//------------------------------// // Chapter Six - Complications // Story: Starbrought // by Ethereal Cerberus //------------------------------// Starbrought Shining Armor stared nervously around at his commanding officers’ office. He had only been in here twice before; once when he had first been stationed in Canterlot Castle, the other when he had been assigned to Cadance’s convoy. One of the walls was decorated with an assortment of medals, commendations and accolades, all detailing the numerous heroic acts of valor, honor, and justice the Captain of the Royal Guard had achieved in his twenty years in the service. Shining Armor couldn’t help but notice that the Captain had even earned an Emerald Blade, the highest of commendations that one could only earn by defending the whole of Equestria from certain peril. Aside from that, the room was very spartan. A pair of fully stocked bookshelves rested in the back of the room, just by the large window that overlooked the training grounds for the Guard. A simple oak desk sat in front of the shelves, decorated only by a few loose sheets of paper, a bottle of ink and a large phoenix feather quill. All of the decorations in the office were put to shame, however, by the rather large Earth Pony sitting behind the oak desk. Captain Sturdy Wall was, to put it bluntly, a mountain of a pony. No muscle was wasted on, yet, he didn’t have the bulk most other muscle-centric stallions usually developed. His cobalt-colored coat had a faint sheen to it, showing off the exceptional care he clearly gave it, unlike most other stallions. His faded gray mane was cropped into a buzz cut, barely rising more than half an inch above his scalp. Stone gray eyes moved slowly back and forth as Captain Wall read over the last of the reports regarding Cadance’s journey to the Zebrican capital, the discovery of the alien, and the resulting arrest of said alien. Shining Armor could’ve sworn he was visibly sweating as he stood in silence, waiting for his Commanding Officer to finish. It didn’t help that with every passing minute, Captain Wall’s expression grew more and more irritated. When the Captain finally set down the final report and fixed Shining Armor with a stony gaze, Shining could’ve sworn he felt his lungs cease all activity, as though the very activity of breathing would offend the Captain. Neither of them spoke for several long moments. The Captain kept his gaze firmly on Shining Armor, greatly unnerving the sergeant. “Three days.” The Captain’s gravelly-voice broke Shining from his stupor. “I’m gone for three days to visit my newborn granddaughter, and I return to all of these.” He gestured with a hoof at the half dozen reports he had piled in a small bin on the corner of his desk. “Princess Cadance set out to Zebrica to encourage trade routes, and instead she returns with an alien. From space. Explain, Sergeant.” Shining Armor stood up a little straighter and hardened his expression. “Sir! The Princess and the majority of the 17th assigned to her protection all saw the alien’s ship crash-land in the desert. The Princess insisted on investigating the crash site where the alien was discovered, despite my insistence that she shouldn’t. The Princess took notice of the alien’s injuries and ordered us to return him to Canterlot so he could receive medical treatment. Sir!” The Captain continued to stare at Shining Armor with his mildly-irritated, yet stony expression. “I won’t lie to you, Sergeant. I’m not happy.” He rose to his hooves and moved the reports from his desk to a small filing cabinet mostly hidden from plain view. “If Princess Cadance herself hadn’t shown me the alien and verified the story with her own account, I never would’ve believed a word of these reports. In fact, I’d have had you and your whole unit demoted and reassigned to patrolling the northern border for thinking such a stupid story would be believable. “Nevertheless, what’s done is done. We should be thankful that the alien in question, this ‘Drake Shields’, is just a run of the mill pirate. If he had been a diplomat of some sort and we offended him… Well, I’m sure you’ve read a few pieces of science-fiction over the years. You can guess what might happen.” “Yes, Sir.” Shining did his best to remain as stoically still as possible. He didn’t want to show signs of the immense relief he was feeling. Captain Wall wasn’t known for being the most lenient of ponies. “We’ll need to start taking action in regards to the alien,” the Captain said decisively as he sat back down at his desk. “I need to inform Princess Celestia and Princess Luna about this situation immediately. For now, I’m re-assigning you and your unit. You’re in charge of guarding the alien since the lot of you have had the most dealings with it.” Shining Armor blinked in confusion. “We have to prevent any information leaks. How do you think the civilians would react if they knew we had an alien in custody? They already panic over the slightest disturbances. And what of the other nations? Who knows what they’d do? Your unit is the only unit that’s had any interaction with the alien thus far. I intend to keep it that way until either