Chapter 38: Awakening Augmentations:TheSoul
Xiall slumped into one of the wooden pews, his back screaming in protest as he collapsed onto the hard, unyielding brown wood, polished smooth from years of use but offering no cushion against his weary frame. The impact jarred his spine, sending a sharp ache radiating through his muscles, like he'd just dropped onto a slab of unforgiving stone disguised as furniture. He lay on his back, naked before his upright gaze was the very arch dome roof of the cathedral, its vaulted ceiling soaring high above like a stone sky, adorned with intricate frescoes of ethereal wings and radiant halos, faint moonlight filtering through to cast ethereal shadows that danced like whispers across the curved expanse.
So this was what a church felt like - and one devoted to the Angel of Miracles, no less. That weirdly helpful figure he'd thought would pulverize him on sight had turned out to be his one-way ticket back from the dead. Even without his heightened perception, he could hear the growls echoing from outside, low and guttural like distant thunder, punctuated by occasional faint thumping that vibrated through the thick stone walls, as if something massive was testing the boundaries.
Ugh, he groaned inwardly. It was those walking corpse puppets and their colossal puppeteer. Well, that was a solid name for it - maybe a new epithet. Scratch that; it sounded too cliche. Naming wasn't his strong suit anyway. At least he was lucky enough to have a roof over his head, one eternally shrouded from those mayhems outside. The church's protection felt like an invisible bubble, keeping the chaos at bay.
Maybe he could just stay here forever, a slithering thought crept in. Man, damn that - he wasn't about to spend all his days holed up in some damn cathedral. Speaking of which, there was no food, no water - unless they had holy water, of course. Not that he dared to drink it; the last thing he wanted was to anger his divine benefactor again. And he had to return to the real world eventually, a stark reminder that this was just an illusion. But he'd long since scratched that idea after seeing the beautiful realm created by that statue; he'd begun to doubt if this wasn't the same. Maybe Eden was a realm too, one that existed on a plane only his consciousness could attain. It was still speculation, but it felt like the most logical thesis he could muster.
Okay, enough mumbling over stuff, he cynically chided himself. It only leads to more stuff, piling up like mental clutter.
First things first: learning more about the power of the Soul and Memory. What aid would that bring him in his future clashes with the walking rotting corpses - or, as he'd termed them, undead - and mostly their puppeteer, the Colossal Corpse Condemnation? That would mean slaying a creature straight out of legends, which sounded legendarily impossible. Unless his Domain had more than what met the eye. It was a frail hope he clung to, like a lifeline in a storm. He hadn't even gauged the full might of that creature; it had killed him in one strike, like a man smashing a gnat underfoot. The weight of the brutal force that had hauled him across Eden rang in his mind, felt more like the colossal walls of Avalon crashing onto him at once, all their force concentrated on one side of his body. Maybe it was an exaggeration - if not, he would have been reduced to a bloody pulp. But here he was, though healed by that statue, his body in his sorry state earlier still had his limbs intact. But it didn't change the fact that the creature had the power to level the entirety of Eden if it wanted. Such strength was absurd, and even he knew deep down that with whatever soul abilities he had, such raw power would be unattainable. So, it was going to be superior in terms of strength. Now he had to focus on speed and efficiency, which relied on his Domain and whatever relics lay on that altar across the way, bathed in moonlight streaming through those huge colored glasses behind it. Each glass pane depicted the Angel of Miracles, though less alike to the statue he'd seen - here, the figure was more stylized, with flowing robes in vibrant hues of blue and gold, wings spread wide in benevolent gestures, faces softened into human-like serenity rather than the imposing, otherworldly severity of the nexus effigy. Seems they had crafted the pictures based on assumptions of what it would look like. Not that he cared.
He outstretched his hands, which he'd kept folded beneath his head, palms up as if reaching for answers in the air. Now then, how could he summon those souls?
His train of thoughts was interrupted by a bright, calm light that suddenly materialized out of thin air. Orbs emitting pale white light encircled the air above him in a whirlpool, fifty-one of them swirling gently like luminous pearls caught in a soft vortex, their glow casting a serene, ethereal halo that illuminated the pews with a faint, pulsating warmth. They were souls - the ones he had claimed.
Their abrupt emergence only meant one thing: he could summon them just by thinking about it. Let's try something else, he thought. He stroked his hands in a zigzag motion through the empty air, and they followed, trailing the space in the same zigzag pattern, weaving like obedient fireflies tracing his invisible path. Again, he stroked his hands, this time tracing a straight line that could connect with the wall. They followed, gliding along the same line, yet instead of colliding with the stone, they warped through it like it never existed, phasing seamlessly as if the wall was nothing but empty space, their glow dimming briefly in the barrier before reemerging on the other side. Then, in the same fluid motion, they whirled back toward him, arcing gracefully through the air with a faint, humming resonance that vibrated in his chest, returning to their swirling formation above.
