Nix pulled the bloody, torn robes out from under her bed. She’d tossed them there when she’d returned so nobody would notice, but she would need to take them with her the next time she went for a bath. Not now. There would be too many of her ward-mates wandering around despite the late hour.

She had a needle and thread to sew them together, but first, she needed to fix herself.

Chalk scraped along the floor, candles ignited, and she paused when she went to reopen the wound in her hand. With chitin now in the way, she had to move further up. Slicing through the skin just below the elbow, she guided her blood into a small cup adorned with etched runes.

She’d noticed it back when Tarchon bolted her bones back together; her blood held enough quality that it worked as a replacement for a sacrificial lamb. It empowered the common ritual of wellness so that her wounds stitched themselves together, rather than just soothe illness.

As Nix knelt within the circle and began her chant — and the cup of blood ignited — she watched with detached fascination as the cut she’d just made closed itself. The scar remained. Common rituals weren’t good enough to do more, but the very fact that the ritual took minutes rather than hours said everything about the value of her blood.

She wondered if — with a better ritual — she could endlessly create more. It didn’t seem like it should be possible… but one should never make assumptions like that.

Honestly, the very fact that the cults hadn’t permanently strapped her to a blood extractor was strange. Her blood hadn’t been this good initially — It’s not like she’d never bled out on the floor or anything back then, and no amalgamations had spawned — but if it had even been a fraction as effective, no cult would have missed the opportunity. The only answer that made sense to her, was that the excessive use of her blood would make her death less effective.

A dilution of her sacrifice.

Well, it was a good thing Nix didn’t care about making herself a less attractive sacrifice. She would use this to the full effect it offered. On top of being a nightmarish corruption battery, there were unlikely to be many rituals she couldn’t perform. Not unless the requirements were very specific… or required a human sacrifice.

As she unwound the bandages from her arms and chest, she found each of the cuts closed. Only the blood remained. She tried her best to wipe the dried crimson with her already dirty robe, but it didn’t clean her off nearly as well as she’d hoped.

Moving on to stitch the holes of the robe together, everything seemed to finally strike home in her mind. She’d killed monsters; people. She’d willingly given herself over to mutations. She created a Dark Star. That alone was beyond anything she’d imagined possible.

Sure, one might fail a ritual when summoning or channelling the power of a god, but they were almost always performed far from inhabited sections of Coral. Sections that nobody would miss if they were destroyed entirely.

Because that’s how they were usually dealt with. Simple destruction of everything they touched. But Nix had created a Dark Star Event right next to the safe zone. Who knew how long it would take the cults to clean up?

The needle in Nix’s hands scraped along her finger and tumbled into her lap.

Only two days had passed, yet she’d gotten so used to the soft, tactile feedback of skin that bent whenever she touched something. Going back felt odd. The chitin held no problem with grip — even with something as small as a needle — nor did Nix lose her sense of touch, but that slight depression offered by skin made the world of difference when it came to handling small objects.

She slipped again. This time, when her fingers moved to catch it, she pressed down too hard and bent the needle out of shape.

While most of the power in these mutations lay in the snapping of her extended claws, there was also the benefit of increased strength in her digits even retracted. It wasn’t enough to say, break the spine of a certain overseer, but it did give her a far stronger grip. A grip strong enough that she’d likely do well with a weapon.

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The only problem with that, was her poor arm strength.

With fingers stronger than biceps, there weren’t many options she could look into. Any decently powerful gun would have a recoil that was more likely to hurt her underweight body than any enemy she faced. Not that it was easy to get one. In most cases, you already needed to be a prospective harbinger with the backing of a cult to gain access to weapons like that.

It would be much the same for anything powerful enough to make her claws redundant. Not that she’d be able to afford such a weapon.

The main reason she considered taking on a weapon was to hide her mutations while still using them to fight. Take a blade to obscure her use of claws. If she could learn to use it for when other people were around, then all the better.

