From the Diary of Appius Accius Varro, Legate of the 20th legion,
Anno cōnsulis: M. Aurelius Commodus et P. Martius Verus II. (179 CE.)

Gods guide me today, for it is our danger that is already evident and imminent. our forces are in disarray at the incursion of the damn Caledonians, the civilians that were inside the gates at the beginning of the siege are now nowhere to be found, neither is the master of the camp, the training correspondent, nor the dignitary sent by the emperor or the one i had at my disposal already. most disturbing is the disappearance of the spies I had readied to disrupt the enemy. however, most optimistically, the troops that have regained consciousness during the first few days (less than a few hundred), although they have yet to organize themselves into their assigned cohorts but instead chose to get right to work, asking me for orders directly while the centurions do their part in the actual reorganization and roll call or begin to wake themselves. it is surprising, and with a ration on words being conducted on my being, heartwarming. These soldiers wake to a perilous situation and do not panic and break, but immediately turn to myself to guide them, not as if they are helpless wretches who need a savior, but men with a passion to work and the necessary bravery to complete the next objective for the betterment of the legion, but merely need a direction to be pointed in. such discipline and morale will be justly rewarded in my own efforts to live up to their expectations of me. with this entry having been written, I am a little more optimistic and looking to the forward challenge with more light and trust in the abilities of my men and myself-
Oh good gods above, more of the men have woken up, and it seems they are less fortuitous than the others and have started panicking... i will do my best as the loving commander to beat them back into submission.
Thoughts of the day: Acquirit qui tuetur. (He who preserves something will have something).

The only thing in the existence of the black void for Starswirl The Bearded was a faint sound of scraping, coupled with muffled panting.
It was all star swirl could hear; for all he could do was hear with his energy depleted; his consciousness escaped him after the tremendous effort it took to rip apart the barriers between worlds like it was paper.
Thoughts passed through his head, so he knew he was not dead, and these thoughts would have either filled him with disgust or mirth if he were lucid.

something about chocolate rain and a house made out of cake.
"we need to get out of here!"

wait, that wasn't one of my thoughts. pondered Starswirl my thoughts don't sound like-

"Chancellor Puddinghead, would you kindly stuff it? we can't be seen or heard by... them... and if they do, they would smite us as the legends foretold."
A grunt was issued from what Starswirl guessed was dragging him, whom he further deduced was Hurricane, and soon felt the ground rise up to meet him in a warm embrace as the pegasus released him in order to speak..
"why then, are we still dragging this sleeping dead-weight?"
A moment of silence as Princess Platinum wrangled with this question internally, obviously having some doubt about these actions herself.
"...because... we need him" she concluded.
"That's right," added hurricane "the bastard teleported us to that place by the river, but all be damned if it isn't far from the stronghold. if we can't get him to wake-"

Light filled the world for a second, translated into several minutes in the senses of Starswirl, then closed.
thoughts and consciousness were slowly returning to him.

the old unicorn's eyes fluttered open, much to the surprise of the ambassadors.
"wha-? what hap-" Starswirl felt an incredible headache: painful, cold...
his hoof moved to his head, to attempt to rub his temples.
for a moment it felt as if he was a few pounds lighter, a lot... less smart....

The unicorn ambassador was on him in an instant.
"you're alive! oh thank the sun you're alive!"

the Pegasus commander, however, only walked away, saying something to the effect of "now i don't have to carry you."

despite these reactions, Starswirl's mind was still processing the entirety of the situation:
'...lets see whats normal here...

Platinum...the haughty, cleanliness-obsessed princess, hugging me? should not happen.

the chancellor being quiet and respectful? A very interesting (and welcome) oddity.

the commander irking me?.... ok, not so abnormal, but he cared a minute amount for me for a distinct amount of time, so it is indeed strange.

the gods in our world? It seems the laws of reality just took a leave of absence for me and will never forgive me.

What did i forget?
I feel as though something important was significant enough that i should remember it, it is gnawing at me from my core...
... did i leave the stove on?... I may have left the stove on.'

the wizard unicorn immediately reviewed these past events, and decided to teleport the dignitaries back to his castle on the side of the mountain, which afterwards brought his attention to an increasingly painful headache that he had not noticed moments before. possibly the result of magical exhaustion.

