Re:Cursed

Chapter 165 - 161: Useful Curses

Nyxala poked at the new armband drilled into her arm. Well, 'armband' wasn't an apt description anymore. Between the old concealer and this new one, Ta'Stralanov'r had gone through an entire iteration. No longer was it a subtle strap with a thousand needles. Now, it was an entire mechanical shell drilled into the bone of her arm and shoulder-blade with thick bolts.

Was it to make removal easier once the corruption inevitably took hold? It certainly didn't hide her mutations any more effectively than before.

The servos whirred lightly as she rolled her arm. In a way, it was her true induction into the Technocult. The first bit of enhancing machinery. Such a shame it would only last a few weeks.

Tossing her robe back on, and the new cloak on top of that — a gift from Ta'Taish, handed to her as if it were nothing important — the metal apparatus bulged clearly through the fabric. It gave off the impression that her left shoulder was bulkier than the right. Nyxala had wondered why the bolts were so obvious and large, when everything Ta'Stralanov'r made was fabricated to perfection without seams nor wasted space, but now she realised it was intentional. The mechanical shape was supposed to be obvious. It would distract from the other oddities she hid below her cloak.

Neither tentacles nor wings needed to be bound so tightly anymore. Within the loose form of her cloak, she had the feathered limbs resting softly at her side. They didn't complain. Her tentacles too moved with more freedom. Though, Shy still didn't leave her robe. With the bolts poking from her shoulder, anyone who noticed the odd protrusions along her side and back would mistake them for machine. She supposed it would be easier on the concealer, too.

The one thing that both cloak and pauldron failed to fully hide, was her tail. When she let the feathered mass trail along the ground as it felt most comfortable, it stuck out far enough from beneath her robe for the concealer to be completely useless.

"I'm here!" a trilling voice shouted as the hatch to the half-furnace, half-surgery-room tore outwards, hinges screeching from the strain.

The new face leapt in before she even had a moment to take in her surroundings. Nyxala noted with fascination the way her legs slid into themselves with each step. Pistons that damped her feet so precisely that there wasn't so much as a whisper of the metal on metal as she strode into the room. Her eyes shifted, landing on Nyxala. They weren't like Tarchon's or Ta'Taish's, nor that of any other Technocultist. Instead of a human eye yet to be replaced, or a shuttered camera lens, this woman's eyes almost looked like orbs of water floating behind a clamp of pins. Fluid spun, its shape altering as the bright yellow light within flickered.

"The first augment is always the most memorable." The woman grinned. Well, the thin shielding over her replaced jaw twisted upward in an visage that very much reflected a grin. "I'm excited to…" she trailed off as the yellow in her eye flickered again, landing first on Nyxala's shoulder, then the absolute mess that was her old concealer and all the flesh it still clung to.

A regular clicking of gears in her chest was all that could be heard as the new appearance properly took in her surroundings. It was almost the precise ticking of a clock. Surely not? Clocks were only useful for brief instances before they had to be tossed. An expendable tool. You would have to be insane to build your body from something that broke when observed. Right?

"Ta'Ta̭̦î̾ͩsẖ̪, what were you thinking?" She turned on the man who'd shoved a bunch of needles in Nyxala's body while Ta'Stralanov'r had cut away at her arm. "To use such brutal methods" — she gestured to the lump of bloodless bicep — "you're lucky you didn't somehow pop the girl's head."

"Ṭ̫a'M̽a̬li̞ͧͅs̆, if it were up to me, I wouldn't have come within a hundred metres of the operation," he said, surprisingly unbothered by the accusation thrown his way. "But Ta̽'Ș͑t̕r̊a͑ḷa̾͆n͙͂o̼͗v͐͐̿͝'r̝͇͎͓͜ was insistent. She installed the augment herself."

"This is Ta̽'Ș͑t̕r̊a͑ḷa̾͆n͙͂o̼͗v͐͐̿͝'r̝͇͎͓͜ 's work?" Ta'Malis looked completely disbelieving. "And not one of your accidents?"

