Chương 194: Soulsinger

Nyxala cut down another Bodytwister. O̅s̫stho̲th's reality bending enhancement stretched the teeth of her chainsaw to triple their effective length, despite being visibly no different. Each blade sliced through flesh like a scalpel. It was sharp beyond typical means, but the effect left Nyxala feeling… unimpressed. It was an incredible ability. Being able to bring herself to a state of near constant reality warping was obscene for a fourth evolution name.

But the application to her saw stole what she'd found the most enjoyable part of it. The sheer brutality of the wounds it inflicted. She probably shouldn't enjoy slaughter as much as she did — not that she pitied the cultists — but seeing her Technocult weapon cut through human bodies so cleanly made the action feel so much more mundane. Reality warped to accommodate her attack, and yet here she was complaining about how sterile it seemed.

Still, she couldn't deny that the more brutal shredding of earlier satisfied her so much more. Nyxala disregarded the sliced corpse and flew on to find her next target. Frustratingly, the Bodytwisters fled in entirely different directions. Considering no two cultists took the same path, Nyxala had to — grudgingly — admit that it was smart… if not planned in advance. What better way to survive a single overwhelming opponent than to split their attention. Not that Nyxala was exactly alone.

Her gaze followed the clattering teeth of a Bodytwister as they suddenly crumpled to the ground. A sharp point embedded in their skull. Lysyra was making good use of that new needle dagger of hers. The girl had stayed out of the main fight to reduce the risk of being noticed. Words of a lingering soul remained as much a threat as ever, considering Nyxala wasn't willing to go through the effort of sacrificing each cultists she came across.

Not only would it be time consuming, but the effort would interfere with her exploration of not fully deciphered abilities. Being seen herself was no longer a problem. With the combination of Tsal̺air̡ and her sceptre, even if some soulsinger came along to investigate, they'd find nothing incriminating. Nothing that would even hint that it was Nyxala who was behind the slaughter she left behind. Really, it didn't even matter if the Bodytwisters escaped. Nothing they could say would cause too many problems.

Nyxala only really worried about the cults learning that something was hunting them. The first few times would be disregarded or even ignored, but once it became more than a coincidence, Nyxala would have harbinger squads hunting her. She wanted to delay that scenario — kill as many unsuspecting cultists as she could — for as long as possible. If she was careful, she could even use the war itself to hide her actions. Nyxala flew after the next of her targets, but noticed a rather…

conspicuous trail of blood following her. More like a river of it than anything. She checked the necklace and found it had grown to something closer to long chain hooked around her shoulders. Surprisingly, she didn't feel any weight.

"Leave the blood." While she was glad that the obsessive blood didn't drown her in all that fluid, she was hardly happy to see the trail it left behind. BUT WHY? ALL OF US WANT TO SHARE YOUR EMBRACE, NOT JUST THE US OF YOU"No. There's too much." Nyxala stood her ground against the immature obsessive blob.

"You'll give me away if you continue to follow like this." WE JOIN YOU THEN The significant blob of blood hanging from her neck — no longer the tiny, cute thing — curled around her body, as if looking for one of the wounds that recently sealed.

"There is way too much blood for that," Nyxala said. WE CAN FIT! WE CAN SQUEEZE IN! Nyxala sent a wary glance to the ankle deep pool of blood that filled the corridor behind her. Thirty three people's worth.

"No." The blob slumped in obvious disappointment. Nyxala moved on, and thankfully the river didn't follow. She watched two more cultists fall, and closed in on the last. The Bodytwister — whether she knew it or not — was trudging towards Fleshsmith territory. It was the reason Nyxala had left her to last. Even with her wings rocketing her forward faster than the cultist could ever dream, she had a fair few twists and turns to manoeuvre before she caught up.

When thirty seconds passed from her last attack, she felt a kick. The energising boost that had her veins burning drained from her. It wasn't instantaneous, but the rapid rate at which she weakened was almost disorienting. The irregular heartbeat in tune with her wing strokes resisted the dip in power, but not nearly enough. All too soon, O̅s̫stho̲th's boost fell to near imperceptible levels. So she couldn't hold onto this reality altering effect indefinitely? Not unless she was in endless battle.

Annoying, but good to know. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. In that case, it likely would have been more efficient for Lysyra to have let Nyxala take on the cultists between herself and the final target. Hopefully a single strike would have been enough to reset the countdown on inaction. She'd already confirmed that striking at nothing didn't let her build the boost. Well, not enough for it to matter.

By changing the method of her movement, Nyxala had been able to give herself a small boost to her wings' strength. But… it wasn't like she needed perfect efficiency when hunting down a second creed. And besides, Lysyra needed to fight sometimes too if she ever wanted to reach her next evolution.

"Wait." Speaking of, the girl appeared right before Nyxala. For once, not making an attempt to startle her.

"Oh! You've got a new additive!" Nyxala couldn't help but shove her nose in the girl's soul after her line of thought.

"That not… wait, really?" She looked down at herself, as if that would hold the answer she sought. After a moment, she shook her head.

"I'll have a look later. It's too late to catch the Bodytwister."

"Why?" She really didn't need to ask, as a guttural, soul-wrenching scream ripped through the deep corridors of Coral. Those teeth she'd been watching fell to the ground. Unmoving. A dozen more hung opposite her; an audience to her death.

"Fleshsmith soulsingers," Lysyra whispered, as if they would overhear her.

"Twenty of them."