Princess Celestia or Princess Luna tells me otherwise. Am I clear, Sergeant?” “Yes, Sir. Clear as crystal, Sir.” “And Sergeant, I want you to complete another task if possible while you’re on this assignment.” Shining Armor gave his commanding officer a confused look. “I want you to see if you can convince this alien to share any of his civilization’s technologies with us.” “I’m not sure he’d go for that, Sir,” Shining Armor said. “He might not be too talkative with my unit or myself since we’re the ones that captured him and locked him up, Sir.” “I said ‘if possible’, Sergeant,” the Captain reminded him. “It may be a long shot, but from what I’ve gathered from the reports, he isn’t very fond of the governments in control of his civilization. He might be less inclined to keep their technology from us than another member of his species might be.” “Understood, Sir.” Shining Armor saluted the Captain. “I’ll do what I can.” Captain Wall nodded at the other stallion. “Dismissed, Sergeant.” Starbrought “You know, for a top secret government lab underneath a mountain, and inside a military base, you guys could have gotten some better chefs down here. Honestly, what exactly is in my sandwhich? Ants? Chicken?...Vegetables?” Doctor Wing said as he inspected his sandwich. Gilded Feather rolled her eyes. ”We don’t have chefs down here. Everything comes in boxed and frozen, even the sandwiches.” “And why exactly do they not have any chefs down here?” “Simple. Less mouths, less ways for secrets to get out. We’re not the only ones down here you know.” Gilded said as she took a bite of her box salad riddled with a surplus of beef chunks. “You know what? Probably good on my end not to ask exactly who else or what else is down here. So, what exactly do you think of our catch? I’ve never seen anything like him in all my years of cryptozoology, and that’s about thirty-five years of it.” “Honestly? I really don’t have any idea what it is. It may possibly be a Minotaur that had suffered some sort of genetic mutation, or could have been damaged by magic, but even then that would not account for some of the things on it. For example, you noticed that instead of only having three fingers and a thumb, it had an extra finger on both of its hands.” “Of course I did,” Doctor Wing said as he took a suspicious nibble at his sandwich. “And I’m guessing that you noticed the nearly complete lack of body hair save for on top of his head. And perhaps the biggest mystery is the legs. I’m guessing that you as well have never seen anything like that.” “Yeah, I’ve never seen anything like those legs too, but the thing that honestly concerns me more than anything else is the-” She was cut off by the lights that lit the makeshift cafeteria that they were currently eating in dimming, as if an unknown force was putting a very high strain on the base’s mountain grid. A low rumble echoed around the area, before turning into silence, along with the lights returning to their full beam. “Uhhhh, what was that?” Dr Wing asked as he looked around, ready to run away at full speed. Wing was not one for confrontation, and would gladly take flight or fight any day, and any time of the solar calendar. “Like I said, we're not the only ones down here. Gods know what that was,” Dr. Feather said very calmly as she got up to throw away her salad into one of the trashcans situated in the corner of the room. “Well, that’s calming… Say; how exactly would we get out of here if there was an accident?” “Hmmm…” A talon lazily tapped Dr. Feather’s beak. “If I were to guess, we would probably get out through the flight bay. It would be the easiest to reach, and would be the easiest to escape from.” “Heh, have you ever had to do it?” “Thankfully, no. Nothing has ever escaped from this base, and I hope that nothing ever does. If even a single one of the high security things that are in this base somehow did manage to escape, let’s just say it would make the Changeling swarm that hit Canterlot look like a minor inconvenience.” “Wait. How exactly are you able to keep creatures and things of that magnitude stuck in a mountain right by the city? Wouldn't you put them away from the capital instead of putting it under our ass?” Gilded Feather had to suppress an eyeroll; this Doctor’s IQ seemed hardly worth the time it took to print out his PhD. “Hey, not my choice on where they put this place. Just be glad it exists. And there are many ways to keep something stronger than the average gryphon in check. My beak is tied on that matter, however.” A moment of silence passed without anyone saying anything. “Say Feather, how long have you been working here?” It was an obvious attempt for small-talk, but Doctor Wing would prefer mindless back-and-forth recollection than utter silence. Thankfully, Dr. Feather seemed willing to indulge him, to a point. “I’ve been working here for about five years, give or take; why do you ask?” “I was just wondering simply due to how… young you look. How old exactly are you?” “I’m twenty-six years old. I got a job here right after graduating Doraemoth School of the Elite Science & Arts. Top of my class.” “Wait, you graduated from Doraemoth at