//------------------------------// // Chapter XII - Sacred and Profane Part I // Story: Oh Dearest Father of Mine... // by ExaltedFiction //------------------------------// There existed an unequal amount of groaning and moaning under the dreaded night sky, alongside the sounds of flesh scraping themselves along dirt, exposed tree roots and edged, uneven stones alike. If an individual were nearby, the assumption and the thought of a serial killer or perhaps a monster that was lurking nearby would be the first thing that would come to their anxious mind, as it dragged their victims to their den - in whole or broken - all whilst whistling or humming a rather hypnotic, soothing tune and dancing to the sways of the trees. Light soon returned to one of these victims, opening his eyes to a blurred environment that was seemingly on the move. The instant his sight adjusted and became clear, he took a moment to get a bearing of his surroundings and of the current situation he found himself in. Looking down, he found that his limbs were enveloped in some sort of ominous purple aura; His talons, wings and paws were bound together, restricting their movement and preventing any chance of escape. His lower half appeared to be suspended up in the air, while his other half endured the sensation of being dragged along the ground like filthy garbage. His form was devoid of his bulwark of metal and his sword was absent from his sheath, leaving him practically defenceless. And much to his annoyance, whatever was dragging him seemed to find some joy in dragging him near jagged rocks or sharp thorns or whatever harsh terrain he was to endure now that his flesh was exposed and vulnerable. In this situation, he was obligated to feel concerned about his well-being and whether he was going to make it out of this predicament or not, but the nearby singing and humming seemed to have a hand in preventing him from falling into a panicked state and keeping his nerves in check. That singing… I heard that somewhere before… In complete silence, though except for the attempts of stifling his cries as his body made harsh contact with nature around him, he got a look of his surroundings in hopes of finding where the singing was originating from. Slowly craning his head to his left, there was nothing of interest but the commonality of nature itself and the sanctity it provided if left untouched by the hands of sapient life. Though upon looking to the right, he couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief as he found two other familiar griffons who were in the same boat as him - one of them being the Kid, the other being his battle buddy. They - much like him - were bound and being dragged around the area in the same manner. There would’ve been an attempt to convey a message to his comrades, but unconscious griffons don’t tend to be great conversationalists. But even if they were awake, there would be no time to spare for planning and talk, for his eyes were graced with a change in scenery as he was dragged towards a large clearing of forest. A large, imposing stone structure sat upon a small hill, asserting its authority and dominance to the ends of the land. Its bulwark was made of chiselled stone, it had a pointed arch that only seemed to have contributed to its colossal height and mesmerising stained-glass images that were somewhat visible via the strength and power of its interior lighting. Purple beings of spectral fire patrolled the building in complicated patterns, circling around the building like a flock of ravens in hopes of getting a chance to vex nearby intruders with their curses. As if the building didn’t give off a grim atmosphere with its foreboding presence alone, its occupants had decided that it needed some sort of atmospheric ambience in case more dim or perhaps jolly individuals didn’t get the message they were trying to convey. From within the structure, resonating in sync with its interior lighting, came chants in a foreign tongue that rose to a crescendo with an accompanying sombre set of tolling bells and church organs. The chanting started off in a melancholic melody mixed with immense sorrows that spewed with a sense of mourning? ...and perhaps the absence of hope? That is until it progressed into something more… dark, sinister… driven. The mercenary swallowed whatever bravery he had left as his mind flashed back to that crimson field they found the Kid in, or what was left of him, considering the state of his mental health when he was discovered. But the disturbance of nature that gradually grew louder with every step persuaded him to look back down, feasting his eyes on a bipedal figure who appeared to the griffon in a way that was… abnormal and alarming to him. Translucent purple wings that were far larger than that of the pegasi or griffons, a spike circle that glowed purple and sat around his head, and a mark between its ghastly purple eyes - a glowing white mark that seemed to have resembled a candelabrum or a candle tree. Or perhaps it was just a figment of his imagination, for the moment he blinked, there were no such glowing additions to the creature’s body, though it didn’t mean the image had abandoned his mind either. But with the chilling image branded into his mind for as long as he would live, in the same moment, a sense of familiarity was filling him. ‘I… think- no… I know I’ve heard of something like that before… but where?’ Though as hard he attempted to recall the memory, a masculine voice made itself known, drawing his undivided attention. The creature seemed to be conversing with one of the purple flames. Speaking in a tongue that was impossible to ascertain, though spoken at a volume that was easy to overhear but not so loud as to disturb his unconscious comrades. Maybe he was asking questions, to which the spectral flames answered or responded in the form of gentle humming or musical chimes. However, out of all that conversation, there came two words he recognised instantly: Equine and Griffon - Though the pronunciation of his species was butchered beyond all recognition. But there he saw her; the thestral - who was enveloped in the same magics he was, except she seemed to get better treatment considering her form made no contact with the ground whatsoever. The Equine looked to be asleep, but her grimacing face and the subtle wincing suggested she was in pain. ‘Wait… what is she doing here?’ The griffon mused to himself, confused and puzzled at her presence, ‘Shouldn’t she be back at the camp?’ Then came the conjuration of various scenarios that could have possibly led to her appearance here. Naturally, none of them were good as he recalled the Kid’s words and the crimson field. “... Monsters… It wants her…” He whispered aloud, lost in his mind as he started to connect the dots, only to be torn from it a second later as the conversation he was meant to be listening to fell silent. It was only then he realised that the bipedal figure had set his gaze upon him, simply awaiting his reaction before beginning his approach. The griffon attempted to make some distance between him and the creature, but a sudden immense amount of weight on all of his limbs prevented him from doing so. Soon, he towered over the anchored quadruped, allowing a moment of realisation to strike him as he figured out what he was looking up at. An ape…? A small frown on his face quickly shifting into an expression filled with disgust and disdain. “Wretched filth…” He remarked, revolted at the sight before him. The ape then raised his knee up high, preparing to curb stomp the griffon into an unconscious state. The griffon attempted to break free of the metal chains, but to no avail. Fully knowing that there was no getting out of this, he let out one last cry of defiance and anger, “Do your worst, freak!” For a moment, he witnessed the creature give off a smirk of amusement before bringing his boot down unto his beak, delivering a force that sent him into the same state his comrades were in. Apollyon stood over the now unconscious griffon mercenary, dusting himself off and straightening his shirt before turning about, grey baggy eyes noting an insurmountable amount of orange and red behind the manor as he set his attention on Regana and the thestral in her grasp. The mare had seemingly gone through hell and immense torment; Her body displayed signs of physical trauma, and perhaps even so deep as to cause mental scarring. Seeing her in such a foul state; bruised, cut, bloodied and mane unkempt, his hands clenched tightly, visualising them wrapping themselves around the throats of those responsible. He would’ve remained in that state for a while, but with a brief flash of his glowing eyes and an aura surrounding his being, he found himself relinquishing his clenched fists; easing up and relaxing them into something more open. “Give her to me,” He said, arms held out to receive the suffering mare, “I’ll take care of her while you seclude yourself and recover your strength.” Regana obliged, emitting some chimes as she gently floated the thestral into his arms belly up, continuing to leave her aura around her wound whilst the rest of the body was deprived of it. The moment she landed in his welcoming arms, he felt the burning heats of a dry desert from her body, her temperature only seemed to grow with every passing second. He cradled her like a parent would to their beloved child while they were in their most vulnerable, undeveloped state. “The pain will be over soon…” He soothed, moving to take a knee and place her on the grass, however, his gaze locked onto a gleaming amulet around her neck; a winged amulet that gained his immediate interest. While his left arm and knee remained occupied supporting and evenly distributing her weight, Apollyon ran his thumb all over the amulet once it was in his grasp; feeling the feathered patterned engravings of the detailed wings. “Intriguing… Don’t you think?” He said, hearing a chime of agreement coming from the side. Now claiming the amulet from the unconscious mare, he held it in the palm