Chương 209: X̸̢̢̪͇͕̦̤͔̥͔̘̜̪̪̪̩͍̻͓̞̜͚͙͎̳̠́̓̈́̋̈́̊̇̓̚͜͝y̶̛͋̍̃̽̔̂̅̈̑̆̔͐͆͂͊̒͑̈́̾̉̆̊͘͝͝͠rrhuvaikna

Zandisth was enraged. He had been so close to achieving everything he'd worked for… only for it all to come tumbling down at the moment of his triumph. Perfect sacrifice or no, this was where he should have garnered the strength to surpass Solan. Too long he had prostrated himself. Bent at the waist to the whims of the ancient woman and her aged ways. And so, it seemed, those ways would continue for now. Where had it all gone wrong?

Zan'Illivis, the foolish bastard, had fallen prey to the infectious whispers from beyond the veil. He tried to shove the now dead man off of him, but the bony splinters halted even the slightest motion. The Soulchasm's power surged through the altar. It was a tantalising sensation. One that was meant to be his, but now it bound his body and restrained his every power to retaliate. Then there was the girl. Nyxala.

One look at her soul, and he could see why her existence — as impossible as it had been thought — was considered the perfect sacrifice. But despite the odd pit of curses that was her core name, she was only at the fourth evolution. Zan'Brenael should not have had difficulty with her. And yet the girl had somehow slipped from her clutches, and destroyed the pillars. No. Even as the rumbling of the Island dug bone shards ever deeper into his back, his eyes found the ocean of blood coiling around the girl.

He could sense a soul there. One separate from Nyxala's. There was a soul, yet no matter how he searched, he couldn't find a name. When the two were essentially the same thing, it didn't make sense that his eyes couldn't read exactly what he was seeing. Not that Zandisth was given the luxury to look for long. With Zan'Illivis's self sacrifice, the ritual was now in full effect. The world pulsed and quivered.

Flowing rivers of flesh and steel ignited, burning with an unbearable heat as corruption twisted the ground and reshaped the pentagrams into something that made even his mind wrench painfully. While the amphitheatre shifted violently, the blood painting Zandisth's throat seeped into his flesh. Zandisth was a master of the soul. He'd long since detatched himself from the body's reaction to pain, yet this cut deeper than any physical form. The agony was obscene.

A scream ripped from his jaw, only for the sound to vanish in an instant, leaving his mouth gaping. And with that, The Soulchasm began its divine descent. Something gripped his throat. The sharp pinch of claws, razors, or predatory fangs cut into his oesophagus, and pulled outwards. Zandisth was choking, but he could do nothing to relieve the pressure of that which stretched him from within. His mouth widened. He almost cheered when his jaw shattered, so immense was the relief in tension.

But the widening accelerated, the pressure was back, and more of his body found itself an obstacle of The Soulchasm's desire. Through the torment, Zandisth found his body lifting from the altar. Binding spikes shed from his back as he rose from seemingly nothing. He took the opportunity. Well, he tried, but quickly discovered his mouth, throat, and stomach were no longer his. His hands scraped at the non-existent claws pulling at his mouth, but it was in vain.

Zandisth's lips peeled back, unable to stretch over the gaping hole any longer. His face scrunched up. Skin rolled back, carrying his nose to the forehead and pinching his eyes closed. Another crack announced the shattering of his skull. His body floated high over the centre of the ritual. The widening maw hovered unnaturally steady as the rest of the world trembled. A snap. Then two. Soon, there was a steady thrum of muscles snapping as his throat stretched to the size of his torso.

As if the final barriers had been shattered, the expansion grew stronger. His innards spilled through the opening, rolling outwards and further breaking whatever had been his head. Jagged, squalid teeth emerged from within. They churned through roiling flesh suddenly oozing with pus. Instead of Zandisth's stomach unfolding to expand around what remained of him, it was entirely alien. Feculent, foul, decayed. As the maw expanded across the chamber's expanse, the point where Zandisth began and ended became unclear.

Festering tissue began to accumulate along the walls, manifesting in the mere presence of the forming chasm. Both pentagrams of flesh and steel flashed, leaving a scar on space itself, and proceeded to deform as they spiralled upwards. Metal and meat cocooned the unnatural maw. As the boiling fluids hardened, strands shot out towards each surrounding surface. A web of iron encrusted tendons stretched from the encased maw. But the maw didn't like being contained.

In a way that wouldn't have been possible if the ritual had gone as planned, the churning pit that had once been Zandisth gnashed a massive chunk out of the thick binds. Teeth sliced through the fleshforged restraint like fish through water. Rather, an immense school of fish through water. The maw didn't consume the shell like one would expect. Instead, the rotten flesh rolled over its surface, pulling the cocoon beneath its missing skin. In mere moments, nothing of the binds remained.

