Despite Ta’Stralanov’r’s rather dismissive air to the attack on her and the cathedral, the rest of the Technocult left no doubt that the strike had been damaging. Men and women of metal stood in uncertain silence. Their flickering eyes announced their agitation.
This was a cult that prided itself on discipline and holding themselves to the principles in which they followed. So the unnaturally discordant atmosphere was tangible. Nyxalrai could feel the Technocultists’ desire to rush out and crush the Machine God Worshippers being strangled by the need to stay. This had been the closest anyone came to reaching their leader in well over a century.
They had sacrificed a lot of ground to assure their head wasn’t removed.
Nyxalrai passed through the army, eyes following her every step. Her concealer may be back in place, but too many had seen what she was; they wouldn’t be fooled by her sudden human face. They knew she was more than she appeared.
They knew she didn’t fit into their mould. She was an exception.
Her new concealer had been expanded on from the last iteration. Ta’Stralanov’r claimed it was necessary to last any longer than the week of the last, but the way it bolted into her spine and neck was already unsettling her ability to deal with the intrusion.
The expanded pauldron was too large to keep under her robe and cloak anymore. It should have offered her some reprieve in the eyes of the Technocultists, that she was one of them, but Nyxalrai couldn’t help but feel it did nothing but point out their inescapable differences. Her body wouldn’t accept mechanical intrusion. The Technocult was strict in their way of things, accepting fellows only by a stringent, unchanging rubric.
Nyxalrai did not feel like a Technocultist.
As she felt the gazes of hundreds of warriors fall on her — hybrids of human and machine scrutinising someone that was neither — she imagined a fracture. There wasn’t one, of course. Commitment to superiors’ orders was ingrained deep into Technocultists. More-so than any other cult. Even the eyes she saw held only appreciation for winning them the Trial by most, and true respect by the few that knew what she’d done to Solan and what she continued to do to the cults.
But… there was a flicker of confusion there too. Of worry or concern. Nyxalrai wasn’t taking the Technocult path — she couldn’t — and that instilled legitimate apprehensions in those beholden to convention. Was Nyxalrai unwilling to do what was needed to become one of them? Was special consideration being given to her?
As appreciative as she was not to see greed from the sole cult she trusted, these eyes, concerned about the very foundations of their own cult being warped, were not ones she was glad to see. In a way, it was worse.
At least the greedy eyes could be stabbed.
The instant the last eye slipped off her form, Nyxalrai ripped open a tear in reality. She stepped past sharp-pointed teeth, and bit.
Pink engulfed her, and not long after, a mountain of chains attempted to do the same. It was a weak effort. In the two months since Nyxalrai had swallowed the remnants of Solan’s soul, they had grown frail. Each fleshforged chain link was cracked and brittle through the metal, and the fleshy parts had become little more than a foul sludge barely holding the whole thing together.
The attacks were so weak, Nyxalrai simply sat and took it as Lý̥o̻t́e̞pͦ kept her whole.
Curiously, there was less chain attacking her than usual. She noticed a sizeable chunk off in the far distance of her stomach, cowering and desperately trying not to be noticed. Apparently, even Solan’s soul could be broken.
Nyxalrai settled in. Immediately, her soul bloomed to the forefront of her mind and manifested in the Pink around her — not that there was much difference. So much power sculpting had led her to this moment. As the thousand-odd possible evolution options came into being in the form of ghostly spirals superimposed upon each other, Nyxalrai resolved herself to take the risk she knew she needed to take.
Lý̥o̻t́e̞pͦ-T͑s̟͂tl̬̐l̞
As the soil crumbles and sky tumbles, the growing pillar shatters both. Soul and body are united. To strike with one is to risk the other. A whole, dedicated to the downfall of immortals.
There it was. The warning that had once besmirched the initial line of the description was gone. And so too had the details changed.
Nyxalrai wasn’t sure what to think about the mention of body and soul being connected; she tended to take an immense amount of damage in her more threatening fights. Though, considering Lý̥o̻t́e̞pͦ — one of the names to be combined — was what powered her healing, she figured it unlikely to cause unintended counter-synergy. Worth the risk, at least.
What made the combination all but necessary, was that last line. Currently, she could lock another soul to herself in a fight to the death, but it gave her no direct advantage in a fight. All it did was stop her enemies from fleeing. But this… it sounded like the deaths of the cult leaders was its entire purpose.
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But before she initiated the evolution, there was another she needed to consider.
N̪ỷx̱̽alr̘a͎i-Lý̥o̻t́e̞pͦ-T͑s̟͂tl̬̐l̞
Curse — All below the event horizon is domain of the black hole
She hadn’t expected anything else, but Nyxalrai couldn’t help but groan at the lack of so much as a hint of the result.
Adding her core name to the combination was something Nyxalrai absolutely wanted, but this was already a big change. It was an evolution the description itself had once told her to wait to implement. Now it was ready. She needed a chance to understand the capabilities of these two Feats melded into one. Only when she knew what the name could do would she accept it into her core and allow it to become an integral part of her being.
Both Lý̥o̻t́e̞pͦ and T͑s̟͂tl̬̐l̞ had reached the limit of their capabilities, and further evolutions would grant minimal, if any, improvements. The same could not be said for many of her other names. O̅s̫s̋tĥo̲t͛h was the only one she’d really considered, but even then she instinctively knew it had more to give. What would she combine it with? She wasn’t about to let it interfere with the merging of the two Feats, and the two unevolved names were little more than useless. Better to use as sacrifice than a combination part.
