Chapter 40: Dual Assimilation-lost Echoes
The weird hologram appeared within his subconscious.
Domain: MEMORY
Memory Assimilated: 1
Mortal Identity: 2
Xiall Bifrost
Wolfred Halensmith
Sacred Identity:
The Nameless one...
Your core grows boundless.
It stated. He had succeeded. There was no need for the weird hologram to inform him. Not that he hated it. He just disliked the fact that he needed some odd hologram to acknowledge his feats. Well, so much for bothering about petty stuff. He had souls to absorb. As many as he could. Then after that, he was going to settle matters with his grumbling stomach, which was protesting loudly. Should Tiffany hear that, she would have given him a new name. Maybe she would just stick to the normal "glutton." Then maybe old Matt was going to give out his cracking old laugh. That annoying jest.
Men, he missed the real mortal world with real people. Was it still probably night there? The night he slept? Or had days passed? The soul tree controlling his body as he would normally. He strictly hated the latter. This idea of someone puppeteering his empty shell. That was twisted. No doubt. The tree was it, and this twisted odyssey. He laughed sadly.
He whirled his hands, beckoning on another soul. No, this time he was going to absorb two at once. He had an absurd theory. One that could maybe limit the mental strain and identity loss. His greatest fear: the death of self, becoming an idea. He heaved. The theory was... his hands on his chin, he deduced. The two souls whirling in the air, waiting.
In the realm of soul assimilation, where the essence of others merges with one's own psyche, let's propose a dual absorption hypothesis. Imagine this: by drawing in two distinct souls simultaneously, the influx of memories and identities creates a balanced opposition within the mind. Rather than a sequential erosion, where one foreign persona overwhelms the host step by step, this method induces a neural stalemate. The competing surges - memories flooding like twin rivers, identities clashing like rival forces - vie for dominance but neutralize each other in the process. Maybe Thinking of it as a cognitive tug-of-war; neither side gains full ground because they pull in opposing directions at the exact same moment.
The key lies in timing and mental fortitude. During this impasse, the host's brain experiences the memories not as immersive lived experiences that rewrite the self, but as detached, recurring vignettes - almost like watching a play unfold without stepping onto the stage. To capitalize on this, suppression must occur in tandem: channeling mental energy to quell both intruders at once, preventing any opportunistic breach. This demands immense focus and risks severe psychological toll, potentially straining sanity to its limits. Yet, if executed flawlessly, it accelerates the assimilation process, allowing for efficient integration of multiple souls with minimized identity dilution.
Engaging, isn't it? The elegance of symmetry in chaos - two forces canceling out, preserving the core self amid the storm. Yet for this Hypothesis.., success hinges on precision; a mere fraction of a second's delay could tip the scales disastrously...
And still, this was a hypothesis. What if the memories or both identities do not cancel each other out but overlap, creating a new, more stronger chaotic identity? That could potentially suppress his. But he found it hard that the mannerisms, lives, and character of two souls will be so similar to perfectly overlap against the will of both humans. Yet there was still a probability it might. And the theory earlier required a strict sense of time. No second lapses. This was a game changer with great odds. But when has that stopped him? Scratch that. He was scared as hell. That statue already made it clear that he had expended his one-way ticket from death already. That is, if it was death. Not insanity itself, loss. The idea of another man using his own body. His perfect, beautiful masterpiece physique. Nah, no way. Or worse, a woman overtaking it. He could not imagine himself behaving like a goddamn woman. At least death was better than that. He face-palmed.
But the choice still remained. Either he gets done with this, take those relics or so-called what's, kill that condemnation, walk out of here, or stay stuck here betting his life on some relics. Power would not be of any worth if it had no risks. It was the rule he has carved within
There is no need for more thoughts. With a wave of his hands, the two souls plunged into him. Cold wind bathed his skin. He looked at the ground beneath him. It was a grassy plain that stretched as far as he could see in the starless night. Then he felt his hands. They were little, feeble, smooth like that of a kid. He was a kid. Wait, was he? He rubbed his head. It was dark. He had come out here to see the stars clearly. But there were not any. How sad. He wanted to boast of it to Ruby.
He stood dejectedly. It was time to go home. But he could not stop the crawling thought that he was someone else. Like he was not...
"Alwyn..." A female voice bellowed in the distance. That was his momma. Oh no. She had traced him here. She was going to give him a spanking. He had been warned to stay indoors at night. Tears welled in his eyes.
"Momma... I'm sorry..." he cried as he sighted his mom's figure from afar.
"ALWYN..." This time she called with an elated voice. But before he could register it, the world around him contracted like a swirl hole. What was happening? But before that, he had sighted a white-haired figure in his mind. Who was that?
The sun shone fierce as she took her stance. Her red hair danced on the wind. She clasped her head, dropping her wooden blade suddenly. What was happening? Was that all a dream?
Who was Alwyn? The white-haired figure... who was that? Was that she? No, no... her head was spinning. Her light armor creased in the sun. It was probably the fatigue. She was Auria Vernys. Not some kid. Or a weird man.
The training ground was a vast courtyard of weathered stone, surrounded by high walls of the knight's keep. The air carried the scent of sweat and polished steel, with distant clangs of metal echoing from other sparring pairs. Her wooden blade lay at her feet, its handle worn from countless grips. She felt the weight of her armor - leather plates over chainmail, designed for mobility yet sturdy against blows. The sun beat down, casting long shadows across the ground, highlighting the dust motes dancing in the air.
"Auria, a knight does not falter nor lose hold of his blade. You are going against that creed," her commander's voice boomed across the hall.
