Joroboros
patreon
[Re:Cursed] Chapter 85: What Happens in a Capsule, Stays in the Capsule
🕑 Added 2025-06-09 10:45:53 +0000 UTCSitting inside the — admittedly spacious — capsule, Nyxil could do nothing but slide her sense over her name.
Not that she had no desire to see what mutations she had. She did. The idea of new parts, new limbs, and all the doors they opened, was exciting in a way Nyxil never expected. But trapped in a cold metal cylinder was not where she would have liked to be.
Her core name was riddled with tiny, barely perceptible cracks. Well, the loosest applicable definition of a crack. The cursed name was as fuzzy and imprecise as the day she achieved her first Feat. It stood in clear contrast from the typical, almost solid, bundle that was an uncursed name.
While the name was the same — or at least as much as a name could be after evolving twice and incorporating many others — Nyxil’s ability to read that cursed mass had improved tremendously. She no longer only saw the three major fissures that were the remains of when she had three separate, distinct, curses. There were now thousands of tiny, miniature cracks webbing their way between each.
Out of curiosity, she turned her newly sensitive touch over the remnants of her old names. First, was Nix. Immediately, she was struck with a sense of imminent, yet unending dread. It was as if she was falling through a void in every direction at once, yet the weight of the entire universe bore down on her. Exactly as she’d felt falling into the black hole.
Snapping her touch away from the fissure before she started screaming or praising the Eidolon Gods, she figured it probably wasn’t a good idea to peer too deep in there yet. It was fitting that the origin of her pit of corruption felt like an endless abyss.
Nyxil calmed her breath and forced the memories of that day out of her head before moving onto the next name.
Ine.
Instead of any one single emotion or hint towards a particular mutation, she was bombarded with them. So many individual sensations flowed through her as soon as her touch slid across the fissure that she lost definition and could comprehend nothing. She was exposed to an intense swirling vortex of so many conflicting emotions that the end result seemed… balanced. Like all the intensities within cancelled out.
She didn’t know what to make of it, until she moved onto the next fissure. Oth. The name that had appeared after her return to the past.
This was not nearly as balanced. Wrath. Regret. Hate. Frustration. Betrayal. Depression. Nausea. Fear. They were all such horrible emotions themselves, and yet they didn’t align with the mutations that came from that part of her curse. Her wings made her feel free. Unbound. Her claws gave her strength. Confidence. And her tentacles? Convenience.
What she was feeling from this fissure wasn’t the emotions linked to her mutations, but those of her past. Oth was her past. A name described one’s life, and her name reflected what she had once become. Without her experiences conveniently bundled into the curse Oth, she would have been the same unprepared soul as her first timeline.
If Oth was her past, then Ine was her future.
The swathe of net-even emotions wasn’t a prediction of the future. It was the possible paths she could grow. As she looked close, she found that the vast majority of the small cracks actually expanded from what had been Ine. But not all.
Some of the subtle web-like fractures branched back to the major fissure that represented the mutations she’d already experienced once before. Yet… she could feel more mutations within those cracks than those she’d had in her last life. So why were they connected to her past?
She found one crack that she recognised immediately. A slimy sensation with some relation to motion or traversal. Her slime feet. Also attached to the fissure were her other mutations. The rubberised skin of her elbows. Black tears. Even the completion of her throat. The one that took her echoing voice to a full chorus. Nyxil could feel them all, but these mutations were only the ones directly connected to the fissure.
Those cracks that were her former mutations spread into new cursed fragments. Each fragment — a potential new mutation — had nothing to do with her past, yet they were there regardless. The cracks were hardly even perceptible, and gave a much more subtle sensation than any of those closer to the fissures, but Nyxil was determined. Why were they there? How were they different?
She couldn’t have mutated after falling into the black hole… could she?
The first crack felt of fear. Nothing but fear. She didn’t know how that translated into a mutation, but if she had any choice in the matter, Nyxil would steer clear.
… unless it was her enemies fearing her. Then she might come around to it.
All its neighbours were just like it. They gave vague emotions — sometimes not even emotions or thoughts; one felt pink — and no matter how hard she focused, they never gained clarity. The only way to know what these specific mutations were, was to accept them. And she wasn’t willing to go to such extremes.
She clicked her tongue and scraped a claw along the wall of the canister, hoping her annoyance would be heard by Tarchon outside. It was annoying to find something so interesting, only to have to give up her curiosity because she couldn’t afford any more obvious mutations right now. If only she could accept a mutation then hide it away in the depths of her core when it was too obvious.
Her sense moved back over to the fissure and the cracks around it that represented her future. Like before, Nyxil found that the cracks closest to her former name were the clearer of the lot. Not only did their cracks seem wider, and closer to shattering than the rest, but she could garner a very concise picture of how they would manifest when they opened.
She was immediately enthralled.
Another eye. This one, not a gem like that of her chest, but closer to those in her head. Unfortunately, it would sit in her forehead.
Yeah, not something I’ll be able to hide.
Gills? The next she passed seemed to want to remove her ears entirely, only to replace them with a a series of feather-like gills. If she’d thought the fourth eye would be difficult to conceal, then this would be impossible. Her sense wasn’t perfect, even on these half-shattered cracks, but she could tell the antenna-gills would poke out conspicuously.
The next two were both unremarkable, yet unquestionably suitable. One was an altercation to the heart. The other, to the stomach. The shape of both would change significantly; her heart double the number of chambers and ventricles, while her stomach lining would grow what she could only describe as tooth-tipped tendrils. Neither felt like they could offer her much.
She took them both anyway.
