Back at the camp, where the campfire grew weaker, Thistle and Pontus were dangerously wandering close to the realm of distant dreams. They’re eyelids grew heavy, the holding up of their exhausted forms grew weaker and their attention span and awareness of their surroundings practically became non-existent.
Whilst they stared at the majestic fire, they rubbed their baggy eyes, let out exhausted yawns, and stretched every fibre of their being to their heart's content.
Thistle looked to his tired friend, much like himself, Pontus was devoid of energy and the will to stay awake.
The silence was infuriating, and the lack of purpose or tasks left the mind to wander; leading himself to recall his dreams.
His beak slowly opened with the intention of speaking his thoughts, but he held his tongue before he could spit out any words, uncertainty filling his head.
Has he heard them too? Or was it just me?
Did he see anything like I did?
However, Thistle was pulled from his thoughts the moment a familiar voice brought him back to reality.
“Something on your mind?” Pontus asked rather tiredly, curiously staring at his friend, “You’ve been staring at me for a few seconds.
A cheeky smug then formed on his face as a thought rushed past, “Hey, I know I’ve got females going weak at the knees in my presence but I didn’t know I’ve got males doing that too.” He quipped, speaking confidently as he pushed his broad chest out.
Thistle raised an eyebrow, unamused, and moments later, he shook his head, clasping his talons together as he looked to the fire before him, sighing, “Your dreams…” He started off somberly, “Do you recall them?”
Noticing his friend's tone, his attitude quickly shifted to adapt to his friend's needs, “What’s wrong? What did you see?”
Thistle held his breath, looking to the divine stars above, “After the events of one fateful battle…” He began, “I arrived at the gates of Vikuntham, bloodied and beaten. It was everything as was described by the Temple Elders”
“What did you see?”
“Shining towers of white, imposing statues of our long lost ancestors of legend and many hunting grounds for the chosen.”
“Did you see the ‘Great Hall?’” Pontus asked, leaning in, eagerly awaiting the answer.
“I think I was about to… but…”
Pontus grew concerned after hearing that last word, his brows narrowing as the expression on his friend’s face grew more wretched.
“...I fell, Pontus. I fell through the clouds and hit the ground harder than when you hit that Equine… I thought I was worthy to become one of the chosen. I mean, I even heard cheers of praise and joy when I arrived at the gates, but I guess I wasn’t, just like most of our kind.”
“Don’t think too much of it, Thistle. It was just a dream and it's unlikely that you’ll die anytime soon. Besides…” He left off, only continuing once his friend was making eye contact with him, “...we still have one hell of a life to lead; Conquering cities, creatures, plundering and raiding, all that fun stuff.”
Thistle scoffed at his words, unable to keep himself from chuckling, “You forgot tavern fights and drunken nights, Pontus.”
“I knew I was forgetting something,” He smiled, laughing alongside Thistle moments later. But as their laughter drowned out the sounds of crackling fire, the sudden rustling and disturbance of bushes compelled them to cease and jump up from their spots with weapons drawn.
But tensions and muscles eased alike the moment a large familiar being - carrying the shape much like their own - shot out of the woods, steam emitting from his head and eyes burning with fire.
“Captain?” They said in unison, ignoring the appearances of the other mercs, instead, maintaining their full attention on the Captain they watched him stomp straight to the cage, leaving deep marks into the dirt road.
Determined and clearly infuriated, the Captain unlocked the door before throwing it wide open. Ducking low and rushing in, he let out a primal roar from deep within himself, one that quaked the earth and sent the tarp flying from the top of the cage, granting a show to be observed by his mercs, free of charge of course.
“Come here!” He yelled to the cowering Thestral, who was backing away from the Captain, though it would serve her no good, for the moment he rear made contact with the corner of the cage, the Captain shot his talon to her mane, grabbing a talon-full of hair before pulling on it like a leash, dragging the miniscule Equine outside with ease.
Her screams of pain, and pleads to stop filled the air. Evergriff watched as she tried to bash her captors talon in hopes of forcing him to let go, though it went to no effect.
Now throwing her out of the cage, he glanced at Thistle and Pontus who were walking to him, bombarding him with questions he wasn’t too keen on answering at the moment for he had more pressing concerns to deal with.
“Please…” The Thestral started weakly, receiving the attention of the Captain. Tears taking form from her eyes, she looked up to the massive griffon, “...please… d-don’t hurt me…”
Undeterred by such expressions and pitiful words, the Captain grabbed the Thestral by the neck before lifting her up in the air. The mercs watched in silence as their Captain placed an immense amount of pressure on her slender neck, “What have you done Thestral? What monstrosity have you prayed to come save you?”
