Lysyra was motionless. Her eyes gazed up at the ceiling without a shred of consciousness. The girl’s soul had been tugged from her body, and she hadn’t been able to do anything to defend against it.
Was it just the portion within the replica? Or had the ritual yanked the entirety of her soul through it? Nyxala was already proof enough that there were ways to pin her down despite the girl being nowhere nearby.
“You two idiots chose the wrong place to try this.”
Zan’Umi tugged the knife from her chest, completely unbothered by the soul-gathering ritual. She dropped the blade and reached a hand forward. Nyxala immediately felt something wrap around her soul, trying to tug it from her body in much the same way as the ritual tried to do only moments ago, except much stronger. Her enchanting song thread through Nyxala’s soul-touch, trying to pull the much lower evolution name straight through her defences.
Nyxala leaned forward. Her ribs ripped through her tattered, half-reformed cloak, and bit down on the arm and shoulder of the soulsinger.
“What the fu-”
Nyxala bit again as the woman’s hold on her soul shattered. Zan’Umi barely comprehended the teeth closing in on her face before she was swallowed.
Despite how terrifying that ability to rip people’s souls from their bodies was, the woman proved surprisingly unresilient. Nyxala chewed through her bones like they were matchsticks. Her considerable name mulched to nurture Nyxala’s own.
With Zan’Umi immediately forgotten, Nyxala nudged Lysyra’s unresponsive body. A puppet with cut strings.
Nyxala hadn’t come onto this island completely ignorant of the danger and consequences of failure. Given the number of strong Fleshsmiths in these halls, it would take a single mistake to be chased off, cut down, or captured. That risk had been acceptable.
What wasn’t tolerable, was her loyal confidant being taken from her.
Despite having an ability to trap Lysyra herself, Nyxala hadn’t considered the possibility. She’d been arrogant. Both in her own ability, and that of Lysyra’s. And now, because of that arrogance, the one she trusted most was being used as fuel for the Fleshsmith’s ritual.
In the best circumstance, it was only a portion of Lysyra’s soul stripped away — similar to a phantom’s attack — and the girl was still causing chaos out in Coral proper. But Nyxala could not simply accept that assumption and hope for the best.
Now more than ever before, Nyxala needed to put a stop to the ritual. Twisting it out of control, or overpowering the value of its sacrifice wasn’t good enough anymore. Not when Lysyra was now at risk of being a sacrifice herself. Nyxala needed to strike at Zandisth and the ritual directly.
But how?
She’d opted to hunt down the Fleshsmiths in the Island’s periphery for a reason; no matter how strong she’d gotten, the upper creed elite remained too strong for her. It was unlikely — impossible even — that all of them were so wrapped up in the ritual as to be unable to stop her.
Nyxala touched her throat as she glanced up at the LED strip illuminating the pile of soulless bodies.
Maybe it was time to tempt the shadows again. She had changed a lot since… and there was one mutation she’d put off that would really help, considering what she’d just learnt about O̅s̫stho̲th’s positive interaction with psychological warfare.
❖❖❖
Kole-Zan’lorrel wished the sacrifices had been gathered all in one go. For whatever reason, Zandisth and Zan’Illivis had decided that the sacrificial souls would be collected in nine surges, which accomplished nothing besides making his job a pain in the arse.
“This was not the plan K̟o͇͉lḗ. We already had far more than enough human sacrifices; there was no need to cut down our own. I am leaving.”
Smothering a scowl, Kole blocked his path. He despised those that referred to his core name alone. Who were these uppity cultists to ignore his actual power. To suggest they were equals. Kole wanted to spit every time he heard one of the lessers refer to him that way. Only he couldn’t. Not when Solan-K’Kant’l-Ru’an herself cared not for how she was regarded.
“Return to your hymn. You should be honoured — all of you should be — unlike the worthless miscreants,” he gestured to the pile of bodies, “Z͐a̟͠n̖͐di̥s͈t̝̾h̃̔́ has blessed you with the opportunity to prove your devotion, and reward you upon completion of his masterwork. Their loss will become your power.”
Of course, nothing of what he said was true. All these cultists before him would ultimately be sacrificed for the greater good. Kole simply had to keep them mollified until it was their turn. As annoying as that was.
