The Legend of Randidly Ghosthound

Elhume looked up at Pine’s soul with bloodshot eyes. His muscular form began to tremble. The fuzzy sphere looked like a leaf left next to a feast ant colony, huge holes punched out of the fabric of its existence. The idyllic world had shrunk by a third. “The situation is worsening. After everything… what the hell is this new development?! You told me we could save him!”

The Prophet stood dazed for a moment, also somewhat unable to accept the current situation, albeit for very different reasons. So although Nether King Hungry Eye tossed a wrench into the progression and dragged the ancient Nether faction into the war, events continued to proceed as dictated by the prophecy.

Wounded and desperate, Mae Myrna had cut off access to her portion of existence and stabilized her foundation. So while she took a visible chunk out of Pine, that particular deviation was no longer expanding. At the moment, the real threat came not from Mae Myrna and her twisted worldview, or even Nether King Hungry Eye’s strange distortion.

It was the hungry ants, greedy for power.

The threat came from Fatia Cerulean’s Fates. Their quick rise was what left the Prophet so conflicted. Fatia should only have developed the methodology to create the Fates due to the Cult of the Savior’s interference. The fact they developed as predicted despite their inaction, including the development of Grand Fates, filled the Prophet with complicated feelings.

Did the Prophet’s deviant actions matter at all? He almost wanted to purposefully contradict the prophecy, just to see whether events would conspire to follow the ordained path. The prospect sickened him while simultaneously thrilling him, the smallest bit. And if the prophecy continued despite him, the Prophet’s presence or efforts here didn’t even matter-

“Prophet!” Elhume bellowed, pulling the Cult of the Savior figurehead’s attention off of his crisis of faith and to pressing current events. The fist user’s eyes were flat and near-dead, a viciousness at the heart of the Elhume the Prophet had difficulty understanding. Waves of pressure rolled off the muscular man. “Why is it your solutions have done naught but try my patience and waste my time?!”

“You know the interference of Deganawidah is an unforeseen variable.” And at least, the Prophet thought with a weird sense of relief. Proof deviations from the Prophecy are possible. “And you can sense his power. We… have little recourse to reclaim the Hierarchy, at least while he remains inert. But soon, he will come out of hiding to exact his revenge against Fatia Cerulean and Nether King Hungry Eye. At that time, if we slip into his camp, it will likely be unguarded. To him, it is naught but a bauble-”

“Do not treat me like a fool,” Elhume hissed. The air around him pulsed, flat and empty, increasingly influenced by the aspects of the void that Elhume incorporated into his image. It was difficult for the Prophet to understand how Elhume’s image incorporated the aspect of total absence, when he was motivated primarily by the emotional imperative to save Pine. “I can see the other damage to Pine, more added every minute! Mae Myrna is not the biggest threat to him any longer.”

The Prophet’s two mouths, high on its head like eyes, released small breaths. Focus was needed. “...you are correct. But these developments are not necessarily bad things. There is an opportunity-”

Elhume flared his image, suffocating all other energies and entities in the surroundings. Weird, negative bursts of electricity snaked across his skin. Caught by surprise, the Prophet’s eyes widened. Then he pressed his mouths together. His own image rose in a resplendent bloom, all structure and purity and overwhelming light.

Begrudgingly, the absence Elhume wielded gave ground. Absence fretted itself to pieces before El-Kedec’s pure light. It was closer than the Prophet would have believed, but Elhume still remained weaker.

“You forget yourself,” The Prophet spoke firmly. He revealed the holy light through his body to its full potential, the air boiling and the ground turning molten and tormented underneath its gaze. The dangerous aura of absence cracked and faded away. Elhume winced and took a step back.

The Prophet allowed the flash of power to fade. “Let me explain. Perhaps you are right, let us set aside the issue of Mae Myrna for now. Are you aware of the current actions of Fatia Cerulean? He has created a certain method… calling them Fates. A method by which any individual can gain power very quickly, without improving their Class or Skills.”

“What does this have to do with Pine?” Elhume huffed.

“Where do you think power for Fates comes from?” The Prophet shook his head. “Pine exists as a composite of the people who live inside the Nexus. Gradually, as their stories are created, the substance is added to Pine. However, Fates… reap that substance. Plunder it back from the universe for selfish purposes, damaging Pine in the process. Those are the bites that you see. Whereas allowing images like Mae Myrna’s would eventually drown Pine… in this way, Fatia Cerulean had found a process to starve him to death. To deprive him of nutrients. Even I had no idea the situation could change so quickly.”

