Militis Corde

by Sanguine Eyes

Chapter 2: Expergiscere

Expergiscere

The images swirled around within the utter abyss, unrelenting as the time pounded on. Every moment passed with horrors and despair eating away at him. He had waded through blood for what felt like years, the smell of it in his nostrils, the taste under his tongue, the feel between his talons. But nothing was as bad as the bodies. Thousands of innocents, whether they were mothers or fathers, or children; they all lay out butchered and hacked to pieces, rotting and decaying without graves. He shivered and retched, struggling to escape the blood, but it kept rising up like a sentient flood. His mind panicked and his beak opened to scream, but ten voices cried out, some in anger, some in pain, some in despair, some in pride.

For what felt like years he traversed this place, seeing faces he swore he knew but could not speak the names of, running from pain, feeling the sensation of his weapons sinking into flesh, hearing the screams of those who could not fight back. But suddenly the howls of a thousands souls rumbled as something else erupted into his nightmares. It was light, yet it was dark. A soft, sleepy blue wisp flowed through the darkness. The scent of lavender and other more painful aromas touched his nose even through the thick scent of blood. It was somehow soothing, but the sweet nectar scent hanging in the air caused a whole new set of terror that boiled up from within him.

'You failed! You failed and now it's gone, you have nothing!' The voice was in utter rage and disgust, but what made it worse was that it was his own.The stronger the scent, the louder the raging voice. Other than invoking the inconceivable rage of whatever demons lived in this hell, the scent wafted and called to him like a divine presence reaching out to him, promising salvation he was clearly unworthy of. Though for every single inch the sensation crept forward, guilt tore his body more and more to pieces. It was majestic and the very essence of grace and beauty, but feeling its mere presence made his mind demand the end of his life. It was a grace he did not deserve, a grace that he should never even be considered for. But most of all, it was a grace that utterly consumed him with complete and utter shame.

His shivering body gave into the demands of his mind, he crumpled and he gave up. It was too much and now he desired only release from the pain and endless despair. He stopped struggling and the blood rose up to swallow him, the talons and hooves of the dead gripping him and pulling his body under. He could see the swirling wisp gracefully swooping about as the blood soaked into his feathers and pulled him in further, pooling over his eyes and then beyond. He was completely submerged, the screams seemed so distant, the pain in his body so earned. He let his breath out, hearing it bubble under the thick crimson sea. He stirred when he felt a touch of pressure within the sanguine flood, the sudden sensation told him something out there had been impacted and the surface of the blood penetrating deep with great force. Something harshly grabbed him and forced him to the surface. For a moment he thought it was just the horrors not quite done making him suffer. However, when he surfaced the blue wisp pulled him in and things became dull, like he was looking through dirty glass pane, he could not focus. But the more time he spent staring at the changing world around him, the more he understood that it was always like this. It wasn't changing, he was simply becoming aware of the truth.

He reached out to with his talons to the wisp as if to feel the soft silky touch of its deep sky blue tendrils. He hesitated, knowing he didn't deserve it, but clenching his eyes, he pushed forward. It was like touching the stars themselves. A rush of mystic playful attention, like his troubles fading. But there was effort behind it, as if the little wisp was trying to hide his pain rather than erase it.

His attention shattered and the world began to crumble. He could feel his heart racing in his chest and pain erupted in his body that sent him reeling ,he could hardly breath and the familiar tension of stitches pulling at his flesh made things more clear. He felt vulnerable and small, panic swept up into him and his mind screamed the danger to him. 'You are in danger! There is something looming over you.'

His eyes snapped open and he screamed so loud that his throat began to trickle blood. His talons shot forward and seized the first thing they touched in front of him, trying to squeeze the life out of it, trying to protect himself from the darkness, he didn't want to go back, he didn't want to feel the pain anymore.

The figure his talons had wrapped around reacted very quickly, almost expertly. As if his talons were covered in soap, his grip slipped, letting the figure he had grabbed dart back out of reach. The tingle of magic told him this was a defensive and magical counter. Still, his talons left long marks that instantly began to seep red as they raked across flesh. His mind lit ablaze with reflexive patterns. 'Magical enemy, loud noises, flashes of pain, anything to break their focus. If racial magic, destroy the focus of their power, if artifact, separate them, if learned magic, keep them from speaking of performing incantations.' But suddenly, something froze him in place and struck him with despair enough for him he was back under the blood wrapped in the hooves and talons of the dead. The sound of the screams, they were fright and fear, but again, they were young. Not soldiers or beasts on the battlefield, they were the voices of the young, voices of children, the voices of sisters and daughters.

Wrought with shame, guilt, and internal pains, he did not resist as what he figured was a magical power lashing out in his moment of hesitation, seizing him and forcing him back with tremendous power. Even when he felt very obviously broken bones that had just barely began to set re-break and stir his flesh, he submitted, it was far better to die than to hear those screams again. He felt stitches pop and joints crackle as a dark blue pony stared at him gasping for air. Her horn flared in a panicked spell that was unusually strong, her wings flared out and gave a few beats before they folded again almost signifying her calming focus, regaining her composure.

