Chương 216: The Fifth

There it was. Despite all she'd improved, changed, the metaphor was fundamentally the same. Whatever The Soulchasm had meant by calling her a Seed, her own evolution options confirmed it. So long as she evolved all of her names together — which seemed like a horrible idea, considering both the temporary weakness when she'd gained O̅s̫stho̲th and Yog's confounding ability to infest names — the result would be… whatever the Eidolons had planned for her.

Clearly, they had more in mind for her than the simple murder of the cults. Why would she ever think beings that thought in such higher planes would ever have a single motive. For all she knew, they had a million or more objectives for sending her back. But what did it mean to be a Seed? The title itself was hardly descriptive, except for the obvious fact that she was meant to grow into something else. What? Was it right to assume that this 'Seed' was directly related to her being the perfect sacrifice?

Or were all people with cursed mutations one of the Eidolons' Seeds? There was no way to pin it on her nature, either. As she hadn't seen any evolution options before she'd been sent back in time, it might have been when she fell into the black hole that this 'Seed' was woven into her soul. Was it a good thing, or bad? As much as she'd love to think this was a representation of the Eidolons' will to cultivate her growth and overcome the cults… it could just as easily be a parasite.

Nyxala gulped at the horrific thought that some unimaginable plant sprouted from her chest. From her soul. It was entirely possible that the Eidolons' Seed was not referring to her, but something implanted. Was she nothing more than a host? The thought was enough to scare her off evolving all her names together, beyond the questionable nature of doing so in the first place. As much as it was only one possibility amongst dozens, she couldn't take the risk.

Besides, considering the progress of the description — from 'not yet sprouting' to 'ready to sprout' and now 'sprouting' — Nyxala knew it wasn't something that would disappear just because she willed it. Whatever this Seed actually was, she was stuck with it for many evolutions to come. Plenty of time to figure out if it was worth pursuing… or a parasite, after all. Nyxala forced her gaze away from the ghostly possibility of all her names combined into one. She wouldn't consider it.

Though, there were still other combinations she needed to consider before evolving. O̅s̫stho̲th, Lýo̻tepͦ, and Ts̟͂tll̞ were all names she didn't want to touch. Both Feats were fated to be joined, but the time still wasn't right. Nyxala didn't want either to be altered too much before then. Even if she'd not really had much use for Ts̟͂tll̞ since her fight against Lysyra. The ability to lock someone in a fight to the death was incredibly beneficial, if situational, and not something she wanted to lose.

That seemed to be a sticking point about higher evolutions: was she willing to risk names that were already good for a — likely stronger — ability of unknown use? Yog's name — or the one it infested — Nyxala could probably combine, but it was just going to bleed through whatever else she mixed it with. Looking upon its possibilities anyway, she was surprised to find Ỷog¦­Eipi̬nỷ was no longer Ỷog¦­Eipi̬nỷ. Ỷ̠ogͮ¦ᴱ̶ⁱ̶ᵖ̶ⁱ̶ⁿ̶ʸ — OUR. LOVE. IS. ETERNAL. That was something Nyxala had never seen before.

The Eipiny half of the name had not only lost its inflections to Ỷ̠ogͮ, but it also felt weaker. Its presence, subtle. Almost like she perceived it through a tinted window. She'd made a very important promise to the bloody blob, so she wasn't at all surprised by the description. Not after Yog had already proven capable of altering it as it wished. Even so, there was none of the original description left. Nyxala wondered how an onomastician might decipher that.

As a reward for helping her against The Soulchasm, Nyxala would toss Yog one of her new additives as sacrifice. Otherwise, she would let it evolve alone. Going down the list of names, she realised that left her with… not that many names to combine. Tṡial̺air̡, Au̲cme, and Qyr̚a. Tṡial̺air̡ was helpful to keep her hidden, but it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to combine it away. Problem was, it was at the third evolution while the other two were only at their first.

Any evolution between them would be heavily weighted towards her hiding ability. Though, that might not be the worst outcome. The ability to sever her limbs at will, and her taboo butcher name, were not exactly at the top of her priority to keep in their current forms. Au̲cme especially. While Nyxala was confident it had improved upon the incredible ability to consume souls of her chest mouth, she didn't like the idea of a name that made her essentially rely on the consumption of people.

No matter how delicious they were. No. If Nyxala could somehow twist that name to be something that didn't encourage her to eat Lysyra the moment she swallowed her, then she would be happy. Although, maybe she should wait to see if it was really the name… or simply her own mutated nature that brought about this hunger. Undecided, she simply decided to check the evolution descriptions for each combination. Tṡial̺air̡-au̲cme Taboo of the hunt.

