The Legend of Randidly Ghosthound

Unfortunately, the increased Rarity of his Skillset was where the good news for the day ended.

Randidly stared at Helen with a helpless expression on his face. “What do you mean, he likely won’t challenge me in time? That was the whole point of allowing him to witness the transformation.”

“Even I was stunned by his stupidity,” Helen said with the shake of her head. She gestured to the slumped form of DiOrtho Vant on the ground. His skin had gradually healed from the terrible burn marks that covered his body, but he still remained unconscious. “He came so close that I couldn’t afford to protect him; I needed to keep myself from ending up like that. And I’m pretty sure his image was impacted pretty directly. It burned away partway through and he stayed through sheer Willpower. He will need some actual time to recover from that.”

After rubbing the back of his neck, Randidly could only sigh. “Well, too late to do anything about it now. Did you give out any other Darkstar Coins?”

“The other recruits had the fucking common sense to leave the training area when it was clear your physical suppression was beginning to bleed outward into the surrounding space,” Helen said with a pointed glare at Randidly.

He raised his hands in an admittance of guilt. “It was a new array that I’d never tried before. Obviously the result was great, but it did bleed into the surrounding space… The array needed enough power to forge a connection and that seemed to warp the surrounding limiters. How bad was it?”

“Bad for me. Near-fatal for him, two meters back.” Helen grunted. She folded her arms and then unfolded them. Then she threw her hands up into the air. “Sorry, I’m not trying to lay the blame at your feet. Just unfortunate that our best recruit might be wounded by this. And honestly… he fucking reminds me of me. So much misplaced violence… peh.” Helen spat off to the side. “Let’s be positive though. Hopefully, he wakes up a bit less of a dumbass.”

Randidly faked a smile, but his chest still felt heavy. Not that he would lose sleep over it, but he still regretted hurting the recruit like this. Especially when it was clear the young man had Helen's attention. He rolled his shoulders lightly just to feel the sensation of moving his body. “For the next few hours, I’m going to experiment with my new image. Let me know if his condition changes.”

Helen nodded and Randidly left. Part of what he wanted to do was experiment with his changed image, but that was only part of his motivation for wanting some alone time. Helen might not be aware of it, but whatever had transpired with DiOrtho Vant’s image had attracted the attention of the surrounding Nether. Randidly both wanted to monitor the process to ensure the recruit’s safety… but he also meant to observe it.

Every bit of data was important. And from the behavior of Nether, the process wouldn’t harm DiOrtho. Or at least, not physically. It might spell trouble for him down the road, as the accumulated Nether in his body proceeded past a certain point, but it could also be an opportunity. The Nether was quickly repairing the impact that Randidly’s image had made against the recruits.

Although its a disappointing irony that I might need to become someone’s Nether teacher before I am even close to understanding the energy…

Randidly shook his head. He could wait until later to sharpen his own humor on himself. For now, he needed to take advantage of these Nether reverberations.

*****

Raymund almost felt like he was floating as soon as the suppression array was deactivated. He looked down at his long claws in wonder; sometimes, it was very easy to forget that even existing in their camp was some of the most brutal exercise that he had ever experienced. Around him, most of the rest of the recruits had similar expressions of pure bliss as they waved their liberated limbs around.

The quickly arriving impression of power was intoxicating.

“Is this a celebration you should attend looking so joyous, recruits?” Overseer Helen's voice cut across all of their relief like a knife made of ice thrust into the ribs. “We are going to the funeral of a Commandant. A being who died in the very location to which you will be soon deployed, murdered a foe who is more likely to kill you accidentally than to even notice your existence. Now is anyone going to explain the joke of this situation to me, or are you going to behave as soldiers?”

Raymund and the other squad leaders whispered a few words to their particular squads, helping the ground stabilize their expressions and emotions. The two hundred recruits were standing near the central training area in tight groups, preparing to head to the Rally Station Teleporter. Even DiOrtho Vant, who looked like he had just woken up from a nap, remained silent. Overseer Helen scrutinized them for several seconds, her mouth in a thin line.

Just as she was opening her mouth to say something else, the air next to her opened and Head Drill Sergeant Ghosthound walked out into the area in front of the recruits. With what was probably the original version of the look that Overseer Helen imitated and used on the recruits, the Ghosthound’s gaze razed its way through the ranks, leaving the unfortunate recruits who met his eyes paralyzed for several agonizing seconds by the force of his person.

He seems… different. Raymund vaguely sensed.

After studying the recruits, the Ghosthound nodded slowly. “I’ll keep this short. Don’t bite off more than you can chew, recruits. You’ll choke to death.”

He turned away without saying anything further and Overseers Helen, Heiffal, and Muareth formed the various squads up into a tight column behind him. They marched quickly toward the central portion of the Rally Station, where the other recruits were waiting en mass in their polished armor. The other groups stood as still as statues and allowed the elite squad to pass.

