Tyrian woke to the aroma of bacon and eggs, he rose from his bed with an easy smile and a pleasantly relaxed body. He pushed off the bed, grabbed his nightgown from the rack next to his bed, and walked slowly to his bathroom. The morning sun shone gently through his curtains, giving just enough light to his surroundings to see, a light amber tint over his messy room. A few books laid on his desk in the corner of the room, the paper he was writing about the history of the Nightmare Conflict rested amid the strew about pages. He smiled, eager to return to his studies and learn as much as he could, but his breath persuaded him to keep walking to the dark bathroom. Tyrian grabbed the matchbook laying just inside the polished stone restroom, struck a match, and lit the numerous lamps hanging from the walls, his drowsiness being scared away by the freezing stone. He needs to remind his father to tell the few servants that stayed up to keep the fireplaces fueled, he was tired of the icy chill in the stone-clad areas of the estate.

Tyrian stood in front of the large mirror, staring into his own amber eyes, chuckling at his bed head. He smoothed it down, trying to get it to it's normal neat and tidy part, but for some reason, he stopped after a few brushes. The somewhat messy hair he had looked pretty good on him, swept back with a few thick strands hanging down gave him the look of some of the heroes from his old storybooks. If only his beard had grown in, he'd look just like his great-grandfather, just like his dad said he did normally, even though his mother never agreed.

A quick bath and a minty breath later, Tyrian put on his slippers and headed through his bedroom door, entering the hallway right above the kitchen. The carpeted floor and purple cloth draped wall retained some of the heat of the manor, but not much. He ignored the slight chill in the air and found the steps down into the kitchen, the scent growing ever stronger, now smelling strongly of coffee. The sun outside had fully cleared the horizon, filling the kitchen in a golden light, his mother and father cooking in the gilded room. His mother stood at the counter, flipping a dozen eggs in two pans with expertise, while Tyrian's father was making toast, his hand igniting in flame for a few seconds for each slice.

"Honey, you know Iris hates the taste of magic on her toast, use the oven." His mother, Obsidia, the matriarch of the Shadegale Manor, reminded her husband.

"But you know Dahlia loves it, and you know I can't play favorites dear." Aster, his father, and teacher, smugly said as he put the singed toast onto the plates and handed them to his smirking wife.

"Don't get cute, dear, you'll never win against me in that department." She said with puckered lips, going in for a smooch.

"AH, none of that, please, I'll lose my appetite." Tyrian announced as he took his seat at the dinner table.

"Oh, my baby boy getting embarrassed by his parents, some things never change." Obsidia wrapped her arms around Tyrian's neck from behind, assaulting his cheek with small kisses.

"Ew! Mom, stop!" Tyrian flailed weakly, no match for his mother's maternal onslaught.

"Enough, dear, you'll turn the boy crimson." Aster chuckled as he took his own seat. The yelping of the teenager masked the approach of already quiet footsteps from the stairs. Iris, the eldest, yawn and stretched as she stepped down from the stairs, her purple nightgown flowing loosely around her legs. Her pajamas, which consisted of a shirt two times her size and soft blue pajama bottoms.

"Morning sis." Tyrian said as his mother backed off mercifully, his hair knocked out of place from his mother's hug, obscuring his vision.

"Morning twerp." The eldest mumbled as she took her seat. "We on for sparring after breakfast?"

"I'm still sore from yesterday, Iris, can't we take a break?" Tyrian whined.

"No rest for the Shadegales, son. Man up and get beaten by your sister." Aster said as he sipped his coffee. He took a newspaper from the counter and shook it open as he leaned on the marble counter.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence Dad, your love and support mean everything to me." Tyrian said dryly.

"He's right though, you get your ass handed to you nine time out of ten, bucko." Iris leaned back on her chair with a shit-eating grin.

"Nine times out of ten, eh? You must be getting sloppy in your old age, sis." Tyrian smirked.

"I'm only two years older than you dumbass, age has nothing to do with it."

"Language, Iris. Don't be using that kind of language in front of Dahlia." Obsidia scolded as she laid plates filled with food in front of her children. "Cursing's a bad habit, and I don't want you two getting that in her head."

"She's fourteen, she'll learn it either from us or her friends anyway." Tyrian scoffed.

"Still, I want to keep her innocent for as long as possible, unlike you two, cussing like sailors since birth." Obsidia shook her head in mock disappointment.

"We all know where we got it from, Mom." Both Tyrian and Iris shot a sideways glance at their father.

