Beatrice’s heart continued to bounce off her ribs as it tried to escape the suffocating reality of her current situation. She stomped her foot to disperse some of the force contained in the first fingers of the Nether Storm, but very little of it was physical; most of the restrictive bindings were the thick and gooey substance of connection. The currents served as bindings, holding them in place for just a bit too long.
And an even more restrictive power swept closer to the group of eight, all frozen in varying positions of unwillingness and alarm. Beatrice tried to speak, but could only manage a strangled choke.
Randidly Ghosthound’s First Authority was one of the thornier problems to address when considering how to fight against him. They had discussed several countermeasures, but they involved very long and noticeable preparations or most of their number being able to compete directly in a battle of Willpower against him. Neither seemed like a very fruitful avenue, so even Azriel had thrown her hands up in the air and instructed them not to let it come to that. Move as quickly as possible, preempting that ability. Force him to engage with his images or with his body. Considering how rarely in his fighting history that he was the superior in all aspects, he might not rely on the qualitative gulf between them.
In Azriel’s words, simply suppressing them that way would be accurate but make for an unsatisfying lesson.
However-
Right before that massive hand clenched around the group, Hong Li waded forward through the Nether currents. An unfamiliar image blossomed from his body. His hair and the tips of his fingers were on fire as he raised his hands and struck a pose in front of that hand. A slight but stubborn tree flared behind him, the mystical and quasi-religious existence of Arbor.
The Nether around them hummed in recognition.
The air rippled and distorted. The small tree waved its arms, refusing to concede before this Authority. That hand of Nether reformed into a massive root, poised above them like a snake. It paused for the briefest fraction of time, held at bay by the clash between the Nether of the two moves. Because within Hong Li, the Nether reward for making it into the top four was on full display.
For the slightest pause, it was enough.
The resonance and impact shook Beatrice to wakefulness. Which was good, because as soon as she had recovered herself and began to hum with her image, Hong Li’s face contorted. Most of the fires of his image flickered and were extinguished. His chest shattered like he had been kicked by an invisible donkey. The image of Arbor wilted and began to fade, but that root stabbed forward and grabbed it.
“The First Revelation: Inglorious Advance.” However, that delay had been enough. Into the roaring Nether storm around them exploded Alana, bright gold and orange. Her spear was the burning heart of the firestorm, blasting away the constant buffeting of significance around them. Beatrice finally managed to suck in a breath.
Her searing image, while briefly effective, soon stopped expanding within the massive churning scope of the Nether Storm. Beatrice could practically see the coiling flows twist and tighten in new ways. The bubble of relative safety produced by Alana’s image stopped expanding and then began to sharply contract.
Drake cut forward with a sword of gleaming white light. Nether once more attempted to crash against their images and ground down their momentum, but Drake pierced out forward and cleaved a path through the storm. Right on his heels came Paolo, brimming with confidence and constantly expending himself to pry open the sliced storm even further.
Combined, the two created a path the rest followed as they rushed forward toward the Ghosthound.
During their planning sessions, Kimpap had once asked. “If the physical prowess of the Ghosthound is so overwhelming, why even bother to approach him? We can take his powerful body out of the match.”
“Unfortunately for us, his Mental Support Stats are even more ridiculous,” Azriel had responded. Then she had shrugged. “If you want to land an emotional hit on him, you’ll need to get close. Just don’t expect anything physical to even slow him down. And be prepared to break a few bones for having the gall to approach him.”
As the group sprinted forward, with the shadowy Nether Storm howling around them, Beatrice flared her image with more wild abandon than she ever had in the past. Her ribs hummed at a high pitch frequency as she tried to gather as many different wavelengths within her person as possible. With Hong Li smashed across the pillar and spewing blood from his mouth, she was the only person remaining that was supposed to try and slow the Ghosthound down when his body made a move.
It didn’t make her feel very confident to see how quickly Hong Li, who was supposed to handle the lion’s share of the restrictions, had been overwhelmed.
Alana, only a half meter in front of Beatrice, raised her head slightly. The pearly wings of her Fate began to spread outward. “Careful, its coming.”
Before anyone could acknowledge the words, the Ghosthound’s images warped the horizon.
Yggdrasil drew the most attention, jutting suddenly up through the middle of the raging Nether Storm. Its bark was covered with thick golden runes, glimmering and shifting as Beatrice watched. It wasn’t as large as Beatrice had heard, resembling a massive redwood rather than a world supporting force of nature from Norse mythology, but every detail gleamed with polish. Even from the distance, even fighting against it, she somehow felt cleansed to look at it.
If the World Tree produced a soft warmth that suffused the surroundings, the Stillborn Phoenix slit Beatrice’s stomach open, drained her of blood, and flushed her veins with ice water. It yawned open just below the thickest portion of the tree’s canopy. It was a fuzzy black eye with no lid, gazing balefully over at the group. The longer it stayed there, the larger it seemed to become. Even through the shadowy screening of the Nether Storm, Beatrice could feel the way light and emotion began to ebb and turn grainy around its event horizon.
