The Legend of Randidly Ghosthound

Commandant Wick approached the meeting room with trepidation. His body was the cage around his tight scaffolding of control and within that framework, his emotions seethed like a cauldron about to boil over. His steps were long and smooth; he was in no rush to arrive.

Although the invitation had been sent to him by his faction-mate Commandant Tipplin, something about the wording of the message immediately made his skin crawl. They had known each other for too long to miss the sudden shift. Wick creased his face into a tight crinkle; it felt like he was walking into an ambush.

His booted feet made no sound across the soft maroon carpet. The upper hallways of Military High Command were done in a different style than the base. While the foundation would always be an intimidating homage to scale and majesty, the top half was all luxury and accomplishment. After all, if you ascended this high, you were powerful enough that you deserved to be treated well. That was simply the law of the Nexus.

The winner claimed all. The loser begged for scraps that fell from the winner’s table.

Wick passed several high, ornate windows. In a contrast to bustle that had seized this place right before they took down the Nexus ways, three days of having most communication and transportation services down made the base still and solemn. Not a hint of noise could be heard on the base. The corner of Wick’s mouth curled upward. All the silent maneuvering… heh, what a farce this all is.

Still, I won’t refuse to partake. After all, there are several dogs sitting at the high table, tongues flopping out of their mouths, acting like they are one of the strong. It is time that they learned their place.

Lightning-fast micro-expressions of fury and glee played across his features and Wick paused for several seconds. The deep madness he held was constant and insidious, and for just a moment, it managed to break free of its binds and flare to the surface. He saw himself striking at the flaw inflicted in this building during the great quake and sundering all of this edifice, collapsing it on top of his foes. Blood would seep out through the cracks in the rubble-

Patience, Wick hissed a breath out through his teeth and reined in his emotions. Patience and folly is what separates us from the slobbering dogs.

He finally arrived at the meeting room and pushed the tall wooden door open directly, not bothering to knock. He knew they were already waiting for him. For a brief second he paused on the threshold, eyes flicking to the four individuals waiting within, all Commandants. None of the fools who didn’t deserve that prestigious title. With him present, they represented half of the active Commandant roster.

The child-like, red-skinned Commandant Tipplin, his faction-mate, waved at Wick when he entered. Her expression was smug as always, but today it contained a particularly ugly curl of the lip. Next to her sat the preying-mantis Commandant Keckle and the faceless humanoid Commandant Vethelm. Both were outwardly neutral, in terms of the figures they supported.

But it was the snake-tongued humanoid twirling her purple parasol that confirmed Commandant Wick’s worst fears. He released a low growl. “Commandant Zettlequill. What. A. Pleasure.”

Hating you would be so much easier if you were just a slobbering dog, Wick’s eyes flashed.

Her long tongue flicked out from the lips of a wan smile. “Commandant Wick. What a delight that you decided to finally join us.”

Wick gave Tipplin a meaningful look. Even worse, she shrugged and answered his implied question aloud, in front of the others. “Look, I know you two have your differences, but we need to consider the bigger picture. The Engraving Guild has recalled ALL of their forces to their main base- haven’t heard a peep from them since. Which likely means that Lathis N’Gick is making his preparations. If he truly intends to defy the will of Elhume, he will attract all the flak and open up an opportunity; in the meantime, we need to be there to support our candidates in also reaching the Pinnacle.”

The other Commandants present nodded, even though Wick didn’t miss that Keckle’s movement was filled with hesitation. Even in the face of the sudden and stark movements of the Engraving Guild, many in Military High Command wondered if they were overthinking the shift. Both were part of the Orthodox factions of the Nexus. Both had respected Elhume’s directive not to attempt to reach the Pinnacle, no matter how much it rankled.

In Wick’s opinion, those that couldn’t see the truth were exactly the problem. None are immune to the base desires toward chaos.

“Still, I think it would be better-” Commandant Wick began, but of course Zettlequill interrupted him.

“You cannot deny that my master has been much more thorough during his image-comprehension phase.” Zettlequill chortled. “Meanwhile… well, Grand Marshall Devick certainly showed… enthusiasm when she reached that stage, didn’t she?”

Again, Commandant Wick’s emotions flared. He imagined sinking his teeth into the throat of this infuriating wretch and ripping out her esophagus. But he resisted that fantasy and guided his body to sit at the table with the rest of them. Order and discipline must also rule passion. He would not give in to his baser impulses until he at least heard them out.

Besides, that irredeemable slimeball Zettlequill had a salient point; her master had handled his approach to strength so excellently that Wick had made his own preparations for that stage based on his example. Full-comprehension was a dangerous stage for the unprepared. It came directly before reaching the Speculum tier, and if you allowed it to develop chaotically, would only take a short amount of time.

