Chapter 2007

Chapter 2007

Xershi stood and watched the two figures float in the sky. The brutal struggle left him transfixed and with a dry mouth. His face smiled while his hands tightened to fists. He wished to be a part of the final clash, even though he knew he shouldn’t interfere.

Right now, the Ghosthound burned, both with wafting surges of combusting air due to the temperature, but also with ghastly spectral flames. The combination made it almost impossible to make out the details of his form, aside from his shape. He twisted and writhed, energies blurring the limits of his body.

He jerked his spear deeper into his target. Blood gurgled out around the shaft. The ineffective armor screeched as it scraped against the weapon. Drum roared and flailed to push the Ghosthound away. His voice showed the beginnings of panic. “You are a mad man. If you kill me, the entire Sonara will turn against you!”

Above their two figures, their images fought in the sky. That insurmountable raised its poleaxe, wielding the weapon with short brutal strokes. Its shouts resounded in the sky, pressing back other images. But one by one, a murky darkness, a massive golden tree, and a vicious creature with sharpened fingers lashed out at the image. Their combination kept it on the defensive, unable to pry apart the two physical bodies below. In terms of individual power, the Ghosthound’s manifestations were less potent than Drum’s image. They just barely kept the other image at bay.

But at the heart of Drum’s image, a beating heart of black poison quivered. From the inside, his Aether was being eaten away by the Nether that the Ghosthound seemed to inject into his foe. Xershi concluded that all the rumors about him were true; the young man had a monstrous amount of resources at his disposal. Any one of his individual abilities was impressive, but it was flabbergasting when gathered in a single individual.

No wonder even the Don found this man vexing, Xershi thought. drove his fist against the Ghosthound’s stomach, earning not a single reaction for his troubles. Perhaps the extended silence from the Ghosthound revealed how genuine his intent to kill him because Drum’s eyes bulged even further. “I’ll make you regret the day you challenged me. Damn you and your word to hell-- I will slaughter you. Shred your images and leave the waste to fertilize my next brood of orcs-”

His hand snapped out and seized upon the Ghosthound’s neck. Between them, the spear had become a pulsing conduit, forcing more Nether and image fragments into Drum’s body. The Ghosthound reached up and peeled Drum’s grip from his body, tearing the armor and leaving his opponent’s fingers a broken mess. His right arm reached out and steadied himself on Drum’s shoulder. His left lifted and then snapped forward in a brutal straight.

Fist and helmet generated a dull thwap.

Drum’s helmet crumpled. The crunched concavity that resulted made it clear that his nose and cheekbones must have been shattered in the brutal strike. His image flickered briefly, giving the Ghosthound’s three images more time to scrape and damage their target. All pounced forward to take advantage of the wavering attention. The area infested by Nether began to swell. Black veins swam outward and spread the damage.

“Pah! Y-y-you...” Drum’s voice was muffled and oddly whistling. “You are... just like me. You will... die for something like this... Fuck...!”

But despite his bold words, his image had begun to fray underneath so much strain. Xershi’s skin tingled to see Drum falter. Obviously, violence occurred regularly within the Sonara. But it ended up being one of the safest places in the Nexus, because everyone knew everyone had a powerful faction behind them that had nurtured them and gathered the materials to get them to Tier III Citizenship. Too many citizenship coins were required for anyone to fluke into them, even after three thousand years.

For the rich and affluent factions, this was a method for their youth to expend their energy. And a failed trip into the Sonara only meant that the endeavorer would return ten years later, exhausted and disappointed with their mediocre results.

Drum’s image began to shimmer with one last burst of resistance. The warrior raised his poleaxe, that simple object so bright and perfect it seared itself into Xershi’s gaze. But around it circled dark shadows.

“You aren’t wrong,” The Ghosthound remarked. He raised his left hand and delivered another brutal punch, further flattening Drum’s face. It didn’t do much actual damage, but it was clear that it distracted the man and weakened his image. The light from the Poleaxe wavered. “I... shit. I know I’m similar to you. I’ve killed an entire race before, too caught up in my own selfish business to stop and reflect on my actions. I’m not an innocent. But the way you just squandered an entire culture-”

The Ghosthound nodded slowly. “Good. Let’s... climb to the next level and then take some time to rest.”

*****

“Duulys, Duulys, I have a fun surprise for you!”

Duulys Ambar rolled over in his bed and yawned. His limbs got tangled in the expensive golden sheets and he struggled ineffectually for a bit before he collapsed into a defeated burrito. He pressed his face into his pillow and began to drift back off to sleep. But a follow-up shout put an end to that possibility. Duulys’s yawn turned into a groan as he recognized the voice.

“Mimic, you aren’t allowed in my layer, I’ve told you this. I’m going to kill you if you barge in right now.” Duulys grumbled. He idly wondered how he managed to make it past the defenses of his castle. Did he forget to imagine guards?

Despite Duulys’s threat, the door swung open. Mimic, dressed in his usual immaculate charcoal suit, walked across the plush red carpet with a silver tray with a teapot. “Now, don’t be like that. Aren’t we neighbors? Besides, I have this freshly baked banana bread. At least try it and tell me what you think, even if you don’t want my delightful surprise~”

Duulys leveraged his muscular torso up into a sitting position. He took a deep sniff, and sure enough, the air was filled with the rich and heavy aroma of banana bread. His desire for violence eased somewhat. Despite his obvious nosiness and fixation on Duulys, Mimic genuinely devoted a lot of time and Skill Levels to his baking. And if he came in here with a smile after their last interaction when Duulys had ripped off Mimic’s legs, his claims about news were probably true.

With another yawn, Duulys pushed himself off the bed and ambled over to the polished mahogany table on the far side of his room. Mimic had set down his tray and threw open the windows, allowing warm rays of sunlight to illuminate the cave-like interior of the room. Duulys’s dark skin shined with golden motes, as though he had been dipped in glitter. He slouched sideways into his chair and began stuffing the still-warm banana bread into his mouth. He spoke around his full mouth. “So, the news?”

“Do you remember Drum? That posturing pustule?” Mimic said excitedly. He sat down on the other chair. Instantly, Duulys’s turned a flinty stare in his direction; Mimic bowed in apology and stood, no longer touching Duulys’s furniture.

“Hoh? Ah, the armor guy. Likes to watch orcs fuck. Yea, I’ve been trying to find an excuse to kick him out for two hundred years,” Duulys swallowed his first bite and took a gulp of the tea. The flavor was lavender and vanilla, light and delicate. He begrudgingly admitted it was a good pairing with the banana bread. Mimic’s execution was officially categorized as delayed.

“Well worry no longer! Not only did he activate that little toy you gave him to steal his orcs’ lives, but it didn’t matter! A new arrival actually killed him. In single combat, from what I felt in the resonance from the conflict,” Mimic licked his lips.

That gave Duulys pause. He rolled his shoulders. Even if he disliked his subordinates, he didn’t appreciate free radicals wandering through his kingdom and setting fire to things that belonged to him. “Genuinely killed? Drum is dead?”

“Well, so far as I can tell, this individual crushed Drum’s Class. In the minutes that followed, Drum took his own life,” Mimic shrugged. “But-”

Duulys raised his hand and snapped his fingers. The entire castle around them popped and disappeared in motes of light. In a swirling reconfiguration, a massive platform appeared beneath them. A swirling maelstrom of golden energy formed around the platform. In the middle, Duulys Ambar, the owner of the Fortieth Floor of the Sonara, the highest settled ring before the area filled with Elhume’s experiments, sat on his stormy throne and looked at Mimic with an interested gaze. “Who?”

“Randidly Ghosthound.” Mimic enunciated clearly.