Control

The errant rays of sun that touched at her coat did not give her warmth. The moment his eyes closed and seizure took him, the world no longer mattered. The smell of the room left her nostrils as the blood seeped from his ears, the sound of her sister approaching was muted by the red liquid pouring from his nose. She felt the need to pull him closer into her embrace, but she knew that he needed help. She could hear, beyond the sounds of the world, his heartbeat was climbing higher... and then it stopped. A trickle of it dribbled down to his lip, and at the moment it made contact, she was spurred into action. Her sister was saying something, but it was too late, and the pair disappeared in a flash of light.

The pressure difference struck her ears as they popped, standing in the main hallway of Level One. She felt blind when they appeared, the difference in light throwing her into a daze. A murky fuzziness exploded across her vision. The distance of the teleportation added weight on her shoulders, as it had done before, but without a rest period she was feeling the full effects of the magical discharge. But that didn't matter. She propped her foreleg around his neck, and tried to pull him out of the corridor. Stars poured over her vision as the blood rushed out of her horn. There were no guards around. She screamed, The sound of her cry echoed down the hall, drawing ponies out from their rooms and offices to find the source. Concerned and scared eyes fell upon her, watching Luna writhe about in despair.

He was dying.

She teleported again, looking for the medical facility, a desperation in her eyes. She levitated him swiftly, galloping through the halls with a panicked urgency. She teleported down one level, then up again. The white halls and colored stripes did little to give her direction, the sound of her hooves on the floor and the heaviness of her heart the only sound she could hear. Her head felt light and her vision was clouding. She did not remember kicking down the door, nor did she remember the words she screamed when Liam began seizing. Pairs of hooves took him away and she collapsed, magical burnout quickly taking her to the floor.

Her lucidity returned in small portions. The telltale migraine associated with quick-magic burnout throbbed in her temples and the bridge of her muzzle. Her cyan eyes opened with uncoordinated movements, and she found herself interred within the same facility she struggled to find. The beds to her left and right were empty. She gazed down the row of beds, looking for the human she had grown fond of, only to find white linen sheets upon their mattresses. She looked down at her own blue-furred body and found medical apparatus attached to her, and a large light-blue gown draped over her form. The door opened, and she turned to face it.

The face of the older stallion was weary. His red eyes were tired.

"I see you're awake," he said slowly.

He walked in with stiff movements and levitated his coffee mug down on the counter, stretching his hindlegs.

"Liam... is he...?" she asked fearfully.

Neat Stitch sighed and rested on his haunches.

"He's alive, but... well, it's best you see him when you're feeling better."

Luna tried to push herself up, only to find Neat Stitch quickly throwing his hooves on her barrel and pushing her back into the bed. The fatigue in his face disappeared with an alert sternness. She tried to shove him away, but he leaned forward, resting on his hooves and leaning further upon her. She tried to maneuver around his hooves, but found herself sapped of all of her strength. The migraine and exhaustion were crippling, and her limbs felt heavy as they failed her. Her head drooped and she felt the urge to close her eyes as sleep took her.

"Please..." she murmured.

"Thou cannot detain us, Doctor," she said weakly.

Her bravado had no foundation to work upon. The pounding of her head worsened. It was there, a constant sensation that grew with every passing moment. Her breaths were labored as she tried to fight back against sleep and the migraine at the same time. Her mind wandered between black and white, and the world seemed to grow distant and fade away.

"You aren't leaving this bed until you've rested, you pushed yourself too far," he said. His voice brought her out of her disarray.

"Let us up, please," she pleaded. She struggled against his weight.

The older stallion shook his head slowly, "he's not in a good state and neither are you, you need rest."

The larger mare struggled against him for several minutes before giving in. He stood there silently for a few moments, holding her down. He dipped his head and pushed off of her gently, coming to the floor with a dull thud. His red eyes seemed to keep her gaze with great effort, as though he was fighting with something inside of himself. Luna closed her eyes for just a moment, the throes of magical fatigue trying to pull her back into a dreamless darkness. She fought against the sensation and found his face was one of remorse.

"He's... incapacitated, and we don't know if that's going to change," he said quietly.

The sentence terrified her. She felt tears coming to her eyes, but fought them back. She couldn't cry now, not while he was looking at her like that. She had to be strong for Liam. An instinctive and primal directive flooded her mind, commanding her to remain in-control, to make sure he was safe. She swallowed back her worries as best she could and set her jaw.

"Who commands the Bureau in his absence?"

He nodded towards her.

"Liam made it clear that you would be the Acting Director should any harm befall him."

She sat up slowly, fighting off the cloudiness in her nerves.

"Then We order you to let us see him," she said in strained conviction.

Stitch closed his eyes with a sharp breath. He swallowed and fixed her a warning look, as though trying to steer her from her course. Though, Luna could feel that he was just as frightened for his friend as she was.

"We've done everything we can for him, but we don't know what we're dealing with," he said quietly.

He shook his head.

"It's not good."

