> Blood Moon
>  by The_Darker_Fonts
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Prologue
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Come on, Nicker,” Violet Fluff called, racing down the worn dirt path.  Her friend raced after her, trying to keep up with the daring filly.  Dense woods surrounded the two, the trees looming over them, forming a canopy that allowed close to no light in.  The shadowy ground was covered in overgrown grass and weeds, some up to the foal’s neck.  The usual foul smell of the swamp premiated the air, giving the place a haunting feeling.  Well, more haunted feeling.
Clip Nicker shivered as he struggled to catch his friend.  They shouldn’t be in the swamp this late, especially not this deep into it.  He glanced around the forest warily as he galloped.  He shivered again as he remembered the old mare’s tales of this place.  He had grown up on stories of the supernaturals, as had most of the little ponies in this part of Bullarus.  It wasn’t that anypony had ever seen one of the monsters, or at least, lived to tell the tale.  Moreso, it was the fact that this part of the Equus plain was the perfect place for such creatures.
The two younglings raced around a bend, delving deeper into the swamp than either of them had been.  This was dumb, and stupid, and not smart at all, and Violet was laughing her head off as they went along.  In the brief flashes of moonlight that got through the canopy, her silvery hair glimmered, making the foal smile.  His best friend was beautiful, there was no doubt about it.  Her long, flowing mane, sleek violet body, and charming laugh.  There was no denying that Clip was in love.  Unfortunately, she didn’t feel the same way.
The caramel foal was steadily catching up with Violet, when he suddenly tripped on a mud covered root.  He didn’t even have time to cry out as he flipped forward, muzzle burying itself in a pile of soft mud.  He rolled a couple more hoofspans before coming to a stop at the base of another tree.  He groaned as he got up, shaky from his roll. 
He hadn’t realized it yet, but they were now in the swampier part of the swamp, bogs now surrounding either side of the path.  There was another bend, now to the right.  Clip shook himself wildly to try to get as much mud off him as he could.  Tipping his head to get the bit of mud that always snuck its way into his ears, he saw that Violet had disappeared around the bend.  He sighed, not really sure why he kept indulging her little trips into the most dangerous place in Bullarus.  Well, he actually did know.  He just didn’t want to say.
He began to trudge the path towards the bend, when suddenly, a shriek pierced the still night air.  He would’ve recognized the owner of the noise if he had been three miles away.  This scream wasn’t the usual kind he got from her when she fell in the murky water or tripped like he had.  This scream was authentic, ringing in the trees.  It was full of fear, no, terror.  Full of distinction, full of pain.
Pain.
Clip raced around the bend as quickly as he could, calling out her name, when a second pained shriek pierced the otherwise tranquil night, making him gallop faster than he had ever galloped before.  Turning the bend, he found a hulking form above what could only be Violet.  
Instead of being a singular pony form, she was a trembling figure on the ground with an open ribcage and a hoof thrown to the side.  Her bones jutted out at angles that couldn’t be natural, and while he could see that she was breathing, no help she could receive would save her.  Clip gasped at the sight of his best friends scattered soon-to-be remains, nearly hurling at the gruesome display.  This, in turn, caught the attention of the monster currently consuming the filly.
The creature looked up at him, eyes shining silver as it stared down the foal that was interrupting its meal.  It growled darkly at Clip, but Clip, blinded by sudden emotion for the spontaneous slaughter of his friend, charged.  He yelled, head down as he rushed towards the creature that was feasting on Violet, glaring at the ground as tears streamed out of his eyes.  How could this creature do such a thing, to somepony so young?  It was monstrous.
He screamed as he was suddenly lifted off the ground by something cutting into his neck.  He realized that the thing around his neck was a jaw, with teeth tightly crushing his windpipe.  He felt himself get tossed to the side, the sharp fangs cutting his flesh as they left.  He was flung into a low-hanging tree branch, hearing both it and his side snap upon connecting.  He didn’t have time to yelp as he fell into the bog below, landing harshly on his side.
Barely having the strength to breath, he lay halfway in the water, muzzle open to breath.  It was all he could do besides whimper, as he was sure that his spine had been snapped at some point.  He lay there, completely numb from all emotion as he waited for the terrible creature to come finish him off.  He hadn’t been able to identify the beast, he’d been too preoccupied with the fact that it had been consuming his friend.
Blood trickled down his neck and muzzled from the wounds in his neck, and tears soon joined them.  Apparently he still had enough strength to cry softly as he listened to the sounds of crunching and slurping that emitted from behind him.  After several painful minutes, he heard shuffling coming closer to him.  Finally, it would all be over; he would be free from the pain of his recent failure and physical wounds.  He tried to make a sound to help the beast locate him easier, but no sound came out.
He heard the beast step into the swamp water, the ripples of the movement lapping  against his bloody back.  The creature began to sniff loudly as it tried to pick his scent.  The creature continued to search for Clip, as the little foal, desperate for death, tried to yell with all of his strength.  Unfortunately, all that came out was a croak that could have easily been mistaken for a branch creaking in the rising wind.  With a final growl, he heard the creature begin to leave.
“No,” he croaked out, but it was to no avail as the creature was now too far from him to hear.  He could no longer see or hear the beast.  Left alone, he began to cry again.  Oh how quickly his life was now turning.  Violet was dead now, he was a crippled heap halfway in the swamp, and the myths were now proven true.
As the night slowly crept on, he began to regain enough strength to start calling out for help.  Every half hour, he would have enough strength to cry out, although the movement would cause pain.  Slowly, he began to regain his senses.  The cotton that seemed to be muffling his hearing dissipated, and his eyes even began to adjust to the darkness.  The downside of regaining his senses was that he could now feel the pain.
Every breath made his side scream in pain, and he knew that his previous guess about cracked ribs was correct.  He began to drink the little bits of water that kept coming into his mouth to stay hydrated.  He knew it wasn’t sanitary, but he had nothing else, and he couldn’t consciously decide to stop.  The pain in his neck was probably the worst thing about his situation.  
It burned like it was on fire, and every swallow made that burn amplify ten times worse.  He whimpered from the pain, and after a while, became too used to no response to his pleas for help to care to continue.  He simply laid on his side, waiting for the end to come in one way or another.  The sun had begun rising in the distance, though he couldn’t see the actual sun in its ascent.  He began to cry again as he realized that at about this time, his father would be waking up, and find his son missing.  The same with Violet’s parents.
After what seemed like an eternity, he felt strong enough to try and turn face up.  As he rolled, he cried out at the pain in his side, stopping halfway through his venture as the pain became near unbearable.  Then, he remembered Violet.  Poor Violet.  He clenched his eyebrows in anger, and rolled all the way around.  Biting down, he continued with the movement, standing up on shaky legs.  His body screamed at him to stop, but he refused, continuing to take a step forward.  His knee buckled on his left side, bringing him down.  Letting out a guttural growl, he got back up stepping across the path to the mangled remains of his best friend.
Her bones had been picked clean, with even the sinew stripped from her frame.  Many of the bones were cracked or broken, the stark white shining dully in the dawn light.  He began to cry anew for his deceased friend, standing strong in front of her body parts in spite of the burning pain.  He would avenge her, somehow, for the loss of her life at so young.  That’s what was really getting at the foal.  She had been seven, had just barely gotten her cutie mark, but now she had no life for her purpose to be fulfilled with.  Now, she was just a loose, bloody pile of fur and bones, stripped so clean that calling it bloody would be strong.
Clip stood there for a long time before he dared move.  He wanted to stay there forever, let his despair and anger overtake him, consume him, but his stomach growled to remind him that he was still alive.  He turned and looked around the swamp, his neck aching dully from his wounds.  The grass in these areas was too sharp for his soft pony mouth, and the leaves of the trees weren’t nutritious.  He didn’t feel like he could walk home, not yet.  He was barely standing as it was.  
Suddenly, a strange idea came to him.  Slowly, he turned to the murky waters of the swamp, limping over to where he had hidden from the beast.  He practically collapsed at the bank of the water, exhaustion and pain overtaking the last remnants of the strength he had.  He inched his muzzle into the water, keeping his nose above it so he could breath as he slowly opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out into the bitter water.
He began to slowly wriggle it around, trying to mimic the movement of an actual worm to attract fish.  His movements made tiny swirls in the water that began to attract larger swirls that he took as fish.  No less than five minutes into the procedure, a fish, unseen by him, nibbled at his tongue.  It tickled, so he darted his tongue back into his mouth involuntarily.  This only intrigued the fish, which he felt enter its head into his mouth.  Taking the opportunity, Clip bit down and tossed his head back towards land, sending the fish flying.  
The maneuver made his neck start bleeding as his scabs cracked roughly.  The fish flopped desperately on the path, trying to make its way back to water.  Clip rushed over, his strength having returned after even that short of a break, pressing a hoof down on the fishes core.  Raising another, he slammed it down, crushing its skull in.  It jerked as its nervous system went off, before finally stilling beneath his hooves.  Bending down reverently, he began tearing away the flesh and consuming its bloody white meat.  It tasted different from what he had expected.  He had expected it to taste disgusting, to make him want to throw up.  Instead, it tasted slightly like mud, with almost no other flavor to it except its salty blood.  He found it to taste much better than any oat or hay he’d ever eaten, and was soon hungrily consuming the whole thing.
Before he knew it, he was done with the majority of it.  Raising his head, he stared in awe at the remains of the fish.  It wasn’t particularly big, but it had been rather filling.  The stark white bones stuck out, bent back to allow Clip easier access to more meat.  There was almost no blood on the remains.  Clip hadn’t realized how much he had liked the salty taste of blood, and looking closely at the corpse, he found that all of the blood had been sucked dry.  It looked completely picked clean, save for a loose portion of scales on the ground, almost like…
Violet.
Clip gasped as he stumbled back, numb to the strain he was putting on himself.  He had just mercilessly devoured another living creature, just like that monster that had killed Violet.  He had done it for food though, he argued with himself.  Who said the beast he had seen hadn’t done it for food also.  He hadn’t attacked any other creatures.  Neither had the beast.  Clip had charged.  He hadn’t killed one so young.  Maybe he had, seeing how the fish he had eaten was so small when he had seen much larger variants of the same type of fish.  
The more he argued with himself, the more he found himself as guilty as the beast that had taken Violet.  He was disgusted with himself, turning away from the fish’s remains, which only brought him to Violet’s.  He began to cry bitterly from self hate and regret, stumbling away from both dead bodies.  He turned back to the swamp water, unable to continue looking at dead things.  Staring at the murky water, he found that there was enough daylight to allow him to see his reflection.
He stumbled away once again, falling to his bruised side in shock at the monster he had just seen.  Its coat had turned dirty gray, blood covering its neck with large gashes in it.  Its fur was now at least two inches longer than a regular ponies should be, ears tipped sharply with fur.  Its mouth had been agape in shock revealing sharp teeth that no herbivore would ever have, ready to tear into any victim.  The most terrible thing though, had been its eyes.  They were misty gray, with the irises sharp silver.  They seemed to cut whatever they looked at, a dangerous tool for a monster.  
Clip began panting, unable to understand what was going on.  He couldn’t be changing.  He was still a foal.  A foal who, thanks to some old mare’s tales, was very knowledgeable in the ways of supernaturals.  A foal, who thanks to this knowledge, was able to identify the creature that had attacked his friend, seeing how he was now one.  A foal, who was no longer a foal, but a lycan.
> Chapter 1: The Mordigan
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Moon 8986,
The moon was stronger tonight, paler in a way only I would know.  It seems that I am being welcomed to this new land I’m arriving in.  It’s a lovely little portion of the Equus plain, called by the locals Equestria.  Until recently, it was a sparsely populated section of grassland and untamed forest.  The change was brought through two sisters, alicorns, and not by chance.  It seems the race may be on a recovery stasis.  They built a lovely castle, rich in culture and wonder.  I wonder how long this idealistic society will last before it falls to a foreign power they don’t understand.  I’ve had eons to learn of such things, see such things as this.  I can already see the seeds building for a war here.  But it is not for feeding that I am here.  Surely by now you know that.
The loneliness struck harder than ever tonight, enough to make tears flow.  I know not as to why it seems to be worsening, although I have a hunch.  It seems that with the passing of moons, I delve into deeper recesses of depression.  No, not the usual kind that brings self-malice and self-hate, moreso the kind that makes you yearn to leave your seat and take a wagon to a new land.  Ironically, that is what I have done.
The coven once again insisted on following where I go.  Indeed, the notion is kind, but unfortunately, this old cuck has no heart left to warm.  I was thinking that this would be the last time I make such a move, seeing as how my damnation is coming to an end soon.  Well, relatively, that is.  The past three moons have felt longer, dragged out, shaving away my stamina.  Yes, I admit, I’m getting weaker.  I find that hunting brings less thrill and more wear, leaving my coven to begin taking over.  
We’ve started out in a lovely little area called Tramplevania.  The woods are rife with life, and walking through the strong moon light, I feel more peace than I have in moons.  Now, don’t mistake this as a declaration of finding true peace, just that instead of having a neighbor nailing envoys to my head, it is merely a woodpecker.  I have a fond connection with one of the trees in this area, a large oak that may be older than I.  The poor thing is gnarled and rough, a black patch on its leftward side, the result of a lightning strike most likely, as there are hardly two dozen ponies in these parts.  
Ah, but Nightseer is now telling me that she must go out now on some business with a pony a scant three miles away, and may be gone for a few days.  The members of my coven are trying to connect the local means of economics to our network so we have a certain amount of bits to our name.  I sometimes forget that for most mortals, money is food, while for others food is money.  It is a strange world we live in, however, and I don’t think I would very much like to see the day when greed isn’t one of the most terrible of sins.
I must be off now, as the moon is setting and my window would allow a certain amount of sunlight into the room.  Seeing as how this is so, I must leave something in here to remind me next moonrise if I indeed do forget to look for it here, or elsewhere, if it may be.  I would like to read a book labeled The Titles of Abashment.  It is an intricate work by one of my dear friends from a past life, and seeing as how my quest seems to be pushing me to new affairs, I would very much like to put my charismatic attitude to work (Ailade says I must find a “mistress of the house”).
Until I am no longer Damned,
Hemorrhage

The solid blue unicorn gently set down his quill, staring over the dry brown parchment before him.  He had forgotten to write last moon, seeing as the continual rocking of the boat had meant other distractions of a more physical kind.  The journey had been a more entertaining venture than his last trip, as it was Leper’s first time across water.  He had been as shaky as a windblown leaf upon entering the boat, and it had only worsened when the sails had unfurled and caught the wind.  Ailade had tried to help the younger member as much as she could with her motherly attitude, but the seasick lycan had been no match for the sea’s might.  In the end, he was holed up in the lower portside cabin for the whole thirteen day trip to this Equestria.
They had arrived from further down south, a dreadful chain of islands known as the Placid Isles.  The name had been misleading, as hurricanes bombarded the islands every summer, and frigid winters left the fires roaring all moon long.  The worst part was the food they had.  The land creatures were only small rodents or birds, neither of which were tasteful or filling.  There were also the sea creatures, but their salty blood had quickly become a more sharp taste than a slight one.  In the end, the coven only endured two hundred and thirty moons of the terrible place.  Now, they were here.
This land was as nice as he had heard it described; well wooded, evergreen, and lively.  The perfect place to call home for the remainder of his life.  Eventually, he would force the members of his coven out, even if it meant tying them up and shipping them across the sea.  He loved them, as a father would his children, but this father was growing to be a grandfather.  Even now, streaks of silver had begun to taint his ruby red mane.  He could feel the bags under his eyes, the works of hundreds of years slowly taking its toll on him.  Despite his supernatural body, he was aging and dying, and in only a couple dozen long years, he would fall to dust.  Unless.
That word that haunted him, unless.  In the hundreds of years he had lived, he had taken plenty of time to learn his limits and species.  The full might he had, not to mention the power his unicorn magic gave him, made him stronger than any other being he had come across.  That would change if he came across either of the two alicorns, but he doubted that despite their good intentions, they would check this tiny backwater corner of their land.  Like the rest of society, they would claim virtue, but... 
He trotted along the castle corridors from the large chamber he had dubbed his writing chamber.  They had managed to construct part of the castle in the short time since they had arrived yesterday.  They had decided that a castle would be most fitting in this land, as the ponies in these parts seemed to understand the implications the large structure made.  It sent a clear message that with its immense size, it could swallow them, but as long as it was respected and given space, it wouldn’t.  The weaker, uneducated minds of these farmers and herdsponies held bent to this ideal, as perception, not spear, held them in their position.
The building was moving along quickly, seeing as having four vampires, a lycan, and a mordigan working made work quick.  They had established a greeting hall, main hall, and dining room, along with corridors throughout and four bedrooms, one for each of the vampires.  Argon had taken one of the rooms for himself, claiming that while he was married, his wife needed separation too.  The only male vampire, he was probably also the oldest of his coven, besides him.  He was also his dearest friend, and knew more of his past than any of the other covenmates.
Hemorrhage grunted as he pushed through the doors to the common room.  Ailade was there, her shiny teal eyes darting up to him as he entered.  She smiled brightly as he moved across the room, her thin frame shifting so she was staring at him.  She had a sleek turquoise body that shimmered in the low torchlight.  Her violet mane was shorter and pulled up into a bun so as to not interfere with her self proposed work.  She had claimed, when she first arrived, that she was indebted to him, and had taken upon herself not only keeping their living quarters clean, but also the health of the coven.  She had been a nurse in her past life, as evidenced by a faded cutie mark in the form of a pink heart with a bandage wrapped up around it.  How old was she now?  Fifteen hundred moons?
“Good morning, Master,” she called brightly, lighting another torch.  It briefly caught her hoof alight, which made her simply smile as she stomped it out.  Moving on to another torch, she asked, “Do you have any plans to sleep this day, or are you going to spend another day ‘studying’?  Oh don’t give me that look!  I’m only looking out for your health, Master.”
“You shouldn’t worry about an old stallion's health, Ailade,” Hemorrhage said wearily.  They had gone through this routine a hundred times, and would go through it a hundred more times.  “And how many times have I told you not to call me master.  One day, you’ll have to live without me.  I don’t want you to be some crazy old hag when I’m gone, kneeling at my grave and calling it ‘Master’.”
“Ah, but that time won’t come if you find her,” the werewolf protested wistfully.  The old mordigan quirked an eyebrow at his friend and self appointed maid, making her giggle.
“You first,” he responded, turning and pushing through another set of doors into the main hall.  As he left, he heard her call back, “Fine, I will find her first!”
He chuckled as he moved through the main hall, stepping up the steps to where two thrones sat.  He sighed, knowing exactly who had placed those.  The roof was barely finished, a sheet of tinted black glass.  They had brought it with them, as it was the only type of glass that allowed some semblance of sunlight through without killing the vampires.  It let a dreary stream of light through that gave the room an ominous feeling.  He chuckled at the irony that the place that they lived in was what most ponies would consider a supernatural’s home to actually be.
There was a loud clatter from behind him, followed by some shouting.  He turned on his back legs hastily as another shout emanated through the chambers.  Before he could even get to the doors, they swung open, a familiar lycan stumbling through the doors.  He was looking panicked, but other than his wide silver eyes, he seemed completely uninjured.  His gray-green fur was turning back to its usual emerald, evidence that he had rushed back to the castle in his lycan form.  His teeth were already returning to their flat, equine regular form.  No blood.  
Several seconds passed as Leper returned to his pony form, panting as sweat glistened in his fur and gray mane.  The younger stallion was the newest addition to the coven, barely six hundred moons into his new life.  He had adapted well enough to the changes, considering he had been the son of a shepherd before he had been attacked.  Now, it seemed that he was so well adapted to his newer form that he had mastered minute transfiguration, a powerful tool in every case.  When the young lycan had caught his breath, he stared at the ground, waiting for questions before he spoke.  It was a terrible trait the nervous lad had given himself, one that Hemorrhage had never taken from him.
“What is it, Leper,” he asked, putting a hoof on the larger pony’s shoulder.  A brief moment of silence passed in which two things were made clear.  One, that whatever had happened to the poor boy was dark, and two, it was something that was familiar beyond primal denial.  
“A colt,” he muttered, still staring at the smooth stone floor.  “I saw him not far from here.  He was alone on a path in the bogs.  Except, there was a pile of something.  Bones, I think.  I could smell blood, from both the colt and the pile.  I think they were equine, at least, the colt treated them as such.  He had a large gash on his neck, and part of his side seemed to be caved in.”
Behind Leper, he could see Ailade, press a hoof to her mouth, a horrified expression etched on her face.  Behind her, Argon was holding Nightseer’s hoof, trying to calm his younger wife.  This was almost the exact same condition they had found her, save this sounded much different from a vampire attack.  Still, the mare had a haunted look on her face, a singular tear sliding down her sleek purple fur.  
“The colt was crying when I found him,” Leper continued.  “standing beside the pile.  He was like that for a while, before he got a very strange expression on his face.  He turned away from the pile and went to the water, lying down in it.  I couldn’t see exactly what he was doing, but I know well enough that he was stirring the water.  After a few minutes, he jerked his head out of the water, fish in his muzzle.  He threw it to the middle of the path before crushing its head in with his bare hooves.  Then… he ate it.”
Despite knowing where this was all inevitably going, Hemorrhage clenched his jaw at the prospect.  Colts didn’t just eat a fish, or any other form of meat out of mere hunger.  The thought of eating a living creature wasn’t in a pony’s nature.  It was unnatural.  This, in turn meant one of two things.  Either the colt was insane, lost in the depths of his mind as an aftereffect of whatever happened, or he was no longer simply a colt.  He felt that the latter was more likely, considering the manner of his situation.
“The colt ate almost everything, save for some bones and skin.”  Leper shivered.  “It was terrible.  I left after that.  The poor guy, he was probably just out there with somepony when whatever happened to him happened.  His eyes: they were silver like mine.  His teeth looked sharper.  No, they had to be with how easily he ate that thing.  I ran as fast as I could, back here.  What does this mean, Hemorrhage?”
Taking a deep breath, Hemorrhage got the feeling that something was different about their new home.  They had come here for peace, for him to have a worriless last thousand moons.  Now it seemed that things were going to be very different from the life they had hoped for and imagined.  Letting the breath out, he began speaking.
“It means that there is a young colt out there, one that must never return to its home lest it endangers ponies there.  It means that we are going to be adding another member to the coven, the youngest by far.  It means that we will have to train him, to raise him as one of our own, to help him understand his new life.  It means that there will be a second lycan added to our coven.  It also means that there is another lycan out there, one with less morality than us.  It also means that this area is contested, which promptly means, we are locked in a territorial war.”
> Chapter 2: The Ompyre
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Halven trodded along the tiled floor of his cavern.  Stone walls carved by wind and wear stretched before and behind him, their rigged demeanor giving the space a more cavernous feeling.  The air was stale and cool, barely noticed however by the ompyre.  Really, it was a bonus of being one of the so-called “cursed” breed.  The ability to feel the temperature of his surroundings, but not have it affect him had led him to many a victory in the face of territorial enemies.  Here, in this older cavern, it also allotted a certain amount of uncare for intruders.  Not many ponies, especially the superstitious folk in these parts, would willingly trot into a cold, dark cave.
Another bonus.  The ability to see in the dark was shared by all supernaturals, but was especially strong in the ompyre race.  Having been born of two vampyres, he was the culmination of their strengths in one body.  Having the ability to see colors in even the darkest of nights, and having the ability to mist at the speed of twice the speed of a galloping stallion, it was no wonder the stallion had remained undefeated as of yet.  He smiled at the thought of his many victories, absently rubbing at a low gash on the bottom of his right foreleg.  
The wound would never heal, he knew that.  It was one of the disadvantages of being of any form of vampyre.  They fed off of the blood of the living, transforming the energy to a smoky mist that transferred the energy throughout the body.  Unfortunately, as part of their curse, for the unholy sin of taking another's life to preserve their own, that same life-preserving energy would not save its user.  It was only a small setback, seeing as he was rarely on the lower hoof of a fight, but a setback nonetheless.  With his eternal life secured by already finding “the one”, he would have a long time to plan the securing of his coven in eternity.
Halven shook his head at himself.  He wasn’t going to secure his name and those of his coven in history by standing around like an old fool.  Though old he was.  It had to have been a thousand years since his birth, and he could not remember his birth parents as they had been killed by the good folk of Glandisdale.  He had only been spared the same fate by the leader of their coven, Teir if he could remember that.  Teir had refused to let him know even his parent’s names, as he said the attachments of the past had no connection to the present.  Instead, he grew in the dark, learning only of blood and death, as he was trained to kill as only a weapon could by Teir.
The other curse, the darkness he was condemned to as a side effect of being born a monster.  As well as having twice as much strength as his vampyre cousins, he had twice the weakness of them.  The sunlight was near instantaneous death for him, and even the moonlight left him burnt and his energy sapped.  All he had ever seen for light was flame, and even that made him wince back in fear for death as he had been trained to.  Now, as the lord of his own coven, he allowed himself to travel outside of the caves on the three nights of no moon.  
For the most part, his lycan, Sureblood, hunted for him, although Anthrax also hunted.  The other thirty members of his coven mostly hunted for themselves, though he had to reign in their prey.  The area they currently controlled was lightly populated with only a couple hundred ponies in six different villages.  The small communities were the most threatening, because a missing member of the community would not go unnoticed like in the larger towns.  The same would go with the local fauna, and thus, despite thousands of acres of land, they were only allotted a couple hundred of actual hunting ground.  
Halven nearly started in surprise at his own arrival at the main chamber of the caverns.  The room was dimly lit by large oil lanterns set on carved out holdings in the wall, shadows flickering to and fro as members of his coven moved about the chamber.  Some gave verbal acknowledgement to his arrival and others simply nodded to him as he passed.  Many of the ones he spotted were not willing members, instead survivors and traitors who, upon finding themselves without a head if they stayed with their coven leaders, fell under his wing’s spread.  That was fine by him.  If they weren’t loyal to him, fear would keep them in line just as well.
There was one familiar face in the large cavern, a comfortable face that gave him a bit more step to his stride.  Mantris, a werewolf by birth, was standing amidst the cool stream that ran slowly through the large cavern.  Much of the coven had grown tired of the mud-tasting fish that swam through it, but the earth pony supernatural seemed to still have taste for them.  Come to think of it, everything he had seen her eat seemed to come prepacked in mud and coated in a light layer of dust.  It may have been a side effect of her species, but Halven silently believed that it was just because the four hundred something year old was a special case.  Very special.
As if to prove his mental deliberation correct, she shot her muzzle straight into the cold water.  It came up just as fast, a fish flying into the air after it.  It slapped the wet stone besides the stream, flopping desperately as it found its situation foreign.  Mantris giggled with gross fascination, a clawed paw reaching out to pin it to the slick stone.  It was something else Halven had never been able to understand, those tiny appendages at the end of where her hoof should be.  It seemed that becoming a werewolf, or relatively akin to the species, changed the genetic structure of the hoof over the moons, so that the being affected would be blessed with toes, the closest to the head being opposable.  Though he had never been able to prove the theory, he knew that of the three lycans and nine werewolves in his coven, all of them featured the things, born with them or not.
Mantris looked up from her soon to be meal, sensing her master’s approach through the silent chaos of the chamber.  She gave him a cool, double-edged smile with her sharp fangs, the blades yellowed in the subpar oil lantern light.  Loyal, yes.  Devious beyond even her own knowledge, yes.  Treacherous, never.  It seemed to be against her very nature to think nothing but good of her master, so much so that he felt if he wasn’t already married, she would be pining for his hoof.  Actually, she might still be, though she didn’t even have a chance at catching his eye.
“Mantris, I require your skills,” he stated in a passively commanding voice, enough to let her know he was serious, but not enough to allow others to know of the severity of the need.  Not that it was much, but if those less willing to… follow were to hear, they would be less concerned of the situation.  Mantris smiled sardonically, gliding one of her claws across the fish’s belly.  She stuck her mouth against the open wound, sucking the insides out quietly, her eyes keenly concentrated on his face.  Halven kept it demure, letting no emotion betray how truly unpleasant he felt about the whole thing.  It wasn’t like he didn’t also have a taste for the softer bits of his food, but the blatant display was unnecessary.
Sighing as she continued to bite the eyeless head off and pull the skin from around its ribs  into her mouth.  Chewing slowly, she raised an inquisitive eyebrow as if to ask of his thoughts on her eating.  To answer, he simply asked, “Enjoying that?”  She nodded slowly as her eyes narrowed more with each nod of her head.  It was not with hostility though, more like as if to try to put her view solely on his eyes.  “Very well, then,” he said, turning slightly to enter the stone corridor that led to the cave’s large entrance.  “Come along.”
Halven didn’t bother to check if Mantris was following, the distinctive clicking of her claws easily matching his pace gave her away.  His own hooves clicked loudly on the smoothed over floor, though the silent shuffling as his coven members seemed to swallow the noise beyond his own ears.  The small crowd parted wherever he walked, leaving a wake of lost looking ponies.  In truth, he didn’t really have any current use for them.  They were more for if another territorial war came about.  The bulk of them didn’t know basic combating strategies or how to fight without relying on their supernatural talents.  That was alright though.  They were the pony shields of his army, expendable and replaceable and distractors from the real warriors.  Which included the strange pony behind him.
He exited into the much narrower corridor, the smoothed stoned walls squeezing his thighs softly.  The sensation was familiar from more intimate experiences, though the pony behind him hadn’t from her sudden sharp intake of breath.  He smiled, though he did so carefully as to not let her see it, at the still youthful sense she had amongst the more pleasurable times of the night.  She would find her mate soon enough, he knew of it.  She was fair enough looking with her gently curving barrel, and she wasn’t so strange as to drive away stallions, though she might eat them before discussion.  She was more intriguing upon first meeting, at least, that was what he thought of her when they first met.
They came out of the first corridor into a slightly larger corridor that had three different turnoffs on the left side.  Each one led to a series of small rooms, each artificially carved for the members of the coven.  There were several others deeper in the cavern for the married couples in the coven.  As far as he knew, and that was pretty much everything considering it was his domain, only five married couples inhabited his cavern, including himself and his mate.  The oil lanterns weren’t the only light source now, as the flowing stream that had reentered the corridor glowed softly in the pale blue moonlight from the top of a narrow ravine.  Halven clung to the far right wall, the rock overhanging him protecting him from the lethal light.  
Mantris walked slowly, deliberately in the moonlit water, a loopy grin on her face as she splashed the water at him.  He rolled his eyes at the youthful werewolf, keeping his pace steady, hardly minding the light.  He had been up here enough to know whether or not he was actually in danger.  It wasn’t that he had to fear the light, more like acknowledge it.  If he knew what was there, had knowledge of his weakness, then he had no reason to fear it.  All he had to do was make sure he didn’t act foolishly, if not mindlessly, about where he was.  He had lived without light for centuries, a simple moonbeam was not going to end him. 
However, despite the constant mental conversation he held every time he passed his executioner, he found himself letting out a silent sigh of release.  The werewolf besides him didn’t seem to notice due to the lack of a challenging movement or statement.  Instead, she seemed to simply continue on her splashing.  The noise echoed in the small chamber, and his head snapped to her as a harsh hiss escaped his mouth.  She ducked her head at the intensity, though she did not protest at it.  She knew as well as him that at any moment a pony could be standing at the top of the ravine and hear them.
He shook his head at her foolishness before continuing into the entry chamber.  The large space was about a third the size of the main chamber, not large but far from small.  In it stood three figures.  One was Anathem, one of his most loyal coven members, as well as the oldest vampyre.  Her sleek green coat had the ever present sheen of all vampyres, her silver mane glistening from the moonlight of the entrance.  Her eyes were a soft scarlet wrapped around two black marbles, though they weren’t focused on him, but rather, the second figure in the room.  
Standing tall on his hind legs and nearly twice the height of a regular pony, Sureblood was talking near silently to the third figure.  His snout was slowly shrinking back to its regular size, his fangs shrinking with it.  Sticky, half-dry blood clung to the bristles of his muzzle, evidence of a successful hunt.  His sharp silver eyes were beginning to return to their usual size, becoming more circular than slitted.  His voice was still transferring from a low growl to the smooth, yet unsure volume it transferred.  Like Anathem, the lycan’s eyes weren’t focused on the entrances of the chamber, but the third and final figure.  
Omen stood on all fours, the might and dignity of an entire civilization held in his stance as his sharp black eyes bore into Sureblood’s.  His loose brown mane flowed gently in the low breeze that drifted through the entrance to the cave.  His pure white coat shimmered in the bright moonlight, the sheen of an ompyre making him look even more commanding.  If it hadn’t been for the fact that he was already Halven’s second, he would’ve become a fierce rebel amongst his ranks.  He was the most loyal in the coven, and why not?  They were mates after all.
He was the first one to notice Halven, as he was positioned so that the entry into the chamber from the main hall was within eyesight.  He nodded towards him, catching the other two’s attention.  All eyes turned to him as he approached them, sticking to the outer edges of the chamber.  He kept his demeanor poise, slow smile spreading across his face as he neared them.  It was a strategy, really.  Allow them to not know whether they were truly being congratulated on a successful hunt, or being mocked for an unknown failure.  Of course, with this lot it was always the former, seeing as they were all only the most loyal of the coven.  Even Sureblood, who was barely fifty years old, seemed to have the dedication of an adoring child.
Mantris giggled furiously at the whole display, her tail twitching this way and that as she watched her master’s movements.  “Well,” he asked imperiously.  “What is the report?”  The sudden production of sound gave the young lycan a start.  He was usually one to wait for the report to be given, and then ask questions, but tonight required a different approach.  He had felt the evil eye of Galtry, one of the oldest conquered lycans on him, and knew that a time was nearing when there would be blood shed.  He needed to be prepared for it, which was why he had brought Mantris along.
The report was really just a front amongst the other… less trustworthy of the coven.  Really, he had gathered them together -without their knowledge- to discuss the matters of their arising enemy.  Once the report was given, he would discuss such matters with his makeshift counsel of allies.  He needed to make sure that their loyalties lied firmly in him, and that they knew what they must do to keep the rest of the coven in line.  If he was indeed correct, there would be more than one insurgent to dispose of when the fight was done with.  He actually was looking forward to it.
“Well, master,” the nervous lycan began, “I was out hunting the usual area, when I came across a filly.  It had been forever since I’d tasted pony flesh, and I couldn’t stop myself from taking her.  She was delicious, nice and tender, with just enough size to her to fill me up but not overstuff me.  Then, in the middle of feasting, a colt slightly larger than her came around the bend.  He was really foolish, charging me like some knight of the Royal Army.  I threw him aside for later, believing that the colt would be easy prey seeing as how I had already injured him.
“I was gonna bring him back to you as a gift, but when I finished the filly, I couldn’t find him.  The swampwater covered his scent, and I couldn’t see him in the shadows.  I was going to search longer than I did, but I picked up another scent, an unfamiliar one.  It came from a copse of trees just to my left, and was strong enough that I knew it was real.  When I backed away from the swamp, I took a detour to circle back to the point.  When I got back, I found the epicenter of the scent.  It was one of a lycan, though not of our coven.” 
During Sureblood’s rant, Halven’s eyebrows had been slowly rising until they now touched his mane line.  All thoughts of Galtry and the insurgents had vanished in light of this flood of new information, his mind racing through the situation.  If there was now an injured colt out there, tarnished by one of his own, he would have to go collect them.  He had never dealt with a situation like this, but he had thought through this kind of situation.  He would go personally to collect the young one, as his charisma allotted the respect and trust of many he spoke to.  
He also had something else to dread.  The fact that there was another lycan in the area that more than likely bore witness to Sureblood’s failure was concerning.  Was this a lone roamer who just so happened to chance upon the same prey as one of his own, or was it worse.  Was this a member of some newer coven, sent to spy and report his own’s hunting grounds and activity.  If so, would it report about the missing and injured colt, or was it the leader of its own coven.  The colt was now an essential commodity, one that he needed to have in order to keep ahead of them.  In his experience, he found that a single lycan could tear apart a small coven of five or six vampyres.  If he had another, he would surely be ahead of the competition. 
“What does this mean, master,” Mantris asked expectantly.  Halven turned away from them as he contemplated his answer.  What exactly did it mean, for him and the coven?  It meant that they now were locked into a new territorial war nopony had anticipated, and that they had a disadvantage.  It meant that he now was facing enemies from within and from outward sources, and that he would have to divide his attention between the two.  It meant that he was either finally going to meet his match , or he was going to add another notch to his metaphorical belt.  Most importantly-
“It means that we will be welcoming a new member to the family,” he replied, looking back at his faithful followers.
> Chapter 3: The Exodus
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Clip stumbled around the thin tree trunk, panting in exertion.  He’d been running for a near impossible amount of time.  His neck and shoulders still screamed in pain even though the skin had mended.  A day and a night had passed, leaving him to watch the sunrise through the thin grove of birch trees he now stood in.  He had no clue where he was now, only that it was far from where his home had been.  His home…

Thatched straw roofs and stone chimneys leaking smoke in the early morning as meal was cooked and hooves warmed.  The packed dirt that made the road leading from house to house, bare of any vegetation.  Each of the one room log houses presented little gardens in the front, carrots, peas, tomatoes, and potatoes all grew in well tended rows.  It wasn’t much, but with the crops of afar and the shared store, it would last them the harsh winters that bashed the Equus plain.  

Then there were the inhabitants of the village itself.  Only a few dozen ponies, probably less than seventy, lived in a small clump in a clearing much like the one he was looking out at.  Forest and swamp surrounded their little village, a small path barely worn into the ground the only path out.  Few knew of the town, and even fewer visited.  More often than not, the year passed without a single foreigner, and the ponies were fine with that.  They had their own little place in the world, and they were fine with the bit it was.

With a fond little smile, he remembered the gleepony that had visited not two years ago.  The leaves of the surrounding forest had begun to yellow, when suddenly, out of seemingly nowhere, a cart had rolled into town.  A pony with a dull gray mane and bright yellow coat had presented himself to the villagers.  He’d performed all kinds of tricks, from juggling six balls without magic to causing smoke to leak from a stone.  The thing that Clip had loved the most, however, was when he had pulled out a lyre.  

Carefully handling the instrument, the gleepony had strummed the strings in quick succession before bursting out in an energetic tune.  Laughter and dancing filled the small village square as older ponies began to stomp to the rhythm and younger ponies matched up.  After observing his older brother dancing with one of the other fillies, he had offered to dance with Violet.  Laughing joyously they had thrown themselves into the fray, hooves moving, eyes smiling, and heads knocking.  Oh how he wished it were still so.

Gritting his teeth in a grimace as the pain in his neck spiked suddenly, he stepped out into the clearing.  It was relatively large, green hills stretching out until they reached another forest.  From where he stood, he could see a small blue lake in between to larger hills, a small flat place pointing to him.  He began trotting that way, the ground beneath him squishing slightly, no doubt from the rain of the gray clouds he’d been chasing in the earliest hours of the morning.

When he came upon the lake, he took a long draw from it’s clear blueness.  As the ripples vanished, he found himself staring at his reflection.  His eyes, deep blue stared back.  He tried to peel them away from himself, but they stayed, scanning the entirety of his body.  His thin legs, his short body, his frayed tail and mane, his caramel coat completely obscured by the swamp mud.  As soon as he noticed it, he realized how itchy and uncomfortable it was.  The dried mud clung to him in clumps, scratching the sensitive skin underneath his short coat.  

Without hesitation, he leapt into the water, yelping at the sudden shock of its cool depths.  As he resurfaced, his breath came out in short, sharp gasps as the frigid water seeped into the very marrow of his bones.  Wading for a minute to let the chill pass, he wiped the mane from his face.  The blue water around him darkened slightly as the coated mud began to wash off, the brown tainting the reflected sky.  Running his hooves through his mane and coat, he began to scrub himself down, cleansing the filth of almost two days of running.  As he did so, he noticed something strange.

His caramel coat was now darker, and not from the mud or water.  The short coat he bore now was a darker brown in color, almost all of the lighter color drained from the colt’s bodice.  He noticed the same thing about his mane, flecks of gray showing in his mane.  Remembering the occurrence of the night he had been attacked, he briefly wondered what exactly had happened.  Was that merely his delirium showing in his eyes, or was there more to it?  Was it possible that he had transformed to one of the lycans, become the same monster that had taken Violet?

Shaking his head fiercely, he refused to entertain the thought.  His mind had been muddled by the attack, and he was reading too much into simple coincidences.  His father and mother had told him his coat would darken slightly over the years as he matured.  How had it happened so fast, though?  Maybe the stress and brutality of the attack had triggered the sudden changes?  He didn’t know much about how his body worked, but it made sense to him.  Mother and Father had said age only came with experience.

But why was he still running?  Why was he running away from his home and loved ones?  Why wasn’t he racing back to the comfort of the village, to warn them of the danger in the swamps and how it had taken Violet?  He certainly wasn’t running away from the creature who had attacked him.  He was no safer here, in the open lake, than in the swamp with the monster.  Not at all.

There were still wolves and bears and foxes, thieves and brigands on the road.  But here there wasn’t any road, and certainly no brigands or thieves.  Only empty hills surrounded by forest and mountains.  Great big mountains, they were too.  Near impassible by foot by any guess.  Snow stil dusted their peaks, and the forest vegetation below was thick enough that the entire mountain from the base to the halfway up was green.  Gray stone was all that was between green and white, giving the mountains a look as if they were a pony wearing a wool cap and green stockings.

Clip realized that the water he was swimming in was probably snowmelt from the cliffs above.  He could actually make out a thin blue line when he searched for it, though it disappeared after it hit the green treeline.  It did explain the chill of the water, and the freshness of its taste, as if it had been graced by Celestia herself.  Suddenly, he realized that he would be in the perfect position to see the Princesses’ fabled city, Canterlot, from where he now swam.  Turning his head towards the north, he was disappointed to find himself staring as the sloping green side of a hill.

Swimming to the edge of the water, he raced onto the land, rushing up the hill with urgent speed.  Coming to the top, he could see the distant mountain, a mere fable in his village.  However, even though the distance had to be dozens and dozens of miles, he could see the great city of Canterlot.  And there, barely a speck from this distance, was the great and marvelous castle, where the monarchs of Equestria rule.  Even from here he could sense the grace and power held in the structure alone, the silent show of force and culture that could never be matched by its many enemies.

Silently relishing the sight in awe, he paused to think out what was to come for him.  He could continue on across this hilly clearing and into the forest beyond.  There was sure to be food and fresh water there, maybe even another village if he was lucky.  On the other hoof, he could head towards the great city and seek out a life there, maybe even help if indeed his slightest fears were confirmed.  Who knew, maybe one of the Princesses themselves would help him to heal completely from the wounds he bore and hone in his abilities.

As soon as he gave the thought a second thinking, he realized how impossible it would be.  There were miles of rugged mountain to trek through, and wide rivers to cross with currents strong enough to break boulders.  Not to mention the fact that if he were to meet up onto any road, he would be susceptible to the bandits and brigands.  Then there would be the actual ponies themselves in the villages and towns on the road.  If he was turning lycan, he couldn’t live with himself if he hurt anypony there along the way.  No, the forest was better.

Determination setting his jaw shut and encouraging him to set out, he began stepping across the soft, wet ground once again.  A wind started picking up from the west, carrying with it small clouds and taking the smell of the rain.  His mane blew about his face, the gray speckles in them taunting him in the corners of his eye.  He refused to let his thoughts turn to that of what might be, instead focusing on what he must do.  The wind seemed to carry the weight of his legs for him, nigh picking him up and flying him to the waiting forest.  He had to tarry about the hills carefully lest he stumble down the sloping lengths.  

The expanse was larger than Clip had initially thought, the terrain deceptively concealing the long draughts in between hills.  The green grass was rather bitter, he found, as he began snacking on the long, uncared for blades to maintain his strength.  As slippery and soft as they were to the touch, they were to chew.  More than once he resorted to spitting out a clump of the green grass as they refused to be chewed and swallowed correctly.  Grumbling at the misfortune, he distantly wished for some of the threaded hay patties, cooked in oil with cheese and parsley on top.  A distant meal from where he stood.

The hills began to pass in slower and slower progression as the weariness of running without sleep for the previous day and night without rest caught up with him.  He found himself fighting against the weight of his eyelids more than the weight of his legs the longer he tried to ignore it.  He mentally told himself that he could rest once he reached the safety of the forest, but his body told him he’d collapse halfway there.  Finally, he resigned himself to his tired nature, and he began to scan the hills for any signs of cover he could use.  

Climbing to the crest of another of the green mounds, he found himself facing a little flat before it reached a bluff sparsely crowned with a myriad of towering flower bushes and trees.sighing contentedly with the discovery, he began to tread up the steeper hill atop a hill.  This would do fine.  He would climb into one of the trees, possibly find a soft portion of leaves or a discarded bird's nest, and rest there.  

The early morning light had turned to near noon, but to his fatigued body, it might as well have been midnight during harvest season.  He was able to keep his head in control long enough to find a comfortable and safe spot in the tree where he could lay without danger.  He drifted into a sleepless black realm, no dreams or nightmares visiting him as he rested.  His mind became merely a vessel of darkness, refusing thought and action in kind.  

When he finally drifted back to consciousness, the day was turned dark and the waning moon shone brightly over the plains, giving it an eerie flow that gave Clip warmth for some reason.  He found that his back was now resting on the rough bark of the oak branch, and groaned at the discomfort he felt in between his shoulders.  Sitting upright on his branch, he found that the sky was visible directly above him, the stars shining almost as brightly as a stove fire.  He gave the winking lights  a soft smile, silently marveling at a beauty he had yet to appreciate in his life.  Yes, he could see why some would argue that Princess Luna’s kind nights were superior to Princess Celestia’s harsh days.

Leaping the distance down the tree to the ground, he felt the soft grass brace his impact.  He landed on his hooves, finding it easy to steady himself in the cushion-like ground, and to his surprise, the slight gilt from landing didn’t cause any amount of pain in his shoulders.  Smiling even brighter, he looked around to find the best course to the forest.  There wasn’t much impeding his path in any direction, nothing but grassy hills for a couple more miles with the occasional tree or stream or pond, and many of those hidden from sight in the dips between the hills.  Deciding straight would be the best guide for him, he set off, the blue moonlight lighting his path.

After three slightly larger hills, he reached a small ravine with a stream running through the bottom.  Climbing down the mossy rock face carefully, he observed the crystalline water.  There were a few small fish swimming in it, the current gently guiding them but not forcing their way any quicker than they desired.  Lapping up the sweet water, he was surprised to find that this water, unlike the snowmelt streams and rivers from the mountains, was warm.  Curious, he followed the water up until it ran underneath a series of large rocks and into the ravine wall.  After a brief amount of time investigating the area, he found that there was a small, dark crack in the rock race.  Huffing with frustration that that was the only visible entrance aside from the space the water was coming through, he punched a hoof into the face.

The rock shattered easier than glass in winter, crumbling to the ground and rolling into the water with quiet splashes.  Clip’s eyes widened at the now large hole in the face, large enough for him to easily crawl through, maybe even walk through, if he were to crouch.  Slowly looking down at his hoof, he carefully raised it to his face, half scared that it too was shattered.  The keratin, however, showed no signs of splits, rather, other than the regular scratches formed from travel, he found it in better condition than he had ever seen before.  Smiling, he turned his gaze back to the black hole in the rock face.  Crouching so low that the fur on his stomach was grazing the mossy rock beneath him, he entered the cavern.

The rock clenched onto his fur, scraping at his skin as he crawled through the darkness.  It seemed that the crack had led to a small tunnel probably formed by reserve rainwater that flowed in and through the crack.  The tunnel was long dry, the lichen crumbling as he passed by it, but the air was moist and warm, and perhaps even a little more humid than the marshes.  The rock became sharper the further he went, the jagged edges scraping at his skin in an attempt to break.  To Clip’s surprise, his skin felt rougher, like a carrot left too long in the sun, and refused to break against the assaults of the terrain.  He had begun to notice it, actually, when the bark of the trees and the raking branches of bushes had failed to cause him harm.

Suddenly, with merely more than a pull, he was in the main chamber of the cavern, the sound of rushing water filling the air as much as the steam.  His eyes had been given time to adjust to the darkness as he crawled through the darkness of the tunnel.  He was grateful for it, as he was now able to view the majesty of the depths of Equus.  

A waterfall, nearly thirty spans tall, fell from above, the water foaming and frothing at its base.  The ceiling of the cave, at least fifty spans above, was sprinkled with an assortment of gems, all shining brilliantly in blues, greens, purples, teal, pinks, and other indescribable colors.  His grin returned in full as his gaze slowly took in the rest of the chamber, the clay gray walls smooth in contrast to the sharp tunnel he had emerged from.  Here and there, gems dotted the walls, and he even spotted veins of gold running across the walls like creepers on a tree.  To his left was a series of rugged ridges stuck out from the stony black wall, forming a rough staircase to the waterfall’s source.  

He climbed the steps, his hooves ringing off the stone like brass on steel and echoing throughout the chamber.  His jaw hung freely as each second more marvelous wonders were revealed to him as the darkness faded from his eyes.  Plants, green and fresh, sprung from forbidden corners of the cavern, leafy despite the complete lack of sunlight.  Others, long strings of moss and lichen, hung from the stalactites and crawled up stalagmites, lining the gray with green, giving the dead cavern life.  When he reached the top, however, his jaw snapped shut, his eyes widening instead.

If the cave before had been beautiful, this one had no word in any language to describe the splendor and majesty of this new one.  The water came bursting from the ground in the center of this newer chamber, raining in a golden flower of sprinkling water.  The color came from the strong light of the gold reflected from the tiniest bits of sunlight that crept through little holes in the ceiling, reflected and refracted through various crystalline gems that lay embedded in the walls.  The walls themselves looked as if they were made of the finest silver in Canterlot, glistening with the water that had soaked and smoothed the stone.  The entire chamber was damp with the steam of the hot springs, Clips mane and coat matted to his skin in a way that he found pleasant, like a warm rain after a harsh winter.  

He traveled deeper into the chamber, finding the plants in this area of the cavern even greener than the ones in the previous chamber.  They seemed proud to be growing in such a place, each one without a frayed ending or bent stem.  They seemed almost golden with the light on them, like in the great tales of golden places and heavenly views.  Chuckling softly to himself, Clip knew that none of the storytellers or gleeponies could have imagined such a place as the one he’d found, nor would they ever.  It seemed as if the Mother of Equus had taken her grace and majesty along with the Father’s Sun and Moon and implemented it in one place.  In Clip’s mind, he knew that no place could ever rival this cavern's beauty, nor anything be called beautiful unless it too were like this cavern.  

He forced his eyes from the view, instead slowly plodding forward, into the spray of the gushing water.  The warm droplets fell quickly but softly, settling on his fur and spreading warmth over the entirety of his bodice.  It felt as if he were being gently wrapped in a moist, warm blanket in front of the fire after autumn’s first frost.  A sense of homesickness settled over him as he stared into the spray of soothing water.  He briefly wondered if he would ever see the first frost on the fields on his family’s farm, the shimmering white crystals sparkling in the early morning sunlight.  The thought was instantly shot down by some sort of instinct that there was no place left for him back in his home, nor song any other inhabited area.  For some reason, however, the thought wasn’t as soul-crushing as he should have felt it to be, rather, he acknowledged it, looked around him at the golden caverns, and decided it was his home.  At least, until he found someplace possibly with a better entrance and easier access to food.

He shook his head.  A strange image had popped into his mind when he had thought of food.  Instead of imagining a golden loaf of bread or ripe string of grapes from the vineyard, he had imagined a fish, raw and wriggling.  He shivered, blaming it on the nightmare he’d had on the night of his attack.  It had been terrible, imaging himself eating another living creature, even if it was to sustain him.  He had been surprised that he had awoken to the rising sun and not the Royal Guard on Princess Luna’s orders to lock him up for being a monster.  Actually, if the Royal Guard had any reason to be there, it had to be because of what had happened to Violet.

Violet… 

Screams of pain echoed in Clip’s head, the sound of snapping bones replacing the sound of water on stone.  The rushing water became the sound of draining blood, and the crashing of the waterfall the snarls of the demon being that had taken his friend.  The feeling of a stomach, filled on the blood and entrails of his dearest friend, made his stomach roil like a pot boiling over.  

Gulping down bile, he sniffled slightly, letting sorrow and despair wash over him for the first time since the attack.  He moaned slightly, mourning the loss of his dearest friend and loved one.  He had been sure beyond youthful foolishness that if he were to ever marry somepony, it would have been her.  There was no comfort in the warm water that now dripped from him, as his tears too began to flow in stream with them.  A small bit of anger crept through his heart, running through it like pumping blood, but it was doused in the cold of sorrow.  

He cried for an amount of time he couldn’t keep track of, maybe ten minutes, maybe ten hours, but either way, it felt like ten years.  When he finally awoke from his tearshedding, however, he awoke with a set jaw.  He may be unable to avenge Violet for the wrongness of having her taken so young, but he would find a way to prevent another tale such as hers.  

He looked around and spotted a crevice in the wall face.  Walking up to it, he peered through the cracked stone, easily large enough to allow him passage.  Beyond it lay a short length of stone till it reached shoots of grass, and beyond that, ferns and trees.  He deduced quickly that this was another part of the cave, but instead of running out into plain, it ran out into the forest he had seen.  Setting his eyes in a hard squint, he could see sunlight brightening the grass and trees, but not the short stony patch to his little view point.  