Feeling eyes on him, Aster raised his eyes from his paper. "What? What's going on?" Aster looked to his wife for assistance from his wife, only to see her smile and put her head in her hands.

The table had a good laugh at the patriarch's expense until they heard a door creak behind Tyrian, who turned to see, leaning over his own chair. He prepared a smile to whoever opened it, his eyes shining. Strangely, the door had opened to an empty, unlit corridor, dark but not impossible to see through. His smile was replaced with an unsure grin as he turned to his family.

"Uhhh...creepy." Iris shivered a bit at the sight.

"Tyrian, dear, could you check that out? Dahlia might be playing a prank again." His mother said, her concerned eyes not leaving the doorway. Aster stood up and rolled up his newspaper, walking over to his daughter and put his hand on her shoulder reassuringly.

"Uh, yeah, sure." Tyrian sat up and pushed his chair in. He took a couple of careful steps toward the corridor, the chill in the air coming from the door cutting into him. With a hand on the doorway, he took a peek in the dim hall, spotting a small shadow around the corner down the way. He could have sworn he had heard a giggle in the distance, adding to the discomfort as he took his first step into the room.

A thud elicited a small shriek from the teenager as the door behind him slammed closed on his back. Panic began to fill him as he turned and grabbed the silver door nob, twisting it in vain to force it open, the door handle barely budging. He began pounding on the door in desperation as he shot a quick glance down the hall behind him, the shadows somehow darker than they were before.

"Guys, open up! This isn't funny! Please!" Tyrian cried into the wooden door. No voices responded to him as he put his ear to the wood, only the light sound of a crackling fire.

Tyrian turned back around, his spine pushed against the cold door. The hall looked even less inviting than before, the shadows almost overtaking what little light shone through the dark curtains. Caution and fear shrouded his mind as he skulked down the cold stone hall, near the corner where the shadow had been. He poked his head around the corner and saw his little sister, Dahlia, standing in the hallway, whispering to herself.

"Dahlia? Is that you?" Tyrian quietly called to the girl. "Why are you whispering?"

As if in response, his sister quieted and now stood there, motionless aside from a slight sway, her raven hair flowing with her. Tyrian took a step towards her, then another, and one more until he was right behind her. He crouched down to her height and put a shivering hand on her shoulder. Steeling himself with a gulp, he spun her around, coming face to face with her.

"BOO!"

Tyrian screamed and fell backward, scrambling away in fear. His sister began giggling uncontrollably at his reaction, her hand coming to her mouth to try and stifle her fit. She was still wearing her pajamas, which were both bright red pajama bottoms and top, some of the fuzz falling to the floor with her raucous laughter.

"Gods Dahlia, you scared the hel-heck outta me!" Tyrian caught himself.

"I got you good! You have the best 'Ahhh!' face ever!" Dahlia said between giggles.

Tyrian picked himself up with labored breaths, his heart hammering in his chest. Sighing in defeat, he chuckled at the sight of his little sister laughing at his expense.

"Yeah, you got me good, especially with that whispering you were doing. And let me guess, Iris was in on it too, closing the door and everything."

"No, no, it was only me and the man in the wall." She laughed at the thought of her sister locking the door behind Tyrian.

Tyrian's laughter stopped short, fear rising in his stomach. He looked at his sister in concern, it only grew as she kept laughing without acknowledging what she said.

"The what, Dahlia?" Tyrian swallowed with a dry mouth. Dahlia's laughter died down slowly as she looked up to her big brother with a small smile.

"The man in the wall, silly! Can't you see him, he's taller than you!" Dahlia thumbed behind her, into the darkness.

"Taller than m-" Tyrian cut himself off as his eyes trailed upward, toward the ceiling far above them.

Two blazing white orbs shone in the void, the room stretching impossibly upward to hold the dark skeletal figure stretching down the hall, lanky arms hung in the air, outstretched around him and Dahlia. Tyrian's mouth hung open, his breath shallow, legs heavy with terror. It's gaunt frame hanging over them, hollow eyes dripped darkness down onto the ground beneath it, melting into the stone. He looked back down to his sister, ready to grab her and run away from the monster. He went for her arm, only for his to be grabbed instead by a tendril rising from a pool of darkness, it wrapped around his arm and burned into his skin. Crying out in pain, he tried to pull himself away, his tugging ripping the sleeve and skin under the tendril's acidic grip. With one desperate tug, he felt his skin give, blood poured out from his torn sleeve, flesh hung from his limp arm as he fell back once again.

