The Legend of Randidly Ghosthound

Devick’s shoulders heaved with exertion. Her lips twisted into a crooked smile, but even she knew how brittle the expression must look. The Nether Warrior in front of her thrashed and twisted, dark ichor spurting out of its wounds. Its spiked carapace gouged out a deep trough in the flesh of her left arm as she pinned it to the ground, panting and waiting for it to die with her scimitar buried in its chest. She couldn’t remember the last time her inhales weren’t desperate wheezes. The choker made for her by Nether King Hungry Eye felt warm around her neck.

Frantic combat had narrowed her entire world to just this face-off, this struggle. Her wrist cracked dangerously as the Nether Warrior flopped sideways in search of leverage.

At the last moment, the Nether Warrior seemed to realize that its end had been determined. Its eyes widened. Its struggles became less last-ditch attempts to wound her and more the frantic convulsions of a being seeking escape. Its pupils dilated and its mouth began to froth. Its arms and legs flailed. With the last of her strength, Devick slammed her body against her foe to keep it down. The hilt of her scimitar cracked against her collarbone.

To prevent it from creating enough distance to inflict a final wound on her before it succumbed.

And then it slumped forward, finally blood loss and organ failure dragging it to stillness. Trying not to touch the body overly much, feeling an odd reverence toward this foe. With a curse, she just released her grip on her weapon and allowed the dead Nether Warrior to pin the weapon the ground.

Just another day like all the others. A day I might have died. A day I was too weak. Devick scowled down at her trembling hands. As a small distraction, one of the now-familiar notifications she began receiving when Nether King Hungry Eye had opened some sort of… connection between them popped up in front of your eyes.

Congratulations! Your Skill Close Call (R) has grown to Level 347!

Congratulations! You have grown to Level 96! You have 11 free Stat points to distribute.

She flicked the message away, feeling queasier than she wanted to admit. Gradually, her awareness expanded as oxygen flowed through her system. A glance over her shoulder showed that the rest of the encounter was being settled, also in favor of the Aether forces. The Squad Leader observed all seven of the soldiers under her command, cool and calculating. The Leader’s Aide stood nearby, gesturing at the action and talking quietly.

Vendla, the ace of the squad, crouched over the dead bodies of two Nether Warriors and used a dagger to draw shaky stick figures across their skin, locked in combat with each other. Der and Fer, the two feathered, owlish Choulan siblings, cooed and examined each other for wounds. Devick’s stomach did flip-flops; looking around, it was obvious she was the only one who had been close to losing.

Only two days removed from her arrival to the region and she had already been put back into patrol duty. A patrol of an entirely different caliber, with the new Nether Forces constantly marching forward, so that rather than leading the squad, she was its weakest, most fragile member. Devick bit her lip until it bled. Because her wrist could have snapped in any of those last grappling moments. She could have been a hair retreating from its blows earlier.

“I could die like this,” Devick whispered to herself. The owl siblings glanced at her for a moment, causing her to flush, but no one else seemed to notice. Her tongue moved slowly, silently repeating the words.

I could have died like this.

Maybe I should write a letter to him, just in case I…

Her hand jumped to her throat, the choker being the lifeline that kept her dangling above the abyss, kept Devick just barely in control of the hurtling, careening, tumbling passage of her life, with the Stats and Skill it imparted to her. From the hand of Nether King Hungry Eye to her own unworthy near-corpse.

Why would he want a letter from her? What could she offer him?

“Fucking…!” Devick whispered to herself, her shoulder still heaving with the brush with death. Her fingers scrabbled at the smooth edges of the choker, wishing she didn’t need to rely on Hungry Eye’s generosity, wishing she possessed strength enough on her own to overcome this trial. Yet she knew she didn’t and hated herself a little bit for it.

Because she also wouldn’t throw away the choker. Both for sentimental reasons and practical ones.

