Re:Cursed

Chapter 140 139: Z͓͈̥̫̱̯̐͒͒̕͝o̘̠͊́͂̾̈̌̾ą̳̥̞̤̤͔̑̏̑̈́͠ü̥̖̜̗̳̙̍̾̌͘̚͠͠l̟̠̥̈́'s Library

"We cannot let this tragedy go unpunished. The Bodytwisters have gone too far in their attempt to retain the Grand Sacrificial Chamber."

The speaker's voice echoed through the hall but lost cohesion before it reached the first row of shelves.

"Dozens of recruits are now lost; not even their blood remains to be of use. Every cult will demand tribute. Should we fail to do the same, we will find our hands empty." What Mauzaus didn't say, was that this was an opportunity to rid themselves their biggest competitor.

It was not often a cult found themselves the ire of every other organisation. They could use that.

At least, that was the thinking of the Scriptures majority.

"Yet we appear relatively unharmed," Zoaul never raised his eyes from the scroll nestled upon his ornate desk. Glowing lines of ritual spread through his hands, into the living ivory table, and down into the eternally shifting pentagram that engulfed his Library. "Wouldn't you say, A̲͊n̩zoloȓ͔͠u͖s̎̍̓?"

He clamped down on the tightness that wound through his chest at being referred to by name by the most powerful man on Coral. It was hardly the first time, yet it always unsettled him.

"Yes. Compared to the other cults, our losses were minimal," Anzolorus said, voice steely, as if the cult leader hadn't just instilled primal terror through him. "A few hundred common recruits were lost, but our strongest, most desirable acolytes escaped with our champion before disaster occurred."

Mauzaus did not hide his dirty scowl. "Minimal losses for you," he sneered under his breath. "Your acolyte lives."

The man's voice was nothing more than a murmur, but Zoaul and his four human tomes did not miss it. They didn't miss anything within the Library. A speck of dust couldn't fall out of place without the five of them vividly aware.

The tomes glared, and Mauzaus faltered. As he withered under the pressure like an ancient page turned by an uncaring hand, the amphitheatre fell silent.

Anzolorus's head rose at the sound of a scroll being pulled from a shelf too harshly. High above, on the ninety fifth floor, a young first creed unfurled a page from the summoning section. The boy, continuing his rough treatment of the scroll, blissfully unaware of the attention from below.

Zoaul's gaze rose from his table. A brow twitched in agitation. It was a worthless scroll — not even worth the paper used to make it — yet it caught the cult leader's ire.

The boy would be punished. If not by the Scripture librarians, than by Anzolorus himself.

Despite having no major sight improving additives to his name, Anzolorus could always see much clearer down here. That was not an effect that reciprocated. Not even high creed Everseeing Eye cultists would be able to peer down from the living, flesh and blood balconies.

Not that they would ever be granted access.

Thick corruption, bound creatures, and permanent rituals; that was how the Library was built. That was how Zoaul kept an eye on his vast collection while retaining this inner space for secrecy. For all the creeds limited to the upper floors were aware, there wasn't even a single balcony in the Library. A perfect place for private study.

"So ours have reached the final Trial?" one of the human Tomes asked. Her tattoo stained hand continued to strike the page even as her eyes bore into his. "Then we in a good position."

"Unfortunately not," Anzolorus admitted. "The five who reached the summit with G͇rifv̪oi each forfeit. As planned. Typically, one of such strong blood would go unopposed in a Trial… but this year holds more than one anomaly. The Bodytwisters's champion, and another girl who bested G͇rifv̪oi."

Before he could go into detail, Zoaul interrupted. "The boy… lost?" The cult leader seemed both interested, and unimpressed. "Who is this girl?"

"A second evolution with body enhancement focused names. At first, we believed she was affiliated with either the Fleshsmiths or Technocultists, but she has expressed distaste towards the former, and the latter only offered their protection for as long as was required. As precise as ever, their victim guardianship only extended to the second before the first Trial started.

"Either she is unaffiliated, or working with the Bodytwisters… and from her speech after the third Trial, her relationship with the Bodytwisters is fresh."

That caused a low murmur to spread through the dozen Scriptures standing in audience around Anzolorus. An unaffiliated person gaining good names and power wasn't unheard of, but for them to beat the acolyte their cult had prepared? It was obscene. Even the human Tomes glanced between each other.

Not Zoaul.

