The Legend of Randidly Ghosthound

Emerald, The crab thought idly as he looked into the eyes of the statue.

In the chill undersea world, movement became frothing disturbance before one’s senses could follow. With an almost gentle touch being its departing gift, suddenly the statue was gone. The crab hit the floor, unable to cope with what happened. That is, until mental communications reached it.

No need to rush, The mental projection boomed out over the corner of the seafloor as the Crushgrip Crab leader led about a score of crabs, several bored Acidic Pufferfish, and an ancient electric eel that lived in the area back toward its new home. For this area of the sea, this was quite the star-studded process. The grip of this edifice upon the scenery is strong; likely it will become a centerpiece of the landscape for quite a long time…

The crab who often criticized the first was so stunned by the sudden movement from the statue that it remained on its back and looked up at the rush of bubbles the thing had left in its wake even as its mind began to catch back up to the current situation. Even now, its senses were frazzled by the intense green light it had seen within the edifice’s eyes.

But strange images had been contained in that color. There seemed to be an ancient tree, and a strange monster, and a vast egg all wrapped up in that emerald hue. The roots of that tree and the arms of that strange monster seemed so strong- was it possible they used their powerful grips to prevent the egg from hatching?

This- There was a pause in the mental projection from the Crushgrip Crab leader as it stalled out. The group stopped as they rounded a bunch of kelp, looking at the cracked ground and the still dazed crab.

And, obviously, the absent space where the edifice had been.

Feeling quite embarrassed at the situation, the critic crab scrambled to its feet. Behind the leader, small mental reverberations revealed the frantic gossiping of the other crabs. The ancient eel began to list sideways, having fallen asleep in response to this exciting development. Its mouth hung slightly open, revealing its sharp teeth.

What happened here? Why is the edifice gone!? The leader crab cried. What have you done to garner its ire?

The critic crab mobilized its mental energies, preparing to admit that it had no idea what exactly had occurred. But then the implication of that final phrase reached its brain. It felt bitter and envious of the respect that the other crabs afforded the leader just because of its slightly larger claw; now, with no proof, it wanted to frame this crab as the cause? Immediately, the critic crab changed its mind. Very quickly, it used context clues and the few images that it had seen in those emerald eyes to understand what had really occurred.

The edifice wasn’t a home, and was deeply offended by your casual transgressions! The Critic announced to the watching group. Immediately, the rippling mental gossip in the back of the procession intensified. It… it in fact was a wounded god. An egg of pure darkness trapped in some horrible form, a blanket of perfect darkness that just wished to sleep in the deepest corners of the sea, sealed away by a monstrous surface dweller and a tree.

That finally seemed to snap the eel to wakefulness. It released its own mental pulse. I have heard about these trees. Dreadful, frightful wooden gargoyles. They use their digging fingers to find the hidden water in the world and then suck it all up for themselves.

The twenty crabs collectively shuddered at such a horrifying entity. Truly, ruled as the land was by these trees, it was no wonder that the surface dwellers had gone insane.

The Crushgrip Crab leader scuttled back and forth, clicking its claw in its agitation and confusion. I… no, that is not… the edifice… you lie! There is no way that this is true! You conspire against-

Did you not hear what I said about trees? The eel unhinged its jaw and unleashed a boom mental release that forced all of the crabs and pufferfish to float a small distance backward. In this projection, it could be clearly felt that this ancient eel, which had lived through the great awakening, possessed more power than the entire colony of Crushgrip Crabs. It might even have the ferocity to fight against Deapsea Horror situated nearby. Yet you dare doubt me? The trees are a scourge! I hate them.

The critic crab, feeling a heady rush of adrenaline from the way the situation was proceeding, released a mental pulse indicating it wanted to speak. For whatever reason, the lies flowed freely into its mind now. The edifice also provided a prophecy to me before it left. Although the grip of our current leader grows weak, we must not waiver-

Nonsense!

-For another will soon rise, who not only possess powerful claws, but also a sure mind. And with our prayers toward this egg of darkness, this sealed god will be able to hatch out of its prison and someday darken the entire world! That blanket will smother the horrid trees!

*****

Wick strode confidently down the branching hallways beneath Military High Command, despite the fact that there were no torches lit down here any longer. The combination of that strange quake that ripped through the Nexus a month ago and the aftermath of Devick ascending to Actus Suprem meant that Military High Command compound had been deserted. The lower levels, previously a buzzing hive of the more logistically minded soldiers, now existed only as a warren of shadows.

Knowing that the Ghosthound would follow, he moved deeper, heading to the old courtrooms. However, the longer they walked, the more that Wick grew annoyed by some small details. And the more he considered the source of these tiny discrepancies, the less he understood.

He, of course, was wearing Military High Command issued boots. They had been shined to perfection and possessed a heavy heel. The leather had been well used and fit his foot snuggly. His steps on the smooth granite floor of the hallway released a satisfying clack that filled the emptiness around them.

Yet somehow, as the barefooted, raggamuffin Ghosthound walked meekly behind Wick, there was a certain horrifying resonance with each of his steps. As though the heel of that foot pressed down and produced no noise, but sent ripples outward through the very shadows that crowded the halls. His footfalls pushed back the shades that lingered here.

Wick frowned at the ground. This is the problem with loosening the restrictions on this ugliness inside of myself. It plants all sorts of mad notions in my subconscious. After I have dealt with the Ghosthound, I shall need to do some self-examination to recover.

