Omniphage of Apathy

Vastarael sat against the damp wall of the cave they'd found for the night. Chainless was a silent presence by the fire. Her chains rested on the ground beside her, coiled like sleeping serpents. She was eating slowly, lost in her own thoughts as always.

He didn't press her for conversation. He had long since realized that words weren't her strength. But as the night wore on, his fatigue began to pull him into the clutches of sleep. The moment his eyes closed, the familiar sensation of borrowed memories swept over him like a tidal wave.

It was a sensation Vastarael both hated and found morbidly fascinating. Every time he delved into someone's memories, it wasn't a choice.

It was a consequence of using his power. And tonight, it seemed the memories belonged to Chainless.

°°°°°

The world around him shifted and suddenly, he stood in a sunlit field. The sky was impossibly blue, the air crisp with the scent of wildflowers. A small girl with short, brown hair was running barefoot through the grass, her laughter echoing like bells in the wind. She couldn't have been more than five years old, her tiny arms flailing as she chased a butterfly.

"Chainless?" Vastarael murmured, though he knew she couldn't hear him. He watched her as she ran, her face glowing with innocent joy.

From the corner of his eye, he saw movement. Turning, he noticed a large, sturdy farmhouse in the distance, its wooden walls weathered but strong. Standing in front of it was a woman with kind eyes and an apron dusted with flour.

"Arletta! Come inside, sweetie! Lunch is ready!"

"Arletta," Vastarael repeated under his breath. The name felt foreign yet oddly fitting.

Arletta turned toward the voice, her face lighting up as she ran back to the house. Vastarael followed her, his steps weightless in this dream-like memory.

Inside the house, a long wooden table was set with steaming bowls of stew, fresh bread and butter. Around it sat her siblings—five of them, ranging in age from toddlers to teenagers. They were loud and chaotic, but their laughter was infectious. Arletta squeezed between two of her brothers, her tiny hands grabbing at a piece of bread.

Her father, a burly man with a booming voice, ruffled her hair as he sat down.

"Eat up, little one. You'll need your strength if you're going to help me with the horses later."

"Yes father!" She chirped, her mouth already full.

Vastarael stood by the corner of the room, observing it all like a ghost. The warmth, the love, it was almost painful to watch.

The memory shifted abruptly and Vastarael found himself in a bustling village market. Arletta was older now, maybe ten, walking hand-in-hand with her mother. They stopped at various stalls, her mother chatting with vendors while Arletta ogled the colorful fabrics and shiny trinkets.

"Can I get this one?" She asked, pointing to a small, handcrafted necklace.

Her mother smiled and handed the vendor a few coins. "Of course, darling."

Arletta beamed, slipping the necklace over her head. It was a simple thing, a small wooden pendant carved into the shape of a flower. Yet, to her, it seemed like the most precious treasure in the world.

The next memory was darker, the vibrant colors fading into muted tones. Vastarael stood in a dimly lit room where teenage Arletta sat by a hearth, sewing a torn shirt. She was no longer the carefree child he had first seen. Her eyes were shadowed, her movements slow and methodical.

Her mother entered the room, her face lined with worry.

"Your father's not back yet," she said softly, wringing her hands.

Arletta looked up, her brow furrowing. "He's been gone too long. Should I check the fields?"

"No," her mother said quickly, her voice trembling. "Stay here. If anything happens, gather your siblings and run."

Vastarael's stomach twisted. He didn't need to see what came next to know that this was the beginning of the end.

The memory shifted again and now the farmhouse was in flames.

The night was filled with screams. Arletta was running, her face streaked with soot and tears. In her arms was a small, trembling animal—a small wolf, Vastarael realized.

Behind her, shadows moved. Men with torches, their faces twisted with malice. They were shouting but Vastarael couldn't make out the words.

She stumbled, clutching the small wolf cub tightly as she hid behind a fallen log. Her breaths were ragged, her body shaking uncontrollably. Through the cracks in the wood, she watched as her family's home was reduced to ashes.