Tyrian's vision darkened as pain rocked his body, his arm numb as it grew ever redder. In anguish, he looked to Dahlia, the void behind her encroaching quickly. Desperate, he tried to get up and run to her, only to trip over more of the black pools, his slipper melting on contact. He looked up at his sister's eyes. Only to be met with the same white suns where her eyes should have been. Darkness poured from them, engulfing the small frame of his little sister.

Tyrian didn't know how he got back to his feet, or when he started sprinting back down the hallway, all he knew and felt was his good shoulder ramming into the wooden door, it gave under his momentum and weight. Wood splinters showered into the room, covering the decayed stone beneath him. The once friendly and warm kitchen had somehow been replaced with a cold, grey, rundown and open room. Two thrones lay on the far part of the moonlit room, the light cascading through the collapsed ceiling above.

Before he could process this impossibility, a surge of pain shot through his arm, taking the air from his lungs and bringing him to his knees. In desperation, the terrified man looked to the sky and witnessed the moon rise above the broken walls, it dripped with darkness which seeped into the sky, trailing corruption as it quickly rose above him. A roar, deep and horrible, shook his being, his very soul, and as he clutched his cracking skull, he could feel blood dripping from his eyes. The cracked walls began to crumble, the pieces falling towards the emptiness above him, vanishing into the void. The shadows around him melted, creating a pool of black water which quickly submerged his lower torso, it's freezing grip sunk into his flesh, blackening his skin.

The sound began to shift and twist, Tyrian feeling every alteration, each one causing agony to course through him until it became a voice. A voice as deep and impenetrable as the sky and shadows around him, one of pure malice and hate spoke to him and uttered its one, incomprehensible word.

"Vessel."

The moon rushed towards him at impossible speed, the laughter of the Nightmare cutting through the darkness.

~ ~ ~ ~

Tyrian woke to his scream, drenched in sweat, his body reflexively drawing his shoulder knife.

Twilight and Spike yelled in confusion, Twilight bringing her book to her face in defense. Spike had covered his eyes in terror, he also had just awoken from a rather pleasant dream about a kitchen filled to the brim with gemstones. Tyrian breathed heavily, his trained eyes scanning his surroundings for threats. The cabin that had been given to them at the request of Celestia was elegant but only slightly bigger than most, the walls lined with metal and brown wood. Tyrian had called one of the two in the cabin when he felt drowsiness take over on the day-long train ride. Snapping his head to the window to their right, he saw it was indeed morning, the orange sun barely peaking above the horizon, a breakfast tray on the table between he and Twilight, the coffee in her cup still steaming.

Twilight was the first to speak, lowering the book enough to see the shaking bodyguard.

"Bad dream?" She quietly asked. He looked at her, earning another flinch from the bookworm. Letting his tensed and stressed muscles relaxed, his mind caught up to his body well enough to calm down. Tyrian glanced to his dagger in his hand in confusion and sheathed it carefully.

"I...I guess." Tyrian's voice was still hoarse and groggy from his restless slumber. "I didn't understand any of it." He shrugged lightly, fatigue still fading.

"Jeez, dude. You about gave me a heart attack." Spike righted himself from his fetal position and laid his hands on his lap. "You alright?"

Tyrian brought his feet off the dark green seat and onto the carpeted floor and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The image of the moon growing in size and shrouding all that is was stuck in his mind, the only real piece of it he could recall.

"Yeah, I think I'm good." He rubbed the back of his neck, soothing his stiff neck. Tyrian had asked for a pillow before he had gone to sleep, but his request had gone unheard, and he had made do with his old satchel. "Just a bit, uh, concerned. I've never had a dream like that."

"What, like, too real or something?" Spike shifted up, straightening out his back.

Tyrian shook his head. "Nah, more like..." Tyrian thought for a second. "...personal, if that makes any sense. I can't really remember specifics."

"Well, dreams have been shown to personify real-world struggles or concerns that you have. Maybe you're just working things out?" Twilight suggested, bringing her coffee cup from the tray for another sip.

"Yeah, maybe." Tyrian shrugged. "Or, ya know, I'm just crazy." He grinned. Twilight chuckled at that, returning to her book about the history of the Summer Sun Festival, wanting to get the background on the event she was basically managing and see if there were any specific traditions in Ponyville that she needed to be aware of.

"I'm gonna go get breakfast, what do you guy's want?" Tyrian stood and popped his shoulder, sighing at the relaxation it brought. He went for Oathkeeper, which was still leaning in the nook of the door to the rest of the train's hallway, but pulled back, resisting habit.

"Get me some pancakes, please!" Spike hopped down to the floor, reached up to the tray on the table, and poured his own cup of coffee.