Within all those bombastic and eye-catching abilities of the Ghosthound, the groups' target wasn’t even visible. Yet they could all feel it, a blade poised above their spine, preparing to sever their spines, one by one. The Grey Creature stalked amongst them, waiting for its chance.
Then the next attack came, only a sparkling instant after his images filled the world. He even had the gall to announce it with a thunderous mental pulse. The First Tree Demands Only Fealty. Piercing Gaze of the Egg. The Vindictive Chimera Smites.
Inwardly, Beatrice couldn’t help but wince at the elaborate names of his Skills. Yet as existence shivered around his mental pulse, it was difficult to not be alarmed. In terms of effect, it was hard to say the names exaggerated in the slightest.
The Nether Storm directly around the group curdled at the edges, splitting off into curling strands of power. Those strands then twisted together into hundreds of sharp edges spikes that erupted toward them even as they were recognizing the source of the threat. Even being on the receiving end of his negative attention carried a heavy price; Beatrice felt her emotions draining away. She felt so, so cold.
From announcement to execution, only a fraction of time passed. She hadn’t even taken a full step. But despite that, Beatrice tried to grope outward with her senses and catch the proper frequency of the attacks-
Stolen novel; please report.
“This one is mine,” Alana growled. Her spear blurred and a half-second later her body followed. “The Second Revelation: Endless Struggle.”
Again, she erupted with orange fire. Her body split into a half dozen clones that jumped in every direction to block the horrifying inverse hedgehog in which the group now found itself. Kimpap waved her spear, conjuring a scowling and smiling shadow to assist. Both flared their images to the fullest. Holy, inviolable power and the vicissitudes of death worked together to resist the Ghosthound attack.
Their manifestations clashed and were crunched. The deadly black wicker thorns ripped toward the group, slowed but unspent.
“Heroic Effort!” Paolo bellowed. Some of his gathered momentum spread outward and touched the entire group. A surge of energy suffused Beatrice’s limbs and she found herself accelerating in her sprint. The effect was so potent that she couldn’t control her body for several seconds, just tumbling forward in windmilling mass of limbs. The Ghosthound’s attack hit nothing but air behind them.
Those spikes drilled deeply into the pillar, spitting flecks of stone
The group crashed ahead of Drake’s opened path, once more in the thick of the Nether storm in order to escape the reach of the spikes. Just as Beatrice was about to lose her balance, she felt hands pluck her up and set her on her feet. Alana Donal, bleeding from several deep gashes to her arms and shoulders, was standing next to her. “You are up, B. He won’t miss this chance.”
Beatrice’s eyes snapped forward. True to Alana’s prediction, something began to flicker from the deepest portion of the Nether Storm. Then Randidly Ghosthound stood in front of the group with his weapon raised.
Watching the Ghosthound approach was like watching time-lapse photography and being riveted to the horrifying finale waiting for you at the end.
He was a flicker, a silhouette, then he was standing with his spear raised in front of Drake. His athletic body and monstrous spirit had merged into something that howled and tore at Beatrice’s psyche just by being there. His left eye housed a hunger maw of darkness. Yet she gritted her teeth. Her eyes blazed. She needed to know. She needed to know what it was like to hold that power, to balance that responsibility. Her ribs began to sing.
Now that she had earned this chance, she refused to flinch.
If not for the lingering boost from Paolo’s Skill, she wouldn’t have been able to make it in time. As it was, she couldn’t do anything more subtle than throwing herself like a missile directly towards his body. The Ghosthound’s spear slid forward toward Drake’s throat and she saw her teammate twitching, willing his body to respond more quickly to the threat. Emotionally, he felt and reacted. But even with Drake’s extremely high Stats, he couldn’t keep up.
Beatrice realized just before the impact that the Ghosthound’s spear moved faster than she had anticipated. Those notes became increasingly shrill as they bounced around her chest cavity. She would arrive just after his thrust. Without contact, the effect-
Beatrice’s arm shattered. Her instincts triggered immediately, even before her mind and body registered the pain. She released the most powerful note she could muster, opening her mouth and singing a Skill Aria of Stillness. The noise was torn away from her mouth by the wind, but she felt her image slam against a massive, almost unmovable force; she had affected him, at least slightly.
And already, a feedback headache began to form.
The Ghosthound’s horrifying speed slowed down. His spear was a short distance away from Drake’s chest and the slight deceleration gave the other man time to bring up his sword to block. Beatrice could now recognize that what had cracked her forearm and knocked her sideways was the Ghosthound’s tail. A simple sideways flick had completely brushed her to the side.
The small blessing of his approach was that they now stood in the eye of the Nether Storm and no longer had to withstand such constant and grinding pressure against their images. At the back of the group, with the Ghosthound occupied, Hank Howard drew his revolver and took aim.
