The Legend of Randidly Ghosthound

Mae Myrna floated in an abyss. Darkness whispered behind her ears, flitting back and forth in the edges of her vision. Her heart had been hacked hollow by an ice pick and left to dry; she wondered if she would ever feel real again. Her image curled inward on itself, losing all the carefully crafted momentum she had built up over the past few weeks, since isolating her area. The darkness used small fingers, removing her foundation grain by grain.

She felt so empty. Her eyes just fixated on the ground. The darkness pulsed, urging her to speak. Her tongue felt swollen and the words left her sick. “I… am nothing.”

Yet she could not stop speaking them.

“I deserve…”

“I am nothing.”

“I… I just wanted-”

“Just nothing.”

“I deserve…”

In reality, she sat in her room, with a meal set out in front of her. Brilliantly woven tapestries sang gallant colors along the wall, a collection of gemstones filled a shelf behind her, and all of the furniture was solid wood she had carved herself. This was home. At one point steam had wafted off of the delicious-smelling pork chops, but she had been hunched over the table so long that it had cooled away to inertness.

Now the strange insight that revealed the dark certainty had vanished, but for a bit, it had felt like Mae had been able to see through the fabric of existence. She saw herself how she truly was, a pale imitation of a true being that had existed in the past. She saw the arc of that woman’s path, felt sure she would have become that woman, except-

“We all deserve…” Mae mumbled the words, her image trying to find its legs once more. Time mattered for individuals who existed and she didn’t. But for every rotation of her world state image, the foundation collapsed a bit more completely. She couldn’t escape this loop.

“I am nothing. We deserve… nothing…” Mae felt tears coursing down her cheeks. She knew this was not the path she was supposed to walk. She didn’t want to die, a snake devouring its tail until its body vanished. But she also knew that now that she had seen through the bedrock of her existence, she couldn’t perpetuate a lie. They did not call her the Patron of Truth for nothing. She refused to lie to herself.

Armed with this new knowledge, her image began to change.

There was no other way to survive.

*****

Devick stood in front of a triptych mirror and swayed back and forth, almost in awe of what she saw. Zethusala clicked in admiration. “You are a rare beauty, Miss Devick.”

“Please, this old thing? I’m hardly fit to clean the stables.” Devick fluttered her lashes, flush with possibilities. Because this version of herself, pampered and emphasized in all the right ways, was a version of herself that could be a queen. A version that could match a man called Randidly Ghosthound.

A deep green gown, almost the same color as Nether King Hungry Eye’s irises, hugged her torso and blossomed out into a cascading brilliance of embroidery and opulence past her waist. One of the workers at the boutique had brushed her hair until it fell in soft ringlets around her face. Each crimson strand glittered with tiny motes of gold. The choker wrought by the Nether King’s hands for her sat around her pale neck, a powerful accent piece that added a hint of seductive mystery to her figure.

The two brass automatons moved back and forth around her to admire her from other angles. As they used their precise hands to reposition her gown for perfection, Devick’s heart beat with a strange vulnerability.

She looked at herself now and saw softness and warmth. She had been dressed up to be a beauty queen, not the fickle demon of the Hobfootie court, not the bloodthirsty bearer of Malice the Needle-Toothed Hare, not a lieutenant in the armed forces that methodically hunted and slaughtered Nether patrols.

I deserve him, like this. She flashed a smile and witnessed beauty dawn, resplendent and irresistible, on her features.

Devick had picked out the dress and earrings, at the BA’s suggestions. Through taste and flair, she had crafted a version of herself on a whim and now that this sleek and sophisticated debutante stood before her, and that girl was perfect. She should have been perfect.

“Is this me?”

The more she blinked, the less she recognized herself. Aside from the grim note of the choker around her neck anchoring her down, she couldn’t find a single feature of her own. Which shouldn’t have mattered, so suddenly and fatally, cleaving her heart in half. She shouldn’t be struggling to control her breathing just because she had a new outfit, because she existed in a world controlled by Hungry Eye, because she realized how much she didn’t know about him.

