Chương 203: Evolve in Pink

Embraced by the impossibly vast pink expanse, Nyxala directed her mind towards the evolution some of her names were ready for. The options came easily. Unlike before, where she would either need to rely on a ritual to force an evolution, or wait until all her names were ready, pink allowed her to skirt that framework. She felt the celestial bodies that represented her names appear before her. They weren't exactly visible, but neither was anything in this strangely coloured realm.

Instead, Nyxala got the sense that the old void was somehow… overlaying the pink of her mind. Still, despite how she could technically not see in this space, the full breadth of her name spread out before her. Her core name spun in the centre, orbited by the large masses of her three names and two Feats. Beyond them, were a dozen additives. Compared to the central congregation of her power, they seemed almost infinitesimal. Nyxala focused on her options.

Immediately, she found that both her core name and O̅s̫stho̲th weren't ready. The rest were. What was strange was that, like most of her other names, O̅s̫stho̲th was bursting with — for lack of better term — soul-juice. The amount she'd consumed from cultists had set the name to bursting, and yet it refused to evolve. It wasn't difficult to figure out why.

Nyxala knew she hadn't yet uncovered the full capabilities of the name, but it was strange that this was the first time that the external empowerment didn't push past those limitations. Well, she would have a lot of Fleshsmiths to practice on. Moving onto the names she could actually evolve today, she realised they were probably all overdue. Lýotepͦ, Eiỷpi̬ny, Tsal̺air̡, and Ts̟͂tll were all still only second evolution names.

Considering most of her fighting strength came from her mutations and O̅s̫stho̲th, that was probably not all that strange, but it remained a hole she needed to shore up. Nyxala wasn't too interested in combining names this time. While doing so had massively improved O̅s̫stho̲th in the long run, she couldn't accept any loss in power right now. That said, there were a dozen new names she'd never addressed. The chances were low, but maybe one was good.

Toi — A single volt is applied between two touched conductive surfaces. Huh. A Technocult additive? Nyxala hadn't thought she'd engaged with their technology enough to be given one. She found herself nowhere near as repulsed by the general path name as she'd been with the Fleshsmith additive she'd once gained. Also of note was just how clear the description was. It wasn't exactly a valuable name, but not many of hers had ever been this specific. Apparently her soul-sense had actually improved.

It was just the annoyingly complex names she wielded that kept her guessing. Vu — Keep fingernails at preferable length. Not helpful. Nyxala didn't even have fingernails anymore. Sz — Kill a single cell with a touch. Reset with rest. Okay… some of these were far less than impressive. Sure, she could see possible ways that these names might evolve into something worthwhile eventually — instant death of cells would be great if she could somehow remove the limitations — but right now? They were less than trash.

Nyxala skimmed through the remaining names until she found some that were actually interesting. Loum — Butchery is an art. Those of the profession that slice indiscriminately are little more than savages. They lack wisdom and always offer a lesser product. Be an artist. Perfectly cut steaks bring more out of an animal's meat, enhancing the flavour when cooked. Nyxala narrowed her eyes. The description wasn't calling her a savage, was it? It's not like she was cutting people up with the intent to eat them…

she was just doing that anyway. Auce — Forbidden fruit is only a mistake if complications arise. Who are forebears to say what you can and can't eat? Those with a taste for raw flesh will continue to find it easier to consume.

"Oh, come on!" Nyxala shouted into the pink void.

"I haven't eaten that many people." She scowled at the name. Not one, but two whole additives about the taste of meat. Was she supposed to see this as her soul encouraging this sort of practice, or contesting the growing habit? If it was the latter, granting her a name that — for all she could decipher — seemed to enhance her addiction was more than a little questionable. How did that not count as a curse? Grumbling, she moved on to the last of the new additives. Qyra — The many or the few?

Sometimes, it is necessary to cull the many so few survive. Sever body parts at will. Nyxala was intrigued. The final line was clear in the name's purpose, and yet it seemed to clash with the cryptic sentence before it. Wasn't severing body parts more akin to sacrificing a small part, so that her whole could live? Also, how did that even look? She brought her hand up before her face. The chitin was somehow both visible and not.

Pink remained as constant and permeating as ever, yet she could follow the sway of her fingers. While her mind floated in this alternate space, it seemed she was still somewhat aware of her body. … Even mid evolution. It was something she'd never heard was possible. Nyxala decided to brush the thought to the back of her mind. Just another detail that expressed how inhuman her mutations were. How inhuman she was. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

Focusing on her smallest finger, she commanded it to sever. It was almost too easy. The chitinous tip plopped right off, tumbling out of her sight. Likely sinking into the tank of blood and flesh. It was of niche use at best — considering she had plenty of options to do the same indirectly — but that description stoked her curiosity. It was weak, but she was willing to see how it changed. With the exception of Loum, Auce, and Qyra, Nyxala would evolve each of the other additives into her already established names.

The two evolutions of difference meant the lesser additives wouldn't have much influence on the stronger names. Well, unless she got another freak incident like Eiỷpi̬ny. Though, she was all but certain it wouldn't happen again. Not with the additives she had. Despite her reservations with the meat related names, they clicked together so well it would be a shame not to. At least to see what they became. Maybe after they caught up with Eiỷpi̬ny, she would give Yog a treat.

Not willing to combine any of her main names this time, Nyxala immediately triggered the evolution. One after another, Nyxala's names exploded into massive spiralling clouds. Blank components that had accumulated from experience and soul-theft split from the parts they had been stuck to. These new unmarred canvases took on random orbits, but they only deviated so far from the tumbling motion of the components they broke from.