Climbing through the narrow enclosure, he exited in a rather small cave.  The ceiling was only four or five spans above his head, easy enough a fit for a full grown stallion, but rather hard for a creature as such he had been attacked by.  Perfect cover.  The entrance was also hidden near completely by a wall of greenery, sunlight barely filtered through the dense canopy.  Trees of all sizes barred the path save for one that was tall enough to pass under the branches of.  Ferns, some as tall as the smaller trees, shot up in every place where a tree or bush wasn’t, and even then there were exceptions.  Everything was a brilliant bright green, but still inferior to that which was in the very cavern they guarded.  Smiling, Clip knew that nopony would find him here.
> Chapter 4:  The Winter
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Weeks passed by, countless and featureless.  The only way to entertain himself while time passed over and over was to visit the forest.  As the weeks turned to months, he became more and more familiar with it, and became less and less fearful of what lay within.  There would be the occasional howl of the accursed Timberwolve, and then silence for the next few days.  Nothing in the forest except its winding intricacies were a danger to Clip, and he knew it.
He explored the deeper parts of the forest first, reasoning that if he was to know any true dangers, it would be farther from the home he had found, where the branches of the trees intermingled.  Creepers, vines, and thistles were twice as prominent as the clustered trees, the plants barring his path for spans in either direction in some places.  While they were rather annoying, the reward for finding a path past them was well worth the struggle.
Beyond was a stream that ran with frequent life.  Fish swam along with the streams current, the cool water rushing over smooth and shining stones.  Rabbits, deer, squirrels, and other woodland creatures crowded the banks for fresh water.  Here and there, as he traversed up and down the stream, there were pools, some larger than a house, in which the animals gathered in crowds and fish clumped together in large schools.  He began bathing frequently in the cool pool the next closest to his home, nary a ten minute hike once he’d memorized it.  Even though the ten minutes seemed short, and the distance short, the winding and intertwining branches and plants of the forest would play tricks on his mind, deceiving him for distance for the first few weeks.  Eventually, though, he did memorize the area in which he resided, and began to move beyond that, into where the trees were so dense no sunlight, save for pinpricks, gave him sight.
It was among those strange and twisted areas where he found himself most comfortable, however.  The forest was too dense for any other than small critters to live there, and not enough food for mosquitoes to live.  He was free of any concern of Timberwolves too, for they were no spaces big enough for them among the tangled vegetation.  He would explore through entire days, and sometimes even through the night, familiarizing himself with the chaotic landscape.  He made sure that nothing ever followed him, not even the least curious and smallest of woodland creatures, a paranoia that it would lead to his discovery.  
As the weeks turned to months in the cavern, and autumn to winter, he began to create a system to keep him warm through the coldest days.  He would take piles of snow from outside and line the inner caves with it, allowing the steam to melt it by midday and it to refreeze at night.  It created an icy ventilation system, that allowed only a little of the winter’s freeze through, while keeping the cavern warm in the nights.  He congratulated himself for his success, but realized rather quickly that his next biggest concern was food.  The plants in the cavern were bitter and hard to chew, almost inedible, and the grass and regular plants he had been eating had died.  They, too, weren’t the tastiest, even when the deep, shining beckoned him for a nibble.  
There were times when, in desperation for fear of starvation, he would chew the cave reeds, sucking in the bitter juices and enduring the tough stalks for their scant nourishment.  Times were tough in the winter, tougher than he would have guessed, and more than once he found his thoughts drifting to the forbidden topic of his attack.  During those times when his thoughts drifted, he would either force himself to eat a full reed, or step out into the frigid snow banks outside of his home.  Doing this, he forced himself to forget the fateful events of the night and the frightening thoughts of possible aftereffects.  
The winter passed slowly, snow rising enough to completely block him in on either entrances.  To entertain himself in the lonely days, he would begin to take reeds and dip them into the hot water of the springs.  Using their wet tips, he would draw a picture of something, anything he thought of.  His goal was to draw the full picture of what he was thinking of before the water seeped into the stone.  More than once, he found himself drawing a makeshift map of the landscape around him, and it was at that moment that he decided to begin drawing out a map once spring came.  
For the rest of the harsh winter, he stayed isolated, alone in the warmth of his cave.  Even the caves splendor and beauty couldn’t entertain him as the dead sun of winter was barely able to emit a glimmer from the gold laced walls.  He found himself sleeping through entire days, and when he wasn’t sleeping or drawing, he was impatiently pacing the cavern.  He had even gone to the point where, recalling memory, he was able to draw the gold veins in the room with the actual hot springs.  A dull, lifeless five months of winter pushed him to the edge of misery from sheer lack of entertainment, and it was a welcome sight when, one day, the entrance facing the hills was suddenly filled with sunlight.
He rushed out without concern for who or what saw, joyful that Celestia’s spring had finally released him from the cold of winter.  Snow, still a good six inches deep, layered the depths of the ravine, and a thin sheet of ice crusting the stream.  Even so, it was cracked from the heat, a sure sign that the cold grasp winter had on the land was being released.  
He climbed out of the ravine for the first time since he’d entered, and looked around at the surrounding hills.  Here, where the sun shone through the day, snow was only existent in small, white streaks on yellowed hills, the grass dead from months of cold and shadow.  The colt traveled all over the open plains that day, seeing no other creatures but himself as he explored better.  He figured that it must have been that the lingering cold had kept them in hibernation, but a note of disappointment entered the thought.  
Maybe he just missed the sight of other living creatures after only having himself for company.  Yes, yes it must be that.  No other reason, no other reason at all.  Just his wandering mind forming idle conspiracies and false truths.  Nothing more, and everything less.
There was no doubt in his mind that Clip’s mind had been changed due to the attack, he could feel as much.  No, what was different was that he could feel it pressing itself deeper and deeper into his mind, like ink into a sheet of parchment.  It plagued him, making him doubt as to exactly what was going on with his mind, or if it was even his mind anymore.  
He growled at himself for the thoughts, turning towards where he was almost completely sure the lake was.  He wanted to visit it, to see what it looked like iced over, maybe to even walk on it.  No, not walk on it.  That was a foolish thought.  The ice could be thin, and the water frigid.  He would fall through and wouldn’t be able to get out.  
Then at least his struggles would end, a voice in the back of his mind whispered.
Clip shivered, staring towards the great break in the hills that marked where the lake would be.  “N-no… Th-they wouldn’t,” he spoke out loud, trying to shut out the voice.  He took a shaky step forward, but then decided otherwise about the lake, turned tail sharply, and hastily strode back home.
> Interjection 1: The Bow
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The bow was an exquisite weapon to Joint Point.  The bent, smooth willow wood was silver in the waning moonlight, shining like the lingering snow from the polish instilled on it.  A smile crossed the chocolate brown mare’s face as she admired the instrument of death.  A sadistic smile, to be sure, but there was a great measure of joy in it too, the joy of admiring a piece of art.  And, of course, life was an art, and death, caused by this stencil in her hooves, was the final mark in the work, the last stroke of life.  
She wished to continue to admire her masterpiece, but with a resigned sigh, she straightened herself in the dark, stooping tree.  She planted it firmly in the crick between branches, aiming it at the populated road.  The cobbled path was full of ponies, many of them well armed and fit for war.  They were mighty indeed in their shining armor, the swords swinging in their sheaths, the spears sticking up into the air.  The metain tips seemed to be solidified moonlight, for that was how they caught the moon with their triangular tips, a constellation of death.  
Joint smiled at her own joke, as she pulled an arrow out of her embroidered quiver, which hung right beside her head from a branch a little further up.  The feathers, laced with a sugary lubricant to allow better aerodynamics in flight, tickled the tip of her tongue, the flavor of the feathers making her grin ear to ear.  Knocking it carefully on the string, she aligned the shot she knew she would need to make.  It was almost simplistic, really.  She, a young mare who was barely qualified physically through her weight, was about to kill the greatest tyrant known to all the kingdoms. 
Her smile vanished as she remembered the evil being. The long, thin scar on her back burned at the memory, the thought even, of the demon and his whip.  There was no lack of hate for the evil being in her mind’s eye.  Celestia herself had declared the stallion beyond saving.  Though she hadn’t enacted anything to rid Equestria from him, she mused angrily, glaring down at the helmets and marching ranks of his minions.  
No matter.  Tonight would be his last.
Settling back a little, she waited.  Her mouth kept the arrow knocked, and slowly, she began drawing the string back.  Even though she had a horn and knew the magic well, there was something more personal about having your own muzzle, the deliverer of peace and war, be the one to end somepony’s life.  Fiftythree ranks she counted.  Her scouting and personal investigation had led her to numbering the ranks of his guard and army, leaving him in row seventy three.  The bastard had never been too incredibly organized, but this in and of itself was lazy.  Leaving yourself in a random location along the ranks in a heavily wooded area was deserving of what was about to occur.  
Joint nearly chuckled, but a determined bite to the lip silenced her oncoming giggling.  She replaced it with a slow, steady breath out, echoing what the wind would have sounded like if there had been any.  
A determination took her over, turning her carefully careless attitude into one of sharp resilience.  Her eyes narrowed.  Sixtyone. 
The confidence drained from her, as did much of the color in her face, but not out of fear or nervousness.  All drained from her save it were the moon, the bow, and the arrow.  
She closed her eyes.  The marching suddenly began to fade at the sound of creaking.  The wagon.  She drew the arrow back further, the string straining.  
Seventy two. 
Release. 
The arrow flew in a perfectly straight line, the speed at which it was launched not allowing even the slightest arc.  The loud sound of shattering glass was concealed from her ears, but the noises of confusion of the nearest soldiers to the carriage were loud enough to be heard.  She opened her eyes and watched in satisfaction as the carriage came to a complete halt in the very corner of her vision.  Several ponies in exquisite armor and drawing swords were encircling the carriage, looking at the broken window.  
Ducking back into the thick branches of the bare tree, she pressed herself against the trunk.  Even though the moonlight might’ve given her away, her natural coloring and mishappenness of the branches so near to Tartarus hid her as well as any foliage could.  A cry was raised up as the soldiers found their leader dead, an arrow stuck somewhere fatal.  Her smile returned as she imagined an arrow stuck in his evil mouth, forever silencing any devious schemes and traitorous promises from being spoken.  It was nice to think that the mouth that shot daggers was silenced by a far superior weapon
The soldiers began spreading out among the ranks and trees; she heard so from the commotion that was overtaking the whole of the soldiers.  She relaxed, almost melting into the tree as she waited out the soldiers searching.  They surged in and out of the trees, occasionally shouting something about a pony, but they never would actually see anything incriminating her.  Silently she waited as a soft, glimmering snow fell onto her and soldiers, allowing her to better blend with the tree.  Now and then, something would knock against the tree, but she ignored it all, enjoying the feeling of victory.
Eventually the noises of the search died down, but instead of drifting away like she hoped, the sounds of setting camp were staining the night.  Peeking over the side of her branch, she watched in dismay as a group of fifteen stallions and one mare began setting camp.  Half of them were setting up tents while two began a fire out of fallen and dried branches, the remaining forming a tight perimeter guard.  Now and then they would look up to her tree, but every time they scanned it, their eyes slid over her well hidden body.  This would not be the case in the morning.
She watched as they began cooking their food over the small fire, the smoke rising up into the branches, including hers.  Joint forced her breathing to slow as the smoke slowly began tickling her throat.  She could feel something coming on, something that would doom her.  A simple thing really, the reaction of any sentient animal that was being choked.  It was something that had happened hundreds of times over Joint’s life, all unimpeded and inconsequential.  Except this one.  This one would be the death of her, the misstep that would send her toppling down the mountainside. 
She began to shake from the effort of keeping it in, her short breaths not helping any longer.  Thinking quickly and almost irrationally, she wiggled her front hooves a little, allowing the small buildup of snow on her forelegs to slide loose and into the flames below.  As soon as she heard the loud sizzling of water and fire colliding, she let out a restrained cough.  It blended well with the sizzling, hiding her well and giving her ample time to adjust herself into a more comfortable position for the coming siege of self.  
She coughed one more time as curses and exclamations of surprise and dismay were raised.  Settling face under her fetlocks, she allowed the combination of her fur and the thin layer of snow to filter the air she was breathing.  She noted -with no small amount of relief- that her breathing was clearer now, the half-filtered air almost completely devoid of any smoke.  The rest of their cooking and meal went without significant action, though she did almost join the laughter of the soldiers at one of their companions' crude jokes.
An hour or so later, they were negotiating the night watches for their group, even suggesting to move to a closer group to combine their watches so they could all get more sleep.  To both parties’ dismay, the supposed stallion in charge deemed it too late into the night for such a move.  She listened as they settled out who was doing watch when, noting how many were on second watch and when it took place.  Second watch meant tired newcomers, tired guards, and deep sleep.  Add it together and she had an all around better chance of living to tell her tale.
She looked up subtly at the waning moon above her without moving her head.  She was facing west, and the moon was almost halfway up, so around eleven, eleven-half if she had to guess.  Maybe slightly later if Luna or Celestia had been late, or earlier if they had gone through the cycle quicker tonight.  Oh please let it only be eleven, she prayed.  Then she had much more time before sunup to escape the confines of the large army.  Taking a delicate breath, she prepared to wait out the night.
Silence overtook most of the camps, even the other one she could see barely.  The one that held the body of the tyrant.  Joint suddenly added something to her plan as she stared down at the distat, glowing windows of the carriage.  No movement flickered in the window, not even the light of whatever they were using to light the carriage.  The bastard probably had one of those bullwater infused flamestones in his possession.  Unfortunately, that meant that somepony, or someponies were watching over the body of their fallen commander.
Unfortunate indeed, but that didn’t stop her creative mind from establishing the outline of a plan.  Imagine her Princesses’ surprise when she presented them with the head of their number one enemy!  It would gain her eternal recognition as the mare who had brought peace and unity into the world once and for all.  She would not only solidify her story, but solidify a spot among Celestia’s own Guard!  The most prestigious of all jobs, aside from that of being Luna’s Tactician Grandeur.  Either meant eternal memory, and either would be her’s with this act.  
Joint ceased her daydreaming, focusing instead on the thought of her plan.  The execution, as always, needed to be perfect.  She mentally went over a list in her head of the equipment in her flank straps.  Three knives, rations for two meals, a matchbox, flint, extra feathers, and a simple black powder infused tube with a string trailing out of it.  The main problem would be getting down from this infernal tree without alerting any of the night watch.  There was the possibility of doing it while they changed watches, but that would mean moving incredibly quick soundlessly, after safely and quickly moving down from the tree.  There was no way that she could engage them in combat.  Might as well be firing off fireworks; the whole camp would awake to the sound of steel on steel.  Especially after what she’d just done to their commander.
The moon slowly slid over her as she worked through several situations in her head, until suddenly, one of the ponies below began speaking of transitioning watch.  The time had finally come.  It was still lightly snowing, the layer on her back almost an inch thick.  
She stood up on her branch slowly, shakily, the snow falling off her back in rhythm to the trodding of the five who were on watch.  Gently, she pulled her bow out of its place in between branches.  Knocking an arrow just in case, she leapt to the snow below, right as the five entered one of the tents, calling for them to wake up.  Her hooves flew quickly, silently across the ground as she raced in the direction of the carriage.  She wasn’t quite steady or as fast as she wished in her running, having to hold the bow in one hoof and an arrow in her mouth.  Even with her practice, it was still an awkward way to move.  
No matter, she thought, nopony was there to see her.  All around her were the camps of the enemy, tents forming small mountain ranges that held the monsters of Tartarus.  Several ponies were out, some even seeming to look in her direction, but none seemed alerted of her true reason for haste.  She was just another soldier rushing out of the chill from the privy to the warmth of her sleeping bag.  Nothing alarming, even the bow.  
However, as she neared the carriage, two figures leapt out the shadows of nearby trees.  Without hesitation, she loosed one of her arrows, watching it lodge itself into the one to her left’s neck.   Before the other could react, she had neared enough to strike.  Having switched the grip of her bow to carefully worn teeth marks, she slashed the bow across the right one’s face, back and forth, the knives built into either side slicing her opponent's face open.  The pony stumbled soundlessly to the ground, allowing her passage to the carriage.
A third pony exited from the carriage, not noticing her until she slammed the wood down mercilessly on his head.  The stallion was too dazed to react to her attack, simply staring in shock and silent pain as she rammed the pointed end of her bow into his chest.  The stallion wheezed slowly as she turned to enter the carriage, a noise loud enough to alert another pony from around the other side of the vessel.  This guard walked around the side of it leisurely, headfirst into a quickly drawn arrow.  Having attained a second horn, the mare fell to the ground with a soft thud, hardly loud enough for her trained ears to hear.
Panting softly from the slight exertion of the fighting, she turned to the open doorway of the carriage.  It was only cracked, a stream of golden light flowing out into the misty darkness, but it was almost as welcoming as a warm fire on a winter’s day.  She crept forward, watching wearily for any remaining enemies.  There seemed to be none left as she slowly stepped onto the stool in front of the doorway.  Relaxing only slightly, she drew a knife from her flank straps, clamping down on the handle firmly with her teeth.  She threw the door open, viciously swinging her knife around in case any of her enemies were in the immediate vicinity.  
There weren’t, almost to her surprise.  She looked immediately to the body, not waiting a millisecond on her safe surroundings.  
There he lay.  The body of the Tyrant of the Mountains.  He was posed simply, laying only as if he were asleep beneath the simple brown cloth.  Interesting that they only had that to cover their dictator, she mused.  Maybe now that they were free from him, they wouldn’t need to act as if he were akin to one of the Princesses.  Amusing how it all worked.  
She set her knife down on the left side bench, slowly leaning down to the covered body of her enemy.  She almost was fearful of lifting the cloth, afraid to find she had failed, and that this body was somepony else’s.  But she knew she had to.  She needed to know whether she had succeeded, and if she had, she needed to take.  It would be the only way to truly bring peace to the Equus Plains.
Slowly putting her hoof underneath the outer corner of the cloth, she took a deep breath.  As she released it, she jerked the cloth asunder. 
The first thing she searched for was the arrow mark, which she found quickly.  The slightly diamond shaped mark was sewn shut, but was easily visible from the missing patch of black fur.  She smiled bitterly.  She hadn’t hit him in the mouth like she had wished, but she had pierced his heartless chest.  Sadly his death had been instantaneous, but it was a death nonetheless.  But now, the moment of truth.  
Slowly, her eyes glided back up his black coat, across his chest and up to his stilled face.  He looked almost peaceful, as if he were only sleeping.  Joint winced at it.  It was the thing she always regretted when she checked a body.  The almost peace of death.  Hardening her stare, though, she reached her hoof once again, this time to his closed lips.  Shuddering as she touched them, she carefully pulled them apart, revealing sharp, pointed teeth.  
Her smile returned in full force as she held back a joyous whoop of celebration, instead settling for a happy prance instead. Finishing her childish celebration of her enemy’s demise, she cockily smiled at the body, reaching with her muzzle to the knife.  
“Oh how the mighty fall,” she whispered haughtily at the body, picking up the knife between her teeth.
“Oh how they do,” the body responded with an equal amount of haughtiness.
> Chapter 5: The Road
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The shoots of green that had peeked through the snow only days before were now several inches tall, the melting snow supplying plenty of water for them.  Clip nipped at them half-heartedly, their new stems stiff and tasteless to him, but still filling.  As spring had rolled in, he had found himself more preoccupied with finding a source of tasty food than anything else.  The weather had warmed up considerably, leading him to spend less of the daylight hours in the cave and more exploring his surroundings, even charting distances mentally.  However, with the greater amount of mobility, he also had a greater appetite, which wasn’t easily satisfied by the stiff grass and stale ivy.
The one thing that had been concerning to him in his explorations was the nearby road.  Before the winter had rolled in and isolated him, he’d kept mostly to the forest, out of curiosity and necessity.  While he'd gone to explore portions of the hillside around the lake and the back entrance to his cavern, he had never traveled in the direction of the looming Canterlot Mountains.  Less than a week after the snow had melted enough to release him, he had found it, and ever since, he’d been nervously monitoring it.
It wasn’t merely any dirt path lined with wood posts and the occasional trimmed hedge, however, and that was the reason for his concern.  The road was paved with smooth, round cobble, the fences, while nothing fancy, were well maintained and preserved.  There was mortar between the cobble too, not the usual dirt or gravel mix that would be used in the town square.  Clip had only seen a road like this once in his life before, when his father had allowed him to walk along the dirt path at home until he reached the Royal Road.  And staring intently at the well trodden, practically shining, road, Clip knew that it led straight to Canterlot.
Grumbling to himself at his remembered misfortune, he shoved aside a little brush to the side.  Currently, he was treading through one of the closest unexplored portions of the forest, searching for the coveted berries, snacking along the way to maintain his energy.  If regular grass and ivy couldn’t satisfy him, the sweet delicacy would, or at least, they would.  Suddenly, though, he remembered sourly that any of the berries he’d been looking for hadn’t been growing yet.  He was about to turn back, when he realized he could still commit to memory where exactly they were.  So not a complete waste of time, just an investment of it.
Soon enough, he’d scouted out the area he’d assigned himself to, and thankfully, he recognised a bush that did grow berries.  He couldn’t remember exactly what kind they did grow, though, but he figured he could just check later.  For the day, he began to head back to his cave.  He’d internalized a compass in his bowels that always pointed home, and no matter how far away he wandered, he knew how to get back.  Not that he wandered too far, no more than three or four miles a day, but having lived on the crossings between a swamp and a forest, he knew exactly how confusing traveling even half a mile could be.  
Shrugging of some of the rising cold, he checked the sky through the dangling branches and drooping leaves.  It was dark, near night almost, but not quite.  He had a ways to travel in a short time.  Despite the warming weather, the temperature still dropped dramatically whenever night fell in the forest.  He shivered as if to be proved by his physical self that it was the case, and he hurried his steps a bit more.  
Coming upon a clearing where he’d started his voyaging for the day, he checked the night sky again.  He found that, even though the traveling sometimes took hours, he passed it by in seconds.  It was a thrilling experience to make time fly at his own will, but sometimes he wished that it would slow enough for him to remember his surroundings.  No matter, he could see the waxing crescent moon.  In a few days, it’d be half full, but for now, it remained a slice of silver in the sky.
His hooves crunched the unmelted snow underneath the trees, trotting carefully between the thorny shrubbery of the unmarked forest.  He reached the turn to the back entrance of his cavern, plodding through the back entrance without falter.  His recent explorations had allowed him to properly become accustomed to the strange geometry of both sides’ entrances.  As such, he no longer found his sides as scratched up as they used to be, his fur less frayed and more hardened.  
That night he slept easy, and woke early.  He didn’t really mind much the fact that sometimes he slept on the mossy patches around the cave, and other times on the rough rocks.  Some days, when he’d had a rougher trek than usual, he’d find himself waking up halfway submerged in water.  It was a problem, to be sure, but he was sure that it was contemporary, and as he grew more familiar with his new home, the less he would find himself in the warm pools.  
That day, he traveled back out to the hills, scouting out bushes being revealed from their hiding places from under the white sheet of winter.  There were a few bushes and shrubs in the open, two recognizably raspberry bushes.  As he searched crevices, miniature ravines, and creek beds hidden between the hills, he found that there were a couple dozen of such bushes.  Though he was excited by the abundance of bushes and berries, it was dulled by the fact that he’d wasted time in the forest and had to move around in the open to get to them.  
The closest bush was about a quarter mile and a hill away from his hill facing entrance, but only a few hundred spans away from the road.  Any passerby who happened to look straight into the ravine would see it, and see a little colt trying to collect berries from it.  If they saw that, they’d get suspicious.  If they got suspicious, they’d tell others, and somepony might come to try and find him.  And that was unacceptable.
Clip didn’t know why he was so frightened by the prospect of being found out, but he wasn’t sure if he could explain why he’d disappeared when somepony had died in his company.  Even with him being a colt, it wasn’t unheard of.
Trudging back and forth over the hills, he attempted to memorize the position of each bush to check in a moon or too.  He’d lost track of time during the winter, and now went by moons as the only reliable measurement of time.  Of course, he couldn’t remember the actual days of the full moon, but he was able to remember the effects of the day after the moon.  He’d wake up incredible well filled, and cheerful like it was Hearth's Warming all over again.  That signified the full moon to him, and that was enough to go by. 
As he walked back to his home while night fell, he got a strange idea in his head.  Turning back slightly, he began creeping back towards the road, watching it intently.  He doubted that there were going to be any night travelers, but surely there’d be some guard or something crossing the stretch to ensure that there was nothing strange going down on the road, or nearby.  Crawling into the underbrush nearby, Clip sat in wait, watching intently for anything approaching.  
Before long, he was bored.  Staring up into the sky, he watched the moon, almost mesmerized by it.  However, something strange caught his eye.  Wasn’t the moon only a crescent last night?  Why was it now half full...
> Chapter 6: The Kill
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Clip awoke to a strange sticky warmth on his face.  He couldn’t tell the source exactly, but knew by the smell that it was blood.  He snapped awake briskly, sitting up from his lying position.  
Instead of being on soft moss or the hard stone of the cavern floor, he was still beside the road.  His head jerked around, instinctively looking to see if anypony was in the area to ensure his own safety.  Once he had determined he was completely alone besides the road -the still rising sun probably much too early of a time for ponies to be traveling- he noticed the pain.  
It wasn’t descriptive, or consistent to any area but his face and hooves.  Grimacing, he raised a hoof to his snout, feeling the sticky blood on it with his own hoof.  He ran it over his jawline and mouth gently, sharply pulling his hoof away once he felt a spike of pain on his cheekbone.  There was a wound jaggedly winding its way down his face, only a little ways away from his ear.  It was a deep cut, too, with some skin hanging loosely from the wound, stuck with dried blood.  Slowly feeling the cut’s pathway, he found it went from his right cheek down to his neck, though less deep there. 
Shaking his head to attempt to jog loose a memory of why there were the brutal marks on his face, he spotted something distinctly red on the road.  He approached it cautiously, his head still fuzzy from the forgotten events of the night.  Staring carefully at the form, he realized it was distinctly pony, despite its disfigurement.  Gulping down his emotions, he observed everything about the brutal display.
The heap was mostly still in one mauled piece, though a few larger bits of skin and smears of deep red blood were scattered across the cobbles.  The skin was flayed open, revealing stained red bones and laid bare innards, though many of them were missing.  Rib bones, bent aside for better access to the juicier portions they protected, looked much like Violet’s bones, but reddened.  A deep crimson puddle, slightly dried, surrounded the entire scene like the border to a gruesome painting.  
Clip expected to be shocked at the sight, to turn around and lose the contents of his stomachs in the bushes, but instead he stared at the bloodied remains stoically.  He craned his head down, looking for any signs to tell him who this poor soul might’ve been.  Carefully pushing aside a loose layer of skin, he found traces of fabric, and even a piece of reddened metal stuck in him.  Pushing his searching further, he searched the remains’ head, or at least, what should’ve been the head. 
There was a crushed point sticking out of the remains that could only presumably be a head.  The smashed skull looked like a jagged red clay bowl, filled with a slightly grayed pink soup.  Clip’s eyes widened when he realized he was staring at the dead pony’s brain, the mushy organ laying almost out of the skull.  He looked away briefly, panting in fear from the sight of one of his own’s gruesome remains.  Apparently seeing one of the primary organs of the dead pony finally awoke his mind to the reality of the situation.  There was a dead pony on the road, and he was the nearest living thing to it. 
Clip’s breathing hitched as he backed away, staring horrifically at the mauled figure, bile churning it’s way up his throat.  Unable to keep the torrent in, he turned and threw up in the grass near the cobbles of the road.  He gagged several times at the bitter, sweet, terrible taste in his mouth as he continued to vomit up several more lumps of orange-stained-red.  
When he finally ceased, he turned and glanced at the body out of the corner of his eye, unable to keep his gaze from it.  Who was this pony that was scattered across the road?  Why were they so brutally turned over, what were they doing here on the road, so close to Clip’s home, and why was Clip himself bleeding with his face torn?  He knew that, in order to gain any more clues to why and how, he’d have to take a closer look as to what.  With a gulp to keep whatever remained in his stomach down, he slowly approached the remains with the same caution as if it were going to attack.  
Prodding lightly at some bloodied cloth, he flipped it over to find an insignia on it, one that made his heart stop.  Two alicorns circling the sun and the moon, one white, and one blue.  The Equestrian Insignia of the Royal Sisters.  A symbol of both unity and power, and a promise for justice and protection, and in Clip’s case, a mark of fearful retribution.  He was standing idly beside one of their own soldiers’ body, and quite possibly, would be linked to the incident itself.  Clip’s breathing picked up, his heartbeat pounding loudly as he turned and looked at the bloody remains.  The remains of a soldier.
Taking a deep breath in a vain attempt to calm himself, he softly approached the body and bowed to it.  The poor stallion hadn’t deserved to die here.  He hadn’t deserved to be found like a mangled mess by a runaway colt, and he didn’t deserve to be left here to rot until somepony else came along.  Clip knew he had to right the wrongs here, even if he weren’t at fault.  Respect came first, though Clip presumed that he may find clues to the murder here, and his own mysterious and aching wound, if he kept looking.  
Quietly, he went to the side of the road, about fifteen paces away, and began to dig into the ground, overturning the grass and dirt.  He went to work digging a hole that would be roughly large enough for the scattered remains of the soldier.  After only a few minutes of gentle pawing, his efforts produced a whole deep enough to bury his tail.  Pushing the dirt down to thicken it and provide more hold, he turned and, as respectfully as he could, returned to the remains.  Giving them a somber look, he began trying to figure out how to drag the parts into the whole while inspecting the scene more thoroughly.  
There were broken pieces of wood, splinters of red-stained wood strangely highlighting the gray stone of the road.  An especially large splinter near the stallion’s collapsed head, about the length of Clip’s hoof, ended in bloodied metal.  A spear head.
Approaching it quickly, he bent down and tried to take in everything he could about it.  It wasn’t long or anything fancy, at least, not to him.  It was a simple diamond shaped metal tip to wood, with a sharpened and bloody tip.  Nothing special, but the very thing that had unsuccessfully defended the stallion until it was destroyed.  A few more seconds of observation revealed a small spot of fur, and while it too was coated thinly in blood, there was a very subtle hint of gray to it.  So it couldn’t be some of Clip’s.
Of course it couldn’t, he chided himself, glaring at the fur.  Why would it?  He wasn’t a killer, he wasn’t the one who’d mauled a Royal Soldier to death.  There was no way in all of the world that this could’ve been Clip’s work.  He would’ve remembered it…
But he didn’t.  He couldn’t remember the night before, why he was still out here and not safely in the warmth of his little cave, sheltered through the night from the last chilling bits of winter.  The thought, however, reminded Clip that he was supposed to be cold, that he was supposed to be at the very least slightly cold.  It was still early morning-ish, his breath puffing out in front of him, yet he felt surprisingly warm.  Confusedly, he looked over to his own midsection, finding something that made him yelp in fearful surprise. 
His entire body was covered in thick, almost woolike, scraggly gray fur.  It hung from him like a terrible gray moss wall, long enough to almost touch the ground in his breast and abdominal areas.  Shaking his head to make sure his eyes weren’t befuddling him, he felt his own mane shake and slap lightly against his head and upper neck.  Whinnying at the terrifying sensation, he reared wildly and stumbled backwards, away from the damning spear and body.  
He shook wholly, attempting not to look at himself, attempting not to see the horrible monster he was.  Stomping firmly, he felt pain in the flesh of his hooves.  The flesh of his hooves?  
Almost trance-like, Clip stared down at his hooves, deathly afraid of what he would find, what he knew he would find, but too obligingly curious to not look.  Staring down at his rough, scratched up hooves, he found the usual chitin, and sighed gratefully.  He wasn’t changing, he wasn’t becoming the monster he thought he would be, the monster of this, and he wasn’t the monster who’d killed a soldier.  Lifting his right hoof and inspecting it thankfully, staring at it like a beggar would a golden bit, he slowly rotated it over, admiring it, never having been so grateful for its normality.
Flipping it so the bottom faced him, his jaw dropped as he stared at an impossible sight.  The hard, sturdy, unbreakable chitin, was split completely into five different sections, looking like a wolf had imprinted its own paw onto the bottom of his hoof.  Choking on air, Clip stumbled dumbfoundedly onto the cobbles, ignoring the sharp pain in his jaw at stretching his wound.  
And then the truth flashed through his mind.  
Crunching, screaming, tearing, blood rushing in his heart and out of his victim, the thrill of killing, the thrill of thriving, the thrill of feasting.  It all culminated as his jaws shut firmly on his prey’s throat, ripping out his windpipe and ending the weakling's life, enjoying the thrill of killing.  The thrill of the hunt coursed through his veins, stopping his hurting, the pain, and energizing him as he savagely mauled the corpse, softening the body for the feast.
> Chapter 7: The Kin
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The seasons passed away before him without meaning.  In the spring was hunting time, when one would come out of the cavern and feast on the newborn prey, or wandering mammals searching for mates.  In the summer one must find the winding river in the forest to hunt animals looking for fresh water to drink and cool off in.  Autumn meant the onset of winter, so he would hunt in the rivers for fish and the tamer forests for mammals preparing for hibernation.  They were always the best ones, the ones fattening themselves up for the cold and sleep.  He himself began to hibernate during the cold season, finding it too stressful to stay fed in the cave.
His diet morphed into that of meat, plants becoming poisonous to consume, and a terrible pain in his stomach.  Meat was a much tastier substitute, especially that of the deer and rabbits that inhabited the calmer forest.  There was a clear distinction that his forest was the wild, untamed one, and their forest was the calmer one that was susceptible to the seasons.  It was only right that he mustn't hunt in his home, but in the forest of his prey.  If prey inhabited his home, then it was not truly his, and not a place he would bear to live in. 
He didn’t know why he’d become so defensive of his home as of late, but he soon realized the reason.  He could faintly smell the scent of others that lived within and around the wild and tame forests.  He didn’t like that.  Oftentimes, he would feel that he was being watched by the unidentified strangers, and would growl at the nearby shadows.  There wasn’t anything there most of the time, and rare moments when there were, it was some small flying creature he would snap at.  Still, he took precautions to defend his home.  He would cover his tracks and scent with mud or moss, and learned to enclose the entrances of his cave with twigs from the wild forest.  
Three times the cycle of seasons past, three times since he had arrived in this new haven.  There was nothing to fear here but lack of food and the strangers, but neither presented themselves as a problem.  They seemed to know of his existence, even going so far as to attempt to search him out, but never would they find him.  He was too smart and too quick to be found.  His mind grew as his body did, and soon both very much resembled the creature that had blessed him with this strange but welcoming form.  
He was often drawn back to the road, staring at it.  More and more it began to be seen as a threat.  It brought ponies, wretched creatures that spoke and interacted.  It was unnatural for them to be here.  This was the wild.  They had no right to live out here, to stretch their cobbled street across his beautiful hills and grasses.  Sometimes he wished to destroy it, and he even approached it often with the intention, only to find the stone ungiving and coarse, too tough for his claws and jaws to break.  Growling in defeat, he would escape into his cave.  
There was, however, one thing that changed his life.  One spring, the fourth cycle in, he was hunting late at night, as he’d taken to, when a strange sound shook the night air.  It was a curious sound, a sound he’d never heard before.  It was an animalistic call, a howl that reached out to him with an intensity of kinship.  He didn’t know why, but he responded.  He’d never howled before, and usually was silent in noise save for his steps, but this natural conversation of one beast to another awoke a loneliness he wished to answer.  So he responded, giving a long, forlorn howl of welcome.
It was only after this call to the others that he realized this could be some sort of trap, but the deed was done.  He sat back on his haunches, awaiting with his front paws firmly set in front of him.  There was a sort of silence as he awaited, but soon a whole multitude of individuals responded at once.  A pack of  the creatures were coming to him.  Licking his lips, his tail began to wag.  The responses had been friendly, ones that recognized and welcomed him as another of their kin.  
Soon enough, a group of shadows dashed out between the trees of a short bluff ahead, leaping down the short hills terrace.  Looking back and forth between the seven or eight creatures, he began to give a low growling of welcome, ducking his head shyly as he greeted the creatures.  The dim light of a waning moon barely gave light, but he had developed a more nocturnal vision as time had passed, allowing him to recognize the shadows as wolves.
They weren’t the regular kind however.  They’re fur was deep grey and their faces and underbellies were a silver tone.  They approached him cautiously, growling at him to stay still.  He ducked licked his lips again, not particularly sure if answering the call of these wolves was the right move.  They didn’t trust him, and he guessed that they might as well never.  After all, this was their new hunting ground, and he was much larger than any of them.  They didn’t know if he were an individual or a member of a pack, so he decided to do something close to drastic.  
He began to pant happily, standing up and twirling around in a little circle playfully.  The leader of the pack, a wolf with a strange patch of gray across his nose, perked up, sitting down to watch the little performance.  The pack followed lead, sitting in an open circle around him.  Unable to keep his tail from wagging, he gave a short rumble, pointing his nose out to the leader and deliberately sniffing.  He made it clear that he now had his scent and wasn’t at all afraid of the pack, but instead he was friendly.  The action also proved that he was a rogue juvenile, not the young of some nearby pack.  
This seemed to be all the confirmation the pack needed to move in, losing their aggressiveness.  There was a new air about them, and they pushed up against him, all identifying his scent and greeting him with perked ears and tails.  He was welcome among the pack as one of their stranger young, and was now being introduced to the hunters.  He found himself looking around eagerly and attempting to recognize each individual by their scent and looks.  The two females in the pack were much similar, though one's tail ended in a curly fashion, while the others’ stayed straight.  The remaining five were males, with the leader being distinctly older than them.  In fact, the curly tailed female and four other males seemed to be the children of the straight tailed female and pack leader.  
Having identified each other, the pack began to motion for him to follow them.  He did so, following between the young female and two of the young males.  Naturally, the alpha took lead, walking almost lazily among the forests regrowing greens.  There was a great excitement from many of the younger wolves, as they hopped and trotted happily between and over trees and fallen stumps.  He followed in suit, tailing a young male with a piece of his ear missing.  He seemed to be the most playful of the young wolves, nipping at the heels of his siblings and pawing their tails occasionally.  
They passed through a section of the river in the forest before entering the main theater of the forest, a large, flat area that was oftentimes flooded with prey of all sorts, sipping from the multitude of small ponds and streams.  It was about two miles across and rounded on all sides, and was where any sensible predator would hunt.  Indeed, even as they crossed over one of the many streams, he spotted a young elk trodding not even a hundred paces from the pack.  They didn’t seem to care or notice, and neither did the prey.  It gave them a glance and flick of the tail before simply bending back down to drink from the cool stream water.  
After descending the hunting ground, he found himself facing a rather hidden hollow in a couple of overturned boulders.  There was a large crevice between their bases, large enough for two of the wolves to enter at once, though considering the lycan’s larger body size, he had to enter alone.  Once he’d entered, he was greeted by a series of high pitched growls and howls.  Looking down and stretching his neck out, he found himself facing a total of five pups, all who were defensively positioned against the much larger creature.  There was a moment of amusement from him before he bent down and gently licked one of them in a friendly fashion.  It backed away, pawing its now wet cheek.
The pups retreated to their mother, the straight tailed female wolf, who greeted her pups with a lick and low growl.  The alpha wagged his tail slightly at them, before instructing the pups to greet the lycan.  He attempted to sit, but found that the top of their makeshift cavern was too tall, and resorted to laying down in front of the wolves.  Immediately, a feisty male pup leapt at him, attacking his ear with a playful ferocity.  He responded with a low growl and slow shake of the head, and soon enough, all five of the little pups were rolling on top of their new brother, hunting separate parts of his body.
Following the playtime, the pups were fed by their mother.  They were old enough to eat meat, which was provided in the form of some scraps of a squirrel.  It was confusing to see such a small animal being used as food, but looking around, he realized that this pack had migrated from starvation.  Their skin hung loosely around their stomachs and ribs, and most concerningly, despite their playful nature toward him, they looked rather hopeless and drab. 
 Slowly, he realized that they hadn’t adopted him completely out of kindness, but out of desperation as well.  They figured him to know the area better and know the hunting and best foods in the region.  They had taken  a risk, hoping that by taking him in, they would gain another food provider, and not another mouth to feed.  He was juvenile, but also had managed to survive in this area alone, and rather well.  Indeed, a layer of healthy skin had grown on him, and comparing it to the sagging skin of the starving wolf pack, he was much healthier and well off.  
Even so, however, he could smell the faint scent of elk blood.  They had eaten not even two days back, which was why they hadn’t gone after the elk they’d passed.  It was also why they took the risk to accept him, he assumed.  They had seen that there was a good deal of prey around the area, and there was also a much needed supply of water as well.  With this, it was the perfect place for prey and predators to survive. There was no doubt in his mind that he could help the pack, his new family.  
Whining at the alpha, he informed him of the hunting ground.  He poked at the young to emphasize that he knew their plight, and told him of the streams most populated.  The alpha reiterated his little knowledge of the area they’d adopted, and also gave him knowledge of a lesser problem.  While the crevice they currently inhabited was well enough for the moment, it was susceptible to flooding by rainwater and was a danger to the pups.  That, and the fact that it was rather cramped now that the new litter had been delivered, presented the problem of finding a new home.  
Instantly, the solution was presented; his home in the hills.  There was a freshwater stream that fed out of it, and it was also rather warm considering the cold of winter.  They also had a forest to themselves for the young to grow and play in.  They also had a good deal of open area to claim as their own, a lake to call their own, and were never to be threatened by any outsiders.  He told all of this to the alpha, who responded thankfully to the knowledge.  There was a declaration made by the alpha that they should be moving homes yet again in the morning, after the pups had rested and before noon.  
That night, he slept happily, a lycan nestled next to three of the young wolves, dreaming of hunting as a pack and living with the wolves as one of their own.  A deep, instinctive hunger for sociability had been sated that night, and he was soon going to be forever with his new kin.
> Chapter 8: The Pack
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

He had never been happier in his life than now.  The finding of a family, and the near instant acceptance he’d received from them all weighed greatly to his mood.  With the last vestiges of snow melting away and spring entering in full swing, there was great excitement among the pack as they began to hunt in the better grounds and lived in a better place.  The cave had, indeed, proven as the perfect home for the pack, as it allowed them to stay sheltered, but have plenty of space to teach the pups, and even instantly accessible water.
His place among the pack was very quickly determined by the alph, his mate, and the two older kin.  He was a hunting juvenile, old enough to be relatively independent, and even allowed to hunt on his own, considering his size and mobility, but still below the mother and alpha.  He would also train the pack on the terrain and general knowledge he’d attained about the landscape.  This proved quite useful, as it allowed the pack leader to draw out their territory and collectively decide that there would be no leaving certain areas about the hills.  There was also a general acknowledgment of the overall superiority he had over the slightly older, but less intelligent juveniles.
As the spring progressed into early summer, his position was slightly transitioned to that of protector and teacher of the pups, as they grew big enough to hunt the smaller creatures of the forest.  He took great joy in this, enjoying the company of the small ones as they tussled with him.  He taught them to howl proudly, and how to navigate around the crooked forest on the other side of their home.  He was also effective in teaching them the dangers of the road to the north, the terrible, unnatural structure that meant other unknown enemies. 
After the summer passed away, the eldest male went on his own way, leaving the pack as he was meant to.  He was sad to see the male go, wishing that he could stay, but knowing that this was not the way of the packs.  As well as teaching the wolves about the dangers of the forests and hills, the wolves taught him the dangers and traditions of other wolves.  The juvenile male had reached his second year, he must leave the pack and find his own mate and make one himself.  So, in the half moon light that lit the forests, he left, and he knew that they would never cross paths again.
After the summer and its sorrowful ending, there came the rush of autumn, when hunting was prime.  Animals were fattening up for the coming winter, and this meant that they tasted better and provided more food.  This, in turn, eased the work of feeding the pack.  Seeing as they were still the only pack in the area, there was a great abundance of such food sources.  The fall also marked the time that the young pups became juveniles, old enough to join in hunting.  This caused a great excitement among all, and they celebrated with long howling and a longer hunt, tracking down an elk almost twice the alpha’s size.  
The amazing beast they brought down only marked the success of the hunts to follow, and the great amount of food accessible during the autumn months.  Their coats grew long as they fattened themselves, becoming much more rounded in preparation for the swiftly approaching winter.  
When the snow and cold did hit, they were more prepared than any of the other winters, well fed and warm with the great hot water and steam that provided comfort to the pack.  About the same time winter rolled in, a young male stumbled into the pack’s territory.  While at first there was great tension between the pack and the individual, the juvenile female soon took a liking to the male, as well as the den mother and younger juveniles.  Before long, he was a member of the pack as well, and mated the older juvenile female.  From there, the winter passed without much occasion, mostly resting or pacing the den as the snow stacked up and trapped them in their home.
When winter finally did pass away, it was to a strange sight.  As they retreated from their den, they found themselves facing new hills.  The hills themselves were still the same as ever, but it was what remained to them.  The snow was tred over, in some places stained unnatural colors of red and brown, and even remnants of stones and steel hidden beneath the layers.  This concerned them, because it meant the mark of ponies, ponies that hated wolves and travelled away from their dangerous roads.  In a moment of panic, the pack considered moving, but he remained resolved against it, reminding that he himself had lived for four years now in these hills, never once having encountered a pony beyond the road.  With this, the decision was to stay and, if necessary, defend their home with great ferocity.  
Along with the mark of ponies, the spring ushered in new pups, as both the den mother and the new mated couple provided litters.  The den mother provided four new members to the pack, while the younger mating couple brought in five.  This change also marked the beginning of worrying among the alpha and himself.  The pack nearly doubled in size from the time they first moved into the den, and while it was certainly spacious, there wasn’t enough room for seventeen grown males.  So, the decision was made to assist the younger breeding couple to find a new home in the summer months, when there was the least danger and most daylight.  The couple agreed to this plan, as they were concerned with starvation from the large amounts of the food they would need to feed seventeen individuals.
As promised, when the summer months came, and the new pups were old enough to walk, they journeyed south for several miles, farther than even he had been before.  There, they found a small mountain range, and on the side of one of the smaller ones, was a hospitable cave in which the alpha of the new pack would reside.  The mountains were nearly infested with both large and small game, and it was agreed that neither pack would go beyond two miles of their territorial boundaries, leaving at least two miles between the two packs.  With this, the packs left each other happily.  
The tranquility of life would soon pass for his pack, however, when the new autumn passed in.  As the leaves’ colors turned, there was a sudden migration of ponies from the road.  They brazenly left the cobbled path and tragedy over the hills, heading straightaways to the rivers that the pack would visit from spring to fall.  Within a moon’s passing, they had established wooden buildings upon the hillsides of the riverbed.  There were dozens of them, easily ten times the size of the pack.  
Of course, with the newcomers came new troubles.  Their new town cut their path to the gentle forests in which they hunted.  This caused a great deal of trouble for the pack, as it meant either they had to pass around the town, or they’d have to hunt in the terrible tangled forest.  With the two options considered, he gave a third.  Seeing as he once remembered ponies, having encountered them before, long ago, he would walk through the makeshift town and attempt to gain their favor.
So, on the eve of winter, in an attempt to secure some of the bounty they needed to survive, he entered the town.  He followed the dirt road that led in, and walked right to the center of the place.  At first, he wasn’t noticed, as the sparse population were elsewhere, but it was one of their young that first spotted him.  It screamed as it saw him, and escaped to one of the buildings, which brought the adults of the ponies to the scene.  They cried in fear, surprise, and anger.  He began to retreat from the ponies’ dwelling, but found himself cut off by another group of adults, this one armed with sickles and pitchforks.  
Seeing that only death and violence were to come from their engagement with the ponies, he howled into the night, calling on his pack to assist him.  As the armed ponies engaged in combat, he stood on his hind legs, something he hadn’t done for the longest time.  He struck at those that came too close, defending first.  However, when one landed a sharp blow to his back, he felt his blood boil, and his vision went red.  Before he could resist, he became a savage beast. 
Turning sharply, he extended his claws and struck one of the ponies across the head with the attack.  The pony’s face was shredded by the blow, and he could tell that they were killed instantly.  This caused great alarm amidst the violent crowd, as they continued their attack, and he continued his defense.
Still facing a group of around ten adults, seven armed, he charged boldly, ramming into two and catching another beneath his monstrous paw.  Without hesitation, he put all of his weight on it, crashing the stallion beneath him brutally.  Using the momentum, he struck at another, knocking the pitchfork from its mouth, then enveloping the pony with his own maw.  Biting down forcefully, he detached the pony’s head at the neck, spitting it out as he withdrew.  
There were cries of horror and fear as the massacre continued, ponies either charging him valiantly or running away fearfully.  He took a chunk of flesh out of the side of another stallion that had charged, leaving him dying with his vitals exposed.  He broke another’s spine in his jaws as he used his large tail to ward off an attacker from behind, before tossing the limp pony body at one of the retreating foes.  Yet another pony was felled as he charged, his throat torn wide by his mighty claws.  
By now,  all the ponies that had been behind him were dead or had escaped, and the ponies in front were otherwise engaged.   It wasn’t until he took a moment to rest that he recognized the howling of his pack accompanying his growls and short howls.  They were striking at the ponies who threatened him from his backside, and were successful in holding them off.  However, there was only the alpha and the mother fighting the ponies, and combined they hadn’t yet downed one of the enemies.  
He turned and stepped up behind the alpha, growling fiercely at the challenging opponents.  They should not have dared to settle here, where the greater beasts hunted and lived peacefully.  This fighting and death was brought on by their own ignorance of those that they disturbed with their ambitious colonization.  Ahead of him, the alpha charged, and he was right beside the alpha in a breath.  
They fought viciously together, unafraid of consequence as they struggled against the threat.  The alpha and his mate stayed paired, covering each other while they took turns biting at the legs and throats of attacking enemies.  Meanwhile, he rampaged through the other defenders, tearing them apart with his teeth and claws, and crushing them under his weight.  Now and then, a strike would land, but his hide had grown thicker than the blades could pierce.
By now, the juveniles also had joined the fight, but this proved to be obsolete.  By the time they had arrived, he had torn through all but the young, who he smelled cowered in one of the larger structures.  The smell of blood hung in the air, the bodies of ponies strewn about the town.  Thirty eight, he counted, lay dead, though it was hard to tell with the different pieces scattered around.  He remembered killing all but one of them.
The battle was over, but there was something grim to the air.  As he rechecked the bodies, he found two figures lying side by side, two figures distinctly not ponies.  The alpha and the den mother were dead, the male pierced by a pitchfork, and the female sliced in the face and chest.  
There was mourning among the pack as they sat by the bodies of their fallen parents, whining and howling sorrowfully as they reminisced in their presence.  Finally, after the moon reached midway across the starry sky, they left the bodies and the town behind them, retreating in a defeated fashion away from the loss.  When they arrived at the den, it was near immediately decided that he was the new alpha, as he was both the eldest and most knowledgeable among the shattered pack.  
Their numbers had been trimmed greatly since the summer, and now he felt the noose of winter tightening.  They still hadn’t acquired an adequate amount of food for the coming cold, and there was barely time left to the season before the snow would come.  So, the next day, despite their weariness from the battle and sorrow from their loss, they left for the gentle forest.
They passed the town with solemnity, sadly glancing to the bloodstained town and the bodies strewn around the hilltop.  While he didn’t quite see the gray bodies of the alpha and den mother, he knew that they lay there, among the bodies of their enemies.  This angered him, but he didn’t leave the pack to retrieve them and place them somewhere better.  He was the alpha now, and he couldn’t break off.  They needed to hunt now, or else they wouldn’t be able to mourn the lost pack members.  So, with a new resolution, he led them to hunt in the gentle forests.
They came back without any food.  The season had become too late now, and they hadn’t secured enough food by now.  The next day, they ate the cold corpses of the ponies, which only lasted the week.  By the end of the next week, snow had fallen, and by the moon’s waning, they were encased in the den.
That winter, they starved.
> Interjection 2: The Slave
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three long years had passed.  Three cold, hungry, beaten years, years that shouldn’t have ever happened, all to master that should’ve been dead.  Every day she stared at the spot on his chest that the arrow had pierced, the spot her arrow should’ve ended the war at.  There wasn’t even a scar to tell the tale of the attempt on his life, the bastard.  That word, and a whole slew of others were all she could think around him, especially whenever he used her.  And he made sure that it was blatantly obvious how little he cared, and how little she could do about it.  
Besides Joint Point, her three week old child began to wail.  With a tired sigh, she set aside the wet laundry she’d been doing, picking up the young child and holding her close to her chest with hoof.  She pressed her nose against the crying foal’s own nose, rubbing them together with a small shushing, slowly leaning her head down to press her forehead against the little one’s.  She closed her eyes as she softly hummed a little lullaby to her, rocking her softly against her chest.  The little filly quieted down a little, still hiccupping and whimpering, her thin lilac frame shivering in the cold.  Joint knew that she was hungry, but she was still waiting to earn her lunch to feed the baby.  Otherwise, she would be weak, and with the harshness of winter in the Crystal Empire, she would need every ounce.  
Joint settled the baby down in a bundle of their bedsheets, covering all but her little muzzle with the thin sheets to ward off the cold.  Despite living in the castle of the king himself, there were sparse amounts of heating crystals for the workrooms and servant quarters.  Despite clearly being another one of the sex slaves, Joint was kept in the lower quarters of the servant’s houses.  There was a clear spite between the two, as one would obviously expect from somepony who’d attempted to kill the other.  She muttered a curse to his name, refusing to even think of the vile creature’s monicker.  It was enough to call him “master” and “lord”, but she refused to recognize him as an individual. 
Probably why she received the most torment.  If it hadn’t been bad enough that he forced himself on her weekly, he would often kill the babies she conceived from their sex once he found out about them.  The only reason little Amethyst Heart still lived was because he’d been out on campaign, a losing one thankfully, that distracted him from the bulge.  By the time he realized, she was already nearly seven months into the pregnancy, and the other mare’s of his concubine collection were defensive of him.  Perhaps because he didn’t want to go through the effort of killing all of the mares and replacing them with new ones, or because he was attached to one of them, she didn’t know, but whatever of Celestia’s mercies had come upon him had saved her child.  The only one of six.  
And she loved her daughter oh so dearly because of it.  She smiled softly as the baby had cried herself to sleep, her soft breathing barely making a sound in the cold air.  She wanted to pick her back up again, to hold her close, but if she didn’t do her work now, she and the baby would starve another day.  It was both the happiest thing in the world to have this child, and also the most heartbreaking.  That she had to be raped and broken in order to have her enraged Joint beyond belief, but at the end of the day, her daughter still outweighed the loss of herself.  It wasn’t what she had ever wanted her child to be born into, but it was how she had come anyways.
Scrubbing away at a particularly tough patch of mud and grass on one of the campaign shirts, she grunted as she felt a weight land on her back.  Behind her, she could hear the breathing of another pony, a mare.  “Whadya want, Maricoat,” she asked gruffly.  
The younger servant, barely old enough to be out of the children’s house, told her, “I wan’ed t’ see th’ baby.  Also, th’ mistress wan’ed me t’ come ‘n getcha.”
“Get me how,” Joint warily questioned.  The king’s wife was often as ill-tempered as her spouse, and especially venomous to his concubines and any other mistresses he had.  She glanced towards her child, dread filling her as it always did.  Their lives weren’t a guarantee. 
“She wan’ed to talk or som’n,” Mari informed her nonchalantly, sitting down by the sleeping filly.  “I can watch th’ baby while ya go,” she offered cheerfully.  “Trus’ me, ya baby loves me more than ya.”
“Doubtful, but fine,” Joint conformed, warning her, “She hasn’t been fed yet, so good luck if she ever wakes up.  Also, do this laundry.  The campaign clothing needs to be spotless or we’ll both become headless servants.”
“Good luck,” Maricoat called after her as she set down the clothes she’d been washing, leaving it in the soapy water.  She trudged down the steps of crystalline gems, her eyes pained by the dim, harsh winter sun reflected and amplified by the crystals.  With a shiver, she began down one of the corridors that led straight to the mistresses bedroom, bracing herself for the scarlet mare’s wrath.  There were guards lining the hall, all eyeing her either warrily or lustfully.  They all knew who she was, or more accurately, what she was, and they all knew that no one would care if they had their way with her.  The only thing stopping them was the memory of their comrade’s snapped neck and the furiosity her master had shown when they’d attempted to kill her.  She may not be able to fight against him, but everyone else was still an easy enough kill.
She gave one of the catcallers a steady glare, to which he chuckled crassly, giving her a deliberate view of his underside.  She gagged and turned away, intending to never look the stallion in the eyes or anyplace else again.  He and his companion guffawed, but she paid them no mind.  If they actually had the courage to face her, she would be a split hoof and a kill older, with a whole argument to get through.  Luckily for them, they remembered what she was.  Rumor had spread about how and where she came from thanks to the survivors of the ordeal that she’d put them through in the forest three years ago.  Had it really been three years?  With a sudden wave of sadness, she realized that it had, and that she was now at least twenty.  Maybe twenty one, depending how late into the winter it was.
Slowly, she pulled up in front of the great double doors that led into the mistress’s bedroom, staring at the exquisite wood that contrasted the surrounding crystal so strangely.  The guard’s at either side eyed her, too professional to be the goons that openly goggled at her.  They were searching her for weapons and threats to the wife of their supreme leader, not for an easy hard on.  
“Open your mouth,” one demanded harshly.  “You’re the maid right?  Kippler?”
Ah yes, her slave name.  Her own choice for the moniker that she would be forced to live by until she gained her freedom, or the name she would die by.  Not the name her good parents had given her, the name that the Princesses had depended on to end the war.  Well, not them personally.  Why had she been so foolish?  
She complied to the order, opening widely and allowing one to prod his hoof in her mouth before ushering her forward.  “The queen is waiting for you,” the other guard told her, but from his tone, she knew it was more of a warning than information.  
With a nod, she allowed herself to be pushed through the double doors and glared around the brighter room.  There was a sudden rush of warm air from the confines of Her Majesty’s bedroom, the commodity of warming gems within keeping her comfortable while the servants shivered under their thin coats.  With a slight growl of disgust, she stepped fully into the room, not quite ready to face the most deadly mare in the castle other than her.
As one might expect, the whole room was lavishly adorned, a large bed for the queen to sleep in if she wished to spend the night (or year) alone in the center of it all.  With a resignated sigh, she saw the queen immediately emerge from her closet, a glare preeminently summoned for the occasion.  The queen was a black coated devil with red highlights in an otherwise black mane, her eyes sharply centered on her opponent.  There was no question that, despite Joint growing older and being incredibly troublesome, she was his favorite of the concubines.  And that pissed the queen off.  Funny how petty she was, that she was jealous her husband raped Joint more than he bedded her.
There was a sharp contrasting silence as their eyes met, and it was almost as if by making eye contact they knew what was going to happen.  “What’s your relationship with my husband,” she asked sharply.
“He rapes me every week, and then we have tender cuddle time afterwards,” Joint answered coldly.  “Then, we have a good talk about starting a family together and how much of a better lay I am than you, and he rapes me again.  Consensually though.”
The queen’s glare sharpened, and without warning, turned away, her tail swishing to the right and staying there for a moment too long.  A signal.
Instantly, she ducked away, scrambling to the side, hearing a large crack as a bolt slammed into the crystalline ground beneath her, shattering instantly.  There was a brief pause as the three ponies glanced around at each other, each giving each other a solemn look.  The door was locked; Joint could tell from the sounds that came from the direction of the double doors that the guards were struggling to get in.  There were another couple of moments as the cloaked assassin and her sized each other up, and she read her surroundings.  She could see the side dagger sticking out of the cloak unprofessionally.  A cheap killer, then.  Probably nondescript too, to ensure the king didn’t find out who had done it and under whose orders.
With a growl, the queen yelled, “Kill the murderer!” 
Ah, a setup then.  Smarter than she thought the queen could be.  Her fault for underestimating the queen’s ability. 
Without a noise, the pony charged, drawing the knife with their magic.  Oh great, a unicorn, she mused.  She was going to have to be quick and lethal, which was luckily her standard.  She sidestepped one of the jabs before ducking under a swift slash from the blade.  Leaping to the side, she was right beside the bed in a moment, grabbing one of the curtains that could drape across the entirety of one side.  Raising it in front of herself, she held the cloth out whilst pushing the entirety of her weight against the baluster behind her.  
The knife came tearing through the curtain, much to the dismay of the queen, who let out a strangled cry.  As soon as the knife pierced the fabric, she wrapped it around the entirety of the blade, smothering the magic and controlling it completely.  With a swift motion, she cut it out of the fabric, arming herself with the sharp blade and glancing between the two ponies.  The queen looked shocked and frightened, as she surely knew the dangerous potential Joint had in fighting.  The hired killer, however, seemed more naïve to who exactly she was, and simply attempted to charge her while powering up a magical blast.  
Throwing herself to the side once again, she let go of the knife, sending it perpendicular to her path, and straight into the unicorn, who had been caught unaware.  The pony fell with a gurgled scream, and continued to make pained noises as they attempted to pull the blade from their own chest.  It was in vain, however, and by the time Joint reached the fallen assassin, they had either fallen unconscious or died.  The queen stared in terror at the sight of Joint emotionlessly pulling the blade from the failed killer’s body, their eyes staying locked the entire time.  With a slightly sadistic smile, she suggested, “Your turn?”
“N-n-n-no,” she pleaded helplessly.  “Y-y-you can’t kill me!”
“Oh, I can,” Joint told her with a smirk that she knew caused the queen to stumble to the ground.  Before she was able to add anything else, before she was able to demand that the queen beg for her life, she heard the doors behind her shatter.  Turning, she saw a team of almost twenty of the queen’s guards entering.  
“Stop, don’t worry,” she yelled to them, thinking of a story quickly.  Pointing to the body of her assassin, she lied, “This was a killer.  They attempted to have the queen’s life!  I stopped them however, can’t you see?”  She held up the bloody knife, turning to look at the queen, who’s shock and fear were beginning to subside.  
“Uh, Your Highness,” one of the guard’s asked for confirmation.  As the whole room turned their attention to the queen, Joint made it blatantly obvious that she would be able to end her life with a quick knife throw by tossing it from one hoof to another.  The queen gulped, looking towards the bleeding corpse on the floor of her room, then back up to the mare who’d killed them.
With a grimace, she informed the guard, “The whore did indeed save my life.  Let her go about her way.”
Dropping her knife, Joint ran.  She ran straight through the guards.  Before she’d even managed to clear the doorway, the queen yelled, “Kill her!  Kill her!  Bring me her head on a pike and heart on a platter.”  
There was a great noise of confusion from the guards within the room, and it took some valuable seconds before they reacted.  By that time, Joint was already far down the hallway, racing towards the stairwell that would lead up to the washroom and her child.  Huffing, she made it the rest of the way there by the time the guards were out of the room and chasing after her.  She flew up the stairs as quickly as she physically could, her earth pony strength lending her in continuing her gain on the guards, many who were either unicorns or just weighted down with their armor.  
Within a few minutes, she’d made it to the top of the tower, heedless of her child’s crying, and wrapping the young one up tightly.  
“I di’n’ know what t’ do, Kip,” Maricoat informed her sorrily over the noise of the baby and Joint preparing for her flight from the palace.  With a quick glance up from her ashamed ground staring, she asked, “Hey, what ‘n Tart’rus are ya doin’?  Ya can’ seriously be run’n away!”
“Unfortunately, Mari, I am,” Joint told her breathlessly, hoping the harshness in her voice informed the little mare of the danger they would both be in.  “The guard’s are comin’ for me.  I need you to hide in the laundry so they don’t find you and hurt you.” 
Mari stared up at Joint as she finished wrapping her baby tightly against her chest, then finishing up tying a series of clothes together.  “Sweet Celestia, this is real,” Mari breathed in wonder and fear, before quickly assuring her, “I di’n see nopony up here!” 
“Good girl,” Joint breathlessly commented, turning to the only window used to light up these sections of the castle.  Taking a deep breath, she put her weight on her front legs and shot her back ones out, shattering the window glass.  By now, the sounds of yelling guards and clanking armor were swiftly getting closer to the laundry room.  With a deep breath, Joint threw the cloth out of the window, before jumping after it.  
Her hoof clipped the bottom of the windowsill as she lept out, causing her to lose her balance slightly.  She fell out at an awkward angle, little Amethyst wailing loudly as the mother and daughter fell for several dozen feet.  Joint turned her back to the ground at the last moment before the linen suddenly tightened around her waist, halting her several feet above the ground.  Flipping herself over, she was able to escape the knotting with concerning ease, falling the rest of the way onto her back to protect the child strapped on.  The landing knocked the wind from her, but she recovered quickly nonetheless, standing and beginning to run once again.  Night was beginning to fall, which meant frigid temperatures, and after a moment of hesitation, she ran back for a bundle of the cloth to warm them through the night.
There was no time to lose as she raced off in the direction of the woods behind the castle.  The trees were barren of leaves in the late winter, and were barely able to cover anything with their twiglike structure.  Quickly becoming exhausted, she raced through the lightly dusted snow grounds, frantically searching for anything big enough to hide the two of them inconspicuously.  Quickly, she began to realize that the endeavor would be fruitless, and quickly began formulating a plan in her head.  Laying down the clothing she’d stolen, she quickly covered the entirety of them in dirt and snow until it looked like another uneven patch of the winter ground.
Before sliding under them, she pushed her baby under, checking how it looked with the smallest of the two under the camouflage.  With a deep breath of relief, she saw that the ground merely looked as if it had a stone pushing the dirt up.  With a sigh of relief, she slunk under the disguise as well, nestling in next to her child and holding her tightly.  The poor filly still wailed from the trauma of the fall, the run, and being left under the muddied cloth for a short amount of time, and most likely her unsated hunger.  Joint’s motherly instincts kicked in, and she wrapped herself around the child, pressing her against one of her teats to suckle the young one.  Amethyst wasted no time in accepting the meal, and soon the baby was making soft gurgling sounds as she finished up.
Joint pressed her against her chest, rubbing the filly to keep her warm.  The garments they were hiding under provided some cover and warmth from the frigid air, but there was still a creeping cold from the ground they laid on.  As such, she kept the tiny child in her hooves, keeping her raised off of the ground and nestled against the warmth of her mother.  For a moment, Joint forgot that they were in such danger, and took a moment to observe her daughter as she looked around curiously with a slightly open mouth, confused by the whole situation.  Joint wiped away a trail of saliva, planting a small kiss on her forehead, which caused her baby to sneeze softly.
The tender moment ended as soon as it had begun, the noises of distant voices and clanking metal reaching her ears.  As subtle as she possibly could, she pressed the young baby’s muzzle deep into her own fur, muffling any of the soft sounds she might make that would give them away.  The voices grew closer and more distinct, masculine and feminine voices gruffly giving orders and passing information.  From the sounds of it, some thirty or forty soldiers were scanning this forest for her.  She heard them whacking trees with whatever weapons they had, most likely checking for hollow trunks she might’ve hid in.  
The hoofsteps grew closer, the crunching of brittle snow and weak branches and the growing noise of the enemy’s voices closing in around her.  Just a few hoofsteps away, a branch snapped as a guard tread closer to their hiding spot.  She held her breath, putting a hoof over her mouth and wrapping her other one around her child tightly.  Slowly, the guard, and two others, passed by.  They continued to order each other around and check different trees and hollows, but they were soon out of earshot.  Letting out her breath, she looked back down at her child.  Little Amethyst squirmed against her hoof, but it seemed less because she was upset and more because she was uncomfortable.  
She finally relaxed her grip on her foal, letting her slide a little out of her grasp and against her belly.  Together, they laid there for the rest of the day as Joint waited until she felt safe enough to leave.  As night quickly fell, she pulled them out of their makeshift cover, collecting the cloth that wasn’t too dirty on her back and rewrapping her child around her chest.  With a last glance back through the barren forest, towards the crystal castle, she trudged away to her freedom.

*******************************************************************************************************

Ruby watched mercilessly as the little filly maid was thrown against the wall of the palace’s dungeon, her weak frame slapping against the dark crystal.  She fell to the ground, and remained there, shivering.  
“I swear,” she yelled hoarsely, “I swear I di’n see ‘er!  She di’n pass by me!”
With a nod to one of the guards, the filly was delivered a ruthless strike across her face, a bruise forming near instantly on her cheek.  Tears stained her cheeks as she sobbed from pain and fear.  
“Tell us where she went, and we’ll let you go,” the guard shouted in her face, causing her to whimper and shrink away from him.  The guard, receiving no answer, kicked her in the gut, yelling, “Tell us!”
“She did run pas’ me,” the little servant confessed.  “She pushed me in’ the laun’ry an’ told me ‘f I moved, she’d kill me too!  She jumped outta th’ window, an’ then ya came ‘n right on afta.  I di’n wan’ no trouble!”
Glancing from the filly to the guard, Ruby jerked her head to the left.  The guard, without response, pointed his spear at the filly’s chest and ran her through.  She gasped, her jaw gaping for a moment as she stared in shock and pain at the queen.  Slowly, her head fell as her body became limp.
“Be rid of her corpse, and search the borders and rivers,” she instructed the guards harshly.  “I don’t want her to get away with all of the problems she's caused here.  Dismissed.”
> Chapter 9: The Discovery
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Moon 9027
	
	There were clouds in the sky tonight, covering the full moon.  It’s the first time the moon has been hidden from sight since the last rains of summer.  It seems strange that the moon that beckons in the new spring should be hidden, but I guess that is only fitting that the new season begins in darkness, as life returns to the world.  Perhaps it’s nature’s cruel warning to the new ones of this world of its true self, the destruction and hopelessness it brings. 
	As recorded before, the progress on finding that missing lycan child has been rather fruitless, to say the least.  The little monster has disappeared completely, leaving nothing, not even a tuft of hair or the faint hint of his scent behind.  The only proof we had that he existed was the discovery of an Equestrian soldier’s corpse buried sloppily off to the side of the road leading to Canterlot.  Otherwise, there has only been the memory of him to prove that he did indeed exist.  It is my personal belief that he moved up north, to cooler areas as his coat grew shaggy and hot.  That, or the other coven has taken him in.
	The other coven and ourselves have been on relatively peaceful terms since last moon’s meeting, the reason to which a moon is skipped here.  They seemed rather amicable despite the fact that one of their own was found dead in our forests, and almost seemed uncaring over the loss of one of their coven.  Although, considering the size of the rival coven, there seems to be not one of them who cared for the lost werewolf.  I believe this to be a side effect of them numbering over twenty, as many believe that even if they lost half of their coven, they would continue to be the dominating force.  True, they are, but not with a loss that large would they be.  They are indeed a strange lot.
	In other news, the new village has finished a good deal of their buildings, with some dozen houses surrounding a community lodge.  They number some eighty or ninety, and are a good group of hardy stallions and mares, all well built for the settling of a harsh land on the cusp of a harsh winter.  They have some foals among them, but most are young couples hoping to start a life away from the raging wars in the north and east.  
	Speaking of those wars, it seems to me that at last there is hope for the ceaseless violence to end.  A large gathering of young stallions, along with the promise of a greater yield of food with this next coming harvest, may see this brutal conflict to end in a year’s time.  The army of the Crystal Empire is weaker than before, with most of the occupied land empty of soldiers, allowing for spies to penetrate deep into the land without danger.  I, in fact, have made contributions to ending the dispute as well by sending out Argon to serve as a spy for our Princesses.  Despite my involvement in the conflict, I have yet to meet the alicorn sisters themselves, nor anypony important from their court.  I am fine with this, as long as it means my coven and I still live in peace.
	Nightseer gave birth to her and Argon’s child a mere two weeks ago as well.  It was an interesting ordeal, as it meant that we were now caring for the first naturally born member of our coven.  It is still too early to tell whether the little mare is a Mordigan such as I, or merely a vampyre or lycan.  Either way, we know that the child is incredibly special, as she was born on half of a moon precisely.  Fate is no deceiver, as not even an hour from the child’s birth, a star flew across the sky in a blaze of red.  Indeed, whoever this child may become, and whatever she is, the fates are looking out for her.
	I must go now.  The night is once again late, and there is dinner being served.  Ailade insists that I continue to eat as if I were still growing, but I feel my body.  It is aging.  As I've told you before, my faithful friend, I am dying.  I feel as if I can’t last the remaining time on this world that I’m supposed to have, and some days I feel as if my hooves will simply break off into dust prematurely.  But enough moping, my coven needs me.  Until next moon, my friend.
	Until I am no longer Damned,
	Hemorrhage
	
