The Twelve Apocalypses: A Damned Soul's Path to the Abyss

At first, I didn't realize I was dreaming.

I wasn't sure how long I had been lying there, curled up in a ball, wracked with anguish. All that existed for me were the emotions warring inside my chest. I barely noticed when my shivering limbs stopped responding to any of my commands. I couldn't move. I couldn't think.

It wasn't until I heard the scream that things changed.

Suddenly, my body was moving, though not in response to my will. I was on my feet in record time, my sword held loosely in my right hand.

Across from me stood a woman wielding a dagger. If I was in actual control of myself, I might have failed to dodge her desperate attempt to stab me. As it was, I parried the strike easily. Her dagger clattered to the ground with finality as she crumpled away from me, unharmed but scared out of her wits.

"Please! Please, I'm pregnant. I was just trying to defend myself. Please!"

I wanted to recoil. I wanted to sprint away from my long-dead victim. But my body moved relentlessly onwards, and I lifted my sword helplessly. Mechanically. It came down in a spray of blood, and the poor begging civilian died for the second time.

Except this time, her corpse was did not stay silent.

Laughter erupted from her mouth, choked slightly by the blood pooling there, and the woman turned empty eyes to lock on mine.

"Easy, was it? Killing me. You are a disgrace. In that body for less than a day, and look at how much good you did. Did you feel strong? Like a survivor?"

Finally regaining control of myself, I lashed out blindly. I wanted the words to stop. My sword bit right through her throat, slicking it apart.

It did nothing to deter her. Somehow, she pulled herself upright. Her movement was jerky and erratic, like a marionette getting tugged into the right position. But she was standing, and she refused to shut up.

"So many dead, because of you. But that wasn't enough for you, was it?" Her voice was a broken rasp. "No. Now, you go around causing the death of your allies, too!"

She spoke with such glee that I backed away, though I refused to cover my ears or close my eyes. I didn't want to lose sight of her and let her get too close. But mostly, I felt an odd sense of rightness in her accusations, like I deserved to have it all rubbed in my face.

I stumbled back a step further, then froze when I slammed into someone's chest. I tried to whirl around and respond violently to the intruder, but powerful arms locked around me and kept me stuck.

Arms that were a familiar light red… or pink, if you were so inclined.

Human-ish pink.

"You could have warned me." Bronwynn's voice grated in my ear. My brain locked up, heedless of the approaching female cadaver. "You said nothing. You just whimpered and loitered around in that cave like the useless fool you are. You don't even remember what I told you, do you? So drunk on your successes, so taken by your puny improvement."

I tried to cry out, but my voice wouldn't obey. I couldn't make a sound. Then a surge of mana-born strength filled me, and I managed to throw off his hold. I spun around, then choked up at the sight of Bronwynn.

One of his eyes was gone, just a trail of disgusting juices sliding down his cheek. The other burned as it stared at me from the ruined landscape of his face. Cuts and burns marred every inch of his skin, from the top of his half-melted head to his toes. Even his arms, that had looked whole just a moment ago, were riddled with craters and pockets of oozing pus.

His chest was the worst, though. It was torn open, revealing the mess of pulsing muscle his heart had become. The rest of his organs were mere mulch, pooling through his insides and leaking from the holes in his skin.

My lips moved, trying to form the words pounding silently through my mind.

I didn't— I couldn't have known — I was just—

The useless thoughts shattered as another set of arms gripped me, then another, and another.

I tried to twist away from them, but wherever I looked, I only saw face of the dead. Faces of people I'd killed. When did I even kill so many? How could I remember them so clearly? This update is available on novel~fire~net

"Your turn, Hayden. Do try to scream. We're all here for it," Bronwynn mocked.

Reaching out a hand, he pressed it lightly against my chest. Then he flexed his claws. They sank easily through my metal armor, digging deep into my flesh.

I screamed.

—

I jerked awake, a muted scream caught in my throat as I thrashed and fought against arms that didn't exist. Phantom pain lingered in my chest. My mana flared out, followed shortly by the sound of ripping as I savaged the sheets that I had somehow managed to bundle myself in.

