Rally and Recover: 11 - Difficult Decisions
Greetings again to all readers from the thestral enclave of Canterlot, where I fear I have spent far too little time of late. ‘Tis Fell Flight writing again, and I have returned home for the first time in a month after sifting through the Owl archives regarding Omega, and then working with the Society of Omega Survivors to bring proper honor to our lost outpost and comrades.
‘Tis time now to rectify that by spending some quality time with my herd and foals; including and mayhap most especially my dear stallion Oberon. He is a fine bat whom I would not meet until much later in the war; a scarred but battle-tested Nightborne soldier who won my heart with such sterling strength and courage—to say nothing of his skill at slaying and cooking meat!—in the course of the conflict’s final few months.
Perchance the old saying is true, and the way to a mare’s heart is through her stomach? Especially when she’s had precious little but pony rations for months on end.
As much as I may wish to recount that story, it lies too far in the future, and a much more immediate and oft-unpleasant one remains to be told. But before we put that to paper, there is something else I wish to say.
—First Lieutenant Fell Flight [ret.]
Thestral High Emissary
Thestral Enclave
Canterlot
My sister, Morning Glory, says she learned many things from me—courage and duty foremost among them. To which I say she gives me too much credit—I say she had them all along, perchance inherited from our beloved and sorely-missed sire, along with a great spirit of kindness and generosity I fear I completely lack.
But there is one thing I was unquestionably taught by her, and ‘twould be needed here on the fourth evening of war. I mentioned it in the last chapter, but methinks ‘tis best repeated now:
That sometimes the answers to difficult dilemmas or even life-and-death situations come from the unlikeliest of sources.
That sometimes, the absolute last individual you wouldst have selected for a task is in fact the key to solving a seemingly intractable problem, saving both themselves and another you hold dear in the process. Such it would be here.
Despite that, know that what we are about to describe ‘twas, even upon reflection, utter insanity. And for it, I cannot even begin to fathom the courage it took for the individual in question to go through with it, given the likely outcomes.
Or the agony his mother suffered watching him do it.
EAS Loyalty
Central District Airship Anchorage
September 4th, 1139 AC
2105 hours
Leaving my sisters yet again with the promise of returning to spend the night, I obeyed Captain Typhoon’s summons and arrived back at the Loyalty within five minutes.
After presenting myself to the sentries posted at the side entrance where the gangplank to the cloud surface lay—a purely symbolic act given almost everypony present was a pegasus and could just fly in—I was directed to report to the Captain’s Stateroom, which had been taken over by Captain Typhoon at Captain Shady’s insistence.
Arriving before it, I took a deep breath before rapping my hoof hard on its surface. I did not know how Captain Typhoon would take my request, and whether I more hoped he would grant or deny it. For ‘tis certain even a reprimand for putting my personal interests above the potential safety of the crew and Gavian might have been cause for less anxiety than the thought of facing Thunderbolt again, knowing what I then did.
“Come,” the Captain of the Guard invited in his usual deep voice, and as I entered and stood to attention—we had quickly learned that, somewhat oddly, the Royal Navy did not salute indoors—I was surprised to see Blindside there as well.
Her one-eyed gaze locked with mine and she gave me a quick nod before turning her attention back to the Captain. She had still not obtained a new eyepatch after leaving her original one in the chest we stuffed with personal effects in the vault at Epsilon, and for as much as my cat-eyed gaze caused flinches in others, I couldn’t quite stifle my own at seeing her milky orb of a nonworking eye.
I couldn’t help but marvel again at the disability she’d overcome, and instantly recalled who she told me was responsible for her doing so. That being the case, was she then present for the same reason I was…?
“At ease,” the Captain of the Guard’s invitation broke into my thoughts, to which I relaxed only fractionally as he sat back behind the Captain’s desk and pursed his hooves before us, a steaming mug of tea in front of him.
“Captain Shady has informed me that you wish to speak to Thunderbolt privately, Master Sergeant. ‘Twould seem you are not the only one.” He nodded to Blindside, whose expression was impassive. I wondered if she’d been able to contact her mother in Cloudsdale, who she had said owned a tea shop and should have been safely away from the battle. “Sergeant Blindside wishes to see him too. I have waited until you both are present before posing the obvious question: why?”
“Because I owe him, sir,” Blindside replied first; ‘tis worth noting that her blade wounds were still visible but healing. According to fitness reports I’d received the previous night, she would be able to fly again in two days, and perchance be battleworthy again within five. “First to fly, and then to fight.”
“Do explain.”
“As you can clearly see, I have a rather unusual… incapacity,” she motioned up with a wing to her nonworking eye. “To make a long story short, Thunderbolt taught me to fly in spite of it. He enabled me to overcome my lack of depth perception by helping me develop my rather unique awareness, perchance by imparting a little of his own.”
She paused before proceeding, letting the Captain absorb her words. “‘Tis not just me, either—he helped countless young ponies over the years by teaching them faithfully and patiently over at the Remedial Flyers’ School. ‘Tis that Thunderbolt that I remember and revere. ‘Tis certain I cannot countenance his attack on Gavian, but whatever he has become now, I refuse to believe he is lost!”
“He helped me as well, sir.” I perchance spoke out of turn by addressing the Captain before being invited to, and thus I stood back to rigid attention. “‘Tis certain I would not be here before you now, if not for him. I would neither have been able to enter the Corps, nor survive the battles I did.”
Fortunately, the Captain did not take offense. If I’d learned nothing else about him by then, ‘twas that he was very even-keeled, to use the nautical term, possessing a dry wit and very little temper. He was not obscenely serene as I found Still Way so infuriatingly to be, but his emotions and actions were always quite measured; ‘twas rare he even raised his voice.
“Yes, I know some of your stories—and his,” he considered my words carefully. “I was actually present at your decoration ceremony, Master Sergeant, standing at the head of the Royal Guard contingent when you received your Sergeant stripes and the Sapphire Sentinel medal. I was but a First Lieutenant then, in command of the Canterlot garrison. Thunderbolt gave a strong speech and it seemed he had great affection for you.”
“He did, sir!” I nodded sharply. “Please understand—he stuck with me even when everypony else had given up on me! ’Tis certain I was but a belligerent young filly who hated everything and made life miserable for everypony around me before he set me straight.” I suppressed a grimace at the memory of that day in his office ten years earlier, when I had mouthed off to him, telling him he did not know pain.
His very frightening explosion put my own issues into sharp perspective as he collared me, dragged me over to a picture of his lost comrades and explained in no uncertain terms just how wrong I was—for how could unusual eyes and the taunts of other colts and fillies over them compare to the loss of all your friends and comrades, slain before your eyes? “He took me under his wing, sir. Sponsored me, trained me, and got me the operation that gave me day vision in the face of… a certain reluctance.” I glanced over at Blindside briefly.
“By which you mean the intransigence of General Squall Line.” He arched an eye ridge at me, and my lips tightened at the General’s mention. “Another fine officer who forgot himself, overcome by some of the same demons that Thunderbolt bears. Another casualty of the IS-2 incident, perchance joined at the hip with Thunderbolt by it,” he mused mostly to himself, leaving me and Blindside no idea of what he spoke.
“Yes, sir,” I answered neutrally, biting off a fresh wave of anger rising within me at my remembered treatment at the wings of the then-Corps Commander. “But regardless, I owe him. And I know him, sir. Whatever he has become and whatever creature he was last night, ‘tis not the Thunderbolt I knew. ‘Tis that Thunderbolt I hope to restore by speaking to him!”
“As do I,” Blindside concurred, standing at attention beside me. “Sir, please, if we could just talk to him…” She trailed off as he shook his head reproachfully.
“With respect, I understand you already did, Master Sergeant,” The Captain pointed out. “Right after the battle, according to Firefly herself. She witnessed your encounter with Thunderbolt and says he showed no remorse at all. So I fail to see why you believe another talk would do any good. Or why I should risk granting your request.”
“Because, sir, he also said I would understand shortly why he attacked Gavian and thank him for it once I knew…” I turned my gaze downward, my lip tight. “… by which he meant the slaughter of civilians at the Weather Factory, including my own family!” I hissed out the words as Blindside gave me a shocked look, whilst the Captain’s stern expression softened.
Not wanting to dwell on my losses again, I quickly charged ahead. “He was right, and yet he is wrong—I do understand his anger and inner rage now, for I now share it! But methinks I do not share his desire to slaughter all gryphons or Gavian in their stead!”
“And methinks I am glad to hear it,” Captain Typhoon replied, his voice subdued. “I mourn your family, as I do all Cloudsdale dead—‘tis certain I have my own lost relations here, as do many aboard this ship.” He sighed heavily and closed his eyes for a moment before raising them back to mine. ‘Twas a rare pony indeed who I felt compelled to avert my gaze from, but the Captain was such a pegasus. “I now understand why you wish to reach him. But ‘tis still unclear to me why you think you can.”
I knew not how, but I realized then that Thunderbolt’s fate hinged on my next words. “He believes that all who share in such experiences must turn out like him. I am proof he is wrong,” I told him. “I plan to remind him of some words of wisdom once shared with me:
“So heed these words and heed them well, Fell Flight. If you enter the Corps, there will come a time when you will see your friends and fellow ponies fall before you, and your heart will scream for vengeance,” I quoted, the words seared into my memory long before.
“At all costs, resist it. Kill in combat; kill in defense of Equestria and other ponies if you must. But never kill for sport or pleasure. Never give into revenge or bloodlust. ’Tis a very dark sky to fly, and ’tis one even your eyes will lose sight in,” I recalled as Blindside nodded slowly at my statement.