	Hemorrhage set down the quill besides the large tome that served as his journal, leaning back in his chair as he used his magic to quickly dry the setting ink.  He felt tired tonight, despite the good amount of sleep he’d been managing to receive in the past weeks.  Perhaps he should tell Ailade about this?  No, she would simply worry more and insist that he leave to find the mare for him.  It wouldn’t happen, he continuously told her, and that was fine.  He’d had his fair share of life, and eight hundred and fifty year was still a good while to live, even if it till felt like such short time
Groaning slightly, he stood and began walking out of his writing chamber and down the hallway that would lead to the dining room.  The castle they had built still amazed him, in spite of knowing precisely how it was supposed to look and function from the start.  Because Nightseer was a vampyre, and potentially her daughter as well, the whole castle had been built without windows, though some were installed in places like his writing chamber.  He’d been there a lot over the past year, simply writing down thoughts and impressions he’d had, and compiling his life into a novel for others to read when he had passed.  He wanted it to be his last gift to the family he had accidentally started, the story of his life for the three hundred years before he’d met Ailade and Argon.  
The castle itself seemed aged, despite having been completed only two and a half years ago.  There was a feeling about it, and the entire forest that gave it a seniority of sorts, the stones already worn by wind, snow, and rain.  In spite of the wear, it was still rather grand, three stories tall in some places, with an indoor garden for Nightseer to tend.  He smiled at the thought of the young mare and her child in the dark garden, watering the plants and playing around with the glowing flowers, Argon watching on.  He didn’t know why, but he had begun to become more sentimental as he aged, as if knowing that his life was ending soon was allowing him to appreciate others’ more.  It was strange, and if he thought too hard on it, he would surely gain a headache, so he simply passed into the main foyer with the thought.  
He rubbed underneath his eyes in an attempt to ward of the tiredness he felt, feeling the deep sagging underneath them.  Blood of the innocents, he was old.  Grumbling slightly at the fact, he turned a corner under the bright light of several candles into the dining area.  
There, all but Nightseer and her child were, sitting around the carcass of a fat, red reindeer.  It’s neck was gaping where Leper had torn out its throat, the blood cleaned away completely by the young lycan already.  They were talking in relatively hushed voices as Ailade cut into the animal, serving the raw meat out to Leper and Argon.  The three all looked towards him as he approached, Ailade smiling and saying, “Ah, just in time.  How big of a cut of meat would you like?”
“Rather small,” he answered, surprised by how hoarse his voice was.  He sat down besides Leper, who was busy tearing off a chunk of meat from the leg he got.  “Quite the catch, Leper.  Good hunting?”
“Yep,” the gray lycan confirmed, swallowing the bite.  “This buck was out late, I think.  Probably looking around for food for his mate and kid.  I think I saw them as well, at the edge of the forest.  For some reason there were a lot of little and big animals all over the town, and no ponies to shoo them off.  I was wondering why, but then I saw this fella, and, well, stomach over mind.”
He finished talking by taking another bite.  Ailade slid Hemorrhage his plate, which, unlike asked, had an entire flank of the deer on it instead of the requested smaller portion.  He gave her a stern, questioning look, to which she innocently explained, “My knife slipped, and well, it got a bigger chunk of meat than I intended.”
Hemorrhage rolled his eyes and bent his head down, taking a small bite from the meat.  The deer tasted good enough, but he was tired and not particularly hungry, so after only a few minutes of eating, he set aside his plate, half of the flank left untouched.  Standing up, he began to silently walk away before Ailade called out to him, “You should get out of the castle!  It’s a full moon, and you haven’t been on an outing since that convention you held with the other coven!  Perhaps you should go check in on the townsfolk and make sure that they are well, even offer them some of our help with the animals, should they need it.”
With a glance behind his shoulder, he sighed and complied.  “Alright, I’ll go.”  Turning to Leper, he instructed, “Come with me Leper.  Stay out of your lycan self.”
“M’kay,” he agreed through an especially tough bite, finishing off his leg and leaving the bones for later.  He stood up and began walking after the elderly mordigan, his coat suddenly seeming to be very limp.  After a second, he caught up to Hemorrhage, still chewing on his last bite.
The young stallion’s coat was slowly gaining a blueish color, though still remaining a slight gray.  His shaggy mane became straighter, less wild than it had been in his lycan state.  His sharp teeth slowly retracted from ticking out of his mouth as Hemorrhage knew the regular pony teeth were extending.  His claws retracted, and although the chitin that had once been his hoof was gone, the fact would be hidden with the thick, glistening padding of his paws.  His tail remained longer than it should have been as a pony, though that could be easily explained as a natural oddity, one which the villagers were already familiar with.  It was still amazing to him how they were able to change exactly who and what they were at a moment's notice, despite having done so thousands of times himself. 
The elderly unicorn and young lycan strolled out from the castle, leaving the stone brick structure behind as they ventured down the rarely trod dirt path.  They had considered cobbling, but quickly realized that there was no possible way to get the resources directly out into the wild forest, unlike with the castle.  Besides that, it was much too expensive to do so, and Ailade was against damaging the wilderness.  In the end, the idea was dropped, instead just beating out a small path between trees and bushes.  Which was probably why not many ponies traveled out along the path, at least, not alone. 
They eventually emerged from the deeper woods to a section of the forest where the trees were more spread out and new.  This was where a majority of the game was, as there were dozens of hidden pools, creeks, and streams that gave the area life.  Even now he saw little rabbits and nocturnal critters skittering around, his enhanced sight in the dark allowing him to spot them.  An owl was flitting around as well, diving at a couple of mice and catching one of them, the creature squeaking helplessly as it was carried away into the night.  
“Ah, nature,” Leper commented beside him sarcastically, obviously having watched the spectacle as well.  
Hemorrhage nodded in agreement, speaking softly, “I mean, you did just tear out a deer's throat, so there isn’t much separating us from them.”
“Yeah, fair enough,” he admitted, taking the lead as he continued walking.  “Gotta survive though, right?”  So he did remember those lessons. 
The forest parted completely, leaving the landscape to become rolling pastures bordered all around by the greenery of another forest.  The rolling hills were bare, save for occasional dots of white marking where the last of the winter’s snow lay in shaded areas.  Atop two of the hills was the village, the straw and mud buildings looking abandoned without smoke streams slowly rising from the homes.  To the left was the southern boundaries of the forest, where the hills and trees met and created the raised trees and complex landscape.  To the right was the great open north, the great hills slowly flattening out as they spread the forest and revealed the distant mountains on which Canterlot was built.  The sight was beautiful in the pale white light of the moon, the little dots of snow reflecting the bright looking as if there were shards of the moon on the ground itself.  
Hemorrhage gave the entire landscape a wide smile.  It was certainly the right choice to move here, and the more he saw the land and learned of its populace, the more he found himself wishing to live here until the end of his life.  It would be the best place to let the coven thrive once he was done, as it was both expansive and small, by the consideration of himself.  The land was like a hearty meal.  Plentiful, but also short.  One could spend eternity reliving the main course itself, or they could enjoy the other entrees too, and either way you would be left satisfied and looking forward to doing it again.  
Slowly, he realized he had stopped walking completely, and quickly hastened his pace to catch up with Leper, who was patiently waiting for his coven leader while also enjoying the sights of this back corner of a gorgeous land.  The two resumed their hike, drawing near to the village’s actual roads, which cut off about a half mile away from the last building.  They were obviously planning expansion, seeing as how they had actually beaten out little roads for new houses to be placed along.  It was the sort of thing these ponies seemed fond of doing, progressing themselves, and then planning for others the same progress. 
As they trod onto the road, however, a faint scent came to him, and he knew that it must have been a scent that Leper had smelt long before they had gotten so near to the village.  It was the scent of dried blood and exposed innards.  However faint it may be, it was a scent that he recognized well from his expansive experience.  
He glanced over to Leper with narrowed eyes, giving him a short nod as they made eye contact.  Without making a noise, the young lycan began quaking as he forced his teeth to grow back out, the hair on his hide becoming longer and denser.  His eyes became sharper as he stood taller, glaring down the street in search for any potential enemies.  Despite the agreements to peace with the other coven, the ompyre in charge had made it clear that he was not too keen with regular ponies.  It was already known that they were pony eaters, and that he was perfectly fine with allowing his underlings to feast on their former kin.  If they had indeed been behind whatever was causing the smell that wafted around these parts, then there would need to be retribution of some sort.
They slowed their pace as they passed the first of the huts, Leper pressing himself against the side of the home to check through the window.  Nodding that it was clear, Hemorrhage continued walking down the center of the road, giving a sidelong glance to another building.  It had obviously been empty for a while, the thatch roof in terrible condition for keeping the winter cold out.  Continuing to survey the buildings his breath caught a pile of something on the ground.  Without even needing to approach it, he could tell they were the skeletal remains of a pony.  Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the center of the square, prepared to face whatever might greet him there.
The center of the town had dozens of piles of bones scattered around, most of them in a relatively centralized area.  Each skeleton was complete, pony skulls smiling hauntingly in every direction, including at him.  His jaw tightened as he began to search for any signs of vampyres or werewolves, Leper letting out a short curse at the sight of so many dead.  Hemorrhage silently stepped up to a complete skeleton, the bones at the ribs slightly spread apart in order to easily access the juicy innards.  He grimaced as he realized that this skeleton was a smaller one, not quite a foals, but certainly not an adult’s.  
As he stared it up and down, he realized that four or five of the vertebrae near the center of the pony’s back were missing.  With a furrowed brow, he checked over the rest of the skeleton closer, noting the teeth marks on nearly every bone.  He wasn’t able to identify the teeth too well, other than the fact that they had indeed come from a larger carnivore.  The body had probably been scavenged, which explained the multitude of teeth marks and missing bones, but not why the body was here in the first place.  
Moving on to another pile of bones, he found this one to be much more enlightening, and confusing, then the last one.  For starters, the ribs on this pony had been sliced from the side, leaving the rib bones to end bluntly.  Whatever had caused the cut had also crushed the skull of this on, the fractal pieces of bone filling a collapsed dome.  The face of the dead pony had also been lightly scratched, four shallow marks crossing its face from ear to chin.  However, the real confusion came from the broken pieces of a pitchfork that lay not too far from it.  The weapon had quite obviously been this pony’s, as it was sliced into four separate pieces.  The pony wielding it had probably attempted to block a strike from his attacker by holding the pitchfork in front of his face, but the power of the slice had was too much, mauling his face and destroying his weapon.
“Hemorrhage, over here,” Leper called hoarsely.  “This skeleton isn’t one of a pony’s!”
With a confused grunt, he stood and stepped away from the body, saying a quick prayer for the soul of its former inhabitant, and all the other bodies around the square.  Leper was standing over a pile that looked more like a scruffy patch of dirt and grass than a body, but as he drew closer, he could distinctly make out decaying fur.  Stopping beside Leper, he crouched down to examine the body better, the decomposing body partially preserved by winter.  The body was certainly not one of a pony’s, to be sure, seeing as it was both too short and too long to be one.  The fur had been bushy, and he quickly recognized its face as one of a wolf’s.  Besides it was another body, this one with its skull and chest exposed, most of the flesh and innards of this one having been eaten away.  
“Wolves,” Hemorrhage slowly began piecing together.  Glancing over to the forest on his right, then on his left, he pointed to wild trees and vines.  “They reside somewhere in that forest, and most likely hunt in this area, or at least somewhere in this general direction.  With the new town coming in, it blocked off their hunting grounds, or perhaps challenged their territorial lines.  They retaliated to the movement of ponies into their land.  This had to have happened right before winter’s first moon, otherwise we would have knowledge.” 
“Definitely some wolves,” Leper agreed, “but wolves don’t cut a stallion -earth stallion- mind you, clean in half.  There’s gotta be some sort of monster with them in order to kill sixty three ponies before any of them could escape for help.  Besides, most of these bodies are more mutilated than some torn throats and viscous bites.  An entire front half of a skeleton was missing, but I found it some thirty paces away.  If it actually matches up or not doesn’t really matter.  We either have something that tore two ponies in half, or threw one half of one a distance farther than two houses.  Whichever it is, it’s something that only one thing that I can think of can do.”
“A lycan,” Hemorrhage questioned cautiously.
“A lycan,” Leper confirmed. 
“Then I guess we know that there’s still that one out there,” the mordigan concluded, suddenly feeling very tired.  
“And it seems like he’s gone completely primal,” Leper added solemnly, lifting up a pony skull in his paw, observing the half that was missing.  “I have his scent now, along with the other wolves he was with.  It looks like he found himself a pack to stick around with, if he didn’t make one himself.  We can find him now, if you wish,” he suggested quietly, looking almost eager to leave the scene.  Despite his rather callous approach to most death, he was very conscious about the death of dozens at once.  Hemorrhage knew it brought back unwanted memories from his life before, and he rightly avoided the topic.  
With a deep breath, he looked out over the landscape, the rolling hills lit by the mid-moon.  Frowning, he stood fully.  “I guess we have lycan to find, and a lost soul to save, then.”
> Chapter 10: The Hunt
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hemorrhage followed closely behind Leper, who was carefully sniffing around the ground as they traversed the rolling hills outside of the town.  The moonlight reflected dully off of not quite alive grass, creating a mysterious glow off of the coat of his lycan companion.  There was a tense air about them, as they both realized that a confrontation with the rogue youth would be both dangerous and enlightening, whether it was good or not.  They hadn’t even conceived a proper plan on what to do with the young lycan if they apprehended him, or if they even could do so.  If not, they would either make another potential enemy, or scare him off to terrorize some other part of Equestria.  
The matter of the fact was that, in the end, if they couldn’t control him in some way, or subdue him long enough for one of them to get reinforcements from the castle, they may be forced to kill the lycan.  It was an option they’d never faced before, as every single member of their coven had been adopted before they could enter a blood craze, but now the option was indeed on the table.  Given, he didn’t exactly doubt their ability to disarm and subdue the beast in a direct confrontation, but it may manage to escape before they had fully committed to the fight.  
The best case scenario was, of course, if they avoided a fight at all.  There was no telling exactly how powerful the lycan youth was, although if the massacre in the village were anything to measure by, it was pretty powerful.  They crouched along the bank of a stream in between hills at this point, Leper having paused as he scouted out the entire area, which had given him some time to pause and think.  There was something almost haunting about realizing that the beast that had been sighted and searched for only a few years ago still existed, somehow hiding completely from both them and the other coven.  
Or perhaps it wasn’t coincidence that the lycan had never appeared before his coven members.  While they didn’t exactly know what the relationship between the ompyre’s coven and this rogue lycan was, they were pretty sure that one of the lycans of the ompyre’s coven had been the one that attacked the youth, initially turning him into a lycan.  Leper had been able to identify, or at least, he was pretty certain, that the lycan silverback that had attended the exclusive conference between the two leaders and their guards was indeed the perpetuator of his change.  If that was the case, than he was also indirectly responsible for the deaths of the ponies of the village as well, and possibly more.
There was also the very real possibility that the youth had been swept up by them, and that he was now one of their coven members.  Perhaps this attack on the village was a plan to secure more power and food in the region, or perhaps merely to exterminate the potential dangers of more non-nocturnals in the region.  Either way, this was too much of a possibility to be mere coincidence, and because of this, Hemorrhage had warned of entering into any place of residence in the dark, as the ompyre, the most obviously powerful of the group, was vulnerable to every natural light source.  
“The lycan definitely passes through here a lot,” Leper suddenly commented, catching Hemorrhage’s attention.  “I believe that he either uses this as an impromptu pathway between the hills or he drinks here.”  Leper continued to sniff around for a second before suddenly doubling back to a stony face of rock.  “Or perhaps,” he added slowly, turning and standing parallel to it, “he lives here.”
“What do you mean,” Hemorrhage asked, trudging through the chilly stream to stand beside him.  His question was answered, however, when he came to face the rock directly, staring as a slightly large crevice ran up the entire face of the wall until it reached an earthy section, the grass overhang covering the dirt.  There was a short silence as they observed the strange cavern entrance before Leper began sniffing again.
“I smell death from within,” he muttered ominously.  Before Hemorrhage could question what he meant, he continued, “I smell the scent of newborns, and the scent of parents.  But those scents are faint, covered up by the smell of rot and disease within.  Whatever was in here, whatever things were in here, they weren’t ponish, and they are all long dead.”  After another brief pause, he growled, “Except for the lycan.”
“How can you tell,” Hemorrhage asked in a hushed voice, staring into the dark crack in the rocks.  Even with his enhanced vision at night, the crevice was still dark beyond belief, and he barely made out the opening into the actual main body of the cave.  
“There’s fresh feces and other sort of smells that faintly smell like him,” Leper unflinchingly explained.  
Hemorrhage paused a moment as he thought, before questioning, “Wait, you can tell the scent of a pony from the smell of their feces as well?”  Leper gave him a slightly amused nod, to which he bit his lip in thought.  “Interesting.”
A low noise suddenly came from deep within the crevice, a haunting, sorrowful howl that startled the two companions as they glanced back into the crack in the wall.  After a second, Leper offered, “After you.”  Receiving a dirty glance from Hemorrhage, he defended himself, whispering, “I’ve been the first in otherwise.”
Fair enough, Hemorrhage thought, though he didn’t admit so out loud, merely nodding and slowly sneaking up to the border of the crack.  With a deep breath, he slowly began to push his way through the miniscule entrance, gritting his jaw as the rough stones scraped against his coat, undoubtedly fraying strands all over him.  That became the least of his concerns, however, when he exited from the dark passage and straight into the main chamber of the cavern.  
He let out a refreshed breath of air as the steamy warmth of the cavern washed over him, water droplets sticking to his coat as the condensed water from wherever collected on him.  He almost left out a soft exclamation of wonder at the sights the cavern gave, its beautiful stone walls lined with moss and other sorts of greenery, but the low growl of a nearby creature halted him immediately. 
He turned sharply, preparing to lock eyes with the ferocious beast that had torn apart an entire town of ponies, but instead he was greeted with the sight of a mighty lump of fur with its back to him, shoulders hunched.  After a moment of confusion, he slowly took a step back onto some moss, ensuring that his hoof falls went without any notice.  Glancing over to the crevice he had just emerged from, he slowly gestured for Leper to cease his advancements, to which the young lycan thankfully complied.  He was just barely inside of the crevice, too far from the entrance to peek around the corner with his head, but close enough to listen in.  
Hemorrhage took a long time staring at the back of the mighty beast before him, the great hunching shoulders and crouched down body larger than him and Leper if they stood on each other’s shoulders.  The fur on this one was long and shaggy, and not too clean either, with some clots of dirt and other greasy patches that Ailade would have a heart attack seeing.  The beast was obviously in his youth, despite his larger size than even Leper, which was probably due to him being transmuted lycan and not half blooded.  It had some ponish features to it still, such as its ears, and Hemorrhage was sure that if he looked the lycan child in the face, it would have some distinctly ponish eyes.  
He glanced curiously at what the creature was so intently crouched over as it let out another soft growl of sorrow, which caused Leper to visibly shudder.  He nearly gasped in surprise as he made out the figures of almost a dozen forms laid neatly side by side, their faces covered in moss carefully to conceal their eyes.  The forms were distinctly wolf, and both much younger and much fresher than those that they had discovered in the village.  It was a haunting sight, the sight of pups laid besides juvenile wolves, all dead for some reason, and all being mourned for by perhaps the deadliest creature in this area.
The lycan whined once again, and Hemorrhage used the sound of the howl’s echo to cover the sound of his movement towards the great lycan youth.  With yet another deep, silent breath, he reached out and brushed his hoof along the shaggy fur of the beast.  He expected it to whirl around and smack at him, but instead, it lifted its tail to whack at the spot he had brushed, quite probably thinking it was merely some fly pestering him.  It took a moment for the lycan to realize that in this season, and in this sort of climate, flies wouldn’t be hovering around yet.  A deep, menacing growl emerged from within the beast, a monstrous noise that reverberated throughout the entire cave menacingly.
It was at this time, while the beast was turning to face Hemorrhage, that Leper emerged from his place in the wall, growing to his full size, that, while not quite as big as the beast in front of them, was still large enough to contest him.  Hemorrhage tapped his lycan companion’s lag, signaling him to move to the side slightly to allow for the other rogue lycan to see the both of them.  The great beast seemed surprised to see the two figures within its abode, and instantly crouched into a defensive position, growling possessively as it placed itself firmly between the intruders and its kin’s bodies.  
“We do not come to harm you, great one,” Hemorrhage softly called to it, reaching out a hoof.  While Leper had crouched in his own lithe position to defend his friend if need be, he had yet to bare his teeth, which hopefully made a statement on their peacefulness.  “We merely come in concern over you.  You are not well, and you have lost your pack, leaving you alone.  Please, come join our own coven, and be one of us.  We wish you to be happy as we are, and hope for peacefulness between us.”
The lycan didn’t seem to understand the words escaping Hemorrhage’s mouth, but it at least recognized the soothing tone, and sat down, still eyeing Leper keenly.  It didn’t trust them, probably because of Hemorrhage’s still ponish appearance.  Very well, he would have to change his form to ensure a violent outbreak didn’t occur between the two parties.  
Shaking slightly, he forced his hair to grow out lean and thick, protective coat against any harm.  His ears sharpened as he focused on changing himself as best and quickly as he could, not wanting to draw it out and startle the lycan.  His sides felt as if they disappeared before suddenly having the feeling of being pushed outwards as wings suddenly sprouted from either side, the leathery skin quickly becoming mottled as new feathers grew out.  He felt himself expand slightly as muscles forced their way up, the power provided of being both werewolf and vampyre allowing for his body to strengthen itself incredibly.  With a shake, he straightened out his new nightborne wings, using his horn to light himself in a surreal sheen of gray.  He hoped that the spectacle would amaze the lycan into submission, and judging by its wide eyes and slightly agape jaw as it watched the transformation, it was indeed enraptured by the show.
Having completed his transformation into his mordigan state, he gently whispered, “See, we aren’t any different, both strange creatures with very different ways of life, different from any other pony’s in all of Equestria!”
At the word “pony”, the lycan suddenly growled and tensed up, standing abruptly and backing away from them, glaring from one to another as it tried to judge them.  So apparently pony was some sort of trigger word that set the poor creature off.  He’d have to be more careful in his dialogue around him then.
Backing away slightly, motioning for Leper to follow in suit, he softly clicked his tongue.  “Now now, that’s no way to treat friends,” he lightly chided, hoping to come across as in control, which seemed only to confuse the beast.  
It suddenly made a very innocently confused face, its eyes growing wide as it growled out something that sounded very near to “friends”.  Hemorrhage and Leper shared a shocked look before Leper took initiative and confirmed, “Yeah, friends.”
The large lycan quirked its head to the side, cautiously leaning in and sniffing at the two of them, to which Hemorrhage slowly stuck his wing out to the creature, allowing him to observe the weakest part of the mordigan without fear.  After a few moments, it seemed satisfied that they were at the very least not a danger, stepping back and sitting down, licking his chops.  The lycan looked between him hungrily, and it took him a moment to realize that the youth had not only caught their slightly canine scent, but also the scent of their meal.  Now it seemed like he was expecting something from them, if not to be given then to at least exist.
Leper must have realized the same thing as he stood up and flicked his tail, calling playfully as he strode back towards the exit, “Come, come.  There is food back in our den.  You can eat there.  Come, come!”
The younger lycan timidly stuck his head forward, sniffing once again after Leper and smelling the scent of fresh deer meat.  It glanced back at Hemorrhage, waiting for the older pony to do or say something against it.  “Go on,” he encouraged as he might do to a foal who was scared to enter a dark room.  “There is nothing to fear from us.  We are your friends.”
“Fruerghs,” the creature murmured hopefully before complying, sliding gracefully through the crack behind Leper.  
With a sigh, Hemorrhage was finally able to breathe right again, having allowed for the visitation and de-escalation with the lycan to go without conflict.  He had half expected the whole confrontation to become another tragedy, either having to kill the young lycan or turn him over to the Princesses for extraction to Tartarus, where other uncontrollable darkened creatures had to go.  Of course, the Princesses didn’t know those that turned the savages in were also the same species.  Thankfully, no conflict had arisen between the lycan and themselves, and as he emerged from the cave, he was greeted by the sight of Leper leading the now docile youth through the bottom of the valley floor on all fours, flipping his tail around in instruction as the younger lycan happily followed his elder.
> Chapter 11: The Newcomer
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Watching the lycan, Hemorrhage couldn’t see how he could’ve been the instigator of the carnage Leper and himself had seen at the village.  The lycan youth was incredibly playful, innocently so, with Leper, and continuously observed Hemorrhage respectfully, having seemed to have realized that he was the alpha here.  The great beast’s tail wagged with every sauntering step towards the forest, panting happily as it went along the way.  Leper responded to the youth’s playful antics with some playful circling, but he otherwise acted as the pathfinder for them as they crossed over several of the rolling green hills.
Now and then, the lycan would glance around at the hills, and towards the village and cave they had come from mournfully.  Hemorrhage was quickly piecing together exactly the kind of life the lycan had been living since that night more than three years ago.  The poor foal had likely not even realized he was transforming until the beastly side had completely taken over.  From there, he must have been solitary and lonely, and that had caused him to search for some sort of family.  Seeing as he now ate meat, the regular creatures that most ponies bonded with, and ponies themselves, were not an option for partnership.  And seeing as how he was probably not too trusting of nocturnals, seeing as that was what had caused his transformation, the only other creatures that he could really bond with were wolves. 
He must have found the pack, instead of forming it, which explained most accurately why he was so much of a follower, and not too untrusting of Hemorrhage’s authoritative demeanor.  He was a natural follower as well, not even questioning exactly where they were going, as long as they had food.  Which played into the bodies that were discovered within the cave, and his intense mourning over them.  They had adopted him, so it was only right that he felt especially bonded to those wolf pups, whether he was in the pack before or after the.  It did make Hemorrhage sad to see the young ones dead, but he knew first hoof the brutality of nature, and its merciless ways. 
There was a sudden yelp as the young lycan missed a step up the slightly sheer face of a larger hill that led directly to the edge of the forest, causing both himself and Leper to start.  The large lycan simply shook his paw out before stepping surely up the rest of the hill, his happy panting uninterrupted.  There was a moment more of pause as both of them saw something exposed by the lycans shaking, the fur settling aside to reveal a dangerous looking injury on its back.  Somewhat in the bottom part of his back, concealed under the mat of fur, was a metal spoke stuck into his skin, the surrounding hair underneath crusted over with infected scabbing.  While he didn’t see the actual skin, Hemorrhage knew the skin around the entrance to the wound would have to be incredibly infected, especially if his theory about the massacre at the village was correct.  It would mean that the lycan had kept the wound for nearly four months, a tremendously painful infection resulting from the wound.
Leper had definitely seen the same as he lagged slightly behind, allowing for Hemorrhage to catch up with his companion.  “You saw the wound,” he asked softly, to which the mordigan nodded, still speeding up to ensure that he was beside their young friend.  He didn’t want the playful creature to be left to guide himself, and Leper had already taken initiative, passing behind Hemorrhage and taking the lead.  “That needs to be cleaned immediately.  I’m not sure if you saw or not, but there are definitely maggots around the puncture, and the skin is deep red with puss pockets all around.”
“We’ll have Ailade clean it out once we return home,” Hemorrhage ensured.  “We’ll probably have to use Flaize leaves to knock this one out, but the poor thing will have a good meal first, even if that means I have to hunt for more.  He must be starving to death, because that’s how all those wolves in his cave died.”
Leper glanced to the side at the lycan, who was staring curiously at them as it went.  They would have to teach him how to be a pony again, or at least speak and act enough like it, if he was truly stuck in his lycan form.  With an encouraging gesture of his wing, he pointed towards the gap in the brush that marked where the beaten down path lay.  The lycan glanced from his wing to the path and back, closing his mouth as he twisted his head sideways in confusion.  Ah, yes, the creature wasn’t quite sure why they should head into the forest now, when they were so close to it earlier, Hemorrhage realized.
“Home,” the mordigan explained encouragingly, emphasizing the word with another point of his wing.  
“Hmmm,” the lycan agreed, growling the phrase out with the slightest touch of mournfulness, glancing back to the cavern where his pack lay dead.  “Hrmmm.” 
Leper gave their young friend a sad glance before entering the forest, ducking beneath a low hanging branch.  The renegade lycan simply brushed past it, his weight snapping it off as he passed directly through it.  He lumbered down the path with an observatorial glance around him, questioning the strange, unnatural path in the middle of nature.  He looked back over to Hemorrhage, to which the mordigan encouragingly gestured the lycan on.  After a moment of thought, the youth began happily panting again, prancing up to be beside Leper on the narrow path, practically pushing him into the brush lining the path.
Smirking at the sight, Hemorrhage recognized the place where the road curved off straight toward their castle.  Now was the real test to see how far the young lycan’s trust extended for them, and exactly his relationships with ponies and their structures in general.  If he were to flinch away from their castle with its pony-like structure, then it would be proof that he was beyond saving as a pony, but if he showed at least some sort of familiarity or didn’t even react to the structure, it may be a sign of a more docile, less primitive side to him, a side they could capitalize on to release him from his beastly state.
Surely enough, as they rounded the corner, the lycan pulled to a near stop, his paw slowly coming down and his eyes locked onto the castle.  His eyes widened in surprise at the sight, before narrowing sharply as he growled slightly at it.  However, despite this, he seemed to growl at it more because he was unfamiliar with the thing itself than its affiliation to ponies.  He looked it up and down as if it were some sort of large beast, his stance defensive as he stared down the intimidating structure.  
With a slightly concerned glance to Leper, Hemorrhage encouragingly called out again, “Home.”
The lycan’s head whipped around to him, eyes wide and curious as his head tilted once again, an ear lifting to allow him to hear clearer.  “Hrrmm,” the beast questioningly rumbled.
“Yeah, home,” the mordigan reiterated.  
The lycan gave him a wide-eyed, confused huff, turning around to stare at the castle, which Leper was approaching without hesitation.  Seeing the older lycan confidently striding towards their stone brick home, the young one began tentatively approaching it as well, keeping his stance low as he slowly walked down towards the castle.  Hemorrhage smiled at the lycan youth’s compliance, following behind him as they finished their short journey.  So long as nothing drastic occurred before they arrived inside, there was no doubt in his mind that they would be able to help the wounded and lost lycan.  
It was probably that thought that summoned Ailade from within the castle, as the wooden double doors burst outward to give way to her.  She was running without looking forward, yelling back to the castle something while her silky wings began to flap.  The sudden movement caused the young lycan to yelp, before growling and barking at the approaching mare.  She pulled up shortly, her head turning as she stopped, skidding across the path for a few more paces.  
The beast beside them had now moved in front of them in a protective stance, ensuring that nopony was going to harm its new friends.  It was amazing how quickly the large monster had gone from playfully docile, to aggressively defensive, barking uncontrollably now at the coven’s vampyre.  Ailade, for her part, reacted well enough to being greeted by a monstrous lycan right in the path to their home, slowly sitting down as she stared the beast down.  His barking subsided slightly, being replaced by growling as he observed Ailade's calmness.  Hemorrhage had never trained, or even instructed, any of them on how to react to a rogue, and most likely feral, nocturnal, but it seemed like Ailade had been prepared.
“Hey, big fella, no need to be scared, I was just leaving my home,” Ailade soothingly, facing the lycan calmly as it continued to slowly approach her.  Hearing another creature call the place “home”, he halted his progression in confusion, glancing back towards Hemorrhage and Leper for confirmation.  
“Hmmm,” he grumbled lightly, a questioning tilt of his head at the familiar word from an unfamiliar face.  He glanced back to Leper and Hemorrhage once again for affirmation, which they both gave.  After a brief moment of consideration, he nodded confidently, grumbling firmly, “Hermm.”
Hemorrhage watched as Ailade let out a sigh of relief as the large lycan slowly began to walk towards the still gaping doors.  She had to lean over to see the two other coven members behind the encroaching mass of intimidating fur, but she seemed to have already known they would be there, most likely because the massive beast passing by her had given them away with its glance back.  Having confirmed that they were indeed there, she stepped aside and watched as the youthful lycan timidly approached the doors, which were large enough that he needn’t crouch to duck through them.  However, perhaps from sudden meekness or because he wasn’t absolutely trusting of the structure, he bowed himself down, staring up to watch the top of the doorway as he entered.
Ailade watched the creature enter calmly, staying completely still as she waited for the companions to catch up with her.  Turning slightly to Hemorrhage while keeping her eyes on the lycan, who had paused on entry, she asked, “Who exactly is this lovely friend you’ve brought home tonight?  A member of the other coven, or perhaps an overgrown stray?”
“You remember the young colt that Leper reported having seen attacked,” he questioned, instead of answering.  “We believe this may be him.”
Ailade gasped as she turned her head to face him directly, staring up at him in shock.  “Are you sure.” she inquired doubtfully.  “It’s been a good long while, and Leper was pretty far out there.  Perhaps this is somepony else.”
“Well, whoever he is, it doesn’t matter unless we can free him from his beastly state,” Hemorrhage stated.  “As you can tell, he can somewhat understand what we say, so he definitely was a pony, and not naturally born.  He also had a pack of wolves that he stayed with, but it appeared that they all starved through the winter, and only he was left.”
“Oh, that’s terrible,” she exclaimed in a hushed voice, as they both began to stare at the creature they were discussing.  “The poor dear has gone through so much, whether he was the colt or not.”
“Well, there’s worse to it,” Hemorrhage continued, hushing his voice as well.  The lycan innocently began scratching at a spot on its neck, Leper smiling at the canine action.  “Leper and I both visited the village to see exactly what the matter was with them, and why they weren’t contacting us and why we hadn’t heard from them.  Well, when we arrived, we found the skeletons of some sixty three ponies, which if I remember correctly, were all but three adults.”  The statement was met with Ailade’s jaw dropping as a strangled noise came from her.  Despite her more motherly approach in caring for him, she was young, and had yet to experience the vast amount of death that came with long life.  “The bodies were all maimed, and among them were two wolf bodies, side by side.  Leper picked up the scent of this lycan, and from there we found its home and brought it back.”
“Why would it and its pack attack those ponies,” she asked, still looking as if she’d run into a wall.  
“We think that, most likely, it was an issue of territorialism, and that the ponies were the ones that started the fighting.  I’m sure that you can see how docile and playful this one is, and quite frankly, it doesn’t make sense how he could ever have instigated such a massacre, but it’s painfully obvious from the ruins that he was the main perpetrator of pony deaths.  He actually still has a wound from the conflict, a metal spoke of some sort stuck into his back.  I didn’t see the full extent of his wounds, but according to Leper, there are maggots within the infected yellow skin.”
“Well that’s awful,” Ailade proclaimed.  “We’ll have to clean it out as soon as we can.  I’ll use some Flaize leaves to allow him to sleep well while I work on him.”
“He needs food first,” Hemorrhage added.  “He still hasn’t eaten in who knows how long.  Considering the prime condition of the bodies in his cave, he wasn’t desperate enough to start eating those, and he didn’t immediately attack me out of hunger.  However, he won’t heal well malnourished.”
“Yes yes, of course,” Ailade dismissed.  “Being fussy is my job, master.  You get inside.  After the night you’ve had, you need your rest as well, though the others may expect some sort of explanation for the stray.”
Suddenly feeling the tiredness Ailade had described, Hemorrhage muttered, “Leper was there.  He can explain it to the others.”
He walked through the familiar doorway of the castle, which the lycans seemed to take as permission to continue on.  Tongue lolling out of his mouth, the younger lycan followed Leper through the foyer as he wisely led the beast towards an empty room, presumably where Ailade would operate on his wounds.  
“Oh, there is one particular thing I forgot to mention,” Ailade called after him as he entered the hallway that led to his room.  
“And that is,” he questioned without looking back, though he slowed.  
“Well, we happen to have another guest,” the vampyre admitted almost bashfully.”
“Ailade, what in Tartarus do you…” Hemorrhage trailed off as he turned around to face Ailade, but his eyes instead locked on an unfamiliar face.  A mare stood right beside Ailade, holding a small foal in one of her hooves, staring almost meekly at him.  For a moment, he was frozen, but then he felt a twinge in the very center of his being, something he’d never expected to happen, and in that moment he knew he was in love.
> Chapter 12: The Mare
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hemorrhage stared at the mare in complete shock, the pounding of his heart the only thing that was moving in his entire body.  He was frozen in place as he gazed at the beautiful mare that was unsurely staring back at him, clutching a child close to her chest.  By the blood of the innocents, she was gorgeous, her deep brown coat giving her a warm, youthful look.  He didn’t have any doubt that she was youthful, either, considering the petite look of a mare enjoying the young years of her life, when beauty struck every male with a warm blow.  
She was absolutely perfect, her face, while thin, rounded nicely to match her shapely appearance, and her eyes, oh her eyes!  They were an extraordinary green that gave her a forest-like appearance, the green and brown making her look like the most beautiful tree in a grove.  His jaw slowly slackened as he continued to stare in mute amazement at the mare, and it was in that moment that he knew exactly who he was.  With the most undeniable fact of this mare being her beauty, there was no other pony in the world that could ever fit as his other half, and in his very soul he knew that he must marry her.
“Hemorrhage,” Ailade’s questioning voice called, pulling him away from the inner recesses of his mind and back to the matter at hoof, he cleared his throat.  
“My apologies, Ailade,” he told her.  Glancing from his best friend, and back to the mare, he smiled as he said, “After the long night I’ve been having, seeing such a beautiful mare must have shocked my poor brain.” 
Instead of blushing or ducking away in embarrassment at the comment, the mare pulled herself upright and tightened her grip on the child in her hoof.  There wasn’t even the hint of a smile on her face from his flattery, and he found that he was the one blushing.  “I’m not some mare to be gawked at, sir,” she told him with the slightest bit of venom in her voice, though she sounded somewhat prideful in herself.  “You should know that there are other ways to woo a mare than to stare, then seduce them with flattery.”
“I’m sorry,” he apologized bashfully.  “I didn’t mean to come across as perverted.”  With an unsure glance to Ailade, who was watching the spectacle fearfully, he slowly questioned, “What brings you to our corner of Equestria?  Business from the Princesses?”
“If you’d let me speak, I’d tell you,” she impatiently snapped.  Hemorrhage opened his mouth to apologize once again, but she interrupted, saying, “Quit apologizing unless you’re gonna mean it!  You’re supposed to be the lord here, right?  Well, you haven’t reprimanded me once this entire time, and I’ve been probably the most uptight mare you’ve met in these parts.  So where is the real lord so I can talk to him.”
“Well, madam, I’m lord simply in name, and not in nature,” he admitted humbly.  “I was named by Celestia as the lord of the Southern Forest Extensions, and as such, anything within a dozen miles of here is technically my land.”
“Huh, so you do talk in formal speak,” she said in slight surprise.
“It isn’t a natural language, I assure you,” he half-heartedly joked, attempting to win the mare over with the quick comedy.  
“Well, that’s a comfort to hear,” she reminisced.  She sat down and laid her child across her legs, to which the young one began to fuss slightly.  She shushed it, and while Hemorrhage was about to suggest that they move to the living room, he figured she would simply decline the formalities, so he sat down as well.  Glancing up from the child at him, she asked, “So, you wanted to know why I’m here?”
“Indeed,” he answered, staring the mares in the eyes, preparing himself for a political discussion of some sort.
“Well, the truth is, I’m a refugee,” the mare solemnly confessed, the admission enough to cause her to glance away.  “I haven’t told your maid yet either, but I’m not a consort or messenger of the crown, though I used to work for them.  I was in their army three years ago, right around the time the war was heating back up and ponies were starting to kill each other.  I was the best archer in the entire army while I was there, and seeing some of my friends be the first to go, I thought I could go and make myself become a hero by killing off that bastard Sombra.
“Well, I did, except I didn’t.  When I shot him right in the heart, he merely laughed it off, called me a fool, and next thing I knew, I was back in the Crystal Empire.  I was his slave there for these past three years, both for his maid staff, and for his more carnal pleasures.  I always planned to escape somehow, but I was never able to make a plan that I could depend on, and then I got pregnant.”  The mare paused as she glanced down at her baby, rubbing its stomach softly with her hoof as she smiled at the little one.  “Best damn thing to happen to me, from the worst damn pony in all of history,” she bitterly added, a small smile still on her face as she lovingly gave her child attention.
Hemorrhage was enraptured by the mare as she told her story, and as she tended to her little child.  He felt his heart flutter as he saw the motherly expression that came over her face as she tenderly took care of her baby, and he wanted nothing more than to walk up to her and pick the little one up, to watch over the child of this beautiful mare as well.  It was as if his entire life, the tragedies and deaths, all didn’t exist in the presence of this amazing mare, and Hemorrhage couldn’t believe that now, after all of his years, after he’d stopped searching, he’d found the one that completed him.
“This little girl was what made me decide that I would escape, that I would ensure she didn’t grow up as the daughter of the Bastard Prince,” the mare continued determinedly.  “I was one of the mares that washed his clothing, and seeing as we had a window to hang his drying laundry out of, I used it as my escape route.  As you can see, I made it out, away from the Crystal Empire.  That all happened a few days ago.  Ever since then, I’ve been floating down the river on a hollowed out log, trying to keep my kid warm.  Your maid was the first Equestrian pony I’ve seen in years.”
“Incredible,” he muttered, his eyes now focused on the carpet before her.  Even if he wanted to do nothing more than stare at this mare for eternity, he still had other things in his life he had to concern himself with, such as if this mare were authentic.  With a sharp stare, he questioned, “How do we know if this story is true exactly?”
The mare surprisingly smiled at the question, stating, “not as dumb as you act then?  Glad to see!”
“Dumb as I act,” he recited with a slightly raised brow.
“Well, you don’t look that bad now,” she quirkily responded.  The mare seemed to realize a compliment had slipped from her mouth as she quickly clammed up, her brown cheek fur gaining the slightest of pink tints.  
“Well, thank you,” he responded to the compliment, standing.  “Now, about that evidence…”
“Your maid found me with a whole bundle of clothing,” the mare answered quickly without making eye contact with the approaching mordigan.  “If you wash it out, I’m sure that you’ll recognize it.”  
Not pressing the point of her briskness, he instead told her, “Ailade is not my maid, despite what she may tell you, and I am not her master.  You’ll find that in our castle, we are neither servant nor served, only servers, here to help each other out.  She may call me master, but it is only because it was I who started this family and adopted everypony into it.  Speaking of which, have you met any of the others?”
“Um, no,” the mare responded, sounding more and more timid as he stood besides her.  “Only… Ailade...
She was rather diminutive, and he had forgotten to return to his pony form, meaning that… he looked like an alicorn.  Deal with that later, he firmly told himself, forcing a smile as he stated, “Well, there are three more of us here.  Leper is our youngest, only about twenty five.  Nightseer and Argon are married, and both in their early thirties.  As for myself, well, my name is Hemorrhage, and I’d rather not disclose my age.  I prefer to relive youth than remain in my elderly livelihood.  And what, may I ask, is your name?”
“And why do you deserve to know it,” the mare counter questioned defensively.  
“Well, madam, it does seem like you are in search of residence, so if you want to stay here for the night, all I ask in payment is your name,” Hemorrhage smoothly responded.  The mare grimaced as she realized that a nice bed and a warm place to stay would be costly elsewhere, and even dangerous to get to, considering the time of night.
“Fine, it’s Joint,” she reluctantly gave, picking her child back up as she stood.  Glancing down at her child, she said, “This is Amethyst Heart, if you should know.”
“A wonderful name for a beautiful baby,” the mordigan complimented, staring at the little wonder in the mare’s hoof.  She was an adorable pink thing, eyes shut as she rejected the harsh light of the candles that lit the castle, patting a rebellious hoof on her mother’s neck.  “Might I,” he asked, gesturing to the baby.  The mare looked taken aback by the question, but slowly, looking down at her child, she gave him the child. 
It had been so long since Hemorrhage had held anything so young, and staring down at the young one, he was caught in its little eyes, which opened at the movement of the transfer.  They were slightly pink, and just glassy enough for him to see his own reflection in them, pink encircling his head.  The little child’s mouth opened up as it stared at him, and he returned the stare with a kind smile, walking beside her mother in a well known path to where Ailade would have put the clothing the mare had discussed.  With a quiet smile, the baby reached up with a hoof and tapped the tip of his nose, almost killing him with the adorableness of the action.
He heard Joint laugh at the sight of the tiny, furry hoof barely reaching the tip of his snout, and he joined in with her.  Looking over, he told her truthfully, “This is the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen.  If I might say, you must have a hard time with her when she’s cranky.  It must take the will of a thousand stallions to say no to a face such as her own, but then again, the beauty can only be matched by the creator.”
That one caused the mare to blush.  Sweet Celestia, she was beautiful when she blushed.  She was gorgeous and beautiful and whatever other words could be used to describe her.  And she had the personality of an actual pony, not some uptight noble or some beaten down peasant!  Despite the hardship she’d gone through, despite the torment those years in Sombra’s court, she was still so much of a mare, a strong, powerful, unequivocally beautiful mare, and he was in love.  
Stop gushing over her, he instructed as he looked back down to his hoof, where the tiny filly lay, patting a hoof weakly against his shoulder.  “Why does she do that,” he asked, nodding to the tiny pink hoof that was tapping him.  
Looking up, she frowned and said, “She’s asking for a meal.  I already gave her some, but I haven’t had much to eat, so it most likely isn’t very filling.”
“She doesn’t cry,” he questioned.  
“Oh, she does, but she’s learned that mommy will feed her eventually, and especially if she’s quiet asking.”  With a sigh, she looked sadly at her child and murmured, “She had to learn a lot more than she should have only a month out of the womb.”
“Well, if you’re hungry, dear, we have a great deal of food to provide,” Ailade offered.  “We can stop by the kitchen on the way to your room after we check your evidence.  I have to stop by there anyways to grab something for a rather sick member of our family.”
“Wait, and if I lied,” she inquired.
“Well, I know for a fact that you didn’t,” Hemorrhage told her.  “But if it were, we’d still provide you and your child a place to sleep, along with a good meal, and perhaps send you off with some bits and a good deal cleaner.  Despite being unabashedly beautiful regardless, those clots of dirt and grime in your coat do you no good, my dear.”
The mare seemed equally flattered and annoyed by his flirting, and Hemorrhage found himself looking back down to the child in his hoof to avoid her narrowed glare.  With a slow smile, he realized the baby had begun to drift off, the rocking movement of their traveling providing the perfect way for her to be gently put to sleep.  Tipping his hoof ever so slightly, he allowed for Joint to get a glimpse of her dozing baby.  The mare’s glare instantly melted away at the sight, and giving him an appreciative look, she reached out to take her babe back.  Though he was sad to see the tiny pink filly go, his hoof was getting strained from carrying the little one around, and seeing how he’d never carried a baby for a prolonged amount of time, he wasn’t used to the exercise.  He’d only held Nightseer and Argon’s child for a minute or two at a time, mostly because the young couple were very protective of their firstborn.
They had stopped now, right inside a small, tucked away corner of the castle, in which they did their laundry, which was hardly any seeing as how they tended to bare fur rather than fabric coverings.  With a slow glance over the clothing, all of which were not theirs, she picked out one that looked like a muddied cloak.  Dipping it into a bucket of water besides the stone slab the clothes had been laid on, Ailade violently scrubbed the mud off of the garment, revealing the insignia of the Crystal Empire.  Furthermore, the cloak sported a number of patches, all some sort of reward or medal for bravery and courage.  If it were not Sombra’s, then it was still certainly somepony important in his court from which Joint had stolen it from.
“Well, that certainly confirms it,” Hemorrhage whispered for the sake of the child, giving her an appreciative glance in her mother’s expert hoof.  Nodding in agreement, Ailade left it to sit in the bucket, gesturing for Joint to follow them as they took the short journey to the kitchen.  
“Here, dear,” Ailade instructed, pulling out a wicker basket from one of the cubbies, along with several small, soft white towels.  Lining the basket with the cloth, she took the young filly from Joint and set her in the basket before laying a few more towels on her.  “It’s a temporary solution, but it will do for now,” the kindly older mare assured Joint quietly.  “Now how about I let my master take care of you while I tend to that ill friend of ours.”
“Ailade,” he began as the mare wrapped around behind him to get to the cabinet where the Fraize leaves were kept.  
“Hush,” she instructed.  “Our guest comes before your personal selflessness.”
Rolling his eyes, he walked over to one of the other pantries, Joint standing beside the counter where her sleeping child was, watching as he moved about.  He opened the pantry, taking out a small bag of honey crusted oats that were kept for the occasional visitor from the village.  Oh blood of the innocents, he’d yet to tell the others… Later, he again told himself.  This mare and her child were the immediate concern, so they came first.  Along with the oats, he pulled out a hoof sized bag of dried barley, which he dipped in a square cauldron of water to wet for better eating.  Turning back around, he presented the makeshift meal to the mare, noting Ailade leaving the kitchen.
For a moment, Joint seemed a bit suspicious of the food, but smelling faint scent of honey, she yanked the bags away in her teeth.  From there, she gorged herself on the delicious food, and Hemorrhage could only watch happily as she did, filling up an obviously empty stomach.  After only a minute or so, the meal was finished, with Joint looking content with the meal.  
After several seconds of silence, she quietly spoke up.  “Thank you, sir.”
“There’s no need for that,” he kindly denied the respectful moniker.  “Please, just call me Hemor.  I’ll respond to Rage as well, but for obvious reasons, it's not my… preferred nickname.”
“Alright, Rage,” Joint teasingly corrected herself, smiling quirkily at him.  The smile quickly faded as she continued.  “Thank you for being so kind to me.  I… I’m not incredibly good at taking compliments.  The… the last stallion to call me pretty… also raped me.”  She paused painfully as she took a deep breath, and not knowing exactly how to react, put a hoof comfortingly on her shoulder.  She glanced at it before giving him a tight smile.  “It’s just that… I wasn’t sure if I wanted you to confirm my story or not.  When you told me you weren’t a real noble, I was relieved, because it meant that, maybe, when you learned who I was, and who my daughter is, you wouldn’t throw us out, or arrest us.”
With a sudden flash of anger at the thought of them being put in jail, he told her fiercely, “I would never put you into a cell, nor would I allow such a thing to happen to either of you.”
“But, we’re, well, Sombra’s, in one way or another,” the mare weakly explained, looking defeated.  
“Whatever you think he still has that you don’t obviously isn’t enough to cause harm,” Hemorrhage reassured her, using his hoof to make her face him in the eyes.  “You’ve made it this far out, right?  Well, you haven’t been defeated by him, and you still have your heart, mind, and wit as your own, and with that, a pony can go many places.  It only helps that you are headstrong and independent, and the fact that you were brave enough to get so far on your own, keeping yourself and your daughter alive only proves your physical strength.
“Your child is yours, not Sombra’s.  He may be her biological father, but if that were any measure of a pony, then I’d still be stuck back in a fishing village, and you’d be married off to some whiny farmer.  No, we make our own fates, and yours and hers aren’t to forever be shadowed by Sombra and whatever he’d done to you.  My coven and I can protect you from whatever nightmares he may send after you, that I can assure you, for as long as you stay.”
“Are you asking me to stay, or telling me to stay,” Joint asked pointedly, a deep blush covering her face.
Having his momentum put to a harsh halt, he stammered, “W-well, I would prefer you to stay…”
“Okay, I think I’ll stay a while then,” she informed him, a strange smile overtaking her face.  
As suddenly as it came over her, she leaned into him, pressing lips firmly on his.  Hemorrhage was so surprised by the action that he didn’t quite know how to react, only pressing himself back into her.  After a moment, he closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of her lips pressed on his, and craving more than just the flesh on flesh.  
However, before it escalated further, he felt Joint pull away, her breath hot as she gasped.  “I- I would apologize,” she began nervously, her tone becoming much more amused as she beheld his shocked face.  “But you seemed to enjoy that too.”
For a second, Hemorrhage didn’t have a response, but slowly he responded cheekily, “Yes, that I did.”
> Interjection 3: The Challenger
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Halven was sick of it all.  He glared at the cavern walls with disgust, the stringy moss that barely managed to grow on the rough stone.  He wanted to leave this place, to escape somewhere else, but there was nowhere to go.  The other coven had simply built themselves a whole castle, and were just accepted by the new ponies that had colonised this valley.  However, no such prospect was possible for him, considering that even the moonlight would begin to disintegrate him to nothing but ash.  So he was stuck here, surrounded with idiots obsessed only with death or power.  Well, most of them were.  
In the three years since the new coven had introduced themselves into the region they’d dominated for years, some of those in the coven had developed a sense of loyalty, though a majority still acted independent.  They all knew that he was their technical leader, but many often only obeyed out of fear of what may occur if they refused, and not out of true respect.  Despite hundreds of years more experience than them, they acted as if they were the more intelligent, even though they often proved otherwise in doing so.  It would humor him some if it hadn’t grown tiresome over the  years.
This all, of course, had led directly to today, and what was about to transpire in the quarters of their cave, in the Colosseum.  Deep in their cavernous home, past the safe and habitable parts of the deep cave, was a small corridor naturally carved out by water that led directly into a massive opening where the water dropped several spans to create a sheer wall surrounding a lake.  The flowing water had long since been redirected, but the lake remained, an island of course, rough stone in the center. The island was used as an amphitheater of sorts, a public area for fights and disputes to be settled, sometimes lethally.
The fool of a lycan, Galvry, had declared himself rightful ruler of the coven, and wished to not only best, but kill Halven in battle.  It was a threatening proposition, and one that Halven knew had been coming since the day he’d forced the lycan into their ranks.  Still, the lycan was indeed a formidable foe, with near impenetrable hide and a coat that warded off fires and hid its partly vampyrical skin from the sun.  Getting through it meant an opportunity to injure, but seeing as the lycan was naturally muscular, hitting anything vital was nigh on impossible.  That was why he needed to quite literally get under his skin to kill him.
Killing him, however, was not the main goal of the battle to take place in the Colosseum.  It was the message that killing him would send to any would-be challengers to his power, the show that he could best not only a younger, but less handicapped opponent.  Many within the coven supported Galvry, but none had dared to actually announce their allegiance publicly, lest Mantris or Omen overheard and beheaded them swiftly.  Their loyalty had never once wavered, nor would it, even if he were to fall in combat.  If anything, they would end up killing whoever were to defeat him, and it was that threat that made challenging him such a threatening ordeal for anypony who attempted it.
Already, he could tell that if he were to win, he would be coming out injured, but also unopposed, and if he were to lose, Omen would succeed him by eliminating Galvry while he was still weak, with Mantris backing him, and possibly becoming his mate for a more powerful union.  The act wasn’t uncommon, and even Omen and Halven had made a deal with Mantris that should one fall, they would be replaced by Mantris.  The three were an unstoppable force, and even with Mantris’ childish gallivanting ways, she was far more intelligent that any of the others, if not still a little less powerful than the lycans.
That was natural, of course, with werewolves being one of the weakest nocturnals, vampyres being the weakest due to their extreme limitations.  Werewolves couldn’t control their transformations, however, and it was often somepony’s task to ensure that if a transformation occurred within the cave, there was immediate access to meat to calm the raging beast.  Ironically, it was usually vampyres that took the deed, seeing as how they could transform into bats that were too small for the werewolves’ small eyes to focus on.  Oftentimes, the transformations took place out in the open, where the responsible werewolf had chosen to stay until they were overtaken by the moon.  From there, well, bloody feasting until the night was out. 
They were still able to transform on any day when the moon shone, even if only a sliver of it were to be seen, which made them much more useful than the werewolves that pony feared, the raging massacre in fur that would kill entire households in seconds.  It was  interesting to think that while many ponies feared them nocturnals, they had no belief that they were actually real, or at least, not until they saw that they were indeed real.  It was almost amusing that ponies had remembered something as old as nocturnals as stories they had created, when the truth was living only a cave away from their peaceful town.  Then again, ponies had always fallen victim to their own obliviousness.  
It was why they were having their war, wasn’t it?  The fact that the Princesses, moon bless them, had never thought that anypony would attempt to disturb the peaceful dictatorship they’d established in Canterlot, and slowly spread throughout the world peacefully.  Now thousands were dead, with more dying every day to Sombra’s vicious attacks and Celestia’s hard defenses. It was becoming clearer that Sombra was winning, even as he retreated from the lands he conquered.  He left nothing and nopony wherever he went, either forcing them to his nation in the north, or massacring them without a second thought.  Truly an admirable conqueror, but certainly one that needed to be stopped lest he ended up killing more than could be replaced.
Halven’s eyes widened in surprise as he suddenly became aware of his surroundings.  He was merely one chamber away from the narrow entrance into the battle room, several members of the coven standing and watching him intently.  He scanned their faces with a questioning eye, challenging them to find a reason to be watching him.  One of them, a vampyre he recognized as Wyvern, walked up to him with a small smile, reaching out a hoof. When Halven took it, the mare shook it lightly, whispering softly, “You'll win, no doubt.”
Turning his head slightly to look her in the eye, he asked, “And how do you know, pray tell?”
“Well, you’ve never lost a challenge before, and a lycan is just a walking, testosterone fueled werewolf,” she confidently berated the race.  
“Careful, there are lycans among us, and some happen to be my friend,” Halven warned.  “Besides, I’ve never participated in a challenge before.”
“Which is why you haven’t lost one yet,” Galvry suddenly interrupted as he entered the chamber.  He sounded less confident, but moreso factual when he spoke, walking a fine line between insult and emotional dialogue.  At least he was intelligent enough to recognize etiquette over anger.  However, despite the calming weight of his tone, there was still a threatening undercurrent to his words, which Halven immediately picked up.  
He turned to the silvery lycan with an apathetic eye, asking, “Are you sure you wish to go through with this.  Forgiveness is indeed hard, but if you backed away now, I would be forced to forgive you for having a keen mind.”
“I wish for no such thing,” the lycan replied levelly, returning the stare, though his eyebrows were clenched much harder.  “What I want is freedom for both myself, and for whoever wishes to be free of your tyranny over these nocturnals.”
“Replacing my… tyrannical reign with your foolish one,” Halven questioned with a pointed look to the mare who still stood beside him, causing her to step away.  
He turned away, approaching the narrow passage into the battle room, when Galvry called back, “It’s better to be a fool with a good heart than an intellect without one.”
With a small smile, Halven replied softly, “Fools die young.”
Those words seemed to silence the lycan, and Halven stepped through the passage confidently, knowing that at the very least, he had defeated his enemy with his words.  He tended to allow himself to go a bit too far with his words, often offending whoever was speaking to him.  The downside to being the smartest pony in the room was that everyone else embarrassed him, and often he attempted to correct them, sometimes more firmly than necessary.  His correctness was certainly one reason why some of the coven truly despised him, more than that of the simpler dislike of being controlled.  It was satisfying to see his sarcasm come to use more than that of simply mocking a pony, and actually giving him a psychological edge.
The walk through the passage was already over by the time that Halven had thought this, feeling quite silly for having once again become lost in his thoughts, even as brief as they’d been.  Another downside to being one of the most intelligent ponies to exist, the waste of time that he lost to delving into his thoughts and pulling them apart and rewinding the fibers of his mind into a strong, understandable rope.  Now there he went again, losing himself.  Witha sigh, he stepped out into the battle room, on the small ledge that overlooked the lake and island in the center, the stage for which their battle would be set.
There was already a fair gathering of about ten coven members, all perched on different precarious ledges surrounding the lake and island, Mantris and Omen sitting in the only real seats in the Colosseum, which had specifically been made for Omen and himself.  It was an intentional show of power, that should Halven indeed die on this island, they would step in to retake control of the coven and secure it in the name of Halven.  With a smile towards them, which was returned with a nod from Omen and a surprisingly mature bow from Mantris, Halven drifted himself into dark mist, allowing himself to speed towards the island.
He wasn’t quite sure what the action should be called, considering that it wasn’t flying, as mist didn’t fly, but it wasn’t floating as the action wasn’t an act of suspension either, but motion.  Either way, it was a very effective way of getting around in large spaces, as he was unimpeded by anything that could be in his path.  There was also a freedom to travel without a direct body, one that couldn’t quite be explained, much like the concept of not having one’s body, but still living.  He always found it amusing that the others acted as if he were non-existent when he was misted, but he could hear and think, even if he couldn’t talk.  
He rebased himself on the island, approximately in the center of it, where the light from the oil lanterns along the wall barely reached.  Lycans had night vision to survive and hunt, but ompyres had night vision to thrive.  He could see more sharply in the complete darkness than any other member of the coven, the main reason for his power to begin with.  Alongside intelligence, the ability to see and assess was what had made him able to create the largest coven he had ever known to exist, larger than his old coven, the one he was born into.  Because he could see everything, he was able to be more fluid with his response than most would expect, especially for a nearly four hundred year old.   
There was a loud crunch as Galvry suddenly landed in front of Halven, his body transformed into that of his lycan self, great and muscular.  Since he was in his lycan form, his voice was slurred and gravelly as he called to the small crowd, “Today, my friends, a tyrant falls.”  The declaration of the duel, which presented the goal for the challenger.  “For decades, he has controlled, used, and abused us as if we were merely inferior beings.”  The cause, which was the reason there was even a duel.  “By the time the sun rises, my friends, this ompyre will have been slain, and we will all be freed from his spell of dictatorship.”  And finally, the promise, what was to come should the challenger win.  
Galvry had obviously studied traditional dueling for this event, making himself look as official as possible, and noble in his cause.  He probably was, but that would never be enough to beat out the sheer strength and power that Halven had.  It was the combination of this nobleness and his own belief in his strength that had caused the lycan to challenge the ompyre, and this battle was certainly going to be a close one.  They both knew that, and it wouldn’t surprise him every other nocturnal in the Colosseum knew as well.  It was why they were acting as if they were the right side, and not challenger and challenged.  
“I have only ever served the purpose of the coven,” Halven declared firmly.  “There hasn’t been an action I’ve taken that was for myself or those I favor, because I favor the whole of my coven over my own self.  Know this, that if I were to fall, it would mark the beginning of a new era, an era of confusion, fear, and gluttony like none which has ever occurred.  Chaos will dictate you, fear will make your choices.  The security of the coven will be more than compromised; it will die completely.  However, individual choice, not driven off of fear, will live with me today, and by the time the moon sets, the only change will be one less coven member.”
Halven allowed the smallest portion of his anger and derision come out in his voice, the last words spoken with gravelly conviction.  For a moment, Galvry’s eyes flashed concern, but then they became as dead and cold as they had before, emotion eliminated once again.  Still, that brief flash of emotion made Halven smile, and he turned his head up to where Mantris and Omen sat.  He raised his hoof and declared, “I am ready.”
After a second of pause, Galvry stepped up beside him, a low growl in his throat as he also claimed, “I am ready.”
Omen, who was the silently appointed officiator, nodded, then called back, “Take a side of the island, and prepare yourselves for the duel in whatever means necessary.”
The instruction, of course, was for if either pony wasn’t transformed into whatever form they wished to take during the duel, but seeing as both of them were ready, it wouldn’t take long.  Halven stood firmly where he was, turning to  the center of the island, forcing Galvry to walk to the other side.  More of his lycan was showing as his claws began to extend and his teeth became almost longer, his eyes becoming simple black voids as they narrowed.  He stopped and turned, half obscured by one of the stalagmites on the island, growling viciously, his teeth exposed.  
Halven responded by misting himself, intentionally letting his face disappear last.  The act didn’t seem to have any effect on the lycan, but as soon as he too had taken a fighting stance, Omen shouted, “Commence the duel!”
The lycan immediately launched himself onto one of the thicker stalagmites, swiping into the mist that currently made Halven up.  It scattered the cloud slightly, which only inconvenienced the ompyre momentarily as he recollected himself and formed his head, diving at the lycan’s back with his mouth open.  The lycan dodged away, which caused him to lose his footing and have to jump off of the stone.  Halven struck at him again, this time going for his ear.  When Galvry dodged yet another strike, he unintentionally placed his head near the stone, and Halven immediately attacked.
Forming his hooves, he shoved his opponent’s head against the rock with a loud thud, biting into the thick tuft of his neck and striking some skin, but failing to draw blood, he misted himself completely once again.  The act just in time, as the lycan turned his head and snapped his mouth closed on the mist of his face.  Halven was able to draw himself out through space between his teeth, forming a hoof and smashing it against the lycans still exposed teeth as he retreated.  
Galvry made a soft noise of pain as a couple small teeth fragments fell from his mouth.  Without looking towards the damage, he struck out wildly at the mist, expertly guiding a portion of it away with his paw.  Unable to reform, without his full physical potential, he was forced to try and draw himself back together.  The lycan swiped at him again, but this time he was able to move out of the way, recollecting himself and reforming completely to regain his strength and mentality.  This put him at a disadvantage that was immediately picked up by Galvry, who lunged his entire body at Halven, landing his broad shoulder into the ompyre’s stomach.
Grunting as he was launched backwards, he managed to spin and catch himself on the ground, but immediately found himself ducking under a lethal strike.  However, being so low to the ground allowed him another option of escape, and he instantly dove under the large beast’s stomach, biting into one of his ankles and tearing.  There was less skin and fur here, and the flesh tore away, along with several stringy muscles.  Galvry roared in pain as the blood began to flow, but by the time that he attempted to crush Halven under his weight, the ompyre had already misted and shot away.  
The great beast caught sight of the mist, and in a blind rage attempted to swat it.  Seeing this, the sloppy strike coming his way, Halven reformed his head, dodging to the side before catching the paw in his mouth.  He bit down as hard as he could, feeling bone, and then jerked his head away, tearing flesh and taking two pads with the bite.  The coppery, thick taste of blood filled his mouth as he spit the flesh out, misting his face once again and retreating.  The lycan howled in agony, inspecting the injured paw and noting with panicked eyes the missing pads, and Halven realized he had practically taken half of his paw off.
Using the distraction of the pain, he reformed and lept at the lycan from the side. It saw what was happening too late, and Halven managed to latch himself to the neck, tearing out a large chunk of fur as Galvry thrashed beneath him.  Halven was only a third of the size of the full grown lycan, but that became his advantage here, as the lycan couldn’t reach him.  He tore out another patch of thick hair, exposing the grayish flesh beneath, and was preparing to bite down into it, when suddenly he was crushed from the front and back. 
The air left his lungs and he felt his ribs crack as he was crushed in between the lycan’s back and another stalagmite.  The lycan pulled back to attempt to slam him into the rock formation again, but Halven managed to mist away from the brutal strike, causing the lycan to slam itself backwards.  The rock cracked and several pieces fell off, leaving a much smaller and sharper stalagmite from before.  Reforming himself on the edge of the island, Halven attempted to catch his breath as Galvry collapsed slightly, out of breath from his own attack.  
Before there was peace for too long, Halven misted again, zipping past the lycan’s face, forming his face and taking off the lycan’s left ear completely with his sharp fangs.  The lycan didn’t even flinch, swinging around and landing a heavy paw strike to Halven’s still formed face, causing him to lose control and crash into the rocky ground.  He was barely able to mist his head when he hit, causing his cloud to spread out across the ground like fog.  The lycan stepped directly into it, stomping around to spread it more, unaware that Halven had already concentrated himself enough.
Halven suddenly appeared between the legs of the lycan, which surprised it enough for Halven to land a crippling one hoof, then the other.  Blood began to leak from Galvry’s jaw, and before he could retaliate, Halven had slammed his hoof right on the half of his front right paw that remained.  The lycan reared back as it howled in agony, holding its damaged paw up as it dripped blood.  This left his other paw exposed, the one that Halven had only mildly damaged.  Rolling over, he kicked it in the exposed muscle, which made the lycan raise his other paw up, standing on his hindlegs.  
The moment that he was on his hind paws like this, Halven launched himself into the lycan, shoving it with his entire weight.  With a tangled noise, it fell backwards, landing right on the jagged stalagmite it had made with its reckless attack, the gray-yellow rock piercing the thick hide of the beast, impaling it through its back.  The  sharp point stabbed completely through the lycan’s body, the bloody tip showing itself through the nocturnal it’d just pacified.  
Galvry gasped painfully, as he attempted to raise his head enough to see the rock that was killing him.  Halven coldly stared at the bloody, impaled form of his enemy, taking a moment to watch the pain before casually stepping onto its chest.  Galvry practically shrieked as the stalagmite finished its journey through him, his back pressed against the ground now and the stalagmite easily visible from his lying position.  For a moment, the two opponents’ eyes met, Galvry’s filled with fear and pain, and Halven’s devoid completely of any emotion.  Then, coming to terms with his defeat, Galvry laid his head back, his eyes becoming cloudy as the life drained from them
Halven had won.
> Chapter 13: The Wounded
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hemorrhage watched Joint basically prance down the hallway, following the guidance of Nightseer to the guest room.  He smiled dreamily as she left him, her tail slightly swishing as they turned the corner and out of sight.  Still having blissful whiplash from their kiss, he had led her back towards the main lobby, where Nightseer had suddenly appeared.  Catching the look in his eye, she knew what had probably happened, to an extent, and the slight blush to Joint’s face hadn’t helped at all.  Blood of the moon, he’d just barely met the mare and already the two had locked lips.  It had taken almost a year for Nightseer to finally seal the deal with Argon, and in a matter of minutes, they had already shared their first kiss.
He almost giggled at that, but a quick breath cut it off, trying to contain his real emotions for a moment.  This new mare wasn’t even half of the equation, and as such, he could only give her as much thought until other matters were resolved.  He determinedly set off towards the baths, where he figured Ailade would have brought the lycan for treatment.  He moved quickly, realizing that he’d spent too much time with the mare, and had left Ailade alone with the rather large beast for too much time.
Arriving at the solid stone doors, he forced them open with magic, barging in and nearly toppling over Ailade.  The lycan whipped around to face him, his wet hair slapping across his face as he was startled by the sudden noise.  The lycan quickly shook himself out, spraying water all around him as he got the hair out of his face.
“You scared us, Master,” Ailade exclaimed, standing back up and giving him a cheerful look.  “Just as he was getting used to the water as well!”
“My apologies,” Hemorrhage excused, bending down and picking up some of the items she’d dropped.  He felt himself cringe slightly at the sight of a needle and several different sized knives, all to be used to help rid the lycan of the metal spoke.  “I came to help you with the operation.”
“Sh-sh-sh,” Ailade quickly hushed, pressing a hoof to his mouth.  Hushing her voice, she insisted, “Don’t let the poor dear hear!  He may not understand everything, but he knows that I’m trying to get a look at his wound, and he’s being very protective of it.  I’m guessing he’s had it for quite a while, considering his attitude towards it, as well as how bad it is.  I mean, I’ve seen infections before, but never to the point where it’s drawn maggots!  He’ll definitely have to be out for the procedure, and it’ll take a long while before he can be as active as he wants afterwards.  Otherwise, I think he’ll recover well from it.”
“That’s good to hear,” Hemorrhage commented, staring at the curious lycan, who panted happily as he sank into the water again.  There was already a bunch of muck in the water, and judging from the scruffy fur, it still hadn’t been scrubbed yet, so he had a bit more time in the warm water before they put him to sleep.  
Ailade looked over at the lycan and commented, “He couldn’t get over the fact that the water was surrounded by wood and not whatever he was used to.  He didn’t seem surprised by the fact that the water was warm, just everything around it.  Why do you suppose that is?”
“Well, the cave he was residing in was quite a wonder,” Hemorrhage remembered.  “There were veins of pure gold in the walls, and a stream ran through the entire cave.  There were several chambers we didn’t explore, but the main one was filled with all sorts of plants, and was almost muggy.  I think that the water was warmer in the other chambers, and that it filtered into the other rooms.  I wouldn’t quite say that it was necessarily an artificial cavern, but it certainly wasn’t one you happen to find on your own.  I haven’t thought about it much, but now I’m beginning to theorize that, well, perhaps somepony had led him there, either to imprison or conceal him, I don’t know.”
“I believe you’re overthinking this whole thing,” Ailade proposed, walking over to where the lycan was watching them with interest.  She held up a soft brush to him, allowing him to sniff it before she began running it through his long coat, pulling out small clumps of soot and straightening the gruff fur.  “Personally, I think he’s just a big guy who’s a bit lost and doesn’t quite know what’s going on, but still is happy about it.  He’s been grinning ever since we entered here, and I can tell already that he doesn’t much care if we’re trustworthy because he knows you’re the leader of the pack.”
“So what do you propose we do with him then,” Hemorrhage asked, watching as the lycan tried to sniff the brush, but had his face softly pushed away so Ailade could continue washing him.  
“He should stay with us, Master,” she firmly stated.  “He’s too young to be left out on his own, and if we hadn’t found him, he would’ve died anyways.  He needs us to help him balance his beastiality as well as his ponified self as well.  And if it’s true that he was the one that destroyed the town, well… he’d be a very valuable member to our coven, if that other one ever turns on us.  Let’s just say that he’s one of ours for now, and if he needs to go, then we’ll let him, huh?”
“Fine, he’s one of ours, but I’m still going to warn you not to get too close to him,” he cautioned firmly, giving her a sharp look.  “We don’t know for sure what happened to him in these last few years other than he’s been living in that cave with wolves and whoever else.  Might I remind you of what he was able to do to an entire village?”
‘No, no need,” Ailade said with dismay, glancing away from him, still brushing the muck out of the lycan’s fur absently.  
A sudden growling from the lycan suddenly echoed through the bathroom, causing both of them to turn towards him alarmedly.  The young monster was bent over, slowly prowling out of the water and placing himself between Ailade and Hemorrhage, baring his teeth fiercely in defense of the mare.  Hemorrhage raised his eyebrows at the motion before suddenly baring his own fangs and hissing sharply at the lycan’s challenge.  This startled him, causing him to jerk back a little, and for a moment, it looked as if he were going to back down, but he stiffened his stance and crouched slightly lower.  
“No no no no, he’s not threatening me dear,” Ailade tried to clarify from behind the lycans large body.  One of her hooves suddenly appeared on the top of his head, brushing between his ears softly and reassuringly.  “Don’t be foolish, please.  You’re still hurt, right.  Neither of you want to fight each other!”
The lycan turned his head to his caretaker questioningly, not quite sure what he was supposed to do.  Hemorrhage breathed in deeply through his nose before letting it out through his mouth, relaxing himself and allowing his fangs to recede.  He reached out his hoof towards the lycan, who saw that it was merely the chitin of his hoof and not any claws.  He sniffed it suspiciously before straightening up and giving Hemorrhage a shameful look, turning his head down, realizing he had been in the wrong.
“Oh, don’t be afraid now, it was a kind mistake,” Ailade reassured him, pulling his face down and planting a small kiss on his snout.  “You really are a sentimental fellow, aren’t you?”
“Yes, he is,” Hemorrhage agreed, side stepping the both of them and glancing at the spot in his coat where the wound was.  The wound looked less dirty, but just as bad with several maggots still visible as they motionlessly feasted on his infected skin.  He set his jaw and pointed at it, saying, “This needs fixed right now.  Is he clean enough?”
“Well, yes, but he needs to dry off first,” Ailade told him.  
“He can dry off while we wait for him to fall asleep,” he instructed absently, keeping his eyes locked on the viscous wound.  The lycan noticed that the mordigan was staring at its most vulnerable part and defensively curled himself around it, hiding it from view.  He gave Hemorrhage a pitiful look, and feeling himself soften up a little, assured him, “We’ll fix that up for you.  For now, are you hungry?”
The lycan perked up, his ears sticking up as he identified the unmistakable mention of food.  He sat himself up straightly as he licked his chops, attempting to look as proper as possible to receive his food.  Ailade giggled lightly at the sight, but Hemorrhage was suddenly sobered by the canine action.  Even when Leper was his most beastly and enveloped in his canine self, he had still withheld a sense of equinism, and had sourced his attitude back to that.  This action wasn’t something that a pony would do, and the fact that it was his instinctual reaction to act like a dog would concerned Hemorrhage.  Returning this poor lycan back to his equinite form would prove a difficult task for him and Leper.
“Do you think he’d notice a bit of green in his food,” the stallion asked Ailade hushly, maintaining eye contact with the lycan.
“Well, not if it’s in in his food,” she replied cleverly, the sound of her hoofsteps retreating following the comment.  He didn’t know whether or not she had food set aside in the room already, but for the moment, he was alone with the young lycan.  He was still sitting upright in the water, though his posture had relaxed, he was still watching for the proposed food.  Hemorrhage observed the lycan’s strange behavior with concern.  Indeed, this would be a challenge to return him to his ponified self, and the process would probably take longer than he wished.  It had taken almost two weeks to remind Leper that he had a second half of him, and with the current behavior of this lycan, it would take at least a month.
“Who are you,” he asked the lycan quietly, knowing that his words were heard, but not understood fully.  “Why are you here?”  The lycan turned his head towards the mordigan, tilting it slightly in confusion.  “Who were you?”
Before the lycan could do anything else, however, the door burst open as Ailade brought in a plate of meat.  The smell that would usually fill up the room in an instant was drowned out by the smell of the soapy water and soggy fur beside him, but the lycan’s heightened smell allowed him to pick it up.  In an instant, the young beast was out of the water, hungrily rushing over to the food, splashing water everywhere.  Hemorrhage smiled halfway as he wiped some suds off of the side of his face, standing up and walking over to the sloppily eating lycan.
Ailade was giggling again as the hungry lycan knocked the plate from her hooves and began lapping it off the floor. “At the rate he’s eating, he’ll be looking for seconds by the time he’s out,” Ailade lightly joked.  “He doesn’t even suspect that there’s anything in there, he’s so hungry!”  Her voice lost its cheerful tone as she realized the dark connotation behind the statement, and glanced at him with a pleading look.  
“We’ll let him stay until he’s healed at the very least,” Hemorrhage forcefully reassured her, shaking his head slightly.  The mare was probably the closest thing he had to actual family, being the first member of the coven and being with him for almost three hundred years.  She wasn’t that young anymore, not by pony standards, but she still resembled somepony about half of his age, sometime in their early thirties.  The impression that she might be mistaken as his daughter wasn’t lost on anypony in the coven, and as he got older, the more he thought about it.  
He didn’t have any real family, neither parents or children, only the nocturnals he’d collected over time.  He had always wondered what would happen to them when he was gone, what impression he’d leave on the world, if any impression at all.  As a matter of fact, it was part of his biggest fear, that one day, he would just be meaningless, forgotten by history.  Perhaps it was that reason he worked so hard to find a place that would remember him when he was gone.  In these small areas, still undeveloped completely, he could easily become a legend to the locale, a wealthy noble that was mysteriously in a place they thought was uninhabited who supported the settlers.  Those settlers were dead and gone now all thanks to the lycan that they were taking care of.
“Master,” Ailade softly questioned.  When he looked up, she nodded to the lycan, who was now lying down on the stone floor, asleep completely.  The meat was completely gone at this point, and the large nocturnal was now completely under the affects of the plants in his meal.  “How are we gonna lift him?”
Hemorrhage frowned before saying, “With some help.  Go fetch Argon and Leper.  Nightseer is tending to our guest, so those are the only ones who’ll be available.  And yes, I know what might happen if the mare saw us in our nocturnal forms, but I think it’d be worse if she found out that on the same day we were hosting her, we also had possession of an untamed lycan.”
“If you say so then,” Ailade sighed.  
“Oh, and Ailade, stop calling me ‘Master’,” Hemorrhage commanded as she opened the door to leave.
“Yes sir,” she responded lively, exiting the room.
> Chapter 14: The Heart
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Joint had no idea what to do anymore.  Why had she kissed that stallion?  Why had his seduction worked so swiftly on her?  And why- oh Celestia -why, did she have to be so headstrong and independent when she was obviously at the very bottom of the chain here?  
For some reason, the stallion had taken an instant liking to her, and she couldn’t help but feel at least fondly for him.  She knew she was headstrong, but she wasn’t a downright idiot.  She knew what her own feelings were, and to deny them, especially right now, would be the dumbest thing.  Well, no.  Visiting him would be.  Celestia above, she didn’t even remember his name.  Rage?
No, it was Hemorrhage.  She frowned, thinking about it for the first time.  It was a strange name, certainly not a name that anypony would have been named in Equestria.  Maybe it was an adopted noble name he’d given himself.  But no, he was too much of the humble, silent type to give himself such a strange and convoluted name.  Perhaps it was his actual name, that he’d been raised by griffons?  No, that was outlandish.  She didn’t know of a single pony that had been raised by hippogriffs or griffons, and in fact, most didn’t even know what either species were other than foreign neighbors. 
Oh, but he knew, she was sure of it.  His dialogue with her was the most noble and grammatically complex of any pony she’d ever met before, and there was no doubt that he was well learned.  He was the manager of these lands, anyways, so he had to be.  Though, come to think of it, this castle was isolated in the middle of a forest with only a lightly beaten down road leading to it.  Perhaps he was just some unnamed noble who had pranced down to this particular spot of land with a small entourage and claimed it.  That was how most of the landlords outside of the mountain range came to their lordship, so that was the most likely way he’d come in possession of this land.
A soft, muffled cry from below her chin pulled Joint out of her thoughts, looking down at her young daughter with a soft smile.  The little foal had taken their trip quite roughly, the minimal food and long trip causing her to look deathly thin.  She knew they both were bedraggled and nigh on the verge of uncivilized dirtiness, mud and bits of grass long pressed into their fur and manes..  However, in spite of their trials traveling down the riverbed, evading capture at every bend, they had made it, mother and daughter, to a safe place.  She didn’t know exactly where in Equestria they were, whether it was north or south of the Castle, but as long as it was away from the bastard, it was safe.
Slowly, she moved to sit on the lavish bed that was centered on the right wall of their guest room, the bedding fine, but not extravagant like she expected.  There wasn’t any hoof-sewn embroidery or golden lacing, but the sheets and quilts were made of fine fabrics that felt heavenly compared to the muck they had to sleep on before.  It was almost unbelievable how comfortable it was, and almost in the same moment she sat down did she begin to doze off.  She only snapped awake when she felt her young child begin to slip from her grasp.  On the bed to allow her to enjoy the 
Setting Amethyst down on the bed to allow her to enjoy the comfortable softness of it instead of her mother’s bony forelegs, Joint gave her a soft peck on the nose.  The baby was still fussy, making quiet coughing noises as her eyes scrunched together.  She was surely hungry, and having just eaten herself, Joint decided to feed her, despite the lateness of the night.  After finishing, she eyed her bed, trying to decide the best way in which she could place both herself and her baby without either causing each other discomfort.  
Taking the time to finally look at the bed made her realize how big it was, easily large enough for two full-grown ponies to sleep together in.  Amethyst, her appetite now sated, had almost immediately fallen back asleep, the drowsiness from the late hour, as well as the previous nap she’d taken in Hemorrhage’s gentle grasp all serving to allow her to swiftly fall asleep.  Joint was grateful for it, lifting the little filly ever so softly off of the foot of the bed and setting her down just underneath the pillows at the head, far enough away from the edge of it that she wouldn’t unconsciously roll off it.  She still took one of the pillows and propped it up behind her as a barrier to keep her from the dangerous fall.
Finally having put her baby to bed, Joint sat down beside the bed with an exhausted sigh.  She was tired, certainly, but there were too many thoughts running through her head about the past few days, the strange castle, and the Celestia-damned stallion who she’d kissed ten minutes after meeting him.  Running both hooves through her hair, she grunted at the clumps in it, knowing that, now that she had the opportunity to bathe, she wouldn’t get any rest until she was clean.  Unfortunately, that didn’t look like it would happen tonight, seeing as Amethyst was fast asleep, and waking her up now guaranteed not only a long night, but a very long day as well.  He sighed again, this time in defeat, standing and looking around the room.
Ailade had led her to this room excitedly, whether because she was always eccentric or just because guests seemed incredibly rare, she didn’t have any idea.  The kindly mare had pointed out different rooms that may have been useful for her, all along the way explaining to her that Hemorrhage was their lord and they were voluntary servants.  When they had arrived, she had promised to return if needed, and while Joint had insisted that she wouldn’t need any help, she had doubts that the slightly older looking mare would listen.  The mare acted motherly, but realistically, she was probably only five or six years older than her.
Ailade had talked almost extensively of the other four in the castle, including another newborn that was ever so slightly older than her Amethyst.  She assumed that they weren’t to be seen anywhere because they were off doing other things, or perhaps because ponies were technically supposed to be sleeping at this hour.  It was probably the latter, considering there weren’t any other noises in the halls but the clopping of their hooves on stone.
Suddenly, the door began opening silently, a head peeking around it and smiling brightly at her.  It was Ailade, who now stepped completely into the room, glancing at Amethyst on the bed, sleeping.  With a precious smile, she nodded at Joint, gesturing for her to join Ailade in the doorway eagerly.  Joint looked back over her shoulder at her daughter, not out of worry, but out of habitual protectiveness, before conceding to the gentle request.  They both stepped out into the hall where Ailade obviously wanted to talk, the door left ever so slightly cracked open in case they were required to reenter.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to check up with you, but seeing as you’re still awake, I wanted to ask how the room is,” Ailade explained cheerfully.  
“Oh, well, I haven’t really taken too much time to admire the room,” Joint admitted.  “I’ve been more preoccupied with the bed and putting my baby to sleep.  But don’t worry, it’s all lovely, thank you, and you weren’t gone that long.”
Ailade smiled humorously, saying, “Well, I guess since you don’t have a clock in there, you wouldn’t know, but it’s been almost an hour and a half since I left you two in there.  Either way, it gave me time to clear up some things with my master, and allowed me to prepare a warm bath for you, should you wish for it.”
“Oh, I very much would,” Joint eagerly stated before hesitantly glancing back to the room, where her daughter was sleeping.  With a pitiful smile, she looked back and excused herself, “But I can’t.  I don’t want to leave her or wake her up.  I’ll just take one when I have the chance.” 
“Well, I could stay and watch over her,” the kindly mare offered.  
“But we’re both strangers,” Joint pointed out.  “I don’t feel comfortable leaving my baby with somepony I don’t know at all, in a strange castle, and I’m sure that your master wouldn’t feel comfortable with some random mare strolling through his home.  I’ll have to decline, but thank you for the offer.”
“Oh, but let me assure you that there is nothing to fear within these walls, and nothing that you find will matter to my master,” she assured her.  “Besides, he seems to have a natural liking for you, as do I.  you’ve also proven you’ve been through quite the ordeal, and knowing where your loyalties lie, there is no danger in letting you walk through the house.  As for me, my only desire to be with the child is to hold her perhaps, or comfort her should she wake.  I have lived with Hemorrhage my entire life, and there is nowhere else I know.  Not that it matters, where could I go out here?   Your beautiful daughter will be completely safe under my watch.”
Weighing the mare’s words and her ever-steady friendly smile, along with the gentle way her tail slowly swished side to side, Joint realized the mare had a point.  Nothing would happen to her daughter here.  There was no inner politics that she needed to be wary of for both her and Amethyst’s sake, only hospitable ponies and warmth.  Slowly, she sighed in resigned defeat, pushing the door open for Ailade.
“Which way are the baths,” she asked, glancing at where her baby lay, hidden from sight by the pillow.  Her voice was so tired when she spoke, and she felt tight around her throat, for some reason emotional. 
“Just to your left when you look into the room,” the turquoise mare instructed softly, already moving toward the bed.  Joint heard the mare coo ever so softly once she was within sight of her child, and the action finally confirmed to Joint that she could leave her baby with somepony else now.  
With a small smile, she closed the door softly and began walking down the stone hallway.  For the first time, she wasn’t worried about who was around her, and it gave her the opportunity to look around the interior of the castle.  It was made not out of individual bricks, but large, pony-tall slabs of thick, smooth stone that made the entire building feel less artificial.  It probably also helped with the condition of the indoors, as she noticed that it was actually uncommonly warm inside, in spite of the hall only having some candelabras to serve as light and heat.  She smiled at them, seeing that they were simple metal frames with regular candles on them, not the foreboding, jagged ones hung up around Sombra’s palace.
The rooms were all well built into the hallway, the wooden doors firm and not at all rotted, leading her to wonder how old the castle was.  Everyone in the castle did look relatively young, and in spite of its older feel, she noticed that everything seemed fresh.  The stones weren’t chipped or worn, the candelabras were mostly clear of wax stains and rust, and the ground itself with the rug that took up the center didn’t look incredibly shabby.  Perhaps it was simply because nopony bothered with this far-out castle or because it was simply a new area, but the castle seemed timeless.  There was comfort in that, as watching the crystals slowly dull as her life worsened under Sombra’s control was one of the many horrid factors in her life.
Suddenly she was at the end of the hall, standing in front of another healthy wooden door, this one with steam trailing out from the small crack beneath it.  This had to be the bathing room, and opening it up, she was pleasantly surprised to see that it was as simple as the rest of the castle.  There was a single large bath in the center with a small arrangement of perfumes, soaps, and shampoos to the left and a neat stack of towels to the right.  There were several shelves carved into the walls themselves, brushes and what looked like medicines stored on them.
The water that filled the tub was soapy and still steaming ever so slightly, filling the room with a soft scent and peaceful warmth.  Joint had always loved the feeling of the air being warm around her, and this sensation that she hadn’t felt in years suddenly brought the joy and splendor to an end.  She hadn’t had time to register it yet because she’d been too busy escaping the clutches of Sombra and then ensuring she and Amethyst were safe, but now that she was no longer in flight or fight mode, she realized a new truth.  
She was free.
Her breath hitched and she felt her legs go weak as the realization settled in, the shocking epiphany obvious now that she was here.  Falling to the ground, tears of relief began to fill her eyes as she let the revelation wash over her completely, gasping as the tears began to flow.  She was away from Sombra, away from the castle and all of the horror and evil that was stored within.  She was here now, with a strange but kindly group of ponies in a strange but hospitable castle.  Instantly she began praying, thanking the divinities for her fortune and their protection that allowed her to be free of such horrendous conditions.  
Joint felt herself hugging her hooves to her chest, finding herself wishing that her  daughter was here to hold as well, to share this blessed moment with her.  Her tears continued to fall as she felt a weight lift itself from her, her shoulders dropping as she could finally relax.  It was the first time she had been alone in a long time, and the emotions of every single moment in the past three horrible years were catching up with her as she let her inner walls slowly.  
As she did, though, those happy tears suddenly became sad, a dark coldness filling her chest and spreading through her, making her shudder.  The tears that now streaked her face felt cold as a depression settled in, the room still warm but suddenly uncomfortably so.  She had lost three years of her life in that castle, and now she was in another one, escaped only to return.  She had lost more than those three years though.  She had lost herself.  
Joint remembered for only a moment her friends in the army, the ones who said that if she tried to kill Sombra on her own, she would surely die.  She was alive though, alive after venturing into the very depths of their enemies, after having shot Sombra straight in his dead heart.  How many of them were still alive after the massacre these last three years had seen, and more importantly, how many of them weren’t?  She was certain they all presumed her dead, or at the very least imprisoned to never be seen again.  How would they react knowing that she had escaped that awful place, that she now lived with a new lord?
Grimly, however, she realized something else, another devastating truth about both herself and her friends.  The very moment that Sombra had enslaved and violated her, Joint had died, leaving behind only a husk whose main purpose was to somehow survive.  She sobbed as she finally confronted the truth, knowing that the moment she had met the kindly stallion and had seen Ailade coo softly at the sight of her child, that husk had been filled.  Who was she now?
The tears didn’t stop flowing as she pressed her face into her hooves with shame.  She had been used and abused in almost every imaginable way, all the time remaining stoically benumbed by every encounter and every deathly night.  Now the walls were gone and the flood of terrible, horrible memories, the pain and suffering of every day refueling her despair and tearing her apart even more.  Almost painfully, she ran her hooves through her mane, knowing that every single place she touched had also been tainted by Sombra’s black hooves.  She wanted to die, to cease living in this cruel world that had allowed her to be so inhumanely treated, for the shame and pain of her failure to stop contaminating her thoughts.  There was no relief though.
There was only Amethyst, her beautiful, cursed daughter who had the misfortune of being born to both a failure and a tyrant.  She didn’t deserve either disgrace, but Joint was all she had.  She was here now, being cared for tenderly by another mare in an unknown castle on a bed that wasn’t stiff.  This place was the best thing to happen to her in her short life, and it could be their life if they decided to stay, as Hemorrhage had requested they do.  
But staying with him meant dealing with him and his flirtatious- and no doubt intrigued -dialogue and actions, perhaps even giving in to his non-verbal requests and giving herself up.  The thought made her shudder fearfully that it may happen, about what might be necessary to continue surviving.  Or perhaps they could escape in the morning, running away once again and finding a new, truly safe place to live until she made it to the palace in Canterlot.  
Sniffling, she slowly stood up, walking over to the path, deciding that if she was going to contemplate such dark and cold thoughts, she was going to do so while comfortably warm and clean.  She rarely had a bath when she was in the Crystal Palace, only when she was being prepared for Sombra or when she left his bedroom.  Bathing had become one of the most disgusting, unspoken symbols of her life in the Empire as a slave.  Now she stood, staring at a bath not too dissimilar to the ones she was bathed in.  With a shaky breath, she dipped a hoof into the water.
She had spent so long in her own head that the water had stopped steaming, though it was still pleasantly warm and comforting.  As she drifted into the thin layer of bubbles that topped the water, she saw a visible cloud of dirt and other soot float off of her.  Grimacing at how dirty she actually was, she began to vigorously rub the dirt from her coat, large clumps of dirt and pieces of grass were washed off.  Walking completely into the pool, she continued to wash herself willfully for the first time, forcing out the muck of her escape from the Crystal Empire.  
It was only when she was intently washing her brown coat that she noticed a distinct red mark on her foreleg, and after a moment of consideration, she remembered the pony she had killed.  Celestia, that felt like a century ago, when really it was five days ago, or perhaps it was six now, depending on the time of night.  Dedicating her thoughts to the memory of what happened that fateful day.  Most likely some of the blood from the knife she had used to kill the assassin had dripped from the blade and onto her fur.  She realized only then that it was probably one of the many reasons they took such care in validating her as a friend, not one of Sombra’s.
“You aren’t any more,” the stallion’s gentle voice entered her head, filling it with a fuzzy warmth.  Something about those words, the way he said them, and the overall definition of them to not only her but him made something wrench itself inside of Joint, a painfully wonderful feeling.  Celestia, if she had fallen in love with him from the very first time they met, she was probably the stupidest mare in Equestria.  But the way he’d spoken to her, he wasn’t simply flirting teasingly with her.  Somepony who did that didn’t try to hold themselves back from what they were saying, and they certainly didn’t blush like he had when their mouth moved quicker than their brain.  Perhaps he was just not good with mares, she theorized pathetically.
She brought up a hoof and whacked herself in the forehead, feeling completely ridiculous about herself and the mess she was.  Just ten minutes ago she’d been crying because of the misdeeds done to her and the life she’d lost, yet here she was now, speculating whether or not she had a crush on her host and whether he truly had feelings for her in return as if she was some child still.  She wasn’t, but it seemed that the strange intrigue over romance and the consequences of such guessing games remained through adulthood, which she had all too abruptly been thrown into.
Grabbing some soap and a brush from the other side of the pool, she began thoroughly brushing out her mane and coat, removing the last of the dirt and grass and leaves.  Once that was done, she focused intently on the soap, shampooing her mane three, four, then five times before she was satisfied with its cleanliness.  She moved on to washing the rest of her, making sure she scrubbed the last of the dirt away from her until she felt immaculate.  Satisfied with the job, she recognized several perfumes on one of the counters and found herself gazing at one in particular.  
The branding of it was one that she had seen in the palace up until recently.  Had the Equestrians really conquered so far into the Crystal Empire that they had captured the luxury producers in the southern cities.  The concept seemed foreign but especially welcoming, the thought that, perhaps, they were winning the war and finally putting an end to Sombra’s evil reign.  Smirking at the bottle, she confidently strolled out of the bath and over to the perfume, intentionally turning it to the stone wall while grabbing a simple clear container.  
Opening the top, she sniffed it, a strange smell that was much too strong for a female coming out of it.  Perfume for a male?  She almost laughed at it, closing the lid and finding an obviously feminine product, and upon opening it, she found a sweet cherry scent emerge.  She decided she would use it, grabbing one of the towels on the other side of the pool to dry off with first.  Satisfied that she was dry enough, though still a little damp, she spritzed a bit on herself, just enough to mask any other smells coming off her.
Taking a moment, she found herself staring in a mirror she hadn’t noticed, seeing as it was built into the wall by the door.  She was surprised by her own reflection for a moment, having not seen herself except for in distorted reflections from the crystal.  Joint had entirely expected herself to look bedraggled and scrappy, but after the bath she had taken, she looked almost like an ordinary young mare with a damp coat and mane.  She scoffed lightly at it, fixing her hair to the side a little.  Just like it used to be.  Slowly, she felt acceptance of her situation.  
Yes, she’d had it rough these past few years.  She had made it though.  For that, she realized, she should be proud.  No other mare in Equestria had gone through and survived what she had, and no other pony in all the world had glared into the face of the enemy and lived.  Mentally, she found herself smirking at Sombra, no, at the entire Crystal Empire for their failure to contain and detain her.  A whole country had taken her captive and failed to keep it that way.  In no sense was she going to be dragged down by what had happened anymore.  It was the past, and she would overcome that as well.
Swelling with pride in herself, she confidently strolled to the door, throwing it open and stepping into the hall with a deep breath, and right into somepony she hadn’t quite overcome yet.
“Oh, uh, hello,” Hemorrhage stammered as he stumbled back from their light collision, obviously caught off guard by her presence.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite know that you were, um… bathing.”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine, no problem,” Joint responded tightly, feeling a blush creeping up her neck and over her face.  Shaking her, she repeated, “No problem at all.”  
She watched the stallion’s eyes dart all over her still damp body, before they rested undoubtedly on the hoof where the bloodstain had been.  So he had seen it and just didn’t mention the strange stain, she concluded, before he suddenly stated, “You know, I was hoping to catch you at breakfast, but I guess right now is better.”
“Um, yeah, about that kiss, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come off as…. “
“Au contraire, I was wondering if there was something else you wanted to discuss,” Hemorrhage quickly intervened, obviously trying to avoid the embarrassing, confusing subject of their kiss.  “I was wondering if you would like to have a room a little closer to the other residents of the castle, seeing as yours is on the more secluded side of the castle.  I know some ponies have a fear of being alone in such a spacious building.”
“No no, it’s fine,” Joint responded, forcing herself to look him in the eyes so as to not visibly scan him as well.  Calming herself down, she thought about her words carefully.  “Amethyst is already asleep and waking her up now would do nopony good, so we’ll stay in our room for now.”
“Of course,” he politely agreed, nodding his head slightly.  The action forced her eyes to follow his movement, to which she suddenly saw familiar red.
Curiosity got the best of her as she glanced at Hemorrhages bloodied hooves, her brows furrowing as she incorrectly guessed every possibility for why they would be so.  She had attempted to be discreet with the casual glance at his hooves, but the stallion obviously noticed her staring and lifted one of them, frowning at it.
“Ah yes, the reason I was over here, I completely forgot,” Hemorrhage muttered, though Joint knew he meant it for himself as he realized he’d spoken it outloud, his eyes darted to her before once again landing on the bloodstains.  Extending his hoof, he explained, “One of my friends just hurt themselves a little.  They needed some help sewing themselves up and so I gave it.  Everypony’s fine now, just hurting slightly.  I had to come to this bathhouse because the other is being cleaned of blood.  I didn’t quite think I’d run into you though.”
That much was obvious by the way he’d lied, Joint thought to herself narrowing her eyes at him.  “How come there’s so much of it yet ‘everypony’s alright’,” she questioned suspiciously.  
“It’s less than you’d think,” he responded simply, setting his hoof back down, completely unfazed by her inquiry.  “Will you be off to bed now?  Or do you have anything you’d like to ask about?”
Joint began to open her mouth to say something, but as soon as her eyes met with his own shining, innocently curious ones, the thought was lost.  This stallion wanted to stay around her, genuinely concerned and interested in her, using every excuse possible to stay with her for just a few seconds more.  He wasn’t cruel or conniving like Sombra had been, he didn’t even seem to be male with the way he was happily ready to speak with her.  Her heart began pounding, the feeling of having somepony who cared about her truly giving her their complete attention disrupting her every thought.  She had barely spoken to him twice and already she knew he had some deep, unspeakable care for her.  And had that same care, for reasons beyond even Celestia, reasons that took her breath away.  Whether it was love or lust, her entire being was enraptured by him.
Screw it.
She practically dove into him, this time not bothering to keep her lips closed as she kissed him deeply.  Whether he was expecting it to happen or not, he also met her mouth open.  For several eternal seconds they stayed like that, mouths pressed against each other as they hungrily made out.  Suddenly she felt a strength and began pushing him back until they were met with a wall.  Before she knew it, they were both on their hind legs, pressing themselves against each other, the glorious sound of their affection filling her ears.  Finally, after what had to be a year, they came up for air out of the depths of their passionate kissing, eyes firmly connected with each other.
Biting her lip, she slowly looked over his entire handsome face, fear creeping into the back of her mind, making her ask quietly, “Whe… Where is this going?”
She expected any reaction other than him to smile at her, but by now she was beginning to catch on that Hemorrhage was not like she expected, and smile at her he did.  The grin was soft, welcoming of the question, not even the slightest bit deterred.  However, he seemed to realize something as enlightenment flashed across his face as the smile abruptly fell.  “It doesn’t go any further than this, at least for the moment.”
“Why not,” she softly asked, their faces still so close that her lips brushed his as she spoke.  “Don’t you want to?”
“I do,” he murmured, staring at her mouth almost desperately.  “But I can’t.” 
Joint felt a sting  of pain for a second, but realized quickly that this wasn’t a rejection, but an invitation.  He was letting her decide precisely, and that pain was replaced instantly by overwhelming emotions she had no way of processing.  All she was able to do was lean in and kiss him yet again, their lips brushing lightly this time, not rushed or hungry, simply taking their time to enjoy each other's touch.  
Pulling back after only a few seconds, she nodded at him without a word, stepping back and taking a deep breath to compose herself as she settled on all fours.  Hemorrhage came down on his legs as well, smiling gratefully at her.  He was right.  They hardly knew each other as it was, and the two of them were smart enough to know that they were merely in lust, not love.  
“Thank you,” she muttered appreciatively.  She didn’t know why she was thanking him, whether it was for the hospitality or the freedom, or even the feeling of being alive again, she didn’t know.  Either way, they shared one last smile as she wished him a good night.
“I should hope it gets no better,” he responded heartedly.  “My poor heart wouldn’t be able to take it.”
It wasn’t until Joint turned away and began walking over to her room that she realized that her own heart couldn’t either, the pounding of it overwhelming her.
> Chapter 15: The Healing
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hemorrhage’s heart was completely and utterly bursting, his entire chest feeling as if it were about to burst open from the quick, heated pounding.  His pace was three times quicker than when he was his most stressed, practically prancing down the hallways, his hooves clopping on the ground to the tempo of his heart.  He had needed to get back to the lycan before Nightseer put her child back to bed, and thanks to that unexpected, lovely make out session with Joint, he was sure the new mother was going to end his life.  Making the final turn back to the bedroom where they’d managed to drag the large beast.  
Bursting through the door, knowing it didn’t matter how loud it was because the lycan wouldn’t awake from the anesthetic.  “My apologies, Nightseer,” he muttered as he rushed over to the bedside, seeing Nightseer sitting there.  “I was… held up by our guest.  Well, our other one, that is.”
“Your heart’s racing,” she commented almost absently, her focus on something else.  Glancing over the violet mare’s shoulder, he saw that she was carefully stitching up some of the holes left by clustered maggots.   The skin wasn’t bleeding thanks to the use of some goldenseal brought in by Ailade, but the scene was still grizzly, the dark brown skin mottled with holes disturbingly.  Frowning, he realized she was using one of her vampiric wings to hold her child, having both her front hooves free to help the tedious work of stitching the wounds.  The larger wound had already been mostly attended to, stitched up and cleaned, needing only a bandage to finish its care.
“How long until he wakes up,” Hemorrhage questioned her, regrettably having lost time within those wondrous moments with Joint.  Even the briefest thought of her, the slightest whisper of her voice, brought him such unimaginable joy that it burned through him.  He shook his head to clear those thoughts away, stepping over towards where a cupboard had been layered with medical supplies.  
“Two hours until the medicine wears off, though most likely the big guy will be asleep longer, considering the time and his overall resistance to pain,” Nightseer answered curtly.  “Also, you didn’t answer the question.  Should I have been more upfront?  Why’s your heart beating as if it were a bird’s?”
“Just the terminal thrill of the moment,” he answered quietly, trying to seem focused on the task at hoof, which was retrieving another vial of antiseptic and a dry cloth.  “It’s been a long while since I’ve had to deal with the physical wounds of another.  In fact…”  
Hemorrhage trailed off before he could finish his sentence, freezing his conversation with Nightseer but keeping his hooves at work.  The last time he had been involved with the healing of a wounded nocturnal was with Nightseer herself, the night after she’d been assaulted.  Not wanting to bring up the sensitive topic with the mare, he remained silent, turning and walked over to her with the cloth, dousing a bit of it with the medicine.  
Taking the cloth from him, she distractedly observed, “It wasn’t beating nearly so fast when you first called on me to care for this poor thing.  Something happened out there that made your heart beat.  Care to tell me, or shall I dig it out of you, because I recognize only one thing that causes a stallion’s heart to beat so vividly.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Hemorrhage disavowed, knowing exactly what she meant.
“Fine then,” she decided stubbornly.  She applied the cloth to the stitched wounds but turned her head to him with a hard, determined stare.  “Is that mare that came in here the one for you?  Did the two of you… do anything?”
Despite being well older than Nightseer, Hemorrhage found himself intimidated by her directness, and slowly, he nodded.  He felt a lump in his throat.  What had he expected from his Joint’s relationship?  That it would be kept a secret from everypony else in the castle?  He knew for a fact that it most certainly wouldn’t thanks to living with not only a vampyre, but also a lycan.  As soon as he next saw Leper, he would recognize the scent of the mare on him, and most concerningly, around his mouth.  Still, he hadn’t expected the truth to come out so suddenly.  While Nightseer and Argon’s relationship hadn’t been kept a secret, it had taken almost a week before they had told the rest about it.  
Shaking his head, he smiled and looked her in the eye.  “Her name’s Joint.”
“And,” she inquired, her hard stare softening encouragingly.
“And I don’t think I know how to describe the way she makes me feel,” he admitted.  
“Well, I’d say she makes you feel alive again,” the young mare noted.  “You're standing upright for the first time in years, not bent over contemplatively, and, quite frankly, you don’t seem to be nearly so old.  If I’m being honest, I think you should visit her tonight and see what happens.”
With a sideways glance, he reminded her, “You may be able to have sex with your husband whenever you please, but I have the boundaries still set.  We must be eternally bound first before such actions.  I can’t even enter her room without permission, let alone touch her.”  Hemorrhage paused with consideration before admitting guiltily, “Though it is quite pleasant that I never know when we will next embrace.”
“Hm, yes, a tragedy, but I guess that’s true,” Nightseer thoughtfully hummed, gently finishing the cleaning of the wound.  Setting the rag aside, she picked up her child in her hooves, cradling the little foal lovingly.  The imagery was uncannily familiar to when Joint held her child, little Amethyst Heart.  The subtle realization that two different mothers from two completely different situations both held the same unsurmountable love for their children struck a strong chord within Hemorrhage.  The shock of emotion he had was so riveting it was almost painful, his heart actually aching.  
Nightseer’s brow furrowed, turning her head to him, the young mother gave him a concerned look, asking quickly, “What was that?  Are you okay?”
Hemorrhage opened his mouth to explain, but it was completely dry and only caused him to stumble on his words.  Swallowing hard, he smiled to let the fretting vampyre know that everything was alright.  “I think,” the mordigan finally managed to hoarsely say, “that I’ve just been given  new appreciation for life.  It’s as if I’ve fallen not only in love with a mare, but with the world around me.  This serenity feels almost unnaturally wonderful, so much so that I fear when it may end, I won’t have it again.”
“Well, you know who causes this feeling, and your destiny with her,” Nightseer pointed out with a knowing smile.  “Just keep her close and things will just happen on their own.  I mean, from the sounds of it, the two of you have already had a pretty intimate encounter, and she’s been here… maybe four hours.”
Suddenly, the little filly in her hooves began to fuss, and with a tired smile, she looked down.  “The night’s already halfway done and you haven’t been to bed yet,” the mother told her little one.  Looking quickly between the lycan and Hemorrhage.  With a sorry smile, she asked, “Is it alright if I leave you to tend to him.  I need to put Savanth to sleep, and I myself am feeling a bit weary.”
“Of course,” Hemorrhage confirmed.  “You need to be rested and healthy for both you and your child.  I’ve had hundreds of years of sleep.  One night without it won’t harm me.  Besides, I don’t think I could sleep if I wanted to.”
Nightseer giggled, nodding with a pointed glance to Hemorrhage’s chest, right at his heart, which he felt slowing down slightly.  She stood up and gave him a quick one leg hug that he returned before exiting the room, leaving the mordigan and the lycan alone in the room.  Now that he wasn’t as distracted by his thoughts and conversations, he realized that Nightseer had also managed to dress the wound nicely.  The white bandages were kept surprisingly clean, suggesting that there wasn’t anymore bleeding from the wound.
Hemorrhage knew that he had to wait for the lycan to awake and at least get the beast settled before he could retire for the night, but he was beginning to suspect that he wouldn’t sleep at all.  The fact didn’t bother him, as he had gone many nights without sleep unbeknownst to the rest of the castle.  For a great many years, he had found himself feeling decrepit and lonesome, but now he was feeling fulfilled.  In a matter of two weeks they had gained four members, or at least, they had gained one and were hosting the others.  The excitement from that amount of interaction alone was enough to shake off the dust that had built in his mind.  Smiling at the lycan, he reached a hoof out and rubbed the beast’s flank.  
The bath and cleaning had done the poor creature good, his fur no longer matted with all sorts of dirt and vegetation.  His claws, which seemed to be stuck out of his hooves, had been stained with both blood and mud, suggesting a great deal of activity in hunting and that he hadn’t ever bothered with personal cleanliness.  In fact, just on his appearance and actions alone, Hemorrhage had to guess that the poor pony behind the lycan had simply reverted to complete primality.  It would certainly be quite the ordeal to regain his equinism, but there had been cases like this before, from what Hemorrhage had heard in his youth.  Nopony was ever too far gone.
Slowly, he began inspecting other parts of the lycan’s body, realizing quickly that there were more interesting things under the fur than on it.  Ruffling through a portion of the lycan’s back fur, he found several ticks and other bugs not quite cleaned out by the bath.  However, they were all dead, suffocated within the lycan’s thick, silver coat.  It seemed that the lycan had developed naturally thick hair within the woods to counteract all of the many parasites of the forest.  The skin itself was gruffer, almost as if it were calloused, but still fleshy like any other mammal’s skin.  
Furrowing his brows, he suddenly felt a long, thin line of unusual skin, and managing to move the fur aside enough to directly see it, he found a long scar on his back.  Running his hoof up, he suddenly found a much larger skar, a gravelly patch of skin over the entire back of his neck.  Frowning, he observed the healed wound.  The skin had been torn, but there were four very distinct puncture wounds on the perimeter of the tear.  They were undoubtedly bite marks where the larger incisors had initially pierced, followed by less distinguishably teeth marks that had done more of the damage.  
This was the wound that had turned this poor colt into a lycan, Hemorrhage realized hauntingly.  He felt a bout of sadness overtake him as he stared at the wound, pitying this incredibly young nocturnal for the violent way in which he had been transformed.  Shaking his head, he sat back, wondering as to whether or not all parentless nocturnals had this sort of origin.  He himself had been born of a lycan and vampyre, but every other member of their coven save the child had been wounded violently to become the way they were.  Even his parents had been converted from normal ponies by others.  
When he thought about it, the true culture of violence that they all lived in as nocturnals was prevalent, a painful reminder that in order to survive, they must kill.  He had been raised, however, by pony consumers, who, after his birth, had reformed to strictly non-equine meals.  They had raised him in a fishing village, that much was true, but they didn’t feast on the plentitude of fat, nameless merchants, but on the fish and small livestock of the coast.  He had grown up around constant temptation, and through years of temperate control, he had learned to live without it.  The small fact that he had also trained his coven in such a way that they too didn’t request for pony flesh, even when it had been so near, prided him.  He knew easily that the other coven not too far off ate ponies, and while he hated it and wished to require them to change their diets, he had no way to reinforce his intentions.  He couldn’t afford to anger such a large force, so he simply sat and waited for them to change or be found out.  
Coming out of his thoughts thanks to a ruffling sound beside him, Hemorrhage turned his head, finding the lycan shifted slightly to the side, belly up.  The beast was still fast asleep, but now it seemed like a much more natural rest, his mouth lulling open and his tongue flopping out.  In all of his years, he had owned and cared for but one dog, and seeing the position of this canine form called him back to it with a smile.  The large lycan had indeed been nothing but a puppy since they had retrieved him from the cavern, trusting and loyal without reason, and almost innocent.  
There was still the monster beneath it all, Hemorrhage knew, the one that had torn apart an entire town and had killed dozens.  He didn’t know how to react completely to that knowledge, other than to help the poor thing and teach it peacefulness.  Whether the colt beneath all of the fur and muscle would remember the deeds his stronger, darker side had done when they finally brought him back to the light, he couldn’t guess.  His hoof had somehow found a way to the lycan’s stomach, gently rubbing the exposed flesh as he watched his face for any sort of changes.  The lycan, however, remained emotionless, the sedatives still in effect enough to keep him asleep even through physical touch.
There were still many matters to take into account concerning the lycan, too many for Hemorrhage to even try and begin to unravel, but he had dealt with this situation before, when Leper came into their possession.  He didn’t need an elaborate plan to help deal with the lycan, but he did need one for both keeping Joint here and the lycan’s, along with everypony else’s, true identity a secret.  He probably would have to break it to her soon, lest she found out on her own and ran away out of fear.  Even the simple thought that there she could leave made a piece of him ache. 
Hemorrhage began to stand, preparing to pace, when suddenly he was wrapped tightly in a firm hold from behind.  He tried to look behind him, knowing that it had to be the lycan, but the large beast’s mass was pressed against his head, blocking the movement.  The motion, however, wasn’t hostile, though it was still rather rough thanks to the incredible strength of the young nocturnal.  Keeping completely still, he heard the lycan beginning to sniff his head and cheek curiously.  With a determined huff, the lycan suddenly released him, seeming satisfied with his evaluation.  It was only then, Hemorrhage realized, that the room didn’t have a single candle lit, leaving the room in absolute darkness, and, being a lycan, he didn’t have the night vision inherited from vampyres.
Turning around, Hemorrhage greeted the lycan.  “Good morning to you.  Was that a confusing bit of sleep?”
The young nocturnal twisted his head in confusion, trying to squint through the complete darkness to see the speaking stallion.  The lycan’s back leg twitched slightly before he jerked his head around, attempting to chew at the wound, but finding the bandage where the wound had been, he turned back around to Hemorrhage.  
“Yeah, we took care of that wound for you, my friend,” Hemorrhage informed him, looking around quickly for a candle.  Seeing none, he slowly ignited his horn, allowing the bluish glow to fill the room.  The lycan perked up, his mouth opening as he began to pant happily as he saw the mordigan once again.  The lycan was still panting even as he began to sniff around intently, getting a strong scent of his surroundings.  He gave the wall that Nightseer had been seated and lightly leaning against extra attention, his happy panting halting as he became focused.  Hemorrhage observed him quizzically, not wanting to make a sound to disturb the young nocturnals intensive explorations.  
The lycan stood up straight and turned abruptly to the door, stepping over Hemorrhage to get to it.  Whining slightly, he pawed at it for a moment before suddenly ramming it with his shoulder, though ramming looked more like simply bumping the door with his broad shoulder.  The door burst open and instantly the large lycan was away, racing down the hallways.  
“Come back here,” Hemorrhage called after him, racing out after the nocturnal, barely having the time to comprehend the lycan’s sudden escape.  Focusing on his back, he extended his wings and touched off the ground, soaring through the hallways, hot on his trail.  The lycan turned corner after corner without the slightest hesitation despite having never been in it before, and once again, Hemorrhage found himself observing the lycan instead of attempting to catch it.  There wasn’t much he could have done anyways, seeing as the beast was almost thrice his size, so he simply watched and hoped that they didn’t run into Joint.  
The lycan stopped suddenly, his long claws scratching against the smooth stone floor, trying to find purchase as he slid to a stop.  Hemorrhage had to levitate himself in order to halt his momentum, setting himself down right beside the wily nocturnal.  He was about to question the lycan, but he noticed that he was too busy sniffing around the hallway to care about whatever Hemorrhage had to say.  Glancing around, the stallion realized they were in the halls that Argon and Nightseer had claimed for themselves.  He frowned in contemplation, wondering what exactly had brought the lycan to this part of the castle when he hadn’t even met the mare who had dressed his wound.
Before he could begin to explore the possibilities, the lycan had begun to hesitantly move to the left, towards where Hemorrhage knew their bedroom was.  Moving quickly, he ducked through one of the lycan’s large legs and stood firmly in front of the beast, bringing him to a stop halfway through a step.
“You can’t just wander the castle,” the mordigan firmly informed the young nocturnal.  The lycan tilted his head in confusion, giving a little whine before beginning to advance again.  “Hey,” Hemorrhage began sharply, fixing him with a hard stare.  “You have no right to disturb Nightseer after everything she’s done for you.  We have to go back to one of the guest rooms and get you somewhat situated there.”
The lycan suddenly let out a low, fierce growl, startling Hemorrhage for a moment, though in the next he had lit his horn.  The growl had been defensive and deep, much like when he had growled at Ailade earlier.  It seems he had found somepony else to protect now, his goal now obviously to reach Nightseer, though Hemorrhage wasn’t quite sure why.  
Nevertheless, he held his ground, making his horn flash slightly as he firmly told the lycan, “You cannot go wherever you want to yet, youth.  In my eyes you are still a murderer and consumer, and I cannot trust somepony like that.”
The words caused the lycan to freeze for a moment, though he slowly went down into a sitting position, a humble expression on his face.  His eyes were directed behind Hemorrhage and not at him, causing him to turn and glance behind him.  Nightseer stood there, looking confused as to why there was a lycan and mordigan in front of her room at this hour of night.  
“Hello again,” Hemorrhage said, turning ever so slightly so that he could face both the lycan and mare.  “Sorry about all of this, but I think our guest here wanted to find you, though I’m not quite sure why.  I’ll attempt to-”
Hemorrhage was interrupted as he was suddenly shoved aside by the lycan,  a singular paw sliding him out of the way.  He was about to protest the sudden brush off, but seeing the way the lycan gently approached Nightseer, neck outstretched as he verified her scent, he decided to remain silent.  The young nocturnal moved sluggishly, his nose the only thing moving in the hallway, before he suddenly began to pant happily again.  He ducked his head lower, paws outstretched, taking an unnatural stance, almost as if he were bowing to Nightseer.  The mare laughed at the strange pose and reached out a hoof, rubbing his head encouragingly.
“Hm,” Hemorrhage managed, baffled by the strange behaviors of this nocturnal, not quite canine, but certainly not equine.  “I guess he just wanted to thank you for taking care of his wounds.  He caught your scent from his bandages, I assume, and wanted to meet you.”
“I guess,” the mare cheerfully reiterated, rubbing the lycan’s head.  “We should probably give him a name, shouldn’t we, since he’s staying with us.”
“That decision isn’t final,” Hemorrhage reminded her, knowing those words were hollow.  Even he had begun to think in the long term for this young colt trapped as a monster, and his heart did melt slightly seeing such a large lycan pant happily.  “But he does need a proper moniker besides simply ‘lycan’.”
“He looks like a Gnash to me,” the mare suggested, giving hemorrhage a pointed glance.  
“No, that name is too rough for him, too blunt,” the mordigan explained.  He gave the lycan a hard stare, remembering the gruesomeness of the village, the tough feeling of his scarred skin, and the tragic scene within his former residence.  Then, he stared directly at this colt, trapped in a different body, the way he still panted happily and enjoyed everyone else, but didn’t listen to anyone.  
“Khan,” Hemorrhage firmly expressed.  “His name, until we find out what his real name was, is Khan.”
> Chapter 16: The Spy
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hemorrhage led the ambient young lycan to a little room they had never used before, though that was its use.  A small, but tall, room they planned to use as an emergency storage room or perhaps a playroom for the new foal.  However, this matter was much more pressing, so he decided that for the moment, while they attempted to keep the large beast a secret, it would be his room.  It was right beneath the spiraling staircase to his tower, which would be rather useful in case of any problems brought up by their guest.  
He had to keep reminding himself that the lycan, while indeed friendly in the strangest way, was not a firm member of their coven yet.  While Khan certainly accepted the leadership of Hemorrhage and his guidance, it was obvious that his time with the wolves had left him with different ideas of a structured pack.  Seeing as Nightseer was the only one of the inhabitants here that had been to bed, and was barely done carrying, he identified her as the den mother.  That also meant that, when Argon returned from his mission to the Crystal Empire, he would look to the stallion for guidance.  It was strange to think that, despite his seniority, he had never spent the night with a mare, and that alone set him lower than the others in the lycan’s mind.
Nevertheless, he had a certain respect for Khan, his young mind somehow comprehending leadership and respect that was unusual for somepony his age.  Even though he was as lively and cheerful, he knew to respect his elders most of the time.  He still held a wily childishness in him that showed itself casually while walking or, more accurately, following others.  The swift wagging of his bush tail, his wide open, panting mouth revealing sharp, ivory teeth, and his twinkling eyes.  They were all so incredibly contradictory to his murderous, dark past, it seemed as if he were built around being nature’s oxymoron.  
Giving the lycan a simple smile, he pulled the door to Khan’s new residence open, gesturing into the room with a sweeping hoof.  “Welcome to your new home, for the moment,” Hemorrhage introduced.  “There isn’t a whole bunch of space within here, but it will stay warm for you and be a good place to sleep.  We won’t keep you in here long, though.  We simply have another… friend visiting at this time, somepony who doesn’t quite know who you are, or what we are.”
Khan tilted his head curiously before sticking his nose into the room, sniffing loudly.  There wasn’t much in it, a few random items that had been put in there in half-hearted preparation for whatever its uses may be.  There was a small bed and a crib built by Argon within the room, but otherwise there was hardly anything useful to the lycan, and even the bed was far too small for Khan’s large frame.  Still, it was something, and the youth seemed to accept it, entering with only the briefest hesitation.  Hemorrhage expected the lycan to be restless in the small compartment, but within a matter of seconds, he was wrapped up on the floor, neatly tucking his tail around himself.  He poked his head up for just a second and stared expectantly at the mordigan.  Chuckling ever so slightly, the stallion bade the lycan, “Good night,” before slowly closing the door.
He stood by the door for a moment longer to listen if there were any noises coming for the room, but after several seconds of deathly silence, he deduced that the lycan had dutifully fallen asleep.  That was one of them, he thought with slight mirth.  He was beginning to feel the wear of the day, a sore tirednrugess coming over him as he began to sag his way down the halls, away from his bed.  As much as he wished he could simply go back to sleep, he needed to make sure there wasn’t anybody else snooping around the castle.  
Heading back into the main foyer, he stared at the large wooden doors, wondering what this night could mean for his coven.  Perhaps it was speculation or perhaps it was a strange hope, but he wondered if Joint would stay true to her word and stay.  They hadn’t shared any intimacy beyond the touching of their lips and tongues, though there was a good deal of it within their kissing.  It seemed temporary, and knowing he was keeping a heavy truth from her only strengthened his fears.  He wished that he could have told her at that moment, but it wasn’t appropriate to do so.  With a frown, he tucked his head down staring at the neat rug that led away from the doors.  
These fabrics had never felt the hoofsteps of anypony but its permanent residents before.  Leaning down to the red rug, he sniffed deeply for the scent of the mare, attempting to identify where exactly she had stepped.  He had picked up her scent during their passionate embrace, her hard, yet sweet scent permanently burned into his mind.  Immediately he found them, with the smallest speckles of mud, and followed them for a moment.  It was strange to him, the way that time passed.  Fifty years had passed in mere seconds, yet now a few hours took decades to live through.  
The thought made him search out the scent of the lycan, having been able to pick it up during Khan’s own unusual embrace.  It was much more distinguishable, a smell of death and infection on his paw prints.  His claws themselves had left a mark on the rug, little scratches that made trenches in the fabric.  He picked out a distinct piece of scabbing from the rug, the dried blood looking just like any other scruff of mud, but smelled of death.  His brow furrowed, knowing it was pony blood that had been stuck under the lycan’s claw, knocked loose by the texture of the rug.
“Sniffing the rug, are we master,” Ailade suddenly asked from the opening to the kitchen.  
Hemorrhage shot straight up, refusing to show any sign of embarrassment for being caught in the questionable act.  “How many times have I told you to not call me master,” he inquired defensively, giving the mare a pointed look.  “And why aren’t you asleep yet?  It’s been a long night with so many things suddenly coming up.  You should get your rest.”
There was a slight frown in her response, an unwelcome rarity.  “I couldn’t quite fall asleep, much like you.  I simply wanted to watch over the little lycan, to help him get back to himself.  I guess I feel bad about it, knowing that he’s so young…”
Hemorrhage nodded in agreement as Ailade trailed off, the sentiment shared with her thoroughly.  You weren’t a nocturnal without having a past of death and tragedy.  Everypony who was a nocturnal knew this concept.  You were either born into the world as a nocturnal or you were mauled, maimed, or murdered by another pony with the condition which you inherited.  It was the brutal effect of living like them, the truth about being a vampyre or werewolf or mordigan that made them all hyper-aware of their livelihood.  They were all born of and survived on the death of others, and they would for as long as their lives lasted.  
A sudden, loud boom echoed through the foyer as the double doors flew open.  Hemorrhage whipped around, his horn igniting instantly, ready to fight whatever the sudden intrusion may have been.  A hooded figure stumbled through the opening raising a single hoof as the doors proceeded to slam shut behind them.  Ailade pounced from behind him, landing on top of the cloaked figure, her teeth bared as she growled, “Who are you.”
The action knocked the hood from the figure’s face, causing Ailade to gasp, leaping off the pony.  Hemorrhage rushed over, unable to see who was beneath the cloak, but shared the shock with his companion.  
“Hello there, Ailade,” Argon cheerfully greeted the mare, a smug smile crossing his face.  “Hasn’t been so long since you last saw me, now has it?”
“Argon, welcome back my friend,” Hemorrhage welcomed with a big smile, reaching out and wrapping a hoof around one of his, pulling him up into a hug.  The stallion returned the action with hoarse laughter that quickly transferred into coughing as he stumbled back a little.  Concern laced Hemorrhage’s brow as he watched the stallion stepping back, glancing down at his breast, where he felt warm wetness.  A patch of dark red blood was splattered across his fur, sticky but still fresh.  Looking up at Argon’s chest, to where the blood had to originate, he found a leaking wound that peeked through a tear in the cloak.  
“Must’ve reopened when Ailade tackled me,” the werewolf simply deduced, chuckling as he looked at the concern and confusion on his friends’ faces.  “The Crystal Empire wasn’t too keen on discovering I wasn’t really loyal to that bastard Sombra.  One of their archers had a pretty keen shot at me, but I was still able to escape.  They were all distracted by something else though.  Come on, let’s go sit down somewhere.  I have a lot to say and I’m hungry.  I can smell the meat from here.”
“I’ll get something to clean the wound,” Ailade told them both.  Smiling brightly, she said, “Welcome back, Argon.  Nightseer will be very happy to see you again, especially after everything that’s happened tonight.”
“Oh, and that is,” Argon questioned, removing his cloak completely, revealing his sleek black coat.  There was an occasional streak of dark blue that ran down his back, a spotted blue pattern on his face that circled one eye contrasting the black of his coat.  His mane was a neon green, a flash of color that hung loosely down his back and face.  The unique color combination reminded Hemorrhage of algae in the night ocean, little spots of color, some tangled within the seaweed, that lit up the otherwise dark depths.
“Well,” he began as they walked towards the kitchen area, “You’re the third pony to enter the castle from elsewhere tonight, though your arrival was much more expected than the other’s.”
“You mean you expected me to come tonight,” Argon asked curiously.  His younger body, while not particularly muscular, though certainly not skimpy, had outran Hemorrhage, leaving them to talk from a greater distance.  
“Not quite,” Hemorrhage answered.  “Though we did know you would be coming back sometime and we were ready for you to return anytime, we didn’t know exactly when.  We had no clue about the other two, or the true nature of their arrival and positions.  Let’s just say one that joined us is a rogue mare, the other a juvenile lycan.”
“Pardon,” Argon expressed, stopping just short of the entrance to the kitchen, whipping around to face Hemorrhage.  The mordigan understood the werewolf’s surprise, as with two covens within close proximity to each other and claiming a large amount of the surrounding territory, it seemed nearly impossible for an unclaimed or unbounded lycan to be wandering around the area.  Reaffirming the point of confusion, Argon questioned softly, “How could that even be possible?  Are you sure they aren’t some sort of spy?”
Using a hoof to drag Argon into the kitchen, speaking just as softly, he told the stallion, “The possibility did go through my head, but the youth is far too… wild to have ever lived in either of our covens.  In fact, we found him in a small cave not too far off from that pony village, mourning over the bodies of several wolves.  I believe that he may have been a part of their pack, or at the very least had lived near them enough to gain familiarity with them.  Oh, if he acts as if you and Nightseer are the ‘alphas’, don’t be too surprised.  In his mind, you are the breeding pair, and thus the ones in charge.”
“Huh, that’s… interesting,” Argon said thoughtfully, his brow furrowed in consideration.  The stallion had a brain as sharp as Hemorrhage’s own, most likely sharper, as Hemorrhage felt the dullness of old age encroaching on his mind.  It felt more clearer tonight, though, allowing him to think quicker than he spoke.
“Yes, we found the youth and brought him back to us, however, the manner of finding him was most disturbing,” Hemorrhage continued, sitting himself down at the table as Argon hungrily searched for leftovers.  “You see, we had noticed that our pony neighbors had been unusually silent and absent from communication.  There wasn’t much suspicion, but given that it was winter, Leper and I went to go check on them and see if they needed help.  Well, we arrived to empty houses and strewn bones.”
“Sweet Celestia,” Argon muttered, pausing in his search at the somber news.
“Yes, every single villager seems to have been killed or have disappeared without a trace from the village,” he stated simply, recalling as much as he could.  It had only been hours earlier, but so many things had happened so quickly, it felt like months ago.  “We found the bones of some sixty of them.  Of that, only three looked to have been killed by the wolves.”
“Oh my,” Argon breathed, a look of absent shock on his face.  His head shot up from his meal as he asked swiftly, “The lycan did it then?”  Hemorrhage nodded, noticing his friend had more to say.  “Hmm.  How old do you suppose he is?  You keep calling him a youth and talking as if he were a foal still.”
“My best guess is that he’s a young teen, though he certainly doesn’t look it,” Hemorrhage muttered.  “He’s probably three times the size of Ailade and has a rather bulky build compared to Leper.  He probably attained a good amount of it because he lived out in the wild for so long, but even then it’s an unusual size.  We believe he may be that lycan Leper discovered about forty moons ago, the one who was a colt who’d been injured.  We don’t have concrete evidence, but considering the age and location, it’s most likely the case.
“He had a severely infected wound that Ailade made short work of, though Nightseer helped to stitch it back together while she went to attend to our other guest, a mare named Joint Point,” Hemorrhage detailed.  The two were interrupted as Ailade hustled back into the room, a small bundle of supplies in one hoof.  
“I can treat myself,” Argon offered, not waiting for a response before taking the bandages from her.  “You should try to get some sleep tonight.  Hemorrhage and I have hours of information to share, and I feel this is the type of stuff our… friend alone should hear.”  
Ailade frowned slightly as she watched the stallion begin to rub antiseptic on the arrowhead wound.  With a pout, she muttered, “Fine then, I’ll retire for the night.  I do feel a bit weary from all of the running I’ve had to do tonight…”
“Thank you, Ailade,” Hemorrhage told her as she retreated, catching her  hoof with his own and bringing her in for a hug.  “You've been invaluable tonight.  Sleep as long as you need.”
Hemorrhage heard the smile in her voice as she whispered softly, “Yes sir.”
Releasing his grip, he watched her leave, waiting until he was sure she was gone until he turned back to Argon, who was finishing wrapping a bandage around his chest.  “About the mare, she… she is a very special one.”  Argon’s eyes shot up, hearing the tone of voice his older friend was using, a knowing curiosity invested in them.  Hemorrhage laughed lightly at the stare, reverting his gaze to the table as he explained, “She’s the one.  I’m sure of it.  I’ve met plenty of attractive and appealing mares before, but Joint, well, I felt my heart drop the moment I saw her.  That’s how you described it, right?  Your heart just suddenly falling from your chest, a warmth filling you like fire, and then the embarrassing realization that you’ve been staring for much too long.”  Hemorrhage chuckled again, no longer seeing the table, but rather the mare.  “Yeah, that’s what happened.”
“It is,” a voice suddenly reiterated, hoofsteps suddenly reverberating from off the stone ground behind him.  Both stallions instantly swung around, standing to find the subject of conversation standing in the opening in all of her beautiful glory.  A smug smile crossed Joint’s face, accented by a slight blush as she quirkily questioned, “Talking about me behind my back?  Only good things I-”
She suddenly stopped talking, her face going from cocky to shocked, then angry as she yelled, “Spy!”
At the same time, Hemorrhage heard Argon growl viciously, “Spy.”  
He barely had time to process the two’s claims as the stallion leapt over him while Joint suddenly whipped out a knife, preparing to use it.  In a flash, Hemorrhage was on his hooves, his horn flaring as he summoned a shimmering blue wall between the two contenders.  Argon slammed into it as Joint stuck it with her knife, causing the barrier to shatter and force the two apart, Argon slamming into the table while Joint was sent sliding out of the room.  Argon tried to stand after being sent flying, his legs shaky.
It was only then that Hemorrhage noticed that the stallion was in his werewolf form, his claws extended as he bared his teeth.  “Argon,” Hemorrhage practically yelled, giving the werewolf a hard stare.  The nocturnal turned its head to him, addressing the commanding stallion.  “What in the name of the moon are you doing?”
There was no time to answer, however, as Joint slowly re-entered the room, her knife held defensively as she shot a glance to Hemorrhage.  There was pure fear in her eyes as she shared her stare between Hemorrhage and Argon, the werewolf tensed, but holding his place.  Breathing shakily, the mare desperately asked, “What’s going on here?  Why is- did… What happened to him?”
“Take a deep breath,” Hemorrhage softly instructed, noticing that Joint was beginning to hyperventilate.  Argon growled softly, still bearing his teeth, which prompted the mordigan to snap his head back to the werewolf, snapping, “Blood of the innocents, Argon, silence.”
With a deep sigh, he looked back over to Joint, her shrunken pupils and shaky hooves slowly regaining their composure.  “He’s a werewolf,” Hemorrhage explained evenly, weighing the mare’s reaction.  “And  he’ll only attempt to harm you if he thinks you're a danger to me and his wife.  Now explain why he might think such a thing.”
“I saw him in the castle quite often,” she said slowly, not taking her eyes off of Argon.  “He was one of the Queen’s guards.  He was there the night of my escape.”
“Yes, I commissioned him to spy on Sombra on the orders of Princess Celestia, seeing as I couldn’t provide any soldiers,” Hemorrhage calmly told her.  Slowly, he began to approach her, extending a hoof.  “He isn’t like what the legends and fairytales think he is; there isn’t a hunger in him right now.”
Hemorrhage watched Joint’s eyes glance briefly to something on the ground and back to Argon, who slowly was sitting down.  The mordigan glanced over to the werewolf, who was slowly transforming back into his equine self, an even stare meeting Joint’s own.  The two seemed to be sizing each other up, attempting to see the truth behind one another’s eyes.  Hemorrhage already knew the two parties’ innocence, and with a careful tep, he moved directly into their stare, slowly glancing between the tensed ponies.
“Argon, what do you know of Joint,” Hemorrhage asked, wanting the full scope of their acquaintance. 
“I didn’t know her as Joint,” Argon began, taking a slow breath as he deductively turned his gaze to Hemorrhage, allowing his friend to see the truth in his intelligence.  “Back in the palace, I was placed under the Queen as one of her guards, seeing as they had run low after a failed attempt on her life.  I often saw ‘Kippler’ around doing any sort of chores she or Sombra required, including… time in his chamber.  She escaped the castle, making a big fuss of the Queen and killing somepony.  However, it was the same day I was found out, so I suspected that she was really being sent out on a mission.  Sombra himself confronted me about the truth, but I was able to escape by revealing myself as a nocturnal.  Speaking of which…” 
“What,” Hemorrhage asked as Argon trailed off, staring past the mordigan and to the mare.  
There was a hesitant pause before the werewolf responded, his voice unsure for the first time.  “Well, I have reason to believe that Sombra is… less than pony.  It isn’t very obvious at first, but some very subtle instances have hinted to me that perhaps we’re dealing with a mordigan.”
The statement caught Hemorrhage off-guard, his eyes widening at such a presumption.  Furrowing his brow in concern, he commanded, “Go on.”  
“Well, it’s subtle, but the bastard has sharp teeth instead of flattened ones,” Argon explained, his sharp eyes back on Hemorrhage.  “He also has slightly undilated eyes and a preference for nighttime.  His back also has slight bumps sometimes, and in spite of having a transient horn, his magic is black, like yo- any other nocturnals. The bastard can go out in the sun though, which means he can’t be a vampyre or ompyre.”
“What’s a mordigan,” Joint suddenly asked, her voice less shaky than before, though it was still fearful.
Turning to the mare, he opened his mouth to answer, but pulled himself short.  With a questioning glance back to Argon, he watched for the stallion’s reaction to his unsaid question.  He took a moment to realize what Hemorrhage meant to do, his eyes widening in surprise at the intended action.  For a momentum, the werewolf sat there with a concentrated look on his face before a slow admission was manifested through an even slower nod.
Turning back to Joint, whose eyes were darting between them once again, Hemorrhage took a deep breath in preparation.  “A mordigan is what happens when you take a vampyre and werewolf’s offspring.  They have the perks of both the vampyre’s agility and wings and a werewolf’s strength and transformative ability.  However, they have control of their moonlight cycle and can survive the sunlight.”  With one last breath, he prepared himself to reveal the most terrifying truth to the only mare he could love.  Slowly unfurling his wings from out of his back, the false flesh forming from darkness, he said, “In short, a mordigan is what I am.”
> Interjection 4: The Queen
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