"well now, i take it the experiment was a success..." he muttered, rubbing his forehead.

"this wasn't much of an experiment, i mean there wasn't any weird looking doohickies or colorful chemical-y things or a robot or a volcano that goes BWOOSH! with confetti or a mad scientist yelling ITS ALIIIIIVEEE!!! and zapping things with lightning and laughing evilly like this: BWAAAHAHAHAHA-"

"puddinghead..." interrupted star-swirl sharply, "do you want that opening in your face you call a mouth to go into the dustbin?"

"... now you're right, it wasn't exactly an experiment. no control variables, no comparable results or a hypothesis, but such is only semantics at this point... the pressing question is this: what of the... the 'gods'"

"SOMEONE GIVE TO ME A REPORT ON OUR STATUS, LEST THE BEATINGS BEGIN... AGAIN!"

All around the fort, soldiers were hurrying to get supplies that were still left after the... incident... like water, food, valuables, weapons, all variety of things in the camp in order to get an inventory.

they had realized the gravity of their situation only recently, as the giant mountain range that was not nearby before had been a clue, among other things, that they were not in Deva anymore.

In the middle of it all stood the legate, barking orders, his tribunes were in the command tent, probably bickering over some assorted politics. The Legate had to be assertive and commanding for the troops to find comfort in him, for they know he knows what to do and will help them get out of this alive.

In truth, he himself was desperate for answers, but not so desperate that he showed weakness.
The centurion from the new Praetorian attachment had raced up to him
"sir" he started to report, "we have written of all our equipment-"
"give me this" he motioned for the centurion to read off the list "mainly report the situation in regards to necessary supplies." the legate interrupted.
the centurion looked at the wax tablet he used to take inventory.
"it seems that we have enough food and water in the supply stores still for at least a week, a question raised to how we lost the mountain of supplies we built up for the siege. i suggest we send scouts to see if there are nearby sources of wheat and to gather water from the nearby river. as well, we may want to check the woods for lumber and game, and the mountain for any ore deposits so our engineers can use them for repairs and building materials. The priests are taking the necessary steps to determine the truth of the event and will report as soon as this is done."
the legate pondered this before ordering a couple of nearby legionaries to gather some troops to accomplish these tasks.
the legate turned toward the centurion. "as well, i would like to send a few cavalry out to find signs of civilization or barbarians. the former in order to reconnect with the empire, the latter to raid or trade for supplies and/or slaves. in addition, send a few Contubernia (tent group of 8 fighters and two noncombatants, best translated as "squad") from the seventh cohort (new recruits, regarded lowly and used to dump silly assignments like food detail), have them be led by that new Decanus you recommended. (leader of ten, they led the contubernium) to assist them."

the legate was not thankful to be alone with his thoughts now, as the recent events would have shocked and crippled lesser men. the being transported didn't phase him as much, it was the reality of the situation and he accepted it, and he was, as a soldier, used to being in desperate situations far from home.

He shook the thoughts away. that was a ridiculous (and cliche) thing to feel
Whatever magic was used definitely had some effect on the men, somewhat different each time, some not feeling anything at all... but no malicious transformations were observed... yet... and the work occupied the attention of the soldiers.

speaking of soldiers, two of the men were approaching him, he forgot their names, but their faces were familiar enough to him. one of them was supposed to be recommended for promotion by the Praetorian... his name is "Cassius" or something to that similar effect....
The first to speak was the shorter one with brown hair, Caspius. "Sir! Legionaries Caspius and Trebonius, here to serve!"
Oh, that's his name... "Well then, what is it?"
the taller one, Trebonius, started to read off of the tablet
"The 7th cohort reports about 80-90 losses, one is the centurion who opted out initially, and an entire century was not found. the most disturbing of all these things was the centurion."

