The Legend of Randidly Ghosthound

A pulse echoed out across the island, stirring the clouds and briefly pausing the tides. Animals crouched low, pressing their bellies on the ground. The individuals training on the beach stopped immediately and looked up toward the highest point of the island, the volcano. The vegetal mass that dominated one-third of the island stilled, unwilling to draw the attention of the source of this shift. The ants' constant hum of activity ceased as they bowed their heads before a force greater than them.

It was a low note of an interlude, a shared stillness that briefly gripped the island. The emotional note of inviolable resonance as shape and emotion merged together was that influential. For a brief moment, it was near perfect.

That image contained the nurturing embrace of sunlight and air, but it was also a wish for stability and home. That moment sang a ballad of nostalgia and steady support for the next generation. It was encouragement and guidance. Yet running underneath it all was a powerful invigorating force, a pure sip of life that would leave the drinker energized and inspired.

Yet even beyond those more familiar notes, something new rose within the image of Yggdrasil. The World Tree now possessed the bearing of a sovereign; an outlook of arrogance and responsibility that allowed no argument from creation. The evolution of Absolute Grasp of Yggdrasil has rounded out this feeling in its new form as The First Tree Suffers Only Fealty permeating every inch of the image. Yet, if it was just the Skill, it wouldn’t have become so pervasive.

As the image activated, it drew some of its power from Randidly’s Nether Core to reach that trembling note of perfection. And from his significance it found an authority that gave him the prerogative to seize anything he needed. Truly, he possessed the tool of a Monarch.

The realization was sobering. The moment of perfection passed as his focus wavered. So Randidly could only grimace and try again.

As he made several slight adjustments in his search for the perfect emotional affect, he became increasingly stormy and domineering in his outlook. The sky above curled and twisted out several deafening rumbles, bidden by the slight shift in his disposition. A mere scowl was enough for the planet to rise up indignation.

Meanwhile, although the form within his image space had only now grown to the size of the sapling, Randidly felt a massive web of shadows stretching out from his body. They stretched and grew, a projection of the force that existed within him. The web of implied branches were likely hidden by the storm clouds above, but the grasp of the World Tree curled around the island, making sure nothing remained out of reach.

Congratulations! Your Skill Conviction of the Celestial Cataclysm (T) has grown to Level 699!

After a tense moment of straining, Randidly released an explosive sigh and released his image. The near-invisible shadow fingers vanished. He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling something between annoyance and embarrassment. He pushed aside the emotional exhaustion and reviewed the process. Now that Yggdrasil’s settling well into its new form, I’m very close to finding the perfect emotional affect.

The only issue is… I wish it wasn’t such a prideful and demanding outlook…

Randidly took a long inhale and then blew his breath out through his lips with enough force to make them buzz. It was, he supposed, his own fault that it had reached this point. His World Tree enabled him to literally support worlds. With that much capability, there were bound to be some lofty aspirations from the image.

He slapped his cheeks and then hopped to his feet. Again, he was reminded about the razor’s edge you needed to walk as you pushed your image to assume stronger and stronger forms. The current rigorous demand for fealty that had emerged in his image embarrassed him, but Randidly believed he could still achieve the feeling with some practice and consideration.

However, he also could feel how easy it would be to push the life-giving tree to a twisted version of itself, bent on world domination or something. He could feel the image possibilities in glittering relief against his eyelids as he closed his eyes, a massive system of roots that squirmed through worlds, sucking away energy and leaving badlands and broken ecosystems in its wake. There would be an initial boost of power there, but Randidly knew he would never be truly comfortable with it.

Or maybe I would eventually become comfortable. He looked down at his hands. What sort of person could I become…? Shit, you stumble across new dangers from the Nexus every day.

“There are a lot of images in the world,” Randidly muttered to himself. Then he bent a leg and flung himself off the top of the volcano. His Nether Core kept the Nether storm stable as he flew out past the edge of the island and crashed into the water with a massive splash. Randidly could feel the salt on his lips as he kicked, driving himself further down into the water. Some nearby schools of fish, alarmed at his sudden arrival, split and fled in a hundred sleek flashes of scales.

Their departure looked like winks of light in the deep blue water, a glittering retreat.

In the water, some of his strange horror toward himself began to subside. Only when he got out of his head and into his body could he let go of how scary the power he now possessed could be. He drifted once he reached the sandy bottom, closing his eyes and simply tracing the myriad water currents around him that tugged on his clothes and hair. Several minutes later, he had relaxed and was actually enjoying the press of cool water against his skin.

Randidly titled his head to the side, struck by a sudden thought. I wonder… will there be any issues if I use the Hierarchy of Burden underwater?

*****

“Based on Annie’s experiences, calling it an image virus is a misnomer; the phenomenon is actually related entirely to Nether.” Mrs. Hamilton spoke slowly, tapping her fingers against the table glass table. She looked around at the three other figures until her gaze settled on Heiffal. “Had you heard of anything like this in the Nexus? Any methods to keep it at bay?”

Heiffal shook his head. Sweat gleamed on his forehead; he had come directly from training on the Ghosthound’s island, which had clearly pushed him to his limits. Luckily, the System allowed one to suppress their own sharp senes, or else Mrs. Hamilton suspected she would be entirely too familiar with his scent. “Unfortunately, I am unfamiliar with any similar diseases. But it is known that the Ghosthound allows a much more robust amount of Nether to exist within the Alpha Cosmos; perhaps the Nexus controls the Nether for just such reasons.”

