118. Clash of Titans

  Serac could never quite get used to the Interstitium.

  The tangible, the ever-present, and the unseen spaces in between. Sometimes, it gave her a bird’s-eye view of the place where she most recently died. Sometimes, it rinsed her through an insensible medium, roiling with all the memories and intents that had sloughed off Mount Meru over the Kalpas. Other times—like now, for example—it did both.

  The cloud of Souldust representing Serac Edin floated high above the frozen Netherpool—the same winter wonderland she’d left moments ago. She watched with her sightless eyes, just another spectator at a Realmhunt-in-progress. Except… this wasn’t her Realmhunt, was it?

  To be sure, a giant prawn had woken from the deep. The Frostkrill, when viewed through the detached lens of a soul-in-limbo, made for an awesome and strangely beautiful sight. Covered from head to tail in a carapace of jade-green veined with lotus-white. Face bejeweled with myriad eyes of glistening obsidian before tapering into spiral mandibles. From the rims of this orifice fanned out slender antennae that reached in all the cardinal directions of Pretjord. Some toward the Crown’s canopies, others into the Roots’ submerged depths. The rest of its segmented body, so fluid and wavelike in movement as to be almost serpentine, ended in a splayed tail that set off minor tsunamis with every effortless flick.

  Yet, despite a plethora of otherworldly features, the Frostkrill’s most striking characteristic was its sheer size, especially pronounced next to the ant-like figures of Wayfarers who now hunted it as a pack.

  Serac’s attention went to the humanoid ‘ants’ jumping all around the Frostkrill, each one busy slinging their distinct brand of magic. She counted si—no, not six. She counted five such hunters to be exact.

  Theirs was clearly an ‘alliance’, assuming they played by familiar rules. Serac’s bird’s-eye view was too distant to make out the specifics of each Wayfarer, but just from the hunters’ shapes and movements, she got a general sense of who they were.

  A bulky figure swinging a big hammer appeared to be the leader of the group. He fought in close partnership with a much slimmer companion, one who whipped up gusts of wind with a fan-like weapon. An additional trio rounded out the alliance, including a pugilist with a visible paunch who threw his weight and fists around (reminds me of someone I know, minus the mead belly!). Beside him zipped an agile, hooded figure, turning the terrain itself into her weapon (hold on… I’m detecting a pattern here; is this what I think it is?).

  The si—no, not sixth. The fifth hunter was the most eye-catching of them all. This one had ridden into battle upon their Steed, a translucent four-legged beast that galloped through the air as if it were solid ground. The rider exuded power, confidence, and joy as they fought, equally comfortable on ice or in the sky. The weapon was just as remarkable as its wielder: a polearm that appeared to shapeshift at will.

  Serac watched the ‘show’ with rapt fascination, even as she tried to place it within what she knew of Pretjord’s history. Naturally, the hammer-and-fan duo had to be the royal couple—King Tyr and Queen Loha in their younger days. Did that put the other three Wayfarers in the Kronvakt? A reenactment, then? One of the four recorded instances of King Tyr smiting the Frostkrill?

  But no. Something wasn’t quite right. Every piece of the picture fit together logically enough to give a false sense of familiarity. Yet Serac knew in her heart of hearts that the puzzle was missing something. One key piece that should’ve tied everything together and answered all of her questions—including why she was seeing this memory at all.

  What was she missing? What had she forgotten? What had she lost?

  A searing flash in her right temple. Even in her Interstitial form, the scourge of her Circlet was unmistakable—and irresistible. Along with the pain, the picture of a bygone Realmhunt burned away in an instant, reduced to just another pile of ash, indistinguishable from all the other memories and intents that dusted the slopes of Mount Meru.

  ***

  When next Serac woke by the light of a lotus flower, she found herself in the thick of another Realmhunt. Very much in progress, but also very different from the one she’d just witnessed.

  Once again, her pair of onyx horns were the first to get their bearings. Just as lightning preceded thunder, Serac’s horns shook from the ripples before she heard and felt the Frostkrill’s Realm-shattering movements. The ripples spoke plainly and loudly of enormous danger, not just to the hunters in the vicinity but also to their ‘supporting cast’. Petter, Inge, and Munkfred! Serac forced apart her eyelids, praying for her friends’ safety. But what she saw next left her gaping in astonishment.

