Chương 195: Fog of the Fettered God

Lysyra hated the cyclic fogs. The second, black fog was technically far worse than the first, but in her eyes, they were both as annoying as the other. The first fog, a grey mist, rolled in from the eastern halls faster than any of them hoped to outrun. None bothered. In a few minutes, most of Coral's surface would be covered by it, as well as the depths surrounding the Bodytwisters' temple. If one wanted to avoid the fog, then they would lock themselves away until the next day.

Unfortunately, Lysyra, Nyxala and the group they trailed after had no intent to burrow in for the night. Lysyra's reflection pushed through the clammy haze. The wall of grey had only just engulfed them, and it already pressed down on them with a weight that made her skin feel stiff and unresponsive. One of her reflections was hidden only ten metres from the Fleshsmith soulsingers, and her gaze through that was rapidly deteriorating. She knew how this went.

For now, she could still see the cultists, even if their forms were tinged grey. In a few minutes, only silhouettes would remain. And solely of that within a couple of metres. When the fog's strangling weight fully curled around her, then the gloombeasts roamed. Like all the acolytes of the Bodytwisters, Lysyra was all too familiar with the danger. After all, it was their temple where the first fog originated.

It flowed up from the otherflesh catacombs and spilled from the grand threshold in a haunting display shown to all Bodytwister acolytes during their indoctrination. When most weren't yet ready for the corruption the mist carried. But the fact that the first fog originated within the depths of the Bodytwister temple wasn't the reason she hated it. Well, it was a part, but mostly, she despised how it stripped her perception.

Every day, the fog rolled out and wiped out all the reflections she kept in the eastern section of Coral. And every day, she had to go through the effort of replacing them. It wouldn't annoy her so much, if it weren't the Bodytwister Temple she kept getting shunted away from. When most of the cultists she was actually interested in assassinating were set up in the main temple — as opposed to the one for acolytes closer to the safe-zone — the fog was always there as another hurdle.

It was a full third of the day she couldn't be active. So many hours where she might have overheard something, or gained an opportunity to drill a blade through a heart she otherwise wouldn't gain. It continued to be an annoyance. One she couldn't solve, because no matter her efforts to hide, the gloombeasts always found her reflections. And the Fleshsmith Island was in the worst spot. Wedged in the south-east between both Bodytwister Temple and the Scriptures' Library.

"Well, that's annoying." Lysyra turned the reflection next to Nyxala at the girl's words.

"What is?"

"The fog," she said, staring face first into a wall. Lysyra had held herself back from commenting, but she wasn't sure how much longer she could last. It was too amusing. While she knew Nyxala wasn't actually giving the blank metal wall the most interested gaze it had likely ever received, it was hard to tell otherwise with the concealer covering her two upper eyes.

"My edge sight can't pierce it."

"So you're as blind as us humans?" She expected Nyxala to scoff at the blithe accusation. Or deny it outright. Instead, the girl's expression grew surprised, as if she hadn't thought Lysyra would connect the dots with all those mutations. Even if she hadn't seen the sheer depths of the girl's name during her Invow, Nyxala took to those mutations like they suited her better than the parts they replaced. Besides, it was… easier to digest Nyxala's sudden new habit if she wasn't human.

That made it explicitly not cannibalism. Lysyra wasn't sure how much that helped.

"Looks like it," Nyxala finally answered. She didn't deny it at all… for better or worse.

"At least I can still hear." Lysyra couldn't see them, but she really wanted to stroke those strange antennas Nyxala had grown in the place of ears. She didn't know why, but something about mutations — both Nyxala's and that of the now unfortunately dead sacrifice — called to her curiosity. She wouldn't tell anyone, but she'd spent most of the time Nyxala was traversing the storm on the surface inspecting the horns and the warped chest of the man before she brought him to the Cultless.

While she didn't have near the quality of hearing those tiny tendrils did, Lysyra had the benefit of having a part of herself standing right next to the Fleshsmiths. The fog warped sound. Even in close proximity, the voices of the two seventh evolution cultists echoed and muffled to the point where it was difficult to tell where they were. She couldn't imagine how much harder it would be to make out anything comprehensible from as far away as Nyxala was.

"Shall we stop by the front-line?" The more traditional soulsinger of the lot said, her voice as eerily enchanting as they all were.

"I'm sure our newest fractured soul would love a chance to join her cult again." If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

"No." Zan'Zulsaz's gruff voice grated at Lysyra's ear. It was hard to imagine that the woman was technically a soulsinger herself. If at the border of the profession.

"Z͐a̟͠n̖͐di̥s͈t̝̾h̃̔́ has demanded our return. There will be no further deviations until the masterwork is complete." Lysyra was ready to relay the Fleshsmiths' words to Nyxala, but the girl's murmured "masterwork?" stopped her. It seemed she'd underestimated just how good those ears were.

"What do you say about following this group?" Nyxala asked.

"Sounds like they know more about the ritual the Fleshsmiths intend to perform than anyone else we're likely to find."

"We will lose them in the fog before ten minutes has passed." Lysyra knew it was hard to even stick together in a group through the thickest of the first fog. Nyxala shrugged.