The legate had to consider for a moment why the most disturbing thing about this entire situation was a dead man. surely these men must be used to death on some level. "why is THAT the most disturbing thing? we just lost a century, one man dead does not take precedent of 80 men missing."
they looked at eachother, the shorter one beginning to speak. "its not that he died, its.... its how he..."
"how he...?" the unfinished question hung in the air, stressing the legate's patience was wearing thin.
thankfully the taller one with fairer hair finished the thought for caspius. "turned out., so to say"

Faraway south, in the badlands, there is a camp of dark forces that radiates around a hill, training and readying themselves for conquest.
on the central hill stands a black tower, where one might expect there to be an excess of spikes and chain, there is only cold, black stone that, yet simple, seems more malevolent for being so.
simple, yet terrible.
inside, there is a meeting, similar to the one in Starswirl's in that it is the rallying of the forces under the control of the immensely powerful host, but dissimilar in that the master of this tower has his forces more organized.

"Have we encountered any major resistance in the east so far?" he asks from his throne, made of the bones and weapons of his prior conquests.
he was wearing plate-mail armor, covered in a black robe of dragon-skin he claimed from the oldest and strongest in the land, his head covered by a hood. This hood combined with a helmet, shaped to look like the face of the gods, and both hid his identity well, for it was surprisingly necessary for the stability of his army that no one know his identity.

Among those he invited, only one was not cowering:
the Minotaur that served the dread lord as second in command, known as steel horns.

"None, but the horde has been sated with contending with itself, the arena is a very popular; in fact steel- I mean- I am a very prominent contender there. pardon the error in my speech" he said before bowing his head.

The dark master sighed with exasperation. "you don't have to reshape your oratory customs because I asked so once..."

"The master's word is law, even if he says it quietly, for-"
"-for even if his word is quiet, the will in his actions will not be." he recited. "I know... I know..." He quietly added, trying to temper his minor annoyance with the stubborn yet endearing loyalty of his most trusted commander.

He grabbed the bridge of the "snout" of his mask with his forefinger and thumb, "Remind me, why do we allow for the arena fights again? It seems a waste of soldiers"

Steel Horns snorted. "It is Minotaur tradition, put in as part of the 'Hoof/claw' treaty. it serves as training, bonding, entertainment, and in this famine, a way to ration the food to benefit the strongest."

the dark lord sighed again. "So little compassion you have."
The dark lord required the general for his wise, if very cold and calculating, observational advice. it tempered the Romantic and idealistic views of the Dread lord quite well.
The Dark Master stood and began to walk down to the group gathered in his throne-room.
"If the hatred caused by assimilation doesn't end with this crusade, we will never be able to settle and build, infighting can only tear us apart."

It was a time like this that the Dread lord depended upon the council of his general.

A smile crept onto the face of the dread lord
"thank you steel horn, effective immediately, extend the ban on killing to the arena."

the Minotaur hesitated for a second.
"What will be the justification? they will not accept 'the preservation of life' as a reason, though it may be yours. they thirst for blood."

The reply came after a moment of thought. something royal and authoritarian... "it shall be decreed, 'He who fights to his death is more honorable for being unwilling to submit, even in the end, and any killer loses in the arena for being so weak he cannot overpower his opponent.' let it be only blood sport, not death games."

What the dread king could not say is that he got the idea from a sport out of one of the 55 magical texts, one that told of the ancient land of "Greece", its people had a certain sport, Pankration, which had only one rule of "no killing". this text told much of the culture, language, and most importantly to the lord, the history.

The Dread lord turned to the other news bearers, expecting a report from the camps of their species.
Next he turned to the ambassador to the wolves. "as requested, bones, belly-rubs, and inquires regarding who is indeed a good boy will become standard in the rewards of your people." with that the wolf panted happily, wagged his tail, bowed, then exited.

Finally was the dragon ambassador, a teenager with green and red scales, for a grown dragon would have been too large to enter. Said messenger was a very unpopular soul, unfortunate to be hated by most of the dragon leadership.

the Dread lord glared at him from behind the shadows of his hood.
"what's wrong now?"

"I know when they send you they expect whatever news you give me to be bad enough to anger me so that i slaughter the messenger, so what bad news do you bring me?"