of his hand, finding himself wanting to continue to contemplate on it for a bit longer, but another chime from Regana prevented it. “Right…” He whispered shamefully, confining the amulet to the safety of his pockets as he was reminded of his duties. Apollyon made a move to gently place the mare onto the grass below, but a sudden series of howls somewhere nearby stopped him from doing so. Naturally, his gaze was drawn in that general direction, but as more and more wolves announced their presence near the domain of the manor, the upcoming ritual was reluctantly halted. With the threat of the daring wolves growing bolder, he sought refuge inside the manor. Standing tall with the mare once again in his embrace, he moved to take a step forward, only to be preemptively stopped by Regana who yet conveyed another message in the form of humming, setting her non-existent eyes on the three mercenaries behind him. The man spared the unconscious trio a glance, eyes remaining on them for a mere second before he had decided their fate. “Imprison them in the cellar - it’s not an ideal place for them, but it’ll suffice for the time being.” Regana chimed in response, letting him continue towards the manor so that he may absolve the mare of her unjustified torment. The light of the sun shined upon the grey clouds that heavily congested the sky, but whether it was some divine act of Anima or some perfidious machinations of the Everfree, a decently sized section of the clouds broke apart, granting passage to a set of heavenly rays to rain upon Apollyon and his charge. With divine rays raining its light and warmth on them, a pair of amber irises slowly revealed themselves as her eyelids cracked open. Is that… the light? It’s so… warm… and beautiful… Her delusional gaze shifted over to her saviour, whose face was obscured by a shade. But the proudly displayed purple halo around its head and a candelabra on its forehead left her to take a confident and well-educated guess. ... Lady Faust? Is that you? ... I-I am… so tired… my ‘Benevolent Lady’... The Griffon Captain held up a torch in front of a large pyre that entombed many of his subordinates. He maintained an iron grip on the torch, threatening to snap in half as he stared at the lifeless warriors before him. The pyre existed within the centre of the torn down ruins of their campsite, near the only road and far enough from the surrounding trees. Its construction was made with the utmost care, consisting of wood, dead leaves and whatever dried grass they managed to find for its structure and stones of various shapes and sizes to surround the base with. Encircling the pyre, just in front of the stones, were the weapons of the fallen, ranging from shortswords to longswords. The blades of these weapons were embedded into the ground, acting as a makeshift miniature armour stand for the fallen’s gear. Their breastplates went over the pommel with a helmet placed on top while their greaves were laid out in front of the stand, one pair leaning on the stand itself and the other pair was put on display on the grass. His heart grew heavy as the sun rose, warming their cold forms with its golden rays. ‘Let’s get this over with…’ He said to himself in silence, closing his eyes and sighing before turning about, facing those who still remained among the living. The remnants of his company, broken in spirit, sat on their rear ends, heads low and talons holding their griffon shaped amulets. He recognised the expressions they all mirrored, for it was undoubtedly familiar to him. They may deny it, but he himself knew that deep within, each one of them wanted to weep aloud and mourn for their fallen brothers. But naturally, they refuse, choosing to withhold their true feelings lest they appear to be weak to those still living and to those above. “As we commend our fallen brethren to the Divines; Their charred bodies to our Great Mother and their smoking remains to our Great Father…” The Captain caught the eye of each one of them planting their beaks upon their amulets, leading him to do the same. “We hope for nothing, but their well deserved eternal rest within the Great Halls of Vikuntham…” He left off this sentence, leaving the rest to be said by his subordinates. “... And we wish for nothing but to one day be reunited with them…” They recited in unison, getting off their rears and standing-at-attention; wings tucked in, head held up high and a balled up talon placed diagonally across their chest. With their part done, their superior turned about, placing the crackling torch upon the pyre with care before taking a few steps back. With a heavy heart and lingering regret, each of them retreated into their minds - their worlds - recalling their memories with the fallen as they watched several specks of flames fall upon the dry materials and spread the life of fire throughout the pyre. Staring into the flames for what seemed like an eternity, some or perhaps most of them witnessed the pyre the manifestation of… recognisable places inhabited by burning, life