The Equestrian Godfathers

The front line meant nothing to him. He was looking on the mage. The source of that blood sent a rage burning through him, pushing him back near to that state, when he shattered his mind and lost everything but his anger. He flatly ignored the ropes and nets of the front line, busting through them without concern for what the action did to his body.

The mage at the back of the line poured out some of the blood on his hand and smeared a series of runes onto the ground, sending the earth rippling and warping, blocks of ground shooting upward, cracking and crumbling after the initial thrust. The unstable nature of the blood magic was inaccurate, striking some of the troops just a bit, while Old Timer manage to dodge or deflect them with surges of his own magic.

The mage poured out more blood, desperately scribing his runes while the soldiers ringed him. They didn't even bother sending others to keep pursuing the other escapees. As had been predicted, they had to respond to any attack by doubling down and stopping the one that threatened their egoistic sense of superiority.

The blood magic sent out more blocks of earth and created powerful gales, whipping sand and large clods from the disintegrating pillars of earth that still failed to hit Old Timer. He stabbed them in the throats or in exposed areas with the needle-sharp tines of his stun-stick, even as their swords slashed at his flesh. The cutting grit and shaking earth vitiated their capabilities, leaving just enough space between the ones he hadn't downed to shove through.

Blood splashed all around, runes ground into the blood-moistened earth, the caribou practically clawing the runes into being. The air warped, roiled and then flashed, bursting into a huge wall of flame between the mage and the crazed stallion, catching a couple of the fathest, armored soldiers unawares. He smiled cruelly as the waving wall of magical fire licked across the Old Timer's body, blistering his skin and searing off his fur.

The smile fell when Old Timer actually pushed through the wall, barely alive but still surging forward to the mage. His desperate scrabbling of more runes halted when the flame-licked stun-stick rammed into his chest, over his heart. The sharpened gem tines pierced his painted flesh and stopped at his ribs. Old Timer's sightless eyes locked with the mage's pained gaze.

Just as he hit the activator to send a fatal jolt across his desperately beating heart, the dying Old Timer grunted out, “In her name.”