The Captain alleviated his iron grip, allowing the Thestral to somewhat breath and barely give back an answer, “W-what… -ack- -alking about.”
His anger consuming him, the Captain roared as he swung about with the mare in tow, slamming the back of her body against the iron cage before intensifying the pain he was inflicting upon her, “Don’t play dumb with my you filthy Equine!” He demanded, bringing her forward slightly before slamming her into the cage once more, “Half my company is gone because of the monstrosities that have been sent to reclaim you!”
“Captain!” Thistle shouted, gaining his superiors attention. The lesser griffon noticed the life being strangled out of the Equine as she struggled to pry away the griffon's talons with her hooves, “The merchandise… Our paycheck.”
“What does it matter?! She’s going to die either way, be it at our talons or our employer’s. The only difference is that our’s will be quick and painless, while his will be slow and painful - after she’s been used up and ruined of course, inside and out.” The Captain stated harshly before returning his attention to the mare, “Now talk you damn Equine!”
Fear filled the thestral as she looked into the Captain’s eyes, he was consumed by blind rage; willing to break the very rules he was meant to enforce in order to get the answers he sought for.
The thestral’s sight of the world around her began to darken, her struggling grew weak, becoming almost non-existent.
Please… Father… somepony… help me…
In the opening moments of when her life began to leave her body, her ears perked up upon hearing a series of whistles and tranquil humming alike.
The Captain’s eyes were drawn to his right upon hearing the same sounds the thestral heard. And the moment his mind processed what he was looking at, he released the thestral in an instant, allowing her to fall to the ground and granting her a chance to recover.
Coughing and wheezing, the little thestral desperately tried to push herself off the ground. Her shaky legs tried to push her body up, only to give in once she made it a quarter of the way.
Ignoring the seemingly lifeless Equine body left on the ground, the Captain gathered the remains of his unit, each of them drawing their weapons, however shakily, as they prepared to face the entity before them.
There, floating about the centre of the dirt road, was a purple spherical ball of cosmic light. From a distance, it’s form looked to be consumed by ghastly purple flames whilst also emitting purple sparks of energy.
It’s form surged and died down in sync with its tunes, seemingly eternally locked in a battle between light and dark; for its presence alone burned away the darkness whilst also having its light consumed by it.
“W-what is that?”
“By Dyauspitah…”
“I-I’ve never seen anything like that…”
As the griffons contemplated their own lives at seeing such a majestic sight. A purple miasma creeped into the area, washing over and enveloping everything in the general vicinity.
An aura of cold dread, fear, despair and discontent filled the atmosphere. These emotions grew so strong, that one could taste and smell them from a kilometre away.
And possibly revel in their negativity…
The wall of armour and flesh slowly shuffled back with their tail falling in between their legs.
The only exception of the group being the Captain, who remains steadfast and devoid of fear despite the circumstances he found himself in.
“Muster your courage griffons!” He said, voice unbreaking, “We have faced far worse beings than some sparkling ball of light.”
“B-but sir-“
“I don’t have time for your beak son. Prepare yourselves!”
“But Captain! Look at it…”
The Captain did look back at the floating light, but not at the demand of his subordinate, but at the sudden sounds of magical sparks that seemed to grow violent with every passing second.
“What… is it doing?” Came the question of the Captain, as he observed the entity from a distance.
The entity appeared to be growing in power.
The magical streaks of it emitted from its form grew more erratic; more unstable. While it’s flaming form surged with energy, becoming a burning beacon of light for all the world to see.
But before they could observe it any longer, the entity emitted a brief flash of blinding light - a light so immensely powerful that it could have illuminated the night sky - compelling them to bring their forelegs up to shield their eyes.
The mercs were blinded from all that laid around them, leaving them openly vulnerable to a fatal strike if one desired it, but it seemed no one had this in mind, for fate had a different path for them to take.
In the moments when the light died down enough for them to grant each pair of their purple eyes a moment of respite to recover and adjust in order to get a grasp of their surroundings, they were only left bewildered and puzzled as they registered what now laid around them.
The miasma.
They had been consumed by it.
There was nothing in sight for their gaze to lock onto.
There was no night sky, no moon, no forest, nothing… The only things that were there were them and the miasma, that is all.
“Where are we?” A griffon asked, turning about on the spot whilst remaining huddled close to his comrades.
“I can’t see anything… Can you guys see anything?
“No… not a thing…”
“This ain’t right… something’s wrong here…”
“Shut it!” Demanded the Captain as he glanced to his quivering subordinates, “Where’s the Equine? Does anygriff have eyes on her?”
…
The mercs were hit with a moment of eerie silence, as they expected any other griffon but them to speak up and pass their leader an answer, only to receive none.