"I think our newest cult member did something to annoy her." His gaze pierced her, and she did her best not to squirm at the accusation. She… might have a couple of guesses at the 'vermin' than her discarded ears had attracted, now that she'd had some time to think on it. "But I can't deny the results. N̪ỷx̱̽ala here is quite sturdy for one still clinging to their flesh. Stabbed a lamb, and everything that happened to her was fixed. I wish it were that easy to fix the tunnel every time a driveshaft snapped. One of my sensors even exploded in her hand — some sort of problem in the pressure differential when exposed to a sudden corruption shift — and not even a scar remains."

That had been less than pleasant, but compared to the saw slicing through her upper arm, it had been secondary.

Ta'Malis' yellow glow was back on Nyxala. No, her eyes were on the tail that slid out beneath her cloak. She stepped forward, one hand landing on the pauldron and the other taking Nyxala's hand. "Here, trigger these three hidden switches in conjunction, while avoiding the others."

Nyxala fended off her immediate reaction to tug her hand back, and let the woman guide her. Like Ta'Taish, her posture wasn't the greatest. Like she'd spent too many years bent over a workstation that it had somehow altered her machinery to give her a natural slouch. Well, it was nothing on Ep'Nanorschi when she didn't crack her spine straight.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

"And there!" Ta'Malis declared.

Suddenly, her concealer clicked, and the imperceptible film rolled back inside its encasement. Nyxala was revealed in all her mutated glory.

In an instant, Nyxala found herself the unwilling subject of intense examination. "How intriguing," Ta'Malis murmured, her hands slipping down to lift Nyxala's tail faster than she could move it away. "If it is as Ta̽'Ș͑t̕r̊a͑ḷa̾͆n͙͂o̼͗v͐͐̿͝'r̝͇͎͓͜ said, and these mutations are stable, then there are so many concepts to test." She flicked a spike, sending a jolt up her spine. "I can't wait to cover you with augments. What do you want for your first substitution? New knees are always a good start, but our Trial victor would surely want something more impressive to start off with. How about a full rib replacement. Subdermal to start? Or a full suite?"

Nyxala twisted, yanking back her heavy tail from the woman's grip. It spun off to the side, and so did she. The limb — if it could even be called that — was going to take a fair bit of getting used to with how much weight it carried. She quickly reoriented herself, long tail out of reach of this new face. The concealer spun back to life a moment later.

"T̆a̹̅r͐chö̠n̩͂͑ said there'd be no point. My body rejects anything that doesn't belong." Nyxala was also viciously opposed to the idea of any machines that might get in the way of her mutations. Even if only visually. But she kept her mouth shut about that.

"It's true," Ta'Taish said, handing the other Technocultist a tray holding her old concealer. The needles now looked like a bundle of fraying steel wool. "This was only in her arm for a few weeks."

The ticking of her chest seemed to waver, and she frowned. "That is less than ideal," she said. "But T̆a̹̅r͐chö̠n̩͂͑ has no sense for the subtle. I'm sure there's some ideas I can work with. Even if they only offer temporary use." Her yellow lights settled on Nyxala. "You'll grant me the privilege, won't you?"

"I uh…" Nyxala was about to refuse, but something about Ta'Taish's shift in expression warned her against it. She stared at him, hoping for some elaboration, but he turned his head, escaping the responsibility. "Sure," she said, hesitantly. "I guess a few non-permanent additions can't hurt. The concealer has already helped me plenty."

"Brilliant." She clapped, metal hands clashing with the clang of blades. "Then I'll get started."

Nyxala didn't have enough time to so much as respond before the woman was gone. She fixed Ta'Taish with an expectant eye and waited.

"It's… more efficient to let Ṭ̫a'M̽a̬li̞ͧͅs̆ have her way," he said. "When a problem settles in her mind, she'll focus on nothing else until she's had the time to indulge herself."

"Right," Nyxala mumbled.

