Nyxalraith shook herself as she rose to the surface. The uncomfortable sensation of being contained seemed to get worse with each evolution.
Maybe she shouldn’t have dumped Dan on Judge so quickly, but she’d been hasty to leave. She felt a little guilty. The boy was likely so out of his element down there, surrounded by people he didn’t know. Didn’t trust. Still, it was better Dan was with the Cultless than the cults.
The surface was calm. It was almost unnerving how quiet it had become. She caught a trail of cultists making the trek down the stairs from the Observatory, but otherwise the surface was completely devoid of people.
Months of damage had left little remaining of the surface she’d known. Buildings had been eaten through, as had most of the alleys. The entire place had become a forest of jackknifed pillars, countless sharp steel points aimed to the sky like a defensive barrier of stakes.
There wasn’t exactly anywhere to stand anymore. The surface architecture had been forcefully reshaped to something hostile. But that didn’t matter. Not for Nyxalraith. V̠ͅa͍i̝k͍na̓ carried her above the surface as a blanked of shadow curled around her in case there were any wandering eyes.
The ring of the accretion disk shifted. Little God looked upon her.
It was a strange phenomenon. Eyeball felt so close as she felt his gaze fall on her, yet the pupil of the Great iris was as far away as it ever was. An entire world beyond their reach.
“You know, this still feels surreal,” Nyxalraith said. Her voice was even, unfiltered by echos. He would hear her. “I thought you were truly gone. Given it was the Eidolons that took you away, I didn’t think you would return.”
There was a slight spiral of stars that revealed Little God’s amusement, but he stayed silent.
“Now that you are the Great Iris, it’s almost silly. You could wipe out the cults without a problem, I’m sure.” She huffed. “But I know you won’t. I know enough now to see that the Eidolons don’t actually care about the cult leaders’ deaths. Not really. If they were affronted by the sacrifice trying to gain their favour, they would have simply destroyed Coral. Destroyed this world. What they want is the Seed. They want my name to sprout — whatever that actually means — and I have to personally achieve my vengeance for that to happen.”
For what else could N̰ya͎la̲ͪ̑c̭̒ possibly be other than directly related to the Seed? Little God even said himself that he was to leave her alone so she would ‘forge her own path’. Clearly her existence itself — and possibly anyone else with cursed mutations — cultivated the Seed.
“I see.”
Nyxalraith snorted. The obliviousness he once had was nowhere to be seen. He knew everything, and was keeping tight lipped about it. The fact that he’d gained a sense of humour about it… well, she liked it now, but had a feeling it would very quickly become an annoyance.
“Back then,” she started. “I always called you Eyeball-”
“Or Little God,” He added with a knowing glint.
“…or Little God,” she admitted, reluctantly. She had always tried to avoid speaking that label anywhere except in her head. “But I never knew your name. Your actual name.”
After he’d disappeared, she honestly felt horrible she’d never learnt it. She’d simply gotten too used to the way she’d always referred to him.
“I never told you.” The ring of his iris shrunk, appearing as if the accretion was moving away… or Coral was sinking deeper into the black hole. “And I will not tell you now.”
Nyxalraith slumped. Was even his name something that he was forbidden from sharing with her? But why?
“Why don’t you tell me?”
“What?”
Little God just stared at her for a few moments, stars holding their slow spiral. “Read my name to me.”
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
She was about to refuse, to say it was impossible, but Little God was serious. There was something he wasn’t saying, but there wasn’t the slightest of doubt in his mind that she was capable of it. And this time, he wasn’t seemingly viewing a different version of herself.
Nyxalraith didn’t respond immediately. She calmed herself, settled in, and finally gave Eyeball’s soul her full, undivided attention.
He was overwhelming. She’d already known that. It was why she’d not given him more than a glimpse, as she felt she would be lost for weeks.
As her galaxy eyes slipped into the vast eternity behind that eye, she instantly felt the weight of his being. He existed here, and at the furthest reaches of the galaxy. He permeated this realm and something more.
It took a while to land upon the actual components of his soul. She wasn’t surprised to find his soul with so many evolutions. What was shocking, was that he was comparable to the Soulchasm.
“You’re an Elder God?”
His eye spiralled, but he said nothing, so Nyxalraith peered deeper. Clearly, he expected more.
