Chương 142: Market Return

Nyxila took the offered scroll. The paper was coarse to the touch; it rubbed like sandpaper along her chitin as she tied it to the inside of her robe. She had a dozen strings lining her chest for exactly such a purpose, yet they'd never seen use.

"How did you even get your hands on this?" Senoeul wiggled his finger.

"Tsk. Tsk. I'd have to kill you if I told you." The scroll was of Scripture make. And not of insignificant quality. With how tightly the cult clung to their rituals, Nyxila couldn't imagine how difficult it would have been for the man to get his hands on it… or the hundred others that sat in a messy pile behind him. His grin slipped as his fingers traced the dent marks of her rapier.

"How did you even manage this? It might have been a junk piece, but the metal should have survived the weight of a damn ward falling on its edge." He squinted, lifting it into the dim light.

"Are these finger-marks? You haven't made an enemy of some upper creed, have you?" Nyxila gave the man a flat look.

"I'd have to kill you if I told you." He laughed, a breathy chuckle that returned that smirk to his face.

"Fair."

"How much to get it fixed, Senǒêul?"

"I told you didn't I?" He shook his head.

"Its a junk piece. You'll pay more for the smith's time than you did the blade itself. Especially after the Fleshsmiths lost their main forge." Nyxila immediately soured.

"This was Fleshsmith make?"

"Hardly," Senoeul scoffed.

"Their smiths simply took up a large slice of the market. With their goods gone, everyone else has pumped their prices. I can't even get the trash anymore." He tossed her blade on the table. Nyxila retrieved the weapon and slid it back into its sheathe, holding her tongue. Her weapon wasn't trash. The rapier didn't fit properly. She'd had to break the sides of her scabbard so the warped bits of metal near the hilt would slide in. That meant it jostled when she moved.

For now, she'd taken to tying it down after every use, but it was inconvenient.

"Well, thanks for the scroll." She turned to leave.

"When you beat up the Scripture's golden boy, don't let them know where you got it." Nxyila paused to consider that. Did the Scriptures really not know that their rituals were in circulation outside their cult? It seemed something that they would crack down on as soon as they found out about it, and she doubted Senoeul's operation was the only one like it. As a pinnacle cult, the Scriptures had the resources and power to choke any black market that propped up.

"What? You think I didn't know?" Senoeul mistook the reason for her pause.

"After that disaster, everyone knows about you and the other two survivors. What I wouldn't do for a seat for the finale. But no amount of BD would be enough." Of course she knew. The amount of stares she'd gotten in the past few days was more than she was comfortable receiving. Not all were aware of her appearance, but those numbers seemed to fall with each passing day. She inclined her head, flipping her hood, and left. The alley was the same it had been when the man had first led her down it. Dark and quiet.

It was hard to imagine that all these buildings had been moved, then brought back into such an identical formation. If she hadn't stood right here during the Trial, she wouldn't have believed the market had ever disappeared. As she slipped from the alley and thread through the crowd, her retinue followed. Some she barely noticed. They lingered at the edge of her vision, and if it weren't for her third eye watching when her head was turned, she wouldn't have discovered them at all. Others…

they didn't bother to hide. One man in particular stood a full head taller than the crowd he waded through. Most tried to make way for him, but his bulk still seemed to bump every person he passed. He only had eyes for Nyxila. She would have assumed he was looking for trouble… if he hadn't been tailing her for the last week. None of her tails had made any attempt on her, yet their presence left her high-strung. It was clear they were here to watch over her.

Anything she she did with them around was going to be conveyed back to the Bodytwisters and Scriptures, then used against her in tomorrow's Trial. The others… well, she hoped they were only there as scouts trying to collect information on a potential threat. Their attention, in addition to the Fleshsmiths recent lack of schemes, left Nyxila in a constant state of watching her back. But from the occasional scuffle she barely caught glimpses of, she knew there were some with… different goals to the rest.

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. In the first couple of days, she'd been able to slip away from them using the same trick she'd used against K'Sill. At least then, she'd been able to get some experimenting in. Unfortunately, they were quick to catch on. The paths Nyxil had learnt from Little God no longer let her escape after the second day. Nyxila was frustrated.

Their continued presence meant that she could only practice abilities if she was fine with them becoming public. So the new changes that came with N̚o̲th, Lýotep, Eiypi̬ny, Tsair̡, and especially Ts͂tll remained mostly untested. At least Thaḁren͉ got a workout. That first day hadn't been entirely worthless, though. She'd learnt N̚o̲th was mostly the same, except with a stronger boost to her mutations.

