Chapter 387 (2/2)
There was not so much a sense of completion with it, as much of a silence. Abruptly, the Aether rumbling stopped, Stan’s whispers cut off, and the quicksilver mirror gramophone floated quietly above the cage, in which the mist creature was kept.
Randidly let out a slow breath, holding that image in his mind, and then pressing, sharpening, focusing, deepening. His Control and Willpower were at a level that there was a qualitative change in how he could use his will upon the world, and with that extra bit of influence, he refined the Soul Skill, making the details brighter, and the whole project much more distinct.
Of its own accord, the Soul Skill floated through the chasm between their bodies, buoyed by Randidly’s will. It sank into Stan’s chest.
Stan’s eyes widened.
*****
Two hours later, Donny looked grimly down at the shivering body of Stan. The Ghosthound said nothing, his arms folded, his expression guarded. Ptolemy was sweating, and seemed profoundly disturbed.
“So he’s fine?” Donny asked slowly. He had been initially interested in what the Ghosthound had offered, wondering if he could acquire a second Soul Skill based on his association with the Ghosthound. After all, his Village Chieftain Soul Skill had the opportunity to grow, and seemed to be very close to that level, but having one on an entirely different track that he could draw strength from would be the ideal. But after witnessing Stan’s reaction to it…
Ptolemy shrugged. “Well… physically he’s only exhausted now. There is no damage to him, or any lasting damage. He does, however, continually have the Status Effect ‘Crippling Fear’. After using my Skills on him for a time… it’s clear this isn’t really a side effect of this Soul Skill inside of him, but rather his reaction to it.”
Sparing the Ghosthound a glance, Donny checked his reaction. He wasn’t agreeing, but he wasn’t disagreeing either. Instead, the other man just continued to frown. The Ghosthound was the one with a better view of this issue, Donny knew, so he wished he would speak up. Ptolemy was only basing his understanding on second hand information he could glean through a combination of a physical and some basic diagnostic related Skills. Some confirmation would be nice….
“Some people…” Ptolemy continued slowly, his expression sad. “...Cannot handle seeing themselves. I suspect that Stan is one of these people. Based upon what I’ve heard, he’s a very distant and stoic individual. Although he won the Tactics competition, that seemed to have been through a complete lack of fear of losing, and several bold strategies that worked out for him. If what you’ve said about Soul Skills is true, Randidly… perhaps what you showed him, especially the shadow in that cage… was something his psyche didn’t want to accept.”
“I… hadn’t thought of that.” The Ghosthound admitted, rubbing his chin as he looked at Stan’s crumpled form. Some of the sweat from when Stan was writhing and screaming earlier still remained on the man’s body, giving his hair a matted, sullen look. Donny felt a headache coming on. The more he learned, the less likely it was that this man would actually be useful as a tactical leader in a real battle…
Better to find out now, like this, than in the middle of a campaign, Donny supposed.
“...Then let’s let him rest,” The Ghosthound finally said, his voice tired. The two other men nodded.
“That sleep powder will last for a few more hours,” Ptolemy offered. “Would you want to remove the Soul Skill before that time’s up…?”
The Ghosthound just shook his head, but the frustration in his posture was clear.
Donny wanted to reach out and pat the man’s shoulder, tell him that they didn’t need him to be perfect, just to give it his best, that they knew how difficult this was, that he was not truly a myth, but a man in front of them, with flaws, who made mistakes.
But Donny’s hands wouldn’t move. Instead, he simply watched the Ghosthound walk away, carrying the weight of this man’s previous torment on his shoulders.