Re:Cursed

Chapter 169 165: Pink Above; Pink Below

Everything was pink.

The colour was undisturbed in every direction her mind could perceive. There was no texture, and yet simultaneously, it rippled with more than Nyxala could imagine.

Her gaze couldn't settle in any one place. So indistinct, so pervasive was the pink, that Nyxala couldn't tell whether it had infested her thoughts, or she was standing in a realm dominated by it.

She rolled her tongue, tasting the alien flavour that came from a colour. It was neither sweet nor sour. Not a single attribute usually associated with taste seemed to fit. Pink was neither good nor bad; it simply was. Like the taste of your own saliva which you've come so adjusted to that it is no longer real. That, but amplified to an intensity where the forgotten flavour returned with a kick to the jaw.

Nyxala wasn't even sure her body existed in this space. Her senses were overwhelmed by pink. Her eyes saw nothing else. Her fingers… she couldn't tell if she was moving them. The tactile sensation was much like the flavour, but she had no way to know if her hands were flowing through the colour like it were water, or stopped dead.

Mind and soul retained the concept of her body, but even her sense of self became confused. She let out an experimental hum. While no sound tickled her tendrils, she lacked the feeling of bodilessness that came with an evolution.

Nyxala pulled herself out of meditation, and carefully scanned her surroundings for phantoms. None.

Whatever the pink was, and however it had taken place of her meditation, it could wait. She couldn't let down her guard here.

Rising from her knees and pushing her heart back to the pace she had come to prefer — which was quite a bit quicker than what someone might consider typical — Nyxala leapt back into flight. She chose the closest tunnel. There was no great deliberation to the choice; it was simply closer.

Each corner in the lightless tunnel seemed to jump out at her, threatening to hide a phantom… but they never came. As the tunnel tapered off into a horizontal stretch, she landed. Her ears strained and eyes squinted, despite being able to see with her third. Everything creaked. The old, unmaintained chute held bits of splayed metal and fissures in the walls where it had eroded.

Even repair drones knew not to enter here.

Nyxala listened to the moan of the ancient tunnel, alert for the creatures that refused to show. Something shifted. The gem in her sternum immediately narrowed its focus. A loud, heavy clatter echoed down the tight walls. She jumped. Her claws hung at her sides, ready to tear whatever came at her to shreds.

Nothing sprung at her.

The infrequent creaks seemed to halt entirely in dreaded anticipation alongside Nyxala. Stepping forward, she found the source of the noise. A sharp length of jagged metal had snapped free from the wall, leaving a hole in the equally sharp — and thin — sheet of steel. There was a narrow space through the gap that looked even more worn than the tunnel she stood in.

When, under her gaze, another leaf of metal clattered free, the cause was made abundantly clear. The weight of her sight was too strong for this ancient place.

Satisfied that there were no… immediate dangers, Nyxala let her heart settle and distracted herself with the opened crack in her name.

Now that the mutation had come in — if it could even be called that — Nyxala found a network of cracks now leading to names on the other side of her core name. To Ine. Cracks that hadn't been there before.

Was the pink a prerequisite for other mutations? But while Nyxala had ignored the requirements for her tail, they had still been clearly noticeable beforehand. These slender divots now webbing across her name hadn't existed moments ago. Did that still make them prerequisites, or an unquestionable requirement?

Unfortunately, the mutations pink connected to were all blocked by a wall of prerequisites for now, so she couldn't satisfy her curiosity.

For this jaunt into phantom stalking grounds, she needed something reliable. Something that wasn't likely to cripple her for hours on end. Nyxala figured the prerequisite she missed was a start. She jabbed her name touch into it, and began opening it.

After spending days tearing open pink, the last thing she was expecting was for the mutation to take hold in an instant. And yet, that's exactly what happened.

As the crack widened fully, Nyxala's tail snapped straight and rigid. It pushed hard against the ground, throwing her off her feet to her hands and toes. Well, those of her boots. She didn't exactly have toes any longer.

There was no pain this time. Her hips twisted, dragging Nyxala to her knees, and set back in place all too easily.

She hopped to her feet. At first, it was as if nothing had changed. There were no visual differences, but the moment she took a step, it felt odd. Her tail felt free. As if there had been a pressure clamping down on it that had suddenly disappeared.

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Curious beat her to the punch. The tentacle's length curled around her waist before sliding down. It poked at her sides. Her mutation was found before her own hand could join the prodding.

The shape of her pelvis had changed. Not by a great deal, but the bony lumps in her skin had seemingly twisted inwards while folding back towards her spine. The line of protruding bone below her waist now stuck out more than it ever had.

Nyxala held her hand over the altered bone and clenched her teeth. She was of two minds. This mutation had clearly helped her tail, and even now she could feel it swaying behind her with a far more comfortable freedom to its weight. Not quite to the autonomy of her tentacles, but it was certainly expressive.

The problem, was that it emphasised that unhealthy visage she'd always had.

