Re:Cursed

Chapter 156 154: Arsenal

Nyxila trudged along aisles of machinery that stretched from ground to ceiling. Unlike the last time she was here, the storage racks were in constant motion. She couldn't hear the thump of her heavy boots over the grind of elevator gears scratching track.

Her hand whipped to her side and picked up a blade. It was one of the few things she could determine the purpose for at a glance. Plus, its dimensions were almost identical to the rapier she already had.

The storage platforms rose and fell fast. Most were only in reach for a second before they cycled out of range. Others ground along their rails that Nyxila was surprised they hadn't flung all the war equipment they held out through the Technocult Temple's entrance hall. If you wanted something, you better know exactly what you were looking for. Nyxila was lucky she could accelerate her thoughts.

She never stopped walking as she inspected the weapon she'd picked up. It was instantly obvious the build quality was better than her rapier… maybe that wasn't a high bar to clear, but the even the metal was better. Swinging experimentally, Nyxila was not prepared for the rapier to split into segments and scatter. Little jets of fire blasted from the backs. Each fragment shot through the aisle and embedded themselves in a distant conveyor system before Nyxila could blink.

Nyxila blinked.

The blade segments exploded. A rain of razor fragmentation clattered off the mechanical framework around her. She raised her chitinous hands to protect her face and chest, but could do nothing for the dozen scratches over the rest of her body.

A section of storage shelving clattered along the ground. Broken by the blade that wasn't a blade.

Nyxila glared down at the hilt in her hand. It was all that remained. There were a series of buttons on the side, but pressing them didn't suddenly recreate any of the pieces that had exploded. What they did was create a series of beeps… an escalating frequency of beeps.

She tossed it. Nyxila ignored the subsequent explosion and falling elevator.

I don't want a new blade anyway. Nyxila turned up her nose. Nothing could suite me as well.

While Nyxila couldn't decipher the individual purpose for — apparently none of — the machinery around her, their overarching function for battle was clear. Sharp jagged edges. Cannon and gun barrels. Ammunition. There was enough there to make it clear this was an armoury.

Well, maybe a fortress was more apt.

Despite the lack of Technocultists around, this place was anything but unguarded. The shine of blue circuitry ran along the ceiling and walls between massive cannon emplacements. Anything that broke through that tunnel that blocked their entrance would be obliterated.

A vicious-looking knife caught Nyxila's eye just as it rose out of reach. Her wings snapped free of their binds, shivered in elation, and rocketed her after the rising platform. Nyxila was beaten to the punch by Pushy. Her tentacle scooped up the elaborate ritual knife, carefully avoiding the sharp reverse barbs that adorned its handle.

Nyxila touched ground, yet her feet remained aloft. Standing on her four inhuman limbs for the first time in what felt like forever, she slid the ritual knife — and the glass vial embedded through the back of its blade — along what blood hadn't been washed away from the ocean.

It didn't explode… which was good.

She almost wept in relief when the small motor inside glass pommel whirred to life. Her guess had been right. The knife was designed to suck out blood from whatever it stabbed. Fortunately, it also worked for her circumstances.

The blood writhed. Nyxila tapped the glass, and it desperately tried to leap at her through the barrier, but found no such luck. The vial, despite easily fitting within the palm of her hand, siphoned near all the blood that clung to her. It was a masterwork of corruption craft.

Nyxila took no less than a dozen steps before her eyes were drawn away from her new dagger to the tentacles that carried her. She may be alone in the only cult she trusted, but that was no reason to become careless. It would be… difficult, but that didn't mean it was impossible for the other cults to have someone infiltrate the cathedral.

As her tentacles and wings were forced back beneath her robe, they complained by cramping rather painfully. When they were tucked away, Nyxila couldn't help but inspect herself. Had they grown bigger? Through the sheen of her armband, the shape of her wings seemed to stand out against the fabric.

"Oh." Nyxila realised. "My Skulk Shroud."

It was tattered. All that remained of the cloak was a small strip that hung between the base of her wings. She glared inside her robe. She'd still had some left after the whole fiasco with the Eternal Pharaoh, but clearly that Final Trial had been too much for it. Her body had been on the verge of death when Lýotep activated. Torn to shreds.

Not even the half that she used to cover her third eye remained. It wasn't exactly necessary anymore; she'd gained more control over how heavy her gaze was. Enough that what it ate of her robe, the cloth repaired itself fast enough.

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Once again, she was thankful for her own value as a sacrifice. Just a little of her blood knocked the reparation into a tier above its capabilities, near endlessly creating fabric from nothing. Under normal conditions, the gown would have grown threadbare by now. Instead, it looked like new.

The loss of the Skulk Shroud was a blow, but all she had to do was look around to know it was worth it.

A lot had happened today that she never expected. First, she'd made an unexpected ally against the Bodytwisters in Lysyra. Nyxila was already thinking of ways to make use of that incredibly useful name combination. Then there was the war. She couldn't have hoped for anything better.

Tempers had been churning since the Null Scar. At best, she'd seen all the other cults mobbing the Bodytwisters and forcing them on the back foot, or even — hopefully — unlikely — obliterated. Instead, the reality offered to her was somehow better.