Elhume’s pupils dilated. The trembling of his shoulders resumed.

“However, this issue… is surprisingly simple. And perhaps it will handle both of our problems at once. We simply need to develop a reliable source of images and stories for Pine, one pure enough he will not drown.” The Prophet’s eye-mouths smiled. “You are close with the Origin Beast, yes? Why not… create a new race of beings? One which will provide pure images for Pine. Because what you need to repair these holes are more images. In sufficient quantities, Mae Myrna will no longer be a problem.”

*****

Considering the circumstances and the upcoming time crunch, Randidly felt surprisingly serene as he sat on his stone and watched the stars wheel across the sky. The cool night air tingled against his skin. And through the movements of the stars, Randidly glimpsed the deeper patterns of the wheeling consequences that plagued the memory.

He took a deep breath, filling his lungs to the point of bursting and then allowing the air to pass out through his body. When he raised his gaze, Randidly’s breath caught in his chest to witness the tight maelstrom of significance churning, right beneath the surface of the placid clouds. Such was the force of the Nether that it seemed about to crash down onto the ground, igniting a series of tornados that would ravage the countryside and leave the Aetherlands scarred for generations.

A part of Randidly swayed, his black hair tousled by the wind. He felt a sinking feeling in his gut. He would need to walk along the fault lines of those forces soon, making genuine attempts to solve his problems. Seeking the alchemic miracles that were barred to him.

Spitting in the face of the attainable and reaching beyond it.

He began to examine the environment, seeking his Path. He felt the mental strain almost immediately, but he knew he had no choice but to push himself.

The two largest forces in this particular approaching diaster-class event were the histories of the Aether and Nether Lands, rising to break against each other. The forces lived in the armies and marched with them, swirling closer with every second. The history and significance of Nether obviously existed with more density, they had a distinct advantage in that arena, but the length and breadth of Aether’s presence in history had begun recently to rapidly swell. Randidly made a mental note to investigate this shift and then moved to the next front of energy in the overwhelming storm.

Congratulations! Your Skill Gospel within the Seething Torrent (P) has grown to Level 1012!

To his surprise, he had only just witnessed the edge of the next large force when he felt a hum of familiarity; Elhume and the Cult of the Savior were moving. Yet the flows remained discrete. Randidly’s eyes widened and he saw it: they would soon attempt to create humanity.

Gears in his overheated mind started clicking together. The broad details of the process to create humanity was understandable to him. A predictable note in the chaotic environment was a lever he could manipulate if he was smart. Once one piece fell into place, some of the anxiety in his chest began to relax.

From one controllable element, a pattern could emerge.

He pivoted sideways, following the curious patterns he noted earlier in the Aether. He didn’t blink for almost five minutes straight, teasing apart the threads of history that rushed and flowed like liquid in the sky, hinting at their impending arrival.

Congratulations! Your Skill Nyx’s Successor Births Fate (GD) has grown to Level 1022!

Congratulations! Your Skill Yearnings of the Nether Heir (P) has grown to Level 1101!

Two streams of influence sat at the core of the rapid shifts in Aether’s mark on existence. Even now, both raced through several interconnected nodes of connection, resonating and echoing until the effect whirled through the hole of their sphere of influence and started again, furthering the change. Underneath Randidly’s constant dissections, as a throbbing knot of tension emerged right beneath his right eye, the flows of energy surrendered their sources: Cerulean and Westrisser.

Not a surprising answer, but once he had locked onto their two core threads, his focus raced along their length and ripped out the rest of their secrets. Randidly sucked in a breath through his teeth. From Cerulean, it was… an Aether structure suddenly revolutionizing the Aether forces. He would need to follow that line later. However, it was Westrisser that left him transfixed.

The significance, when he identified the core element, spoke clearly. The pale Feathered Serpent forged a twisted weapon of condensed time.

After so long, Randidly had stumbled across the origins of the bone shard and the wasting Patron of Feathers, the whole reason Randidly had come into the Sonara in the first place. Almost with a wince, he added one more activity to his to-do list. He understood less about this but had at least witnessed the refined versions of its patterns in the present.

One more piece. One more perspective on a larger pattern.

Also, unfortunately, one more frantic requirement for what was shaping up to be a very busy date, in four days.

Randidly’s attention pivoted to the Cerulean aspect running through the Aether. This thread had an ugly, stitched-together feel that made it extremely simple to follow through the dense nimbus of Aether-history, weaponizing itself and preparing to crash down upon the Nether offensive. Yet the more he looked, the more Randidly could only blink in surprise.

