Lysyra snorted to wakefulness.
She pushed herself up from the floor, wiping the drool from her cheek. Groggily, she looked around. Everything was the same as always, except she’d had the best sleep in years. No nightmares. No stirring. No headache from the portion of her mind she set aside to her reflections.
…
Oh fuck. All her reflections were gone.
Lysyra jolted to her feet. Her gaze snapped to the hidden door, expecting someone — maybe even Phosphortanis herself — to knock it open now that it had been left unwatched. For who knew how many hours?
When, after a few minutes of silence, Lysyra relaxed, she created a dozen copies of herself and sent them out.
What had happened? How had she lost so much progress? Some of the places she’d infiltrated had taken years to penetrate without discovery. Sure, they wouldn’t take that long to get in again, now that she knew some of their weaknesses, but it would still take considerable time to rebuild her network.
The last thing she remembered was a blue flash after playing support for Nyxala.
Through the imprint on her name, Lysyra was all but certain the girl was alive. That was her immediate goal: spread her reflections to the Island as fast as possible to find out what had happened, and help Nyxala if need be.
In times like this, she wished she really did have teleportation, as she’d feigned for so long. As she was now, it would take at least half a day to reach the edge of Coral again. Especially with the war.
All she could do was mull in her fears.
Lysyra lowered herself back to her pentagram, activating it and sending her mind through as many replicas as she could. Her hand touched something wet. With the sleeve of her robe, she wiped up the small puddle of saliva. She cringed. Even given her incredibly deep sleep, Lysyra didn’t think she would drool this badly. Good thing nobody could see her in here.
It was the moment that thought crossed her mind that a pink crack cut through the wall of her hovel.
She froze, her head twisted, and eyes dragged to the bright, otherworldly colour. Lysyra needn’t move. She couldn’t. There was nowhere to run with the split in reality slicing through her hidden door.
The jagged crack began to widen, and she suddenly realised what she was looking at. Teeth. A massive, monstrous maw opening to reveal a horrifying, enrapturing, alien reality.
Lysyra forgot her ritual. She scrambled back as she tried in vain to tear her eyes from the jaw opening to eat her. It swallowed half her home. A scream left her lips as her back found the wall.
Then, Nyxala walked from the Pink.
The scream died in Lysyra’s throat. It took a few seconds to comprehend the girl’s appearance. The way her chest was wrapped in the same unnatural colour. How the Pink void was the same enrapturing sight that she’d previously seen in Nyxala’s eyes. Lysyra was not about to be eaten.
“Huh?” was all she could manage as she stared up at the one she’d Invowed herself.
Nyxala, the bitch, had the gall to look pleased.
“Why are you smirking?” Lysyra snapped, rising from where she’d cowered in a corner. “You scared me half to death. What was that?”
She gawked as Nyxala’s smirk grew to a full-on grin, revealing those triangular teeth of hers. The Pink-containing fangs — she now recognised as Nyxala’s ribs — closed, folding back into the girl’s torso.
“Teleportation.” Nyxala said it as if it was the simplest thing, but her smug expression made it obvious she knew exactly what she was saying.
Lysyra glared. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope,” Nyxala chirped.
“What happened? Why did all my reflections pop? How did you-” Lysyra paused, cycling the image of that maw through her mind again. “Was that a new mutation?”
“Yep,” Nyxala said, but her grin slipped to a curious incline of her brow. “You don’t remember?”
“Remember what?” she asked, suspicious. “Do you know why I woke up with all my reflections severed?”
Nyxala nodded. “A lot happened after your soul got sucked up by the ritual. You’re lucky I-”
“It what?” Lysyra cut in. “I got what?”
Nyxala shrugged. “Z͐a̟͠n̖͐di̥s͈t̝̾h̃̔́ was prepared to sacrifice most of his followers to summon The Soulchasm. You got caught up in that ritual. Don’t worry; I saved you.”
“Excuse me? The Soulchasm?” Nothing named that unnervingly could be good.
“Save her soul from a horrid demise, and I don’t even get a ‘thank you’.” Nyxala shook her head.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Lysyra was indignant. “What do you mean The Soulchasm?” she asked through gritted teeth.
“A god. A powerful one. It told me its name… but it has so many inflections to it that I won’t be able to pronounce it if I tried.”
Lysyra was becoming more unsettled with every added sentence.