To feast upon the most unsanctioned of prey, a predator balances the expertise of subterfuge with the pride to announce their presence before the mutilation. The resulting banquet is unfailingly irresistible. As the forbidden always should be. Her goal of joining these two was to have the higher evolution name overpower the other. But that description wasn't all that encouraging.

There was too much of the taboo being passed through from the smaller name, and Nyxala wasn't all that excited by such an animalistic description… even if she never intended to stop hunting the cultists. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. Sure, it was possible — likely even — that Tṡial̺air̡ would overpower Au̲cme.

But if she'd learnt anything from the transformation of Eiyp to Ỷ̠ogͮ¦ᴱ̶ⁱ̶ᵖ̶ⁱ̶ⁿ̶ʸ, it was not to trust that a higher evolution name would be dominant just because it was supposedly stronger. Nyxala was not inclined to take the chance. Au̲cme-qyr̚a Hunger is a uniting urge. All feel its pull, from the smallest of critters to the greatest of megafauna. At is a natural cycle of eating and being eaten. What is not natural, is for an organism to complete that cycle entirely on their own.

It is a consumption loop that should siphon away energy as loss… but somehow, doesn't. Nyxala almost snapped up the evolution immediately. It still mentioned hunger, which was concerning, but no mention of taboo. That alone was enough to push past the… admittedly strange ability she was guessing might result. Self-consumption. It was odd, but she had an easy way to regenerate herself. Especially now that the requirements of Lýo̻tepͦ to activate seemed to be shrinking.

Nyxala mostly just wanted to make sure that her name wasn't suddenly making her hunger for human flesh any more than the flavour itself. While there was the concern that she would lose her increased efficiency gained by consuming souls, a first evolution was unlikely to have provided all that much benefit. She assumed most of the benefit came directly from her mutation. Knowing that, she checked some more possible evolutions. Including those that involved her core name.

She was hesitant, considering she'd gained no more names focused on senses and soul — which was what N̪ỷx̱̽ala was geared towards — but with O̅s̫stho̲th already taking the lead for combat effectiveness, it wouldn't hurt to bring a name or three into her core. N̪ỷx̱̽ala-tṡial̺air̡-au̲cme-qyr̚a Curse — A black hole can consume itself. Well, that was certainly interesting. If she remembered right, the description of her last combined core name was 'A black hole can perceive itself'.

That was a single word different, yet it held an entire world of difference. … not that she could decipher that difference. She was certainly interested. Still, she wouldn't take the option. N̪ỷx̱̽ala was her core name, and to invite any other name into it would be welcoming changes to herself. As it was, she wasn't comfortable combining in names she didn't want to be wholly defined by. N̪ỷx̱̽ala-qyr̚a Curse — A black hole exists in forced superposition.

Strange that all her core name evolutions used a black hole as a metaphor. Stranger still, that it was only the one that combined everything that gave her anything different. How closely are they related? Of all things, to shift to such a small scale metaphor after using black holes… it was confounding if nothing else. The Soulchasm had spoken of the 'Origin Corpse'.

At the time, she hadn't given it much thought — a bit hard to when looking down at what was most likely going to be her death — but now that she had the time and space, what had it been referring to? Coral? She was far more inclined to believe such an existence would hardly have given their platform much thought. So then, the black hole? And if the Origin Corpse really did refer to the black hole, then maybe there was a reason all her descriptions indicated them.

As much as her mind went wild with speculation, it was impossible to land on any solid explanation. This was all so elaborate. Inexplicable. Maybe Seeds had something to do with black holes — it was a fairly obvious connection — but what that meant? It was impossible to know. Sighing to herself, Nyxala moved on. N̪ỷx̱̽ala-au̲cme Curse — The hunger of a black hole is ever-consuming. No. N̪ỷx̱̽ala-tṡial̺air̡ Curse — A black hole pervades the veil.

It was as indecipherable as the rest, but this combination was likely to offer the best results. At least, she had high hopes. Tṡial̺air̡ was likely high enough evolution that it wouldn't simply fade into her core name. And, if she was honest, the shroud she could encase herself within seemed like it would have incredible cohesion with her soul defences, should they combine. She was risking her ability to hide, but it was a risk she was willing to take.

So Nyxala nudged N̪ỷx̱̽ala-tṡial̺air̡ and Au̲cme-qyr̚a toward merging, then proceeded with the evolution. As was becoming a pattern, the explosion of spiralling names orbited through the space around her with increasing intensity. Thousands of collisions occurred each second. They threw the axial tilt of the general flow off by degrees at a time, but enough each way that the rotations nestled between those of the original names. As they should. Physically being here as the names evolved was something different.