She wasn't sure she was all too happy with Ta'Stralanov'r bringing these two in on Nyxala's secret. Maybe she could understand Ta'Taish; it was her own fault she'd revealed herself while in a rush to heal herself. But did Ta'Malis really have to know? The ticking clock might be a ticking bomb: the one point of failure where all the other cults would learn what Nyxala truly was.

Nyxala didn't want to be so doubtful. She trusted the Technocult. But the more that knew, the more likely it was that the knowledge would slip into the hands of her enemies.

"So what's with those accidents of yours?" Nyxala asked, more to distract herself from her internal concerns than any actual desire to start a conversation. "It must happen more often than I thought if Ṭ̫a'M̽a̬li̞ͧͅs̆ mentioned it."

Ta'Taish led her out of the furnace as she re-engaged the occluding film. The shifting forms of her wings and tentacles once more growing difficult to perceive through the cloth of her cloak. Only her tail stayed out in the open. Walking with it dragging along the ground felt so much more natural than carrying its weight. Besides, it stopped her leaning forward so much.

"Ah, yes," he said. "It's a curse. Anything that can go wrong with machinery, will go wrong. So long as it's in my presence."

Nyxala blinked. Her soul sight touched his name in an instant, and it was there, just like he'd said. A rather strong curse to damn his touch.

"Why not get rid of it?" At the seventh evolution, he surely would have had plenty of opportunities to remove the curse — by the lack of any others, he clearly kept the name tidy — but he hadn't. Why?

"I could never." He shook his head. "It would be a lie to say I don't find it irritating every day, but for the amount of use I've gotten out of it? Absolutely worth the bother."

Nyxala lifted her tail, trying to bend it around her torso as she waited for him to continue.

"The curse brings about failures in the designs I work on. That is invaluable. Sometimes, these failures would take years to discover — decades even — and often at the worst possible moment," Ta'Taish said. "With this, I can fast track the testing process for our Prelates' designs."

Her tail wouldn't bend so easily. It curved around her front, but pushed the rear of her cloak back in a wider than ideal arc. She imagined it would look better if she dislocated her spine. Unfortunately, doing so wasn't all that helpful outside of her rapid movements in battle. It made walking uncomfortable, and trying to hold her ground almost impossible. Not an ideal solution.

"So that's why you're back here and not fighting against the Worshippers? You don't want to trigger any problems."

"It is as you say."

Nyxala dumped most of her tail, only holding the tip to her chest. The hanging part touched the ground, and no matter where she let it settle, it always got in the way of her steps. The spines cut into the ground. Besides, even if she left Cuddly to hold it there, the tail pushed out from her torso too much to go unnoticed by any with keen eyes.

"And Ṭ̫a'M̽a̬li̞ͧͅs̆?" she asked. "Why's she back here?"

Her tail dropped, forming a ring around her feet. It was worse than letting it hang; she almost tripped.

"She knows the workings of our bodies better than we do. Doesn't matter if you designed yourself entirely alone, she'll be able to put whatever bucket of scraps that remains back together. She's here in case any of the members on tasks away from the siege need repairs." Ta'Taish glanced back. "If you're done hiding yourself, shall I introduce you to the rest that are here?"

Nyxala adjusted the tail around her feet so that it lifted off the ground where it curled around her front. It was difficult to manage, but if she twisted the lump of muscle and bone in time with her steps, she wouldn't trip herself even as it coiled around both legs like a fat serpent.

It was better to drag her tail sideways along the surface than against the sharp spikes. Neither were ideal, of course, but there was a massive difference between being able to walk, and tearing up whatever floor she passed. She felt much more comfortable letting it trail behind her. Unfortunately, she needed to settle for this slight annoyance to keep her secret.

"Alright." Nyxala wanted to find a place to try out her new tail in flight, as she knew it was designed for, but that could wait. For now, it seemed like a good idea to be friendly with the cult that would help her eradicate the others.

"Ah," he paused. "Maybe it's best you wash up first."