I bowed my head when I was finished, noting the Captain seemed intrigued. “I approve wholeheartedly of such sentiments. But why do you think Thunderbolt would listen to them?”
I couldn’t quite suppress a smile. “Because those words came from Thunderbolt himself, sir. He told them to me right before I enlisted.”
Methinks the surprise on the Captain’s face was something to behold. “I see…” he said as Blindside gave me an approving and grateful nod, then he got up to look out the balcony door.
“I admit I am impressed. I did not think he had that in him. Nevertheless, I do not share your optimism that you can reach him. Some would say that the Thunderbolt imprisoned in the brig is the real one, and the one you saw as fillies was but a mask he donned, ready to be ripped off at the first opportunity,” he suggested as he turned back to us.
Seeing we were both about to object, he raised a wing to indicate he wasn’t done yet, in a gesture he’d apparently already picked up from the bat-ponies. “You saw him last night, Master Sergeant. ‘Twould seem that even the sight of a gryphon provokes his rage and bloodlust, and causes him to lash out automatically regardless of orders or honor.”
“Not true, sir,” I answered instantly. “Perchance you were unaware, but Thunderbolt did encounter Gavian once before, when Commander Firefly was taking him on a tour of greater Equestria earlier in the summer. I heard from Swift Strike that they visited Cloudsdale and Thunderbolt met Gavian then. Even standing six feet away, he did not attack him. From what the Sky Sergeant said, he was friendly. He even spoke to Gavian in Aeric, complimenting him on his Equish and sword skill.”
At this, the Captain’s eyes widened further as he gave me an incredulous look. “Truly?”
“Truly,” I confirmed, exchanging a knowing smile with Blindside. “And having now heard directly from my surviving sister of his deeds here, ‘tis certain to me that we need him in this fight. But only if he can restrain his worst impulses. For I do not relish the idea of fighting alongside a wingpony who cares naught for orders or tactics, but seeks only to slay every gryphon he sees. Such an ally is no true ally at all and far more likely to get us all killed then carry out an operation successfully.”
“I agree. Unfortunately, that may not be possible,” The Captain replied, but the note of uncertainty in his voice told me I’d shaken his confidence. “I admit I am surprised to hear these stories, and they do give me pause. But even so, I simply do not share your optimism. Because you see, I have already spoken to Thunderbolt myself. And believe me when I say ‘twas not a pleasant meeting.”
Once again, I tried to choose my words carefully, but this time, Blindside beat me to it. “With respect, sir, he doesn’t know you. He knows us,” she told him. “We are two ponies who rank amongst his greatest achievements as a teacher and trainer. Given that, surely he might listen to us?” she said with another glance at me, earning a rapid nod.
He considered that, only to shake his head. “Methinks you both presume too much on your past experiences with him,” he told us. “What you do not have is experience with the demon he now is. A demon he appears to have willingly surrendered himself to.” He shook his head in disgust as a grimace crossed his lips.
“I cannot believe that, sir!” I stood to attention again.
“No? Then please wait.” He summoned one of his aides—a civilian unicorn mare named Total Recall who looked far too young for the work. She arrived but a minute later, almost furtively peeking her head in.
“Do you require my services, sir?” she asked, though she seemed strangely anxious and uncomfortable to my eyes.
He nodded gravely. “I do indeed. With my greatest apologies, I require the use of your special talent. I ask that you please replay and project your memories of my meeting with Thunderbolt earlier this afternoon.”
To my surprise, she whimpered and went visibly weak in the knees at his request. “S-sir, I—” she stilled only when Typhoon laid a hoof on her chest.
“I know. And methinks I would not ask this of you, but ‘tis important that these two see what happened directly. For Thunderbolt was their mentor, and they must now see what has become of him.”
She swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”
He then turned to us. “Witness the events of our meeting, and then tell me if you still think you can reach him.”
Brig
EAS Loyalty
September 4th, 1139 AC
1435 hours
Methinks I wasn’t sure what he meant by ‘witness’ until the unicorn mare took a deep breath, closed her eyes and ignited her horn, projecting an image into the air.
It only took me a few seconds to realize what she was doing—projecting her own memories before us, and hence, we were seeing and hearing things through her eyes and ears as she followed the Captain down the rather sharply angled stairs to the brig. She stumbled more than once, as had I when I initially encountered them; methinks I must admit that those stairs had given me some issues at first for the very particular gait they required.
Within seconds, they reached their destination in her projection, with Captain Typhoon confronting Thunderbolt in the ship’s most secure cell. Judging by the scroll paper floating in front of her and the pen poised before it, Total Recall was there to take the minutes of their meeting.
“Captain Typhoon,” Thunderbolt acknowledged with a half-meant salute, paying Total Recall no mind. “So tell me, are you here to free me, or to slay me?”
“That depends,” Typhoon answered honestly but ominously as he returned the gesture. “Do you regret your attack on Gavian Ravenoff?”
“Would there be any point in me lying?” Thunderbolt asked sullenly.
“None,” Captain Typhoon replied. “Having been around far too many fawning and sycophantic nobles, methinks I can spot insincerity from a mile away.”
“Then I do not,” Thunderbolt said simply, turning away from the Captain, causing my jaw to clench as he then repeated the same words he’d already said to me: “Once you know what happened here, ‘tis certain you will thank me.”
Typhoon’s eyes narrowed. “I do know, Lieutenant. I have read the reports of Rolling Thunder and the surviving Militia troops. ‘Tis certain your actions were as heroic as they were horrific, but ‘tis not at issue here. What is at issue is your unprovoked attack on Gavian Ravenoff, who was no threat to anypony, and most certainly not to you. He had nothing to do with the Imperial operation against this city, and thus, your attack on him was nothing less than attempted murder.”
“Call it what you will,” Thunderbolt replied, his eyes equal parts angry and resigned as he got up from his bed. “He is a gryphon, and thus, automatically an enemy of all Equestria. If we are to live, then all gryphons must die.” His words were spoken so casually, it seemed as though he was stating mere fact.
Total Recall must have flinched slightly just then, given her field of view suddenly jerked to one side. “Even those who honorably ally with us? Even those who swear allegiance to us?” The Captain challenged.
Thunderbolt gave a derisive snort. “Methinks I got a bellyful of gryphon honor at the Inland Shores massacre.” His eyes glittered angrily. “The broken promises of a raider mistress and the bloodlust of her followers led to that day… as well as an idiot of a future Corps Commander!” he claimed bitterly, and there I agreed wholeheartedly with him, at least on the idiot part—he was speaking of General Squall Line, his former Commander at Outpost Beta and later the Commanding General of the entire Equestrian Aerial Corps when I’d first attempted to join the service.
He’d hated me on sight for my thestral lineage and done everything in his power to make me quit after Thunderbolt had blackmailed him into accepting me, finally running afoul of The Princess when his orders to harass me resulted in a murder attempt.
It had cost him his career when I overcame it by thwarting an abduction-for-ransom plot of the Indala raider group, killing their leader and rescuing fifteen ponies in the process, but because of it, ‘twas certain he was my least favorite figure in the Corps—perchance second only to Flight Sergeant Stuka, who was the pony who tried to kill me.
But thoughts of my former tormentors were lost as Thunderbolt continued his tirade. “And you think I haven’t heard about what happened in Canterlot? They coltnapped civilians, defiled them with vile mind control magic and set them against us, killing scores of commanders and civilian officials in the process—you even said you had to slay two of your own aides!” he reminded Typhoon, eliciting a choked sob from Total Recall, who I can only guess knew the aides in question.
“Are you quite through?” Typhoon asked in an annoyed tone, even as he gave her a concerned glance.
“Not even close. They are not honorable warriors but savages! Selfish brutes motivated by meat or money who see us as nothing more than prey! They’ve made clear their intentions for us; methinks they won’t be satisfied until we’re enslaved to their evil empire if not outright eradicated from this world!” His eyes flashed and wings flared in anger as he spoke, but then he turned sullen again.
“If I’ve learned nothing else from watching their conduct in war—from seeing the fate of that colony; the fate of my friends and promised mares who were so brutally slaughtered there—‘tis that gryphons can never be trusted! Methinks even Squall Line finally learned that!”
I knew not if Typhoon was aware of Thunderbolt’s history with Squall Line, but his eyes did narrow. “Squall Line is not the issue here, Lieutenant. At issue is whether you can be trusted to carry out orders and not slay friendly gryphons on sight.”
“As I am neither part of the military nor recognize such an outlandish idea as a friendly gryphon, your question is illogical and irrelevant, Captain,” he said derisively. “I will fight this war as I see fit, with or without your permission! If you wish to use me in this conflict, just point me at the enemy and get everypony out of my way. I swear before the Sun and Moon that any gryphon I see, I will slay. Even Gavian Ravenoff.”
“Without my permission?” the Captain repeated in equal derision. “Perchance you have forgotten that you do not leave this cell or have your lightning affinity restored without me, Lieutenant. In fact, you do not live without my say-so. I told you before that the moment I decided you were a greater threat than the gryphons was the moment of your death. I regret I am not hearing anything from you that would convince me differently.”
“Then kill me, Captain!” Thunderbolt challenged with a smirk, going right up to the bars to look Typhoon in the eye through them. “For I will not renounce my bloodlust or my hatred for gryphons! Not when ‘tis what gives me the power to slay them!”
The Captain’s expression turned to one of sheer disgust. “No soldier should ever be motivated by hatred, Lieutenant. We fight to protect and preserve, not become what we fight against!”