"So there remains the possibility that the Bodytwisters will retain the Grand Sacrificial Chamber so long as we do not win?" He glanced around, looking for dissent at his statement. Finding none, he continued. "Contact the others. The Omen Artisans held no skin in this game, but both the Worshippers and those of the Everseeing Eye will not want to see the Bodytwisters retain control for another year."

Before he even finished, the two human Tomes to his right were gone; off to enact his will.

"Z͓͈̥̫̱̯̐͒͒̕͝o̘̠͊́͂̾̈̌̾ą̳̥̞̤̤͔̑̏̑̈́͠ü̥̖̜̗̳̙̍̾̌͘̚͠͠l̟̠̥̈́, should we truly trust their offerings?" another Tome ssked. "If we want to assure the boy's victory, then we have the perfect tool. Besides, the first successful generation is just itching for a field test."

Anzolorus couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You want to bring one of them into a children's Trial? The M-"

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His tongue suddenly froze. Zoaul's intense gaze cut through all Anzolorus' defences and pierced his chest. His heart was enveloped in a cage of needles. He dare not move, lest his death come swift.

"Do not speak its name."

The sharpness in his chest fled, and it took a few moments for Anzolorus to collect himself. When he did, he continued — without speaking its name — "it is far too risky to perform such an experiment in the Trials. Many eyes from all cults will be watching. Too many will notice immediately, and condemn us."

The human Tome scoffed as if he had insulted her. "My creations are beyond the simpleness of the past. They will not unveil themselves unless they wish to be unveiled."

Anzolorus was not at all convinced. Glancing to his side, he found that many of the other high creed representatives felt the same. Well, except those that looked around in confusion. If they didn't know what was going on, then nobody was about to explain it to them.

"I understand your desire, L̄̈́͛uz͎͓͂z͎͓͂o̙u̓̊̾̅͂, but A̲͊n̩zoloȓ͔͠u͖s̎̍̓ is right; the risks are too high. You are not the only one who would face backlash if this were discovered. Wait a while. There will be opportunities soon." Zoaul thankfully sent the project back into the deepest hidden corner of the Library where it belonged.

This floor was not the lowest, after all.

"For now, give the boy a pet. You have your choice of the fortieth floor archive. Choose something to counter both his opponents. If G͇rifv̪oi cannot succeed with both that, and the assistance of other cults, then he does not deserve the privilege bestowed upon him." Noticing the hesitant looks shared amongst a few of the high creeds, Zoaul continued. "No matter whose blood he holds."

Anzolorus already had a few ideas of what creature to bind to young Grifvoi. Problem was, so would everyone else. Despite Grifvoi being his acolyte, the other high creeds scrambled to have some influence over the boy's early years. Not all, of course. Some were too prideful to be kowtowing before a child. Others simply didn't think it worth their time.

But there was weight to being the cult leader's child.

It was the worst kept secret through the entire Library. Grifvoi was Zoaul's son. The leader of the scriptures himself didn't care for the child — had not even bothered to search him out when word had spread about him — but others of the cult were not so apathetic. Whether out of loyalty, worship, or simple greed and opportunism, the Scriptures that had known about the child were desperate to raise him up.

The Tomes had tasked Anzolorus with being an intermediary between the boy and the rest of the cult. Until recently, that had worked splendid. Only now that Grifvoi was openly being embraced by the cult, did members circumvent Anzolorus' authority and contact the boy directly.

He worried that one might offer his blank canvas a sketch too large to fit.

"Everybody out," Zoaul command abruptly.

With dismissal given, Anzolorus was the first to back away. He wasn't about to let the others ruin the boy's choice. Not that he was getting a choice. Zoaul had demanded a pet that could counter both potential opponents. Both third evolution opponents. As competent as the boy had become for his age, Anzolorus didn't trust the boy's judgement far beyond letting him tie his own shoelaces.

If any of the other upper creeds got their choices in first, he could only imagine the backlash he would receive for failing his job when that beast ultimately fell at the hands of the enemy.

"Not you." Zoaul's voice was calm. Really, it could have been directed at any one of the retreating figures trying to escape the reminder of their own relative fragility, but Anzolorus' body intuitively froze.

As all other Scriptures slipped past him, Anzolorus turned. His face was a mask of tranquility, but inside he was screaming. He expected to be condemned. To have some impossible burden laid upon his shoulders once more. Instead, the cult leader ignored him entirely.