Even the tendons reaching for the walls were overcome with vile flesh. The mouth continued to swell, though the direction in which it's flesh rolled blurred. It became impossible to tell. Sickly flesh spilled out from the pit, adding to its size. But at the same time, it appeared to convulse; a throat desperately trying to swallow any unfortunate enough to be too close. All too quickly, the maw expanded to fill the confines of the ritual chamber. Of course, that wasn't enough. So it continued.

For the entity descending through Zandisth's body, walls didn't exist. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. Abscesses burst upon contact, unleashing rivers of pus to flow down the walls even as the flesh passed through effortlessly. Repugnant decay stained the Island wherever the chasm spread.

Those unfortunate enough to still be alive as what remained of Zandisth reached the outer halls were met with a vile stench that instantly instilled them with illness before they were feasted upon. Zandisth was witness to it all. The sensation of his body being stretched beyond any possible means was excruciating in itself. His revolting form was as unsettling to himself as it was to all those who had to face the ever-growing entity as it flowed into the walls and through corridors. But the pain wasn't all.

He could feel the way his skin rolled over itself, tearing itself apart to make room for ever more. He felt the countless teeth slicing through flesh. Some were as small as fingernails, while others as large as buildings. But all that paled beneath the intense desire flowing through his flesh. It wanted to end. Zandisth felt no desire for suicide, but through the body that he could never recognise as his own, he discovered why Zan'Illivis had done what he'd done. A true cessation. It was neither beautiful nor ugly.

Freeing nor caging. The only attractive factor was the escape from the real horrors always lurking beneath their feet. But even then, that wasn't enough to convince Zan'Illivis to self-sacrifice. No, there was something more… something he was only grasping at as he felt the sensation of longing through his own decaying flesh. A lesser man would have been overcome by the subtle hint from seeing beyond the veil. A lesser man had succumbed. But Not Zandisth.

He had overcome far too much to throw his life away for some impotent concept of a true end. No matter how attracted his own flesh and blood was to the idea. He would not allow death to claim him. But The End would come regardless. The rotten flesh of the massive maw began to decay far faster. Lumps of dead muscle and teeth shed from the churning chasm. Some bits got caught in the Island, while others fell to the black hole below, tossing the creatures of the Darkness into a feeding frenzy.

In the place of all that dying pulp, new flesh grew out from underneath. It was a deep blue. Like the tint of distant galaxies in the pupil of the Great Iris. The same deep blue soul-glow only one being could create. The Soulchasm had arrived. And in so, Zandisth's contingency finally recognised his body as dead. In an explosive instant, his soul was ripped from the body, dragged from the Island, and shoved inside another vessel half-way across Coral.

He gasped as he leapt from the rig the new body had only moments ago been trapped to. The relief from the agony was there, but the pain lingered in his memories, filtering through them and into this entirely new form. Zandisth tore the barbed shackles from his arms. They fell free easily, allowing his heavily wounded body to heal in the ritual automatically initiated with his return. Breathing deep, he calmed himself.

That loathful desire for his true end lingered, even here, so far away from the Island and the manifesting god. But he was alive. That was all that mattered. Even should that desire remain indefinitely, it would stand testament to his task. To the heights he would eventually reach. Zandisth glanced over the row of his other first point contingencies. Some were awake. The souls stuck in rodents scratched at the jars that contained them, making their human bodies twitch through the barely present connection.

All was in order. With most of his own faction eradicated, Zandisth would need to build up much of his base from scratch. He didn't worry too much about the optics of such an event. They would flock to him even if they suspected he'd sacrificed all his previous followers. It might… just take some time. The ground shifted. All of coral Jolted to the side at a powerful force. But Zandisth noticed none of it. A voice had penetrated his mind, reaching him through the soul.

It was wispy, cutting, and powerful enough to make him feel like an ant." Your Zenith has come. Return, and meet your fate." Zandisth snapped back to reality shivering in a cold sweat. He clenched his fists, forcing his fingers to still, and glared off where the Island should be. Where The Soulchasm had spoken through an echo of his soul. He wanted to announce his refusal, but his lips didn't budge. If the god wanted Zandisth, then it would have to swallow all of Coral to get him.

The ground jerked again, and suddenly the ground was no longer the ground. Zandisth landed on the wall of his laboratory. A glance was all it took to realise he was the only thing affected by this altered gravity. He had all of a second before the next powerful jolt rocked Coral. Thick steel beneath his feet melted away. It dissolved as the metal decayed to the point of non-existence, and with nothing under him any longer, he fell. Zandisth landed hard on the next wall.

He scrambled to rush off to the side, but no matter where he went, the ground rotted away. It did so only where he went. And it was getting faster. He slipped through another few floors before he pulled out the stops and summoned his army of bound souls to halt his fall. They weren't physical, so they couldn't be affected by the passage of time or decay. But he was wrong. This wasn't rot, or accelerated time. This was The Soulchasm's touch. The lord of The End.