A short laugh came from the dread lord, and what he said next came with such calm and jovial question with a genuinely pleasant tone.
"On what grounds?"

the unpopular emissary of the drakes took this as a threat, rather than just mirth, and the resulting words came faster than bullets "-they-don't-think-a-non-dragon-could-effectively-lead"

a moment of silence passed through the room, and the dragon thought of his mistakes in life that brought him here.

"Trebonius, if you ever make such a sick joke like that again I will crucify you."
"no arguments sir."

The assorted men before the legate were cleaning up the bloody mess that once was a man.

"please tell me he is the only one who got... inverted..."
one of the men cleaning looked up from his work and answered.
"well, there have been no other bodily abnormalities, but men have reported visions and strange feelings."
The legate motioned for him to continue.

"well, at least a few can speak without making strange sounds, and they speak of things like talking animals, some of magic, and..."
another noncombatant aided in his attempt to explain

"one is seeing visions of the future, present and past and has gone quite mad as a result."
the first nodded in agreement. "he spoke of the god's abandonment. frequently" he dead panned.

The legate was slightly unnerved for a moment before shaking his head. it was not the time for fantastical ideas that have no relevance to the current situation, and there was nothing more mystical happening that could not be fixed through roman vim and vigor.
As he thought this, the revelation became clear that the puddle of... Centurion... was still alive to some extent, and began to move and moan from pain. A face formed in the muck, a skull seemed to press against this, and eventually (to the horror of everyone involved) broke through that fragile flap of skin and began screaming. Blood and fluids flowing from whatever orifice they could reach first. The gurgling scream that resulted even after made everyone who could hear it fear for their lives or empty their bowels in equal measure.

It began sobbing, the tears of blood made the image a vile mockery of such a human emotion. The Legate decided he would oblige the puddle. After a few sword strikes, however, it seemed the poor soul was trapped as he was. As a form of respect, or from an otherwise merciful sentiment, the more solid and tangible remains were collected into a single, large, bucket and covered, muffling the screams and pleads to the gods that, most apparently demonstrated, must have abandoned them all.

"The information we actually have is no good to us... it doesn't tell us anything about where we are or whats going to happen. keep the madmen detained though, i will wish to review their ramblings later with a pontiff present."

More gurgling came from the bucket, and it began to overflow in blood, forcing some of the cleanup to move him somewhere that they didn't just clean.

"... it may also be wise to gather all the men who have not already been accounted for and to observe the intricate anomalies in all the men."

The head of the crew nodded, and the order was passed throughout the camp by the time-honored method of simple authoritative barking.

The legate gave the command tent another look-over before one of the orderlies slipped on what he could only hope wasn't the neglected leftovers of a large intestine, spilling the murky contents on the floor-

"Caspius, Trebonius, meet me outside, this isn't going to be a headquarters anymore, or at least for much longer.." he ordered shortly before turning and leaving the tent.

The two looked at each other, then to the mess, and without hesitation decided to follow.

Outside, the legate was looking over the camp at work.
"Caspius, due to the recent opening of position, you are now Decanus Primus in your century. Your first order is to go out with a few other conturbernia and search for food, civilization, or anything at all that could help us."
Caspius nodded silently, "...very odd for him", thought Trebonius.

There was a great cry for the legate from across the camp, and with a sigh, he went to sort out whatever crisis required his attention, bidding the two farewell.

Immediately, Trebonius turned to Caspius "whats with you? you would normally be celebrating for a promotion."
Caspius looked at Trebonius, then back to the tent with slight nausea showing on his now sickly green cheeks.

He puts a hand on his friend's shoulder.
"hey... I cannot blame you for feeling that way. you've not seen war before, have you?"

there was a moment of hesitation after that.
"I... have never seen something like... like that."

Trebonius looked back in the direction of the scene, thankfully unable to actually see it because of the obstructing tent flaps, but un-thankfully he had the image lingering in his mind.

"Caspius, I honestly do not think anyone has seen something that horrible." he then tried to put on his best smile and removed his hand with a pat. "but that will probably be the worse thing we see in this adventure, so the worst is behind us! We best head out!"