The Nether Warrior in front of her looked sightlessly upward, forever severed, forever numb to the passage of time across his skin. All worries were alleviated, in exchange for no longer having access to joy. Devick brought her fingers away from the choker. I should not resent him. All that negativity… I need to channel it into myself. I should be stronger than this. I shouldn’t need to constantly rely on him. I have a goal, I’ve been shown the methods to grow stronger.

Even if I need to walk for years with death at my side, I am not afraid.

There were benefits to the current situation; her bloodthirsty image refined itself with each clash. But Devick felt frustrated, despite her best efforts, because she knew the answer was just ‘be patient’. Usually, when she had a goal, she simply focused on it until it was accomplished. In this case, the problem became the vast gulf of power between herself and Nether King Hungry Eye.

And the most infuriating part-- the reason she couldn’t aim any of her resentment toward Hungry Eye himself-- was that he wasn’t one of those figures that had reached his current power and seemed content to remain there. She watched him train. Had seen the intensity with which he moved, so she could pass in front of him and his eyes would sightlessly drift over her form, not stopping even once. She admired that motivation.

“We move,” The Squad Leader announced. Everyone shifted into formation and flowed away from the sight of the battle in only a few seconds. The rest of the group with an enviable grace, Devick gritting her teeth and stomping after them in her best imitation.

A sinuous serpent of fighters, moving through the wide grasslands of the Aetherlands breadbasket to try and swallow Nether Patrols whole.

Congratulations! Your Skill Methodical Recalibration (Ru) has grown to Level 591!

Devick clicked her teeth together as she considered the notification. Having the benefit of a numerical representation of my growth is nice, but is it enough? Can numbers ever overwhelm the purity of a well-shaped image?

In her chest, the crimson-furred hair licked its lips. Every fight brought it more clearly into focus. When death leaned close to Devick, it whispered the secrets of this monstrous hare into her ear. Which is why she remained her. Which is why she pushed herself.

Vendla fell into step beside Devick. The Visserick male stood only to Devick’s shoulders and his skin was a dull red, almost her hair dipped in mud and allowed to bake dry in the sun. Yet he possessed a jittery unpredictability that Devick admired; with his quick fingers and stick-thin limbs, it was impossible to tell if he was trying to pick his nose or cut open your belly.

Devick wasn’t sure if he understood this, but proximity made it much easier for her Skills to activate. Running next to Vandla became some of the best training she could find, as she incorporated small adjustments in her own movements to mimic his hyper-fast adjustments.

Congratulations! Your Skill Methodical Recalibration (Ru) has grown to Level 592!

Congratulations! Your Skill Maverick’s Psychosis (A) has grown to Level 400!

Congratulations! Your Skill Methodical Recalibration (Ru) has grown to Level 593!

Of course, Vendla’s miniature frame wasn’t her ideal. That reverent distinction belonged to the movement she had witnessed a few weeks ago in the confrontation between Hungry Eye and Bleak Sky. Hungry Eye had gripped his spear and thrust forward with a practiced inevitability, the pivots of his shoulder, waist, and arms so natural he appeared to almost be a statue. More platonic ideal than flesh.

When his perfectly carved blow had landed, the world shook.

Devick’s eyes crinkled at the edges, some of her gloomy mood seeping away at the memory. Ah, such thrusts, Hungry Eye. I wonder if you possess the same irresistible confidence when you are-

“Devick-chi,” Vandla’s voice was high and clipped at the end, due to his thin jaw. “May we speak of your desires?”

Devick flushed, suddenly worried her thoughts showed on her face. “My… desires?”

“Do you wish to be strong? Cheh.” Vandla clarified.

“Ah,” Devick blinked, suddenly unable to follow exactly why they were having this conversation. So much of her attention went to her legs and arms, maintaining a speed high enough to keep abreast of the others. Her eyes sharpened and she looked Vandla up and down, his fingers flicking a dagger back and forth between his hands, but he didn’t appear to be mocking her. Her confusion deepened, so she could only take his words at face value. “Of course, I wish to be strong.”

Vandla nodded; this had been the answer he was looking for. “I have a suggestion-chi. Are you aware of the method of creating a Fate? The trick of Lord Cerulean-cheh.”

