Re:Cursed

Frozen. She couldn't move. Nyxil could do nothing but stare into those seething glass orbs.

Tarchon stood over her, looming in the archway. A low buzz echoed out from his chest, like the growl of a vicious beast. It had been years since she'd last seen the technocultist, but he didn't look the slightest bit different. Metal links rising from the skin of his jaw revealed the entire bone to be a replacement. Though it was difficult to tell whether he had completely replaced his skull with machine.

The metal links aligned perfectly with the teeth rising from a metal plate sticking out from his collarbone… or at least where the bone should have been. Between them, his neck was a mass of piping and wires, bundled into thick conduits. His broad chest was loosely hidden by an oil-stained black and grey robe, but Nyxil expected he was all machine underneath.

From shin to floor, his legs widened into thick, steel boots that looked far closer to anvils than anything human. The man would probably take a hit from one of those great whites and be unmoved.

But it was when her ethereal touch slid over his name that she truly felt hopeless.

After watching her name evolve, she knew that the number of components didn't directly indicate one's strength or evolution. Those components could split into more, or combine into a single mass. Yet looking at the base name with more than ten times the number K'Thorn had, it was clear to see Tarchon was leagues above the fleshsmith.

And mountains above Nyxil.

With the evolutions so fresh on her mind, she scrambled to check if what she'd wanted for her core had worked. Tearing her sense from the name of the technocultist before her, she pushed into her own chest. When her own cursed core appeared in her mind, she skimmed over the surface, feeling for the tiny cracks she'd once felt but had no way of deciphering.

Nyxil stopped breathing. It had worked.

Simply feathering her touch over the first crack, she got the slightest indication of what was hidden beneath. It was an application of the way she had begun to recognise the curses in others, but on herself. The sensation was not perfectly clear. She was leaning against a wall and trying to peek through a crack to what was on the other side. Nothing perfect. Nothing precise. Yet she had an idea of what the mutation would be.

Something related to her ears. A sense mutation, but not sound-based.

Whatever the mutation would be, it wouldn't be useful right now, so she moved on. There had to be one amongst the many that would get her out of this.

"Don't try it," Tarchon said, startling Nyxil. How did he know? "I don't know what your plan is-" oh. "-but I can promise it won't end well. I can easily announce to the cults that it was you who created the Dark Star Events."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Nyxil's tongue still seemed angry for the earlier decapitation, as it spoke even more out of sync than normal. "How could I create a Dark Star?" She tried on her best innocent act.

It didn't work.

"Don't take me for a fool." The whirring growl intensified. "The second Event occurred far too soon after you left to be a coincidence. And considering you disappeared, you either fell into the black hole, or were caught in the Dark Star. By the way, I will ask how you knew of a path to the heart of the scriptures, and how you survived on the underside of Coral, but not now."

"Wait, you were following me?" Little God said nobody was watching her.

"Only days later." He could do that? How?

"I got stuck in the Fleshsmiths' Dark Star, sure, but I had nothing to do with the first one."

Instead of relenting as she'd hoped, Tarchon simply gave Nyxil a deadpan gaze. "Your blood was everywhere."

Involuntarily, she flinched. "Well, who would believe someone as young as me could create such a disaster?" It was a childish defence, but it's all she could manage. She'd thought for sure her blood had mutated enough in that Dark Star that it was unrecognisable.

The whirring engine in his chest finally calmed, and a valve on his shoulder released a plume of steam. A series of bolts unlatched in his boots, and his shins slid forward until Tarchon was resting in a kneel before her. He leaned forward to touch the tentacles hovering in front of her protectively. It twitched and backed away from the man, but didn't move out of the way.

"Do I even need to say?" he said.

Nyxil clenched her jaw, the razor teeth sliding into the grooves between their opposites perfectly. She stayed silent.

"Look," Tarchon sighed, releasing more steam, and the angered look left his eyes. "The possibilities I'd considered most likely were proven wrong. I see now that my assumption that you were being coerced by the Fleshsmiths was wrong. To avoid making that same mistake, I need you to be open with me. Only by being open with me can I promise any sort of safety from retribution… assuming retribution is all they'll want." He glanced down at Nyxil's tentacles again to make sure it was clear he had a good idea what they'd want.

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"So lets start with something simple. The most obvious question," he said. "What are you?"

Nyxil hesitated. She didn't want to answer. Nothing but a repeating fate would welcome her if she let anyone know. That had been her truth ever since she returned.

But now… there was no hiding it. Even if she held her silence or tried to mislead him, they would find out. Time would repeat. Figuring she'd give the benefit of the doubt to the cult that was destroyed before her sacrifice, she told him.

"I am a bundle of curses, turned mutations. I am what many cultists have called the perfect sacrifice." She spat the title. As she said it, Nyxil considered the label. It was entirely external. The title indicated her use to others, but not what she was to herself. But what exactly was she that made her the perfect sacrifice. "I don't know."

Nyxil watched Tarchon's reaction, but besides sitting in contemplation for a few moments, his face was as emotionless as the machine he desired to be.

