Re:Cursed

Chapter 180 - 176: Clean-Up

As Nyxala made her way back to the corpses of those she'd beaten, Tarchon lugged along at her side, entirely focused on the patchwork job of altering the Worshipper identification badge. He tore a component free and crushed it between his fingers. A little wispy puff rose from the dust remains that was too intangible to be smoke.

With the flick of the wrist, he had another circuit in hand. A wire connected through his palm. Tiny tweezer-like points slid from his finger and in but a few motions, the circuit was soldered to the badge.

Nyxala watched from the corner of her eyes as he seemed to tear the entire thing apart bit by bit and replaced it with parts of his own make. Only the core remained the same. There was a lot more to the process than simply snatching the ID and slipping inside the Worshipper territory. She had to wonder what would have happened if they'd tried. Probably nothing good.

"So, what did you do with that mech of yours?" she asked. When the man had such a powerhouse of a weapon at his disposal, it seemed strange he didn't use it at all times.

"In use," he said.

"By someone in the siege?" she asked, pushing for a bit more conversation than that.

This time the man didn't even answer. His simply hummed in what she thought was confirmation, not raising his eyes from the forgery in his hands.

Nyxala sighed and turned back to retracing her steps. Clearly she wouldn't be getting anything out of Tarchon, and Lysyra had yet to reappear. Speaking of, what could have happened for her to want to avoid the Technocultist so much? She doubted it was sinister. The hate Lysyra held for Tarchon was clearly different than that she held for the Bodytwisters. Not the vicious cinders that burned under the surface, ready to set the world aflame. Lysyra had no intent to keep her distaste hidden from the man, which probably meant she didn't care to bring him harm.

But still, something had happened. The severity… well, Nyxala would have to wait to find out.

They arrived at Chaz's corpse first. The Scripture's decapitated, skull-less head sat shrivelled on the ground. His shredded face glared up at Nyxala, as if trying to curse her from beyond the grave. It… didn't make as horrifying a visage as she would have thought. Instead, it was almost comical.

There was no blood; that had been sucked away and now coiled around Nyxala. And the tear in his forehead from where the skull slipped free was almost too perfect, as if his face was rubber or cloth rather than skin. No, Chaz's head didn't look like it was from a corpse. It looked like it was some hyper-realistic mask someone had tossed to the side once they were done wearing it.

Only his body looked properly dead.

The fight had its… questionable moments, but Nyxala was happy with the progress she'd made. As she'd wanted, she'd learnt how to use O̅s̫stho̲th. It was strange how the rhythm aspect had remained, when the core of the name was defined by change. Balancing the two would be a challenge. Actually, balance seemed to be the biggest hurdle she'd need to face to master this name. It wasn't like she had an infinite number of options to rely on during a fight. For all the name was concerned, sitting down in mid-battle was a thing to be rewarded.

Both the boost and the strange extension of her attack were already enough to fill the gap the loss of three names had made in her combat strength, and yet… she felt she hadn't scratched the surface. How far could the enhancement be pushed? What other effects like the empowered blade would it allow?

But there was one thing the name did beyond all others that she was most interested in. It rewarded her for mutating. The more options she had, the stronger she would become. Regardless of a mutation's individual value in a fight.

"Here." Tarchon snapped off half of each circuit he was using to interface with the device and handed her the result. It's appearance was nothing like what it had been. Tarchon, didn't care to fix its casing.

"Shouldn't it look the same?" she asked.

The Technocultist gave her a flat look. Well, it wasn't any flatter than normal, but Nyxala felt his judging eyes. "Not unless you intend to walk through the front door. That wasn't your plan, was it?"

"No," Nyxala huffed, but quickly paused. She didn't actually know how they intended to get inside. Surely Lysyra already had it sorted out… but she hadn't said anything about the need to hack these ID badges. "Maybe."

Steam burst from a valve in Tarchon's neck as he bent down to strip the second badge from Chaz. She narrowed her eyes. This time, Nyxala was absolutely sure that was a sigh.

The second badge took about the same time to 'fix' as it had for the first. Tarchon was very good at this stuff, and yet it took even him minutes to rig the badges to accept them. Without the Technocult working with them, Nyxala could forget ever getting that sceptre back. No chance they were getting in without some full offensive.

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It didn't matter how many mutations Nyxala had, they wouldn't be getting past Worshipper defences.

Not something she needed to worry about, thankfully. She had the assistance of one of the most capable Technocultists on Coral, and she would take all that was offered to her.

What she did need to concern herself with, was these bodies. Nyxala had not been strong enough to take them all out by sacrifice. Now their souls would linger. If the Scriptures sent a soulsinger out to investigate, they might discover her identity. Or: more than just her identity. That was not something she could allow. Her third eye ate through the corpse. It was too late to stop the soul slipping away, but so long as she removed any trace of the person it belonged to, there would be nothing for a soulsinger to latch onto for the already difficult task of finding a dead soul.

She hated to admit it, but Eiỷpi̬ny was incredibly helpful on that front. Not a drop of blood marred the site of their battlefield.

