Re:Cursed

Chapter 142 - 141: Obsession

As Nyxila broke from her evolutionary hibernation, she expected the worst. Solan knocking down the walls of the rearing ward. Lysyra teleporting in and stabbing her through the heart. Or, if nothing human, then the Eidolons cutting through space to peer upon her.

So, when she awoke to Ari's curious eyes and silence, it felt almost anticlimactic. Unsettling, even.

The girl tucked a canvas behind her feet and slid closer. Her knees broke a line of chalk. "So?" she asked, eyes intense. "What's your new name?"

"N̪ỷx̱ila." She had no reason to hide it. Within a week, everyone on Coral would know she'd evolved. If not even she could get more than Cursed from the name, then she doubted even the best onomasticians would do better. Besides, the lot of them would be inspecting her themselves the moment they laid eyes on her.

She wondered if onomasticians would think of that description. Would it even manifest the same way for them?

"Have you ever heard of a name directly addressing its wielder?" Nyxila asked, unable to tear her mind away from those words.

Eiypi̬ny — When one spends their life obsessed with blood, blood will eventually return the obsession. EVEN. IF. YOU. REFUSE. OUR. LOVE.

It was tacked on to the previous description, which wasn't unheard of for name evolutions, but this was too direct. Descriptions could refer to the person they belonged to. They often did with weaker names. They could also use terms like 'us' and 'our', but it was always in a metaphorical or indirect sense. What had morphed from Eiypiny was a message. An intentional letter expressing their obsession, and her inability to get rid of it.

But who wrote that letter? And how?

"You mean a name that speaks to you?" Ari's eyes widened. "You didn't catch Madness, did you?"

"What? No," Nyxila dismissed immediately. "You don't just catch Madness."

"Really?"

She hesitated. The topic was taboo; nobody who knew spoke of the details, so for all she knew, it could be infectious. "If you can, then there's still no way. Its been long eradicated from Coral. If anyone pushed their body to the point of Madness, they would be discovered immediately."

"Then what did-"

"I was just unsettled by a description," Nyxila said. "Don't worry."

If Nyxila had never heard of such a thing as a a description reflecting any form of consciousness, then it was unlikely Ari, who'd experienced little outside the rearing ward, would know. Those who might know, she was wary of asking. Maybe Tarchon would have been trustworthy if the prick hadn't decided to disappear off the face of Coral.

The name, despite holding very little weight, had somehow survived unaltered through the evolution process. It was inconceivable. The chances that it avoided every component of other names in that slurry of an evolution were abysmal. An outside force had interfered. No other answer seemed even remotely feasible.

Nyxila doubted it was human. If the cult leaders could alter the trajectory of other people's names, then their cults would be filled with identical harbingers. All individualism would disappear entirely.

No, this was the realm of the gods… or those above.

Were the Eidolon's unhappy with her path, and altered her soul how they preferred? But that obsession… it couldn't possibly refer to those boundless beings. Nyxila was their tool; a mere toy before those that time was no barrier. They may have given her a task, but she didn't dare assume she took up even a microcosm of their attention.

Whether god or Eidolon, Nyxila did not like the idea that her soul could be altered in accordance to another's will. She despised it.

"So… still not taking a well worn path?" Ari's smile held a glint of smugness, as if she'd expected no different. "You know most are talking as if you've already signed with the Bodytwisters."

Nyxila groaned. "I wouldn't take the common names even if I could stand the idea of being a part of a cult."

Ari gave her an odd look. "Not even the Technocult's? I thought you wanted to go with them?"

"I do, but…"

The other girl looked right through her. Before Nyxila could figure out exactly what to say, Ari interrupted. "Why do you hate the cults so much?"

Nyxila's wings twinged beneath her robes. Suddenly, they felt so confined. Unlike her tentacles, they didn't have a mind of their own, yet they complained about being hidden more than any other mutation. Still, confined was better than severed.

Ari held her eyes, blind to the shifting fabric, yet she didn't relent when Nyxila failed to answer.

"The Fleshsmiths I understand," she continued. "But you despise the others no less than those who tried to sacrifice you. Those who dragged you into a Dark Star. Your hate is thicker than any simple distaste for the way society is. I doubt I'm the only one to have noticed the way you look at the upper creeds." Ari's gaze trailed down her body, as if looking for scars, but to Nyxila, it felt too much like her searching for mutations. "Why?"

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Nyxila held her tongue. 'I just do,' was hardly going to be a satisfactory response, and she wasn't about to reveal her past life. Unlike with Tarchon, the only way Ari could make use of the knowledge would be to betray her. As much as Nyxila wanted to trust her, the girl was desperate to get into the Omen Artisans. Nyxila would gain nothing but doubts and paranoia should she unveil the truth.

"What's this?" In a single fluid motion, Nyxila rose to her feet, slipped around Ari, and picked up the canvas the girl had tried so subtly to hide when she'd opened her eyes.

"Wait, give that back!" Ari reached for her work, only to flail as Nyxila hopped out of the way.

With the opportunity to deflect the conversation away from Ari's interrogation, Nyxila did not do as Ari wanted. She flipped the canvas and laid eyes on what the girl had been trying to hide.

The page was black.