Sure, the Bodytwisters remained, but this gave her an opportunity. Instead of one cult down, but each of the others just as strong as ever, Nyxila had been gifted an almost stalemate between them. The Scriptures and Fleshsmiths were bound in balanced conflict with the Bodytwisters while the Technocult pulled the Machine God worshippers away to their own fight.

It meant, for the foreseeable future, those cults would be too distracted by war to chase down any unexplained curiosities or… missing people.

Nyxila would make sure the war was mutually destructive on all fronts.

A whistling grind of grating metal called her attention back to the broken shelves. There, the entire floor opened up. Like the shutters of the rearing wards, thick plates of steel rolled outwards to reveal its depths. Anything not bolted down tumbled into the newly floorless section of warehouse. Nyxila had only enough time to peek over the edge before the floor closed again.

She couldn't see the bottom.

That wouldn't be strange in itself… if it opened out in the underside of Coral. Yet her eyes followed mechanical tracks far beyond where their floating island should end. It wasn't just storage shelving down there. While the elevator tracks made up the vast majority — all in motion and connected to the floor she stood, there were larger rails, connecting massive, undecorated boxes comparable to the largest of surface buildings.

It didn't take more than a second after the floor shut for the once broken shelving to cycle once more. Replaced. There wasn't a sign to show they'd been damaged at all.

Nyxila made her way deeper through the Technocult's home. It felt strange being this empty. The roll of machinery didn't exactly bathe the place in quiet, but the sound was distinct from the clashing echoes of work. There were branching hallways deeper in with cots for the cultists. Technocultist rooms were as bare as could be. Somehow even less adorned then a ward room before the kids made changes of their own.

Well, when most of the cult slept in their workshop, a separate bedroom was hardly regarded as important.

They did have rooms specifically for rituals, but for her evolution, she would rather a bed. For as strong as Lýotep was, driving herself through the point of death was exhausting. Even if she was sorely tempted to push through the fatigue and rush out in the chaos outside, she had time. This war wouldn't be decided in a day.

Despite making her mind, she couldn't stop her focus veering to another rising platform besides her. There, a weapon lay. That was all she could tell; it was a weapon, and nothing else, but it called to her. Two parallel coils extended from a large base adorned with handles. They were clearly not barrels, but the weapon was shaped like a cannon regardless.

Nyxila stepped on the platform as it rose towards the ceiling. The weapon was as large as she was, but with all her enhanced strength, she was sure she would be strong enough to lift it.

Apparently not.

As her fingers hooked around the handles, she pulled. It didn't budge. With a touch of rhythm and some added weight from Gov̝a, she tried again. This time, she almost flattened herself as she and the weapon toppled from the platform.

Good thing her aerial manoeuvrability had become so good.

Nyxila's next attempt at lifting the heavy weapon went significantly better. Mostly because her tentacles slipped out again to brace her. Barely lifting the massive weapon, her finger slipped across a tactile indent. A trigger.

Nyxila removed her finger. After what had happened with the other weapon she picked up, she knew better.

Curious did not.

Almost the instant she'd decided she was not going to shoot the cannon-adjacent weapon in a room where shelves carried things high over her head, her inquisitive tentacle slipped past her hand and pulled the trigger.

A powerful hum immediately deafened her to the sound of machinery. The weapon didn't fire immediately, but that wasn't to say nothing was happening. The whining hum amplified in her ear before relenting, only to come back louder and more intense. Three pulses shook Nyxila's arms before electric arcs sparked between the two coils in conjunction with each subsequent hum.

An explosion. Lightning flung from the far end of her weapon, and immediately arced toward every nearby elevator track. Branching bolts flickered outwards, all the while connected to the machine in Nyxila's hands, unleashing damage all through the hall. Before she could will manual control over Curious again, a spike snapped out from the ceiling, and all the flowing electricity spiderwebbed towards it. The moment a connection was formed, the cannon in Nyxila's hands blew up.

"You've been here five minutes." Blue lines spread along the ceiling. "How is it that you've already caused more damage to my home than it has seen in decades?"

Nyxila shook her hands — thankful for the protective chitin once again — and turned away from the secondary explosions that now toppled more shelves than her first accident.

"Ta̽'Ș͑t̕r̊a͑ḷa̾͆n͙͂o̼͗v͐͐̿͝'r̝͇͎͓͜ ?" Apparently she remained while the rest of her cult was out knocking on the Worshippers doors. "It's not my fault so much of the stuff here explodes at a touch."

Nyxila wasn't sure if she imagine the sigh from the voice that seemed to come all around her. "Typically, Technocultists don't go poking around with things they don't yet understand. As our newest acolyte, it seems I must drill the foundations into your mind. Come."

A deep blue glow emanated from the furthest parts of the cathedral ahead. Inviting.

"Shouldn't you be with the rest of the cult? Isn't it important you be there to attack the Machine God?" Nyxila did not want a lesson right now.

"I am. But I am also here. It does not take so much of my mind to teach a child. Especially one that seems to lack even basic understanding of safety procedures."

Nyxila slumped. Hopefully this wouldn't take long. She wanted to get to her evolution. Then, maybe… adopt some new mutations. She didn't know which was more exciting.