After sewing her bloodied robe long enough that all her ward-mates had returned to their rooms — made clear by just how much noise they made through the walls — she finally tossed the cloth aside. Her needlework was horrid, and would be obvious to any that looked, despite her best efforts. She’d only just got the robe, but it looked like she’d need another.

More than likely, this wasn’t going to be the last time she got cut up and injured. Especially considering her intent to follow the harbinger path. What Nix needed, was a robe that sewed itself together after being cut. Similar to that fancy gown, but more intended towards battle.

Only one problem with that; she didn’t have anywhere near the funds required.

If Nix wanted to snub each of the cults and turn up any of the tools or equipment they offered, then she would need money. Not just for the new robe, but for everything. Unless she intended to go and scavenge the lost depths of Coral, then she needed a way to earn her feed.

“Hey, Eyeball?” she called to the flying creature that was busy looking at itself in the mirror. “You’re good at going around unseen. Think you could sneak into the Fleshsmiths’ treasury and snatch some gold?”

Their gold was less valuable than their blood-bank reserves, but Nix had no way to convert that to physical cash without a thousand questions being thrown her way. She’d hardly need theirs if it was that easy.

“No,” he said, turning to her. “I am here, but not. Intangible. Only wish to watch.”

Well, when your body is limited to an eye, that’s not a surprise.

That was another thing she hadn’t really comprehended. Still hadn’t. Her Little God was actually a god. Or at least a monster close enough that the difference was pedantry.

By its actions so far, and willingness to do as Nix asked, it clearly wasn’t hostile. Not some beast waiting to swallow Coral. If anything, it was simply curious about how things worked. Most of its questions so far had been related to Nix’s actions and choices; it wanted to learn about humanity because they were so alien to it.

Nix had to wonder what Little God’s home looked like. Was it a place with so much corruption even a Dark Star would look tame? Did it even reside fully in their plane of existence?

“Is this all of your body?” she asked as she sat on her bed. Her hand slid beneath robe to touch her wing-nubs. Small and without shape, she probably had two months before they were grown to the point they’d been cut off.

“Yes?” Little God answered, although he sounded confused by the question. Nix wasn’t sure she believed him. Whether he couldn’t comprehend what she was asking, or she didn’t comprehend his answer, she felt there was a disconnect somewhere.

“I know you said you were intangible,” Nix started as she moved to her wardrobe. There were an old pair of gloves buried somewhere in there. She knew it. “But let’s just say I was setting up a ritual and asked you to bring someone to me — say by teleportation or mind manipulation or straight up dragging them — could you do it?” She paused her search to gauge the eyeball’s reaction.

“No.” It shook its eye.

So she had a godly leech stuck to her side that was only good for watching people. Well, that had already shown its worth. And it was better than the imaginary phantom she’d had by her side for as long as she remembered.

Besides, it was probably better off that she deal with K’tan alone. He was the easiest of her targets. If she couldn’t strike him down with her own power, then forget ever chasing for the cult summits.

Nix finally found her gloves. She winced slightly as she slid the garish red monstrosities over her chitin. They were small, and she felt the thick threads strain under each twitch of her fingers, but until she could get some nail polish to give the impression of fingernails, the gloves had to stay.

With the lockdown in place, she wouldn’t be going outside to get them. Her only option would be to ask Ari if she had any… and Nix felt that would be too much like giving the girl a clue that there really was something suspicious about her hands.

The lockdown would be annoying. But it would be more annoying for K’tan, and that alone made up for the delay on her efforts to evolve.

Would the man attempt to sneak through the hole in the room two down again? If he grew desperate enough he might.

“Eyeball, thanks for letting me know K’tan left.” And she truly was thankful. The overseer would have gotten away with selling off another sacrifice if he hadn’t. “Do it again if you notice him, yeah?”

“Yes.”

As Nix lay in bed, she wondered what Tarchon’s reaction to the secret entrance would be. There was no doubt he would find it. A cultist like that simply exuded competence. How would K’tan’s denial of any knowledge hold up in the face of a cultist that could crush him like a bug? One that already suspected him.

It might be hard to hide her hands, but Nix looked forward to these next few days.