With a heavy sigh he allowed his head to droop ever so slightly, worried earth brown orbs looking at the curled fist before him. Inky black strands of hair fell messily from his ill-kept mane, the shaggy accumulation of raven locks conforming to his mood and shadowing his face in a curtain of fear and self doubt. As he continued to stare at the olive skinned fist he thought of the consequences of his next actions, his next move determining not only his fate, but the fate of his friends and the very world in which they lived. Everything relied upon him, the sheer weight of his responsibility crushing him beneath its mighty tread.
Yet, as the pressure crested and his fear seemed to be at its very strongest he could hear a voice, an elderly crooning tone that shook him to the very foundations of his being, “Believe Nieto… believe in el espíritu guardián…let them guide you like a proper Brujo.” As those soothing words rung in his mind he could feel his once tremulous emotions calm, his previously trembling breath coming in as regularly as the most sedate tides and his racing heart slowing to the gentle tick tock of an ancient grandfather clock. In the blink of an eye he snapped his head back, poised ochre eyes glaring into the mocking emerald orbs of his adversary. Slick grin met confident smile, his fist loosening and fate falling to the merciless whims of gravity…
“Natural Twenty bitches!”
“What? No way!” The pale skinned man at the head of the table shouted in disbelief, his ivy eyes opened wide in surprise as he looked down at the pitch black die on the table. Sure enough sitting atop the small twenty sided obsidian stone was a crimson number twenty. “Gah!” the red haired man growled, leaning back into his seat and retreating slightly behind his cardboard wall of ivory, “Whatever, you still need to back it up to even have a hope of-“
“Another nat twenty!”
Pale skin turned even whiter as the man leaned forward, peering over the screen and seeing yet another twenty fill his vision, “No…fucking…way…”
The olive skinned boy merely grinned, his brown eyes gleaming with joy as he spoke, “Way; ask Alex and Bri. They watched me roll each one.”
Emerald orbs moved from the dark skinned young man to another figure at the table, a stout and burly gentleman wearing a tight muscle shirt and a shocked expression on his face, “He’s not shittin you John…he rolled each one legit.”
Quick as a whip the eyes moved again to the rather nonplussed young woman at the table, a single finger sliding her glasses up her nose as a haughty smile crossed her lips, “I assure you, both rolls were legal in every way John. Marco just double crited on your Pit Fiend and with his eighteen double zero strength and holy avenger…”
“GAH! Fine!” John growled and glared at the dark skinned Marco with a sneer, “Let’s see you back that one up!”
Marco merely grinned, rolling his D20 in his fingers as he spoke, “How much HP was the Pit Fiend on again? I’m fairly certain it can’t withstand a double crit from a holy avenger.”
“Just roll you lucky Mexican bastard,” John snarled, watching as Marco rolled his dice and letting I land on a healthy nineteen. A glare built up as he looked from the dice to Marco, the dark skinned boy giving him a shit eating grin, “You back it up…roll for damage.”
Taking out multiple dice Marco tossed them onto to table, malicious merriment dancing over his eyes as he spoke, “How does max on every dice but one suit you?”
For a long while John was silent, his eyes taking in every number on the dice before him and comparing it to the remaining health of his devilish monstrosity. After what felt like an eternity of calculating John sighed, his body rising from his chair and leaning over his screen before reaching out and pulling the monstrous game piece from the map, “You decapitate the Pit Fiend and send its bloody, disembodied head flying into the wall behind it.”
“Hells yeah!” Marco cheered, one fist pumping in the air as the other reached out towards Alex, “Where the dogs at beef?!”
“The pound!” Alex hooted, his fist slamming into Marcos with the resounding smack of flesh on flesh, “awesome crit dawg.”
“Yes, very impressive,” Bri said with that almost omnipresent haughty tone and grin, her ice blue eyes watching with amusement as Marco rubbed his now sore hand, “for once you were useful instead of a muscle bound burden.”
Marco rolled his eyes as he continued to nurse his bruised knuckles, “Love you too Miss Backstabby Mcbitchbitch.”