“Such utter naivety. But so be it. Believe what you wish, Captain. And slay me if you must. As things stand, I can’t stop you. Just know that if you do, you eliminate one of your greatest weapons in this war, and perchance doom Equestria to defeat! From Talons to Talaeus, ‘tis certain that no gryphon can defeat me! For none can match the power of my hate.”
“You think that your hate gives you power? Or the right to slay any being you choose?” Methinks the disgust in Typhoon’s voice was growing, and methinks also that Total Recall was starting to shake and tear up from what she was hearing, as she continued to record the minutes but the edges of her vision were blurring and her writing became steadily more ragged.
“I choose to kill the enemies of Equestria, Captain. Enemies who declared war on us, launching an unprovoked attack and bloody raid against peaceful civilians—just like the Lucavi did! So if you are saying the Imperial Military is somehow more reasonable or rational than the raider groups, then save it.”
“I am saying nothing of the sort. But there is still a flaw in your thinking. Methinks you are conflating all gryphons with the Empire, Lieutenant. ‘Tis simply not true, as this gryphon swore an oath of allegiance to Equestria. Methinks he has as much reason to hate the Empire as we do!”
“And methinks I care not!” Thunderbolt stomped his hoof down hard, causing Total Recall to take an involuntary step back. ‘Twas then that Thunderbolt finally noticed her. “Don’t like what you’re hearing, Miss? The truth is sometimes painful,” he told her.
“But the truth is that I am needed. That for the first time in the twelve years since that horrible day at the IS-2 settlement, I understand and accept what happened to me as necessary! For it honed me into the perfect weapon of war against our enemies—an unstoppable and pitiless force of nature acting in defense of you and all ponies!” he told her. “You don’t have to like me or my methods. But know that everything I do, I do for all of us.”
Her pen and scroll paper fell to the floor from her disrupted aura, and she began looking around, like she was searching for somewhere to flee.
“‘Tis odd, but ‘twould seem she looks less than happy about that,” Typhoon pointed out dryly, stepping to her side and putting a reassuring wing over her back. “You are saying you will kill all gryphons for her—whether soldier, civilian or cub? Whether she wants you to or not?”
“Whether she wants it or not, I am saying that I recognize no innocent or non-combatant gryphons—and neither should you, Captain! It should be apparent that we can’t stop with driving them from our lands or they will simply return again later with an even larger force! We must invade theirs and end them, or they will eventually end us!”
Typhoon lowered his head. “Then ‘tis total genocide you advocate, and I cannot think of anything less aligned with Friendship or Harmony than that!”
“Friendship? Harmony?” Thunderbolt laughed bitterly. “I stopped believing in those ridiculous notions long ago! Friendship did not spare my mares or the village I guarded! Harmony did not stop the gryphons from invading and slaughtering countless civilians at the Weather Factory!” he reminded the Captain angrily, then turned away from the bars and returned to his bunk.
“We are at war, Captain. Where love and friendship will not avail us, pure hatred must be used. Where the Sun and Moon Gods will not aid us, a demon of death in pony form must suffice!
“Know that I am that demon and the key to victory in this war! That after twelve years of fighting that demon, I now embrace it!”
‘Twas then that the Captain told his aide to end the projection; she slumped hard and stumbled at having to relive the memory of such repugnant thoughts and emotions as she had sensed from him. ‘Twas only then I understood just why she’d reacted so badly to the Captain’s request, and reflected that perfect memory recall must have its own heavy price, given it forced you to not just remember but relive things you didst not wish to.
“Thank you, Total Recall. I know how hard that was on you.” He then tapped her twice on the head and once on the chest, causing her to give a great gasp and collapse to the ground, where she curled herself into a ball and began to cry.
“I’m so s-sorry…” she managed before burying her head in shame.
“Don’t be. There, there…” The Captain picked her up and hugged her with his wings like a frightened foal as Blindside and I looked on in confusion. “You will be fine, my young friend. And be not ashamed—‘tis only natural that you cry, given I’ve cleared your thoughts and released your pent-up emotion.
“This will allow you to sleep, so return to your quarters and rest, knowing you have served me well this day. See to yourself for now, as I will need you fresh tonight for when we go visit the Lunar Council.”
“Y-yes, sir…” the mare sniffled as the Captain detailed a Naval sentry standing outside his door to escort her to her guest room.
Once she had departed, he closed the door behind her and slumped slightly, rubbing his head lightly. “Very well, Sergeants. You saw what he is and what he has become. I acknowledge—to my surprise—that he was not that way before, but I fear he is forever lost now. By his own admission, he has surrendered to his inner demons fully. Willingly surrendered, I might add,” he informed us, and methinks I was hard pressed to deny the truth of his statement.
“‘Tis certain that he cannot be trusted in combat, and as things stand, he will not listen to reason. Methinks not even from the two of you.” He turned and stepped out through the doorway onto the outside deck, staring out over the city. “And thus, a difficult decision lies before me.”
A chill went through me as I sensed that decision’s import. “But sir…” Blindside spoke for both of us as my own lips stayed silent, for I sensed and feared the Captain was correct. “We have to try!”
“Agreed!” I finally broke free of my stupor. “Please, sir—do not slay him, for methinks he was right on one score—we need him! If I can just talk to him—” I once again fell silent at an upraised wing as the Captain stared out into the deepening dusk, the ember-like glow of thestral eyes occasionally apparent in places as they continued their patrols and supply runs into the city.
“Upon reflection, methinks you’re half-right, Master Sergeant, and so was Thunderbolt himself. We do need him. But not as he is now, or ‘tis certain he’s just as much a threat to us as to them.
“Not just for the chance he might turn on us or spoil surprise by attacking too soon as he did against the Lucavi, but for the extreme measures the gryphons might use when faced with him. If he thinks they cannot slay him, he is sorely mistaken, and I fear what equally indiscriminate weapon they might bring to bear against him.”
Neither of us offered a single word of protest, for we both knew he was right. Thus, I began mentally steeling myself to be denied permission to see him, and to have to let him go, as it increasingly seemed that the Thunderbolt I knew and respected was forever gone. “For him to fight alongside us safely, we need the other Thunderbolt—the one who trained the two of you. The one who strove to contain his demons and act honorably in service to others.”
“Then we need a way to bring him back,” I stated the obvious. “But how…?”
“How indeed.” A silence descended upon us as the Captain appeared not only lost in thought, but increasingly troubled.
“Methinks I may have such a way,” he said at some length, causing me and Blindside to glance at each other again. “As I consider this question, I recall he made several claims that were false: that no gryphon could defeat him for his hatred of them; that Harmony did not exist and Friendship would not avail us in this war. And thus, a hate-powered demon of death like himself was needed to win it.”
“Methinks you are correct, Captain. But how do we use that information?” I asked, not immediately seeing what he was getting at.
“By disproving those claims,” he answered immediately, “all at once and in a manner he simply cannot ignore. If Thunderbolt can be made to see that his self-proclaimed truths are anything but, then mayhap their hold over him collapses. Mayhap he can then see his demons for what they are—false gods and the most dangerous of delusions—and wrest back control from them, restoring the honorable friend and mentor you both knew.”
“And how do we do that?” Blindside asked in a subdued voice.
“Unfortunately, Sergeant… ‘tis now clear that we cannot.” He shook his head, then seemingly steeled himself as he turned back to us from the balcony, his hooves clopping audibly on the wooden planks.
“For him to see the truth, he must be shown that Harmony does exist—that a properly motivated gryphon can defeat him despite all his bloodlust and vengeance-driven killing ability; that true power does not come from hate.
“And that means, he must fall to a gryphon who fights for others in further defiance of his claims, with both he and his gryphon opponent at their fullest power.” He bowed his head as if he was reaching yet another difficult decision, if not the one I initially feared.
My brow furrowed. “But sir, the only gryphon we have is—” I believe ‘twas then I realized where the Captain’s logic led, and I exchanged a horrified gasp and glance with Blindside. Surely he couldn’t mean—
“Precisely,” the Captain confirmed grimly. “So ‘twould seem the only possible means of Thunderbolt’s salvation is one Gavian Ravenoff—the very gryphon he tried to slay last night. Master Sergeant Firefly had requested I visit him before departing, as she says he is still struggling mightily with Thunderbolt’s attack. So mayhap ‘tis time I do so.”
“Sir…” I stepped forward, even at the risk of speaking or acting out of turn. “With all due respect, you can’t! Gavian is good—at least the equal of a low-ranked Lance, methinks—but if he can’t win against Swift Strike or Firefly, then he certainly can’t win against Thunderbolt, even fighting at his full power!”
“I said at his fullest power, Master Sergeant,” he corrected me as I beheld his sly grin for the first time. “And that, I assure you, he has not yet been able to touch…”
I wish it known, Captain, that my initial reaction to what Typhoon proposed was every bit as bad as yours to start.
Methinks the only thing that kept me from more violently voicing those fears, accusing him of insanity despite the gross insubordination ‘twould have entailed, was the example of my sister becoming an effective soldier when I never dreamt she had it in her. And the knowledge that the Captain never did anything that was not well-considered.
Nevertheless, ‘twas still a reckless and senseless plan to me; one I could not fathom would work. But before I surrender the pen, I also wish it known that I categorically do NOT approve of your new writer of this tale, especially so soon after reliving the loss of my family!
‘Tis just as well you did not tell me about her until just now, for I might likely have torn up my writings in protest!
