, too, was slightly off. It resembled burnished silver more than the pasty white of my lineage.

"Thank all the cosmic forces out there I found someone," the demoness with my own features whispered. "I thought you were all dead or converted."

Then I was caught in a hug, and I relished the feeling of warmth and reassurance. Tears sprang to my eyes.

With that, the immediacy between me and Tridsten's memories faltered.

I tried to clutch at them, clinging with a desperate intensity that made me dizzy, but I couldn't get myself back in the right headspace to sink into them again. Instead, I became aware of Mia's fingers gently brushing my tears away, and I lifted my eyes to meet her own concerned golden orbs.

"I'm fine. I'm fine…"

I trailed off, closing my eyes so she couldn't see the anger there. The anger which burned at the core of my being and filled me with an insatiable hunger for revenge.

One stolen hug. A hug I'd only experienced by tearing the memory out of Tridsten's soul. That's all I had of my mother, and it was all Melchom's fault.

For the very first time, true hatred sparked in my heart.

I had no idea how far I would go to see my estranged relative burn.