There was a deep silence in the room that made Ember irritable.  She had requested this meeting three days prior, and now her husband was late to the event.  It was a continual disappointment to be Sombra’s wife, especially as he became more obsessed with trophy kills and slaves over her.   It was bad enough when he returned from a campaign and spent the night with one of his whores instead of her, but now that she had lost his favorite, it was almost guaranteed that, unless she redeemed herself, he would never spend another night with her.  And thus his heir would remain that bastard child.
Now, she stood in an empty throne room with only two guards who regarded her as merely a much richer whore.  She was, to be fair, but it was still offensive that her lasting impact on them was that she desperately needed a child from Sombra, and not her many contributions to the nation.  Sniffing indignantly, she stood her ground confidently, in spite of her husband’s tardiness. She would be hussy known for more than her tendencies when it came to her husband and pocket of lovers, and it would be started today, damn her.
The doors burst open as Sombra walked in, completely unkept and looking as if he had just run several miles.   Ridiculous, as his bedroom was right beside the throne room, so there was no secrecy as to why he looked so disheveled.  Despite the way he appeared physically, his eyes remained sharp and focused, and unfortunately for her, impatient.  He was having nothing of formalities and small talk, as he only had the patience to deal with the core of their discussion, and thanks to her years with him and her own intelligence, she knew exactly how to convince him of her plan.  
“Well, this is the meeting you’ve been begging for,” Sombra dismissively drawled, slumping carelessly into his throne.  “What is the meaning of this disturbance, dear wife of mine.”
“I have a specific request, as well as a… suggestion to broaden our horizons, both figuratively and literally,” she began slowly, attempting to hook him in.  Sombra simply raised an eyebrow, a silent suggestion that she shouldn’t waste his time with speculation.  “You see, I believe that we have been fighting our wars for far too long with the wrong technique.”  
This caused the stallion to truly raise his eyebrows, making Ember smile victoriously.  To question the King’s warfare and strategy and attempt to suggest her own plan as a better to his was a bold, almost foolish move.  Anypony else would most likely be seeing themselves off to the hanger’s noose, but she maintained her strength in Sombra’s piercing gaze.  This small moment where he and everypony else in the room was commanded to listen in her bold proclamation was exactly what she needed to gather the courage to continue.
“You see, dear, you’ve been fighting the Princesses’ soldiers for years now, and haven’t managed to break through their lines or sturdy morale, no matter how many die,” she told him cleverly.  With a mischievous twist to her smile, she asked meekly, “Wouldn’t it be easier to fight their civilians?”
Instantly, she saw the light go off in his eyes in realization of what she was suggesting, a congratulatory smile crossing his face to join her’s.  
“My dear wife,” Sombra slowly began, his deep voice considerate in his words of praise.  Ember straightened herself as she prepared to receive her long overdue eulogy, a testament to her greatness.  “Your mind is certainly one most clever, finding a way to so quickly redeem yourself from an embarrassing failure.  It is most desirable of me to have the entirety of the land under my possession, as you know, and this strategy, vile as it is, does indeed provide that opportunity.  It is expedient to me that this strategy shall be put into effect immediately, with preparations being made for such an endeavor to commence henceforth.”
Ember beamed as the imposing stallion leaned down towards her from his throne, a twisted smile crossing his face.  “As for my wife and queen, she shall be rewarded with a quick and honorable death, contrary to the previously ordered hanging.  It’d be a shame to ruin another pretty face.”
Ember’s stomach dropped, a dread filling her as she felt all elation immediately leave.  Sombra’s eyes were a cold, leering void of scorn and mockery, and Ember knew as soon as she looked into them that there was no mercy for her.  Still, she couldn’t prevent herself from attempting to dig herself out of the hole she had somehow stumbled into.
“B-b-but I’ve been a good wife,” she protested as she heard the guards approach her.  “I’ve attempted every day to provide you an heir, a prince to succeed you!  I still can, and am still young!”
“Silence, whore,” the King’s voice boomed through the hall, stilling everypony, including the guards.  All jovalty was lost from him, rage filling his face as he glared down at her.  “You know your crimes, worthless wench.  You know that you chased off my favorite slave, and consequently my true heir.  I always intended to be rid of you, with your petty politics and minute thinking.  You had never been a truly ambitious mare, simply one who never wanted to be replaced.”
“Sh-sh… She hates you though,” Ember cried, tears coming to her eyes as she desperately threw everything at him she could.  
“Slut, you hate me,” Sombra retaliated, unbothered.  “Besides, she had a true spirit to her!  She attempted to kill me, assassinate me in my own carriage, camp, and country.  For certain nopony else in history, not even the Princesses, have had such boldness to attempt anything so risky.  Indeed, she has ambition, and I intend to retrieve her.”  The King paused, taking a moment to visibly savor the fallen Queen’s tears.  “Now you see it, yes?  You can be replaced with any other mare in this land, but to have an heir from both lands, who inherits my immense knowledge and power and that mare’s keen boldness, inherits the genealogy of both nations, will have not only the power to conquer the world, but the de jure claim to it as well!” 
The stallion fell back into his throne in true bliss, smiling as he wondered aloud, “Would it even matter if I were to finish the job now?”
As he said that, eyes up towards the almost transparent crystals that made the roof, Ember had one last desperate thought.  Knowing the time to react was short, she lit her horn and turned to the guard that had stepped up to her, shocking him with her purple lightning.  The guard fell without a cry, a trail of smoke coming from a hole through his thick metal armor.  Before the mare could even turn to run, however, she felt her entire body seize up as Sombra’s laughter filled the chamber.
“Pitiful, so pitiful,” he snickered, forcibly turning her to face him.  Crystals formed up the entire body of her, leaving only her neck and head uncovered.  Even her horn was crystalized as she attempted desperately to use her magic to break free.  The King nodded, the foreboding motion sending tremors down her body.  
“No, no please!”  Her voice came out high-pitched as she shuddered uncontrollably.  “Please spare me!”  Tears streamed down her face, blinding her.  
She didn’t need to see though to hear the King’s simple, “No.”
Her pleas became inaudible, but even though they filled the entire chamber, she could still hear a single sound.  The sound of a blade scraping gently across the floor as it was being raised.  
Instantly, all her pleas stopped, even her sniffling coming under control as she strained to hear any noise indicating her death.  Within only a few seconds of waiting, she heard it, the terrible sound.  The blade of metal sang as it cut through the air, and then all was silence.

