Red lines.
Fluctuating.
Intersecting and crossing against infinite blackness.
Pilate heard himself panting, hyperventilating. His body shivered and he curled his legs to his chest.
And yet the red lines stayed the same.
The cloud of unconsciousness finally faded.
An instinct hit him, something the zebra hadn't obeyed in as long as he could remember.
Pilate opened his eyes.
The red lines were still there, same as when his eyes were closed.
"What... wh-what...?" His voice had a dull echo to it. It occurred to him that he wasn't paying attention to what was in the background. His ears twitched to life, detecting rain, footsteps, a muffled voice. He hadn't noticed before because of the sensory overload. But what senses? "Where am I?" He gulped. "Am I dead? Belle... Bellesmith, beloved...?"
He realized that he was lying on his side. With a groan, the zebra sat up.
The red lines twisted and turned, startling him.
As Pilate jolted back, he felt a weight on his head, hanging over his brow and just above his nose. Anxiously, he reached a hoof up to his skull. As he did so, a dense mosaic of red lines and concentric circles loomed just off his muzzle. Before he could react to this, his hoof came into contact with solid metal. He held his breath, feeling a curved helm over the upper half of his skull. As the shivers increased, he felt back along his cranium, sensing that the object was strapped to his head. His hoof ran into an array of jagged objects, tiny—like crystals. At last, a thick series of fibers ran down from the back of the helm, draped along his neck, and ended in a small spherical object attached to the center of his dormant O.A.S.I.S choker.
"A manasphere?" he muttered. "But... mine was left on the Noble Jury..."
He heard another echo—one belonging to a voice that wasn't his own.
Footsteps came closer. A cluster of red lines and hashes appeared, forming a singularity.
Without thinking, Pilate tilted his head towards the source. That's when he saw a dark crimson shadow set against a chaotic backdrop of vertical red lines. He gasped, shuffling backwards like a frightened colt. He felt sweat forming beneath the helm attached to his skull. As he shut his blind eyes, he was alarmed to still sense the red display in front of him.
"How in Spark's name...?" Pilate murmured beneath his breath. "I... I can see...?"
There was no way the moving thing in front of him couldn't have heard the zebra, and yet the figure kept pacing, shuffling on quiet limbs against the constant roar of rain and wind.
Gulping, Pilate stood up on wobbly knees. He felt bruises from the fight that preceded his capture. His body was numb in its extremities, no doubt from the effects of a drug. Nevertheless, he pressed forward, inching his way towards the far end of the corridor. He followed the sound of the rain, tilting his head down in an attempt to blot out the red lines bending and wobbling before him. It was all too much to take-in at once. He cursed not being able to eliminate the crimson mosaic altogether, and continued to inch his way past the pacing figure.
As he came within earshot, the tell-tale sound of a crackling speaker could be heard, broadcasting the stranger's voice in an eerie fashion.
"Yes, I understand," he said, shuffling just a few naked feet from where Pilate was currently sneaking. "I almost have the engine fixed, but I fear it won't be enough to get us past the gale force winds."
"Do what you can, Vaughan. From what these survivors have claimed, there may in fact be salvageable mana crystals within the center of this large structure. Several of the Ledomaritans and Xonans here wish to use some of them to power up their dormant manaship."
"Well, if that's the case, then maybe you can procure a few in order for me to power up our vessel."
"That, of course, is only the best-case scenario. We have many perils here to overcome. The changeling menace can be anywhere. You'd best be on your guard, brother."
"As I shall. I won't step foot outside of the ship. You can count on me to protect our resources."
"Remember what Razzar has shown us before concerning the cost of weakness."
"How can I forget? Vaughan out." The figure's footsteps stopped cold. There was the sound of ruffling fabric: the stranger pocketing away a soundstone. Then all was silent.
Pilate bit his lip. Feeling forward, he grasped the edge of a granite pillar. Red lines stirred, and he felt dizzy from struggling to ignore it all.
"You truly expect to get far?" The voice crackled behind the zebra, startling him through to his bones. "If the changelings don't feast on your flesh, my brothers and I surely will."
Pilate gritted his teeth, sweating profusely.
Red lines stirred, becoming larger and more concentrated. Pilate was confused, but then he heard the footsteps shuffling closer, and he knew that the Lounge member was approaching him icily.
"And then, there's the storm. Whatever empowers this blasted city, it will grab you and throw you towards a violent and pulpy death. If you ask me, I'd say your stripes would surve a much better purpose upholstering Razzar's command chair."
Pilate tilted his head to the side. The lines pivoted along with him. He saw what appeared to be clumps of loose rock and debris. Stealthily, he slid a hoof towards one of the objects—
Kapow! Pilate felt the heat of an energy blast, followed by the tiny piece of granite floor exploding right in front of him.
He stumbled back with a grunt, waving his aching, burnt hoof.
Red lines stirred. Pilate heard the sound of a manarifle cocking. "No, sir. I'm sorry, but you do not get to perform that trick on me twice."
"What..." Pilate seethed, feeling weighed down by the metal helm on his skull. "Wh-what have you done to me...?"
"Consider it a gift," the figure said. Red lines stretched out from a center cluster of circles—the sign of the stranger holding his arms out. "You should be quite thankful, actually. When I found you, I was amazed to discover the state of your eyes. To think that such soft and docile creatures as ponies would keep an anomaly like you alive. It's a pity, really. All your life, living as such a weak and disabled liability. They should have done you the favor of slitting your throat as a hatchling."
"For your information, I didn't come from an egg." Pilate frowned, turning to face him, only slightly intrigued by the ease in which he did so. "And when I was born, I could see perfectly normal."
"Oh, well that's just splendid." There was the sound of a managun being holstered.
Pilate's brow furrowed from beneath the helm. "Why's that?"
"Because that'll make this more of a challenge to me." The figure shuffled closer towards him. "You see, naga are natural born hunters..."
The zebra's muzzle hung open. "Naga...?"
"And as an engineer as well as a warrior, I couldn't see myself enjoying my natural born instinct if I hadn't done something to even the playing field."
"What... wh-what does that even mean?"
"Quite simply..." Schiinkt! Something long and curved slid out of the figure's crimson grasp. "...you might wish to start defending yourself now." He grunted and lunged forward.
The air whistled with cold, serrated metal.
Pilate didn't need to hear it. He saw it. With a gasp, he ducked low and dove to the side. Sparks showered down across his figure as he scampered back onto his hooves.
With another growl, the figure lunged again, stabbing at the zebra with full force.