Chương 211: Seeds

Nyxala ran. With that nightmarish maw spreading through the ritual amphitheatre, she didn't dare linger. All that mattered was getting off this Island before everything went to shit. Yog followed. The ocean of blood rushed after her like a tsunami, but it was impossible to see it as a danger. Not anymore.

"Well done, Yog," she shouted, not slowing down. The mass of blood trilled at the praise. Ripples passed over its chaotic surface, and realising it was falling behind, it rushed forward. In its enthusiasm, it engulfed Nyxala and carried her forward even faster. She'd expected Yog to provide a distraction. At most, damage the foundations of the pillars. Not destroy them all outright. And a good thing it did; she wasn't sure how she would have found which obelisk bound Lysyra's soul.

With at least four tenth evolution cultists standing amongst the dead choirs — not to mention Zandisth himself — Nyxala would have had the opportunity to destroy only one pillar before she was set upon. That she hadn't been, even after the soul-binding obelisks were destroyed, she still couldn't fathom. Maybe she should thank that crazed cultist who self-sacrificed and pinned Zandisth to the altar. She might have, if she'd not been so consumed in the unsettling visage of the man's jaw ripping open.

Nyxala shivered just thinking about it. Her goal of freeing Lysyra and throwing their ritual into chaos had succeeded, but that chasm that had been Zandisth only moments ago was growing rapidly. Now was the time to leave. And so she ran. She ran until a blade cut through a soulless body, then she flew. But Nyxala wasn't the only one running. Zan'Brenael, the hook lady, was already gone. The moment she'd seen an inkling of things going wrong, she'd fled. She, along with all the upper creeds remaining.

Without their leader to demand it, they apparently didn't care for Nyxala at all. Or, more likely, they realised just how bad a ritual of this scale going wrong could be. As Nyxala flew through the warped outer corridors, flesh spread across all surfaces before rapidly deteriorating. From that rotten viscera, teeth grew. There were thousands. Sharp, gangly fangs to unwieldy molars, every type of tooth she could imagine rolled through the spoiled tissue. Each different from the last.

And many of which curved away from any sort of natural geometry comprehendable by the mortal mind. She tucked her wings and angled her tail. Spinning away from a massive, rising incisor, Nyxala barrelled into one of the few remaining corridors before the bridges to safety. Risking a glance back, she was horrified to find the chasm right there. All those passages and rooms she'd woven through, they had just disappeared into the bottomless depths of the summoned god.

Only upon turning the final corner did she realise that, no, the walls and chambers weren't being consumed — at least not in the way she understood it — the entity the insane cultist had called The Soulchasm was simply impossible to hide from. The walls were still there. Even the two floors she'd gained still existed in the space between her and the summoned god. But that meant nothing to an entity whose existence could never be ignored. Whose presence twists the very nature of its surroundings.

Finally, she reached a bridge. Her heart dropped immediately. Coral was in full view. She could see the Bodytwister's Island to the right, the Scriptures' to the left, and both their temples peeking over the massive platform's outer rim. The light reflecting off the silhouette's edge was both beautiful as it was terrifying. Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. It was too late. The bridges had been severed, and they were already drifting.

Knowing only death awaited her here, Nyxala beat her wings and threw herself from the butchered opening. It would be the hardest flight she'd ever had, but she could do it. Nyxala could cross the distance. So long as she threw everything she had into it. And so she did. Yet the response from the Deific Tempest was brutal. Nyxala slammed into the rain of falling stars like it was a wall of steel. It immediately cut into her eyes, blinding all but her gem.

Skin peeled off in scores, and her feathers were almost immediately washed from her wings. Worse: she lurched under the weight suddenly bearing down on her from above. She aborted her flight immediately and threw her claws out, barely pinning herself to the Island before she could tumble down into the black hole. Again. Only her rapid reaction saved her. Scrambling to get back under shade, she felt the relief of her Feat healing counteract the worst of it.

The lingering effects of her earlier kill were only enough to regain her eyes and close her wounds. Her skin was still a scarred mess. And that wasn't mentioning the raw appearance of her wings. A huge, inky-black tentacle reached up from the Darkness, reached over what remained of the bridge, and fell upon the Island. The ground lurched beneath her. She had felt those difficult-to-percieve limbs before, but never one so massive. What was she supposed to do? What could she do?

Worse case scenario, she'd expected to be able to fly back to Coral without an issue. Ignoring some slight skin burn. But clearly, the accretion storm had only grown more powerful in the time since she walked the surface to meet the Cultless. Nyxala's mind spun a thousand times a second, but even with her heart beating fast enough to hurt, no answer leapt out at her. She could see the slow crawl as Coral shrunk. It rose higher. She could only hope the warped light was exaggerating just how far she'd already fallen.

She turned an eye back on The Soulchasm. Despite her hopes, it hadn't disappeared. The impossible depth of the maw fit entirely within the Island which was not nearly large enough to contain it. All the flesh that made its form had decayed beyond the point of recognition. The foul rot infested everything. Soon enough, she was sure it would decay to nothing. But it didn't. Instead of all that flesh rotting away to nonexistence, something else took its place.

