Re:Cursed

Nyxil half expected Grif to be flanked by a dozen Scripture cultists given how obvious their sponsorship was. Instead, he walked alone. For a sixteen-year-old, he looked mature. It was as if he'd aged years in the few months since their naming. An adult amongst children.

Could he have been in the first Dark Star? She pondered. In her mind, it was the only answer for someone evolving so fast. The extra time should have been an advantage to her alone. But no. Nyxil dismissed the idea. Her appearance hadn't aged, despite how long she'd been in there; the same would be true for Grif.

Beyond the ritual tattoos along his arms and marring his forehead, the dark runes wove through his off-white robe. They weren't as dense, nor as numerous as what other Scriptures wore, but it was an undeniable wealth he carried with him. A conspicuous wealth.

Nyxil wasn't the only one that stared at Grif… or whatever his name now was. The entire ward's was transfixed. They openly gaped at how much he'd changed.

Grif strode amongst his old ward-mates with a self-satisfied smirk as his relished their stares. He stood confidently. Nyxil would have called it arrogant if she hadn't felt the same only minutes ago. Knowing you were stronger than everyone around you had quite an effect on mental stability.

His gaze slid over those he grew up with, dismissing each as if they were beneath his notice. When he saw Nyxil, all he could focus on was her missing arm. An eyebrow raised. For a moment, his eyes raised to meet hers, and his initially curious expression shifted to pity. He turned away.

Nyxil grit her teeth. She tried not to sneer. If you want to pity me, go ahead. It'll only come back to bite you later on.

Grif was no longer an arrogant bully. He had become an arrogant prick who thought himself better than a bully.

When the sponsored Scripture turned to his old friends, he finally expressed an emotion that didn't make Nyxil unreasonably irritated. Grif's eyes lit up upon seeing Kal, Oru, and Stan. He was excited to see them, and immediately strode towards them, expecting the crowd to part for him. And it did.

The trio were far less thrilled with the reunion.

As Grif approached, Oru and Stan slipped away. Kal tried to do the same, but Grif grabbed his shoulder before he could run. The taller boy said something Nyxil couldn't hear through the crowd, but Kal didn't raise his eyes to meet him, nor did he try to pull away from his grip. He looked uncomfortable. It was obvious to all; Grif included.

The young harbinger froze, then slowly let go. Never looking up from his feet, Kal walked away. Nyxil noticed his balled fists as Kal hid his face beneath his cowl.

"I know he's never been the nicest, but damn was that hard to watch," Dan said. "I feel a little bad."

"You do?" Ari chirped. "I'm happy their little group continues to crumble around them."

"Yeah, but you're still mad they burned your sketchbook."

Ari huffed. "They deserve more than some broken friendships for that."

It was hard to tell if Dan was glaring or not; what with his eyes peeled open by those frames. "You threw it away."

"Just because I threw it away, doesn't mean they get to destroy it."

"What did you think was gonna happen? You might not have thought it was good enough, but nobody could deny how much effort you put in those pages. They wouldn't pass up such a good sacrificial medium."

She scowled. "I didn't make it to be sacrificed."

Dan raised his hands as if to gesture, 'and that's exactly why.'

Nyxil watched with curiosity as the duo continued to bicker. Neither noticed that they'd brushed aside their nervousness. Their hands settled. She wondered if she could tease them of that fact, or if that would just send them back into a spiral of their thoughts and fears. Better to back off.

A rumble quivered through the earth. Her metal leg rattled uncomfortably; the hinge of her prosthetic lacking the natural give of a normal knee. Who thought it was a good idea to connect a robotic slab of steel directly to the bone?

The clamour of voices ceased. As one, the crowd turned to a mound of flesh rising in the congregation's centre. Pink and red strands of bubbling muscle hardened into a dark grey skin. A giant formed. It's massive, prostrated shape reached metres over the prospective cultists' heads.

When its humanoid form finally stopped growing out of the surface — except for its head, which remained firmly buried — the giant lifted a hand. A woman stood on the hand like a platform.

