Re:Cursed

Nyxil poked at the hard metal band that hugged her bicep. It didn't bend beneath her chitinous fingers, nor did it jostle under her manipulations. The palm-long cylinder was well and truly attached to her arm, no thanks to the hundred needles that pierced muscle and pricked bone.

The dim blue glow shone in the dark of her capsule. It was that same strange energy that flowed through Ta'Stralanov'r cathedral, yet it was hardly comparable. Such a small amount of the blue plasma flowed through a circuit on the outer rim, that Nyxil couldn't even feel that tingly sensation it had embedded in her skin earlier. Plus, the emitted light was dull enough that the sleeve of her robe was enough to cover it.

She might have been annoyed that Tarchon had thrown her back in the capsule instead of letting her walk out if she hadn't been enamoured with the disappearance of her mutations. Nyxil shifted the stump with the armlet so that the light shone on her waist as she lifted her robe. The tentacles weren't there. She could still feel them, and they remained there physically, but no matter how hard she looked, it was as if she was an unfeathered human again.

Uncurling the tentacle from her waist, she reached to the other end of the capsule with it, then yanked it back as quick as she could. For the most part, it stayed completely hidden. Only with too much movement did something shimmer in her vision.

As long as she kept herself to the rough shape of a human, and didn't do anything to outwardly reveal herself — like using her third eye to chew at something — the band should keep her mutations hidden from all sorts of observation. Not even her third eye could see her chitin anymore.

The loss of sight — and surprisingly enough, touch — of her mutations troubled Nyxil. Her concealment wasn't terribly uncomfortable, but that ever so slight fear that parts of herself had truly disappeared was unsettling. It made the armband prickly in a way that had nothing to do with its needles.

Nyxil brushed her hand through brunette hair. Unlike the day she'd regressed, the sight of her straw locks was anything but welcome. Clenching her fist, she tugged. A handful of hair broke free without resistance. In in palm, the semi-holographic film that had originally spread outwards from the armband slowly disintegrated, burning every trace of her mould.

The fragility of her hair would remain one of the most revealing indicators of what she hid. What she was. Hopefully, if anyone happened to tug at her hair, they would just assume it was the weakness of her cursed body.

With a while to wait until Tarchon returned her to his home, she had plenty of time to mess around with the armband and push the limits of what it could hide… but she never got around to releasing that stomach mutation. As soon as the thought hit her, she was already prying open the crack it hid beneath.

While she worked away at the new mutation, Nyxil slowed her heart-rate. This time, she was very careful not to lower it too much. It was terrifying to know she had enough control that she could kill herself so easily. She had lost an instinctual impulse. Like the inherent reaction to heat, there was a reason living beings couldn't take manual control over their hearts, but now she could.

What did that say about the future of her mutations?

How many of them would come with something that could kill her in an instant if she didn't know what she was doing?

It was oddly difficult to get concerned about it though. In fact, Nyxil seemed incredibly calm in all her thoughts. More so than was natural.

She increased the beat of her heart to about double what it usually was, and immediately her stresses all returned. Her heart's rhythm could manipulate her mental state. Pushing further, Nyxil found herself become agitated. Her fingers twitched, and she suddenly found herself unable to keep her eyes steady. They flicked around as if expecting something to jump out from every shadow.

So… an improved reaction time in exchange for excessive nervousness? At least it will be helpful in a fight. And with the benefit of being impossible to detect.

… Unless someone could remotely measure her heart-rate. Probably best to keep within human limits.

The curse crack finally shattered. A temporary burning ache in her chest was the only sign that anything had happened at all. Unlike her heart, the change to her stomach did not suddenly allow her to poke at her digesting food.

Maybe that was for the best.

Nyxil was about to leave her mutations there, but as she slid her touch over her name, there was one that stood out. It was a little away from the main fissure that had been Ine, and would probably take a lot longer to open than her heart or stomach had, but there was no way she could ignore this one.

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It was a tail.

That was the only sensation the crack deigned to give her, but it was enough. She wanted it. Nothing told her whether it was the scaly length of a lizard, or a mangy fluffball, but she didn't care. As soon as she'd felt the mutation, she knew she needed it. And yet, she couldn't take it.

Nyxil couldn't afford any more obvious changes. Even if this armlet could keep it hidden, risking another growth while she was already teetering was dangerous. What would happen if her tail made wearing pants impossible? That wasn't something she'd be able to hide with Ta'Stralanov'r's concealer.

But as soon as she no longer needed to hide, it would grow. Nothing could stop her.

Damn, you guys have really affected me, huh? She pet Curious and Cuddly where they hugged her metal leg. Who would have ever thought I would encourage the idea of more of you?

