Randidly came back to himself quickly, the dream pouring him back into the confines of his body without much fanfare. But he smiled widely as he discovered himself laying on the ground, feeling the aches and strains in his body that meant while he had been inert finishing that test in the Path, his muscles still had the chance to run wild.

He sat up and checked his Penance. Rolling his eyes, Randidly laid himself back down and paid the dues he owed for his long and violent dream. When he had built up some banked time in his Nether core, he came back to himself and examined the details of his new Skill.

Wicked Waltz of Tartarus (T): An expression of deadly greetings and toils of the lost souls who remain bound in Tartarus, fighting for all eternity. Their bodies break down and their consciousness extinguishes, but the next day they find themselves just as whole and empty. They exist in an alternate dimension, where consciousness has been replaced by instinct and brutal aggression. User can tap into this alternate plane, drawing out their baleful momentum of violence. Small chance to drag an opponent into Tartarus, reducing their comprehensive fighting ability and lowering their Stats. Slight change to induce battle rage in an opponent. Proficiency with violence greatly increases with Skill Level. Chance to affect opponents increases with Skill Level.

Randidly raised his left hand and looked at Sulfur’s dark fingers. He felt the connection to Tartarus hovering just behind his brow, a cast-iron lockbox of destruction that shook from time to time. As he activated the Skill, the box didn’t open. But the metal surface began to glow cherry red, lit from within by the horrifying hellscape that waited within.

As that heat grew from warm to burning, Randidly felt the impulses in his body sharpen. He saw a thousand ways to break and rip and crush. Sulfur’s fingers subconsciously curled into a fist. An unhealthy, rust-colored glow surrounded his hand. If he had an opponent waiting for him on top of the volcano, he would have launched a brutal attack.

Congratulations! Your Skill Wicked Waltz of Tartarus (T) has grown to Level 672!

Randidly relaxed his hand and dropped the fist. In his head, the lockbox slowly cooled. “Powerful. Insightful. Surging with the sort of frightful violence that can break an opponent’s spirit. A natural font of fighting instincts, more than even I’ve developed in my years… but I’ll also need to make sure I don’t get dragged too deep into the Skill. The feeling of mental release is a bit… intoxicating.”

His attention turned inward to the Stillborn Phoenix. It rumbled strangely, handling both the shift in its potential from the prior Path and the inclusion of an alternate dimension within its current form. A small, rust-colored fist of energy appeared on the edge of the Egg of Depression, a blip along the event horizon that led to Tartarus. The Unborn flitted around it curiously, touching it with their lumpy tongues and skittering backward when it burned them. The two then complained loudly in their nonsense language, demanding this new arrival be removed.

Clicking his tongue, Randidly postponed Weakness of the Stillborn Phoenix a little longer. Which meant his next Path-

Randidly pressed a hand against his chest. “I feel guilty doing this… of using you like this. But I know that if you were here, you’d think my reluctance was foolish. In your mind, you were a tool; being used to make me stronger is exactly what you would have wanted. So… Thank you, Helen. I would never have been able to make it this far without you.”

Then the corner of his mouth quirked up, even as his eyes ached. His voice cracked as he spoke. The arrogant taunt broke his heart to say. “But can you really make me that much more powerful?”

Congratulations! You have completed The Ashes of Helen, the Ghosthound’s Bloody Knight Path! On your journey, you’ve seen dozens of various figures who have created their own distinct flavor of violence. But few can match the grace and beauty that the Ghosthound’s Knight displayed as she fought. The very environment fell under her sway, dragging her opponents into a vicious darkness where they were smothered.

Due to her capability, you follow a Path to find her legacy. You walk into a shadowy valley filled with red mist, seeking her tomb.

The notification was short and without much description. It just opened the door so Randidly could fall into another dream. He felt himself in that humid valley, suppressed by the chill carried by the mist. The only clarity came in the Path, directly forward. And each step he took forward showed him a different shard of Helen’s life.

Step. A ten-year-old Helen sat cross-legged in a small room, watching her mother’s back as the older woman prepared a meal. Helen sported a black eye and a pale face. Her mother spoke without looking up from her cutting. The knife made a rhythmic tapping on the wooden counter. “You lost. What is there to say? Perhaps you just don’t have much talent when it comes to the spear. But don’t worry. You carry my genes, girl. Just you wait.”

Step. A twelve year Helen, her long linen dress completely drenched, waded out of the water. Her mother folded her arms and clicked her tongue. “Hell, if you love the river that much, base your Style off of it. People do dumber shit for smaller reasons all the time.”

Helen nodded cheerily in response, too caught up in her enjoyment to question her mother’s sour expression.

Step. Teenage Helen leaned against a stone wall in a dark alley. She sported cuts on her arms and shoulders, as well as a deep one across her ribs. She was trembling. Blood seeped out of her wounds and dripped onto the ground. She pounded her fist against the stone, ignoring the pain in her knuckles. “Shit, shit, shit!”