—Fell Flight
I know, old friend, and perchance ‘tis because I did not suffer that loss that I can look at this more dispassionately; recognize the unique and important perspective that new writer brings on the events to follow. Events that, as you said earlier, I was in utter agony to watch and would never have allowed but for your counsel and the mentioned example of your sister, who I also never dreamt would be the one to snap Gavian out of his despondency.
As for our new writer, her identity will become clear soon enough. Her real name must remain hidden, and even before this publishing, the Council of Crows has expunged all Office of Owl records regarding her to ensure her identity cannot be uncovered.
‘Tis no doubt that some of her comrades could possibly identify her from the descriptions alone, but Swift Strike and a series of back-channel communications initiated by the EIS to their gryphon counterparts assures me that, having reviewed her writings, her superiors find nothing objectionable within them.
The EIS likewise assures me she reveals nothing of her kind beyond what was already known, and any information that might be gleaned from her writings about their methods and tactics ‘twould be decades out of date anyway.
So without further ado, I present her writings as they were delivered to me, unaltered except for some asides by Swift Strike, who received and reviewed them first.
—Firefly
To the readers of this tale, both the ponies of Equestria and the heirs to the Empire who live under the Gryphon Kingdom alike:
‘Tis with great reluctance I take up the quill pen after initially declining the offer to do so; one given me by Captain Firefly herself. ‘Tis simply never been the way of my kind, whose work must remain in the shadows as much as possible. But stories we have, and this one I have been persuaded by the course of this recounting and a personal appeal from Captain Firefly to share—an appeal passed to me by Swift Strike upon her learning of the secret I held. Who am I, you ask?
I am a Raven.
I look at those words, and I cannot believe I just wrote them, let alone that I am going to keep them. That I am not going to burn this manuscript even but three paragraphs in, but rather finish it and then give it to an Equestrian counterpart for inclusion in a recounting of the Great War.
I am aware my very title evokes hatred in places like Cloudsdale, and thus, my true name must remain hidden behind an alias. But know that I seek no absolution for my role in the conflict. Not even for the attack on Cloudsdale, whose success was critical to our overall objectives. I spied and slayed in service to the Empire, obeying the blood oath I once swore to do so. I cannot and will not apologize for adhering to that oath, even if it required me to do things I found wrong or distasteful.
‘Tis not to say that I am without regrets. For the Ravens, like so many other Imperial organizations, lost sight of who they were and what they were supposed to be. Over time, we became mere adjuncts of the Owls, doing all manner of dirty business for them instead of simply serving the gryphon race as ‘twas originally intended upon our group’s founding two centuries ago.
‘Twas our original mission and purpose to deal with threats to gryphondom that lay in the shadows where conventional forces could not reach. And now, ‘tis our mission again as we answer not to an intelligence service that forgot itself, but to the Queen who rules our race and those she appoints as our overseers.
‘Tis to my amazement I have survived this long and risen to the rank I have, but I am under no illusions—death comes for all creatures, and I will one day face the judgement of my ancestors for my work and war crimes. I know not how I will be received, but in the meantime, I will continue to obey the oath I once swore to protect my country and kindred.
Hate me if you must, but like the Lances who were—and in some ways, still are—our greatest rivals, the work we do remains necessary for the safety and survival of our nation, despite what it may sometimes require us to do.
But I will not dwell on our burden or dishonorable acts. Before I begin, I wish to thank Captain Firefly for conveying my group’s honors to the Thunderbolt dedication, and my former adversary of Swift Strike for enabling me to pass this note. Indeed, he is the only one on the Equestrian side I would trust to keep my confidence, having proven he could do so by keeping the survival of the two Ravens he once spared thirty years ago a secret.
—“Orel Travina”
[Raven rank and title withheld]
You are welcome, worthy foe. I am honored by your trust and willingness to share this story. Methinks what I said to your comrades thirty years ago still holds true today: we in the Lances may not like you, mayhap not even now, but we do respect you as rivals, peers, and even kindred spirits.
‘Tis worth noting you proved your identity by fighting me to a draw blade to blade in our first meeting, which is something few have ever done. You earned my respect that night, so you may consider this yet another professional courtesy extended from the Lances to the Ravens.
To the readers of this tale, I have read the passages to come, and they are an accounting of the events described as complete as they are compelling. We are only too aware that her inclusion in this retelling of the war will be controversial on both sides, but there is good reason it needs to be here.
Those reasons will become clear in due course; all I ask is that personal feelings be set aside for the sake of history. And for the sake of a perspective that paints a far different picture of these events than a purely Equestrian one would.
Know that I have made no edits to this account except to add a brief comment here or there. If I ask anything of readers, ‘twould be to keep an open mind, and consider that the Lances, too, have many stains on their honor. Ours are just less known.
—Sergeant Major Swift Strike [ret.]
Headmaster
Foxford University
Trottingham
Eagle Aerie Supply and Command Base
Outside Cirrus Cassida
September 4th, 1139 AC
1200 hours
My telling of these events begins as my new seven-member Raven team departed Eagle Aerie at noon, under cover of combat.
We were initially disguised as simple Talons, even taking part in a brief battle action as the 19th Talon legion breached pony defenses with minimal Knight support near the town of Bridle, on the road to Maresk and the Equestrian Army forces at Fort Ironheart.
Instead of making for the city directly, they then advanced southwest, driving a wedge into the dry seabed between Maresk and the Equestrian Army’s tactical school and training base of Sunset Pointe, intending to cut off the latter whilst conducting an encirclement in concert with the forces of sub-Consul Romelus to the north.
If all went well, nearly two legions worth of pony soldiers could be cut off and killed, destroying their next line of defense. ‘Twas not our mission, though. In the midst of battle, my team then disengaged in the chaos of the breakthrough and subsequent pony retreat, sticking to the clouds as afternoon cumulus started to build.
As we flew, we shed our Talon uniforms and illusion spells to reveal our light grey leather armor covering our equally ashen fur and feather dye, which camouflaged us nicely against the clouds and permitted our deep penetration into Equestrian airspace for the second time in four days.
Our objective was to arrive in the area of Cloudsdale’s suspected position over the Foal Mountains well before darkness, when thestral night vision would make approaching their border far more problematic. And from there, ‘twas our task to locate and infiltrate the city, recovering two critical pieces of intelligence—the strange shields and the source of the powerful lightning the ponies used in the earlier battle—that the Prelate desired.
He had also requested a battle damage assessment on the Weather Factory, but ‘twas a task I intended to farm out to one of my two three-Raven elements as I had no wish to visit the sight of my greatest terror again.
In truth, I had no wish to come to Cloudsdale itself again, but the Prelate’s reasons for sending me there were sound, as I was the only surviving team leader and I already knew the layout. ‘Twould be a lie to say I was at all happy or confident about our mission, though a simple sense of duty and the oath I had once sworn compelled me forward despite my lingering fears. ‘Tis certain I quashed them as best I could, but they were still obvious to my new comrades, who methinks had increasing doubts about my state of mind the deeper we got into pony territory.
‘Tis certain I could not blame them. They had not been there and not witnessed what I had, so they simply did not understand what had occurred there. I told them of Thunderbolt, of course, and to avoid him—and thus, avoid detection in general—at all costs. They would obey as ‘twas my order to them, but I caught a scoffing expression more than once at the fear I could not help but evince at his mention.
Despite what the Primarch said in an earlier chapter, ‘tis a lie to say that Ravens have no fear. In truth, we consider fear a necessary tool for sharpening our wits and our blades, especially early in our careers.
Indeed. “A Lance who does not fear does not survive,” I was told during my initial training at Coltanado. —Swift Strike
Some fear is healthy. But ‘tis certain the level of it I was feeling was not. ‘Tis worth noting that a Raven’s greatest weapon is in fact stealth, and ‘tis actually rare outside of wartime that we are told to engage in direct combat or assassination. My report on the original battle had included an observation that heavy Raven losses were in part due to the fact our light armor was unsuitable for fighting in the open, as Corps soldiers could swarm us in the air and even untrained civilians were able to keep us at bay with scattershot bolts from storm clouds we had no counter for.
I knew not what would come of that, and ‘twas not my concern anyway. I just wanted to complete my task as quickly and silently as possible, and not run afoul of a being ‘twas certain to me no gryphon could ever defeat.
If all went well, we would not. We would find the city before dusk and infiltrate it, complete our mission overnight, and then slip free with the morning mists at dawn.
If all went well, within two days we would return with our treasure trove, and let the Owls go to work on analyzing them whilst we received additional missions in support of our new offensive.
Missions that would hopefully take us nowhere near Cloudsdale or the terrifyingly lethal Lightning Demon who dwelled within it.
North flank of Foal Mountains
Equestrian side of Equestria/Thestralslovakia border
September 4th, 1139 AC
1840 hours
Dodging some patrols and a reinforcing Aerial Corps company heading to the front, we kept our initial timetable, arriving just north of the Foal Mountains an hour before sunset. ‘Twas clear enough that something was there, as we saw both pegasus and even thestral patrols; the latter reaching well past their borders.
‘Twas the first time we’d ever seen true bat-ponies, and ‘tis no lie to say that the sight of bat-wings and cat eyes on a pony body was disconcerting, to say the least. ‘Twas all the more concerning that they were apparently working in concert with the Equestrians the Owls said they were disposed to hate.
After carefully reconnoitering the lower slopes from the base of the clouds, we landed to carry out the next phase of the plan. Removing our armor and Raven weapons, we activated several storage gems, one of which contained a series of glowing vials we all detested—polymorph potion.
