Chương 200: Bestow a Name

Nyxala picked at her teeth. Apparently, massive rib-turned-teeth that led somewhere impossible weren't immune to the mundane annoyances. She plucked a shard of bone from her chest. Not wanting to leave even the tiniest scrap behind, Nyxala tossed the hardened ivory inside her new mouth. A chunk of otherflesh refused to slip free so easily, so she pulled out a knife and wedged it between the oversized teeth like a toothpick. Sure it was a little annoying to deal with, but after such a feast? She couldn't complain.

Nyxala's body still thrummed with more energy than it could contain. So did her soul. It was a little difficult to tell because of just how overwhelming the power of sixth and seventh evolution cultists were, but she was confident swallowing them alive granted a much greater efficiency then any ritual she had access to. Eating them dead? Not so much. The Omen Artisan's soul had already fled by the time she'd dealt with the last two Bodytwisters.

He was still — she was reluctant to admit — delicious, but his corpse didn't flood her with the same power as the rest. He hadn't seen much before Lysyra ended him, but what he had seen was likely damning enough. The cultist had seen her face. If the Omen Artisans were to penetrate this deep into Fleshsmith territory — as they had already shown themselves capable — then it wasn't impossible they might discover her involvement. So long as she cleaned up, the possibility would be lessened…

but the significance might be great enough for the Omen Artisans to send their best soulsingers. They would want to know how their foresight had been wrong. At this point in time, the prophetic capability of their mural should be in its infancy. Hopefully, that would make them assume fault lay within their interpretation and they wouldn't bother sending their best for investigation. Still, she couldn't shake the sense that she was underestimating the Omen Artisans.

Their cultist had been more shocked than he had any right to be. Her stomach growled. The large teeth chewed a few times before spitting out a lump of metal. Huh. The drill-bolt she'd been gifted by Ta'Malis hadn't been consumed? Well, she wasn't going to complain; now she didn't need to get it replaced. Pushy tucked the small metal brace back into its dedicated slot. The space where her chest had… exploded was concerningly filthy. Too many of her innards were still sliding down the walls.

While her heart and lungs had grown back in only moments after being pulped by the mutation, the mess she'd caused Ta'Stralanov'r by tossing away her unneeded ears was still fresh on her mind. She would rather not summon another god. At least, not one she didn't intentionally welcome. As Nyxala walked around picking up chunks of her heart, lungs, and now-defunct breasts, a pool of blood followed behind her. She swallowed the bits of herself and turned to the obsessive one.

Immediately, it stopped and rearranged the blood into letters. WE CLEANED UP Given the way the blood shivered at the statement, it was clearly proud of itself. She had asked it to, but she hardly thought the being would be so enthusiastic. So far, it continued to hold itself back to try and encourage her to promise her love.

"Good job," she said absently, but it rippled at the praise all the same. Nyxala eyed the pool of blood now rising into its blobby, barely-humanoid shape. She didn't want to consume that much, but neither could she leave all that blood behind, or let it follow. Her chest cracked open.

"Now pour it all inside." The blood seemingly hesitated. CAN WE KEEP SOME?

"Only a little." Nyxala sighed.

"No more than two litres." The blob wobbled meekly and the pool began to climb into the opened void of her chest. She tried to ignore the blob's disappointed swaying as she swallowed the vast majority of blood from existence. It acted so… innocent. Nyxala really wished she could allow the odd being to carry around all the blood it wanted, but circumstances prevented it.

"Cheer up… Blood!" Lysyra popped into existence leaning over the now small blob. Startled by the girl's sudden appearance, the animated ball of human juice skid between Nyxala's legs. It made good use of her as a shield as it hugged itself close.

"You know, if you ignore the absurdity of it, the little guy is kinda cute." Lysyra crouched and reached a hand out to it. The blob retreated further.

"What's his name?" Nyxala blinked. She glanced down, only to find the blob's indistinct form leaning back, as if looking up at her.

"Do you have a name?" she asked. Its body wiggled a negative. WILL YOU NAME ME? Did it really not have a name? What felt more likely were that it either didn't know its own name — that of the being that reached through her evolution — or it was trying to hide it. Considering she couldn't sense a soul through the blood, she could only guess. But… what if it actually didn't have a name? Was that possible?

No, it absolutely was; phantoms were existences without a soul, so there was no reason to think there weren't others. And even if it didn't — and she could somehow bestow one — that was such a privilege that she was immediately overwhelmed by the pressure. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. A name was what you were; it defined your very being.

If this blood blob was truly a fledgling existence, then she wasn't sure how she could possibly settle on a name that fit. Nyxala knew she was overreacting. Base names were notably flexible, operating more as a blank canvas for later additives and evolutions to work off. But they were still important starting points. Even the wards had a complex method of naming to assure each child was granted the proper name. A year long process from birth.

The baby spent that long in pure isolation from all environmental interference to determine the best starting point for that individual. How could Nyxala do the same? YOU WON'T? The blob doesn't even have eyes, so why does it look on the verge of crying?

"Yog." She wasn't quite sure where the name came from, but looking down at the creature begging to be granted a name, it felt right. It felt too right. With an excited pounce, Yog climbed up her leg, under her cloak, and snuggled into her neck. There was no need for it to write to know it was thankful.

"Yog?" Lysyra asked, rubbing her arms.

"You certainly know how to choose 'em." Nyxala nudged the blob and it settled down into the form of a necklace again. She still felt a little bad for taking away most of its body. Maybe, later on, she could fill a small lake of blood for Yog. So long as it was out of the way.

