Nyxalraith let her shadow spread out ahead of her as she climbed the massive arcing pillar. The stairs were the only approach to the Observatory not drowning in the solar rain, so she was forced to use her feet like a normal person. Disappointing. It would have been nice to properly spread her wings. There weren’t that many places down in the depths large enough to freely support their new span.
Once again, she considered just teleporting in. It would be easy. But doing so would be a detriment to her primary goal.
She remained ready. Despite the tingle in her claw, Nyxalraith kept her gaze skyward. The moment an army of Everseeing Eye cultists came streaming down the single path into their temple, she would slice them up like rats in a blender.
But… no cultist came.
The lack of reaction from above to her blatant slaughter at the base of these stairs was unnerving. There wasn’t so much as a flicker from above to show they even realised what had happened to their guards. It was as if they hadn’t noticed.
Nyxalraith blanched at the very thought. This was the Cult of the Everseeing Eye; they prided themselves in their vision above all else. How could they not notice?
And yet… beyond all expectations, they apparently hadn’t.
The climb to the Observatory was supposed to be the most difficult part of her plan. Only one way in? With no cover, and against a bunch of cultists that built their entire soul around seeing the things that remained hidden? There was no world in which Nyxalraith could sneak in. So she’d decided to go in hard and fast; a frontal assault.
She had leveraged the terror of ‘The Nightmare’ in an attempt to disrupt whatever defensive measures she faced — giving herself space to deal with only the higher creeds — but she could smell no fear above. Only devotion. So much devotion and earnest exhilaration that it almost overwhelmed the senses of her new subtly mutated nasal canal.
They hadn’t completely missed her approach, right? Surely not. Nyxalraith hadn’t even tried to be quiet.
But, against all common sense, she’d climbed to the top of the shattered glass dome without so much as an eye peeking down at her. The cult of sight hadn’t seen her coming from the single possible path.
Were they that enraptured in the sight of the Great Iris? Even the relatively strong seventh and eighth evolution cultists hadn’t noticed her approach until too late, caught with their eyes in the air.
Nyxalraith’s own eyes slipped past the daunting lens that formed the upper half of the Observatory — a detail she’d never been so high as to notice — and found the god that the cult worshipped so fervently. It looked bigger up here. The accretion disk was notably larger, as was the pupil of stars and galaxies, though it was hard to say if that was due to the increased altitude, or some ritual funnelling light in a particular way.
The initial three suns had long been consumed, empowering the accretion disk with enough radiating light that her eyes would have melted in her head, had they not mutated. Even with the deific tempest’s storm parting around the path she walked, the Iris was more dangerous than ever.
More stars spiralled outwards. A significant portion of the well of lights was a single galaxy. It was in the midst of collapse. Millions of suns grew brighter with every second, gradually approaching the border to the accretion.
There was an endless number of curiosities held within that expanse. Even if you could take a fraction of it all in, the rapid spiral brought about so many changes, the shifting of stars and clashing of galaxies, that there would always be something new to see. In a sense, Nyxalraith could understand why the cult grew so enamoured.
Didn’t mean they should ignore the reality they lived in, though.
Nyxalraith glanced down at her hand. She snapped her claws shut a few times to ground herself for what she needed to do. The feeling of the one claw almost fully reformed was enough to shake off the last tinges of doubt that clung to her. The cult knew she was here, or didn’t: it would hardly matter.
A mocking grin graced her lips as she traced the recovering claw. Oh, how she hoped Euphoria lost whatever value he gained from her sacrifice. Even if she knew that was unlikely, the thought of distress was all she could manage until she had the time to prepare a proper ritual — and trap — for the bastard god.
T͑s̟͂tl̬̐te̞pͦ had been everything she could have hoped for from the combination of Feats. It had been a major fear that her ability to heal would be hampered by a name not solely focused on it. Fortunately, she’d been worried for nothing. Soul-regeneration was damned impressive for a side-effect.
The name allowed her to transfer any physical attack to one on the soul. It only worked on her own body, so the rapiers, chainsaw and anything else not directly part of herself was unaffected.
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Of course, like her former soul-cage Feat, the ability didn’t come without its downside. Each soul attack left her own body vulnerable. A retaliation — even a mundane one — would strike her soul directly.
Five seconds. Her enemies had a whole five seconds to sort-of… steal back the damage she’d inflicted, and inflict damage of their own. She still wasn’t entirely sure how that aspect worked. What she did know, was that getting struck back in this vulnerable state was not enjoyable. Nyxalraith may be able to pivot between soul and normal healing now, but soul regeneration was far far slower. A few too many attacks to her soul, and she might lose parts of her name she needed to survive.
Still, given her eyes’ insurmountable view into the soul, she knew where to strike better than most. Once she fully learnt how to decipher a name from all the intricacies etched into them… well, she’d already reached the point of cutting down eighth evolutions with two strikes. That did much to prove its potential.