Nyxil recognised Ep'Nanorschi on sight. The Bodytwisters twisted spine was barely hidden by her loose robe which hung from her hunched back. One could follow her vertebra as they pushed against the cloth along their crooked path.

A perfectly straight scar trailed down the centre of her nose, and split her upper lip. They were only held together by threaded stitches. The sides of said lip raised unnaturally, barely hiding teeth too large for her mouth.

Her eyes were sharp. As they slid over her audience with disinterest, nobody dared speak a word. She spent a few moments in that silence simply observing the participants. A few times her sight lingered on one acolyte or another, but her expression never changed.

Until her eyes landed on Nyxil.

A grin sprouted, revealing eight long, interlocking fangs that would look more appropriate in the jaw of a crocodile. Vicious, cruel, and excited. She was a predator preparing for a hunt. No small number of teens took a fearful step back at the sight, but Ep'Nanorschi them no mind. She turned and addressed the crowd.

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"Welcome!" Her voice was harsh, but jovial. As if her throat had been damaged and never truly recovered… or, more likely, she'd altered it herself. "If you don't already know me, I am Ep̽'N̺an̺o͐r̔sc͈hi̫͑. Eighth creed Bodytwister, and technically the Adjudicator for your Trials. Now I'm sure you're all itching to start, and I don't care to oversee anything but the actual Trials, so I'll leave you with my first acolyte."

Ep'Nanorschi leapt from the raised hand, and disappeared amongst the crowd. A second arm rose, carrying a man that must've been her acolyte. Nyxil didn't pay attention to what he said. She was too busy fretting over the glance the eighth creed cultist had sent her way.

Did she know something? Had Solan spoken to her, or had she somehow discovered her mutations on her own? There was no denying that glance had been directed at her. Most around her were now staring at Grif — thinking it was him that incited that sinister grin — but Nyxil knew better.

At the taste of blood, she realised she was biting her lip again.

Forcing her heart to slow, she gave her mind no other option than to relax. Ep'Nanorschi didn't necessarily know any of her secrets. Until she proved it with more than a look and a grin, Nyxil wouldn't leap to conclusions. This wasn't the first time that woman had looked at her either. Back when she'd been testing her ability to activate curses, the cultist had looked her way and given her a fright. Back then, she thought she'd been seen through. It was the same as now.

Could this be a name ability? Nyxil forced herself to look around, and at first it was like her mind refused to focus on them, but she found quite a few amongst the crowd sweating immensely. Some, particularly those that had been given at least some support by the cults, had gone pale. It was as if they too thought they'd been caught.

Nyxil's best guess was that the Bodytwister's ability instilled an instinctual terror, and feeling of being cornered. How many people would make mistakes when they believed their deepest secrets were known?

Then, had Ep'Nanorschi actually grinned after looking at her, or was that a trick of her mind? Those who might not have anything to hide still glanced at Grif, so her reaction was likely real. Well, unless they still couldn't fathom the changes to their former ward-mate.

Did their Adjudicator remember her from months ago? Nyxil hoped not. She'd been almost caught with her figurative fingers in the woman's soul. There was no way that would put her in good standing with the woman. Not only did she already have to be wary of the Fleshsmith's early attacks, but now the Adjudicator herself might try to sabotage her?

After all this is over, the Technocultists better not have any complaints.

The Adjudicator's assistant was still speaking, and not wanting to miss more than she already had, Nyxil listened in.

"… four. Any form of cheating — whether it be sabotage, manipulation, or theft — will be punished with demerits to be paid by whichever cult chooses to take you on. These demerits, decided by agreement between representatives, can reach upwards of ten thousand BD. Do not cheat if you want a future."

For a Bodytwister, the temporary Adjudicator had surprisingly little visual changes. His face was unmarred by stitches. No part of his body pushed against his robe in any unnatural way. Of course, that didn't mean he wasn't hiding anything. In the same way Nyxil hid her wings or tentacles, there was no knowing what was underneath.