“Ugh enough with the love and friendship,” John groaned, one hand on his stomach as he tongue lolled out of his mouth, “it’s making me sick.”
“It’s not our fault you run on pessimism and hate,” Marco chuckled, “learn to run on camaraderie and anger like I do.”
“Yes, a much healthier life attitude,” Bri said with a healthy note of sarcasm in her voice, “so where does that leave us now John?”
“Yeah,” Alex barked with sudden enthusiasm, a wide grin on his face as gazed hungrily at the board before him, “any awesome loot on the thing?”
“Yeah some,” John said with a small smirk, his hands sliding beneath the covers of the book on the table before him and rising up causing the tome to shut with a resounding clap, “But we’ll save that for next time. It’s getting to be midnight and some of us have work in the morning.”
“True that,” Alex said with a slow stretch, his thick muscles straining against his shirt as several joints loudly popped, “I’ve got like, four weight training classes to teach tomorrow. It’s gonna be a bitch.”
“Indeed,” Bri said as she daintily stood, her lithe and waspish form rising with the air and formality one would expect from a queen bee in her hive, “the museum just recently received some Sumerian relics and they have asked me to begin restoration on them.”
“Blegh,” Marco stuck out his tongue in annoyance, arms gliding across the table as he gathered his small obsidian dice, “consider yourselves lucky. I’ve gotta get to the carwash and listen to the gringo’s bitch and complain about how the ‘wetbacks’ are stealing all the jobs.” His hand began to move faster and his hand clenched harder as he continued to speak, “and don’t get me started on those pendejo mexicanos who think just because I don’t speak fluent Spanish that they can talk shit behind my back.” Marco’s voice began to turn into a low growl as he violently shoved the dice into his bag, fists held tight with veins rising to the skin from the sheer strength of his grip. In the very corner of his vision Marco could almost see the brief outline of a shadow dance over the wall; an occurrence that was easily ignored in favor of continuing his rant, “¡Hijo de puta! I still understand the word ‘halfbreed’ and ‘fake Mexican’ you assholes! ¡Me cago en la madre que te parió!”
“Hey!” the sudden voice of John snapped Marco out of his trance, his furious visage turning up to face the stern gaze of his fair skinned DM, “Relax alright? I understand it’s a shitty situation man but really, is freaking out about it here really helping you?”
Having his trance broken Marco took a deep breath, his muscles relaxing for a moment before he rolled his neck around his shoulders thus producing a resounding crack, “Ah….much better.” Turning his gaze back to John, Marco nodded, his hand slipping his bag of dice into his side pocket before he spoke, “Yeah…I guess you got a point John. Sorry about that…that stuff just gets to me you know?”
John nodded, an expression that was shared around the small table of friends, “Oh we know…remember last time you almost flipped the table onto Alex when your character went down to negative two HP?”
“Or when you almost crushed your D20 for rolling two ones in a row?” Alex provided, his arms crossed over his chest as he remembered both incidents with crystal clarity.
“What about the time you nearly tore apart the pewter figurines with your teeth after the ghoul paralyzed you for the third time in the fight?” Bri offered, one hand supporting her elbow while the other elegantly cupped her chin.
“Yeah, yeah I get it,” Marco grumbled, an embarrassed flush overcoming his cheeks as he spoke, “I got to relax alright. Geeze, enough with the after school special stuff, I gotta get home before el viejo beats me retarded.”
“You certainly don’t need help with that now do you?” Bri said with a sly smile, something that caused Marco to roll his eyes and chuckle at.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Murky, dank and murky.
If there were words to describe that night than those would be them. Long overdue rain hung over the land like a thick soggy blanket, smothering everything with the wet heat of ninety degree humidity. It was times like this that Marco wished that he lived somewhere with a drier and colder climate…or at least accept Alex’s offer for a ride. Yet, just as he had every time that the group had a game Marco denied the offer and walked his way home from the nice apartments, the humid streets of the city swallowing him whole into its massive digestive system of buildings and danger. It was just a lucky thing that he remembered how to navigate the bowels or else he might have been in real trouble.