The man's gaze fell down a dark corridor; one perpendicular to the direction the Scriptures had left.

Anzolorus hadn't noticed the hallway earlier. He tried to narrow his eyes and pierce through the dark, yet the harder he tried to look, the more difficult it became. The corridor folded with corruption so well that despite his many evolutions, he struggled to perceive it.

He didn't miss the click of footsteps. Nor the face that slipped from the darkness. He especially didn't miss her loud, crude words of demand. Such was unthinkable spoken to such a powerful man.

"Z͓͈̥̫̱̯̐͒͒̕͝o̘̠͊́͂̾̈̌̾ą̳̥̞̤̤͔̑̏̑̈́͠ü̥̖̜̗̳̙̍̾̌͘̚͠͠l̟̠̥̈́, you are going to join me in war on the Bodytwisters. Scum bastards took away my only opportunity to gather blood." Something slithered up her arm and around her neck.

"We are, are we?" Zoaul was wholly unbothered by this person's surprise appearance. The two remaining Tomes scowled, but did nothing to punish her for her words. "And I will be joining… what exactly when I declare war? I was not aware you had the resources, and especially not the numbers for a war right now." He paused. "Oh, you expect us to be that manpower, then?"

"Do not act as if you are blameless." The woman stormed forward. Her serpent grew in size and fell to the ground not with a thump, but a rattle of metal chains. A cacophony of dim whispered screams echoed in her wake. "Without your little project, our sourcing would never have fallen into the trap of a Dark Star. Fail to strike the Bodytwisters and I'll make sure all the cults know what you're up to. Compared to that, the blunder with the Dark Star and the Null Scar will be a mere footnote"

Anzolorus could hardly bellieve his ears. Who would be dumb enough to threaten Zoaul? Even as one of the strongest people in the cult, Anzolorus knew he didn't approach even a fraction of the cult leader's strength.

"S͍̾ølą̛́̄n̼̙͈̘̄̍̓͘-K̨̩̯͚̻͎̙̩͚͚'K͙͔a͔n̡͎ṱ̡̿͗̚'l̹̮-R̫̜̩u͂̇'a͚͌̏n̫̝̔̉̍," Zoaul's voice was stoic, yet none failed to see the dangerous glint to his eyes. "You do not want to take this path."

Solan? The Fleshsmith leader? Why was she here? How had she access to the core of the Library without the entire cult exploding into a defensive war.

"Oh, don't try that shit with me. I'm not one of your cowering underlings."

She jerked a thumb towards Anzolorus. He might have been insulted… if he weren't currently fearing for his life. If these two fought he would not escape as anything but collateral.

"Here's the deal: you and I are going to be taking down the Bodytwisters. It shouldn't be too hard to get the Machine God into the mix. When all is done and said, your cult makes off with all the fleshy bits they've been hoarding, while we get the sacrifices we desperately need."

She spreads her arms as if the answer was obvious. Thick chains of metal and flesh coil up her torso to nestle on her head.

"Or the Scriptures can be the target of all cults. Your choice."

Zoaul glared. A burning gaze that would have shredded Anzolorus' heart if he had been the focus struck at Solan's confident demeanour. Her only visible reaction was to smirk.

"So be it," the dark tone was something rarely heard from the cult leader. Only attempted thefts of his collection typically garnered such anger. "A̲͊n̩zoloȓ͔͠u͖s̎̍̓, spread the word amongst those that need to know. Once the final Trial has concluded, whether victor or not, we will strike the Bodytwisters."

"They will be happy to hear," he made himself say. "But who must make the first strike?"

"I do not care. Let them fight over the privilege."

He was glad he was far from the weakest of the upper creeds. Only seventh creeds and above could truly start the war, and nobody wanted to be the one stuck with the debilitating curse laid down by the treaty.

As he made his way out of the amphitheatre, the image of Solan as she made her demands looped in his mind. He couldn't help but sense that she wasn't even remotely offering her true desires. But what they could be eluded him.

"Find the leak."

He barely heard Zoaul's words through the distortion of corruption. He glanced back and found the other cult leader gone.

"Whoever it is, I want them in the F̶͈̫ r̶͐i̴̮̔k̵̪̈́a͑iḽ bleeding pit."

Anzolorus winced and scampered away. He wouldn't want to be whatever miserable fool gave away what the Scriptures were messing with.