Chương 227: Chapter 223: Invow Death

"Abandon sector ES-three-three-five. Call back the assault on ES-four-three-four." Anzolorus continued to go down the list of commands for his communicator to redirect to the relevant units as he stormed towards the neighbouring command outpost. He tried to keep his voice monotone, but the lower creeds that followed kept shooting him nervous glances. He was not so sure he had kept his anger from bleeding into his words. A minute ago, the Fleshsmith formation had crumbled.

Apparently, a quarter of their forces — even those on the front lines — had simply stopped paying attention to the war to enact some ritual. Many didn't even bother to find somewhere safe before dropping on their ass and singing. The obscene act couldn't have come at a worse time. This was meant to be their major offensive. Today, if nothing had gone horribly wrong, the Scriptures would have cut deep into Bodytwister territory, bringing them closer than ever to an assault on their Temple.

Except, when the attack was underway, the Fleshsmiths had crumbled. All they needed to do was hold the flank. That was it. The Fleshsmiths just had to hold their position against an opponent that already focused most of their forces at the more threatening opponent. And somehow, they'd failed that. Anzolorus would have assumed this all an act of betrayal… if not for the dozen high-creed guards that simply let him walk into K'Noirus' command post unopposed.

The sight within was no different from what he'd seen outside the observation deck overlooking the near-lost battlefield. All the Fleshsmiths of any repute were huddled in a ritual circle, humming the same tune. Only one — a young man in his mid-to-late twenties — hadn't joined them. He was the only one who even noticed their arrival.

"You, boy, what is the meaning of this?" Anzolorus demanded. He froze at being addressed directly, but Anzolorus didn't have the patience to deal with low creed fear.

"Now!"

"I don't know," he almost squeaked.

"They all just… stopped. Mid-sentence, and all at the same time." Before he could vent his frustration at the boy's uselessness, another quake ripped through Coral. This worse than the last few. The Fleshsmith boy along with the low creed scriptures behind him all struggled to keep their feet as the ground jerked out from under them. Something was going on below. And as it continued, Anzolorus was becoming more certain that it was connected to this capitulation of the Fleshsmiths.

Anzolorus walked through the ritual circle of Fleshsmiths. The boy tried to stand in his way, but it was stupidly easy to brush him aside. As he reached the centre and reached for K'Noirus, finally she reacted. Her eyes snapped open and her hand grasped his.

"This is an important moment for us. Leave, and we shall speak later." He narrowed his eyes.

"I wouldn't care for any of the games you want to play with your own cult. Kill as many of your own as you want. But we had a deal, and your failure has harmed us." K'Noirus nodded amicably, though it was impossible to tell her true feelings through the blank expression she always kept.

"I understand your concerns. We shall recompense you appropriately at a later date-" Her words broke off abruptly, eyes falling to the ground beneath her feet. If nothing else, that was confirmation that the Fleshsmiths were involved with whatever was going on in the deeper parts of Coral.

"Later," she repeated. For the first time in all his interactions with the woman, she seemed hurried. Fearful. K'Noirus let go of his arm and dropped back into her kneeling position. As one, the other high-creed Fleshsmiths around her awoke, and rose to direct him away. Reluctantly, he let them. As frustrated as he was, it was not his place to break their current alliance.

He was still waiting for Zoaul or one of his Tomes to punish him for allowing his son to die, and any more shit on his head could cost him his life. So he left. But as he left, he didn't miss the way K'Noirus' body took on the nature of her cult's creations, unfurling until there was barely any human left. For her to discard her human form — no matter how brief — then something massive had to be in effect. It wasn't planned. That much, Anzolorus was sure. But he didn't like the lack of intelligence at his disposal.

It was difficult to decide how he should act — or if he should act at all — without proper information. If it was discovered in hindsight that he should have attacked K'Noirus at this very moment, then the Tomes would not be very forgiving. They would claim it was his job to know everything happening around him, and anything less was a failure.