However, the power of your image when you reached the Speculum-tier, and by extension, whether you could reasonably make an attempt at the Pinnacle, depended on your actions during the full-comprehension stage.

Most believed the process of developing an image was an infinite act of creation, but ultimately there was a hard limit on the image you could contain: your body. Your body was the ‘bowl’ gradually being filled with water. The early water would not do much, just pool at the bottom and steadily accumulate. However, your image was ultimately not water; it was a living concept with a natural inclination toward wholeness.

The tipping point occurred when your image somehow became aware of the limits of your body. At that point, sensing the scope of your ‘bowl’ your image began fabricating itself; this was the full-comprehension stage, as it spread to fill all the available image space. If you did not restrict your image and monitor the process, it would mimic all the small mistakes you had made in the past as it spread, limiting your future potential.

Because once you moved through full-comprehension to become a Speculum, shifting your image was impossibly difficult. That inclination toward wholeness was extremely difficult to shift. That was why image refining was so important, to spot and correct flaws before your image repeated them naturally.

Of course, so few can bring their image toward wholeness, Wick steepled his fingers in front of him. Each who has reached that point is one in a trillion.

The figure that Wick and Tipplin supported, the one who originally founded their faction, had breezed through her full-comprehension stage in less than a month. Although no one said so to her face, most privately believed that despite her status as a Speculum tier warrior, she could be safely considered a weaker example.

Still, when the image completely filled the body, there was a definite and meaningful resonance. Even the smallest wisp of an image gained a hint of ‘I am whole and true,’ that made the gap between Speculum and non-Speculum unbridgeable. Their images were naturally more solid.

Meanwhile, Zettlequill’s master had been slowly moving through his full-comprehension for a thousand years. Even now, he hadn’t yet reached the stage of wholeness. He had not bothered to call himself a Speculum, rarely making an appearance in public.

Once Wick had seated himself, he pointedly ignored Zettlequill and stared at Tipplin. “What are their terms?”

“Is having the undying gratitude of the most powerful Speculum in the history of the Nexus not enough for you?” Zettlequill spun her parasol casually. Wick hated how relaxed she seemed.

“Commandant Zettlequill simply requests that the five of us assist in a grand image refinement array,” Tipplin responded, wisely choosing to ignore Zettlequill’s interjection. “In exchange, she and her master will owe us a favor, provide a tier-2 citizenship coin to each of us, offer several year-long Alymian passes-”

Dog slop, Wick struggled to keep the sneer from his face.

“-and donate the whole supply of Unitarium that was liberated from the Swacc base, during the attack.” Tipplin continued, even as Wick stiffened. “Obviously, they intended to return this rare material to the Engraving Guild, but considering the refusal of Lathis to respond to any communications… I think we can divvy up the spoils.”

Suddenly, Wick was very aware of Zettlequill’s gaze. Her tongue flicked out again. “Wick, a major part of that deal is that you form the core of our refinement array. We might have had our differences in the past, but your attention to detail is second to none. My master requested you specifically orchestrate the whole process.”

His skin prickled with cold needles. Seen. At this moment, Commandant Wick felt extremely exposed. She knew. She knew his secret and now, in front of everyone else, she used that information to boldly bribe him. Hatred surged through Wick’s veins… but at the same time, his control tightened too quickly for even the slightest hint to leak out.

She might be twisting her knowledge and striking him with it, but the temptation of the Unitarium was too much to resist. He needed it desperately. His furry features shifted at a glacial place, settling into a rictus grin. “What an honor. To be personally considered for this role by your master.”

Zettlequill smiled and turned to the two neutral Commandants. “Of course, your participation is important as well; my master truly believes that Military High Command’s power comes from all of the talents warriors it possesses. Although we might disagree on the methods, in the end, there is no institution that so predictably turns out geniuses as us…”

Commandant Wick let her words fall away as she attempted to sway the neutral Commandants. What she didn’t describe was what would happen in the aftermath. Should they quickly gather and refine her master’s image, would he stop there? Or would, as most everyone else is currently doing, would he then wait until the first individual attempted to reach the Pinnacle and follow close behind?

Instead of torturing himself further with her presence, Wick’s attention turned inward. His emotions came in waves. Fear, embarrassment, fury, wild bloodthirsty, a weird erotic attraction to Zettlequill… he let everything splash against him and then recede. His mind calculated the odds; although he hated to work with her, this gamble seemed worth it.

Besides, Commandant Wick mused. This finally will give me what I need to deal with that foolish Ghosthound. Heh. I cannot wait to see the look on his face… and then feel the fear in his soul.

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