"Catch." Nyxala was interrupted halfway through breaking apart Chaz's body with the second badge tossed her way.

She cut off the consumption of her third eye to prevent it damaging the key as she whipped her hand up to grab it. Pushy was there an instant late. Nyxala glared at the limb that had tried to snatch it before she could. It sulked, and slunk back beneath her cloak.

"That is Ly͚sy͚rã's one. Don't mix them up." Tarchon turned from her, laying mechanical eyes on the lumpy mass of flesh with an exposed skeleton that had melted away a touch slower then the rest. The curse-mulched guts spilled at its sides. "Go. I'll clean up."

Nyxala was going to protest. They were her own kills to deal with. But she stopped quick when Tarchon's arm shifted to that terrifying flamethrower she'd seen once before. If he intended to use that here, she didn't want to be anywhere nearby.

"See ya," she chirped, and ran.

The entire storehouse went up in a roar of flames.

I guess incinerating everything nearby works, Nyxala thought. He must be in a rush.

❖❖❖

Lysyra slumped back on her mattress. Fucking Technocultists… fucking Tarchon had to get in her way again.

Would she ever be given space just for her and Nyxala to speak without those sticklers butting in? She really wished Nyxala had gone with any other cult to back her in her goal to essentially take over Coral. The sanctimonious hypocrites weren't any better than the other cults. No, they were worse simply because they pretended they were so much better.

When it came down to it, their moral superiority was just for show.

Rolling over, she grabbed a box of dried nutrient tablets and swallowed a handful. The taste was as bad as ever, but they were the easiest things to sneak in. Anything better would require more trips. And more trips meant a greater chance of discovery. She was already uncomfortable with how often she needed to have a reflection carry back boxes of ritual supplies and other goods she needed to live.

The day she gained a name that made her fully self-sufficient would be her happiest.

Lysyra was proud of her ability to remain hidden, but there were far too many cultists around Coral who had ways to find her. To track her. It would take a single slip-up to lead death to this little hovel of hers.

She rose to her knees and crawled from her small bed, across the other half of her bunker covered in ritual markings, and fed the three rabbits locked in a cage. They snubbed their noses at the dry offerings. Lysyra huffed. If they didn't like the tablets, they could starve.

Pure white with red eyes, the albino rabbits were the best value sacrifices for their size. Anything bigger and it wouldn't have fit in her tiny hovel. These three were new. Young. The last she'd had, she'd expended in her fight against Nyxala. Lysyra… had gone so long without pain that she had panicked and sacrificed the last three in her healing rituals.

Of course, Lysyra couldn't afford these sacrifices. That didn't matter. When you could move around the world unseen by — almost — all, you could get away with a hell of a lot of petty thievery. It was much easier to cast off investigation when she pinned the blame on an unfortunate passerby… or a business rival.

Curling herself up in the centre of her ritual, Lysyra waited for Nyxala to be done with Tarchon.

She raised a canteen to her lips and drank. Water was one of the most frustrating resources to deal with. As much as she'd love a direct tap, that was far too dangerous. Lysyra didn't have the know-how to manage corruption insulation, and the last thing she was going to do was welcome someone else into her safe abode. Instead, she kept a dozen refillable corruption-proofed metal canisters. Just another thing that stopped her from sealing the hatch permanently.

Lysyra closed her eyes. The ritual flared into action as she spread her mind to the tens of thousands of dormant copies she'd spread around Coral in the past years. It helped her focus, doubling the number of reflections she could control at once. Her gaze slipped first through those in her immediate physical surroundings, making sure not a soul moved. Satisfied, she moved on to those she'd left around Nyxala.

She had never stopped watching, but now that she could fill ten more copies, the mental map she forged from all her eyes became comprehensive. The mapping name was very helpful when navigating corrupt spaces.

As she watched Nyxala, she found herself thinking back to the girl's glowing eyes.

The pink.

Lysyra had been trying so hard to pierce the veil of that contraption ever since she'd discovered Nyxala's mutations. It twisted the mind. It made her doubt her eyes and what they told was truth. None of Nyxala's mutations besides the occasional slip of her wings and tail were comprehensible; like a shift in the corner of her eye despite being right in front of her.

Until those eyes.

The concealer didn't stop it at all. Not a subtle insistence on her mind, nor a forceful resistance. The pink simply pierced through.

Lysyra hadn't lied, but she hadn't been able to get across the magnitude of what she'd seen gazing into the eyes of the one she'd Invowed herself. She didn't think it was possible to express that in words. The depth. The impossibility of what she'd seen. It felt like she was gazing into another universe, with different concepts, and difference forces.

It wasn't like Nyxala's other mutations. Somehow, this was something so much more.

The pink was seared in her mind like Nyxala's name was seared in her soul.

She shook her head, trying to clear the clingy colour. Nyxala was finally done speaking with the lying bastard. Now they would have time alone.

Lysyra smirked. How high would she make the girl jump this time? Oh, how she loathed the day Nyxala would see through her invisibility. She knew it was an inevitability, but she would enjoy the torment she could inflict while she could.