  [Designation: FROSTKRILL—the Nadir Predator]

  [Aberrant Race: Wildspawn]

  [Aberrant Class: Field Boss]

  [ZEALOUS Instrument: ABYSSGAZER]

  It was the Frostkrill, alright, as awesome and beautiful as it’d looked in Serac’s dream. But now that she had an ant’s-eye view of the thing, she was much more terrified of its immensity than appreciative of its beauty. It didn’t help that this Frostkrill was currently locked in a wrestling match with a second giant beast:

  [GULLOYNE—the Fjordstrider]

  King Tyr’s giant salamander, resplendent in gold and royal-blue, matched the Frostkrill in style if not quite in size. Nap time over. Time to hunt.

  Next to the absolute colossus that was the Frostkrill, even Gulloyne looked somewhat pedestrian by comparison. But what it lacked in size, it apparently made up for with magical trickery. Each time the Frostkrill shot out one of its many limbs, Gulloyne ‘deflected’ the attack by plating itself in localized golden armor.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The salamander too was in it to win it, alternating its impressive defense with attempts at a counterattack. Its ‘weapon’ was its prehensile tongue. A fleshy appendage the size of an ancient sequoia darted across the sky at blinding speed. But then the Frostkrill, uncannily deft for its size, dodged every one of Gulloyne’s attacks by twisting its segmented neck.

  A Realm-shattering duel. A veritable clash of titans. The scale of it left Serac feeling laughably inadequate on top of very, very small. Just how am I supposed to get in on this action? Yet she soon spied the other ants already busy carving out their piece of the pie.

  Gulloyne had evidently ferried and dropped off a whole platoon of Wayfarers. Kronvakt hunters scattered across the ice, precariously close to the flailing limbs of two giant beasts. Indeed, even as Serac watched (and winced in sympathy), at least a handful of the clumsier hunters became Souldust by way of Yaksha paste.

  On the same token, at least a handful of the more skilled Wayfarers held their own. One among them stood out for his dynamic movements (among some other reasons). Rathor Tyrsen, he of the basalt birthmark and flowing ash-gray mane. Even now, Prince Rathor laid siege on the Frostkrill’s underbelly. The prince, guided by GUNGNIR’s [Trueflight], darted from segment to segment. But each time he did, he landed back on the ice almost immediately, as if rebuffed by some invisible barrier. Eventually, he shook his head in obvious frustration.

  There’s clearly a ‘gimmick’ to this boss fight as well, one that’s giving even a KL-70 veteran headaches. Serac analyzed as she watched, surprisingly calm now that she saw the Frostkrill as ‘just another boss’. Everyone on the ground is trying to crack the Frostkrill’s seemingly perfect defense. In that sense, I guess the salamander is performing a ‘tank’ role, drawing the boss’s aggro while its Kronvakt buddies do their thing. Speaking of ‘buddies’…

  “Psst.”

  Serac spun toward the voice, one hand instinctively reaching for REVOLVER. There was no one there. Not even Zacko, who should’ve reconstituted at around the same time as her. Indeed, beside the Waystation, her patch of the Netherpool looked as quiet as she remembered it. Quiet and flat… except for this one snowy hill that rose just behind the lotus flower.

  Serac stared at the ‘hill’, gears turning in her head. Wait just a Ksana… this thing wasn’t here when I set down my Waystation. I would’ve remembered such a big hill in the middle of a frozen sea. Just how—?

  “Psst, Rakshasa! Don’t just stand there like an idiot. Come up!”

  The top of the hill suddenly ‘broke off’ to reveal a hooded pink figure, along with the castle ramparts she sat behind. Renate gestured furiously with her webbed hand, clearly expecting Serac to stop standing there like an idiot and join her already.