Clack. Clack Clack.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Wick’s expression twisted as they continued. The shadows continued to tremble with their passage.

Soon enough they had made it to the chamber Wick sought. He pressed his hands up against the heavy copper doors, his fingers briefly caressing the wrought handles. Then he threw them wide with a satisfyingly weighty noise, revealing a massive amphitheater. Hundreds of squat wooden chairs spread on the varying levels, waiting in silence for the show.

Wick glanced sideways at the Ghosthound. Then he snapped his fingers and pointed down to the bottom tier; a specially made brazier in the center of the room lit up. “Go, stand there.”

The Ghosthound still maintained that empty expression on his face as he followed Wick’s directions and descended past the empty chairs. The strange aloofness continued to irritate Wick, causing his emotions to rise and urge him to lash out immediately. Wick suppressed those impulses without trouble and ascended to the Bench of Judgement. He ascended several squat bunches of stares and sat in the central seat of the semicircle mahogany desk, the chair scraping against the wooden ground as he situated himself.

His target stood below, minuscule in stature before him.

After he was comfortable, he lit another brazier, this one directly behind where he was sitting. In the end, the two figures were far away from each other; perhaps a gulf of twenty meters filled with shadows lay between them. Randidly stood in the lowest point, in a small circle marked on the ground, his hands clasped before him. He stood directly in front of a brazier, so his expression could be clearly seen.

Meanwhile, Wick sat several levels higher, with the light source behind him. He steepled his fingers as a cruel grin crossed his face. To the Ghosthound, he probably appeared like a dark silhouette. His own expressions would be somewhat obscured. Of course, to individuals with Perception and Skills as high as theirs, these were just tricks. Yet as he attempted to disturb the Ghosthound’s emotions, he found these sorts of methods to be the most effective.

Wick cleared his throat and spoke with a ritualistic cadence. “I, Commandant Wick, have called the accused here today to discuss the flagrant disregard for Military protocol displayed yesterday, whereby the inferior officer acted with deliberate violence against the superior. From my point of view, there were no extenuating circumstances.”

Wick paused. Yet as before, the Ghosthound just looked up at him. Most obnoxiously, despite the clear lighting on the front of his face, shadows seemed to be creeping around the young man’s eyes.

Inwardly, Wick remained puzzled. He could clearly feel the words affect the target. The Ghosthound’s emotions seemed to be curdling inside his body; otherwise, there wouldn’t be such a reaction through their connection. Yet why did he maintain such a stoic exterior? Especially after his aggressiveness while Wick was restricted by Alymian-

The thought of that embarrassment sent a jet of hot shame down Wick’s spine. Fury rose in a wave through him and he raised his hand to strike at the Ghosthound before he caught himself. His gaze cleared. He released a hissing breath through his nose and lowered his hand. He brought the hammer of his Willpower down to smash away the seductive emotions that tried to influence him.

His mind churned forward, chewing up foreign influences. Perhaps he has come to realize what a mistake he has made by antagonizing me? But then he should be aware of why we are here, at least generally. Despite the danger, he came willingly-

Ah. Wick’s eyes narrowed. He definitely knows. And therefore he knows that all of this is simply a pretext. He is saving himself for the conflict. Certainly, the Ghosthound can be said to possess some animal cunning. But if you think this needling has no purpose, you are mistaken.

“Do you know,” Wick boomed out in a more typical tone. He steepled his fingers again. “What has always annoyed me about you, Randidly Ghosthound?”

Of course, the Ghosthound just looked at him, his expression that of a dead fish. But the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.

“It is that you have never understood the distance between us,” Wick said with relish. “I tried to warn you, show you, how meaningless it was to stand against me by eviscerating your little squeeze-” There again was a satisfying burst of emotion from Randidly. Wick leaned forward. “-but as soon as we were in a very unique situation where I was restricted, your base instincts overpowered your reason. You attacked me. Of course, you couldn’t help yourself; you possess no self-discipline. You are a beast, a victim of your own primal roots.

“Which is why you will always be under my thumb.” Wick felt his lips curling back as he examined the distant form of the Ghosthound. The shadows around his eyes continued to spread across his face. “Why I could kill any of your friends and subordinates and you will never be able to do anything about it. Because I have risen above those influences and you have not. You are not enough to protect them from me.”

The Ghosthound burned through their connection. His emotions seemed to be whirling in a tightly compressed storm, generating pressure within the Ghsothound in preparation for a massive eruption. It was slightly impressive that his body hadn’t yet ruptured underneath that force.

Now, Wick grinned and activated the methods. His framework split open and revealed his own howling core, a hundred times more intense and vigorous than the churning emotions Randidly possessed. When comparing the emotions between them, one dwarfed the other without question. So Wick seized upon their connection and activated the horrifying ritual of communion Devick had taught him. That connection became nearly physical, existing between them.

Wick yanked with all that emotional force-

Crack!

-and was immediately stunned when, rather than the Ghosthound being pulled helplessly toward him, Wick’s pull had smashed himself forward, ripping apart the heavy desk and sending him tumbling toward the lower level. He landed on all fours on top of several chairs; they cracked and collapsed, leaving Wick trembling with confused indignation.

The Ghosthound, who hadn’t moved at all, did not continue to watch Wick with a blank expression.

The corner of his mouth curled up into a deliberate look of condescension. Randidly Ghosthound’s smirk flicked a match onto the kindling of Wick’s suppressed emotions.

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