"Must be Z͐a̟͠n̖͐di̥s͈t̝̾h̃̔́'s, then." The cultists under the tenth creed were arguably worse than the rest of the Fleshsmiths, given how they contorted souls.

"Twenty?" she repeated, her eyes recounting the sets of teeth.

"I only see twelve."

"There are definitely twenty," Lysyra said.

"Though, maybe some are an illusion? I'd say it's something like my ability, but their faces are distinct, so they're not reflections." Nyxala crept forward.

"It doesn't matter either way. They just stole my prey." If for nothing else, she wanted to make sure that the souls that had seen her dark figure had no significant information. She was certain they didn't but an assurance never hurt. Lysyra gave her a perturbed look, but whatever was on her mind, she dismissed it with a sigh.

"They yanked the Bodytwister's soul from her body with barely any effort. There's likely a high creed amongst them." She likely meant it as a warning, but after the ease of her last slaughter, Nyxala was almost tempted to take her chances. Almost. Seventh evolutions and beyond she was still wary of challenging. And even if these Fleshsmiths were some she could take on, it wasn't wise to. Until the cultists had all made their way onto their Island, it was best to choose her fights carefully. Their time would come.

She could be patient.

"A piercing light surrounded by a clogging darkness," Nyxala overheard when she got close enough. The dull voice lacked even a trace of emotion.

"We ran when it killed our Flesh-shaper." They were speaking to the Bodytwister's soul, Nyxala realised.

"Was it human or creature?" a voice barked, sounding impatient.

"Nightmare." The same voice huffed, annoyed. It was a woman, but her speech sounded almost choked.

"Low creeds. Everything that moves is a horror."

"No need to be so harsh." Another Fleshsmith spoke, her voice a high-pitched tingle compared to the first's gravelly tone.

"We all start somewhere. You must have been a low creed yourself at some point in time."

"Hardly," she huffed.

"Was so long ago it might as well have never happened."

"Yes, Zan'Z̮̈uls̈̃̔̆az." Her voice twinkled with amusement.

"Twenty years is ancient history." Well that answered that. Seventh evolution. Going by how the other cultist spoke to Zan'Zulsaz, they were most likely of similar creed. Zan'Zulsaz grunted at the other woman's sarcasm.

"Given Z͐a̟͠n̖͐di̥s͈t̝̾h̃̔́'s rise, it might as well be." Nyxala really wanted to creep forward and watch, but while her ears were a thousand times better than others, putting herself in a position to see was bound to get her seen. So she settled in to eavesdrop.

"Zan'U͇̘̍̚m̀ĭ̆, Zan'Z̮̈uls̈̃̔̆az, shouldn't we be worried about that darkness creature?" a man's voice wavered, as if he was nervous to ask.

"It was nearby. Whatever it is, it could still be around."

"There's always something unknown hidden around the next corner," Zan'Zulsaz dismissed his concerns. The sparkling voiced woman, Zan'Umi, addressed the man.

"Zan'K'Nir̫̟e̘, you have a lifetime on both of us. How have you lived so long and still concern yourself with every little thing?" An interesting name. He followed both Fleshsmith paths? Was he splitting his focus, or in the process of pivoting? The man answered with surprising meekness considering the judgemental tone asked.

"It is precisely because of that concern that I have lived this long."

"Hah!" Zan'Zalsaz scoffed.

"What worth is a long life if you achieve nothing with it?"

"Even if this… clogging darkness," Zan'Umi seemed reluctant to repeat the description, "is actually a danger, it matters little to us. If it is with a cult, then they shouldn't openly attack us; it was the Bodytwisters they targeted. Alternatively, it was a monster. Considering such a weak cultist was able to escape, I doubt its an excessive threat. Just a random attack. They happen all the time." Nyxala picked up the slightest of hums before the man changed the topic.

"So, what are you going to do with her?"

"Second evolution," Zan'Zalsaz grunted.

"Not worth the effort to make a husk."

"Then…?" Zan'K'Nire asked hopefully.

"Not a chance." An instant after she spoke, Zan'Umi's shiny voice rose in song. There was no way to describe the strange sensation the melody incited in Nyxala, besides bright and sparkly. The song was beautiful… until an ethereal scream joined in. A clattering chill seeped down her spine. It was the sound of a soul being shredded, torn up and mulched until the only remnants of the being it had been was agony.

For a brief moment, as the spectral screams decayed into a sound less and less rational, the song resonated in a way few others could. It was both the hymn of a ritual, and something so much more. The song of a soulsinger.

"May I at least have the body?" the man asked.

"Hmm." Zan'Umi seemed lost in the lingering buzz of her song.

"Oh, sure. Why not?" Nyxala felt Lysyra tap her shoulder, but she waved the girl off. Now that the conversation between the three fell into a lull, she noticed something strange among the remaining cultists. Not all of them sounded… sane? There were light murmurs of conversation between some, but they never raised their voice higher than a whisper. Never. As if they feared doing so. But it wasn't them Nyxala's attention was pulled towards. Eight voices murmured inane drivel.

Eight voices came from bodies without teeth. Nyxala wasn't sure exactly what was going on, but she doubted it was as simple as an illusion.

"Looks like our time is up," Zan'Umi said.

"Prepare yourselves." In response to her command, the lower creeds went silent. Not the insane mumbling, though.

"N̪ỷx̱̽ala!" Lysyra hissed as she shoved her. She blinked, following Lysyra's gaze. As soon as she found what the girl was warning her about, her tentacles tightened around her waist.

"Ah." The first fog was upon them.