“I guess that’s a no.” Pontus unnecessarily remarked who in turn received an elbow from Thistle.
“A-actually Captain,” A merc spoke up, “I think she was still somewhere behind us when that… thing showed up.”
“Alright, then that’s where we’re heading. We get her, then we fly out of this mess.” The Captain paused, turning about and pointing deeper into the miasma, “Keep an eye out everygriff! We move slowly.”
Some mercs nodded, acknowledging his orders while others simply remained silent and still. Eventually, a griffon took the first steps forward, breaking formation with his comrades following suit.
The Captain remained in the middle of the group, diligently coordinating his soldiers movements and adjusting their formation as required.
In the end, the formation took the shape of a diamond; one that constantly altered its shape and covered most of their zones with their flanks covered.
Sounds of metallic impacts emanating from their armour made themselves known as the griffons cautiously walked in one direction with weapons drawn and muscles tensed. Their hastened breaths and racing hearts were testing their resolve, even more so for the younger warriors of the group.
But then came the immediate stop of one of the mercs who led the group, “Hold up.” He said, holding up his talon.
The others heeded with his request; stopping and keeping a pair of vigilant eyes out for any signs of trouble.
“Do you see something?” The Captain asked, remaining in the centre of the formation, “Is it the Equine?”
“No, but… does anygriff hear that?” The point-griffon asked, prompting every other merc to listen for anything out of the ordinary.
They all remained silent, some even holding their own breaths.
…
But there was nothing.
The griffon in the rearguard did his best to maintain his will and keep his own morale high. Through the acts of emanating prayers from his beak and constantly reminding himself what laid beyond this mortal life if he were to fight and die without breaking.
With his sword at-the-ready, his gaze shifted from left to right and from right to left. He scanned his zone with care, not daring to spare a glance to his sides instead entrusting his comrades to cover his flanks as he will cover theirs.
Time had seemingly slowed down around him as he scanned his zone once more, his eyes catching a glimpse of a dark griffon-like figure. The figure appeared to carry the frame of a female griffon, more slender and smaller than the male counterparts.
The merc opened his beak to bellow out a call to his fellow mercs, but stopped upon being hit with a feminine voice that was beautiful and could soothe and tame the wildest beast.
“Gyules~” She sang, the voice compelling the eyes of the male to widen to an abnormal size in response.
That voice… I know that voice…
“...Clio?” Gyules whispered, his voice shaking much like the weapons in his talons, “Is that you?”
Gyules eagerly waited for a response; to hear that bewitching voice once more to soothe his pounding heart.
“Yes, it is me my dearest beloved. Come, I wish to embrace you myself, but away from prying eyes…”
With his heart and mind latched onto the hook that was her words, Gyules couldn’t possibly resist.
Nodding earnestly, Gyules impatiently ran headfirst into the miasma, his mind absent from the task he was supposed to carry out.
Clio’s dark form only seemed to be moving further away as Gyules got closer and closer. Everytime he thought he would break through the miasma and meet his beloved, he was only met with disappointment and frustration as forelegs met nothing solid to embrace and love.
But after countless tries, he would finally confront what he had sought for…
Before Gyules stood a beauty of a griffon, carrying features and traits he would eternally cherish and love.
“Clio?” He whispered with much disbelief, the dams in his eyes on the verge of breaking, “I-is that you?”
His beloved simply smiled and slowly flared out her wings, upon noticing his tearing eyes beginning to wander all over her slender body.
“Has it been so long that you have forgotten what I look like dear beloved?”
Gyules shook his head, the hold he had on his sword going weak in her presence, persuading him to drop it, “No… I’m just… surprised to see you here; in front of me.” The male paused for a brief moment, lost for words to pass onto Clio, but after a few moments he was able to find them and speak his mind with a breaking voice and an aching heart, “H-how are you here? I thought I- no… I know I saw you-”
The male was silenced in an instant the moment he felt a digit on his beak. His own eyes locked onto hers, and within them, he could see himself, breaking down in front of her.
Clio hushed him softly, cupping his cheek with a talon before closing the distance between their faces, “Does it matter, my love? I’m here now and I’ll always be beside you, now and forever…”
Hearing such promises, Gyules could do little but smile ear to ear before moving in for a warm and tender kiss to implant her beak. Feelings of warmth and affection filled his insides, it felt like his spirit was being robbed by the act. However, much to his disappointment, the kiss did not last forever, for she found herself pulling away moments later, preferring to nuzzle his tear soaked cheek but with the addition of a soft whisper emanating from her beak and a malicious smile behind his ear.
“You know… you can take that armour off now… darling.”