Yet as they trooped forward, Raymund felt his chin slowly rising. He took longer, more confident strides. A week ago they had faced and defeated a batch of recruits five times their number. And now, after the hellish training they just recently endured, Raymund was filled with the ridiculous notion that even if every other recruit attacked them together, they would still be able to defeat them.

But that might simply be dazed exhaustion inflating an otherwise legitimate bit of confidence, Raymund shook himself slightly. He couldn’t help but attempt a similar glance to the one that he had seen from both Overseer Helen and Head Drill Sergeant Ghosthound as he regarded the competition. He quickly scanned the surrounding sea of silent recruits as the elite squad moved through the waiting crowd right to the front. Such a numerical disadvantage is likely insurmountable. There are one hundred ninety-nine thousand of them.

...Yet aside from the Drill Sergeants, I cannot spot a single image that intimidates me amongst-

Raymund blinked and rapidly withdrew his very obvious inspection, suddenly realizing that he had been staring directly into the eyes of a Drill Sergeant across a sea of bodies between them. That very Drill Sergeant appeared to have noticed Raymund’s gaze several seconds ago and was now red-faced with fury. As Raymund flushed and looked at the ground, there was a rush of noise as the Drill Sergeant rushed toward-

“Is there a problem?”

After flinching, Raymund looked upward. The other Drill Sergeant, a squat humanoid with suddenly very red skin and four arms, had charged over toward Raymund. Somehow, the Ghosthound had sensed his approach and interposed himself between them. Although Raymund’s heart was pounding, he couldn’t help but feel strangely relieved as he looked at the Ghosthound’s broad back.

“Teach your recruit some manners.” The other Drill Sergeant snarled. “Or if you don’t have the balls, get the fuck out of my way and I’ll-”

“Which of us the Head Drill Sergeant?” The Ghosthound asked. He raised his right hand and jabbed his finger into the chest of the other Drill Sergeant, sending him stumbling backward. While the aggressor’s face was suddenly slack with shock, likely due to how easily he was pushed around, the Ghosthound stepped forward again. “I know my job. And my place. Can you say the same?”

“You-” Apparently this Drill Sergeant’s temper was more dominant than his sense because he stepped forward and whipped his arms sideways to knock the Ghosthound’s hand away. Almost immediately, something changed in the air; Raymund couldn’t see it, but he felt the Ghosthound’s emotions instantly condense to a vicious blade.

And when the other Drill Sergeant pressed his arm against the Ghosthound’s… it just passed through the Head Drill Sergeant’s limb without any resistance.

Without missing a beat, the Ghosthound reached forward with that flickering right arm and seized the Drill Sergeant’s throat with his suddenly very solid and strong fingers. As he lifted the unfortunate soul of the ground, whose expression was frozen in the face of a fish being dragged to the butcher’s table, the Ghosthound’s left arm came up. Strange, angular black armor formed around his suddenly massive limb as he made a fist.

That relief in Raymund’s chest rapidly turned into a stunned panic. He’s about to smash that man’s skull like a melon-

“Head Drill Sergeant Ghosthound,” A sweaty looking Superintendent Xeruth was suddenly standing next to the Ghosthound, his hands held aloft like he wanted to stop the Ghosthound’s movements but was scared actually touching him would set him off. Raymund could see drops of preparation on the Superintendent's pale temples. “This… isn’t this just a misunderstanding? Drill Sergeant Pooual just made a mistake. Isn’t that right?”

“I-” The Drill Sergeant hissed through his teeth, emotions warring across his face. Yet fear had quickly overtaken anger. Apparently he was also aware of how close he came to being wiped from existence due to this casual confrontation. But before he could come to any conclusion, Raymund heard the Ghosthound’s voice, seeming to radiate from the Head Drill Sergeant’s back.

“Oh? You were going to apologize? Then I suppose everything is fine.” The Ghosthound said.

“Apologize?!?” Drill Sergeant Pooual’s skin rapidly flared back to red.

But Superintendent Xeruth felt no such qualms about putting his hands on this lesser Drill Sergeant. His hand clamped down on the man’s shoulder. “Yes. Apologize to the Head Drill Sergeant.”

For several seconds, the entire assembly was silent. The near two hundred thousand soldiers looked on at the confrontation. Standing right near the epicenter, Raymund could just barely touch on the slightest inkling of the emotions passing between those two powerful men. And from what he could tell... The Ghosthound believed he had already won so strongly that he was gradually changing the Drill Sergeant’s mind.

His confidence cut even more deeply than the image power he had displayed.

Although his skin was so red that blood might be welling up from every pore, the Drill Sergeant lowered his gaze. “...I apologize.”

The Ghosthound just snorted. Then he turned away without even acknowledging the man’s words. “Let’s get going. We’ve wasted enough time here.”

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