Nyxala was not one to care much for her appearance — that part of her died in her last life — but she'd been making such great strides towards a body that wasn't emaciated. Her time in the Dark Star hadn't helped, but with all the strength she'd garnered, she'd actually been putting on weight. Mostly muscle. Well, it was mostly mutation.

In these past few days alone, her complexion had grown better. The curses that used to wreak havoc on her unevolved body no longer took hold. It was hard to believe that the days where she struggled to breathe from something as basic as climbing a ladder were only a few months ago.

But as much as her body now responded in a way she never could have hoped, the scars of her past remained. Her skin was more lively, albeit not yet shedding its unhealthy pale. Ribs still pushed at the skin of her chest. This new mutation only set in stone the gaunt appearance she'd been trying to discard. It would take a lot of muscle or fat to make herself ever look normal.

And that was the crux of it. Did she care that she was never going to hold a shred of normalcy again?

Nyxala had accepted her mutations, welcomed them as part of herself. Even gone so far as to show them off with pride. But as much as she desired to cast aside her human bits for what were clearly superior replacements, some part of her still yearned for the visual reflection of the progress of her health that those very human bits offered.

It was a small remnant. Probably the only remaining thread she had that made her question whether she truly should be giving up her body the way she was. Humanity was limited in scope for a reason. The moment they strayed, Madness took hold. Nyxala had no idea exactly why she was different. It was a question she was desperate to have answered, but there were very few places to ask.

Not even Ta'Stralanov'r could tell her much beyond some statistical analysis of the stability amongst children who manifest cursed mutations. If a single stable mutation made a generational sacrifice, then Nyxala, by probabilistic extension, was truly a perfect sacrifice.

Of course, the Technocult leader could have been misleading. She wasn't the type to distribute dangerous information, regardless of how desperate Nyxala was to know.

The most paranoid corner of her mind screamed that she should stop and never mutate again. Her mutations stripping her of her human parts' chance to recover could be disastrous in the long term. For all she knew, the sacrificed toes might have taken a part of her soul with them. A part that could never recover because the natural position of those toes was now taken by some shapeless slime.

Of all these concerns, the only thing that mattered was what Nyxala believed.

As with so many things on Coral, the unknown was the most dangerous enemy. It threatened her soul and everything she was, but sometimes, hunkering down and throwing up walls was not the answer against the unknown.

Nyxala had seen how that worked against the Fleshsmiths in the Dark Star.

The best action to take, in Nyxala's experience, was to rush forward on the attack. It was the best way to learn. Albeit, with risk comparable to the unknown itself.

This might all be a convoluted way to reconvince herself that mutating herself remained the right answer. It was certainly the one with the most risk. But Nyxala had already accepted that the mutations were a part of herself. Even if a passive strategy akin to her last life gave her the best odds, she wouldn't do it.

These mutations of hers were no longer a means to an ends. They were one with her soul. But honestly, the confidence of her choice originated from a single thing: Nyxala could not let go the curiosity of what she might become. What hid beneath that endless ball of cursed mutations?

Whatever it was, it wasn't human. That was obvious. Nyxala wanted to know what sort of creature she was, and how had she become this from the human she once was?

…had she ever been human at all?

The guiding voice from her name tickled her mind once more. If there were any doubt remaining that O̅s̫stho̲th had adapted and converted her blade Talent to one for mutations, it was now gone.

Nyxala lifted her leg. Her metallic boot reached over her head without any need for support. She had been bestowed an impressive level of flexibility from her names, but this went further than that. It was almost like moving her leg around while dislocated.

Honestly, rather nasty the way it twisted beyond what the previous join would have prevented. Only muscles and tendons stretched too far stopped her from a full three sixty.

It was an odd change. Not one she could see being all that beneficial in a fight. Her current flexibility had allowed all the mobility she could need.

The biggest change, she felt had already mostly been applied by the growth of her tail. This mutation was there as a stepping stone before the spine extension. If she had to bet, she would put BD on a much more pleasant growth, rather than the bloody nightmare it had been.

Nyxala's antennae twitched, and in an instant she was at full alert, ready for an attack. Her claws ready. Tentacles swaying. Tail tense against the ground.

Distinct from the creaks and groans of the old chute, Nyxala had heard the light whistle of a ghostly voice. That alone was enough to bring her mind back to her surroundings.

This was the Shadows of Coral. The forgotten home of the phantoms.

Nyxala's sternum eye witnessed the print of a hand brush through metal dust where nothing existed. She tensed. A cold washed over her, leaving goosebumps from shoulder to chitin and the spines all along her back and tail raised.

Despite throwing herself into this nightmare of a place, Nyxala was starting to doubt her decision. The whisper sliced through all her defences. Each indistinguishable word chilled her soul. At the very least, she wanted better eyes. It was beyond unsettling to stare into nothing but darkness while the only eye that could see tended to destroy the signs that a phantom was approaching at all.