“Hear what?” Came the first few voices in response to the sound of silence.
“I don’t hear anything.”
“I think those Zebra potions are having an affect on him.”
Then came the Captain, “What did you hear, son?”
The point-griffon took a moment to respond, most likely contemplating on what he had seemingly heard but the others haven’t.
“Voices… it sounded like… voices.”
“Can you describe them?”
The griffon nodded, “Yeah, they sound like… creatures… males, females, children even. They sound so familiar… I-I’ve heard them somewhere before…but where?”
Such a description drew the concern of his comrades, getting many quick brief glances from them.
They will not be given the chance to forge their own thoughts on the matter as something more pressing received everygriff’s attention in an instant as a shout rang out from the rear of the formation.
“Hey… where’s Gyules?!” A griffon exclaimed, shocked and surprised at the sudden absence of a fellow griffon.
But the moment the other mercs had processed what was said, a pain-filled cry was howled towards the heavens from the rear of the formation, drawing all the different coloured irises in that direction.
The cry lasted more than a few seconds at the most, striking fear into the hearts of the griffons, but in the opening moments of when the cries ceased to exist, an object was thrown towards them, landing just a metre away from one of the mercs before the momentum carried it before their paws.
Intrigued, the merc took a knee to examine the object. With a shaky talon, the mercs reached out for the shadowed object, but it only took a few moments for him to utter a gasp before stumbling a few steps back as soon as he realised what it was.
It was a helmet. One that was bloodied and dented from unknown sources.
It didn’t take a genius to guess who it once belonged to.
“I think we got our answer…” Pontus spoke up, holding his spear close to his armoured form. His heart - and those of his comrades - was starting to pound at a rhythm and beat that matched war drums, which thunder and quake a roaring battlefield with their fury; inspiring courage to one side whilst inspiring terror on the other.
Within mere seconds, the Captain felt an ominous sensation within himself, prying into both his mind and heart. The situation was quickly turning against them and he knew it, but to break now would be a death sentence for all of them, however if they all remained strong-
“What the-“ Came the words from a fearful and anxious griffon from the rear, who, upon turning found that three of his comrades were missing, including the point-griffon, “Where’s-”
This merc wasn’t spared a chance to voice his question out, for a number of torturous screams sung out to their gods, pulling the Captain out of his own thoughts.
The mercs attempted to pinpoint a general direction from where it came from, but their echoing cries sounded like they originated from all sides of the faltering formation.
“Defensive formation! Now!” The Captain ordered, knocking the thoughts of retreat out of their minds.
The griffons under him responded in an instant, their sense of discipline taking their very own bodies to form a circle around their fearless leader with their weapons pointed out in every direction.
With this formation of flesh that was estuned in metal suits, each of their zones were covered whilst the Captain would coordinate their efforts from the centre.
They were ready… well… with the exception of one that is. One with early mature features and who was subconsciously and swiftly pacing back and forth outside of the formation in a frantic state, leaving himself vulnerable to whatever horrors that existed in the miasma.
The Captain saw the way he had walked back and forth; head craning in all directions as if he were searching for something that wasn’t there, hindlegs taking minor and major steps alike with no coordination whatsoever, and talons that waved his sword wildly with no thought as he constantly swung his quivering body around.
There was no doubt about it.
He was losing it.
He was succumbing to his fears and his terrors, he was being consumed by them.
“Don’t even think about it, son!” The Captain warned, but his words have appeared to have been ignored or gone unheard.
Other’s from the group called out to him as well; advising, pleading, begging him to return to the fold though it seemed to have gone in vain.
“Oh this ain’t right…” The faltering merc shouted hysterically, “W-we, we have to get out of here. We have to get out of here!” He ended with panicked breaths as he flared his wings and took flight, breaking line of sight with the Captain.
“Wait, you fool!” The large griffon yelled, reaching out to his obscures form with an open talon. And before anygriff could muster the chance to do anything to prevent his death, the fleeing merc was forcibly pulled by some unforeseen force back to earth and deeper into the heart of the miasma.
Regretful silence held a tight leash on the remaining merc’s tongues as their comrade screamed for his life. Then came ear cringing sounds of metal being shredded, flesh tearing, bones breaking, body burning.
The gurgling sounds of death echoed throughout, replacing his screams and his pleading for life. The gurgling, cackling and bubbling, one that closely resembled the actions of blowing air through a straw that resides in a cup of water.
It was rather fortunate for the living mercs, despite the obscurity and the uncertainty the miasma enforced upon them, most of them were rather thankful that they didn’t have to witness his death as it sounded almost… monstrous… in nature.