Nya͎la̲ͪ̑c̭̒ wouldn’t let her combine it. The Eidolons would refuse. And to combine Ỷ̠o̖̯̐gͮ¦epy would be to risk Ỷ̠o̖̯̐gͮ; not something she was willing to try.
Funny how the blob’s tendency to corrupt her name evolutions hadn’t even been a factor in her decision. The little guy really had grown on her. Well, technically through her.
Then there was still V̠ͅai̝k͍na̓ and Inqyͮͩ̿ḿ͔ͦe. The former was far too valuable and still hadn’t flourished for her to touch it yet. Not to mention it was only fifth evo. The latter… it was a relatively newly formed name itself. She still had to figure out some of the intricacies in how its gruesome nature could synergise with her other abilities. Though, Nyxalrai was very aware of the potential it had to be joined with O̅s̫s̋tĥo̲t͛h. But… not yet.
N̪ỷx̱̽alr̘a͎i-Nya͎la̲ͪ̑c̭̒-Ỷ̠o̖̯̐gͮ¦epy-o̅s̫s̋tĥo̲t͛h-Lý̥o̻t́e̞pͦ-T͑s̟͂tl̬̐l̞-V̠ͅai̝k͍na̓-inqyͮͩ̿ḿ͔ͦe-jnoi-athra
Curse — A seedling grows within the rotting soil of fate. Sprouts cut through the environment of rot and parasitic weeds, growing in spite of all that smothers. A single bud parts the surface, touched by ravenous air.
Just before she allowed her orbiting spiral of names to evolve, she just had to bring up the complete combination. Nice to see she was apparently breaching the surface now… or maybe it was ominous. Nyxalrai remained completely in the dark on whether this Seed was a good thing for her.
The chains flinched back as her evolution began. With thousands of components spiralling around her in a violent clash of orbits, Nyxalrai found her attention falling on the remnant of Solan. It was clearly reacting to her evolution. The entire concept of someone else being able to look in on such an intimate moment — even if there wasn’t exactly a consciousness left of Solan — was disconcerting.
At least, it should be.
Nyxalrai found herself entirely unbothered by the thought of people witnessing her soul’s orbital restructuring. The little pieces that made each name, that held every secret, it was all on display, peeled open and bare. But she felt no shame. The insular need of humans was absent. Like with her mutations, what did it matter to Nyxalrai what people thought of her.
If they thought they could decipher the curse of her core name — which still eluded her — then they could try.
Her logical mind defied that sentiment. Nyxalrai wasn’t about to let some onomastician dig freely through her name before she was ready to face the cults. She knew that wouldn’t end well. It would be hard to hide her evolution if they saw her out in the open, but the in-depth analysis could not be completed quickly. Not even by high creed cultists.
She wondered if they’d solved her fourth evolution names yet? The ones she’d had during the Trials. Even then, most of the names had been complex enough that they wouldn’t be an easy cipher.
Did knowing someone’s past names help unravel subsequent evolutions? Her galaxy eyes could dismantle the very components of a name and pick them apart individually, so if there were any onomasticians capable of similar, they would be able to solve each name as if it were a puzzle. Much like she was learning to do herself.
…Maybe her eyes were the reason she didn’t care about being seen through herself. It was a bit hard to care when she saw through people’s entire being on a daily basis.
Finally, Nyxalrai’s evolution consolidated into a bundle of powerful names. Minimal changes to all but the one beneath her eye.
N̪ỷ̽x̱̽alr̘a͎ith-N̰ya͎la̲ͪ̑c̭̒-Ỷ̠o̖̯̐gͮ̉¦ey-o̅s̫s̋thͤ̂o̲t͛h-T͑s̟͂tl̬̐te̞pͦ-V̠ͅa͍i̝k͍na̓-inͪqyͮͩ̿ḿ͔ͦe
Strange. She’d not really paid much attention to it before, but she no longer lost consciousness when her core name evolved. Nyxalraith remembered losing her sense of self back in her earlier evolutions. Was it due to Pink? It had to be, unless it had something to do with her mind permeating the other names now that they were strong enough.
Besides gaining an extra inflection, none of her names’ descriptions had changed. None but one.
T͑s̟͂tl̬̐te̞pͦ — The precedent for life is that of a flickering candlelight. It burns, the wax melts, then it is gone. It burns, wax melts, and gone. Again and again, the blaze strips the wick and snuffs itself out, as it always has. But for every so many extinguished candles, there are those that tumble into a vat of infinite wax, or ascend beyond the constraints of fuel.
And every so often, these candles relearn what it means to truly combust.
They learn that the measures to resist the inevitable end of the wick mean nothing in the face of an inferno. A blaze uncaring for the difference between wax, wick, and the steel clasp that holds them.
That was… once again confusing. But if she wasn’t imagining it and she was supposed to be this inferno, then Nyxalraith had a feeling she would very much enjoy this name.
Seventh evolution. Hard to even fathom the weak child she’d been in another life.
Her jaw opened and she stepped out of Pink into the dark tunnels of Coral’s depths. Time to test out the dual Feat. She couldn’t wait.
Some unfortunate cultist was about to have a very unpleasant night.