"Where is M̞͆a̟͎ǘza̟͎ǘs̪?" he shouted as he left the observation deck. For once, something went Anzolorus' way. Too bad that something had to be Mauzaus. The man had clearly rushed over from Anzolorus' command post with his new acolyte deathly exhausted as she tried to follow. How he had managed to get a hold of one of the few to have survived the Trial after his eight previous acolytes had died, Anzolorus didn't know. Then again, he couldn't throw stones. Not with Grifvoi's death.

The girl almost collapsed as Mauzaus came to a stop. She didn't dare look up. His methods of 'training' were indistinct from abuse, as he enjoyed keeping them on the verge of death while under him. Sure, it created some hardy harbingers… but Anzolorus found them all far too rigid. That was almost a sin when the best rituals could only be performed with the application of flexibility. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

"Tell me." He said, clearing his mind of pointless tangents. Mauzaus smothered his own resentment for having to report to Anzolorus and spoke with a clipped cadence.

"It's S͍̾ølą̛́̄n̼̙͈̘̄̍̓͘. Her chain made mince of a dozen lower levels around the shadows, then broke through a quarter of the undersurface."

"What is she fighting?"

"We cannot tell. It is none of the cult leaders, yet she is not pulling her punches," Mauzaus said.

"It's not?" Anzolorus interrupted.

"Not even P̝̦͆h̥͝ŏs͂p̢̑ḣ͓o̻̮̭̗ŗ̀t͉a̐n̮i͋͒͒̀̂̋͘͠s-Ã͍͓̐̊͊l͍̭̗͎͑͜'o͍r̫?" That seemed the most likely scenario considering the war.

"No." Mauzaus' confidence bled through the word.

"The Bodytwister leader is very… visible in her battles. Much like S͍̾ølą̛́̄n̼̙͈̘̄̍̓͘. The only one of mine that saw anything said-" He paused, apparently unenthusiastic to continue.

"And I quote: 'A huge fucking pink jaw chewing on chains fell through the ceiling.'" Mauzaus let out a sigh before continuing.

"Do note that the woman who made this statement also claimed it ate her squad. I suspect foul play, but she is on her way for mental assessment as we speak. Either way, there's little we know besides S͍̾ølą̛́̄n̼̙͈̘̄̍̓͘ is fighting something down under Coral." Anzolorus considered for a moment. In that case, there was little need to worry about the Fleshsmiths double crossing them. Whatever threat Solan was facing, she clearly thought it worth endangering her cult to enact the strange ritual wherever they were.

It was honestly surprising that so many of them were willing to do so without a full retreat to somewhere safe beforehand. Their devotion was unquestionable. If there weren't so many participating, then Anzolorus might have thought they were all Invowed. But that would be ridiculous. You couldn't force an Invow; that was common knowledge. Even if it were possible, the moment that sort of cult mistreatment became public, all future prospects for recruitment would vanish.

The Fleshsmiths had already been a secondary choice for those that couldn't get into the pinnacle cults. After the failed summoning Anzolorus had recently been informed of, and the subsequent death of an entire Fleshsmith faction, they would find more acolytes opting for the smaller cults. It was simply impossible for hundreds of thousands of Fleshsmiths to all be Invowed. No matter the method. Anzolorus believed that, until he watched every last one of the cultists in-hymn slump over dead.

The Fleshsmiths that hadn't already abandoned their unresponsive cultists to the encroaching Bodytwister army now panicked again as they watched those who had worked beside them for years fade away. It was obvious to all how they died. Nothing else bleeched one's eyes and left pure white root-like branching marks from their lips, ears and fingertips. They were quiet deaths, but not something that didn't leave a mark on all who saw. This was Invow death. Thousands of them. Anzolorus stilled.