Grimacing not just from the taste—“Fair warning; it tastes like Diamond Dog droppings,” I once told a pair of Raven acolytes trying it for the first time, who didn’t believe me until they took a sip only to throw it back up almost immediately—we downed it in one gulp to minimize the taste, sat back and waited.
Back then, the potion was made in part from pegasus magic distilled from captured primary feathers. It took effect almost immediately as our beaks and wings shrank whilst our talons fused into hooves and our headfeathers were replaced with fur.
Leonine tails were swapped with grasping pony ones, and despite the nausea the transformation into pony form brought us—no matter how good the potion had been made and how gently it acted, the body and spirit automatically rebel at being forced into an alien form—we didn’t fight it and spent the next five minutes getting used to our new pony bodies.
‘Twas something gryphon pride would normally never allow to be done, but as Ravens, we were told that ‘pride and honor do not serve you in war or peace.’
Like the Lances again, who do whatever it takes to complete the mission and have neither the inclination nor luxury to concern themselves with such niceties. And thus, perchance we are more alike than either side wishes to admit. —Swift Strike
‘Twas actually a potion developed after we realized that the Lances could take gryphon form, as ‘twas a trick we needed to learn as well, if for no other reason than to determine how to detect it. We were eventually successful at both—to a degree—and refined it further over time, requiring all our agents to practice being a pony until they became proficient at it.
‘Twas far from an enjoyable process, feeling your very form shrink and stretch. Nor was it perfect, as our coat colors tended to be earth tones rather than the pastel hues that ponies typically possessed. Further, none of us had cutie marks, requiring additional magical masquerades—or a simple inkpatch pressed into the fur—to compensate.
And finally, though we acquired pegasus magicks like wind and weather control, we were advised not to attempt them. For without a lifetime of training and practice in using them—training we simply could not give, lacking proper teachers—our clumsy efforts could well give us away. Or worse, result in electrocuting ourselves with a lightning bolt backfire.
Within twenty minutes, we were ready to attempt entry. The question then became: how? What disguise would get us there? The answer seemed obvious given the sheer number of them around us—a Corps patrol.
So eschewing the uniforms of weather workers or even going in with no clothes at all, we donned some Corps uniforms and older model wingblades our Owl overlords had purloined, taking an additional potion to change our fur colors to the cloud-white hue the Corps favored. That also removed the need for cutie mark prints, as the Corps covered them with their fur dye.
‘Twas still a dangerous game to play. We could certainly survive some minor scrutiny, but lacking their codes and crystal communications—to little surprise, the Corps had changed all their magical decryption keys after the initial attack, rendering us unable to read them until the remaining Owl agents could obtain us the new ones—we could not hear or respond to hails.
Thus, ‘twas still best to be seen as little as possible. Waiting for a gap in patrols, we flew up into one—methinks I will say this about pegasi; their natural speed and agility to say nothing of their ability to push off the very air can be addicting—and within ten minutes, we had arrived at Cloudsdale.
The first thing we did was take note of its location—ten leagues inside thestral territory. ‘Twas news that the Prelate would wish to hear; that they were sheltering the city within their borders on the south side of the Foal mountains. And even more ominously, we quickly noted, the thestrals were supplying them with food and other wares, as we saw small Naval transport dirigibles carrying them to the city’s administrative area located in the center of the city for distribution to the populace.
Their presence quickly raised another question—where were the transports coming from? The existing allotment at the Corps base of Fort Tempest, which had guarded and garrisoned the Storm Cloud Factory, had been destroyed by the Knights in the initial attack. So then where…?
Our answer was given as we spotted the silhouette of a Royal Naval airship just visible through the deepening dusk, anchored outside the seat of city government. Or as they called it, City Hall.
Her story continues from this point, but if I have not lost too many readers by now over this account’s inclusion, I feel a brief interlude is in order to set the stage for what was to come. And as he was the central figure in it, ‘tis to my son the quill must now pass.
—Firefly
Thank you, Mother. For what ‘tis worth, I find this account fascinating thus far. Even though ‘tis also certain I would have wished to strike them down myself had I been aware of their presence, for the death and destruction they had wrought on the great city but three days earlier.
I believe I might have an inkling of where this is going, but I will hold my thoughts on it—and of her—for now. In the meantime, ‘tis my turn to write again. ’Tis worth noting that the more this account has involved me, the more my students ask about it, and more than once I have ended up spending class sessions relating stories of the war and my life.
‘Tis annoying at times, particularly when I am trying to teach, but at least I may say the respect and honor shown to me by students and staff alike has only grown from this tale’s telling.
—Gavian Ravenoff
Headmaster
Celestial Art Academy
Canterlot
EAS Loyalty
Cloudsdale
Central District Airship Anchorage
September 4th, 1139 AC
2025 hours
I awoke not long after sunset to find myself, if not refreshed, at least feeling somewhat better.
Fell Flight’s sister was gone along with Fell Flight herself, and the only other ponies left in the room were Mother and the PSD mare, who hadn’t moved from the corner where she watched over me and who I wondered if ever slept.
Mother herself was finally resting, I realized, sleeping in her armor on her bunk not far from me. Seeking not to disturb her—’twas certain I’d put her through enough over the past day—I rose from my cloud with a nod to the Stiletto Sergeant. Methinks she had taken a liking to me, even offering me some additional training in knife fighting and blade throwing when I felt up to it.
I did not know if I ever would, then. For what was the use of training if there was a level I could never reach? And for it, a demon of death that I could never defeat?
At least I hadn’t woken up screaming this time, perchance due to the presence of Fell Flight’s sister. The lullaby she sang me was still snugly nestled in my memory, echoing through my mind. And this time, when I dreamt of Thunderbolt again, the Captain of the Guard stepped forth and saved me, but he looked strangely troubled as he did so.
I had barely enough time to remember that and wonder why before there was the sound of hooves clicking hard together outside the door. An “Attention on Deck!” call was then heard from the sentries, announcing the arrival of a high-ranking guest.
The shout rousted mother, whose eyes snapped open as she lurched somewhat shakily to her hooves. She scrambled up and hurriedly put herself to rights as the door was opened to admit Captain Typhoon and several other figures, including Fell Flight, Still Way, Blindside and a bandaged Swift Strike.
“At ease,” he called as Mother reflexively saluted him even though they were indoors. Methinks I did not blame her for the breach of Naval protocols; ‘twas difficult enough for me to keep the differences between them and the Corps ones straight in my head.
“Sir!” I bared my throat hard to my savior, whom I was certain was the sole being on the planet capable of stopping Thunderbolt. “You honor me with your visit.”
He frowned at my unkempt state. “The honor is mine, young gryphon. I will be leaving for Hollow Shades in two hours, and other matters will require my attention in the meantime. Your mother earlier asked me to visit you, saying you were having difficulties. So how fare you?” he asked gently as I noticed Fell Flight and Blindside looked very unhappy behind him.
“Fine,” I lied, my voice dull. “Just helpless. And hated… at least by most.” I sniffled, clinging to the memory of the incredible kindness Fell Flight’s sister had shown me, still feeling completely unworthy of it.
“There is no shame in your defeat, lad,” he said gently, laying a hoof on my feathered chest. “Those who could defeat Thunderbolt are very few in number. As things stand, there are mayhap but one or two on either side who could.
“As I’m sure your Black Lance mentor will tell you, the mental trauma he suffered imparted him incredible combat abilities, ones far beyond even those warriors who could normally be called elite. Warriors like yourself,” he added with a smile as Swift Strike nodded ruefully at my glance. His head remained bandaged from the blows he had taken, though he looked far less woozy than before.
“Like myself?” I gave a short and bitter laugh. “You flatter me, but I am not deserving of it, sir.”
He raised an eyeridge in response. “I must disagree, young gryphon. Your mother and the Sky Sergeant here told me about your battles with the Fortis Knights. ‘Tis an impressive feat that you were able to take down not one, but two of them in single combat. So make no mistake, Gavian Ravenoff—you are an elite warrior by the standards of either race. And for it, 'tis a relief you are on our side.”
I tried to feel a swell of pride at his words, but none came. “Thank you, sir. But ‘tis certain I do not feel like one right now,” I told him. “I cannot sleep. I cannot eat. I cannot stop seeing him. I cannot shake the feeling of terror and helplessness. I can still see his eyes. I can still feel his lightning raising the feathers on my head. Even though I know he is locked up, I still expect death from him at any time. And I fear it will remain that way even after we depart.”
“I see.” The Captain considered me for several seconds, uncertainty in his eyes. “Then tell me, young gryphon—would you fight him again if you knew you could defeat him?”
I found that to be a useless question, giving him a brief but bitter laugh. “It does not matter, sir. For I cannot. Nopony—or gryphon—could best him but you, Captain,” I pointed out, feeling a renewed sense of shame that I was once again dependent on others for my safety, even after eight months of intensive training from multiple masters.
“Truly?” The Captain asked with a sly grin; one that was not shared by those he brought with him. I wasn’t sure what Fell Flight, Blindside and Still Way were doing here, but methinks they seemed less than happy; even Still Way wore an expression of uncertainty. “Gavian—indulge me for a moment. Please perform one of your sword katas.”
“A kata?” I blinked hard as Still Way floated over my sheathed sword. I had not taken it up since my rescue, as I found myself no longer worthy of it for having been beaten and disarmed so easily. Its grip was familiar in my claws, but its weight felt greater than ever before as I looked at it briefly before returning my gaze to the Captain. “But why?” I truly had no idea why he wanted me to execute one of the series of training movements Swift Strike had taught me, ones designed to impart proper form and fluidity.