Devick nodded but pressed her lips together. “Yes. However… the truth is I’m not Level 100. So I haven’t attempted it, as of yet.”

“Cheh cheh, yes it is known-chi. However, there is a lesser-known method. Our Squad Leader was chosen to pioneer Cerulean’s next method. A Grand Fate-chi. Not limited by the same Level 100 as a Class, but infinite.” Vandla glanced at Devick again, his eyes glittering with alien emotions. “Squad Leader has already reached Level 100 in their Fate; their growth in the war was rapid, cheh. So he is attempting the Grand Fate. Yet Lord Cerulean is curious… what would happen if one who hadn’t yet finished their Fate attempted a Grand Fate? A risky foundation. You might be… warped by the growth. But there is no doubt, chi, you would become strong quickly. So quickly it would defy belief.”

Devick simply looked forward for several seconds, her heart pounding. Her movements become mechanical as she considered the offer, until she began to lag back. Gritting her teeth, she forced energy into her legs and caught back up. “You… want me to utilize this method?”

“There may be costs, chi. But if you proceed knowingly, you will bring a great deal of benefits to the future generation, cheh. An experiment. We pioneer the unknown.” Vandla’s face remained completely neutral.

“I want power,” Devick whispered, finally understanding the question. The hare in her chest chittered with glee, flashing its hollow teeth.

Vandla smiled without guile. “You accept the risk. Your courage will serve you well, in this war-chi.”

*****

Fatia Cerulean and Faelmac Westrisser sat across from each other at the small camp table in Cerulean’s command tent. Westrisser frowned down at the bare wooden surface, his expression unreadable. After a few seconds of his jaw working silently, he spoke. “Is this truly necessary? The only individual who satisfies these conditions would be-”

“Your daughter, yes,” Cerulean clacked his teeth together. He knew his sour mood from Hungry Eye stealing away his trophy made him unnecessarily cruel, but now that his viciousness had been awakened, it was impossible to cause that raw intensity to hibernate. His eyes gleamed as he considered Westrisser, a close ally while also being weaker than him.

If anything, I should be thanking Hungry Eye, Fatia had to suppress a chuckle. He reminded me relationships possess only two roles: predator or prey. To have the power to take what you want, or to wait helplessly while others dictate the terms. I thought finding these Fate methods would change things… but life is not so simple.

We need more power than this.

“Turning time into a weapon will come at a steep cost,” Cerulean whispered. “And while the theory remains sound, we cannot be sure it will work as predicted. Or whether such a weapon can be transported.”

Despite the protests, Fatia knew he had him; even knowing the danger it would pose to his daughter, the man across from him wanted to know the limits of his research. His ‘Dungeons’ were an interesting application, but they were a side pursuit. What Westrisser really wanted to discover was a way to falsify a Nether Weight equivalent by condensing time to the extreme.

Then, after storing the pressurized energy in a special container, it could be released to ‘erode’ all nearby history, through a raw surge of temporal energy.

Outside the tent, the night crawled past. Cerulean’s guards in their sapphire armor marched in tight formations, preparing a defensive Engraving for when Deganawidah made good on his promise. Yet the raptor construct wanted another card to play in the confrontation.

Cerulean spread his bony talons wide, blue aura energy flickering across the whole of him. “Are we not surrounded by deadly foes? The only reliable ally we possess… is Nether King Hungry Eye, and we both understand his allegiance isn’t a sure thing. If we can assure a bit of safety for the Aetherlands… we need to take that opportunity. It is why I’ve made the knowledge of my Fates public. We have no choice but to choose paths we would prefer not to take, to survive. That is the world we live in.”

“She’s my daughter,” Westrisser croaked. “My own flesh and blood. And recently, she has been so pleasantly filial-”

“As a Westrisser, shouldn’t she understand how important a moment this could be?” Fatia spoke with a devil’s tongue and Westrisser closed his eyes in exhaustion. The raptor tapped a claw on the table three times. “She will be proud to assist, I’m sure.”

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