Today wasn't, well, the best of days for steel horn.

For you see, he was put in a position of great difficulty in terms of actually managing his army.
Minotaur are proud and stubborn, and they believe anyone who would ever rule effectively had to be:

1) A Minotaur
2) the strongest, biggest, meanest and most vicious warrior this side of Terra Malas.

Because of these two reasons, they have beef (heh) with the current warlord on account of him not being big or Minotaur-ish at all (as far as they know,

Steel horns had just, only just, lost the respect of what had been his war-band for surrendering to the master.
It didn't matter that the master had challenged and, frankly, beat Steel horns very badly in single combat (and though the wolves and other species would not admit it, in a rather humorous manner, earning him the new nickname "steer horns") for it had been established that the winner got to lead both the master's war-band and the Minotaur tribe.

Hence the current situation

The General had only exited the arena, covered in fresh bruises from the protests (that he was very quick to put down) that a wolf came up to him dressed in war attire.
"My lord, some scouts have returned from the north with sordid news!"

"there are a great deal of them saying there have been massive lights and all sorts of magics coming from close to mountain, they suggest we send a party to go scout the way and investigate."

Steel hooves liked that about the wolves, they were a very loyal people and always asked permission, and every so often he tolerated being in the same room as them.

the dog he was speaking to began to look at him as if confused, and the dog would be right to, as it was unusual for a great commander to be in charge of a mere scouting operation.

but... the glare of the commander and the look on his face showed he was not in the mood for such points to be made, so the wolf decided he was not confused after all and nodded, barking at a nearby pup to alert the "master" to this new development.

Chestnut was a very happy little filly, she didn't mind the hard work in the farms and groves her family worked at, nor did she mind that the land was owned by the feudal lords currently oppressing their fellow ponies, for she didn't know what half of those words meant.
Instead, the orange filly kept herself happy with her toys made of sticks and reeds.
At times, this was not enough, as the others were too old to be playing. they needed to farm all the time to keep the community alive.
this made her lonely sometimes.

But, after the humongous magic storm there were new "guests", and Chestnut wasn't lonely anymore.

The guests were strange to look at, but they proved themselves very capable farmers and seemed to speak a very old version of the common language, so they began to be very welcome. They kinda looked like what would happen if you tried to shave a monkey, but didn't do it all the way.

At first they were afraid, but then they came around once they were offered food and water and a place to stay.
they seemed nice, they even taught the ponies some farming tricks like crop rotation!
They didn't have any magic, but they must have gotten by with being smart.
They also had a younger boy with them that didn't have anyone either.
Chestnut thought it was a girl first which made it mad, but once he and chestnut had begun to play they found that they were having so much fun.
they were out playing one day, the young boy riding on her back, pretending to be a soldier of some kind.
"Progress, Romani invicta! (forward invincible romans!)" he cheered, a slightly sharpened stick raised above his head in triumph.
"Aye, my good knight!" she laughed.
suddenly, however, the "noble steed" had tripped and both began tumbling in a comical whirlwind of action, ending with the "valiant knight" now under his mount.

"you talk funny, what were you pretending to be?"
The boy gathered the gist of what she was saying and responded accordingly.
"Equites ego sum, Romani Valerissimus! (I am a Calvary man! the most brave of the Romans.)" he cheered.
this caused a giggle from the filly. "you're silly: you might be valorous, my knight, but you aren't a pony!"
"Epona? (the celtic goddess of horses and fertility and guide to souls in the afterlife.)"
"no, silly, pony," she stressed, making sure to point to herself to emphasize it.
"po...ny?"
"yeah! now you got it!" she exclaimed, more giggles following this. "at this rate, you'll be speaking right!"
The boy had no idea what was said, so he just nodded.
"Clemens!" a voice in the distance called.
it was his mother, she was recalling him.
he looked to Chestnut with a little sadness, shrugged, and went into that direction.
Chestnut was alone again, but it didn't bother her, for she was just waiting for her friend to get back.
she decided to go play among the trees, her favorite activity before she had a friend.

she walked up to a particularly strong, old looking oak that dominated the center of the forest.
she decided to try and buck it with all her strength... and flew back a few feet from the recoil.
"ow!" she said, annoyance building. she started to bang on the oak with her hooves, the sound reverberating among the trees.