Devick clenched her jaw and her teeth clicked shut. If she had been a hair slower, she would have begun to sob. She didn’t know the clothes from Hungry Eyes world, the family he grew up with, the enemies he fought to survive, the culture he had been a part of. She hadn’t even known his real name.

How could she even fantasize about him? She was a daydreaming child. Her feelings curdled, stomach acid seeping up into her heart. No wonder he so often treated her like a child.

“What is the matter?” Zethusala paused in its movements and looked up at her.

Devick didn’t even know where to begin. She wanted to tear the dress off her body. Maybe rip away a layer or two of skin while she was at it, just for good measure.

Luckily, she was saved from needing to articulate her crisis of identity and subsequent emotional hemorrhaging by Tatiana sweeping into the shop, looking for all the world like she had just come from a conviction on motivating subordinates to sacrifice their lives for you. The woman glanced Devick up and down and offered her a crooked smile. “I don’t mean to interrupt your cinderella moment, but duty calls. You are needed upstairs.”

Devick barely managed to get her suddenly rusty joints to offer a nod, when space twisted around her and righted itself. The gorgeous interior of the boutique dress shop vanished. Devick stood on broken and ashy ground, most of it shattered as though some giant had walked across the wasteland pounding the ground with a mallet.

Unfortunately, the panic and anxiety she had picked up upon realizing Hungry Eye was practically unknown to her hadn’t been left behind.

She ignored her feelings by looking at the surroundings. About twenty meters away, a wounded Don Beigon scowled over toward her, one hand pressed against a wound in his chest. Nearby, two angry-looking Turtlelines roared and manifested their images in the air.

Opposite them stood an unfamiliar man in a beaten hat. He spun a gleaming metallic implement in his hand and offered the Turtlelines a wicked smirk. “Now, I appreciate how welcomin’ y’all have been. But I hav’ a job to do, and you won’t be takin’ a single step closer to Mr. Ghosthound, not while I’m alive.”

After being in that strange world controlled by Nether King Hungry Eye, Devick recognized some energy surrounding the hat-wearing man. A familiar significance clung to him. His aura had the faintest touch of the Nether King. They breathed the same air, they were of the same species. Her anxiety swelled, straining her already overstimulated heart.

Which meant that this unknown man probably knew more about Hungry Eye, or Randidly Ghosthound, than-

The rest of the man’s words finally registered. Heart pounding in her ears, Devick turned and saw him.

Nether King Hungry Eye’s chest rose and fell slowly, at least forstalling Devick’s first life-shattering heart attack. She immediately wanted to save him, to protect him. Yet she couldn’t get that image of how false she had been out of her head. How deeply soaked in blood her hands had been, how empty and hollow she was. And that taint of facade crept into her feelings toward Hungry Eye, especially her concern. Did she care about him at all? Wasn’t most of it in her own head? Hadn’t she been knowingly telling herself a false story about their connection since-

The Turtleline warriors manifested their images and rushed forward. Behind them, Beigon tossed an object up into the air that exploded in novas of sparkling light, signaling for reinforcements. Hungry Eye’s hat-wearing defender almost seemed to stroll forward, flicking his arm and bringing that metal implements to bear on the Turtlelines. Booming lances of light and image ripped out of the long barrel of the weapon, impacting the Turtlelines images and causing them to stumble.

Devick couldn’t bring herself to move. She saw how every choice she could make would end in rejection. Her fear crippled her.

One Turtleline bounded forward and whipped a massive arm around in a haymaker hook. The hat man practically disappeared, going down into a roll and then popping back up to his feet. He kept his weapon on the distant foe, but he produced a smaller, more compact equivalent in his other hand. In six near-simultaneous cracks, the man unloaded into the Turtleline’s stomach. The shelled being groaned and took a step back.

The man whipped a leg around and slammed his boot into the side of the enemy’s knee. Devick heard the joint pop. The man had just enough time to whirl away from the first collapsing Turtleline and cross his two weapons, catching a punch from the second.

“Shoulda brought my fucking horse,” The man muttered, his powerful image of adventure and possibilities enduring the assault from the other’s image.