"Calm down everypony... he’s alright, that was just a reaction. He was just very scared, his nightmare was rather... intense." The dark blue pony paused for a moment before she released him, but the sound of armor hastily clanking told him that next time it might be a spear through his chest and not a firm magical manhandling.

"Your Majesty! We heard a struggle are you alright?" His eyes were only open to vague slits to observe the world around him as his labored breathing and severe headache made everything sound dull over the constant ring in his ears.All he could see was the shine of heavy polished armor and glint of polished melee weapons.

Her voice was almost aggravated as she regarded them firmly. "Yes, I am fine. Return to the hallway..." The sound of armored ponies moved back through the door and he opened his eyes as wide as he could to let the pony know that he was indeed awake. The swelling and pain made the effort not so successful, but she did take notice.

"I am sorry..." His voice was raspy and half gurgled by what he could only guess was blood in his throat and judging by the pain in his chest, a broken rib... or ten. His body was on fire with pain, but somehow just looking into the eyes of the mare he almost killed out of reflex was more painful than the shattered bones grinding against each other and tearing at his flesh.

Her eyes reflexively closed as her head bowed slightly, almost as a noble gesture. "It is alright, I will survive. And after seeing what you have going on in that head of yours, I don't quite blame you for that reaction. Just stay calm and I won't have to put you down again."

He did his best to nod before suffering through the pain of tilting his head in either direction to notice there was six other colorful ponies and a Zebra in the room. He could not bring himself to look them in the eyes; every time he strayed close to doing so, he saw the empty, dead eyes of those back in the sea of blood. Cringing, he broke into a shiver again. The dark blue one quickly noticed and spoke.

"Calm down, it’s ok... you are safe. Just tell me, what is your name?" She took her time to lean in, carefully looking deep into his eyes. She could feel the massive level of malice within him, but she also sensed it was not his own. So long as the griffon in front of her was who she was talking to, she was confident she was safe.

"...I... I don't know." His mind raced back as panic began to spread through him again. He worked hard trying to grasp anything he could that would serve as his own identity, but nothing came up. "T..Tyr..in. Tyrin." Two seconds passed, and he kicked himself, realizing that it was a reflexive combination of the names he heard in his head from the two griffons that tried to kill him. Whatever it sounds griffon enough.

"Tyrin? That doesn't sound like a griffon name." His eyes focused and picked up the one talking, a pegasus with a cyan blue coat and mane of vibrant rainbow colors. Her voice sounded confident and almost arrogant, though her body language showed that she was still plenty frightened by what had just happened. But he could smell a fighting spirit in her. She was startled, but she could not afford to be scared. As if it was more important to her that the others knew she was strong enough not to be afraid. It was strangely relatable.

He did his best to reach out with his weak voice. "I was hoping it would sound griffon. I don't know what my name really is." He tried to keep track of all the movement in the room, He didn't quite know why but it felt like something he had to do, but one pony in the room was a nightmare to try and track. The fuzzy pink mane bounced like jello every time she moved, which was constantly. It would have hurt watching her bounce around even if he wasn't in such a horrible condition already.

"Oh oh oh! Ask him about the ink!" The pink pony shouted as she bounced about. An orange pony casually moved a hoof over the pink one's head as if to hold her still.

"Calm down there, sugar cube, let the griffon rest. He don't have to go through everything at once." She stepped back and stretched her legs before backing through a pair of curtains he seemed to recognize.

"I am in a hospital?" The conclusion was a little odd to him, it looked like something he should not recognize, but at the same time, it was clear and obvious to him.

Another voice chimed in, thick with concern. "That is kinda where you go when you fall five thousand feet and break half the bones in your body, even if somepony broke your fall." Her voice sounded clear and easy to follow, like a teacher, well informed or more likely very well educated.

"I fell on a pony?" The all too familiar pang of guilt shot through him yet again.

The other side of the curtains groaned in a pained deep bass voice. "Eeeyup!"

He looked to the curtains and rasped out, "I am sorry, are you okay?"

The voice moaned again with a cough and a loud pop. "Nope!"

"Oh, you shush and stop squirmin’ ya hear?" He could make out the orange pony's hoof falls, but it mixed with somepony else, much slower and weaker.

"So you just have amnesia? Darling, that sounds just dreadful." The sound of a white unicorn's voice made him twitch. Something about the cultured flare drove some anger to the surface. But he kept it in check. He couldn't figure why he would be angry at it, but like everything else, he would figure it out later.

"I honestly have no idea. Chances are, you know more about me and what is going on than I do." He picked out another form in the room, a yellow pony who shook and shivered with fear. Just looking in her general direction was like being stabbed in the chest with a dull blade. He wanted to speak to her, to apologize and promise he would not hurt her, but looking at her trembling form triggered the memories which felt like fire in his mind and cold sludge in his belly. The others did not seem too concerned; he moved to the conclusion that she was just excessively sensitive and very faint of heart, and her friends were just very used to it. He still made a note to find her and apologize to her later.

"Calm down now... do you by any chance notice or feel anything... strange?" The tall dark blue one inched closer to listen to his weak voice.