Maybe… it wasn’t the smartest idea to accept new mutations when she was likely on her way to see one of the cult leaders. But they were only small changes. Nyxil was almost confident that they would give no outward indication that they were anything but the norm. She’d held back for so long, and now that she could choose — a level of control over herself she’d never had — she jumped on the opportunity.
Unfortunately, the crack didn’t shatter immediately.
As she tried to open the mutation, it quickly became clear that this was not going to be anywhere near as easy as the fissures had been. As much as she tried, it was as if she couldn’t get her metaphorical fingers couldn’t get a grip. Not even the sharp point of her claws could squeeze between the cracks, and so the mutations stayed out of her reach.
With nothing better to do, she continued struggling against her cursed name, trying to force the specific changes she wanted out of it, but it barely budged. After who knew how long — without her other senses, time seemed fickle — Nyxil was about to give up and see if she could work her way towards the crack from the fissure when she felt movement.
The crack spread.
Her chest burnt, but it wasn’t terribly painful. An uncomfortable pressure built in her chest, but she could only be happy that the mutation was coming. Her new, improved heart would be in her chest as soon as the ache stopped.
She slid her fingers deeper into the crack that was being more difficult than it needed to be. With effort, and not an inconsequential amount of time, she finally shattered the crack and released its bound heart.
The pain flared before it settled, and when it did, Nyxil could only slump in relief. Immediately, she gained a sense to the pace of her heart that she’d never had before. She could feel each thump. Blood rushed through it like a geyser, though without a previous point of reference, she didn’t know if that actually meant it was flowing faster.
Her canister jostled. Nyxil braced against the wall until it settled, but the sudden change sent her heart hammering. She wasn’t shocked or scared. It was simply her newfound awareness of the organ that made the slight increase in tempo obvious.
As she breathed deeply again, Nyxil didn’t miss the immediate shift in her chest. Her heartbeats slowed. She clenched a muscle — one she didn’t remember having any control over — and the tempo increased. It rocketed beyond anything natural. Three hundred… four hundred beats per minute. Loosening the muscle like she would breathe out, the pace crashed.
Curiosity is often a death sentence. On Coral, there were so many things lurking in the shadows that you could only ignore. It was common knowledge that any willing to pursue the unknown better know what they were doing if they didn’t want to experience some of the greater horrors.
Nyxil knew this too, but in the split second she stopped her heart, the only thought that crossed her mind was could I do it?
The wave of lethargy that washed over her nearly knocked her out in an instant. In a semi-conscious transience, Nyxil felt numbness wash over her body. It wasn’t painful, and the colourless dark of the capsule somehow lost vividness it didn’t have.
She knew she should be panicking. She knew that she could not survive without a heartbeat. But the calm, comfortable slow that overtook her mind was difficult to wade through. All her troubles, all her stress washed away in the numb of oblivion.
It had been difficult to track time while blind and deaf, but now it was impossible. Nyxil lingered. Nyxil fell. The deprivation of even nothingness gnawed at her mind, but she didn’t have the energy to stop it. She wouldn’t know how if she tried. Already her body was gone; a floating memory long forgotten. She couldn’t blink if she tried.
Then, from the lack of nothingness, Darkness appeared… or it had always been there? Even fading from existence as she was, the black hole remained ever-present. Always there. Always reaching. The immense tentacles curled around her. They grasped at her. Incomprehensible shapes spun out from the Darkness, extensions of beings beyond imagining.
Nyxil barely struggled. It was difficult to remember why she should. They seemed so inviting. Welcoming. They loved her.
Eyes. A million of them opened at once, and each one stared at Nyxil. They saw her. They observed every fibre of her soul. She had become so used to those that gazed at her not piercing the surface, but nothing could stop these bodiless perceivers.
Terror strangled everything.
Memories of the day she was sacrificed were shoved through her mind, shearing deep scars of horror. Fear overwhelmed her. The eyes. Those terrifying eyes would never leave her alone. She would never die in peace. She could never let herself die; not if they are what awaited her.
Thump
Nyxil didn’t know how she found it, but she strained with all her effort to reignite its rhythm. Her heart sputtered to life, and the numbness slipped away. An off beat. The muscle in her chest struggled to find its pattern and each missed thump stuck her like a spear.
She gasped, taking her first breath in who knew how long. Her heart found its rhythm. It was a lot easier when you could manually control its tempo.
Had she died? Or had she only been on the edge? Whatever the answer, Nyxil didn’t have time to learn as a hissing sound stabbed at her deafened ears. The vault of her capsule swung open.
She was glad to see light. Compared to what awaited below, its embrace was blinding and harsh, yet it didn’t stare. It didn’t watch.
Comments
Conor McGroarty
Yeah. MC better complete her mission of shattering the cults. The consequences for her soul/being are unlikely to be pleasant. While she might be a seed of a little god, that doesn’t mean that the Elders would be patient with her if she doesn’t even reach minimum expectations. If she cannot survive and thrive in her cursed environment of birth, she really isn’t worth it. At least I imagine such thoughts are partially what those things may think of her. In the first place, from their perspective, she still a seed. In human terms she is a damn embryo. If an embryo can’t survive the womb, just shrug and move on for timeless eldritch abominations.
Napalm078
"One was an altercation to the heart. The other, to the stomach." *One was an alteration to the heart. -an altercation is a conflict, usually interpersonal "She could never let herself die; not if they are what awaited her." *not if they were what awaited her.
TheBotler
Thanks for the chapter
Summer Coff
Loved the descriptions of how the parts of her base name feel. They align with what my impressions had been, but it was good to have confirmation, and they're beautifully written. Also, the rare silly chapter title.
