The Legend of Randidly Ghosthound

DiOrtho Vant ignored the soft rain falling on his exposed feet. He had never gotten around to making a shelter large enough to cover all of him, and at this point he didn’t see the point of making any extra effort. Apathy lay heavy across him. His horns itched, but he didn’t even bother to reach up and scratch.

He laid on his back with his left arm behind his head, letting his eyes unfocus as he stared at the roughly hewn wood of the ceiling. Meanwhile, he made the Darkstar Coin dance across his fingers.

The noise of the rain generally hushed all of the surrounding sounds. In addition, the slowly rising mist pushed away other physical presences. Therefore, DiOrtho felt like he was floating alone in those noises. He was adrift.

A part of him was furious at his current indecision, urging him to stand up and lash out. The well-trod path of breaking, rending, and destroying called out to him, singing its familiar tune. And yet… there was a deep, unfamiliar hum rising from his chest. DiOrtho pressed his eyes tightly closed.

A larger part of him was blank and numb, as it had been since he had woken up from his brief coma after being exposed to the Ghosthound’s transforming image. He didn’t like it, but it was necessary.

His eyes flashed open. DiOrtho flicked the coin up into the air and caught it with a sharp swipe a few seconds later. Why haven’t I used this coin…? If I had it a few days ago…

He would have immediately challenged the Ghosthound. He would have gleefully fought and likely been crushed, similar to how decisively that dog Vizzerrett had been smashed into the ground. He would have embraced those possibilities, confident that the experience would spur him to greater growth.

Yet now…

“I feel nothing,” DiOrtho announced casually to the room. The whirring inside of him gradually slowed. Even though it was small, this place was his. Somehow, he found comfort in that. So much comfort that he had no desire to leave this place ever again.

Of course, as soon as he said that, DiOrtho felt a ripple in the nearby mist that filled him with annoyance. Because someone was walking along the meandering path toward his shelter. This time when he flipped the coin end over and watched it catch the light, he simply allowed it to fall down into his waiting palm. His finger squeezed the coin, feeling the sharp edges of the metal. If he had squeezed tightly enough, he might be able to slice open his palm.

DiOrtho placed the coin into a pocket and pushed himself up into a sitting position. His sharp eyes recognized the figure of his Squad Leader Raymund Ballast approaching him.

That aggressive part of DiOrtho wanted to sneer at the thought of this weakling being his squad leader, but he frowned instead. The air around Raymund was just as heavy as DiOrtho’s heart felt.

That finally ignited some fire in his chest. Am I really as mopey and useless as this fool…? What the hell is wrong with me?

The machine god image began to roar. His image stirred without DiOrtho even spurring it onward. I could just kill everyone and everything. I’ll end it all-

DiOrtho hissed. He clamped down on his emotions and immediately suppressed the faint buzzing that rose from the machine horror in his chest. There was an intermittent clicking as the infinite clockwork of DiOrtho’s image seemed to come alive, but all of that was quickly smothered by DiOrtho’s Willpower.

Damnit, you are my image. Don’t you dare rebel against me? Horror and hot fury seethed through DiOrtho’s veins. But those powerful emotions just seemed to fuel the machine horror he now housed. The clicks once again rose in intensity as the sinister engines at his image’s core began to fire on all cylinders. Once more, DiOrtho was forced to suppress his emotions. His hands were trembling.

When DiOrtho was younger, his father was the tribal leader of the ram demons. He often stayed with his uncle while his father was away warring against rival demon tribes, leading their tribe’s crusade. Even though they had passed the Calamity and had a powerful ancestor sending Aether to their world, DiOrtho’s people did not settle down peacefully. They fought and bled for their dignity and status. Such was their way of life.

DiOrtho’s uncle was different. He was weak, a historian who studied ancient religions and cultures of the demon tribes. And before DiOrtho could participate in training, he would sit and listen to his uncle talk about some of the more interesting cultures. Even to this day, one of those cultures stuck with DiOrtho: the worshippers of the Machine God.

For most of his life, DiOrtho had considered learning about this ancient religion to be the great blessing of his life. But now...

During a particularly long campaign for DiOrtho’s father, his uncle had taken him to an ancient temple. Or more accurately, it was the site of an ancient crash landing on the demon’s homeworld, upon which those ancient people had built a temple. The walls were lined with strange gears and mysterious constructs. The shape of the chairs was bulbous and exotic.

DiOrtho had walked around the temple with wide eyes. The demon’s world was a primitive one, relying primarily on the strength of their superior bodies. The strange workings of metal were a revelation to him. In his quiet voice, his uncle explained the theorized purpose of many of the machines. Then he took the young boy down to the core and showed him the engine of the ancient construct that had crashed and devastated an entire island.

