The Legend of Randidly Ghosthound

Randidly’s carefully constructed maelstrom of force melted around him as he stepped off the edge of the cliff and onto the bridge. The wind blade orb dissipated as though it had never existed. The remaining natural energy he had gathered seemed to melt and seep through his fingers. Behind him, the attacks from the consciousness slammed into the mountainside, cutting deep gouges in the stone. However, none of the attacks came close to the moorings of the bridge.

Some strange barrier divided the space, based on the same principles that seemed to animate the ominous grey storm looming above him.

“An actual break?” Randidly muttered as he took several steps forward and no attacks came. But as he proceeded across the creaky structure, he felt the pressure on him steadily growing. From the 20% physical restriction he had felt since leaving the path, it began to steadily edge upward.

Randidly pursed his lips. If it’s really based on the tier, it might go all the way up to 30% in the next area.

A 30% total restriction on his body, especially considering his high Stats. Several more steps forward didn’t change or accelerate the rise in restrictions. Which gave him some freedom to examine the surroundings a bit more closely.

Randidly could feel the consciousness above him, its animosity curiously wiped away, churning within the confines of the rumbling ceiling. Just like Randidly was being steadily restricted, the storm seemed to be going through some changes as well. He strolled forward, inspecting the situation of his body.

Absolute Timing continued to insist that he had only spent a few hours traversing through the upper portion of the second tier, while his growth in already high-Level Skills seemed to hint that the true time was closer to weeks. Clicking his tongue, Randidly continued forward to the middle of the bridge, watching streams of mist pour off the opposite edge and into the gorge like the mournful ghosts of waterfalls.

In the middle of the bridge, there was a small sign that caught Randidly’s eyes. It sat above a miniature square filled with the tiles that supposedly represented the Grand Pattern.

For reaching this point, you have earned a break. In the Third Step, the restriction will advance to 30%, at minimum. However, additional time in the transition stage beyond your allotted break result in a heavier burden moving forward.

Feeling the gradual increase in restrictions across his body, he could understand what the sign was getting at; lingering too long would increase the restrictions in the future. Based on the pace of the tightening grip, an individual had a full six hours to rest before they moved forward to the ‘Third Step’.

Randidly sat down and got into a meditative position in front of the Grand Pattern tiles. I’m not exhausted, but I can feel the first signs of strain. Since I have this chance, I’m not going to miss it. Especially since my Grim Intuition will be restricted in the Third Step… actually understanding the Grand Pattern will become paramount.

...although it is a bit difficult to see how this rhythm game format was developed from this fucked up storm.

*****

There was a buzzing flash as the Dungeon activated in one of the more deserted perimeter asteroids orbiting around the Nexus. Despite the powerful principles at play, no one noticed; there was not a single soul close enough to sense the shift.

Considering the current situation in the Nexus, everyone had their own problems to deal with.

For a brief second, a yawning portal opened between the fabric of the worlds. From that opening, two figures stepped out. The front person was an elfen man with expressive eyes and a somewhat dazed smile on his face. The second individual was slender and streamlined, leading a surly chitinous mount and carrying a lance against his shoulder.

The two walked out of the Dungeon onto the dusty staging area and looked up at a vast sea of brilliant stars.

Lay’mel Tuellethe stretched his arms toward the sky. His shoulder popped and he grinned so widely that his cheeks began to cramp. “We made it out. We fucking did it. Ha. Hahahaha! We did it!”

After witnessing the vicious power that Randidly Ghosthound had witnessed in the battle in the Fifth Cohort, he had clearly felt his own weakness. He was a bug in the wider Nexus, likely to be accidentally squashed between two larger entities. With only a drop of liquid Aether he had received for his performance to the Swacc Family, Lay’mel had decisively decided to head into a dangerous Level 90 Dungeon and train for almost two years. To his surprise, he hadn’t had to go alone.

