Re:Cursed

Not much differed between the dozen fights that followed Ari's. Some could do nothing against the hounds, and were tossed to the side to make room for the next. Others did well enough — even if they didn't kill the beast — and had their names recorded by the representatives.

When the participants survived, but failed to deal any wounds, the representatives would vote whether they thought it should count as a failure or not. So long as a member from two cults thought them worthy enough to continue to the next trial, they would.

"Are you sure it's another additive?" Ari asked for the fifth time since her fight.

Nyxil rolled her eyes at the girl. Once the terror and adrenaline left her system, she first crashed in exhaustion. But with the promise of a new name, a giddy excitement gradually wormed through the tiredness until it was as if she hadn't fought at all.

Not that her bloody clothes gave the same impression.

"What do you think it is?" she asked. "Oh, I got it in a fight. Does that mean it'll be combat related?" Ari seemed somewhat disappointed by that.

"It always helps to have ways of protecting yourself."

"I know." Ari dropped her head. "But I've been hoping for something related to my drawings."

Nyxil shrugged. "Getting one name won't limit you from another."

Ari made a non-committal noise, and they both turned their attention to the next challenger. Oru swung his sword with confidence. A confidence Nyxil cringed at, considering his lack of form. She was sure if her Talent had a mind of its own, it would be crying at the sight.

In other circumstances, Nyxil might have felt sorry for the boy who had no teacher of his own — human or Talent — but he and his troupe had been unnecessarily hostile, so Nyxil didn't waste a second in pity.

The boy passed. Albeit without ease. He had a lot more weight behind him, and strength in his arms than Ari, so when he swung his sword, the dog was battered to the side. Despite this advantage, he wasn't quick enough to stop the hound getting under his guard and snapping at his heels.

Oru killed the spawn, but not without it taking a few bites from him first.

Now, it was Nyxil's turn. She'd spent most of the time watching the Fleshsmith, knowing he would try to sabotage her, but not sure how. She stepped forward, slipping past another girl who happily slunk back into the crowd now that her fight was over. She'd spent the whole three minutes avoiding the fight entirely. Instead, showing off how easily she spun around the beast's snapping teeth.

The Fleshsmith coordinator's name was Zan'Asyll. He hadn't bothered to introduce himself, but during one of the earlier fights, one of the representatives had called out to him. It was an uncommon name for a Fleshsmith. One that immediately raised alarms in Nyxil's head.

The prefix 'Zan' was associated with the newer path of Fleshsmiths created by Zandisth. They were more secretive than their standard brethren, but from her time in the Fleshsmith's captivity, she knew they were focused on the manipulation of souls into their creations. A new craft they dubbed 'soulsmithing.'

Traditional Fleshsmiths often incorporated souls into their work. Solan's screaming chains were an obvious example. But soulsmithing veered towards more subtle effects and control.

So when Zan'Asyll pull out a steak from a different pouch than he had for every other challenger so far, she noticed immediately.

"What's different about that lump of meat?"

Zan'Asyll was startled she noticed, but quickly played it off. "They are all the same, I assure you."

"But you pulled it from a different pouch than the others."

"There's more than one bag worth of meat needed for these summons." He scowled. "Now be quiet unless you would rather surrender your right to continue."

Nyxil did not miss the comment from the crowd behind her about the cursed girl trying to make excuses. Who would have thought Kal would get worse when he grew up?

As Zan'Asyll started his hymn, she immediately locked on to the difference. It was subtle, but the tone was ever so slightly different, and some of the lyrics had been changed, but were intentionally pronounced like the earlier ritual. She looked at the bowl of sand. The lines were a deep red now, not the black of earlier. If she had to guess, he'd slipped blood into the mix.

The group of cult representatives were no help. Most were only third creed. Of them, only a couple seemed to notice the oddities of Zan'Asyll's ritual, and neither spoke. A lone Technocultist looked her way expectantly. Having spent the last day with them, they knew more about her strength than most. This was as much a part of her test as the rest of the Trials. A Scripture looked between her and the Fleshsmith, obviously questioning the act, but made no move to interfere.

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With one last hope, she turned to the Everseeing Eye cultist. They were renowned for their vision over everything else, and yet even that was a lost cause. They would usually send two, but the other never arrived — having left for the Observatory — and the one they had to watch over their group never took her eyes from the Great Iris above.

Nyxil clicked her tongue and turned back to Zan'Asyll. Whatever he threw at her, she would deal with. After wiping out so many cultists superior to him, she wouldn't let the summon of a third evolution Fleshsmith do her in.

When the creature began forming, she immediately observed the beast. It quickly became apparent that while the form was similar, this hound-spawn was nothing like the others. Typical of a Fleshsmith, the steak he'd thrown had chunks of metal within. Those heavy metal pieces became the core of the creature's bones, and the ritual — empowered by whatever sacrificial blood he'd used — enhanced the body until even the muscular fibres were as strong as steel beams.

She wasn't making much progress through her third eye. Where before it had been the bone that slowed down her consumption, now she struggled to get through the skin.