So did Mauzaus and all the other Scriptures with him. They all knew what this meant. They pieced it together the moment they saw the markings, but accepting reality was difficult. He backtracked. Anzolorus slammed open the metal doors to the Fleshsmith observation deck. Before him was exactly the same sight as he'd seen out there, in the emplacement that had yet to see a single Bodytwister. The Fleshsmiths were dead.

Even K'Noirus, who no longer resembled anything human and had now fleshforged to every surface around her. Not even the metal bits of her new form were spared the webbing of white roots. Solan was dead. Solan had — against all sense — Invowed a quarter of her cult, and now that she was dead, so too were all those who marked her name in their souls.

The idea that a cult leader could Invow so many of their cult without anyone noticing — much less the Fleshsmiths, who were known to be terrible at keeping secrets — should have been the primary thing on his mind. If she'd done it, how many other cult leaders had? But Anzolorus could only fixate on one detail. Solan was dead. Someone… something had killed one of the cult leaders. That should be impossible. Not even Zoaul had been able to kill Solan back when she was first establishing her cult.

Those that reached the heights of the cult leaders — and stayed alive — were all faultlessly adept at survival. They all had ways to avoid the call of death. So how had Solan died? Why was he now looking upon a room ridden with corpses? This wasn't something that could be hidden. Invows were rare, but not nearly enough for even the non-evolved to not recognise the signs. With how many Fleshsmiths had just fallen over dead, there wouldn't be a soul on Coral that didn't know of Solan's death by the end of the day.

Everyone would know Solan was dead. Everyone would know there was something amongst them capable of slaughtering a cult leader.

"M̞͆a̟͎ǘza̟͎ǘs̪!" He didn't need to finish.

"Already on it," the other man said irritably, not noticing his acolyte had finally regained her breath.

"There is a-" Mauzaus paused, unsure of his words.

"Storm of a Dark Star between the black hole and Coral. I'm not quite sure what we're looking at. It's like nothing I've ever seen. Hold on, I'll drop a hound-spawn and get a better look." Whatever it was, there was no doubt in his mind that the Fleshsmiths were done. Solan was gone. It was possible Zandisth — if he was still alive somewhere — could take over, but with so few high creeds left, they wouldn't last long. Everything they controlled would be up for grabs.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Anzolorus realised it would be crossing a hundred others. But he was here, looking over K'Noirus' body. He was the only one that knew without a shadow of a doubt that Solan was dead. Anyone else would have to check first before acting.

"Everyone with me," he announced as he charged down the opposite door of the observation deck.

"We're going to sack the Fleshsmiths' home before anyone else has a chance." Better he act now than wait until Luzzou convinced Zoaul to unleash her experiments. Those things should stay buried.

"Ah." Mauzaus stood, mouth agape. He was at a loss for words.

"What?" Anzolorus demanded. He took a moment to gather himself. Clearly, something he'd seen had spooked the man.

"The Dark Star hurricane blended with the Darkness, so I lost connection to my bound beast faster than I should have. But I saw something in the instant before it vaporised. A silhouette. There were wings and a bunch of other appendages that grew indistinct amongst the shadows that shrouded its form. It hung there. As if the tug of the Darkness meant nothing to it. But its eyes-" Mauzaus shivered involuntarily, but Anzolorus did not insult him for it. For something to have killed Solan…

there was no way it was human. He simply waited for the man to continue.

"They saw me." He emphasised the word.

"Those spiralling eyes saw through my bound beast and found me. Not even the strongest of onomasticians give that sensation. This thing saw right through me, and I felt the bloodthirst." He paused again.

"It makes no sense, considering everything I saw, but my intuition is telling me something, and very rarely is it wrong. I think what I saw was a person. A human, or at least something masquerading as a human. Something intelligent. And it hungered." As much as he despised the man, Anzolorus knew not to ignore Mauzaus' instinct. There was an intelligent entity free to roam Coral that had the power to kill someone as resilient as Solan. Once the cult leaders learned of this, what would they do?

Anzolorus had a feeling the chaos of this war would pale in comparison of what was to come.