We had things to think about, stuff to consider, y’know, the usual. Our decisions were piling up on our shoulders and we weren’t sure if we were gonna walk with them so easily; we felt fine and maybe a little bit happy with it but there was still a twist there in the gut, all the way in the back where the teacher can’t see—that worried and nibbled and wondered if we were actually doing the right thing. We were coming up that mountain spot cuz that’s where I used to go to think about things like that over the course of my life; it was peace, it was tranquil, it was beautiful and serene and up high next to the sun, near godliness—

—but  actually fuck all that cuz, right now, it was being battered to shit.

Chico spotted the trouble first, flying ahead of me and seeing the huge, winged thing clawing the earth and tearing the beds of dew-soaked flowers to fucking ribbons. The alarm shot through him, ringing in my own chest as well, and in the same moment I felt him zpsnk! into his grey-maned, blue-tailed body, his wingbeats turning into something far more heavier than the silent, feathered whispers of his owl body. He roared, his voice booming with deep, sparking things as I crested the hill and saw the great monster attacking the cliffside itself.

I only spent a heartbeat looking at it, feeling the awe of the dragon’s presence, before my body sprang into action on impulse: I reached for Sparkmarrow, and the blade snapped into place (kpOW) with a clap of thunder as it tore away from the metal sheath. My teeth clamped firmly on his hilt, I glared down at the monster, and there was a spark of realization from Chico that I ignored because I was too busy being boss and in control of a threat cuz that was the whole reason I was born (wasn’t it?).

“CU’ TH’SHIT OUT,” I bellowed from between the clenched teeth, waiting for the dragon to turn and come for me instead.




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Chico’s wing beats blew him past the bronze dragon begging for our understanding—but that didn’t matter cuz Cheek had already glimpsed the glitter of bronze scales, had already seen the markings on the dragon’s face, the horns that adorned the ferocious head, and already was making his own guesses about the situation. Chico wheeled around sharply as he passed by, coming to face the dragon and give a growl, an affirmation, a Ye I hear you response to the cease fire. His gun was lowered, his offense lowered as he recognized friends (to him, at least), but he still shot a look down at me that bordered on concern cuz the dragon was turning towards me, wings slashing the air and a scream of challenge being thrown at me, and he knew he was locked out of my mind cuz I was ready for it.

Oh, yeah, I was ready for it. The dragon was facing me now and I was pumped for the fight, the static lancing in my bones and Sparkmarrow tight in my grip as I anticipated the charge.

It never came though (she never fights back when I want it—) The dragon took a step towards me and I tensed up, and after that it was all downhill from there because in that moment the beast seemed to crumple from within, as though everything from the sky to the air to the blood beating through its veins was too heavy and suddenly, it couldn’t stop carrying the load. It took a step closer, and another, and its body was actually crumpling now, no, it was shifting, and scales became a coat and claws became hooves and the bony ridge of a brow softened to a face I’d known to be stoic and sanctimonious—

—was now tear-soaked and stained with a pain that was tired inside and out and I dropped Sparkmarrow and he lay I the grass buzzing and sharp and ready for a battle that couldn’t be fought with swords.

I froze as I watched her, blindsided by this display, caught off guard completely by it—because it was so familiar. The gauges in the earth could’ve been scratches on a cave face, the wads of torn grasses and flowers could’ve been shards of crystal, and it could’ve been me standing there, helpless with the weight of too much shit on my back. And it was weird, because this was the person who had made me clean that shit up and face it with unrelenting, pitiless irony.

I can't, she said to me.

“Then don’t,” I found myself saying.

She was chewing on something and it hurt. I know it did, I know it had to because things that are that heavy are hard to fit in your mouth. I didn’t know how to handle this. I didn’t know whether or not to touch her, or even if I wanted to, or even if I really actually felt bad for her or whether or not I was pulled into it cuz of the tears. I could’ve just turned away, gone back down the mountain and left her to her little fuck it up session--

Except no, I couldn’t do that, there’s no way on earth. I’m not that kind of heartless. “It’s okay,” I said, my voice barely a breath as I looked at her, as I inched just a little closer, “Let it out, man. You can’t keep it locked up, man. Gotta let it go.” Gotta let yourself be human.





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This is where it happened...

Where what had happened?

When I had broke like this, it had been super easy to trace the source—hell, it was public spectacle for crying out loud, a mass clusterfuck that had consumed every nation and every person and affected them all the same. I probably hadn’t been the only sorry bastard to blame blame blame themselves for the tragedy that struck. It was nothing short of horror absolute.

This was different—something personal, no duh, but that didn’t make the knife any duller, the wound any less painful, the nightmare any less bleak and frightening. But I was lost at her pain and I didn’t know how to face it with her and I chewed on my lip as I watched hers threaten to shatter before willpower took over and held that shit tight. She was talking about someone who had died--or someone she was gonna kill, I dunno if they were one in the same even if they were connected to the same tragedy.

I didn’t know if I should let her do the thing.