Tsair̡ offered a very strange way to hide, by swirling free-flying particles like dust around her to obscure her form. She had some very interesting ideas surrounding that… though not for the Trial. Both Feats were probably her most complicated names. Nyxila could feel they'd both improved, but she couldn't figure out exactly how. Lýotep still activated her healing when she was struggling and took a life, yet it was no faster than before. Not that it had ever been slow. Whatever changed, it wasn't the healing.

Ts͂tll she couldn't figure out at all. How was she supposed to pierce something's soul? Though, maybe it was best to leave the name alone for now: the last line about accepting death or becoming death didn't sound great. She'd hate to accidentally form a suicide pact with some vitiate beast she was testing on. And Eiypi̬ny… well, her blood was still obsessed. That hadn't changed. She decided to keep it hidden just in case. Not that she made it a habit to bleed all that often. Or leave that blood lying around.

Amalgamations suddenly appearing wherever she'd been practising wouldn't look great. The more she thought about the cultists following her, the greater her frustration. It was ridiculous that they could tag her to find out all her secrets and she couldn't do the same. If she had the backing of a cult — like she was supposed to — they would fend off the wolfish eyes and give her space. Some help the Technocult is. Nyxila clenched her fist. The single BD she'd been fiddling with shattered.

Crystallised blood reverted to its original state, spilling from between powdered shards. It immediately began to embrace her hand. It wasn't Nyxila's blood alone that was obsessed. She glared and wiped the blood on the rag she now had to keep with her. Turned out that as long as she kept it close, the crimson annoyance would act mostly normal. But should she throw the rag away… Somebody yelped, and Nyxila turned to find the big Bodytwister having knocked someone over.

The girl on the ground scrambled to her feet and was gone in seconds. He barely spared her a glance. His attention never left Nyxila. For the hundredth time this week, she considered leading them to some isolated part of Coral and give them a personal taste of what she could do. None of their names were that impressive. Fifth evolution at most. She could take them. Since when did I consider a fifth evolution unimpressive? Unfortunately, she couldn't.

No matter how much she wanted, having her tails disappear would trigger too many alarms with their respective cults. Not to mention how risky it would be; those in hiding were difficult to spot. A single mistake and they would escape alive to warn everyone about Nyxila and her mutations. She was impatient for the final Trial to come. Her stomach only seemed to churn tighter the longer she had to hold herself back.

Not only had the Technocult all but abandoned her, but there were too many threats around her to get a full night's rest. Who knew when the Fleshsmiths, Bodytwisters, or Scriptures would strike. They each had a reason to want her dead. Nyxila wanted to disappear. If not for the Trial, she would have done so already. They wouldn't be able to see her coming if they couldn't find her. For now, it was a fantasy. She could only imagine shredding the cultists limb from limb to soothe her anxiety. The picture came easily.

Her claws would sever spines. Hands clutching weapons melted as acid revealed muscle, then bone. The wet feel of human meat as her teeth sliced it apart; the firm texture as it slipped down her throat and filled her stomach. Her feet jerked her to a stop in the middle of the flowing crowd. Someone swore behind her, then brushed by her. This growing fascination with cannibalism was concerning. She'd only ever tasted human once, and that had been K'Thorn. His flavour had never interested her.

She barely thought about it afterwards. But following the battle against Sekhhath'Ra, memories of it had slipped into her mind. Somehow, those memories rated the meat much higher than what she knew it had tasted like. Shaking her head, Nyxila's eyes seemed to stick. As soon as she saw them, she couldn't pull her gaze away. On some general merchant's shoe stall stand, amongst dozens of popular styles, sat a pair of heavy boots. Metal inlaid boots. Immediately, Nyxila was thrown into her memories.

They weren't the cast iron shackles that had once surrounded her old feet, but the similarities were too great for her to cast aside. The steel frames. The series of clasps that lock the boot around the shins. Only the fact that these seemed designed to actually be worn differentiated them from the bindings of her past life.

"Oh? Are you interested in these?" Nyxila didn't register if the vendor was a man or woman, she simply handed what BD she still had, and took the boots. Nyxila didn't know why she was enraptured. They were on her feet before she even realised what she'd done. Did she take them to remind herself of her past? Was she still fearful of the changes occurring to her body? Or was it as simple as finding comfort in the familiar? Whatever the reason, it was for the best.

The frozen effect of her feet didn't last forever, needing to be reapplied, and every time she did, it tore apart her shoes a little more. Now, she could walk without her feet seeping through her shoes. The satisfyingly heavy thump of her footstep was only a bonus. She twisted her ankle in test and found that, well, it was no longer bound by the limitation of a human joint. Her foot spread to fill every space of the confines it could. While not perfect, it felt far more freeing than being stuck in its frozen state.

It was a small change, but it felt right. Let the cults come. She would take them or their champions and prevail. Nyxila was as ready as she was going to be for the final Trial. Whatever may happen, the cults would lose.