Re:Cursed

There was a time in Nyx's last life where she was suicidal.

Locked away in the depths of the Fleshsmith's temple, she'd made an attempt on her own life. Cut open her own throat. At the time, it had seemed the better option than allowing herself to wither in her dungeon. It would be an end to her suffering. A way to spite those who wanted to use her.

But she had failed.

The Fleshsmiths were in her cell the instant a single drop of her blood touched the ground. They wove her arteries back together before she could bleed out. After treatment, she appeared no different than before the pilfered blade sliced through her neck.

That day, she had been blessed with those rotten chains of flesh and steel.

Nyx regretted the attempt for years. She hadn't realised before then, but the cultists had been treating her like a fragile bird. Between the rituals performed on her, she spent all her time isolated in her cage. After she'd sliced open her own throat, it was like an invitation had been sent out to the cultists to do the same. The rituals grew dangerous. Often leaving her on the brink of death while she could do nothing to resist.

She had marred her purity as a sacrifice, and the cults did everything to punish her for it.

Well, they were more likely trying to perform the riskier rituals to return the quality the suicide attempt supposedly stole from her, but to Nyx, it was no different to torture.

Yet it wasn't because of the punishment she'd received that she regret her attempt. It was how they'd snatched away any possibility that she could do so again. The chains that bound her arms were conscious. Not only did the chains stop her from taking her life into her own hands, but they stole any joy she might discover while locked away in confinement.

As the years passed, her hatred for the cults only grew. Their insidious rituals made those she'd experienced in her early days seem benign. The only weapon she had in retaliation was her life… and because she'd wasted her only attempt with a failure — because she had been too weak to end herself quickly — Nyx had never been able to truly rob the cultists of what they desired most.

Ever since she'd returned in time, Nyx had desired much more for herself. Her life had meaning. She had things she wanted to do and experience.

Yet the past would never leave her.

Even now, in this horribly dangerous and eerily empty environment with no apparent way out, Nyx didn't regret igniting the Dark Star. She had struck hard and fast, and left no space for regrets. It was how she should have done it in the first place.

Nyx had to experience the horrors of the Dark Star along with all the Fleshsmiths. But that was fine. She could handle what came, as long as she wasn't the only one. Though, if she had one wish, it would be that she could watch the terror of the cultists as they took their final breaths rather than being stuck in such an endless, empty space.

It was difficult to tell how much time had passed, but Nyx assumed it was hours at the very least. If not days. She wouldn't count out weeks or months either, what with the nature of the Dark Stars. All that time, and she'd found nothing but the endless expanse of tubing that made it difficult to tell if she was progressing or simply climbing in circles.

Some time ago, she'd lifted her robe — thankfully repaired from its earlier damage — and inspected the four lumps on her hips. Each was soft, yet firm. Boneless and discoloured a lighter shade of purple. Out in the open, they appeared like heavily bruised lumps of inflammation. Beneath her touch, they didn't hurt. Nor did she lack any feeling in the area. They were like bundles of muscle where there shouldn't be any.

Nyx knew they were her next mutation. They had begun to grow in — and subsequently cut off — while she was in Fleshsmith captivity. Already, she'd gone through her mutations up to her twentieth year… and she hadn't even reached sixteen yet. This was progressing far too quickly. Between her mould hair, shark-like teeth, and a tongue that had a bad habit of echoing her voice, hiding her mutations was all but impossible now.

Considering the cults were bound to discover her once she escaped the Dark Star — a hood could only hide her for so long — she was tempted to just let them grow. Nyx could not deny the curiosity she held. She wanted to know what the bundles of muscle actually were.

But even knowing it would be no worse than the changes she'd already held, she hesitated. Again. Nyx despised the parallels that were occurring. While not one to one, she was gaining the same mutations she'd gained while stuck in the Fleshsmiths' captivity last time. Maybe it was her own fault; she could have opened the other crack in her name instead. But while she was stuck here in the twisted recreation of the Fleshsmiths' forge, she feared that the past would repeat and she would find the four new limbs severed the moment she finally gave in and allowed them to grow.

Besides, if they were new limbs — which was by far the most likely outcome — they'd be a lot harder to hide than the changes to her hair and mouth. It would shift her discovery from the first time she spoke, to the instant she was seen.

Still, she couldn't toss the option aside.

Her teeth and saliva were deadly, but the idea of fighting with her mouth was hardly an ideal prospect. Who knew where the Fleshsmiths sourced their flesh? Besides, her fighting style with her claws was already rather… feral. To use her mouth like a beast? Just how monstrous would she become if she continued to lean into these mutations?

But Nyx had already admitted to herself that this wasn't the place to hold back. She couldn't leave the bandage to fester until the last moment again.

There was also her second tear. She could risk the unknown for something less conspicuous than two new pairs of arms sprouting from her side. But even that held the danger of the lengthened spikes along her spine growing too large to hide.

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Nyx was stuck between a rock and a hard place. A bundle of limbs and a sharp spine. The third option — to choose neither — had already been discounted.

"Which do…" Nyx cut herself short. It had only been a few weeks since she realised the eyeball was sapient, and she'd already come to rely on it far more than she'd ever believed. Trusting another person was simply impossible for Nyx.

Another gong washed through the pipe labyrinth, and Nyx stilled as the metal beneath her hands shook.

She waited out the echo. It didn't last long, but after that first theft of her safe area, she couldn't remain calm whenever it struck. The sound, Nyx was sure, was from the giant industial hammer of the Forge. Nothing else could be so loud. That it was still operating was a cause for concern. How many titanic fleshforged beasts did it create with each strike?

At least it wasn't as frequent as it was before.

