Chương 197: Behind Fleshsmith Lines

Nyxala stared out across the gap. She'd seen the Islands ringing Coral when she was falling into the black hole, but back then they'd seemed so small. Now that it was right before her — separated only by the void of space — she could see just how much mass went into the ritual platforms. That, and the sheer thickness of corruption they were bathed in. Both Bodytwister and Fleshsmith Islands never visibly changed, yet any time her eyes flickered, their overall shape seemed ever so slightly different.

Even the sections that seemed designed with a specific purpose in mind — Nyxala's eyes caught a series of massive bell shaped domes sticking from the upper side — were in a perpetual state of confusion. Unable to decide whether they wanted to remain whole, or fracture into something alien. Only a little more corruption and it was risking a Dark Star. Her gaze fell to the bridges. There wasn't a person in sight.

Nyxala didn't believe her luck; while the Fleshsmiths were busy guarding the bridges, she'd be able to fly across without a problem. The scathing wind of the accretion storm might flay her, but nothing she couldn't recover from.

"Don't." Lysyra stopped her just as her wings tensed against her cloak.

"What?"

"I know what you're thinking," she said, not even gracing Nyxala with an analytical glance, she was that confident.

"Flying across isn't as easy as it seems. I doubt you'd have a problem with the corruption, even without Coral's protection, but that's hardly all you have to worry about. The Darkness below reaches out to those it can grasp. It will pull you down harder the longer you're out in the open."

"It'll be fine if I'm fast enough," Nyxala said, glancing down over the ledge they'd almost fallen from.

"I've felt their touch before. I think my wings are strong enough now to last at least a little while. Enough to cross such a short distance. Well, so long as one of those beings don't climb out of their home." Lysyra stared for a moment.

"Why am I not surprised?" She shook her head.

"But that's only the start. You're hardly the only one able to make your own way there. These Islands are massive investments for the cults. Especially so for those that don't have the sheer wealth of resources of the pinnacle cults. You can expect nothing but the most dangerous traps swatting anyone trying to enter in any way besides the front gates."

"You know a lot about the Islands, huh?" Nyxala hadn't even known they'd existed until she'd been tossed into the black hole. They were infrastructure only for the need-to-know.

"You would too in the same situation, I'm sure." Lysyra shrugged.

"I… don't like not knowing. That goes triple for places I can't sneak in."

"Places you can't sneak in," Nyxala repeated.

"Then flying is still the best option?" She raised a brow at the other girl. Lysyra averted her eyes.

"I want to see what happens in there myself."

"Then we'll see if there's a direct way in first," Nyxala said with a shake of her head.

"But if no options make themselves known, I think I'm gonna take my chances with the traps rather than attacking the bridges head on." If she could push O̅s̫stho̲th to the limit before she flew across the gap, she might even be able to slip through whatever defences she found without issue. Thirty seconds was a lot of time to work with.

"How long does it take to build one of these things?" She knew there were those ancient fabricators, and rituals for summoning mundane material, but that was still a lot of steel in the Island. Not to mention the flesh. Nyxala couldn't imagine it being a simple process.

"The Scriptures and Worshippers both took almost three years to build theirs. For the Fleshsmiths? Double that, maybe?" Lysyra eyed the opening warily.

"It's been completed for a while now. I'm actually surprised we managed to reach the edge of Coral so quickly. The outer corridors are so corrupted it's not strange to spend days trying to find your way."

"It's a good thing the gods are on our side, then," Nyxala joked. Lysyra didn't find it funny.

"That's not your plan is it?" She stood with apprehension.

"I know tossing around Dark Stars and Euphoria has worked out for you in the past… but that sort of reliance is bound to blow up in your face sooner rather than later."

"That's not… the only plan I had."

"Uh huh." She didn't look convinced.

"And, besides summoning Euphoria again, what exactly is your scheme?"

"Mass Amalgamation manifestation. Ah, right. My blood, if granted enough corruption, becomes a portal for Amalgamations." Lysyra opened her mouth, but whatever she was going to ask died on her lips. Nyxala continued.

"I mostly figure that when the Fleshsmiths are in mid ritual, they'll be indisposed and open to a slaughter. They're Fleshsmiths, not Scriptures. I doubt many of them can fight while keeping such an important ritual from going out of control."

"And if it does?"

"Then there's a whole lot of dead Fleshsmiths. You disappear, and I fly back to Coral. I trust my wings." Lysyra nodded, seeming satisfied. She turned away from the bottomless drop.

"We should get moving. There's still a day and a half, but that's not much time to find a way through such heavy security." Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. So much for getting some rest after the fog parted. Nyxala shook her head and stepped past her.

"And my final plan is to blow them up with a Dark Star." Lysyra froze, but Nyxala kept walking. Her smirk was hidden, but she couldn't smother her snickers. ❖❖❖ One would think that without the fog, it would be easier to navigate. Nope. Lysyra hadn't been lying about the breadth of corruption. It was difficult to take three steps without somehow finding herself walking on the ceiling, often in circles. Considering her edge sight oriented her to her position on Coral, she should be able to keep herself straight.

Somehow not. Still, she was probably doing a better job of navigating than most. Their general course gradually brought them closer to the Fleshsmiths' bridge. Now that the Bodytwisters' fog had dispersed, Lysyra made short work of multiplying herself through the areas she could. Even then, it took her near six hours before she could take over navigation from Nyxala and lead them the right way. Well, with slightly more consistency. Avoiding the Fleshsmith patrols, though? They both need to pay attention.

