Seven foot tall and heavy enough that Nix could feel the ground tremble with his steps, the giant of a man stepped through the still bubbling pool of blood, crunching severed pieces of flesh beneath his boots.

Panting and on her back, Nix couldn’t run. Whatever this cultist decided to do to her, she couldn’t win. Despite that, she angled the metal pole at the cultist and stared him down.

Beneath the shade of his hood, she caught the reflection of two orbs of glass. Cameras, not eyes. His jaw didn’t outright look mechanical, but considering the metal clamps on his chin and below his cheeks, she wouldn’t doubt it was entirely artificial.

His neck — what little she could see — didn’t hide its nature at all. Tubes and bundles of wires took the place of an esophagus, along with a bunch of connection ports. It was all old tech, and only tech. He was one of the technocult; not a worshipper of the machine god.

He’d killed the greater amalgamation as if it were nothing. Nix still had no idea how. And as he strode towards her, his foot crashed through another beast that tried to crawl from her blood. The motion didn’t even look like he intended to kick it, but the monster’s spine was severed and it immediately began melting into black sludge.

How many will come?

The cultist paused his approach suddenly. “What have you done to make blood this reactive?”

A cultist this strong doesn’t know why? Nix thought. Well, shit. That’s not going to be great for my plan to remain discreet. Good job Nix. And not even a single day.

The technocultist’s boot came crashing down on yet another amalgamation that grasped at his leg. The rat-like head only breached the surface long enough to witness the cultist’s heel. The man lifted his hand, and a black, oily substance slid from a tube that extended from his wrist.

The instant the liquid touched her boiling sea of blood, it settled. No longer did it boil or summon creatures.

He spun on Nix again, and before she could react, he had backhanded the makeshift weapon from her hand and grabbed her by the shoulders.

Nix became a doll on strings. Her legs wouldn’t work to push her away, and the instinctual flinch at his touch hadn’t even registered through the strength of his arms. If she was standing when he grabbed her, she was sure she’d be dangling right now.

“Why did you not scream for help?” his voice rang with the hard metallic undertone of a modified vocal-box. Short and sharp, he demanded to know. But there was no concern in his eyes for the girl in his grip. Only irritation.

Nix wanted to laugh. Call for help? Yes, people always come running when you scream for help.

Of course, she could hardly say that. He would think she was insane if she said she believed a monster was more likely to come save her than a cultist. Well, she was insane — considering Little God — but she didn’t want to be seen as such.

Twisting, she tried to squirm from his grip, only to incite the agony in her chest and arm.

Her adrenaline was waning.

A sigh rang like the whirring of a engine. The cultist’s grip lessened around her shoulders.

“Stupid child. You should learn to distrust the word of cultists. Especially those that attend a naming.”

Er… what? Why is he giving life advice now? Especially advice that I know better than most?

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Suddenly, Nix found herself carried in the man’s arms. The pistons in the nook of his elbows dug uncomfortably into her side. She begrudged him the action, and didn’t resist; it would only make her pained chest worse.

“I hope the Feat tag was worth nearly dying.”

“Feat tag?” What was he on about?

His gaze lowered to hers. One of the still human eyebrows raised quizzically. “They didn’t even tell you that?”

As he looked down at her, his cameras spun. They took on a depth that made her question her own sight, as they almost glowed to her perception. There was a slight tingle through her, like her soul was being touched.

She was being observed.

Nix had felt this many times before, but never had the source been so obvious. Whether it be the eyes of gods, or those of men, it was always a horrible, piercing feeling. But for some reason, it didn’t feel like it pierced so deep. A tingle of a brush, rather than the hack of an axe.

“Ah. With a name like that, I can understand your desperation.” And suddenly, the brush was gone. “Congratulations, you have your Feat, though it appears slightly different than the typical version.” He hummed for a moment. “I wonder how it differs from Zyl?”

“A Feat?” It was impossible, right? They were the hardest name components to achieve. Wait, that wasn’t the most pressing matter. “You could see my name? How?”

The cultist tapped open a heavy set of double-doors with the toe of his boot and marched into the candlelit chamber. Nix’s head snapped up. When had they descended into the Inner-Coral?

“You speak a lot for someone with a pair of broken ribs.” As if the mere mention of them was enough to flare the pain, Nix winced. “Each name evolution makes it easier to observe another’s soul.”

That was absolutely not a normal thing people knew. She would have felt far more of those gazes if just anyone could do it. Did this man just reveal a fourth, no, fifth creed secret to a random nobody as if it was nothing?

Oh. She had a sudden realisation. I am so fucked.

Nix was laid upon an unmarred alter. Dread flooded her mind as she took in the ritual chamber around her. Was she found out? Her blood was clearly more concentrated of a medium than any normal person.

The blood of the perfect sacrifice.

He has to know, right? Nix thought. That’s why he brought me down here. I’m about to be sacrificed seven years early because I got caught by a cultist with a distaste for sharing.

Ignoring the pain, she yanked on her arm and tried to slide off the alter. She intended to escape his grip, but the man’s fingers didn’t so much as twitch. He didn’t even show the slightest inkling that he’d noticed.

“Whoever gave you the catalyst to mix with your blood: avoid them. They may have guided you to a name, but their unwillingness to divulge even basic cult secrets shows they never intend to welcome you. Not truly.” She watched him warily as he traced his hands along the pained side of her chest. “Nix-ine, this will hurt.”

His fingers extended, piercing her side with terrifying ease. A scream broke through the room. The flickering candlelight danced with each wail as Nix tried in vain to flail against the tall man’s immovable hands.

Then, it was over.

The pain fled all at once, as the glowing runes drenched in her blood knit her skin back together.

“So they had you drink it?” Nix heard the cultist ponder to himself as her awareness returned from the pain. “And a powerful potion too. It seems they were more interested in using you as an experiment than holding you in debt.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked groggily. “What did you do?”

There was another whirr of a sigh before his hands moved to her broken arm. “The cults love their secrets. Mine included. But each cult knows they have to share some of their knowledge with the younger prospects if they ever want them to give back. I don’t know why your overseer never told you this.”

This time, he didn’t warn her as his fingers plunged into her arm.

Somehow, she was able to ignore the pain enough to watch as the narrowed tips of his index and middle fingers moved around within her. There was a snap, and the slight sound of a drill, then his fingers were free again. Each hole stitched themselves together by the efforts of the ritual runes that had filled with her blood.

“There. Your bones are set. Come find me at the technocult’s temple to have the bolts removed in a few weeks. Ask for Tarchon. Don’t take longer than four; some corruptive influences will melt the metal if left too long. Unless you find yourself straying from the safe zone again, there shouldn’t be any other issues.”

And with that, he stood straight and strode to the door. Nix remained lying on the alter, hardly able to believe he hadn’t been trying to sacrifice her, after all.

Just before he stepped through, he stopped. “I assume from today you will be joining the Trials. You will need a name evolution before then. Don’t be fooled again.”

Before Nix could ask any of the questions bubbling in her mind, he was gone.

She stared as the door clicked into place, leaving her alone in the room illuminated only by candlelight, and the dim red glow of her blood.

So much was on her mind, but there was one that remained stark amongst the rest.

Did he just imagine a whole narrative based on an assumption?