The streets wound and slithered like the body of an ageless serpent, steel skeletons and concrete organs spiraling deeper and deeper into a seemingly endless labyrinthine maze. Yet, with the practiced knowledge gained through years of practice Marco was able to identify the individual towering steel stomachs and brown brick hearts of the city, instinct guiding his way to his home in the very heart of Little Mexico. As he walked Marco thought of his small home, the cramped living space granted to him and his family through sheer luck and financial help from the state. The brickwork was old and chipping, the fire escapes were rusting into nothingness, it was hot in the summer and cold in the winter, but it was better than nothing…right?
A heavy sigh came from Marco’s lips as he looked up toward the road ahead, his eyes locked on the dimly lit horizon that was the city streets. Long ago, when he was young, he used to enjoy playing out in the streets at night with friends. The bright lights of the streetlamps only accentuated the shadows of the night, a sense of danger and excitement fueling their childish imaginations. They would play cops and robbers, pirates and ninjas, every game that they could think of in their youthful bliss. Nothing could burst the bubble of their imaginary world, their lower economical status doing nothing to stem the glee they got from running streetlight to streetlight so as to avoid la fantasmas hidden in the dark.
Nothing, except for reality.
His eyes glazed over as he remembered the fracturing of his friends, of his family…of his heart. The loss of his friends was great, the loss of so many family members was greater, but it was the final loss…that last person slipping into the oblivion that lies beyond this life…
With a dull gaze Marco’s eyes stared into the shimmering humid heat before him. The water laden air causing the light of the streetlamps to waver and twist in the dance of mirage, his mind forming the image of a short olive skinned and white haired woman in the wispy air…
Perhaps it was then that the shadows started to arrive…
“Hola,” a voice spoke, a grave and elderly tone rising from the silence causing Marco to jump and spin on a dime. Standing only a short ten feet behind Marco was an elderly gentleman, his ancient body hunched as his wrinkled visage stared directly at Marco.
“¡Jesucristo!” Marco shouted in surprise, one hand clutching the left side of his chest, “Don’t sneak up on me like that please! You nearly gave me a heart attack!”
A low chuckle rose from the elderly man, his thin and chapped lips cracking into a grim smile as he spoke with a heavy Spanish accent, “Oh? That’s not good…at least not yet.”
Marco gave the old man a curious look, the cryptic words that the man spoke causing his mind to wonder, “Er…yeah…so uh, what are you doing out here sir? It’s getting to be midnight and the streets aren’t safe here.” Despite his question and subsequent warning Marco had the vaguest feeling that the man wasn’t listening, instead he simply seemed to stare at Marco through the darkness of the street. Perhaps it was the lateness of the hour that caused the shadows to cover the elderly man so perfectly, maybe it was Marco’s own visual exhaustion that caused him incapable of determining any specific details about the old man before him. Whatever the cause no matter how much Marco concentrated he couldn’t get a clear picture of the man, only a vague outline and the soft white gleam of a small smile.
“Would you be the nieto of Lupe Moreno?” the man asked, his head tilting ever so slightly as he seemed to lean forward in anticipation.
Marco was slightly taken aback, the old man’s grave voice echoing within his mind as the streets seemed to become even darker than they had before, “E-Excuse me?”
“I asked if you were related to la Bruja Blanca, Lupe Moreno,” The old man spoke, his voice taking on an impatient tone as the streetlights around him began to dim, “so tell me, are you the gilipollas that puta helped create or not?”
At that Marco stopped on a dime, his eyes growing wide for a moment before they snapped into a glare so deadly the very air could split from his hatred, “What did you just say?”
“So you are. I had a feeling that you were,” the old man said with a smirk, his hand reaching into the collar of his shirt as he continued to speak, “your abuela caused me a lot of trouble, you know that?”
