//------------------------------// // Chapter Nine - Conflictations (Part 2) // Story: Starbrought // by Ethereal Cerberus //------------------------------// Starbrought “Drake, if I ever get out of wherever the fuck this is, I’m going to lock you in the reactor and turn you into organic fuel.” Yuri’s plan to escape from the griffon complex was not going well. Ever since he had departed from his janitorial closet in an attempt to find a way out, the only thing he had found were four more janitorial closets, a random pit that seemed to drop into the planet’s core, several sealed doors that were marked with signs similar to quarantine symbols, and a rather-empty guard post. After what felt like hours of walking, he had found himself at a four-way junction with three other important-looking passages breaking off into different directions. He stopped for a moment and leaned up against the wall to take a short break. It amazed him that his legs still ached from the crash. One quick break later, Yuri slowly made his way to the middle of the junction to ensure that no one was hiding in an attempt to capture him. Nothing was there, which was quickly becoming the norm the further he progressed. He had not seen any signs of life since his first encounter with the griffins, and that was doing nothing to relax his already-tense nerves. Each one of the passages seemed to go a different way. The one directly in front of him seemed to descend into the unknown, and probable death. He instantly crossed that one off his list after deducing that he was in some type of cave system, and going further down would be the complete opposite of where he needed to go. He turned to the passage on the right and stared at it intensely. It slowly curved to the left and out of sight, which was a improvement from the other one, but still not the one that he was looking for. Turning to his right once more, a smile broke out on his worn face. “Bingo. Where have you been all my life?” This passage went straight for a little bit, before turning into a pair of stairs that ascended at a sharp degree. Yuri slowly entered the passage with a great deal of caution. Even if this was going up the way he needed to go, he still had no idea where to go from wherever this passage took him. After all, this could have all been a massive trap to lead him into a situation where he could be killed or captured, and the lack of guards somewhat pointed towards some scheming by his griffin opponents. He arrived at the base of the stairs and looked up, still crouching to avoid being seen. Sure enough, the steps went up for quite some time before leveling out into a unknown area. Small lights embedded in the wall illuminated the passage up. At the very top of the stairs, a light shined brilliantly. Yuri turned to his left and discovered a small sign on the entrance of the passage. The letters were made of a shiny, untarnished metal of some kind. “What the hell is this supposed to mean?” he muttered under his breath. His mind began to wander in thought. ‘I know it’s a sign of some sort, but it’s not holographic and whatever language it’s in isn’t in my translator. I’m definitely in the boonies here. We could have warped into the Void regions. No, that would be impossible giving what the navicomputer said… Damn it, Drake; none of this would have happened if you hadn’t gotten kidnapped. For the fourth time. To be fair, I suppose I kinda got kidnapped too.’ Yuri slowly continued creeping up the stairs with the utmost of caution, not wanting to take any chances when he was fairly close to getting out, or at least moving along with his plan. As he neared the top of the stairs, he heard what sounded like talking coming from an unknown location. Yuri stopped in his tracks and laid down, using the stairs as cover to mask his presence, though not a very good one. He hid for over a minute in his semi-cover without moving or emitting any noise. Sure enough, someone or something was talking up a storm above him. ‘I can understand bits and pieces of what they’re saying. Something about a Lockdown… Well, at least I now know that they’re still looking for me. If I’m this close to them, then I must have escaped the Lockdown somehow. Shit, that means I can’t go back down to where I was hiding. However, I need to know what these things are saying.’  Yuri slowly moved up the stairs with a great deal of caution. He stopped every two steps or so to ensure that nothing was going to sneak up on him. “Are you sure that no guards need to be posted at your location, Colonel?” a grainy voice spoke in concern. Yuri’s brows furrowed. The voice almost sounded distant, somehow. Perhaps it was being emitted from a crystal similar to the one he had? “I am quite sure, Marshall,” a much-closer and younger voice stated. There was no doubt in Yuri’s mind now that he was listening to another comm transmission. “We’re well away from the Lockdown zone, so it would be near impossible for it to arrive here without going through several blast doors and dozens of guards. We will be quite fine here, sir.” “I admire your confidence, but don’t get cocky. This isn’t a normal creature we’re dealing with; not even by our standards. None of our scouting parties have even seen a glimpse of it. Hell, the only ones who have seen it besides the squad it nearly killed are those two doctors, and they’re currently scared out of their minds.” ‘No one has seen me? Heh, guess I’ve managed to slip through their Lockdown somehow. Lucky me. However, it’s going to be near impossible to slip by them now.’ “No one has seen it since? That’s worrying, sir.” “Yeah, tell me about it. I’d love to chat some more, Colonel; but I’m about to enter a meeting with the senior base personnel about this very issue. Contact me if you see anything out of the ordinary. Cobalt out.” “Yes sir.” The faint hum of a crystal powering done echoed down the staircase. ‘I need to get to that meeting somehow, and I need to come up with a plan fast since my old one no longer works. I could always do something incredibly stupid and just walk into the room, however I have no idea how they will react, or who’s even up there. Gah, why can’t things be simple?! I need to get a view of them before I do anything.’ After a number of minutes had passed, Yuri slowly moved up from his spot until he was just below the final step. He looked back once to make sure that no one was coming, and then carefully poked his head above the stairs. The room was in the shape of a circle, with another passage leading up to an unknown location directly opposite from him. Its high ceilings lead into a dome, with another artificial light at the very top mimicking sunlight. There was a console in the middle of the room, and it seemed to be the centerpiece of the gilded room. Two griffins stood around the console, and there was absolutely no soldiers in sight that posed a threat. From what Yuri could tell with his basic knowledge and guessing, the two griffins standing there were fairly old, and their markings pointed to at least one of them being an officer, besides the already stated Colonel. Yuri ducked down again and began to scheme. ‘I can easily take them by surprise, but I need to do it very carefully. If I fuck up here, I’m going to have no option but to try and fight my way out, and that is going to get really, really messy.’ Yuri breathed in a single, deep breath and slowly stood himself up. He silently drew his blade and removed it from its scabbard, its steel gleaming in the light. Yuri was about to take a step forward, when out of nowhere the voice of one of his Imperial instructors echoed from the depths of his mind. “‘Private Lawrence, if I see you walking flat-footed during another stealth drill, I’ll have you doing jumping jacks out the airlock!”’ Just as quickly, it left, and Yuri gently rolled his foot down on the floor. Yuri let out a small breath; that time in his life was the root of all evil he had committed, but it was also the basin for everything he knew. And so, rolling each step and making sure he wasn’t heard, Yuri crept silently up the rest of the stairs. Not a single noise was emitted as he slowly entered the room. The two griffins showed no signs of knowing his presence, either. They were busy looking at a manual of some kind, and he could now clearly see the shining blue crystal that was embedded into the console. The younger of the two made a movement that hinted of turning away, and that is when Yuri struck. Yuri blitzed across the room, and struck without mercy. He turned his sword and slammed the butt of the weapon into the younger griffin’s temple, knocking him out instantly. As he slumped over the console, he turned the sword and positioned it inches from the Colonel's neck. “Don’t say a word. Don’t cry out or I will kill your friend right here.” Yuri pointed his gloved hand at the knocked out griffin and powered it up, a sick orange glow cast upon the griffin’s back. “Blink two times if you understand this.” The griffin hesitantly blinked twice. Yuri noticed that the griffin seemed to be trying to reach the crystal and call for help. “Good, we have a understanding. Now, if you try to activate that crystal of yours, I will make sure that talon of yours becomes rather useless very fast.” The griffin stopped trying to reach for the crystal, his breath coming in nervous intervals.  “I have some very simple questions I want you to answer.” “I’m not going to answer anything you have to say, you br—” Yuri put the blade on the griffin’s neck. The griffin had been trying to back away, but Yuri had trapped him in a position where he could not move back at all without falling over. “Yes, you are. Otherwise, I’m just going to knock you out and wait for your friend over there to wake up.” “I will not tell you anything! For the honor of my family and the Dominion, I will not tell you anything that will threaten the lives of our species! Kill me if you must!” The griffin huffed and stood a little bit prouder, knowing that if he did die, he would die with honor. Yuri moved the sword an inch away from the griffin’s neck, a smile on his face. “How very honourable of you. Normally I would just kill you here and now for saying something like that to me, but I know you have good intentions, right? Which is why I find this very funny. Do you know why I find this very funny?” He paused for a moment, but the griffin kept his silence. “Cat got your tongue? Alright, then answer this: you claim that you won’t answer my simple questions because you wish to protect your people, correct?” “Yes.” “What if I were to tell you that there is a bomb currently resting unprotected in the middle of the desert near your capital?” “Hmmph.” The Colonel’s eyes had widened for a fraction of a second, before the possible implications were visibly crushed by a mask of stoic resistance. “I would call you a complete and utter brute, and potentially a liar.” “That’s rather bold for someone with a sword to their neck. But let’s get back to the topic at hand, shall we? There is indeed a bomb lying in the middle of the desert by your capital, and if someone messes with it and it goes off—or if enough time passes—a city size crater is going to appear. And when it does, it’ll render that entire area and anything downwind of it completely uninhabitable.” “You’re lying!” “I’m not. And I’m also the only one possibly on this planet that can prevent that. So, the longer you and your people keep me here, the more people you put in danger. Now, you’re a griffin of honour right? “Yes, bu—” “Then it is your duty to protect your people. And for that to happen, you need to answer my simple, easy questions.” Yuri smirked as he removed the sword from his captive’s neck, the griffin visibly confused at what he had just heard. Yuri walked around and made sure the other griffin was still breathing, which he was. “Are you ready to answer my questions?” the Colonel still had a very confused look on his beak, and Yuri knew it was the time to ask. “What is the easiest way to get in contact with the commander of this base?” “That… That would be by using the P.R.I.C.K here.” He pointed his talon at the crystal embedded into the table. “Y-you could also—” “Thank you very much,” Yuri interrupted. “Now, this is what is going to happen: you’re going to call them on that crystal, and then you are going to walk down those stairs with your friend and get very far from here. Do you understand me?” the griffon nodded, before reaching over and touching the bottom of the crystal with his talon. A dim whiteness cloaked its exterior. “Operator here: who are you requesting communications with?” The Colonel swallowed as he watched Yuri’s neutral gaze out of the corner of his eyes. He cleared his throat lightly. “Set up a relay with Marshall Cobalt, if you can, miss.” “I’m sorry, Colonel, but he is currently in a high-priority meeting and has requested not to be interrupted unless it is a serious matter—” “Operator. I assure you that the relay I need to set up is to allow a very serious matter to come to his attention, and the other personnel he is meeting with.” The seriousness in his tone caused the female griffon on the other side to relent. “I see. Very well, sir; patching you through now.” The crystal glowed a soft blue, before emitting a odd tone. Being wordlessly dismissed, the Colonel grabbed his friend. And laying him on his back and beginning to walk down the stairs, the two steadily vanished from sight. ‘I hope that wasn’t just guard-speak for calling the guards here. There is no way it was that simple. Well, what’s done is done; might as well try and finish this fast.’ Starbrought The atmosphere of the Elder’s tent reeked of despair and dread. Slayer’s nose scrunched up at the smell in repugnant indignation, before the air filters kicked in and cleansed the stench. It was probably urine belonging to the Elders, he mused to himself. The first legs of the desert night coexisted with the shadows already present in the tent, and no movement indicated any signs of life in the structure. Yet despite Slayer not immediately acclimating to the shift in visibility, he could still clearly see the faint glow of eyes hovering across the way. Deciding that waiting for his own natural night-vision to kick in would take far too long, Slayer gave a quick, wordless tap against his helm. The visor hummed for a short second, before the setting before him changed. What little light that was palpable in the space was quickly interpreted and amplified by the visor, lighting the innards of the tent through the usual black-and-white format of a low-light filter. The Elders were definitely still hostages, and definitely still alive; of that there was no doubt. Spears, wielded by a small group of Alphas (no doubt Lucien's honour guard, Slayer thought), were leveled to each of their throats. Their forms were gagged, blindfolded, and then even hogtied for good measure in an almost orderly line before Slayer, as if awaiting execution. ‘Both a pity and a relief they live still,’ Slayer scoffed to himself. ‘Considering how their condition is the only factor that’s staying my blade.’ Frightened murmurs softly left the aging Zebras as they heard Slayer enter, his metallic boots harshly announcing his arrival against the weathered sandstone. Lucien, in the farthest opposite corner of the opening flaps, sat in a chair dead-center that certainly hadn't been there during Slayer's previous visit. It took a moment for Slayer to realize what precisely Lucien was sitting on: a pantomime of a throne, a horrible machination forged most likely of the bones and skulls of the Alpha's victims. Slayer thought he even saw some belonging to Dogs themselves, but there was realistically no way of telling. Slayer would have commended Lucien’s display of his previous exploits in such a creative manner, if he didn’t have the premeditated intentions of adding the Dog and his cohorts to the piece. A small, whelp of a mutt emerged from behind Lucien, anxiously massaging its claws as it spoke in a tittering, obnoxious whine that sounded like the high-pitched wailing of a malfunctioning drone. Several seconds later, the Dog stopped. Slayer blinked behind his visor, a mixture of confusion and irritation arising on his face; he didn’t catch a whiff of what was just said. The translator came back with similar results. ‘Can these Dogs not communicate due to a language barrier? If so, that could explain some things.’ Almost cautiously, the Dog tried again; this time in a terribly-accented and broken Swahili. “You speak striped-pony?” Slayer nodded, but his thoughts betrayed him. ‘So, they don’t even have that as a flimsy excuse. Without a language barrier to hide behind, they knew damn well what they were doing.’ As his thoughts turn to violent means to temporarily satisfy his growing urge to start fighting, Slayer continued staring down the small, diminutive creature that had spoken. It was hardly taller than any of the other Zebras, and it constantly adjusted and fidgeted under the scrutiny of Slayer’s glare as if it was suffering from nervous muscle spasms. Speaking of said mutt, it began speaking again (or rather attempted to speak again), but the words comprehensible to the bounty hunter were few and far between. Judging from what he could understand, the beast kept switching between the Zebra’s language of Swahili and its own; probably more out of habit than a try to spark Slayer’s ire. The disjointed grammar and mispronunciations that the translator tried its best to work with made Slayer hope he didn’t sound near as idiotic in comparison whenever he opened his mouth. After it finished, Slayer frowned. While the long-winded drivel just thrown at him was hardly complete and structured, he did catch the name ‘Lucien’ tossed about a few instances. Perhaps the dog had introduced Lucien to him? If that was the case, why didn’t Lucien grace Slayer’s ears with an equally-bastardized attempt at communication instead of the runt? At this point, Slayer figured he could care less; if Lucien wished to hide behind that mutt and whatever role it had, then fine. Still, an introduction was an introduction. Raising his own fist to his chest, Slayer ran laps in terms of fluency around the small Diamond Dog. “I am Slayer. Warrior of my tribe from the stars.” An idea came to list off some of his exploits and titles, but again like with the Elders, thought better of it. It wasn’t as if they would understand the value of those accolades, Slayer mused. His hand fell away with a grin. “I hope you’re satisfied, because that will be the last time you ever hear my name again.” The muzzle of the hound exposed a nervous smile as Slayer’s words triggered a cascade of anxious twitches. Lucien looked unimpressed, leaning on his paw with apparent disinterest. There was a band of dirty gauze wrapped around his wounded eye, marred red from the barely-stemmed injury. It took a moment for Slayer to notice the battered ornate chestplate now adorning his midsection. ‘Lucien had definitely been expecting me...’ Slayer’s attention returned to the smaller Dog whispering in its own tongue to its Alpha. Upon a critical stare and analysis, the pathetic sapient reminded Slayer of a shih tzu. A few moments passed, before Lucien straightened up and stared at the pirate tensely. He murmured something unintelligible, a polar-opposite of the runt’s previous whine though still as incomprehensible, and that’s when Slayer couldn’t stop the soft groan from leaving his lips. Lucien couldn’t speak Swahili. Fucking. Figures. Slayer watched the twitching mutt in bemusement, whose role was most likely nothing beyond a translator. “Uh... Lord Alpha welcome you! He impress with last fight. Would congratulate you.” The assassin rose a brow at Lucien; the canine didn’t look too welcoming for such groveling, unorganized statements. “Lord Alpha want to know why you help striped-ponies instead of tough, good Dogs.” A shrug left the soldier as he took in the surrounding units: discounting the translator, there were five guards—all Alphas—along with Lucien. Not the best odds, though definitely not the worst he’s faced, Slayer thought. “I’ll give you two. One, you are all slavers. Pathetic, weak, and spineless; you cannot inspire others, so you must force them to your service. Hostages to meet ends is one thing, permanently removing one’s freedom is another. And there are few beings I despise more than slavers.” Slayer ignored the sweat now rolling down the translator’s face. “And two, I helped the Zebras because they didn’t try to foolishly kill me. One of your pack of Diamond Dogs did.” Slayer, cracking his knuckles slowly and deliberately, caused all of the others in the tent to flinch, even Lucien himself. “As you can expect, I succeeded where they failed.” More whispering was directed towards Lucien. A pondering expression, if one could call it that, appeared on the Alpha’s face for a moment. Interestingly enough, he didn’t seem to care about the fate of those random Dogs back when Slayer was attacked by the cave. Perhaps they were two separate packs, and weren’t affiliated? It made little difference in the end, Slayer supposed; both groups thought it wise to stand between Slayer and his goals, so both groups would die. It was the way things worked for people, beasts, drones, or anything else that crossed Slayer. Lucien growled something to his cohort, and leaned back casually. The translator blinked stupidly, and made to respond before Lucien cut him off with a fierce snarl. Slayer watched the Dog shy away. “Uh... Lord Alpha sorry. Would like alliance with metal you.” Several seconds passed in silence as Slayer examined what was just said. He examined it once, twice, three times, four; he began losing count. Did the Dogs really just...? After everything that had transpired over the past hours, and after all the shit they pulled, the Diamond Dogs wanted to call a truce? The assassin couldn’t help it. He cocked his head away from the Dogs, and began laughing his ass off. Dogs and Elders alike gave another flinch at the boisterous, maniacally-rough roar that could be called Slayer’s laughter. The translator belonging to Lucien uneasily transferred his weight from one paw to another, giving another nervous smile as he gave a small laugh of his own. Abruptly, Slayer stopped laughing and snapped his head back towards Lucien. The expression worn on the Alpha’s face could be described in one word: disturbed. “Interesting proposal. Say I am interested. What will you offer that the Zebras cannot?” The shih tzu balked at the response, most likely due to Slayer having only denounced them a few minutes prior, but growled to his master nonetheless. Lucien shared a similar look of shock, before motioning towards Slayer in an unsure gesture. In all of his time in space, Slayer did not think he could have been luckier. He got to decide terms and make even more money? That was just lovely. Lovely, but stupid, on the Dog’s parts. Slayer’s eyes trailed down to the raspy, heavy breathing of the Elders below him as he pondered what to ask for. They had obviously heard he was open ears, and were now fearing for their lives much more than they were some seconds prior. Slayer hummed softly to himself. ‘This could be beneficial.’ Don’t get Slayer wrong: he hated the mutts, with a passion. But the Dogs were definitely the better warriors, and no doubt had a hoard of gold that he could sap. Their digging could even be used to keep a tab on Drake and become formidable assets later on. The marauder gave another shrug. “I want five things if I do.” The translator eagerly waved Slayer on to continue. “I want a secure route to the capital of Equestria, at least three Dogs to become my personal spies, a large sum of gold, supplies, and...” He decided to appeal to the Dog’s lifestyle. “For the Zebra prince to be put under my jurisdiction, and to become my own slave.” A growl sounded out from one of the equine bodies, and Slayer imagined it was probably Elder Imamu thinking spiteful words about him. Obviously, Slayer wasn’t going to actually make Shamon a slave, but he didn’t want any suspicion for asking to have the prince. He still needed a guide he could believe wouldn’t stab him in the back straight-off, after all. Grinning heartily, the runt related Slayer’s demands to his Alpha. Lucien scrunched up his brows in apparent confusion and thought—why would the metal thing want a slave if it hated slavers?—but grudgingly nodded with a grunt. The corner of Slayer’s mouth quirked up in interest. Too easy. “Lord Alpha accept terms. On one condition.” The assassin didn’t hesitate. He had a fair idea what the beast wanted. “Oh? And what condition is that?” Another round of growling to one another. It went back-and-forth for a time, giving Slayer an opportunity to think about what he was now riskily planning. Selling out the Zebras after everything they had done and were going to do for him, for beasts that were clearly untrustworthy and went against many of Slayer’s moral codes? In frankness, he— Slayer’s musing was cut off as a simple phrase entered the air. “Lord Alpha want you to kill striped-ponies as proof.” Once more, without hesitation, Slayer drew one of his pistols and twirled it about artistically before he leveled it at the first shuddering Zebra he saw. The bounty hunter imagined that they were whispering prayers through their binds; for once, the thought left Slayer feeling queasy. But business was business, was it not? Lucien had a twisted, malicious grin on his ugly mug as he watched as Slayer started to wrap his trigger-finger around the demise of the Elders. He paused. “How much?” The runt of a translator looked confused at the random question. “What?” Slayer’s eyebrows scrunched up in irritation. “My gold. How much?” Words were exchanged in guttural growls, all the while Slayer patiently waited. Eventually, an answer was arranged. “Lord Alpha give three striped-pony carts worth gold. Lord Alpha even give gems. Very valuable.” Slayer nodded; the gold was probably stolen from the Zebras. It was a good deal, all in all. A hell of a good deal. The outcome would be far more of a material victory for the assassin, the Dogs would be effective scouts in his search of Drake through their ability to burrow, and he would even be able to retain Shamon as a gu— Shamon. The name froze Slayer’s thinking; a response he hadn’t expected. But why exactly was it that merely thinking of the prince’s name now prevented him from pulling the trigger? Suddenly, Shamon’s voice echoed in Slayer’s head. “‘...You had saved both my life, as well as that of my kin’s at the risk of your own. You asked for no reward, and had no hidden intention. So, yes; I trust you...’” Trust. Slayer’s eyes widened, and his aim dropped a fraction of an inch. Shamon... a young man thrusted into the position of a king, innocence not yet wrested away from him, but instead his father; a father he had lost to the very beings Slayer was willing to turn to, at the drop of a hat. Shamon, despite having ample reason to denounce and loathe Slayer for threatening the Elders before, didn’t. He even saved Slayer’s life, though the hunter would never admit to that. Another fraction of an inch, his aim fell. Lucien’s mad grin fell with it, just a centimeter. But Slayer’s focus wasn’t on the Alpha, or the quivering masses of fur below him, or anything else. His eyes were looking into the past itself, to all the declarations and sworn oaths and vows and promises that Slayer made not only to himself, but to his people, that he’d uphold their beliefs. Including fighting against injustice. Injustice. Aiding slavers, even after Slayer risked the one shot at recovering Drake to protect their victims against slavery? The hypocrisy of such actions was causing Slayer’s hand to shake. Shamon had forgiven him, forgiven his transgressions, and stood alongside Slayer still. And here the bounty hunter was, ready to put a bolt through the Elder’s skull. Was Slayer any better than the Diamond Dogs by doing this? Had everything that Slayer had done and swore by under the promise of freedom and honour meant nothing now? Did any of that still matter though? The question put another hold on Slayer’s thoughts. Killing the Elders would be a blatant sin in the eyes of his people, sure; but did he really have another choice? Slayer couldn’t rely on guides to get him to Drake that could barely defend themselves. And after saving their lives twice, there was no signs of reward for the obvious good deeds he had done. Why should he care about the fate of the Zebras, so long as his own survival succeeded? Survival. Slayer’s lips tightened, and his aim was realigned to its former height. That’s right. His survival was paramount. Absolutely nothing came above that; nothing. Not the Diamond Dogs, not the Zebras, not Shamon, or Yuri, or Drake, or the rest of the Cerberus Pirate armada. Slayer, and the extinct traditions and beliefs of his people, was first and foremost in his mind. Always. ... It greatly surprised Lucien and his whelp when suddenly, Slayer unloaded five lightning-fast shots from his Sabre without hardly moving his body. The assassin glanced up from the smouldering corpses at his feet, and smirked. “No deal.” Like a parrot, the translator repeated himself, though in a more obnoxious tone of disbelief at the five now-dead Alphas lying on the sandstone. “What?!” Lucien did not look amused, or all that pleased. Was there a glimmer of fear in his one undamaged eye? Slayer liked to think so. “Did you honestly think I would betray the Zebras, who would just become slaves to you if I abandoned them, when my first contact with your kind was them attacking me?” Slayer jeered. “Please.” The condescending tint in his voice gave way to something more sinister. “Don’t make me laugh.” Harsh exhales left the Elders in relief, which only amplified Slayer’s resolve and words. “I believe I will get a far better deal if I just gut you and take all of your gold, and then help the Zebras skin the rest of your pack.” As if he had a tick, Slayer shrugged his shoulders yet again. “Nothing personal. Well, not entirely.” His grin intensified as he pointed his blaster towards Lucien’s face. “Word of advice: duck.” Lucien swiftly ejected himself out of his throne just in time for a large bolt of fire to knock the crude chair over and splinter several of the bones. With a growl, the Alpha launched himself at Slayer with claws drawn, ignoring the stabbing pain of his damaged heel. The assassin stood motionless and waited. When the time was right, he quickly brought his foot up and thrusted it outward. The boot that collided with Lucien’s face was painful, to say the least. Slayer got some satisfaction from the sensation of the beast’s jaw cracking underfoot as the force of the retaliation sent the Alpha sprawling from the blow. Calmly, Slayer holstered his Sabre and drew his katana once more. ‘I’m going to enjoy this...’ “Let’s cut another deal, shall we?” Slayer began, lazily transitioning his sword from one hand to the other with a sneer. A faint trickle of blood ran down from Lucien’s nose. The sight added a delicious tingle to Slayer’s hands. “How about you release all of your slaves, give me the gold, and swear an oath that you will not antagonize the Zebras ever again? In exchange, I won’t murder your entire pack. How does that sound?” Slayer’s alternate demands were actually relayed (which definitely surprised him), and Lucien stared incredulously at the assassin. Such gall was never encountered before in the Alpha’s life. This metal-clad striped-pony lover was insane, a bloodlusted killer more savage than any Diamond Dog in history. Lucien decisively shook his head. The mewling translator voiced the message with less resolve. “No deal.” For the last time that day, Slayer gave a shrug. “As you wish. That was your final out, though.” With finality, Slayer lowered himself into a stance, and almost laughed at the Elders wiggling their way out of the inevitable combat zone. Lucien seemed ready to obtain his club once more, before he glanced at the unmoving form of Slayer. With an almost respectful nod, Lucien moved away from his weapon, and readied his claws. For what seemed like years, both participants in the coming battle stood unwavering and frozen in time. Slayer recognized this to be the calm before the storm; a grace period of a one-on-one duel before the limbs began to fly. As much as Slayer despised the Dogs and their slavery-centered ways, he still knew that Lucien and the Alphas were worthy opponents to his skill; the first treasure hoard of valuable combatants he had seen in a long time. So Slayer met his nod, and like that time resumed its natural course, and Lucien lunged with fangs bared. The beast never even saw Slayer move. With warfare now a definite, Slayer did not hold back in his light-source. With great, eye-searing clarity, alabaster light consumed Lucien’s vision as Slayer’s two shoulder-mounted floodlights blinded him. The Alpha didn’t know what he hit upon impact, but it certainly wasn’t the bounty hunter. A searing pain arising from his right alerted him to Slayer’s new position. A roar exited Lucien as he swung blindly, the night-vision advantage granted from before gone in an instant. Slayer nimbly dodged the predictable attacks, unloading swipes and slashes of his own with stern accuracy as blood began coating Lucien’s hide. The bites from Slayer’s katana held no remorse. The ground was going to taste the crimson wrath of Slayer unleashing his fury into the body that was Lucien. Slayer was going to make Lucien regret ever trying to kill him. Slayer was going to make Lucien regret ever fucking with the assassin’s current associates. ‘Now this is a situation more to my liking,’ Slayer mused during a particularly violent stab of his blade into Lucien’s thigh. With the cones of light rendering Lucien’s one good eye useless, Slayer had near free-reign to casually hack off whichever hunks of flesh and fur he didn’t like on the Alpha’s raging soon-to-be carcass. He even shut off his low-light filter so he could fully appreciate the sight he was participating in. Slayer’s cockiness was not cockiness, either; anyone could have watched five seconds of the battle, and predict the outcome even if the conflict lasted ten minutes. Slayer was waiting for it. Why Lucien hadn’t dug underground yet for a reprieve and a counter attack was unknown to Slayer, but he didn’t care. His rational, cold, calculating personality was fading away, the elation of ending one really big thorn in his side overriding the little, if any, morality left in the assassin. It might had perturbed Slayer if he had been aware of the dramatic shift. He had nearly betrayed the customs of his people which was his entire justification, after all. Abruptly, Lucien darted away and haphazardly dug into the sandstone. It gave like butter, offering little resistance as Lucien tore through it with horror clear in his movements. One second, Slayer was watching the Dog’s hairy ass sticking out of the hole he was developing, the next was just a small chasm in his wake. Setting his stance wide and focusing on the sensations in his feet, Slayer began taunting in a twisted tone. “Don’t run from me, Lucien! You pithy coward—!” Springing to the side, Slayer dodged the breaching form of Lucien rocketing out of the earth and swung the pommel of his sword into the Alpha’s armored back. “Welcome back!” A feral growl escaped the Dog’s throat as he stumbled to make some distance from Slayer. Dirt coagulated