The hound's eyes opened, and immediately they locked on hers. It let out a low growl, and where the shadowy vapour rolling off the last dogs didn't really have any effect in such a corruption free place, this one's dark mist rolled towards her with intent. It slid into shadows, and snuck up on her. But the most jarring thing was the intelligence in the canine's eyes.

Instead of charging her with a blind ferocity, the spawn circled her. The beast was trying to lure her focus away from the twisting darkness that barely held its existence in the unbroken light of the accretion disk. Nyxil kept on the move. She didn't want to get pinned between this dog and whatever trap it wanted to push her into.

This hound-spawn was cunning, and she would treat it as an appropriate threat… even if it meant that she couldn't avoid the focus that would come her way.

Nyxil's heartbeat slowed. She would miss the increased reaction time, but with muscle and bone as hard as the creature before her, she needed the boosted strength. Especially considering she was fighting without her blade.

As the beast circled her, she danced from foot to foot in time with her heart. It took a second for them to synchronise, but once they did she felt herself flow like water. Every fourth beat, she breathed out. The greatest difficulty she faced was her prosthetic's imperfect step, but she'd already learnt to adjust for it.

She bounced on her feet, slipping from the grasping darkness that tried to trap her. The dog growled, annoyed. It dashed forwards, and she matched its motion. Nyxil was all too ready for it, and the hound realised that before it even made an attempt to bite her. Where the weaker hound-spawn would have continued their attack in fury of their melting face, this one retreated from their charge.

It jumped back, and continued its stalking.

Nyxil's eyes slipped to the still glowing runes. The ritual should have concluded by now. Zan'Asyll, with his back to the representatives, was mumbling under his breath. Power flowed to the beast across from her, and the longer this fight went, the more difficult it would become.

But she needn't make the first move.

The hound, noticing her lapse in focus, collapsed into shadowy fragments. The darkness around her deepened. Only from years of experience being ambushed, did Nyxil turn in time.

Her bouncing steps stayed in tune to the rhythm of her heart, and the pace of her breaths never wavered. Twisting, her hard, chitinous fist struck the hound's head in time with her step, her heart, and her exhaled breath. The synchronicity flowed so easily through her that despite how weak her upper arm was, the punch gathered the power of a cannon.

A deep, resounding crack shook the courtyard.

The hound-spawn, having teleported itself through shadow, now laid unmoving with its head caved in. With how much power had flowed through her fist, it was a testament to the hound's creation that it hadn't exploded in a fine mist of blood.

She'd done it. She could fight even without her mutations.

Nyxil let out a breath and met Zan'Asyll's eyes. He was grinding his teeth, and looked like he'd been the one to be struck across the face. As much as she wanted to clear the distance between them and replicate the punch, it wouldn't go down well with the cultists behind him. She turned to the crowd of participants. If she ever caught him alone, he would join the other Fleshsmiths.

The crowd stood slackjaw, but none so much as her ward-mates. They'd known her as the weakest amongst them. So frail that she coughed blood at even the slightest strain to her body. Now, she'd not only cleaned the floor with a beast so many of them had struggled, but done so against one that showed unique abilities. They weren't so ignorant to not have noticed the difference.

Kal worked his jaw, as if trying to think of an excuse, or blame it on some cheat, but not even he could convince himself of that. She might have taken some delight in his shock, but didn't care enough to shatter the boy's pride further. Even if it would have been entertaining.

Oru and Stan set their jaw and avoided looking her way. They looked unsurprised, but not at all pleased. If they had that much self-awareness, they should really pull their friend's head back in before his attitude got him killed.

Nyxil found Ari beaming. As she stepped in by her side, she accepted the sword and strapped it back to her hip.

"Don't suppose you earned another name with that punch?"

A glance gave her answer. "Unfortunately not." Nyxil shrugged a shoulder, her stub of an arm suddenly felt uncomfortable. "Maybe I'll get lucky in the later trials?"

"Well, we're done now," Ari said. "Why don't we go see how Dan's doing?"

Nyxil nodded, and made to leave. It took her three steps to realise that something was off. Her left leg — the fleshy one — wasn't as long as her prosthetic any longer. She was forced to limp.

Has the alignment come out? Nyxil thought. I'll have to get Tarchon to fix it before the next trial.

Before they could leave, as a few others had done after their challenges were over, the Technocultist stepped forward to stop her.

"Please state your name."

Nyxil blinked at them. They should already know who she was, but as she looked around at the others, she realised what they were doing. Better to feign ignorance and let her introduce herself. That way she could control what they knew.

She considered answering with 'Nix', but nobody would believe that. 'Nỷx̱il' would be truthful, but if she had the opportunity, she didn't want to be raised to the top of every cult's hit list. At least, not yet.

"Nỷx." She turned to Ari, who looked at her knowingly.

Tomorrow would be the second trial. Today, she would watch Dan's challenge. Assuming he hadn't performed early, like they had. Hopefully, they could choose their own group for the team trial. Nyxil would much rather have them at her side than get lumped with Kal.

Her arm ached uncomfortably again. Seriously, why was her stump playing up?