Nyxala reached her hand out as a single component whizzed past, leaving the faintest trace of a sensation tingling through her fingertips. She wondered if anyone else had experienced their evolution so… viscerally. She doubted it. Most evolutions occurred in — at most — a state of semi-consciousness. Even the best rituals would only bridge the gap. Nyxala was here. Physically. And it was incredible.

N ̪ỷx̱̽alair̘-Ỷ̠o̐gͮ¦ᵉ̶ⁱ̶ᵖ̶ⁱ̶ʸ-o̅s̫s̋tho̲th-Lý̥o̻tepͦ-Ts̟͂tl̐l̞-Vaik͍na-qycḿͦe N̪ỷx̱̽alair̘ — Curse Ỷ̠o̐gͮ¦ᴱ̶ⁱ̶ᵖ̶ⁱ̶ʸ — OUR. LOVE. IS. ETERNAL. O̅s̫s̋tho̲th — 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. Lý̥o̻tepͦ — 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. Ts̟͂tl̐l̞ — 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.

Vaik͍na — Marked by X̸̢̢̪͇͕̦̤͔̥͔̘̜̪̪̪̩͍̻͓̞̜͚͙͎̳̠́̓̈́̋̈́̊̇̓̚͜͝y̶̢̡̡̛̫̫͚̞͖̥̖̙̤̳̲͔̙͇͚̠̯̮͔̟͕̟͖̭̙̣̲̼͈̪̦̞̙͇̻͈͕̺͋̍̃̽̔̂̅̈̑̆̔͐͆͂͊̒͑̈́̾̉̆̊͋́̉̇̂̋̆̏̊̃̈́̎̏̅͆̅͘͝͝͠ͅr̶̢̛̛̛̘̪̦̘̻̤͍̮̫̤͉͔͈͇̹͎̝͉̱̖͍̙͕̅̓̈́̓̇̔̊̔͐̈́͑̌̇̇̇̉̐̊̈́̂͐̓̌̆̐̾̊̾̕͝͝ͅŗ̴̤͔̲̠͇̪̯͔̪̬͓͉̮̲̦̺̥͓̫͚̳͚̠̭̖̱̲̗̗̮̞̟̺͖̫͈͓̲͈̺͛́̀͑͊̎̏̏̽̈́͛̉̂͐̉̅̿̏͛̂̏͐̍́͑͊̒̅̅̈́͊̀͛̐͆̉̕̕͜͝͠ͅḩ̶̨̙̭͚̲̹͓̞͔̜̭̩̣̠̳͍̠͖͓́͌̓̈́̑̂̓̍̽̈́̔̑́͗͜͝ͅú̷̡̨̢̨̢̯͍̬̙̞̺̫̳̪̹̺̩̫̻̝̩̗̖̠͍̝̞̫̦̬̹̼͕̞̳̦͕͇̘͖̝̠̳̜͔͚̟̩̒̏̂̈̂͋̎̏̓͐͋̈́̌̔͋͑̌̎̓̅̇͑̌̂̄̓̐̓̈́̀̓̕͘͝͝͝ͅṿ̴̨̧͉̭̠̳̙̳̖̣̰̩̖́͆̿̍̌͌̎͋̆̓̎̑̏̚̚͜͝͝a̶̢̨̡̡̖̯̺̦̺͈͎̠̠͎̟͚̯̦̪͓̮͉̬͍͎̥͍͔͔͖̮̭̺̙͆́͛̒̇̌̆̈́́͛̍̿̑͗̆̑͊͑͂̔̏͛̀̚̕͜͝͝i̴̢̦͙̠̤͒̄̿̈̽͂͑̋̌͊̋̍̆̀̓̃̏͋̌̐̄̆̌́̒̊̒̄́̆̂̄̄̔͑͐̈̓̏̓͒͘̚͝͝͠k̸̛̤͖̠̓̀͗͋̏̿̏͌͌̂̒̑̅̾͐̂̎̐̈͐̈͑̈̍́̒͋͜͝͠ͅñ̷̲̟̹̀͒̃͗͌̃͒̾͛̄̀̅̎͝ȃ̸̧̨̧̧̨̨̰͉̼͕͔̳͉̪̻̘̼̼̥̰̝̱̻͙̰̈́̀̔̑̓̀̃́̿̿̇́̄̀́̆̀̒̊̉͌̂̒̚̕̚͠͝ͅͅ.

One swallowed by the Elder God of True Ends and Devouring cannot escape the eternal chasm or its realm-shredding teeth. It is impossible. And yet you have. Truth, fate, and reason have ceased their function. Qycḿͦe — 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. Even this is inefficient. Cut out the source and eat from the self.

Heed not taboo in the face of unconstrained nutrients.