The East of the Earthly Realm, Year 1521 of the Second Earth

"Keep that sail taut, mate!" a burly sailor barked, nudging Abaddon as they navigated through the straits.

"Aye!" Abaddon replied, the word slipping from his lips like a practiced charade. Beneath the surface of his earthly guise, his true essence pulsed with anticipation. They were charting the unknown, sailing towards what would become the fabled Isla Filipinas, a paradise shrouded in tropical beauty and ripe for discovery.

As they arrived, Abaddon was entranced. Lush greenery cascaded down cliffs into azure waters, vibrant flowers blanketing the land like a colorful tapestry. Yet, even in this paradise, he sensed an undercurrent of darkness.

"Look at them," a voice murmured beside him. It was the ship's captain, his brow furrowed as he surveyed the native people greeting them with cautious curiosity. "These lands belong to King Philip II now."

Abaddon felt a flicker of anger. The Spanish friars and governors who followed would soon descend upon this land, not as educators or guardians, but as oppressors. He watched, heart heavy, as the very men ordained to uplift the locals twisted their sacred mission into one of control and subjugation. It was a cycle he had witnessed throughout history: the divine grace of potential, marred by the corruption of greed and power.

The humid air clung to Abaddon as he stood amidst the lush greenery of the newly discovered island, its beauty like a vibrant, untouched tapestry.

Abaddon, disguising his irritation, nodded. "Aye, Captain. They'll take it all," he murmured, not referring to the land but to something far darker he sensed lurking nearby.

It was then that he saw her—a woman dressed in earth-toned robes, her presence radiant against the encroaching darkness. She was no mere villager; she was a babaylan, a priestess of immense power and wisdom.

"You don't belong here, stranger," she said, her voice steady, her gaze unflinching. She could see him, not just the guise he wore but the essence of what lay beneath.

Abaddon inclined his head. "Perhaps not," he replied with a hint of respect. "But neither does the darkness that has taken your daughter."

Her expression faltered for a moment, grief and fury flashing in her eyes. "They took her," she whispered, voice thick with emotion. "The fallen ones, demons who have long abandoned grace. They mean to... to use her, to make her their mate."

She glanced at the distant figures of her tribesmen. "The men of my tribe, they refused to help. Fear has bound them, and my pleas fall on deaf ears."

The resolve in Abaddon hardened. He knew the agony of abandonment, the bitterness of power misused. "Then you need someone who fears nothing," he said, a subtle smile playing on his lips. "I will help you rescue her."

That night, Abaddon and Amihan journeyed deep into the forest, where the demons hid with their captive. Amihan, carrying charms and sacred objects, moved with purpose. Abaddon, by her side, felt an unexpected admiration for her tenacity.

When they reached the clearing, Amihan held her hand up, signaling silence. She whispered an incantation, her voice soft but potent, cloaking them in shadows. They watched as Mahlia, Amihan's daughter, lay bound at the center of the fallen angels' encampment, fear etched in her young face.

Abaddon turned to Amihan. "Are you ready?" he asked, his voice low but brimming with a power that promised retribution.

Amihan's gaze was fierce. "More than ready."

Together, they struck. Amihan hurled her charms, their light searing the eyes of the demon, while Abaddon descended upon them with a wrath that shook the ground. One by one, the fallen angels fell, unable to withstand the combined force of divine light and Abyssal might.

When the last angel lay defeated, Amihan rushed to her daughter, pulling her into an embrace. "Mahlia," she whispered, tears streaming down her face, "you're safe now."

Abaddon watched the reunion of Amihan with her daughter Mahlia in silence. Their successful rescue brought a rare warmth stirring in him as he observed their bond.

After returning to Amihan's tribe, Abaddon stayed near for many moons, drawn by something he couldn't fully explain. He monitored Mahlia closely, searching for signs of any lingering influence from her captivity. If she bore a child, he would ensure it was not born a Nephilim. Through his vigilance, he and Amihan continued to meet, spending quiet moments by a secluded brook on a hill. In those stolen hours, they shared stories, and Abaddon found himself growing fond not just of Amihan, but of her entire family.

"You've come a long way to care for a mortal family," Amihan teased one day, her voice laced with warmth.

Abaddon looked at her, his eyes soft. "Perhaps this family is worth caring for," he murmured, surprising even himself with the sincerity in his tone.

When Mahlia's child was born human, free from the shadow of Nephilim blood, Abaddon felt a sense of peace he hadn't known before. He continued to visit Amihan by the brook, and in time, the hill became their sanctuary—a place where he could feel the warmth of humanity, far from the cold solitude of the Abyss.