"Strange ho..." The memory of his swipe at the wire that had kept him in place played back in his mind. The image of the blazing black flames licking across the air. He swallowed and shivered lightly, trying to clear his mind. "Strange how?"

She looked at him with raised eyebrows and then back at the purple one, who nodded. The blue one raised a mirror for him to see. Other than dark contusions and cracks in his beak accompanied by stitches and swelling which helped explain his severe pain, there was also something else. It looked like runny tar had flowed from his eyes like a fountain, staining his fur. "You have been crying this black ink out ever since you landed on Big Mac." The purple one’s tone was thick with curiosity and caution. She clearly thought it was dangerous, yet was utterly intoxicated with the aspect of something she did not know. Curiosity killed the cat, child; watch your step.

He was more surprised that he was not surprised by the fact that he was crying darkness while he slept. "It's new to me, but I do know something odd. I am not quite clear on how things are supposed to work, but..." He paused and swallowed painfully remembering the fire matching in color to his inky tears. "...are griffons supposed to be able to do magic?"

The blue one looked very surprised as the purple one had a face of pure joy and excitement. "That is not normal at all, but I am assuming you are asking because you can? Can you show me please?" The purple one's excited smile was almost unnerving.

"I don't know if I can, but I know I did. I shot black flames out of my talons" He raised his arm and looked at the now rather limp set of talons that were once menacing. However, they now just hung loose in a broken splint. He assumed the limb rebroke when he woke up.

"Enough for now... Twilight, you and your friends go back to the castle. I thank you for calling me for this, had you not, then he would have died. But he needs his rest, go on home." There was a few groans but one by one the ponies began to leave, then the zebra, speaking in hushed tones the zebra conversed with the dark blue pony. He could just make out the rise and fall of her tones that suggested she was speaking in a rhythm or rhyme. A few moments later the orange pony came out again and left with the zebra just after she gathered up her primitive looking bottles and jars. The dark blue pony nodded to him, magically toning down the lights. "Good night, Tyrin..."

He relaxed, closing his eyes, but his mind troubled him. As if by impulse his beak opened and he spoke. "Selenicereus grandiflorus..."

She flinched and looked back at him. She knew what it meant, but seemed surprised that he had said it. "Wha…?"

"The desert moon flower; rare, beautiful, smells kinda like vanilla... it’s your perfume; it’s beautiful. But... please do not wear it next time. Forgive my rudeness... I don't know why, but it hurts..." He slowed and rolled the name he had only just given himself around in his mouth like it was a physical thing. "Tyrin..."

He looked back up at her and continued, driven to speak to the princess. "It’s also called Queen of the Night." His eyes drifted to her neck, to the scratches which had stopped bleeding, but it still sparked up shame inside him. "I am sorry, I hurt you."

She did not move or react for a moment but then a smile spilled over her lips. "Tis nothing to worry about. Thank you, Tyrin. ‘Queen of the Night’..." She chuckled. "You are quite the flatterer." Her horn flared, and the marks faded away, leaving only the soft crimson lines where the blood had touched her fur.

Without another word she left. He sat and stared at the wall for a moment. Minutes passed, and a nurse came to re-affix his splint. Despite the darkness inside that felt like poison in his belly, he was almost asleep when he heard a deep, loud snore. It was just a few moments more, and slow hoof falls started out the room. He peeked across the room flexing his left talons, happy those were not broken. A scent caught his nose just as he saw a very old green mare walk out from behind the curtains towards the door.

"Excuse me, Ma'am." She paused, and he could smell it much clearer. it was something he needed badly. "Is that hard cider?"

She paused, looking him over. Not sure whether to feign ignorance because she brought alcohol into the hospital or to just nod. A few more seconds passed and she nodded. "Nothin’ but the Apple family's secret recipe!"

He weakly clenched his beak. "I know it's kind of straightforward and I might not be allowed to, but may I have it? There are some things waiting for me in my sleep that I would rather not be able to experience."

She looked him with eyes that had seen many things, eyes that seemed to know exactly what he spoke of. She peeked towards the door then looked him over again. "Ya won't be wantin’ the hard cider then. Here ya go, just take some of Granny Smith's secret stuff. It will knock you on your plot and back. Keep it under yer pillow. But hide it under ya when the nurse with the red mane comes in, she checks there, dang busy body nurse." The old pony let off a warm smile before tossing him a full flask. "Come and bring back the flask to the farm when you're done."

He did his best to smile and raised the flask as if to toast to her. "Thank you, ma'am." She smiled again and left. As the sleep started to creep back up on him, he popped the top and downed half the bottle, which felt like a pony kicking him right in the mouth, then again in the throat and in the gut when he swallowed the strong fluid. He felt the warmth flood him, and he slipped the flask into his cast that formed around his left wing.

The guilt and despair slowly melting away into a blur, he closed his eyes and braced himself for the dark abyss of nightmares once again.

Author's Note:

If you can't tell from the title which is is latin. Soldier's heart is what they used to call PTSD. I am sorry its a bit dark, but hopefully you can guess what this story is partially about.

Comments

[TheArcticWolf]

Iknew it! I knew it was latin!