*******************************************************************************************************

Trinity meekly entered the room, as beckoned by the guards.  He was a shorter stallion, which meant when he entered, the looming shadow of Sombra and his throne covered him completely.  He gulped as his eyes caught the sight of the headless queen, her body held upright by the crystal that encased everything save for the bloody stub of her neck.  Blood stained the crystal surrounding the neck and the floor beneath it, and it was only when he glanced directly at the grisly display that he realized the queen’s head was propped towards the door, mouth agape with closed eyes in a silent scream, a blood necklace around its base. 
Grimacing at the gruesome display, Trinity turned to his liege, asking, “So you finally went through with the plan, then?”
“Indeed I did,” the King responded cheerfully, lazily staring at the dead queen.  “It was the happiest I’ve felt in far too long, killing that belligerent whore.”
“Well, it’s always a relief to be rid of a pest,” Trinity responded with one last look at the corpse.  “Now, did you call me to your court to brag of finally being free of the wench or do you have new orders.”
“Both,” the stallion admitted, waving his hoof around.  With a disgusted look to the queen’s body, Sombra explained, “You see, before I had her executed by the sword, I wanted to hang her, to see the life drain from her eyes slowly as she died.  She actually requested this meeting, to propose a few ideas of her own.  They were useless, almost completely, save for one in particular I hadn’t quite perceived.”  The King stood, and began walking down the steps, genuinely asking Trinity, “Am I fighting this war wrong, my friend?”
“No sir,” Trinity responded immediately.  Even after taking a moment to consider, he could think of no flaw in the conduction of the war against the Princesses that was expressly Sombra’s fault.  “I haven’t a clue as to why you would doubt yourself.”
The stallion smiled at the compliment, but it was bitterly replaced with a frown as he approached the obscene figure of the headless mare.  Reaching a hoof out and touching the very tip of Ember’s horn, the stallion said, “In her dying hour, Ember proposed a plan to me to both win back new land and my favor.  I was almost caught off-guard by the unusually intelligent proposal, but now I only feel idiotic for not seeing the solution myself.  You see, Trinity, we’ve been fighting the wrong ponies.”
Confused, Trinity dared to inquire, “What does that entail, sire?”
“It means,” Sombra said triumphantly, turning to the unicorn.  “I want you to prepare a force of soldiers to attack the villages of the Opotimare Valley.”
> Chapter 17: The Truth
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Moon 9027 rendition

	It has hardly been a day since I last added to you, yet it has felt as if the hours were days with how long these past twenty nine hours have heralded.  I might say that in my hundreds of years, I truly never expected to have my life change so abruptly in both direction and attitude.  I feel alive!  Sure, the range of emotions in this past day has included deepest sorrow and painful consideration, but it has also held in my favor the  matchless emotions of falling in love.  Aye, it is true that at long last, I believe I have found myself “the one”, as Ailade tends to refer to them (in regards to the one a nocturnal marries, that is).
	The mare is truly the most beautiful pony to ever grace my eyes, a sparkling young mare who has the heart and will of steel, and the body of an alicorn.  Her mane is the most vivid green, a forest shade that gives her the visage of a young oak tree.  Her eyes share that color, emerald-evergreen that I can’t pull myself away from.  Her chocolate coat is smooth and soft, a warmth emanates from her, in spite of everything she told me of her past.  I feel myself drawn to her even as I sit here, though it isn’t too surprising as she is merely a few spans behind me, reading over some of the pages from thousands of moons ago.  
	You see, I may have revealed to her the truth about this castle and our coven, that we aren’t merely some unspoken, unnamed group of ponies inhabiting this area.  Somehow, she was able to draw out a secret I’ve never confessed to any outsider before in a matter of hours.  Honestly, I’m glad I didn’t wait though, because one way or another, I believe she would’ve somehow sniffed out the truth eventually.  Besides, it feels much simpler to have the truth out and known than to try and hide half of myself away from her.  
	I haven’t mentioned her name yet, and perhaps I won’t for her privacy, or at least until she doesn't feel as threatened and angry at my true self.  Currently, she’s searching the archives of my past records, from around three thousand moons back, looking for when the last time I consumed a pony was.  She’s been at it for about two hours, shuffling the papers around restlessly while keeping her daughter tightly against her.  I also haven’t mentioned the little one yet, but the young foal, only a month or two old, has inherited her mother’s beauty.  She not only represents the grim past of her mother, but also the fated future of the two.
	I feel almost guilty, knowing the mare’s story and recording it, but I feel as if it is justified as a record of further misdeeds and sins of the Bastard King Sombra.  This tale is neither joyous or enjoyable, and justice has yet to have been dealt to the core characters that mistreated our new guest, but it shall be recounted anyways.
	From what I've collected, (and I’ll come back to add any details I may miss) the mare was in the Princesses’ armies when she decided to assassinate Sombra.  She told us that she had managed to shoot him through the heart, however, the stallion didn’t take any damage from the wound and proceeded to capture her.  For about three years (by her account) she was a slave to the stallion, and as she said, “both physically and carnally”.  Thus, she became impregnated with his child, the first, I believe, of his direct lineage.  I know that there would be many in this land to quickly dispatch her tale, but I could tell, or I at least hope I could tell, that she was telling the truth.  Regardless, she came forward with some evidence of herself, a robe that Sombra wears.  
	From there we took her in, gave her a room for her and her child on the opposite end of the castle, just as a precaution, and now I believe that both parties are happier to be separated by several walls.  Nobody else but Argon has knowledge that she knows the truth about the coven, but breaking the news to the others is sure to be… interesting.  The others rarely have to interact with the normal ponies; Argon and I usually deal with them because we have the most experience.  They certainly have never dealt with another pony knowing that they kill and eat the flesh of prey, that has the knowledge that once, long ago, they did eat a pony.  Ah, but I digress.
	Ailade showed her off to the bathing house so she could tidy up, as their escape had left her and her child rather mussed up.  I didn’t know that she would be in that room exactly, and I too headed over for a bath, as the one in our left wing was occupied by yet another matter I have yet to discuss.  When we happened upon each other in the hall, she was still slightly damp from her bath, we had a short conversation that led to what may have well been an endless minute.  Yes, as it may have been presumed from that statement, we indeed ended up embracing each other in a spur-of-the-moment kiss.  
	It was all initiated by her of course, as I’m well-mannered and educated enough to remember what happens to those nocturnals that force themselves on another, normal pony.  In fact, she caught me quite by surprise, a quick action, and if I may be so cheeky as to say, a quicker tongue, physically and linguistically!  I found myself unable to control myself in the presence of this mare, my heart controlling every move of mine and twisting every word out and off my tongue, my brain a simple afterthought in all matters concerning her.  
	By the blood of the innocents and by the gleam of the moon, I know that without her I would find myself becoming a wretched creature, thoughtless, careless, save for the loneliness of missing her.  Even with knowledge of this damning fear, for some reason I gave my true identity away anyways.  I know the reason, and by now I’m sure I’ve hammered it well into you as well, but it still feels so… serenely unbelievable to say that, after eons and many, many moons, I am in love.  Truth is, I was preparing full-heartedly to die in but a few hundred moons, to age away to dust like my mentor before me.  The writing earlier on, not a few moons back, I believe in the 8800s, is my complete preparation for the coven when I’m gone, a draft of my will, and a short eulogy I wanted Ailade to read on the day they mourn me.  Now, it seems as if those words are obsolete, never to be read audibly by my loved ones, for I have found the one!  
Oh, dear Luna, I’ve forgotten the other, prior matter that came to my attention before the coming of the mare to our castle.  It may indeed be the more important matter, as it’s less personal and more broad in the realm I’ve been given control over by the Princesses.  This, however, isn’t an almanac or pages of true history, but an autobiography, of sorts, so perhaps it doesn’t matter that it comes later on.
Well, actually, it seems I must wait to record it another time, as the mare is urgently beckoning me to her.  
Until I 

Hemorrhage yelped slightly as he was abruptly pulled away from his desk and parchment of writing by Joint.  “You seem deaf to the world when your mind’s on something else, you know,” the chocolate mare furiously told him, dragging him into a sitting position beside her.  
“So Ailade tells me,” the mordigan responded, slightly shocked by the sudden contact and how much trust the mare was putting in him by jerking him around.  She seemed to be quite the hypocrite, failing to notice Hemorrhage’s bewildered stare as she rustled through several sheets of paper before finding the sheet she was looking for, very much deaf to the world in her own focus.  Setting the sheet beside another that was already on the top of the pile, she pointed at the headings of each sheet, which read “Moon 576” and “Moon 3706”.
“This one is the first one I could find,” she said, pointing at the former.  “Is that one the first one that wrote in, or are there prior pages, ‘cause it seems like it’s leading out from another previous addition.”
“Oh, yes,” Hemorrhage softly exclaimed, remembering the pages that had been lost to time.  “You see, I’ve moved from place to place several times in my life, as I’m sure you’ve read, and in the most recent move, we happened through a bout of bad water that set a crate of papers, including the hundreds of pages that preceded that one, into the ocean.  It was an unfortunate loss, but there has been a lack of time to rewrite and remember the words I had written.”
“Wait, you can remember all the way back to that time,” Joint asked, sounding genuinely amazed by the statement.
“Well, yes, I can,” he responded, feeling a creeping pride for some reason.  With a slight smile, both for the way the mare stared curiously at him and the memories that surged from the past, he said, “Well, I guess it’s much like how most ponies can remember past their childhood, I can remember past mine almost perfectly, like other nocturnals.  Our memory covers the same aging as you normal ponies’, but the amount of time it covers is much longer.”
“Fascinating,” the mare muttered, though her eyes were less focused on the sheets now as they shared a soft gaze, their eyes meeting.  Joint suddenly jerked her head away, rocking the young baby in her hooves as she coughed awkwardly, a hard set to her jaw taking shape.  “Anyway, the second page comes after a two ‘moon’ break in the writing.  I would’ve thought that it was just some more lost pages, but the writing afterwards was completely illegible, scrawled almost… violently on the pages.”
“Oh,” Hemorrhage softly mumbled, remembering painfully what she was talking about.  “Yes, well, you seem to have found the thing you were looking for.  The last time I… consumed a pony.”
“Oh…” Joint murmured, looking down to her child.  Hemorrhage gave the filly a short glance, and a guilty sting surged straight through his heart.  For the first time in centuries, he remembered the event, or at least, the bits that seeped through the frenzy, and he felt the shame of it all.  Clenching his eyes closed, he stood abruptly and left the room, practically flying down the stair steps, not really sure why, only knowing he had to escape the pressure he felt building in the room.  The shame of his past was burning in him now, as well as the shame of running from the beautiful mare in such a state.
“Wait,” he heard her yell as he continued to descend down the stairs, bidding him to stop.  Closing his eyes in a deep sigh, he weighed the situation in his head, the shame he felt and guilt of leaving, along with the woeful past that only now seemed to haunt him.  He couldn’t decide whether or not to return to the mare or not, but before he knew it, he heard her hoofsteps close in and a hoof gently touch his back.  “Thanks for waiting.”
Joint wrapped her hoof around the back of his neck, pulling his face towards her as she apologized.  “I’m sorry, I… I guess I forgot that while you might not be a regular pony, you are still a pony, if a very strange and scary one.  Really, I didn’t mean to expose you or anything.  It was rude and thoughtless of me.  Besides… I know I’m guilty of murder as well…” 
Without any warning, she brought her forehead to his, their noses brushing as her hold on the back of his neck tightened slightly, pulling him into the embrace.  Her eyes closed as she shook her head ever so slightly, the entire world silent in the tower stairwell as the two shared the softest embrace.  Slowly, Joint brought her lips to his, this kiss short, but in a mysterious way, the most enjoyable one they had shared yet.  When their lips parted, they didn’t, their foreheads reconnecting as Hemorrhage closed his eyes and breathed out a sigh of relief.
“Thank you for trusting me,” Hemorrhage whispered, barely believing the mare’s sudden and unpredictable change of attitude. 
“Thank you for forgiving me,” she returned, pressing a kiss against his forehead before taking a step back up the stairs to give them a little distance.  A smile spread across her face, one that was almost like the one she gave her foal when she cared for her.  It was uncompromisingly loving, the kind that filled him completely with both love and warmth, a calmness that spread completely through his body, easing the last of his worries away.
“I don’t even really find you terrifying or scary in any way,” the mare continued, her voice becoming more at ease as she shrugged slightly.  “I mean, I’ve made out with you already, alone in a dim hallway, which I guess would be the perfect setting to eat me, and I left Amethyst alone with Ailade for a while, which would have also been the time for her to… you know.  I guess that I was too shocked to really think clearly about what you had told me versus how you had treated me, and I went into my defensive mode.”
“With a past like yours, I’m not shocked,” Hemorrhage emphasized, lifting a hoof to her shoulder.  “Besides, all I needed to hear was that you weren’t afraid of me, but thank you for the admission.”  
“Of course,” Joint replied, smiling bashfully, ducking her head in a rare show of shyness to her otherwise resilient demeanor.  Hemorrhage was wistfully smiling at the mare before he even knew it, the dopey, almost foalish grin spreading across his face.  The two stayed like that for a while, smiling dumbfoundedly at each other, until Amethyst snuffled ever so slightly.  Both adults looked down at the child, who, while still resting peacefully in her mother’s hold, unbeknownst smiling at the exact time at the little baby.  
Though they didn’t see the shared expression directly, a pulse within them caused their eyes to once again meet.  The smiles faded as both entered a deep, unbroken line of thought, invoked by their shared emotions and fate.  They stared at each other, thinking deeply and judging each other’s emotions and their own in precise weight, knowing that in the next moments, their life would be changed and chosen by whatever the other said.
As always, however, it was Joint that made the first move, her eyes searching his as she stated softly, yet firmly, “I love you.”
There was no shock, no sudden terror, only the soft sound of their breathing, their heartbeats in perfect sync with one another’s, and it was then that Hemorrhage knew, doubt’s forever dead, that he would marry this mare.  Smiling, he didn’t need to think of his response, the four words coming not from his head but from his heart.  She may not have needed to hear it, but he needed to say them anyway.
“I love you too,” he replied. Leaning forward, he gave her a kiss on the cheek, then bent over and gave Amethyst a small peck on the cheek, careful not to disrupt the foal’s gentle sleep.
Grinning at the mordigan, Joint asked, “So what next?”
“Um, marriage, I guess,” Hemorrhage stated simply.  Realizing what he said, he felt himself flush and stammer to make an excuse for what he had been saying, explaining, “Well, I mean, a nocturnal can only… uh progress our relationship if we were married… but don’t… Don’t feel rushed.  We don’t have- I mean, you don’t have to… Oh! and marriage is a whole other…”
Hemorrhage trailed off as he realized that Joint had been staring at him with a slight smirk.  As soon as he stopped talking, she leaned in and gave him a short kiss on the lips, a slight giggle escaping her as she explained, lips still touching, “I meant what are we gonna do today.”  Still leaning in close, she allowed her eyes to wander him briefly before adding, “But yes, marriage doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”
Hemorrhage couldn’t add anything, the mare was off down the stairs, child in her motherly grasp.  For a few seconds Hemorrhage couldn’t breathe, couldn’t believe the conversation that he’d had with this incredible, beautiful mare, and thinking of the last words, still echoing through his head, he felt a weight leave his chest, the pressure relieving into sheer joy.  Before he knew it, he was following her down the stairs, a wide, lovestruck grin smattered across his face.
That was until he reached the bottom and saw a wall of fur, growling menacingly as it loomed over Joint.
> Chapter 18: The Plan
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

In an instant, the bliss and joy of finally, finally having the pain and terror of not knowing, of hiding such a large secret from Joint, evaporated at the sight of the growling lycan that blocked the stairwell.  Thoughts furiously dashed through Hemorrhage’s head as he reactively disintegrated his physical form, taking to the shadows and forcing his black mass of mist towards the beast.  However, before anything could be done, Khan reared back, cocking his head in confusion as he went to his hind legs.  As a precaution, he rematerialized in front of Joint and Amethyst, his horn glowing ever so slightly as he prepared a stun.
The lycan disregarded him almost as soon as the mordigan attempted to block him, simply raising a paw and calmly pushing Hemorrhage aside.  Considering the lycan’s passive movement, he didn’t attempt to block his moves a second time, opting to allow the lycan his curiosity.  The large beast bent head down slowly, nose scrunching as it began to take in a terrified Joint’s scent.  The filly in her hooves was quite less terrified, the snuffling child reaching a small pink hoof towards Khan.  
Khan jerked back at the movement of the foal, surprised by the small pony’s eagerness to touch him.  The lycan bent over again, sniffing around at the outstretched hoof, taking his time to catch every scent the child may have carried.  Amethyst, wiggled her hoof, but the small pony’s strength was little, and she retracted her hoof before the lycan had finished his scental test.  Khan leaned in towards the foal, completely disregarding the mare that held it, sniffing softly at the little one.  This time, when Amethyst raised her miniscule hoof, it was able to latch onto the tip of his nose, instantly causing the lycan to begin panting happily.  Khan gave the little filly’s hoof a small lick, stooping his head into the cradle of Joint’s hooves.  
The two adults shared a look over the lycan’s enormous head, both equally confused and touched by the display of affection the two younger creatures were sharing.  Silently, Joint mouthed, a question that Hemorrhage didn’t quite pick up.  However, considering the relative calm that had settled over the four of them, Hemorrhage decided it was safe enough to begin talking once again.
“Joint, this is Khan,” Hemorrhage introduced, speaking softly just in case.  At hearing his name, the lycan looked up and over at the mordigan, who gave Khan a smile.  “Khan, I see you’ve met our new friends Joint and Amethyst!”
The lycan tilted his head to the side slightly, but otherwise disregarded the stallion as he turned and began sniffing at the mare now.  Joint leaned back ever so slightly, but she didn’t seem to be scared of Khan, simply wary of his large frame and overeager movements.  
“I guess I didn’t have time or thought to tell you about Khan,” Hemorrhage supposed, standing and weaving his way around the lycan’s limbs to stand beside her.  “He’s the most recent member of our coven, and the second visitor we received tonight, right after you and Amethyst.  Well, he’s the only guest we brought here ourselves, I suppose.  We found traces of him out in the hills and forests, but it wasn’t until tonight that we were able to track him down and secure him.  He’s dangerous, but not particularly to anybody in this castle.  His hate is for normal ponies, seeing as they are the root of his pain, as it seems.”
“What does that mean,” Joint asked.  “Is that a natural thing for a vampyre to do, to hate regular ponies?”
“No,” Hemorrhage replied, raising a hoof to the lycan’s broad shoulder.  He rubbed the fur gently, slightly pushing Khan back as the curious young nocturnal became invasive with his movements.  “As you may have surmised by the relative canine form of this one, he isn’t a normal nocturnal, or even just a normal lycan.  He’s very different from the other lycan that lives with us, Leper.  Leper was around us when he transitioned, so we were able to help him recover from the transformation.  We believe that this poor lycan was once a normal colt who was attacked by another lycan from a different coven.”
“Oh, sweet Celestia,” Joint muttered, looking shocked.  She too raised a hoof, rubbing Khan’s head with it.  The lycan initially flinched away from the touch of the mare, but when she attempted to pet him again, he consented to the movement, leaning in.  He stopped sniffing, instead enjoying the plentiful attention he was receiving, panting happily.  “How do you know this?”
“Well, about three or so years ago, Leper was out hunting for something from the forest,” Hemorrhage explained, clarifying the prey.  “It was mid-spring, when snow hadn’t quite melted this low, so he had to journey northward, and he ended up in the Bullarus swamps.  He happened to catch the scent of another lycan, and then blood.  He came across a dreadful scene, in which a filly was mauled and devoured by the offending lycan.  Leper said that a young colt appeared, answering the poor filly’ screams, and he too was attacked, though Leper was able to see that the colt survived, though horribly wounded.  The lycan, however, caught scent of him, and began to search him out, so he too retreated.”
“Why didn’t he intervene,” Joint asked, looking pale from the gruesome story.  Her hoof had fallen still, resting on the scruffy fur of Khan, who innocently sat and waited for the attention to resume.  
“It’s common knowledge that lycans are the most powerful of the nocturnals, with mordigans such as I second,” he told her.  “Leper was a younger lycan back then as well, smaller than this obviously bigger and older lycan.  Intervening in the path of a blood-driven lycan is the same as challenging him for his food.  All nocturnals -but especially lycans- are enhanced by the smell and taste of blood, so attempting to fight the other lycan would have been foolish, a death wish, even.  Leper simply witnessed it, to report it to me.  There wasn’t anything we could do, however, but let nature run its visceral course.  When we attempted to search out for the colt, there was no sign of him, and we supposed he had either been consumed as well, or he had survived and been recovered by somepony else.  We didn’t suspect that he was around this area until we noticed some prey was missing in our estimations, as well as suspicious appearances of extra tracks. But then we made a horrible discovery tonight…”
Hemorrhage paused, licking his lips, glancing at Khan uneasily.  The lycan seemed harmless to a point, yet he had found the carnage he could cause, and he had seen and felt the strength and bold determination the lycan had.  Joint, however, had only ever seen this keen, curious side of the nocturnal, a colt stuck in a lycan’s body.  He didn’t want to ruin the image of Khan, but at the same time, he knew that the longer the secret was kept from Joint, the more bitter the sting would be for her when she learned that the lycan pup that was sniffing her child and panting happily had destroyed an entire village in the course of a single night.
Taking a deep breath, he begrudgingly recounted, “There is a village not too far from here, less than two miles outside the boundaries of the forest, among the hills.  It’s a fairly new installation, with only some hundred or so residents that live there.  It was the only residence besides this castle within ten miles around, and the only one under my jurisdiction.  However, we noticed that there had been no activity from them in the forest or village.  We at first thought that it was simply the harsh winter keeping them from visiting or moving around outside the warmth of their village.  After almost a week without contact, however, we were concerned that they may have been snowed into their village or something of that sort, a minor, easy to fix issue.
“Leper and I went to see if we might be able to assist in their troubles, but, upon arrival, we didn’t find a living soul.  No, instead we found the bones and broken tools of the villagers, their bones picked clean and broken.  The skeletons were destroyed more than the usual of hunting, and Leper and I knew in an instant that this was the doing of a nocturnal.  In total, we found that some sixty three dead ponies, all adults.  The young of the village were missing, and we haven’t had time to find them, as with the acquisition of the lycan himself and your arrival.  There’s still so much to do…” 
“Khan did all of that,” Joint questioned hushly, clear disbelief overshadowing her horror.  Her hoof retraced from the lycan, who looked disappointed by the mare’s sudden discomfort.  “How would you know?”
“Leper was able to pick up his scent from every skeleton and most of the village in general, and we were able to track him to his own cavern, where he was living with a pack of wolves,” Hemorrhage hollowly replied.  “The wolves themselves were all dead, young and old, all starved to death through the winter.  Two had actually died in the engagement, which we know because we found their half-buried corpses nearby.  The best guess we have to why there was such an engagement is that the newcomers had impeded the packs’ hunting ground, which led them to hunt the ponies.  Regardless, there wasn’t enough food for the large pack, and so all but Khan died.
“He didn’t escape the engagement unscathed though, and when we found him and took him back here, Leper discovered a nasty wound on his side.  Apparently one of the ponies that had fought him managed to get a metal spoke through his side, which had remained there all winter.  It was thoroughly infected when Ailade went to clean it, with rotten flesh and maggots crawling through it.”  Hemorrhage shuddered, remembering the wound.  “It was terrible.  Anyway, when Ailade had fixed him up, he became very defensive of her, as well as showing great interest in Nightseer, the vampyre mother you have yet to meet.  It seems that the pack mentality has left him thinking that birthing mares and, well, um, breeding stallions, are the core component in every society.  Most likely, he thinks that you too are in charge here.”
“That’s…” Joint began, though words were lost on her.  Instead, she simply raised her hoof and began to pet Khan once again, lifting the disappointed lycan’s spirits.  Letting out her breath, she finally said, “I think I equally am more afraid of him and care for him more.”
“Yes, that sentiment we share,” Hemorrhage replied.  He pulled his hoof away from Khan, instead moving it to rest on Joint’s shoulder, bringing her attention to him.  “I try not to trust him completely, but his naivety and sheer innocence in nature always crumbles the memories of the carnage he can wreak…”
“Perhaps it’s better to see him as a puppy and a wolf, treat him as a colt and not a stallion,” Joint suggested.  
“Yet one day he will grow up, beyond that of simply being without knowledge,” Hemorrhage remorsed.  “One day, as with all living nocturnals, he will find his other half, and move on, perhaps starting a pack of his own.  It is our job to simply educate him to the best of our ability, to give him the physical, mental, and moral tools to continue life without ruining others’.”
“You said ‘ours’,” she pointed out, turning to face him.  
“Ah, that was presumptuous of me,” he remarked.  “I was supposing that you would stay with us, though the choice is obviously yours.  We may be nocturnals, but we are perfectly able to control ourselves and provide for normal ponies regardless of our diet.” 
“Well, of course I’ll stay with you,” Joint replied shyly, for once glancing away, a slight blush across her face.  “I’m not sure where else I would go anyways, but regardless, I like it much better with you.  You’ll never be as monstrous as Sombra, and you’ve proven you do have a fair few good traits, moral and physical…” 
It was Hemorrhage’s turn to blush, the mare’s praise causing him too to glance down at the floor.  “Well, that is certainly most gracious of you to say.”
“You deserve to hear it though,” Joint retorted, bringing a hoof up to his cheek, gently raising his chin.  She leaned in over Amethyst and gave the stallion a soft kiss on the lips, the loving touch sending a jolt of fire through his body.  
Upon witnessing the act of love, Khan panted, leaning in and giving the two heavy licks on the cheeks, his large, dry tongue ruffling the fur of their face.  They both laughed lightly at the lycan’s actions, sitting up and each giving their own payment back to Khan.  He accepted heartily, bowing his head to allow the two to pat the top of it.  In an instant, however, the moment was interrupted as Amethyst hiccuped into a soft spurt of snuffles.  Joint’s attention immediately went to her child, Khan and Hemorrhage both looking down at the struggling filly who writhed in her mother’s hold.
“Ah, she’s, uh, hungry,” Joint awkwardly explained as Khan tried to lean in and sniff the lying foal.  
Hemorrhage felt his eyes widen, quickly moving to push away the lycan as he stood, stammering, “O-Oh, of course, we’ll both, um, head towards the uh… the foyer outside the kitchen.  The sun should be up right now, most likely, and breakfast with it.  Hust, um, join us whenever you can…”
“Yes, it won’t take long,” Joint said, standing as well, and turning towards the stairs.  She lingered for a second a sHemorrhage retreated, pushing the lycan with him, the nocturnal still halfheartedly attempting the point of the baby’s distress.  Uncertainly, the mare asked, “May I, um, use your room?”
“Go right ahead,” Hemorrhage invited quickly, watching as Joint nodded and retreated up the stairs to the top of the tower.  With a sigh, he turned to Khan and inquired, “Why do you have to make so many different things so complicated?”
The lycan simply quirked his head to the side innocently, turning tail and swaggering his way to a wooden door that led to the hall.  Shaking his head ever so slightly, Hemorrhage used his magic to open the door for the lycan, allowing him to trod through and swiftly down the hall.  Khan waited impatiently at the next wooden door that led to the said foyer, circling in front of it as Hemorrhage slowly walked to it.
Upon letting the lycan and himself into the broader room, he was met with a startled yelp, Ailade barely clearing the doorway as Khan barreled through.  The reckless lycan was startled by the sudden appearance of the mare, jerking around and bolting upright, sitting down as he pointedly bowed his head to his caretaker.  
Ailade clutched a hoof to her chest, shaking her head as she exclaimed, “Blood of the innocents, child, you scared me!”  Khan gave a low whine, obviously upset at himself as he shamefully ploded to the mare, head hung low as he bumped it slightly against her in apology.  Smiling slightly, she raised her hoof and patted the lycan on the head, comforting, “It’s alright now, you just gave me a scare.  We need to house train you so some day you don’t accidentally crush one of us smaller nocturnals.”  
The words calmed the lycan, who sat up and smiled broadly to her, causing the others to smile at him in turn.  “Now,” Ailade began, turning to Hemorrhage.  “I hope you got a good amount of sleep last night, yes?”
“Well, I’m not sure how much he did,” Hemorrhage said, glancing at Khan as he sat.  With a tired smile, he admitted, “I didn’t get any at all. I-”
“No excuses, master,” Ailade interrupted furiously.  “You still need your sleep regardless of your age!  Come, I’ll guide you to your bedroom.”  
“The tower allows sunlight in,” Hemorrhage reminded her, remaining seated.  He dropped the smile, pushing away his cheerfulness aside as the solemnity of Argon’s news was recollected.  “Argon’s return last night was far from the last major event to occur last night.  He had a great deal of news to bring, and we have much to discuss over breakfast.”
“But on a more personal note,” Ailade presumed, encouraging Hemorrhage to continue.
“On a more personal, but general note, Joint knows who we are,” he stated.  Ailade frowned at the news, quickly looking around as if searching for the mare.
“Does that mean she ran,” Ailade tentatively asked, concern lacing her brow.
“No, no,” he quickly assured her.  “In fact, she’s currently somewhere behind me, either in my room or somewhere along the way down here.”
“Oh, okay,” she replied, looking relieved.  Realization struck both of them at what he had said, Ailade’s eyes widening as she exclaimed, “You didn’t, did you!?”
“Of course not,” he shouted over her panic, pressing a hoof to his head in shame as a blush dashed across his cheeks.  “We certainly have not consummated our relationship in that way.  She’s simply giving Amethyst suck right now, and the observatory was the closest room to give her privacy!  Anyways, on that particularly personal note, she knows now that we are nocturnals and for some reason trusts us still.”
“She’s a smart mare, and a mare that loves you,” Ailade pointed out, a knowing smile crossing her face.  “Besides, there is no way we are as lecherous or evil as Sombra, so she has gone from a barn to a stable.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s fair,” Hemorrhage allowed, standing up.  “Come, I’m fairly hungry, and I’m sure Khan is as well.  We’ve all had a long night regardless of out sleep conditions, and there is much that needs to be done today, and there are only so many hours to work with.”
“Why do you feel the need to talk so cryptically when you’re stressed,” Ailade asked, a keen smile crossing her face as she also stood, following him to the doorway.  
“I always talk like this,” Hemorrhage began, before realizing he had fallen into the proverbial trap.  With a slight eye roll as his friend smiled brightly, he pushed the doors open, Khan entering before either of them.  “You know, one of these days, you’ll be just like me, a much older, wiser nocturnal having to deal with the shenanigans of a younger, naive werewolf.  Perhaps if you start acting more respectfully around me, Luna will avert you from that fate.”
“But master, I do respect you,” Ailade accentuated.  “I simply wish to allow you to reminisce in your younger years through me, since you’re so old and crippled with years.”
“You simply saying that made my back creak,” Hemorrhage teased, stooping his neck down.  “Oof, my poor neck has grown so tired of carrying around my head for so many years.  I might simply let it fall to the ground someday.”  The comment was complimented with a slight pop from his neck at the motion, catching them both by surprise.  Khan spun around, head cocked sideways in confusion at what could have caused the noise.  The stallion lifted his hoof and rubbed his now relieved neck, stating, “Perhaps I am crippled with age.”
The both of them chuckled heartily, approaching the wooden table that centered the room.  Khan had moved on from the strange noises, scratching at a stone cabinet that stored some salted meat leftover from past hunts.  Hemorrhage opened the cabinet, trusting that Khan’s pack mentality would cause him to leave food for the others.  The large lycan stuck his snout partway inside and bit down on the largest slab of meat, instantly backing away in shock, his tongue hanging from his mouth.  This caused a new bout of laughter from the older two, who had grown used to some of their meals being salted.  Khan turned and whined shrilly at them, complaining about their mockery of him.
“Aw, don’t you worry, it’s simply for the flavor and preservation of the meat,” Ailade assured him, explaining the cause of the unusual flavor.  Khan slowly turned back to the meat and carefully bit down into it, pulling it from the cabinet, taking it as he moved aside to allow the others their own meal.  Ailade pulled out a smaller, hoof sized patty of meat, which she took a bite of while she grabbed a much larger strip for Hemorrhage.  He raised an eyebrow at the motion, but took the meat anyways, taking a bite from it.  This meat was much more recent, so even though it had been salted, there was still enough natural moisture to form a delicious juice as he chewed it.  Somehow Khan had already finished his portion and he moved to grab another, but Hemorrhage blocked him.
Swallowing his bite, he told the lycan, “We do things differently in a coven than in a pack.  For starters, Leper is responsible for these kills, and as such, he’s supposed to have the largest portion of the meal.  We can go hunting sometime tonight anyways, and you can eat your fill then.  Spring is here, so there will be a good amount of replaceable food for the next few weeks.  We can hunt almost without consequence, but you’ll need to go with either Leper or Argon to learn the territory and how to hunt respectfully.”
“Hunt respectfully,” Joint suddenly asked, appearing in the doorway of the dining hall.  Hemorrhage spun around, hiding his meal behind his back, and practically slamming the cabinet shut with his magic.  The mare pursed her lips slightly, raising a brow at his obvious and failed attempt to hide his meal.  “Oh come on, what else would you be eating?”
“That’s… that’s fair, I suppose,” Hemorrhage muttered, flustered.  “I simply didn’t want you to have to see us eating.”
“Hunting respectfully is a code we nocturnals have,” Ailade interrupted, answering Joint’s question and saving Hemorrhage from embarrassed silence.  “We must survive by killing and eating other living beings, everything from a small rabbit to a grown stallion, but that doesn’t mean we devolve into deranged and bloodthirsty murderers.  We have a code of conduct to maintain our respectability and appreciation for life, as all creatures should.  It mostly involves not gorging ourselves on the lives of others, especially defenseless creatures that have no hope of fighting back or escaping us.  It’s much harder to control yourself, especially when you’re hungry or craving blood.  It’s worth mentioning, since we don’t want you to get the wrong ideas or have to wonder, that pony blood is the tastiest, and their meat is especially pleasing.”  Ailade shook her head sadly, muttering, “I am ashamed to say that we all know the flavor of ponies.”
“It’s fine, I know what our blood tastes like too,” Joint said darkly.  “Besides, as long as you aren’t hurting anyone on our side of the border that doesn’t deserve it, I don’t care, truly.  It was a shock to learn that not only are vampyres and werewolves real, but that they were a part of this society so blatantly.  Now, however, it makes a whole bunch more sense why such devilish creatures like the bastard exist.  No offense to you and your coven, of course, but I’ll assume the vast majority of nocturnals aren’t like you.”
“You’d be right in that regard,” a familiar voice replied to the comment, joining the conversation.  The four turned to Argon, who stood in the doorway, his family standing with him as they joined for breakfast.  Leper stood silently behind them, his keen young eyes darting around all of the present members, his eyes slightly narrowing at the close proximity of Hemorrhage and Joint.  The youth had been taken under the wing of Nightseer primarily in the past few years and had obviously learned much from her and her mate.  Argon gave Joint a guarded glance, but otherwise approached them without regard for the strange pairing of outsiders and coven members.  
“We have quite the crowd now,” Nightseer observed, carrying her own little foal in with her.  She gave Ailade a friendly smile, sitting down at the table in the room as Argon went to the cupboard, opening it and blatantly displaying the dark red slab of dried meat.  Khan took the opportunity to reach into the box and steal another slab of meat.
“Ahp,” Hemorrhage shouted at the lycan, snatching the food from his jaws with his magic.  The disappointed nocturnal whined slightly, but otherwise accepted that he wouldn’t be receiving any more free food.  Looking at the slightly drooled on meat, the mordigan offered, “Here, you can have this Leper.”
 The lycan gave the meat an uncertain glance, watching a glob of saliva drip off of it.  “I’ll pass,” he declined, sitting down across from Nightseer.  “I’m going hunting tonight anyways, since it seems we’ll need a much larger food supply, and I’m getting tired of salty food.”  The lycan realized the context of what he’d said with a glance at Joint, who had simply watched the proceedings in silence.  He smiled sheepishly at her, explaining, “Sorry, not used to having innocent blood in the room.”
“It’s fine,” Joint replied coolly.  “I’ll just have to try to look intimidating while chewing on my greens.”  
The joke landed with Hemorrhage, who chuckled softly, a visual image of Joint chewing on grass while scowling at them popping through his head, biting into his own meal and finishing it off.  Khan stood up suddenly, tail brushing across Hemorrhage’s back as he carelessly walked towards the young family, almost as if to beg for some of their food.  
“For those who didn’t happen to hear or know, the lycan’s name is now Khan,” Hemorrhage informed.  The lycan dismissed hearing his own name, opting to sit next to Argon, looming over the stallion and staring angrily as the werewolf simply smiled up at him, taking a large bite of his meat.  “Ailade and I came up with it privately.  And speaking of new names, Nightseer, Leper, neither of you had the opportunity to meet Joint and her daughter, Amethyst.”
“Hello, friends,” the mare introduced herself with a friendly head nod.  
“Yes, she’ll be staying with us for some time, and speaking of which, it's almost time to leave,” Hemorrhage stated.  Even though there were no windows in the room to protect Nightseer from the light, he had learned over the years where the sun was by feeling.  “I haven’t told any of you yet, but Argon came back early this morning bearing news that has driven me to determine something.”
“You’re speaking cryptic words again, master,” Ailade said hushly, concern crossing her face.  
“For good cause,” Argon stated darkly, most likely having guessed Hemorrhage’s intentions.  “Go on.”
“For too long, we nocturnals have remained hidden from our world, the world of normality and light, which has driven us to dark and maddening habits.  We have instilled ourselves with bloodlust, and for the most part, our only reaction with normal ponies is to feast on them.  Our coven has pledged against it, but dozens of other nocturnals have continued to simply leech off of the world.  There are seven of us here and two newborns.  Six of us have feasted on pony at some point in our lives, and all of us have killed them, outcasting ourselves from society.  However, I know now, from years of experience and a few hours of learning that there are always two sides to a moon.  The side that remains in the dark, the unknown, terrifying, cold face, and the face that gleams down in the night.  We need to become like that  gleaming face, a face that scared ponies look up to at night for comfort in the darkness.”
“And how do you propose we do that,” Ailade questioned, her eyes narrowed in concentration.  
“To put it quite simply, we are going to war with the Crystal Empire,” Hemorrhage declared, a firm crease forming in his brow.  “The Bastard King is a mordigan such as myself, and I refuse to see another moon pass before I take some action against him,  one of my own kind!  He continues the war that has killed thousands.  No doubt some of his victims have been consumed, and I’m sure to guess that a few of his magistrates are nocturnals as well.”
“So we’re attacking a much larger coven that is controlling a whole nation as well,” Leper surmised.  The young lycan seemed to be holding back a laugh.  “I have to question how you plan to do that?  We hardly have the strength to keep peace with the other coven.”
“That’s just it, though,” Hemorrhage pointed out.  “We didn’t have the strength to face off with them, so we made a pact.  That pact also states that we will protect ourselves from other, larger attacking pacts.  Well, the Crystal Empire might not be its own coven, but it is ruled by a member of one, and since it has attacked not only soldiers, but citizens, an invasion would target us as well.  Thus, we would be dragged into the defense of each other regardless!”
“Wait, but that’s if they invade, which they wouldn’t, and not so far this way,” Leper noted.  “Besides, thay have yet to go so far as to eliminate civilian centers, or target defensive villages.”
“Yes, but that was the old Empire,” Argon interrupted, standing up.  He loomed over the table with an angry look on his face.  “In the short time that I was within the Crystal Empire, there were a great many things that I heard about and witnessed that made me wish to kill every one of them there.  However, on the same night that Joint escaped from the palace, I overheard several of the generals talking in the early morning.  They were attempting to be secretive, hiding in the back end of the palace, and so I was inclined to listen.  That very night, Sombra had executed his queen, which may be the only good thing he’s done in his reign.  His advisor, a strange pony that hardly speaks to anyone but the bastard, had made a suggestion to winning the war.  He declared that the heart of the nation of Equestria wasn’t the army, but the citizens within, so, if he wished to strike a deadly blow, he would have to hit Equestria in its heart.”
“The farming lands of the Opotimare Valley,” Joint breathed, a haunted look crossing her face.  “There’s thousands of ponies their, and almost no soldiers.”  She looked up at Hemorrhage, a determined glean in her narrowed eyes.  “We have to warn the Princesses!”
“That’s the plan,” he assured her.  Turning to the coven, he pronounced, “We have much that needs to be done today.  Argon and I will be heading to Canterlot to warn the Princesses of what we’ve learned, everything of it, and offer ourselves up as soldiers.  I also have plans to recruit our familiar coven so they don’t feel forced into the conflict, since I’m sure Halven will have the wits to deduce they will face conflict either way.  It should only take Argon and I a day to get to the castle, though it requires us to not be in our pony forms to travel so quickly.  In the meantime, I need Ailade and Nightseer to prepare a gift to bring to the other coven, as well as help Joint in whatever way she and her child needs.  Leper, you’ll have to take Khan under your wing.  You’ve grown out of being new to the nocturnal lifestyle, and now it’s time for you to pass on the knowledge of how a lycan lives to another.”
“I’ll do my best,” Leper swore solemnly, his face serious.  
“We leave in half an hour,” Hemorrhage announced to the entire coven, before standing and walking to the werewolf.  As soon as he had stood, the room erupted with movement, and even Khan seemed to have an air of importance to his movements as they prepared for the busy day.  
As Ailade passed by him, she muttered, “You should’ve gotten some sleep.”
Hemorrhage didn’t have time to respond to the mare before she was gone, so he instead turned fully to Argon, who was hugging his wife and daughter.  A twinge of guilt struck him like lightning as he realized that the stallion probably hadn’t even seen his young daughter since his return until now.  With a sorry frown, he apologized to the couple, saying, “I’m sorry I have to steal you from each other yet again, Argon.  As soon as this is all over, I’ll make sure to take the brunt of outside actions needed.”
“It’s okay, Hemorrhage,” Nightseer calmly assured him, resting a hoof on her husband’s shoulder.  “We have eternity to make it up.  Besides, these ponies need to be protected, so it’s good to know that there’s no better stallion to help you with the task than Argon.”
“Yes, there truly isn’t,” Hemorrhage agreed with a slight smile.  “I’ll go now.  I need to at least prepare parchment and ink for when we arrive, and I have my own good-byes to say.”
A knowing smile crossed Nightseer’s face, an encouraging nod admitting his leave.  He turned and walked hastily towards the exit, knowing Joint was right behind him.  
“So after everything, you’re just going to leave me here behind with the other mares,” Joint asked bitterly.  With a glare, she wrapped around in front of him and stopped, halting his movement in the hallway.
“Trust me, it has nothing to do with wanting to protect you or keep you somewhere safer,” he replied.  “It’s simply that, in this sort of event where haste is a necessity, Argon and I would be the quickest traveling off-road.”
“I was a ranger in the Equestrian army,” she reflected defensively.  “I can move almost thirty five miles an hour!”
“Yes, I have no doubt you are fast, but Argon and I can reach Canterlot in perhaps two hours with non-stop running,” he explained.  The statement was clearly a surprise to Joint, her eyes widening at the almost impossible speed.  With a slight sigh, he dispersed himself into inky mist for a brief second before rematerializing, this time with much more body mass and wings.  “I can fly quickly, and if there is any sort of obstacle on the ground, I could pick up Argon for a brief bit.  Besides, you have Amethyst to tend to as well.”
With a defeated sigh, Joint seemed to realize he had a point, shaking her head slightly.  “Fine, but when you come back, you’re taking me with you to join the army.”
“You wouldn’t have it any other way,” he replied with a teasing smile.  
“That’s right,” Joint agreed, smiling similarly.  They leaned in and kissed briefly, before the necessity of time pulled them apart.  The rush of the kiss carried him up the stairs of his tower and through the quick process of packing parchment and ink into a small fabric sack.  Before he knew it, he was back down by the doors of the castle, the doors swinging open.  
Looking back to the members of his coven that were staying, he felt a brief, almost indescribable, twinge of comfort at the sight of Nightseer and Joint standing side-by-side, their respective daughters in hoof.  These were the ponies he’d grown to love, one like a daughter, the other much more personally, and each had their own child, a new member of the coven that would be raised in the world that survived whatever was about to come next.  
Turning to Argon, who was staring back at Nightseer, he raised a hoof and laid it on his shoulder.  The stallion looked over to him, and with a determined nod, they went, one flying, the other running, to protect the world that they needed to survive.
> Chapter 19: The Princesses
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It took them less than an hour to leave behind the forests that surrounded the coven’s castle, and by noon, they were ascending the mountain with unadulterated speed.  Hemorrhage was able to maintain most of his strength through arcanic boosting, but from time to time he and Argon were forced to pause so he could catch his breath.  While he was able to keep up physically, his older physique and an old wound in his leg prevented him from going too long without a brief pause.  During these little breaks, he would take short naps to regain strength and counter some of the effects of the long night he had lived through.  
Eventually, however, the trees along the base broke away to rocky terrain that he was able to glide over while Argon kept up on foot.  Thanks to his lithe werewolf form, he was able to move along the loose ground easily, his paws and claws providing the grip necessary to race across the gravel.  It had taken a little bit longer than he expected to reach Canterlot with his short breaks, but within three hours, they were approaching Canterlot from the side to avoid detection.
There was very little traffic that went through the unused hunter trail that had originally been established by long-gone griffons, and on a cold, windy day as it was, there had been nopony using it.  In all estimations, it was probably a longer trip up using it rather than the Great Staircase, the stone tablets that led all the way up to Canterlot, but it would have been crowded with peddlers and merchants moving along it no matter the weather.  Even though they probably wouldn’t have been too bothered by the travelers, it was safer to avoid normal ponies in any matter.
Cresting the crow’s nest that shielded the southern portion of the city and hugged the Canterlot River, he and Argon paused once again, staring over the town.  Canterlot had been established some fifty years ago, and while it had certainly grown since he had last seen a map of it, it had retained much of its small size.  There were only a few hundred buildings, mostly single-story thatch-roof houses that were condensed along the four major roads leading to the palace.  The fields were empty, but most certainly present, and took almost all of the unused space in the little valley at the top of the mountain.  
The river ran right through the center of the city, cascading over the edge of the mountain just a few dozen spans away from the castle.  It was the only majestic thing about the city, the only thing that made it look significantly different from other small cities.  It stood hundreds of spans tall, marble and granite spires tipped with gold and silver, banners flying from every spot that wasn’t marked with precious stone.  The dwelling of the Princesses, the true rulers of all Equestria, amid the stone and wood buildings of every common pony was certainly a contrast, but with a snap Hemorrhage remembered he didn’t have the time to worry about splendor.  
Without a word, he spread his wings and took off, soaring over the unsown fields and cottages, mindful of the few citizens who stared up at him as he passed.  On the ground, Argon was lagging behind, but seeing as he was probably going to meet resistance and questions anyway, Hemorrhage was fine with leaving the stallion behind momentarily.  He kept low to the ground, close enough that when he flew over the houses within the small walls of the city the thatch became unsettled.  It only took him a few seconds to reach the castle, and as soon as he arrived, he swept down to the gate at the base of the castle, injecting his wings back into his body before approaching the entrance.  
It had become harder and harder to approach the Princesses without a formal invitation, and seeing how he was only a count of a small, unpopulated area south, the polar opposite of where the fighting occurred, he was most likely in the very back of Celestia or Luna’s minds.  Still, being so far away from the conflict at least cleared him of most suspicions, hopefully making the process easier.  Stepping out from around the backside of the two story stone building he had landed behind, he confidently stepped towards the guarded gates into the palace grounds.
Immediately, the two unicorn guards drew their swords, grasping them with their magic as the left one shouted, “Halt.  Under the orders of the two Princesses, no stallion, mare, or foal shall enter on these grounds-”
“Yes, I know the orders you’ve received,” Hemorrhage lied, drooping his eyelids to look unimpressed.  “However, the matter at hoof is a regard only to be discussed with the Princesses, also as ordered by them.”  Quoting from memory one of the orders he had read that was still in effect, he stated, “‘All legislature and warmongering involved in the matters of King Sombra and the Crystal Empire or his vassals shall be hitherto discussed within the confines of the Canterlot Castle walls, with no exception save in the war camps of Equestria.’”
Hemorrhage paused, looking at the both of them for confirmation of his words, and after a brief moment, the two guards looked at each other, before glancing back at him suspiciously.   “What’s your business here, then,” the one to the left asked.
“Well, I am here to give a report on the going abouts of the Bastard King according to the word of my spy who was only able to return to my house,” the mordigan replied confidently.  Lowering his voice and stepping slightly closer to the pair, he muttered, “The news that my spy brings me is concerning to a degree where thousands of lives could be lost.  He speaks of a new campaign the Bastard King is planning, and though the word was received yesterday, the Crystal Empire is known for its speed.  If we are not swift in retaliation we could find ourselves facing a grim number of casualties, even defeat, if we aren’t careful.”
Hemorrhage watched guards’ brows furrow, the pair thinking for a moment before the one on the left questioned, “Where is your proof of this?”
“The word of Count Hemorrhage of the Southern Forest Extensions, a land holding about thirty miles southeast of Bitsmoth,” Hemorrhage proclaimed, straightening himself.  Suddenly, Argon came around the bend, nearly colliding with the trio as he came to a jerking stop.  “And the word of the heir to the region, Argon Neighn.”
“At your service,” Argon greeted formally with a dip of his head.  The guards hesitated a moment more, but with a glance around, they moved their swords aside, allowing the pair of nocturnals entry.  Hemorrhage immediately began moving forward, nodding in acknowledgement of the guards’ graces, Argon right behind him.  Without wasting a moment, the two moved up the slight bluff leading up to the castle, approaching yet another pair of guards at the door.
Upon spotting them, the pair immediately began to open the doors to the castle, a long groan escaping the opening doors.  Walking in between the two, Hemorrhage noticed how pensive they were, a strained stress on the both of their faces.  Whatever was happening behind these walls was a dangerous matter, something that he suddenly realized was affecting the whole of the town.  He paused briefly after crossing into the palace,  listening past the groan of closing doors for the noises a growing city should be making.  
Silence.
“I hear it too,” Argon suddenly said.  Hemorrhage glanced at the stallion as he added, “Running through the city, everypony was… off.  There were only a few merchants out today, and they weren’t calling prices or hollering after me to buy anything.  There were no foals out either, and the few ponies in the streets I did see either disregarded me or stared intensely as I passed.  The entirety of Canterlot is all up in the eaves over something.  I’m just unsure what exactly.”
“Yes, I noticed the same from the guards, the both of them, I think,” Hemorrhage agreed, pausing to think.  Beginning to walk down the short corridor to the right, to where there would surely be somepony to guide them to the Princesses, he surmised, “We can’t concern ourselves with the city right now, though.  The tension is borne from within these walls, anyways.  If we’re lucky, not only will we get our messages across but also learn a few things as well pertaining to what exactly has everypony’s fur rustled.”
The pair reached the end of the corridor, standing in front of a smaller set of double doors that he knew from past experiences led to a spire.  Surely enough, when he knocked on the door, they opened up to reveal a short platform and then a circular staircase.  Taking a deep breath, he began to ascend the white marble steps, the castle all around cleaner and brighter than his own.  While he didn’t necessarily mean to compare his own residence with the Princesses’, especially knowing how grand the castle truly was if he were to stop and observe it, but it was a natural thing for him to compare.  Years of leading the coven had made him rather proud in what they had achieved, and compared to this city, it really wasn’t much.
His thoughts were left unfinished as he reached the top of the stair steps, a wooden door blocking his path.  He raised a hoof to knock, but before his hoof made contact with the grains, it swung open.  A young mare stood behind it with wide eyes, silently ushering the pair in, signaling for silence.  Hemorrhage nodded, stepping carefully into the only room that seemed to not be built out of white marble.  Maps and weapons were scattered all over the wall, which itself seemed to be made of regular brick and mortar.  Frowning at one particularly concerning one that showed annexed regions of both the Crystal Empire and Equestria.
A conversation had been going on when they had entered, but as soon as they set foot into the sight of the Princesses and several other ponies in their company silence had fallen.  The Princesses glanced at their advisors and each other in earnest confusion, before looking back at them.  
“Who are you?  You aren’t expected, are you,” Celestia asked, looking genuinely concerned.  Then, realizing that she didn’t even recognize the pair, she turned to the mare who had bid them entry, asking, “Why did you let them in.”
“I-I-I’m sorry, Princess,” the mare stuttered, looking down in shame.  “I thought they were expected.  Please, forgive me.”
“No harm has been done, Mallow,” Luna suddenly spoke, stepping forward with a soft smile.  “I recognize one of these two.  Hemorrhage, isn’t it?”
“Yes indeed, Princess,” the mordigan confirmed, ducking his head respectfully as he bowed.  “Humbly at your service.”
“And what is your purpose for being here,” asked a stallion he didn’t recognize.  He was an older, gray unicorn with a blue mane who wore a simple tunic over his back with an insignia that Hemorrhage could almost remember seeing once.
“Well, it must certainly be important if the guards at the gates allowed you through in spite of their instructions,” Celestia commented, looking concerned.  Circling around a large table that took up most of the room, she stepped up towards the two, leaning down as she asked, “What news do you bring about the war.”
Hemorrhage steeled himself in the face of the Princesses, a firm set to his jaw as he questioned, “Do you trust everypony in this room with the lives of thousands of ponies?”
There was the briefest of pauses as the alicorn glanced back, her brilliant rainbow mane flowing in contrast to the darkness of the room.  Looking back to Hemorrhage, Celestia declared firmly, “I’ve trusted them with Equestria.  I won’t stop now.”
“Good,” Hemorrhage stated, “because what I’m about to tell you will most likely shock or concern you, and it may already be too late to stop it.”
“Well then, best to speak quickly and think precisely,” one of the other counselors, an older, grayer unicorn who sported a much more colorful ensemble.  “We haven’t time to waste with suspense and dubious words.”
“Well, Princesses, I present to you my spy who I sent into service some moons ago into the Crystal Empire,”  Hemorrhage bowed once again, stepping aside to allow Argon to take the attention.  The stallion stepped forward as he stated, “It is his tale that should concern you, though I also bear more terrible news.”
“My Princesses and her trusted advisors, my name is Argon, and for the past eight moons, I was in the service of King Sombra as one of his guards,” he introduced himself.  Opening his saddlebag, he retrieved a token of the Crystal Guard, tossing it to the floor in disgust.  “While I was there, I learned a number of things, many of which I’m sure you also have come to know.  For one, the Crystal Empire is weak and overextended, the occupied lands it has annexed abandoned all of its guards in hopes that they could reinforce their border.  They also are suffering from a terrible drought, mass starvation, and, among other things, a crisis of politics.  On the day that I was found out and forced to escape, Sombra executed his queen.”
One of the other counselors in the room, a large, imposing stallion with multicolored blonde and brown hair laughed softly.  He stood almost as tall as Celestia and Luna and was holding a large spade casually against his chest.  In a thick, Neighdrick accent, he commented, “Then they deserved each other.”
“Enough of that, Rockhoof,” the elderly unicorn sharply corrected, his eyes narrowed at Argon.  “There’s more to it than that.”
“Yes, there is much more to it,” the werewolf affirmed, a dark look passing over the eight individuals in the room.  “The whole reason I was caught in the first place was because I had managed to slowly build up trust with the Queen and become one of her guards.  Well, just a few days prior she had scared off one of Sombra’s favorite… unwilling servants.  It was part of the reason she was executed, and I was right outside the doors to his governing chamber when it happened.  However, immediately after, one of his servants entered the room and gave him a few ideas, but I didn’t hear what until the order was given.  Sombra himself was the one who gave it, telling us to prepare for a march into the heartland of Equestria.”
Argon paused hesitantly for a moment as he seemed almost embarrassed to continue.  “Given how long I have been in the guard undetected, I was pretty confident in asking him what he meant, and that was my downfall, how he realized I wasn’t one of his guards.  I’m not sure how, but he was able to remember the face of the stallion I had killed for the suit eight months earlier, and even though he answered my question, he exposed me and sent me running.  My escape isn’t important though.  The orders he gave to the Crystal armies, it's… terrible.  Before, he was attacking us head on, trying to break down our army ranks and march victoriously, but now… he’s grown desperate.  He ordered an army to be formulated with the sole intent of burning the Oppotimare Valley to the ground, and any ponies with it.”
“Stars above,” Luna softly cursed as shock spread around the room.  In an instant, she turned to the stallion called Rackhoof, instructing him, “Go take my new unit of twenty thousand trainees and deploy them to the town of Grandshire there.  Hopefully their presence will be enough to ward off any direct assault, seeing as they are one of the larger units.  Moon save them if they actually enter combat, they will struggle to hold their ground.  A siege they could handle with our support, but battles will be costly and potentially fatal to the division.”
“Well, our current plans of action can handle the situation as well,” a brown pegasus mare stated, pointing to the map on the table.  “You see, Celestia’s 2nd Army can be repositioned about five and a half miles south, maintaining three point eight miles from the planned area but also close to the Grandshire Roadway in case support from the army is needed.”
As the others began to theorize potential placements and positions for the armies to best defend the Oppotimare, Celestia stepped towards Hemorrhage, gesturing for him to follow her as she left the room.  The mordigan bowed his head and dutifully followed her out and down the stair steps, all the way back to the bottom.  She lead him through a short hallway to a random room, opening the door magically and entering in the same breath.  Hemorrhage followed, a wary glance around at the empty bedroom, everything inside veiled with a white cloth.
“Hemorrhage,” Celestia said softly, almost as if to herself, her back still to him.  “I remember that name well.”
“It’s not very hard to forget,” he responded courteously.  
“It’s not a pony name either, is it,” the Princess questioned.  She turned around, giving the stallion a hard stare.  “You’re one of the nocturnal creatures, aren’t you?”
“Indeed I am,” Hemorrhage informed her with a meek nod.  Retracting his wings from within his body, he spread them wide.  “A mordigan, if you will.  One who has the strength of the werewolf and mind of a vampyre.”
“A dangerous culmination, as Meadowbrook sees it,” she commented, her eyes scanning his fleshy wings.  “Best to not reveal your true colors around the Pillars.  They are most sensitive to your type, having dealt with every known coven across the land.  I’m not sure how I could convince them of your innocence.  You’d have to do the job yourself.”
“I’m afraid that I would be inadequate for that,” the stallion replied sadly, looking down.  
“I knew you had something more to tell me than just that invasion is coming,” she revealed.  Taking a deep breath in, she demanded, “Well, out with it already.”
“I need you to understand that what I’m about to reveal to you is both disturbing and could put me and my coven in danger of those Pillars,” Hemorrhage said solemnly.  Celestia gave him a wary look, before nodding for him to go on.  “You see, about three years ago, when you had first guided us to the Southern Extensions, I had sent out my youngest member of our coven, Leper, to go find fresh food and to test him.  Instead of the usual hunt, however, he came across an attack of one lycan against two foals.  One of them was dead and nigh on devoured already, but the other survived barely, left by the lycan when he sensed Leper.
“We searched for the young foal at first, but after several months of nothing, we decided he had most likely either been put down or adopted by the only other coven we’ve met.  This coven is much different from our own in many ways, including an occasional attack on the wayward traveler.  We came into negotiation with them during that time in hopes of preventing a coven war that could prove disastrous for both sides.  You see, their coven is much larger with over thirty individuals of different nocturnal species.  Their leader is a cunning and wise ompyre that upholds roughly the same moral law as we, but with so many daring individuals within his coven, enforcing those rules without true support, within or outside his coven, would most likely cost him his life.
“While in discussion, we met with every member of that coven, but none of them were the foal we were looking for, and Leper failed to identify the lycan who had done it.  It was unfortunate, but we believed for the better that the foal had perished.  We went about our business as usual until last September, right on the cusp of winter, when settlers from Canterlot arrived in the small hills that my county holds.  They were a group of some eighty settlers, most of them young couples looking to start a life in the peaceful hills.  We had limited but friendly interaction with them, but when the cold of winter set in, we didn’t visit with them.  It wasn't until the world was beginning to thaw that we finally realized our neighbors were silent and decided to visit them.”
“You’re speaking of them as if they were from the past,” Celestia noted ignorantly, a hard tint to her very pupils as she listened to his every word intently.  “Go on.”
“When we arrived, all we found were bones, the remainder of sixty three pony bodies, all cleaned completely of their flesh,” Hemorrhage breathed, his gaze dropping from his Princess.  “There were pieces of pony scattered all over the entire settlement, with signs of weaponry and battle all about.  At first, there was only one presumption, that it had to be the acts of the other coven, driven mad with hunger due to the harsh winter.  But then we found two bodies not belonging to wolves, which we could scarcely believe were behind the carnage within the village.  However, Leper was with me, and thanks to his keen nose, he was able to detect the faintest trace of lycan amid the foul remains.”
“But what of the other villagers,” Celestia quickly asked, her brow furrowed.  “You said some eighty, but there were only sixty three bodies.”
“We discovered that all of the dead were of older ponies,” Hemorrhage explained.  “There wasn’t a single dead foal among the remains.  As far as we know, however, they were either scared off and away into the forest and died there, or were rescued by a third party we don’t know about yet.  We haven’t had the time to investigate their whereabouts yet, unfortunately.  The discovery was made just last night.”
“I’ll rally as many residents in the nearby areas to search for them, but most likely they are dead,” Celestia agreed, her falling as she let out a sad sigh.  “Please, continue.”
“We followed the scent to a hidden cavern and found the lycan inside as we had suspected he might have been involved with the wolves somehow.  The scene was less than appealing, however.  The remains of several other wolves, many younger than he, had been stacked in a corner, and he himself was haggard and left wounded from the villagers several months ago.  To our best knowledge, he has been a member of a pack of wolves ever since he was mauled, which also explains why he attacked the village.  Most likely, it didn’t start as an attack, but you see, when any nocturnal changes, or goes through a moon metamorphosis, then they will be bloodthirsty and lonely, searching for both a coven and a mate.  Seeing as he had no one around him to ground his ambitions, he most likely found the closest thing within the pack.  There, he was raised in his lycan state for three years, and unfortunately, that means he’s much more of a monster than a pony at this point.”
“So you’re saying that he was the one who killed all those ponies,” Celestia surmised, a hard set to her gaze.  
“No, what I’m saying is that the monster that killed all those ponies also took control of the body of that foal, and while it will take time and work beyond calculation, we can bring the foal back into control,” Hemorrhage explained.
“And what of the perpetrator?”
“The monster will die when control over it is restored.  At one point in every nocturnal’s life, they lose control of themselves and become the full monster that they are described as and kill somepony.  It’s a bloody part of their life cycle, but ultimately necessary for their transition into a pony who can control their monstrous side.  Not all nocturnals embrace that part of themselves and are usually lost in self-hate or indulgence of their sin.  With our guidance, however, we hope that this foal can return to a state of being that allows him liberty of thought and action.”
“So you’re saying there will be no punishment for his actions,” Celestia questioned earnestly, curiously tilting her head slightly.
“The memory that he has killed so many will be punishment enough,” Hemorrhage assured her.  “Any nocturnal who maintains their morals will tell you that from their own experience.”
“I see,” the Princess nodded, tapping a hoof against her chin.  Looking up suddenly, she asked honestly, “Do you think that tactic will work with King Sombra?  Do you think we could capture him and force him into a docile state with the truth of his crimes?”
“Actually, you’ve gotten to the second reason I need to talk to you in private.”  The mordigan paused hesitantly, not knowing exactly how to break the news of Joint Point and her daughter to Celestia delicately.  Realizing quickly that there wasn’t a way to do so, he took a breath and bluntly stated, “have in my possession the daughter of Sombra.”
Celestia’s jaw instantly dropped, a shocked gasp escaping her as the news broke across the room.  Hemorrhage gave the Princess several seconds to regain most of her composure, but her eyes remained wide in disbelief.  Shaking her head, the alicorn managed to stutter, “Th-that can’t be true.  I would’ve heard about it the moment it happened.”
“Unfortunately, there are many well kept secrets within the Crystal Palace walls, and one of them is his favored concubine,” Hemorrhage stated solemnly.  “Have you heard the name Joint Point before?”
“Yes, she was an outstanding archer in my First Army for a few months before her disappearance after the border conflict three years ago,” Celestia remembered.  “Are you implying what I think you are?”
“Yes, she is the concubine and mother of Sombra’s child,” Hemorrhage confirmed.  “She attempted to assassinate him at the beginning of the war, but ultimately failed to do so and was captured.  For three years, she was forced to serve him in whatever way he desired, and while I don’t know to what extent it went, we know for sure it included the forbidden desires as well.”  He paused and shook his head, ice in his heart at the thought of that damn bastard with his hooves on her.  His voice dripping with venom, he added, “This wasn’t her first pregnancy, but it was the only one he allowed to live.  Something tells me he didn’t only kill his wife for her failures.”
“He wanted to replace her,” Celestia realized.  Her head snapping up, she intensely questioned, “Where is she now?”
“Resting safely at the castle under the care of my coven who aren’t dealing with the lycan,”  he informed her.  “Oh, and she already knows the truth of our nature.  Considering her past circumstances and the hospitality we allotted her, she accepted it and moved on in a matter of a few kind words.  It’s truly a wonder how she survived and escaped her life in the Crystal Empire, but we may never be able to measure her courage or worth.”
“You’re in love,” Celestia noted almost nonchalantly, catching Hemorrhage off-guard.  Watching his sputtering, the alicorn smiled and tilted her head at him, stating, “I’ve been around a while now, and have married more than a few couples in these palace grounds.  I know what love looks and sounds like.  I don’t blame you, but how do you expect to gain her love after everything she’s gone through?”
“I don’t quite know myself,” the mordigan responded honestly with his own blooming smile.  Refocusing himself, he declared, “It doesn’t matter, right now though.  My personal life will be dealt with after the war.”
“Your information and Argon’s spying have certainly helped Equestria already,” Celestia told him gratefully.  “I’m sure Luna and the Pillars have established a plan to end the situation in the south.  Most likely, we can let you and Argon go back to your coven now to tend to those who require your assistance more than us.”
“That’s just it though,” the stallion replied evenly as Celestia blithely began to exit.  “Argon and I are here to bring news, yes, but we also wish to join you and your armies in defending the Equestrian homeland in combat.  Surely you can’t deny the value of two nocturnals on the battlefield, especially those as experienced as Argon and I?”
“No that is true,” Celestia began, but saw that Hemorrhage still had more to add, pausing.
“You see, the second coven would also be able to join us as well through some negotiation,” he explained carefully.  “A great many of them would join for the prospect of food, but because of an alliance made between I and the leader of the other coven, Halven, I could gain his support as well.  With some dozen nocturnals, you could win any nighttime battle.  Besides, we have reason to suspect Sombra is a nocturnal himself, and seeing as the only way to truly kill one is by the hoof of another, it would be invaluable.”
“You do whatever you think is best,” Celestia charged him, a trusting nod giving him control over the situation.  “As far as I’m concerned, you have defended us from this new front, and therefore it is in your hooves to decide how to best handle this.”
“The war is yours and Luna’s, but I am the willing servant of the Princess sisters, and will be a subservient member of your cause,” Hemorrhage swore, reaching out a hoof.  “Until this war is brought to an end and Sombra is neutralized, it will be my pleasure to give my horn and the swords of my ponies to you in combat.”
Celestia took it.  “There is no earthly way to deny this request.  Collect your soldiers and supporters and meet Luna’s army at Grandshire as you heard.  That is where the war will begin for you.”
> Chapter 20: The Negotiation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hemorrhage stared at the entrance into the gloomy cavern, contrasting deeply with the sprouting trees that surrounded the black hole.  The residence of the other coven was about six miles south of their own, but also something like a mile lower in elevation, meaning the winter had subsided more down here.  In fact, even though darkness had begun to fall on the land as night set in, there was still the slightest tinge of spring warmth that the mordigan hadn’t felt in months.  It was easy to see why a coven so large had chosen to live in such an area sheerly from an environmental aspect.
The entire area was forested in such a way that it had taken them hours to traverse between the trees to get to the cavern.  There were a multitude of animals as well, but in spite of the hunting of some thirty nocturnals, they remained in seemingly healthy numbers.  The only slight concern was how close the coven was to a few of the villages in the territory bordering his own.  They were small and relatively defenseless against attack if the coven should decide on an actual meal of pony.  Thankfully, it seemed as if Halven had beaten temperance into his nocturnals.  Though the ompyre was clearly a shifty one, he had many good traits that Hemorrhage had come to appreciate in their negotiations.  
“Well, it’s as gloomy as I remember,” Argon muttered, his eyes scanning the roof of the cavern.  
“Come now Argon, appreciate the effort they put into deterring any foolish ponies from entering,” Hemorrhage joked, pointing at a pairing of stalactites that looked like teeth.
“Yes, look at how we protect the defenseless against ourselves,” a voice hissed from somewhere within the cavern, setting them both on guard instantly.  The pair watched as a trio of dark figures crept out from within the wide opening, two of them crawling low to the ground, encircling them as the third walked confidently towards them.  “Friends in the dark, I presume,” the stallion suggested with a lisp, stepping into the moonlight.  “My name is Necrophos, but please, if you are friends, call me Necro.”
“Good evening, Necro,” Hemorrhage greeted, eyeing the circling figures, watching their crouched forms.  They had to be werewolves based solely on their lithe forms, but also the way they seemed to be more animalistic without remorse, bared teeth and shining eyes the only thing the moonlight revealed about them.  “My companion and I have come to discuss matters that would be most concerning to your master.  May we be granted entry to speak with Halven?”
“That is not my choice to make, but might I suggest you dissolve that false face and show your true colors, stranger,” Necrophos hissed with a great glare.  The stallion crouched slightly as he took a step forward threateningly, a loose smile spreading across his marred face.  “I hate liars.”
“My wooden masks have been worn away by the forever blowing winds,” Hemorrhage stated, raising his head as he looked down at the encroaching werewolf.  Watching the stallion continue his advance, he frowned and lit his horn, tossing the werewolf twenty, thirty, then forty spans sideways without a motion.  Still facing where he had been, Hemorrhage finished, “All that is left is the stony face of a mordigan.”
The action caught up with his cronies, the two leaping at Hemorrhage with teeth bared.  In an instant, they were both pinned beneath Argon’s large paws, the lycan baring his teeth in the eyes of the attackers. 
“One wrong move and you’ll lose your head,” he threatened the struggling pair.  
“Please, no such extreme actions are needed,” a new voice called from within the depths of the cave.  Glancing back at the forlorn entrance, he saw a female figure emerge with an insincere smile on her face.  There was something alarming- uncanny even- about her, the way her tail began to swish from side to side as she glanced at her pinned comrades.  “Halven will gladly see you, Hemorrhage.  An ally cannot refuse such a friendly visit.”
“Thank you, Mantris,” the mordigan responded, disregarding the werewolf he had tossed aside stumbling back towards his cavern, a mangle paw held in the air as whines of pain slipped through his teeth.  
“Aw, he remembers my name,” the werewolf cooed as Hemorrhage passed by her to enter the cool cavern.  He gave her a wary glance.  It was hard to forget this one in particular, her strange demeanor and habits clear in the crazed shining of her eyes.  She was the kind to hug the shadows until the light caught her, but when it did, she wasn’t ever caught off-guard.  As silly as it was, of all the members of Halven’s coven, she was the one he feared the most, whether because of her unpredictability or skill, he couldn’t quite tell himself.
“Do be careful in there, though,” the werewolf warned, a cheerful smile still on her face.  “Winter has just ended and many of us are tired of fish…”
“I know the feeling,” Argon growled, licking his chops, staring down Necrophos as he followed Hemorrhage into the depths of the cavern.  With a wild snarl, the werewolf backed up, but before Argon could reply, Mantris had silently leapt between them, her grin ever shining.
“Come now, after all the trouble our masters have gone through to ensure this doesn’t happen, the two of you would end it so quickly,” she challenged.  Shaking her head in disappointment, she pursed her lips as she muttered, “For shame for shame.”
“Argon, we haven’t time for this,” Hemorrhage reminded the lycan, gently prodding his pride aside.  The stallion begrudgingly left the others behind, his sudden transformation causing him to loom threateningly over the other members of the coven drawn by the sounds of their scuffle.  They watched the pair enter their residence warily, though not altogether hostile like Necrophos and his friends.  Instead, they simply watched the foreigners they vaguely knew about, knowing that something important would be happening.  
As they continued into the cavern, it gradually became less cave and more of a furnished room underground, the floor tiled and the walls smoothed out, some of them even bearing carvings left by the residents as a mark of their presence.  He wasn’t scanning the cave for its appearance, however, but the details within it.  Everywhere he looked, there was at least some sort of scrap or residue left from a meal eaten, bone or tufts of fur that hadn’t quite been thrown out or decayed.  He could recognize most of them, even the littlest bits, by sight.  Scrap of a rabbit here, a fetlock of a deer there.  There were even some old pieces of pony, though because of their cracked, yellowed form, he knew they were too old to be what he was looking for.  In spite of all the pieces left around, he didn’t see a single scrap of foal, much to his relief.  At the very least, those poor foals hadn’t become food for this coven after having their lives destroyed by Khan.
Finally acclimating to the cave as they entered a narrow hallway carved out of a natural tunnel, Hemorrhage brushed away those particular concerns.  He was worried that at some point he would have to bring up the disappeared town to Halven, but with the children not appearing in any form here, he wasn’t too concerned now.  The cavern itself hadn’t changed much physically since the last time he had visited, but there was still certainly something… off.  Whether it was simply the turn of the season that provided the chill or the attitude of the other nocturnals as they watched or followed from a distance, there was an unmistakable cold in the air.  
Keeping as stoic as possible with his expressions, he found himself exiting the stone hallway into a surprisingly well lit room.  Hemorrhage blinked at the unexpectedly harsh light of torches placed in holders carved into the walls.  He glanced around at the half dozen individuals who bustled about quietly, doing something that was obviously important, but he couldn’t understand.  One of them instantly stuck out as a friendly face, a glowing smile among the somber frowns of those who completed the task of sealing some sort of stone cabinet.  
“Omen, is that you,” Argon asked, the first to remember the lycan’s name.  The stallion seemed to not hear them at first, whispering to one of the others while his back was still partway turned to them.  However, as the pair continued their approach, he noticed them, the beaming smile remaining as he greeted them.
“Ah, old friends, welcome back to our wonderful abode,” he exclaimed, stepping forward for a hoofshake.  Hemorrhage accepted the first friendly greeting from the coven with his own smile, giving the extended hoof a firm shake.  “It’s so wonderful for you to have arrived at the time you have, though I’m afraid my mate may be unavailable for any discussions at the moment.  We’ve had a very long night and have dealt with a small issue, but thankfully the matter is done with and we can continue on peacefully.”
“That’s good to hear, my friend,” Hemorrhage responded courteously, though his smile faded as he apologetically added, “Unfortunately, I have to request and immediate audience with Halven and the leaders of this coven, since this isn’t merely but a friendly visit.”
The cheerful lycan’s expression faded as well upon hearing the request, but he nodded in understanding.  “I had a feeling there was more to an unannounced visit than merely a check in.  Halven will understand, though.  Please, follow me.”
The pair dutifully followed Omen past a narrow corridor and over through several small chambers connected with a wide hall.  There was nothing unique or practical about any of the small chambers, simply empty pieces of cavern converted into a living space for the coven.  The only truly notable thing about the depths of the coven’s residence was the cleanliness.  In spite of the messy entrance, here the only thing that distracted from the stone and tile were the stringy bits of moss growing on the walls and uncut stalactites.  
Suddenly, the gray and faded green gave way to brown, a door blocking the entrance into the next chamber, and the only clear sign of anything of note this far down.  The trio came to a stop, Omen waiting for the briefest moment to stare at the door before raising a hoof and knocking.
“Yes,” came a hoarse call from beyond the door, the response so immediate that Hemorrhage knew Halven had heard them arrive.  
“Hemorrhage and Argon from the far-off coven have arrived and have a matter of great importance to discuss,” Omen announced, staring at the door.  “I know it’s a bit early for such matters, but there is certainly something pressing about the news they are bringing, given their sudden appearance.”
“Very well,” the voice from behind the door responded.  In an instant the wood was replaced by the tired face of an overworked ompyre, his tufted gray fur ruffled, yet still somehow neat.  Immediately he noticed his teeth, still sharp as if he had been in his ompyre form.  The two leaders stared at each other, scanning each other curiously.  With a short chuckle, the ompyre finally said, “You look like you’ve seen better days, friend.”
Hemorrhage cracked a smile, knowing he must have looked like a beaten gray rug after a sleepless night and hours of travel.  “Well, I’m certainly not getting any younger.  It also doesn’t help that I have to traverse through dozens of thistles to reach your coven.”
“I wasn’t commenting on your age,” Halven corrected, his shoulders seeming to settle as he exited the room, shutting the door behind him.  “You actually look quite a deal younger than the last time we met.  I’m guessing it means you’ve finally found the one.”
Hemorrhage was caught slightly off-guard by the suggestion, both how casually it was said and how simply the ompyre noted it.  “Well, yes, I think I might’ve found her, but there hasn’t been too much yet to confirm it,” the mordigan quickly recovered, a soft smile replacing his shock.
“That’s not what my wife tells me,” Argon objected knowingly, a smirk giving away the truth.  
“Bed her already then,” Halven asked.  Not waiting for a response, he muttered, “Well done.”
“I didn’t… bah, whatever, my personal concerns aren’t why I'm visiting,” Hemorrhage quickly attempted to clarify.  
“But of course it isn’t,” Halven replied, seemingly distracted as he walked towards  a slot in the cavern wall.  “I’m guessing there is some urgency to this meeting.  One of my scouts reported sudden movement in the earlier hours of the morning, so I knew you were on the move.  It took too long for you to have simply come here, no, you went up to Canterlot, yes?”
“Yes, we did,” Hemorrhage replied, refusing to be unsettled that Halven had a scout spying on him.  They monitored the other coven just as well.  “You see, Argon arrived in the middle of the night from the Crystal Empire, having barely escaped the clutches of the Bastard Prince.  For the past eight moons, he was pretending to be a guard for him, joining his queen’s personal guard.  She’s dead now, but the truth of the matter is that that only empowers the Bastard, and now he has summoned the courage to once again attack Equestria.”
“And this is a concern to us how,” Omen asked, a hoof thoughtfully tapping his chin.  
“Well, we have a good reason to believe the bastard is actually a mordigan, much like myself,” Hemorrhage revealed.  Instantly, the other pair of nocturnals diverted their full attention to him, Halven snapping away from his cupboard in the walls.  
“Do you have any physical evidence,” he questioned, his eyes narrowing to slits at the dangerous proposal.  
“I have the witness of a mare who was one of his slaves for over three years,” Hemorrhage responded gravely.  “The only reason she was his slave to begin with was her failure to kill him in spite of placing an arrow right into his heart.”
“Moon be damned,” Omen swore, a deep frown crossing his face.  “This is a precarious situation for us to be in.”  He looked up from his thinking, glancing around at the other three.  “We thought we were the last covens in the world, but if what you're saying is true, then there’s a good chance that we may be facing a coven of eighty, ninety individuals!”
“Wait, why so many,” Argon asked.
“Well, this is Sombra we’re talking about, a lunatic without any self control or moral compass,” Halven replied darkly.  “In any case, he knows his power and would likely attempt to spread it to wherever and whoever could help him maintain and enhance it.  You said he was a mordigan, yes?  Well, that just serves us even worse.  Most likely, he doesn’t have the same restrictions as the rest of us, using his ungodly magic to dissuade or subdue any of the punishments of coming onto a mare.  That’s what you meant by slave, right?”
Hemorrhage fell into an embarrassed silence, not expecting the stallion to be so deftly blunt.  Stumbling over his words slightly, he stuttered, “Y-yes, unfortunately, that is what I meant and what happened.”
Omen shook his head sadly before muttering, “That poor mare.  She’ll never be able to recover from what that stallion did to her.”
“Actually, she already has,” Argon came to Joint’s defense matter-of-factly.  “She’s as tough as a lycan when it comes to such things, both physically and emotionally.  She escaped from Sombra by killing an assassin sent to kill her by the queen and then floated herself down the river until she could leave on the Equestrian side.”
“And that’s how she came to us,” Hemorrhage finished with a thankful glance at his partner.  “She was captured almost killing the bastard, and she escaped him by surviving an attempt on her own life.  That isn’t even the most of it, however.  You see, while in captivity, she gave birth to a filly.”
Silent shockwaves rolled through the other two leaders, their eyes widening at the news as they glanced at each other.  Slowly, Omen stood as he tentatively ventured, “You mean to say… you have not only the witness of Sombra’s nocturnality, but also Sombra’s heir in your possession?”
“Impossible,” Halven muttered, astonished.  Quickly standing himself, he began pacing as he added, “Not impossible, but completely insane that not only is he able to subdue the affects of sex before marriage in a nocturnal, but also to do it with one who is not his other half.  Such a thing hasn’t happened in recorded history.  How could this have happened?”
“Well, I actually happen to know something of the matter myself,” Argon meekly answered.  Hemorrhage turned to the lycan, surprised.  The stallion seemed slightly embarrassed about the matter and quickly explained, “You see, since I’ve been married, I’ve learned that I don’t have any restraints on me concerning, well, mares.  Now by the moon I haven’t explored the full realms of what that means, as I only have eyes for my wife, but I don’t feel the same bands that held me back from touching or walking towards others.”
“So you’re saying maybe he already found his other half,” Omen surmised, his face scrunching up.  “Who?”
“Maybe it was the mare you took in,” Halven said, his pacing leading him back to the cupboard.  Pulling it back open, he used his magic to pull a bottle and four glasses out from within, simultaneously opening the door.
Then his words hit Hemorrhage.  
“Absolutely not,” he raged, his shout reverberating throughout the cavern.  “That mare has only hate for the bastard and he has no heart to love with.  The only care he has is his pride, a failing, fleeting pride in his own power.  I can’t believe you would make such an offensive and erroneous claim against somepony you don’t even know!”
He watched as eyebrows were raised at his outburst, but he stubbornly stuck by it, the rage rolling over and over and over deep within him.  He felt the heat of anger, the white hot flame that burned him and made him want to tear apart words and ensure they were destroyed forever.  But he couldn’t do it.  Words floated in the air and stuck in the mind.  Thankfully the only words that echoed were his own, the shouts haunting the room still as they echoed up the hallways and out to the world.  Let them hear the truth, for it had to be the truth.  Right?
“No need to be so stung, Hemorrhage,” Halven chastised, taking a careful step towards him.  Reaching out a hoof, he rested it on his shoulder, an apologetic smile crossing his face.  “I forgot who I was speaking of there for a moment, and that was my mistake to make such a theory.  I should have realized that you and I aren’t so different in nature, simply two nocturnals with loves that others don’t approve of.”  The stallion paused to glance back at Omen, who watched them with a soft smile.  “You see?  You are an old pony, but a young old one compared to I.  It is the curse of immortality, to remember so much and have such quick thoughts in the most simple of moments, to forever be haunted by the past and a future you don’t know.”
Letting out a deep breath, Hemorrhage nodded and thanked him, saying, “I’m sorry for this all.  I haven’t had much of a will to live and try for years, but in just this past night so much has changed, and the pressure of it all has been building.”
“I can see that,” Halven related with a sad sigh.  “I was like that before I discovered Omen, but now, I am alive.  Last night was a terrible one for me as well, but it too has invigorated my soul in spite of wearing on my body.  I had to kill a demeaning member of my coven who challenged me for the seat of power, and while I knew it had been coming, it was a sad thing to deal with.”
“I… I’m sorry to have disturbed you in such a condition, my friend,” Hemorrhage comforted, suddenly feeling guilty for what he was about to do to this poor ompyre.  “If I had known, I would have waited until you were in a better condition to bear all of this news.”
“No, it’s quite alright,” the ompyre assured him, patting his shoulder before turning and walking towards the open door, his bottle and glasses following behind like ducklings.  “All I need right now is a drink.  Please, come in and sit.”
Hemorrhage and Argon followed the request gratefully.  The interior of the room was very much still cavernous, but instead of feeling hollow and gray, it had a surprisingly cozy feel to it.  The moss grown on the wall seemed to have been cultivated as a sort of tapestry that covered the stone, giving a lively green shine to fire-licked walls.  Two couches facing each other with a small wooden table took one side of the room while something like a bed took the other.  It wasn’t quite a normal bed, more a nest of pillows and blankets settled on a flat of stone.  
Halven and Omen took the far couch while Hemorrhage and Argon settled on the other.  After the hours of running and flying, Hemorrhage felt himself instantly sink into the sofa, his legs finally resting as he at long last pulled his wings into himself, dissolving them into his body.  The glasses were set on the table while the bottle hovered briefly, the top popping off and tilting so it began to pour into the glasses.  The four were filled in short order, the trickling sound of blood infused alcohol filling the room as everypony stared at the dark liquid.  
“Thank you,” Argon thanked, a smile brushing his lips as he took a deep sip from his glass.  “Moon bless you, this is good!  What year is it?”
“Four eighty, blood infusion wasn’t done until just six moons back,” Halven responded, sipping from his own glass.  “Blood can sometimes ruin the true flavor of a chardonnay if left in for over a year, so thank you for giving me an excuse to pop this open.”
“Well, while we’re still here and comfortable, I have one more thing you need to know,” Hemorrhage stated.  Having caught his host’s attention, he continued, “Unfortunately, one of the things that Argon learned and is able to say will happen is a surprise invasion from Sombra into the southern region of Oppotimare.  As you know there is nothing there but villages and trading posts, and beyond that, is us.  We’re not sure exactly what motivated the move, whether word had somehow escaped about Joint and Sombra’s heir being with us, or simply wicked insanity, but it will happen.  When it does, Argon and I will be fighting with the ponies the Princesses sent to defend the helpless region, seeing as I, a count, need to provide service in such armed conflicts.  That also means that my coven is being attacked and being pulled into this war, and while both Argon and I have no issue with serving our nation, we also realize it invokes our own agreement with you and your coven.”
“The defensive pact,” Halven questioned, looking ever so slightly annoyed.  
“Yes, and unfortunately I feel the need to activate such a drastic measure seeing as the nature of our enemy,” Hemorrhage confirmed, hoping to soothe the nuisance he was presenting to Halven.  “You see, with everything in consideration, should Sombra himself appear on the battlefield, we will be needed to stop him.  He’s unbeatable in combat, but that’s only because he hasn’t dueled with a nocturnal such as us.  Also, while it may be a bit presumptuous to say, considering the tensions I’ve felt in this cavern, I suspect your coven would enjoy some distractions.”
 Halven nodded slowly, draining the last of his glass as he stared at the table, deep in consideration.  “You certainly know how to get somepony to like what you’re proposing,” he finally commented, setting his glass down.  Looking up at Hemorrhage, he licked his lips before shaking his head slightly.  “I really don’t like to send my coven off to gallivant where they shouldn't, especially with regular ponies.  They are a danger to them and thus make those normal ponies a danger to us.  However, you prove a fair point.  By allowing the world to see the dangers of a nocturnal through Sombra, even if he isn’t directly discovered, will result in a purge of the last remaining of us.  Besides-” the ompyre added, standing with a smile  “-anything for our friends.”
“Thank you,” Hemorrhage thanked, standing up and bowing to the stallion, relief escaping him with a deep sigh.  “Hopefully, with you and your coven’s help, we’ll be able to put this matter to rest in a matter of days and be back home swiftly.”
“Yes, well, there is one thing,” Halven quickly objected before the mordigan’s enthusiasm could grow too much.  “Considering that moonlight has but to brush me to end my life, I personally cannot go to fight in this event, and considering the instability here on the home front, I require Omen’s presence to defend our rule here.  However, I can send two of my most trusted compatriots; Mantris and Sureblood, a great lycan that has remained by my side for hundreds of moons now.  Please, take them and nocturnals of your choosing and go end this once and for all.  If it hasn’t ended by the three days without moonlight, then I will come and visit myself and see what help I can provide before sun-up.”
“You are most gracious, Halven,” Hemorrhage told the ompyre, reaching out and shaking his hoof.  “I hope that one day I will be able to repay you in kind.”
“Well, I hope that there will never be a need for you to repay me,” he responded kindly.  “Please, stay here during the day and leave during the night.  After the long night you’ve had and the many miles you’ve traversed, you should take a short break at the very least.”
“Thank you for the offer, but I actually plan to return to my castle briefly to collect some of my own members if they are willing and ensure the safety of Joint,” Hemorrhage informed him.  Turning he began to leave, adding, “It was good to visit with you, even with such a dark matter at hoof.  Hopefully one day soon we’ll have a good reason to visit.”
“Aye, but until that time, farewell, my friend,” Halven said after him, watching as the pair of foreign nocturnals left, shutting the door behind them.  
Pausing briefly just outside the wooden door, Hemorrhage glanced over his shoulder at Argon, asking softly, “Did that seem a little too easy to you?”
“Absolutely not,” Argon replied with a breathy laugh, continuing to walk past him and towards the narrow hallway to the exit.  “The entire time both of them were interrogating me with their eyes.  I thought that at any moment I would crack or they would see something that would betray us as traitors to them, even though we hadn’t done anything.”  Chuckling again, he said, “I can finally breathe right.”
“Well good on you,” Hemorrhage encouraged, speeding up slightly to catch up to him.  “I haven’t been able to breathe all day.”
> Interjection 5: The Invasion
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

