Re:Cursed

Chapter 157 - 155: N̪ỷx̱̽ala (Book 2 Epilogue)

It had been years since the war began.

Years since she'd been locked away for the sake of her protection.

Well, no. It had only been days… but it certainly felt like years.

Nyxala hated being confined. Even if she trusted the Technocult, no amount of trust could make her feel comfortable while she had no say on where she could go. That's why she was here: lurking in the shadows by the moving tunnel.

The moving wall of metal was as dangerous as it looked. She'd brushed up against it, and the piece of fabric it stole from her robe was gone before she could flinch. It was no wonder the other cults couldn't infiltrate the Temple.

She did question how they protected from those tunnelling underneath or above — or simply the corrupt depths forming paths inside — but she hadn't seen anyone but Technocultist in the past couple days, so whatever their method, it worked.

…which left her with the unfortunate situation of not having a convenient place to slip away.

Nyxala was desperate to mutate. Now that the Trials were over, and she had no need to show her face before the populous, she was free to unleash whichever parts of her core name she wished. Well… within reason.

But before Nyxala could allow herself that luxury, she needed to talk to Lysyra. And to do that, she couldn't stay here. Only after she got together with the fake Bodytwister, and discussed exactly how they were going to damage the cults while they were broiled in war, could Nyxala grow her tail… amongst other things.

Pain flared in her bicep. Her hand fell on the armband that had kept the oddities of her form hidden for the past few weeks.

A few weeks. That's all it had survived before her body rejected it.

During the annoying long lecture with Ta'Stralanov'r, the cult leader had inspected the obscuring tool. Apparently, the needles in her arm had warped to such a degree that not even Ta'Stralanov'r could extract it easily. The metal pins not only warped and hooked around her bone, but they split like roots all through her muscle.

Nyxala would need a some rather invasive surgery to take it off. Invasive, as in stripping her of all the flesh it had dug through. Followed by flesh grafts. Apparently, regenerating from scratch would be too resource intense to be worth it. Most Technocultists in such a situation simply sacrificed the arm and replaced it with machine.

No matter how helpful the armband had been, Nyxala was reluctant to take up the Technocult leader's offer of a replacement. Even if her Feat probably made the surgery much more straightforward.

Speaking of… she was impatient to see what the second evolution of Lýotepͦ offered. The base Feat offered healing upon killing. Its first evolution sent her into a state of unquenchable bloodlust that enhanced her body. So, following the pattern, what could she expect from perseverance should she meet the conditions for slaughter and survival?

Endless stamina? That would be rather tame compared to the other two. And not really something she needed.

Her other Feat, Ts̟͂tll, was equally difficult to parse any change. Only her Feats — and Ei̬ypi̬ny to stop the obsessive blood somehow ruining any other name — were evolved by themselves. While they had clearly improved, it was not immediately apparent what changes they experienced. If any at all.

The rest of her evolutions were… not quite so innocuous.

Nyxala had taken on Tarchon's advice. She'd combined N̚o̲th, Thaḁren͉, and O̅ssuqul despite the fear of losing any of the aspects that made them good. They were some of her strongest names. Stuck in that evolving void, Nyxala must have spent hours simply mulling the option and letting her doubts run wild, before she'd eventually tossed up her metaphoric hands and gone through with the evolution.

And right now, Nyxala regret it.

She'd lost the core parts of each name. Her skill in wielding the blade remained, but the Talent for it was gone; no longer guiding her hand. Her body no longer phased through space for an instant when she willed it. And finally, while the combination aspect of N̚o̲th wasn't entirely gone, it had been reduced to a portion of what it once was.

Mould chilled the slime of her feet, but didn't freeze it. Acid clung to her claws, but slipped off far too easily. Even her rhythm hadn't seen any improvement. It was all a massive blow to her combat capability… but she did not yet despair.

The name that resulted was obviously powerful. And, of course, because it was so strong, she had no idea what it did.

O̅s̫stho̲th

Purity. A temple of bleached walls and grand spires stands against the ravages of time. Entropy. Disorder chews at the mortar between ivory bricks. Brittleness consumes stone foundations. Stained glass shards litter the long forgotten dais. Chaos.

Nothing can last an eternity. That is law for the mundane.