“Humor me,” the Captain requested again, then stepped back to give me room as the rest of the onlookers did the same, most exchanging dubious looks but otherwise remaining silent.
I obeyed, or tried to, launching into my most basic routine—the very first one I had mastered and had later used as a means to measure my progress. But my heart was simply not in it. The sword felt very heavy and ungainly in my talons, and worse, my movements were stiff and stilted; nothing even approaching the fluidity I’d gained in previous months.
Stumbling over myself and nearly fumbling my blade twice, I felt like a novice swordgryphon again; ‘twas as if all my training was for naught. The blade ‘twas but a foreign object to me now, no longer the extension of my being that it had once been.
Through it all the Captain said nothing but studied me closely even as I caught the winces from Swift Strike and Mother at my poor performance. “Sir, please—” the latter began only to be stilled with another upraised wing.
Frustrated and on the verge of tears again as I found all my hard-won abilities lost, methinks I was just about ready to quit when abruptly, the Captain stepped forward and struck me with a wingtip on the back of my head followed by two more hits, one to the shoulder and one to the base of the spine.
‘Tis hard to explain what happened to me in that instant. The hits were not hard, but ‘twas like an electric shock as my senses went scrambled and there was a mighty surge of energy through me, as a succession of internal barriers I hadn’t even known were present crumpled to each hit in turn. All my doubts and fears and excess thoughts receded at once as suddenly, I found myself charging through the kata with incredible speed and clarity of purpose.
In amazement, I started over, going back to the beginning of the routine. I whirled, slashed at and dodged my imaginary opponents with more speed and ease than I could ever remember as I completed the kata in under a minute, ending by rearing up and spinning my sword once—a flourish I had added to the routine long before—to reverse my grip for a downward thrust in a simulated killing blow.
I wasn’t trying to, but when the image of Thunderbolt beneath me flashed through my head, I stabbed so hard that the sword embedded itself six inches into the deck, splinters of wood flying into the air as I completed the movement. ‘Twas only when I was done that my full awareness came flooding back, and I found myself reeling in a mixture of shock and delight.
“What… how…?” was all I could stammer at first, looking from my blade to the Captain in wonderment. Even Mother and Swift Strike had gone open-muzzled to see the change come over me!
Both Typhoon and Still Way smiled knowingly. “You see, young gryphon? You do have it in you,” the Captain pronounced in great satisfaction. “And before you ask, all I did was release your mental blockages and allow your inner energy to flow freely again.
“The body and mind are closely linked in ways most ponies don’t even fathom, each reflecting and influencing the state of the other. Thus, by freeing one, you free the other, and suddenly the impossible becomes possible,” he explained, then arched an eyeridge. “Or the unbeatable becomes beatable.”
As I processed the words, I found myself shaking like an adrenaline surge had just worn off, though ‘tis certain I didn’t know if ‘twas from that, or the Captain’s final pronouncement. “Then… you are saying I can fight Thunderbolt now?”
“As you are? No,” he shook his head apologetically, causing my tail and wing feathers to droop anew. “This is merely the level you were at before your encounter with Thunderbolt, and I must say, you have improved even more since I last saw you in late June. Your progression as a swordsgryphon and warrior is most remarkable, and ‘tis to your great credit as well as that of your teachers.”
He turned briefly to give an approving nod to Swift Strike. “But unfortunately, ‘tis not enough against a being whose body is honed and whose every instinct and thought ‘tis turned towards killing.”
I sighed and resheathed my sword, setting it aside again. “Then ‘tis no point in me training, as no amount of help or additional masters could get me there.”
“In that, you are incorrect, my young gryphon friend,” he replied cryptically, his sly grin growing. “Now that you have tasted my talent, Gavian Ravenoff, know that I can do even more with it. That by using it, I can enable you to defeat Thunderbolt.”
That got my attention, as well as everypony else’s. “Enable me?” I asked in a shaky voice whilst the other onlookers exchanged confused glances.
“Indeed. For you see, young gryphon, my admittedly peculiar art can not only inhibit, but enhance. With it, I can temporarily boost not just your strength and speed, but your reflexes and agility to super-pony—or perchance I should say, super-gryphon—levels of ability,” he paused to let the words sink in. “With but a few taps from me, you will enter an altered state of being where you will become nigh-invincible, even able to resist Thunderbolt’s wind and lightning.”
“You can do this? But how?”
“Through one of my art’s most potent abilities—the Shinka o kaihō suru technique,” he explained.
‘Twas certain I had no idea what that was, though I noticed Still Way’s brow furrow. “That’s Neighponese—“Release Divine Fire?” he translated.
“Indeed. As Neighpon is where my art originated,” the Captain said as an aside. “But ‘tis unimportant right now. For you see, young gryphon, Thunderbolt’s abilities come in large measure from the fact that he has perfect clarity of purpose, and zero inhibitions about killing.
“Due to the severe emotional traumas he suffered, his mind and body remade themselves to realize all his latent killing ability at once, in order to avenge his fallen comrades and the slaughter of innocents he witnessed.” He paused for a moment as Swift Strike nodded slowly whilst Blindside bowed her head in silent prayer.
“It makes him incredible, but not invincible. ‘Tis within my power to duplicate that effect, and with it, you will realize all your latent warrior potential instantly. With it, you will be able to fight him at your fullest and truest power, at a level far beyond what you—or even your mother or mentor—are now capable of.”
“Unbelievable…” Still Way said the word we were all thinking.
“Then you are saying that using it, I will be his better?” I barely dared hope.
“You will,” he said without hesitation, for had I heard any, ‘tis certain I would have been far more reluctant to listen. “I have taken your measure again just now, young gryphon, both of where you are and where you can yet be.
“So believe me when I say that at your fullest power, you can best him. And perchance in his defeat, reach him. Disabuse him of his mistaken beliefs and murderous ways. Force him to face the truth and turn away from the demons that have taken control of him. Return to us the honorable soldier and mentor he once was, and perchance in the process, restore your own warrior spirit and confidence.”
‘Twas certain the Captain of the Guard now had my undivided attention. “You can truly do this?” I had to ask again.
Captain Typhoon nodded once. “I truly can. But be under no illusions, Gavian Ravenoff—it will come at a high cost,” he warned, his tone turning grave. “This technique is never lightly used. To begin with, it will heighten your emotions as well as your strength and senses, and make you much more likely to act on impulse. ‘Tis been known to cause those affected by it to lash out in a murderous rage, or to stalk and slay their tormentors—much as Thunderbolt himself once did,” he mused.
“But unlike with Thunderbolt, its effects are only temporary. ‘Twill last but ten minutes, and in its wake, you will be left in great pain for many days afterwards, due to both withdrawal symptoms and the extreme overexertion this brings. This technique severely taxes both the mind and body, and debilitation or even death can result from it.” He paused to let the words sink in.
“Be assured the latter is unlikely, but the healers will have to attend you immediately afterwards to ensure the damage is not permanent,” he said with a nod to a surprised and uncertain Still Way. “That is why I wished the First Sergeant to hear this, so he could start preparing his healing arts to assist. Even with his help, you can expect to spend at least several days in the infirmary. And it may well be weeks before you can function normally again.”
He then stepped forward, making me meet his gaze. “To put it simply, young gryphon: for ten minutes of godhood, you will suffer at least ten days of pain. And I cannot promise that despite all intervention, you will not suffer lasting injury or death.”
Methinks I didn’t know what to say. ‘Twas certain part of me immediately wanted to say yes, but… what was the point if I survived Thunderbolt only for this to kill me later? What did it matter if I bested him only to fall from its aftereffects? And would it truly be me beating him? Or just some artificially enhanced version of me who bore no resemblance to my true self?
“I was unaware of this side of your art, Captain. Have you ever used this particular ability before?” Even Still Way seemed troubled by what he was hearing.
“Yes. On myself, once.” The Captain did not elaborate, but he closed his eyes tightly in what seemed like remembered agony for a moment. “And with it, I accomplished my task, but paid a heavy price for days after, unable to move without excruciating pain.” He sighed heavily before raising his bluish-green eyes back to mine.
“I tell you this not to frighten you, but so that you understand all it entails. I have never tried this on a gryphon, of course, but in theory, it should work. For my art does include studies of other races,” he mused. “Locations of pressure points may change slightly, but the basic energy paths of the body are consistent and can be manipulated in the same way. You will note that I had no issue using it on you just now, whilst you performed your kata.”
“‘Tis true…” I granted, still marveling at how easily he had restored my combat worthiness. “In that case—”
“Sir! With respect, he is not a soldier, he is my son!” Mother could restrain herself no longer. “You ask him to endanger himself for an uncertain outcome that gives him two chances to die—once by Thunderbolt, and once by the aftereffects! As his mother, I cannot allow him to do this! If you wish somepony to face Thunderbolt, let it be me! I will accept this technique and beat him into the ground!” She stepped forward to present herself.
“No. You will not,” Typhoon told her simply, using the exact same tone of voice he had when informing Thunderbolt that he would not be allowed to kill me. “For two reasons. First, ‘twill not matter if you best him, Guardsmare. Or any other pony, for that matter. I already did, and he was unrepentant. Methinks the only way this will work is if a gryphon beats him at his best, in defiance of all he believes true. And second, as you have not yet mastered your lightning talent, it would become uncontrollable and you would endanger bystanders with it.”
“Then with all due respect sir, why even bother?” Mother then tried another angle. “‘Tis clear enough to all present he cannot be trusted in combat! So honor his actions to save Cloudsdale, but imprison him permanently for attempted murder!”
