Re:Cursed

Nyxil, flanked by Tarchon, broke the surface of Coral to a cacophony of jabbering teens. It was impossible to miss. With fifty thousand prospective cultists raring to prove themselves, none would dare be late today.

Even on the peripheral of the safe zone, the streets were bustling. A slow shifting wave of people moved towards the centre of Coral's surface. Some of them would participate. Others simply wanted to watch the spectacle, whether they were scouting for a cult or not.

In an attempt to keep away from the densest parts of the crowd, she moved through the dark alleys, but even they had enough people to make it feel cramped.

Around her, the participants were collectively nervous. She could feel it radiating off them. Nyxil had to wonder if that was how it always was, or if her group was particularly unready because it had been brought forward so many months.

After a week of stressing and especially yesterday's attempted capture, Nyxil was surprised at how calm she felt. As she looked over these kids, a confidence settled in her stride. It wasn't arrogance — she knew the coming challenges would not be easy — but seeing how unsettled everyone else was… it was somehow soothing.

The Trials occurred once a year. Everyone only had one chance. Of course the teens around her would be nervous, terrified even, of how they would perform. It was an unfortunate reality, but if you didn't impress anyone in the Trials, you could be stuck at the first creed for your entire life.

Well, that would be the concern for the majority. As she cast her sense around, she found some kids who'd already gained a few additives, and one that was on her first evolution. They were just as unnerved. Likely, the cults had expectations from them, and if they didn't perform…

It was never good to be an investment that didn't perform.

Nyxil and Tarchon stepped past the last line of buildings higher than eye-level. Before them, the massive commons of open-space ritual courtyards held the thousands of people anticipating the event's start. Through the shifting populous, she discovered the altars for each ritual site were gone. Temporarily removed for the Trials.

"You know what you need to do," Tarchon said, then slipped into the crowd.

He didn't exactly disappear — it was hard to lose track of him when he stood a full head above most — but his departure was sudden.

"Yeah, good luck to you, too," she shouted after him, but he was already gone.

Shaking her head, she turned and spotted four other Technocultists nearby. They hadn't sacrificed nearly as much of their body as Tarchon, but they still stood out like torches in the dark. Subtlety was not one of their strong suits.

After the cult had learnt of Solan's attack, half of them had been mobilised to keep an eye on the Trials. Apparently, the Fleshsmith leader had attempted to implicate the Technocult in the destruction of the significant area her chains had destroyed in her rampage. Little did she know that Tarchon had an only — slightly corrupted — recording of her attack… one that needed to be destroyed right after, as a data-spawn had infested it.

Solan had put herself and her cult in even more shit, and Nyxil internally celebrated. Only internally. The last thing she wanted was to be linked to her attack. The other cults would ask questions… if they weren't already.

She waded through the mass towards her ward's allocated courtyard. This was the largest annual congregation. Everyone knew where they needed to be years before they actually attended. Participants grouped by ward, and observers to wait in the outer ring.

Nyxil eyed the kids. They were her competition. Most had basic clothes and carried whatever cheap equipment they believed would help them through their given challenges. These weren't the ones she looked for. It was the prospective cultists that walked around with gear that they could never possibly afford on a ward's stipend.

Guns and blades. Tomes of prepared rituals. One girl's clothes even shimmered with darkness, like a lesser effect of a skulk shroud. Nyxil looked around again. If someone did have a shroud like she'd taken from K'tan, they wouldn't be announcing it.

Thankfully, she didn't see many with Fleshsmith weapons. She'd given them enough grief to focus on much sponsoring these Trials… at least that's what Nyxil hoped. The less Fleshsmith hopefuls, the less tools Solan had to sabotage her.

Ari and Dan were already waiting, but before she could even think to make her way to them, she was interrupted by a small group of childish bullies. She'd been wary of the crowd, didn't trust that a knife wouldn't find itself in her ribs if she looked away, so she noticed the moment they moved her way.

When Kal moved forward to shove her — acting like he didn't see her — she was ready. Stepping to the side, she gave him a slight push, and he tripped over her prosthetic. He brought his hands up to slow his fall. Nothing fell free.

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Nyxil scoffed. Having half expected it to have been a lame attempt to injure her before the Trials even started, but it was just them acting childish again. At least last time they hadn't gone so far as to try anything physical. Why the change?

Oru and Stan both snorted at their compatriot's fall, but still bent over to help him up. If she thought their mirth meant they held no hostility, she was sorely mistaken. They sneered at her, like looking at a pest beneath their worth. Kal jumped to his feet, face already red.

"You think you're hot stuff now, huh? Get saved from a Dark Star, and now you can walk around with a stick up your ass?" He huffs. "Nothing has changed. You were the cursed girl then, now you're the cursed and crippled girl. Don't pretend to be more than you are." He gave a spiteful glare at her poor, guardless sword. "None of the cults want you."

Nyxil stared, almost uncomprehending at the boys who glared at her. They were already turning to leave, their piece said, but Nyxil couldn't help herself. She laughed. She laughed in their face, at the irony of Kal's words.