She wasn’t exactly sure how she was supposed to manifest his name from what she saw. In recent months, she’d made plenty of progress in deciphering both a person’s history from the grooves and scars in their name, and what the name actually did from the way each component fit together. Still, manifesting a name from that was beyond her. She had no idea what she was supposed to look for.
But… Little God expected her to succeed, so she would peer into his soul until she did.
Nyxalraith spent a while like that. Her gaze spread across vast distances. Billions of light-years. From the nearest galaxy to the furthest. She felt like her brain was trying to melt and reform each time she tried to extract the slightest of information from Little God’s name, but pushed on whenever the migraine struck.
Then, as she rolled her gaze over the thousands of names for the thousandth time, something finally clicked. She let her mind sink into Pink just to check on her own name. Sure enough, what she’d found was consistent beyond just Little God.
It was funny, really. She didn’t know how she’d missed it so long. The shape of each name was a language of its own, and all it took was to give that language to the muscles of her tongue and throat and soul to manipulate for the name to form. Names, in the way they were spoken, were not actually speech. They were a representation of the soul through manipulation of the fundamental and unnatural alike.
Any creature, so long as their soul was strong enough, could speak a name. Even if they lacked a mouth.
It took Nyxalraith finally comprehending how all that functioned for her to reach Little God’s name.
"Ļ̬͔̲̞͈͕̱͔̝͕̜̯̙̥̣̣̥̘̘͙̮͎͉͎̙̺̮̥̝͕͍̹̣̙͎̼͉̻͙̼̯̱̗̠̜͖̦̤̺͇̣̯̻̤̳̟̤̭͇͕̺̥̦̹̘ͫ̈̈̍̐ͮ̐̐ͨ̅̓̋̄͂͑ͧ̍̏ͨ͋͗̈ͫͪ͐̓̄ͯ̈ͧ̂͊͆̏͌̌̿̍͂ͦͬ͗ͧ̓͋̋̃̉̊̇ͧ͗̍ͫͨͧ̋̆̅̇ͩ̅̍ͭ͐̿̎ͧ̇͑̃͐̚͞ͅy̡̢̰̺͙̬̩̥̰̬̭͎̣͙̗̣̞̣͚̯̤̠͎̣͎͚̤̮͚̬͖̰̠̲͎̠̘̙̮̯̭͉͇̦͎͙̫̪̗̟̪̦͇̻̟̼͖͎̱͕̳̖̯͇͙̝̪̺͓̰̜̘̠̱͉̹̗͍̐ͧͬͨ͑ͫ͐ͫ̄̒̇͊̀̑̇̑͛̇̅͆ͧͨ̿͛ͫͪ̈̄̅͒͑ͧ̈́̆̅̆̏ͭ̑ͩ̒ͧ͋ͩ̐̏ͪͧ̎ͫ̐̉ͪͯ̓̎͌̌ͭ̒̍̏̈̄̒͛̈̓̋ͮ̈ͨ̍ͨ͒̋̏ͮͅä̩̖̩̝̱̞̜̦̝̻̩̹̱̝̖̲̰̮̣̭̯̰̞̩͈̤̘̣̹͓̦̖̯̪͉̣̯̣̗͎̹̹̘̦̯͓͉̳̞̺͓̱̼͈͚͚͍̩̝̠͍͕̬͓̹̥̯̮͕̗̳̫̩̬͈̮̮̓ͦ͗̀̄̋̋ͣ͑̍͋̽ͫ̈ͬ̽ͣ̄̎ͩ̃̄͑̈ͤͨ̑̑ͦ͋͒ͫͦ̉͛̿ͩ̾̓͆͗̌͊̆̂ͪ̅̓͛̅ͤ̔̏ͦ̃̾͊ͬ̾̾̂̀̅ͫ̌ͤͥ̅͌͗͑̄͗̚͢ͅe̢̼̗̝̗̹̭̘̗̳͉̺͈̹͎̫͖̠͍̤̤̖̠̬̗͇̤̗̭͕̘̱̩̦͙̖̳̜͍̙̮͇̱̹̗̺̞͎̘̪̣̙ͩ̄̎ͣ̃ͥ͋͒̀̆̇͆ͪ̇ͣ̔̈́̽̇ͩ̑̌̔ͦ̈́̈́͑̃͆͂̏͒ͫ͂ͪ͆̌ͩ̐̎̇́͂̾͌̑͐ͬ͗͑͑͛̽ͣ͒͐ͩͅg̷͔͔̝̫̠͇̮̳͇̯͖͕̬͔̩̜̲̲̺̣̖̹̘̻͔̻̞̠̳̞̖̖͉̖̲̲̣͖̹̼̞̫̦̲̠̗̦̳̜̙͎̬͍̫͙̖̲̲̘̲̜̣̣͇̜̞̼̭͈̗̫͕̻͎͍̯̠͗ͯ͋̌͆̈́̎ͣ͋͐ͪͬ̓ͬ̋ͪ̀ͪ̎̅̓̊͋̅̆̊ͩͪͣͣ̅̈́͋ͣͩ͂̂͆ͦ̓̇̓ͬ̈́͂͆̇̍ͭ̔̿͐̈́͐̎̓̑̉ͥ͗ͤ̇̒̈̑ͤ́̉̐̅ͥͯ̒̀͒̒̓̈́̆̌̇̚̚̚ͅͅh̥̜̹̙͉̳̪̞͙͓͇̜͈̘̭̮̟̼̠̹̮̠͇̠͎̯̬̩͋͐̉̄̄̍͋ͬ̍̈́̆ͦ̎ͬͦ͒̒ͬ̅͗͌ͯ͗̇̇͐̊̃̀̎͋͊ͧ̒ͫͫͣ͒̽̍ͣ͊̿ͪͅͅͅä̞͓̲̞͍͈̫͖̳̦̼̣̤̹́̄ͨ́ͣ̉̋͒ͭ̂̓̽ͪ̑ͫ̿̈͑͊̚ͅ҉̩̜̭̬̮̖̝̩̘̩̮͖͙͓̟͇̦̲̱̮͙̦͓̣̺̯̈̎̔̆̍ͬͫͭ̽͌ͪ͐͑ͮ̐ͭ̈͂̂̊ͤ̋̈́ͧ̈́͋ͣͣ̀ͦͦͤ̈́ͮ̄̏ͣ͋̐̈̚̚̚.”
Just allowing the name to use her lips put pressure on her soul. It was similar to how she’d felt as an unevolved trying to repeat the name of a cult leader.
The Eyeball’s pupil was spinning rapidly now. If the eye wasn’t his entire body, she could imagine a massive grin baring down at her.
“Yes. Ļ̬͔̲̞͈͕̱͔̝͕̜̯̙̥̣̣̥̘̘͙̮͎͉͎̙̺̮̥̝͕͍̹̣̙͎̼͉̻͙̼̯̱̗̠̜͖̦̤̺͇̣̯̻̤̳̟̤̭͇͕̺̥̦̹̘ͫ̈̈̍̐ͮ̐̐ͨ̅̓̋̄͂͑ͧ̍̏ͨ͋͗̈ͫͪ͐̓̄ͯ̈ͧ̂͊͆̏͌̌̿̍͂ͦͬ͗ͧ̓͋̋̃̉̊̇ͧ͗̍ͫͨͧ̋̆̅̇ͩ̅̍ͭ͐̿̎ͧ̇͑̃͐̚͞ͅy̡̢̰̺͙̬̩̥̰̬̭͎̣͙̗̣̞̣͚̯̤̠͎̣͎͚̤̮͚̬͖̰̠̲͎̠̘̙̮̯̭͉͇̦͎͙̫̪̗̟̪̦͇̻̟̼͖͎̱͕̳̖̯͇͙̝̪̺͓̰̜̘̠̱͉̹̗͍̐ͧͬͨ͑ͫ͐ͫ̄̒