There were limits, of course. One would never confuse a Bodytwister's otherflesh with the mutations Nyxil had. The difference was obvious. Bodytwisters often made it obvious to dodge accusations of madness. But the main difference was just how far a Bodytwister was willing to shift their form away from human.

They didn't.

A Bodytwister would never graft wings onto themselves. They wouldn't even think to sew tentacles where they should never have any. While a cursed mutation and an installed altercation were fundamentally different, like a claw and a knife, they shared one commonality: both inflict madness.

Or they should. Nyxil was the exception, but in most cases, deviating from a human form collapsed their mind as if to reflect the lack of humanity in their body.

"Rule five. This one applies only for the first two tests. No murder. Adjudicator Ep̽'N̺an̺o͐r̔sc͈hi̫͑ will discuss particulars for those of you who wish to participate in the harbinger Trials." The cultist's voice carried over the large crowd easily. An ability? A ritual? Or some enhancement to his vocal chords? "Six. Failure by unanimous decision in any single Trial removes your right to progress to the next."

Nyxil listened absently, not too worried. Even without her mutations, the first few trials would be a breeze so long as she watched out for any underhanded methods by the other participants.

"Now, I will give you this year's selection of challenges, and give you a minute to decide," he said. "Challenge of devotion, which will test your loyalty to your cult of choice. Challenge of auxiliary; for those who wish to take the path of summoning or automation, regardless of medium. Challenge of ritual, to express your budding expertise. Challenge of information; gathering, storing and communication."

The Bodytwister continued to list another half a dozen challenges until he finally listed one Nyxil knew she would take. "And finally, the challenge of self-defence. If you can survive long enough despite lacking any other specialty, you might convince a cult to take you in."

Despite how obviously perfect it was for harbinger hopefuls, his words seemed to encourage those who might not have already been considering that path. It made sense. There were tens of thousands of people here, and the dedicated harbingers would be a minority. If someone didn't have beneficial additives yet, or a focus on some specialty, then they could either show their devotion and loyalty to a cult, or show they wouldn't die to the first phantom to cross their path.

"You have one choice. This will take some time to churn through you all, and to prevent you from taking multiple credits in different challenges, the process has been simplified. Declare your choice within the next sixty seconds, then follow your guide."

Many of her ward-mates declared their choice immediately. Nyxil watched as the ground shone red with runes, before they slithered up the legs of those that made their choice and settled into a bracelet of hardened blood, not unlike a scab.

For a moment, she hesitated to follow suit. So many had chosen the self-defence challenge, but some that should have, hadn't. Grif for example. He had chosen the ritual test despite how clearly he was gearing to be a harbinger. It only took a moment to come to the answer. They didn't want to reveal their hand so early.

The first Trials were open for any to watch. Proving you were competent in self-defence would only alert the other competitors to who should be watched from the start. That, and they likely wanted to prove to their cults that they could do more than fight.

"I choose the challenge of self-defence."

But those weren't issues for Nyxil. It would be a good idea to downplay her abilities, but she didn't exactly specialise in any other area besides rituals. And rituals would do so well they'd raise even more pressing questions.

The ground shone around her, and the red trail curled around her before settling into a bracelet that immediately began tugging at her. As if leading her somewhere. If not for the armband on her other arm, she would be concerned about whoever cast this ritual discovering the chitin of her hands.

Neither Ari or Dan had chosen theirs yet.

"Thirty seconds," the replacement Adjudicator warned.

Nyxil raised her gaze to the man casually standing on the hand of the giant. He seemed entirely apathetic to the whole situation. What could she expect from her challenge? It couldn't be anything dangerous, right? The majority of people expected to participate would be unevolved teens with only a single additive.

With her sight already upward, she caught a shift in the sky above. It was subtle. Barely noticeable. With the accretion disk as bright as it always was, Nyxil didn't even know how she noticed it, but as she glared into the pupil above, it was impossible to ignore what she saw.

The ring of stars inside the Great Iris… they spun.