Something that, at first, seemed completely opposed to flesh's deterioration. It was static. Unchanging. But only when the cavity-packed teeth crumbled away to perfect fangs glistening with silver light did the unsettling nature of that deep blue not-flesh become truly apparent. It was death. Death in its most purest form, given the barely apparent shape of flesh. Yog curled as much of itself around her, edging away from the infinite expanse of death — or true end — laid out before them.

A sea of blood coiling around her body was bound to slow her down, but she didn't protest. It deserved that much. The million silvery teeth threading through the death flesh seemed to pause, then twist towards her. An overwhelming sense of being watched settled on her soul. Nyxala stiffened. A voice rang in her soul, loud and heavy despite the lack of even a flutter along her antennae." To find a Seed in the proximity of the Origin Corpse … how apt."

Along with the words, The Soulchasm widened and the glow of each tooth pulsed brighter. Nyxala kept her breathing calm. The god was speaking to her. This was fine; she'd already dealt with Euphoria. Maybe this one would recognise her strange connection to the Eidolons, and help her back to Coral.

"Uh… Soulchasm?

I'm not sure what you mean by 'Seed', but I-"" You persist before X ̸̢̢̪͇͕̦̤͔̥͔̘̜̪̪̪̩͍̻͓̞̜͚͙͎̳̠́̓̈́̋̈́̊̇̓̚͜͝y̶̢̡̡̛̫̫͚̞͖̥̖̙̤̳̲͔̙͇͚̠̯̮͔̟͕̟͖̭̙̣̲̼͈̪̦̞̙͇̻͈͕̺͋̍̃̽̔̂̅̈̑̆̔͐͆͂͊̒͑̈́̾̉̆̊͋́̉̇̂̋̆̏̊̃̈́̎̏̅͆̅͘͝͝͠ͅr̶̢̛̛̛̘̪̦̘̻̤͍̮̫̤͉͔͈͇̹͎̝͉̱̖͍̙͕̅̓̈́̓̇̔̊̔͐̈́͑̌̇̇̇̉̐̊̈́̂͐̓̌̆̐̾̊̾̕͝͝ͅŗ̴̤͔̲̠͇̪̯͔̪̬͓͉̮̲̦̺̥͓̫͚̳͚̠̭̖̱̲̗̗̮̞̟̺͖̫͈͓̲͈̺͛́̀͑͊̎̏̏̽̈́͛̉̂͐̉̅̿̏͛̂̏͐̍́͑͊̒̅̅̈́͊̀͛̐͆̉̕̕͜͝͠ͅḩ̶̨̙̭͚̲̹͓̞͔̜̭̩̣̠̳͍̠͖͓́͌̓̈́̑̂̓̍̽̈́̔̑́͗͜͝ͅú̷̡̨̢̨̢̯͍̬̙̞̺̫̳̪̹̺̩̫̻̝̩̗̖̠͍̝̞̫̦̬̹̼͕̞̳̦͕͇̘͖̝̠̳̜͔͚̟̩̒̏̂̈̂͋̎̏̓͐͋̈́̌̔͋͑̌̎̓̅̇͑̌̂̄̓̐̓̈́̀̓̕͘͝͝͝ͅṿ̴̨̧͉̭̠̳̙̳̖̣̰̩̖́͆̿̍̌͌̎͋̆̓̎̑̏̚̚͜͝͝a̶̢̨̡̡̖̯̺̦̺͈͎̠̠͎̟͚̯̦̪͓̮͉̬͍͎̥͍͔͔͖̮̭̺̙͆́͛̒̇̌̆̈́́͛̍̿̑͗̆̑͊͑͂̔̏͛̀̚̕͜͝͝i̴̢̦͙̠̤͒̄̿̈̽͂͑̋̌͊̋̍̆̀̓̃̏͋̌̐̄̆̌́̒̊̒̄́̆̂̄̄̔͑͐̈̓̏̓͒͘̚͝͝͠k̸̛̤͖̠̓̀͗͋̏̿̏͌͌̂̒̑̅̾͐̂̎̐̈͐̈͑̈̍́̒͋͜͝͠ͅñ̷̲̟̹̀͒̃͗͌̃͒̾͛̄̀̅̎͝ȃ̸̧̨̧̧̨̨̰͉̼͕͔̳͉̪̻̘̼̼̥̰̝̱̻͙̰̈́̀̔̑̓̀̃́̿̿̇́̄̀́̆̀̒̊̉͌̂̒̚̕̚͠͝ͅͅ,"the voice boomed."

And you presume to make requests?" The Soulchasm's tone was so alien that Nyxala struggled to perceive whatever emotion or intent might have been behind the words. Given the way her head pounded, it was unlikely to be positive. She opened her mouth to apologise, but wasn't given the chance." The Eidolons' Seeds are a pestilence. One that demands cessation before all others.

"The endless oesophagus expanded, as if preparing to swallow." You … are an existence in need of uprooting." That endless chasm suddenly seemed much closer.