Nyxala continued. “After Yog and I saved you — and, accidentally, a lot of fleshsmith souls — things went a bit skewed. They lost control of the ritual, and one of the Fleshsmiths sacrificed himself to put Z͐a̟͠n̖͐di̥s͈t̝̾h̃̔́ on the altar. I’m still not too sure what happened there. The Soulchasm descended through Z͐a̟͠n̖͐di̥s͈t̝̾h̃̔́’s body, then swallowed everything. Myself included.”
Right now, Lysyra simultaneously wanted to ask a thousand questions, and none at all.
“You look fine.” She settled with.
Nyxala looked down at herself. “Yeah, I went for a short hunt before I dropped in to make sure your soul found its way back. Turns out, after Lýo̻tepͦ’s latest evolution, the perseverance requirement for my healing has vanished. I only need to slaughter to trigger the effect.”
“Wonderful,” Lysyra droned.
This was all a lot to take in. She was already uncomfortable enough having someone else in her home… even if it was the person she’d Invowed to. Now she had to deal with the fact that she had been defenceless not against a targeted attack from a high creed, but a wide-spanning ritual. Her soul had been vulnerable through her reflections.
This wasn’t even the first time this weakness had proven a problem. Her fight with Nyxala had unveiled it. And this time, if not for the girl who originally brought out that flaw, Lysyra would be dead.
Honestly, her life was worth a little loss of progress.
“And you can teleport now?” Lysyra asked. She still felt like she’d been caught on the back foot. She was already envious of those mutations, and now Nyxala had the ability Lysyra had spent so many years pretending to have?
“More like I can enter my mind, and decide where I want to exit,” Nyxala said. A suspicious gleam entered her eye. “How about I show you?”
Lysyra shuffled back, immediately unnerved. But when Nyxala’s chest opened only to spread through the tight space and appear behind her, Lysyra could do nothing but tumble back and be swallowed whole.
Her home vanished, and all that she could see was Pink. That same enrapturing sight she’d seen in Nyxala’s eyes was now everywhere. She couldn’t twitch her eyes without being consumed in the impossible colour once more. It felt like her eyes were being peeled open. A sight so flourishing and diverse of palette, yet always a stagnant, isolated Pink. Words entered her ears, but she couldn’t focus on them. Were they words? Was someone actually speaking to her, or was that the subtle hum of Pink messing with her hearing.
Comprehension snapped Lysyra back to her own mind as she was pulled out of that Pink maw. She blinked, and found herself looking down the side of Coral. They were back at that overlook Nyxala had nearly tumbled to her death from.
“N̪ỷx̱̽ala!” she screamed, falling to the ground only to scramble away from the edge. “I can’t be out here. Don’t you know how much danger lurks around every corner. Especially this close to the edge. I don’t want to die.”
“Oh, come on. It’s not that bad. You came closer to death while locked up in that little hole of yours than you will while I’m around.” Nyxala’s voice was dismissive, and it did nothing to sooth Lysyra’s terrors. “This fear is going to hold you back more than it’ll ever help you; we need to work on moving you past it.”
“No. Take me back.”
Lysyra wanted to formulate a better argument than just pleading, but how could she when she had not a single reflection out scouting her surroundings. Even on the rare occasions she left her home, like when Nyxala made her go to the Cultless, she had every corridor, room, and vent shaft along her path assessed before she took a single step outside. There was none of that now. She had no idea what might be hiding behind the next corner, ready to slip around Nyxala’s defences and cut her open like her long-lost sister.
Her desperation apparently softened Nyxala’s determination, as she folded. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll take you back, but you really need to work on this. As convenient as it would be for everything to go perfectly well, you never know when the world will flip on its head and steal your safety out from under you.”
The moment the pink jaw opened again, Lysyra pushed through her awe to dive head-first into it. In seconds, she was back in her small little hole in the wall behind a long forgotten altar. She pulled her mattress leaning against the wall away just enough for her to crawl in the gap. It was a shameful attitude with Nyxala here to observe. She could feel the girl’s judging eyes burning through the soft partition between them, but out of embarrassment, she simply curled into herself more.
“Look, I’m sorry.” Nyxala’s voice sounded uncomfortable. “I won’t drag you out forcibly again. I’ve got to stock up in the Technocult, then there’s an evolution waiting for me.” Lysyra didn’t comment the objection that just came to mind. It was far too soon. But she’d already gotten used to Nyxala’s obscenity. “You should check yourself, too.”
There was a vicious rumbling as the chest mouth tore open space and closed again. Strange how she only noticed that when she couldn’t see the Pink. It was almost deafening. The idea that someone outside heard it as well almost sent her into another fit of terror.