“Trouble?” Marco growled, his anger skyrocketing as the man’s voice continued to taunt him, “Abuelita was a Bruja BLANCO you pendejo! She cured people, she helped them!”
“Exactamente,” the old man spoke, pulling out a small object from his shirt, “she cured people, she broke their curses. She broke MY curses.” The old man’s tone became bitterer the longer he spoke, “I was feared for my power and ability to curse others. My services were sought after, revered, and expensive. But that puta…that pinche puta broke them. My curses were useless and those that asked me to cast them got the full force of the backlash. Needless to say, she ran me out of business.”
“Sounds like Abuelita showed you your place pendejo,” Marco said with a cocky smirk, his hands curling into hard fists as he started to walk closer to the old man, “and for pissing me off so well how about I do the same you old culo.”
“¡Alto!” The old man shouted with cold cruelty, the object in his hand clutched tightly as he forced it out toward Marco in a threatening gesture. The moment those words crossed the old man’s lips Marco froze, his body halting in mid-step and not moving an inch more.
“Wha-What is this?” Marco shouted in surprise, his teeth gritting hard but not a single muscle on his body moving in the slightest, “why can’t I move!?”
“Pendejo,” the old man smirked, walking up to Marco with a slow and easy gait, “it is simple to cast this sort of curse when you have hair from the one you wish to weave your magic on.”
“¡Gilipollas!” Marco snarled, his eyed glaring liquid hate at the old man as the very corners of his gaze caught the slight flicker of dancing shadows, “how did you get hair from me!?”
“It was easy,” the old man spoke, coming close enough for Marco to finally get a good look at him, “when you can transform into el gato.”
Marco’s eyes widened in realization and fear as he caught full sight of the old man before him, snow white hair covering his head in sparse wisps while a pair of golden cat like eyes peered out from an ancient wrinkled face. The man wore drab and dully colored robes, the clothing of a Brujo Negro adorning him from head to toe. In one wrinkled and decrepit hand the man held a small doll, a human facsimile fashioned from old burlap and several strands of pitch black human hair. “Y-You…cabrón,” Marco hissed, straining against his own frozen muscles as he spoke, “why are you doing this?”
“Your abuela ruining my business and breaking my curses with her magic not enough?” The old man smirked, his one free hand reaching out and cupping Marco’s cheek, “think of it as a return to what I do best.” With a rough shove of his hand Marco slowly but surely tipped over, his frozen body landing on the ground with a thud and a grunt which the old man ignored, “I’ve waited years for your abuela to die so I could have my revenge and you will be the crowning masterpiece of my patience.”
“Have your revenge?” Marco grunted, firm brown eyes glaring with fiery rage as the shadows in the corners of his vision began to swell and twist, “What the hell are you talking about? Abuela is already dead you pendejo, you’ve already lost your chance-”
The old man squeezed the doll in his grip just a bit tighter, his stronger hold cutting off Marco’s breath and whatever words he was going to say next, “Don’t think I just sat around waiting just waiting to kill that puta of a bruja you pendejo. She broke my magic so easily; it would be stupid to attempt to confront her head to head. Instead I watched her and waited, just biding my time for the opportunity to get my revenge. As I watched I saw how much time she put into you niño, how much care and love she gave you…all the information she shared about your familia. What better way to get the revenge I seek than to kill you in the street like the perro you are.”
Realization dawned on Marco as his blood boiled even higher, fury pouring through his veins as the shadows from the edges of his vision grew ever larger, “The second I’m free, I’ll kill you…”
The old man chuckled once more, that low and mocking voice matching the callous smirk on his lips, “I doubt that very much pendejo. Now hold still…this will hurt.” Marco watched and struggled in his invisible binds as the old man knelt down beside him, the one hand not holding the burlap doll sliding into his numerous robes and retrieving a rolled sheet of parchment from deep within. The antique weathered paper unrolled with unnatural smoothness, easily lying flat against the concrete covered ground revealing numerous immaculate drawings and symbols lining the surface and forming a circular pattern. With the paper in its desired position the old man reached deep into the cavernous folds of his clothing and pulled out what looked to be the thin blade of a razor. Once more the man returned his attention to Marco, a malicious gleam in his eye as he reached down and drew the blade ever so slowly across Marco’s face.