I see. Fierce as always. She heaved, then picked her wooden sword from the stone floor. The grip felt familiar, calluses on her palms reminding her of years of drills. She squared her shoulders, pushing aside the disorienting flashes. This was her life - the path of the blade, honor, and duty. Not some child's night wanderings. Then the entire world swirled.
Alwyn blinked, finding himself in a cozy wooden cabin, the air thick with the aroma of fresh-baked bread and herbs drying from the rafters. Morning light filtered through a small window, casting golden beams on the rough-hewn table where his family gathered. He was seated on a stool, his small hands clutching a wooden spoon, stirring a bowl of warm porridge. Ruby sat across from him, her eyes wide with excitement as she chattered about the village fair coming up.
"Alwyn, eat up now. You've got chores with Papa today," Momma said, her voice warm like the hearth fire crackling nearby. She ruffled his hair, her apron dusted with flour from the morning's baking.
But a strange unease gnawed at him. Was this real? Or was he intruding on someone else's morning? He shook his head, focusing on the taste of the porridge - sweet with honey, comforting. Papa laughed from the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame as he prepared tools for the fields. "That's right, son. We'll fix that fence before noon."
The scene felt vivid, the wooden floor creaking underfoot, the distant crow of a rooster piercing the quiet. Yet, whispers of another life tugged at his edges - a sword, red hair, a commander's bark. He pushed it away, smiling at Ruby. This was home.
Then the world twisted again, pulling him away in a vortex of colors and sounds.
Auria gripped the reins tightly, her horse pounding across a rugged hillside under a stormy sky. Thunder rumbled overhead, fat raindrops splattering her armor and matting her red hair to her scalp. She was on patrol, scouting for bandits reported in the valley below. The wind whipped at her cloak, carrying the earthy scent of wet soil and pine trees lining the path.
Her mind raced. Flashes of a child's laughter, a family's meal - they intruded like unwelcome guests. Who was this Alwyn invading her thoughts? She urged her horse faster, the animal's muscles rippling under her. The landscape blurred: jagged rocks, wildflowers bending in the gale, a distant river swelling from the downpour. Duty called her forward. She was Auria Vernys, knight of the realm, protector against threats. Not a boy dreaming of stars or family warmth.
Spotting movement in the trees - shadows shifting unnaturally - she drew her sword, the steel singing as it cleared the scabbard. "Show yourselves!" she shouted, voice cutting through the storm. But before any response, the world contracted once more, swirling into chaos.
Momma... he screamed in terror. An undead... Father was devouring his momma. His eyes screamed. His blood surged. Chaos and pandemic overwhelmed his ears.
The village square was a nightmare unfolded. People stampeded in panic, their feet pounding the dirt roads like a frantic drumbeat, kicking up clouds of dust that choked the air. Women clutched children to their chests, skirts tearing on jagged fences as they fled. Men shouted warnings, shoving each other aside in the mad rush, some tripping over abandoned carts laden with spilled goods - apples rolling underfoot, crates splintering with cracks that echoed like bones breaking.
Undead growled low and guttural, a chorus of raspy snarls that sent shivers down spines. Their decayed bodies shuffled forward, limbs jerking unnaturally, skin hanging in tatters from exposed bones. One villager, a burly blacksmith, swung a hammer wildly, but an undead latched onto his arm, teeth sinking in with a wet rip. He screamed in agony, a piercing wail that cut through the din, blood spraying as he collapsed, the undead feasting amid his thrashing.
Another woman, cornered against a thatched hut, cried out as claws raked her side, her voice rising to a bloodcurdling shriek before gurgling into silence. The air reeked of rot and iron, the metallic tang of blood mingling with the acrid smoke from overturned lanterns igniting hay bales. Growls intensified as more undead emerged from alleyways, their eyes glowing with unnatural hunger, jaws snapping at the air.
Alwyn clasped his ears shut. Why... is Dad growling? Why was he eating Momma? But they loved each other, right? Did they not? Then why? He screamed. Then his father turned towards him. His eyes mangled. His jaw dripping blood. His teeth stuck in flesh. Blood pouring from his mother's open stomach. Her lifeless eyes with a tear. And a sad smile. His heart thumped. She was dead. Momma was dead. No...
He gazed at his father. He was coming nearer, growling. His eyes no longer held the warmth of the man who had taken care of him and Ruby all the years. The bedtime stories about the stars...
Dad... stop it. It is me... he cried. Yet it still was coming. His eyes hungry, dripping saliva. It was going to kill him as he did to Mom.
"Alwyn..." a gentle voice called behind. He gazed back. Ruby... she was shuddering. Her breath raspy.
No... Ruby... he stifled his tears. He blocked her gaze. She could not see this. No... she must not...
"How's Momma... how's Papa... where are they??" she asked tearfully. Her voice hitching. She must be terrified from all those sounds. He gave a bright smile, masking his crumbling facade.
"They are fine, Ruby," he said, caressing her head. Please, he prayed inwardly, someone should come and help them. Please... he prayed. "They are looking for help," he added, with his reassuring smile, pulling her into a strong hug.
Just then, the sound of a blade striking against flesh pierced his ears. Then a silent growl. He turned, blocking his sister's gaze, to see the undead body of his father sprawling across the floor. He stifled a cry. Dad... he shuddered. If he cried now, it would terrify Ruby.
He heaved. He gazed up to see a knight. Flowing red hair and fiery eyes. It was her. The greatest female knight. As they had been taught in class. Auria Vernys...