First, because the reach of Cerulean was much, much more expansive than he had realized. He almost couldn’t believe it, considering how neutered and absent Cerulean had been for the past several weeks. It made him wonder if he was missing some element.

Randidly’s headache worsened as he pushed himself to unspool more of the threads of history, revealing patterns that would dictate the future. The answer, when he found it, made him hiss in annoyance. Underneath the layers of flowing energy, he found the foundation for Cerulean’s current influence actually came from him.

Congratulations! Your Skill Footsteps of a Legend (L) has grown to Level 932!

“Riding my coattails to fame,” Randidly’s lips twisted sourly. Suddenly, he wished he hadn’t been so casual about the rumors of their confrontation. After all, the broader rumor about the confrontation with Enmya had Cerulean as the major contributor. And from that foundation, the second reason for his influence-

“He’s given them all Fates,” Randidly gasped. Simultaneously, he felt relieved and foolish. Relieved, because this might be the very first example of those who have reached a Mille defining a word and breathing life into it, with ripples flowing out across the whole of the Nexus. Foolish, because he hadn’t seen this coming, he hadn’t really bothered to examine the System apparatus within the memory, comparing what occurred now with the functions in the present.

Considering he had already been smacked with the bumpy invention of Dungeons, he should have at least clocked that a development like this would be possible. Yet he also couldn’t deny this was one more piece of a broader puzzle: an Aetherlands suddenly filled with Fates.

Tragically, one which he had mostly unhelpful experience with, considering his Fateset. But every bit of information about the current situation built the broader context he needed.

For now, he forgave himself for the oversight; no point in castigation, especially when there was so much work to do. He continued his examination, following the jagged veins that Fates had provided for the Aether. A way of development that worked quickly, that gave them an edge they needed, especially since Dungeons also provided the necessary time for these advantages to develop fully.

Randidly’s mind raced along the connections, trying to see how this would shape the confrontation, how much the effect of Fates would grow before the two armies met in earnest in about four days. The mental strain continued to grow, but his emotional sea surged up in a typhoon of focused energy, channeling its ferocity and wild violence into the Dread Homunculus. The created being remained entirely still, its focus narrowed to burning through the huge amount of information with its monstrous processing power.

Congratulations! Your Skill Nyx’s Successor Births Fate (GD) has grown to Level 1023!

Congratulations! Your Skill Motif of Unimagined Tolls (GD) has grown to Level 1030!

“You know,” Randidly began speaking aloud partially for his image’s benefit. But also, because he knew he had another reckoning to face soon. The words helped stiffen his spine. “Back on Expira, before the change, before the System arrived and weaponized everything, made survival a threat… we humans had a lot of theories about the way the world worked. And the different ways we believed it worked, on an individual level. One that always fascinated me was the idea of locus of control.”

The boughs of the World Tree creaked as it leaned more closely around Randidly. The Egg of Depression paused in its keening to listen. The Monster of Inevitable Finales continued to click away in its brutal calculations.

“People could be divided into two camps: internal and external locus of control. Internal locus meant you believed your actions were the determining factor of your life. Your choices were the primary element in the alchemy of living. Meanwhile, an external locus of control meant you believed most of the result flowed from the circumstances around you. No matter what you had done, your economic situation, the actions of the other people in your life, details beyond your control or knowledge, those were what determined the outcome.”

Randidly raised his gaze, his emerald eyes flashing. “Life is contradictory. Because you know, I think the external locus of control individuals were right. Life is an elaborate pachinko board, pegs and balls, falls and impacts and the physics of bouncing in a constrained space. Your starting point and the board in front of you determine your future. Because you are your history. You cannot escape it.

“And yet…” Randidly lowered his gaze and looked at the woman standing in front of him, her black hair matching his own. He smiled. “In terms of outcomes, people who believe in an internal locus of control are better, both on career metrics and in terms of overall happiness. Believing the situation is out of your control encourages bad behaviors, even if that’s the correct answer. So we have the control we need. Looking at these patterns, these other forces… we are identifying the pegs. What comes next is choosing; from there, everything will fall into place.”

Neveah crossed her arms, unimpressed with his optimism. “All you have is a pile of contingency plans, Randidly. We are talking about your life. Even if you somehow scrape by now, is this really how you want to live? Setting yourself up for larger and larger gambles later? Treating life like a game?”

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