Marco clenched his teeth and bit back a hiss of pain, the thin edge of the razor slicing opening up a diagonal wound across his left cheek. Slowly, the new laceration began to bleed freely, crimson liquid rolling down Marco’s skin seconds before the man dipped two ancient fingers into the very source of the scarlet river. Marco couldn’t hold back the grunt of pain as the old man began to twist and dig his fingers into the thin cut, widening the wound as he covered his fingers in viscous blood. After a few moments of the torture the old man removed his fingers, his now blood soaked digits moving from the boys wounded cheek to the paper he had set down only moment before. With careful and practiced movements the old man began to cover each and every rune with a stroke of blood, crimson paint covering the glyphs until the very last letter was covered. The old man grinned as the paper began to pulse, a dull purple hue overtaking the once off-white page as the letters and symbols began to burn with a crimson glow. With his hand still covered in Marco’s blood the old man held his palm above the page, his voice rising from the silence of the night and softly chanting as the fires of scarlet began to rise in a small circular inferno.
As the old man chanted over the parchment Marco continued to struggle, his eyes narrowed and the shadows in the corners of his gaze growing ever greater. Had Marco the mind for intelligent thought at the moment he would marvel at the way the shadows seemed to become ever larger, changing from the passing shapes of small animals to those of men and even vicious monsters. He also might have wondered why the shadows were becoming so large, the black mirages in the corner of his vision never once becoming as prominent as they were at this very moment. However, at the moment all he that came to his mind was rage…pure and unbridled ferocity. His heart thundered with wrath, his mind bathed in the pools of fury, and all he could think was one thing and one thing only, ‘kill.’
As the old man drew his chanting to a close he held the doll of Marco above the now roaring circle of crimson fire, the runes and other markings glowing brightly with royal red flame with nothing but pitch black emptiness in the center, “Excellente. Once I drop this doll into the portal the spell will be complete and you will be delivered to the deepest pits of hell. Any last words gilipollas nieto de Bruja Blanca Lupe Moreno?”
“Sí,” Marco said with a voice of pure deadly calm, “Morir.”
The old man grinned, his fingers loosening around the doll in preparation for release into the pitiless void of his ritual spell. However, just as he was on the verge of completing the ritual and sending Marco into horrors beyond imagination he felt a sharp pain erupt from his chest; a spire of agony that started at his very heart and spread out like the web of some vicious parasitic spider. Looking down at this chest the old man saw nothing but darkness looking back, a single tendril of inky shadow spearing his body from back to front like a skewer forged from the blackness of the night sky itself. With a wet cough blood splattered from the old man’s mouth, several drops of crimson life blood splattering over his spell and changing the flames of his revenge from bloody crimson and royal purple to vibrant emerald and neon orange. Seeing his spell change before his eyes the old man could only glare, his weakened grip slowly letting the doll in his hand to dangle closer to the ivy fire below, “You…will…suffer…gil-”
Another blood filled cough cut the old man off, his hand releasing the doll on pure reflex thus allowing it to fall into the emerald flames below…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thunderstorms were nothing new to Twilight Sparkle.
Precipitation spread life giving water over the land, fertilizing the soil with Dihydrogen Monoxide and allowing crops to grow in anticipation for the coming harvest. This harvest would feed the citizens of Ponyville and allow the prosperous town to continue upon its merry way. It was also no big surprise to her that some storms are worse than others, should the pegasi get behind on their rain schedule then they need larger and larger storms to cover up their past mistakes. While these storms could be a bit more chaotic that the ponies of Ponyville would like, it was a necessary evil in making sure that everyone was well fed and happy.