I hesitated; Chico landed no too far away from us, trundling along beside us and looking up at her ruined, skullmarked face (we still didn’t know her name) with the same concern I felt in my breast. “Who needs a killin’?” I asked with a low, gentle—cautious—tone, and it was so very near an offer of sorts. Cuz, y’know, I have a sword that could help out.






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It was weird watching her, watching the fire pull across her face when there had been nothing but tears there a second ago. It was eerie; it was borderline wrong. A face that was once surgically clean of emotion, almost devoid of it, like she had pushed the whole messy business of actually being mortal away from a gifted, perfect existence as half of a god—was now smeared by all of its extremes until it was smudged into something totally unrecognizable. I remember how I hated the holier-than-thou attitude she had (seen, of course, because it was something I fully expected to see--) but now that I was getting my wish for her to come down a few notches I didn’t know how to take it. There was nothing to celebrate about someone being brought so low.

Volterra. The name tore out of her like hot grease begging for a match and I heard the unmistakable buzz of villain underlying the name. I didn’t know who that was—I doubt I woulda cared either under  other circumstances—but at that moment there was no doubt in my mind that this would be an entity I was born to fight, something to crush before it unraveled the fabric of all I held dear. I dipped down and picked up Sparkmarrow, clapping the blade against the metal of the sheath (zzzzzmph) where the blades coiled like a sharp, obedient serpent, the arcs of energy stifled by the sheath’s magic.

“What’d he do?” I asked, but my low voice was ready for battle anyways. I was already imagining the kind of atrocities he could’ve committed that were bold enough, bad enough to shatter the apathetic mask of the Earth demi; did he murder a baby? Enslave hundreds? Gather a group of assholes to pillage and plunder and whatever? I rolled my shoulders and a few things krkkrack!ed as I prepared my body for another battle cuz fuck it I guess that’s what I really wanted to do that morning.







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My blood was jumping and boiling hot and electric and ready and waiting and impatient but I ignored that shit cuz she was trying to spit something out to me. He—he—he— Like the chirp of a bird with something lodged in its throat, struggling to breathe through it, biting off something that would’ve been too large to chew if the bird had had teeth in the first place.

I stood there, waiting for her to spit it out. Letting my blood boil uselessly against the patience of it. It’s hard to spit something like this, something you hold too close to your breast even if it is poison. Something that could hurt you all the way out your body even as you speak it. I knew that feeling way too well and I knew you couldn’t rush a thing like that. You’d either swallow it back, or mince the words into something that can’t communicate so you’re left even more lonely in the turmoil than when you started. I waited and gave her the time to form the chain so we could go ahead and break it together.

Except.

I dunno maybe she ended up mincing her words anyway, fucking it up or something, because what she said next wasn’t at all what I was expecting. Even the ideas behind it (her, a baby, having a baby) was enough to get my head swimming but that wasn’t even the smoking gun. “He killed your baby?” I sputtered incredulously, blurting it past all sense of subtly because I’m shit with the concept. “He killed your baby??” I said again, and yeah, maybe I was being insensitive saying it over and over again like that but I was still trying to wrap my head around it.

She had a baby and someone had killed it. My blood—which was already smoldering in my veins—starting bubbling and crackling and my breathing got heavy as I let the thought rile me up and my muscles were begging for a fight again. But I was still lost—like—all of these sensations came over me too fast to handle and I was dumbstruck staring at her, staring at the surgical words she had used to describe the death of her child. Something was off. I cocked my head, my brow furrowed as I looked at her, because I was still grasping for something but I didn’t even know what I was reaching for.

It’s not that I think she had lied. It was nothing like that. It’s just, after her revelation, I felt like I was blind in one eye and there was a whole other piece of the plane I was missing. What happened?, my blood whispered.







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[Set directly after this thread]

The short: Fucking Yikes™.

The long: Fucking. Yikes. Jeeez.

And now, the low-down:  I had thought before I was blind in one eye but, after everything was said and done, I was deaf and a dumb-fuck, too. I mean, I wouldn’t even be able to catch up for several nights, after replaying the scene in front of me over and and over again, catching the words and the hurt in everyone’s eyes in between a battle that ended up just being a clusterfuck of dragon fire and scales.

Chico climbed onto me, leaping on my back like a shot as the tall childwoman daughter of Earth bolted around us, going -26 to 100 real fucking fast as a shadow came up on us on the horizon. Her rapid shifts between emotions staggered me, the heat of her pure fury scalding my own boiling blood and shutting that shit down in its place. It wasn’t my role to get angry at that moment, I learned. It was hers and holy shit did she take to the role, learning her lines and her cues as she commenced to kick wholesale ass against the large, dark stallion she had glimpsed.
The baby-daddy in question, I guess. Y’know, because of the shrieking.

And there could’ve been a moment where I would’ve joined her, too. Ain’t gonna lie. Sparkmarrow was there at my chest and I could’ve dipped down and gripped the hilt and the fight would’ve been on. I could’ve joined the fray and that boy would’ve had more broke shit on his hands to worry about. Hmph, that boy. That child-murderer.

