Re:Cursed

Chapter 153 151: Forfeit

Lysyra could feel the weight on her soul. A binding that locked her to this arena. To Nyxila.

It had been a long time since she felt this exposed. It was as if she were actually there, pressed beneath the eyes of a hundred thousand cultists.

She suppressed a nervous shiver.

The last time she'd shown her true self before anyone… it had been years. Nobody, not even those she most trusted, were welcomed by her presence. But now she'd been dragged out into the open. That Feat was terrifying.

No matter how Nyxila brushed off her attacks, Lysyra hadn't been worried. Even though the girl had somehow struck down the Eternal Pharaoh prophesied to escape his Null Scar, she wouldn't beat Lysyra. With the entire Trial performed through her reflections, she only needed to whittle her opponent down. No matter what names the weird mutated girl hid, they wouldn't harm her.

That's what Lysyra had assumed.

That's how it had been for years. Not even fifth creed Bodytwisters had survived her assassination attempts. So how was it that a girl who, as far as she'd been able to discern, unlocked her first additive at her naming ceremony had completely outmatched her?

There was no denying it. Lysyra had gone from confident in her victory — however long it took — to downright unable to imagine it.

But… it didn't matter if she couldn't picture success. She had to walk away from this Trial alive. She wouldn't accept her defeat without Phosphortanis-Al'or's death and the fall of the Bodytwisters.

Lysyra cast her consciousness through the ten reflections closest to her target. They each rushed in, entirely invisible, yet Nyxila reacted easily. The water was a frustration, but she had no way to get rid of it.

Nyxila only looked her way, yet it was enough to startle her first three reflections. They exploded, scared of more pain. Lysyra was unused to the pressure that an opponent's attacks could actually hurt her. She couldn't help her jumpiness. All she could do was throw her consciousness into more of her reflections and have them dive in with the hope that one of her blades would hit something important.

Ten pairs of eyes followed Nyxila's blade. She was terrified of it. The girl could swing it around faster than Lysyra could react and disperse her reflections. She only had so much of her stolen sacrificial resources stockpiled to heal herself again.

So terrified of the sharp blade, she missed everything else. A punch. A kick. Before she knew it, each reflection with her full conscious attention had been dealt with.

Each bruise passed through the connection, and manifested upon her real body in the tiny chamber she rarely left.

Lysyra stopped to stare. The blade hadn't moved at all. She was well aware of the paranoia curse running rampant through her mind, yet she knew she wasn't imagining the danger it posed. Even the punches didn't hit anywhere near as hard as they had before.

Nxyila hadn't moved. While she had stopped Lysyra from stabbing her, there was no attempt to go for the kill.

Why? What had changed? Was Nyxila now so assured of her victory that she would take the time to rub it in?

"It is a shame. We might have gotten along," Nyxila said.

It was impossible to tell how she spoke without moving her lips, but Lysyra was almost certain it was another mutation. She had something to hide the strange alterations to her body. Lysyra was sure of it. But she had followed the girl since the second Trial; there had been moments where Nyxila let them slip through the mental knots that concealed them.

"What do you mean?" Lysyra couldn't imagine it. After Nyxila had shattered her entire plan with the third Trial, in what world could they get along?

"We have a common goal. You want the Bodytwisters dead. I want all cultists dead."

"Right." Lysyra didn't bother to hide her doubt. "If we have such a similar ideal, then disengage your Feat. No point in a soul-binding battle to the death if we can work together."

"I would if I could." Nyxila shook her head. "Unfortunately it is too late for that. The Feat binds us. Neither of us can escape nor alter the shackles until only a single soul remains."

Lysyra held her glare. "Then forfeit. I swear to take down the other cults once I'm done with the Bodytwisters."

A wry grin graces Nyxila's lips. "You think you're in a position to tell me to forfeit?"

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"Maybe you don't know, but I'm not the only one that was suspicious of all the events that happened around you. Soon enough, they will discover what you're after and — unlike me — you cannot hide from them."

Nyxila didn't so much as blink. "And you think the upper creeds will have no way to find you? You've already caught blame for the Null Scar disaster; do you really think the other cults won't hunt down your real body the moment our fight ends? Everyone now knows your teleportation was a ruse."

Lysyra's eyes trailed up to the crowd, but found it difficult to perceive them through the raging storm. Once more, her reflections step further away from the deep ocean only steps away. The waves force her to abandon many of her selves with each crash, but somehow, Nyxila remains the greatest concern in her mind.

"Why do you want the cults dead?" she hedged, still not entirely convinced her opponent was being truthful.

"Is disliking the way they operate not enough?" At Lysyra's unamused glare, Nyxila cast her eyes down. She peered through the rough waters, seeing something that wasn't there. "Because if they remain, I cannot. The Eidolons have tasked me with their deaths."

Her gaze never rose. It sounded insane — Eidolons interacting with humans at all? — but there was something more in Nyxila's expression that Lysyra couldn't help but notice.

"This isn't just about some otherworldly command. You hate them." It wasn't a question.

Nyxila met her gaze. "More than anything."

