The Legend of Randidly Ghosthound

The change arrived silently, prickling across the back of all their necks.

“Finally, Elhume moves…” Don Beigon muttered to himself as he looked at the horizon. Behind him, he could feel all the joviality falling out of the gathered individuals.

All of their bravery had fallen away when the shadow of their tyrant. The laughter and babble had been silence. And honestly, the Don couldn’t blame them. Even though he had spent the last several hundred years preparing for exactly this challenging confrontation, his heart still started to flutter.

It was not a soft heart or wise maneuvers with which Elhume had claimed his peak. He had forged his crown with power.

The strange Vulpine husks came first, crackling with overwhelming power but walking with stumbling steps. Then the sky darkened, as though Elhume’s disapproving attention could warp even the weather. The crowd of Nether Lattice converts cowered before that darkness. The grand Engraving that advanced the portal's climb began to sputter and spark, affected by the adverse shift in energy.

Then came the fists, puffing into the sky. Timeless, Timeless, Timeless, Timeless, Timeless. First hundreds, then thousands, then what felt like millions of prepared fists popped into existence. Until the shambling husks became an afterthought, until the darkened sky seemed harmless, until Don Beigon had difficulty breathing beneath their hovering weight. They formed a floating, drifting wall of violence, a briefly stayed but promised doom.

“We must flee,” The humanoid hawk whispered. All of the members of the Nether Lattice shivered behind her. Their eyes had grown wide and panicked.

Despite the situation, the Don couldn’t help but chuckle. He felt a sour note of satisfaction. “It is far too late for that.”

The fists began their journey forward. They covered the horizon to the point it was just a teeming wall of knuckles. Their approach seemed like the entire world was closing up around the ground.

Don Beigon began pulling more deeply from the Nether Lattice. He borrowed and borrowed from their well of significance, throwing more and more energy into the struggling grand Engraving, sending it roaring to life with this impending threat. He felt the debts he owed to these individuals piling up. Yet each moment meant that his journey through the Path to the Pinnacle would be that much easier.

Through the hanging portal, the Don could sense a heaviness beginning to gather. Small motes of oblivion crowded the edge of the portal. Soon, he thought to himself.

“Don Beigon!” The humanoid hawk squawked out her displeasure. She fluttered her arm wings, caught between conflicting impulses and emotions. “Now is not the time for this! We must gather our power- Nether Lattice, move together and stop him from dooming us all!”

As I said, too late.

The Don’s lip curled as she began to try and cut off his access to their significance. He had helped them in their haphazard construction efforts, which meant he understood exactly how precarious the current Nether Lattice had become; no longer did a Lathis sit atop the pyramid, a cabal clustered and crowded the top plateau. Their responses were sluggish, requiring a majority of their wills to accomplish her request. He caught the eyes of a few unobtrusive figures of influence within the Nether Lattice. Older debts were called in to be paid.

When the hawk humanoid tried to shut the tunnel, a few key individuals counteracted her decision. The Nether Lattice wavered. Its power remained open to him, and Don Beigon did not stand on ceremony.

He pulled and pulled, dumping out all the significance they possessed.

*****

Raymund Ballast kept his back straight and his chin lifted. In his body, he denied any presence of exhaustion. “Report.”

A group of six, five standing and one sitting, tense individuals gathered in the makeshift command tent they had erected at the edges of the ghastly plains in which they found themselves. They had just broken through the encirclement not once but twice, to give the Vulpis Squad a picture of how bad their situation had really become.

Alana Donal had led the scouting team, while the rest of the forces hunkered down here and defended against the porcelain dolls, interspersed with rambling Vulpine husks, that assaulted them near constantly. And from all reports, her new Skills had blossomed in the high-stakes situation.

They had been here a month, trapped in a bubble of time with only a tenuous connection to the Ghosthound. A third of the Vulpis Squad sported some sort of physical or image wound. Twenty had been killed.

Their graves were hunched over in the middle of the camp in neat rows.

Jieu Ronault, the avatar of fire bearing the heritage of the Stillborn Phoenix, currently exhausted himself holding the line while so much of the Vulpis Squad’s powerhouses gathered for this meeting. Today, they would choose their next move.

But there was one conspicuous absence in the command tent. Although she led the expedition and definitely was the member of the Vulpis Squad who grew the most quickly, Alana Donal was not present. Her injuries, while the type that would quickly heal, were too grievous. She trusted Raymond and needed time to recover.

DiOrtho Vant cleared his throat and began his report. “It’s as we expected; past the encirclement, troops thin considerably. But in the center of the plains, they are continuing to corral additional energy. A more restrictive time barrier, with the most likely goal to trap Pine’s body, is being built. Essentially, they are throwing up a Dungeon and we are unfortunately caught in its field. But the gate isn’t yet closed. Fiero works quickly with these sorts of things, but not quickly enough-”

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

A pulse spread through the entire plains, causing the group to wince. A brief whisper of a metaphysical shadow had been cast across them all, before disappearing and leaving them all sighing with relief. A soul-grinding hint at the approaching Pine, and why eliminating their group ended up being an afterthought.

Thankfully, Fiero had bigger concerns than the Vulpis Squad.

Vant’s words were further delayed by a hacking cough from the one sitting individual, Heiffal. The former second of the Vulpis squad curled in on himself on the floor, little more than a torso as the degenerative image ate its way through his body. Charlotte Wick hovered next to him, sending her image into the ground and radiating pure waves of healing.

But as Heiffal wiped phlegm and blood from his lips, he waved away her efforts. “Did you find the door?”

“We found energy traces leading to the opposite end of the plains. Alana confirmed it from afar, although we didn’t approach. Relatively easy to reach, if we avoid the formation. But with the reserve force sitting right in front of it,” Vant sighed. “I don’t recommend an assault.”