filled griffons - ones they drew out a sense of familiarity within them. The actions and locations of these… ‘Images’ varied wildly, for instance. Some visualised peaceful places such as taverns, humble cottages or inns, while others saw places of conflict and battle; besieged cities and open battlefields were among them. While some of these locations were somewhat similar to the next, what occurred in them was the only thing that set them apart from each other. One scenario involved a cosy cottage with a humble family eating at a table with a special guest. They laughed, smiled and passed on witty remarks among each other. The echoes of their laughter haunted this one’s ears, but… perhaps even more so with the emergence of the next scene. One of the family members placed a talon on the guests shoulder, and mouthed words none but one could hear. “Take care of my son, he has a bad habit of getting himself into trouble.” The guest got up from his chair, before returning the gesture with a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about him, sir. I’ll take care of him like I would my baby brother back in Griffonheim.” Another scenario revealed a place of battle; a war torn field of fire filled with equines and griffons fighting. They slayed and were slain, the casualties of both sides were mounting, and the deaths were gruesome and brutal; such is the nature of war. Then came the scene of a griffon who had fallen; was mere moments away from meeting his maker, but before the equine could deliver the deathblow, another griffon arrived, pushing the pony away and killing it without hesitation. The saviour then turned to his fallen comrade and offered him a helping talon, pulling him onto his paws and talons before passing him his sword with an accompanying set of words, “That’s twice I’ve had to save your hide.” “What? We’re keeping count now?” “Well, somegriff has to, brother.” “Pet names too?” The saviour merely shrugged in response, shoving his ‘brother’ playfully before heading off, perhaps seeking his next victim to sink his thirsting blade into. And then came another scenario, one showing a pair of griffons in a populated tavern. They ignored all the surrounding chatter, for they were simply lost in their conversation. “One last job, huh? I think I’m a bit too young to retire and settle down… I don’t exactly have enough bits to last me…” “Trust me. After this job, you won’t ever have to seek employment again. The pay is so great, you’ll be able to buy some land, build some property and settle down with my sister… She’s madly in love with you.” “I know. You don’t have to tell me.” Then came a moment of contemplating silence. “So… what do you think? You in? Or am I going to have to find somegriff else?” “Oh, I am definitely in, but… out of curiosity. What are we doing exactly?” “The details will be given out tonight, but from what I’ve heard; we just have to foalnap some thestral mare. How hard could it possibly be?” These recollections of memories, these exchange of broken promises, brotherhood and opportunities had hypnotised them. Each of them was filled to the brim with regret and sorrow. As they loathed in self-pity, the Captain turned about, leaving the group in hopes of figuring out what to do next. Alone, he arrived at the empty cage, the purpose of which switched from containment to merely being represented as a symbol. A symbol of their humiliating failure. “Damn it!” The Captain bellowed, furiously ramming a balled up talon to the cage’s bars, deforming it in the process before pacing back and forth, letting out his hate-filled rants, “I knew it! I knew it! This job just seemed too simple to be some simple foalnapping. Our client’s representative just had to ‘forget’ about informing us of whatever that unholy abomination was and of its ability to do whatever it did TO. MY. WARRIORS! Divines be damned!” He finished, sending another fist into the cage. With his rant seemingly over, the Captain attempted to regain his composure; taking several deep breaths and removing his stinging talon from the cage. As he subjected himself through this process, his attention was drawn to the side upon hearing movement and the subtle disturbances of grass, dirt and rock. Soon, he found himself staring at his remaining subordinates, one of whom came forward holding out an open brown leather bag filled halfway with the amulets and charms of the fallen. Glancing from the objects to its holder, he saw the many emotions he and the others shared (except two): Hatred, anger, fury, wrathful. He saw a need for revenge in each of their eyes, a need to avenge their comrades from whatever unholy monstrosity slayed them with full knowledge that they might- no, WILL die in the process. And revenge he shall deliver. “What’s the plan, boss?” A griffon spoke up, brandishing his weapon, showing his superior that he was ready to go at a moment's notice. Others too followed his example, mere moments before their leader answered the question that was everygriffs mind with a