  Serac overcame her shock and obeyed in a hurry. The hill was surprisingly solid and easy to walk on, as though someone had taken the effort to pack the snow with a blunt tool—perhaps a shovel? Just as soon as Serac reached the top, Renate ushered her ‘into’ the hill with an impatient tug of the arm.

  Serac found herself atop Ash’s battlement, camouflaged by a dome of packed snow. The whole gang was already here. Munkfred’s mound. Renate, Zacko, Petter, and Inge sitting in the gutters in a neat line. The latter three smiled and waved at Serac as she joined them.

  “Here,” Zacko said by way of greeting, handing Serac a doughy ball of some sort, steaming like it’d just come out of an oven. “Remember that tentacle you [Harvested] from the Jotuneter? Well, Pete just turned it into this. And let me tell you, it’s a real banger!”

  [Designation: Jotun-Yaki]

  [Item Class: Consumable]

  [Item Description: Some meals are so good it leaves you coming back for more, more, more. A certain sea-dwelling monster understood this well, using would-be hunters’ own psychology against them to lure them into the frigid depths. When consumed by a [Synthesis]-adept Wayfarer, the Jotun-Yaki grants [Insatiable] for one hour.]

  [Addendum [INSATIABLE]: Incoming Karmic rewards are doubled for the duration of the effect. All Liminal Karma earned while [Insatiable] is active is lost permanently if left uningrained when the effect expires.]

  Serac couldn’t help but frown. Definitely one of the wordier explanations Pathsight had ever given, and she couldn’t immediately decide if eating this thing was a good or bad idea in her current situation. In the end, however, the doughy ball simply smelled too good for her to resist.

  [Wayfarer Status Effect: INSATIABLE]

  Best decision of her life. Quite possibly the best bite she’d ever had. The thing was hot, meaty, and deliciously saucy all at once, warming her chest in an instant while filling her mouth with chewy goodness. It was so good she didn’t even care what it meant to be [Insatiable] for the next hour.

  “Petey!” she shouted loud enough to wake up the neighbors. “You’ve really outdone yourself. And I don’t say that lightly, because your bar is already like this.”

  Serac raised her hand with such enthusiasm that she punched a hole in the snowy ceiling, eliciting diverse reactions from the peanut gallery. Zacko barked with laughter, Inge beamed warmly, and Petter averted his gaze with a wave of the hand and an aw-shucks smile. Only Renate appeared unimpressed, eyeing the hole in her ceiling with an exasperated sigh. Although… the sauce stain on the corner of her mouth told a different story.

  “Alright,” the frog woman spoke again, all business, “now that you’re all fed and topped up, it’s time to pick up where we left off.”

  “Sure,” Serac said, though without much conviction, “but this isn’t really where we left off, is it? At least it’s not how I remember it. For one thing, last time I checked, we didn’t have the entire Kronvakt trying to steal our smite!”

  “That’s what happens when the Frostkrill joins the Realmhunt,” Renate explained mildly. “Petter Svensen told me your plans of trying to keep your loops a secret from the rest of the Hunt. A commendable effort, and it certainly helped to prevent this thing from turning into an all-out brawl, but you were naive to think you could keep the Frostkrill to yourself.”

  “You knew this would happen?”

  “Not with total certainty, but close enough to not matter,” Renate hedged, ever the conscientious scholar. “What does matter is what we do from here. Now, I’m only sticking my neck out to help because Petter also told me about your wager with Rathor. Let’s just say, on this count, our interests are aligned. In return, however, I expect you and the Manusya to listen close and follow my plan exactly.”

  “I’m in, Bubblegum,” Zacko chimed in. “The fact you have a plan at all already puts you ahead of the curve.”

  “You sound awfully confident about this, Renate,” Serac said with a knowing smirk, then tapped into her growing dictionary of Manesferan idioms to add, “I’ve got a feeling this isn’t your first rodeo.”

  Renate blinked several times. Then her amphibian lips—sauce stain and all—widened into a distinctly smug grin.

  “If you’re insinuating that I have some experience in this arena, then yes, I daresay you’re right. After all, in the 300-odd-year history of the Realmhunt, I’m the only soul not named Tyr Djofulsen to have smited a Frostkrill.”

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