The Legend of Randidly Ghosthound

Elhume accepted Mae Myrna’s announcement she would be staying, even kept his good cheer when the Patron of Feathers, because she was also trying to improve herself, and the Patron of the Deep, who swore Randidly would absolutely butcher his artistic visions for the skyislands if he left him to his own devices, announced they would remain in the area around Malloon for the time being.

Everyone seemed confident that so long as they made themselves scarce, Westrisser wouldn't seek them out.

In a way, Elhume’s expression seemed to ease with each announcement, especially with the implication they would be hanging around Randidly; at the very least, several people would be here to protect the injured Patron of the Deep. The group might be split, but it wasn’t an issue.

His tune, however, changed completely when he found out the nature of her ‘training montage’.

“You are allowing your image to be refined by Westrisser?” Elhume’s eyes widened. The fury seized him a second later, tightening the muscles around his jaw. “It can be nothing but a trap. I’m torn between whether he’d mangle your image while you are vulnerable or plant a bomb at the heart of you, but this won’t end well.”

Mae Myrna’s eyes filled with empathy as she looked at Elhume. “This is a difficult time. And I am not trying to defend his integrity: I think we can all agree he has thoroughly strapped on the boots of villainy. But he’s also strong, Elhume. After several long discussions, I believe he understands how I want my image to change and is uniquely equipped to make it happen. As such-”

“He tried to kill our friend. And admitted to arranging for many-” Elhume growled lightly, reaching up and rubbing his cheeks, which probably had cramped from how long he had been scowling. “Look, I get it. I also want to be stronger. But this isn’t the way. We will survive, just like we always have.”

“This is my way, that I’ve chosen.” Mae Myrna’s eyes narrowed. “Trust me, Elhume. I have weighed the risks. They are not as dangerous as you believe.”

Elhume huffed out a breath through his nose as he considered her. Weirdly, the memory began to skitter and shudder. The sensation was similar to when Randidly destabilized the memory with pressure from his Nether Core, but this time, it wasn’t him causing the disturbance. From the way he growled out his words, it was clear Elhume didn’t sense the sudden stutteriness of the surroundings. “What the hell is this about, Mae?”

“The capability to determine my own fate,” She replied directly. Neither backed down. The twitching across the memory grew worse.

“When did you become this desperate? This might look like a shortcut, but you are weakening yourself by trusting Westrisser.” Elhume snapped back. “You don’t think I crave power too? But relying on them is too risky. If I- if I want to have any hope of seeing Pine again, we can’t give those monsters even a sliver of access. Because they will twist and burn everything to the ground.”

“If it is desperation to realize how close we walk to the precipice of death, then maybe,” Mae’s eyes flashed with genuine irritation. “And you waltz into a meeting with the Savior Cult and yet have the gall to question why I- Ha! Okay, fine. You know what it is? I’ve understood conceptually we have only survived by relying on each other and you, but recently I’ve realized how much it’s always been you. You, swinging your fists and playing the hero on your journey to save your mythic sun.”

Randidly’s attention was dragged back from the weird behavior of the memory around them by Mae jabbing her thumb at his chest. “The one time we acted alone, we got in deep shit with Westrisser’s people. We needed a stranger to help us. And you know what I was thinking, right before he arrived? I hoped you would be the one to show up. I… was weak. And I’m tired of it, Elhume. I’m tired of relying on someone else. Maybe this is reckless, but I trust my instincts. And they are telling me that training with Westrisser will work. Let me go now and I will return with the confidence to back you up. We can save your son.”

“There is no shame in needing help sometimes, Mae,” Elhume’s expression softened. Yet the emotion radiating out from his expression was pity. “I would not have you make bargains of yourself for my sake.”

The Patron of Truth schooled her expression into a mask of disinterest. “I’ve said my piece, Elhume. Trust me, I have things under control. It is not as dramatic as you want it to be. This is simply a transaction.”

“Don’t do this,” He responded.

Without a word, she turned away. Elhume stepped after her and grabbed her wrist. “You cannot seriously expect me to-”

With a sharp movement, Mae Myrna twisted and slapped his hand away. Her mask fell away, revealing a roiling fury that crackled. “I can’t expect you to what, treat me as more than an errant child? Fuck. You. If you wanted so badly to be a father, maybe you shouldn’t have misplaced your child in the first place.”

This time when she turned and stomped off, Elhume did not attempt to stop her. His face had gone white at such a harsh framing of the scenario. After a short hesitation, the Patron of Feathers bowed to Elhume and helped the Patron of the Deep to float along with them. Significance continued to rapidly accumulate around their departing forms, drawing long, ugly tails in the sky. These tails continue to stretch and hang, tearing flaws into the fabric of the memory.

At least those dragging chunks of significance explain the weird stuttering, Randidly frowned. But why-

“Mae you fool, there is no guarantee it would work. I will not be able to save you from this.”

Randidly paused and glanced back over his shoulder. In addition to the strange rips spreading around the three departing Patrons, jagged thorns stretched up from one of the ancillary Patrons. The Patron of the Borrowed, Fiero, the ancestor of Raymund, lifted his chin. His eyes were filled with confidence and surety.

