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

Instead of rushing in to share their fate, I carefully evaluated the situation.

The tower’s door was the only way to get access to it. The surrounding wall was imposingly high. I doubted I could climb up or flank around from another point.

What surprised me was the absence of archers on the wall, ready to pick off the invaders. In fact, despite the tower itself had various arrow slits and several windows, no one was taking potshots. The only glimpse I got of a native human was one pale, scared face peeking through a window, then vanishing.

I wanted to ask my fellow demonic soldiers what was happening, but with the frenzy they were in, getting a reasonable answer didn’t seem likely. I also didn’t cherish the idea that I might get swarmed myself. They could be harboring similar ambitions as the soldier who attacked me.

This left me in a bit of a dilemma, especially since my own murderous compulsion was still singing away inside my mind. It really didn’t like it when I just stood still.

I scanned my surroundings, keeping an eye out for a building that didn’t look like a simple house. It only took a few moments to spot one at the far end of the street. The building was large and blocky, more reminiscent of a warehouse than a home.

I power walked over to it. Sure, the doors were hanging off their hinges and several windows were busted, but I managed to convince myself that there might be a native person left somewhere inside. That satisfied the compulsion enough for me to be mostly functional.

I found a mess inside. Bodies of knights and other less-equipped soldiers, strewn about the floor amidst the piles of ashes and clothing that marked my fallen comrades. The building seemed to be some sort of shabby barracks, for out-of-town soldiers or just the less important ones. I couldn’t tell either way.

But that did mean it was full of useful gear and items, just like I had hoped.

A brief search netted me as much rope as I cared to pick up. The big prize was a spear made entirely of metal, lying on the ground near the body of a ridiculously sized knight who looked to have been killed by a literal thousand cuts. Even in death, he was still standing, wedged between two barrels full of throwing spears.

I also found and quickly snatched up several rolls of bandages, smiling as I used them to bandage my wounds and stowed the rest in my backpack. They were a much more sanitary option than old clothing.

With my new tools in hand, I quickly headed out. My fingers were almost trembling from the need to murder something, but I managed not to fumble my prep work too badly. By the time I was back at the tower, where my demonic comrades were still hurling themselves fruitlessly at the door, I had a rope bound tightly to the spear.

The window nearest to the ground was about eight yards above street level. Certainly too high to climb, especially considering the smooth, flawless surface of the tower. High enough for me to throw a spear through? Well, I was certainly willing to try.

Aiming with extreme care, I put everything my new body could leverage into the throw. The spear cut through the air, propelled by almost inhuman strength… and slammed into the wall next to the window.

The noise of its impact and the ensuing clatter when it fell to the street were enough to distract even the frenzied mob at the door, but much to my relief, they swiftly went back to their useless endeavor. Frankly, if they could just organize and calmly hack at the wood, they’d probably have made it through already. As it was, their desperation to enter was hindering them than anything else. And the locals probably had some sort of barricade already prepared on the other side of the door.

Retrieving the spear, I returned to my spot. Once again, I aimed, readied myself, and threw. The spear was headed for the window this time, but looked like it would slam into the top frame and get bounced back.

Then a native soldier poked his head through the window, just in time for the spear to plunge into his chest.

The man squealed like a stuck pig and stumbled away as I rushed to grab the rope. The murderous urge in me squealed with maniacal glee. Tugging on it with all my strength, I was rewarded by the sound of metal striking stone as the spear dislodged itself from my unintended victim and got stuck on the window frame.

Technically, I could have clambered up the rope myself and made a mad rush at the defenders then and there. That is, of course, if I wanted to be the first to encounter all the vitriol the locals were ready to unleash on any intruders.

I didn’t.

"Look!" I shouted to my demonic comrades, pointing up at the window. "A way in!"

Just saying the words cost me. The compulsion blazed in my chest, demanding to know why I was just standing there instead of rushing up the rope. Thankfully, that was the moment when a shudder ran through me and my bag grew a touch heavier.

The poor sod who had ’caught’ my spear was dead.

The compulsion momentarily satiated, I could steel myself enough to wait as my fellow soldiers registered my words. The next second, with howls of bloodlust, the whole mob made a mad dash for the rope I still held taut.

I let four of them start climbing before I joined them. When another demon-soldier tried to follow, I lashed out with a kick, launching him into the rest of the approaching crowd.

And then I let the compulsion take me.

Screams were already echoing down from inside the tower, fueling my own obsession to get in. I barely noticed the effort it took to climb. My hands easily pulled me up, heedless of the rope cutting into my palms or the strain on my muscles.

When I collapsed through the window, kicking my foot to dislodge the hand of another crazed soldier trying to get ahead of me, I found myself in a narrow stairwell full of combat. Two demonic soldiers were fighting a group of defenders surging from the lower levels. I was also treated to the sight of three corpses and two piles of ash. Two of the first climbers had died already.

But it was immediately evident that the defenders, rushing as they were to get up the stairs to our level, were in a precarious position.

I could remember reading something about medieval towers and fortifications being built in a way that allowed defenders to have the advantage against anyone trying to climb up, and that clearly held true here. The locals had been concentrating on the front door. They weren’t expecting an attack within the tower from above. Now they were working against the tower’s design, trying to fight their way up in a narrow stairwell that barely let them swing their swords, while we rained blows easily on their shoulders and heads.