The vocal dissenter obviously knew that. As did a few others. He cared not for the Fleshsmiths used as sacrifice; rather, he knew what was coming for him and wanted to escape before it occurred. He wasn’t even the only one. As Kole cast his gaze over his allocated cultists, a few let flickering eyes search for an exit not blocked by the upper creed. For them, his words weren’t an assurance, but a confirmation.
Not that it mattered. They would sing their hymns by force if necessary.
Kole wanted to avoid the bother, but if his arm was twisted then his displeasure at having to wrangle a bunch of uncooperative lower creeds wouldn’t matter. He couldn’t fail Z͐a̟͠n̖͐di̥s͈t̝̾h̃̔́.
“Those who do not return to the hymn are traitors and will be dealt with accordingly.”
That threat was enough to dissuade the concerned back into their temporary roles. Though, he kept his eye on the few that failed to hide their displeasure. Soon, an example might be in order.
The walls responded to their song. The power substation he was in charge of shifted from the standard energy ritual to one designed explicitly for this moment. Runes carved into the walls were consumed by flesh seeping through the metal. New pentagrams engulfed the old, and twisted the original generator to one that reached into the Darkness.
Pulling energy from the black hole was beyond dangerous. The power was marred. Affected by corruption scales beyond what anyone on Coral had ever experienced. Anything the energy was used for would rapidly deteriorate and alter its form in ways impossible to predict.
Fortunately, this Island would be discarded the moment the ritual succeeded.
Immense arcs of electricity arced between the coils overhead. The loud buzz struck his ears like the wailing of a monstrous wasp, stabbing them over and over.
The energy raced down the soul-infused conduit. The torso-thick cable of silver-alloy threads was designed explicitly to handle the power of the singularity — at least for a short time — and yet it was still not enough to contain and direct it completely. Electricity ignored the insulation of vacuum. It arced around its border so often, and so frequently, that a layer of plasma formed. Unlike the electric arcs, the plasma remained solid and steady over the silver surface. Yet despite the steady burning light radiating from the conduit, Kole swore he saw shadows shifting in the glow.
There was a crack of thunder, and suddenly one of the walls was gone. Along with half a dozen cultists. Vaporised before the flash could even register to his eyes.
The disaster caused by the unwieldy power cut off the chorus of the hymn, and the energy stuttered. The cable twisted, and so too did the world around it. Kole felt his own body bend as the substation coiled in on itself.
“Do not stop the hymn,” he snapped at those who had ceased their chant to gawk at the power flowing over their heads. “We all die if you lose focus.”
That wasn’t entirely true. He could manage the hymn himself with only a few other voices, but that would leave him vulnerable. Plus, this gave the cultists no opportunity to leave.
The walls shifted from curling in on itself to blooming outward like a flower, taking Kole and the other Fleshsmiths with it, until the chant finally brought the singularity’s power back under control. At least somewhat.
Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.
As Kole stood over the cultists, a sensation that something was off tingled at his ears. He glanced around, but noticed nothing strange. The chorus of voices flowed over him. They wormed into his mind and triggered his instincts. Something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t put his finger on what.
He strained his ears as he analysed the dozens under his watch. Soon, it became clear. Another voice sang amongst the rest. A voice he didn’t know.
No… there were two.
Or three?
The more Kole strained his ears, the more voices seemed to join in. Similar voices. Enough to outnumber even the chorus before him.
He wasn’t sure what to make of it. An echo of the black hole’s corruption? At least it sang in concert with the others.
…but that was a relief that did not last.
Almost as soon as he’d thought it, the echoing voices seemed to deviate. They grew further apart. A word would start a full second after another voice had already finished it. The harmony of the group was collapsing.
Suddenly, the light around them began to strain. Darkness gathered towards the entrance of the substation. Thick and murky, it began to swirl around the further LEDs, darkening their light, despite still being in sight.
Then, the rest of the LEDs began flickering. Despite being powered by enough energy to illuminate Coral for centuries, the lights faltered.
Kole unslung his weapon. He’d been told this ritual wouldn’t bring up any creatures of the Darkness along with it, but clearly they’d been wrong. That, or he’d been lied to; much like the cultists before him.
His fingers danced over the four bone-triggers of his bolt launcher, waiting for whatever monstrosity had been pulled along by power to show itself.