in open wounds, most likely infecting them and ensuring Lucien’s death even if he somehow survived the encounter. Madness was threatening to overcome Lucien. The maniacal rumble of a low laugh leaving the marauder was only making it worse. Slayer had no more words to voice. What remained was a satanic fire that would only be quelled by the end of Lucien’s existence. The realization of this fact was what finally drove Lucien over the edge. Wounds meant nothing to him now. Slayer’s blinding light meant nothing to him now. The siege of Nazar meant nothing to him now. He was going to die, of this there was no doubt. But he was going to bring that damned, faceless thing with him. Another roar, somehow ever more vicious, left Lucien as he dashed with renewed vigor. Slayer was expecting a second wind to possibly arrive, but such a powerful gale was unanticipated. Claws raked his body as Slayer compensated for this new tactic. This was an entirely new dimension of aggression, far more deadly and worse than any previous encounter with the Diamond Dogs. Lucien truly earned his place in commanding the den within the Zebra’s lands, it seemed. Quickly side-stepping out of the way of yet another venomous burst forward from the Alpha, Slayer went to swiftly decapitate the Dog and end the fight before things got bad. Too late. A righteous backhand from the enraged Lucien sent Slayer’s blade skittering out of his grasp for the second time in the span of a few hours. Were he not in the very midst of a life-threatening struggle, Slayer would have lamented how shitty his grip had been that day. This time, however, Slayer recalled his Sabres much quicker than the previous brawl, and drew them with surprising speed. Lucien was undeterred, and ducked under two bolts that flew over his head and burnt clean holes through the linen of the tent. The faint cacophony of battle could be heard outside; the Zebras had regrouped, and the Dogs had followed from the sound of it. Lucien dug his claws into the back of Slayer’s calves from his quadruped stance, the armour barely keeping the finger-mounted blades from slicing Slayer’s feet off. With a heave and a tug, down Slayer went. For Slayer, his world decided to shift by a solid ninety-degrees. His armoured back crashed against the ground, and once more Lucien was upon him with maw snapping and claws slashing. This experience was far more terrifying to him than the last. Lucien’s eye was not natural; almost glowing of its own volution in the Elder’s tent. Driving an elbow into the now-most-definitely-broken jaw of Lucien, Slayer tried to get a bead so he could fire his Sabres. But the thrashing mass of the Alpha recognized the danger of the pistols in his maddened state, and clamped down on Slayer’s forearm while digging into the other, pinning him by the wrists before a shot could be unloaded. Slayer’s still-active flashlight illuminated the disheveled, insane grin on Lucien’s irreparable jaw. As Slayer was preparing to slam his shielded head into Lucien’s nose to loosen his grip and singe the hair off of Lucien’s form, a familiar voice shouted out in a warcry. No more than a moment later, the figure of Shamon flew through the opening of the tent and slammed hooves-first into the ribs of the Alpha. The beast rolled away with a heaving grunt, and the prince stood over Slayer with eyes alight. Shamon spared a glance down at the assassin, and positioned his forehoof so the flashlights didn’t blind him as well. “Slayer,” he grunted, trying his best to give a cocky grin. “It appears I’ve recovered in the nick of time.” Slayer’s eyes flicked towards Shamon’s hind leg; it was wrapped in gauze, a faint stain showing the location of the wound. Stable, but definitely in no condition to be fighting. Shamon shifting his weight showed how painful the injury still was. Still, seeing the Zebra not in a catatonic state was relieving to Slayer. The quip was about to be answered in a similar manner by the bounty hunter, before Lucien came flying right back. Shamon didn’t seem to have his staff readily available, but made due with his hooves as he jutted them out to meet Lucien’s jaw. But Slayer had already performed that trick, and the old dog learnt it quickly. Taking only a millisecond to limbo under the attack without ceasing his surge, Lucien seized Shamon by the underbelly, and off they went into the ground a short distance away. Sounds of struggling rose Slayer from his shocked state as he flipped himself over. Trying to stand though seemed nigh-impossible. He was confused. What happened? Slayer’s adrenaline was still running rampant in his core, and he felt no damages on his person— In an instant, the pain came. Text prompts appeared in Slayer’s vision as he writhed in sudden agony. “Warning. Critical injury sustained. Location: left arm. Damage dealt: broken ulna. Administering pain suppressants...” His arm was broken. Oh no. The prompts marched on. “Warning. Solaris Suit power level: critical. Recommended solution: recharge. T-minus three minutes to full-system shutdown for recovery.” Now was most certainly not the time for this, Slayer had snarled in his mind as he attempted to stand again. The audio of wrestling came to an abrupt end, and Slayer’s eyes darted over. Lucien had Shamon by the throat, heaving him off the ground by a solid ten feet. Thankfully, the claws were around his esophagus rather than through it. The beast seemed to be gloating, gurgled syllables vowing hatred and insanity in every grunt. He had forgotten about Slayer, for the moment. And Shamon’s movements were gradually slowing. That was it. He had enough.  Slayer, throughout his entire life, had assassinated several Rear-Admirals across all three factions, changed the political courses of sectors for decades to come, and made the galaxies’ most dangerous bounties his goddamn bitch. This was not shit he had to sit through, dammit. He was not about to be bested by a sapient, doltish, overgrown, walking fleabitten excuse of a carpet! With a shaky exhale of breath, Slayer planted his good arm under him and barely stood, teetering on the verge of collapse. He didn’t have enough time to grab his katana, and the assassin could only hold one of his Sabres. Slayer attempted to raise his pistol, but his strength and resolve was already dwindling despite the newfound spirit. Down he went once more, but this time he stopped himself and only fell to one knee. The sound went ignored by Lucien as he continued to suffocate Shamon. The Sabre clattered to the ground silently into the sand below him. He couldn’t do this. He was too exhausted, the pain suppressants were barely working, and already he could feel the sensation of unconsciousness encroaching in his mind. Slayer knew that the Solaris Suit would soon shutdown, and Shamon would be dead... Another innocent fallen prey to him trying to help. Another failure. Something wet slid down his face. But it was not a tear, for its origin was not his eye. A small video feed popped up upon Slayer’s request, and soon the assassin was staring at a reflection of himself in a small window on the edge of his visor. His eyes widened. Slayer saw a faint trickle of blood swerve around the corner of his left eye. It was a small, shallow cut. Barely enough for even a dollop of the crimson liquid to flow. But it was enough. As the singular drop rolled down Slayer’s forehead and made a brief deviation around his sight, a sudden violent energy surged through him. Slayer recognized this feeling instantly. There was many things that had made Slayer famous. One of those was that he seemed to have the uncanny ability to slip through the most impregnable defenses in the middle of the day—wearing his signature armour, no less—as he disposed of his target and escaped with the guards none the wiser. Another was his technological gadgets that rivaled the top-of-the-line gear in the black market. Just his solemn mask, conflicting beliefs, and mysterious identity along with his namesake got his infamy around in harsh whispers of the galaxy. One factor that contributed to this was something other bounty hunters had started nicknaming as “Desolation”: a state of malicious bloodlust that Slayer had only entered a select number of times, but became renowned for. Usually, he could only reach the physical boons that accompanied the psychological state of mind via... stimulants. But through sheer rage and the sight of his own blood, Slayer could tap into his feral, animalistic side of him with ease. It was an event that many people knew to stay very, very far away from. Lucien, unfortunately for him, did not know this. “Warning. Solaris Suit systems will commence shutdown in T-minus sixty seconds.” Slayer worked quickly. Once his Suit powered down, the weight distributors would lose their current and the actual weight of his armor would prevent Slayer from ever hoping to get off the ground in his condition. Slayer reached back down to grab his Sabre, before his fingers brushed something else. Eyes flashed down for a moment to examine the foreign item. It was a dagger; cruel and almost demonic in its form, small sigils pulsed ominously red in contact with Slayer’s lingering hand. Slayer didn’t know where the small knife came from, but all he knew was that it was going to be the means to an end. Lucien’s end. With a grunt, Slayer lifted the blade. It was balanced almost perfectly, the ideal size and heft for what he was about to do. Slayer ignored the prompt telling him that his floodlights had shut off to conserve power. That was not a concern; he knew exactly where the Alpha was. Slayer thought about discarding the strange dagger for his Sabre, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to aim in his state without using his still-broken arm to stabilize the shot. Slayer looked towards Shamon, and somehow even in the darkness their eyes met. A raspy choke left the prince. The sight of his expression, even in the assassin’s strained, natural night-vision was more than enough to fuel Slayer’s determination. Slayer pulled back his hand, and let the blade fly with a shout of pure, unadulterated aggression. Lucien couldn’t react in time before the dagger spun and sunk into the base of the Dog’s cranium, right where it connected to the spine. The beast crumpled instantly. Lucien, one of the ‘Great Five’, was no more. Satisfaction rocked Slayer’s system, as the momentum of the throw brought the assassin fully back to the ground. He was smart and aware enough to twist his body before impact to avoid making his arm worse. For a few moments, silence lingered. Slayer thought he had responded too late. But Shamon’s sputtering and attempts to gain breath brought another bout of relief. “Solaris Suit shutdown will commence in five... four... three...” Some seconds later, the Suit shut down, and Slayer vaguely felt the actual weight of his armour bearing down on him. It didn’t matter, though. He won. In one final, weak flourish during his last round of consciousness, Slayer feebly rose his undamaged hand, gave the middle finger to Lucien’s corpse, and promptly lost said consciousness, as Shamon rushed towards his form. Starbrought “Ah, Mr. Shields!” Captain Silver Flash exclaimed as she rushed to the alien’s side, dual blades promptly sheathing themselves for a brief moment amongst the ship-to-ship battle. “So good to see you finally getting into the thick of things.” “I apologise for being late, but I needed my effects.” With a smirk, Drake twirled his own sword about, its glow illuminating him and his surroundings, as well as repelling weary pirates from the Silent Rogue currently onboard. Being distracted by the human’s weapon made them a vulnerable target for Cadance’s guards and Silver’s crew to dispatch and create space for the brief reunion. “Better late than never,” Cadance quipped. A trio of pirates stalked towards her, but before any of her guards could neutralize them, a powerful pink shockwave from her horn sent them sprawling across the deck of the Serenade. “Do you know where Sergeant Armor is?” “Not in the battle, I’m guessing?” A quick glance at her shaking head caused him to snort. “Hmm. I suppose he’ll be back eventually.” Drake barely parried away a sword aimed for his sternum, a thin gash piercing his coat and his skin, before he slammed the pommel of his blade against his foe’s temple. The rather-large griffin fell into unconsciousness before it hit the floorboards. Drake merely grimaced at the sensation of his blood trickling from the small wound. “Could someone enlighten me as to who exactly is attacking us?” “A brutish pirate captain named Redhorn,” Silver responded. “He’s a Minotaur; big hulking beast, with a blood-red horn on his head. It seems that even after all of these years, he’s still coming after me.” “You know him?” Silver Flash gave a grim smile. “You could say that.” “Ah, old flame. Got it.” A pegasus dove toward Drake, and was met with the business end of the human’s boot for her troubles. Seeing Silver’s unamused expression, he shrugged. “Or maybe not?” “Definitely not. He’s been hunting me down ever since I left my piracy behind me.” A leering underling got too close, and suffered the consequences as Silver’s dual swords whipped about in a flurry and resheathed themselves. The bastard didn’t even have a chance to counter, Drake inferred. A sigh brought Drake out of his thought. “I should have killed him when I had the chance.” Drake grinned, and lowered his stance. “Then I suppose I should give you another opportunity to, eh?” Before Silver Flash could comment on what he said, Drake bounded forward into a sprint, swinging his energy-sword in wide, destructive arcs. With little regard nor pause in his slashing, he began carving a path through the Silent Rogue’s forces. Silver stared on in shock, along with Cadance and several others, before she recovered her senses. “Protect the alien! Guard him with your lives, my mates!” “Aye aye, Capt’n!” the pirates bellowed. Following Drake’s surge, the other crewmembers rushed to his defense, eliminating those not already struck down by the human’s saber. This reawoken passion in the Serenade’s forces proved fruitful, as abruptly the tide of battle shifted in favour of them. The Rogue’s invaders, unable to hold their positions any longer, began hastily withdrawing back onto their vessel. A toothy snarl appeared on Drake’s face. “Oh, you’re not getting away that easily!” With another battlecry, and with the Serenade’s company trailing behind fiercely, Drake leapt onto the opposing ship.   Silver Flash grinned at his initiative, and turned to Cadance. “Stay here, would you? I need to accompany Mr. Shields on the forefront of this battle.” The Princess merely nodded, surprise at the change of battle still marring her features. Silver addressed the remaining crew on her craft. “The rest of you lot! An extra ration of drink for every one of Redhorn’s bastards you keep off the Serenade!” Her declaration was met with excited cheers from her crew. “And ready another volley of the arcane cannons; on my signal, lads!” Across the gap between the two ships, Drake waded his way through the enemy pirates. By now, Redhorn’s crew was barely smart enough to stay just out of reach of his energy cutlass. The air around the ships was thick with smoke from the Rogue’s now-derelict arcane cannons, often obscuring those nearby. Drake was often seen as little more than a glowing blue silhouette in the smoke, cleaving its way through any poor soul foolish enough to attack the man. A pegasus and unicorn, both having the smallest grasp of tactics about them, tried to tag-team Drake; a magic Fire-based blast from the front, and an aerial attack from the back. It had almost worked, except the unicorn quickly tasted the heel of Drake’s boot as the human spun ‘round and kicked him toward the crew of the Serenade advancing. Needless to say, he was disposed with almost instantaneously. The pegasus was also quickly disposed of with a crippling shoulder throw into the floorboards, causing Drake to grin. He was starting to enjoy himself some. Most of the Rogue’s crew were unfortunate enough to not see the Serenade boarding party, who were spilling over the railing like rats, through the haze of smoke. Pirates met privateers in a clash of steel as the two groups charged each other. Magic spells of all types flew this way and that. Weapons were knocked aside and blood spilled across the deck like water. Another unicorn who saw an opportunity to attack Drake fired off a volley of Frost-related spells, determined to take down the man. One caught him on his shoulder, sending Drake stumbling back and hissing in pain as ice encompassed his shoulder. The unicorn shouted in victory, only to be silenced by the metallic ringing of Drake’s plasma pistol putting a round through his horn. No one noticed Silver Flash wincing in sympathy as the enemy pirate collapsed from trauma. Drake gritted his teeth as he used the butt of his pistol to smash apart the obstruction to his sword-arm. A griffon charged Drake head on, a tower shield clutched in her claws as she advanced on him. Drake fired several rounds from his pistol at the shield, only for them to be deflected inches from the metal by an enchantment. “Fuckin’ magic,” he hissed as he holstered his pistol and readied his cutlass. With his attention on the griffon, he failed to see the unicorn step up behind him, a large halberd raised above his head in a magical aura and ready to come crashing down on Drake. A flash of silver light knocked the offender sideways, sending his polearm crashing into a pair of pirates. Drake looked behind him at the sound, only to find the dazed unicorn collapsed a few feet away. The griffon took advantage of the distraction and charged, only to be run through by a pair of floating swords, suspended in a field of silver magic. “You’re a damn fool, charging off like that,” Silver Flash said as she dropped down next to Drake. Her blades removed themselves from their bloody sheath and returned to float idly in the air, awaiting further use. “Did you really think you could take on an entire ship full of enemies by yourself?” “It wouldn’t be the first time,” Drake said with a laugh. His face fell slightly as he took to surveying the deck of the Rogue, indiscriminately headshotting those unaware with his pistol. “Thanks for the save, though. Didn’t even see him back there.” Silver merely shook her head. “Yeah, sure.” Concern began rising on her face as she stood alongside Drake. “No sign of Redhorn. Perhaps he’s down below?” “Not much of a captain if he is,” Drake quipped.  “Maybe we’ll be lucky and he’s abandoned ship after my oh-so-daring feat of destroying his other ship?” Again, Silver shot him an unamused look at his bragging. He shrugged. “A man can dream, can he not?” Suddenly, their conversation was interrupted by the Rogue lurching. Silver Flash, however, seem unperturbed by the rocking motion as she turned around in irritation and began shouting across the way. “I thought I said fire the cannons on my command! What, have you all become daft over there when I wasn’t looking?!” Both Elaweda and Cadance, the pair visible on the Serenade near the controls to the vessel, glanced at each other in confusion. Horror dawned on both of them as Cadance yelled. “We didn’t fire anything, Silver!” The two captains felt their eyes widen as they spoke simultaneously. “What?” Another quake, this time centered towards the bow of the Silent Rogue, made itself known. In fact, it was so apparent and massive, that the battle temporarily fell into a lull. Wearily, they looked down at the floorboards below them, wondering if the engines were starting to explode and jeopardize the ship. These fears were assuaged when one of the hatches to access the depths of the ship were turned to splinters from some unknown impact. A dark, low, and menacing growl bellowed forth from the interior of the ship, causing the pirates from the Rogue to hastily run to the railings as shards of metal and wood rained down. As far as they could get away from the gaping hole in the floor. Silence conquered the two crafts as they sat there, suspended in midair. No further movement from the crevice occurred, and as such the lack of anything happening was beginning to make Silver Flash uneasy. Looking towards the pirates and seeing them rooted to the spot, her mouth tightened. “Diamond Dreams.” The aforementioned crewmember gave a salute. “Toss a keg.” The order was received instantly, it seemed. Quickly navigating across the deck of the enemy ship, the unicorn privateer hefted one of the undamaged powder kegs that was most likely used to reload the inferior cannons, and set it ablaze. With careful aim, the barrel was flung into the dark abyss of the ship. No one was expecting the keg to come flying back, however. “Brace!” This time, the boarding party of the Serenade could respond. Leaping and flying out of the way, they cleared the point of impact just as the powder keg made contact. The result of this meeting caused a deafening explosion to ring across the sky, leaving yet another gaping hole in the floor. Silver sneered, and her swords expressed their mistresses’ rage. “Redhorn! I know you’re down there. Reveal yourself.” Dark laughter sounded out from below, though from which hole Drake couldn’t tell. So it surprised everyone when two Redhorns emerged, one for each opening into the deck of the Rogue. The dual minotaurs, perfectly identical to one another, were sights to see. Each towered over even Drake by a full three feet, and their brownish-grey fur jutted out savagely, as if proper maintenance hadn’t been performed in years. True to his namesake, the two Redhorns each had a singular, jagged horn extend from their foreheads, looking more like a bloodied curved spear than a piece of coloured bone. The two clones spoke in unison, their deep bass causing the air around them to almost visibly ripple. “We meet again, Captain Flash.” Drake’s brows furrowed. It didn’t appear that either of the Redhorns had any weapons on them. Or clothes, for that matter. The only apparel that the man could see was two rings on each hand, one on the middle and ring fingers, respectively. Silver Flash seemed to care less about said jewelry, the lack of pants, or the multiple minotaurs as her duo of swords began cutting agitated lines in the floorboards. “You have some guts to think you could ever best me in a ship-to-ship battle. Especially when I’m on an escort-mission issued by the Celestial Sisters.” A lazy shrug was his response. “I figured your cockiness would finally do you in today.” Redhorn gave an indignant, almost disgusted look towards Drake. “Is that what you’re escorting? If so, I can see why those self-righteous alicorns sent you on this mission; I wouldn’t want such a thing in my territory, either.” He glowered. “In fact, I still don’t.” Drake assumed a cocky grin as he stepped forward. “I know I’m not the handsomest, but surely I look better than you. Right, Captain?” Silver Flash gave a grin of her own and shrugged. Drake held a hand over his heart. “Oh, you wound me.” Letting his arm fall away, he let it fall to the grip of his pistol. “Regardless, I think you need some manners. I’d be happy to instruct you.” Before anyone could move, Drake drew his pistol and fired a round at the closest Redhorn. The shot cut through the apparition like butter, leaving an arcane mist in its wake before it was taken away with a gust. Turning his arm and pulling his trigger at the remaining stunned Redhorn, Drake frowned at the lack of a bolt firing from the chamber. He glanced at the holo-screen. “Recharging?!” The minotaur recovered quickly from that development, and smirked. “Looks like you bet on the wrong bull, worm. Such a pity.” With a snap of his fingers, the mist returned and reformed into a madly-grinning clone once again. The real Redhorn turned his attention to Silver Flash, pointedly ignoring Drake. “I’m amazed you let such a thing speak and act for you, Captain Flash. I thought you were at least good enough to handle things yourself.” Silver’s eyebrow twitched at the mocking tone in which he said her rank. “Mr. Shields has obviously proven that he is more than capable of handling this situation in my stead.” A quick glance to actually confirm if Drake would be alright with this came positive as a passionate, though nervous fire shown in the human’s eyes. “Right, Mr. Shields?” Drake chuckled as he drew his saber, masking whatever unease he felt as he activated it with a flick of his wrist. “I wouldn’t mind putting this cow into its place.” Redhorn’s eyes, for the briefest of moments, ignited with divine fury at the taunt before they settled. “If you wish to fight me, worm, then how about we make this interesting.” He jabbed a thumb at the sides of the Rogue, indicating its crew still rooted to the spot, too petrified of their captain’s phantom to move or continue fighting. “If you win, you take the spoils: my crew, my ships, and my cargo are yours. But if you lose...” Redhorn made his intent clear by pointing over the side of the ship. “You, Captain Flash, and that pink pony Princess on your ship will become my prisoners. And the rest of Captain Flash’s crew will go overboard.” Silver brisled and her swords whipped frantically about herself, nearly impaling Drake in her seething anger. Her glare could petrify basilisks, and apparently the rest of her crew as well. “Threaten the livelihood of my crew again, Redhorn—you exiled, racist bastard—and I will crush you before Mr. Shields has a chance to blink!” The human raised a hand. “Captain. Calm down.” Silver Flash begrudgingly ceased her aggression, or at bare-minimum stopped being a safety hazard for his health. His eyes met hers as he gave a confident, cheeky grin. “Don’t worry about it; I can handle this.” For a moment, Silver appraised Drake, as if actually weighing his chance of success in the fight. He was much shorter and biologically weaker, now that she thought about it. He had no ‘magic’ that she knew of, and it seemed his ranged-weapon was out of ammunition, for the time being. On top of all of that, Redhorn had a ghost of himself that was most likely for more than show. Was it really wise to send him into a two-on-one conflict instead of herself? One look into his determined eyes settled her doubt as she smiled. “Then I’ll leave it to you, Mr. Shields.” Turning back to the minotaurs, Drake watched as the unarmed pirate and his shadow strolled leisurely into the center of the Rogue’s deck. Likewise, Drake took his position on the opposite side. Redhorn’s voice that sounded more fit to be an avalanche than a way of communication rang out. “There are no rules to this duel. We fight until you die, or you cower and beg for me to spare you.” Drake squinted in concentration as he twirled his cutlass about. “And I’m a pretty pony princess.” He snorted, and smirked as Cadance shouted ‘Hey!’ Taking the initiative, Drake leapt at the real Redhorn, bringing his cutlass down in a wide slash to amputate an arm. The minotaur spun out of the way, surprisingly nimble for a beast his size and for hoofed-legs so scrawny in comparison. Bellowing a grunt, he snatched a pair of blades from what little of his crew had gathered behind him, and threw them. The smaller of the two weapons, a short-sword the length of Drake’s forearm, moved faster than anticipated and nicked Drake’s arm before he could even think of dodging it. The other weapon, a greatsword, missed him by several feet, but provided enough of a distraction for the apparition to seize it and close the gap between the two of them. It swung the pommel of its weapon down mercilessly at Drake’s head. Drake however was quick to parry the greatsword with his own weapon, barely able to move aside the massive tool and lunge inward. Without any resistance, Drake’s cutlass plunged into the depth’s of the phantom’s chest, the heat of the energy blade so intense that the form of Redhorn appeared to shimmer. Unleashing a grunt of what sounded like realistic pain, it retreated with its injury. Redhorn immediately took its place with a kick to repel Drake back, and was rewarded with a resounding crack as his hoof made contact with the human’s chest. “Fucking hell!” Drake wheezed. “What do they feed you?” He winced as he straightened back up; he was positive that was worth a cracked rib or two. Looking back up and readying his saber, it fell slightly when he found the two minotaurs each wielding what appeared to be a crude formation of a warhammer and a ridiculously oversized axe in each of their hands, and each made out of solid magic and glowing a sinister red. “Magic. Fucking magic.” Drake let out a groan as he readied himself once again. “Next time, I’m taking Slayer’s advice and keeping spare grenades on me.” With a bellowing roar that shook the ship below them, the real Redhorn charged, swinging his abominations of weaponry in an enormous arc. Drake dropped flat against the deck as the magic warhammer in the minotaur’s right hand rushed overhead with more speed than he thought it should be allowed. But Drake, seeing his opportunity, reared his cutlass back into a stab to pierce Redhorn’s abdomen. Unfortunately, his haste to finish the fight made him exposed to the fact that Redhorn was more than capable of stopping his warhammer and bringing it back around in a backhand arc. Said fact which was proven accurate as it crashed into Drake and flung him into the railings of the ship. Ribs met wooden supports at a rate of velocity that they probably shouldn’t have. A grunt of pain left Drake as he attempted to recover, already feeling a bit of blood and bile rising from his core. He spat a glob of the stuff, knowing his injuries were already catching up and hindering him. He barely recovered in time to roll out of the way of Redhorn’s axe whistling down and tearing through the railing like it never existed in the first place. Silver Flash was anxiously pawing the ground, her anxiety expressed through her two swords writhing in the air, waiting to leap in yet knowing they wouldn’t. This was an honourable duel, or at least the closest one could get to a fair fight amongst pirates. Her involving herself would most likely do more harm than good; not only for Drake, but for herself and her crew. Still, she was having difficulty just sitting there watching Drake desperately dodge the two Redhorns and their dual-wielded advances. Any chance of riposte on the human’s side proved futile and near-impossible as the minotaurs mocked him simultaneously. “Oh, come now. Surely you can do better than this, worm.” A particular swing happened to catch the light of the two rings on that hand. Silver’s eyes widened as she connected the dots and shouted. “Mr. Shields! The rings! They’re controlling the magic for the weapons and clone; aim for the rings!” The real Redhorn spun at her shouts, fury blazing in his eyes. “Shut your mouth, you stupid—” His shout turned into a howl of pain as Drake rose up behind him and, using a crate for increased leverage, sprang onto the minotaur’s back and slammed the pommel of his saber against the back of Redhorn’s head. The jump rustled the pain in his chest from the accumulated wounds, but Drake was determined to take the advantage. Holding onto dear life with his free hand to grasp at Redhorn’s furry shoulder, Drake cleaved Redhorn’s horn in half with a downward slash. The cow stumbled forward from the agony, and Drake would have continued his attack and impaled the back of Redhorn’s skull, if not for a chunk of wood now being swung over the minotaur’s back and straight for Drake’s head. With a heave, Drake pulled himself over Redhorn’s shoulder just in time to dodge the blunt object, and landed before Redhorn. The minotaur, still doubled over from his attempt to jostle Drake and the loss of his horn, left himself open, and Drake took the opportunity as he lashed out, and severed the fingers—rings and all—on Redhorn’s left hand. A furious roar left the beast as it used its remaining fingers on its right hand to ball up a fist and whack Drake in the center of his chest. Drake rolled backwards and slammed up against the railing of the Rogue once more. He was slow to get back on his feet, but was grinning madly even though his own blood was starting to run profusely down his face. “That’s a bit better, isn’t it?” Drake laughed as he shuddered from his internal bleeding. His satisfaction only increased as he watched the phantom fade away with a pained screech. “Levels the playing field a bit better.” “Son of a whore!” Redhorn spat. “I’ll tear your heart out and wear it as a trophy!” A disgusted look crossed Drake’s face. “That doesn’t sound sanitary. And what would you do when it started to decay? Then it would just smell bad.” Redhorn roared at him again, and raised his magic warhammer, now half its former size and looking far less solid than it used to. Drake dodged the first strike and with considerable effort punched the minotaur in the snout. His next strike brought his boot to meet the back of Redhorn’s knee, bringing him crashing to the deck. As Drake moved in for the killing strike, determined to plunge his sword through the minotaur’s throat and finally end the battle, Redhorn brought his arcane weapon to bare, and struck one of Drake’s ankles. Drake collapsed to his side, howling in pain and dropping his sword, which immediately powered off when it fell. Redhorn kicked the lone hilt, and sent it clattering across the deck and allowing him to get between it and Drake. “And now, you have no weapon,” he sneered at the hunched-over human with an undoubtedly-broken ankle. “Allow me to show you some hospitality.” Redhorn raised his weapon above his head, and Drake snapped to attention, pulling a small, black cube out of his coat. “I’m all good on your ‘hospitality’. Let me show you my ‘thanks’!” The side of the cube facing Redhorn opened up, and a light to rival the intensity of the sun flared right into Redhorn’s eyes. He stumbled back, eyes watering and snarling in pain. Drake was back on his feet and limping around Redhorn, doing his best to keep his wounded ankle out of harm’s way. Silver Flash, however, was nearly on the verge of intervening, regardless of the outcome. Things were not looking good for Mr. Shields, and if he couldn’t recover, he’d die; no way Redhorn would let him live after what had happened. Silver Flash would never be able to forgive herself if it came to that, and yet she was forced to remain on the sidelines. Meanwhile, Drake was learning that removing one of his legs from the equation of evasion was a difficult thing to overcome when faced with the mass of rage known as a partially-horned Redhorn. At several times, Drake barely avoided his beheading by skittering under the lanky goat-legs supporting the pirate, and going on all fours to compensate and retain his balance. He was nearly there, just at the cusp of diving and grabbing the hilt of his cutlass, when Redhorn somehow outmaneuvered him and slammed the hammer in his path. “I don’t think so!” With a roar, Redhorn unleashed another backhand strike with his uninjured fist, this blow also landing and sending Drake flying. Drake slammed back-first into the tallest of the Rogue’s two masts, the wind knocked from him. “Nowhere left for you to run, little worm.” “At least the ship isn’t made of metal,” Drake wheezed, pulling himself back to his feet by using the mast as a support. He gripped one of the ropes dangling from above, holding onto it like his very life depended on it. In actuality, it