A roar was intimidating...for a moment, that is, and to those not yet numbed to roars by countless battles against monsters. One did not issue from whatever behemoth lay inside the stone shell suspended before the Charred Council's agents. Instead, it remained still, the one monolithic eye open and staring straight at the intruders into its domain. Around it, the entire Hanging Jungle seemed still as a spider's web, motionless and silent but no less deadly to the flies dangerously close to its sticky, silken strands. Uhelei did not want to speak, or even move, but though the gaze of the hanging behemoth filled him with dread, he took some comfort in it: that for the moment, at least, death was not coming for him. From the shelter of this solace he worked up a reply to the hellhound who questioned him. “It is...a legend to my people. We call it 'Ourakekem' – the Baleful World. You must understand: I did not guide us to it. It moves through the great tangle as it pleases...or at least, it is said to. Maybe it is better that we found it than some of the things out here. Our tales do not say that it is evil; merely that it is 'above us'. I will tell you what I know.”
“Our realm, the Undersky, is said to have not been made by the Creator himself, but by a mad renegade mistakenly gifted awesome power. After crafting an inverted world, she devoted herself to making living things, from beasts to us tribesmen to beings that rivaled her in might and insanity to keep her company. Ourakekem was one of these elite spirits, a consciousness of energy. Eventually a great war brewed among the renegade and her toys situated at a place called Wit's End, which the lord Panoptos calls 'the Seal', which is our destination. The battle resulted in the destruction of all involved. The spirits perished, the remnants of their power laying dormant inside protective cocoons, some of which, like Ourakekem, became living things in their own right.” Uhelei glanced back at the massive, everpresent eye. It held no trace of wariness, or wrath, but rather a cool intelligence, calmly evaluating the specks that stood before it.
Panoptos, having somehow restrained himself from interrupting the boring dialogue, now put forward his two cents. ”My superior intellect has arrived at a brilliant conclusion. What if this Oura-thing purposefully bars the way to Wit's End as a test? Wouldn't that be a nice surprise.” He floated forward slightly, ascending as he did so. Almost imperceptibly, the eye of Ourakekem slid upward. ”Yoo hoo! Don't know if you understand me, ole buddy, but we've got an urgent appointment with the Seal. Mind moving out of the way?”
Nothing happened. The seconds, rife with tension, stretched farther and farther. Then, quite abruptly, the whole tangled canopy was in motion. Ourakekem's enormous tentacles began to retract into its body at a healthy pace, but as its limbs went in, something came out. Emanating from the behemoth's eye was a mint-green wave, sweeping across everything in sight and bathing it in a soft glow. The tendrils released the platform on which the agents stood, but it, and the rest of the hunks of land, floated in the air as if weightless. As more and more of the colossal tentacles retreated into the mountain shell, it became apparent that the behemoth itself was now hovering in the air, kept buoyant by the same psychic force imparted to the stone. Very soon, the entire region was devoid of strands. Far away, the ordinary, steely cables of the Hanging Jungle remained, but in the vicinity of Ourakekem there existed only a belt of floating platforms.
Admittedly, Souta was having a terrifically hard time not freaking out. Navigating the Hanging Jungle had been hard and nerve-wracking enough when it was just vines; now, he -along with the rest of his group save Panoptos, the very individual who'd gotten them into this mess- was at the mercy of this hulking aberration. He could only watch as yellowish light began to will up within the monster's shell, which resolved itself into a sort of fog that streamed around its body. By honing his eyes, Souta could tell when the fog came close that it was not mist, but billions of bugs. So this is the monster's power. We are so dead. A bizarre sound filled the air—some kind of reverberating mumble that he could not decipher. He guessed it to be the cacophony of insect wings, but above the noise, Uhelei shouted, “It is speaking in my people's tongue! It is as you said, lord Panoptos! It wishes to test us. We must weather its swarms until it determines whether our intentions will...will suit its purposes. Prepare yourselves, agents of the Council!”
Immediately, the swarms began to whirl through the floating array of stone. It took on the shape of lances, beasts, and even armed humanoids, attacking the agents both as projectiles to be blocked or avoided, and as facsimile opponents. Souta had no idea what was going on, but he knew that he had to fight, and to fight with everything he had. The Trawlers appeared, and the smith went to work.