When the reverberations finally settled down into an indistinct hum, Nyx continued on her way. Surprisingly, it was only now that her arms burned. The strain of climbing these pipes had struck her legs a while ago now, yet her arms — which were far weaker — had lasted this far. It was strange. At least, it was until she'd discovered her glowing veins had receded slightly up her arms.

Power consumed through her eye had sustained her human muscles beyond what they should normally handle.

It tempted her to just observe everything at random. Allow her eye to continue feeding her and spread the unsettling veins all across her body. But she hesitated from doing so because she was unaware of the cost. Did they stop her muscles from straining? Or just hide the pain? If it was the latter, she was just walking into her doom. If her body collapsed, how would she defend herself?

There was also the fear of what would happen should she allow the veins to spread across the entirety of her body. Nyx could not deny the similarity between this mutation and the vitiate curse afflicting the beasts of the Biovault. They weren't the same, of course, but she couldn't shake the image of that exploding fox.

Now that her arms felt so heavy… the idea of new limbs wasn't abhorrent.

"Fuck it." The echo behind her new voice would take some time getting used to again. At least it wasn't yet as eerie as it had been.

Being a touch more careful than a few hours before, Nyx opened her name. The four lumps immediately pushed outwards. They pushed at the sides of her robe, before giving up and sliding down. Slithering like snakes, the four bundles of muscle poked out into the open, and stretched. They began purple, but as they grew, that bruise-like colour shifted through blue, then a surprisingly vivid pink, before settling on a hazy grey.

Nyx grasped at the one growing from her front right. It was hard to the touch, yet when she manipulated it in her hands, it folded easily. From a tense muscle to loose, slimy flesh that could fit through the tightest crack. Though, describing it as 'slimy' was wrong. It was smooth to the touch, even when the muscle relaxed almost to the point of water's viscosity.

She had tentacles. Like those of an octopus… or more aptly, those of the creatures that dwelt in the Darkness. Four of them.

There weren't any suckers visible, but almost at the thought of them, she found the tentacle clinging to her hand. No adhesive. No hooks. As she looked close, the limb had created tiny suction cups where there hadn't been any before.

As they continued to grow, they had more length to work with, and each new limb stretched in odd directions without her control. The one in her hand curled around, and up her arm, as if affectionately hugging her. Another stretched as far away from her as it could. A sting of pain had her turn to the third, which, despite having been burnt by the hot pipe already, poked at it again.

The last, Nyx discovered, had returned beneath her robe. It curled around her waist, hiding from the world.

It seemed… that her tentacles had personalities. She didn't know what to think of that.

Nyx could feel the movement of each as intimately as her arms or wings. In fact, they were bundles of nerves. The tactile precision and sensitivity of her fingertips seemed to extend the entire length of the flexible extremities. She commanded them to move, and they obeyed. Her four new limbs stretched outwards, each already as long as a leg, and continuing to grow.

Well, the shy tentacle did struggle to escape her robe, but it joined the others eventually.

They moved and felt no different from her arms and legs. Well, no. That was wrong. Such boneless, flexible and tactile limbs could never feel the same as something human, but they followed her thoughts all the same. That was a relief. The last thing Nyx wanted were parts of her own body that refused to listen to her.

Tapping the tentacles against a pipe, she was disappointed to find they stung with each contact. Nyx's tentacles weren't good with heat, apparently. Until now, she'd been climbing with her chitinous hands and soles of her shoes to separate her tender flesh from the hot metal. Despite choosing the added limbs because she wanted to rest her arms, that was not an option.

Sighing, she focused her third eye on some pipes far in the distance and observed a good chunk of the metal. Nyx ignored the burst. Slowly, the veins climbed down her arms again, and she resumed the climb. If she couldn't find an exit to this place soon, she would have to settle in and rest. She wouldn't risk burning through her muscle.

By the time Nyx's attention came back to her new toys, their personalities had returned. It seemed that whenever she wasn't consciously moving them, they did as they pleased. Like breathing. They did know not to obstruct her other limbs, at least.

Taking her curious tentacle — as the damn thing kept trying to burn itself — she hooked the tip around the hilt of her rapier, and unsheathed it. It felt no different from holding it normally. Except now that her tentacles had reached their full length, her range was multiplied.

Nyx released her name, not all too excited to receive her next few mutations. Each tentacle was long. At rest, they fell just short of the length of her body. Considering they sprouted from her hips, that meant they would drag along the ground if she let them hang. Well, when she had a proper ground to walk on again. She stretched her blade-wielding tentacle. Surprisingly, it stretches to double its length without difficulty.

Good luck to anyone I get into a duel with now. Nyx thought. I'll stand a few metres away, while they fight a narrow appendage trying to jab them with a pointy stick.

Of course, in the world of name-given abilities and ritualised power, it was never as simple as who had more range. Even for those who relied entirely on weapons.

For the next few hours, Nyx continued to play with her shiny new limbs. Well, they weren't literally shiny, but she'd quickly discovered that they could shift colours, and when she switched between white and grey, they seemed to glimmer in the dim light. That was the limit of what she could do for now. The simple act of changing their colour — which was not so simple now that she thought about it — was difficult even with the instinctual hints on how to do it. By comparison, curling them around her arms to support her climb without actually touching the hot pipes was easy.

Nyx had spent so long trudging through the labyrinth that she was certain it would never end. Staying still would get her nowhere, but with no progress being made, she was moments away from giving up. At least, she had been, until she heard voices.

Shouts, screams, commands. It began as a soft whisper. Encouraged, Nyx pushed on and the voices became louder. The clamour of dozens, if not hundreds of people echoed off pipes until they reached her.

She'd finally found her way out. Not from the Dark Star — that would not be so easy. But this labyrinth was over.

Now, she would meet the Fleshsmiths. Nyx would get her wish to watch them suffer.