Paranoia still ran through her mind, making her question and doubt everything, but not even that unnaturally activated curse could stop lysyra's mind. Not when it was enhanced to handle multiple streams of consciousness at once. Nyxila could have killed her at any moment. She had no reason to delay this fight. Her words were convincing, but to Lysyra, it was the eyes that said everything.

They held a burning resentment she was intimately familiar. Honestly, it was as if she peered into a mirror.

The cults were a plague. They slaughtered who they wished, abused any lesser than them, and walked away unpunished for all of it. Lysyra only cared for the Bodytwisters. Her hate was for them alone, but the disgusting way they operated was not unique.

Growing up hidden away amongst the unevolved, she had seen more than her fair share of horrors.

If Nyxila shared even a modicum of her intent to bring down the Bodytwisters, then maybe she could trust her to enact Lysyra's vengeance. For her sister. For her ward. So long as Nyxila managed to punish Phosphortanis, Lysyra could accept death.

She'd already sacrificed thousands to forward that goal. It would be hypocritical if she was not determined to face the same… even if the thought terrified her. The last ten years had been spent clinging to her life, after all.

"Alright," she said, voice wavering. Lysyra dropped her knives, even if it was performative; both had been acclimated into her secondary name. The knives would appear again with any reflection she created. "Swear to me, that you will kill P̝̦͆h̥͝ŏs͂p̢̑ḣ͓o̻̮̭̗ŗ̀t͉a̐n̮i͋͒͒̀̂̋͘͠s-Ã͍͓̐̊͊l͍̭̗͎͑͜'o͍r̫."

Nyxila didn't hesitate. "On the name N̪ỷx̱ila, I swear to kill P̝̦͆h̥͝ŏs͂p̢̑ḣ͓o̻̮̭̗ŗ̀t͉a̐n̮i͋͒͒̀̂̋͘͠s-Ã͍͓̐̊͊l͍̭̗͎͑͜'o͍r̫, and every other cult leader." She stepped forward. "May I sacrifice you?"

Lysyra hesitated at the brazen request. She wanted to laugh at how straight it was, but her lip did nothing more than quiver. Was this it? Having hidden away in the shadows for years on end, carefully cultivating her early naming into something that would eventually allow her to assassinate even the strongest Bodytwister… only to be ritual fuel for someone else?

"Is there no other way?" She asked. "I will swear to never reveal what you want hidden. Is the Feat truly inescapable?"

"As far as I'm aware." Nxyila nodded slowly. "The chains surround our souls, and contain them, waiting until only one remains."

Despite the denial, Nyxila's answer wasn't confident. Not even she understood the name fully. It was small, and likely pointless, but the possibility that there was a way out lingered. Lysyra just needed a way to make their souls… similar.

She hated the idea that came to mind.

"Please, give me a moment."

They stood, both ignoring the rising waves and shadows within, as a full minute passed in silence. By the time that Lysyra had decided that, no, there was no other way, she was treading water and her feet failed to find footing.

In the little ritual chamber she had hidden herself away, Lysyra began to etch the pentagram.

"N̪ỷx̱ila, I have an idea." She spoke between gasps of air as she tried to keep afloat. Her 'opponent' had been kind enough to wait, even though she struggled to swim as much as Lysyra. "What I'm going to do… I'm putting my trust in you. Don't take advantage of it. Please."

She'd been reduced to pleading, but there was no other option.

Lysyra trembled.

Should she want to live — "My body," — and grow to kill Phosphortanis — "mind and soul" — then Lysyra would have to do something done only by the insane — "belong to the one named N̪ỷx̱ila-n̚o̲th-thaḁren͉-o̅ssuqul-Lýotep-gov̝a-eiypi̬ny-tsair̡-Ts͂tll."

Maybe she was insane.

As she carved the name into her soul, the parts she didn't know filled her mind. Nyxila's name was obscene. The instant connection Lysyra had formed gave her an undiluted view of the endless pit of corruption and curses that made up her name. It was a twisting horror that would melt Lysyra's name just from a touch.

A thick, permeating darkness hung over the girl. It overwhelmed her senses. Neither waves nor storm interfered with its intensity. Gazing up at it with horrified awe, she couldn't help but feel as if she were peering down into the depths of the black hole.

Lysyra's Invow was complete.

"You are beautiful."

The disgust that crossed Nyxila's face struck Lysyra harder than any physical blow.

"You are a horrific mess," she corrected herself, a playful grin crossing her face. "Your parents must have hated you."

Not that she believed any human could birth the being who's soul now reflected in hers.

Lysyra felt a weight suddenly clamp down on her soul, crushing her. It touched the new etching, and the pressure lessened.

"Huh. That worked." Nyxila seemed surprised. "I hope you don't regret this."

She could never. "I might if we don't finish this. How about you surrender?"

Nyxila raised a brow. "You went this far, and you still think you'll get me to surrender?"

"Don't you feel bad for me?"

Nyxila huffed a laugh. "You get to live. Surrender."

Lysyra did. Not a reservation in her mind.