Scowling, the Turtleline brought his other hand around and hammered the guard. With it came a wave of salty water from his image, forcing the hat-wearing man back and soaking Devick to the skin. All the fancy silk and embroidery now hung lank across her body, making her resemble a day-old pile of wash.

At the very least, that shock of cold woke her up. She felt very far from the glittering facade she had briefly witnessed in the triptych mirror. Far from the visage she had imagined, totally imagined, next to Nether King Hungry Eye’s side.

No matter what she was now, she hated her current self enough to finally move. A little at first, but that hatred bubbled through her and forcibly subdued the panic and anxiety.

When the anxiety refused to concede, Devick simply smothered that useless emotion and tossed it into the dark corners of her heart.

Devick kept trying to breathe, but her chest cavity seemed smaller and smaller with each attempt. Her lungs could barely inflate, her heart could only flutter. The hat-wearing man twisted away and slammed a fist against the Turtleline’s shell, but barely did any damage. With a gesture, a pillar of surging seawater exploded beneath the defender and sent him scrambling backward.

Devick’s hands trembled as she reached down and tore the bottom of her gown. She started mid-thigh, tearing away the smooth silk and leaving a ragged emerald edge. Part of the puffy, chiffon underdress frothed out around her legs. The sleeves, so slender and elegant looking, she ripped away entirely, baring her arms to the shoulder. She licked her lips, looking at her pale skin.

Panic and desperation had created giant red splotches across her limbs.

And that’s fine. What does it matter how I look? Because in the end, I’m just… Devick felt the tears she had thought were coming for so long began to build in the corners of her eyes. Because I’m just… whatever. Don’t try and fucking label yourself, just kill the assholes and figure the rest out later.

Congratulations! Your Grand Fate has begun to evolve! Recalculating…

Warning, as your Grand Fate has achieved many Levels, the results may be a degraded version-

Pantheon intervention. Recalculating…

Hungry Eye’s choker began to heat. A half dozen more Turtlelines were loping across the broken land from Homewell. Devick’s eyes burned as her hatred found an outlet. So what if she just spent her entire life playing at being someone she was not? So what if she had no foundation for her wild imaginings? Because right now, Hungry Eye needed protection. Her problems seemed petty by comparison.

That’s the problem, isn’t it? How fucking petty I am. Devick grimaced. Following her instincts, she reached into the air and grasped. From the absence, she pulled down a heavy obsidian mask. It manifested uncomfortably warm to the touch. Malice chittered with excitement as she shifted her existence, infecting and strengthening herself through the Grand Fate. Devick slid the strange mask into place across her face.

The features were entirely blank except for two holes for eyes and a pre-carved mouth, eternally frowning. From the top, two corkscrew ears twisted out, laying a little below horizontal. From the chin, two sharpened tusks jutted straight downward. The Turtlelines whooped and manifested their various images. They weren’t overly powerful, so it was easy to look past their details and just see enemies.

And in front of her, an enemy had earned only one sort of ending.

She settled down, feeling strangely boneless. Her arms were limp, hanging straight down. She twisted her neck side to side, rocking her frowning face back and forth. Underneath the mask, her tears came pouring out. She ached. She wanted too much, but she had no idea how to grasp it.

More than anything, she wanted Hungry Eye to need her. And as that core wish solidified, her neck began to twist.

At about halfway, her head now horizontal, Devick felt strange. But a wild glee had risen in her heart, the specter of that bloodthirsty monster that always existed beneath the surface. This time, she embraced it fully. And her head kept twisting past the explicable. In reality, her spine should have snapped as she torqued her neck around. But it seemed too easy, her chin clicking around like the hand of a clock.

The reversed perspective meant the mask’s mouth leered out at the world, ends turned up in mad gaiety. In her heart, Devick felt a wild joy surge through her. Two demonic horns stuck straight up from her head. Two strange whiskered curled sideways from her chin. New eye holes appeared on the top of the mask, revealing irises that seared crimson.

Congratulations! Your Grand Fate Maverick’s Barbaric Imperative has evolved into the Grand Fate Malice, Merry Consort of Perdition. Levels will be maintained!

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