twenty-one? At the top of your class, no less? Amazing; I’ve never heard of that happening. What was your degree in?” At the moment, Dr. Feather wasn’t entirely sure if the interest towards her degree was genuine or not. Either way, it was nice that someone cared enough to ask, whether they meant it or not. “I got a doctorate in Cryptozoology. Instead of going out into the field to look for them, I was offered a job here, and the rest is well… history.” “Wow. Well, good for you on going into a field that a lot of gryphons neglect. I was-” Doctor Wing was cut off by the lights dimming again, this time a lot less shocking to him. “Eh heh... Someone’s having some fun, I guess.” The hollow joke lazily floated in the air, a desperate attempt and hope to lighten the dreary professional mood with his forced colleague. Instead of the lights gradually coming back to their full brightness, something completely unexpected happened. A high pitched whine filled the air, forcing their talons to go to their ears in an attempt to stop the painful noise. The noise continued for a couple of seconds, before a small boom went off in a direction that felt very close to them. A rumble shook the room they were standing in, before stopping a few seconds later. Feather took her talons off of her head, before diving to the side to avoid a falling light that crashed into the table, destroying both the table and Wing’s lunch. The elderly griffin had moved away to avoid being hit, and was now standing a few feet away from the ruined table, mourning his sandwich. “What in the name of Tartarus was that?” Wing shook away the recent pang of depression and hunger. “I have no idea, but that explosion was really close by. You don’t think that our little friend could have gotten out, do you?” “There is no way that thing could have gotten out. He was chained to a table with a locked vault door ten inches thick. All of his clothes were taken off and put into a sealed locker,” Feather said as she walked toward the door that led to the vault. “Wait, what about that glove of his?” Feather’s eyebrows arched in revelation. “I thought you picked that up!” “I thought you did… Oh dear, this may be a problem.” Starbrought “So, Griphook, when exactly are you two getting married?” Private Pile asked his fellow guard outside of the mysterious creature’s current confinement. Not that it was needed, in his opinion. According to what they had overheard from the Doctors, the creature was not going to be waking up for quite some time. They had been standing here for around an hour and a half, and nothing had happened out of the ordinary. “We’re getting married in about two weeks. Kinda nervous about the whole thing,” Private Griphook responded, itching under his beak. The concept of marriage was making the raw recruit admittedly… nervous, about the whole deal. He wasn’t showing any signs of stress, or so he hoped he wasn’t, but getting married was a big deal. A very very big deal. “Well, that’s good. Where are you guys getting married at? Hitting up Pike’s Peak?” “Actually, we’re doing the ceremony on top of Mount Storm.” Pile’s eyebrows jumped in approval. “Really? How the hell were you able to get a spot for that place? I was stationed there before I came here, and every single day someone was getting married, or having a party, or trying to do stunt dives down the cliff face.” “Hell if I know; I wasn’t the one that scheduled it. That’s all my fiancé’s doing.” “Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me. Just be glad you-” He was cut off by his ears picking up a harsh wine. It was fairly high pitched, but not enough for it to start hurting his ears. He looked around at his fellow guard, who had an expression similar to his own. The noise stopped as suddenly as it had started, and they were left once again with silence. “The hell was that?” “I have no idea, probably came from someone deeper in the base. No need to worry,” Private Pile said in a calm tone. “You're probably right. But I’m going to go ahead and use the P.R.I.C.K to call the main checkpoint below us, just to make sure that they heard it too,” Griphook said as he walked over to the Portable Radioactive Instant Comm Krystal (or P.R.I.C.K for short). The world loved these things, and there was a good reason why that was. It was a simple, and very, very effective device. The P.R.I.C.K. was a magically-enhanced Upari crystal that some aging unicorn discovered some years ago. He learned that if he sent a continuous and concentrated stream of magic into the stone, it would be able to interact with other magically-enhanced Upari crystals dozens or hundreds of kilometers away. Further experimentations had apparently led to the discovery of short-distance telecommunications, and the rumor around is that the same unicorn was working to establish a means of communication from coast to coast. A lofty goal. But a feasible one. The only problem that came with the P.R.I.C.K. was that it required an arcane charge in order to become ‘tuned’ to another crystal. But for most of the world, that was not a hard thing. In Alti however, that was a different story. The Griffins were sometimes looked