"Just a bagel for me, thank you. Bring back some sugar too, this coffee is too bitter for my taste." Twilight said, keeping most of her focus on her book.

"Pancakes and a bagel, got it. Be back soon." Tyrian opened the sliding wooden door, the frosted glass moving away to a fairly tight hallway. The landscape outside came into vision, rolling grass fields and hills flowed over the land all the way to the quickly brightening sky.

Tyrian walked down the train car, his eyes never parting from the natural beauty outside the glass and steel. He was glad that after all he's seen, all he's done, he could still find things like this beautiful, peaceful even. Most who did what he did, like his old buddy Swifty, may he burn in Tartarus, would probably say he was, quote, 'A bloody romantic' and shove or shiv him. Tyrian smiled as he remembered the look on his face when he broke his hands, Swift's fingers a mangled bundle of torn and bloody digits. The only problem he had with that situation was the fact he couldn't remember what exactly happened after that, only the massacred corpses of various assassins and mercenaries spread around him, some of them a bit burnt here and there. Pretty sure he killed a few magi in that bunch, as he did remember a lot of fire in some of the pieces he could dredge up from his terrible memory.

Opening the train car door, he stepped over the connector of the food car to the residence car, and proceed to enter the room, an appetizing smell hitting him like a delicious brick of syrup and cooked meat. Many of the travelers from the residence car were sitting at small tables, idly chatting about the weather and the Festival, all while dining on bacon and waffles. A few nobles had gathered near each other, all obviously drawn in by the air of superiority they gave off, a handful of them deeming some of the commoners worthy of conversation. Tyrian scoffed at them, refocusing his attention on the food on the right wall waiting for him. He picked a large steel platter and grabbed a few plates, placing them in the order of which the group sat, and began getting their requests from the buffet. Two pancakes for Spike, as well as a dollop of whipped cream as a little treat for not getting on his nerves the whole trip, a bagel and some butter for Twilight, along with her side request for some sugar.

'And now, my favorite part.' Tyrian was almost salivating over the bacon, it being the perfect amount of crispy and tender, and the eggs being sunny side up, sprinkled with pepper to add that smoky flavor.

Getting his food, Tyrian turned back to the door to the residence car, only to stop short as he saw a group of men in the corner next to the door. Three haggard-looking men sat together, not eating and not talking, all looking exceptionally constipated, the mountain of a man in the middle especially. But Tyrian didn't care about their faces, no, he was more concerned about their equipment. Tyrian knew what hidden weapons looked like when concealed, an odd crease here, a small bulge there, all pointed to the signs of holdout daggers, three on the bearded one on the right and one big one on the giant. The one to the left, the scrawniest out of them all, had a large briefcase at his feet, which was still being held onto by one of his loose hands. Tyrian saw something on the big man's neck sparkle in the sunlight that had just begun directly hitting the train, just barely visible beneath the muscle and cloth, a crescent moon made itself known.

The bearded man met Tyrian's lingering eyes, his squinted eyes telling him he had been staring for too long. Tyrian scolded himself and went to open the door out, only to be stopped by the scrawny one's lithe hand.

"A little help there, buddy?" He said as he went to open the train car door for him, his eyes never breaking with Tyrian's. A stray strand of his hair fell out of place, his hair long on the top but trimmed short on the sides. A quick glance to the others said what he knew already; they knew him and now he knew them.

"Yeah, thanks." Tyrian said carefully, slightly sidestepping to gain that precious distance from him, and passed through the now ajar door. As quickly as he could, he made his way through the second door and down the hall, the plates colliding with each other as he walked as fast as he could to Twilight and Spike.

As quickly as he could, he made his way through the second door and down the hall, the plates colliding with each other as he practically ran back to his cabin. He hastily forced the door open before Spike could open it for him, Spike being shoved away as the frantic bodyguard put down the tray and grabbed his sword.

"Woah, slow down, man. What, is a manticore chasing you?" Spike scoffed. Tyrian didn't register the sarcastic comment from the baby dragon, he was too busy tossing the plates of food off the metal tray.

"Hey, HEY! What are you doing!?" Twilight yelled in between getting pelted by greasy bacon and her bagel. Tyrian grabbed the tray's handle and flipped it length-ways, covering most of his left arm. Unsheathing Oathkeeper, he turned to the door and brought the makeshift shield.

"Tyrian! What's wrong?!" Twilight, now feeling an icy chill beginning to build in her chest, saw the focused mercenary gesture to his satchel laying on the cushion next to him.