I'm not wanted? She covered her mouth with her hand to try and stifle her giggles. All I need to do is take off my armband and I'll become the most wanted person on Coral.

A few more snickers escaped her mouth — she really hoped Euphoria hadn't somehow come back and infected her again — but that was enough to make Kal even redder. He'd always had an anger problem, but it was never this bad. His hand fell to the hilt of a shiny blade.

She'd noticed them before — all three of them had one — but she recognised the pommels. They were from that store that used soft steel. Cheap and shoddily made. Their weapons would blunt with the first swing at a skitter-spawn. Even as three of them reached for their blades, she wasn't concerned. Nyxil had more fear of a third party using the commotion to strike.

"And they want you?" she taunted. There would be no use laying low when she knew she would be targeted early. Besides, with her armband, there was no fear of being discovered. "Have you even gotten your second additive yet?"

By Kal's snarl, and the darkening faces of his two friends, they hadn't.

Nyxil shook her head exaggeratedly. "If it were possible, I'd share some of mine." She knew she was pushing them, but it was just too fun. "By the Great Iris above, I have too many to deal with."

That was the breaking point for Kal. He unsheathed his well-polished blade and ran at her. Nyxil's hand rested on the grip of her own, but before she had the chance to slice through that butter-like steel, someone grabbed his arm.

Kal turned to glare at Tru, who had slipped under his swing to pull him back. The hatred in his eyes sharper than his blade.

"Don't," Tru hissed, before glancing her way. "It's not worth it."

Kal yanked his arm free, unintentionally whacking the other boy in the jaw with the hilt of his sword. "Stay out of it Suck-Up," he sneered. Turning back to Nyxil, he was now calm enough to eye her confidant stance and the hand on her own blade and come to a smarter conclusion. He clicked his tongue and walked away.

Oru glanced between Nyxil and Tru and raised an eyebrow before following after Kal. Stan stayed for a moment. He seemed conflicted. "Tru…" He sighed, then glared. First at Tru, then at Nyxil. She unsheathed her blade ever so slightly to invite him. He ran.

Tru rubbed at his cheek and watched as the small group found their own corner of the ritual courtyard to sequester. Idly, she wondered if the group would have opted for guns if they could have afforded them. They were fooling themselves if they were trying to enter the harbinger trials. With only the single additives — and how weak they'd been — they wouldn't last five minutes.

Well, assuming they had to fight anything stronger than a wisp-spawn… which was everything.

"You alright?" she asked, not entirely concerned. Tru wasn't exactly someone she liked.

Immediately, he stopped touching his jaw. His eyes fell to her blade. "You wouldn't have killed them, would you?" Tru was looking at her as if she was some sort of monster manifested before him. A threat he couldn't fight.

"No?" she said. "They were being childish. I would have broken their new toys and that'd be it."

Tru didn't nod, nor did he seem to truly believe her word, but he did scamper off, finally leaving her alone. She made note that he didn't go to join his three old friends. What had happened in their group?

It took her less than a second to decide that she didn't care, and turned to join her friends. Dan and Ari were watching her, having clearly seen at least the tail end. They blinked and waved at her, and in moments she was by their side.

"Sorry you had to deal with that," Ari started. "The Trials has made them agitated."

"Don't apologise for them, Ari," Dan said. "The Trials have been messing with us all; that's no excuse to go around starting fights. Especially those they can't win, am I right?"

Dan's attempt to lighten the mood with his expectant smirk was clumsy at best, but Nyxil grinned anyway. That was all the answer they needed.

Ari hugged a satchel tight to her chest. Likely her drawing materials. It already had a strap going around her shoulders, but she clutched it as if it would run off on its own. Nyxil doubted there were many around that wanted to join the Artisans, and even less that were ready to sabotage another's first round efforts, but it wasn't impossible.

Dan, conversely, had come with very little for himself. Peeking out from under his robe was a ritual knife strapped to his chest, but that wasn't uncommon even amongst those not intending to fight. He probably had a small pouch hidden somewhere with some small ritual materials, but nothing he would need to lug around.

"How are you so calm?" Ari fidgeted with a paintbrush. It snapped under her fingers, then reformed when her additive commanded it to. "I feel like I'm going to die. I want them to start it now, but I also want them to cancel the entire thing. My mind won't settle."

"I don't know." Nyxil shrugged. "I guess knowing other people are more worried than I am gives me clarity."

"Oh, I'm glad our nerves help you then," Dan snarked. His hands were deep in the pockets of his hood, so it was impossible to tell if his fingers twitched as much as Ari's. "Could you share-" he cut off as his eyes trailed something over Nyxil's shoulder. "Is that Grif?"

She turned as Ari spoke. "It is! I haven't seen him since the naming ritual."

Nyxil turned and found not the boy she remembered, nor the deadly harbinger he would become, but something between. His arms were already littered with semi-permanent rituals. Another spread like a crown from the centre of his forehead to the shaved sides of his head. This was the Scripture's champion.

Her sense raced forth, and she clenched her teeth. Grif, like herself, was at his second evolution. He'd done in three months what had taken her over two years within the Dark Star.