series of swift and decisive actions. Reaching into his marching pack that laid among the others of seemingly identical packs, he pulled out an object bearing a short, brass cylindrical form with one side being the largest segment compared to the rest. But the most alluring part of this object was the glass lenses, each with various runes and symbols etched into it. The eyes of his subordinates flared up in understanding as he held up the apparent key to their vengeance. And as if they knew what their leader wanted them to do next, as if it was fully expected of them, the griffons rushed to make preparations to travel; redistributing a recent surplus of crossbow bolts and bland food, leaving everything else that was deemed as unnecessary to be piled upon the crippled, primitive transportation device before setting it aflame. Upon feeling a sudden increase in heat in the area and hearing another set crackling fire, their captain brought the object to his eye, granting himself a view of the world around him unlike any other. A sight beyond sight. A veil that has been lifted from their inferior eyes. Around them, wandering about in the air was… fragments - pieces of glowing blue energy that came in mismatched shapes and forms. Though these fragments came abundant, they gave off no… significant presence. It was weak. It was insignificant. It was - put simply… nothing… at least compared to its competitor. Scanning the area more, his eye caught something that could only be described as irregular, abnormal, an anomaly. Among the atmosphere of blue, existed a trail of purple that merely floated idly in the air, stretching from the treeline to the ends of the road. Looking at this… anomaly made his heart sink into his stomach and his head pound with an accursed headache, but even when he granted himself a moment of respite through looking elsewhere, his form shivered, grew weak and even suffered from brief lightheadedness. Was it a curse of some kind? A parting gift from the thing that attacked them last night? However, if it was, then strangely enough, it did not seem to affect his subordinates, for they seemed to be completely unaffected by the anomaly’s curse; practically enjoying greater freedoms than he was at the moment. Most of them took notice, proceeding to barrage him with questions he was not keen on answering with the full truth. Instead, he lied, waved them off and reassured them: “It's nothing… the ‘monovoir' was just overpowered by a rare amount of magicka in the air.” Some bought his lies, while others did not. Those who did, simply backed away, giving him his space while those who did not, glared at him with suspicion, tightening their hold on their respective weapon before looking away, acting as if nothing ever happened. Nevertheless, he set out to follow the trail to wherever it led, keeping a fair distance away from it as he did so, lest he succumb to something worse than what he was already experiencing. Though, despite not being capable of wielding magic directly, there was something in the air he could still… feel, even just by paying it attention. It was radiating with the very definition of power on an unimaginable scale, so large that he himself felt a colossal shadow looming over him. While ignorant of what it was or what it was even capable of, the sheer overwhelming amount of power and authority it projected spoke for itself. However, there was something else he could feel, something he could sense… It was subtle, so subtle that it was outright impossible to ascertain what it was. Or it could just be nothing. Nothing, but the dreadful results of a fatal mixture of stress and trauma that led to his imagination to go wild, but even after the uplifting thought, he wasn’t so sure… A yawn forced its way out of Apollyon’s mouth as he stepped into the domain of his chambers, his sight immediately shifting to the left, falling upon the crib and its snoring occupants and the Mantle he had left beside his bed. With the utmost of care, he shut the door to his chambers, not daring to awaken the snoring pair that occupied the crib to his left, lest he suffer the combined wrath of a pair of wailing alicorns and be robbed of hours or even a few minutes of beauty sleep. Most likely feeling his presence, the Mantle sparked to life, immediately bombarding Apollyon’s mind with distorted whispers as its psykanic energies illuminated the room. “A faithful child of Anima who was harmed by pigeons - leave the poor thestral be.” He said, gently placing the shaking mare on the bed with her head prompted up by his pillow. The Mantle whispered again, talking to the man with a mixture of voices that was testing his resolve in its own right. But the man said nothing in return, instead, he took a knee beside the bed, bringing his hands together to interlock his thumbs before placing them on his chest. “Some privacy, if you will?” He asked, prompting the Mantle to conjure a dome barrier that was large enough to surround him and the bed entirely. Shutting his eyes from the