And whatever monstrosity caused that… savage and animalistic death seemed to have its sights on them next.
The combined sounds of snarling and growling slowly began to make their appearance, alongside a series of distorted whispers that spoke in an unknown tongue; Haunting their mortal forms, vexing their unclean minds and cursing their corrupted souls.
Little did they know that they were simply reaping the monster’s malediction.
They sensed Death’s Bell looming over their heads. His cold, unforgiving scythe at their necks ready to collect their dues.
Each of them felt their ends approaching; the final chapter of their stories that’ll never see the light of day, and it began where it always must, with the grueling silence before battle.
These remaining mercs stood their ground and held firm in spite of the overwhelming amount of fear that was claiming all but one of their hearts.
The only things preventing the dishonourable act of retreating was their Captain at their backs and the faith that burned brightly inside their hearts alongside a single phrase repeatedly playing in their minds.
‘I may tremble, but I must not flee.’
Some may have whispered prayers upon their beaks, requesting their Gods to bless them with divine strength and courage to overcome what horrors laid beyond.
Although it seemed their prayers would go unanswered…
A series of faint steps moving a mediocre pace suddenly announced their presence.
They grew louder and louder, drawing closer and closer with every passing second, and from their quickened jog, the mercs were able to pick up their clumsy thumping beats of their steps, as well as the clattering sounds of metal plates making contact with one against one another.
Naturally these mercs came up with their own deductions about what they might be dealing with, but before anygriff was granted the chance to speak their minds, an obscured, shadowed griffon-like figure took shape in the miasma.
Bellowing with fury and unmatched hatred, and carried by its momentum from running, it broke through the miasma upon leaping towards their tightly packed formation with a sword raised high above its head, ready to swiftly bring down and cut down the mercs.
“Scatter!” The Captain yelled, exploiting his free limbs to push whoever he could out of the strike zone before shifting his body into a defensive stance and bringing his own sword up to take the blow.
Getting into position with just a moment to spare, alone he took in the full blow of the strike, his massive muscled mass absorbed every bit of kinetic energy the shadowed figure had mustered up.
And within that miniscule time frame, as his body prepared to exhaust some his energy in order to push off the strike, he managed to get a brief but good look at his attacker.
It's dark corporeal griffon body looked nothing like the being they were supposed to resemble.
Its lower fur coat and upper feathered layers were as pitch black as coal, emanating a dark aura that reeked of death and plague from its back and from the end of its tail.
The pair of eyes it had were soulless by appearance alone, bearing the blood red colours of its victims with no trace of its irises in sight.
The armour it wore was pitch black and as dark as the abyss, sporting curved spikes on its vambraces, pauldrons and its helmet, giving off an intimidating devilish appearance alongside the hellish red glow that emanated from within the gaps of the dark armour.
Although the Captain uttered a minor grunt from his beak, he managed to push off the hellspawn without much effort, sending it back a good metre or so.
“WHAT IS THAT THING!?” A griffon shouted out as he reformed himself into a fighting stance.
“It doesn’t matter!” The Captain declared, catching sight of many more of its kind rushing their position from both ground and air, “It shall fall and perish like all our foes!”
Now raising his sword high above his head, the towering griffon bellowed out a primal eagle-like war-cry from deep within his diaphragm before pointing his sword at the charging enemy.
The moment the Captain’s war-cry graced the ears of his subordinates, they instinctively let out their own before charging the enemy head on with fire in their bellies and adrenaline pumping through their veins.
The mercs who held crossbows within the grasps of their talons remained where they stood, choosing to bombard the enemy in hope of thinning out the herd before their comrades were engaged in brutal close quarters combat.
Unfortunately for them, they only managed to get a few shots off before being forced to cease and switch to the hostile aerial units, lest they risk hitting their own already outnumbered warriors who had harshly crashed into the enemy.
The mercs fought tooth and nail, offering them nothing but blood, toil, tears and sweat. But much to their dismay, or perhaps to their enjoyment, these dark griffons fought as hard as they did, fighting for every millimetre of ground and not taking a single step back.
Even these red-eyed warriors voiced out phrases and barked out orders, but it came out rather distorted and somewhat echoey, practically unintelligible in the end, leaving the mercs clueless to their words.
And despite the soulless appearance they had and the daemonic armour they sported, the pitch black figure fell and bled just like they did; Tainting the ground with a black tar-like substance before biting the dust and meeting their maker in whatever abominable dimension they existed in.
This once peaceful area was defiled by the sounds of battle; metal upon metal, pain-filled cries, grunting and crossbow bolts whizzing by.
The ground was desecrated by blood of red and black, while tainted by the bodies of fallen warriors from both sides.