probably did. “Any last requests?” Redhorn laughed as he advanced on Drake. Around them, his crew cheered for their captain. “Just one,” Drake hissed. “Go shove a canary up your coal mine.” In a swift movement, he drew his pistol from where he had holstered it, the holographic display on its side displaying the words ‘Recharge Cycle Complete’. Redhorn swung his reclaimed hammer at Drake’s throat, determined to take his head off in a single blow. But Drake was faster, ducking under the head even as he raised his pistol. Redhorn’s weapon sank into the mast with a dull thunk, severing several ropes tied along it as it did so. “Ha! I win!” Drake shouted, as he lined the sight on his pistol with the center of Redhorn’s forehead. In the split second before Drake could pull the trigger, the rope he had wrapped around his wrist for support suddenly tightened painfully. And yanked Drake, who screamed all the way, high up into the air and onto the top-yard of the mast. “Run all you want you cowardly worm; you can’t escape me that easily!” Redhorn bellowed as he made to climb the Rogue’s rigging. First his ankle, now his wrist. Drake thanked whatever higher power there was that Slayer and Yuri weren’t around to watch this. He peered over the edge of the top-yard, practically dragging himself over, and immediately spotted the one thing that made his heart sink to the lowest pits in his stomach. His pistol was lying on the deck below, right next to the hilt of his sword. “I take it back,” he grumbled. “The powers that be can go suck an egg.” “How nice of you to be lying down, ready to die.” Drake glanced over his shoulder as Redhorn climbed onto the top-yard, the stub of his horn sparking and fizzing as he summoned his tool into being. “How about we put of the dying? Sound good?” Drake groaned. “Because I’ve got plans to drink my way through this pain and there is a nice bottle of whiskey under my bed back on my ship that I’m just dying to crack open.” “Tough shit, you pathetic creature. Only option you have left is at the end of my magic.” “And wrong again,” Drake said, coughing as his laugh hurt his chest. “I’m not the pathetic creature here. And I’ve got two options.” Redhorn paused, looking at the wounded human in confusion. “I can, like you said, be killed by you. But I’m not a fan of that.” Drake shot him a wicked grin. “Instead, I’m going to go with option two. And it’s what I do best.” “And just what would that be?” Redhorn demanded. “Something incredibly stupid!” Still grinning like the foolhardy son of a bitch he was, Drake rolled himself off of the side of the top-yard and dropped to the deck below. Redhorn peered over the edge, befuddlement completely wracking his features, before he saw Drake supported midair by a small field of silver-hued magic, with his pistol aimed right at Redhorn. A single shot rang out. And Redhorn knew no more. Stunned silence fell across both ships as both crews watched Redhorn’s corpse fall off the top-yard and smash his head open against the side railing. The only thing keeping his mass from tumbling over the edge of the Rogue was the fact that his right arm had been snagged within a jagged crevice, and gave no leave. Silver Flash set Drake down, and floated a sizeable piece of wood over to him to use as a cane for support. Redhorn’s former crew looked back at the bloodied and battered human, who stood proud and tall, looking right back at them. “It is my understanding that the late Redhorn ruled over you, and those who lived in his so-called ‘territory’ did so with nothing but fear and intimidation commanding them. He was truly a dishonorable captain, and quite frankly, he didn’t deserve the title.” Reclining gently against his makeshift cane, more to relax a moment than to test its strength, he continued. “I offered him a fair fight, but he used magic. And in kind, I cheated as well with some ‘magic’ of my own design. Honour amongst thieves, and all that. In the end, however, I have emerged victorious. And now I offer you lot who served under him a choice.” Drake hobbled to the center of the deck, all eyes watching him carefully. “The Silent Rogue is mine!” He glared about at Redhorn’s former crew as he continued on, all the way to Redhorn’s disgusting form. Not even bothering to remove the two rings of potential interest from the corpse's hand, Drake unceremoniously kicked it overboard, and watched the body fall into the forest below. He turned back with a dark look in his eyes. “If you’ve any problems with that, flee now... or join your former captain by taking a short walk and a very long drop.” He turned again and made his way toward the Rogue’s wheel, unhindered by a single soul. “For those who stay, will be free of tyranny. Free of a son of a bitch who deserved what he got.” Some of Redhorn’s crew were mumbling as Drake spoke, but those who were looked excited, and in support of Drake. “And I will be your Captain!” “Yeah!” some of them cheered. “You will sail under my colors, and we will give our enemies no quarter!” “Yeah!” More voices piled on, this time. “We’ll take as we please! And live by our own rules! No longer will you be forced to live as Redhorn forced you, skirting the edges of countries for fear of their armies coming after you! No more shall you be paid a trifle amount for risking your lives!” “About time!” By now, most of Redwhore’s crew were shouting in agreement with Drake. “For Redhorn was twisted and cruel, his so-called ‘empire’ corrupt and weak! And I’m going to take everything he claimed was his. Starting with this ship!” Taking his free hand and holding onto the wheel for his support, Drake raised his cane-filled hand into the air. “And when his enemies and mine come for us, they’ll see us for what you truly couldn’t be under Redhorn’s weak leadership. They’ll see us for what we truly are!” He accentuated his next words with thrusts of his cane upwards. “Pirates! The scourge of sky, sea, and space itself!” “Long live Captain Shields!” a female griffin near the back of the crowd shouted. Others mimicked her shouts, and in moments, the deck of the Rogue was echoing with shouts of ‘Long live Captain Shields! Long live Captain Shields!’. “He can’t do that, can he?” Cadance whispered to Silver Flash in baffled astonishment, as the two of them watched Drake’s new crew cheer for him. Silver Flash let out a laugh. “Sorry, but I think he just did.” Starbrought “Ah, I see you have finally joined us, Marshall. We may begin the meeting now.” “I apologize.” Cobalt took his seat at the head of the conference table. The meeting was taking place in the senior conference room, which had an actual window in it that showed a rather beautiful view of the griffin capital. The solid ebony table was a perfect ellipse, with a green P.R.I.C.K attached in the dead center. Nine griffins currently sat or stood around the table, with several more standing in the corners of the room. At the very end of the elliptical table stood a regal-looking female griffin. A royal red coat decorated her back with six small black leafs adorned on each shoulder. A scar crossed her left eye and continued down diagonally to her jaw, which only added to the fierce look that permanently was painted on her face. Her black head feathers stood out brilliantly against the gold of her coat.  Her name was Natalya, and she was one of the three Grand Marshals of the Griffin Empire, the highest military rank one could achieve. To her left stood the commander of the garrison at Black Rock. He was a massive griffin, easily towering above everyone in the room. He was dressed in midnight-black combat armor, with two swords capped inside scabbards on his back. A bored look decorated his rugged face. The rest of the attendees were the heads from the various departments around the base, including the Head of Sciences. The only other person not from the base was the king’s personal aide, who had been sent by the king to monitor the situation. The smaller white-coated griffin stood in the back of the room, silently watching and writing in a bounded notebook. The Chief of Staff for the base stood up and coughed to bring attention to himself. “Since all of our participants seem to have arrived, the meeting is now commenced. Marshall Cobalt has the floor.” “Thank you.” Looking out towards the others across from him, he began. “Due to the urgency of the situation currently happening, I’m going to get right down to business. As most of you know, or are about to find out, the base is currently in a Level-3 Lockdown. Everything is sealed shut, guards activated; you know the drill.” “Why exactly is the base sealed down, Marshall?” Natalya spoke, drawing the attention of everyone in the room to her. “Forgive me if I’m wrong, but a Level-3 Lockdown is only issued if an object or entity of extraordinary danger or value is lost. And since this base has been under your command, you have yet to issue one until now.” “You are correct. I approved this Lockdown because of an incident that occurred several hours ago with a creature and several guards.” “What kind of creature are we talking about here? Magical? Ancient?” “I’ll let Dr. Silver Beak, the Head of Sciences explain it from here.” Cobalt sat back down in his chair with a loud thump. An older-looking griffin stood up, dressed up in the stereotypical lab coat and horn-rimmed glasses. “Thank you, Marshall. Everyone, the creature that we are dealing with currently is unlike anything we have ever seen, or hopefully will see in our entire lifetime.” He paused for a moment, taking a glance at the table’s confused looks. ‘Let me start off with a brief history of how this creature was brought to Black Rock, as it helps make what I’m about to say more believable. If you could please open the manila envelope that was given to you and open to page three.” The sound of folders opening and papers rustling filled the room. Silence settled as people began to read, and after several minutes went by, Beak spoke up again. “Now before you start asking a lot of questions very quickly, let me explain some details: the creature was found unconscious in the middle of the Zebrican Desert by a scouting party trying to reach the unknown meteor or object that fell from the skies two days ago. Following protocol that it might be a cryptid or some kind of mutated minotaur, as the basic shape is somewhat similar, it was brought here to Black Rock. The creature had several strange objects on it when the squad discovered it, but they have since disappeared from the vault where it has escaped from.” “What do you mean by strange objects?” Natalya raised her eyebrows. “The sketches taken by the two scientists who examined the creature first are on the next page, including the notes that they jotted down.” “Where are these scientists now?” “Currently in the medical and psych ward being treated and debriefed. They have a bit of trauma from the guard incident, but we managed to get some crucial interviews from them,” Cobalt mentioned. “Dr. Beak, I’m confused on what these notes are saying. The doctors you brought in to examine it are cryptid researchers, but they clearly say multiple times that this creature matches up with no known cryptid that they know of that could exist on this planet. What exactly is this thing?” The Chief of Staff continued to stare at the paper trying to make some sense of it, but it was a failed effort. The room got very quiet, as no one had an answer, or would give an answer. “It’s simple really. Only one explanation makes sense in all of this. It’s not from this planet.” And at that exact moment before all hell broke lose in the room, the P.R.I.C.K in the table received a call. Everyone stopped and stared at the glowing crystal, the faint hum of magic echoing off the marble walls. “Who the hell is calling at a time like this? I’m going to have someone’s head.” Cobalt hit the side of the crystal with a large amount of force, rocking the table. “Who and why are you calling?!” Silence followed for a few moments, as well as Cobalt's blood pressure. “Hello? Hello...? Is this bloody thing on?”         Cobalt flinched. The accent on the voice was one that he had never heard in his entire life, and chills flew down his spine. Who in the hell thought it wise to put this through? He was going to have the head of the current Operator manning the relay station. “Is this some kind of joke? Who the hell is this?!”         “Who the hell are you?!”         “I’m the damn head of this base—”         “Oh, good; this worked. I thought for a moment I had been tricked.” Cobalt turned and looked down to see the ID of the P.R.I.C.K that was on the other end of the line. ‘This can’t be right... this is from Colonel Greyskull. He’s way beyond the area of the quarantine zone.’         “Let me ask you something again: who the hell are you, and why are you on my damn comms?!”         “Oh, come on. Have you not figured out who this is? Do I need to play some version of Twenty Questions with you?” Cobalt's face suddenly lost color as the full extent of the situation. The room was deathly silent, with several confused expressions painted on the griffins’ faces. “Marshall, what is the problem? Who are you talking to?” Natalya moved over to where Cobalt was standing in disbelief. “How… How the hell did it break out of the Lockdown?! There is no way that this can be happening. That Lockdown should be able to hold any creature on this planet and keep them there.” “You realize I’m right here, yes?” Cobalt whirled onto the P.R.I.C.K. “How the hell did you break out of the Lockdown?!” The voice on the other end snickered so quietly it might’ve not happened. “Lockdown? What do you mean?” it replied cheekily. “The Lockdown that was supposed to keep creatures like you locked up!” Cobalt shouted, the veins in his forehead starting to become vivid against his feathers. “You made a stupid judgement giving your location away like this, and you’ll pay the price for it.” “Whoa whoa whoa, let’s turn it down a notch. Do you really think that I would just purposefully reveal my position to an unknown person just for shits and giggles? I have something to—” “You can tell it to the prison cell that you’re going to be locked in for the rest of your life.” Cobalt turned to the Commander of the Guards, a look of pure rage in his face. “Commander, inform the Titans of its position and capture it. I’m ending this now.” “I would really not do that, if I was you. Not if you want to see your city be destroyed—” Cobalt turned to shut off the P.R.I.C.K. But before his talons could cancel the magic, Natalya’s talon snapped out and grabbed his. He turned his face in surprise to be greeted by the stoic expression of Grand Marshal Natalya. Even with Cobalt's decades of experience in battle, her piercing green eyes sent shivers down his spine. “Commander Highridge, you will decline that order and you will stay put. Do I make myself understood?” He understood so well he didn’t even know her order had caused him to sit on his haunches. It took himself considerable effort to stand again after such a harsh order. “Marshall Cobalt; get out of the way.” Cobalt nodded and backpedalled to the side as she walked over to the P.R.I.C.K. She cleared her throat and began to speak. “My name is Grand Marshal Natalya of the Altai Dominion, chief administrator of both this facility and the surrounding district here in Gryphon. If you have a name, please give it to me.” “Finally, someone who knows some basic manners. My name is Yuri, Madame Natalya.” She squinted her eyes at that. “Flattery will get you absolutely nothing here. The only reason that you’re not being hunted down like a rat right now is because of what you just stated about saving this city.” “Heh, you don’t seem like someone I should be joking around with. Fine by me; yes, what I said was true.” “For your sake, I want you to explain to me what exactly you meant, and I would heavily suggest choosing your words wisely.” A snort arose from the other side of the relay. “Calm your… beak? Yeah, calm your beak for a moment.” Natalya’s wings bristled at the blatant disrespect. “I’m not threatening your people, but the complete opposite in fact. I want to save your people.” “Save them for why and from what? You?” “I may be much more advanced than you, but I’m not that powerful. But, I’m not telling you anything right now over this really weird crystal.” “Oh? Is that so?” some of the nearby griffons uncomfortably shuffled away from the progressively-irritated Grand Marshal. “Yea, it is so. I know that you know exactly where I am. So here is my offer: come down and meet me in the flesh, and I’ll tell you everything that you could ever want to know.” “Why would I do that? How do I know that you are not going to try and kidnap me to get what you want?” “I understand your suspicions, but I’m not an idiot. If I tried to kidnap any of you, or even harm you, I would die faster than getting thrown out of an airlock. Why do you think I haven’t killed a single individual yet since my escape?” Silence answered, for no one had a decent rebuttal. “Besides, if I wanted to fight my way out, we would not be having this conversation right now.” “...And if I don’t?” “Then you’re condemning your entire city to ruin, and the deaths of thousands will be specifically on your head. Now... how do I turn this damn thing off? Is it this—*zap*—ow! Son of a mother fu—” A resounding ‘click’ echoed around the dead-silent room. Natalya stood in silence for a moment, staring out the window at the sprawling capital. “Marshall Cobalt, have your Titans escort me and yourself to the room. Seal off all the exits and make sure that nothing gets in or out. Have a breaching team on standby in case this goes sour.” She turned to the aide that had been motionless the entire ordeal. “You are to stay in this room. The last thing I need is to have the damn nobles getting involved in something like this.” And with that, she walked out of the room towards her possible doom. Starbrought Soldiers marched rank-and-file through the jungle, their full-body armour glinting in the gloom of the morning sun. They had traced a transport vessel that had crashed on the surface a few hours ago, and they needed to secure the crash site. If offworlders discovered their base of operations, then soon the entire brunt of the galaxy would be knocking on their door. Two masked soldiers, one with a yellowish tint and one in red, led their troupe of blue warriors through the brush. “Only a few more miles,” the one in red muttered in the humid air. “How are you faring, Jargi?” Jargi gave a tired shrug, his blaster rifle hung loosely over his shoulder. “About as well as one can in the jungle. The floor is crawling with pests and predators. Last thing we need is to hit a pack of maaralaas while trying to intercept this ship.” The yellow-coated man held some tree limbs aside for his superior to pass. “Do we have a transponder ID, Lieutenant?” The Lieutenant double-checked his datapad. “Techs say it ain’t Alliance or Imperial. Definitely military, though. Most likely a private colonizer.” A grunt left him as he turned back to Jargi. “We better get the men moving a lot faster, Sergeant. Ordanis the Preserver wants a successful report on us neutralizing this ship’s crew before the day is out.” “Yes, sir!” With a salute, Jargi addressed the bataillon behind him. “You heard the Lieutenant. Double-time! Let’s move!” Proud shouts left the warriors as they picked up the pace. For the next dozen minutes, the only sounds in the jungle were a dozen soldiers trampling through the underbrush, and the din of its natives. There was little need for stealth, in their opinion. The velocity that the vessel was falling from was enough to most likely kill the entire crew. They just had to make sure they were all dead. A hand shot up in the air. The band of troops halted instantly at the gesture; the Lieutenant had damn-good senses, and when he told you to stop, you stopped if you didn’t have a death wish. Several seconds passed anxiously in silence. He nodded. “We’re good. I thought I heard something out there.” “It might of been a cannok, sir.” Another nod left the red warrior. “Probably. They’re harmless by themselves, but in a pack they’re a nuisance. Keep your eyes peeled, men.” The soldiers proceeded with far more caution, constantly checking for any out-of-place sounds or movements. There was a bad feeling in the air; something wasn’t right.  