The smell of freshly cooked fish sailed upwards above the fire, griffon scouts lounging about around it, occasionally glancing to the trio of creatures they had captured. Gilda herself was perplexed by their appearances; something felt familiar about them, despite how alien they looked. Her talons tore a chunk from the cooked trout and plopped it into her mouth. The golden leaves of Sugar Maple Grove rustled quietly underneath the breeze, and she found her gaze drawn to the one that had the helmet. They confiscated all of their strange devices, and strange they were, very light materials and oddly shaped equipment that puzzled the Sergeant.

Attempts at communication fell promptly flat when both sides realized they could not understand each other, though a substantial effort was made through use of talon-signing and signals. Eventually, the detainees acquiesced to the rather crude signals for surrender, and there they sat, each tied down with the little rope the scouting parties carried with them.

Her beak curved into a smug smile as she noticed he was eyeing her food, the gray orbs fixed upon the half-eaten remains of her dish. A simple meal, but filling, and the creatures had no rations upon them. Given their state, wherever they had come from, they obviously had endured a rough time of it out in the wilderness. Their clothes were another peculiarity. Upon attempts at confiscation, the red-haired one physically fought back, throwing a punch at Private Lightfeather. The ensuing scuffle was quickly stopped, though a point was made regarding their garbs: do not touch, a lesson Private Lightfeather learned courtesy of a savage haymaker.

His bruised face and hungry eyes eventually roused something of pity in Gilda.

"Hungry, huh?"

He did not respond in any comprehensible way, saying something in his language. Gilda inferred that it was a positive response. The rest of the scouting party was off surveying Cobblerock for the next day or so, so surely she wouldn't be reprimanded for offering the beast a morsel of food.

After all, who was going to report her, Lightfeather? The Private could barely find the courage to stand on his hindpaws.

She rose from her spot with a catlike stretch, setting the plate down onto the leaves below. Her tail went rigid and upright, working out all the kinks as her wings expanded to their full breadth. Finally, with her overt display of freedom complete, she sauntered over to the bound ape-like creature, plate in-talon.

She noticed Lightfeather giving her a rather disgusted look from his perch, but upon meeting her eyes, he quickly turned around. Corporal Gilda took great satisfaction in watching the young recruit promptly change his attitude.

'Yeah, that's what I thought.'

Sweat dripped down his face as he cocked his head back, meeting her eyes with a rather defiant look. Gilda let out a harsh chuckle at the posturing, approaching unfazed. The creature had already demonstrated its prowess against Lightfeather, but it would not catch her unaware.

Or so she thought.

Within his palm behind his back, a small black dagger slowly cut apart the fibers of the rope binding his wrists.

He was pale. The lines of his face seemed to deepen under the sharp contrast of the light above, his head dipped forward and bathed in shadow. The gown he wore hung loosely about his form as he sat in the cell, completely still, unmoving and emotionless. The look upon his face and the dimness of his eyes belayed a sense of passivity, that same stillness in the very pupils. The sclera of his eye was no longer red, the hemorrhage having disappeared entirely, and his appearance seemed quite normal at a glance.

When one looked longer, they would notice that the walls were not painted red.

The gurney that he had been brought in upon became his throne, his gown hanging over the ledge, pale feet dangling above the ground. The IV stand beside him had become his scepter, standing beside him with multiple liquids hanging from it. The back of the gown splayed open as a thick protrusion of knotted veins and pulsing arteries shot out onto the floor, breaking apart into an indiscernible collection of capillaries and meaty wires that pooled on the floor and crawled up the walls. They slowly pulsed and climbed to the ceiling, the only parts untouched being the ceiling lamp and the ventilation duct.

The air was thick and heavy with a dull red fog, and glowing in that fog were two sigils on the backs of his hands, the flesh sewing and resewing itself over and over above the fiery runes. The golden light was dim in comparison to the lamp above, but Luna felt blinded as she looked upon the scene.

There he sat, unmoving, unflinching as the room around him became a part of himself.

Sunny Skies stood behind them in the observation room, a grim look upon his face. Neat Stitch stared into the room in equal parts disgust and horror, occasionally glancing back at Luna, finding her unblinking stare more unnerving than the supernatural display before them. Treble Tree looked as stoic as ever, though in the corners of his eyes, one could see a measure of grief. She did not speak when he pushed her wheelchair into the room, and she had not spoken since her eyes landed upon Liam. The tears in her eyes finally let themselves loose after a few moments, though nopony dared speak, nor move to comfort her. She did not vocalize her cries. Sunny gingerly moved towards her and placed Liam's security band on the hoofrest of the chair.

When the tears stopped, a bitter anguish descended upon Luna. She turned her head to Sunny.

"Thou art the commander of our armed forces, yes?"

He gave her a resolute nod.

"Yes, ma'am."

She looked back to Liam's rigid form, her eyes narrowing into vertical slits. Her coat became darker, and she felt flat teeth sharpen into fangs, slowly pushing over her upper lip. Sunny turned away, his heartbeat quickening.