With how direct and structural the original names already were, these new additions were ultimately brought into the same orbits. Only a few collisions knocked some parts off course. Enough to ever so slightly change the name when it reforged. Nyxala watched the integration of the unevolved names with trepidation. She couldn't help it, after what had happened with her obsessive blood.

But this time, the additives with only two or three components rapidly collided with the orbits of the dozens of the larger names, as they should. These unevolved names influenced the evolution more than the blank parts, but not nearly enough to shape the resultant name. Watching the slow convergence of these names, Nyxala was astounded by just how slow it felt. The last evolutions had flown by. It was, without doubt, because she was in a more wakeful state than the last times.

She hadn't needed to slip into a forced sleep to evolve, as the evolution ritual required. The pink entirely bypassed requirements that she — and so many other residents of Coral — had always accepted as fact. Nyxala had never truly thought the mutation was solely limited to this alien colour and endless space. But each day brought more questions about its nature. How was it so unsettlingly divorced from the reality she knew?

Her concealer had been able to block everything perfectly, so long as her mutations weren't far from the body. Pink though? It cut through Ta'Stralanov'r's impressive craftsmanship like it wasn't even there. And now it ignored the laws of evolution, which even the highest creeds had to follow. Gazing deep into the endearingly deep colour, she discovered it swirled in response to her evolving names. It was subtle.

Nyxala couldn't say for sure it wasn't a part of her imagination twisting the unreality in an effort to link the void of her evolution with this static mental landscape. She stared, trying to pick out what was happening, but then it was all over. The orbits of her names solidified. They compressed into an unchanging mass of components, and Nyxala's evolution was complete. Whether there was a swirl in the pink or not, she couldn't tell. Further examination would need to wait for her next evolution.

N ̪ỷx̱̽ala-o̅s̫stho̲th-Ỷog¦­eipi̬nỷ-Lýo̻tepͦ-Ts̟͂tll̞-tṡial̺air̡-au̲cme-qyr̚a N̪ỷx̱̽ala — Curse O̅s̫stho̲th — Purity. A temple of bleached walls and grand spires stands against the ravages of time. Entropy. Disorder chews at the mortar between ivory bricks. Brittleness consumes stone foundations. Stained glass shards litter the long forgotten dais. Chaos. Nothing can last an eternity. That is law for the mundane. Chaos. Glass floors and an open skylight. Troubled seas churn beneath a glistening keel.

Drapes of tailored light plunge the tribune in a black glow. Entropy. Time's savagery is welcomed and discarded with each cracked pane or worn gear. Purity Change is purity in chaos. Ỷog¦­Eipi̬nỷ — When one spends their life obsessed with blo— YOG. LOVES. YOU. AND. YOU. WILL. LOVE. YOG. BACK. Coming across the name tied to her obsessive blood, Nyxala was less surprised than she ought to be.

Not only had Yog been tied to the name in a way that was entirely unrecognisable; less of the original description remained in place of Yog's words. Given the trajectory, she wouldn't have a description next evolution. Lýo̻tepͦ — Perseverance. Survival. Slaughter. Knowingly matched with the impossible, each are equal without compromise. There lies no middle ground for those of unmitigated desire, lest the soil crumble and the sky, fall. Ts̟͂tll̞ — Fell the great. Fell the immortal. Fell the gods on pillars above.

Realms pose no barrier, yet death is an eternal chase. A predator without teeth hunts but never eats. No more. No more. One who has toppled the heavens has earned the right of bypass. For this being, battle is no longer an act; it is law. Pierce the soul, and both shall be bound by oath: Accept death, or become death. Both Feats had been left to evolve unimpeded, so despite the added inflections they remained wholly the same. Not that they would be without improvement.

Lýo̻tepͦ in particular she was interested in testing. Each evolution had brought with it a different interaction between the trinity, so what would come now that she already had an ability related to perseverance, survival and slaughter? Tṡial̺air̡ — Always hiding, but never hidden. Always noticed, but never seen. Any obstruction is a tool. A haven. A lie. And a siren shrieking its existence to the world. That which can hide, will hide, but expect to be noticed quicker than otherwise. Oh?

There was an added sentence this time. It was a lot more explicit an explanation than what had been there before. Au̲cme — The farmer raises. The abattoir slaughters. The butcher prepares. And the chef cooks. For every processing stage, meat is readied for its consumption. But this is inefficient. Cut out the middlemen and feed from the source. Why heed the warning of taboo when raw meat offers such an increase in nutrients? Nyxala found it strange that the names pointed out what was taboo.

She doubted an animal was given a similar chiding for eating raw flesh. Sure it might have been strange — or rather, sickening — but Nyxala trusted her stomach. More like the environment she grew up in and the common practices of those around her bled into those descriptions. It made more sense than pure objectivity. Yet… if they were already taking into account her own environment and comprehension, then why did most descriptions have to be so convoluted? Qyr̚a — The many or the few?

Sometimes, it is necessary to cull the many so few survive. Sever body parts at will. It wasn't a full evolution — she still counted as fourth — but most of the names that had been trailing behind were brought forward, so she was happy with the result. Well, she would have been happy so long as there wasn't another mess with Yog's origin. Nyxala gave one last glance at the now unmoving pink space — daring it to shift again — before she slipped out of her mind and back into the sea of blood that hugged her sides.

"Hey." She turned to Lysyra's voice.

"You missing a finger?" The girl hadn't gone swimming for it, had she? Wait… probably for the best she had. Nyxala didn't know much about the nature of such massive rituals, but it wouldn't be good to summon something far more powerful than whatever the Fleshsmiths were already preparing for. … or would it?