118. Clash of Titans
No matter how many times she went through it, 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 that represented 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, there was that giant prawn that had woken from the deep, which Serac inspected in its entirety from her temporary vantage point. The Frostkrill, when viewed through the detached lens of a soul-in-limbo, made for an awesome and strangely beautiful sight.
It was covered from head to tail in a carapace of jade-green veined with lotus-white. Its head—bejeweled with myriad eyes of glistening obsidian—tapered into spiral mandibles. From the rims of this orifice fanned out slender antennae that reached in all the cardinal directions of Pretjord—some towards the Crown’s canopies, others into the Roots’ submerged depths. The rest of its segmented body—so fluid and wavelike in its movement as to be almost serpentine—ended in a splayed tail that set off minor tsunamis with every effortless flick.
Yet, despite its 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 hunted it as a pack. And speaking of Wayfarers…
Serac’s attention went to the humanoid ‘ants’ that jumped all around and occasionally on the Frostkrill, each one busy slinging their distinct brand of magic. She counted si—no, five—such hunters to be exact; this was clearly an ‘alliance’, assuming they played by the same rules as this year’s edition of the Realmhunt. Serac’s bird’s-eye view was too far out 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 who swung a heavy hammer—this appeared to be the leader of the group. The ‘leader’ fought in close partnership with a much slimmer companion, one who whipped up gusts of wind with the aid of a fan-like object.
A trio of other Wayfarers rounded out the hunting alliance, including a pugilist with a visibly round belly who liked to stay close and fight with his fists (reminds me of someone I know, minus the mead belly!). Beside him, a hooded figure zipped about with agility, turning the terrain itself into her weapon (hold on… I’m detecting a pattern here; this isn’t what I think it is, is it?).
The si—no, fifth—hunter was perhaps 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, looking equally comfortable on ice or in the sky. Their 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, she had to assume the hammer-and-fan duo to be the royal couple—King Tyr and Queen Loha in their younger days. Did that mean the other three Wayfarers belonged to the Kronvakt? Was this a ‘reenactment’ of one of only four instances in the 300-odd-year history of the Realmhunt where King Tyr smited the Frostkrill?
But no… something wasn’t quite right. Every piece of this picture seemed to 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 of pain 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.
The first ‘sensory organs’ to clue her in were her pair of onyx horns. Just as lightning preceded thunder, Serac’s horns shook from the ripples before she heard and felt the Frostkrill’s Realm-shattering movement across ice. These 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]
That was the Frostkrill, alright—as awesome and beautiful as it’d looked in Serac’s dream. Although, now that she had an ant’s-eye view of the thing, even from a fair distance, she was much more terrified of its immensity than appreciative of its beauty. And it didn’t help that this Frostkrill was currently locked in a wrestling match with a second giant beast:
[GULLOYNE—the Fjordstrider]
Yes. It was King Tyr’s giant salamander, resplendent in its gold and royal-blue, matching the Frostkrill in style if not quite in size. Nap time over. Time to hunt.
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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. For every time the Frostkrill shot out one of its many limbs, Gulloyne ‘deflected’ the attack by plating itself in localized golden armor.
The salamander too was in it to win it, alternating its impressive defense with attempts at a counterattack. Its main ‘weapon’ was its prehensile tongue: a fleshy appendage the size of an ancient sequoia that darted across the sky at blinding speed. But then the Frostkrill—just as adept at defending itself—dodged every one of Gulloyne’s attacks with twists of its segmented neck, uncannily deft for its size.
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 saw that other ants like her were already busy trying to carve out their piece of the pie.
Gulloyne, before settling into its duel, had evidently ferried and dropped off a whole platoon of Wayfarers. These Yaksha hunters now 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 to Serac for his dynamic movements (among some other reasons)—Rathor Tyrsen, he of the basalt birthmark and flowing ash-gray mane. Prince Rathor seemed to be making a concerted effort to attack the Frostkrill’s underbelly—which made sense to Serac, given it was likely one of the few places on the prawn’s body that wouldn’t be protected by its jade carapace.
But ‘effort’ had evidently fallen short of turning out ‘results’. 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. And each time, 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 could see the Frostkrill as ‘just another boss’. That’s what everyone on the ground is trying to do—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. Hang on, speaking of the Kronvakt, just how—?
“Psst.”
Serac spun towards 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 (that’s odd…). Indeed, beside the Waystation, this 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’, the gears turning in her head. Wait a Ksana… this thing wasn’t here when I set down my Waystation, was it? I would’ve remembered if there was 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 padded 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 of some sort? And just as soon as Serac reached the top, Renate ushered her into the ‘inside’ of the hill with an impatient tug of the arm.
Serac found herself atop Ash’s battlement, though one that was camouflaged by a ceiling of packed snow. The whole gang was already here. Munkfred’s mound took up nearly the entire space. Renate, Zacko, Petter, and Inge all sat in the gutters in a neat line, with the latter three smiling and waving at Serac as she joined them.
“Here,” Zacko said by way of greeting, as he handed 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 the status effect [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 before the effect expires.]
Serac couldn’t help but frown. This was 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 in her hand 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 she punched a hole in the ceiling, eliciting a diverse set of reactions from the peanut gallery. Zacko barked with laughter, Inge beamed warmly, and Petter averted his gaze with a wave of his 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 now said, sounding all business, “now that you’re all fed and topped up, it’s time to pick up where we left off.”
“Sure,” Serac said with a frown, as she was reminded of her earlier misgiving, “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, not a hair out of sorts. “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 then?”
“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 you because Petter also told me about your wager with Rathor… and 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, as far as Serac and I are concerned.”
“You sound awfully confident about this, Renate,” Serac said with a knowing smirk, then tapped into her growing dictionary of Manesferan idioms as she added, “I’ve got a feeling this isn’t your first rodeo.”
Renate blinked at her 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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