"Which cults call you this?"

"None. But they all will."

She knew it would be impossible to believe, but with a few seconds looking into her eyes, Tarchon seemed satisfied, and didn't push her on the topic, despite the obvious flaws in her statement. "Moving on from your mutations, were the Dark Star Events intentional? And what circumstances led to them."

"The first wasn't," Nyxil said. "K'tan kidnapped a… a friend, and I was trying to use my blood to manifest amalgamations to kill them before they could sacrifice her. Apparently releasing enough corruption from my cursed name is enough to trigger the disaster."

Tarchon's features remained as stiff as ever, but Nyxil was sure she saw the apertures in his glass eyes widen. "And the second?"

"I was trying to wipe out the Fleshsmiths." Nyx made no effort to hide the hate she had for them.

The whirring hum of a turbine was back. Only now, it was a contemplative growl rather than an angry one. Tarchon's gaze deepened, and Nyxil felt his observation. He was looking at her name.

They both sat in silence for a long while. Tarchon was lost thought, and made no effort to hide his observation of Nyxil and her mutations. All she could think on was whether he would decide to reveal her to the other cults, or try to keep her for his own cult's benefit.

"What's your name?" he finally asked, to her surprise.

"Nỷx̱il," she said without much thought.

"If you want to hide from the other cults, Nỷx̱il, then our Technocult can provide assistance," Tarchon announced. "Please do not consider this as charity. You will be returning the favour, and will need to prove yourself in the Trials before we take you on. We technocultists have our processes, and make no exceptions. Not even for such a unique situation."

Nyxil just continued to stare. He wanted her to participate in the Trials? But if he wanted to sacrifice her, then surely he only needed to keep her trapped in the Technocultist temple. As every other cult did. What gain could he have to bring her into his cult as an actual member?

Instead of asking all the big questions that spun in her mind, she could only spit out one that barely mattered. "Didn't my Trials already end over a year ago?"

"You may have perceived time differently within the Dark Star, but only two months have passed," he said. "I shall assist you with concealing your mutations, but I can give no greater help until you properly prove yourself. Please note, that according to Technocultist protocol, you will need the highest of prestige to gain our full support. If you want us to protect you, win."

Nyxil was so thrown off by the fact that only two months had passed that she almost missed the requirements laid down by Tarchon. At first it seemed like it would be no challenge at all. Beating some kids would be easy after she'd taken on an an entire cult. Then she realised that her greatest weapons would be unavailable. All she could rely on was her evolved blade Talent, and the three months she had to learn everything she could from it.

"Alright, I can do that." She nodded, more to get herself used to the idea than give her assent. "There should be plenty of time to prepare against the strongest of names."

"I should also mention that the Trials were brought forward," Tarchon revealed. "You have a week."

Nyxil glared, before slumping in defeat. She dropped her arm, and Cuddly wrapped around it as per its namesake. Her body was still a mess despite all her wounds having been treated. Her missing limbs were still gone. Shy was still gone. As much as she'd come to accept the mutations, she found it hard to believe that Tarchon would do so as quick as he had. Sure, he made no pretence around the fact that wanted to make use of her, but surely it would be much easier to hide her away rather than let her out into the open again, where she was likely to reveal herself.

"Why?" Nyxil asked. "Why do this, instead of any of your other options." She wasn't so stupid to think he hadn't considered them.

"Consider it a hunch."

Tarchon's answer was not nearly as elaborative as Nyxil wanted. "I've killed thousands, you know. Weren't you investigating wrongdoing before all this?"

"Thousands of Fleshsmiths." He nodded. "And you have said yourself that the first was simply a mistake in an effort of retribution. I see no reason to bring you forward when the victims themselves have made no claim."

Nyxil gaped as Tarchon rose back to his full height — towering over her — unable to believe the situation. She'd been so certain that the moment she woke up, that she'd be back to the way things were in her last life. But Tarchon hadn't done any of that. He'd given her a chance. She was still somewhat wary of being betrayed, of a ruse, but if he was being honest, then this was the first time another human was truly on her side.

He stepped back to the door, intent to leave her to gather her thoughts, but she stopped him. "They succeeded."

Tarchon likely had no idea what she was talking about, but he waited patiently for her to continue.

"I already died once. The cults sacrificed me to the Eidolon Gods. I'm sure you think it sounds ridiculous, but its true." Nyxil swallowed as Tarchon spun back to face her, his expression no different than usual, but she could tell he was intent on her words. "I woke back on my day of naming, and I have been able to change my fate. At least so far."

Nyxil hesitated. Should she really be revealing all this?

Yes, she decided. If nothing else, the knowledge would set Tarchon on a path to properly fighting against the other cults. Even if he was lying to her, and sacrificed her himself, it would give them the much needed advantage in a war on all fronts.

"Within a year, the Technocult and Machine God worshippers enter a war. In two, the rest of the pinnacle cults join them. By the time five years has passed, not a single Technocultist remains. You are all eradicated."