“Ma’am!” Fell Flight shouted. “With all due respect to you, he is not irredeemable! I know him! I was trained by him! I know how he was, and how he can be again!” she stepped forward and flared her wings angrily, showing once again how raw everypony’s emotions and nerves were over this one stallion.
“After what he tried last night and after trouncing us all in the process? I don’t believe you, Master Sergeant! Methinks he is nothing but irredeemable! And 'twould be the height of folly to let him anywhere near Gavian!”
For just a moment, Fell Flight growled and looked on the verge of saying something very insubordinate, only to be stilled by Blindside’s upraised wing.
“Ma’am, I understand what you are saying, and I fear the outcome of this as much as you. But as he is, Thunderbolt cannot fight for us without endangering all of us. We need his combat ability, but as a soldier who can obey orders and inspire others, not as a soulless slayer of gryphons who will only turn the Empire into a more implacable foe!” Blindside tried next.
Mother gaped at her. “And you think that a gryphon—that those he has sworn to slay on sight—can somehow convince him of this?”
“I know not. All I do know is that the Captain is right—that none of us can reach him right now.” Blindside went downcast, as did Fell Flight beside her.
“And you also think that of all gryphons, Gavian can? A teenaged cub who not only belongs to a race Thunderbolt hates, but who has not even half his age, size, strength, lightning affinity or sheer killing ability?” she recited the damning facts in disbelief, and put that way, ‘twas certain I was hard pressed to disagree. “‘Tis sheer and utter madness!” she further claimed, and though the Captain took offense, judging by the narrowing of his eyes, he did not reprimand her.
Then again, nor did Fell Flight give him the chance. “And my sister was the absolute last pony I thought capable of leading, fighting, or killing. She had no experience, strength or training. And yet she fought, led and killed in the battle for the Weather Factory,” Fell Flight replied, her haunted eyes instantly silencing Mother.
“And yet even after all that, she was still able to come here afterwards, and do what she did for Gavian—even though at first wind, introducing them seemed like madness as well! I am not a foal, commander—I know what the Captain describes seems like insanity!
“But the more I think about it, the more I believe he is correct. We have all seen what miracles his art can accomplish, so I believe him when he says he can do this for Gavian. In any event, I see no other way to both reclaim Thunderbolt and restore Gavian’s spirit.”
“Even at the cost of Gavian’s life?” Mother marched up to her and looked her in the eye, trying to cow her as she had on multiple occasions before.
But this time, it did not work as Fell Flight squeezed her eyes shut tightly for a moment but then opened them again, meeting Mother’s gaze evenly with her cat-eyed one.
“If ‘tis Gavian’s wish? Then yes,” she said simply, causing Mother to recoil like she’d been slapped with a wing. “We already allowed him to fight a death duel with a pony once before, and by doing so, he reached her when nopony else could. He succeeded then; now he must do so again. Only with far greater stakes.”
I was listening to them argue silently, my blade still sheathed at my side. Methinks at that moment, the question I had to ask myself was simple:
Would I more regret taking this offer? Or declining it?
“Enough,” The Captain announced, ending the back-and-forth. “We are flying in circles. So let us now come to the crux of this matter.” He returned the room’s attention to me. “You have heard the two sides of this, Gavian, and now the decision is yours. I cannot order you to do this, nor would I. The choice to face Thunderbolt again is yours and yours alone.”
“‘Tis not his choice!” Firefly went right up to Typhoon, perchance risking arrest for insubordination and conduct unbecoming as she flared her wings in anger and spoke sharply to him. “‘Tis mine as his mother! And I say neigh!”
“To be sixteen is to be considered of age in the Empire, Master Sergeant,” he replied coolly despite her aggressive stance.
“He is not in the Empire! He is a citizen of Equestria by Our Princess’ decree! That means I am his mother and legal guardian! And as such, I will not permit this!”
“I’m afraid I cannot agree,” The Captain answered patiently, perchance because he understood Mother was reacting as a parent and not an underling he would automatically punish for backtalk. “In this instance, he must face Thunderbolt as a representative of his race, not as a citizen of the Empire or Equestria. Thunderbolt is consumed by his demons, and as your second says, they make him unusable as a weapon of war.
“Losing to a gryphon when he claims he cannot—in direct defiance of his demons and the hatred he claims gives him his power—is the only thing that may break that spell and make him see reason. Restore him to the honorable teacher and soldier that Sergeant Blindside and Master Sergeant Fell Flight once knew.” He nodded over to them.
“But—” Methinks Mother’s resolve was starting to waver as her most trusted colleagues began voicing support for the Captain’s proposal.
“Methinks I am no more happy about this than you, ma’am. But I’ve thought about it, and I believe the Captain is correct,” a tired-sounding Swift Strike spoke up next. “As things stand, we need Thunderbolt but cannot use him. For ‘tis certain that should we unleash him now, he is as much a danger to us as the gryphons. Believe me, I know—not just from yesterday, but from twelve years ago.” His eyes went haunted for a moment, leaving me wondering of what he spoke.
“Well said, Sky Sergeant. And thus, this is Gavian’s choice.” With those words, the Captain of the Guard turned back to me. “If you wish this, young gryphon, I will grant it. ‘Twill not be easy, but in doing so, you will find the ability to face your fears and defeat this demon. To show him once and for all that gryphons are not irredeemable savages, and that his hatred does not grant him the power of life and death over them.
“So think well and choose wisely. I am off to Hollow Shades shortly. When I return tomorrow, I will receive your decision. And whatever it may be, I will—”
“I accept!” I blurted out right then and there, even as I felt an unreasoning wave of sheer terror try to grip me at the thought of facing Thunderbolt again. “I w-will do it.”
“Gavian!” Mother exclaimed, her legs buckling even worse than mine had.
“I accept!” I shouted the words this time, forcing some steel into my spine. “I must, Mother, or ‘tis certain I will never regain my confidence or spirit! Or shake the terror I felt! ’Tis far better for me to die in battle than to live in fear! ‘Tis far better to die on my terms than his, and learn just what my ‘fullest power’ is in the process!” I told her, raising my voice to her for perchance the first time in my life before gulping back my surging emotions.
I shook my head hard, trying to clear it. “I know not if I can reach him as you desire, Captain, and in truth, I care not! All I want is to expunge the fear I felt! To taste my true potential and defeat this demon’s hold over me! For even if I die or lie in agony after, then at least then I will know what I can truly do, and will have that knowledge to comfort and soothe me in my passing!”
I pulled myself up and stood to attention before him, saluting like a pony soldier, straightening my talons out to sharpen the gesture. “I accept your offer, Captain. I will face Thunderbolt again, this time with all my latent warrior ability unleashed!”
“So be it,” the Captain said solemnly as he returned the salute with a wing, as seemed to be his habit, though I noted the barest hint of a smile brush his features. “I admire your courage, young gryphon, and I can find no fault in your reasoning. Then my final instructions to you are to ready yourself mentally for the task ahead—eat, sleep, and mayhap even meditate with the First Sergeant here. He can help focus your mind. We will hold the duel tomorrow, once I return from Hollow Shades—”
“No! Now!” I exclaimed to him. “Please, sir—I do not wish to wait! I do not wish to dwell on or worry about it overnight! If I think about it too long, I fear ‘twill be to my detriment! So if I am to face him, let it be immediately!”
“Gavian…” Firefly looked on the verge of collapse as she leaned heavily on Blindside for support. “He’ll kill you!”
“Mayhap he will,” I conceded, unable to quite keep the tremor from my voice. “Then I will accept the judgement of battle on behalf of my race. But if the Captain is correct…” I turned to him.
“I am,” he said simply and without hesitation. “Be assured, I can tell. I promise that defeating Thunderbolt ‘tis within the power of your fully unleashed potential, young gryphon. ‘Twill not be easy, but if you succeed, you restore your warrior spirit and mayhap salvage the soul of one of the greatest soldiers Equestria has ever produced…”
To this day, I know not if the Captain truly believed what he said, or was simply trying to build up my confidence.
Regardless, I would not have done it but for the fact that I had seen and then experienced directly what his talent could do—non-magical miracles that made me respect and revere him as I did few others. Fell Flight and Swift Strike speaking up on my behalf helped also, though it caused me great pain to do this against Mother’s wishes.
‘Twas not the first time, of course, as I had done so to duel Aves Osprey many months earlier, not telling Mother I planned to make it a death duel until I issued the actual challenge. But despite all my fears and the very real chance of death, methinks this, like then, was an occasion where my gryphon blood would not allow any other course of action.
As much as I might like to describe the duel to come, I simply cannot. I only remember the barest hints of what happened as if ‘twas through a fever dream; but a few flashes of the battle and emotions I experienced are present in my memory. ‘Tis an experience that both tantalizes and haunts me, and so I must pass the pen to another who did witness it and remembers it quite clearly.
And given that, I believe I now know why our guest writer is present.
—Gavian Ravenoff
You have guessed correctly, my brave and beloved son.
‘Twas originally my intention to give the quill to Blindside for the following chapter, as she has not been heard from much, but this new perspective simply must take precedence over hers. ‘Twas a perspective we did not even know existed before I was informed of it, and contains several additional revelations within it. So by necessity, the next chapter will be almost completely given over to our guest.
—Firefly
“Friendship is a plant of slow growth and must undergo and withstand the shocks of adversity before it is entitled to the appellation.” —George Washington
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Do you know why you're such a great guy to proofread for? You have no ego or pretension about what you do despite doing it very well. You want to write the best possible story because you are one of the most hardworking authors on fimfiction.net. It was my honor to contribute positively to the development of this very difficult writing challenge.