Nyxalraith faced no obstacles in the last leg of her climb. Not a scream. Not a shout. Not so much as a whisper at her presence being noticed. She could see them now: cultists stood along the ramp circling the edges of the Observatory that led to the viewing platform. Each and every one of them held their gaze skyward.
The heavy clank of her own footsteps echoed from the vestibule ahead of her. She made no attempt to hide. Of the four fifth evolution guards she assumed had been posted to watch the entrance — or watch over the group down below — not a single one responded to her approach.
It was insulting.
Did they believe they were so untouchable that nobody would climb their tower during their most important of days?
Nyxalraith passed the threshold into the Observatory proper and came to a stop no more than ten metres from the supposed ‘guards’. Her head snapped upwards. She could feel the immense weight from above. A gaze. It was omniscient. Ever-present. As she looked up, it was almost as if the eye spun faster, deific tempest growing more intense than ever.
The sensation was almost intense enough that she forgave these cultists for ignoring her. She understood why they were all so enthralled and distracted from their duties.
But no, Nyxalraith wasn’t here for a stealthy entrance. She was here to make a scene. And these incompetents weren’t playing to her tune.
Well, that would change.
Nyxalraith breathed out. A wave of darkness rushed forward, her shadow tentacles reaching to curl around the four cultist’s necks as Yog was given the freedom to flood the place and enjoy himself.
The Everseeing Eye cultists realised something was wrong far too late. They were given just enough time to shout their alarm before each shadowy tentacle ripped through their neck and plucked their souls.
They went down screaming. The synchronised howls of soul-rending agony sliced through the Observatory in a way that their alarms couldn’t. Heads turned. Finally, the Cult of the Everseeing Eye were waking from the intoxication of their Great Iris.
Finally, they noticed the Nightmare knocking on their doorstep.
Yog eagerly pounced on the four fallen cultists. Their cries soon ended. She was getting better at aiming her shadows, but it seemed she still wasn’t capable of ending a sixth evolution with the pull of a finger.
That had been a pleasant surprise. One would think that a single evolution difference wouldn’t mean much, but Nyxalraith’s soul carried far more weight to it than the typical seventh evolution name. That disparity meant her shadows could essentially strangle those below her evolution with the use of T͑s̟͂tl̬̐te̞pͦ. With the exception of those with soul defences.
…It was rare to find soul defences in any but the highest creeds.
Hundreds began to flood the ramps, rushing down to defend the Observatory. Though given there was supposed to be hundreds of thousands here, it was a paltry effort. They didn’t want to drag anyone they didn’t need to away from their devotion.
She had timed her arrival perfectly. The Cult of the Everseeing Eye were already in the heights of their ceremony.
Nyxalraith gave a cursory glance over the amassing lesser creeds for anyone powerful before she began the slaughter. Not even a single sixth creed. How disappointing.
No. Nyxalraith shook her head. This is a good thing. If they don’t want to take me seriously, then I’ll just make sure the terror spreads. These cultists aren’t safe even in their most divine of places.
A tidal wave of blood crashed into the first line of cultists. Instantly, bodies began popping. Their own blood splattered over their fellows, only for that blood to drill into their skin and take their veins away from their control.
“Ỷ̠o̖̯̐gͮ̉, let them scream before you kill them,” she whispered. “At least a little.”
The vanguard of blood rippled in affirmation. With his eager approach slowed, Nyxalraith’s shadowy mist rolled over those not eviscerated in the initial attack. She left patches in the fog. Sections of lesser darkness so that those awaiting on higher ground would not only hear the horrifying screeches of their cult members, but also see some of the horrific ways they would die.
This was every bit a show as it was an assault on a cult stronghold.
And the results were immediate. Everseeing Eye cultists had already been hesitant to rush down the moment they’d seen Nyxalraith’s all-encompassing darkness swallowing the entrance to their Observatory. With the addition of the slaughter happening before their very eyes — dozens of deaths with each blink of the eye — they grew truly, profoundly, gloriously terrified.
One after another, they began to flee. Men and women tumbled over each other in their desperation to run from ‘The Nightmare’ that had come for them in the middle of the day.
Nyxalraith laughed. She couldn’t help it. The scent of fear rolling off such a massive group of supposed defenders left her giddy. The sound of her elation trilled over a hundred dying screams, carrying upwards and past the shadows of claws and tentacles hooking at the edge of the viewing platform, before finally slamming into the thousands above.
A secondary thrill overcame her as she felt the reaction to her thousand voices. Like a branching lightning, terror sparked through the masses.
The entire cult knew she was coming. They knew, and they were terrified.
As they should be.
Nyxalraith would show Dan why joining a cult was the worst decision he could possibly make.