The flickering grew more frequent, and the shadow grew thicker. It was a wall of black with the barest traces of flashing LEDs bleeding through. Gone was the walls and floor. Gone was anything but the creeping shadow.
He could hear the voices getting closer. The symphony was now collapsing into cacophony. A hundred voices sang different tunes, wrenching cohesion from the Fleshsmith’s song.
The energy flowing through the conduit destabilised again. But Kole couldn’t pay that any mind, as the moment powerful streaks of electricity sparked at the walls, the creature of the Darkness appeared.
A blindingly bright light slipped into existence, unfiltered by the suffocating dark. It was a silhouette. Kole made out swaying tentacles and the movement of wings as the being shot forward. All other details were too indistinct.
All except the eyes.
Those five pink holes not only pierced the dark, but seemed to pierce the very nature of reality. As his body folded beneath the corruption bleeding from the conduit, his mind did as well from those eyes.
It was unsettlingly difficult to push past the drowning magnitude of the pink void, but once he did, he found he was already too late to save the first of his fellow cultists. Even through the deviating feminine melody originating from the monster, Kole could hear the crunch of bone, and the spurt of flesh popping.
He fired his bolts into the ever creeping darkness. The dozens of voices all ceased as one, combining into one of the most horrifying echoes of a screech his ears had ever had the displeasure of hearing.
At least he’d landed a shot.
Kole left his name ability to unleash its soul-rending power upon the creature and snapped at the chaos that had become the lower creeds.
“I’ll deal with the beast. Get back to the hymn.” Either they did it, or him, and he trusted himself a lot more than a bunch of third, fourth and fifth evolution cultists against a monster like this.
Despite being from the Darkness, it seemed this being was still susceptible to Kole’s attacks. That was enough to settle his fears. It no longer moved. His bolts, having soul-bound to whatever they pierced, would continue to drag themselves inwards towards the core of a beings heart, soul, or whatever held them together. It was inescapable, as this creature was surely discovering.
Loading the next volley, he aimed at the silhouette again. He met those pink eyes and witness a malice so intense his fingers clutched the triggers before he even comprehended the fear chilling his spine.
The bolts pierced the space between them. Only this time, the being moved incomparably faster to before. By the time the bolts cut where it was, the silhouette was already ten metres to the side, throwing itself into the pile of soulless bodies. At the sound of munching, he felt the bolts in the creature shoved outwards. Somehow, it was pushing against the nigh unstoppable crawl of his name.
Kole took a hesitant step back. He hated having to rely on his Feat, but sometimes the situation asked for everything.
The next bolts he clipped into the bow he filled with his own soul. Until he recollected the bolts, he would be weaker for it, but so long as they struck, the creature would die. No matter its resistance to the crawl.
He focused on the glowing pink orbs, and instilled the mark into his bolts.
The creature was done with the soul-extracted and moved onto those trying to keep the hymn in harmony despite the creature’s unsettling voices continually nipping at their concentration. The stronger of the cultists panicked and fled the moment it turned their way. The weaker didn’t have the reaction time to do the same. All died in the carnage.
Kole felt his original volley dislodge entirely. He grimaced. Whatever this creature was, it likely had some insane regeneration.
Not bothering to aim, he fired the four bolts infused with his own soul. Each immediately turned to follow their designated target.
Even as the silhouette leapt high in the air, unbothered by the lightning that arced through its darkness, Kole’s bolts followed it. It reacted to their approach, and shot to one side. If this was a being he could comprehend, he might have laughed at the pitiful attempt. The bolts maintained their speed and curved to follow the silhouette.
The monster tried to swipe it out of the air with a tentacle. Instead, the shaft of the bolt stuck to flesh, and immediately dug inside. Regeneration pushed against it, but his weapon raced towards the being’s core. In only a few seconds, the silhouette would be dead. And there were still three more identical bolts left to strike.
Oddly enough, the creature accepted the inevitability, and turned to face the chasing bolts head-on.
Kole breathed, relieved that it was finally going his way. There weren’t many creatures — human or otherwise — able to survive a single of his bolts once they’d hit. He was sure that in a few years, his bolt would pierce Z͐a̟͠n̖͐di̥s͈t̝̾h̃̔́ himself.
Then, his bolts vanished.