First point on his bucket list: he could control the motion of these souls, but they seemed to ignore the barriers of physical matter. Awesome, but he failed to see how it would aid him in his coming endeavors. What else could the power of soul do? That damn hologram could have at least added a manual or some sort of guide. Did he have to figure things out by himself? He groaned inwardly, frustration bubbling up like a bad coffee.
Okay, think, Xiall, what more can you try? Let's see - hypothetically speaking, if each of those weird lighting orbs were souls, then they had the prowess of a human, since he was assuming they were all souls of humans. Well, it was quite true. Then what if he absorbed all those souls within him, like sharing consciousness with them? Would that grant him the strength, stamina, and speed of half a hundred humans? That would be awesome; it'd be a massive boost to his physical prowess. Then he could solve the problem of speed and stamina when using the Heightened Perception, even a massive boost in strength. Then he could kill more, like hundreds. He could also share his consciousness with them and use them to augment himself. Yet the limit would be how much suppression he could exert on such a multitude of souls within him; he could lose himself. His brain fiddled in thought, weighing the risks like a gambler eyeing the odds. But it was worth the try, because all he was basically saying were just hypotheses, not yet actual facts. Let's test it. He wasn't going to touch it - that would basically make him read their memories, he'd deduced. His brain was a miracle.
With a gesture - that is, spreading his arms apart - he willed one toward him. Then, as if obeying his command, one of the souls whirled toward his chest area. With a nod from him, it plunged itself into him. What followed was an instant rush of memories - no, more than flashes; lives so vivid that he lived through them.
He was Sir Wolfred, a knight clad in gleaming armor, the weight of chainmail pressing against his shoulders as he knelt before his lord in a grand hall lit by flickering torches. The scent of polished steel and burning wax filled his nostrils, and the cold stone floor bit into his knees. Vows of loyalty echoed in his mind, sworn with a voice that boomed with conviction. Then, the scene shifted: he was home, in a modest cottage bathed in warm firelight, his wife's gentle laughter ringing like music as she stirred a pot over the hearth. Her hair cascaded like auburn waves, and he felt the softness of her hand in his, the taste of stew on his lips, the quiet joy of a shared meal after a long day of patrols. Love swelled in his chest, a deep, anchoring warmth that made the world's hardships fade.
He heaved, his breath coming in ragged gasps as the memories flooded deeper. He breathed, trying to anchor himself, but he was losing grip in these recollections; they were suppressing his own. He was beginning to see himself as the soul's identity itself. He gritted inwardly, clenching his mental fists against the tide.
More memories surged: He was on the battlefield, the clash of swords deafening, blood spraying across his vision as he swung his blade with practiced fury, felling enemies in a haze of sweat and adrenaline. The metallic tang of blood mixed with the earthy mud underfoot, his heart pounding like war drums. Then, quieter moments - training a squire under a clear sky, the boy's wide eyes mirroring his own youthful ambition; riding through forests at dawn, the mist curling around horse hooves, a sense of purpose guiding him forward. And always, returning to her - his wife - in stolen evenings, their embraces fierce and tender, whispers of forever cut short by a fatal wound in some forgotten skirmish, the pain of parting like a dagger to the soul.
His eyes closed in meditation, sweat beading on his forehead as he battled the invading consciousness. He repeated his identity like a mantra: You are Xiall. Xiall. His name was Xiall. Not Wolfred. Slowly, his breathing hitched, then slowed, his mind clearing like fog lifting at dawn. He had absorbed the memories, though they still lurked within his mind as a second identity. Yet his own was far greater, dominant like a king reclaiming his throne.
He twisted his hands, then clasped them tightly. He was still Xiall; he was still himself. He jumped up in triumph, but to his surprise, he lunged upwards more than normal, like he was catapulted by an invisible spring, soaring a good few feet higher than his usual leap, the air rushing past him in a exhilarating whoosh before gravity pulled him back.
And when his feet connected with the ground, he felt it: his body was lighter, movements sharper and more fluid, as if every step carried twice the efficiency, his muscles responding with amplified vigor that made the simple act of standing feel effortless, his senses heightened in a way that suggested his overall physicality had doubled in potency without adding bulk.
Then, before his eyes, the hologram flashed in his subconscious:
Domain: SOUL
SOUL ABSORBED: 1
SOUL AUGMENTATION SUCCESSFUL
PHYSICALITY IMPROVED..
YOUR CORE GROWS BOUNDLESS..