The Lancer that Randidly had ordered to follow him had done just that; he had dutifully joined Lay’mel in the jungle-filled Dungeon without complaint. At first, Lay’mel felt bitter about the situation, as the Lancer was a constant reminder of the humiliation he had experienced due to Randidly Ghosthound. But he had underestimated the Lancer’s power and also his own need for assistance. As they struggled together through the dangerous bogs and vine-filled tree canopies, both grew at a stupendous rate. Only by relying on each other were they able to finally defeat the Level 91 Poison Stone Lich and emerge victorious.

Lay’mel glanced over his shoulder at the near-mute Lancer. His forehead crinkled and some of his cheer began to fade. Will we… part our ways here? That would be… well, he can’t very well come with me to work with the Swacc Family, can he? Just because he is the Lancer of the Ghosthound, he will likely be captured and questioned. I… don’t wish for that wish to happen.

Suddenly, all the elation that Lay’mel felt vanished. He looked down at his clenched fists and bit his lip. All of the worries he had tossed to the side when he went to train remained here, waiting for him back outside of the Dungeon entrance. He could not run from them for long.

On the one hand, he still owed a lot to the Swacc Family. He couldn’t expect them to simply forgive that debt and let him walk away, especially considering all the secrets he knew about their armament operation. Plus, although Lay’mel’s strength increased explosively in the last year with the Dungeon he still had no confidence in facing Randidly Ghosthound. Let alone some of his superiors.

Gradually, he lowered his head and sighed. The glaring face of his immediate superior moved him. Almost without thinking about it, he sent a message to his contact in the Swacc Family and turned to look at the Lancer. That quiet fellow tilted his head to the side; they had an implicit connection from their time together and the Lancer read his mood.

Lay’mel’s expression was bitter as his choices seemed increasingly restricted. It felt like his organs had slowly grown and become functional in the time within the Dungeon, but now that they were once more under the pressure of the Nexus, they folded themselves up into convenient sizes and stored themselves away within his disposable body. All his optimism and confidence drained away. All that was left was the deep fear that the Swacc Family had instilled in him.

“I…” Lay’mel licked his lips. Then he coughed. “Our time together was enjoyable. But I think it’s time we part ways.”

The Lancer clicked his tongue, full of unwillingness. And through their experience together, Lay’mel knew exactly what he was thinking: Randidly Ghosthound gave me the mission to follow you around and protect you. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do, whether you like it or not.

Speechless, Lay’mel looked at the Lancer for a long time. The stubbornness was impressive; anyone who had been present at the time would have confirmed that the Ghosthound gave the order as a slight aside, with an implied timelimit of only as long as they were on the frontlines. And the ‘watch him’ portion of the order was clearly aimed to prevent Lay’mel from escaping, not for this lancer to become his eternal companion.

Yet this idiot…! Lay’mel was practically grinding his teeth as he stared at the Lancer. Behind him, his mount chewed idly on a prickly bit of organic matter jutting out of the dusty ground with an equally blank expression on its face. The two of them seemed a constant reminder of how high Lay’mel had climbed, only to be smashed back to the ground now that the pressures of the Nexus revealed themselves.

“Leave.” Lay’mel hissed.

The Lancer shrugged. I can’t, I have my orders.

“If you refuse to leave, then I’ll show you…” But Lay’mel trailed off. His expression crumpled and his face flushed with shame. He wished to push the Lancer away, but the confidence to do that came with his desire to stay together with this companion after successfully completing the Dungeon. As the Nexus rid him of that confidence, he also lost everything. He had become-

Vrrrrrrhhhh!

Lay’mel was distracted by a grand formation opening to his left. In a flash of white light, twenty soldiers wearing the sharp uniforms of Military High Command appeared in the previously empty staging area. The group coolly looked over the two individuals and scanned the surroundings, as though expecting an ambush. With a light hop, the Lancer remounted and put his hand on the shaft of the weapon. The eyes of the soldiers were not friendly.

Their leader stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Lay’mel. “Lay’mel Tuellethe? I am Shrak Joss. You will be coming with us. We have some questions about your connections to the Swacc Family.”