DiOrtho had never forgotten the glittering gears and angular sheets of metal he had seen that day. Those shapes were the seeds of his ancient machine horror that he used to rise to power.

Laying in his shelter, DiOrtho grimaced. He didn’t like it, but his exposure to the Ghosthound’s image had changed something fundamental about his image. It was as though there was not an unfamiliar soul housed within his body. The sensation was disquieting.

Shaking his head, he turned to look at Raymund. Honestly, he could use the distraction. The Vulpine’s fur was messy and his eyes were downcast. “You look like shit.”

“Advisor Zauna humbled me… with her fist,” Raymund chuckled weakly. There were deep bags under his eyes. “It appears my actions have deeply affronted her. My weakness… is my own fault. I understand that. But all the avenues to improve myself that I have taken appear to have been the incorrect decisions.”

“Huh…” DiOrtho said noncommittally. The Darkstar Coin was heavy in his pocket.

They sat in silence for almost thirty seconds before the emotionally exhausted DiOrtho began to get annoyed by the fact that Raymund Ballast just stood next to his shelter with his head bowed. Raindrops the size of pins continued to tinkle downward, rustling the grass and gradually soaking through Raymund’s fur.

Honestly, the fucker was horribly depressing. DiOrtho was horrified at the thought that he had appeared similarly, while he was considering his own problem.

The ram demon’s mouth twitched. “...why the fuck are you just standing around here then? Go nap or something. We have physical training in less than an hour. With how feeble your attitude seems… heh. It’s going to be a rough session.”

To DiOrtho’s surprise, Raymund just nodded. But then he raised his gaze and huffed out a breath from his nose, spraying away some accumulated rainwater on his snout. “That is… that is why I approached, despite the fact I understand my presence troubles you, DiOrtho. On the subject of desire… I have met none who indulge themselves as fully and truthfully as you do. There is a purity to your actions that I… well, that is your strength. I hope you can offer me some advice on this matter. Please.”

As he listened to Raymund's talk, DiOrtho gradually tensed. “You wish… to learn about desire from me…?”

Kill them all. Then end yourself. Return to oblivion, start again. The cycle is endless-

“Pah. You really are a fool.” DiOrtho hissed. As his emotions stirred, the machine horror seemed to click with excitement. It was an extremely aggravating feedback loop. Made much worse by the water-logged annoyance standing in front of him.

Right when DiOrtho resolved himself to get to his feet and beat the shit out of his Squad Leader to work off some steam, there was a pulse from the central training area: the Overseers had something to announce.

DiOrtho gave Raymund a look that was dripping with venom, but the Vulpine didn’t seem to notice through his clouded eyes. His squad leader was clearly still too deeply concerned with his own issues to even recognize how close to being smashed into the ground he had come. And that obliviousness only served to trigger DiOrtho further.

...which only increased the joyful calls for destruction from his image, which forced DiOrtho to calm himself, lest his image rise unbidden in his chest. Snorting, he shoved Raymund roughly. “We are summoned. Don’t just daydream.”

“Huh? Ah, yes.” Raymund mumbled.

With a vein throbbing in his temple, DiOrtho led Raymund back toward the central training area. Most of the recruits had already gathered because the physical training would begin soon. Despite the previously somber atmosphere cast over the group after Djark Quewn had turned out to be some foreign spy, the recruits were all talking excitedly with one another.

Glancing around, DiOrtho ascertained that no Overseer was present, especially Overseer Helen. He could release a light sigh. Somehow, he sensed that her antagonism would only worsen the state of his image. And without her present, he felt no qualms about letting loose a bit.

DiOrtho harrumphed, releasing a bit of his barely controlled image in the process. Those nearby winced and stumbled backward, opening a path for him to simple noticeboard that had been erected. He strutted forward with his chin raised, while inwardly examining the image pulse he had released. Whatever the Ghosthound did, it certainly made my Skills stronger… the only problem is that it’s that much more difficult to control… fuck, and it keeps making me think about ending myself…

Raymund drifted along behind DiOrtho like a malevolent specter with business in the mundane realm. His eyes were blank and bleak, staring at nothing. DiOrtho did his best to ignore his soulless squad leader and quickly scanned the announcement. The more he read, the more he barred his teeth.

“Heh, good news for you,” DiOrtho spat out over his shoulder at Raymund. Gradually, the man blinked and looked upward. DiOrtho inclined his head toward the announcement. “Two tournaments, individual and Squad. The winners will be tutored by the Ghosthound himself, guided on the use of images. If he can straighten you out, no one can.”

And he’s the one that caused this fucked up change in my image, DiOrtho pressed his lips together. He better be able to fix his mess.

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