Chương 121: Tunnel Flare

Ly͚sy͚rã. A third evolution. Harbinger prospectives at their second were already rare enough considering how short of a time they had between their naming ceremony and the Trials, but she had reached her third evolution? That was obscene. It should be impossible. Not to mention the lack of the Bodytwister's prefix 'Ep'. The Scriptures did not have a prefix path for themselves — surprisingly, considering how many of them had a focus on ritual enhancement — but if they did, Grifvoi would have it.

They'd thrown so many resources into their champion for him to reach the second evolution. The same could be said for Val'Manis and Su'Baar; the Everseeing Eye and Worshipper's champions were the result of major cult investment, and following a well worn and understood path. So Lysyra's existence seemed impossible. Not only did she lack an 'Ep' in her name, but her abilities were far removed from her sponsor cult. She had reached this strength on her own.

Or, at least with less assistance from her cult than any any other competitor, save Nyxil herself.

"You're kidding." The words slipped out. Nyxil had already felt she wasn't growing fast enough when there were others her age reaching the same evolution rank at a fraction of the time. Now there was one a stage higher?

"No? With all the onomasticians about, there isn't a soul that could hide their rank." Su'Baar gave a dismissive shrug.

"There are groups on the outside trying to decode our additives right now. We can be thankful to Ly͚sy͚rã. With an ability as unique as hers, most onomasticians won't be able to focus on anything else." He leaned in conspiratorially.

"I know a couple. They get very single-minded about new riddles." Nyxil knew it would happen eventually. In fact, she'd known it would happen if she did make it to the latter stages of the Trial, but she still didn't like it. The name was the soul. The deeper someone looked, the more they could learn about who she was, and what she had done in the past. Of course, looking into someone's past was not easy, nor was it cheap — in resources or time — but it was possible.

Thankfully, that cost would protect her from anything beyond a surface analysis of her abilities. For now. The moment a cultist of high enough creed became suspicious, her time spent slaughtering Fleshsmiths would be revealed. The experiences were innate to the creation of many of those names, after all. The problem would arise if onomasticians discovered her creation of the Dark Stars. Or worse: her past life.

She wasn't sure how interwoven that was with her name, or if it was even possible for an onomastician to extract that information from her cursed core name when not even she could feel the depths of the corruption it held. Worst case: they might create a Dark Star just analysing her name. Nyxil couldn't say it was impossible.

"Welp, if Ly͚sy͚rã really can teleport, she's probably already finished. I don't know about you, but I'd rather not fall behind anyone else." Su'Baar spun on his heel and squeezed past his robot tank, whose barrel turned to follow before scraping against the stone and getting stuck. The mechanical servos seemed to whine as the machine tried to fight against the annoying wall in its way twice more before giving up and moving back to the centre of the tunnel.

Nyxil ducked as it pointed towards her, and she swore she heard a huff from the machine. A breathe of exhaust, but a huff nonetheless. Nyxil wasn't all that interested in staying on the side of the tunnel that cannon was pointing, so she followed behind the Worshipper in squeezing through the tight gap between the microtank's treads and the wall. The machine only came thigh-high, yet in the narrow hall, it felt massive.

Just as she slipped past the lump of metal, the shell covering the joint where the cannon connected to the main body suddenly split. Two halves slammed into the walls at each side of its treads, giving the machine enough space for the oversized barrel to twist forward like a screw. In a matter of moments, the shell clamped closed again, and the tank was facing her way. The barrel wiggled a little. Nyxil was not pleased.

Falling into a jog a pace behind Su'Baar, Nyxil made sure to keep an eye on the weapon behind her. She didn't trust the Worshipper and his toy. Even now she questioned her decision to work with him. The tank's metal tracks clattered loudly through the tunnel as they crunched over stone. If there were any more of those chained insectoids lingering in these halls, then they all knew where she was. Su'Baar apparently didn't care for subtlety.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. Despite being loud enough to deafen Nyxil of all other sound, a sudden, fierce roar smothered even the micro-tank belts' rolling crunch. Stone trembled beneath her feet. Dark dust fell from the walls and settled into a fine mist at their feet. Su'Baar paused, twisting his head as the dim hall flashed.

"Get down." He leapt for the tank, arm reaching protectively. For an instant, Nyxil thought the boy was diving for her — not that she needed or wanted his help — but that was quickly proven untrue as the boy prostrated himself over the front of the tank, beneath the barrel. As the roar and light intensified, she slipped in besides him. Unlike the boy who hugged the machine, she used it as cover. Bright, acrid yellow fire crashed overhead. The scream of solar wind digging at her ears as the colour did her eyes.