Except no, no, that woudn’t’ve been right. And I was too confused and shocked by how fast all this shit unravelled around us that I couldn’t act on that fleeting impulse, and that was a good thing. Cuz after watching the stud and his reaction and his eyes, those huge red things full of feels, weren’t the eyes of a child-killer.

Okay yeah sure, ‘What does a child-killer even look like’, you’re wondering. It ain’t like there’s an appendix for that kind of thing, or a standard or some shit, with prerequisites or whatever to look like an infanticidal bastard. This stud--he was huge and he clearly hit the gym and he had a Mr. Archibald-ish look to him--he was impressive in some ways I guess, but that didn’t make him any more or less qualified to kill a baby. He didn’t seem all that special.

But I guess--it was his eyes, man, and how they looked at her as he crested the hill, even before she was screaming actual hell-fire in his face. Eyes that said--Hey, you. There you are. Soft things, sappy things that hurt to chew one cuz they were so fucking sweet. Happy. A kind of small, pure happy that you can’t fake. Not like that.

The fight was on, anyway. Or...well, jeez, was it really a fight, though? I backed quickly out of the scope of it, Chico clinging to the cropped locks of my mane as he watched the scene unfold with his sharp amber eyes. Those dragons were tearing it up and I felt things lurching in Chico prompting him to join in, to help the bronze dragon because 2 v 1 is some old bullshit.

Not our fight, he had to keep telling himself.

Not our fight, I agreed, keeping my limbs frozen, even though I was already captivated and lost by the whole thing.

The fight between the horses was a different thing; it was more about words and it was super one-sided, because Kis Hollo (we finally learned her fucking name and it’s no wonder she didn’t want to share it because me and Chico both think it’s kinda dumb tbh) where was I? Oh, uh...Kis Hollo was just screaming things at him, kinda-sorta-talking about a baby she had had, a cousin running around somewhere, and how much of an awful fucking person he was, even as he was pleading with his own companions to stop their coonery while he tried to scramble up some shards of hurt she was inflicting with her words. I knew her mouth was a loaded gun, but by his breaking eyes alone--but I didn’t know the caliber or anything because this was a thing that was completely and utterly out of my control or expertise. I didn’t know what the fuck was happening.

It wasn’t until she indicated me--cocking her head my way, as though she were casually tossing the gesture like she was trying to be cool or whatever--and mentioned that I was a demigoddess too before things started to click. Collect all three, she said. “Uh--what?” I blurted on instinct, cocking my head at her, “The fuck?” My mind scrambled for a moment because a) I ain’t never thought of the demigods as any kind of relation to me, cousin or otherwise, because fuck that I didn’t know them and they didn’t know me and just because we all had gods for bearers didn’t automatically make us kin--and b) because, for just a few seconds, I forgot that the God of the Sun had a daughter, too, and I was ready to get super pissed if this fuckboy did some tragic doodlin’ with Mesec. But--oh, oh, I guess there are three daughters of the Gods, huh. And it looked like he had had two of them.

Oooooh, shit, Chico purred gurgled, crouching into my mane and gripping my neck with tight claws of anticipation. He was sinking his teeth real good into that meaty piece of drama.

I bit my lip and my tail clenched on an impulse at her suggestion. The idea of that dudebro behind me, on me, diddlin’ a thing gave me a sick, crawling feeling all over. The picture was getting clearer, though--and I identified one of the markers in her angry, broken voice. Betrayed.

But that didn’t explain nothin’ about killin’ no babies though.

I could’ve stood there and demanded some answers (“WHO KILLED THE FUCKING BABY”) but Chico was already leaping off my shoulders and gliding towards the bronze’s still, charred body. The decision was made, and I accepted it: it was time to stop this and neither of them were in any position, physical or mental or otherwise, to make that call.

“That’s enough,” I said, and I marched my ass right on in there, coming to stand in the magic-ruined space between the two of them. My gaze swiveled between them, wondering just how to judge this god-awful mess. Kis (dropping the Hollo cuz that’s dumb) maybe had probable cause to kick his ass, I dunno, I ain’t seen the full picture. But Kis was a demigod, too. She may have been hurt but I knew those were just scratches that were gonna heal in a matter of hours, maybe days, and she hadn’t even gotten the brunt of the attacks. That sorry bastard over there, though, Volterra--he was in some bad shape. He wasn’t moving anywhere anytime soon; I wasn’t even sure if it was safe. And I knew if I left them there then Kis would get her second wind, and Volterra wouldn’t have his dragons to fight in his stead for the next wave.

I guess the question was whether or not I was gonna let her kill some dude. A mortal that we were born to protect in the first place.

Jeez-Louise.  

Chico gently nosed at the dragon’s unconcious body, at Kis’ ruined face as I stepped over to her, standing before her, doing my best to block her line of sight of Volterra. “C’mon,” I said in a low voice--something stern, because I wasn’t fuckin’ around, but it wasn’t mean either, it was a soft prod away from this place. “S’time to go.” I didn’t know what to do about Volterra, man. It looked like that dude was gonna need a healer, but I didn’t know how to do that and I figured my first priority was to get Kis the fuck out of there before she actually ended up killing him.




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