The Legend of Randidly Ghosthound

His spectral fingers crackled and spat out strange emotional discharge. The natural essence of Claudette’s sword and the shroud of hate that he used to resist it did not mix well. Randidly didn’t let it distract him, even for a second.

This was why Claudette had chosen him for this; because he had demonstrated the resolve to pursue a goal without flinching.

The first large change that Randidly made was to name the sword. Shuddering at the intersection between fear and grief in his hands, Randidly lifted the dark blue blade. His words were slow and ponderous, as he approached the name. “You will be called… Clarent.”

A sword that was not supposed to be a sword. The guiding spirit remained silent, just watching the flickering, flame form of Randidly with vacant eyes. After her brief explanation, he had not seen even a hint of Claudette’s consciousness returning.

The name didn’t have any special significance to Randidly. But just possessing the name as the focal point intensified the darkening clouds above and gave renewed structure to the underpinning of Nether that he had created. His Willpower squeezed around the weapon, tightening his mental grip until he could press that name directly into the essence of its existence.

Clarent. The floating orbs impressed that name as deeply as they could manage into the frozen seal of the weapon in his hands. Clarent.

Afterward, he needed several moments to suck in deep breaths with his three images to recover. When his first few ‘breaths’ didn’t provide everything he needed, Randidly reached further out beyond the edge of the image projection. The Fatepiece meant that he couldn’t truly sense the scope of his reach, but when he didn’t suddenly yank away a huge chunk of life energy, he was confident he didn’t stretch far enough to touch the surface of Expira.

As long as he kept his efforts contained on the moon, no one should notice.

Congratulations! Your Skill Tide of the Void (L) has grown to Level 356!

What came next was a decision that would frame his changes going forward; was Claudette the sword itself or one who used the sword?

All of the tight momentum that Randidly had accumulated stalled; he was flummoxed by this choice. Because he knew there were advantages to both. Claudette’s new image would combine his desire for revenge and need to survive with her isolating loneliness and frigid sense of abandonment. Different pieces of those emotions would be empowered by either option.

He looked at Claudette’s puppet, ignoring the continued conflict between his spectral grip and the sword that just wanted to be left alone. Looking at her empty features and near-mechanical face, remembered the broken way her joints shifted, Randidly found his answer. Of course, Claudette was the sword. She looks more like a toy than a person. So then, she began as-

Randidly’s thoughts rapidly shut down; he had reached the end of his working time. His face twisted into a grimace, but he quickly lowered the sword back into its resting place in the ground, the blade sunk up to its hilt in the corrupted ground. His flames of Nether Weight vanished and then his mental energies dispersed as he sank into a deep sleep.

Influence +71!

For the next twelve hours, Randidly dreamt of a mistreated sword. His thoughts planted seeds that bloomed into watercolor frescos that illustrated his imagination.

A young woman was raised by her father, who doted on her every day of her life. Yet many others came between them. For he was one of the four Skykings, a grand being who dwelt on warm clouds that glimmered with golden motes of light. He and his fellow Skykings ruled fairly over the seraphim, pure angels of light and water that populated their world. They constantly waged a war against the darkness and always were victorious.

And although Clarent was born pale and gloomy while the other residents of the world were brilliant and warm, her father always comforted. ‘You might be different, but that’s what makes you special. You are your father’s greatest pride and joy.’

Her childhood was a lonely one, but her father’s kind words and intermittent attention comforted Clarent. She did not have any friends and did not join her peer to frolic amongst the sun rays in this world of eternal day, but she grew to love the fringe of dusk that she could sometimes catch running across the horizon, pushed away through the concerted efforts of the Skykings. She wondered what that darkness felt like.

She dreamed about it when she closed her eyes. In the solitary moments where her father was busy, she did her best to imagine the sensation of being totally embraced by darkness.

Eventually, Clarent grew up. And on the day that Clarent became a woman, her father came to her, his eyes wild with worry. ‘Clarent! My daughter, something terrible has happened! I have lost my holy sword!’

Clarent’s eyes widened. As one of the Skykings, her father had one of the four holy swords. It was due to those weapons that they had fought against the darkness without a single loss thus far. ‘Father, I promise I did not touch the holy sword.’

‘No I know, my pride,’ Her father replied. He raised his gaze and looked to the horizon. ‘I fear that… well, my fellow Skykings have long been dissatisfied with me.’

Clarent’s skin prickled. Her father was perfect. He always selflessly pushed away the darkness and kept the eternal glory of day present in the sky. When he adjudicated the problems of the seraphim, he was kind and fair.

The only reason that they could be unhappy with him… was her.

‘Is there… no way to find it?’ She asked anxiously.

For several long moments, her father considered the question. ‘Well… there is perhaps one way. The Limina might know, for it governs the passages between all things. You might have seen it; it is that ghastly shadow that scurries away from us, hiding from the day as best as it can. Unfortunately, my body is too bright- it will notice my approach and flee before me.’

Clarent’s skin began prickling for an entirely new reason. Finally, she was needed. ‘Father. Perhaps… perhaps I can track down this Limina and ask it about your lost sword?’