Lay’mel blinked several times. But the proper responses to these sorts of questions had been drilled into him many times during his training period. “I am a minor contractor with the outer house of the Swacc Family. By what authority do you attempt to detain me?”

“By the words of Elhume itself, you little prick.” The leader of the group waved a hand and the soldiers spread out into the surrounding area. “Take him, boys. Kill his friend and make sure he has a more sympathetic attitude for the questioning-”

Vrrrrrhhhhh!

There was another flash and suddenly another group of soldiers appeared. Their leader Lay’mel recognized as Lady Iellaya. But before she stepped forward, she shot a helpless glance at a fiery-haired woman behind her, who simply waved her forward with a cheery smile and spun a small chain in her hand. Yet immediately, the danger sense that Lay’mel developed in the Dungeon began to tingle.

“Lady Iellaya,” Shrak bared his teeth. “So, the dog of Wick dares stick her nose into our business? What do you think we are doing?”

“...apprehending a suspect, at the order of my superior.” Lady Iellaya almost seemed tired as she stepped forward. But when the first group of soldiers raised their weapons, her expression hardened. “Believe me when I say that it’s in your best interest to walk away, Shrak. Otherwise, I cannot guarantee what will happen.”

The two groups of soldiers quietly drew their weapons. Lay’mel’s heart began to pound. They all seemed to be here for him, apparently due to his connection to the Swacc Family, but he could also tell that this wasn’t really about him at this point. The two factions behind the soldiers seemed to have a grudge and they were perfectly willing to use him as a pretext to escalate. His skin tingled with the ambient bloodlust.

The worst part was that he knew that no matter which side one, they seemed serious about detaining him. Had something catastrophic happened to the Swacc Family? Had they really offended Elhume?

Lay’mel took several steps backward to stand next to the Lancer. Everything was developing way too quickly. “When the fighting starts, escape.”

Again, the Lancer shook his head, but the desire to protect his Dungeon companion blazed brightly in Lay’mel’s chest and annihilated the creeping fear that had clogged his thoughts for the past few minutes. “Listen to me. I don’t know what’s going on, but they clearly want to capture me. And as an extra piece, if they catch you, they might just kill you, so-”

Crunch.

Shrak lurched backward, blood dripping from his face. More than anything else, Shrak looked aghast; at some point, a rusty metal hook at the end of a long chain had embedded itself in his face. He looked up and that fiery-haired woman was suddenly standing in front of him. Her hands blurred and she whipped forward several other chains.

Spikes drilled through Shrak’s boots and pinned him to the ground. A larger hook seemed to appear in her hand before it sunk into the soft flesh of the soldier’s midsection. The most horrifying part was although the movements of the fiery-haired woman seemed unassuming, everything happened before Lay’mel could even respond.

The unfortunate Shrak, color draining from his face even as the blood drained from his body, realized something as he stared in horror at the woman. “Speculum-”

“Yup,” She grinned even as she produced a third hook and ripped out his throat with it. The body collapsed in front of her, Shrak’s subordinates frozen by this sudden display of power. His torn esophagus bounced across the dusty ground and rolled to a stop.

The woman didn’t seem to use images at all, just overwhelmed their leader.

The fiery-haired woman chuckled and snapped her fingers. A score of rusty hooks at the end of chains condensed in the air behind her. They clinked and twisted like infuriated rattlesnakes, ready to strike. “Honestly, can you really blame me for this? Who would be so foolish as to fight against me? Ah, I’m already being merciful by trying to explain something so basic to you worthless dead bodes.”

The hooks surged forward as she shook her head. Lay’mel blinked and the ground was soaked and blood and covered with bodies. The wet sucking noises of metal being torn from meat echoed in his ears.

While a white-faced Lady Iellaya simply watched, the woman skipped over to Lay’mel and smiled at him. “You are the one who tried to send a message to the Swacc Family, huh? What a naughty boy. We will have to figure out what the appropriate punishment is for someone like you.”

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