Yet, no matter how factual that these revelations might be none could account for the storm she was suffering now…
All around the library which she called home the wind howled and screamed, the ghastly wails of hurricane force winds tearing the land asunder and laying waste to anything within its path that was not nailed down. The ancient wood of her hollowed out tree home groaned with the stress of the storm, thick ageless branches squealing with effort as they tried their hardest to withstand the wild whipping winds. Long ago several windows had shattered from the sheer force of the tempest, spider web fractures cracking across the surface before the magically reinforced glass shattered into millions of pieces. Because of this Twilight had taken shelter in her basement library quite a while ago, her body crouched low to the cold stone floor with her purple dragon assistant huddled next to her and quaking with fear, “T-Twilight…wh-what’s going on with this storm?”
Twilight swallowed nervously, her ears flattening against her skull as yet another window in the library shattered with a resounding crash, “I…wish I knew Spike. I’ve never heard of any natural rainstorm being this strong and we would have been able to sense if somepony was casting a Tempest Spell.” Somewhere in the back of her mind Twilight felt the bleak shadow of doubt creep into her brilliant brain, while it was true that a successfully cast Tempest Spell cost a massive amount of magic to use and it was more or less a beacon to any nearby mage for miles around the storm that now raged had come in faster than even the professional pegasi weather team could keep up with. She remembered looking out her window as the winged ponies of Ponyville tried with all of their might to hold back the encroaching grey clouds only to be overrun by violent winds and catastrophic lightning in mere minutes.
“Are…are we going to be okay?” Spike whimpered, his head ducking and his ear frills lowering as the low crack of one of the older branches on the library snapped off in the wicked winds.
“Y-Yeah,” Twilight said with a weak smile, her head softly nuzzling the purple scales of her number one assistant, “Princess Celestia herself helped ward the basement from any damage so we should be safe if we just stay here Spike.”
Despite her attempt at comforting words even Twilight could hear the fragility of her words, the flimsiness that came from doubt and terror echoing in the timber and tone of her voice. Despite her knowledge on storms and her extensive training in magic and its uses even she could not begin to fathom where this typhoon had arisen from. It was as if it had come from absolute nothingness…
Her entire body winced as she heard another crash from the floors above, yet another window being reduced to nothingness from the wind and what it was blowing. However, unlike the previous times where glass had broken there was a sound that followed the loud shatter. A hollow thump vibrated through the ceiling of her guarded basement, a thick and weighty sound that was akin to somepony throwing a sack of potatoes on the floor of the library with the full force of their body. This alone was enough to get her ears to snap to attention once more but it was the following sound that caused her to hop to her hooves in terror, the horrible scream of pain that swiftly followed.
In mere seconds Twilight was galloping up the stairs toward the entrance of her safe haven, her voice calling out to her dragon assistant as a deep purple aura surrounded the door before her, “Spike! Get the emergency medical kit in my desk, I think I heard somepony in pain upstairs!”
Not waiting for a reply from her dragon companion Twilight swung the door open only to confront the full force of the storm with her face. Had Twilight taken a moment to think about her situation she would have thought of the pressure differences between the sealed basement and the open library as well as the fact that wind travels at a faster speed depending on the narrowness of the passage in which it is flowing. Yet, the only thought in Twilight’s mind as she faced the storm and was subsequently thrown down the stairs by the sudden rush of air was a very simple one, ‘OH MY CELESTIA!’
Twilight flailed about for some sort of ground but she found none as she floundered in the whipping winds, her hooves searching for some purchase of earthly friction but only tearing through the whirlwind that blew her about. For a few terrifying seconds Twilight spun through the air, her mind being thrown into turmoil and confusion as the world swiftly began to resemble some sort of abstract painting done by swirling hundreds of colors on the same canvas. Yet, almost on instinct she could feel the lessons of her instructor ring throughout her mind, the calm and wise voice of the great snow white alicorn goddess silencing her panicked thoughts and allowing her to react with swift rationality.