His smile was crooked, he knew it, but that was fine.  Moonlight of the waning moon lit his face, his features half in shadow and half in the light, the blood of the stallion beneath his hooves blending with them.  The warmth of fresh blood called to the depths of his soul, a stirring of fire in his heart, but a temperate push into himself.  Still, in spite of his control, he couldn’t push down that twisted smile down even as he turned to his soldiers, knowing those disturbed glances at each other were directed to him and not his mutilated victims.
Finally composing himself, he commanded one of the watching stallions, “Prepare a division of five thousand soldiers to defend this position and our supply line while the rest of us head onward.  Hopefully we will still catch them by surprise, even if we didn’t enter so quietly…” 
“Y-y-yes sir,” the commander agreed, his eyes darting between the gored bodies and his bloody smile.  
As the stallion turned to leave, Trinity called to him, “Oh, and tell the others that it’s feeding time.  I’ve finished myself.”
Trinity turned back towards the valley, the trees broken by small little clusters with tiny sparkling lights like stars on the ground.  Beyond the tiny villages, he saw the walls of Grandshire and its blazing street lamps, taverns and hotels glowing with light even at this hour of night.  By this time tomorrow, he would be sure nothing of that town glowed but its embers.  
He moved to step forward when sudden movement caught his attention.  Just a few spans from the torn body he had just discarded, another older stallion was attempting to subtly drag himself out of harm's way.  His back left leg was shredded, but otherwise it seemed that Trinity’s rampage had left him in a recoverable state.  A mistake he knew he had to fix.
Stepping towards the stallion, he ignited his horn, lifting the stallion off the ground with his black aura of magic.  The stallion writhed in pain as his shattered leg hung limply in the air, swaying slightly as Trinity turned the stallion to face him.  A gasp of pain escaped the stallion as he was jerked towards the unicorn.  
In spite of his pain, the stallion managed to spit, “Fifty stallions is hardly the challenge you’re gonna face in Grandshire!”
“Oh I hope so,” Trinity responded eagerly, licking blood from his lips.  The stallion’s eyes widened as he saw the sharp teeth within his captor's mouth.  Noting the stallion’s reaction, Trinity smiled broadly, a slight crooked tilt to it even as he asked, “Did your grandmother ever tell you the stories of little colts who never returned from the forest?”
Without waiting for a response, Trinity lunged forward with his mouth gaping, locking his teeth around the windpipe of the stallion.  As soon as he had his grip, he ripped the hard cartilage out, tossing the piece aside carelessly.  Letting the body drop, he slurped up the fresh blood around his lips, cleaning his teeth with his tongue as he slowly stared up at the moon.  He would pay for that one day.
His smile was crooked, he could tell, even as he moved away from the bodies, but that was perfect.
> Chapter 21: The Return
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Argon came to a slow stop as he and Hemorrhage turned around the bend and onto the dirt road that led to the castle.  From here, he could see the tips of the brick that he himself had made and mortared together.  This home was his pride and legacy for his child, and hopefully when this was all over, his children.  He let out a soft sigh in between puffs of breath, his muscles burning softly due to the consistent running required to traverse the world in one day.  He was impressed with himself, as he had suspected that he would have to come to a stop several times to regain his strength.  Luckily, he had a good deal of motivation for himself in that castle he stared at now, and that push had given him all the energy he had needed.  
“Back home already,” Hemorrhage muttered as he landed beside the lycan.  The two shared a brief glance before both turning back to the castle tips.  They shared a moment of rest, staring at their work.  
Slowly, Argon took his gaze off the structure and took it down to the ground, the slightest nag of doubt in the back of his head.  Knowing it was better to resolve the issue now, rather than wait for a worse moment to ask questions, he inquired, “Why did we return to the castle?”
There was a brief pause, almost as if the question had shocked Hemorrhage, but looking over at the mordigan, he saw his friend frowning at the landscape behind them.  The silence prevailed a moment longer before Hemorrhage turned sharply to stare at him.  The stallion exhaled as he collected his wings into himself, a moment of release in his face as he silently took the pain of melding the limbs into his body.  As soon as the process was over, he answered, “There was something off about Halven and Omen back there, something that had them almost too eager to agree.”
Remembering the hesitation of the ompyre they had negotiated with, Argon questioned, “Hesitation?”
“Well, yes, you see, in times past, it has taken Halven days to come to decisions with us,” Hemorrhage responded, rolling his hoof in the air for emphasis.  “It took him a whole month to finally come to terms with our treaty, and only after he had altered it several times.  While I knew he would accept the call to war, I had expected it to take at least a few days, in which time we would be able to establish ourselves a small camp and rules for nocturnals out in Grandshire.  He took only a few minutes to accept, however, and even seemed pleased by the idea of sending several nocturnals off with us.  There’s something behind all of this, and I believe it has to do with the lycan he said he killed last night.”
“Do you think he may be attempting to pull a coup on us,” Argon asked, realizing the possibility as Hemorrhage laid out the details.  “Using our own request to send his most dangerous members to betray us?  It seems fitting for an ompyre, actually.”
“Yes, I worry it might be something like that, or at the very least he’s sending us his troublesome members while he reestablishes control over his coven.  All in all, though, it may truly just be him eager to get his coven out and killing to prevent them from turning to any of the nearby villages,” the stallion stated truthfully.  “Whatever the case, we don’t want to be outnumbered by them too much.  While I don’t doubt your expertise in combat, I myself have gone long out of practice in fighting nocturnals.”  A mischievous smile crossed his face as he cleverly added, “Though considering those three nocturnals that attacked us, we might not have much to worry about after all.”
Argon chuckled at the slight to the overconfident trio that had confronted them.  Letting the joke slide, he saw there was still the slightest uncertainty on Hemorrhage’s face.  Reaching out a paw and resting it on his friend’s shoulder, he told the stallion, “This is the smart choice, my friend.  We can’t trust and can’t ever be trusted as nocturnals, so best to be safe.”
“Yes,” Hemorrhage agreed sadly, his gaze returning to the castle.  A wind softly blew through the trees, rustling the budding leaves and bringing the faint smell of grass and wet rain.  
“Cheer up, Hemorrhage,” Argon told his companion with a smile, beginning to walk towards the castle.  “Spring’s almost here.”
Even though he didn’t look back to check on the stallion, he could tell he was nodding in agreement.  “Yes, I suppose that’s true.  Hopefully those warm showers will wash away my worry like they’ve done so many times in the past.”
Wanting to improve his friend’s spirits, the lycan turned and grinned slyly at the mordigan, saying, “Is it too early to say that you may have someone else washing away those woes?”
Argon laughed heartily as he saw his old friend’s face redden ever so slightly, an indignant frown crossing his face even as he attempted not to laugh at the jab.  “Hey, now, you be careful, little one,” Hemorrhage threatened, his own mischievous smile overtaking his frown.  “Respect your elders.”
“I keep forgetting that you're older than me,” Argon replied jokingly.  “After all, I’m a father before you’re even married!  You’re gonna have to get married by summer if you hope to catch up with Seer and I.”
“Well, Ailade won’t have it any other way,” Hemorrhage related, a laugh in his voice.  “That mare will have us married before I can even propose.  In her head, Joint and I already are a couple set in stone.”
“Well, if she’s so willing to get the two of you together, than she should be the one to help Joint with the transitory night,” Argon jested, not thinking about what he had said.  Pausing, he heard Hemorrhage’s steps crunch to a stop.  Argon mentally hit himself for saying something so sensitive as casually as he had, and biting his inner cheek, he turned to find the mordigan once again staring at the castle with a one-thousand-mile stare.  “I-I-I’m sorry, Hemorrhage.  I didn’t mean to come off like that.  You shouldn’t be worrying about something so far from now.”
Shaking off the stare, Hemorrhage began to walk swiftly, passing Argon as he agreed, “You’re right, I shouldn’t worry about that.”  Even as he continued to move on, however, Argon heard the stallion mutter under his breath, “I shouldn’t worry about something that will never happen.”