world around him, leaving no material object or being to occupy his attention nor his thoughts, he focused on his breathing, inhaling and exhaling deeply several times, paying no heed to the incoherent whispers at the back of his mind. Moments later, he rose from his kneeling stance, opening his eyes and hovering his hands over the shaking mare before him. He began whispering in an ancient tongue as he planted one hand on the mare’s tuft whilst the other remained in the air, face up towards the ceiling. The mare’s breathing started to pick up as Regana’s aura left her hindleg, but it quickly subsided with Apollyon’s aid, who replaced hers with his own. With the spreading of the toxins halted from spreading further, he continued the ritual. A psykanic aura then enveloped the poisoned bolt, and with some pressure placed below the head it snapped like a twig - quick and simple - before it was quickly extracted out from the side of the feathered fletchings. Apollyon held no concern about the possibility of her blood spilling onto his sheets, for no red liquid left its residence whilst under the influence of the barrier. The action, however, brought her much pain, forcing her to scream in pain while the man made every effort to contain her movements, struggling to hold her still whilst she made attempts to jump up and while her limbs flailed about. As she began to leave red marks upon his arm as she smacked and whacked away, Apollyon continued with her restoration, enduring the uncoordinated assault with narrowed brows. Soon he held his tongue, casting a ball of flaming purple in his right hand before continuing. Thus, swiftly and firmly, he placed the abnormal flames upon the mare’s hindleg. Instantly, she cried out to Faust as intense heat burned her flesh, her chilling screams even challenging the strength of the barrier that contained them. She made every attempt to squirm away, to flee from the burning sensation, but Apollyon held her down, whispering apologies both internally and externally. And it was only after a gruelling half a minute or so did he relent the treatment, retracting his hand and letting the flames become nought. The thestral’s cries soon died down, being reduced to simple seething and hastened breaths, but soon, those too will cease to exist as she transitioned into a more stable state, one that was calm, still and relaxed. A smile took shape at the sight, more so as he observed the effects of the flames he forced her to endure. Her once opened wounds were sealed completely, its scars practically invisible from the eye unless someone actively sought for it or someone with prior knowledge of the scars' location pointed it out. After failing to stifle another tired, drawn out yawn, his grey baggy eyes caught the eye of something he failed to outside. The thestral’s flank was as blank as a fresh piece of paper or a canvas that was left untouched by an artist. Though he was rather intrigued at such irregularity, his questions would have to wait, for sleeping ponies aren’t capable of answering questions well anyway. With the healing ritual complete, Apollyon rose to his feet, prompting the Mantle to befall the barrier and allow him free rein of the place like before. He spared a glance to the alicorn sisters whilst he stretched every tight fibre of his body from left to right, the feeling of his muscles loosening up was an enjoyable sensation he would enjoy. Despite the rising sun, informing flora and fauna to sing their life to the world, Apollyon could not help but exhale a sigh of relief for his chambers were not filled with longing cries. Smiling, he fell back onto the end of the bed, the part that was left unoccupied by the mare, in hopes of catching at least a few minutes of shut-eye while the concept of peace and quiet remained true. But there it came… It started off small at first, a small subtle unintelligible mumble that quickly morphed and erupted into full-blown wailing and bawling that demanded to be fed as well as an unending amount of love, attention and comfort to be given to them. Apollyon frowned, bringing his forearm over his eyes, groaning frustratingly, perhaps even screaming internally. “... Why?” After a long, enduring process of soothing the sisters, Apollyon shielded the byproducts of his yawn into his left forearm as he stepped out into the sun-covered hallway with the sisters and the Mantle in his grasp. The presence of golden rays warming the trio. His hold of the sisters in his right arm grew stronger upon feeling them shift about in his embrace, yawning and stretching their little limbs before resuming to nuzzle and smear their faces on his chest, humming whilst doing so. Though, he did not enjoy the loving sensation as much as he would like. Their horns, though somewhat blunt (at this age and just barely), did threaten to pierce or cut his top, and if it did, it would leave an embarrassing feeling of exposition that has rooted itself deeply within the human mind. But nevertheless, he appreciated the instinctual displays