With the situation assessed, I quickly made my choice.

I blasted a strike behind me, and my tower shield met the face of an invader with a wet thwack. The woman screamed as she fell from the window, but I paid her no heed as I hacked at the rope. It took a few tries, especially since my sword was missing sections of its edge, but the rope finally snapped with a satisfying sound.

I then spun towards the combat and charged. My shoulder met the small of a fellow invader’s back, and the man screamed in pain and outrage as he was launched over the heads of the desperate defenders. The other one, a woman with a glazed look of madness in her eyes, didn’t even glance in my direction. She just kept stabbing.

What followed was bloody work.

The two of us easily blocked the passage together, and the defenders probably assumed that there was a constant stream of new enemies entering their stronghold every moment. This made them desperate enough to keep throwing themselves at us, even though the only result was a string of deaths.

Most didn’t give us much trouble. A part of it was tactical advantage in having the high ground, meant for benefiting defenders. A bigger part was because they were all in their right minds. Despite their fear and determination, they still fought like sane people with a healthy awareness of danger and a reasonable desire to avoid pain.

My demonic companion and I had no such obstacles.

Once I succumbed fully to the haze of my orders, I lost all concern for my wellbeing. Side by side, my fellow demon soldier and I kept slashing and stabbing, sacrificing our limbs and barely defending against the weak but ferocious-seeming blows from below.

The most trouble we encountered was a determined knight, a woman who chose to sacrifice herself by covering herself with her shield and jumping straight up. She managed to take my companion off her feet, before being rewarded by a stab to the kidneys and a hack right to the back of her neck. She went limp almost immediately, but she was now pinning down the only ally I had, and new soldiers were coming up the stairs.

I chose to rush them, snarling in rage, and redoubled my efforts to swing my sword in strong arcs. Naturally, the defenders retaliated, but I got lucky in the end. The knight had chosen to pull that stunt precisely because the tower was running out of men. I only had to put down three soldiers before the tide of battle stilled, and I found myself panting in a blood-soaked stairwell.

My limbs felt heavy, laden with blood loss and with the strain of everything I’d done. But I was still standing. Though I was still bleeding from a sizeable number of cuts, the wounds were clustered on my arms and legs. The only line of fire stinging on my torso was the one I’d earned from my fellow demonic soldier.

That line of thought reminded me to check on my downed ally. I found her struggling under the weight of the knight, who had managed to get in a single blow before she perished. Now my fellow soldier had a solid foot of steel inside her gut.

I couldn’t help her. I was neither knowledgeable about first aid nor inclined to try. I could, however, do one thing for her.

"Sorry."

I muttered the word quietly, but she must have heard me because her eyes locked on mine. There was just enough time for panic to flare in their green depths before I slashed her throat.

I left her choking on the ground as I stumbled down the blood-slicked stairs. Corpses were kind of hard to maneuver around, even if the defenders had tried to drag their dead comrades aside in order to clear the way up.

I counted a total of thirteen bodies. Thirteen lives that were now extinguished because I had succumbed to orders given to me by a literal demon.

I was too tired and numb to be upset about that, but I filed away the memory anyway. I’d hang onto it carefully, just so I could never deny my own sins. The thought lightened my steps, making it easier to reach the bottom of the stairs.

"Oh, thank the gods." The whimper that met me was pure relief. "I thought —"

The man cut off when our eyes met. Whatever he saw in my expression was enough to tell him I wasn’t a friend. He let out a choked cry, then spun and tried to frantically knock away a whole collection of furniture pressed against the tower’s door.

Three steps closer and a single stab. That’s all it took to end the life of what was probably a civilian. He stared at me with wide, accusing eyes as he died, but that was getting easier and easier to ignore.

Another look around confirmed it: I now stood in a tower full of the dead, and little else. There were a few knickknacks around, including a few bows and empty quivers of arrows. At least that told me why the defenders hadn’t fired at us, but I was still confused about how they could have spent all their ammunition already. There weren’t that many dead invaders outside the tower.

That was when my aching body really began making its needs known. As the knocking on the tower door subsided, I began to pry myself out of the armor to inspect the damage, working as quickly as possible. Despite the fact that I was alone and relatively secure, I somehow felt like I was stripping in front of a herd of lions.

My body really was a mess. I had four deep wounds that probably required stitches, and over twenty shallower cuts. I looked like I had taken a swan dive into a pile of very hostile cats.

For lack of better options, I quickly bound everything with my recently acquired bandages, then suited up once again. Every single cut stung something fierce like they were soon to be infected, but I didn’t exactly have some kind of disinfectant on hand. Besides, I was far more likely to die of a blade than an infection with everything going on.

With that cheerful thought, I made my way back upstairs, carefully looking for any sign of soul crystals. Irritatingly, I found not a single one until I finally approached the corpse of the demonic soldier I had killed myself.

She yielded two.

I knew for a fact that she’d killed at least five of the soldiers. The fact that I couldn’t even get the full amount of souls she reaped frustrated me. Still, the final count of my loot sent a jolt of relief through my body.

I now had a total of sixteen souls on my hands.

If I could somehow survive until the end of this madness, I was officially safe.