There should of been at least some degree of activity in the jungle; instead, the warriors saw and heard nothing. The lack of noise was unsettling the entire party of soldiers. That meant two things: either there was a large predator nearby, or there were the remnants of the vessel they had been hunting for. Jargi perked up at his commander motioning towards him to get his attention. A few obscure hand-gestures were displayed to the Sergeant, and he understood the gravity of what was being said: ‘Being watched. Hostile. Scout ahead; prepare to flank.’ Jargi nodded, took some men, and advanced ahead of the rest towards the crash site. In actuality, he was going to settle down in the bushes some metres away, close enough to hear any combat, far enough away to appear as if he left. The Lieutenant gave a briefer string of nonverbal signs towards the rest of his men: ‘Tread lightly. Weapons primed.’ Soundlessly, blasters were unslung and reloaded with fresh battery packs. Their ranks subconsciously bunched together, making them a target perhaps for explosives, but limiting the chance of being individually picked off. Suddenly, in the deathly silence of the jungle, the Lieutenant heard a click. His instincts moved him before he could even hope to alert his men. An explosion rocked the forest as the Lieutenant dove forward and drew his blaster. He looked back at his force, eyes wide in horror; only half of them remained, if that. Behind him, the crashing of reinforcements led by Jargi were in swift pursuit. But it was going to be too late. Unmarked and somehow unscathed scouts peeked out from behind trees, rifles drawn as they began tearing through his men. The Lieutenant made himself heard over the din of the battle as he downed two enemies with quick spasms of his trigger-finger. “Take cover! Regroup! Send the bastards back!” A grenade rolled near the Lieutenant’s feet, and he threw himself while he tried to warn the warriors. “Brace; grenade—!” Slayer’s eyes shot open with a start, but his body betrayed no sign of his awakening. His sight was blurry, and he could feel a small, hot tear rolling down his face. He sighed internally. It was another dream, another remembrance of that horrid day. Slayer could only recollect one other day where he had failed his people like he did during that ambush. A shudder racked his body. Slowly, the assassin attempted to figure out where he was. For some reason or another, he felt disoriented. The fabric roof above Slayer was lit up by a faint trace of sunlight. Wherever he fell asleep, it was certainly not comfortable, and way too damn early. There was some crusted liquid around his eye and forehead, and Slayer noted that his left arm was sending pinpricks of rather intense pain— Oh. Right. The Zebras. An audible groan left Slayer as he gave up his budding ministrations to rise. All too vividly, the memories resurfaced; the entire excursion into Nazar, him fighting Lucien, breaking his arm, Shamon nearly dying because of it. Slayer’s eyes widened. ‘Shamon! He better not have died; I need him still, dammit...’ The voice of the prince lofted over Slayer as his striped muzzle popped out of the corner of Slayer’s vision. “You’re awake! Ah, the Divines smile on us once more...” It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see the stress lines that had formed from a result of the struggle on Shamon’s face. At least he seemed to be alive, and that was enough for Slayer. Slayer attempted a choked laugh. He was parched, and rather famished. “I don’t know if you know this, but now you look like shit.” Shamon gave a laugh back in response, recalling how he said the same thing to Slayer the day before, and his eyes twinkled in genuine relief. The expression gave Slayer pause. Had the prince been worrying about him? No, it must have been for his people. Slayer shook away the thought. “Where am I?” “You’re still in the Elder’s council teepee.” For some reason, Shamon looked slightly embarrassed. He glanced away. “We had attempted to move you to a more comfortable location, but we were... um, unable to.” It was most likely for the best, Slayer considered. If they had succeeded in moving him, even in good intentions, it would have caused greater damage to his arm. As such, Slayer decided not to assault Shamon for insinuating that he was fat. “I figured you wouldn’t be able to; my armour’s weight distributors shut down. Along with the rest of... my... Suit.” Slayer stared up at the ceiling blankly, realizing something. “Which means I can’t move in my current state.” A bewildered look overcame Shamon as he gingerly sat himself on his haunches. The motion confused Slayer; that was a posture he only seen with cats and dogs. Could equines even bend that way? He dismissed the thinking as Shamon leaned in closer. “You can’t move? Why not?” “Because I’ve also broken my arm,” Slayer retorted flatly. Shamon’s face contorted once more into an expression of worry. “Your arm is broken? And you’ve been unconscious all night without it being healed?! Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no...” Slayer watched in pained, but vague amusement as Shamon began fretting over him. Shamon seemed pretty young by his looks and personality; was he even an adult by their standards? “Is there anything I can do to assist you?” Slayer gave a lazy wave off to one wall of the tent as his eyes refocused onto the steeple of the linen ceiling. “Get my satchel, if it’s still outside. There’s a medical brace in there.” The bounty hunter glanced over, only to see the bag suddenly in Shamon’s mouth. How he obtained the bag, and somehow returned in a matter of seconds, was a migraine Slayer decided not to question. Bracing himself with his good arm, the marauder sat himself up. He motioned for Shamon to dig through his bag; something he would have done himself, except his balance was beginning to fail him. Planting his feet seemed to do the trick. Eventually, Shamon procured one of the medical braces, and examined it in curiosity. “What will it do?” “Fix my broken arm,” Slayer quipped in an obvious tone. Shamon sheepishly scratched behind his head as he reached the same conclusion. With equipment in hand, the assassin bit his lip as he extended his left arm. It was worse than he thought. The pain came in agonizing waves, and it was only his upbringing and the pain suppressants that prevented him from crying out. Loosening up the clasps, Slayer carefully set the brace into position, and clamped it down. A little button press here, some syncing with the Suit there... A faint bzzt left the device before Slayer gave out a long, drawn-out sigh of contentment. “Ah, much better.” He glanced over at Shamon’s look of confusion. “The brace straightens out the bones while it administers extra dosages of temporary... uh, machines, to restore damage.” Slayer had wanted to say ‘nanobots’, but apparently the Zebricans did not have that word. It was to be expected. “It ought to be healed soon enough.” Shamon merely seemed fascinated, eyes comically widened in amazement. “Wow. Small dispensable machines that can heal bones?” An almost wistful expression arose on his face. “It sounds like magic, but more... innovative.” For some reason, Slayer found that greatly amusing. “The difference between my science and your magic though, is that one exists, and the other does not.” Had Slayer bothered to look at Shamon when he said that, he would have seen newfound confusion, before revelation and a sly grin. The prince voiced no words to correct Slayer as he pressed on. “Well, next step; move my ass out into the sun.” The Zebra’s brow seemed to be frozen in a scrunched-up pose as his smirk fell. “What good will the sun do you?” Slayer waved him off once more. “You’ll see.” While his left arm was still unusable—and would most likely remain that way for a few days—that didn’t stop him from starting to reattempt a stand. This time Shamon was there, and with a bit of support, Slayer found his footing and stood. “Ah, thanks. It’s hard to stand with only one arm in heavy armour, you know.” “Didn’t you say you couldn’t move, though?” A groggy nod. “It wasn’t an exaggeration; I genuinely couldn’t move with my arm unattended to and me grounded like that. Now that I’m standing, it’s manageable.” Starting to make his way towards the flap of the tent, Slayer examined his surroundings. There seemed to be no trace of what had transpired the previous night; no blood, no bones, not even the putrid odor of urine hung in the air still. A damn-effective clean-up crew. If it wasn’t for his arm, Slayer could have been fooled that he hallucinated those events. Slayer’s balance lurched abruptly, but he stumbled and recovered. Shamon didn’t say anything, but merely looked on in concern, ready to spring into action if the assassin collapsed. Slayer roughly chuckled. “Vertigo. I need some food, and some water.” Shamon didn’t even ask what kind of food Slayer wanted. He merely gave a nod and sprinted out of the flaps, leaving a displacement of air in his wake. The light-headed sensation forced Slayer to kneel down while he attempted to revert his world to an acceptable stability. The prince reappeared almost as quickly as he left, tray in mouth. According to the heavy breathing, hauling tuchus was not the smartest thing Shamon should have done in his condition. ‘His condition,’ Slayer’s mind echoed. Giving a cursory glance, he looked towards Shamon’s flank. Fresh bandages had replaced the old, and (unfortunately for Slayer to admit) whoever redid them performed first aid better than Slayer ever could. Aside from some limping, though, Shamon didn’t seem to be hindered too much by the injury. Though, doing such an unnecessary sprint was an obviously foolish decision; one that Slayer thought to berate the stupidity of, before he gave up on admonishing him. The assassin supposed it was nice that Shamon seemed to care, at least. Slayer began to quickly care less about why Shamon was so snappy with his request by the smell of said request wafting through the air filtration system. Where had he smelt that before? Looking down, Slayer’s eyebrows arched in surprise. Shamon spoke with a broad, albeit slightly strained from running, smile. “One of the city’s cooks heard you were unconscious due to defending Nazar, and had left this meal here for you upon awakening. He wanted me to tell you: ‘this is on the house,’ whatever that may mean to you.” A grin plastered itself on Slayer’s face. ‘Wampum. I take back me thinking you a sleaze.’ With great gusto, the bounty hunter went to town on the sun-heated cod, not even bothering to close his mouthpiece between bites to ensure there was no interference between food and Slayer’s stomach. Slayer hated to admit it, but he nearly let out a moan. ‘Goddamn, this is delicious. Note to self: buy Wampum a drink.’ He took another bite. ‘Scratch that, two drinks.’ Shamon sat a respectable but friendly distance away, watching in his own amusement. Slayer seemed to take each meal in as if it was his first, and going to be his last. He paused. That was rather dark for his humor, though mostly because of how probable it could be. Slayer did seem to give little regard for his own health when he was combating the Diamond Dogs. “Do you even chew?” The assassin arched an eyebrow at the snark. “I’ll chew when I’m full.” A loud, stress-relieving laugh left the Zebra; with his royal title, few individuals were ever willing to trade banter with him without having misguided fear that the prince would banish them. Slayer, in all of his alien quirkiness, was a refreshing change of pace. Slayer spoke up. “So. I’m guessing that things sorted themselves out after I killed Lucien?” The question quickly sobered Shamon. “To a degree. After you lost consciousness, I freed the Elders. By this point, a great deal of the fighting in Nazar had ceased; the Dogs had started a retreat of their own out of the city, if you can believe it.” Slayer hardly did, but he kept his mouth shut. “Once we dragged out Lucien’s body, all of their fighting spirit fled. Many surrendered, but some...” An unsettled expression crossed Shamon’s face. “Well, some slavers refused to become the enslaved, even if we had no intention to.” Slayer caught what happened as he took a drag from the provided waterskin. If it was bothering Shamon that much, though, he was not going to talk about it. In the bounty hunter’s opinion, suicide was a true last resort; unless in dire circumstances, a coward’s way out. At that point, Slayer was trying to figure out whether to loathe the Diamond Dogs or pity them. Maybe both. Shamon continued. “Of those who surrendered, we only took one actual prisoner: a servant to Lucien. The Dog could actually speak some Zebrican—quite badly, mind you—and we agreed upon some... negotiations.” Slayer nodded; it was probably the translator he had bartered with before the battle began. The warrior idly wondered how those negotiations went. He hoped it was something along the lines of: ‘if you don’t give us your shit and piss off, our metal monkey-man will kick your shit in, take it and make you piss off.’ If that wording was used, preferably by either Shamon or Elder Imamu, it would make his week. He righted his thoughts when Shamon continued speaking. “After a large amount of deliberation and council from the Elders assisting me, I arranged a combination of previous attempted agreements with the remaining Diamond Dog influence here in our lands.” Slayer blinked. The two races had tried peace once? Undoubtedly the key word there was ‘tried’, and the Diamond Dogs weren’t too keen on the concept. “What deal was that?” he asked in mild interest as he continued to fork down his food. The Zebra looked up, crossing his forehooves in recollection. “Let me try to recall. Hmm... I believe we had been able to recover certain things of value taken from us, as well as having the Dogs honour-bound to forsake our sands.” A neutral face appeared as he locked eyes with Slayer. “I was also informed of some items that were brought up by you.” Suddenly, Slayer’s blood ran cold. That wasn’t good. Given the events instantly following that slight in Slayer’s resolve and rationality when tempted with such a moral conundrum, Shamon was probably presuming the worst of Slayer if the Zebra knew everything that he had said. If Shamon did know about the ‘deal’, and that final stipulation... Shamon cracked a knowing smirk. Slayer didn’t even know he was revealing his newfound anxiety by indenting the tin pan in his grasp. “You know... if you wanted me to accompany you so bad on your journey, that thought you needed to arrange for my slavehood; all you had to do was ask, yes?” The assassin could only stare slack-jawed. That was certainly not the reaction Slayer expected from the member of a race who actually had to seriously deal with slavery. Shamon let out a peal of laughter while falling over, and clutched his ribs during his giggling fit. “Oh, blessed Divines. I wish I could see your face; I can feel the stunned shock from here! Pfft.” He broke down into another bout of roaring laughter. It took many, many moments before he finished, and many more to fully calm down to catch his breath. “Ah, but seriously.” Shamon’s face abruptly hardened and he clocked Slayer’s shoulder. It didn’t hurt either party, but the meaning behind the blow was well-received. Shamon’s mouth made harsh creases on his muzzle as he contorted his hoof to point the tip towards the impact point. “That was for pulling the Elder’s legs by stringing the Dogs on, and getting Elder Imamu worked up with your joke to the point where he apparently fainted shortly after you.” Slayer wisely kept his mouth shut about the fact that for a moment there, he hadn’t been joking about offing the Elders. He was about to make a witty rebuttal of some degree, before the Zebra lunged forward and... hugged him? The assassin’s mind attempted a full-fledged reboot as he felt the hooves wrap around his undamaged shoulder. He was so flabbergasted by the movement, he couldn’t even consider whether to awkwardly reciprocate or shove the prince away. The prince spoke again, in a less harsh tone. “And this, is for saving me and my kin. Thank you...” Just like that, Shamon was disentangled from Slayer and was motioning for him to stand back up again, as if the contact never happened. “Come; we have a trip we need to make, no?” Slayer shook it away. He was going to process what just happened for a later time. For now, he could finally get back on-track to recovering Drake. “Right. Let’s, uh... depart.” A groan threatened to rise from his brief stutter. Such contact was foreign to the man. Still, he let out a small breath of amused air. ‘Well, it seems this was the best call, at the end of the day. Next time I need to keep my greed in check; it’s a damn dangerous thing.’ A thought suddenly crossed Slayer as he turned back to Shamon. “Where is Lucien’s body?” The Zebra’s brow furrowed. “We had been planning on giving him a grave, possibly by cremation. He was our enemy, true; but even enemies deserve respect after death.” Slayer nodded, and asked if he could light the pyre. Shamon looked surprised, but nodded in kind. “Of course. But... I must ask; why do you want to do it?” A shrug left him. “Because he was a worthy foe, and I bested him in the end. Me falling into unconsciousness prevented me from showing him what little respect he had ascertained.” Slayer analyzed the uncomprehending look he was given. “I do not hold my conflict against Lucien; I was taught a long time ago to not have ill feelings towards my opponents on the field of battle. If the fight was glorious, then those you combated—whether win, lose, or draw—deserved respect. But I also hold the fact he was a slaver against him. Lucien may have fought vigorously and showed heart, like a warrior, but it means far less since he had lived an unhonourable life beforehand.” Slayer tapped his thigh. “Still. Credit where it’s due. Being a warrior as well, it is only appropriate that I am the one to send him off.” Shamon looked the alien up and down appraisingly, and there was an unknown feeling behind his gaze. Something between befuddlement, admiration, and respect. “You surprise me, Slayer. Pleasantly, but still surprising all the same.” Shamon gave a grin, and walked out the tent. ‘Maybe my misgivings were misplaced; you do have honour, Slayer the Interloper.’ As Slayer followed him out after collecting his possessions and weapons, he rose his arm to block the desert’s blinding sun once more. The visor’s tinting wasn’t helping as much as it should have. He made a note to take a look at that, if he ever got a chance. Once the brighter exterior of Nazar was properly acclimated to his sight, though, down his arm went. His jaw dropped once again. It looked like a celebration had overcome the bedraggled city of Nazar seemingly overnight. Colorful silken banners hung proudly from store fronts and windows, food was being distributed freely amongst the passer-bys, work-crews of Zebras repaired damaged structures with precise efficiency, and overall merriment was heavy in the air. Slayer was rather impressed at the speedy set-up of the festivities. A Zebra waltzed by before he froze and pointed a hoof at Slayer. “The Interloper awakens!” As if a switch had been flicked, uproarious cries of thanks and happiness rang from the crowd out-front as they quickly began filling into the courtyard at the news. The assassin could only stand there immobilized at the reception. How had he not heard this many citizens only a few dozen metres away? Shamon whispered to Slayer as he kept his head forward, hardly moving his lips as he waved to his denizens. “Word spread fast of your involvement, and your paramount role in protecting Nazar. Needless to say, they are not slow in showing their appreciation.” He turned his head towards Slayer, who hadn’t budged an inch. “This celebration is for you, in a sense. A show of thanks.” Slayer didn’t really know what to say. This was entirely new for him. He never had been at a party dedicated to him doing something. In frankness, Slayer didn’t know whether he should say something, or just soak in the admiration of the queer quadrupeds. He went for the latter, and maintained a steely silence. The Zebras were undeterred by his lack of any sort of speech, and clamored to get closer to the Interloper. But Shamon rose a hoof, and the crowd’s impending rush was cut short. With a loud, clear voice, Shamon addressed the group. “My kin! Please, give us a path. The Interloper cannot stay, and must depart immediately with me to Equestria. He appreciates what you’ve done for him! But please, a path!” Disappointment was obvious in many of their faces—they most likely had been hoping for an extended time to thank Slayer fully—but they adhered to their prince and stepped aside. Several guards belonging to Shamon encircled the duo, and set them off down the road. Slayer was feeling a bit awkward at the massive influx of direct attention, but he kept a cool head and gave a nod occasionally towards the following crowd. Shamon spoke idly as they took their old route. “The Elders would like to have another audience with you before we depart, if you wish.” A chuckle left the assassin, half due to Shamon’s wording, and the other half at watching a Zebra being hip-checked only to be replaced by an overzealous mare shouting happily in Slayer’s direction. “I suppose that is an order?” “As I said, only if you wish. We could just as easily set off if you have no interest in their words.” A hinting tone appeared in Shamon’s next sentence. “However, I recommend you may want to hear them out. They seemed to have something to say, and you may very well leave in better spirits.” Slayer shrugged. “Alright. If you insist.” Their horde of hecklers did not disperse when they reached the bustling marketplace from before. In fact, they coagulated and made it very difficult to navigate, even with the guards cutting a swath through the citizens with gestures and shouts. It was rather deafening, Slayer quipped to himself. ‘I figured the extent of me ever being famous would be through fear. But here my infamy is in a different light, and reciprocated differently. Hmm. Almost makes me want to get an honest living.’ Abruptly, they veered off their previously-beaten path. The detour caused a brow to rise on Slayer’s forehead, but he said nothing. Most of their detachment had been left behind at Shamon’s orders to hold the mass of rowdy civilians at bay, and soon the bustle of the festival died away. Eventually, they reached their destination. For a time, the two of them stood there, staring quietly at Lucien’s body as it laid on a bed of tinder. His arms were criss-crossed over his chest, and his armour had been noticeably polished to a fine shine. There were no other attendees aside from two guards and a witch-doctor concealed by a wooden mask; though whether that was a testament to how much the Zebras resented the Alpha, or the fact that Shamon explicitly made it a private ceremony, was unknown. “Are you ready?” The simple question caused Slayer to nod. “Let’s start.” With a wave from his leader, the shaman approached the altar and began sprinkling a fine, grey powder on Lucien’s bloodied corpse from his saddlebags. A long, drawn-out prayer left his lips. “Weary spirit, you faced much strife in life. You were our enemy, and sought to enslave our people. But there was a time when you weren’t such, and thus it is why we bless you.” A small bundle of some herb was tossed into the wood. “May the afterlife bring you the peace you could not find, and may the Divines take pity upon you.” Shamon spared a glance at Slayer, and nodded. The bounty hunter responded in kind, and made his way towards Lucien’s body. Standing over what used to be the bane of the Zebra’s existence was not as satisfactory as Slayer had been hoping. Flashes of the Alpha’s snarling face, madness rampant in his eyes, appeared. The recently-uttered words of the apothecary floated through his mind’s eye. ‘I wonder what drove the Diamond Dogs to such measures...’ Thankfully, the Dog’s eyes had been closed in advance out of simple respect for the dead, and two small copper coins sat on each eye. Slayer recalled that to be an ancient tradition, but where it originated from, he couldn’t say. As for an eulogy, there wasn’t much he felt compelled to voice. Short, and simple. “May peace keep you.” The ceremony was hardly more than two minutes long. Just simple words from Slayer and the witch-doctor, and that was that. Shamon apparently didn’t have anything to say. As the prince made to ready a torch to give to Slayer, the assassin rose a hand to stop him. Pulling out his Sabre, he clicked the setting to Kill, and ignited the pile of lumber himself. “Unconventional,” Shamon murmured in melancholic amusement. “But since it was you sending him off, it’s almost more appropriate, in a sense.” A few moments passed in silence as they watched Lucien become engulfed in flames, the scent of burning fur hanging in the air. It was a sudden beep from Slayer that ended the quiet. “What was that?” Slayer raised a finger, and soon a faint whirring echoed out of the Suit for a second. It stopped as soon as it started, and Slayer stood up straight. Shamon hadn’t even noticed that he had been hunching his back before then. “I soaked up enough solar power to get the weight distributors back online.” A blank look was Shamon’s response, before he rapidly shook his head. “I’ll just pretend I fully understood what you said.” It was then that another guard approached the prince and whispered in his ear. Shamon stood, eyes shut, as he listened. Eventually, he gave a nod, a small word of thanks, and dismissed the soldier before turning back to Slayer. “Come. I just received word that our supplies are fitted and ready. We just need to converse with the Elders once more to bless us on our journey, and we can depart.” “Bless?” Another nod as the convoy began moving again, this time using back-alleys so to avoid the large slew of onlookers hoping for celebrating with Slayer for his achievements. “Yes. The Elders are our spiritual leaders, alongside the council for the dynasty. That fire-pit you saw in their tent? They tend to use it to give fortunes and predict omens for those who ask.” His face soured. “It is a shame we cannot get a reading before our leave.” Slayer highly doubted that such precognition existed amongst the Zebras, but he wisely kept his mouth shut yet again and didn’t voice his disbelief. Calling out their religious beliefs would be a fool’s error. Instead, a nagging query that had been on the edge of his mind made itself known. “Did you ever recover that dagger I used to kill Lucien with?” Shamon scrunched his brow and spared a brief look. “What dagger?” The assassin suddenly had a bad feeling. “You know, the one I threw before I lost consciousness? Had red pulsing sigils on it?” Shamon stopped in his tracks, and turned slowly to look at Slayer in concern. “That... wasn’t a dagger? You threw a heavy, jagged chunk of a bone and it... collapsed the back of Lucien’s skull.” The prince had a perturbed look on his face. “Whatever blade you believe existed, it didn’t.” Slayer blinked to himself as they began progressing once more. Had he imagined the weapon? No. No, there was no way he did. He remembered it vividly. But then why did Shamon claim that it wasn’t a dagger, but rather a crude bone construct? Was Shamon lying, and he had hijacked the blade for his own? Doubtful, but one never knew. Slayer shrugged. “Perhaps I imagined it. I certainly wasn’t in the best state of mind.” Shamon nodded, slowly, brows still furrowed. “Right. You’re probably... right.” No more words passed between them in the sudden brooding silence. The feeling in the air gave both respective parties emotions of anxiety, but neither showed it. They simply pressed on, eventually popping out into a side-street that connected closely to the main gate. From their position, they could see a near-ravenous mob of citizens celebrating their fresh ease of mind with the dispatching of Lucien and his pack. “It seems odd that they can celebrate like this, when not too long ago probably hundreds of their people died gruesomely,” Slayer commented. Shamon gave a sad nod. “Our kin tries not to focus on death too deeply. While it pains us that such losses were had, the fact that it is over for good now is enough for many of them. They are in the presence of the Divines now.” Another frown appeared on his muzzle. “You weren’t awake when the giant funeral was carried out an hour or two ago. It was... depressing. Nazar definitely needs some cheer after that.” A quiet snort left the warrior as he crossed his arms. “At this rate, you’ll have a riot on your hands.” That snapped Shamon out of his thinking funk, because he looked down at one of appendages with a furrowed brow and focused stare. Confusion emerged soon after. “Uh... I do not have any hands, Slayer.” Said warrior shrugged. “Same difference.” A thoughtful sound left the prince, and with that they made their way into the street. The population of Nazar swiftly descended on them, but the refreshed garrison of guards kept their eagerness at bay. Slayer found the whole situation highly amusing, and slightly concerning. There was very little doubt in his mind that this was the oppression of living under the fear of the Diamond Dogs bleeding out into joy. The lifestyle of worrying that at any moment, an instance could arise where they were stolen away from their home, was one Slayer had seen far too many times. Standing amongst the sea of onlookers were the Elders, safe and secure in a small clearing in the crowd. The duo quickly made their way over, and Shamon gave a full-fledged bow upon entering a few paces from them. Slayer considered to maybe at least give a nod of respect, but chose instead to remain motionless. The Elders waved Shamon to stand, and Imamu stepped forward. “My kin of Nazar!” Imamu declared, his weathered voice ringing out in the street. The hum of talking evaporated, and left the company in silence. “Today, we are gathered here to celebrate the efforts of one particular individual; who without his help, we would not be standing as we are free of the Diamond Dogs’ oppression!” Slayer quirked an eyebrow at the frantic energy pulsating in the crowd. ‘He’s really hamming it up. I wasn’t expecting this kind of theatrics for little ‘ole me—’ “Please give applause to your Prince, your soon-to-be King; Shamon!” As the cacophony of hoofs rained down, Slayer’s features drooped. ‘You gotta be shitting me...’ Shamon gave a look towards Imamu, and discreetly motioned with his head towards Slayer with a small frown. Imamu’s face fell, and the Elder began speaking in a voice close to monotone. “And of course, please show your appreciation to the Interloper—” The thundering of hooves drowned out what the aging Zebra had to say. It almost seemed louder than Shamon’s applause, Slayer mused quietly to himself. Shamon didn’t seem to mind, however; in fact, he was one of the louder ones showing his approval. It was strange to the assassin how killing a few dozen individuals earned one a going-away party by aliens that preached pacifism. It was all admittedly, very, very, bizarre. “Interloper,” Imamu stated. Another Elder had taken his place, and had begun addressing the crowd once more. “A word with you in private, if I may?” Slayer merely gave a nod, and walked some distance away from the throng of civilians. Despite the size, none of the locals seemed to even notice the bounty hunter walking away with the head of the Elder Council. Once they reached an acceptable distance, Imamu turned to face Slayer. For a few seconds, he just stared, before speaking. “You make it difficult to discern what your motives are. You realize this, yes?” “My motives are simple. I just want to find my pilot, repair my vessel, and depart.” Something between a scowl and a frown worked its way onto Imamu’s muzzle. “I see...” He glanced behind Slayer for a moment, apparently checking to make sure Shamon had not followed. Said prince was now ensnared by the jovial expressions of civilians singing their praises to him. It was almost amusing to see his awkward expression, Slayer thought. “I hope you realize that your actions last night, while appreciated, does not absolve you of your threats you made before that.” A dark glint rose in the old stallion’s eyes. “And while Shamon might think that the betrayal you nearly enacted with Lucien was merely an illusion to lower the Alpha’s guard, I have a sneaking suspicion there was at least some glimmer of truth in your brief ‘acceptance’ of his proposal. He may trust you, but I hardly do. So let me warn you with this.” Imamu took a step forward, and raised himself to his full height. “If you allow any harm to come to Shamon, you will regret it. I promise you that.” Slayer rolled his eyes, and glanced down at the stern face of Imamu. He wasn’t going to make it obvious that what Imamu was believing was actually right. “I think saving you and your ‘kin’ from another round of enslavement, permanently if the Dogs have any intelligence, covers me just fine.” The Zebra rose a hoof, mouth opening to make a retort. But he stopped. Slowly, gently, he set down his rebuttal, and the sternness in his eyes faded. It seemed, to Slayer at least, that his wording got to Imamu. Several seconds passed before a heavy sigh left him. “I suppose you are right. Shamon had explained to me your reasonings for what you did, and despite your multiple actions to the contrary, you have done more for us than any other outsider has. I may not trust what you do... but I understand it, to a degree.” Slayer raised an eyebrow, his mask thankfully shielding his emotions. ‘So, Shamon is siding with me wholeheartedly despite having no need to vouch for me? To the point where the Elder gave up on his irritation with me?’ The guilt twisted itself in his heart, before it fled. Imamu continued, his eyes roaming across the enraptured crowd as they listened to the speech being given by Shamon. While Slayer gave a light, snide-driven snort at the rather easygoing and basic vocabulary, it seemed to ring home in the citizens. “I... I apologize. You have protected our city, Shamon, and our kin; the latter two on more than one occasion.” The elderly stallion to Slayer’s side sighed once more, and raked his mane in exhaustion.  “I should not be so rude, when I should be thankful.” The assassin waved it off, shaking his head. It didn’t feel right, being said sorry to by someone whose life he had threatened and was so close to betraying the previous day. It left a foul taste in his mouth, that resonated with his people’s traditions. “Do not apologize, nor give me thanks. I saved your people for my own gain.” A small nod left the Elder as Slayer’s gruff phrase hung in the air. It appeared Imamu seemed faintly amused by that statement. “As you say.” Suddenly, light tremors begin resonating beneath their feet. Slayer groaned softly, stiffly drawing his blade and falling into a bedraggled one-handed stance, before Imamu raised a hoof. “Wait, Interloper. Watch the seeds you’ve sown.” Wary of both the ground’s quaking and Imamu’s apparent ease, Slayer settled his katana back into its slot on his back. He still refused to release the hilt though, contenting himself to watching the reactions of the Zebra population. A majority of them seemed anxious, but there was no panic-induced rioting and fleeing. Shamon patiently stood, staring off towards the main gates. Soon, a hole burst out near where Shamon’s gaze was pointed. Slowly, carefully, a Diamond Dog emerged. This one had no weapons nor armour, and it took a second for Slayer to recognize the dog as Lucien’s now-defunct translator. His head swiveled towards Shamon, and tilted his head before he began barking out orders in the Dog’s queer language down his tunnel. A few more tunnels were tentatively dug out around the translator, and soon silence seized Nazar. It was shattered by coughing, and the rising form of a dusty Zebra female from one of the pits. This set off a chain of events; most notably a sea of muffled gasping. Soon afterwards, other equines began appearing out of the Diamond Dog tunnels, being quietly led away by guards once they acclimated to the sunlight towards the crowd. The entire audience stood apparently paralyzed, utterly unbelieving the scene before them. About two minutes later, the Zebras stopped appearing. Instead, another rumbling started, though this one was a short distance away from the present holes. Diamond Dogs began to steadily stream out of this disturbance, carrying with them crates and chests of varying sizes and quality. As time went on, they unloaded more and more of their cargo around the gaping pit, until several small mounds were scattered about. ‘That was most likely the den’s entire wealth,’ Slayer surmised at the dozen-plus piles. As soon as their work was done, the Dogs retreated into their burrow, filling it back up as they departed. Soon, only the translator remained with his tunnel. He stood silently, hands gently massaging one another in its recognizable nervous-tick fashion, watching the now-freed slaves being redistributed amongst their people. The Dog nodded to himself, and looked dead-on at Slayer. With a deep bow of respect, the canine left without a word. “Let us thank the Interloper,” Shamon began, starting the frozen masses. He had a small smile on his face as he stared towards Slayer. “Without him, our wealth would have been lost and our brothers and sisters would have remained in chains!” A deafening roar of cheering, accompanied by the rumbling of hooves smashing the sandstone underfoot, overloaded all other sound. Imamu let out another amused noise at Slayer’s lack of response. “I hope that you find the members of your crew, Interloper.” He briefly hesitated, before he called a guard over. Rifling through the saddlebags on the soldier’s person, the Elder turned to address Slayer. “This was an item we had recovered from Lucien.” Tentatively, he held it out. “The Council felt it appropriate that we gifted it to you.” The assassin raised a brow; was it the dagger from before? A quick inspection showed that no, it was not. It seemed to be an amulet of sorts, though the centerpiece confused Slayer. It looked like an ornate bronze tube roughly the size of a collapsed baton, but didn’t seem hollow when Slayer held it. He doubted it would be of much use, whether commercially or personally. Regardless, he nodded his thanks, and the two returned to Shamon. Upon arrival, it seemed that the crowd was breaking off into merriment once again. With the liberated slaves amongst them, many misty-eyes and cries of joy reverberated throughout the Zebras. It faintly reminded Slayer of the other times that Drake had roped him into freeing slaves and those under the tyranny of the three factions. The recollection left a muted sense of satisfaction as Shamon met them with a wave. “Slayer! Are you ready to depart?” Slayer glanced over the festivities, and nodded. “I suppose I am.” “Then we’ll depart immediately.” Giving a bow to Imamu, Shamon started trotting off. He paused, though, and turned back. “Oh, that’s right; your gold, Slayer.” It took a few moments for that comment to register for Slayer; he had entirely forgotten about the payment he wanted during his ‘negotiating’ with Lucien. Shamon adopted a thoughtful look with furrowed brows as he glanced down. “Hmm. We might need to triple the convoy to bring the additional gold—” “No.” Slayer’s dismissal attracted the attention of both Imamu and Shamon. “I have decided that I only wish one cart’s worth.” A surprised look came over Shamon’s face. “Are you sure? It would be no trouble at all to gather more guards to transport it for you.” The bounty-hunter waved it away. What he was saying was really stupid, but for some reason he couldn’t stop himself. Slayer attributed it to the heat getting to his head. “That won’t be necessary. Consider the two carts I’m not taking as a donation to Nazar.” He gave a shrug, and looked down at the appraising look from Imamu. “Besides, it will be a pain to try and carry three carts by myself once I land in the Equestrian’s capital.” The Elder just shook his head in bewilderment, never taking his eyes off of Slayer’s visor. “Such a confusing individual... Very well, Interloper; we will gladly accept your donation.” A small smile arose on Imamu’s muzzle as he bowed, an action that seemed to flummox Shamon by Slayer’s quick analysis. “...Should you require any assistance with your quest of repairing your vessel, you may seek us out once more. We will try our best to aid you, as you have aided us.” Slayer gave a nod, even though he didn’t put much weight into it. At least, it seemed to Slayer, that his former ban from reentry of Nazar was lifted. Turning away towards Shamon, he motioned with his hand forward. It took a moment for Shamon to snap out of his minor stupor, before he gave a nod in kind. As they approached the carriage-esque cart, Shamon tapped on the front. “Climb up.” “I’m not being put into the back?” Shamon merely smirked. “We have to put your gold somewhere, do we not?” Slayer just grunted at that fact, and hoisted himself up on top of the wagon. While he situated himself, the prince excused himself and returned to Imamu. From his perch, Slayer watched a brief, hushed discussion—or was it possibly an argument?—before the Elder gave a set of saddlebags to Shamon and gave him a weathered hug. Slayer pretended he wasn’t watching them when Shamon returned and clambered up alongside him. “Get comfortable, rafiki; we’re about to head out, and it will take some time before we can stop and rest.” Diligently, a quintet of rather-burly Zebra servants harnessed themselves to the front of the wooden vehicle, while another trio finished loading Slayer’s newfound bounty into the depths of the cart. As the assistants gave the all-clears, the marauder couldn’t help but glance down. “Are you sure I should be riding this still?” Shamon waved it off, though Slayer could have sworn he heard small grunts of irritation from the haulers below them. “You underestimate our strength, Slayer. Just because we do not tower, does not mean we are weak. Do not worry about it.” Slayer simply shrugged; he wasn’t going to try and argue the point if he could avoid having to walk any more desert. With the Prince giving one final wave of farewell towards the assembled crowd, that sent the convoy off with hoots and hollers of praise and good fortune, Shamon and Slayer were on their way towards their objective. The capital of the Equestrian kingdom. Canterlot. Starbrought Yuri was worried. It had been nearly thirty minutes since he and the Marshal had their heart-to-heart, and there was no sign at all of her. Still, he knew he was in enemy territory, and busied himself with a possible escape route. After having ample time to weigh his choices and deciding on caving in the ceiling to climb out should he need to, he let out a groan. “Where the hell is that Natalya chick at? I swear if I have to wait here any longer, I’ll—” “You’ll what, exactly?” Yuri spun around to see five griffins making their way up the same staircase that he had snuck up, but way more prepared for combat. Four of the biggest griffins he had ever seen were escorting what he guessed was Natalya in an arrow formation. The one at the tip of the arrow was dressed in a full set of white armor, and was nearly as tall as Yuri himself. A massive axe rested on his back, with one of the straps loose to give him quick access to the weapon. He was flanked by two smaller, but equally armored griffins. One of them had two swords on either side of him, and the other had a massive spear that just looked plain deadly. In the middle stood a regal looking griffin, which had a particularly eye catching red coat. A smirk decorated her beak as the party moved up the stairs and took up a defensive position. “I’ll yell very loudly.” He gawked at the massive griffins that were staring him down with a look of pure hate. “I’m not going to lie, I was starting to think that you were not going to show up.” “The thought is mutual. I honestly expected some sort of trap to spring the moment I stepped on those stairs. Looks like both of us have held the peace.” Carefully, Yuri leaned over to look past her escort. “I don’t suppose that you managed to bring a chair?” “No. I prefer to have my conversations standing up.” “How about food?” Natalya motioned to the griffin on her right. He pulled a knapsack off his back and slid it across the floor. It collided with Yuri’s foot and toppled over with a lazy flop. Yuri bent down and picked up the bag, keeping his eyes directly on the tower of flesh in front of him. He reached in and rummaged around. He pulled out what he guessed was a vegetable and studied it for a moment, before taking a gigantic bite out of it. His eyes narrowed in suspicion as he slowly chewed the vegetable, before swallowing it. “What is this? It tastes… weird, but not in a bad way.” He continued to take bites out of it, trying to determine the flavor. “Brisbane. Be thankful; it is a delicacy amongst our species.” The tech swished the food around in his mouth as he thought, before he gulped. “Huh, Brisbane... sounds familiar, somehow. Why’s it called that?” “It’s named after the ancient griffin capital, and the island where the fruit originated.” “Oh?” Yuri blinked and looked down. He was eating a fruit? “What happened to it?” “It was overrun by giant spiders about a thousand years ago.” The admittance of this fact, it seemed, was akin to discussing the weather. Yuri wondered if he really wanted to be stranded in the same territory that had such a terrifying prospect, and further more to be eating something that was named after said place. “But, that’s not really why were here.” “Wait.” The seriousness in his voice caused Natalya’s eyes to widen in concern. A moment passed. “Are they still there?” Instantly, Natalya’s face fell into an incredibly-annoyed expression. She seemed to be clenching her beak as she spoke. “Yes. Why do you ask?” “...How attached to that piece of earth are you?” “Quite a lot.” The other Titans shifted their weapons, obviously signalling that their patience was also wearing thin. “Now, can we stop with the small talk?” Yuri gave a shrug, and finished off his fruit-vegetable before he dug out a not-so-exotic pear and began consuming it. “Eh, fine by me. So Natalya, what do you wish to know?” “First off, I want to you to clarify what you mean by condemning an entire city to ruin if I didn’t come down and talk to you.” “Simple really. As you may or may not know, I’m an alien.” This statement caused her to raise a brow. “To spare you the mass amount of time it would take me to explain everything about how I got here, I’ll summarize it for you: when myself and my crewmates warped into this system by accident, we were caught in some sort of meteor shower. Our ship was knocked off course, and we ended up crashing onto your planet.” Natalya ruminated on that. The only meteor shower that had happened as of late was the Night of the Falling Skies. If that Equestrian custom was the reason why the being before her was there, it would line up with that unidentified object that crash-landed. Her musing stopped when one of the alien’s words hit full-force. “Crewmates? There’s more of your kind here?” “Only two more, don’t worry. One of them was missing when I came to, so me and other one went looking for him. We ended up getting separated and I wandered around before getting kidnapped by a group of your kind. I was brought to wherever this is, and you know the story from there.” “And how does this have to deal with our city becoming a ruin?” “Another simple answer. Our ship is powered by a fusion reactor, which generates the mass amount of power we need to travel in space. The reactor was damaged in the crash, and it was having trouble staying stable the last time I was there. However, I was taken here before I could go back and do the repairs needed to keep it stable.” “What does that mean for us?” Yuri gave a grin that disturbed Natalya to her very core. “If the reactor becomes unstable and I’m unable to stop it, it’s going to make a very, very big boom that will make the area impossible to inhabit.” “How big are we talking about?” “It would utterly annihilate all that was in the blast zone, and leave behind an equally-massive wasteland of radiation. And anything down wind of this would be covered in radioactive debris.” The smirk on Natalya’s face disappeared in an instant, replaced with a look of pure terror. “...How do I know you’re not lying?” “You don’t. You’re just going to trust me on this. I may be an alien to you, but I have no intention of having a problem that can be easily fixed result in the deaths of countless life-forms. Especially when one of those lives will be mine. I’m not a monster, and I don’t believe that you’re one either. Let me go back to my ship, fix the problem and wait for the rest of my crew to return. That’s all I ask.” Natalya stared at Yuri’s face, trying to determine if he was lying or not. It was more difficult to tell with his alien features if he was lying or not, but she saw nothing that looked like deception. However, she was not going to just let him go alone. “...I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree. However, let’s get some terms set. I’m not letting you just go by yourself to this place. I’m coming with you, and a whole lot of soldiers too. If you’re telling the truth, then all will go smooth. If you are lying… let’s just say it will be a fate worse than death, and neither of your two crewmates will be able to prevent it.” Yuri gave another chilling smirk, as if he knew something she didn’t. “Sounds fair to me. Shake on it?” Yuri extended his ungloved hand toward her. She raised an eyebrow at him in confusion and a slight hint of disgust. “What?” “It’s a custom among my people to shake hands at the end of every business deal, meeting, departure, or arrangement. Surely you have something similar, do you not?” Natalya still didn’t move. “You want me to shake your... hand?” Her asking of that was the first time since her arrival that Yuri’s face was anything close to negative. It was such a contorted expression that she involuntarily shivered from it. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t look at me with such disgust.” Nervously, almost hesitantly, she slowly extended her talon. Yuri gently grabbed it and shook it, his face all smiles, mentally laughing at her perplexed expression. Starbrought