Sam kept his hand clamped against Sunan’s shoulder less as a sign of affection from a caring parent and more like a jailer keeping a close eye on a dangerous felon with a history of escapes on his record. The boy squirmed in his grip as the trio waited in line for transportation onto the new skyisland that Kharon was unveiling for this special occasion. The sun had set and the venue of the auction rose as a spinning hedron of darkness.

Before they were allowed to enter, none of the lights of the auction house were lit. There was a sense of excitement in the air, the novel experience titillating the affluent individuals who had obtained an invitation.

“I’ll say this about Tatiana,” Regina looked around the line in front of them to the elegant-looking skycarriages that waited at the edge of the queue. Each was carved in a unique way, some depicting monsters, others covered in heroic-looking sculptures of armored individuals hefting weapons. “She really knows how to throw a grand party.”

“And make an entrance,” Sam grunted. He glanced at his watch. Ten seconds were left until 7 P.M. on the dot, which would be when the new skyisland officially opened. “So, do you think the reveal will be done with an explosion or not?”

“Explosion,” Sunan said confidently. Regina rolled her eyes and gave Sam a look that reiterated her earlier statement. These are your genes at work.

Eight seconds later, a distant point of light blinked into existence upon this new skyisland. As they watched, that small beginning spread steadily outward, illuminating the various levels and the almost greek exterior of the skyisland. Tall pillars lined the sides of the skyisland, which didn’t follow the typical cookie-shaped template for skyislands. Instead, the auction venue looked more like a massive, floating toward. It spun slowly in the air, a slow-motion catwalk turn for the watching city below.

Soon, the entirety of the venue was visible, clean and sharp and sophisticated. But as the queues began to be allowed into the waiting skycarriages, a new noise shook the sky.

ROOOOAAAAARRRRRRRR!

Sam looked upward. Wivanya’s massive and sinuous body rushed over Kharon, carrying Alana and whatever guests she had brought to the auction venue. People in line around the trio began to whisper excitedly and point upward; to most people, Alana Donal was a celebrity. She was the most powerful woman on the planet, now that Randidly Ghosthound had left.

Sam’s lips twitched. No one seems to remember who made all ‘er equipment though…

“What a mount,” Sunan sighed.

*****

Vye couldn’t help but bow to the girl. “Color me impressed. Even with me trying my best to distract you, you managed to find this mysterious card user in only a few days.”

Delilah flushed at the praise. She, Vye, and Thorn were standing next to an abandoned scrapyard. On the other side of the rusted stacks of scrap metal and discarded industrial equipment was a small garage that devoured all images that neared it. A sinister energy radiated outward from the building that kept them from approaching any closer.

Delilah coughed into her hand. “Well, anyone could do this. You just need to put the moss spirits to work; they have their own images, you know, so they would avoid any places with a image-killer suit… and if you know how to communicate with them… well, ehehehe…. I suppose I do deserve a little bit of the credit… and now-”

As she took a step forward, Delilah was stopped by one of Thorn’s vine hands. She frowned up at his cowled face. “Why? Ugh, you aren’t going to insist that we wait for backup, are you? This terrorist is right there! And we three are powerful enough by ourselves-”

Vye chuckled and shrugged. “No, we aren’t saying that we should wait for backup. If anything, we are the backup. Looks like someone had the same idea as you… and got here just a bit faster. Finder, keepers is the MO of the Order Ducis. So for now, let’s wait here.”

Delilah blinked several times and twisted around to stare at the area around the garage. Who the hell is better at reading the moss spirits than I am…?

*****

Garrett checked his watch. The clock read 7:15. Most of the influential people would be heading into Kharon’s newest Skyisland at this point. Traffic into the venue would be closely monitored, but Garrett didn’t need to detonate the darksteel bomb there. In fact, doing so and harming the representatives from the Zone would be counter-productive. He just needed to prove to the world how vulnerable Kharon’s city was.

They could not rely on this spawn of Randidly Ghosthound for their protection. They needed to build up their own arsenal of tools to prevent people from dying.

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Releasing a hiss of discomfort as he neared the Darksteel Bomb that so closely resembled a pinecone, Garret stored the object into the interspatial watch. Already, his body ached from the proximity; he planned on shifting the bomb to the detonation point as quickly as possible and moving further away. Hopefully, the damage to his image wasn’t too deep at this point.

Garrett hurried out of the garage, closed the sliding door behind him, and then froze. A figure with long black hair and a metal left arm was standing in front of the garage almost casually, looking up at the sky. As though he was simply here by coincidence.

Garrett couldn’t breathe; Randidly Ghosthound turned unhurriedly to look at him. He tilted his head to the side.

The voice of the Ghosthound was low and heavy. He seemed to swell to fill the entirety of Garret’s vision, blotting out the environment with the force of his presence. “What do you have in your watch, Garrett?”