The canister jostled and light suddenly filtered down from above. Finally, she could leave this capsule. Nyxil didn't wait until Tarchon opened the hatch for her; she leapt to her feet and shoved it out of the way.

Gasping unnecessarily, she stretched. "Was that really necessary? I mean, my mutations aren't visible anymore, right? We could have walked out the front door."

"And announce to all that you are getting special consideration?" Tarchon has already turned away. Likely to work at his bench again. "We will only be speaking of your circumstances to those who need to know. If any Technocultist suspects unsystematic bias, your inclusion will become difficult down the line. And that ignores the possibility of infiltration. I don't need to tell you what will happen should the other cults become interested in your link to us."

"But you're letting me stay at your place?"

Tarchon pauses, putting down the angle grinder he'd just picked up. "Point. Perhaps you should leave."

"What?" Nyxil might look a bit more normal now, but would she really be able to walk up to a rearing ward and ask to be homed? So long had passed… she didn't want to return to one of those places.

A stuttered whine of turbines escaped the Technocultist's chest in brief bursts. He made sure not to turn her way. Was Tarchon… laughing?

"Was that supposed to be a joke?"

He gave a mechanical cough into his hand. Nyxil stared. There was no way this man hadn't replaced those lungs.

"No, there's no need to be concerned." His face revealed no hint of emotion. "I am investigating the Dark Stars Events on behalf of the Technocult. It is not strange for a witness to be in my care for interrogation."

Nyxil eyed him warily. Not out of fear of being betrayed or exposed, but to tell if he was messing with her. Tarchon was an emotionless machine; it couldn't be possible.

Instead, she huffed with as much dignity as possible.

"Regarding that investigation." Tarchon turned to the door. "I should get back on it. We may now know the circumstances surrounding them." Nyxil knew she didn't imagine his sideways glance. "…But we must sustain appearances."

Without ever having begun his fiddling, Tarchon left his workbench.

"Wait," she stopped him before he could step through the doorway. "Now that I have this armband, I can go out, yeah?"

"If you must," he said. "Ta̽'Ș͑t̕r̊a͑ḷa̾͆n͙͂o̼͗v͐͐̿͝'r̝͇͎͓͜'s creations are extensive, but not infallible. Do not use your mutations. Do not let yourself be injured. Our cult is not the only only one with an interest in these matters. They will be watching." He moved to step outside, but turned his head one last time. "Where do you intend to go?"

"I…" Nyxil hated the hesitation she heard in her own voice. "I am going to see how Dan and Ari are doing."

It was one of the things she'd declared to herself back when she returned. Nyxil would live her life. Her time with the two may have been brief, but they had become friends. She'd not had that before, and she intended to keep them that way. Just… she hoped the time she'd been away hadn't soured that.

For all her time in the Dark Star, Nyxil had believed that it would be impossible to hide her mutations after leaving. She'd thought that becoming associated with those two again would be too difficult, just as she'd considered the Trials to have passed her by. Back in the Dark Star, she'd been too busy worrying about sustaining her life — and the opposite for the Fleshsmiths — to lament the loss. But now…

Now, it seemed like all her immediate problems had been solved. Nyxil no longer needed to fight to survive. She had a concealing device gifted by the leader of the Technocultists, and had essentially been promised their support. She just needed to prove she had what it took with the Trials, and a world of opportunity would open for her. Suddenly, wiping out the cults wasn't so impossible.

Well, there was still a long way to go before then. Despite the power of their leader, the Technocult was a single cult. And not even one of the pinnacle four. It wasn't even certain they would help her towards her goal, but Nyxil couldn't complain; this was the best position she'd ever been in.

And while she had the time, she needed to remind herself that she was fighting for more than just her vengeance. Nyxil wanted to live and enjoy life.

Tarchon nodded. "Don't be back later than the first fog. And whatever you do, don't go killing more Fleshsmiths… or any other cultist for that matter."

"Hey! I know I don't need any more attention right now," she defended. "I can restrain myself."

Tarchon's blank stare was radiated doubt. "You triggered a Dark Star because you were worried a soulsinger would discover you. Soulsingers which, might I say, wouldn't have discovered you anyway. They were too busy scrambling around your first disaster to worry about some missing third creeds."

"Oh..."

Well, no loss. She'd been able to significantly cripple the Fleshsmiths with her efforts, and it had been better to act than hope.

"If it makes you feel better, I promise not to trigger another one in the middle of the safe zone." She grinned. Unfortunately, her teeth were back to looking flat and human, so the unsettling appearance she was going for fell short.

Not that it would have worked on Tarchon anyway.

"Yes, I feel so much better," he said flatly, before turning and leaving.

Nyxil's eyes followed the Technocultist as he stepped between the countless pipes. Her performative grin settled into a soft smile.