It was a vicious strike to his own core. The pieces of himself he’d placed in those bolts was gone. No… not gone. He sensed the portions of his soul floating somewhere impossibly far away. Beyond reach. It was fleeting at best, but he felt himself ever so slowly drain away.
It was agonising.
He didn’t know where, nor did he know how. All that he could say without a shadow of a doubt, was that something was chewing on his soul.
Desperation flooded his veins. Tossing his weapon, he took two bolts in his bare hands and filled them with half his remaining core name. If he didn’t kill this thing right now, it would consume those parts of his soul before his bolt could do its damage.
With bolts in hand like a pair of daggers, he threw himself into the fray. It was regenerating every time it ate. He felt it in the resistance against his bolt. All he needed to do was stop it from eating the Fleshsmiths, and he would win.
He wasn’t the best harbinger in proximity fights, but he didn’t waste time with preparations. Kole threw himself forward with the determination to crush the unknown.
“Too late.” A thousand echoing voices speaking the same words filled Kole with dread. An instant later, the flickering lights cut out for good. And so too, did the bright plasma of the conduit dim to nothingness.
He was thrown into pitch black. Only the silhouette and its unsettling eyes boring into his soul remained. But even that didn’t last.
A pinprick of light crested the edge of the silhouette like an eclipse. He strained his eyes against the bright light, and all too soon it was outlining a silhouette once more. Except this time, it was of a jaw the size of his torso. Massive teeth closed around the light, and suddenly he was drowning in darkness. Not even a glow of pink hinted at the monster’s presence.
Kole swung his makeshift blades at where he sensed his own soul. Neither connected.
“Do you not like the dark?”
He swung at the voice whispering in his ear. It had been so close. Yet still, his bolt found nothing.
“Does it scare you?”
He swung again. Pointlessly. He still felt his bolt digging through the creature, but now it was as if it didn’t care. Even if the bolt struck its heart, would it even do anything? Was its initial pain nothing more than a trick? He was being toyed with.
Something touched his back, and he flinched away. That did nothing but have him trip over some slimy mass that suddenly touched his leg. Typically, he would have recovered, but he was clobbered over the back of the head and sent sprawling.
By the time he got to his feet again, the substation was consumed with the screams of the lower creeds, the metallic roar of a feral beast, and the snapping of bone.
What should have killed in seconds still hadn’t managed it in ten. How had this all gone so wrong?
A flicker of blue overhead. With a flash, the ceiling was engulfed in the soul-gathering ritual once more, but all Kole saw was the face of a girl mere inches from his. A girl with blood trailing from her lips. A girl with four eyes in the same place he’d seen those pink orbs, containing a terrifying expression of hunger and malice.
Kole leapt back. He was quick enough that those razor sharp teeth only sliced through his nose and one side of his cheek. The flesh gave way far too easily.
In motion, his eyes caught the glint of what had happened to the power rituals. Somehow, the metal and flesh forming the walls and ceiling had been sanded down until nothing but traces of the original ritual remained.
He swung, but the girl — the monster with the face of a girl — stepped into his swing. Instead of his bolt drilling her in the heart, it slipped right through. The monster’s body dematerialised.
Now inside his guard, her chest opened and he got a full view of what had been hidden in the dark. He experienced those wicked teeth first hand, as they sliced through his own chest. Heart, lungs, stomach. All gone.
Kole brought down the bolts and stabbed them in her back as the lights went out once more. Despite that, she didn’t so much as flinch.
Why did they move so slowly so close to her core? They should have cut through her body as if it were nothing but air. Nothing short of Solan’s right hands should be able to stop his bolts.
Desperate for an answer, he pushed his mind into the soul parts within those bolts. Immediately, he felt that resistance which shunted him back. It wasn’t just regeneration. It was a soul directly fighting his intrusion, pushing back at him.
That wasn’t strange. Plenty of beings had ways for their souls to influence their surroundings. He personally had more than one.
No, it wasn’t the touch that was strange. It was the soul behind that touch.
This creature’s core name was a pit. He’d never seen anything like it. A hole so deep he couldn’t comprehend its existence. He stared into it, trying to understand. Doing so did nothing but swallow him in terror.
So overwhelmed in a horror sprouted from little more than a deep, instinctual feeling, Kole simply stared into nothingness as he was swallowed whole.