With the other girl gone, Lysyra crawled out of the pointless hole she’d made for herself. Now she just felt foolish. Lysyra knew she’d overreacted, she knew Nyxala was right, but in the moment, she simply couldn’t acknowledge anything but the fact that she was outside her safe hovel, and there were who knew how many dangers ready to gut her fragile human body.
It took more than a few minutes of self-loathing before she remembered the last thing Nyxala said. As unlikely as it was for her to have gained anything, checking would at least distract her from the shame of her recent actions. She wasted no time. While leaving a portion of her mind to focus on the the rapid spread of her replicas in her immediate surroundings, she activated her naming ritual.
Lysyra found a Feat.
She stared, barely able to comprehend its appearance. What had she done that was worth a Feat? It wasn’t something completely foreign to her — Lysyra gained an incredible one when she’d successfully hidden from an entity at least twenty five evolutions higher than herself — but usually they only appeared for great feats. As per their name.
Lysyra couldn’t even remember her ‘feat’.
Xyru — One who escaped the descending Chasm of the Elder God X̸̢̢̪͇͕̦̤͔̥͔̘̜̪̪̪̩͍̻͓̞̜͚͙͎̳̠́̓̈́̋̈́̊̇̓̚͜͝y̶̢̡̡̛̫̫͚̞͖̥̖̙̤̳̲͔̙͇͚̠̯̮͔̟͕̟͖̭̙̣̲̼͈̪̦̞̙͇̻͈͕̺͋̍̃̽̔̂̅̈̑̆̔͐͆͂͊̒͑̈́̾̉̆̊͋́̉̇̂̋̆̏̊̃̈́̎̏̅͆̅͘͝͝͠ͅr̶̢̛̛̛̘̪̦̘̻̤͍̮̫̤͉͔͈͇̹͎̝͉̱̖͍̙͕̅̓̈́̓̇̔̊̔͐̈́͑̌̇̇̇̉̐̊̈́̂͐̓̌̆̐̾̊̾̕͝͝ͅŗ̴̤͔̲̠͇̪̯͔̪̬͓͉̮̲̦̺̥͓̫͚̳͚̠̭̖̱̲̗̗̮̞̟̺͖̫͈͓̲͈̺͛́̀͑͊̎̏̏̽̈́͛̉̂͐̉̅̿̏͛̂̏͐̍́͑͊̒̅̅̈́͊̀͛̐͆̉̕̕͜͝͠ͅḩ̶̨̙̭͚̲̹͓̞͔̜̭̩̣̠̳͍̠͖͓́͌̓̈́̑̂̓̍̽̈́̔̑́͗͜͝ͅú̷̡̨̢̨̢̯͍̬̙̞̺̫̳̪̹̺̩̫̻̝̩̗̖̠͍̝̞̫̦̬̹̼͕̞̳̦͕͇̘͖̝̠̳̜͔͚̟̩̒̏̂̈̂͋̎̏̓͐͋̈́̌̔͋͑̌̎̓̅̇͑̌̂̄̓̐̓̈́̀̓̕͘͝͝͝ͅṿ̴̨̧͉̭̠̳̙̳̖̣̰̩̖́͆̿̍̌͌̎͋̆̓̎̑̏̚̚͜͝͝a̶̢̨̡̡̖̯̺̦̺͈͎̠̠͎̟͚̯̦̪͓̮͉̬͍͎̥͍͔͔͖̮̭̺̙͆́͛̒̇̌̆̈́́͛̍̿̑͗̆̑͊͑͂̔̏͛̀̚̕͜͝͝i̴̢̦͙̠̤͒̄̿̈̽͂͑̋̌͊̋̍̆̀̓̃̏͋̌̐̄̆̌́̒̊̒̄́̆̂̄̄̔͑͐̈̓̏̓͒͘̚͝͝͠k̸̛̤͖̠̓̀͗͋̏̿̏͌͌̂̒̑̅̾͐̂̎̐̈͐̈͑̈̍́̒͋͜͝͠ͅñ̷̲̟̹̀͒̃͗͌̃͒̾͛̄̀̅̎͝ȃ̸̧̨̧̧̨̨̰͉̼͕͔̳͉̪̻̘̼̼̥̰̝̱̻͙̰̈́̀̔̑̓̀̃́̿̿̇́̄̀́̆̀̒̊̉͌̂̒̚̕̚͠͝ͅͅ. True End can be avoided by existing not where it lands.
Huh?! Every single reflection of Lysyra froze in shock. It was an Elder God?! Nyxala escaped the stomach of an Elder God?!