********************************************************************************************************

“You’re back!”
Even as he embraced Seer and kissed her softly, his heart pounding as they embraced, Argon couldn’t help but feel the nagging guilt that had built during the rest of their short walk to the castle.  Pulling away from Seer slightly, he smiled at her, his gaze dropping even further to his beautiful little daughter.  
“Ebony, your father is back,” Seer cheerfully told the baby, rubbing a hoof against the fur of her belly.  Looking back up at her husband with a bright smile, she leaned in for another kiss.  Allowing his worry to melt away, he locked lips with her gently, raising his own hooves to take Ebony from her mother.  Pulling back enough for her to talk, Seer asked, “Why are you back so soon?  I thought you guys weren’t gonna be back until the war was over.”
“Small change of plans,” Argon replied, resting his forehead against hers as he looked down at the bright green eyes of his daughter.  Moons, if Hemorrhage hadn’t been so quick, he might not have returned to see her or Seer again.  “Hemorrhage and I delivered the message and then visited with the other coven to ask if Halven would be willing to help.  Considering his ompyre condition, he wasn’t able to go, so instead he’s going to send a number of his coven with Hemorrhage and I.”
“And what’s wrong with that,” Seer questioned, twisting her head so she could make eye contact with him. 
“Something was off with the offer,” Argon replied, a serious frown coming over him.  “Last time we had any negotiation with the coven was for the pact we were using as a de jure claim to join us.  It took Halven almost a week to accept that treaty.  However, in the matter of just a few minutes, he accepted our request and even offered us to stay in his cavern for the night while he prepared his nocturnals for war.  It was a nice idea and all, but when it comes down to it, Hemorrhage saw some dangers.”
“It could be a trap,” Seer concluded, tapping a hoof against her chin thoughtfully.  Looking up at him with a worried look, she inquired, “Is that what you’re so anxious about?”
The lycan looked down at his chest, only then becoming aware of how heavily his heart was beating.  With a sad chuckle and shake of his head, he replied, “No, no, I’m sorry to say not.  I hadn’t even realized the possibility of that until after Hemorrhage spoke to me about it on our way here.  It was during that exchange that I overstepped my bounds?”
“Oh,” Seer questioned, concerned.  
Squeezing his eyes shut, he shook his head again as he admitted hushly, “I mentioned the transitory night, by the moon, I joked about Joint having to go through it.”  Argon bit his inner cheek at his own foolishness, continuing to shake his head.  “It was a careless thing for me to remind Hemorrhage of, especially the day after he discovered his other half!  Luna, I can’t stop thinking that I may have scared him away from the only chance he had at happiness, eternal life even.”
A hoof came to rest on his shoulder from behind even as he was pulled into a hug by Seer, her face pressing into his neck.  Argon opened his eyes, looking down at her violet mane as a rush of things he still couldn’t understand flowed through him, a swarm of fire rushing through his veins at their closeness.  They had been married for years and still, he couldn’t seem to control that feeling, but with the warmth it brought, he didn’t want to.  Sighing away his worry, he focused now on the hoof that rested on his shoulder.
Turning his head, he gasped as he saw Joint standing right behind him, a half-smile gracing her young face.  There was something strangely understanding about the expression, as if she herself was with them in their pain.  Seer looked up from his neck with his movement, her own soft gasp echoing his own.  
“I heard what you were saying,” the pony muttered quietly, her smile remaining.  In her other hoof her own young daughter writhed around slightly, a soft squeak escaping her.  Noticing where his gaze had passed, she smiled genuinely, looking down at her own child.  “She really is something.  And so is your daughter, whatever she may be.  I can’t wait to raise them together.”
“They’ll make great friends when they grow up,” Seer responded encouragingly, subtly taking Ebony as the little filly reached for her.  Her face fell slightly as she thought about what Joint had said.  “You said you heard what we were saying about…?”
“The transitory night, and everything about Hemorrhage and I,” the mare said, her words airy like she was having trouble getting past her tongue.  “I went back up to Hemorrhage’s study and began reading through any of his lengthier segments from a few hundred years back.  I came across a bit about your transitory night, how he found you during it, and, well, the results.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about something like that happening ever again,” Seer encouraged her, the urgency and strain in her voice causing Argon to look back over at his wife.  Her eyes were shining even as she attempted to smile past the horrid memories she retained from that night.  His heart twinged and he instantly pulled her into a soft, secure hug.  “And you don’t have to worry about that happening to you, not until you want to.”
“Well, that’s the thing,” Joint said, rubbing the back of her head almost sheepishly.  “I’m ready.  I want to be transfigured.”
> Chapter 22: The Choice
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ailade’s breath hitched as her werewolf ears picked up Joint’s words from across the hall.  Her head whipped over to the crack in the doorway, the small cloth she was holding dropping softly to the floor.  Her ears had to be deceiving her, yes?  What that mare was saying, about a transitory night, it was simply theoretical, yes?  Slowly, Ailade turned from the hallway, creeping to the doorway as she strained to hear more.
“You can’t be serious,” she heard Nightseer exclaim, echoing her own thoughts perfectly.  “After everything you read about, after you know what has to happen in order for it to be completed?  You can’t really be saying that!”
“I am,” Joint’s voice answered firmly, those words shaking Ailade hollowly as her own memory of her transitory night threatened to overtake her.  Biting her cheek, the werewolf forced the bloody images away, forcing herself to focus on the words following it.  “I’m the only one here that isn’t a nocturnal.  Even my daughter has nocturnal blood from her father.  I cannot allow myself to be unable to raise or defend my own child by not understanding what she even is, the challenges and life she will have to live.”  There was a slight pause as the mare took a breath, embarrassment tinting the air as Joint collected herself.  “Besides, I can’t be with Hemorrhage until I become a nocturnal anyways, and I’m not very good at waiting.”
“Wait, are you saying that you're willing to go through it for Hemorrhage,” Argon asked incredulously.  There wasn’t a verbal response, but the mare must have nodded as the lycan slowly responded,  “Hemorrhage is a very lucky stallion to have such a courageous mare to be a part of his life.”
“Yeah, we may have made out a few times already,” Joint admitted sheepishly, a giggle escaping her.  Hearing that, Ailade felt her heart swell, a laugh escaping her as well as she pressed a hoof incredulously against her forehead.  After all these years, hundreds of moons, it couldn’t actually be happening, could it?  She had always held the hope, both for him and herself, that one day he would find his other half, the perfect match, a completion to his soul, and now here she was.  Her laughter continued as she remembered the challenge Hemorrhage had given herself.  
“You first,” he had told her, and now she had delivered.  
Before she could continue to laugh at her master’s foolishness, the irony of his words coming back to bite him in the best of ways, the door suddenly whipped open.  She let out a little yelp of surprise, jumping backwards as the sudden movement startled her.  Joint stood in the now-open doorway, Amethyst in hoof with a smirk on her face as she watched Ailade’s panicked reaction.
“Were you listening in on us,” she questioned, knowing the answer well.
“In my defense, I can hardly help it with my ears,” Ailade replied defensively, wiggling her fluffy ears for poignancy.  “Besides, how could I not after everything you guys were saying about a transitory night and Hemorrhage?  I’ve lived with Hemorrhage for over three hundred years, ever since my own transitory night, and everything related to it and him is my greatest concern.”
“So I guess that’s why Hemorrhage refers to you as his daughter,” Joint responded with a grateful smile.  
Ailade felt herself stiffen up at the statement, a blush on her face as she tentatively asked, “Did… did he actually say that he thinks of me that way, in his journals?”
Joint seemed slightly taken aback by the question, a confused frown crossing her face.  “You mean you haven’t read them yourself?”
“No, Hemorrhage doesn’t allow us to read his accounts of his time, whether it involves us or not,” Argon answered from behind her.  “He told us his accounts were for after his death, for whenever we needed to look for a solution to any nocturnal-related problem.  He says that the emotions and words are not meant to be said, which is why he has them written down instead.”  
“‘Because the words will only hurt you more when I’m gone’,” Ailade muttered, quoting him directly.  The revelation made her laugh again, but this time it was sadder.  Of course Hemorrhage would hide his true feelings in his tomes and scrolls, wearing that constant stoic mask of calculation and concern as if there was a hidden danger they could never understand.  Looking up at Joint, unable to control herself, she thanked her even as her voice cracked, “Thank you for coming to this castle.  Whatever it was that brought you here, it led you right to the best stallion in the world, the only father I’ve ever known.  Thank you for breathing life into his old soul.”
Joint smiled bashfully as she reached over and hugged the werewolf, even as tears began to flow from her eyes.  Ailade felt herself start gratefully crying into the mare’s neck, gushing with joy even in spite of everything that was happening.  The vibrations of Joint’s throat preceded her words, a comforting movement followed by a confirmation.  “I couldn’t seem to help it.  Thank you for guiding me to him.”
“It was my pleasure,” Ailade replied politely, pulling away and patting the mare on the shoulder, smiling brightly.  A rush of different emotions had to be pushed aside as she collected her thoughts, finally saying, “If you really want to commit to a transfiguration, then you’re going to need to be prepared for a world of rage and pain.  We won’t be able to do it today, and definitely not with Hemorrhage around.  I love him dearly, but he won’t allow anyone to get hurt under his care, even if it may be necessary for the better.  Whenever we’re able to transfigure you, it will have to be when he isn’t around or can’t interfere.”
“Ailade, are you sure,” Nightseer questioned, looking concerned.  “Going behind Hemorrhage’s back to do something he for sure won’t like?”
“What choice do we have,” Joint asked earnestly.  “What will be the best for both Hemorrhage and I?  I can’t raise a nocturnal without being one, you all have proved that to me inadvertently.  Also, with Sombra most likely attempting to recover me, the best way to defend myself and Amethyst from him will be to be a nocturnal and not a normal pony.  Besides, I can’t be with Hemorrhage until I am one, so it’s a win-win situation.”
“And you’ll become a member of the coven,” Ailade added, turning to the other two nocturnals.  “Hemorrhage will be unhappy, surely, but ultimately he will be thankful that we did something for him that he couldn’t allow himself.”
There was a moment more of silence as the other two nocturnals thought deeply on their argument.  Finally, Nightseer glanced at Argon, reaching out and took his hoof.  With a nod of confirmation from her husband, she said, “Alright, you have our support.  We can’t allow Hemorrhage to lose this opportunity to be with someone he loves, and more importantly, allow someone who loves him to be with him.”
“If this is what Joint wants, then we can’t bar her from an eternal life with him,” Argon confirmed.  Then with a halfhearted scoff, he added, “He won’t let himself have a damn good thing anyways, so let’s make him.”
Joint smiled mischievously, looking between the two, before asking, “So which one of you will take a bite outta me?”
“Hey, don’t get ahead of yourself,” Ailade teased, stooping over to pick up the cloth she had dropped.  “We have to wait, and besides, I don’t think any one of us wants to bite you.  You seem like the type that would be tough to chew.”
“Touché,” Joint allowed, rocking Amethyst as the young filly began to fuss.  When that didn’t sate the little one, she sighed and excused herself to feed the young one.  Ailade and the others watched her go, and while she couldn’t quite be sure, she thought she saw the mare’s tail swishing subtly.  
“She really is right for Hemorrhage,” Nightseer muttered as the door shut behind the mare, leaving a brief echo of her exit.  The three stared at the closed door curiously, knowing they were all listening to the same sound of a very brave mare walking away to care for her young.  Someday soon, if their plan wasn’t thwarted, she would also be another strong member to their small coven.  Ailade smiled softly at the thought, a sister not in blood but in spirit able to care for the stallion she cared for the most.  It was almost bittersweet to see her come in and completely change the solitary, brooding stallion she had lived with for so long into the stronger, healthier nocturnal he was becoming.
“Hey, speaking of Hemorrhage, where even is he,” Argon questioned, looking around as if he half-expected the question to reveal the stallion.  
“Well, said he had to check in with Leper and Khan before he could solidify his plan,” Ailade told him.  She felt herself chuckle a little as she remembered the confused look on Leper’s face when he first attempted to get the younger lycan out of their castle.  “Last I saw, they had just returned empty-hooved from a hunting trip.  Hopefully that got some of the young one’s energy out, because he might be joining us on our trip!”
“Mmm, I see,” Argon responded with a nod.  “I haven’t actually met the newest member of our coven yet.  I guess I haven’t had the time to actually hold a conversation with him yet, but I can’t wait to see who we’ve picked up.  The coven has really grown over these past few years.”
“Well, you won’t be able to actually talk to him, not really,” Ailade informed him sadly.  “He went through his transitory night solitarily and evaded confrontation with anypony for the past few years.  During that time, his mind was lost to the lycan within, and while right now he is somewhere between a naive colt and a dangerous monster, we are hoping to relieve him of his imprisonment.  Perhaps this trip, if he is able to come along, can provide an opening into his pony self and allow him to break free from his monstrous state.”
Argon’s brow furrowed as he tapped a hoof against his chin.  “Is Leper attempting to assist our new friend in becoming free from his mental cage?”
“No, I don’t quite think so, though he might be helping the process along with his presence as a nocturnal in control of himself,” Ailade responded.  “You see, Hemorrhage needed Leper to guide Khan- the young lycan- in how to hunt correctly and to sort of babysit him while the two of you were gone and Nightseer and I helped with Joint.  I think he hopes to use this opportunity to allow Leper to grow up and give Khan a familiar, even familial figure within the coven who is more his age.”
“Ah, I see,” the lycan responded with a nod.  
“Oh, and he might bow to you, or at least give you priority over Hemorrhage,” Nightseer added with a little laugh.  
“What does that mean,” Argon asked with a smile, looking towards his wife.  
“Well, let’s just say that his time with a wolf pack has had a great deal of influence on how he views the family dynamic,” the vampyre surmised with a devilish smile.  “In his head, the breeding pair are the leaders of the pack, and considering how we’re the only ones here that fit that description, he thinks we’re the leaders of the pack.”
“So someone finally appreciates my talent,” Argon replied with a similar smile, leaning his head in and nuzzling his wife’s cheek.  
“Well I’ve been appreciating it for years, so I have no clue what you’re talking about,” Nightseer countered, tipping her head over for a kiss on his lips.  
“Please, you two, not in the middle of the castle,” Ailade exclaimed, blushing at their obvious display of carnal thirst.  “You have to wait until you two at least have your own room.”
“Sorry Ailade,” Argon apologized, pulling back with a sheepish smile.  Looking down at the baby in his wife’s hold, he admitted, “She’ll probably end up with a sibling sometime soon as well.”
“Now hold up, when did we agree on that,” Nightseer demanded even as her smile broadened at the prospect.  
“It was agreed upon the moment you said you wanted two boys and two girls,” Argon replied with a small poke into her chest.  “Remember that conversation?”
“Alright, seriously you two, get a bloody room,” Ailade exclaimed in mock offense, pressing a hoof against her own chest.  “Of all the carnal and impure things beneath the moon!  Luna cleanse my ears from what I’ve heard and purify my mind against the thirst of these two sinners.”
“Within the bonds of marriage isn’t a sin,” Nightseer practically sang, resting her head against her husband’s shoulder.  “But fine, we’ll shut up.”
“Thank you,” Ailade harrumphed, silence prevailing as the two married nocturnals closed their eyes and silently drank in each other’s soft touch.  The werewolf subtly watched them for a moment longer, smiling at their affection, before quietly turning and leaving the two for a moment alone.  While she herself had obviously never been involved or even attracted to anypony before, she could still appreciate her coven-mates’ lovely lives and watch as they grew with each other and built families.  She could be happy with that.
Her hooves had carried her farther down the hall than she had realized, almost running headfirst into the bathroom door.  Letting out a slight yelp of surprise, she turned and looked around, curious to see if anybody had heard her.  There was no response from the closed door those many spans behind her.  Frowning, she looked back at the wooden door in front of her, staring at its slightly grained wood, a particularly deep crevice right where she may have run into.  Wait a minute, that wasn’t a natural crevice.
Leaning in, she gave it a sniff, her nose barely picking out the scent of Hemorrhage in the scratch.  Her brow furrowed, as she now listened carefully, the sound of soft panting barely audible from beneath the small beneath the doorway.  In all of her years with Hemorrhage, she had never heard such a noise escaping him, a stream of frustrated pants as he calmed down from some sort of exertion.  She grit her teeth, preparing for the worst as slowly she pushed the door open, revealing the bathroom within.  
The most striking thing about the room was the steam everywhere, splashes of water still releasing clouds of it as they dissolved quickly.  The open door caused a rush of wind as the two temperatures clashed briefly and released, rustling Ailade’s fur with warm wetness.  Hemorrhage was barely visible within the room, standing in a cloud of steam with his back turned to the doorway, staring at a mirror on the other side of the bath hole.  The stallion was in his mordigan form, looming slightly over the mirror as he barely took note of her entry.  She continued to assess the bathroom, careful for the steaming puddles as she entered and closed the door behind her.  
“You really did a number on that water,” she commented when she noticed how empty the bath was.  “What was it, a fireball or simply a blast of uncontrolled magic?”
“The latter,” Hemorrhage answered, his voice raspy as slowly, the form of his mordigan self dissipated into his normal stallion body.  “I had to take it out on something I couldn’t destroy.”
“I’m not quite sure I know what you’re mad about, but I’m guessing that it has to do with Joint and you’re blaming yourself for it,” Ailade presumed, raising an eyebrow at the stallion as he turned around to face her.  
“Yes, and I’m guessing you saw the scratch on the door and heard my cursing, so now you’re here to dissuade me from doing whatever I was thinking of doing,” Hemorrhage countered, his own raised eyebrow challenging hers.  
Smiling as brightly as she could force herself to, she answered, “Well, I didn’t quite hear the cursing, but I can guess who it was directed towards.  Also, I don’t think you were going to do anything.  The problem was that you weren’t going to do anything, correct?”
The stallion seemed to be caught, but honestly he should have expected it.  After over three hundred years, she seemed to have been the only one to have learned the other’s tendencies.  Finally, he admitted, “You’re correct in assuming so.”
“Which means it’s going to be harder to convince you otherwise,” Ailade sighed, shaking her head.  “Can’t you see that every time I’ve tried to give you advice or told you something good will come of it, it has!  Why, then, do you refuse to listen to me every time?”
“Because I don’t want a change or because it can’t possibly happen,” he responded with his own sigh.  “I don’t know, but this time for sure.  I can’t let Joint become a monster like me.”
“You mean a monster like us,” Ailade dared, knowing she could challenge such a statement. 
Hemorrhage would never allow himself to offend them, and as predicted, he quickly corrected, “No, like Sombra and Khan.”
“Sombra is an evil stallion, not just nocturnal, and we know well Khan isn’t a monster, just a lost child at the moment,” Ailade instantly countered.  “As soon as a nocturnal is taught and given control over the monster within, they are no longer a danger.  They have control over themselves to prevent massacres and murders, rampages and sprees that define them as a monster.  They are simply a pony with a nocturnal part.”
“Then how do you explain our diet,” Hemorrhage challenged, a glare falling over him as he looked towards the mirror.  “How do you explain the countless lives we’ve consumed to continue our survival, the oceans of blood we have drank to maintain our damned bodies.  Don’t you see?  This isn’t life, it's damnation, and when it comes down to it, we shouldn’t be able to walk freely around as we do.  All of my studies in our kind go back centuries and never once reveal a redeeming trait of our ancestry, our race.  It’s simply us consuming and detracting, removing souls from their bodies in a bid to continue our own eternal lives of ruin.” 
“Well, may we be the first to do something for the betterment of the world,” Ailade replied softly.  “There is no such thing as a black and white conclusion for our lives, yes?”
“There is, but it’s far from us,” Hemorrhage admitted slowly.  “I’ve accepted our inheritance.  My point wasn’t to continue to desecrate the name of our coven and species, but to remind you why we only add coven members who come along naturally.  I refuse to add another nocturnal to the world unnaturally.”  Before Ailade could even open her mouth to rebut his argument, he gave her a sharp look, shocking her into silence.  “A transitory night for Joint is completely out of the question.”
Ailade closed her mouth, staring at Hemorrhage silently for an eternity, the sheer determination of his cold eyes rejecting himself life, condemning him to death causing her body to freeze.  Slowly, she let her gaze fall to the ground, the bricks she and him had placed together to build their home.  As she stared at it, she felt the mordigan step closer and reach out with a hoof, pulling her into a sincere and tight hug.  She slowly reached up her own hoof and share the embrace as well, letting herself sink into his soft fur for a second.  However, what Joint had told her rung throughout her head, a calling to take action.  
Hemorrhage pulled away with a sad smile, the expression so familiar to her that it had almost become his actual show of joy.  “Thank you,” he told her.  His eyes were scanning her face, old orbs of charcoal that had seen hundreds of years and plenty of pain.  With a slight sigh, he looked around at the bathroom, he said, “I’ll take care of this mess, Ailade.  It’s all my fault anyways.  Please go gather the others and tell them to prepare to head out, excluding Nightseer, Joint, and Khan.  We need to be ready to leave by tomorrow morning.  And before you say it, yes, I’ll go to bed tonight.”
Ailade faked a smile, answered, “Good, that’s more like it.”
She took her leave, turning and opening the door, listening as Hemorrhage sighed in defeat and began to clean the steaming water from the surface of the stone.  Closing the door firmly, she muttered to herself as she stared into the scratch in the door, “You may be done hurting others, but I’m done letting you hurt yourself.”
> Chapter 23: The Youth
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Come on now, Khan, we can try and find something when I get back,” Leper told the much younger lycan as he continued to whine while licking his lips.  “You scared off the deer anyways, so it’s your own bloody fault.”
The two lycan were standing in the dining room currently, and for the first time since he had built the room, he was glad he had gone for a ceiling higher up.  Originally a miscalculation, he had accidentally made the ceiling ten spans up instead of eight, but with the newest addition to the coven, he knew if it had been its original size, the poor lycan wouldn’t be able to sit upright correctly.  Sighing in defeat at Khan’s persistent, high-pitched whining as the young lycan watched Leper packing the small amount of meat in their storage, he tossed a strip to him.  
“I swear, you’re going to be the death of us next winter with your kind of appetite,” Leper informed him, taking the moment of peace provided by the other lycan devouring the offering.  “Seriously, we have to get you back into your pony form before you deplete the entire forest.  How did you even survive in a pack to begin with?”
As expected, the lycan didn’t receive a response, just an innocent tilt to the large head of his charge.  Rolling his eyes at the oblivious nature of their newest coven member, he shut the burlap sack and tired the cords tightly.  Even though he knew it wouldn’t do anything if the young guy got too hungry, it still felt like some sort of boundaries that Khan might recognize.  Throwing the sack over his shoulder, he grabbed the other two bags left on the ground, tossing one on top of his back and strapping another to his side.  It was a bit cumbersome at the moment, but as soon as he was in his lycan form it would be much more manageable. 
Khan dutifully followed him as he left the room, heading towards the entrance, eyeing the mare that passed through the hallway.  It was strange to see an unfamiliar face walking so casually within the castle, but he simply shrugged it away.  That was probably how the others had felt when he had joined them not too long ago.  It still felt weird that even though he’d been there for almost thirty years, he still felt like the young stallion he had been when he had transformed.  At least his body hadn’t stayed in that post-pubescent form, moon bless the coven if he had!
Chuckling at the subtle thought, he heard Khan attempt to copy the sound from behind him.  Glancing back at the lycan, knowing he had simply been trying to learn, he reminded him, “You don’t have to copy everything I do.  You’re your own nocturnal.”
Once again, the naive nocturnal simply tilted his head in confusion.  Shaking his head as he continued to head towards the main hall, he suddenly found himself crossing paths with Ailade.  The mare smiled kindly at the pair, asking, “How’s it going with him?  Any troubles?”
“His diet,” Leper informed her, glancing hopelessly back at the hulking lycan to find him sniffing at his pack of food.  “Oi,” he cried at Khan, whipping around and pointing a hoof at him.  “That isn’t for you!  I already gave you what I could spare!”
The lycan jerked back and looked to Ailade for support, letting out a soft whine.  The mare laughed at the attempt, stepping forward and rubbing a hoof against the lycan’s broad shoulder.  “Come on now, you’ll get your fill soon.  That was just unlucky hunting out there.”
“Unlucky for me,” Leper grumbled as he turned his back to Khan, still side-eyeing him.  “I’m not sure what he thought he was doing, but as soon as he saw the deer we were tracking, he made a big arch running around the thing.  He made so much noise the deer knew we were coming and simply darted off to the side.”
“Hmm, that doesn’t sound like how a trained hunter would act,” Ailade admitted, rubbing her cheek thoughtfully as she stared at the large nocturnal.  In turn, the beast lifted one of his huge paws and rested it on her head, panting happily as he returned the affection.  “Do you know how wolves hunt?”
“Um, no, not particularly,” Leper answered curiously.  “Why?”
“Well, I’m not an expert, but I think he believe you were pack hunting,” Ailade replied.  Sitting down, she held up two hooves that represented the two lycans, drawing the curve Leper had described.  “I saw it one time myself, back when it was just Hemorrhage and I in the West Tundras.  One group of the wolves would curve left while the other did a curve right, forcing the prey to run straight away from them.  Then, the two parties curved inward and caught the prey.”  Her hooves tapped together as she completed the oval.  “Guess he just figured you were gonna copy him.”
“Bloody pack mentality cost us lunch, dinner, and breakfast,” Leper cursed unhappily, feeling a slight twinge of hunger in his own stomach.  He would address that later though.  “It’s fine though, there’s plenty of food between here and Grandshire, and I have a feeling a battle will lead to its own type of feasting.”
“Yes, that’s probably true,” Ailade said uneasily, obviously uncomfortable with the insinuation.  
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to come off as brash,” the lycan apologized.  “Just saying theoretically.”
“Of course, no problem at all,” Ailade quickly amended brightly.  She looked up at Khan one last time before asking Leper, “Do you mind taking care of Khan like this, mentoring him?”
“Nah, not really,” he relented with a half-smile.  “It can be a bit strange, a tad draining, and a tinge frustrating, but hey, you guys had to deal with me when I first joined, and the guy is admittedly loveable, so I say it’ll be worth it once he’s himself.  Besides, it’s just another lycan added to the mix.  I can’t complain about that at all!”
Ailade giggled at the sentiment, nodding in agreement.  “Yes, Nightseer and I are feeling a bit overwhelmed by the amount of large nocturnals that aren’t of our kind.  I mean, if her and Argon’s child is a lycan like her, we may just have to give up on a sister werewolf or vampyre.”
“Ah come on, we still got a long time before you can give up on that,” Leper jested.  “I mean, you haven’t found your other half and neither have I, and as far as I know your other half can still be your same species.  Besides, we still have to figure out what kind of child the new mare’s kid is.  For all we know, she could be a little mordigan like her future father or a vampyre like Nightseer!”
“Still doesn’t bode well for me, though,” Ailade pointed out.  A sudden look of realization caused her to gasp, and before he could ask whatever the matter may be, she exclaimed, “I forgot to… well, um, do something really important.  Could you just hold that thought for a minute?” 
Leper watched in confusion as the mare suddenly dashed past him and across the hallway, pausing only to open the door before racing out.  He glanced over his shoulder at Khan, who had also followed the mare’s rapid retreat.  “Do you have any clue as to what that was about?”  The lycan simply tilted his head at Leper, frowning.  Nodding as he licked his lips, the older lycan began to walk away.  “Of course you don’t.  Come on, we need to find something to occupy your time while I’m gone that isn’t rummaging through our storages for food.”
Stepping through another pair of doors that led to the main foyer, Leper looked around expectantly, finding Hemorrhage standing near one of the doors staring at a piece of paper.  Frowning, he called to the mordigan, “What’ve you got there, Hemorrhage?”
“Nothing interesting, really,” Hemorrhage responded, not looking up from his parchment.  “Just a list of things that need to be done before we go and while we’re there.”  
Leper raised an eyebrow at that, saying, “I thought you didn’t write lists down.  Was a waste of ink, you said.”
The mordigan glanced up, looking pressed as his magic folded the paper neatly, replying, “It’s a personal list.  I don’t think I’d be able to remember everything on it, which would be most troublesome, especially when it comes to the other coven.”  The stallion glanced behind Leper to the lycan that loomed persistently over his shoulder.  “I heard your hunting didn’t go so well…”
“Yeah, this guy is a bit troublesome himself when it comes down to it,” Leper informed him.  Looking over to the loping, furry face of the lycan, he added, “Ailade credits it to him being a pack hunter for the past however long.  I can see where the idea came from, and she makes a good point with it.  This guy needs to learn to hunt like one of us though, and until we can get him back to his pony self, that will be the hardest part.”
“Yes, the poor soul has already changed his life twice already, and we’re going to have to round it out at three,” Hemorrhage sadly agreed.  His gaze returned to Leper as he said, “Thank you for taking him in.  I know this has and will be hard on you in more ways than you’ll know, but it truly means more than you know to me that you have taken on the assignment.”
“Well, Argon helped me out when I was new to the coven, barely more than this guy right here,” Leper humbly rebutted.  “It’s the least I can do, and besides, I wasn’t doing much anyways.  Might as well make a friend and brother in spirit.  Just gotta keep him outta trouble for a few moons and get him back to being himself and not what we found at that village.”
“Ah, speaking of which, I believe Ailade is retrieving the others and bringing them here for one of the reasons I have this list,” Hemorrhage suddenly intoned.  “You see, while at the other coven’s cave, Halven gave Argon and I blood infused wine to drink.  It wasn’t pony blood, however it reminded me that while we are out there fighting under the Princess’ banner, we will more than likely have to kill a few ponies.  In order to keep us sane while we do so and not enter a blind rampage, I have a tactic to mollify the effects of equine blood on us.”
Precisely on cue, the doors reopened as Ailade and the others of the coven entered all giving the bottle of reddish liquid in her hoof a wary glance.  Watching his coven enter, Hemorrhage informed them, “What Ailade has in her hooves is a gift from Halven and Omen from a prior communication with them.  The wine inside is approximately fifty years old.  The blood inside is two years old.  Indeed, as you have all detected, it is pony blood.  I wish I had gotten rid of it after receiving it, however, there is a use for it that I can’t deny.”
Hemorrhage paused as he nodded to Ailade, the werewolf popping the cork out with ease.  Instantly the tangy smell of blood and fermented berries flooded the room, Leper’s core alighting with the scent of food.  He had to prevent his tail from wagging at the instinctual prospect of a successful hunt even as his mouth began to salivate.  It had been years upon years since his last taste of pony, and while every decent nocturnal hated to admit it, pony was the best taste a lycan, werewolf, vampyre, or mordigan could ever enjoy.  His stomach growled in spite of not being hungry, drawing Argon’s attention briefly.
“Failed hunting,” he quickly excused himself, getting an understanding nod from the eldest lycan.  The smell of it was too much for Khan as the youngest lycan slowly approached the bottle, crouching as if to sneak his massive body to the luxury.  “Oi, Khan, back it up,” Leper snapped, his lycan brain defensive of the hunt.  No, he had to remind himself, this wasn’t correct.  He would not be feeding on innocents. 
Letting out a loud sigh, the large nocturnal slinked away from the wine, the first sign of restraint Leper had seen out of him.  Impressive considering the difficulty he was having preventing himself from going straight up lycan and taking the bottle for himself.  
“You see, it has been many years since any of us have had pony blood, some not since our transitory night,” Hemorrhage spoke deliberately, staring down each of the coven members.  “It is more than likely that each of us in the next few years is going to have to kill a pony, whether in this war or as a defense against anything resulting from it.  Therefore, it is best for both us and them to prevent a complete rampage when we get our first taste of pony or feel the warm blood on our faces and in our noses.  The wine will most likely cause you to at least involuntarily transform on taste, but it is my hope that if you do enter a rampage, it will prevent it from happening out there.”
“Yes, but what will we do in here if one of us goes on a rampage,” Argon asked, staring at the bottle warily.  
“Well, another sip of the wine and a good deal of wrangling should burn out the rampage,” Hemorrhage replied, sounding surprisingly optimistic by the prospect.  With a quick glance over to Khan, he added, “That one doesn’t need any more blood anyways, so if that’s who you were worried about, there is no need.”
The room fell silent as they all glanced around at each other before ultimately their gaze fell upon the open wine bottle.  Hesitantly, Ailade raised the bottle to her lips, tipping the bottle ever so slightly to force the liquid to her.  As soon as it touched her lips, Leper watched her gulp quickly, pulling the bottle away and passing it over to Nightseer.  With the slightest hesitation, she too quickly put the draft to her lips, nervously taking a small sip of the blood as Argon rested a hoof on her shoulder, watching her intently.  
Nightseer visibly shivered at the vampyristic urges brought on by taking blood, but she too quickly forced the swig down, her eyes squeezing shut in an effort to keep the effects from her.  Argon took the bottle from her, still watching as he too dipped the bottle back and took a large drink from the contents within.  His reaction was less dangerous than the other two's, a soft smile crossing his lips at the flavor as he commented, “It tastes good.  Your turn.”
Leper almost jumped in surprise as the older lycan extended the bottle to him, the liquid ruby glimmering in the firelight that glowed around them.  He swallowed hard as he stared down the luxurious liquor, the droplets of blood infused within teasing a low growl from him as he grabbed the bottle for himself.  Furrowing his brow, he tipped his head and the bottle back in one swift motion, before bringing them both back down as he swallowed.  
He expected the fire within to roar and burst from him, but there wasn’t anything.  To his surprise, the taste of it, indeed delicious, had settled the roaring beast, and he licked his lips, content with the taste.  It was probably the best tasting thing that he had ever had in his life, the mixture of fermented fruit and blood mixing into an irony tang that satisfied him in one taste.  
“Yep, it tastes pretty good,” he agreed, licking his lips contently before passing the bottle over to Hemorrhage.  The mordigan silently tipped the bottle to Leper as if to toast him before taking the bottle and drinking down the last half of its contents.
When the bottle was completely drained, he settled it on the ground, explaining cheerfully, “For the nerves.”
> Chapter 24: The Vampyre
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nightseer wasn’t usually one to be nervous, especially of the prospect of being left with a new ally and new member of the coven.  Hemorrhage had absolutely refused to let Joint or her join him and the other nocturnals on their journey out, instructing the two mothers to watch over their children and Khan while he was gone.  But it wasn’t necessarily being left alone that had her so nervous.  There was also the position she had put herself in, that of voluntarily staying behind only to bring Joint to the others when Hemorrhage was preoccupied.  
Never in her years in the coven had she even considered disobeying Hemorrhage, as almost everything he did and ordered was both intelligent and for the betterment of the coven, but this was a necessity.  For once, most likely without even realizing it, he had given an instruction that did nobody any good.  She had agreed that this was the right thing, to allow Joint to join the nocturnals without Hemorrhage’s blessing, but it still shook her nerves to be going against the mordigan’s wishes after all these years.
She shuddered slightly before returning to the task at hoof, grabbing another glass of ointment Ailade had meticulously prepared.  It was a strange combination of her magic and blood with some other natural ingredients a pony would use for wounds.  It would specifically heal wounds inflicted on them by either pony or nocturnal, however, it wouldn’t work on vampyres or ompyres, their bodies being physical dark magics.  So, in her case, the best option was to not be wounded at all.  That wasn’t one of the reasons Hemorrhage had held her behind though.  
He attempted to be sneaky with his thoughts and actions, but after knowing somebody for a few hundred moons, she could easily pick out his characteristics.  He had been holding her back because, much like Joint, she was also a young mother with a newborn, and that was something they could both relate to.  Joint had picked it up as well, the mare silently tending to hers and Nightseer’s baby at the moment.  This was exactly what Hemorrhage hoped for, the two of them and their foals becoming fast friends.  It would keep Joint with them longer and give her more reason to stay, on top of convincing the others to let her join.  Not that they had any reason to reject the courageous pony anyways.  Still, the mordigan was never one to live and let live, always attempting for one hundred percent agreement.  
She smiled and shook her head slightly, picking up an increase in heartbeat from Joint as she did so.  In spite of herself, the taste of the blood infused wine came to the tip of her tongue, causing her to bite the inside of her cheek softly, forcing the taste out.  “So, whatcha thinking about,” she questioned the other mare, glancing at Joint over her work packing Argon’s second pack.  “I noticed your heartbeat increased.  Hemorrhage, perhaps?”
“The opposite, actually,” Joint admitted.  The mare carefully played with Ebony, wary of the little filly’s teeth, rubbing her hoof against the soft belly of the little nocturnal.  “I was wondering if Sombra would be in the battlefield itself, if he would be personally attacking this far into Equestria.”
“Well, I wouldn’t put that past him, but there’s nothing to be worried about,” Nightseer confidently told her.  “Once you become a nocturnal, he should be the one to fear you, not vice versa.  You have a vengeance and will to, after all.”
The pony laughed harshly, nodding in agreement.  “Yeah, I guess I have that on him.”
The conversation fell into silence as the two focused on their thoughts more than their words, Nightseer finishing packing with a small note on the top of it before closing the sack.  Right as she went to get up, the door to the bedroom opened, Argon entering with a silent gate.  He swooped in from behind her, pressing a kiss into the scruff of her neck, right where it felt best.  She hummed happily at the affection, reaching one of her hooves up and wrapping it around his head and pulling him around for a proper kiss.  Without breaking the embrace, he reached over and grasped the bag and threw it over his shoulder.  
Finally, they broke the kiss, the remnants of a smile on their faces as he asked her softly, “When are you coming with the others?”
“Tonight, most likely,” she responded, causing his smile to broaden.  
“Hemorrhage will be distracted,” her husband noted with an arch of his brows.  
“Then I guess we will be too, then,” Nightseer rebutted playfully.  “You better get going though, before Hemorrhage comes up and investigates what’s taking so long.  Oh, and don’t let him look in that pack.  At least, not in the letter.”
“Why,” Argon asked, looking genuinely concerned for a moment.
“It’s very personal material,” Nightseer answered evenly.
Argon’s loving smile returned at that as he cracked, “Come on now, it’s not like I’ll be away from you for moons on end without you being able to contact me.”
“But you were, so I’m allowed to have at least one of these sappy little love letters,” Nightseer defended herself with a smile.  Argon shook his head in mock bewilderment, reaching over and taking little Ebony into his hooves as she added, “Besides, we moved too quickly to get to that part before we got married.”
“That’s because you couldn’t control yourself,” Argon blamed teasingly.  “I wanted to take it slow, but you just had to throw yourself on me.”
“I believe it wasn’t even two heartbeats after we were alone for the first time that you confessed to me,” Nightseer countered with a belittling smirk.  “But come on now, we shouldn’t torture poor Joint with our love story until hers is completed.”
“Yes please,” Joint agreed, causing the couple to laugh.  “For my, my daughter, and your daughter’s sakes, please wait until you’ve gotten a room.”
“Okay, Miss Perfect,” Nightseer replied as she stood.  Glancing slightly over her shoulder as she left her bedroom, she cheekily added, “It’s not like you and Hemorrhage didn’t make out in the halls or anything.”  Joint sputtered at the comment, looking equally flustered and shocked at the surprising reveal, prompting Nightseer to continue.  “I mean, I trust Hemorrhage, but you were a completely new arrival and I had to check you out for myself.  Being one with shadows-” Nightseer melded herself into the blackness of a stone corner not lit by torches “-has its many advantages.” 
“Yes, that’s also how she managed to sneak into my room the day after we met,” Argon explained, earning a slight punch to his shoulder as the vampyre rematerialized halfway down the hallway.  
“So, wait, you can just stalk me, or anypony, whenever,” Joint questioned, still hung up over the mystical reveal, trotting to catch up with the two nocturnals.  
“Well, yes, but I don’t and won’t,” Nightseer assured the concerned mare.  “Privacy is one of the most coveted and wanton desires of us nocturnals.  It’s why we usually seclude ourselves away and hide from the world.  That and the nature of the prey we hunt.”
“She won’t watch you and Hemorrhage on your wedding night,” Argon stepped in bluntly, putting a blush on both mares’ faces.  “But she did ‘stalk’ Leper for the first few days he was around since I was taking care of helping him become a proper member of the coven.  She’s very defensive of anything and everything she loves and her loved ones' love.”
“That was well put,” Nightseer told him, rubbing her cheek against his as they came to a pair of doors.  Their lips closed on each other’s once again, as they gave each other one last kiss goodbye.  “Be safe out there.  Remember you aren’t invincible.”
Argon nodded, the tufts of his lycan fur brushing her forehead as his body physically grew into his lycan form.  It was awe-inspiring to watch every time, seeing him become his strong, dangerous self in an instant, still there but also a beast at the same time.  “And you remember to take care of yourself too.  I’ll see you tonight.”
With that, the lycan pushed the doors open and took his leave, waiting patiently as Joint stopped halfway through the doors, turning and asking Joint, “Wait, aren’t you going to say goodbye to the others?”
“I already have,” she explained.  “I can’t enter the main foyer because of the sunlight.  I’ll be mist in an instant.  But you go with him and wish them my best.  I imagine that may alleviate some of the others’ stress at going.”
> Interjection 6: The Attack
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The bloody sunrise was only too befitting of what its cold rays revealed as it tracked slowly above the snowtop peaks of the mountains.  Hundreds lay dead by the wayside, the remnants of the most ferocious battle fought on Equestrian soil in years.  Still, Hagner knew all too well the ways of the Crystal Empire, the way Sombra was able to wriggle his troops into these positions to kill as many as possible even as his forces were losing.  Sometimes he wondered if the goal of these wars was to even to gain territory, rather than simply take the lives of as many Equestrians as possible.
“Amish, Randall, Cutter,” he called gruffly, calling the attention of his three go-fers.  “Collect the information from Captain Cheeley and report back to me in the hour.  We need the names of these poor ponies.  Lotsa letters ta be written…”
“Yessir,” the three young colts chimed in unison.  Celestia, they got younger every war, didn’t they.  Forcing himself to turn away from the carnage, he stared holes into his royal informers, stamping towards them.
“I appreciate that my soldiers and I were here quick enough to take the arrows those citizens would’ve been delivered, but mind telling me where the hay my governance support is?  Who even was sent to command this army in the Princess’ name?”
“Please, sir, we too were thrown into this mess with you,” one of the advisors, a long necked, blue-maned pony with a fresh cut on his flank replied.  “The only thing we know is that there is a stallion by the name of Count Hemorrhage who will come to aid in the action against Sombra.”
“A count,” he roared at the news, getting right up in the face of the advisor.  “The Princess sent a dinky count to oversee possibly the most dangerous and deadly front of this war?”
“With due respect, Colonel Hagner, Princess Celestia and Princess Luna personally requested his presence in this front,” the advisor retaliated, the utmost passive-aggressive persnickety in his voice.  “Count Hemorrhage is a well trusted advisor and ruler, whom the civilians of the Oppotimare owe their lives to thanks to his and his crew’s espionage that gathered the information of this attack.  It was his news that convinced the Princesses to send this army to intercept Sombra’s forces.  Without him, hundreds of innocent ponies would be dead.”
“With him, hundreds of my soldiers wouldn’t be,” Hagner rebutted, stepping back.  Taking a deep breath to calm himself slightly, he asked, “Did this Hemorrhage care to give us a time of when he’d show?”
“Unfortunately, the Princesses did not inform us on when the count would be arriving,” the advisor patiently answered.  Seeing Hagner begin to go red in the face, the stallion quickly added, “He will be arriving sometime today or tomorrow, however, it is not at any specific time.  Until his arrival, act according to your judgment as to what we should do.”
“Well, for the moment then, order evacuations of Grandshire to the west,” Hagner ordered harshly.  “We need these civilians out of the way before Sombra and his army rear their ugly, flea-bitten faces again.”
“That was rather rude of you to say,” a voice from behind him suddenly said.  Whipping around to the sound of his advisors’ gasps, Hagner couldn’t help but let his own jaw drop at the sight of the Bastard King himself.  “Also, quite untrue.  I have immaculate fur.”
Hagner’s slack jaw snapped shut audibly, the grizzled colonel growling at the sight of his nation’s enemy.  His blood boiling, he quickly turned his head to the side and grabbed his sword from the sheath strapped to his side, his teeth clenching tightly around the blade.  As soon as the metal sung from its entrapment, he charged, intending to catch the unarmed pony while he was still without a weapon.  Before he had even taken a second step towards the bastard, however, Hagner felt his entire body thrown aside to his right, crashing into the flag planted stiffly in the ground.  He felt both the wooden pole and several ribs crack at the harsh impact as he flew through it and landed dozens of spans away.
Groaning in pain, he attempted to stand, only to be thrown aside once again, this time to the left.  His body plowed through the dewy grass and mud until it came to a stop right in front of Sombra’s hooves, his entire side torn and bruised from the movement.  Hagner gasped for air as the bastard simply stepped over him, his lung collapsed by the harsh landing.  
Even as he struggled for air, he heard several screams from the nearby advisors, as suddenly one of them was sent flying over his head.  The poor blue-maned stallion landed only a few spans from Hagner, his neck snapping as he came down head first.  The colonel grimaced at the poor stallion’s brutal end, pushing one hoof against the ground in a weak attempt to stand.  After a few seconds of struggling, he felt his hoof slip, his foreleg collapsing against the ground.  Groaning, he grit his teeth and mustered the strength to try again, but the attempt ended in the same result.  Undeterred, he moved to try another time to stand, when suddenly he felt his body become weightless as it was slowly lifted into the air.
“You know, only fools try the same thing over and over again hoping for different results,” Sombra drawled with lazy spite, casually spinning Hagner’s limp body until he was facing the king.  The motion allowed him to catch sight of a smoldering pile that was one of the other advisors as well as a sword- his sword- that had been used to gut the other.  Sombra tilted his head slightly, an evil grin across his face as he asked, “How do you call attention to an army of colts?”  
Hagner opened his mouth to spit out the most hateful language he could manage, but instantly his mouth was sealed, seared shut with the bastard’s dark magic.  Sombra answered his own question as the colonel let out a muffled scream of pain, “You throw fresh meat at them.  Or wait, maybe that’s how you tempt an experienced army?  Doesn’t matter.”
Hagner writhed in the air as he felt himself being lifted higher and higher into the air, his eyes barely able to catch sight of what was happening thanks to the glow of Sombra’s magic and welling tears of pain.  However, he could hear the army below him begin to shout in surprise and fury at the sight of their colonel being presented to them, blood dripping from his wounded side.  The clanking sounds of weapons being grabbed and sudden cries of “It’s the Bastard!” and “Sombra is here!” echoed across the camp as the young stallions and colts came together to fight their sworn foe.
Even as high as he was, Hagner could hear Sombra’s roaring cackle as he evidently knew of the entire army rising up against him.  “Come now, colts, no need to play rough,” Sombra jeered as the sounds of them engaging the mad king resonated from below, followed closely by screams of pain and snapping bones.  Hagner squeezed his blurry eyes closed and tried to mute out the sounds of more of his soldiers dying as the Bastard’s jeering and chortling grew louder.  Suddenly, the sounds from below stopped, a collective gasp from the crowd of soldiers sending a chill through Hagner.  Suddenly he was being let down, the magic around him no longer blackish-red, but now a calm teal.  He was let down to the ground, the helpful unicorn allowing him to lean against his side for stability.  Able to finally see past the magical bubble that wrapped around him, he too gasped at the sight he saw.
A young stallion was holding his spear, mouth agape as he stared at where his spear had pierced Sombra, straight through the heart.  The Bastard King himself stared down at the weapon in disbelief, the bodies of some twenty stallions surrounding him as he dropped the bloody swords in his magical grasp.  Looking up at the stallion who had dealt the killing blow, he smiled, complementing, “Nice form.  Right beneath my blades and in between my ribs.  A normal stallion would be dead right now.”
Still with the spear jammed into his chest, he glanced around at all of the other shocked soldiers, raising a slow eyebrow as he casually pulled the bloodless spear out of him with his magic.  Almost as if he had realized what he had just been doing, he grimaced as he looked around at the dead bodies, before catching Hagner’s eye.  A strange smile broke his wince as he declared, “I thought for sure I had killed you!  So glad I didn’t use your body as a shield!”
“You bastard,” Hagner managed to gurgle past his burnt lips as he slumped to the ground, his right side unable to keep holding him up in spite of the support.  
Sombra rolled his eyes at the slur, muttering, “Yes, I know you ponies have a whole book of nicknames for me, but please, this is a serious matter.  Put on your big colt pants and get over it.”
“You killed twenty three stallions,” one of the soldiers shouted, earning echoing cries of anger and disbelief from the crowd.  However, nopony moved from where they stood, save the stallion who had stabbed Sombra, who simply fell to his knees in front of the Bastard.  
“Please don’t kill me,” the young stallion begged as he clenched his eyes closed, his head bowed away from the imposing king of the Crystal Empire.  Sombra simply laughed at the gesture, reaching out a hoof and patting the stallion on the head like he was some sort of pet.  Hagner growled at the action, but instantly began coughing at the gesture, his lung preventing him from being able to sustain his breath.  The army turned to watch him as he collapsed to the ground, his eyes drifting closed as he attempted to keep conscious. 
“Such a pity I had to wound and kill so many earless stallions,” Sombra mourned empathetically, glancing at one of the many body parts that scattered the ground around him.  “Truly is.  If only they had listened to my message to you, the brave stallions of Equestria, that you no longer had to fight under a banner that used you as hapless meat shields.  If only they had learned that they did not have to die anymore, not against or for me!  The greatest tragedy of this decade, for certain.”
“What are you talking about,” several soldiers demanded, still carefully holding their weapons toward the enemy.  
“Well, you see, you’ve been told that I’m simply a tyrant using my ponies and soldiers as pawns to kill as many ponies on both sides, yes,” Sombra questioned, looking around knowingly as the stallions nodded.  “You’ve also been told that there are dark creatures of the night, too, yes?  Werewolves, vampires, zombies, the sort.”
“And your point,” another endearing stallion inquired, still dutifully training his spear on Sombra.
“My point is that there is no reason why you should continue to fight an enemy you can’t kill,” Sombra stated matter-of-factly.  “I have lived beyond the years of even your grandparents, have fought more wars than years you’ve lived, and killed more stallions than are in this army.  And I mean just stallions.  However, I never wanted any of this, to kill everypony that stood in my way.  In fact, I’ve done the most I can to prevent myself and others from killing my foes, but it’s ever so difficult to not when they are doing their best to try to.  What I want from you isn’t a battle or a surrender, but rather an agreement of sorts.”
“There will be no consorting with the enemy,” Hagner declared, a fit of coughs overtaking him before he could say more.  
“Hm, yes, I was afraid there would be some lingering resistance to me, so here’s what I’m thinking,” Sombra pondered dismissively.  “I’ll give you an hour to decide whether you want to fight on and continue to kill yourselves on my spears and arrows for a pair of petty Princesses who have continued this bloodshed for far too long or raise the banner of the Crystal Empire and help us free more ponies.  Really, I leave the choice to be yours.  But, um, to encourage the process, you should know that an army of thirty five thousand awaits your answer, and if it is violence, I will have no choice but to dispose of you.  Do make this easy on you.”
“We don’t need an hour to decide,” Hagner roared, all eyes falling back to him.  He resisted the urge to break out into heaving coughs long enough to declare, “This army is Luna’s, and will never be yours!”
“It’s a right shame that the rest of these stallions don’t seem to share that sentiment,” Sombra noted smugly, and when Hagner took a moment to look around, he found himself gaping in disbelief once again.  The stallions all around him had lowered their weapons, some had even set them aside, while they all glanced at each other.  Some seemed saddened by whatever they were collectively thinking, but others looked angry, almost furious at what Hagner had loyally declared.  “I think that their minds are decided.  I’ll leave now and give you the hour to organize yourselves instead.”
Sombra turned as if to walk away, but then remembered something, looking back over his shoulder at Hagner with a twisted smile as he added, “Oh, and take care of any unwanted business.”
Hagner felt his entire body begin to shake as he glanced around at the now unwelcoming faces of his former comrades, a terrified quaking overtaking him.  “No no no no no,” he pled with the stallions he faced, Sombra vanishing from behind them.  “Please, I’m your ally, your colonel!  We serve the Princesses!”
Hagner suddenly gasped in pain as he felt a terrible burning fill his entire body, nothing like he had ever felt in his life before.  Shakily looking down, he found the spearhead that pierced completely through his body from behind, the metal covered in his blood and flesh.  He tried to let out a breath or to take one in, but there was nothing, only the sensation of being impaled from behind him.  Tears began to fill his eyes and tumble out, the pain of death and betrayal the last emotions he would ever know as slowly his head came to rest against the stallion that had helped and held him.  
“I’m sorry, colonel, but this is for the better,” the stallion muttered softly into his ear.  “Hopefully you end up in a better place than us.”
With a sudden wrench, the spearhead was gone, as was Hagner’s support.  With a final exhale, the colonel slumped to the ground as the last vestiges of life faded from his eyes.
> Chapter 25: The Murderers
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hemorrhage didn’t speak while they buried the ashes.  He didn’t speak while Ailade and Argon both read out the rights over the large grave, nor did he speak when Khan began to whine at the burnt village.  He simply stared on and on at the cloud of smoke in the sky, the remnants of an entire city turned to ash.  Four thousand innocent lives lost in the course of a night, all because he had been slow to return to the army.  He had known the dangers posed by Sombra and his army, but he had risked it all for a simple return trip to the castle instead of sucking it up and returning to the front.
With a soft curse, he stomped into the ground, a small crater forming around the magically accelerated hoof.  He stood and began to pace once again, contemplating exactly how this all could have come about in such a short time.  Luna’s army should have arrived here hours ago, and indeed, it seemed like they had, seeing as not far from here were the remnants of a struggle.  However, there were hardly enough bodies from either side to signal a complete rout, nor were there the signature maulings that he expected from the potential nocturnal forces within Sombra’s army.  
He had no clue as to how the entire army could have been defeated in such a short time with minimal casualties and the city be destroyed in a matter of hours.  Growling to himself, he lit his horn and levitated a rock towards him, applying more and more pressure until it shattered.  With a sigh, he alleviated his rage, the fire burning inside him sated momentarily.  Staring at the tiny shards on the ground, he tapped a hoof to his chin.  It was time to stop asking how and start discovering.
“Hemorrhage, are you okay,” Argon suddenly asked, resting a large paw carefully on his shoulder.  
“Of course not,” he replied sharply, pointing a hoof to the grave they had dug.  “I was supposed to protect those ponies, but instead I abandoned them to the armies of Sombra.”
“Armies,” Ailade questioned, suddenly approaching him from his right side.  “I wouldn’t expect even somepony as crazy as him to commit so many ponies to murder.”
“Then clearly you have never had to deal with the insane, belligerent type of psychopath that Sombra is,” Hemorrhage answered.  “We belittle him with nicknames such as the Bastard King and bastard, but quite clearly he is much more capable and intelligent than the lot of us.  He managed to sneak in a devastating attack even after we knew the possibility of such an attack, in the short amount of time between our visit home and now.  This is a stupid loss, a loss and massacre as a result of my slowness to react to such intense news.  However, we need to find out how exactly this occurred.
“I said armies because that is the only way the Bastard could have managed to both defeat Luna’s army and burn the city at the same time.  Most likely, Luna’s army saw Grandshire being attacked and quickly retreated from the battle, thus the minimal casualties suffered by both sides.  They attempted to save the town, but by the time they arrived, it was too late, and having given up their optimal position to defend and fight from, they were forced to quickly retreat from any place near the town.”
“Minimal,” Ailade questioned.  “There must be over a thousand dead stallions out there, not too far from the town.   I would hardly call that minimal.”
“Even if all of those soldiers were members of Luna’s army, that would only be five percent of their forces destroyed in combat, hardly the rout required to discourage an army as large as hers is.  Besides, in the average battle between forces of Equestria and the Crystal Empire, Sombra’s forces suffer one hundred and fifty percent of the casualties they deal.  With one thousand in mind, that would mean some four hundred Equestrian stallions dead, but six hundred Imperial soldiers killed in return.  It doesn’t add up in any way,” Hemorrhage explained, frustrated.  “The real question, though, is why Sombra would have the town burned.”
“For fear of course,” Argon presumed.
“That’s what I thought at first as well,” Hemorrhage quickly continued.  “But that doesn’t make sense either.  Killing everypony is what ponies fear more than anything, and clearly Sombra knows that better than anypony.  Besides, think about it.  Grandshire is one of the best designed cities, and topographically is the perfect defensive position for an invading force.  It isn’t too far from the border, is surrounded by hills and farms, and has mountains defending it from the north.  It would take longer for Equestrian forces to get there from Canterlot than Imperial forces from Shanet.  Why destroy something so valuable to the upkeep of soldiers and supplies for your army?”
“Because your army isn’t the one that you’re sending to do the fighting for you,” Leper suddenly spoke up, returning from wherever we had been.  The others turned to the young lycan as he solemnly sat down, still staring out to a distant hill.  “There is a smaller cluster of corpses buried in the hill over there, soldiers undoubtedly, and by the smell of it, the former camp they had set up.”
“Could you tell exactly what type of soldiers were in the camp,” Hemorrhage questioned with sudden realization.  “Where there the smells of metal and polish or crystal and smoke?”
“I would have to guess it was Equestrian,” Leper replied unsurely, still staring at the hill that now seemed ominous with the sun setting just barely above its crest.  “Not just from the general smells emanating from the area, but also because of the position it’s set up at.  Roughly a half mile away from the town, using it almost as a defensive buffer between the two armies.  My guess is that their plan involved swapping places with residents and soldiers, having the fighting in town where they have homefield advantage and the civilians will take to the camp, where they can easily be attended.”
“I would agree, save it for one factor,” Hemorrhage stated.  “The main priority of this defensive move is to protect ponies, and part of that would be protecting ponies beyond Grandshire.  The farms of the Oppotimare Valley provide a third of Equestria’s grain, and by losing those could cause a massive recession and famine that could possibly kill hundreds more.  The soldiers would also have moved into a defensive position to protect both the civilians and crops.”
“Which means that wasn't the main camp, but where they actually retreated to,” Argon concluded thoughtfully.  “And if they retreated there, then what forced them back even farther?  Maybe Sombra sunk all of his troops in the southeast of the Crystal Empire into this endeavor.”
“I don’t put it past him to do that, but while Sombra is a bloodthirsty bastard, he’s far more intelligent than we give him credit for,” Hemorrhage reminded them all.  “He has managed to not only maintain, but even win, wars against Equestria with a relatively smaller country, all while managing any uprisings or opposition he might face.  While we can’t conclude what actually happened here, it is safe to guess that Sombra’s forces are far more powerful and numerous than our allies.  We’ll have to tread lightly in this piece of land, lest we happen upon his entire force.”
“Well, the best place to start looking for clues would be up on that hill, if we’re done here,” Leper suggested, flicking his head in the direction of the hill.  “I wasn’t able to get a close look, but I could’ve sworn that there was something sticking out of the crest.”
“We’ll check it out then,” Hemorrhage nodded, glancing over to Argon and Ailade.  “Hold this position as lookouts, will you?  We need to be as careful as possible sneaking around in what could potentially be enemy territory.  Besides, if we do find something up there, we may need to retreat quickly depending on what exactly.”
“Contrary to what you think, the safest bet would be to stick together,” Leper stated, giving the other three a long stare.  “It’s much harder to kill four nocturnals who are fighting together than it is to kill two pairs.  Like you said, we’re in dangerous territory, but if we do have to retreat, there’s no need for secrecy in it.  After all, these are the enemy we’re talking about, and if we need to use our nocturnal forms to retreat, who will they tell?  I doubt Sombra is ignorant to the possibility of nocturnals working for Equestria.”
“Leper’s right, there’s only danger in splitting up,” Ailade agreed thoroughly.  “If we do happen to need to fight, then together is better than separate.  If your estimations on the size of their army are correct, then they may be hard to view without being spotted, even from a distance.  Easier to keep track of everything and everyone if we move together, and it saves us valuable time.  As seen by the destruction of Grandshire, we can’t afford to lose any more of it.”
Hemorrhage glanced down at the ground, thinking hard on what the others had said, tapping a hoof against his chin before finally admitting defeat with the slightest growl.  “Fine, we move together, but remain crouched against the side of the hill and wait for my signal to crest it.  I will be the first over the top, and on my signal, Leper, Ailade, and then Argon will follow up.”  After another moment’s hesitation, he added, “We go in nocturnal form.  Whether we find allies or enemies up there, or if it’s abandoned, we would be better prepared for whatever faces us there in those forms.  If we do end up fighting, just remember who you are behind the beast.”
The group nodded in unison, agreement solemnly etched on everypony’s faces even as they suddenly began to change.  Hemorrhage didn’t stick around to watch his friends change, his own wings emerging from his back as he kicked off the ground, catching the wind in his wings.  He suddenly drifted sideways and down the hill they had been on, drifting between the small gaps between the hills as he flew towards the intended one.  Slitting his eyes against the wind, he suddenly kicked outwards, flipping him vertical to the ground and stacking his spine to catch the air in his wings, rapidly slowing as he approached the sharp, grassy slant of the hill Leper had indicated.  
Expertly landing on the terrain with the softest of thuds, he crouched low to the ground, the hair of his neck brushing with the grass.  He kept his wings extended, ready for launching at a moment’s notice in case of any hostility.  Slowly, he took his first few steps up the new knoll, listening intently for any noises that could give away potential threats.  Hearing nothing but the gentle brushing of grass against itself in the breeze, he continued forward, slinking up the hill swiftly and silently, all the while attentive for any danger.  Finally, he reached the crest of the hill, and still hearing nothing but grass moving in the wind, he took a deep breath and launched himself over the top like a snake springing from the brush. 
A gasp escaped Hemorrhage as he stared in disbelief at the head of another blue-coated stallion, disembodied save for the spear that held it above his own.  The eyes had been scratched out, skin of the sockets torn but long dry of blood.  The poor stallion’s mouth was agape, his jaw loosely open as his black mane drifted in the soft wind, a last banner of his lost life.  Hemorrhage took a step back from the grotesque display, nearly slipping off the edge of the hill as he stared helplessly around him.  Some forty other heads were planted on spears on the crest of this hill, all right on the edge of it where anypony who ascended it would find them.  
Closing his mouth and turning to the open hills below him, he simply waved his hoof to signal the others to come, watching them suddenly dash up the hill towards him, still ready for a fight if needs be.  He watched them hollowly as they each in turn saw the display left for them, deflating in disgust, anger, or sadness as he had.  Shaking his head, he rested a hoof on Ailade’s back, pulling slightly to shake her away from a blue-maned stallion who had not only been beheaded, but had his skull collapse on one side.  
“Damn bastard,” Leper suddenly shouted, throwing himself sideways and ripping out a chunk of the ground with his claws, launching the debris into the small valley between hills.  Before Hemorrhage could say anything, Argon moved to the young nocturnal, resting his paw on his fellow lycan’s shoulder.  
“We will make him pay for this,” Ailade growled, her voice rumbling through Hemorrhage’s own hoof.  She began to quiver in anger, causing the mordigan to press his hoof harder into her to grab her attention.
“Careful now,” Hemorrhage warned, moving between her and the heads, giving her a stern look.  “Emotion is like any other tool.” 
“Easily mishandled,” Argon finished, tugging Leper away from the stallion he was staring at.  The lycan’s eyes met Hemorrhage’s, cold realization and rage causing a silver spark to ignite in both of them.  What had been done here was a complete violation of life, and a complete monstrosity brought about by a war they had been casually allowed to happen.  It was time to step in truly, beyond snooping and advising.  It was time to end the war for good.  And it started with finding the traitors who had killed their own officers and forcing them to pay.
“Come on,” Hemorrhage coldly ordered, turning to the west, where another cloud of smoke had begun to appear on the horizon.  “We need to bury these bodies.”
> Chapter 26: The Diversion
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Night was falling fast when they had finished the last of the heads were buried, little markers indicating the graves.  Hemorrhage’s heart was heavy, his head downturned.  If he had simply trusted that Halven wasn’t trying to trick him or had let Argon go alone to collect the others, then maybe he would have been able to prevent this treachery.  He might have been able to convince the soldiers who had done this that they didn’t need to, at least.  Maybe save the lives of a few dozen soldiers and prepare for the battle they would be forced to face.  
Instead, there was this.  The destroyed village and the slain loyal soldiers, left as a gruesome display for Equestria to mourn.  Muttering a final prayer to Luna for the brave soul who had stood against treachery, Hemorrhage stepped away from the grave and took a brief glance over his shoulder.  
Ailade still sat quaking at the edge of the hill in rage, low growls escaping her mouth.  While he knew almost everything about the werewolf, the one thing he had never quite figured out was her affinity to normal ponies.  He cared for them as other living creatures, but he had no desire to ever live among them as a nocturnal.  For her, though, this amount of death was outrageous and unforgivable, too many innocent lives lost to something undeniably evil.  He wanted to reach out a hoof and tell her that everything would be okay, that they would avenge these innocent lives lost… but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
He needed this rage to be maintained and stoked.  They were in enemy territory, and had been for some considerable time.  They hadn’t known that, though, which meant that reckless actions such as flying from hill to hill and scrambling around the slopes was a foolish way of going about.  It was a miracle they hadn’t been spotted yet.  Still, they had taken the time to respect the dead and clean up Sombra’s horrendous mess.  That meant they were both behind schedule and out in the open.  Luckily, darkness was their ally.  They would be able to find their foe by the moonlight and fires they lit.
“What should we do, Hemorrhage,” Argon asked softly, nodding towards Ailade.  The mare would be able to hear even their whispered words.
“What we can,” he said sadly, staring at her.  Her ears were perked up, obviously listening in on the conversation they were having.  She probably wasn’t fooled by their guise, but at the very least it was a way for her not to feel called out.  “We’ve done our part in honoring the dead, now let’s go avenge them.”
“Indeed,” Leper growled as he prowled past them, staring out over the small valley between hills.  “I can smell the scent of these stallions’ blood in these hills.  Somewhere out there, the murderers are dragging their bloodied swords and spears with them.  They didn’t even clean their tarnished blades!”
“They lack any respect for the lives they took,” Ailade declared, standing up and turning to join the trio.  “We will show them equal respect when we terrorize them in the night.”  
“Enough,” Hemorrhage hissed, lifting his head up.  He stared at his three friends, his coven, and frowned at them all.  “You let rage control you so easily?  We know where they are and have seen the smoke of their camp.  We must not allow ourselves to be blinded by fury and zealous vengeance.  Our allies will be meeting with us soon, and from there we can make our plans.  We will not harry the camp tonight, or at least, not until a levelheaded plan has been established and agreed upon with our allies.”
“I agree,” Argon stated, stepping forward and laying a hoof on Leper’s shoulder.  “Halven has granted us a good number of other nocturnals to work with, powerful ones that will assist in our effort.  We need to be wary, though, that we do not let the strength of darkness fool us into reckless action.  We are not invincible.”
“Fine,” Leper finally grumbled, stepping away to look out in the distance, smelling the air.  “They seem to be settled for the night anyways, but they aren’t having much luck keeping warm.  Maybe three or four fires.”
“The hills aren’t very forested, but more than anything, I think they’re afraid of being spotted,” Hemorrhage pointed out.  Slowly, tapping a hoof against his chin, he came to a realization.  “Perhaps I sized up the situation too quickly as well.  These soldiers know the general plan at the very least, but they just killed many of their major leaders in this mutiny.they’ll know they were the force sent to stop Sombra’s force and that there wasn’t supposed to be any other armies coming in the next few days.  However, they’re afraid of being found out still, which either means they’re afraid of one of our armies coming, or more likely, they’re going to attempt to dive deep into Equestria, perhaps all of the way to Canterlot.”
“We can’t allow that to happen,” Argon concluded.  “Therefore, we’ll need to cause a diversion to keep them in the Oppotimare Valley, to give Celestia and Luna time to react and stop the damage from tearing apart Equestria completely.”
“Precisely,” Hemorrhage grimly confirmed.  Looking over to Leper and Ailade, he saw determination in their eyes.  “It seems that we will have a raid tonight after all, with or without our allies to reinforce us.  We need to strike quickly but efficiently.  Kill as many as possible in as brutal a manner as possible.  Be bloody, massacre them.  These ponies spook easily if all it took for them to switch sides was one battle.  Leave those who witness our attack scarred and loose-lipped about what they saw.  In whatever way you can, destroy both their morale and their soldiers.  The fate of Equestria rests on whether or not we can scare these traitors back into the deeper Oppotimare.
“We hit at once, four of us together, again and again throughout the night.  Maybe they’ll realize it’s the same four individuals causing them damage, maybe they’ll think it’s coordinated efforts of different small groups of Equestrian forces.  Either way, I believe our goal will be achieved.  If they think it’s four individuals alone causing the damage, they’ll hesitate at the thought of what thousands could potentially do to them.  If they think it’s coordinated guerilla warfare, they’ll believe they’ve moved themselves into a position where the enemy can strike from all sides.  Whatever the case, our goal is carnage outright.  Make them question the cost of the fight.  Am I understood?”
“Clearly,” Argon nodded solemnly.  
“Of course,” Leper quickly added, sitting upright.  
Ailade stepped forward suddenly, leaning in as she whispered, “Once, it would have taken you hours to even consider the possibility of such a dangerous attack.  What changed?”
“The last time I hesitated, it got over four thousand innocent ponies killed,” he answered bluntly.  “I had the blood of many ponies on my hooves before today, but I’m now awash in it completely.  I always preach against feeling shame.  Tonight, I shall unleash my shame and rage on those responsible for the massacre of innocents.  Will you be by my side for that?”
“Of course,” she replied, taking a step back to stare into his eyes.  “It’s time we nocturnals finally put to good use our monstrosity.”
“Very well,” Hemorrhage growled.  Taking a second to draw in a breath, he looked at his three companions.  Letting out a husky breath, he ordered, “Move out.”
> Chapter 27: The Slaughter
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hemorrhage moved silently, cutting through the dark landscape with speed that was ungodly by all standards.  The wind roared in his ears, a contrast to the way his sleek form cut through the air without a whisper.  He kept his heartbeat steady and slow, breathing in a controlled matter to prevent himself from panting loudly.  His body was warming up quickly because of it, but there was no better alternative to keeping himself fast and silent.  He barely felt the grass of the hill and wet drizzle of the storm that had rolled in, blotting out the moonlight slightly.  He didn’t need the light to see, his eyes keeping the landscape bright and clear, every detail laid out sharply.
Ailade and Argon had split off in different directions to allow their attacks to pincer into his and Leper’s, cutting off a small group of soldiers to massacre and retreat into the darkness again.  Ahead of him, a light blazed like the sun, a squad of soldiers scouting around the base of the hill.  Within seconds he fell upon them, a swirl of blackened fury that cut through them in one fell swipe.  Only one of them even realized what was happening before his throat was torn out by Hemorrhage’s claws, blood splattering the loudest sound to come from the engagement.  Leper stepped on the torch, extinguishing the light and allowing them to continue, unimpeded.  
They finished their race around the base of the hill after only a minute more, their unprecedented speed allowing them to clear a mile long obstacle in a fourth the time it would take a normal pony.  The terrifying speed abated as they slowed slightly, coming face to face with the Oppotimare Valley.  These hills were the rough border to the entrance of the valley, a strip of land that dipped into the ground a bit, bordered by mountains on one side and raised forests on the other.  In it, the army camped, lit by hundreds of fires and spotted with thousands of tents.  To his side, a low growl escaped Leper.
“Silence,” he hushed so quietly that only the lycan’s enhanced ears could pick up the instruction.  He knew it was difficult for the lycan to remain in control of his bloodlust and rage, but it was in moments like this that he required strict, harsh commands to ensure he wouldn’t go over the edge.  The lycan snapped his mouth closed, giving Hemorrhage the slightest nod, confirming that Argon was still in control.  Pressing his lips in a firm line, he began to creep forward, keeping his sleek figure low and light, barely allowing himself to have any tangible mass.  Slicing through the wet night, he darted forward again on padded feet, claws prepared and teeth silently beared.  It was hard for even him to maintain control when allowing his bloodlust to flare.  However, by preventing himself from going into a frenzy before combat, he would be able to sneak up on his foes.
As they descended into the valley, only his heightened eyesight allowed him to catch the shadowed movement of Argon to his far left and Ailade to the far right.  It was a swift, almost impossible movement to even his eyes, the other two nocturnals also well versed in slinking through the shadows with their hundreds of years.  The four descended on camp swiftly, Ailade dispatching a pair of lookouts silently as they went.  While about a quarter mile apart, he could still well see as she ripped through them with relentless fury.  In only a few minutes, they were close enough to the first fire that he could identify each pony individually.
There were five unicorns and four earth ponies in their midst, presumably because this unit had been part of the southern recruitment.  There was very little to no pegasi that lived south of Canterlot, perhaps maybe a few hundred farmers in the Oppotimare itself.  That would mean that any pegasi in the Crystal Empires new, treacherous army, would be traitors and murderers of their kin, destroyers of their home.  The enragement of the thought brought another surge of adrenaline pumped blood through him, boosting his speed that much more.  Without a noise, he made his way into the blazing light of the campfire, allowing shocked yells and curses to escape his foe before engaging.
Leper had left him alone to deal with these nine while he took on another group huddled next to a nearby fire.  That meant he had nine ponies to dispatch in as short a time as possible.  Not a real problem as they were all unarmed and unprepared for what they were about to face, but still doubling his work.  He leapt into the air, soaring over the heads of the ponies closest to him and right over the fire as well, landing squarely on those behind it.  Their bones snapped beneath his claws, two ponies killed as their spines were crushed.   He whipped around, swiping a massive claw out at the pony to his right, practically removing his head.  Meanwhile, he kicked backwards with one foot, the appendage sinking into the chest of the pony in his blindspot.  He kept his foot deep in the dying pony, using it to swing the corpse forward and flinging it through the fire.  
It hit one of the ponies he had leapt over, crunching bones and a pained scream informing Hemorrhage that his aim was true.  He dove at a pony that was trying to run from the fight, using one claw to pin him to the ground.  Clenching it, he tore out the stallion’s backside and tossed it aside, already moving on to the seventh and eighth ponies.  The two unicorns fired blasts of magic at him, both missing as he swiftly moved aside and fired one of his own blasts.  It struck one directly, a flare of fire spouting out of its face and chest while smoke puffed from the burning.  The other unicorn shrieked as his leg was burned off completely, caught too close to the blast to avoid damage.  Hemorrhage dashed past the wounded unicorn, using his body to throw the hapless stallion into the still blazing campfire as he continued on to the final pony.  The mare had barely managed to shout a desperate call for help before his jaws came down on her, tearing her in half.  
This and the brutal killings did manage to catch the attention of nearby soldiers, who began to spread word of the attackers as others went for weapons.  Thankfully, the camp was rather tightly packed, meaning that in one leap he was among another group of soldiers, throwing one of them into the ground while grabbing another with his free claw.  Holding the pony by the throat, Hemorrhage used him as a makeshift weapon as he swung the stallion as his allies.  There were crunches and screams as the fighting renewed, two ponies felled by their comrade.  Realizing the stallion in his grasp was also dead, he threw him with all the strength he had into an approaching soldier with a sword in her mouth.  The mare was crushed by the force of her tossed ally, but that went unnoted as Hemorrhage charged headfirst into the final five ponies, crushing the middle one beneath his front paws.  
He pivoted on his paws, and slick with blood and rain, he slammed his body into the right two, sending them rolling across the ground.  With only two ponies left at this campfire, he didn’t waste the time attacking them directly, levitating them into the air and smashing them against each other once and tossing them into the roaring blaze.  With some mild satisfaction, he realized that his blast from earlier had also set some tents aflame, and with only the small drizzle, it was beginning to spread.  Turning to the next group, he almost smiled.  Some forty soldiers were approaching him with a mix of spears and swords, and while the line seemed like a confident move to attack the nocturnal, he saw the horror in their eyes.  Licking the blood from his lips, he let the feeling of equine serum burning in his stomach fuel him, the frenzy beginning to blaze like the fires that roared around them.
Hemorrhage felt his muscles grow more, his wings unconsciously spreading as they practically forced themselves out of his back, the pain forgotten completely in the afterglow of bloodshed.  He charged the line, eliciting cries of confusion and warning as he avoided outstretched spears and swinging swords, his movements enhanced by blood and darkness.  In milliseconds, he was pushing his claws through two ponies, ripping them in half while his right wing slammed into the neck of a nearby sword, crushing it instantly.  He used the momentum to cut through the throats of two more ponies before bringing his left claw into the face of a spear-wielder.  Flapping his wings powerfully, the gust of wind causing any attackers to lose their balance, he slid back on the muddy ground several paces, the struggling pony in his grasp.  With a glare, he crushed his head, letting the soldiers stare in shock as their comrade was broken like chaff.  
It had the intended effect.  Several lowered their weapons out of sheer shock, the weakness allowing Hemorrhage to re-engage without fear.  He felled a trio of unprepared earth ponies with a flurry of swipes, tossing one of them from his claws and into the faces of half a dozen other soldiers.  The time he bought with that maneuver allowed him to dive deeper into the soldiers’ frail line, cutting down a duo of swords while throwing a spear-wielder into the air.  As she crunched on the ground, he reached through another completely and crushed the throat of a third enemy.  Feeling the stings of blades cutting into his skin from behind.  He flared his wings, throwing an unseen number aside before flapping directly in front of him, the gust throwing him into the ground behind him.  Rolling through the muddy, blood, and ponies that lie there, he came up and snapped a claw out, beheading a unicorn.  No less than five ponies had been crushed by his rolled, and several more were wounded or attempting to stand.  With half of his enemies felled, he had time to focus his magic on the fallen weapons, lifting them into the air and launching them into the force of a dozen centralized soldiers.  There were screams and cries of distress as all twelve were cut down mercilessly by their fallen allies’ weapons.  The remaining scattered eight, injured or attempting to flee, were already being reinforced, however.
Another group of determined soldiers were approaching, this time wearing armor and in an organized formation of thirty spears in front and at least two dozen swords behind them.  His gaze hardening, he reached out and grabbed an injured mare whose legs he had crushed at some point, tossing her at a retreating stallion with a limp forehoof.  The unsuspecting stallion screamed in tandem with the mare, the two becoming a mangled pile of bone, fur, and blood.  Fueled by viscera, Hemorrhage stood tall and stared down the new force of enemies, mildly surprised by how many remained firm in staring back, raising their weapons.  
He let out a growl, blood spraying from his mouth as he charged up a powerful fireball.  He launched it with relentless vigor, but this time several unicorns were prepared to block the attack as the fireball exploded on a magical shield.  As smoke and flares of magic blinded his foe, he veered far to the right, the formation’s vision obtruded by the attack.  There were a few cries of surprise as he dug into the side of the swords behind the spears, not even bothering to slice them down with his claws, simply tossing them aside.  There were screams and crunching bones as he ravaged the unprepared side of the formation, causing ponies to scatter in an attempt to avoid his carnage.  
In a matter of seconds, he had killed four ponies beneath his claws, another half dozen scattered by his thrashing, grievously wounded or unconscious.  He unintentionally stepped through one’s chest as he took a step back, stabilizing himself as he slashed down another sword.  His claws glanced off the armor of a spear that charged him, allowing the stallion's weapon to jab into his shoulder slightly.  At least ten other blades also began slicing into him, the disorganized soldiers simply attacking him instead of trying to reform their lines.  Roaring in anger, Hemorrhage wheeled around, catching the soldiers behind him by surprise.  Instead of slashing at them, he used his claws to crush four ponies into each other, spear still sticking out of his shoulder.  Armor and bones alike broke as dying wheezes escaped the four soldiers sandwiched between his mighty claws.  
Lifting the four dying soldiers into the air, he brought them down on two horrified swords that had attempted to cut his legs out.  Turning from the gruesome mash of bone, metal, and fur, he noted how the soldiers were hesitant to attack him now, seeing that he had easily ignored their attacks while still killing so many of them.  Only half of their swords were left, though many of their spears were unharmed and still prepared to bear down on him.  Struck with a sudden thought that wasn’t simply attack, Hemorrhage turned his back to the spears, save for the one whose weapon was still in his shoulder.  He attempted to pull it out, but his powerful claws only crushed the wooden handle instead of grabbing it.  Annoyed, he reached out and caught the stallion as he tried to run, one claw digging deep into his back and grinding him to a painful stop.
He cried out in pain as he was suddenly thrown at his allies, though thanks to Hemorrhage's faulty grip on him, he missed and only managed to smash the stallion against the ground.  In spite of this, it made the scattered swords separate even more, allowing the mordigan to isolate five swords from the rest and strike at them.  They stood no chance, especially with how they clustered together in a vain attempt to dissuade him.  He completely removed the head of one while grasping the other in his crushing grip, slamming him into his allies with brutal fervor.  The stallion went limp as Hemorrhage was left with only a cowering unicorn to deal with.  Not wasting the time to properly finish her, he turned and kicked a leg back, crushing her ribs through her armor as he sized up the remnants of the group.
As expected, the spears had formed up and were preparing to charge him with the swords desperately retreating to behind them.  The spears charged as soon as he had turned towards them, attempting to catch him off guard and outnumbered.  Unfortunately for them, they had no way of knowing how well this played into his favor.  In spite of his appearance, bleeding from dozens of wounds, he was unfazed from the minimal damage he had received and how many enemies he faced.  They had no clue the millennia old horror that they now challenged, the hundreds of slain that they would soon join without dignity.  
He brushed aside the spears directed at him, leaning down and biting off the head of the foremost stallion.  Spitting out the disembodied head, he slashed through the armor of a spear and stamped out the life of another.  Without slowing down, he continued through the line, throwing aside those that stood in his way unceremoniously and slicing through any that attacked him.  Tearing through the lines, he emerged covered in blood, both his own and the soldiers’.  A dozen spears lay dead and dying, another few fleeing completely from the field in light of the complete massacre they faced.  
Hemorrhage turned yet again, a blast of magic prepared and fired as the largest group of spears as they too turned to face him again.  Caught unprepared, the flare of magic consumed half of the largest group, the unchecked power of the magic incinerating eleven ponies in a flash of light.  The air turned to steam and the mud hardened, baked by the blast as several other ponies wailed in agony, losing limbs or lighting on fire.  Charging the wounded, he tore apart the two ponies that desperately attempted to protect their fallen comrades, Hemorrhage ripped into the wailing soldiers.  He knew he didn’t need to slaughter the seven mutilated ponies on the ground, but the effect it would have on his enemies was devastating.  
Stepping forward, letting the viscera of a split pony slowly slide from his limbs, he glared down at the twenty enemies that dared continue to stand before him.  He knew what they saw before them, the bloody, snarling monster lit by his own magic’s fire.  The world seemed to burn, the rain having stopped completely, allowing the fire to spread from tent to tent.  They were surrounded by flickering fires, embers blowing softly in the wet night wind.  Slowly, Hemorrhage began taking a step forward, moving intentionally lethargic to draw out as much panic as possible.  He could feel it in their terrified gaze, the way their eyes were pinpricks in the light.  He heard their heartbeats picking up and smelled the delectable scent of fear emanating from them.  Darkness, it had been hundreds of moons since he had felt like he could conquer the world.
Lunging forwards, he dismissed the stings of blades cutting his skin, barely registering the pain as he used his entire body to attack.  His claws crushed a pony each while his wings smashed them into the earth.  His tail whipped the faces of those too close for comfort and his hind legs jabbed into whatever enemies were foolish enough to try and encircle him.  His jaws clamped down on one pony before throwing it into its comrade, his fast, ungodly movements culling ponies in seconds.  Before the minute had passed, he had cleaved his way through the remainder of this force, twenty ponies shredded and broken in the wake of his enraged, unholy destruction.  
By now, half the camp seemed to be moving about, and before he could size them up, another force of ponies attacked.  He swept their swords with ease, dragging his claws through five of them in one long, gruesome swipe.  Ignoring the growing pain from his hundreds of wounds, he bit a stallion in half while storming forward, crushing the head of one stallion and snapping the spine of another mare.  Spreading his wings, he blasted upwards into the air, taking two ponies with him and firing a blast of magic at the nearest group of enemies.  They went up in flames, not a unicorn among them to defend against the arcanic attack, six soldiers turned to ash in seconds.  
He let go of the ponies once he was high enough in the air to not feel the heat of the growing fires, sending them plunging into their comrades with terrified screams.  They crashed into magical barriers put out by unicorns in the mix, breaking against their own allies’ magic in horrific fashion.  The gruesome distraction bought Hemorrhage time to land several paces behind their mass, disemboweling a retreating soldier to leave him alone with the force, the camp to his back.  They were surrounded by out-of-control blazes, tents, campfires, and even bodies lighting up the night and burning his mordigan eyes.  Only the path behind him led away from the fire, and now some fifty soldiers were trapped in a very precarious position.  They realized only too late, though, still attempting to form a feasible defense.  
Roaring with effort, Hemorrhage summoned all of his magical prowess to harness the flames around them and the embers that floated in the sky.  They swirled swiftly as they subjected to his will, growing in both size and heat as he enhanced them for his vile purpose.  Sweat dripping from him, threatening his concentration, he pulsed his magic, surging the flames towards his enemies, squeezing his eyes shut as he drained his reserves with the task.  The roar of the fire and screams of ponies confirmed to him that his plan had worked, dozens of enemies eliminated in a swift swirl of burning death.
Panting, he relinquished his control of the flames, opening his eyes to witness the destruction he had wrought.  Flames licked at the bones of those that had once stood before him, their armor charred and glistening with firelight.  The ground itself smoked and dozens of small flames flickered across the ground.  Not a single pony had been spared, including those who were strewn about wounded.  The maneuver had been effective beyond Hemorrhage’s expectations, but it had also drained him magically and physically.  Only his enhanced hearing allowed him to know there were still enemies attempting to face him.  
This time, instead of a few dozen brazen ponies, perhaps hundreds of well armored and armed soldiers were approaching, their determined faces resilient in spite of the blaze.  They were supported by archers as well and the unicorns preemptively protected their front line from any magical or projectile attacks with a magical shield.  The heads of spears poked out a few inches from the barrier, discouraging any attempt to attack the shield itself.  This formation was much more professional and formidable than anything the army had previously thrown at him, and beyond this formation, thousands of other soldiers were arming themselves.  In only a few more minutes, he may be facing the entire army.  
Looking around, he realized that Ailade, Leper, and Argon had all retreated.  It was probably in his best interest to fall back as well.  He had done his task, brutally killing hundreds of soldiers alone, destroying a good chunk of the camp in the process.  He had suffered hundreds of wounds, and while those were minor right now, as soon as he returned to being a stallion, they would become life-threatening.  Already he was pushing the bounds of what his equine body would be able to handle, the give and take of transformation.  If he pushed any further and received more damage, it was guaranteed that he would die as soon as he returned to being a stallion, no matter what Ailade attempted to heal him with.  
But his mordigan self told him to stay.  It had been centuries since he had feasted on anypony, their sweet, strong blood giving him power unlike any magic possessed by a unicorn.  He hadn’t even been able to enjoy it yet, simply killing relentlessly instead of feasting like he yearned to do.  Now his bloodthirsty brain begged him to plunge into the enemy without hesitation, to rip, tear, and kill every pony he now stared at.  Realistically, he could do it, ignoring their weapons and only focusing on the kill.  He would be able to devour hundreds of them before finally dying, the unholy strength of his nocturnal body fueled by pony blood allowing him to do the unimaginable.  
He wanted to, desired to, but Hemorrhage forced himself to think of something more painful that the wounds he would suffer, something more enjoyable than any blood he would ever taste.  He thought of Joint, her beautiful, young face smiling as she pulled away from him, the taste of her kiss heavy on his tongue.  What good would dying here do?  He had to keep protecting her after tonight, her and Amethyst.  Killing hundreds of soldiers would not protect her from the greatest threat of them all.  If he died tonight, Sombra would find her and take her again, to subject her to the heinous torture of being his once again.  No desire was stronger than that to protect Joint and her daughter from the Bastard King.
He couldn’t just retreat, though.  He would be pursued, hunted, and found eventually.  There needed to be some sort of threat that would scar the army, to prevent them from desiring to follow the monster into the woods.  And Hemorrhage knew exactly how to satisfy both his hunger and open an avenue for retreat.
The army had slowed their approach, strategically hesitating to react correctly to whatever move the mordigan made.  He was trapped in a ring of fire with the army blocking his only escape on land and the archers prepared to shoot him down if he took to the sky.  However, in spite of their preparation for his retreat, they were completely negligent of his defense.  Reaching out with his exhausted magic, he wrenched three of the strongest looking stallions from the line.  The move was so unexpected that there was no counter grasp to save them, the three soldiers being dragged out from the shield and through the air towards him.
He let one be torn across the ground as he was pulled, slowing his approach and allowing Hemorrhage to focus on the other two.  One was flung right into his left wing, the wind knocked out of the stallion as he crashed into the mordigan’s thick appendage.  The other was impaled on Hemorrhage’s claws, gasping in pain.  There was no time for a scream as the mordigan plunged his other claw in right alongside the original.  This killed the stallion, which was lucky for him as he wouldn’t feel what came next.  Feeling the surge of violence boil through his veins, he spread his claws and ripped them outwards, tearing the pony’s body into dozens of pieces and letting his innards be scattered.  The army before him halted completely, their eyes wide in horror at how their fellow soldier had been mutilated unceremoniously, his body and sustenance wasted.  
Hemorrhage wasn’t done, however.
Beheading the stallion on the ground haphazardly, he took the soldier in his wing by the throat and threw him into the nearby.  The stallion instantly began screaming as his fur and flesh burned, stumbling to his hooves and attempting to retreat from the blaze.  As he emerged from the fire, Hemorrhage sunk a singular claw into the stallion’s flank, dragging the burning soldier back towards him.  The mordigan couldn’t tell if his victim wailed from the fire that was consuming him or the claw that dug through him.  Regardless, his screams continued for several long seconds as he writhed on the floor, desperately trying to drag himself to his fellow soldiers.  Screaming, it was only when he reached out a hoof towards them, begging for their rescue, that he slammed a claw mercifully through the stallion’s chest, ending his agony.
Finally, without looking up at the army, he reached down and lifted the disembodied head of the stallion to his bloody muzzle.  He ate it in one bite, chewing blood, bone, and brain alike.  Swallowing, he lifted the body and began messily devouring the rest of the body indiscriminately.  This final sight was enough to make many of the ponies retch, unable to continue stomaching what they were seeing.  Slowly as Hemorrhage’s meal progressed, the army began silently backing up, horrified eyes watching the mordigan’s first equine feast in over six hundred years.  When he finished, the entire body devoured to the last drop of blood, he looked up darkly at the watching soldiers, a terrible warning.
Standing up, the monster turned and walked through the flames, unopposed. 
> Chapter 28: The Kiss
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hemorrhage panted hard as he stood still, letting Ailade silently tend to his wounds.  There were literally hundreds of different cuts, burns, and stab wounds of varying degrees of severity, leaving him bloody and pained.  Lucky there was the Oppotimare River itself which formed the valley, allowing Ailade to clean his wounds with cold water.  His mind was dulled by pain, but even at this moment he recognized how precarious of a position he was in.  He had pushed his body hard, and now was the decisive time when they would learn whether it was to the brink or past it.
Still, business had to be attended to.  
“How many did you kill,” he asked, cringing at how raspy and soft his voice was.  
“Forty, I think,” Ailade muttered, too focused on his wounds.  He had to remain in his hulking, monstrous mordigan form in order to survive, let alone remain conscious.  “From the looks of it, every single soldier in that army got a lick at you.  Why didn’t you stop?”
“Argon, how many,” Hemorrhage gruffly questioned, not even having the courtesy to pretend he was avoiding the mare’s question.
“Some seventy, I think,” he replied tightly as Leper finished stitching up a large gash in his shoulder.  “I was able to also light a fire before I left which is probably causing havoc.”
“And you, Leper,” the mordigan pressed fervently.  The lycan was almost completely unscathed compared to Argon and Hemorrhage, looking distant.  It may have been a mistake pressing the young lycan into such an extremely dangerous and mentally taxing role.  Killing was not just a terrible act to recover from mentally, but distinguishing killing from feasting also required much from nocturnals.  It was why they had attempted to avoid conflict for so many hundreds of years.
“One hundred… twenty… and seven,” the young lycan finally muttered, glancing distantly in the direction of the camp, the night sky lit up by the fires that still burned there.  Argon let out a low whistle in surprise while Ailade paused on her ministrations, gasping.  Even Hemorrhage raised his eyebrows in surprise at the number the youngest member of their troupe had killed, impressive especially when taking his minimal wounds into account.  Leper, however, seemed uncomfortable as he looked away from them, still attempting to fix up some of Argon’s wounds.  
“And what about you, Hemorrhage,” Ailade softly questioned.  
Frowning, the mordigan sighed as he muttered, “Perhaps as many as three hundred.  It was hard to tell thanks to the fire…”
“Three… hundred,” the mare repeated in shock, her hooves dropping from his wounded back.  There was a brief moment of deathly silence, and the old mordigan knew that Ailade was equally horrified and confused on how many victims he had claimed.  
“So the four of us killed over five hundred soldiers in a matter of under an hour,” Argon summarized, rubbing his chin with a claw.  “By Luna’s moon, no wonder you always warned us against partaking in the wars previously.  If one of us had lost control-”
“One of us did,” Hemorrhage muttered darkly.  Glancing at Leper, he asked, “What’s the last thing you remember before you went savage?”
“I…” the young nocturnal began, before giving up hopelessly.  Then, with an angry growl, he spat, “Is it so bad that I feasted on those traitors?  We all saw what they did to Grandshire, the hundreds of innocent lives they took and the ponies they betrayed.  We buried their ashes all day.  Why should we restrain ourselves at night when they were far more bloodthirsty and savage than any of us?”
“I don’t like your logic there, child,” Hemorrhage warned darkly.  “Should we subject ourselves to the same viciousness as our foes when we ourselves are so much more terrifying and unholy?  You forget that our powers are an evil testament to the darkness that created our kind, our survival hinging on the death of something else.  Somepony else.”
“It’s been sixty years since I last tasted pony blood, Hemorrhage,” the lycan growled in return.  “This wasn’t an action of hunger or bloodlust, but justice.  You may be an idealistic moralist, but I do not restrict myself with the principles of mortals.  These ponies committed wrong to such a severe degree that they have given up their rights as mortal creatures.  The same treatment they gave their victims I will give them and them exclusively.  I’m old enough to know the dangers of feasting and know how to use it as the weapon it is.  I know you feasted on at least one of your victims as well.  Otherwise, you wouldn’t be alive right now, or at least conscious.”
“I did feast, however, I remember the mutilation I gave the pony,” Hemorrhage rebuked.  “I didn’t lose myself to the monster within in order to achieve my goals.  I used my fortitude and my lethal skill in tandem to wreak devastation instead of relying on the brute force of my monstrous self, endangering more than just my enemies.”
Leper flinched at the mordigan’s intensity, his eyes darting to the side momentarily as shame doused his pride.  Bowing his head, he mumbled, “I’m sorry, Hemorrhage.  I… It won’t happen again, I assure you.  I’ll be more careful.”
“You were angry, so I can forgive you,” Hemorrhage told him, softening his expression.  “You may have many more years in you than you should have, but you are still a child in the eyes of the night.  Ailade can tell you, my instructions are harsh and strict, but out of want for your betterment and the protection of those around us.  You’ll learn.  It will just take some time.”
“I understand, master,” the young nocturnal nodded gratefully.  
Rolling his eyes, Hemorrhage grumbled, “If you start with that as well, I may not be so forgiving.  It’s bad enough that Ailade won’t stop calling me that, but I will not stand for you joining her in this madness.”
“It’s because you teach us everything we know about ourselves, my friend,” Argon defended his friends’ words.  “Without you, none of us would have the lives we do.  Some of us wouldn’t even be alive.  Myself and Nightseer both only lived through our transformations because of you, and I’m certain that Ailade and Leper will agree with me when I say that we owe our happiness to you as well.  Not to mention, you also saved the lives of Khan, Joint, and her child all in the last couple of days.  The only way to show our respect and gratitude to you would be to call you master, as you are indeed the master that teaches and cares for us.”
“Still,” Hemorrhage protested tightly, “I am only superior in my knowledge, and that is a fleeting superiority.  Ailade’s already practically caught up on everything I know, and you aren’t far behind her, Argon.  I may be wiser than you now, but we are all equal.  Calling me master demeans your worth and inflates mine.  I’m just an old stallion who only has a few more decades in him.  You are all the future of our kind and the protection of ponies against nocturnals.”
“I would say that you have an entirely different value than that of an old stallion,” a familiar, beautiful voice countered from behind him, causing his heart to stop.  Disregarding Ailade still attempting to dress his wounds, he whipped around to find Joint standing just a few paces away, smiling softly, Amethyst in her hooves.  His jaw dropped at the sight of her alongside his heart, equally awestruck by her appearance and horrified by it.  Ignoring several of his wounds reopening as he moved to her reaching out a claw, it trembled as it hovered just inches from her face.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he hoarsely whispered, before noticing Khan standing to the side and Nightseer holding Ebony, smirking at him.  “None of you should be here.  What are you doing?”
“Coming to your rescue,” Joint replied, leaning forward so his claw cupped her cheek.  She flinched away as cold blood wet her cheek, frowning as she reached up a hoof and wiped some of it away.  It was only when she noticed the blood that Hemorrhage realized what he looked like right now.
“No, no, you shouldn’t be here at all,” he exclaimed, turning over his shoulder and rushing to the river, desperately dipping himself into the water.  Joint couldn’t see him like this!  He was a bloody, horrendous monster that loomed over her, three times her size and covered in gore.  Gore he himself had produced, killing hundreds of ponies like her, feasting on one of them.  He couldn’t face her after what he’d just done, and he couldn’t let her face the monster she had surely just seen.  In fact, now that she had seen him- the real him, in mordigan form- covered in the remains of his victims and beastly, would she even be there when he turned around?  
She shouldn’t be here, neither her nor Amethyst, putting themselves before this evil monstrosity so willingly after he had devoured their kin.  He would surely die if he left this form and Equestria still needed him, so he couldn’t change before her.  He needed to get her out of here, to have Argon or Ailade take them and the others back to the castle.  That way, she wouldn’t have to face him anymore.  He wouldn’t have to look her in the eye after she had seen that he was telling the truth the whole time.  He was a monster, a cannibal, undeserving of love.
“Hemorrhage,” Joint suddenly called meekly, her soft, questioning voice carrying over the sound of splashing water.  He jumped as her hoof tapped his back, carefully looking over his shoulder as he spit out the water in his mouth.  Her eyes were deep with concern, though they had dropped to a deep gash in his backside instead of trying to meet his.  “What happened?”
“We had to fight the army before they could escape, and Hemorrhage was hurt in the fight,” Argon answered for the mordigan, knowing his friend wouldn’t admit to injury.  
“You guys fought,” Nightseer questioned, glancing at her husband as she took his paw.  “How’re you faring?”
“We’re fine,” Hemorrhage curtly responded with a glare.  “But none of you should be here.  I expressly told you why you shouldn’t come and why I wouldn’t let you come.  And you brought Amethyst and Ebony?  What were you thinking?”
“We were all in agreement on this, Hemorrhage,” Leper muttered, daring to look into the mordigan’s sharp, narrowed eyes.  “They actually took longer than anticipated to get here.”
“Wait… you all agreed,” Hemorrhage asked, stunned.  His eyes darted around the group, the whole coven assembled before him with ashamed determination.  He blinked in shock, his jaw slightly agape, before chuckling dryly to himself.  “I did teach you not to blindly follow me.  Still, this isn’t wise.  Nightseer, Joint, you two should return to the castle immediately.  You’re young mothers with young children that need to be tended to and protected, not brought into a warzone.  We’ll keep Khan.  We could use his-”
“No,” Joint deadpanned stiffly.  “We won’t be brushed aside again, Hemorrhage.  I won’t let you push me away again.”
“Joint, it's not like that,” Hemorrhage insisted, stepping out of the river.  “From every logical standpoint, it isn’t advantageous or safe-”
“To Tartarus with logic,” the mare exclaimed suddenly, storming out of the water after him.  “Logic dictates that your kind doesn’t exist.  Logic says that I should have killed Sombra when I put an arrow in his heart.  Logic makes you a monster.  But in these last few days, logic has changed, over and over and over again at a confusing, breakneck pace.  So while it figures itself out, I’m going to grab on to the one thing that has given me joy in the past three years.  I’m going to protect the ones I love and make sure that I can never lose them.  I know you think you’re a monster, an old stallion not worth anypony’s time, protecting me by shoving me away.  But dammit, you must be the epitome of intelligent idiocy if you think I see you that way, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me from becoming yours and making you mine.”
Hemorrhage opened his mouth in an attempt to respond to the mare’s wild outburst, to try and wrangle their emotions, when Joint suddenly reached up and pulled him into a deep kiss.  His eyes shot open wide in surprise with his mouth caught open and his defenses unprepared.  A red hot blush crept across his face, keenly aware of Ailade snickering at the couple as Joint passionately began making out with him.  However, in spite of the suddenness, he couldn’t resist the tuggings of his heart and soul, giving in to the beautiful mare and kissing her back.  He felt her tongue swiftly flick across his mouth, delicately rubbing one of his teeth and then-
And then the scorching taste of blood, sweet as honey and intoxicating as wine.  Her blood.
Hemorrhage pulled away instantly, horrified as he stared at Joint, mouth dropped agape, throat too tight to speak.  He wanted to gag, to spit out the droplets of her blood in his mouth, but they stuck to his tongue like leeches.  Finally, he managed to sputter, “What have you done?”
“I made you mine and me yours,” she answered proudly, though after a few seconds she blinked, stumbling backwards a step.  Reaching up to her head, she blinked as she mumbled, “Whoa, that’s real quick…”
Ailade was the first to realize what had just occurred, watching a small trickle of blood escape Joint’s mouth as the mare stared with a determined smile at Hemorrhage.  Her jaw dropped as she rushed to grab Amethyst from her mother’s hooves, the poor baby beginning to fuss at the sudden commotion.  Staring at the young mare, she muttered in disbelief, “You poor, stupid, lovestruck mare.  You weren’t supposed to do that now!”
“Yeah, I should have… thought this one through better,” Joint admitted, sounding groggy as she fell into a sitting position.  Groaning slightly, she muttered, “My blood burns…”
“Leper, take Khan, Amethyst, and Ebony away from here,” Argon instructed, his mind racing as he attempted to take control of the situation.  “Ailade, Seer, Hemorrhage, we need to get her to someplace enclosed, and quickly.  I don’t know anything about mordigan transitions.  Hemorrhage, what do we do?  Hemorrhage?”
Snapping out of his shock slightly, he moved swiftly to catch Joint as she slumped to the ground.  Carefully picking her up, he told Argon, “Khan’s cave isn’t too far from here.  I can make it there in maybe ten minutes of flight.  That should be enough time.  Mordigans begin transformation instantly, but it takes several hours before the savage stage to take effect.  Luna knows that the time before then is just… agony.”
“Eh, what’s a little more pain,” Joint practically giggled in his claws as he spread his wings wide, preparing to take off.
“But why,” Hemorrhage demanded, staring down at his love.  “Why would you do this?  Make yourself into… what I am.”
Smiling through the burgeoning pain, she kissed his snout softly and whispered, “Because I love you.”
> Interjection 7: The Messenger
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sounds of battle drowned out any other noise, the screams of soldiers dying and clashes of metal were occasionally punctuated by a magical explosion.  Luna heaved as she used her magic to toss a tree into the face of an infantry brigade, their own unicorn killed by a skilled arrow shot.  Six of the spears were killed as the large log crushed them, though the rest tried to escape.  Luna let them go as her own soldiers charged after them, this defensive line quickly crumbling as they took the edge of the enemy’s front.  Their plan had worked perfectly, two thousand soldiers collapsing a line of less than a hundred soldiers in minutes and getting behind the ridge-line defenses.  Now she would need to direct the finishing blow, a charge through the center of the line to split it in two and surround both parts.
This battle was unsurprisingly bloody, with hundreds of her soldiers dead or wounded, and at least two thousand of Sombra’s killed or wounded.  At the very least, though, it would open up the the whole they needed to attack Sombra’s supply lines to his army in the Oppotimare.  With any luck, the recruits she’d sent down there would be able to coordinate a complete encircling of the enemy there and cause the dissolvement of another Crystal Empire army.  It would set back Sombra years to lose so many soldiers and give her and Celestia the chance they needed for a counterattack, potentially striking into the Crystal Empire itself.
Focusing on her current task, though, she flew to the front of a massive block of soldiers numbering at least ten thousand infantry.  Another volley of arrows flew over their heads as the archers kept pummeling the haphazardly entrenched enemy.  Using her magic to unsheath a sword, she raised it in the air and let out a shout which the spirited army returned.  Turning over her shoulder, she charged, the thundering of thousands of hooves deafening and frightening.  Before they were even halfway to their enemies, they had begun to retreat from their positions, terrified.  The few hundred that were left alive and remained were cut down in seconds as their position at the top of a small hill was overrun.  
Luna didn’t stop charging, however, taking flight and soaring over lesser foes to focus on the general she had seen leading this army.  Trinity was surrounded by heavily armed unicorns, though in almost no time at all, she had closed the distance, leaving the vile unicorn alone and her sword bloody.  He laughed at her even as she lit a magical fire that surrounded them, ensuring there would be no interference.  Using his magic, he tore a chunk of earth from the ground and threw it at her.  Unimpressed, a flash of magic turned it into a cloud of dust as Luna leapt at the evil creature.
“Princess, surely you’re above such violence,” he taunted, eyeing the pieces of his guards.  “Don’t you decry such terrible and extreme uses of force on the equine body?  Seems a bit-”
“Shut up,” she growled, slashing her sword down on him, forcing him to lock with his own blade.  He chuckled, but before he could say anything else, she spat in his face.  His eyes widened in shock, surprised by such a vulgar action from a princess of Equestria, but quickly narrowed as Luna continued to press down.
Using his magic to push them apart, he sneered at her, wiping the spittle from his face as he growled, “Still upset I killed your husband?”
“Only until you’re dead and he avenged,” she hissed venomously, turning the ground beneath him into loose sand.  He let out a cry of surprise at her newest spell, dropping his weapon as his focus broke and he sank into the ground.  Unable to defend himself, she lunged, stabbing her sword through him and pinning him to the ground.  
He glanced down at the sword as if it were nothing, and slowly, he began chuckling in amusement at the weapon placed where his heart should be.  Luna’s eyes widened in fear, her breath catching as she realized she was staring not at an evil stallion, but something much worse.  Her lip quivering, she whispered, “You’re one of them.”
Trinity’s grin was something out of hell itself, twisted with violent, evil glee.  Instead of answering, he shot forward, snapping at her neck.  She easily dodged, withdrawing her sword as she leaned back.  Swiping it through the air, she beheaded the nocturnal in a flash of steel, stumbling back further.  It thudded wordlessly against the grass, but in only a few seconds, it became a black mist with the rest of his body.  It swirled together, above her head, condensing into a terrible cloud of darkness that blotted the waning crescent moon.  Raising her sword defensively towards the cloud, she gritted her teeth in determination, prepared to fight.
Suddenly, though, the cloud shot away, towards the east, over the hills and in the direction of the Crystal Empire.  Realizing her foe had escaped once again, she let out a scream of rage and thrust her sword into the ground, barely noticing the tears that began falling from her face.  It wasn’t until she felt the hoof on her shoulder that she snapped from her enraged reverie.  Turning slightly, she saw Celestia staring at her sorrowfully, understanding perfectly Luna’s pained tears.  Without hesitation, she pulled her sister into a hug, the battle over and their objective achieved.  However, in spite of the overwhelming victory at her hoof, Luna only felt defeated.








After over an hour of organizing ranks and taking count, Luna and Celestia stood in their tent, looking over the numbers.  They had lost over thirteen hundred soldiers in this battle for almost five thousand Crystal Empire soldiers, with the remaining twelve thousand captured by the dual movement of her army.  It was the greatest victory in over two years, but ultimately all it did was maintain borders that had previously been held.  For over six thousand ponies, neither side had gained an inch of land.  That had been every battle for the past seven years, almost no territorial changes since the first war.  She was pained by how many of their ponies had died, and she knew that her sister felt that same pain as much, if not more, than her.
“Something needs to change, Luna,” Celestia muttered, voicing her thoughts.  “We need to finish Sombra and Trinity once and for all.  We’re on the verge of victory, I know it, but we have to find the route to it.  We can’t let them live or we’ll be in the same place in five years, if we’re lucky.”
“Trinity’s a nocturnal too,” Luna sighed, rubbing her eyes in exhaustion.  Even though she no longer wore her armor, she felt as if a thousand pounds were weighing down on her shoulders.  “It seems that Sombra has surrounded himself with his kind as well.  I… I don’t know if we can kill them.”
“But we do know someone who does,” Celestia pointed out, turning to a map hung on one of the tent walls.  Tapping the Oppotimare Valley, she stated, “He and his nocturnals are currently in the Oppotimare, helping with the army we sent there to repel Sombra’s surprise offensive.  Since we’ve secured this front for a considerable time, I could send your army down there to reinforce that army and force your way into the Crystal Empire’s borders.  If I lead an offensive, this army could pierce deep into the Crystal Empire and pincer Sombra’s army there.  Losing two armies in a month would make Sombra capitulate, but more importantly, allow us to finally cross the Crystal Mountains and take the Crystal City.”
“Is this it, then,” Luna asked, staring at her sister.  “Is this the end of the war?”
“I hope,” she answered with a sigh, one that reflected the pain of eighteen years of war.  Sombra’s persistent violence and refusal to die in battle, his cowardice and apathy preserving his wretched life as much as his nocturnal blood.  It had cost them hundreds of thousands of lives, entire cities slaughtered by Sombra’s forces and armies killed to the last in an attempt to prevent further fighting.  Graveyards in every city, town, and village were filled with fallen ponies who died by the blades of Sombra’s armies, civilians and soldiers alike killed by the thousands over the years.  There had been wars before… but nothing as devastating, bloody, and long as this one.  
“But it isn’t the end of wrongful killing, hundreds of dead innocents slaughtered by forces of evil,” Celestia spat.  Looking into Luna’s eyes, the Princess of the Night could see the heartbreak of leading a nation through such situations, and knew in her heart what she was about to propose next.  “We need to stop this permanently.  I spoke with Starswirl and asked him what I could do to prevent our little ponies from ever killing each other ever again.  There isn’t any spell that exists to prevent ponies from killing, however, after many long hours of studying, I realized I could create one that prevents them and future ponies from being able to even think of killing anything!  If I target the genetics of ponies, the chemical makeup of an equine’s brain itself, we could make it physically and mentally impossible for them to ever kill.”
“It’s possible,” Luna asked hopefully, stepping closer to her sister.  “Do you think we could really prevent this or anything like it from happening?”
“Maybe,” Celestia admitted, glancing down.  “I… I’m hesitant to try it, though.  I mean, it’s wrong to remove their choice, even if it’s a terrible choice to make, right?”
“You would willingly let ponies remain capable of killing one another for things as benign and temporary as land,” Luna questioned blankly.  “Celestia, we’ve lost almost three hundred thousand ponies since Sombra came into power.  Three hundred thousand ponies have died because one selfish, evil stallion wanted to challenge our reign and take control of Equestria for himself, exploiting it.  Almost an eighth of our population has died from his conquests, and you question the ethics of removing the ability to kill?  My husband died so that others would live, to give us the opportunity to be victorious over Sombra.  Thousands of our soldiers have died simply to protect those who can’t protect themselves.  Now we could remove the need for them to be protected!”
“I know, but what if someday we face a threat that requires an extreme measure such as killing,” Celestia countered, looking uncertain.  Nodding in understanding, Luna pulled her sister in for a soft hug, the pain of mentioning the loss of her husband still stinging.
“We will grow to find ways to fight off our foes not with swords and bows, but with words and emotions,” Luna told her confidently.  “Without the outlet of violence to confuse or escalate conflicts, we can evolve to peaceful methods of facing threats.  The Pillars are working on such methods to lessen the damage caused by the threats they come across in Equestria and beyond.  Perhaps, with time, patience, and care, we can teach our little ponies to solve their problems and the problems of the nation without anypony’s lives on the line.”
Slowly, Celestia smiled, pulling away to nod.  “It sounds wonderful, Luna.  I think you might be right.  I’m just afraid of the future.”
“Your Highnesses,” a voice called from outside before Luna could respond.  “A messenger comes from the Oppotimare bearing urgent news!”
“Let them in,” Celestia ordered instantly, her voice tight.  The sisters shared a look as a young colt stumbled into the tent.  His jaw dropped in awe as he stared at the two alicorns, the Princesses of Equestria and Rulers of Day and Night.  Smirking slightly at the expected reaction, Luna stepped back to allow Celestia to kneel in front of the colt.  Reaching out a hoof to close the colt’s mouth, Celestia asked, “What is the urgent news you bring us, brave one?”
Blinking out of his awe, the colt saluted and stated shakily, “The Oppotimare burns and its inhabitants were killed by the ponies you sent to fend off Sombra’s army!”  
“What,” Luna exclaimed, fear, anguish, and rage suddenly pumping through her veins.  “We sent recruits to defend Grandshire.  What do you mean ‘its inhabitants were killed by the ponies we sent’?”
“I mean that my pa and ma were killed by soldiers who had been wearing the Sisters’ Seal just the day before,” the colt replied, his voice surprisingly harsh.  “My sis’ and I were one of th’ few who were able to get away to Bitsmoth.  The guards there helped bring me here.”
“That’s a lot of travel in one day,” Celestia noted, glancing at the guard who still held the tent flaps open.  Standing up, she instructed him, “Take this colt and his company for rest.  Princess Luna and I have a need for privacy to strategize.”
“Yes, my Princess,” the guard bowed before beckoning the colt to exit.  
Before he left, the colt cried loudly, his voice cracking, “They killed my ma and pa and all’a my friends!  What’re you gonna do to ‘em?  You’re gonna kill ‘em, right?”
Stepping forward darkly, Luna informed the colt, “We’ll get revenge for their treachery.  The innocent blood on their hooves will be washed away by their own treacherous viscera.”
Satisfied, the colt turned and left, the tent flaps closing behind him.  Letting out a sigh, Celestia collapsed to the ground, a hoof raised to her head.  Immediately, Luna cast a spell to ease her sister’s growing headache, receiving a small nod of thanks in return.  The pained Princess tried to open her mouth and say something, but the agony of the news prevented Celestia from making a noise.  Glaring at the ground in front of her, Luna tasted blood in her mouth and realized she was biting her cheek.  Unclenching her teeth, she muttered a vile curse, kicking the dirt in frustration and pain.  On the cusp of victory, they had been betrayed by a group of naive, ignorant, selfish colts!
Turning to Celestia, she informed her sister, “I’m going to the Oppotimare immediately.  With any luck, Hemorrhage and his nocturnals will have survived this treachery, moon forbid they joined Sombra.  My army will catch up with me in a day or two.  Execute the pincer movement and force both Sombra’s army and the army of traitors into the Oppotimare.  We can lay siege with the help of the mountains and the coming winter.  I’ll see to it that these traitors pay for their cowardice with their lives!”
Turning to storm off before her sister could protest, she used her magic to thrust open the tent flaps.  She was halfway out of the tent when Celestia suddenly called out, “When Sombra is dead and the Crystal Empire destroyed, I’ll need your help preventing this from ever happening again.”
> Chapter 29: The Torture
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hemorrhage’s heart twisted as he felt Joint writhe in agony in his grasp, her moan of pain causing his soul to shudder.  This was what he had worked so hard to prevent from happening, distancing himself from her and keeping himself checked.  He’d done everything he thought he could do to prevent the mare he loved from becoming his victim.  Everything but keeping her from getting close to him.
They were in Khan’s cave now, Joint’s groans of agony echoing on the gold-veined walls.  From time to time, she would quiver in his grip as another part of her became less than pony.  She had tried to talk more, to comfort him, but she had quickly become too weakened.  All Hemorrhage could do was hold her, his wings shielding her completely from the slightest light.  He stared at her through the darkness, his eyes able to see enough to know her fur was changing.  
It was strange and terrifying to physically feel her transformation, parts of her fur suddenly die and shed away before being replaced by stronger, wiry fur.  She was maybe halfway done with this second stage of the transformation when her fur became nocturnal.  From what she had said earlier about her blood burning, he could only guess how much time it would take for her organs and muscles to transform completely.  Because she would be transforming into a mordigan, though, her skin wouldn’t need to change tonight.  It would come with time.
For a fleeting second, Hemorrhage gave thought to that.  Joint would be a mordigan by the time the sun rose.  The love of his eternal life would be like him, a nocturnal, a mordigan.  A monster. 
No, not her.  Joint would never be a monster, not even as a nocturnal.  
As strange and thrilling as it was that Joint would be becoming a mordigan, living an eternal life, he had to force himself to focus.  She was at her most delicate right now, halfway between pony and mordigan, which meant she would also be at her most painful.  She shuddered again in his arms, a low groan escaping her as her eyes squeezed even harder.  One of her hooves which pressed against his chest suddenly spasmed, shooting up and hitting him in the chin.
His teeth clacked together but he remained perfectly still.  In his mind, though, he was beginning to panic.  Her hooves were beginning the transformation from normal chitinous hooves to padded paws armed with lethal claws, which would also come with her body growing in size.  After that came the worst part of the transformation from being a pony to becoming a mordigan, a part that was seared into his mind through agony and desperate screams of pain.  The wings.  
Wings were such a fundamental and terrible part of being a mordigan that one couldn’t survive without them, yet they extracted their toll on the body.  In the growth of a mordigan, they were years of pain, and in the transformation of one, it was searing torture as they burst from the back, splitting through sensitive skin and muscle.  Even after hundreds of years of having them, they were painful to use, requiring the body to push aside muscle and extend the wings.  The trauma from their growth also left an impression on them that was not easily forgotten by the mind, one Hemorrhage had taken centuries to rid himself of.
Hemorrhage snapped out of his thoughts as a yelp escaped Joint, another of her hooves spasming, though this one hit him in the chest.  Closing his eyes, not wanting to watch her continue going through the pain, he pulled her in slightly, pressing his forehead on hers.  Whether she even registered the move or not was beyond him, but hopefully it would give her a little more comfort.  He kept his paws carefully cradling her as he shifted his legs slightly, the uneven ground of the cave not helping him stay still.  
All the while Ailade was tending to his more grievous wounds, using some of the cave moss and cool water to clean the wounds.  From time to time, she would have to pull out a piece of broken weaponry, but thanks to his nocturnal form, he was able to endure the process silently.  Argon sat quietly in the corner, watching.  For other transformations, such as becoming a vampyre, ompyre, or werewolf, two or three other nocturnals were needed for a successful transformation.  Though depending on the nocturnal, the term “successful” varied from just surviving the transformation to having the conscious capability to turn back into a pony again.
Mordigans, of course, were solitary in transformation, though the presence of Hemorrhage’s master had helped him retain his sanity through the torture of becoming a nocturnal.  He just prayed that his presence would be enough for Joint to keep her sanity and be able to control her transitions between mare and mordigan.  
The hoof pressed against Hemorrhage’s chest suddenly began to quake, causing his breath to hitch.  The trembling hoof continued to shake, though as it did so, he felt it slowly splitting into different parts.  Swallowing hard, he attempted to keep his breathing calm, nuzzling his head against Joint’s.  The mare panted hard in between moans of agony, each one rending his heart that much more.  Luna, why had he let her get so close?  How could he have let this happen to her, let her continue pursuing him?
A sudden twitch of her hoof led to the first scream from her as the newly developed claws suddenly extended, stretching new muscle and destroying the old ones.  Hemorrhage let out a shaky breath, a few tears escaping as he felt her sharp, new claws press surprisingly gently against his chest.  A second hoof transformed just moments later, eliciting another heartbreaking scream from Joint.  This time, the claw was less gentle, slightly puncturing his skin.  Grimacing, he patiently waited for Joint to still enough to shift, making sure his blood didn’t drip onto her.  
The transformation of her front two paws was quickly followed by her hind legs, though they each took several minutes to finish transforming.  Either Joint was already building her pain tolerance or the hind legs were less painful because she didn’t even groan once the entire time.  Once the last claw extended, she fell somewhat still, quaking in pain instead of writhing in it, soft whimpers escaping her.  Hemorrhage wanted to do more to comfort her, to squeeze her into a hug or to kiss her, but both of those felt too self-indulgent and unwarranted for her situation.  Contenting himself with simply stroking her back while holding her, he tried to softly hush her as if she were a babe.
“Hemorrhage, is it done,” Ailade asked, her voice trembling even while she finished stitching a nasty stab wound.  
“Far from it,” he softly replied, only his one paw moving to brush through the fur of her back.  
“Sweet Luna,” Argon cursed, suddenly very close to the three of them.  “This is why you never talked about your transformation?”
“This is why I wanted to keep Joint away,” Hemorrhage growled, though he attempted to keep from getting too angry.  With a sigh, he muttered, “This is one of the reasons why I was content in letting Joint go and live life happily.”
“It was inevitable, Hemorrhage,”  Ailade said, stepping away from the mordigan as she finished the stitches.  
“No, it wasn’t,” he rumbled, struggling to keep calm.  In his paws, Joint let out a shuddering breath, a slight moan escaping as well.  “It was very much preventable, but the fault is as much mine as it is yours.”
“She loves you, and there was nothing that was going to stop that mare from joining you,” she declared, resting a hoof on his back.  “Even if every one of us had tried to stop her, nothing short of tying her up would have prevented this from happening.  It just would have meant a lot longer of a time with her not being one of us.  Not being able to be with you.”
“How can you say that,” Hemorrhage questioned, disgusted.  “How could you speak as if her mind was your own, as if the future were so damn certain?”  Pausing, the anger leaving him as Joint let out another moan, shuddering, he felt cold.  Softly, he asked, “How could she love me after this?”
“You’ve stuck with her this entire time, haven’t you,” Argon pointed out.  “You’re still taking responsibility and helping her the best you can, even though you’re suffering as well.  But you’re right.  We shouldn’t put words into Joint’s mouth.  She will tell you the truth once she comes through this.”
“In the meantime, I don’t think it’s healthy for you to be like this, watching her go through all the pain you did,” Ailade began hesitantly.  “You’ve made it through the worst part.  Why don’t you let Argon and I take over while you get some rest?”
“That wasn’t the worst of it,” Hemorrhage muttered softly, staring at Joint’s face.  It was scrunched up with pain, her breath now coming out short and shallow.  Seeing her beautiful face in such agony tore apart his heart, flaring the rage he felt that this was happening.  However, his own words came back to him and he managed to temper himself.
“Th-that wasn’t the worst part,” Ailade questioned, sounding horrified.  
“The wings, they’re the worst,” the mordigan managed to mumble, his voice breaking as he did so.  “They tear through your new skin and muscle, force their way out and develop slowly.  The bones and muscles feel like burning knives while they form, and your body loses the last bit of normality through the unnatural formation of the wings.  It leaves a trauma that the body and mind don’t soon forget.  It took me centuries to overcome it.”
“Well, in that case…” Ailade began, slowly.  Suddenly, he felt the mare’s hooves on his back, climbing up him.
Still remaining motionless, Hemorrhage inquired, “What are you doing?”
“Don’t hate me for this, please,” was all the warning he got before he suddenly felt a sharp pin prick in his neck.  Gasping, he felt a coolness spread from the spot where the werewolf had injected him with something.  Before he could say anything, though, he felt a wave of grogginess slam into him like a boulder, causing him to start falling backwards as his eyes felt forced shut.  In only seconds, he was laid out on the ground, fast asleep.