Chaos. Glass floors and an open skylight. Troubled seas churn beneath a glistening keel. Drapes of tailored light plunge the tribune in a black glow. Entropy. Time's savagery is welcomed and discarded with each cracked pane or worn gear. Purity

Change is purity in chaos.

It was getting rather frustrating how impossible it was to decipher her names. She wondered how everyone else did it. No, that was obvious. They had cult specific onomasticians that could give them better hints than what Nyxala had available to her. If the Technocult had one, they were out fighting their war, same as everyone else.

She should really try to snag herself an onomastician name… somehow. Her core name, despite being able to look at souls, sucked at deciphering anything but curses.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Not even adding Gov̝a to N̪ỷx̱ila had helped. Though, considering the name wasn't exactly focused on senses like most of the other names she'd combined into her core, it shouldn't have been surprising. Instead, it had given an odd weight to her curse touch. Nyxala wasn't yet sure if that was worth giving up the extra weight behind her strikes, but like with O̅s̫stho̲th, she was willing to withhold her judgement. For now.

The constant hum of the moving tunnel finally altered its tune. Nyxala bounced on her feet — more of a bob given the lack of bones and muscle down there — but did her best not to attract anyone's eye.

With a metallic clank, the sliding wall came to a stop, and out walked half a dozen Technocultists. They looked half dead. Burn marks littered their bodies, along with bullet wounds, gashes and too many frayed wires to count. Only one had all their limbs still attached, yet the thick hole through her chest didn't make her look any better off.

Neither made a noise of pain or annoyance. They simply slunk through the temple to the workshops where they would fix themselves up and restock before rushing out to join the war once more.

Having seen this sight more than a couple times in the past few days, Nyxala paid no mind to their conversation, and slipped into the moving tunnel just as it slid into motion once more.

Success!

She'd really thought Ta'Stralanov'r would have noticed her. The cult leader's attention must be held up with the Machine God. Wherever their fight was taking place, nobody on Coral could miss the occasional harsh jolt that their battle sent through the platform. Well, it was either those two, or the other three cult leaders trading blows.

Now onto the hard part.

"And where are you going?"

Nyxala did not scream. She turned and glared at Tarchon with her dignity entirely intact. Her thoughts may have suddenly accelerated to a stressful degree, but that was intentional; she needed to stay aware of threats, after all.

Still, how the fuck did someone who's footsteps sounded more like a cannon going off than anything human ever sneak up on her?

"Shouldn't you be off in a war?" she snapped.

Tarchon was without his massive mech suit. He was now back to his tiny — still far taller than her — size. The metal plating that covered much of his body was without even a scratch. A far cry from the damaged Technocultists who had returned to the cathedral in the past days.

"No." His head shook to the negative ever so slightly. "The Worshippers are too well fortified. It'll be a few weeks before any major breakthroughs occur." Tarchon angled his head down at her. "Did you really think Ta̽'Ș͑t̕r̊a͑ḷa̾͆n͙͂o̼͗v͐͐̿͝'r̝͇͎͓͜ wouldn't notice?"

As they sped through the depths of Coral, Nyxala let her heart slow again. "I was hoping the lack of that blue energy flowing through the walls meant she wasn't around."

A valve opened in Tarchon's neck, and a plum of steam billowed out with a hiss. "Where are we going?"

Nyxala stared up at the man. "Huh?"

"You are officially a part of the Technocult now. As a promising acolyte with evidence of hostile interest, I would be misplaced in my duties if I didn't offer security." He paused to stare her down. "Even if you would make that easier by staying put where it's safe."

"Great!" Nyxala ignored his unamused eye. "Then please, guide me out." She put on her best — absolutely innocent — smile.

Tarchon stared down at her for a few moments longer before another puff of steam rolled off his shoulders and he stepped towards a wall. "Where to?"

Nyxala hesitated. She wasn't actually sure where she would find Lysyra… and she wasn't sure what she should say to Tarchon about her situation with the other girl.

"Near the surface," she said. "I need to meet with Ly͚sy͚rã."

Tarchon didn't question her. He simply nodded, and within a few seconds the tunnel slowed and they stepped out into an unfamiliar spherical cavern.

"Where are we?" Nyxala half expected to exit near Tarchon's old home again.