Years passed, and Abaddon continued to visit the hill, where he and Amihan shared memories and laughter. Each meeting softened something within him. She became more than a companion; she became a light he cherished, a source of peace in the turbulence of his existence.

One day, as they watched the sun dip below the horizon, the aged Amihan spoke softly. "What will happen to you, Abaddon? When I am gone?"

He looked at her, pain flickering in his gaze. "I will remember you, always," he promised, his voice thick with emotion. "And through your children, your spirit will live on and I shall look on them as I look upon you now."

In those final days, as her life drew to a close, Abaddon stayed near, offering what comfort he could, knowing her legacy would endure through her family. When she passed, he felt the ache of loss more profoundly than he had anticipated, but he took solace in knowing her light would live on as he continued to maintain a close allegiance to her descendants.

In the end, Abaddon understood that he had been changed, not by power or conquest, but by love---a love that had bridged the Abyss and brought warmth to a heart long steeped in shadow.

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The Abyssal Realm by the Lake of Memories, Year 2007 of the Second Earth

Abaddon stood alone by the edge of the lake in his shadowed realm, the waters rippling beneath his gaze as memories unfolded before him. These were not mere recollections, they were fragments of his past, woven into the fabric of the Abyss itself, each reflection as vivid as the day it had happened. Tonight, the lake showed him her face again.

Amihan. Her eyes were as fierce as he remembered, filled with wisdom, yet softened by an unbreakable lust for life. As he watched her image, a strange ache tugged at his heart. He closed his eyes, recalling her voice, her laughter, the way she spoke with unguarded passion of the things she loved the earth, her family, her freedom. She had been more alive than anyone he had ever known, and somehow, in her presence, even he, the King of the Abyss, had felt a faint echo of that life.

"If only you were here," he murmured to the empty darkness, his voice low and bitter. "I could use your counsel... your strength."

The lake shimmered, and he opened his eyes, watching as scenes shifted. The memory now was one he seldom dared to revisit the day she had passed from this world. Her once vibrant face, softened by age, lay peaceful as she took her final breaths. He had been there, concealed in the shadows, watching her slip away. He hadn't allowed himself to intervene, knowing it was her time, but the pain of her departure had carved a hollow in him that remained even now.

As the vision of Amihan faded, a shadow flickered at the edge of his vision, barely perceptible. His eyes narrowed. He saw a figure lingering, an aura disturbingly familiar, yet one that should not have been in this memory.

"Who...?" His voice was barely a whisper, but the question echoed in the vast silence.

Then it struck him, a revelation sharp as a blade. The figure, that shadowm, he knew it. His heart twisted as recognition dawned, bringing with it a storm of rage and frustration.

"Lucifer," Abaddon hissed, the name venomous on his tongue.

The scene in the lake shifted, showing him glimpses he had missed before subtle gestures, the slight smirk on Lucifer's face, his silent presence in the periphery of Amihan's life. Lucifer had been watching, lurking, even then, weaving his web.

Abaddon's fists clenched as he realized the truth. The curse that had bound him for so many centuries, the torment that had haunted him. It had been Lucifer's doing all along, his dark rival playing with Abaddon's life like a twisted game. And worse, Lucifer had known of Abaddon's bond with Amihan. He had exploited it, bending it to his own cruel purpose.

"How could I have been so blind?" Abaddon muttered, his voice raw with anger. "I should have seen it... I should have known."

A bitter laugh escaped him, filled with self-loathing. In all his power, in all his cunning, he had failed to recognize the hand that had cursed him, binding him to his own fears, his own darkness. Lucifer had been right there, the architect of his suffering, hidden in plain sight, taking pleasure in Abaddon's pain.

"Damn you," he whispered, his voice trembling with fury. "I swear, Lucifer, you will pay for this. I will tear your schemes apart, shred by shred."

He looked down at the lake, his resolve hardening. The memories shifted again, offering him another glimpse of Amihan. She stood by the brook, the place they had met so many times, her face radiant with the light of life. Her spirit had been untouched by darkness, a light even he could not understand. And now, that light had been tainted, drawn into Lucifer's cruel plot.

He took a slow breath, feeling his rage simmering into something colder, sharper. "I will not let your legacy be twisted by him," he murmured to her image. "Not you, Amihan."

As her face faded from the lake, Abaddon turned, his eyes filled with a renewed purpose. The King of the Abyss would not rest until he had unraveled Lucifer's curse. He would protect Amihan's descendants, her legacy, and see to it that Lucifer paid for every shadow he had cast.

For the first time in centuries, Abaddon felt a glimmer of hope, an ember in the darkness, a promise of retribution.

"You have my word, Amihan," he whispered to the fading image of her smile. "Your light will endure. I swear it."

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