Was she mistaken? Why would Ari want to hide art that looked like it had been dipped in a vat of ink? Why did the girl still act like her childish diary had been discovered? Nyxila easily danced around the girl as she rushed for the canvas. Only Ari's desperation prompted Nyxila's curiosity further.

It was an eerie piece. Wholly black, the canvas held a depth that reached beyond the page. The longer she looked, the deeper she sunk. Through obsidian, brushstrokes manifested. Each line — varied neither in shade nor texture — seemed to fade in and out to her perception. Shapes formed. Each moment was different to the next. A fragmented arm unfurled into a blooming flower which immediately withered to rot. Petals fell. In a blink, they were feathers, flowing like a reverse river as they linked, piece by piece, into a long chain that whipped back and forth. A feline on the hunt.

Nyxila blinked again, and the feathers were gone. Serpents. Hundreds of them coiled around each other. They cannibalised their neighbours, unbothered by reciprocity.

It was impossible to tell if these images were actually appearing on the canvas, or if they remained entirely within her mind, but one never changed. As soon as she noticed it, the depiction never left. Along the border, like weeds reaching inwards, were eyes. Their focus was the centre of the canvas, yet looking upon them, Nyxila couldn't help but feel watched.

She couldn't tear her gaze away. The longer she looked, the more those eyes seemed to face her.

Ari snatched the canvas back. Nyxila remained fixated on empty air. Even clamping her eyes shut, it took a few moments to shake her head of the piercing black that clung to the back of her eyes as if she'd stared at the Great Iris.

"What is that?" Nyxila repeated, no longer playful.

There was a thump as Ari pulled out a section of her bedframe. Nyxila had that same bed type for so many years. No hidden compartment should exist. She only had a moment to notice the brush made of the same material as the bed and the dozen near-identical black canvases within before Ari tossed the painting in and slammed it shut. The fit was smooth, but now that she looked she could see the seam. Something remedied immediately by the doona that hung from her bed. Neat, yet covered.

"Nothing." Ari winced, immediately realising how that excuse sounded. "Just texture practice. Why else would the page be all black?"

It was obvious the girl was lying. What Nyxila had seen could not come around from any simple art practice. The question was… should she push her? If Nyxila didn't let this slide, then there was no way Ari would give up on learning her secrets. The girl across from her realised this at almost the same time; she raised her head, and glared at Nyxila as if tempting her to ask.

She recalled the unsettling painting Ari had first drawn of her. It was clearly related. Ari had likely painted Nyxila while she'd slept. But… there was more. If that was it, Ari wouldn't have been nearly as cagey, going so far as to have a hidden compartment for the artworks. Were they all of Nyxila? They couldn't be. She couldn't have had that many opportunities to paint her.

Both Nyxila and Ari were hiding something from the other. And they both knew it.

Silence reigned for the next minute. Nyxila considered giving up the night's sleep to wander through the second fog. She could do with some experimentation to see what had changed. The last thing she wanted was to enter the final Trial unable to properly wield her body.

Ari was the one to break the silence. "So…" She sat on her bed, legs covering the secret compartment. "How do you intend to beat someone who can teleport?"

With the other party offering a flag of truce, Nyxila latched on. "I'm not sure." She kneeled to clean up the ritual circle. "Though, I do have some ideas. Ideas that will need preparations." She picked up a candle, noticing a speck of long-dried blood near the base from some past ritual. "But first, there's a name I need to test."

Nyxila reached for a bowl and pulled her ritual knife from within her robe. Curious was kind enough to hand it to her… even if she would have preferred it hadn't. In an instant, the skin along the back of her elbow was sliced open and bleeding. Ari thankfully held back the question on her lips.

Angling her arm over the bowl, Nyxila waited for it to fill. Blood gushed down her arm, spilling to her wrist and soaking her sleeve up to the shoulder. It was a lot more blood than usual… yet not a single drop fell.

All the blood clung to her arm, refusing to flow where she expected it. She flicked her hand, trying to get some of the crimson liquid now pooling in her palm to dislodge. For a moment, she was successful. The blood sprung off her arm, yet it almost immediately slowed through the air. Nyxila watched, stunned, as the blood ignored gravity and raced back towards her. It struck her chest, and decided her clothes were a good place to settle.

"Oh, that is creepy," Ari murmured.

Nyxila followed the girl's gaze back to her arm, where the blood no longer pooled in an even bubble. Strands of blood collected into shapes vaguely resembling arms and tentacles. They hugged her. They clung to her, refusing to let go even as the wound sealed and the blood flow ceased.

Eiypi̬ny. Blood really was obsessed with her. Though, Nyxila could not see how this would be helpful at all. She tried to paint the floor with blood, but it was reluctant to leave her. Did this name just steal her ability to perform rituals with her own blood? How was this not a curse?

With bowl in hand, she tried to scrape off all the blood that coiled around her arm, but as soon as she brought it away, the bowl's contents defied gravity to return to Nyxila.

"Fuck me." She strode for the door. "I'm taking a bath."

"N̪ỷx̱ila," Ari said, making her pause in the doorway. "I want to find out what's going on with you. I'm going to figure you out. When I do… don't push us away."

Her jaw locked. She didn't trust her teeth not to shred her lips and drown her in obsessive blood, so the silence dragged on between them. Eventually, Nyxila turned and left without a word.