"The Worshippers have weaponised their trolley infrastructure. Rolling cannons will fire at us in moments of walking near."

If they were anything like Su'Baar's cannon, Buddy, Nyxala would rather avoid that.

"What about the trolleys on the surface?"

"That was the first place we stripped of rail," Tarchon said, leading her up a narrow set of stairs. He barely fit. "We have a team scouring Coral's depths for tracks, but the Worshippers are just as good at repairing them as we are destroying them."

Nyxala stepped up behind Tarchon, but paused when a voice whispered in her ear.

"N̪ỷx̱̽ala."

Unless there was a wandering onomastician around, there was only one person who had the connection to know her evolved name.

"Ly͚sy͚rã."

To have found her this quick… just how many reflections did the girl have running around Coral? Was there anything Lysyra missed?

"Are you free?" she whispered, and while Nyxala couldn't see her, she knew the girl was motioning towards the Technocultist five steps up.

"Ah, yes." Nyxala raised her voice to call the man's attention. "Ly͚sy͚rã, this is T̆a̹̅r͐chö̠n̩͂͑."

"I am aware." Lysyra faded into existence, arms crossed and a scowl directed at the man who was now struggling to turn in the narrow staircase.

Nyxala decided to ignore the girl's attitude to the Technocultist for now. Tarchon clearly didn't pay it any mind.

"How's things with the bodytwisters?" Nyxala dove right into her questions. "Did they give you any problems for forfeiting?"

"Nothing worth worrying about. They've been too busy fending off the Scriptures to think about me. E͍p'H̰͂or̓r͛u, though? He couldn't escape fast enough." She broke out in a grin, and glanced towards Tarchon before whispering in Nyxala's ear with a replica. "He was my 'master'. Right up until the end, he never figured out I'd been pulling the strings. Ep̽'N̺an̺o͐r̔sc͈hi̫͑ really enjoyed tearing that man apart."

"And the war?"

"Already well on the way to cause more deaths than the disaster that kicked it off." She shrugged, as if it didn't matter. "I assume you've been in the Technocult temple then? No wonder I haven't been able to find you."

"Yeah, they have helped me on a few occasions. Mainly keeping S͍̾ølą̛́̄n̼̙͈̘̄̍̓͘ off my back."

That seemed to get a reaction out of both of them. Tarchon turned to me fully, questioning the wisdom of telling a girl who had been my enemy only days ago. Lysyra turned her glare on the Technocultist again. She sneered.

"He's a true personification of virtue, isn't he?" Lysyra swam in her mockery, but Tarchon remained stone-faced. "Come N̪ỷx̱̽ala. I want to speak without him around."

"I cannot allow that." Tarchon shook his head, finally giving some reaction to the daggers thrown his way. "Knowing N̪ỷx̱̽ala, the moment you're both out of my sight, she's bound to find trouble. I'm just waiting for the day she accidentally summons a god."

Nyxala averted her gaze, and did her best to keep a straight face.

Tarchon narrowed his eyes.

"Whatever kindness he's shown, it's fake," Lysyra insisted. "This isn't my first time meeting him."

Nyxala let out a sigh. Of course the two people she had learnt to trust, couldn't do the same with each other. Any thought of sharing secrets between them would have to wait.

"How about we get out of these stairs first?" It was strange. Nyxala had never been the one to mediate before. She'd never had the opportunity. This new life of hers really was giving her all sorts of new experiences. She couldn't help but smile as she walked between the stoic Technocultist and the Bodytwister acolyte that seemed to hate him.

Her smile remained all the way up until she caught sight of the Great Iris, where it was instantly wiped from her face. There, in the centre of the pupil, amongst the billion spiralling stars, was a single burning ball of light decaying into a long tail that fell into the accretion. A star was being consumed by the black hole.

An Accretion Storm.

No. With how the iris still spun, faster than ever, this was something she'd only heard mentions of. Something that hadn't happened in her last lift.

A Deific Tempest.

With wars waging in the depths, and now the surface fated to be the plaything of a god's tidal disruption event, Coral's immediate future was harsh. Nyxala didn't know whether to dread the coming months, or relish the opportunity that would surely come. Whichever it was, countless people were going to die.