The Legend of Randidly Ghosthound

The Monarch of Karma tried to dream of a better life. A simpler existence of farming and laughing with his son.

But he woke up gasping every time he felt himself truly relax, worried that his subconscious would start reaching, grasping, demanding the world exist in a certain way and he would fall headlong back into the cycle. That he might forget for a moment his son had died, might be struck again by grief and be twisted into another spiral. His sleepless current situation needled him, his past scared, him, the future he viewed with bleary-sleepless eyes.

More than anything, he just wanted peace. The Monarch of Karma pressed his hands against the ground of his small stone coffin, drifting through the empty space. At least the environment remained blessedly inert. Recently, he felt the tug of a grand flow of energy; there seemed to be a current that had plucked him up and carried him along. But a motion this small was fine. Giving up control was a divine-

His vessel jolted unpleasantly. The Monarch of Karma sat up in surprise. Another platform, about double as large as his current one, had knocked into his. Now the two tumbled and spun lazily through space, seemingly unwilling to part.

The Monarch of Karma eyed this interloper to his self-imposed exile suspiciously. Waves of powerful emotion wafted off the new ground— whether it had been sundered off a greater whole or used as a small platform he could not tell, but it was obvious this place had served as some sort of holy site. It had housed a powerful ritual and now just coincidentally smacked up against him. A very powerful ritual, from what the Monarch could sense.

Despite his current even-keeled current mental state, he didn’t dare look too closely. Not because the land was that powerful, but because of the possibilities his instincts might covet even in some small amount of power.

“This is always how it starts.” The Monarch of Karma muttered. His body felt drained, but he still forced himself to clamber over and pry the two pieces of stone apart. He kicked this strange and mystic platform away. Better to be rid of it than allow the temptation to linger.

He settled back down to return to his rest that was not rest. A dreamless non-oblivion, his awareness grating against him every few moments. At the very least, he returned to prolonged inaction. He sought a state without desire as he meditated.

Perhaps in absence, he could find an answer. But reaching such a flow state was easier said than done.

To be frank, he was bored. For all that he didn’t trust himself, he also had been largely unconscious for the last… well, it felt like quite a long time. So after a minute or two, he glanced sideways in the direction he had kicked the stone platform, for a little bit of stimuli. He looked over just in time to see the platform bounce of one, two, three other drifting bits of debris… which spun the platform back around and set it back drifting toward the Monarch of Karma.

He let out an aggrieved sigh. “It always starts this way…”

*****

Alana Donal’s nerves sang as she gathered her image power into her hands. The golden-orange holy light rippled off of her body and forced back the pressure of the crystalline walls. Opposite her, Shal’s face twisted into a scowl. The heavy blade he swung back and forth could snap her in half— their earlier clash while she activated Struggle had almost caused her liver to rupture and her shoulders to be dislocated from the few moments of contact.

If she made a single mistake, she would die.

She sucked in a breath. As above the Ghosthound struggled, she would hold the line below. She refused to fail. Because her strange instruction from Azriel had truly taught her that there were many methods of attack, even in battle. “The Third Revelation: Anguish.”

Agony seized Alana’s body. All the power of her Skill began within her own veins, her own sensitive marrow. She shivered as it passed through her, the power building with all the vulnerability she offered to the Skill, all the self-inflicted wounds that form upon her soul. She felt all her frustrations at being unable to catch up to Randidly, all her wild disappointments in herself, the long nights of swinging her spear that had begun to seem tedious and pointless.

Yet Alana Donal never flinched in the face of pain. She never missed a day of spear practice. Azriel even commented that while Randidly Ghosthound remained an impossible foe, perhaps just in the mechanics of the spear, Alana should be considered his superior.

The bittersweet truth of that statement had still been enough to make Alana beam. And then she doubled the intensity of her practice. So long as the distance existed between them, her current pace was not enough.

Her personal agony clawed its way out of her chest, leaving long but invisible furrows through her flesh that ached for the displacement. For all she had accomplished, it was so hard to remain content with that, when Randidly stood above them all and grappled with a literal god. Yet when the wave of power exploded out of her body, Alana felt a flash of satisfaction as the attack found the soft flesh of her opponent.

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Shal stiffened. His pupils dilated. He could only manage a soft groan, that powerful and raw image forced to stillness by the aura she released. He had been locked into a strained stasis.

Normally, her Skill couldn’t be used with such vicious efficacy. However, Alana and Shal were bound by their relationships with Randidly. Alana’s ability came from her sense of inadequacy… and that note found a sympathetic ear in Shal. Yet the difference between them-

Azriel let out a small laugh. “ What a fool. You still let the smallest impediment stumble you, Shal.”