Impossible… he can’t see- The Ghosthound’s ominous words shocked him back into wakefulness. Garret quickly checked the watch, as though he was expecting to find some corner of the darksteel bomb peeking out, revealing his intentions. Of course, he found no such evidence; the bomb was safely hidden within the interspatial pocket. The Ghosthound was obviously fishing for information.

Then the reality of what was currently happening hit Garrett; even if there were no evidence, was the Ghosthound the sort of individual that required justification for his actions…? Not here, not in the heart of Kharon, where the death of a character like him could easily be hidden from the public eye. So he hastily pulled out the one-and-a-half-meter-tall pinecone and gripped the detonator tightly in his raised left hand.

He tried to make himself sound confident as he announced his attentions. “If you take even a single step toward me-”

The detonator dropped out of hand and into a waiting root pocket. His fingers had been pried backward away from the small bit of metal by roots that had wound themselves up and around Garrett’s limbs before he even realized they were present. Despite struggling with all his Strength, the roots around him didn’t budge.

Even worse, the grip of the roots was steadily tightening. It was increasingly difficult for Garrett to breathe.

The root brought the detonator to the Ghosthound, who picked it up with two fingers, grimaced, the crushed it into scrap metal between his metallic fingers. Panicking, Garrett began to shout. “You… you’re a monster! Even if you kill me, don’t think the violence you’ve inflicted on this planet has been forgotten! Others might only think of you as a philanthropist, but I’ve seen how cold you’re heart is!”

“You’re right.” The Ghosthound agreed quietly. Then he walked forward and squatted next to the darksteel bomb, examining it closely.

If anything, Garrett was unnerved by the Ghosthound’s agreement. His mouth worked soundlessly, as though chewing this man’s acceptance until it made sense.

But quickly, purpose returned to Garrett’s expression.

Although his image had been weakened by remaining so close to the darksteel bomb for so long, he still had been trained all those years ago in the Order Ducis camp. And he had not given up in his progress since then; Garrett’s determination to pull back the facade of Randidly Ghosthound had kept him sharp. So despite the fact that he was physically bound, he gathered all of his Willpower to unleash a sharp strike mental strike at the distracted Ghosthound.

Just as a deck of self-shuffling cards manifested behind Garrett’s head, the Ghosthound looked up. One eye was emerald, the other was black. Those two colors arrested him completely. “Erode Image.”

Garrett howled and then groaned from the pain of his mind shattering. The only reason that he remained standing was the support of those very same roots were tightening around him. For a second his consciousness was foggy, but steadily Garrett was lured back to wakefulness by the Ghosthound’s face.

“...though you’re right. Only recently… I’ve realized that people on Expira have spent so long staring after my back that they haven’t realized the sort of expression I make toward the foes in front of me: the oppressive monsters in the Nexus.” Through his swimming vision, Garrett saw the Ghosthound reach out and pluck off one of the heavy darksteel plates as though he was tugging off a yellow wildflower petal. “And that expression… is certainly chilly. It’s had to be. Anything less will get me killed.”

“Your… hands are… soaked in blood…” Garrett tried to spit out his words, but they simply dribbled past his lips and down his immobilized body.

The Ghosthound nodded easily enough, but Garrett didn’t miss that tight and stark lines of his frigid expression. “Well, enough about me. Do you have any idea about why darksteel damages certain images?”

“It damages… all images…” Garrett mumbled. Now that the Ghosthound had brought his attention to it, he could sense the way that the aura of the darksteel was seeping into his shattered image and steadily erasing his years of work. But he was so weak and off-balance that he couldn’t even muster the slightest resistance. Everything drained away, leaving Garrett empty.

“Incorrect.” The Ghosthound said. He raised his hand and waves of inky energy seeped outward, surrounding the darksteel bomb. Abruptly, the pressure on Garrett’s image was gone; the Ghosthound had somehow isolated the darksteel bomb. “What darksteel does is interfere with connections between images. The truth is, most people haven’t thought too deeply about their own images. Some very vital details of those images are borrowed from some sort of collective unconscious… so being deprived of those connections immediately weakens those images.

“Think of it this way: on Expira, the average person has an image that’s the equivalent of a toddler. Of course, you would suffer if you were cut off from your parents.” The Ghosthound stood and brushed off his knees. “But to a fully grown image…? Darksteel is just a tool, like everything else. Thank you for the gift. It’s a fun toy. But for what you intended to do to my city…"

Suddenly, the being in front of him shifted. The bone structure was alien. The sneer on its face was cruel. Even in all of his wild suspicions about the Ghosthound, Garrett had not expected to encounter such a baleful expression. It was an expression that didn't carry the slightest hint of remorse. Those inhuman lips curled upward to reveal teeth. "Did you think I would kill you...? Truly, this world just doesn't understand the horror of the Nexus... my back has screened them from too much. Goodbye, Garrett. Erode Image.”

Garrett trembled and collapsed into unconsciousness.