"Then we'll follow until we can't anymore." Stepping away from the wall, Nyxala lifted her sceptre. The golden staff shone a brilliant yellow light that pierced the fog in a way that she'd seen no other accomplish. But Lysyra didn't get much time to feel hopeful. The grey surrounding them seemed to darken despite the light, and while the beam clearly pierced the clinging mist, it did not become any easier to see. At least she wasn't using that hiding name of hers.

It was rather hard to interact with someone when she either had to look into a piercingly bright light, or try to find fragments of her shape in the dark swirling cyclone. Lysyra fell in step with Nyxala. For now, the other girl knew where the Fleshsmiths were, so she would wait to take the lead. Not that she was confident she'd do much better at tracking. Even if Lysyra kept a reflection on the tail of Zandisth's underlings, the fog was very thick with corruption.

It could very easily shift Coral around them without their knowledge. Barely a minute passed with their slow following before things began moving in Lysyra's peripheral. She'd been through this so many times before that she didn't even waste time glancing to her sides. Nothing would be there. Instead, she made five more invisible reflections to linger nearby for the inevitability of this one being destroyed.

"Oh my!" Zan'Umi's voice rang through the fog.

"They're quite active today. Think they sense what's coming?" Zan'Zulsaz huffed.

"More like the the Bodytwisters sent them out. If they're half as capable as they think they are, they'd want to do everything in their power to stop us." She huffed again, except this time there was a haughty undercurrent.

"You really believe the Bodytwisters control it, huh?"

"The fog comes directly from their doors. They're not even hiding it. Of course they can control it."

"Even though the gloombeasts hunt their own members?" Zan'Umi asked.

"They lose more cultists to the fog each year than any other cult." Zan'Zulsaz scoffed.

"Nothing more than a ploy to hide how often they sacrifice their own."

"Oh?" The soulsinger sounded like she was taking far too much enjoyment in the topic.

"And what if the fog's purpose is to collect sacrifices? That way both would be true." Instead of denying her, Zan'Zulsaz hummed.

"It would explain why there's never any bodies." She suddenly raised her voice.

"Hey, Zan'K'Nire, if you happen to get sacrificed by the fog, make sure to let us know."

"I have no intent on dying such a foolish death," the older man commented, before continuing in a much more placating tone.

"But if such fate is to befall me, I shall send a soul-fragment."

"You can do that now?" Zan'Umi sounded surprised.

"Congratulations. We should celebrate, shouldn't we, Zan'Z̮̈uls̈̃̔̆az?" The gruff woman didn't respond.

"I appreciate your benevolence," he said, tense.

"But I think I'll steer clear of anything you consider a celebration." Zan'Zulsaz, for the first time since Lysyra and Nyxala began eavesdropping, laughed. A harsh bark.

"What?" Zan'Umi sounded affronted.

"There's nothing wrong with a little soulgrind wine to-" Lysyra's attention was yanked away as one of her reflections was jerked to the side. A massive misty tentacle whipped through the air, barely discernible from the fog itself. It crashed through the space she'd just stood. The five invisible reflections she'd just made — plus half a dozen more that had already slunk through the fog around them — were removed from existence. Their lingering white motes blended into the grey.

It took her a moment to realise she was being held in the grasp of a couple difficult-to-see tentacles. Nyxala had pulled her away from the gloombeast before it could pop the only visible reflection. A fortunate fate none of the invisible ones shared. Not even the ones around the Fleshsmiths. This damned fog always knew how to sneak up on her. Nyxala was holding her rapier up, ready for a fight. Unfortunately, she wouldn't get it; the gloombeasts only attacked when they weren't expected. But it was unsettling…

whatever had swung at them was massive. The larger gloombeasts usually manifested later, when the second fog forced them into action. Despite the situation, Lysyra appreciated the odd circumstances where tentacles protected her from a tentacle. Nyxala was busy preparing for a fight, so Lysyra took the opportunity. Her hand fell to the tentacle hugging her waist, and pet the soft mass of muscle. It almost seemed to lean into her touch. This must be the touchy-feely tentacle. Then the other?

It was already uncurling, apparently agitated that there was a fight it was missing. Ah. This one was the aggressive one. So strange that Nyxala's limbs had personalities of their own. When Nyxala finally let her down, Lysyra put on an act of disinterest. She didn't need to let the other girl know of her obsession. Though… considering the look Nyxala gave her, she hadn't succeeded.

"You looking forward to a fun few hours?" Lysyra asked. If this was how the night started, then it was going to be chaotic. How some people went through an entire cycle without being attacked, Lysyra didn't know. Nyxala scowled, her tentacles slipping back out of sight.

"Come on, I can still hear the Fleshsmiths." The girl had shattered her understanding of what was possible on so many occasions now, but when it came to those she wanted dead, Nyxala remained as single note as ever. It didn't matter if all of Coral was out to get her, her hunt would never end. The opportunity for that had long gone. It was concerning. Lysyra wasn't sure what the future held for them on the Island once they reached it, but there was one thing she was sure of.

Something she had no right to be so confident of, yet she was all the same. Whatever happened on the Island, it was going to end horribly for the Fleshsmiths.