"Dagger in the bag, get it." He spoke shortly, not drawing his eyes from the frosted glass as heavy footsteps drew closer to them. Not wasting time, Twilight jumped to the lonesome satchel and began rummaging around until she found a wrapped blade at the very bottom, it's intricately decorated grip betrayed by its apparent abandonment. Tyrian pulled up his tattered scarf above his nose, obscuring his face with it.

"Spike, get behind Twilight." The footfalls now were right outside the door, a large shadow now loomed in front of the frosted glass. Tyrian heard the wood creak as an immense hand opened the sliding door, the large man from the dining cart had to lean down to see into the cabin. His prying bought him a sliver tray being slammed into his jaw, sending his massive frame into the glass behind him, which shattered instantly, and dented the metal.

His attempt to recoup from the blow was met with another strike from Tyrian, only this time being it a sharp point piercing his stomach. Tyrian put his boot on the giant's face, ripping his sword from the man's torso with a wet shlick, and turned his attention to the charging bearded man with two daggers in hand. Tyrian brought up his impromptu shield to meet the man's blades, both puncturing the flimsy metal, one also puncturing Tyrian's forearm, earning a pained grunt from the mercenary. Yanking back with the knives still embedded, Tyrian pulled the man's arms open and forced his sword into the man's exposed armpit. With a twist of his blade and kick, the bearded man fell onto the quickly reddening carpet, his still dying body twitching as his life was quickly drained away by his own heartbeat. Tyrian almost dropped the tray as he ripped the silver dagger from his arm, his blood soaking into his gauntlets, his hand quickly becoming slick and harder to keep up.

An arrow sprouted from Tyrian's right shoulder, his armor doing its job and stopping it from going all the way through, it became stuck in the thick leather and a thin metal plate. The force transfer made him recoil to the right and using the momentum, he brought the metal tray back up as he saw the one who nailed him. The scrawny man stood with another arrow already locked into place, his opened briefcase laying at his feet with three shapes cut into the cases' bottom, and a number of clothing articles strewn about. Scrawny let loose an arrow, it ricocheting off the slanted metal and lodging itself above the door frame to Tyrian's left. He charged the archer, covering a short distance before the man had nocked another arrow, this one actually piercing tray, but Tyrian had already closed too much distance before he could reach for yet another.

Tyrian uppercutted the archer with the metal tray, sending him stumbling stunned backward into a wall, dropping his bow. Shaking his head, he began to push off the wall with his pasty white hands, only to be stopped by a worn blade stabbing into his palm, securing him to the wooden wall with excruciating pain. Trying and failing to desperately pull himself away, he looked up to meet the unforgiving eyes of Tyrian Shadegale, who, at this point, was pissed.

"There anymore of you douche-bags?" Tyrian, flexed his injured hand, and with a grunt, snapped the arrow shaft lodged in his shoulder. Tyrian took out his shoulder dagger and brought it to the cultist's eye, the shining point making him grow cross-eyed. The archer laughed, causing a few drips of blood to fall out of his mouth, his crooked teeth tinted red.

"Just one, and he don't go down easy." Tyrian's eyes widened, spinning around to meet a black furred fist barreling toward his face.

Tyrian felt his feet lift from the ground, his nose breaking, and the wood wall behind him caving in, all in a couple seconds. For a small moment, Tyrian felt the cool summer morning air hit him before he collided with another wood wall, luckily avoiding the metal reinforcements dotting the train. He bounced a few times before rolling to a halt in the middle of the dining car, dozens of screams and yells were drowned out by the hammering in Tyrian's ears, his neck feeling as if it had been stretched past its limit, his face felt wet and numb.

He groaned as he tried to push himself up with his elbows from his prone position, craning his whip-lashed neck up to see what the hell happened in those now lost seconds.

A large furry frame forced its way through the door two sizes too small, a horn and it's broken counter-part being twisted through the entrance.

Tyrian gulped as the minotaur rose to its full height, his one horn scrapping the metal ceiling of the train car. The scarred minotaur put it's enormous fists together, cracking his knuckles with a terrifying volume.

Tyrian picked up his battered body and snapped his profusely bleeding nose back into place with a pop.

"All right, big guy, let's see if that horn'll fit in your-" Tyrian's quip was cut off by another fist to his poor face.

"FUCK, OW, I WAS GOING TO SAY NOSE!" Tyrian held his face, his poor, poor face.

"All right that's it, no more mister nice guyyaaHHHH" The minotaur charged the smaller man, picking him up and ramming through the other side of the dining car.

Author's Note

All aboard the pain train!

Next stop, crippling injuries!