Re:Cursed

Nyx grasped the evolution option, and the void read her intent. In an instant, her base name shattered into components. They combined with her soup of additives, while electing kryl — the Fleshsmith name — as a sacrifice. It was wholly unnecessary to sacrifice a name for an evolution, but she didn't want anything to do with the additive, and it was the easiest way to cut it from herself while still extracting some benefit.

With the temporary disassembly of her name, she lost the ethereal sense that allowed her to see names and curses. As much as she'd love to watch the process, it remained fleeting.

As with last time, the evolution was a strange, almost fleeting sensation. Despite not currently connected to her body, she felt like it was slipping away from her. And her form wasn't the only thing to disappear. The world of options floating around her seeped into nothing. Only the void remained to embrace her through this process. A cocoon of nothing. And yet, the darkness too, eventually grew darker.

I only chose one evolution, Nyx panicked. Hopefully there will still be time-

Her mind stuttered, and her thoughts fractured.

When her consciousness returned, it was as if she were waking from an eternal slumber, yet no time had passed. The thoughts she'd just had were fleeting, shattered by the evolution, yet she remembered having them. Instinctively — pointlessly — she cast her eyes around the sightless space, trying to find any indicator of the time it had taken. But no answer revealed itself. All she knew, was that her soul had splintered, then stitched back together to create her new name.

Nỷx̱il

As soon as the name appeared in her mind, both her sense and the world of options returned to existence. Though, there weren't nearly as many evolutions as before. Now, floating in empty space around her, one hundred and twenty seven options hovered. A far cry from the many thousands from earlier.

Nyxil was almost ready to dive into her next evolution, using the remaining of her prepared names, only to pause with realisation.

Her name had changed, and she'd not even blinked before accepting it and moving on. Didn't this deserve some celebration? Her base name had expanded beyond a single syllable; anyone else would be ready to throw a party at the news. But Nyxil felt no such desire. All she wanted was the proof that her new core name did what she thought it might. For that, she needed to escape this dreaming void.

She put in a token effort to search through the evolutions for what might be useful, but she already knew what she would opt for. As much as the path for each of her names looked unique, she needed the power all of them combined would provide.

Only her blade Talent would be given the freedom to evolve alone. As much as Nyxil was tempted to throw it in with the rest for a much stronger name, the possibility she would lose the future growth potential for the name was too great a risk for now.

Aul-evast-scol-eth-nanaz-juul-nen

The body is a stable trunk in a storm of heavy winds. The body is a fragile twig in an ocean of raging currents. A stable trunk cannot move. A fragile twig can flow unbound. If the ideal is a rooted trunk that can follow rapids, then the natural way cannot be tolerated. Guide the body how it was never intended to be.

Unlike with her base name, her mind didn't fracture nor did her senses disintegrate. In fact, for the first time, she had a front row seat to an evolution in its entirety.

The puzzle-like components that made up each of the seven names split from each other. An unravelling of threads. As ever, the names held a form that was incomparable to any physical shape, but the hundreds of pieces quickly split from their original structures and entered a single spiralling mass.

For a while, they seemed to rotate together, all flowing as one as each individual part slid up besides the other, as if checking whether they were compatible. Nyxil watched two specific components as they clicked into place. Together, they spun. They flowed with the rest of the newly connected parts in similar orbits. Now that they were together, there would be no tearing these puzzle-pieces apart.

Until a single component crashed into them.

The rude little name-part had been one of the few spinning around in opposite to the average flow. Its impact not only severed the puzzle-pieces from their lock, it shattered them into many, smaller components than their original forms. Soon, what had been three parts — now ten — melded together until not even the seam of a connection remained. This was no longer two puzzle pieces slotted together, but a single, new, component that spun in a cloud of others.

Eventually, the rotation slowed, and the mass of parts converged. The components rotated of their own volition until their slots fit their neighbours perfectly.

It was not the perfect and precise operation Nyxil had always assumed evolutions would be, but a messy, chaotic thing. If not for that rude component, it's likely her evolution would have resulted with an entirely different name. But regardless of what might have been, she had her new name.

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N̚oth

Nyxil delayed any further inspection until she'd completed her third and final evolution for the day.

Thaaren was the simplest of the lot. As a single name, the evolution description was identical to that of the additive itself. And after seeing the destruction and recreation of her last series of names, this evolution was significantly less impressive.

To Nyxil's sense, the name's evolution was nothing more than a shift of its components. It was impossible to describe in three dimensional space, but to her limited comprehension, it was a sphere puzzle that increased its connections — teeth — while also becoming more dense. The name opened new regions of exploration to Nyxil, and hardened what she already knew.

With that done, Nyxil finally had her new, fully evolved name.

Nỷx̱il-n̚oth-thaḁren-ossuul-el-Lyotep

Well, maybe not fully evolved, but she had a feeling she would never fully rid herself of some unevolved names.