Naffur nodded thoughtfully. “Nether gives us more depth and history, perhaps increasing our strength. But it also opens us up to weaknesses. Heh. Maybe I’m too used to the System, but it’s suddenly a bit worrisome to realize that we won’t heal from everything.”

“But, it does not matter, yes? If our core strength can resist the effect with their foundations, this virus is moot,” Heiffal said as he leaned back in his chair.

Tatiana shook her head. “In terms of our ability to handle big threats, yes. But most of what’s wrong with Expira aren’t the big threats, its the piles of smaller ones that keep multiplying. If this spreads amongst the broader populace… maybe only 60% of people have the accumulated significance enough to ignore the virus when they encounter it. Even with the new Nether awareness that Randidly gifted to everyone, not everyone understands their new capacity. People will succumb.”

“To say nothing of whether it could actually become an issue of image if enough people begin to believe that the image virus actually exists and is a danger,” Tatiana said lightly. She reached for the bottle of amber Donnyton Whiskey and poured herself two fingers' worth. “We have seen how potent Zone 7’s collective images could be. Like it or not, we should make some preparations to assist with the situation.”

“Annie helped those children and the others she found by creating Nether connections to them?” Heiffal frowned and followed Tatiana’s lead. His was a much rougher pour, the liquor sloshing as he dumped some into a glass. He raised it and downed it immediately, earning an eye roll from Tatiana. Mrs. Hamilton smirked; the woman always had strong opinions about how good whiskey should be savored.

After wiping his lips, Heiffal continued to speak. “A tiresome duty, but we could simply replicate that process of making connections with the infected.”

Mrs. Hamilton’s lips twitched. She raised a finger before Heiffal could continue. “Point of order. In small batches, this is possible. However, we are all not Randidly Ghosthound; he might casually erect a massive hub of Nether connections on a weekday, but we cannot manage nearly so many. Besides, that also ignores what I suspect to be a significant problem; a lot of people won’t want to have their fates tied to strangers. Even if we offer, some will refuse.”

“Is that what a Nether connection would do?” Naffur’s eyebrows shot up; clearly, he had never really considered the concrete implications of Nether’s new presence on Expira. Not that Mrs. Hamilton really blamed him; she knew the stress that the young man was under, guiding the Order Ducis.

Mrs. Hamilton opened her mouth, but she paused and closed it as Tatiana began to speak. “It’s more complicated than that. The best answers with Nether are vague; by drawing a connection to someone, you are weaving them into the fabric of your narrative. In this case, the metaphor still works. When you have a story with too many threads of equal importance, you end up pissing off everyone who wants more stage time for the thread they want to know about. The result is shit. Randidly can get away with it because his central story is absolutely overwhelming; the rest of us will quickly become overshadowed with consequences we might not see coming.”

“Speaking of Annie,” While Naffur and Heiffal mulled over Tatiana’s statement, the other woman turned to Mrs. Hamilton. “I’ve been seeing a lot of buzz about her attack on that the hidden bunker. Do we need to worry about the press complaining about this one?”

Mrs. Hamilton grimaced. “For now, no. Even the most fearmongering news outlets are admitting that this location was clearly the breeding ground for a terrorist group. They mumble about how worrisome it is that a single woman has this kind of power, but its mostly accepting. The attack was targeted too; somehow, her attack burrowed fifteen meters through solid granite and only killed him. Apparently, now that it’s stopped smoking, the site looks a little like a slide straight down through the ground. But it’s the follow-up that worries me. Annie’s hunting now for the rest of this group. And based on the fact she hasn’t yet rooted them out, they aren’t foolish.”

“Was this a trap?” Naffur asked.

Mrs. Hamilton pressed her fingers against the table, splayed out as wide as they could go. She studied the empty spaces, her pale fingers and the dark wood between them. Her gaze went unfocused as her image activated. Her fingers licked at a massive pattern, churning beneath the table, the ground, and the entire area of populated Expira. Her pupils dilated as she pushed deeper. She scooped up a metaphorical palmful of that pattern, the breath of the massive Nether organ that the Ghosthound planted within Expira’s core. Her eyes began to burn at the edges as her web traced subtle connections.

Along came a grey spider whose legs ended in whispers and its mouth held a bleak picture of the future. It glided down through the gossamer connections, searching for the truth and devouring any lies it encountered, making that future it held even emptier and more sinister. Yet the rush of information was too unfamiliar, too massive and wet and sticky. All those connections rose and dragged her down, forcing her to retreat to the image world she that suffered in the spider’s mouth.

Stark, scarecrow humanoids stuttered around steaming piles of yellow tar, carrying small iron cups. Long lines stretched as far as the eye could see, beginning in squat entrances to their underground ziggurats and ending amongst the dwindling liquid resources of the world. Their faces were stiff and beige, more mask than mediums of expression. They found small puddles that seemed less infectious than others and dipped their metal cups into the liquid. They brought the liquid up to their lips and drank.

Several seconds later, Mrs. Hamilton shuddered as she returned to herself. All three of the others looked at her in concern, but she waved a hand. “Sometimes, pulling too deeply with my image can have… consequences. But to answer your question, I cannot tell. Using the Nether is still too new to me. But even if it wasn’t, Annie will find them; the White Hunter cannot be escaped, only delayed. And at that time, they will be ready.”

“But so will we,” Tatiana observed. The group nodded.

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