And to think that somewhere within the midst of this roaring battlefield… was a little thestral…
Light returning to the thestral eyes, she regained consciousness slowly, her mind beginning to register the tremendous amount of stress and strain on her neck.
As her life slowly returned to her form, her body immediately took the chance to recover and take in as much air as possible. She coughed, spit and wheezed, her lungs rapidly expanding and contracting as she did so.
In these moments, as her once blurred sight returned to her amber irises, the first thing she noticed was the ghastly miasma that had engulfed her and everything around her, sparing nothing.
Though her ability to see was hindered by a great length, her disoriented mind was able to catch glimpses of several obscured bulky figures making quick but precise movements.
After catching sight of a few more figures battling with instruments of death before her very eyes, the horrendous sounds of battle and war raged, torturing her ears, forcing an instinct to flee to overwhelm her.
Fearing the consequences of remaining, her mind and body begged her to flee the area as soon as she could.
After granting herself a brief moment of respite, the thestral used what little strength that had slowly returned to her in an attempt to push herself off the ground and onto her hooves once more.
But despite the pleading of her kind and body, the thestral lacked the resolve to push through the aching pain that held onto her body.
Grunting with every struggle, the mare rose halfway with a weak set of shaky legs, and without the mental strength to push through, she unfortunately collapsed on her stomach, leaving her back to where she had started.
It was then in this grim moment, tears that gleamed in the beauty of the moonlight began to break from her eyes. The dam that once held back the flood, now breaking from an overwhelming amount of pressure, releasing the first few tears and allowing them to roll down her furry cheeks.
All she could do in this very moment was muster the little strength and energy she had to bring her forelegs over her eyes with a slow addition of her leathery wings as well.
Father… I’m so sorry… I never should’ve left…
With the concept of hope left her mortal form, she was unable to avoid the internal conjuration of wishes, regrets and apologies as she cried to her heart’s content, announcing her emotional and physical pain in the form of sobbing to those nearby.
The broken thestral cried for what felt like hours, but not for much longer.
It was then a series of euphonious tunes and harmonic humming reached out to her, compelling her own pair of ears to immediately perk up in the presence of its invisible musical notes.
The combined humming and the gentle tunes quickly eased her sobbing, leaving her nothing to do but slowly remove her wings and hooves from her face and shifting her head to the left at a snail's pace.
And what she saw on the other end must’ve been something that rivaled a once in a lifetime experience, for the moment her head shifted to the left and her eyes and mind registered what she was staring at, a gasp emmanted from her ajared mouth as her own amber irises widened whilst simultaneously altering to a glowing purple.
The mere existence of cold fear and despair was erased from reality, allowing a warm feeling of hope and safety to take over.
On the opposite side facing her was a purple ball of spectral fire, emanating with purple streaks of light.
Is that a… wisp? But… that could only mean…
Then came a moment of clarity, as she realised what this momentous occasion meant to her, to her clan, to Ponykind as a whole.
The wisp hummed to her again, alluring the thestral with its soothing songs.
It was then a sudden urge to make a break for it claimed her; to make a daring dash to freedom in order to leap into their warm and loving embrace.
Seemingly sensing the shattered state her body was in, the wisp blessed her with a gift.
From naught but thin air, a purple aura made up of an energy that closely resembled its user, enveloped her Equine form like a personal barrier.
In mere milliseconds of the manifestation of the aura, the pain that held an iron grip on her mind became naught. Her own strength even returned to her, granting her the capability to rise up from the dirt and take the first few steps to the promise of safety with a miniscule smile about her face.
These steps were slow and - in a way - lacked focus as she stumbled and tripped on her way.
Her attention remained solely on the wisp, not even sparing a moment to look down at her hooves to concentrate on her uncoordinated walk or take heed to the skirmish occuring around her.
It was only her, and the ever alluring wisp.
After passing many obscured figures who quickly disappeared into the miasma just as fast as they emerged from it, a loud voice snapped her out of her trance.
“Hey!” Came an aggressive shout from behind, sending all alarms going off in her body, forcing her to attempt to make a break for it.
But she didn't make it far, gasping as she felt a sudden tug and a hard pull of her tail, sending her back into talons of her captors in a dazed and fallen state.
“Where do you think you’re going?!” The merc said, flipping her fallen form onto her back before planting his talon on the tuft of her chest.
Feeling an immense amount of weight on her chest, so heavy that she felt parts of her vital internal organs being pressured by her own very rib cage.
With the situation looking very grim and growing more desperate by the second, the thestral reacted in a way to flee the confines of the talon. Opening a gaping void that was her mouth whilst barring a pair of white sharp fangs, she swiftly brought them down into the griffon’s talon, prompting him to release her in an instant.