at as brutish and harsh creatures, and them being one of the few mainly carnivorous creatures in a mostly vegetarian world made a good deal of unicorns hesitant when deciding whether or not to move to Alti. But the unicorns that did move up there that knew how to send a focused beam of pure magic suddenly got themselves quite a fortune very quickly. “This is Area 42B contacting Checkpoint A. Are you guys doing any noise experiments down there?” “Negative Area 42B; no noise tests are occurring down here.” “Roger that. Did you hear a high pitch whine a few seconds ago?” “Negative Area 42B; no noises down here.” “Roger that, over and out.” Griphook put down the P.R.I.C.K. and walked back over to his partner. “Apparently they heard nothing down there.” “Well, that’s weird. Oh well; must be someone else doing something that they can’t tell us about,” Griphook stated as he took his position at the side of the door. A minute or so passed without any new noise appearing, causing Griphook and Pile to relax. And that’s when the vault door dissolved into ashes on the floor behind them, and before they could react, something heavy and blunt slammed into the back of their heads. The soldiers lost consciousness immediately, and with no time to react to the threat. As the soldiers fell to the floor, a tall shape walked out of the room. An eerie dark red light pulsed on its right hand as it stepped over the unconscious soldiers, and snatched the faintly-glowing crystal. “Sorry about your prick being late.” Starbrought The royal guard had one rule hammered into their heads from day one of basic training: when on duty, remain still as stone. Silent Breeze was finding that rule more than a little difficult to follow. The alien prisoner had taken to singing in an ear-grating, yet catchy off-key manner. "I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts. There they are, standing in a row! Big ones, small ones, some the size of your head! Give 'em a twist, a flick of the wrist. That's what the showman said!" "For the love of the Creators, shut your trap!" A prisoner further down the cell block shouted. "I can barely hear myself think over your cat-calling, you jerk!" The alien pressed his face against the bars of his cell, determined to glare at the other prisoner. "How about you shut yours? That song's been a part of civilization for almost a thousand years. Respect the classics!" "Both of you, shut it!" Silent Breeze snapped. “Prisoners are supposed to be quiet!” “That wasn’t mentioned during orientation,” the alien quipped. “Also, I didn’t get my free peanuts. How do you expect me to be a compliant prisoner without my free peanuts?” “There were peanuts?” Silent Breeze pressed a hoof to his temple as a third prisoner spoke up. He gave a start as the door leading to the castle proper creaked open, then snapped to attention as Princess Cadance poked her head through the threshold. The guard snapped to attention. “Your Highness!” Cadance jumped at the sound of the guard’s voice. “Oh! Sorry. Didn’t see you there.” “Of course, Ma’am.” Silent Breeze couldn’t help but take notice of the Princess’ jumpy nature, and how her gaze seemed to be focused on examining the cells. “Is there something I can help you with, Your Highness?” “As a matter of fact,” Cadance began, slowly dragging out the words as if she were only half paying attention. “Could you direct me to the cell of our newest… arrival?” A look of mild confusion crossed Breeze’s face. “Of course, Ma’am. But, why?” “I have an offer to make him.” Starbrought Slayer’s eyes opened. Something didn’t feel right. Straightening himself from his relaxed position in the cart, he glanced out the back of the cloth curtain. In the far distance, giant mounds of sand sat like silent guardians of the desert. Two Zebra caravan-guards flanked the wagon, but neither noticed the awoken assassin. ‘Where the bloody hell am I again?’ Slayer mused to himself as he observed the interior. Flasks and vials of all sorts (containing a variety of bubbly liquids that were most likely not consumable) sat on secured racks, alongside golden trinkets and admittedly beautifully crafted furnishings with intricate designs. In a brief rush, the revelation of his situation became apparent once more. ‘Holy shit. This looks serviceable to be a pirate’s hoard.’ A grin appeared under his mask as his hand slithered towards a small pouch brisling with gold coins. ‘I believe it is safe to believe that I could get away with a small profit. Never know if I may be stuck here awhile...’ Before Slayer could firmly grasp the bag, the cart abruptly came to a halt. “Hapa sisi ni!” came a voice coming around the covered wagon. Thinking quickly and without repercussion, Slayer nabbed the fabric purse and slipped it into his utility belt alongside his grenades. The door was then whipped back, exposing the caravan master that Slayer had conversed with previously. He motioned with his hoof for the hitman to remove himself, and so he did. The orbiting sun was still as scorching as ever, and it made itself known as Slayer was forced to have to endure its’ blinding light. Tilting his head down to avoid the rays some, he followed after the Zebra as they came back around the cart once again. Rounding the front, it became quickly apparent that they were now nestled in the gateway of a large village. Sandstone walls marked the perimeter of the community, and through the narrow and visible passage of the entrance, Slayer could see nearly barbaric architecture in the form of double-story buildings, making a claustrophobic trail. “Nazar, nyumba zetu.” Slayer glanced down at his guide, who gave him a nod. “Kuja, Interloper. Hebu kutembea.” ‘What did he call me? “Interloper?” I wonder if that is a Galactic Basic cognate...’ Slayer quickly realized something; their language, as archaic as it was, did sound faintly odd. Like he had heard it before. Perhaps he had stumbled across something similar in a holovid regarding a contract, or even just old history back before becoming a bounty hunter was even an option. As the party began traversing the streets of the settlement, Slayer began digging through the Suit’s programs. Eventually, he stumbled across what he had been looking for: the built-in translation software. With a command-prompt thought issued, the application booted up. The only thing Slayer needed was some test dialogue to narrow down the language field. “Where exactly are you taking me?” Slayer asked. His guide glanced up at him with interest, but it was obvious that the words’ meaning was lost. A groan threatened to rise out of the assassin’s throat. ‘Great. If I want to get anywhere with this, I have to play more Galactic Charades.’ So he mimed pointing to himself, then down the street, before ending his series of movements with a shrug. It took several moments, but eventually the Zebra understood the gist of what Slayer had meant. “Wazee wa kikabila wanataka kusema na wewe,” the equine stated with a shrug of his own. Slayer merely blinked behind his mask. How a quadruped was able to manipulate its shoulders to resemble a gesture that was really only anatomically possible with a bipedal form was beyond the warrior. An indicator decided to reveal itself onto Slayer’s HUD, with the results of the translation. ‘“Field narrowed... 46 possible languages fit the test dialogue.”’ Slayer’s brow scrunched in worry. ‘Hmm. I wonder if I can shrink that range even further.’ “Have you encountered a being that looks similar to me?” Slayer wasn’t entirely sure how to charade the question, but he hoped that just speaking would elicit more language to analysis. It proved a meager success. “Mimi sijui nini tu alisema,” the Zebra replied with a shake of its head. The warrior had no clue if the meaning behind his question reached the alien, but the ping of another prompt drew his focus away. There were four potential languages that had a match. Slayer needed just one more chunk. For inspiration on what to pantomime, Slayer glanced around his surroundings. The bustling activity of the city astounded him. Small children bobbed and weaved underfoot of massive throngs of merchants, pickpocketing whatever they could. Wares were brazenly displayed hanging from racks attached to stands, their owners loudly proclaiming their goods. Despite Slayer being utterly foreign to them, the traders did not hesitate to wave down the assassin to examine rugs, baubles, and other trinkets. Down an alleyway, an old Zebra gathered water from a well. “Do you have any water?” Slayer cupped his hand and acted of taking a drink from it. He was initially met with a confused brow by his escort, before recognition arose on the sentients’ face. The caravan leader offered a corked bottle to him. Cautiously, Slayer made a show of mistrust at the proffered vial. “Usijali; maji ni si sumu.” It was obvious those words were meant to assure the man, but personally Slayer could care less about what the translation was. The final ping had arrived on his visor. The translator had narrowed down the sample dialogues to one language. ‘Swahili,’ Slayer muttered in his head. It was awkward for him to say, but he did faintly recognize it. Where he recognized it from, however, was not entirely relevant to him at that time. ‘At least I got their language. Let’s give it a test-run...’ “We will be meeting with the Elders soon, Interloper,” the Zebra stated quietly, his accent obvious through the translator’s effort to provide live feedback. Slayer had to suppress thrusting his fist into the air as victory. He would now be able to facilitate communications with the equine race, and then be able to ask specifically for the whereabouts of his Captain. Things were on the up and up, in his eyes. The assassin had almost been tempted to try out the language himself. However, before he could formulate his first comprehensible sentence, he was abruptly ushered into the flaps of a large tent. Slayer had, admittedly, zoned out during his translating efforts, and not even realized they were approaching the tent. He made a note to remain more aware of his surroundings in the future. The next several seconds upon entering the tent was a blur of words quickly passed from one Zebra to another, and Slayer being sat down in front of a smoking pit-fire. Across from him in a ragged semi-circle laid five, decrepit Zebras. Their age was prominent by the wrinkles on their muzzles, and the grey in their manes. To his left, Slayer briefly saw the end of the caravan leader finishing a parody of a kowtow. “Elders. I have brought the Interloper, as you requested.” Slayer could only raise a brow under his visor. ‘“As you requested?”’ His eyes glazed over the throng in front of him. ‘They had not only been expecting me, but asked for an audience as well? This may either prove to be very bad, or very good.’ The center Zebra, whom Slayer could only guess was the most important of the Elders, gave a nod. “Thank you, Shamon. You say that you were unable to communicate with him, yes?” Shamon nodded in kind. “Yes, Elder. It appears the Interloper has a language, but it is unlike any dialect the Minotaurs have ever spoken. To my knowledge, of course.” Slayer’s eyes widened. Minotaurs? As in, the ancient mythical being from a story that had been brought back from Earth? The ex-bounty hunter recalled the beast well; half bull, half man, all murderous rage and muscle. If there was an entire race of them on this planet... Slayer could not help but gently gulp. “Perhaps that is because we do not believe this Interloper to be one of the Minotaurs,” the center Elder said again. The old male (Slayer would presume that the Zebra would be referred to as a ‘stallion’) squinted at the metal-clad man. “I will admit, I am not sure how we will be able to communicate with the Interloper. But, an opportunity will be presented to us, I am sure.” “Indeed it will,” Slayer said out-loud. The translator automatically turned the Galactic Basic into Swahili, accented but still fairly recognizable. Obviously, the only rational response any of the Zebras could do was have their jaws drop. “You can speak our language?” The caravan leader, Shamon, muttered. The incredulous tone amused Slayer relentlessly, nearly causing his stoic tone of voice to waver as he began talking. “Quite. Although, this is a recent development.” From his cross-legged sitting position, Slayer gave a deep nod. He may be a hitman and assassin, but Slayer was still capable of showing respect where it was due. Especially if those people ended up being useful to the man later on. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance. My translator had only recently transcribed your language into something I could understand.” While Slayer didn’t notice, the other Zebras glanced around in confusion. The Interloper had come alone. Where was his translator? Shaking it away, Slayer was addressed by the center Elder. “I am chieftain of Nazar. My name is Imamu. What is yours?” As custom whenever he introduced himself properly to another, Slayer brought his closed fist to his chest. Though, unlike his usual introduction, he was forced to omit some incriminating data. Which was most of his greeting. “I am Slayer. Warrior of my tribe from the stars.” Truly, Slayer had no clue what he was actually saying. For all he knew, the Zebras would reject the notion of intergalactic travel and condemn him on the spot for blasphemy. Thankfully, Elder Imamu seemed forgiving. That did not stop the skeptical tone from entering his voice. “We had presumed you were not of the desert. But the claim you are making requires proof. Do you have some?” Slayer’s brow furrowed. According to the interpretation he could make, the Zebras were indeed not the ones who had stumbled onto the Ethereal, and therefore were not involved with the kidnapping of Drake. Still, they could just as easily have been lying to the assassin. Which would be a poor choice on their part. “Shamon.” The aforementioned Zebra seemed surprised to hear his name leave the Interloper. “Could you vouch for me on this matter?” “The Interloper speaks the truth. I have seen him in combat. He can shoot fire without magic.” Curiosity ranged wildly across the Elders’ faces. “Could you please demonstrate this?” Slayer snorted, and then stood. If a show of superior technology was what they wanted, then a show of superior technology was what they were going to get. Investigating the floor of the tent revealed a section of exposed sand, an unusual splotch taking into account the sandstone that composed the walkways of the city. Before anyone could consider to stop him, Slayer drew one of his Sabre Shots, and fiddled with the power setting briefly. Slayer had three settings. Stun, Kill, and Overkill. For this demonstration, he chose Overkill. Aiming down, he twitched his trigger-finger. The result was a powerful bolt of energy rocketing out of the barrel of the pistol, before finding purchase on the sandy section. Heat and light kicked up, frightening and almost blinding the non-human occupants within the tent. A few moments passed, before Slayer bent down and grabbed something from the scorch. The assassin walked briskly back in front of the Elder crescent, and presented the product of his little experiment. Clutched betwixt two digits was a small, jagged orb of pure glass. While no individual could witness it, Slayer smugly smirked behind his mask at the dumbfounded expressions meeting him. “Is this sufficient evidence?”