There is very little in this world that I have not seen; there are very few noises that I have heard in my lifetime that I cannot place with a colour. It is supposed to be easy, for each sound that meets my auds has a very specific shade associated with it - they never change, they never waver, they never fail. This has been true for the entire six years of my existence.

But today, everything changes.

"Hhhhhhheeeeeeeeeeeelllloooovvvvviaaaaaaaaaa," is the call, and a haunting one at that; even I, so accustomed to the extraordinarily eerie, feel the shiver down my spine at the hungry shriek. As if that isn't enough, the colours that the scream produces are large, bold, in the forefront of my vision, placing me at a halt as it blinds me with ever-changing hues, boiling and roiling and swirling across my vision, not one colour but every colour at once. My ears pin with uncertainty, with fear, and I find that it is unnerving to feel what most mortals must feel every time they are faced with something unexplained.

I want to run and hide. I want to scream and flee in a panic. Ah, if only life were so simple. Instead, the dark green of Schwere blossoms around the edges of my vision, and I am more afraid of the fact that even he cannot penetrate the chaos of the cry than of his appearance. And there is the rosy hue of Verletzt, here to calm me. Schwere's colour is a challenge; Verletzt's a reassurance - and so it is with their respective demands and encouragement that I find the strength to force myself forward, toward the noise rather than away from it. The chaos has faded from my orbs by the time I arrive at the scene, though Schwere and Verletzt refuse to depart. I can see now that Schwere paces, tossing his head toward the fight; Verletzt stands calmly beside him, looking as though she hasn't a care in the world. The bigger vision, however, is the thing that I am to fight.

It is unlike anything I have ever seen, a monstrous creature of obsidian, shining in the moonlight. The moonlight? When did the moon return to our skies? My confusion is blotted out quickly by the sight of the claws at the end of the things... appendages, replaced by trepidation. Schwere's green flares, his anger at my hesitation easy to understand. I can almost hear the scorn in his voice, the cruel words heralding my cowardice, and it is as much from spite as from my mother's light pink calm that I make my way forward. I am on the beach, I realize, as I hear the waves crash angrily against the shoreline. Usually a gentle blue, I am surprised by the stormy grey that clouds my vision now. Is it the monster that has made the sea so angry, or is it simply coincidence? Does the creature bring the wicked gusts of wind that lick at my bodice and tug at my hair with it, or is it simply an accompaniment?

Dots of brown mingle with the grey as I make my way forward, keeping time with my hoofbeats in the sand. There are several here already, battling and appearing to lose. Well, why not jump right in? Today is as lovely a day as any to die. There are a few pegasi above, but I pay them no heed; I cannot fly, I cannot help them. It is those on the ground that I seek to assist. A unicorn stabs at a leg - is that a leg? One can hardly tell - as an equine gallops toward the beast. A few others attack the lower appendages, but I aim to attack the same leg as the red-tipped unicorn, as it seems most prudent to me to focus on a singular target. Though it doesn't hurt to confuse the thing. It is this kind of thinking that I have never enjoyed - it is this kind of thinking that Seele has the natural affinity for. Still, I know quite a bit more of fighting than I care to admit, and so I should not be entirely useless. I will allow the others to provide a distraction and help to topple the monster.

I dodge an odd glowing orb, assuming that its presence cannot help me - a correct assumption, judging by the sizzle as it meets the sand. Acid balls; how lovely. My path, though, does not waver after that, and I aim to strike the leg that the dark steed attempts to impale. Schwere's dark green screams across my vision as I lower my head, pointing my horn carefully at the beast. For once, I am grateful for his teachings, for it is habit that takes over now, and the discipline of one trained in battle. I never made you proud, Father, but maybe today your spirit will rejoice.

For what I have to say to death is this: not today.

"Talk talk talk."