The moment she felt the weight of the talon leave her and hearing a brief cry of pain, she rolled back onto her hooves before bolting towards the wisp who appeared to be waiting for her.
It only continued to fly through the miasma in intricate paths after she had caught up, leading the thestral away from the most intense parts of the battlefield into the more… ‘calmer’ parts.
As the presence of obscured warring figures became completely absent in her vicinity, a sense of eagerness and relief washed over her.
The promise of safety and salvation for her and her kind was at the tips of her hooves.
All that remained to be done was for her to simply follow the wisp to the promised land.
Or so she thought…
Electrical signals shot straight up to her mind upon feeling a foreign body penetrate her left hindleg, forcing liquid crimson to run down it.
The mare cried out in sheer agony, halting her journey for a chance to steal a glance at her wound and what could’ve caused it.
Inside, lodged deep inside her callow flesh was a wooden rod with a metallic arrowhead coated in red.
As it was a bad time to freeze up in a dangerous area, the thestral winced with every attempt to move the injured leg. With a clenched jaw, she continued after the wisp with her injured hindleg with a bit of a hop in her movements, doing her best to keep it off the ground lest she be forced to experience the burning pain of her torn flesh.
Sensing her need for aid, the wisp once again emerged from the confines of the miasma, stopping just short of her muzzle before moving to examine her injury.
Though before it was provided a chance to remedy the issue before it, he wisp set its gazed with its non-existent eyes to the direction from which they came. Its once harmonic tunes shifted into more discordant and unmelodious one as its form altered into a more violent, unstable state; emitting sparks that mirrored conjoined musical notes that was written by a mad man who held no concept of musical theory.
Mustering the strength to contain itself, the wisp held back its destructive urges in favour of prioritising its charge and guardian duties.
Turning about to lock eyes with the mare, it gestured with its form for her to continue forward, as well as enveloping one of her forelegs in a purple aura and lightly tugging it in that same direction.
Seemingly getting the message the wisp was attempting to convey, the thestral obediently nodded before proceeding to move at a slow, sluggish pace while her guardian became naught as it disappeared in the miasma, leaving scorched spots and a trail upon the earth as its destructive urge returned.
“She’s getting away!” A faceless merc shouted, who made an attempt to give chase only to be obstructed by a talon that leaked with red liquid from a pair of holes.
“No she’s not…” The minorly wounded griffon claimed boldly, loading his crossbow with a bolt that was coated in an unknown green substance.
With his crossbow locked and loaded, the griffon blindly took aim, internally visualising and predicting where the thestral’s body would be at this point in time.
After taking in quick breaths, he made a move to pull the trigger only to have his bolt’s projectile path suddenly thrown off target as his crossbow was forced down by a talon.
“What are you doing?!” The faceless mercenary demanded to know, forcing an immense amount of weight on the crossbow.
Faced with an enraged comrade who was angered by his actions, he opened his beak to explain his actions with hopes of calming his brother-in-arms, but a brief feminine cry of pain silenced him in an instant.
Smiling, the wounded griffon pulled his crossbow away from his comrade, “Don’t worry about it,” He assured in a calm tone, “She won’t get far.”
Growling, the faceless mercenary shoved his ally with an unoccupied talon, “But why are you firing blindly in this fog?! The job was to bring her in alive!”
“You heard the Captain. Her dying here would make no difference for she dies either way, be it through far more merciful means by us compared to what our employer has in for her.”
“But there’s a bonus to bring her in alive you fool! That’s why the Captain had Pontus knock her out in the first place!”
“She dies here or she escapes,” The wounded griffon countered, “Would you rather have our guild lose its reputation and payment, or would rather get somewhat paid when we return her lifeless body.”
His comrade was unable to muster a reply however, for a cacophony of ear-cringing and discordant instruments screeched and screamed in their presence, instanously overwhelming their hearing and outright deafening them both in the process.
Their attempt to block out the inharmonious racket that made their brain throb and pound with every passing second were in vain, for even if their ear drums were blown out, their minds simply became the next target.
They both fell to their knees screaming as they each struggled to endure the many haunting voices that only grew stronger as a familiar entity appeared before them in a much more violent state.
“Feel our wrath!”
“Suffer and perish heretic!”
“Burn, vile xeno!”
“Die! Die! Die!”
As the mare walked with a bit of a hop in her step in an attempt to avoid using her injured leg, and although her injury was a pressing concern that was reserved in her head, she couldn’t help but wonder where the wisp had gone and what actions it had set out to do.