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Step. The mists oozed out from his destination, blurring the entirety of Randidly’s awareness with its coloration. His awareness of the Path shrank, but he could sense Helen’s pulsing heart in this ashen projection. He didn’t hesitate as he continued forward.

Step. Helen’s mother pinched her butt as she returned from the market with a basket across her arm. Helen swatted the hand away, but the older woman was too quick. “If you are going to have this much flab on your body, you might as well benefit from it, right? I’m sure you’ve noticed how some of those Style heirs look at you. No daughter of mine is an idiot. Do you just enjoy torturing yourself?”

Her mother clicked her tongue. “And that style of yours… why the hell would you try to found your own? Do you know how many new Styles fail every day?!”

Step. Helen lay panting on the ground, once again wounded, but her eyes were bright with wonder. A young man with black hair and emerald eyes stood up upon the fighting platform, summoning a massive column of hungry insects, scarabs and locusts and sharp jawed horseflies, sending it barreling toward his opponent. The scene felt impossible.

All Helen could think was- This man never listened to what they said he should do.

He was an idiot for trying to fight against a spear with bugs. But Helen didn’t hate that part of him.

Randidly paused to grit his teeth as the short impression faded. He swayed in place, buffeted by the shifting currents of mist. They simultaneously scaled his skin and left him chilled; this mist wasn’t natural. Then he forced his body to continue moving. He raised his foot and-

Step. Helen watched the Ghosthound’s back as he fought on the deck of the ship against the leader of the Tassle Hunters. A resolve firmed in her chest. One day, I’ll catch up to him. And on that day, I’ll make him my husband.

This time, Randidly almost fell over. “What?”

The mists rustled back and forth in front of him. He felt the observation from the environment of this place, judging him and waiting to see how he would proceed. Whether he would lose himself in the fickle mists.

Yet he couldn’t help but shudder after that last impression. His heart ached to peer into Helen’s past. He almost didn’t want to keep watching. He felt like a voyeur, prying into the inner world of Helen without permission. Yet as he hesitated, Sulfur’s shook slightly, the long fangs of his inherited Domain urging him forward.

They asked him to keep looking and keep listening. To step further into the life of the Ghosthound’s Bloody Knight. Randidly raised his head and shouted. “You were more to me than a knight!”

The mist didn’t answer. It just continued to hiss and seeth. The murky air bubbled and boiled. Which left him with no choice-

Step. Helen sat on the backs of the Hallat and rubbed her chin. “Following a powerful boy to another planet. Fuck… pisses me off how proud mom would be…”

Step. “Spar with me,” Helen demanded. Her chest fluttered as the Ghosthound slowly opened his eyes. His gaze was so bright and clear, even as he looked at her with dissatisfaction. After an aggrieved sigh, he nodded.

Another thing she didn’t hate about this man was how he never went easy on her. Even as she desperately wanted even the smallest proof that she was catching up to him.

Step. Helen’s body ached as Randidly cracked open her Domain and smashed her to the ground with brute force. Insultingly, he only had to rely on his physical body to do so. That was how overwhelming he was becoming. Her arms trembled as she pushed herself back up.

She refused to stay down. As long as she kept getting back up, someday-

Step. The Ghosthound has asked her to head up the training effort. She could feel how busy he was, how close he was to some new breakthrough, another step forward. Sitting on the Fifth Cohort Rally Station, she sobbed quietly on the empty expanse.

He was moving further away from her. No matter how deeply she moved through her own Domain, no matter how explosive her growth had been in the years since she had met Randidly Ghosthound, he stayed ahead. He widened the gap.

After a time, Helen wiped away her tears. Her dream might have vanished and withered in her heart, but her duty had grown strong. “I’m his knight. I need to be strong. For him… there is no one like me.”

Step. Her chest heaved. She could barely breathe, such was her proximity to collapse as she fought in the grand array against the forces of the Swacc Family. In the distance, the strange arrangements of burning stars released waves of heat. An individual made an attempt on the Pinnacle, the first in a long time.

She made a difference- her efforts helped the Ghosthound. And yet-

Step. Helen grinned and spat in the face of Commandant Wick. “He will kill you someday, you know.”

Step. Randidly blinked several times when he expected some image, but none came. He raised his head and looked forward. A small stone building stood before him, with a threshold without a door. Through that opening, he could see Helen, sitting on her final resting place, the burial shroud cast to the side. One leg was propped up on the stone altar next to her, the other dangled over the edge.

Her smile toward him was sharp. “Welcome to my tomb, challenger. I am the Bloody Knight of the Ghosthound. If you wish to receive my power, you will need to defeat me in combat. By the spear I lived and by the spear, I will die. And if you fail my test… you will join me here for all eternity.”

Randidly stared at this projection of Helen for a long time. She glittered, both brighter and more wan than he remembered. All the blunt and determined aspects of her personality came here, carved from ash. He searched her eyes for any hint of recognition toward him. Yet her amber gaze didn’t waver at all.

“A fight,” Randidly whispered. “How nostalgic.”