of affection… as well as the fact that their horns were not abnormally large enough to be embedded within him. Fully knowing that his obligations, responsibilities and duties may have doubled with the arrival of the thestral and griffon prisoners, he set out to the fields, not wanting to waste more time idling about. But as he neared the corner and was about to make the turn himself, he found himself witnessing three minor wisps dragging three seemingly lifeless bodies past him. Following Regana’s example, they each dragged their prisoners in such a way that caused great discomfort or suffering to their forms. One was dragged solely by the tail while being suspended in the air, another was being dragged with their face scraping itself on the cold stone, while the final one was having its head accidentally banging on heavy stationary objects and decorations that lined the hallway. These wisps even seemed to revel in their actions; the natural light their bodies produced surging and dying down at an unrivalled pace so fast it mirrored laughter…childish, sadistic laughter. Feeling a sense of irritation directed towards the wisps, Apollyon lifted his staff and tapped it on the stone floor several times. And with such simple actions, the wisps became his audience; dropping their respective prisoner and ecstatically rushing over to him like a dog who hasn’t seen their owner for an incomprehensible period of time or a five-minute trip to the store. They did what he expected them to do; bounce and dance around his broad being like a group of children skipping around a fire pit. Singing harmonic songs that delivered peace and tranquillity to the foals in his arms, compelling their perked up ears to flicker at the touch of musical notes and a small warm smile to take shape on their faces. The wisps ceased their antics as soon as they saw Apollyon open his mouth to address them, bumping into each other as the lead wisp froze and paid heed to the man. “Hey,” Apollyon said as calmly as he could, “Cease your acts and get those savages in the cellar in one piece. I’d prefer them to be somewhat functional if Regana is to extract anything useful from their tainted minds. Do you understand?” The wisps nodded with the entirety of their flaming forms before returning to the prisoners to do his bidding. Much to his satisfaction - though entirely expected of them - the wisps followed his demands to the letter, taking care not to accidentally bump the griffons into anything while on the slow journey to the cellar. “Oh, and do be sure to wash up the thestral once you’re done. I don’t want her waking up with blood stained on her coat.” He added, to which they each let out another chime in response before leaving his sight. The moment they disappeared around the corner, he let loose a sigh into the air, staring endlessly down the hallway, lost in his thoughts. He would’ve kept fixated until the end of days, that is, until he heard a squeaky voice below speak up, a voice that was purely unknown to him. “...Bwha.” Intrigued by the sudden soft voice, he looked down to the two only possible sources the voice would have originated from. Upon looking down, he witnessed Celly staring in the direction of the griffons. Her magenta eyes sparkling with curiosity and interest. On the other hand, Lulu was just… drooling and chewing on his shirt; subconsciously putting more of his shirt into her mouth whilst she continued to sleep in his warm embrace. A series of fluid movements took place after he chuckled at the heartwarming sight. Firstly, his shirt was removed from the confines of Lulu’s mouth and replaced with her hoof, of which she drooled onto and sucked on it now and then. Next, Celly was wrapped in a glowing purple coat and lifted high enough to be at eye level with him. His glowing hypnotic eyes reflecting onto her own. “Were you trying to say ‘bird’, my dearest Celly?” Her head tilted slightly, with her ears flickering and directed towards him. “Come on now,” he urged gently, waiting with anticipation, “Can you say, ‘bird?’” Again, Celly tilted her head, just to the other side. “Hmm… What about ‘Fa-th-er’,” He sounded out slowly, “Can you say, ‘Fa-th-er?’” Much to his delight, the little filly began sounding out the word. Apollyon leaned in as he awaited the result, smiling gleefully and with sparkling eyes. “Ffwat-er.” … After hearing her attempt, it took a few moments for him to register what had just occurred, though he quickly brushed off the harmless act. “Quite the joker aren’t you, you little ankle biter.” He tittered, clearing his throat straight afterwards, “Right. Let’s try that again, shall we? - Can you say, ‘Father?’ - ‘Fa-th-er’.” “...Ffw-at-er.” She repeated, seemingly trying to match the desired word’s pace. A sigh left his mouth before it formed into a soft smile, “... Close enough.” He remarked, carefully planting his lips on Celly’s forehead - a loving act she enjoyed to her core, giggling happily and reaching out in a vain attempt to wrap her wings and forelegs around his head - before returning her to her spot beside Lulu. “Alright then… Time to go to work.” He said drowsily, rubbing the heavy, dark bags under his eyes once he had started walking to the work fields, yawning and stretching along the way, “Oh, and please don’t tell Harpstrings or Regana about this - They’ll never be capable of letting this go.” He smiled after receiving one last series of babbling, repaying her with some scratches behind the ears, “I’m glad we’re on the same team.” Apollyon’s view of the work fields gradually grew as the doors were psykanically pulled open as per his demand. Though much to his annoyance, for whatever poor excuse for a reason, he found himself staring at empty, unattended fields. But it was only through the acts of some deep breaths and the massaging of his temples that an early unnecessary outburst was spared… at least for another time. Stepping outside onto stone before onto the sunlit grass, his issue of the unattended fields was quickly brushed aside once he was reminded of the tranquillity of the area. The stillness in the air and the surrounding silence was something he could listen to every day. However, someone else seemed to harbour other plans… Regana manifested beside the man, her sudden appearance immediately gathering his full attention as he faced her with concern in his eyes, “Is something wrong? You should be secluding yourself, my friend.” By subtly thrumming, she answered his initial question and passed on relevant bits of information as the distance between them and the trees grew shorter. Once he was hit with harrowing silence, the Mantle was embedded within the earth harshly as he had arrived. To all the animals, be they hostile or passive, big or small, in spirit or in body; every one of them felt a disturbance in the very sacred fabric of nature herself. The cries of wolves, birds, rabbits were just among the few that echoed throughout; crying alongside the subtle shaking of the ground as they fled the scene to comfort their families. The commotion and sudden shift of energy in the air even drew the curiosity of the wisps, but unfortunately, they seemingly shied away just as fast as they had revealed themselves. A few dove into the earth, a few fled back to the manor, but all were silent… as they should be. Naturally, only Regana and the sisters remained, the former recoiling back as if she were disturbed whilst the latter shifted even more so than usual, unintelligible mumbling out something for a moment before settling down. “For such barbaric animals, they are quite persistent, aren't they?” He stated rhetorically, releasing his hold on the Mantle before bringing it up under his chin. “Very well then,” He smiled, craning his head to the sole wisp of the area, “Together, we shall send them home… in a body bag. But for now, we shall await their arrival, and you will seclude yourself and return to full strength after you are done extracting whatever is useful from the prisoners. Do you understand?” There was a moment of silence between the two, but after a meek chime and a blinking of his eyes, Regana vanished, leaving the family to themselves. “Such a pain,” He sighed, looking down at the fillies whose open eyes met his own, “Oh, I hope I didn’t disturb your much-needed rest.” He said, providing complementary ear scratches as he started walking to a nearby fallen log. Realising they had his loving attention, the sisters smiled, giggled and blew raspberries at him, and in response, he did the same, but with a few extras such as: Sticking his tongue out and making silly faces and sounds that would be considered inappropriate for an adult such as him. After making one last silly face for them to laugh at, he crouched low to the ground to set them down safely, “Just stay here and relax, you two. I’ll just be over there.” He assured, pointing where an axe and several ‘x’ marked trees were located. But instead of letting get right into what needed to be done, the sisters began uttering whimpers and soft cries that were excruciatingly painful for him to listen to and outright impossible for him to ignore. With his back facing them, he groaned painfully to the sky before turning about, receiving a set of happy smiles and giggles as he approached. Standing before them, he lowered himself to the same position as before, smirking as he observed them reaching out to him, wings and forelegs alike. “Fine,” He said, feeling the sensation of two sets of limbs trying to wrap themselves around his neck upon picking them up and placing his rear down where they once were, “But only for a few minutes, I need to get back to it soon.” His words fell upon deaf ears, for the sisters did not appear to care, as they were seemingly lost in their world as they nested comfortably themselves on his abdomen. Seeing as they helped themselves to their living bed, a thought entered his mind as he glanced between the trees and the fillies. Seconds later, he planted a hand over his eyes and sighed. ... Perhaps I didn’t think this through…