And in the opening moments of when such thoughts were conjured in her head, it seemed that they would be answered, though rather vaguely for, originating from behind, quite a fair distance away from herself, came a pair of voices that sung the choir to their destruction - to their end - to the heavens above, though how their lives came to an end left more… creative minds to fill in the blanks.
But however it may have ended, however the final chapter of their stories came to a close, those tortured cries that made her ears find themselves splayed back against her head left no doubt that… their end… was indeed…
Painful.
While the mare was unable to prevent herself from imagining what unbearable consequences her asailents brought upon themselves, a burning and stinging sensation surfaced atop of her already wounded leg that drove her to seeth deeply through her teeth.
Even though the constant burning and stinging sensations in her leg infested her thoughts, she pushed on, disregarding the pain as something that would not need immediate treatment and regarding it as something that can be pushed aside until later.
After spending a minute - one that felt like a lifetime - of aimless walking, the thestral managed to break free from the grasp of the miasma.
Like everypony, she would take this chance to take in as many deep breaths as possible whilst gazing at the beautiful night sky, but a sudden affliction of weakness took her.
Within seconds, panic took hold as her legs struggled to support her own body, her heart rate began to slow and everything she could lay her eyes upon became naught but a blur.
Moments later, she fell to the ground, limbs refusing to respond to her commands despite every effort to keep herself standing.
She wanted to scream for help, she wanted to cry out for the wisp to come save her and bring her home, but all that left her mouth was incoherent mumbling and groaning.
Unable to utter anything meaningful, she resorted to the thoughts in her mind - the only path that allowed her to forge words that actually meant something.
Please come save me… Don’t leave me here alone…
As everything around her slowly faded away, and the sounds of her beating heart slowed down, images of her young life flashed in front of her faster than the speed of light.
With her eyelids coming to a close, inviting nothing but darkness to her sight, a single image was left imprinted in her head.
One among few that’ll possess a permanent and special place within her.
The wisp that had brought her salvation and the harmonious songs it bestowed upon her, persuading a weak smile to take shape.
Battle continued to rage within the miasma, the sounds of violence and unchecked aggression only seeming to intensify with every passing second, the sheer ferocity and barbarity of the griffons remaining as strong as ever.
Pontus and Thistle appeared to be in the thick of the action, eagerly shouting out numbers with each fatal blow they dealt towards their dark foes.
“Hahaha! Thistle!” Pontus called out, holding up a sharp digit, “One already!”
“I’m on two!” Thistle boasted, parrying an incoming strike before bashing his attacker in the beak and thrusting his sword into him, “Make that three!”
“What!?” Pontus exclaimed with disbelief, “I’m not letting some runt-born griffon outscore me!”
The motivated griffon then sent a kick into a dark griffon's precious jewels - a nasty move that surprisingly worked - before thrusting his spear into its throat while it kept a tight hold on its groin region.
“Dirty move.” Thistle commented, parrying another strike, redirecting the sword of his opponent to the ground and locking it in position before sending a chained blunt assault consisting of a knee to the chest and an elbow towards its dark face.
“If it means I will be drinking for free tonight, then how they die is of no concern to me.”
Keeping true to his word, he unleashed several cheap tricks upon his enemies, dirt thrown in their faces, poking/scratching their eyes out or even backstabbing those who were preoccupied with his allies, taking their would-be kills for his own.
But as the lifeless bodies of griffons continued to hit the ground, bloodied, bruised and broken, the unnatural purple irises of the mercs faded away, reverting back to their original colour as the miasma that devoured them slowly began its retreat, leaving the area entirely and returning their sight to them in the process.
One would expect this event to be met with cheers and a reinvigorated spirit for bloodlust and glory, yet nothing of the sort occurred. Instead, the sounds of battle ceased in an instant, being replaced by shocked gasps, weapons falling to the earth and mournful sobbing.
The many bodies of those dark griffons were absolved of the blackness of their corporeal forms, lifting a nonexistent veil from the eyes of the mercs, revealing unto them several traits that would be an insult if they themselves were unable to recognise them.
Fur coats and layered feathers of brown, white and grey, similarly styled armour matching their own with weapons to match and the many familiar faces branded into their minds from months or even years of serving alongside them.
Their comrades.
Their brother-in-arms that were slain by their very own talons.
Their brothers from different mothers that promised to watch out for each other in every single battle they faced.
All either lying face first in the dirt, to the stars or even to their own killers.
Even those once dark griffons were speechless, most collapsing to their knees before bringing their blood-stained talons to their faces, leaving the blood of their comrades marked upon them.
From here on, only a single phrase was played in an endless loop within their mind as they struggled to endure the ruthless onslaught of psychological trauma this single battle enforced upon them.
“W-what… what have I done…?”