There were enough cultists that slipped through Lysyra's network that Nyxala had to pull them down tangential paths far too often. It was difficult resisting the temptation to cut down these Fleshsmiths while she had the chance. She didn't want to raise alarms that were sure to ring when it was found patrols so close to their bridges had gone missing. They were long past the battlefront now. The Fleshsmiths didn't expect anyone besides themselves. Nyxala busied herself inside her soul as they walked.

Her niggling at the mouth mutation was making progress; she could feel the fissure cracking. Soon enough, it would join her. Hopefully before the Fleshsmiths began their ritual. She wasn't entirely sure whether the mouth — wherever it formed — would be helpful in battle, but more mutations were always better. So long as they didn't give her away. She wouldn't be ready to have her form known for a long while yet. The ones she already had were putting a strain on her concealer.

She could feel the way it's bolts tensed in her arm. Although… that might just be the corruption twisting the metal through her flesh. Or the skin-turned-bark pushing out at the pauldron. Who could say? Nyxala felt the fissure crack, and a spark of pain shot through her chest.

"Lysyra, let's find somewhere isolated." Nyxala grunted.

"I'm not sure how… bloody this is going to be." A subtle crack rang from her chest, and echoed through the twisting hall. It only confirmed her fears. This wasn't going to be a small change. There hadn't been a prerequisite, so she didn't think it would leave her indisposed, but that wasn't a promise of cleanliness. Blood would follow her, but what about discarded flesh? Lysyra stood stiff for a moment, unsure what to make of the sound of bone breaking. Not for long.

"Right now? Are you serious!?" she shouted as if Nyxala had offended her.

"You're mutating now? This deep in Fleshsmith territory? Are you actually Mad?"

"Oh, it's not that bad. Should take a few minutes. An hour tops."

"Sure, somewhere isolated." Lysyra turned, taking to mumbles rather than acknowledging Nyxala.

"If this place was any less corrupted, that would be easy. But everywhere leads everywhere… and nowhere. Then where are there gaps in the patrols?" Lysyra didn't call for Nyxala, she just stormed off and expected her to follow. Nyxala did. She felt a little bad, but she wasn't about to stop mutating herself if it could possibly be the difference between life and death. Not that she could see a mouth… in her chest, apparently, being the deciding factor for anything.

Nyxala was absolutely becoming obsessed with accelerating the alteration of her body. That, she couldn't deny. Maybe it wasn't perfectly ideal, considering her goal to remain hidden, but even then she had the concealer to hide her. The only reason she hadn't yet mutated the remaining three from her last life was to keep them for an emergency. They were the only ones that would come in an instant, so she had been able to tolerate their delay. But in these past few days, the temptation had been strong. Another crack.

This time she felt a tremor through her chest. Her stomach churned, suddenly very hungry. Nyxala followed Lysyra through a thousand chains of flesh and steel hanging from the ceiling. She regarded them warily, avoiding them when she could. For all she knew, they could be there to detect invaders. Even if it was strange to use them this deep in their territory when they didn't nearer the more contested parts of Coral.

"It's not ideal," Lysyra said as she placed her hands on the handle of a twisted wardrobe. Only then did Nyxala realise the 'room' they were moving through might have once been considered residential quarters. Not that much of it remained.

"But the patrols shouldn't come across us in here." Peeking over Lysyra's shoulder, Nyxala noticed something wrong the instant the girl opened the doors. The entire landscape before her twisted as the doors opened. Nyxala brushed past her, trying to stop her, but it was too late. Lysyra had seen what was beyond, and the beings within peered back. Really, Nyxala would have taken monsters over the half dozen Bodytwisters that stood within. They stood staring at the small group of cultists they'd stumbled upon.

Cultists that had no right being this deep in Fleshsmith territory, and hid their presence so well not even Nyxala's edge sight could see them until the doors were already flung open. The Bodytwisters stared back. Strangely, they stood just as shocked.

"Oe'Ạ̰͢ivo̓!" Of the Bodytwisters snapped their heads to a thin man of tiny proportions compared to all the other cultists around him.

"You said we wouldn't be found!" fury laced his tone. Nyxala cast her sight over the gathered Bodytwisters. All of them were sixth and seventh evolution. All except the one named Oe'Aivo. Belatedly, she realised he, unlike the rest, wasn't a Bodytwister. What was an Omen Artisan doing here? With Bodytwisters of all things? The short man — clearly not a harbinger like the rest — stared at Nyxala and Lysyra as if the world had crumbled. He was more than just a little shocked at their appearance.

"Impossible. This place should-" He was cut off as another Bodytwister spoke up.

"Ly͚sy͚rã?" his brows were doing their best to reach the stitches along his hairline.

"What are you doing here. And with…" he trailed off as his eyes settled on Nyxala.

"The Technocultist?" another finished for him, sounding equally confused.

"Well, this isn't the encounter I think any of us were expecting," Nyxala said. She was impressed Lysyra hadn't vanished in motes of white. The girl certainly looked like she was about to disappear. This group was a bit stronger than Nyxala dared to fight. And their presence here was certainly not welcomed by the Fleshsmiths. Maybe it was possible to walk away, pretending like they hadn't seen each other?

"We'll just-" Before Nyxala could even try to talk her way out of this, her sternum shattered. The crack that rang through the room was ear-splitting.

"Shit," she choked out.

"Shit," Lysyra agreed. Nyxala's ribcage erupted.