Only when I tumbled out of the bed and hit the ground with a loud, meaty thud did I go still. The coolness of the floor and the fresh surge of actual pain in my face were enough to banish the last shreds of the nightmare.

I didn't feel better for it.

A deep sense of weariness settled into my bones as I clambered to my feet and stumbled to the bathroom. I felt tired, dirty, and irrevocably stained.

I had done such a good job at ignoring the reality of my situation for so long, I convinced myself I was coping. But as I went to the shower and unleashed water nearly hot enough to scald me, I had to admit that I was not.

My 'conceal, don't feel' strategy was utter crap. Goes to show what you get from following animated movie logic when you're stuck in the body of a demonic recruit unleashed upon an unsuspecting world.

My armor clattered to the ground around me as I stripped it off carelessly. I loved that armor. It felt like a real victory when I got it, and the fact that it came from one of the nicest demons I had ever met was a nice bonus too. Now I could barely stand the thought of putting it on again.

I took a carefully crafted piece of art, and then I stained it with the blood of innocents who were just trying to protect their home.

I threw my sword as far from me as I could. It landed somewhere in the bedroom as I stepped under the spray of hot water.

The water failed to do its magic. Moments like that, when I was afforded basic conveniences and allowed to feel like an actual human being, usually felt like a treat. A reward for surviving. Now, it was yet another reminder that I was paying for all of it with literal souls.

I wanted to lash out, to put as much mana into my fists as I could and just pummel the wall, or something similarly stupid.

I didn't. I had no clue what I would need to survive next, but whatever it was, broken hands would definitely not help me.

Besides, I had damaged the room enough already with my mistreatment of the sheets. I wasn't sure if they would charge me for those or if it would go on my record with them. As inane as it sounds, I really didn't want to get banned from the Apple Infernal. With the guaranteed safety and the strangely modern amenities, it was starting to feel suspiciously like home.

I eventually scrounged up enough will to do more than just stand there, and actually cleaned up. I also had just enough guilt in me to put effort into cleaning and maintaining my armor. Yules didn't deserve to have a shoddy piece of trash paraded around as the best advertisement for her work.

After that, I lost myself for a while. I was barely aware of the passage of time. I drifted through the days, dreading the nightmares that swallowed me whenever I tried to sleep.

Once, a demoness knocked on my door, chirpily reminding me that I could come down to eat, or they could bring the food up to my room at mealtime. I opted for the latter, and mechanically ate whenever they presented me with food.

For the life of me, though, I cannot remember what the food actually was, or how it tasted.

Past that, the only thing I could really stomach was my mage training. It was simple enough, and its meditative nature dragged me away from all the chaos that dominated my head.

More importantly, it was the path Bronwynn had pushed me down, back when I attempted to needle him for information. Now that he was gone, failing to follow through felt like an insult to his memory.

Of course, I knew he wasn't actually dead. Demons were immortal unless they were killed on the mortal plane and in the Abyss. But I had no clue how demonic troops were organized, or how soldiers were shuffled between different commanders. With so many demons running around, I had to face the fact that I might never see the man again.

Even if he was immediately shipped back out to Berlis, would they place him under Glaustro again?

And if they did, would he even want to talk to me?

His last memory of me was one of a stupid recruit ignoring him as he tried to help. Then I wasted a bunch of time gibbering about cracks, and he got blown up. The misery of this thought only made me sink further into the messy bed I hadn't bothered to fix up since the time I first collapsed into it.

Eventually, though, something had to give. And it wasn't my depression. The honor of breaking the stalemate went to my brand, which erupted into agony matched only by the worst of my recent nightmares.

I welcomed the pain, dragging my arm up to glance at the brand with casual slowness. It was torture, but it grounded me firmly in reality. My ability to discern between dreams and waking was starting to slip.

Eventually, though, I did brush my fingers over the brand. Much as I enjoyed the misery of pain, I didn't want Glaustro to march into my room and kill me for ignoring orders.

Oh, who am I kidding? He wouldn't show up himself. He would send someone to do it for him.

The message was simple and to the point.