Edit: I'll longpost tomorrow.
Yes there is a need for Tavens and glances but attacking and slaughtering the civilians was a line crossed
Oh wow! So much was said in this chapter, a lot of build up and suspense. Had me completely absorbed the whole way through.
A couple of days till the next chapter you say? I may just hold my breath, in other words, I'm very eager to see the up coming chapter.
I'll thank AJ Aficionado again for his assistance in this chapter. I am happy to say that I can't spot any deviations in any characters behavior.
[I may edit this comment later, as I'm writing it way past my bed time. No, I could not wait one night to read this sweet update.]
You certainly know how to leave people hanging. Bravo!
While I am looking forward to the duel, I am admittedly not really a fan of Typhoon's enhancement ability. It just seems...too convenient for this situation? His earlier disabling of Thunderbolt kinda reminded me of chi blocking from Avatar: The Last Airbender, the fact that him targeting pressure points can apparently instantly clear out mental blocks just...didn't really sit right with me. Don't think it read that well.
On the other hand, the Raven guest, "Orel Travina", has my attention. Obviously she's not the first gryphon perspective we've had in this story, but a spy's perspective is always an interesting one. So she witnesses the duel and is the one penning the description of it? I wonder what her perspective will bring that Blindside or Firefly could not.
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You're a bit fumble-fingered on this response, but most ponies would agree with you. Most, but not all. Firefly examined the rationale for the attacks against civilian weather factory workers and whether it was justified back at the end of Part 8: https://www.fimfiction.net/story/380025/10/into-the-storm-the-flight-of-firefly/part-8-uprising
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Whew! Given the issues I had writing it, I was a little worried about how it would be received.
I'm aiming for a late weekend release!
Again, whew! Then the second try was indeed the charm here.
Sorry to cause you sleeplessness, but if I have you that eager to read new chapters, I know I have a good story here!
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*takes a bow* I've actually had people ding me on that before, because they don't like being made to wait.
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Typhoon's "Polaris Pressure Points Technique" is based on a classic anime show called "Fist of the North Star", where the protagonist, Kenshiro, can pretty much do whatever he wants using pressure point strikes, including make people explode with but a single touch(!). Typhoon can't do that, or some of Kenshiro's more ridiculous powers, so I've actually made the ability much more measured here.
For Typhoon's variant, you will note I made sure that use of his technique in this manner was not without severe danger and potentially deadly side effects. As for clearing out mental blocks with it, what he said was actually quite true that the body and mind are linked and reflect each other; thus adjusting one adjusts the other. So I don't believe it's as much a stretch as you think, even in reality.
If you'd like to see another series where pressure point techniques figured somewhat prominently, check out Xena: Warrior Princess. She used them from time to time.
No answer I can give right now, except you will see.
Ok, definitely didn't see this coming
You also have definitely piqued my interest with the promised account from our guest writer, knowing her history with Thunderbolt I can see why the coming duel would be best told by her. Can't wait!
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You weren't supposed to!
You won't have long to! Very glad you enjoyed this.
Emphasis should be on "wish", instead of "why"
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Changed.
I am looking forawrd to the duel and after that the further progress of the war because I expect that when the sections about Cloudsdale are finished the story will go back to current phase of the war. Of course this is all important and I don't want it shortened since how Thunderbolt is at least partally redeemed is important.
I think also that perhaps it is for the best that Thunderbolt didn't survive the war because it is uncertain if he could adjust to living in peacetime when it is over. Saving Thunderbolt is probably also very important to Blindside and Fell Flight to be able to deal with the mental trauma he caused them.
On a different note I wonder if Squall Line will play a role in the war since despite his issues he's not nearly as bad as Thunderbolt believes even though the latter will never be able to acknowledge that.
Sorry, but I am in full opposition of Typhoon's plan. One should never gamble life itself. Using one life to resurrect the dead. Also there are too many ways to loose.
1(Gavian dies and Thunderbolt is executed. Fell flight looses her friends Gavian and Firefly and her mentor.)
2(Both the die in the fight.)
3(Gavian wins, reaches Thunderbolt, ... and dies a few days later from the hulk-ification process.)
4(Gavian wins and kills Thunderbolt in the fight.)
5-7(Suffering from life long scars and being crippled caused by the clashing of opponents.)
8(Everything works out.)
Also the first step in grief is denial. Both Fell Flight and Blindside are in denial that their mentor is truly gone. They are unable to come to grips with it and insist they can "bring him back". In my opinion they are in the wrong and it would be totally acceptable if Firefly and Fell Flight and Blindside's friendship was stretched to the very edge.
(on account of gambling with her son's life)
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You know, I worried this might not be received well by readers. For the most part, it was, but I'm actually glad to see there are a few who object to this plan on moral grounds, thus reflecting real life.
Well stated. But there are some flaws in your reasoning.
The first is the implicit belief that all of these options have an equal chance of occurring. They don't. If I said "There are four things that could happen when I walk out my door this morning: I could get hit and killed by a car, get struck and killed by lightning, die by some other cause like an incoming meteor, or live," that's technically true, but grossly misleading because it implies that all four have the same probability and therefore I only have a 25% chance of surviving any given day. In which case I'd never leave home!
It doesn't work that way. For the possible outcomes you mentioned, The Captain is certain that Gavian can win, so the losing options have low odds. A bad end for Thunderbolt where he loses but still doesn't listen and has to be killed is more possible, but in that case, at least Gavian is restored and the others can let Thunderbolt go knowing that nothing could reach him. Deadly or dangerous aftereffects of the Captain's technique are another matter, but he's taking what precautions he can, including having Still Way's healing talents on standby. So that's a fairly low risk as well, though he'd have some difficult days afterwards.
The second flaw is that Typhoon wouldn't ultimately recommend this unless he thought there was a strong chance Gavian could pull it off. That's why he asked Gavian to do the kata, so he could get a sense of his current level of ability and how much more he could be boosted. The third is that Typhoon imposed this plan. Gavian chose it--and only after he heard both sides of a very heated argument and fully understood both the risks and what Typhoon hoped to accomplish.
If you want to argue he couldn't make a dispassionate decision, fine, but the reality is that nopony in that room could, given their existing relationships with Thunderbolt and each other. The Captain's plan was a gamble, yes, but the potential payoff was so large that he judged it worth taking.
So here's a question for you: at what percentage odds does this become worth trying? Salvaging a soldier of Thunderbolt's abilities and turning him into a trusted asset could reap huge dividends in the war as he can win engagements and turn entire battles by himself. 80%? 50%? Even 30%? I'm a casino poker player, and I've gone all-in on 20% odds or less before just because the pot I stood to win was so big. Such it is here.
Well, you're half-right here. You'll see which half soon enough. Nevertheless, thanks for the thought-provoking post, and for pointing out a couple things it's clear I'll have to address sooner rather than later.
I'm not sure why but I just don't feel a longpost in me. I guess I said all there was to say on the google doc or maybe I'm just too distracted by the Dirty Little Contest reviews that continue rolling in to think of much else. Instead I'll share a few thoughts in the style of the DLS reviews.
While not an original idea by this point, I do agree with the consensus that Typhoon is risking quite a lot with his Gavian gambit. Were it me instead of Typhoon, I would not allow such a fight to happen under any circumstance.
The fight as it's being set up seems really anime but you've done anime-style fights before and they worked out fine, even to non-anime types such as myself. The biggest sin might be in the preconceived notions people have of anime and will require brilliant execution to subvert at least some of their expectations. Again, something you're strong enough to pull off.
Militaries tend to frown on private citizens doing their job for them, particularly if they're the genocidal sort. Can't blame Typhoon for not wanting Thunderbolt's brand of "help".
Thunderbolt refuses to let go of his bloodlust because it's the thing that gives him the power to kill gryphons and yet this power was removed from him by the guy who's imprisoned him. Technically his power to kill comes from Typhoon at this point and Thunderbolt's refusal to acknowledge this is pretty damn stubborn.
The only thing that separates Thunderbolt's foreign policy towards griffons from America's foreign policy towards non-liberal countries is Thunderbolt doesn't want to import the conquered into Equestria to have them expand the labor pool and keep wages down. I almost prefer the Thunderbolt method due to being the more sensible and less masochistic of the two options.
Total Recall really needs to find a new line of work. She is not cut out for war if even the discussion of killing gives her such overwhelming anxiety.
I'm not sure having Thunderbolt lose a fight to a gryphon will make him less likely to want to harm him but that's not an issue that needs to be addressed in this chapter. Just saying, the next chapter is really going to have to sell it for me.
Typhoon speaks of the false-gods of Thunderbolt's racist tendencies and yet his plan is for Gavian to use power on loan from a pony to win a fight against another pony. It really is like rain on your wedding day, isn't it?
Orel Travina's account looks like it's going to be awesome but it got chopped off before I could read the entire thing. Pity, as I was really enjoying it.
Firefly's stressing over the inclusion of Orel's account is pretty relatable for me. When I write clop scenes, I'm always asking myself whether or not a portion of my readers is going to wind up reaching for a rock to hurl at my head over something I've included.
Looking forward to seeing how this all pans out.
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Hey just thought I'd let you know that I decided to reread Part 8 to refresh my memory, and I noticed all the music-links are now broken as apparently the YouTube account that you were using is now terminated.
dbz kaioken theme will be ideal for the moment his power is unleashed:
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His feathers won’t turn gold or blue, but his eyes are already green and he will definitely be powering up!