"Oh!" Lysyra started.

"I think I've found a way inside."

"Yeah?" Lysyra grinned.

"I think you're going to like this." ❖❖❖ Nyxala did not, in fact, like it.

"No," she said.

"I'd rather leap off the side of Coral." Lysyra and Nyxala stood at a ledge, looking down on the Fleshsmiths below. There was a significant number of them, but what held their attention was the lumbering beasts that walked between them. Standing taller than a trolley, and just as long, was a form she could only call bear-like. Maybe it even was a bear; Nyxala had never seen one to be sure. But the thickset legs and the rough fur coat were hardly what caught her eye the most.

Along the beasts' spines were fleshforged braces. Intertwined steel and flesh poked into the furry coat at regular intervals along its back, with four larger clamps for each limb. The infesting fleshforged contraption was worse near the head. Two dozen individual spikes of iron pulsing with veins and thick bundles of nerves were drilled into the brain. The sight of the soulsinger Fleshsmiths' dominated bears was certainly interesting… but it hardly mattered much.

No, that privilege perched with the sacrifices riding inside its gut. The dominated bears only held a full coat of fur on their back. The closer to the ground, the more their thick furs died off until they were nothing but fossilised spikes below the knees. But that deathly aspect was not limited to fur alone. The bones of its chest were exposed, connected only by dried cartilage.

"Oh, come on. I already told you the outer defences are almost impenetrable. This is obviously the better option. Look; they even have a couple of girls just our size." Nyxala wasn't surprised there were human sacrifices being carted onto the Island, but she hadn't expected Lysyra to propose taking their place. Just looking through the literal rib-cage brought up too many horrific memories to count. She did not want to even pretend to be a sacrifice again.

"First off, how exactly do you expect to get past all these Fleshsmiths. They haven't exactly left their sacrifices unguarded." There was at least fifty by her count. Only five above their sixth evolution, but fifty pairs of eyes to notice something wrong.

"Not to mention the thousand other problems with this plan."

"We're not getting into an Island without a little risk," Lysyra huffed as they pulled away from the convoy.

"You've got that name that lets you slip through walls. Slipping inside should be easy."

"That's assuming a lot. I can't reach that point without a fight, and even if I could, it's impossible to reach the bears without being noticed."

"Fight with me," Lysyra suggested.

"That would work, yeah. And for being noticed… well, you're fine with being caught in shadow for a few seconds."

"I am?" Lysyra shrugged.

"If we knock out the LEDs, you'll have a couple seconds before emergency lighting kicks in. Phantoms won't appear that soon. Surely."

"And you?" Nyxala sighed.

"I'm already inside." She stared at the other girl.

"If it was that easy, then why aren't you in the Island already?"

"Because these rituals are rare. They hardly funnel sacrifices towards the Islands when they're not in use." Lysyra paused.

"But… the biggest problem is the inspection at the gate. My invisibility will be discovered in an instant, and the onomasticians would give us away no matter what we did." She gave Nyxala a piercing look.

"So… we need a distraction. Something that will make them hurry the sacrifices through without much care for immediate verification. Something like, say, an army of amalgamations?" Nyxala hated that she was even considering this nonsense.

"Whatever happened to 'blowing up in my face'?"

"Sometimes, the risks are worth it."

"Easy to say when you're nestled away on the other side of Coral," Nyxala said with a smirk. Lysyra was decent enough to look abashed.

"So what about the rest?" Nyxala wasn't yet convinced. The sacrifices were bound and bagged, so her mutations wouldn't pose that much of a problem, unless someone decided to pick her up… but even then, she wasn't exactly sure how the concealer affected one's perception of her weight.

"What about my rapiers? And my sceptre? Neither will go unnoticed against my body in the bag."

"You'll have to leave them behind." She gave an apologetic smile.

"That light will reveal you immediately. Don't worry, one of my reflections will hold onto everything until we leave the island." Nyxala was about to deny outright. She'd gone through so much effort to get the sceptre in the first place, she wasn't going to leave it behind. Especially when the place they were going was filled with soulsingers. She could not risk anyone seeing her face. But before she spoke, Nyxala paused. Her eyes fell on her chest.

Ta'Malis's drill-bolt had survived the void of her stomach without any adverse effects; why not her weapons too? She threw one of her tentacles' rapiers in the jaw, quickly confirming that she could bring it back. The test on her sceptre was even better. It gave her a way to completely cut off the light the golden staff never stopped shining.

"Then what do we do with the sacrifices we're to replace?" Suddenly having two more girls inside the bear containing only five kids would be obvious.

"Can that mouth of yours keep things alive?" Lysyra asked. Slowly, Nyxala shook her head. She had never been given the chance to hold back when it was flesh. As soon as someone was in her jaw, they were being consumed. Nothing so convenient as a choice. Lysyra's eyes darkened, and she knew what was coming.

"Then they will die."

"No," Nyxala shook her head, more insistent now.

"We're not the cults. I don't want to kill those that are not involved."

"They will die either way. Better for our benefit than for that of the cults, no?" Lysyra paused.

"Unless you want to reveal our presence and throw away the opportunity to strike the Fleshsmiths while we have it?" Nyxala choked on her words. The idea of tossing away the lives of a couple young women untied to any cult simply because it was convenient left a sour taste in her mouth. It was something the cults would do. But… she was not willing to back off now.

"Let's do it."