Shal remained frozen, unable to process the pain for a moment. Alana surged forward, desperate to close the gap between Randidly and herself. Her spear ran through Shal’s gut. His eyes widened in recognition, the curtain of Anguish holding him still blown away by the attack. His eyes narrowed. His heavy image moved.

Alana twisted and ripped the spear sideways, obliterating most of his internal organs. Shal roared and heaved on his massive image. Alana removed her spear and slid backward, but her foot got clipped by the counterattack. The flesh of her toes was pulped together and she felt the bones of her lower leg shatter.

She stumbled, but then orange light settled around the destroyed foot to re-establish a firm foundation. She brought her spear up at Shal, but he just glared at her with his wild and wide eyes.

His shoulders trembled. “You haven’t the faintest idea…! Of the weight I have borne to reach this place.”

“Don’t start with this melodrama about Tellus. You did not need to throw its entire fate on your back. You were chosen… because you were there,” Azriel’s eyes sharpened. “Because I could not be the one to fulfill the role for which I had always been shaped. If you bore the weight of the world, I bore it for longer-”

“My brother.” The beginnings of tears formed in the corner of Shal’s eyes. “It was him. Always him. I needed to live and show the world how powerful his ideas would have become-”

“He never would have asked this of you,” Alana said, unsure whether she should intervene. But when she saw Shal pivot and glower at her, she forced herself to continue. “You are torturing yourself for nothing. Take a step back, Shal. Allow us to discuss this.”

Shal’s eyes flicked upward for a second before landing again on Alana. “Then I suppose… I simply choose to suffer for those who have not asked for it. Step aside. The next strike will shatter you.”

Alana smiled without any mirth. On the day that Azriel had agreed to personally teach her, the pale and streamlined woman had looked at Alana with quizzical eyes. “You realize that Randidly would never ask this of you. You do not need to push yourself to such an extent. Considering the amount of time you have existed under the influence of the System, and now the Pantheon, you can be considered a genius. Your accomplishments speak for themselves. Why continue to push?”

Because while chasing accomplishments would have me cross several arbitrary finish lines at this point, chasing him fills my view with a wide-open Path and hopes for a breathless future. Alana had responded.

Azriel shook her head, but they soon got to work.

A boom echoed out from above, shaking both the duelists. When the pressure faded, Alana and Shal both rushed toward each other. Shal planted his foot and launched himself forward with his weapon kept low. The violence of his Armament rose and almost suffocated Alana’s image, already pressured on every side by the crystal cavern. Yet still she she raised her weapon.

She could feel it so acutely, fighting here, the difference between who she was and who she hoped she could be. The orange-gold motes of energy glittered against her skin, but couldn’t spread much further beyond that. Her palms ached and blood leaked out of the impromptu energy bandage she had created to stabilize her water balloon of a foot.

But this is how we improve. Surviving this. Alana blinked. She felt her image rising up through her body. Not Anguish this time, but a different sort of feeling, one closer to awe. From the bottom of her heart, she understood that she never would catch up to Randidly Ghosthound, because this feeling weighed her down.

She admired him. She couldn’t help but appreciate how many life-threatening situations he had crawled through to grow to his current form.

Yet she didn’t feel regret that she had such feelings and her potential might be limited. She didn’t intend to play mental games to try and avoid the problem. Feeling this was honest. And Alana Donal wielded an honest spear.

“The Fourth Revelation: Divinity.”

A point of flawless light opened at the tip of Alana’s spear. She stood before heavy and inarticulate violence, smashing her reverence against the onslaught of force. A horrible screeching echoed out from their confrontation, cutting down through the brawl between Swacc Family and Vulpis Squad.

The pressure crunched her foot, sending a wave of pain up her body. She wavered but didn’t fall. Her Divinity dimmed as Shal’s weapon ground against it… but it did not vanish. The light did not fade.

Both stepped back, panting. From the pains in Alana’s joints, her body felt much closer to collapsing than her image had. Yet her eyes blazed with pride. Even barely able to keep her grip on her spear and her body struggling to heal, she spoke with conviction. “You cannot go up, Shal. This is your fight. Here, against me.”

He looked at her with bitterness in his expression, for the first time of his emotional corruption revealed. The tears flowed down his cheeks now, bleak and pointless. “I’ve already lost my fight. I… was not enough. Now I’m simply attempting to demonstrate to my student how the world works. But you know-”

Shal’s eyes glittered as he looked up. “I did not strive for this burden. I wish… I wish we had never encountered one another. Our paths separate… perhaps then-”

Suddenly, Alana felt a strange uneasiness. Before she could respond, the air shifted. She could almost feel the pivot. Azriel gasped, but Randidly Ghosthound stiffened in his fight against Elhume and looked down to meet Shal’s gaze.

And Shal saw the universe as it might have been.

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