And so, when Zandisth brought out his powerful army of bound souls, their entire existences vanished the moment they tried to touch him. As he cut through an active battlefield — decaying a hole through one massive war beast — and back into the territory surrounding his cult's Island, he scrambled for a way to stop. To cease the tug of this nightmarish entity before it was too late. He even severed his connection to this body, hoping to return to the next contingency.

His soul left the body for a fraction of a second before the tug grew stronger, and he was pulled back into the body falling to its doom. All too soon, he crashed through the last wall of Coral, and found himself rocketing out into the emptiness of space. His skin immediately began scalding. The rain of the collapsing suns cut deep through his body, burning and slicing off sections of skin despite his immense empowerment against such things. This Deific Tempest was far worse than anyone had predicted.

But Zandisth didn't have time to worry about some accretion storm — no matter how unreasonably dangerous — when he was plunging rapidly towards the massive awaiting Soulchasm. The immense gaping maw had infested the entirety of the Island now, leaving nothing but the outer rim surrounding the deep, looming pit. For a being labelled The Soulchasm, it certainly lived up to its title.

The Island now had a massive hole through eighty percent of it, but instead of the darkness of the black hole behind it, only an endless pit could be seen. Deep blue flesh carrying glistening silver teeth that curled in and out of its immense flowing throat made the entire thing look like a ring of waterfalls. And no matter how far he looked in that tooth-filled maw, he couldn't see the end. Just before Zandisth fell into The Soulchasm and found his end, he noted the severed bridges.

If he was to be swallowed by X̸̢̢̪͇͕̦̤͔̥͔̘̜̪̪̪̩͍̻͓̞̜͚͙͎̳̠́̓̈́̋̈́̊̇̓̚͜͝y̶̢̡̡̛̫̫͚̞͖̥̖̙̤̳̲͔̙͇͚̠̯̮͔̟͕̟͖̭̙̣̲̼͈̪̦̞̙͇̻͈͕̺͋̍̃̽̔̂̅̈̑̆̔͐͆͂͊̒͑̈́̾̉̆̊͋́̉̇̂̋̆̏̊̃̈́̎̏̅͆̅͘͝͝͠ͅr̶̢̛̛̛̘̪̦̘̻̤͍̮̫̤͉͔͈͇̹͎̝͉̱̖͍̙͕̅̓̈́̓̇̔̊̔͐̈́͑̌̇̇̇̉̐̊̈́̂͐̓̌̆̐̾̊̾̕͝͝ͅŗ̴̤͔̲̠͇̪̯͔̪̬͓͉̮̲̦̺̥͓̫͚̳͚̠̭̖̱̲̗̗̮̞̟̺͖̫͈͓̲͈̺͛́̀͑͊̎̏̏̽̈́͛̉̂͐̉̅̿̏͛̂̏͐̍́͑͊̒̅̅̈́͊̀͛̐͆̉̕̕͜͝͠ͅḩ̶̨̙̭͚̲̹͓̞͔̜̭̩̣̠̳͍̠͖͓́͌̓̈́̑̂̓̍̽̈́̔̑́͗͜͝ͅú̷̡̨̢̨̢̯͍̬̙̞̺̫̳̪̹̺̩̫̻̝̩̗̖̠͍̝̞̫̦̬̹̼͕̞̳̦͕͇̘͖̝̠̳̜͔͚̟̩̒̏̂̈̂͋̎̏̓͐͋̈́̌̔͋͑̌̎̓̅̇͑̌̂̄̓̐̓̈́̀̓̕͘͝͝͝ͅṿ̴̨̧͉̭̠̳̙̳̖̣̰̩̖́͆̿̍̌͌̎͋̆̓̎̑̏̚̚͜͝͝a̶̢̨̡̡̖̯̺̦̺͈͎̠̠͎̟͚̯̦̪͓̮͉̬͍͎̥͍͔͔͖̮̭̺̙͆́͛̒̇̌̆̈́́͛̍̿̑͗̆̑͊͑͂̔̏͛̀̚̕͜͝͝i̴̢̦͙̠̤͒̄̿̈̽͂͑̋̌͊̋̍̆̀̓̃̏͋̌̐̄̆̌́̒̊̒̄́̆̂̄̄̔͑͐̈̓̏̓͒͘̚͝͝͠k̸̛̤͖̠̓̀͗͋̏̿̏͌͌̂̒̑̅̾͐̂̎̐̈͐̈͑̈̍́̒͋͜͝͠ͅñ̷̲̟̹̀͒̃͗͌̃͒̾͛̄̀̅̎͝ȃ̸̧̨̧̧̨̨̰͉̼͕͔̳͉̪̻̘̼̼̥̰̝̱̻͙̰̈́̀̔̑̓̀̃́̿̿̇́̄̀́̆̀̒̊̉͌̂̒̚̕̚͠͝ͅͅ, then he was glad Solan wouldn't get the perfect sacrifice.