“Agreed,” Vizzeret Clamman bowed his canine head. Even through his fur, his thinned ribs were visible. The last month had been brutal on them all.

Heiffal growled and shook his head. As much as Raymund knew he wouldn’t like the answer, he needed to ask. “Present the most likely outcome, should necessity drive us to test our tenacity against their defenses.”

The sixth individual, a common Vulpis Squad member named Edgar, straightened. “With full mobility and the capability of our elites, barring additional defenses we cannot detect… we will experience attrition of about half of our wounded during the assault before we are able to escape. Much more likely… all the wounded will need to be left behind, in order to prevent a catastrophic number of casualties.”

Raymund did his own calculations. About another twenty dead in the best case, more like 40 or 50 in the worst. His heart ached, to know these deaths would happen under his stewardship. In his chest, he felt these wisps of Nether swirling together, the slow accumulation of the Ghosthound’s shift in Nether. They were a small comfort, grounding him in his body, giving him just a little bit of extra persistence. Perhaps without those wisps flowing into the group, they wouldn’t have managed to last this long.

Even with them, he knew it was almost impossible for them to survive another two weeks in this place.

He felt the weight of the decision pressing against him as the rest waited in tense silence. His eyes examined them all. He forced himself to look closely, without flinching, no matter how much the examination earned sympathetic rumbles from his own growling exhaustion. He finally looked at Heiffal. “Your thoughts?”

“We are missing something,” Hieffal grunted out the words. He used his one good arm to gesture toward the center of the plains. “We need to examine the Dungeon Engravings more closely. Why are they taking so much time to bleed us dry?”

“Because we don’t matter,” Charlotte sighed.

Hieffal sniffed and looked at her. Perhaps it was the pain or the slow collapse of his image, but there was an icy certainty at the center of the previously jovial man. “Speak for yourself. But more than our individual power, we are acting as Nether overflow stabilizers for the Ghosthound while we are in this separate temporal flow. Cannot you feel it? Fiero isn’t stupid. So long as we exist out here, the shift in Randidly’s core is being accelerated. Yes, restraining Pine’s arrival is important, but that doesn’t solve the problem of Randidly kicking him off the throne. So I say, we are missing something. Before we run, we need to find it.”

“We don’t have the personnel to send another scouting expedition. Everyone is too exhausted,” Clamman shook his head.

“I believe Heiffal suggests a full mobilization,” Raymund said slowly.

Of course, Charlotte’s gaze grew alarmed. “That’s impossible. In your condition-”

“I’ve survived this long, haven’t I? Besides, I’ve absorbed more Nether than the rest of you. It should hold me together long enough to see this through.” Heiffal looked around at the group, his eyes chips of ice. “Look at our situation. We won’t get out of this without paying a price. Better I pay it than some of you with real potential-”

“Sir!” Edgar interrupted with a sharp step forward. “Your potential-”

Heiffal waved his hand in dismissal. “My significance grows quickly, but that’s just because my image is almost completely gone. My potential is nothing significant.”

“If we get you back to the Alpha Cosmos,” Charlotte began, but Heiffal silenced her with a look.

Into that heavy silence, Raymund sighed. His own instincts twitched. He wondered how Techetadore recuperating, in the Alpha Cosmos. “...I trust Heiffal’s instincts. We cannot allow ourselves to be dead weight for the Ghosthound. The group will move tomorrow. Vant, take over from Jieu; he will need time to bank his fire before we proceed. Charlotte, assist him. At the half-shift mark, proceed to the injured quarters. I hate to ask this of you, but we need-”

“I’ll beggar myself to get them back on their feet,” Charlotte bowed. “As Hieffal has said, I think the Nether I’ve accumulated can keep me going, even when my image has been drained to its last drop.”

Raymund watched them go. Clamman went as well, to take his own much-needed rest; Raymund knew the Canine’s pride was hurt he wasn’t given an extra task in the interim, but he acknowledged his own limits.

If we possessed lassitude and opportunity, we would all grow rapidly away from this killing field, Raymund thought sadly. But… our opportunities might have run out.

Meanwhile, Edgar stepped tentatively up to Heiffal’s side. “Might look a bit grim now, but look on the bright side; at least its your left arm that’s deteriorated. When we make it back to the Alpha Cosmos, return to Kharon… your right arm bowling form won’t have suffered. You’ll be able to show Commissioner Arrietti a flawless game.”

“Keh,” Heiffal turned sideways for a brief second. Then he smirked at Edgar. “I’ve actually been thinking about that bastard quite a bit. Yea, definitely, when this is all over let’s go back and see how good that human has become. No one… respects perfection as much as he does.”

Edgar bowed and left.

When he was gone, Heiffal began to weep. Silently but openly.

After a few minutes of standing vigil, Raymund released a breath and said the line he had been practicing for several weeks. “I could borrow a portion of your injuries, you know. Perhaps a brief respite would allow you to-”

“We both know it would only hamstring you, at the most important time.” Heiffal sniffed, damming his tears. He leaned sideways and spat, then looked at Raymund with clear eyes. “No, your talents are better spent elsewhere. I have a different request. How much can you repeatedly use your powers? Compounding the borrowing? The way my significance accumulates, when it is spent, it comes back faster. So if you were to borrow the significance in my body, allow more to accumulate, then borrow more? Would such a process be possible?”

“It is possible. But not advisable. When such significance is returned-” Raymund paused. He suddenly understood. His gaze toward Heiffal sharpened. “Why?”

The certainty and resolve in Heiffal’s eyes felt like facing a deluge of glacier runoff. “Just insurance.”

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