“Um, Ailade, what in Celestia’s holy name was that,” Argon exclaimed, rushing over to the fallen Hemorrhage.  
Carefully moving to pick up the quivering Joint from off the mordigan’s bleeding chest, Ailade replied, “Twenty milliliters of cyanide.”
“Cyanide,” Argon repeated, dumbfounded, before shouting, “Cyanide?  Why the hell do you have cyanide?  In what circumstance would you need cyanide?”
“This one, apparently,” the werewolf answered curtly.  Grunting, she lifted Joint and slowly moved her to the bed of moss she had prepared while Hemorrhage had been distracted.  “I thought there might be a chance he would let me take over taking care of Joint, but he’s too stubbornly selfless for that!  He was going to force himself to suffer through Joint’s entire transformation as punishment for allowing it to happen.  How do you think that would have panned out?”
“Poorly,” Argon admitted, moving over to help her lay down the quivering mare.  “But how do you think this will pan out?”
“Poorly for me, but fine for everypony else,” Ailade sharply retorted.  “Luna, I really hope Joint wakes up before Hemorrhage though.  Otherwise, I might have to ditch until she comes to.”
“Yeah, doesn’t really help that this is all coming off the back of us all plotting to get Joint here in the first place,” Argon muttered.  “If Seer wasn’t such a romantic, I might have told Hemorrhage.”  The lycan glanced over to the sleeping mordigan, his composure softening at the sight of what might be Hemorrhage’s first good sleep in days.  “Then again, the poor stallion needs a healthy dose of love in his life, doesn’t he?”
“Exactly,” Ailade replied, sitting down beside Joint.  She had laid her on her side so that when her wings came sprouting out, they wouldn’t be pushing against the ground.  While watching Hemorrhage protect the mare so completely from anything that could endanger her was heartwarming, Ailade knew she needed more space to writhe and breath.  Still, a new appreciation for the mare was growing in her, the lack of complaint when she could talk combined with the brash, if somewhat stupid, initiative she had taken.  She looked forward to having this mare as a friend, even maybe as a sister.
“Well, um, what now,” Argon asked, wincing as another groan escaped Joint.
Resting a paw on her shoulder, Ailade muttered, “We help them through the worst of it.”
> Chapter 30: The Reinforcements
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

So much had happened in such a short time that Khan wasn’t quite sure why he now stood atop a hill near home.  He panted happily nonetheless, as he remained watching the hills in the dimly lit night.  He knew his name was Khan now.  His new friends had given it to him as a token of acceptance.  Still, he didn't quite know why these strange almost-ponies had suddenly appeared and taken him in.  It was nice but confusing, much like the now dulled pain in his hide.  
Just yesterday that pain had been sharp, distinct, forcing him to remain awake and weakening him.  Now, after falling asleep carelessly, he was back to feeling strong with the pain low enough to be ignored.  Whenever he went to sniff the wound, the den mother mare would swat his nose away and give him some warning.  He had stopped after the third attempt, noticing she was considerably worried about something, glancing towards the hills his cave was nestled in.  He didn’t want her to have to worry about him as well.  He wasn’t a pup any longer.  
Instead, he stood over one of the little offspring, the one that was the other den mother’s.  Khan couldn’t understand why there were two, but he didn’t know how to ask either.  Communication with his new friends was hard since they didn’t ever understand him.  She was an adorable little thing though, and whenever she began to tear up or fuss, he made sure to softly nuzzle the top of his head against her.  He treated her as carefully as if she had just been born, even though she was older than that by some.  Still, he knew he was a hundred times her size and it would worry the first den mother if he weren’t slow.  
He also received a surge of pride every time the mare smiled at him comforting the little filly.  It was both approval of his care and affirmation that he was being a good teacher, as all older siblings should be.  It also helped keep him from asking himself questions he didn’t think he would understand until he was told. 
Why had these kindly strangers brought him to their strange, massive den?  How had they made the pain ease when he slept?  They had known what he had done, the strange, mean old one had revealed so, but why had it mattered to them?  They were like him, so they must have suffered like him!  Ponies took from him what he had loved and attacked when he had tried to be friends.  That point, however, also further confused him.  
He hadn’t always been this large monster, a creature looming over every other breathing thing.  One of what he was had transformed him into this.  Before that, he thought maybe he was a normal wolf or perhaps even a pony… either way he was a new creature now.  A creature that could hunt like no other and think like no other, whether that was a good or bad thing, he hadn’t learned yet.  But he would.  One of the reasons he had followed these kindly strangers was that they must know something he didn’t.  Perhaps, in taking him in, he would come to know more about himself than he ever would have before.
The den mother beside him said something, and though he couldn’t understand it, the reassuring hoof on his back made his tail wag.  The smile she gave him only made it wag quicker.  It was fun to make others smile like that, and for reasons he couldn’t explain, he felt smarter for doing so.  
Suddenly, the wiser one of him, the one who had failed miserably at hunting deer, strode right up beside him.  If the old almost-pony was mean and the den mother was kindly, then his blood brother was the perfect inbetween.  He was impatient but understanding, which made as much sense as his new situation.  The other one of him couldn’t be too much older than Khan was, but something about the way he carried himself and talked to the younger creature made Khan feel… intimidated.  He was, after all, much smarter when it came to what they were.  Somehow, he was both a pony and whatever Khan was.
They all were, actually, or all except the second den mother.  He had seen and smelled them transform from pony to creature and back several times now, every one of them.  That confused him even more, though.  Were these disguises to help them not be harmed by ponies like he had been?  Was it to reduce how much energy they needed between hunts?  Or was it a hunting technique instead, luring in ponies with their similar forms?  
These were more questions he just couldn’t work out in his head.  He had tried not to think about them, but now that he had begun asking, he couldn’t stop.  Why was the old mean one not the alpha, nor the older mare-looking one?  They had seniority, and surely they had to be mated in order to lead?  And why didn’t the den mother and alpha lead?  Didn’t they have control and respect over the other members?  They were at a ripe age to take control of the pack and stamp out resistance if any of the others did.  Though they didn’t have that sizeable of a litter, so maybe they were waiting for more pups first.
Khan started as he felt a hoof rustling his fur, turning his head down to find the den mother peering at where he had been hurting.  She was silent as she stared at where the pain had come from, before nodding to herself and looking up.  She must have seen how confused Khan was, because with a short laugh, she reached up and patted his back.  Once again, he began to pant happily.  It was a natural reaction, and after only a few seconds, he’d forgotten what he’d been thinking about.
“Y’know, you’re not the monster we thought you were,” she told him.  He heard the words, and they sounded like he could understand them, but like every other time, none of them stuck.  Very rarely they would say something that made sense, but otherwise he was subject to understanding them by their tones, emotions, and gestures.  “I never got to properly introduce myself, did I?  I’m Nightseer.”
He tilted his head, trying to hear better, hoping it would allow the words to pierce the fog in his mind.  His eyes squinted as he tried to roll the words through his head, force them to make sense, but they just wouldn’t.  Seeing this, the den mother repeated again and again, “Nightseer.  Nightseer.  I’m Nightseer.”
Nightseer.  He locked onto that word, the one she kept repeating.  Like other words, it didn’t have a definition he remembered, but when staring at her, he saw her pointing to herself as she said it.  Suddenly, she tapped a hoof against his chest and stated, “Khan-” before pointing at herself and calmly saying, “Nightseer.”
For the first time, it clicked.  He was Khan, and she was Nightseer.  That was her name.  She was Nightseer the den mother.  His tail began flapping about behind him as he realized he now knew something more.  He could learn from these special almost-ponies.
“He gets it,” Nightseer exclaimed, pointing at his tail.
“He probably doesn’t,” the creature like him said, drawing Khan’s attention.  Was this one trying to teach him too?  “Watch.  Who’s Nightseer?  Me or-”
Khan whipped his head around to Nightseer, wondering why in the jumble of nonsense his older blood brother was spewing he dropped her name.  For some reason, Nightseer began laughing hysterically at Khan.  Confused, but along for the ride, he began to smile at them through happy pants, tail wagging.  
“Sweet Luna, he understands,” the other like him spoke from behind, drawing Khan’s attention again.  Once again, he found a claw poking his chest as the blood brother frantically spouted, “Khan, Leper.  Leper.  I’m Leper.  Who’s Leper?”
Khan felt his eyes widen as he realized what was happening.  He was learning names.  Their names!  He had been right all along!  And if he could learn their names, maybe he could learn their language and learn to communicate with them correctly.  Excited, he almost jumped up, barely remembering the little pup in time.  Looking down at her, he quickly glanced back and forth between her and Nightseer expectantly.  
She picked up instantly, pointing and stating, “Amethyst.  The little one is Amethyst.”  Then, holding up her own offspring, she exclaimed, “This one’s mine, Ebony.  Ebony!  Ebony!”
Ebony, held by Nightseer.  Yes, he understood.  Looking down at the smaller pup, lying on the grass in front of him.  Amethyst.  The child he was entrusted with right now.  Carefully, he used his paws to scoop up the little one and nuzzle her stomach, eliciting a soft gurgle.  Then, glancing to the side, he stared at his blood brother and familiar, Leper.  They were his new family now.  He knew their names.  He was learning from them.
He almost couldn’t contain his excitement, so when Leper reached to take Amethyst, he gladly allowed him to do so.  Freed from having to contain himself, he stepped back and gave a happy little bounce, tail swishing back and forth wildly.  He had been right!  They were friends that wanted to teach him how to be better than what he was.  If he was lucky, they may be able to teach him how to no longer be confused.  They would be able to pierce the cloud in his mind!
“Well, looks like we found our cousins,” a new voice declared, bringing Khan’s attention to the other end of this hill.  He panted excitedly, hoping it was one of the other’s here to help teach him more.  Instead, as he found himself staring at the distinctly female creature like Nightseer, he paused.  This wasn’t anyone he had seen before.  Who was this?
She was joined by five others on land, though he could pick out two more on the hill behind this one.  In the sky, seven flying almost-ponies were descending, their shadows strangely ominous as they came in for landing.  From the cheeky look on the female creature’s face and being outnumbered greatly, Khan presumed that this was not a friendly entourage and quickly began growling at the female.  Standing up stiffly, his fur spiking up and his tail rigid, he dug into place and glared at the group that approached.
“Bit late for that, love,” the female said, remaining ever proud and confident.  She raised a single clawed paw into the air, holding it out towards Khan, confusing him.  What was she doing?  Before he could react, though, it tapped him soundly on the tip of his snout, eliciting a sneeze from him.  Laughing, she told Nightseer, “He’s cute, isn’t he?”
“Khan,” Nightseer called strictly, making him turn to look at her.  With insistence, she waved for him to step back, saying something he couldn’t quite hear correctly.  Following her gesture, he reluctantly fell back to her side, sitting as she did, staring at the newcomers.  They were nobody he recognized, but in short order, Nightseer and the female like her began speaking.  
Even though he couldn’t keep up with the sound of the fast conversation, especially as Leper and two of theirs joined in, Khan knew they weren’t going to fight them.  Still, Khan didn’t trust the newcomers.  They carried themselves around confidently, dismissive of those they spoke to.  He wanted to growl in frustration at their pride, but he refrained for Nightseer’s sake.  Instead, he sat patiently, staring at the others talking in such quick and urgent tones he began feeling a little stressed.  What were they doing now?
Finally, the last two members of the group arrived, and much to Khan’s shock, it included a male almost exactly like him.  The creature was bulky, larger and with thicker fur, unlike Leper.  The blood brother was a slight bit smaller than he and had a more slim, lithe complexion than the sheer muscle that Khan had.  Something about the other one felt… familiar.  As he approached, Khan took a deep whiff of his scent, hoping to identify why it was familiar.  
Swamp water.  Mud.  Moonlight.  Pony screams.  Blood.  Pain.  Agony.  Fear.
Rage.
A surge of memory, awful and untainted, returned to him at the ragged, disgusting scent of the lycan that approached them.  It was him!  The one who had made him into this monster.  The original monster.  The monster who had removed from him his ponyhood.  The one who had killed Violet before his very own eyes and had eaten her down to the bone.
Khan didn’t think, he simply attacked.
Ignoring the sudden outcries from his own and shouts of surprise from theirs, he attacked the evil monster with ruthless speed.  Before the beast could react, he slammed his paw into the other lycan’s face, dragging his claws along the thick skin of his neck.  The other beast roared in paw and reacted quickly, managing to dodge the next swift swipe of Khan’s claws, barreling into his chest.  Surprised, Khan was thrown to the ground and punched in the snout before he could react.   Stunned, he couldn’t even move as the lycan above him clasped his two paws together and brought them down on Khan’s chest.
Something cracked in his ribs as all of the air was violently expelled from him, a wheeze escaping his gaping maw.  He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even see straight through the sudden influx of both pain and panic.  He was going to die.  The lycan above him was too strong and quick for Khan to beat.
“Well, Luna bless me, this little runt is one stupid pup,” the lycan declared with toxic jauntiness.  Grinning down at Khan, he began slowly pressing the young lycan into the ground, pain spiking as the injury was worsened.  Leaning in, that foul grin sneering at Khan’s panic, the lycan asked, “Just what did you think you were doing?”
However, Khan only saw the opportunity presented to him as the other lycan’s jaws hovered just inches above his own.  Inches, though, were exposing the lycan’s one weakness and Khan’s only chance at surviving.  
Khan suddenly shot his own head forward, sinking his teeth into the lycan’s thick throat.  Locked on, he clenched as hard as he could, his teeth clacking against the bones in the other lycan’s throat.  He jerked instantly, ripping his head to the right with all the strength he had.  There was a terrible sound as skin tore and bones popped apart, blood that had warmed Khan’s mouth suddenly spraying all over him in a visceral shower.  Growling, he forced himself to sit up as he did so, feeling the other lycan’s head come completely free of its body.
Enraged, pain sharp as steel in his chest, he shook the disembodied head before letting it go mid shake, sending it soaring through the air.  He didn’t see where it landed but heard the dull thud and the rustling of grass, telltale sounds of it rolling after impact.  Grunting, he pushed the bloody, headless corpse of the monster off of him, a low but constant growl escaping him.  Justice had been served.
Before he could finish getting to his feet, though, Leper suddenly pounced on him from behind, the scent of his friend identifying him even as his actions betrayed Khan.  Confused, he hardly had time to realize he had been shoved to the ground face-first before he felt two sharp stings of pain as suddenly warmth overwhelmed him.  His growl became a whine as he felt his body, in spite of the pain, rage, and fear, begin loosening up.  
His last coherent thought was that maybe now he was learning what death was like.
> Chapter 31: The Allies
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pulling back, mouth soured by Khan’s blood mixed with Sureblood’s, Nightseer could barely think as the lycan fell fast asleep.  A vampyre’s bite was damning to mortals, but for the large beast, it would simply put him into a long, deep sleep like any other sedative.  However, even knowing she hadn’t brought any real harm to the young, unbelievable nocturnal, she felt as if she were about to cry.  Things had been going so smoothly, almost incredibly so, and in a breath the lycan had turned it all around by killing potentially the strongest nocturnal to fight with them.  
She was literally wrenched from her thoughts as one of the other nocturnals, Necrophos, suddenly tackled her to the ground.  Surprised, she instantly misted herself into a black haze before soaring around his snapping jaws.  Rematerializing beside Leper as the other lycan threw a werewolf off him, she bit the snarling beast before it could regain its balance, sending him straight to sleep.  In a panic, she misted again, weaving between two other werewolves to rematerialize in front of the two babies, who had begun wailing at the sudden commotion. Planting herself in front of her child and Joint’s, she hissed as another vampyre approached, a stallion a little smaller than her.  
Still not wanting to kill anypony, she easily dodged his attack and bucked him in the side, sending him to the ground.  Leper had quickly overcome the other werewolf and vampyre that were attacking him, and it was only then that she saw Mantris calmly sitting where she had when chaos had broken out, a singular paw holding back the other two nocturnals  Regaining control of her breathing, picking up Ebony with one hoof while using the other to carefully balance Amethyst on her lap, she tried to hush the babies while eyeing the mare.  A slow smile was spreading, maniacal and terrifying as a soft giggle escaped her.
“Wow, that was exciting to watch,” she finally said, her cheshire grin gleaming in the waning moonlight.  “Y’know, I was really worried they’d kill ya and then I’d only have the babies to help us fight that bastard Sombra.  But you seem to be better fighters than us.  Then again, you weren’t fighting all of us…”
“I don’t know why Khan did that, he doesn’t even talk or-”
“Eh, shut up before you sound even more stupid, marefriend,” the werewolf interrupted, standing up, her tail swishing slowly behind her.   “The lycan was that one Sureblood let get away a few years back.  Seems only fair the poor little pup got his lick in for being doomed to join us forever.  Or you, I guess, since you’re the ones that found him.  But he was unimportant anyways.  We’ll just tell Halven he got what he damn well deserved and move on with it, eh?”
“I don’t think that…”
“Marefriend, you are terrible at negotiation,” Mantris laughed, pausing in her slow walking to put a hoof to her head.  “Alright, since you can't seem to take a freebie for your life, I’m just gonna ignore you and talk to pretty hooves here.”  With a flick of her tail, she suddenly was brushing up alongside a bristling Leper like a cat on the trunk of a tree.  “Tell me, pretty hooves, do you think in exchange for not tryna rip your throats out and commit some unsavory acts of cannibalism on your children, you’d get me a word with Hemorrhage.  I know he’s somewhere around here.”
“First, Nightseer’s the boss right now, and second, those aren’t my kids,” the young lycan stiffly informed the werewolf.  Narrowing his eyes at Mantris, he growled, “Don’t think I won’t peel your jaws if you dare to even look at them the wrong way.”
“Mmm, so you’re in open season right now,” the mare hummed, sniffing at him as she circled him, coat still rubbing against his thick fur.  “And have been for some time, I see.”
“Back off, leech,” Leper suddenly hissed, standing up and startling Mantris.  
The mare took a step away from him as she began to cackle, questioning, “Hit a sore spot, did I?  Or maybe sensitive is the right word…”
“I’ve been told how it feels to meet your second half,” the lycan spat, glaring at the prowling werewolf.  “And it’s nowhere close to malice.”
“Doesn’t mean we can’t have fun,” Mantris pouted, though she stepped aside.  Looking up at the moon, she stated, “Hemorrhage must raise you all to be half as smart as him.  You’re really bad at making friends, pretty hooves.”
“Doesn’t help when one of them goes haywire and rips off the head of our only lycan,” a vampyre mare spat venomously.
“Oh shut it, whore, you only ever cared for the pleasure Sureblood gave you,”  Mantris snapped, her playfulness turning to disdain in an instant.  “If you had ever cared for that lycan, you wouldn’t have left his side.  We’re not idiots!  Nocturnals crave blood and adrenaline, and for vampyres like you, sex is the easy, disgusting way to have it.”
“Yet you were the one flirting with me,” Leper spat before Nightseer could intervene.  Cringing at the young lycan’s boldness, she felt a blush rising in her cheeks.
“For fun, pretty hooves, not for an easy meal,” Mantris sighed, disappointed.  “As you can see, I haven’t had the opportunity for some… fun in far too long.  Not with covenmates like this, at least.”
“Um, yes, but more importantly than your search for entertainment,” Seer hurriedly intervened before the conversation could spiral further out of hoof.  “What about the rather pressing matter of the lycan’s corpse?  You seem aloof to his death, but I and Hemorrhage certainly hold it in great indignation that one of our own reacted as such, young and justified though he may be.”
“Bury him if you want,” the werewolf waved dismissively.  “My concern is with your presently absent master.  I was under the impression that he would be the one daringly leading the creatures of the night on their honorable charge against Sombra’s forces.”
“Unfortunately, he has been consumed by a much more urgent- but brief- matter concerning things you need not worry about,” the vampyre replied with as much confidence as she could muster.  Seeing how volatile and violent the mare’s mood changes were was off-putting and put her in a rather uncomfortable spot for negotiation.  With a forced expression of neutrality, she quickly added, “In the meantime, we should wait here and discuss something of what has occurred before you came here, since it’s a considerable amount of information you’d need debriefed on.”
“Very well, but realize something for me, would you marefriend,” Mantris sweetly said, before leaning in and hissing, “If your master decided to flake out on us, then it’ll be Tartarus when Halven hears about it.”
“If he had flaked,” Seer replied evenly, “he wouldn’t have sent his three youngest nocturnals and two babies, would he?”
“Hm, yes, you’re right,” Mantris answered, taking a step back.  Her aggressiveness seemed to diminish as a genuinely thoughtful expression crossed her face.  “I’ll believe you because you two seem too… smart to lie to us and to dumb to betray us.”
“Thanks,” the vampyre said hesitantly.  “For the moment, I have no clue how long this procedure will take, but it can’t last the night.  Now, concerning our problem child…”
“Let him sleep and punish him however,” Mantris once again dismissed, turning her back to the two conscious nocturnals.  “We need to move to a better position away from where the sun will halve our numbers.  Unless staying so close to the site of a slaughter is optimal…”
“So you did see it,” Leper noted, sounding almost ashamed.
“Oh, don’t be so flustered, pretty hooves,” the werewolf assured him over her shoulder.  Seer looked away as the mare swayed her bushy tail seductively at the young lycan.  She couldn’t hold back a smirk as Leper let out a defeated sigh, head downturned in disbelief at the mare’s brashness.  “Your handiwork was quite… artistic.  Though I’m guessing all of that magic damage was done by Hemorrhage, yes?”
“The old stallion certainly knows how to be dangerous when he needs to be,” Leper replied, altogether ignoring Mantris’ actions.  “If you don’t care anything for Sureblood’s body, then I recommend we simply throw it into whatever fires still rage in the enemy’s camp.  Quick, untraceable disposal.”
“You’d dare to-” was all the vampyre from before could say before Mantris’ paw slapped across her face, sending her to the ground in a daze.  
“I’d dare to kill you too, you wretched little filly,” the werewolf screamed into her face, startling everyone with such ferocious hate.  Instantly, both infants burst into wails as the stricken vampyre misted herself to escape the crazed werewolf’s glare.  Hearing the young ones’ wails, Mantris suddenly stood upright, her head snapping to Ebony.  Instinctively Seer’s grip on her baby tightened as the werewolf’s crazed stare moved between her and Ebony.  
“Why did you bring children to a war,” she finally asked, her eyes narrowing slightly.  “Shouldn’t you and whoever the other baby belongs to be back nestled in your little castle instead?  You didn’t bring her on a bloodthirsty little venture to prepare her for a lifetime of death, mutilation, and devouring, did you?”
“Not everypony’s as crazy as you,” Leper growled fiercely, his voice dangerously low as he stepped in front of Mantris, dwarfing the werewolf in such a way that Seer could no longer see her.  Leaning down so he could presumably leer over her, he snarled, “Most aren’t even half.”
“Then she’s here by mistake,” Mantris surmised, sounding unintimidated.  After several seconds of silence, however, she softly added, “You do know how to be scary when you want to, pretty hooves.  You have my scent.  Whenever Hemorrhage is ready to talk with us, come find me.  We’ll be finding somewhere vampyre-friendly.”
“That won’t be anywhere you are,” Leper growled.
For a moment, there was another tense pause, before at last Mantris let out a sad sigh as she quietly asked, “Why are you so chaste, pretty hooves?”
“Safety concerns,” the lycan replied as he turned his back on Mantris, his eyes briefly glancing at Seer.  As the other nocturnals begrudgingly turned to leave, the vampyre couldn’t help but feel a sinking feeling of defeat.  In a matter of minutes, their initially friendly negotiations had become teetering on the brink of violence.  Or at least, broader violence, Seer corrected herself as she watched two of the other coven begin dragging away Sureblood’s corpse.  
Frustrated, she pulled Ebony even tighter into her chest with one hoof, kissing her daughter on the forehead as at last she seemed to calm.  Thankfully, Amethyst had silenced herself, though the reason why the infant filly had such control twisted Seer’s stomach.  How the traumatizing infancy the filly was experiencing would affect her as she grew up was something that tore Seer’s heart up, both as a mother and mare.  The fact that Joint had come to their coven was a miracle and relief, further heightened by the fact that Hemorrhage and the mare were destined to be together.  She had full confidence in the mordigan both as a husband and father, so long as he got over his destructive selflessness and depression.  
“C’mon, Seer, we should join the others in the cave,” Leper whispered hushly as he stepped beside her.  “Sun’ll be up in less than an hour, and it’d be better for you to be stuck in a sizable cavern than under a few trees.  I’ll start dragging Khan over if he won’t wake up.”
“Okay, give me Amethyst real quick, then,” she requested, sitting down so she could reach out a hoof to hold the little filly.  
Leper carefully scooped the baby from the soft grass and passed her to Seer.  Now holding both fillies, she misted herself, careful to keep the two carried on her so that no part of her would accidentally find its way into either of their mouths.  Slowly, she began making her way towards where she knew the cavern was while balancing the two confused and fussy fillies.  It only took a few minutes, but it felt much longer thanks to the stress of making sure both babies were in the safest, most comfortable position they could be in given their situation.  In spite of that, Ebony began to fuss again and by the time they were going downhill towards the little stream that ran between steep hills, her soft squeals and hiccups were getting to Seer.
Rematerializing outside the narrow crevice into the cavern, the mare quickly began to hush her baby, though it was difficult with one hoof occupied by the other placid filly.  Hopefully whatever transformation that was happening wouldn’t be interrupted by her arrival, lest she put herself, the children, or Joint in danger.  In a matter of seconds, Argon slipped out of the cavern and took Amethyst from her, allowing her to finally comfort her daughter.
“Hey, what happened,” he questioned softly, resting his cheek on her head as he noticed her stress.
“Well, the other coven arrived, and it went well at first until suddenly Khan attacked and killed their lycan, Sureblood,” she muttered, tears of frustration suddenly stinging her eyes.  Before she could control it, she was crying into her husband’s shoulder, frustration and fear releasing itself.  Sobbing, she hissed, “They fought us and then calmed down but I think when they separated to find a dark spot they just left instead.  I couldn't negotiate and Mantris kept threatening to eat our babies!  I just couldn’t negotiate because I don’t know what to do or what I’m doing. I just made things go worse and only Leper kept us safe…”
“That’s not true at all,” Argon assured her, wrapping his free around her tightly.  
“But I couldn’t stop things from getting worse, and they did,” she found herself sobbing.
“You stopped them from doing anything worse,” he pointed out, still nuzzling the top of her head.  “What if you hadn’t been there to stop them and they had stumbled across us during Joint’s transformation?  We would’ve had a different catastrophe on our paws, possibly several given how… problematic it’s been already.”
“What do you mean,” Seer asked sharply, snapped out of her grief by the panicked thought of something terrible happening to the young mother.  
“Everypony’s fine but… well, Ailade may have drugged Hemorrhage so he wouldn’t be conscious for the worst of Joint’s transformation,” Argon sighed, glancing at the cave entrance.  “She used some cyanide or something to knock him out cold.  Joint’s gotten… more painful.  It’ll be over soon, I hope.  Poor mare.”
“Well… we may have an unconscious lycan on our hooves as well,” Seer sighed, rubbing her hoof slowly over Ebony’s stomach.  It seemed that the combination of no longer moving and having her father around had worked at calming her, the filly’s eyes drifting close.  In spite of the stress of the night, the vampyre found herself smiling as she added, “I bit him to send him unconscious lest he cause even more damage.  Leper’s dragging him here as we speak.”
“It’s close to morning,” Argon suddenly noticed, his grip on her tightening slightly.  “Come in quickly.  Joint’s having a lull in her pain right now anyways, though trust me, don’t get too close.”
“It takes several minutes for the sun to rise, silly,” she protested with an eye roll, though she followed the guidance of her husband’s embrace.  “We’re not in a rush.”
“I know, but I don’t want to risk it, my love,” he kindly told her.  “It’d do well to keep quiet once we get inside, though, since Joint’s extremely sensitive and… no longer quite herself.  She’s entering the final stages of transformation, I think, and has become much more beastly.  For the most part she seems to have control, but it’s best we don’t do anything that might accidentally trigger a rampage from her, especially given none of us quite have the knowledge needed for a safe transformation of a mordigan.”
“Then why did you knock out Hemorrhage,” Seer questioned with a small smirk, her husband shaking his head in bewilderment.
“I don’t know, really, but I trust Ailade’s judgment,” he stated.  “She thinks that if he witnesses Joint’s worst pains and greatest suffering, he’ll never be able to forgive himself.  So, having us deal with it instead of him leaves him less damaged and us more experienced for any… what-if scenarios that may pop up.  I don’t disagree, but there was probably a better way to do it…”
“Rather than inflaming his temper more than it already will be,” she giggled, the mischievousness of finally getting Hemorrhage the mare he deserved in such a tricky way getting to her.  
Giving her a sideways smile, Argon leaned in and gave her a peck on the cheek, asking, “Are you really looking forward to Hemorrhage getting married for his sake, or just because you’ll have a mare more your age to talk with and a playmate for Ebony?”
“I’m not that young, Ari,” she brushed off with a smile.  No, she was at least two hundred years old if she remembered correctly, with almost a hundred years between him and her.  An unbelievable gap by normal standards, but hardly anytime at all considering the eternity they would spend together.  “But I won’t lie, having another mare and filly in the house does tilt the odds in our favor.  You?”
“I’m happy for Hemorrhage, but more so for Joint,” he answered softly, a distant expression crossing his face in a haunting way.  “While as a spy in Sombra’s castle, I heard of the things he did to his slaves.  The stallions were tortured or experimented on with his newest ideas for dark spells and considered lucky if they died.  Otherwise, they would suffer further torture.  The mare’s and fillies he captured- yes, he… used fillies too- were subject to all manner of abuse, and if they were unlucky enough to conceive from it, were often beaten into miscarriage.  How Joint survived three years of that when she was so young and escaped with her and her child’s life isn’t just miraculous; it’s heroic.”
“Sweet Celestia,” Seer mumbled in utter shock.  In the short time since the mare’s arrival at their castle, she had only been able to pick up tidbits of her life in the Crystal Empire, though now it sounded more like a living hell than any life.  
“Yes, I… saw, heard, and learned some pretty terrible things in that place,” Argon spat bitterly, looking down at Amethyst, who lay quietly awake against his leg.  He was undoubtedly having the same thoughts she had experienced earlier.  “I will say, this brave little one deserves-”
A sudden, soul-wrenching scream from within the cavern suddenly escaped, sending the hair on Seer’s neck straight.  The unnatural sound of both an equine wail and primal howl poisoned with pain made the vampyre shudder uncontrollably, knowing immediately how powerful the pain Joint must have begun experiencing to elicit that sound from her.  With a silent glance at her husband, she rushed in after him to aid the mare in whatever way she could provide.
> Chapter 32: The Name
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hemorrhage’s vision was fuzzy as he slowly blinked awake, a pounding headache and strange soreness to his neck greeting him from his unexpected nap.  Growling softly, memories rushing back to him as he regained his senses, he blinked hard as he pushed himself off the cavern floor.  He felt paws on his back, trying to gently push him back to the ground while muddled noises he knew was somebody’s voice encouraged him to lie back down.  Still too disoriented to hear exactly what was said, he ignored it and pushed himself up all the way, shaky legs holding him upright regardless.  Finally standing, he shook himself out completely in an attempt to force his senses into working through the amnesia.  
“... and now you’re going to be pissed, but you gotta understand,” Ailade’s voice came into focus.  Suppressing the rage he felt at the mare for deceiving him momentarily, he simply glared her into silence.  Her mouth sealed shut and her eyes momentarily darted away in shame, but not regret.  He would have to deal with her later, because at the moment he could vividly hear Joint’s ragged breathing.  Whipping around to the center of the cave- he found he had been dragged away from Joint while unconscious- he swiftly and carefully moved to the mare’s side.
When he arrived, however, he found that he was no longer staring at a mare.  Joint was curled into a ball, her back to him, exposing a new, raw piece of her that he hadn’t been around to help her grow.  Her wings, long and crooked, one awkwardly stretched out toward the ceiling of the cavern and the other curved and halfway tucked around her.  He stared at them with wide eyes, taking in every detail of them.  The fur on them was matted with blood and new veins bulged irregularly as they attempted to fuel even newer muscles with precious oxygen.  Hemorrhage paused, jaw dropping slightly in abject horror at what the transformation had done to Joint, even knowing this was what would happen.  
He couldn’t stand to see her, the one he loved more than life, brought to such a gruesome and dark fate by his own fangs, even knowing logically it wasn’t his own fault.  Even then, logically, if he had never wanted to hurt her, he should have removed himself from her to prevent any chance.  His eyes took in the glistening of her blood, perhaps the last pony blood she would ever bleed, or perhaps the fresh, nocturnal blood that would be coursing through her veins.  His throat tightening, he collapsed back on his haunches with a heartbroken sob, tearing his eyes away from Joint’s new, bloody, beautiful wings.  
She was one of them now, more specifically a mordigan, the most powerful and monstrous of the creatures of the night.  Her body, frail but unbreakable as it had once been, was now gone, almost completely replaced by the terrible damnation of nocturnalism.  They were both paying for his half-hearted efforts at protecting Joint, and… he couldn’t stop thinking about how beautiful that new, terrible, incredible body was.  
Something about her transformation completed his emotions for her, no longer in love with prey, but with an equal.  It conflicted with the grief he felt for helping destroy the pony he had been in love with, only serving to rend his heart even more.  Before he could control himself, another sob escaped him as tears began to freely flow, the waves of shame overtaking him.  Ailade didn’t dare attempt to comfort him this time, and in fact it seemed like he and Joint were the only ones left in the cavern.  Anger surging, one of his sobs turned into a roar of rage as he whirled and slashed his claws across the nearby cavern wall, sending shards of stone flying every which way.  
Breaking down once again, he couldn’t help but glance at Joint for another terrible look of the changed mare.  It was then that he noticed the most distressing detail.  Not inches from her bloodied muzzle lied a small, broken set of bones he could smell were equine.
“Luna damn me,” he cried into the ceiling as he dropped to the ground in grief.  His claws dug into the earth as he writhed in agony, his heartbreak physically tearing him apart as well.  She had become a monster and a cannibal now.  The fact tore him open like a sword disemboweling him, and with another howl of sorrow, he shouted to the darkness, “Damn my soul!  Tartarus, consume me now!”
Running out of breath, he collapsed to the floor with shaky sobs, face pressed into the cold, wet stone.  The pain of it all overwhelmed him again and he resigned himself to this disgraceful torment, the culmination of his complete failure.  His eyes squeezed shut and all he could hear were his own shaky sobs that echoed like a mocking chant of his grief.  His heart seemed to be on the brink of collapse, his ribs aching and his stomach burning like a fire had been lit in it.  At the moment, he wished for nothing more than to have never met the mare, to prevent her from reaching this damned fate.  
“Hemorrhage,” a voice suddenly asked, a voice he could almost recognize but wasn’t the same as Joint’s.  It was soft and weakened by pain and exhaustion, yet silky and musically strong.  Her new voice.
The mordigan froze completely in disbelief, the ringing of her magical new voice in the cavern stilling his heart.  He didn’t know how to react, instantly in love with her all over again yet still heartbroken that she was different now.  His limbs refused to move and he couldn’t force sound out of his mouth as he lay on the cold stone floor, stuck between wondrous awe and terrible remorse.  Joint grunted as he heard her suddenly begin moving, straining as she tried to force her new body to work.  
Listening to her struggle, Hemorrhage was torn from his self-loathing as he swiftly stood and rushed to her side.  Her wings had spread to their full length and were now brushing the roof of the cavern wall, temporarily distracting him with their magnificence.  However, shaking himself out of his awe, he reached out and gently pressed Joint back to the ground, trying to keep her from hurting herself by accident.  
“It’s okay, Joint, you’re okay now, the worst of it is over,” he assured her softly, unable to hide the shakiness of his voice.  Joint struggled for a moment before giving into his insistent guidance, letting herself lie on the floor to rest.
Then, she looked up at him, and he was in love all over again.
Her face was nothing like a pony’s at all in her mordigan form, the sharp, sleekness of her fur and pointed, distinguished features of her more canine head enticing on a primal level.  His breath was practically knocked out of him from her cutting brown eyes, altered in a way he could only describe as dangerous.  The mare was a predator now, her sharp eyes, keen senses, and larger, sleeker build all enhancing his attraction to her beyond words.  She stared at him as well, the two of them taking in her newness, before suddenly the mare lunged forward.
He opened his mouth to let out a cry of surprise when suddenly her tongue wrapped around his and her body was wrapping around him.  She practically tackled him to the ground, lips locked, desperately making out with the confused mordigan.  He could only reciprocate as she hungrily, almost savagely kept him in strong, determined grip.  Even with the wind knocked out of him from the fall, he managed to resist complete suffocation.  Her wings held him to her while one of her paws reached up and cupped his head, her new claws prickling the skin underneath his thick fur.  She stared deeply into his eyes the entire time, no longer blinded by darkness, and even though she was new, he could see that she was still, mostly, Joint.
Giving in to her affectionate, hungry embrace, he full-heartedly reciprocated, the primality of his love finally being like him and her sudden attack leaving him defenseless.  He brought one of his paws to the base of her wings while the other gently racked the fur of her chest.  Her other paw suddenly pressed against his chest as she leaned heavily into him, squeezing the air from his chest.  Hemorrhage’s breathing picked up as the carnality of the situation and lack of air combined into an exciting frenzy of emotion.  She was ravenous, seemingly able to go on forever, but he needed to take a breath.  
Carefully, he pushed her back far enough that he could gasp for some air, a smile creeping across his face as he did so.  She gazed at him with blazing intensity, her nocturnal eyes sharply watching him like two silver moons.  He was breathless and wordless, unable to do anything but stare at the beautiful mordigan who stared back at him.
“Is this what it was always like when I was around you,” she asked, her paw softly moving its way to his chin.  
“I’ll admit, it wasn’t nearly so bad as it is now,” he chuckled softly, feeling blissfully foolish.  “You were beautiful before, but now, you’re…”
He didn’t get to finish what he was trying to say as she stole another deep, passionate kiss from him, humming softly into his mouth as she did so.  This time, he was more prepared, and with some soft tugging, pulled her all the way into a tight hug of his own.  Her new wings felt spectacular wrapped around him, and even though he was still larger than her in his own mordigan form, he no longer worried the hug would hurt her.  He noticed the way she tasted now, no longer equine, but exotically familiar, finally equal in nature.  Meant to be.  After several long seconds, she pulled away, planting one last kiss on his cheek as she did so.
“I love you,” she whispered, resting her head against his and letting out a happy sigh.  His own heart could barely keep up with the excitement and passion he felt, and his brain had already completely checked out.  Smiling dumbly, he simply responded by nuzzling her back, preventing himself from taking any further action with her.  
Suddenly, she sat up and looked around the cavern, as if remembering that there might be others around.  Seeing there wasn’t, she let out a sigh of relief, looking back down at Hemorrhage, her paws on his chest keeping him willingly pinned down.  Brow furrowing slightly, she asked him, “Where’s Amethyst?” 
“With Ailade and the others, I think,” he told her, also looking around briefly to see if any of the others had returned.  Feeling a coldness in his chest, he added, “I wasn’t awake when you grew your wings.  Ailade used cyanide.”
“Cyanide,” the mare shouted, her outraged voice echoing in the cavern.
“For us nocturnals it’s the equivalent of a sedative,” he quickly explained, her new mordigan territorialism showing.  It soothed her a little, causing her to look back down at him as she asked, “Why did you need to knock you out?”
“For my own good, I guess,” Hemorrhage reluctantly grumbled.  “I’m guessing she didn’t want me to see the worst part of your transformation.”
“Because you would blame yourself for it,” the mare finished with a knowing smile.  Relaxing, she lay down atop him, muzzle just millimeters from his own, hot breath and her powerful, alluring scent filling his nose.  “Good mare.”
“Really,” he questioned, raising a brow.
“It’s what I would’ve had her do,” she replied slyly, moving just enough to give a peck on his lips.  He blushed at her playfulness, his heart thumping so hard she probably felt it.  Her tail swished as it brushed the ground, telling him just how much she enjoyed toying with him like this.  
“It was still irresponsible to incapacitate me like that and try to take care of something they had no clue how to deal with,” he defensively told her.  “What if something had gone wrong and they needed-”
Once again, he was interrupted by a quick peck from the mare, stopping him completely and whipping his brain.  Blinking at her, he told her, “You can’t just kiss me into submission.”
“I’d reckon I could,” she replied suavely, before giving him yet another quick kiss.  However, a more somber look overtook her as she quietly thought of something.  Her tail stopped swishing and Hemorrhage felt a slow anxiety growing in his chest.  All of the love they had just shared had kept the thoughts of before away, but now he began feeling that terrible dread and regret again.  The adrenaline of a new body was wearing off, and now she would surely begin realizing the magnitude of her transition.  
“Hemorrhage, I heard what you were… saying, earlier,” she softly informed him, scooting up so that her eyes were level with his.  “I heard you crying, your… your heartbreak at me becoming… a mordigan.  Why?”
A lump formed in Hemorrhage’s throat instantly, and he shamefully glanced away, the regret within him crescendoing back into his heart.  However, before it could bring him to tears again, she reached out a paw and slowly brought his eyes back to hers.  They were silver now, as perfect and sharp as the moon on a clear night, and in them he only found concern and love.  
“I didn’t want this to be your fate,” he whispered, his voice raspy from emotion.  “I wanted you to live and die like a normal pony would, without ever having to deal with the damnation of being a nocturnal.  The eternity of loneliness spent consuming flesh, struggling with others of your kind, never able to live a peaceful life.”
“I guess you haven’t realized yet,” she muttered into his ear, “but maybe eternity wouldn’t be so lonely if I was a part of it.”
The mordigan’s eyes slowly began to widen, a realization so simple it made him feel stupid dawning on him.  The worst part about eternity was the loneliness it could bring, yet… 
“Are you saying that… you would want to stay with me,” he shyly asked.
“Sweet Celestia, I didn’t go through all of this for nothing,” she softly exclaimed, giving him a playful punch in the chest.  “You really didn’t think too deeply into the benefits of me becoming a mordigan, did you?”
“No… I guess I didn’t want to allow myself the thought of even if,” he admitted ashamedly.  “I…” 
“You’re welcome,” the new nocturnal proudly stated, nuzzling her cheek against his.  She seemed to yearn for physical attention, and he frankly couldn’t blame her for it.  Nature now allowed for them to be together without bounds, and the strange drawing together of their souls now that they had found their match had amplified his mental and physical attraction to her.  He had to try his absolute hardest not to just dive in for another kiss or more while staring at her new, beautiful face.  
Unfortunately, he knew there were more important matters that needed to be dealt with though, now that his wonderful soulmate had safely transitioned, even without his help.  The night was probably waxing late at this time, and given it had started with bloodshed and ended in… this, he couldn’t even predict what the day would be like.  Still, something about knowing the mordigan who lay atop him was no longer the frail, if indomitable, mare who had arrived in ruins at his coven’s castle gave him new confidence.  She was stronger now and more capable, and that made him stronger.  A surge of assurance coursed through him, prompting him to begin moving, picking her up as he stood, pressing his lips on hers.  He didn’t push for anything more, just letting himself give her a tame expression of his love for her.  
Letting her go once he was standing, he parted and told her sheepishly, “I’ve been a very, very stupid stallion.”
“And I’ve been a stubborn mare,” she replied wryly.  Her cheerfulness once again faded as a look of consideration overtook her, her brows beginning to furrow in quiet contemplation.  He waited patiently for her to tell him what she was thinking, instinctively knowing she would, and he didn’t have to wait long.
“I no longer feel like that mare anymore,” she whispered, clearly confused by her own statement.  “I’m Joint, I know I am, but at the same time, I feel like more than just Joint.  I have the experience of my pony life, but now the new body of a… mordigan…  I feel fresh and different.  I can’t quite explain it.”
“I couldn’t either,” Hemorrhage told her softly.  “My master told me that I was new to the world, wiser and more dangerous than before.  So she gave me a new name as well, one to match the long life of killing and learning I would have.”
“Hemorrhage,” she breathed softly, in realization.  Her silver eyes scanned his face for a long moment, intense and sharp as they had been ever since she had awoken.  Finally, she quietly asked, “Are you going to do the same for me?”
“Only if you want me to,” he assured her.  
A glint of determination in her trusting eyes, she stated, “I do.”
The words rang like a song in the cavern, in spite of the softness with which they were spoken.  Hemorrhage set his jaw, giving the mare a thorough look.  For some reason, be it instinctual, divine, or supernatural, he already knew exactly the name he wanted to give her.  It captured the mordigan who had been the mare Joint Point as perfectly as spoken words could.  It gave her a moniker of the night, of her own strength, volition, and insurmountable will, yet also accentuated her gentle lovingness as well.  It was a name for both a young mother, hardy soldier, and cunning nocturnal, a name for her.
Pressing one last kiss against her lips, he pulled back and hushly muttered, “Moonsilver.”
> Interjection 8: The Bastard
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

So this was what the verge of victory felt like?  The apotheosis of years of planning, the joy of death, and the irony of fate all culminating into a twist in the tale of the Princesses.  It was so… gratifying.  If Sombra had bothered to bring any number of his slaves, he would have been sure to share the emotion.  But alas, he managed discipline when the battlefield called his name.  Besides, if he was lucky, there’d be new conquests to be had by the end of the week, and the celebration of the death of the Princesses would surely be much more gratifying than the promise of success.  
He stood at the head of his army, leading them as they made their way through the Oppotimare Valley.  The fools who had joined him had cleared the way for his troops to pass through the imposing mountains and strike straight at Canterlot itself.  Now, with the path to victory so certain and the Princesses preoccupied with Trinity’s army, Equestria was finally his and everything he had sacrificed to get here would be worth it.  The northern mountains in their face, the pass to Canterlot open for their exploiting, fate was paying him its dues.
“The Crystal Empire expands today,” he shouted, enhancing his voice as he turned to face his army.  Thirty thousand soldiers, armed with the finest weaponry and under his control totally with the crystalline helmets.  “Equestria, the blight on the land that is rightfully ours, will fall, and with it the age of Princesses.  A new age begins, an age of success and domination, in which only one lord shall rule over you.  An Everlasting King, a God you will worship for the life given to you.  The cold will no longer sting our cities and the common pony will be ground to dust.  Their corpses will fertilize the land and bring about an abundance never before seen in all the world!  For the Empire, and for your God!”
There was a cheer from the army that rumbled from the mountains in the south to the mountains in the north, and even if it was forced, Sombra felt empowered.  Today was his, and tonight would see, with finality, the death of the disgusting magic of Equestria.  They may have named him the Bastard Prince, but it was their twisted, new concepts that were the true bastardizations of life.  The right of rule was his by might alone, by what he had given up to become greatness.  Crystal would finally be atoned and the wars and bloodshed would finally be over… mostly.  
Out there, somewhere in Equestria, was his lost slave and their child.  He would have to seek them out once there was no danger of it interrupting his war, but as soon as it was over, he would find them.  If he was lucky, they’d be in Canterlot.  If he was blessed, they weren’t, and he could make a demonstration of those who opposed the new regime.  Fate seemed to be on his side, regardless.  
“Forward march,” he commanded, whipping around and forcing the wings to protrude from his back.  He smiled through the pain, the price of becoming more than any mortal pony could.  Letting a growl escape his mouth, he soared into the air, aimed right at the sun.  
Let it try to burn him!  He was no vampyre, no weak ompyre or mangy werewolf.  Their blood and bones had been the elixir of this magnificent power, and the soul of a mordigan the binding magic to purify all their weaknesses to create him: the perfect monster.  While all other nocturnals were shunned from the surface, he would dominate it.  When they shrieked and flailed in the light of the sun, he sneered and soaked up its warmth.  The ponies around him, the plants on the ground, and the mountains on either side of him would all vanish before he died.  He was unstoppable, and tonight, he would prove such.
Suddenly, in the distance, he spotted a figure racing between the clouds.  Slowing his flight, Sombra waited patiently for the dark form to approach him, watching it with intensity.  The only pony it could be was Trinity, given the spell of darkness that shielded him from the burning sun was specially crafted by Sombra and taught solely to the younger vampyre.  There was no rush, given the army was a sluggish beast, and there was really no good in racing too far ahead of it.  The northern pass they were moving for was distinctive and uncontested, so he wasn’t even necessary for guiding them to their objective.  
In the distant west, he saw the last traces of the burnt city of Grandshire, smiling to himself.  Those fools had really just followed his orders as if they weren’t turning against the very ponies who had fed them.  Whatever, it was the smartest thing they could do now.  Prove themselves worthy to live in his new world, show their loyalty and how useful they were.  Honestly, they could have the whole valley.  The Oppotimare was only one of the many rich agricultural regions of Equestria.  The cruel irony of the very soldiers who turned against the ponies of the valley earning it as their reward was almost too perfect.
“My great lord,” Trinity suddenly said, the black cloud having snuck up on Sombra during his contemplations.  Giving the shifting mist a sideways glance, the stallion requested, “Might we find shade.  It took much of my might to keep this summoned for so long.”
“So, you did fight them till the sun rose,” Sombra surmised, satisfied.
“No, lord, my predictions were correct,” the vampyre replied, a hint of both amusement and disappointment in his voice.
“Oh, is that right,” Sombra growled angrily, glancing over the mountains to the north.  Damn those royals.  Beginning to descend, he grumbled, “Very well, tell me what happened.”
“It was exactly as I said, sire,” Trinity continued on, the strange twists of emotion in his voice keeping Sombra from guessing his true feelings.  “The Princess of the Moon engaged me head on, and when I formed a line to hold against Celestia from the south, she flew around the other end and hit us herself.  I managed to draw out the battle by engaging Luna herself, and by the moon did I mess with her head.”
The stallion broke off into a strange fit of chuckles and words that didn’t sound quite like words as they landed in the shade of a hill.  Trinity evaporated the spell as soon as his hooves touched the ground, revealing his uncanny smile and twisted eyes as he gleefully informed Sombra, “I made her cry for her husband.  You’d think after three years, such insults and reminders would be less effective, but nope, she’s still an emotional wreck.”
“The battle, Trinity,” Sombra demanded, unamused.
“Oh, we were crushed in hours, barely by midnight,” the vampyre casually declared.  “We dealt a good chunk of damage, but they overwhelmed us too quickly to cripple them.  They’ll have to spend a few days encamped where they are to repair and resupply, and by that point Canterlot will be yours.”
“Indeed,” Sombra agreed with a pleased smile.  “Trinity, your twisted mind amuses me to no end.  If you’re hungry, there are a few whores traveling alongside the army.  Take no more than half of them, but I do not care who, why, or what.”
“The offer is kind, my liege, but I had my fill,” the stallion meekly answered, a sinister pleasure in his voice.  Standing up straight and squinting at the blue sky, the vampyre asked, “If we get there by night, what shall we do?  Do you expect to battle any army with an exhausted force and come out victorious?”
“While our soldiers may be exhausted, Trinity, I will not be,” Sombra confidently told his protegee.  “Any army we face on the leeward side of the mountains will be surprised and afraid.  Simple demonstration of my cruelty should be enough to turn them to us, or at least insight infighting as a distraction for our force to slip in.  The Princesses are clueless.  If one of them happens to be there, for some strange twist of fate, then we’ll surely kill them.  Such a blow alone would topple their weak kingdom!”
“Pray it’s Luna we come across then, and not Celestia,” Trinity warned, suddenly serious.  Before Sombra could question it, the maniacal stallion began chuckling to himself, muttering softly, “Gods praying? The joke writes itself!  No god does the praying and begging, they do the making, famining, and destroying!  Pray to Sombra, fools.  Pray to him that I don’t rip out your throats and feast on your little children.”
Used to the stallions incessant ramblings, and amused by its contents, the emperor let it be and took to the sky once more.  Oh yes, by the end of the night, fate would be decided, Equestria would be his, and all would fear him.
> Chapter 33: The Day
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hemorrhage and Moonsilver emerged from the cave, paw in paw, to the smell of blood.  She had known before what that smelled like, the iron and disgusting tang in the air from a wounded or dying animal.  However, the sharpness of it was more pristine now, and a newfound understanding also allowed her to smell so much more around it.  It was blood from someone she didn’t know, her new nose giving her the ability to pick that detail out specifically.  There was also a unique, mildew-like scent to it that told her it was from a specific sub-species as well, a nocturnal, but which one she didn’t have the knowledge to call.
Concerned, she felt half of her stress alleviated at the sight of Amethyst in the hooves of Nightseer.  Smiling thankfully at the mare, she took her daughter and held her tightly, taking a deep breath in.  Amethyst herself had an individually unique scent, the softness of a foal, sweetness of a filly, earthiness of her vagrant life, and the slight, muffled smell of… something.  She couldn’t quite tell what it smelled like, soft but distinct.  She did know it had to do with her parentage, the scent of whatever Sombra had passed on to her daughter.  Growling at the thought, her anger and defensiveness spiking at the thought of the Bastard Prince.  
“Hey,” Hemorrhage questioned, reaching out a paw and resting it on the back of her neck.  His touch stifled some of her emotions, but she still remained on edge as she glanced at him.  Celestia, he was handsome.  How had he become more charming after she too became a nocturnal?  
“Sorry, just… I never smelled Sombra in my life before,” she spat bitterly, holding Amethyst closer.  The little filly stared at her with wide, bright eyes.  She had always seen them as unusual eyes, but now that she knew herself, she saw them for the sharp, intense eyes they were.  Nocturnal eyes.  Warmth replaced the bitterness as she pressed a kiss into the filly’s forehead.  She understood her child now, would be there as she grew, and could protect her against even the likes of Sombra.  Looking back up at Hemorrhage, she smiled with tears in her eyes and hushly whispered, “She’s so beautiful.”
“Yes, she is,” the mordigan agreed softly, looking thoughtfully at her daughter.  The look on his face, caring and intrigued, made her heart flutter.  She couldn’t wait until she could call Amethyst their daughter.
“You look great, Joint,” Nightseer complimented with an endearing smile, her eyes flitting briefly behind the new mordigan.  Confused at first, Moonsilver realized that the vampyre was staring at the wings that still protruded from her back.  The very thought of them caused a shiver to course through her body, but she stifled it quickly.
“Moonsilver, actually,” she told her, suddenly feeling shy about the name.  It was almost like a public admission that she was now Hemorrhage’s and he was hers.  
This only caused the vampyre to smile even wider, bumping her husband excitedly as she demanded, “Did you hear that?”
“Yes, but I didn’t want to spoil it for them,” Argon stated.  Then, smirking at Hemorrhage, he added, “Besides, there were some things I didn’t really want to listen in on.”
“Oh,” Nightseer questioned, raising an eyebrow at the pair.  The modest mordigan blushed at the statement, but refusing to be flustered, Moonsilver simply reached a paw out and brought herself into Hemorrhage, kissing his fuzzy cheek confidently.  The couple giggled at her brash display, but beneath her paw she could feel Hemorrhage relax.  She didn’t know why he needed constant reaffirmation that she accepted and loved him, but she’d do her best to remind him whenever she could.
“I’m glad to see everything went well,” Ailade suddenly spoke, her voice uncharacteristically meek, as she shuffled out from behind the couple, attempting to smile reassuringly.  
Even though she didn’t see it, Moonsilver felt Hemorrhage’s sudden mood change, watching as the werewolf wilted in the ancient nocturnal’s glare.  Gruffly, he growled, “We’ll talk later, Ailade.”
“I’m sorry, Hemorrhage,” she apologized quietly, diverting her eyes from his own.  Frowning, Moonsilver could understand why Hemorrhage was so angry, at the same time… well, she would have to talk to him about it.  
Before the situation could get any more tense, however, Leper suddenly appeared at the top of the hill, dragging Khan’s limp body over the hill.  Alarm overtook Hemorrhage’s anger as he suddenly leapt into the air, landing atop the hill beside the exhausted young lycan.  Concerned, Moonsilver joined the other nocturnals as they rushed up the hill to join their leader.  
“What happened,” Hemorrhage began to ask before another set of nocturnals suddenly appeared on the hilltop.  
“No time to truly explain,” a mare with the distinct, woody smell of a werewolf dismissed whimsically.  “Certain mishaps happened to happen while you were- now who is this?”
Moonsilver came to an abrupt halt as the werewolf turned her attention and wild eyes to herself.  Holding Amethyst closer to her chest, she stood tall as she was inspected by the stranger.  She audibly sniffed the air and gave her a strange, sharp stare.
“Newborn, huh,” the mare sneered, glancing at Hemorrhage out of the corner of her eye.  Taking a slow step forward, her long tail swishing in the air behind her, she prowled around the pair as she drawled, “This was what your master was busy with?  Another joining the lot?”  She paused, taking another moment to sniff the air, her face becoming visibly confused.  “But why?  And how are you new, but the baby… old?  What is this?”
“None of your concern, Mantris,” Hemorrhage snarled, not bothering to hide his hostility.  Composing himself, he stood tall as he stepped between the werewolf and Moonsilver, looming powerfully over her.  His voice firm, he told her, “You come to us as allies and representatives of Halven.  I’d be incredibly disappointed if I had to explain why we couldn’t get along even when fighting Sombra himself.”
“Oh, you’ll already have to do that,” Mantris exclaimed gleefully.  
“What,” Hemorrhage questioned, before turning his gaze to the sleeping form of Khan.  Moonsilver peered around the large mordigan, spotting blood on the youngest lycan’s muzzle.  She tensed up, knowing that no matter what, that could not be a good sign.  Hemorrhage most definitely saw as well, a deep sigh escaping him as he turned back to Mantris.  Meeting the werewolf’s leer, he asked, “What happened?”
“Little pup here met an old friend and shook him up,” Mantris giggled.  A short growl from Hemorrhage made her jump and scitter backwards, remaining crouched as she laughed at him.  “Alright alright, your lycan killed ours.  Silven was the lycan that turned whatever colt he was into the lycan he is.  I’m taking a guess that your little pup figured out as much and took vengeance into his own claws… or jaws, in this case.”
“What are we going to do with him,” Hemorrhage sighed, shaking his head in disappointment.
“Um… I was about to ask you that,” Leper admitted, still standing beside Khan’s unconscious body.  The older lycan returned the glares he was receiving from Mantris’ companions.  Feeling the need to do something, she crept around to the sleeping nocturnal’s side while the conversation continued.
“I bit him to put him to sleep since I didn’t know why he suddenly went on a rampage,” Nightseer informed Hemorrhage.  “He should wake up… sometime soon.”
“But not soon enough for you,” Mantris pointed out with a zany chuckle.  “Sun’ll be up soon, which means you and a good few of us need to take a huddle in that cave.  Not the best of times, especially considering sweetheart over there’s a newborn, but gotta live.”
“Yes, but someone needs to make their way to the Princesses again to warn them that their ponies turned against them,” Argon pointed out.  Taking a step forward, he volunteered, “I can go.  I know where to reach them and they recognize me.”
“No, I need you to stay here and make sure to rear Khan into shape once he’s woken up,” Hemorrhage commanded.  “He listens to you better, given his more primal instincts.  I will go to the Princesses and inform them of what we’ve come across here.  They will respect my word and react appropriately.  Argon, take lead of this group.”
“I will join you,” Mantris offered, and in spite of her wide grin, there wasn’t a trace of sarcasm in her proposal.  When Hemorrhage raised a questioning brow at the werewolf, she simple chirped a laugh out and explained, “As a token of good faith, take my company.  Without Silven, this group would not dare try anything against the beasts of your coven.”
Moonsilver’s gaze flitted to the uncharming group, who stood scowling.  However, she had to agree with the crazy nocturnal.  They were all vampyres or werewolves, leaving them physically weaker than the rest of them overall.  Still, that left Hemorrhage alone with the strange mare for however long his travel would take him. Determined to let nothing befall her mordigan, she stepped up beside Hemorrhage and firmly declared, “I’m going with Hemorrhage as well.  I won’t be of any use here, waiting around.  Besides, I need to learn how to use these things anyways.”
Flapping her wings slightly for poignancy, she resisted whimpering at the sudden tenderness of the new appendages.  Hemorrhage whipped around and asked her as softly as possible, “But what about Amethyst?  Surely you wouldn’t consider trying to carry her on your first flight?”
“No, you could carry her though,” she pointed out.  For some reason, feeling a thrill, she gave him a quick kiss on the tip of his nose.  The serious mordigan broke as he blinked several times from the sudden sensitivity to his nose, making Moonsliver chuckle a little.  Reaching out, she insistently pushed the stirring baby into his paws.  She was being so good about everything, not crying or throwing a fit, though she was clearly tired by how she desperately tried to roll into Hemorrhage’s chest to find warmth to sleep in.  She looked so small in his hold.  There was no way of knowing what type of nocturnal her daughter was, but she had no chance of ever outgrowing her father.
Moonsilver almost paused at the thought, hardly able to comprehend what she had just thought of Hemorrhage before he rested his free paw on her shoulder, drawing her eyes.  Though there was deep concern behind them, she saw the love that welled within as he told her, “I trust you.  If you want to learn now, I’ll teach you, but we can’t dawdle.  You’re going to have to be fast, and it may hurt.  I want you to stay, but you can come with me if that’s what you wish.”
“You should have learned by now,” Moonsilver whispered, before closing the small gap between them to steal a quick kiss.  Pulling away after the briefest of moments, she declared, “Where you go, I follow.”
“In that case-” Hemorrhage began before Mantris called from behind him, “So can I go as well?”
“Yes, yes, if you can keep up,” Hemorrhage shouted back, rolling his eyes as he still faced Moonsilver.  She giggled at his annoyance, before looking around at the others.  They stood by politely, each occupied with their own menial task to distract them from the public display of their love.  
Ignoring the flushing of her cheeks, she quickly moved to Nightseer and gave the mare a quick hug, saying, “Thanks for taking care of Amethyst while I was… going through stuff.”
“It was nothing,” the vampyre replied, stepping into the shade of the hill as the first rays of the rising sun began shining over the horizon.  With a knowing smile, she added, “I can’t wait for our daughters to grow up together.”
The comment gave her pause, the reality of her new life hitting once again like a warm splash of water, excitement, anticipation, and the slightest tinge of fear.  However, before she could think too deeply on it, she reached out and caught Ailade before she could retreat into the cavern.  Pulling the much older werewolf into a hug, she whispered in her ear, “Thank you for doing this all for me.  No matter what Hemorrhage says, I’ll vouch for you.  I’ll talk to him while we fly.”
“Oh, he’ll come around,” Ailade agreed with a sad sigh, glancing to where the mordigan was currently talking with Argon and Leper hushly.  “He’s just a stubborn old stallion.  Change is good for him, and I think he’s finally come around to that.  Thank you for showing him that.”
“Thanks for letting me show him it,” Moonsilver replied.  
“Good name, by the way,” Ailade added lightly.  
“You think,” the new mordigan asked, suddenly aware of something had come so naturally to her in spite of its newness.  The compliment made her feel shy all over again, but Ailade’s reassuring smile, friendly and accepting all at once, was all she needed to see to know she was part of the coven.
“Of course, dear,” the werewolf accepted kindly.  “Now, go get him.”
Smiling ear to ear, Moonsilver did so, turning and rushing back to Hemorrhage’s side as he finished talking with Mantris.  Her ears had picked up the conversation, but new to how much she was able to hear now, the words had been jumbled in her brain.  Stopping just in front of him, she looked between the pair of nocturnals and asked, “What was that about.”
“Werewolves can’t fly, sweetheart,” Mantris replied with a twisted smirk.  “Jealous already, are we?”
“I was pointing out a path for Mantris to follow to keep up with us,” Hemorrhage explained, ignoring the werewolf’s comment.
Looking Mantris up and down, the new mordigan inquired, “Can she keep up with us?”
As a reply, the werewolf suddenly took off on a wild sprint, shooting down the hill.  Only halfway to the bottom, she suddenly leapt and landed in the valley between the two hills.  Barely taking time to land, she was in the air again, landing almost halfway up the next hill without breaking pace.  Her lithe form moved faster than anything Moonsilver had ever seen before, almost like a living arrow traveling across the ground.  
Shaking his head, Hemorrhage turned to Moonsilver and softly asked her, “Are you ready?”
“Absolutely,” she answered eagerly, standing up tall and beginning to spread her fledgling wings.  It ached, but she pushed through the soreness, watching Hemorrhage intently as he did the same.
“Now, you’re going to lift your wings as high as you dare, and when you’re ready, thrust them down as hard as you can,” he instructed her, before turning to look at her.
Nodding, Moonsilver lifted her wings as high as she could, stretching them as far as she could, casting a long shadow in the dawn’s early light.  Taking a deep breath, she thrust them down with all her might, letting out a yelp as she shot powerfully into the air.