From sixteen down to six. It was still far longer than she was used to, yet it felt as right as her name always had. There was a lot for her to work with now. Hopefully, some would be useful when she finally awoke and found herself tied up, or trapped in a dungeon, or strapped to a ritual altar… or any of the thousand other horrible scenarios she could think that was happening to her body right now.

The void, despite being nothing but darkness and nothingness, was starting to lose some of its cohesion. That, or her mind was slipping from this half-dream state now that she no longer had an evolution to perform. Despite the impending danger of the outside world, Nyxil clung to the darkness just a little longer. Better to have a sliver of understanding, than to go blind. She called for her name.

Nỷx̱il-n̚oth-thaḁren-ossuul-el-Lyotep

Nỷx̱il — Curse

N̚oth — The ancient tree was an unfellable thing. A trunk as thick as entire forests. Branches that touched the skies. Roots that went beyond the deepest pits. This tree's body surpassed all its brothers, sisters, and cousins, yet it was dissatisfied. It could not move. It could not flow in the wind like its children. The streams that endlessly shifted over its roots were both intimate, and forever out of reach. Trapped by its very nature, it strove for more. It forged its roots to walk the land. It bent its branches so it could sail the oceans. When it achieved all it desired, the ancient tree strove for more.

Thaḁren — From early stages of evolution, to the hardened razors of the forge, these weapons have proven themselves time and time again. But a killing edge is only as good as its wielder.

Ossuul — Sever thy worldly possessions. Order and structure remain an unending scourge, ever unquestioned, ever intrusive. They interfere with the hidden, yet ubiquitous nature of things. Only by crawling, and scraping, and shattering the body, yet leaving it without damage, can such sinister oppression be punctured.

El — Burn bones like candles.

Lyotep — 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.

Nyxil stared, annoyed. She'd known it was more than likely that her base name would be omitted and labelled cursed again, but she'd been hoping it would slip through at least some hint that the name did what she wanted. Now, she would just have to wait and see.

Slipping her focus onto the next name, she found her annoyance growing, rather than letting up. Sure, the cryptic names typically meant they were strong, but the evolution description had been unclear enough as it was. This wasn't any better. All Nyxil could decipher, was that it likely had something to do with forging and shaping her body. And that was just from the two lines about the tree changing its branches and roots. She couldn't even guess at what it was hinting when it specified a strive for more.

Well, as long as she could continue to enhance her movement and empower her mutations — especially any new ones she gained — Nyxil would be happy.

The void was finally seeping away too greatly to ignore. Nyxil tried to settle her mind and prepare for anything that might appear before her when she opened her eyes, but such effort grew increasingly difficult as her consciousness returned to a state of exhaustion. There would be no immediate waking; she still had years of sleep to catch up with. Despite her best efforts, Nyxil's mind crashed.

❖❖❖

Nyxil woke with a scream, and bit off her tongue.

She twisted her body side to side, ready for an attack from any direction. Her claws were sharp, and ready to slice at anything that moved. Her third eye was already straining to burn, but for some reason, she couldn't see. Even her tentacles raised to defend her, with Pushy touching at her hip for a blade that was no longer there.

It took Nyxil longer than she'd willingly admit to realise she was alone, and not under immediate threat. She didn't have chains binding her hands. An altar was not beneath her, ready to cast her off into the black hole once again. Not even an observer was left to make sure she wasn't doing anything untoward.

Nyxil's eyes dropped as the squirming mass of muscle finally stopped moving beneath her. The mouth in her tongue was baring its fangs, letting her know just how it felt about being severed from the rest of her whole. Her tongue sat in a small puddle of saliva and blood. That small puddle burnt through the centre of a rough-patched doona and ate at the metal beneath what used to be a carpet.

The recently evolved girl blinked, and she realised the doona was still semi-draped over herself.

She looked around the room again. It was that guest room in Tarchon's home. To her side, was the bed — she noticed she'd been lying on the floor — where the mattress was shredded. It looked like somebody had dropped a feral vitiate beast onto the bedding and let it run wild. Amongst the mess of white down feathers, there were some larger black ones… and even a couple of reds.

Nyxil reached down for her tongue, and with a handful of mould, she threw it back in her mouth. It would heal soon enough; she just had to hope her second mouth wouldn't bite her cheek too hard in revenge.

Making to stand up, Nyxil found that while she felt better than she had in years, she still lacked a leg. Her tentacles supported her, so she didn't fall, but it was a stark reminder that she wasn't in the greatest position to fight.

Which was something that was hammered into her head when Tarchon walked in, looking all too displeased for Nyxil's taste.

"I do hope you'll be truthful this time." Steam burst from the top of Tarchon's shoulders as the whirring grind of an angry motor let Nyxil know just how impatient he was. "If not… well, I'm sure you can guess."

His deliberate glance towards her mutations truly drove home the situation Nyxil was in. There was no more hiding.