The Ghosthound’s tail continued its sweep, crunching into Beatrice’s side with the flexible appendage. She felt a lung pop but forced her legs to stomp six times in the air. The harsh notes of Hymns of Burden passed through her lips. Her image exhausted itself slamming six times against the sheer presence of him. She felt almost blinded by the growing ache behind her eyes. Affecting him with an image, especially while trying to resist all his other draining powers, felt nearly futile.
His emerald eyes, inhuman and calculating, flicked sideways to Beatrice. The Ghosthound smiled at her.
The sharp report of Hank’s revolver reminded Beatrice of something else Azriel had said, during the long nights they had plotted out how this fight might go. She had been rubbing her chin while Kimpap and Hong Li discussed ways to suppress his abilities. She interrupted and said. “You know, putting too much emphasis on restricting the Ghosthound isn’t the best idea. First, because that was a favorite move of everyone who tried to use him in the past; he’s very, very used to being suppressed. And secondly… well. He is at his most dangerous, moving from stillness. That acceleration is impossible to prepare for.”
Drake’s sword met the Ghosthound’s spear. The Ghosthound didn’t even seem to be paying attention to the completion of his thrust, still grinning at Beatrice. Yet the blazing white light that had won the tournament flickered and died beneath the brutal power of his attack. The leafed spear Acri drilled into Drake’s chest. Then his torso began to twist and rupture, his skin visibly flapping outward in a ripple from the force of the attack. Around the edges of the puncture, flesh pulped and began to disintegrate.
The bullet ripped through space while releasing a whistling aura of destruction, but in a fight of this tier, there was still plenty of time until it posed a threat.
Paolo threw a punch at the Ghosthound that should have broken the monster’s nose. But Beatrice felt the Ghosthound tug at the restriction that she had placed upon him with her notes. The next moment, he shredded through them without being slowed in the slightest. Paolo’s punch hit nothing but air and he was collapsing sideways, his knee shattered. A vortex of frigid apathy was left in the Ghosthound’s wake, seeming to suck away will and motivation.
Beatrice finally slammed into the ground. Practice took over and she was throwing herself to her feet, already releasing the pure Song of Healing. Drake was struggling to his feet a few meters away, caught in the tight edges of the Nether Storm. Alana put herself between Ghosthound and bullet, her light darkening from orange to rust. “The Third Revelation: Mortal’s Anguish.”
The conflict was blinding, but a split second later Alana shot backward, the broken pieces of her spear clattering to the ground behind her. The Ghosthound reached up and wiped a drop of Alana’s blood from his cheek. Beatrice’s Skill finished and she through the last of her emotions into wishing her team would heal. From the dizzying wave that followed, the group must have been more wounded than Beatrice had noticed.
Beatrice dry heaved, her drained body trying to void her stomach.
The Ghosthound raised his spear, preparing to meet Hank’s bullet with a brutal thrust. But from the bullet’s shadow sprung Kimpap and Illdan, pincering in at the Ghosthound from either side. Before Illdan could close the distance, more of those wicker roots shot out of the Nether Storm and staked him to the ground. His image flared to avoid it, but the shadows around him tightened and kept him in place.
Similar attacks shot at Kimpap’s back, but she flickered sideways in a much more savvy maneuver. The aura of death that she released thickened. It was almost a taste to the air that hung in the back of Beatrice’s throat, reinforcing her body’s request that she vomit. Yet Beatrice gritted her teeth and straightened, preparing to assist in any way she could. Fully five death specters sprung to life around the Ghosthound, each wearing a different expression and wielding slightly different spears.
His gaze surveyed them all. Another mental pulse blasted outward. Chimeric Impunity. Marred Yet Reliable Foundation of Yggdrasil. Wicked Waltz of Tartarus.
Taking different angles, each specter howled at the Ghosthound with weapons raised. The image affect mobilized by Kimpap at that moment was ferocious, leaving her previous attacks and what she had demonstrated against Alana in the dust. The Ghosthound shifted slightly, but more in a settling movement than any tactical preparations. He didn’t even flinch as the blows fell on his body.
As each landed, another monstrous Ghosthound briefly superimposed itself over the monstrous image physicalization form. It sneered down at the strikes, disdaining to respond. That flashing image possessed all the violence and rage that didn’t exist in Randidly’s normal expressions. He approached the challenge with clinical dispassion, but this version opened its mouth and bellowed.
Beatrice tried to find a few more notes in her stomach. This, then, is the Grey Creature. And really, that’s the image we wanted to target?
Hank’s bullet arrived. Frowning, the Ghosthound smacked it out of the air with his left hand. The punch didn’t even seem to be a Skill, just a firm denial. Hank's image was filled with wilderness and hope and then it was gone. After an impact with enough force that Beatrice, almost ten meters away, rocked back on her heels, the Ghosthound scanned them all with that dispassionate gaze. He raised his spear.
Over his shoulder, Beatrice could sense the lurking image spitting hate at them for daring to come for its life. The Grey Creature took all threats seriously. A wolf among sheep, his teeth gleamed with promised retribution.