̇͊̀̑̇̑͛̇̅͆ͧͨ̿͛ͫͪ̈̄̅͒͑ͧ̈́̆̅̆̏ͭ̑ͩ̒ͧ͋ͩ̐̏ͪͧ̎ͫ̐̉ͪͯ̓̎͌̌ͭ̒̍̏̈̄̒͛̈̓̋ͮ̈ͨ̍ͨ͒̋̏ͮͅä̩̖̩̝̱̞̜̦̝̻̩̹̱̝̖̲̰̮̣̭̯̰̞̩͈̤̘̣̹͓̦̖̯̪͉̣̯̣̗͎̹̹̘̦̯͓͉̳̞̺͓̱̼͈͚͚͍̩̝̠͍͕̬͓̹̥̯̮͕̗̳̫̩̬͈̮̮̓ͦ͗̀̄̋̋ͣ͑̍͋̽ͫ̈ͬ̽ͣ̄̎ͩ̃̄͑̈ͤͨ̑̑ͦ͋͒ͫͦ̉͛̿ͩ̾̓͆͗̌͊̆̂ͪ̅̓͛̅ͤ̔̏ͦ̃̾͊ͬ̾̾̂̀̅ͫ̌ͤͥ̅͌͗͑̄͗̚͢ͅe̢̼̗̝̗̹̭̘̗̳͉̺͈̹͎̫͖̠͍̤̤̖̠̬̗͇̤̗̭͕̘̱̩̦͙̖̳̜͍̙̮͇̱̹̗̺̞͎̘̪̣̙ͩ̄̎ͣ̃ͥ͋͒̀̆̇͆ͪ̇ͣ̔̈́̽̇ͩ̑̌̔ͦ̈́̈́͑̃͆͂̏͒ͫ͂ͪ͆̌ͩ̐̎̇́͂̾͌̑͐ͬ͗͑͑͛̽ͣ͒͐ͩͅg̷͔͔̝̫̠͇̮̳͇̯͖͕̬͔̩̜̲̲̺̣̖̹̘̻͔̻̞̠̳̞̖̖͉̖̲̲̣͖̹̼̞̫̦̲̠̗̦̳̜̙͎̬͍̫͙̖̲̲̘̲̜̣̣͇̜̞̼̭͈̗̫͕̻͎͍̯̠͗ͯ͋̌͆̈́̎ͣ͋͐ͪͬ̓ͬ̋ͪ̀ͪ̎̅̓̊͋̅̆̊ͩͪͣͣ̅̈́͋ͣͩ͂̂͆ͦ̓̇̓ͬ̈́͂͆̇̍ͭ̔̿͐̈́͐̎̓̑̉ͥ͗ͤ̇̒̈̑ͤ́̉̐̅ͥͯ̒̀͒̒̓̈́̆̌̇̚̚̚ͅͅh̥̜̹̙͉̳̪̞͙͓͇̜͈̘̭̮̟̼̠̹̮̠͇̠͎̯̬̩͋͐̉̄̄̍͋ͬ̍̈́̆ͦ̎ͬͦ͒̒ͬ̅͗͌ͯ͗̇̇͐̊̃̀̎͋͊ͧ̒ͫͫͣ͒̽̍ͣ͊̿ͪͅͅͅä̞͓̲̞͍͈̫͖̳̦̼̣̤̹́̄ͨ́ͣ̉̋͒ͭ̂̓̽ͪ̑ͫ̿̈͑͊̚ͅ҉̩̜̭̬̮̖̝̩̘̩̮͖͙͓̟͇̦̲̱̮͙̦͓̣̺̯̈̎̔̆̍ͬͫͭ̽͌ͪ͐͑ͮ̐ͭ̈͂̂̊ͤ̋̈́ͧ̈́͋ͣͣ̀ͦͦͤ̈́ͮ̄̏ͣ͋̐̈̚̚̚!”
❖❖❖
Half an hour later, Nyxalraith stepped out of Pink and into a small, filthy room. She turned up her nose. It had only been a few weeks since she’d last been, and trash was already piling against one wall.
“Alͦy͚sy͚rã, I thought you were going to keep this place clean?”
“What? It is clean.” As if just noticing the pile, she continued. “…I swear that wasn’t there ten minutes ago.”
Nyxalraith sighed and shook her head. “Not why I’m here. I need to know which bunker Ari is in.”
Alysyra froze. It was a sudden tensing of her muscles before she was back to sitting casually, but there was no way Nyxalraith would miss it. When the other girl didn’t immediately answer, she narrowed her eyes.
"Alͦy͚sy͚rã…?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? You said you watched her get to the safety of a bunker before it was locked up. So which one?”