Tongues of the sickly flame lapped around the edges of the tank's frame, trying to reach for the two humans, but carried along too quickly to infect them. The flare was gone in an instant. The tunnel returned to dark, and its scream ceasing as if it never existed. Su'Baar was up in an instant. Blackened char covered the back of his robe, and his hair was on fire, but he noticed none of that. All he cared for was the hallowed micro-tank that had taken the brunt of the solar flare.

"Buddy, you good?" he asked, a slight tinge of desperation in his voice. The Worshipper's hand slid along the flat steel, wiping away a sheen of black char, but otherwise the tank was undamaged. Suspiciously undamaged, considering the force behind the solar fire that had washed over it. Maybe the fissure and corner separating them from the outside of this pyramid was enough to bleed off much of the sun's power, but Nyxil had felt the prickling of her skin as it washed over her.

She doubted she could have survived direct contact. A touch revealed the tank's cold steel hadn't even grown warm. Sure, she didn't place herself as the same level of durable as a block of machine and steel, but there was simply too little damage. Either the flare wasn't as deadly as it seemed, the micro-tank was fully made of high-grade corrupt steel, or Su'Baar had used a name ability. Each were possible. The latter was the most concerning.

Su'Baar didn't have a weapon, and lacked the aggression of many other harbinger prospectives… so what were his names and abilities? As an acolyte of the Worshippers, it was likely that his names were devoted to his machine, but Nyxil had no way to know how that manifested. He was happy to give away information of other cults, but that would not remain the same for himself. Even the most foolish of cultists knew to keep their secrets. His hair was still on fire.

Sighing, Nyxil stepped towards the boy who only now was calming down at the apparent undamaged — albeit filthy — state of his machine. Her hand came to the back of his head, intending to put it out before it burn into his skull. Su'Baar spun. His hand knocked hers aside and he stepped back. Suddenly that barrel was in her face again. Nyxil ducked around the barrel, helped by how close they were, and glared at the boy.

"Check your head." Looking at her warily, he did so. When he brought down his hand, there were shredded strands smouldering in his fingers.

"Oh, shit!" Su'Baar desperately swatted his own head to put out the flames. His machine even joined in, slapping him once with its barrel as if that would help him. At least he had the decency to look embarrassed. Still, this was proof that he didn't blindly trust her, despite his attitude to the contrary. And that strike… it had felt much harder than bone or skin. He didn't hit hard, but he wasn't as defenceless as he appeared.

"Thanks," he said, brushing off the ash in his hair. Even with the back of his head charred, he didn't look all that concerned. Or hurt. His robe sewed itself back together as he leapt from the tank.

"That was damn hot!" Despite saying so, he never showed any sign of actually feeling it.

"A lot of people are going to die to that." Nyxil glanced back to the fissure. Very few had a convenient tank to hide behind when they passed the fissure, and with how deep it went through the stone, there were surely other tunnels it struck as well.

"Nah," Su'Baar said.

"Most won't make it above the first couple floors. Didn't you come across the embalmed slaves scaring people away from the deeper halls? Unless they have actual skill, they won't be going anywhere. I don't know how the Bodytwisters intend to bring them out, but they won't let too many die." He paused.

"Probably." Embalmed slaves? Then there was more of those chained insectoids scrambling about. Felt more like that thing was trying to kill her, rather than scare her away. With no reason to linger, Su'Baar and his machine moved on. He glanced back to Nyxil when she let the tank slide past her, but she simply waved him off. Her eyes followed the two as he reached a corner. The ninety degree angle should prevent the micro-tank from making a turn, yet to her surprise, neither stopped.

The Worshipper's hand fell on the tank as they turned the corner, and it was like the rolling weapon's metal melted away. Flat, solid steel scraped against the corner until the sound stopped, and ripples of molten metal rolled through the tank's surface. It moved just as it had a moment before, but now the rigid shape did not pose a restraint in the narrow space. Nyxil would catch up in a moment, but now that she didn't have his eyes on her, she let herself look down. Her feet felt off.

The shoeless foot hadn't suddenly regrown any of her sacrificed toes, so she couldn't toss aside the feeling as her Feat. Lifting it from the stone, a sleek sheen of hardened membrane snapped off, leaving an outline of her footprint. Poking the centre of that with her toe, she found it wet. Nyxil lifted her foot and clasped it in hand. The top and outer side was crusty and hard, like a layer of burnt sugar. But it was what she felt on the underneath that settled the truth in her mind. It was slimy.

Like a slug, a viscous gel secreted from her skin. Despite how much control she now had over her mutations, it seemed time was determined to bring them all out. She rubbed her foot and the baked top layer slipped free. It was thin for now, but already had it overtaken a layer of skin. She'd dealt with this before, so she knew how long it would take to manifest. In the next few days, all of her feet would be slime. And it would be messy. Nyxil tossed her head back and groaned. Why now?