Her siblings. Her parents. The laughter, the love... all gone in a single night.

The final memory was rather... hard to watch.

Arletta was no longer the vibrant girl who had once laughed and danced in the fields. She was shackled, her wrists and ankles raw from the unforgiving bite of metal. The cage she sat in was cramped, its iron bars rusted, as though it too had been tortured. Around her, the cries and whimpers of others pierced the suffocating silence. Men, women and children of all ages huddled in the shadows of their prisons.

Arletta sat against the back wall of her cage, her knees pulled to her chest. Her eyes, stared blankly ahead, reflecting the flickering light of distant torches. Her face was gaunt, her cheeks hollowed from hunger but the emptiness in her expression was worse. She wasn't crying. She wasn't trembling.

She was simply… there.

The faint sound of footsteps approached. A man stepped into view, his silhouette backlit by the glow of a firepit. He was tall, his face obscured by a hood but his aura radiated authority and cruelty. His voice was cold and dispassionate.

"Take her out."

A guard moved toward the cage, unlocking it with a screeching clang. Arletta didn't resist as they dragged her out, her bare feet scraping against the ground. She was too weak to fight, too exhausted to care.

Vastarael followed, helpless to do anything but witness.

She was brought into a large room—no, not a room, an arena's underbelly. The walls were carved from rough stone. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and blood. Chains hung from the ceiling, their metallic clinks echoing like heavy wind chimes.

In the center of the space stood a pedestal. And on that pedestal lay a set of chains, different from the ones that bound her. These chains shimmered with a dark, unnatural energy, their links seeming to writhe as though alive.

The hooded man gestured toward them. "You want to survive? Use these.'

Arletta looked at him, her lips parting slightly, but no sound came out. Her voice, once filled with laughter and song, had been stolen long ago. Instead, she shook her head, her expression defiant despite her broken state.

The man's gaze hardened. He nodded to the guards, who stepped forward and seized her by the arms.

"Let her understand what denial costs," the man said coldly.

The guards struck her, blow after blow, her small body collapsing to the ground. She didn't scream. She didn't beg. Her silence was louder than any cry could have been.

Finally, they stopped.

Blood dripped from her mouth, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The hooded man crouched in front of her.

"You're strong. I'll give you that. But strength without submission is useless. Do you want to live?"

Her head lifted slightly, her bloodied face meeting his gaze. And then, slowly, she nodded.

He gestured to the pedestal again.

"Then claim the chains. They'll make you stronger. They'll make you survive."

With trembling limbs, she crawled toward the pedestal. Vastarael's chest ached as he watched her hesitate, her hand hovering over the cursed links. For a moment, it seemed like she might pull away.

But she didn't.

Her fingers brushed the chains, and they reacted instantly. The dark energy surged, wrapping around her wrists and ankles like living serpents. She screamed—not a sound, but a voiceless cry that echoed in Vastarael's mind. The chains fused to her, their dark energy coursing through her veins, twisting and reshaping her.

When it was over, she collapsed to the ground, her body trembling uncontrollably. The hooded man gave her a cold, satisfied smile.

"Good. You'll serve well in the arena. From now on, your name will be Minafallen, the Gladiator Maiden."

The memory shifted again.

Vastarael found himself in the middle of an arena, the roar of the crowd deafening. Arletta stood in the center, her chains now a part of her, moving like extensions of her body. She wasn't the girl from the fields or the loving sister at the dinner table.

She was something else now. A weapon.

Her eyes held no warmth, no light. Only survival. She moved with precision, her chains striking down her opponents one by one. The crowd cheered, oblivious to the tragedy they were witnessing.

Her bright blue eyes were now as dark as the night. She was now a killing machine.

°°°°°°

To be honest, I didn't expect to write this far. If you find this past interesting, let me know! I might be able to improve too if you can share your views as well!

Thank you!