She got tired after some time and decided to sit at the base and daydream.
The story she came up with was of Clemens the brave, saving the princess Chestnut from a castle guarded by a mean old dragon.
She thought more and more about the new creatures.
it was so strange, they came right after the magical storm.

Her moments of thought were broken by the sound of rustling leaves in the forest around her.
"there you are! what happened? I thought your mom wanted you for longer than that."

She made a sound of annoyance. "come on, don't try and play those hide and seek games, im great at those!"
more silence, making her even more uneasy.

suddenly the silence was broken by the same rustling sound moving closer.
tension built up in her hind legs, her breathing was becoming more and more heavy, her heart began to pound.
run

she watched as the rustling stopped for a moment, a moment that extended itself into seconds, which adrenaline made seem like entire lifetimes.

wait,
why did it just run away?
bunnies aren't afraid of ponies-
then she felt it.

time slowed down for her as she turned around
all the time, the little voice in her head screaming
Don't look, stupid! Run! just RUN!

Caspius's day was, short to say, in a bad way.
He got to see the most incredibly horrible and disgusting death to ever be seen by the legion in about a couple hundred years, and in the process, suddenly found himself slugging and marching across the fields and hills of some backwards boondocks untouched by the empire with a group of the most poorly trained of men he could have found in Europe, all complaining about being tired.

"so then, the man removes the alligator from the table and asks 'see? i told you he was tame, would anyone else like to try?', and this one drunkard raises his voice from the back and says 'i would, but i can't keep my mouth open long enough!'"

"by Jove, trebonius, you must stop" said one of the men, "you're worse than a christian!"

"I never got what was with the hate of Christians anyway" He said, "A few of the men I met in the empire were christian, and before that they seemed to be stand up blokes, and afterwards they were no different."

"That's enough men," Caspius finally interjected, "you are to resume marching until we reach that village on the horizon is this clear?."
The men began to groan, complain.
"sir, my feet are bleeding," said one poor soul "can't we set up camp?"

"you know what helps bleeding feet?" responded Caspius.
The men looked at him questioningly.

Clemens had been called to be warned of not straying too far into the woods with his new pet; he tried explaining that she was a friend, to which his mother pretentiously laughed at.

He was walking through the forest to find his new p- his new friend, in complete disregard to his mothers warning, when he heard the most harsh scream come from inside the forest.

He looked from the scene to he village, wondering what to do.
He decided to run.

She was being chased by a strange wolf thing. It seemed to be playing with her, letting her run until she was tired.

She could feel it nipping at her tail, hot breath and the sound of its snapping maw

While running, she was too frightened to see the same snag that tripped her before, repeating the mistake, and catapulting herself a few yards as momentum caught up with her.

The beast decided to take its time, and stalked her from a distance, slowly circling her like a vulture.

She gave up. She just cried as she knew she wouldn't ever even get her cutie mark, wouldn't have foals of her own or live a long, loving life.
The scene was pitiful, and anything with a heart would want to save or comfort the poor filly, to give her reprise from the harsh reality, but sadly, the gods abandoned the land eons ago.

Feed. Must feed.
Meat tripped. Meat weak.
Meat cry. Meat afraid.
Meat ready. Master pleased? give more meat?
Feed. Rush.
Pounce!
"Thwack"

Clemens, for his merit, ran, but to the sound of the screams, not away.
He picked up a stick he saw and swung under the beast as it fell to chestnut, catching it straight in the jaw with the heavy blunt end of the stick and following through until it went flying.
Unknowingly, the boy just invented the game of golf with the wolf's head as a ball.

It recovered rather well for a few moments, then fell as the brain trauma set in.