In the blink of an eye Twilight’s horn encompassed herself and the entire basement in a peerless purple bubble, her force field spell silencing the wind and causing everything that had been blowing around the land with an ungraceful clatter. Twilight herself was lucky enough to be the main benefactor of her spell, her body being easily lowered to the ground as though she had wings to slow her sudden descent. Spike on the other hand hit the ground with a grunt and a thud, one clawed hand reaching up and rubbing at the new bump upon his shout, “Ouch…geeze Twilight, think you could have put the force field up FIRST?”
“Sorry Spike,” Twilight muttered, her cheeks blushing slightly before she quickly shook the shame away, “but this is no time to be discussing retrospect! There might be an injured pony upstairs and it is our duty to help them!”
“Right! Got it!” Spike snapped to attention at the reminder, his body rising to his feet and a single claw giving a sharp salute before he ran over to Twilight’s mahogany desk. In seconds he returned with a small white and red box, the kit tucked securely under his armpit as he spoke, “found it Twilight!”
“Good, now let’s go Spike!” Twilight said, her legs already carrying her at a full gallop up the stairs as Spike followed to the best of his stubby-legged ability. In short order the duo arrived upstairs in the main floor of the library, the howling of the storm raging against Twilight’s mobile shield but unable to break the thick magical barrier. However, this came with a cost as Twilight grunted and let loose drops of sweat with each micro-burst of wind, her shield being battered and smashed with the full force of the tempest that blew throughout the library. Despite this minor distraction Twilight and Spike quickly found the source of the pained scream, an image that was not uncommon due to their adventurous lifestyle but still disheartening beyond belief, “Rainbow Dash!”
Sure enough, lying on the floor of the library, covered in shards of broken glass, torn books, and numerous wooden twigs was Rainbow Dash, her right front leg and one of her wings bent at unnatural angles while hot salty tears poured from her shimmering rose colored eyes, “H-Hey guys…wh-what’s up?”
“Oh no, no, no,” Twilight muttered as she looked over Rainbow Dashes beaten and battered body, “How did you get here Rainbow? It’s way too dangerous to fly!”
Rainbow chuckled weakly before wincing sharply and taking a shallow breath of air, “I-I tried to break up the storm…got close but…but this…thing came out…of nowhere…knocked me right…out of the sky…”
Twilight felt her curiosity burn at the mention of an unidentified flying ‘thing’ but she knew it was best to keep Rainbow Dash as quiet as she could, her hoof reaching down and pressing against Rainbow Dashes lips, “Stop talking Rainbow, it’s draining your strength. Just concentrate on staying with us okay?”
Dash nodded softly before she let her head rest on a miraculously debris-free portion of the wooden floor, her chest rising and falling in shallow gasps and her eyes continuing to leak terrified, painful tears, “Got it…Twi…”
Twilight ignored Dashes comment as her eyes began to dart from side to side in panic, it was far too risky to lift Dash and bring her back downstairs. Even if they had managed to patch up her superficial wounds in her lab there might be other internal damage that they wouldn’t be able to take care of with the equipment that they had. The only real option was to hold up her shield and try to lead all three of them through the storm but despite her magical talent not even she would have enough power to hold it that long. Over and over Twilight ran scenario after scenario in her mind, each simulation presenting a different solution but each ending in a very similar way. With a heavy sigh Twilight’s head hung down, her body being flooded by a single oppressive emotion; hopelessness…
A sudden shiver ran down Twilights spine and in a flash she lifted her head from her depressing thoughts, her gaze shooting out one of the many broken windows to the violent churning storm outside. For a few moments Twilight’s eyes scanned the heavy grey clouds fruitlessly, the swirling and tumultuous weather unchanged despite the magical tingling in her mind and the strange thundering in her heart. Yet, just as she was about to turn her attention back to the injured Rainbow Dash and worried Spike something appeared in a massive ivy flash, a monolithic explosion of emerald color slicing apart the clouds without the slightest of care of effort. It was as if some formless giant had appeared from the ether, tearing apart the storm with the finesse and skill of an untrained and drunken warrior. Out of this gargantuan blast came a single object, an object that looked to be on fire…an object that was heading directly for the Everfree Forest…