*****

“No, D’min, I insist,” Yn’ulk paused from cleaning the gore of the Sludge Bottom Horror off of his two sabers long enough to give the exhausted warrior a half bow. “Although I assisted you in this battle, the truth is that I only arrived at this location because I stumbled across your trail while attempting to follow the Savior. I may have more martial might, but the task was to find her. In that, you are my superior. You deserve the reward.”

D’min’s whole body ached as he laid on the ground and tried not to shake. At the moment before Yn’ulk had struck the fatal blow against the Dungeon Boss, the monster had D’min’s left leg in his mouth. He had to struggle not to be cleanly swallowed; the beast’s teeth had ripped through his scales like they were nonexistent, intent on making good on its earlier invitation for him to become a snack. Even with the System’s healing, he expected that his left leg would remain scarred and gruesome for the rest of his life.

Yet now, looking at Yn’ulk’s guileless eyes…

How have you managed to be so perfect? D’min thought. His mouth tasted sour and coppery.

The Savior walked over to D’min and offered him a hand. “There you have it. You’ve earned the prize. Ah, but Yn’ulk, perhaps its best that you remain here while I demonstrate my image for him. Even from a distance, you’ll be able to obtain your own insights.”

D’min mutely allowed himself to be pulled to his feet and Yn’ulk bowed his scaled head. To his surprise, the Savior didn’t release his arm. Instead, the air around her began to ripple in the next second, D’min’s limbs locked as the being that held his hand was not just a scaleless humanoid by a true valkyrie. Her eyes burned with power. Wings stretched outward from her helmet. Holy light geysered out from her body.

Through their hands, he could feel her heartbeat. And each time her heart contracted, waves of glittering orange flames spread outward from her person. But even more than the heat and the holiness, what he felt was the determination.

The image of the Lizakh’s savior was full of faith and certainty. And resolve, too. As he looked into her eyes, he could see the depths of her willingness to sacrifice for her people or the force that she followed.

Being in contact with her directly seared D’min. Compared to his fluttered and ethereal attempts at images, what he felt was overwhelming and concrete. Through the haze of stunned awe, he hoped that amongst the humans, the Savior was particularly powerful. Because the Lizakh were doomed if every single human on Expira could match this brilliance.

Tears flowed freely down D’min’s cheeks by the time the demonstration was over. He fell back and sat, unable to elicit a response from his own body; he was overstimulated. His ears were ringing. A notification popped up in front of him.

Congratulations! You have learned the Skill Rigid Comprehension (A) Lvl 1!

Rigid comprehension? D’min thought vaguely. But his attention was soon pulled back to his surroundings as he felt a rush of air behind him. Still sitting on the ground, D’min twisted around and saw Yn’ulk had closed his eyes and concrete, flickering shapes formed in the air behind him. A long, scaled monster reminiscent of the Sludge Bottom Horror wrought of gold could be seen in those brief flickers.

Apparently, the demonstration had given the Lizakh’s greatest champion the inspiration that he needed to finally condense his image. D’min watched him for a few seconds, his eyes bulging with naked envy.

“Come,” The Savior said, her eyes also on Yn’ulk. “It appears your companion has had a breakthrough; let’s gather the rest of the Lizakh in preparation to return.”

D’min numbly followed her direction. They returned the way he came, walking around the stinking river bank. His mind spun as he tried to cope with having his confidence crushed by the Boss, the sudden growth of Yn’ulk who already had every advantage, and then his own appropriate but disappointing gain from the Savior’s demonstration, Rigid Comprehension.

He tried to calm himself by asking the Savior a question as they waded back through the wetlands. “Can you tell me about the Ghosthound?”

The Savior favored D’min with a wide smile and began to talk about her experiences with the Ghosthound. She explained how he had started out a young man with just a little bit of an edge on the people around him, but he very quickly accelerated and left everyone on his home planet in the dust.

The Lizakh warrior listened with a solemn expression as Alana Donal explained that the Ghosthound moved on from just his home planet and went to another planet to assist his teacher. They found the other Lizakh trainees who joined quietly, quickly becoming engrossed in the saga of the Ghosthound.

They were reaching the point that the Ghosthound came back to his home planet and began railing against the archaic systems of government when Yn’ulk caught up with them. He offered a brief apology but the Savior waved her hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’m glad that you two were able to gain something from my image. Now, let’s hurry back.”

The Lizakh all nodded, D’min included. Although they understood time flowed differently inside of the Dungeon, it had still been three months since they had seen their hatchery. And because they had experienced an attack right before they left-

The group trooped out of the exit near the cave of the Sludge Bottom Horror. Just like that, they were back on Expira. They quickly turned around to look at their Savior, but her gaze was instantly drawn upward. Her brows knit together. D’min craned his neck upward to follow her gaze, wondering what could be the matter.

It did not take long to see what grabbed her attention.

It was not yet evening and the moon hung low in the sky. Yet on the moon, a swirling read maelstrom was clearly visible, almost like the pupil of a massive eye. Considering how distant the celestial body was, the phenomenon on it must be absolutely enormous to be visible from here.

“Is that…” Yn’ulk frowned. “Related to the Calamity?”

“I don’t know,” Alana responded seriously. “But let’s hurry back.”

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