The rest of the group were frozen. Only the nine-tailed fox moved, tilting his head to the side like he was hearing someone else speak. After, he responded with a growl. “I have heard the reports, but can you really trust them? Not all who have gone through the process escape unscathed. Others are wracked by lingering sickness, physical and mental-”

A look of irritation crossed the Patron of the Borrowed’s face. “...no, you definitely have the constitution of a horse. I’ve never heard even a sniffle out of that ugly nose of yours. But you have to remember, this phenomenon originated from Westrisser and dozens of dead Nether Kings. The price paid to stabilize these should tell you what you risk by using them.”

The more Fiero spoke, the more the reverberations through the memory worsened. Flows of significance lashed back and forth, almost separating the fabric of the memory into layers. Randidly felt strangely stretched and pulled by the distortion. Colors seeped out of the arranged world and left the frozen characters in monochrome.

Fiero, still colored, softened. “I know we’ve had our differences in the past. If not for Elhume- well. We wouldn’t have associated with each other at all, would we? But taking this Path… you don’t have to do this, Mae. I can help you find another way.”

The scratching rush of significance flowing in every direction rose. To the Patron of the Borrowed’s right, the low hills around Malloon became shadowy, over contrasted mounds. To his left, everything was bleached away by oversaturation. The memory shuddered.

A rakish grin twisted the Patron of the Borrowed’s face. “No, I never hated you. Or wished upon you the madness with which some who attempted this path have been afflicted. Only I-”

With a strange twist, the dark side and the bleached light side slithered together. The memory popped with a low rumble disturbingly similar to a massive burp. Color and contrast restored themselves, the strange tears in the memory vanishing. None of the Patrons seemed to have noticed the interlude, while the Patron of the Borrow seemed somehow smaller and less imposing after than he had during the shift. Mae Myrna walked away from Elhume with her head held high, her words still heavy in the air between them.

After nodding to Elhume, Randidly left and started heading toward his farm. His thoughts raced. The damage to the memory- no, it was almost like a skip, wasn’t it? Like this moment happened differently in the original, due to my presence shifting events around a bit.

It makes some sense. If I hadn’t intervened, Jotem would have died and the Patron of the Deep would have rushed to Malloon for vengeance. Westrisser gets the justification to attack him earlier, but he escapes with a deep wound. The group flees and regroups elsewhere. Mae Myrna doesn’t encounter Westrisser again until much later.

Randidly resisted the urge to look back over his shoulder. Hard to tell what exactly it is though. But since the contents of the discussions were similar- shit, I really have no idea.

His mind continued to turn the possibilities over and over again, but he hadn’t made much headway by the time he made it back. The only detail he noted was the Patron of Borrowed referred to ‘methods’ of Westrisser. Based on what Randidly knew about the context, these methods, and the implied price in Nether King bodies, were very likely the reason that Nether King Bleak Sky had been sent out against him.

If he could, he should try to uncover what sort of experiments drew the ire of Wyndaos.

Randidly found his farm much as he left it, beginning to heal from the earlier battle here. He released a pulse of Animation Nova to accelerate the healing of the farm and sat down to meditate. For the moment, he pushed the strange interaction of Nether out of his mind and focused on himself.

When he felt recovered, he opened up his Path Menu. Randidly Ghosthound grinned. Looks like I’ve caught up, Don Beigon.

Congratulations! You have completed the Achieving a Mille III Path! Although the amount of time you have spent pursuing your route to the Pinnacle has been short, you continue to rapidly accrue achievements. It is not an easy Path you have chosen either, but one of immense complexity and power, shaped now by your unique capabilities and intentions. As you reinforce the foundational pillars of your method, the path forward grows more even. Beyond even your Skills, new avenues of advancement open up to you. Your understanding influences every movement. Dedication becomes a familiar tool, its worn handle fitting well into your palm.

Such a tool is necessary, for what comes later.

Yet do not mistake your current improvements for narrowing the gap between yourself and the Pinnacle. Your power grows. Your Path firms. Yet it is not distance that separates you from true control, but a barrier of your own design. Until you locate and reach across that gap, the Path leads ever onward.

Congratulations! All regenerations +1000! Your understanding of Skills deepens! The effect of Ghosthound’s Proficiency (U) slightly increases!

Congratulations! You are the second fastest to finish the Achieving a Mille III Path! Due to your speed, you have earned an extra reward! All Stats +100.

Randidly narrowed his eyes as he looked down at the Path completion notification. First because of the not-so-subtle prodding from the text, stating that while this would increase his power, it didn’t help him reach toward the Pinnacle. And second, because again, someone else had reached the Path before he did. Considering his own meteoric rise, he was having some difficulty swallowing that fact.

“But I guess there have been billions… even trillions of individuals before me,” Randidly mused. He looked down at Sulfur palm, where the spot of exhaustion still lingered. He felt the weight of all the negativity from those lives only in just his Alpha Cosmos, the way they lingered and affected him as he clenched his fist.

For a few seconds, he simply flexed his hand, bearing that weight. His emotions seethed inside of him. His new Stats and regenerations settled across his body. Then he released it and relaxed. He let out a low breath.

Then, with a different focus than he had previously, he began to train.

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