Clemens looked to the surprised and still weeping pony and saw her leg was messed up.
He tried helping her up, but the beast soon began growling as it fully recovered itself.
He looked from the beast to the pony, and had only one thing to say.
"CURRE!"
Run.
Clemens then had the brilliant idea to pick up and carry Chestnut.
He certainly was strong enough under the circumstances, to carry her while running, it was helped that the wolf was staggering a bit.

Through the woods, over roots, under branches he ran,
His only thought was to get them as far away as humanly possible from the beast.
Her only thought was to cling to him for dear life.

They ran and ran until they could not run anymore, breaking out onto the road that ran through the forest and through even that to another clearing, where the trees grew too dense to pass.

They had to stop, and only then did they dare to look behind them, realizing they had no idea where they were.

They saw, to their horror, the beast still coming their way.
To say it was ugly would be as much of an understatement as to say it was horrifying.
It was livid,

it's eyes grew red, foam dripped out of its muzzle, the jaw, having been dislocated, opened wider than it's head would normally allow, making it all the more gruesome.

Clemens braced himself, grabbing a stick and kicking it, so as to splinter it, giving it a modestly sharp point.

There they stood, a valiant hero, spear in his grasp, and the horrendous monster coming upon them with an anger to burn at the very soul of its prey.

It charged, tearing up the earth as it's powerful claws, howling a horrible howl, distorted to sound almost ethereal and eldrich.

Clemens prayed to Mars to aid him in the coming battle, swearing to serve in a way seemingly fit, just if they could live through the day, it would be worth anything.

The prayers having been said, he followed by charging the beast with a roar of his own

Suddenly, dashes of light flew into the side of the beast, and a large figure of red slammed into it, bulldozing it across the clearing and slamming it into a tree.
Clemens stood in shock, but quickly snapped out of this and ran back to chestnut to check if she was ok.
He saw more red things in the forest, moving towards the clearing from the road, but they were discussing something.

the beast snapped at the newcomer as best it could while it was stuck in between a shield and a hard... Tree.

The newcomer stabbed at it as best he could with his dagger, having not yet drawn his proper sword.

The beast eventually figured out how to get out: it pushed against the tree with its powerful hind legs, forcing the shield and it's bearer to be knocked back.

The beast's gambit paid off, and the shield's owner stumbled back, unfortunately losing his blade in the hide of the beast.

Instead of drawing the sword, like a sane and rational being, he decided to cast away the shield and brandish his fists like a pugilist.

The beast kept on top of him, or at least tried to.
The target was too clever and sidestepped the jumping beast, bring its fist in contact with the good portion of the beast's jaw.

He felt the already loosened bone break, the jaw now was completely loosened from the skull, causing the beast to yelp in pain, and for the maw of the beast to hang limply.

The pugilist decided to be the attacker this time and, with a swift kick, struck once again the creature's head, inventing the game of international football with the same head as the ball.

The beast, now dazed again from yet more head trauma, began to stagger and fail, his bleeding and bruised brain faltering.

The attacker did not let up, however, and quickly began to grapple with the beast, beating the poor battered creature's head all the way.

In a spectacular finishing move, the pugilist's final blow was a punch to the jaw that finally loosened and severed the lower jaw from the skull of the beast.

The wolf was now the prey and it realized that it was dead for sure, but it wouldn't die alone and without master.
Master needed to be warned.

In a final gambit, it pushed with what it had left for energy, at least freeing it from the attacker.
Unfortunately for it, it couldn't move. It fell immediately, attempting now to crawl.

The pitiable show that followed was an echo to merely minutes ago when it had been the one looking down at a prey praying for mercy.

The triumphant fighter then picked up the remainder of the jaw and walked to the beast, himself exhausted.

The predator looked down at his prey and felt a moment of pity, but quickly squashed this. He closed his eyes.
"I'm sorry"

He brought down the jaw, returning it to the owner with a display of the deepest color red.

The beast twitched for a few moments, but soon was mercifully released from its torment and grew still.

The man got back up, shaking from the adrenaline, and moved into the center of the clearing once more.

Clemens now saw him again, covered in blood not his own, and hardly recognized him as human.

Tears spread, from both of them, relief at being alive and of seeing each other once more.

SPQR

by Octavius

Recollection