"Prepare demonstrations of our combat capabilities, I want to see what our forces can do by tomorrow evening."

"Yes, Director Luna," he nodded to her.

She turned her head towards him. He turned away.

"What is your rank, Sunny Skies?"

He shuffled on his hooves.

"Captain, ma'am."

She remained silent and looked back to the window, staring at what was once Liam Webb.

"That name was given to me by a monster. I shall wear it no longer. You shall address me as Director Moon from this point forward, Captain Skies," she said resolutely.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Does anypony else know of Director Webb's condition?"

Both Sunny and Stitch exchanged glances.

"No, ma'am," he responded carefully.

"It shall remain so. Dismissed, Captain," she said quietly.

The scarred stallion needed no further direction as he promptly left the room. Once the door shut behind him, Nightmare Moon wept openly, her cries reverberating off of the walls. Stitch shut his eyes and leaned against the wall, her wailing pulling apart his heart. He was not unfamiliar with the sound of grieving family, stallions and mares losing parents over the years, stillborn foals clutched in despairing forelegs, but the sound of the former princess crying was unique in its chilling timbre.

He looked over to find her head in her hooves, her body succumbing to wild sobs and spasms in her wheelchair. He felt a mistiness in his own red eyes and tried to blink it away. He did not know the nature of their relationship, but given the display before him, they had to have been close.

He felt the need to leave the room, but he knew there would be questions. He wanted to fold himself over his desk and sleep away this moment. Nightmare Moon gained temporary control of herself, sniffling and raising her head to look at him. Her lip quivered and she turned to Stitch.

"What happened? Is this a curse?"

Stitch shook his head with a sigh.

"We don't know. His heart was stopped when we got him on the table, then... this," he gestured to the room.

"Is he... is he still alive?"

Stitch looked unsure.

"Technically, but I don't know that he's in there. He's been unresponsive for hours, hasn't blinked or moved or anything."

Nightmare Moon screwed her eyes shut. The accursed text did this. She could feel it in her core. Her Father did this to Liam. Her eyes opened with violent purpose, a hateful snarl passing her lips. The migraine intensified and she shook in her chair, hooves twitching and a sneer ripping apart her muzzle.

"Mister Treble, bring Discord to... my office. I wish to speak with him post-haste, and send word to the Changeling Chrysalis as well. I must meet with her as well."

Neat Stitch's eyes widened at the statement, but saw Treble had nodded nonetheless. He left the room as quickly as Sunny did, though his head dipped back in, mustache perched on pursed lips.

"How do you like your coffee, ma'am?"

She gave him a dreadful look. He interpreted that as black, no sugar. He left.

"Doctor," she began, trailing off. She took the band on the hoofrest.

"Yes, Director Moon?"

Her sorrowful eyes stared into his.

"Is he in pain?"

Stitch fixed his red-eyed stare upon the former human. He didn't know. Blood vessels ripping through the skin in such a manner was likely a very painful process, but the lack of reaction from the patient and the pace at which it spread didn't communicate much. The whole thing was unnatural, and were this to happen to a pony, he would imagine their nerve-endings to send relevant signals to the brain.

He opted for an honest answer.

"I don't know."

Neither of them took comfort from in that. They stared awhile longer at Liam before she stood from the wheelchair, slowly walking out of the room, a heaviness upon her shoulders that she could not shake. She resolved to find a way to undo this curse, no matter the course. Stitch stayed, watching his patient in all of his horrifying glory, before he too departed.

When the door closed, Liam's eye twitched.

The creature seemed remarkably alert during the night. The other two, the plump one and the frail one, had both fallen asleep sitting against the trees behind them. The plump one's loud snoring cracked on through the night, drowning out the fizzling and the popping of embers from the fire. Lightfeather too was calling back with his own snoring, resting in a tree across from the fire. But not him. Gilda recognized the sharpness in his eyes, having seen it in her own flock.

He had the eyes of a warrior, and despite his captivity, he was still looking out for his roost.

His uniform became stranger and more interesting as she inspected it. The gray clothing he wore was tough, almost like a canvas material. She recalled that Rainbow Dash had once worn a saddlebag of its caliber. That brief memory was quickly stashed away as turbulent emotions threatened to surface, so she set herself back to inspecting the beast. His plume was cut short, just a patch of red atop his pale scalp, with the barest evidence of more to come on the sides of his head and his face. The longer she looked, the more she thought him similar to an ape, or a monkey.

"What are you?"

He did not reply.

Her eyes went over to the collection of strange gear they had confiscated from the group, various black shapes and gray objects piled atop each other. One object caught her attention, however, a long and curved block with another curling out underneath it at an angle. There was a thin metal arc that housed a smaller crescent, a few red markings on the side. She stretched an arm out and plucked it from the pile, holding it in her talon.

It was fairly heavy, perhaps fashioned of metals and dense materials. As she inspected it, she noticed two evenly spaced dots at the rear of the object, finding that the gap between them accurately housed a small post at the end of the length. Gilda realized that these constructions were not insignificant, and as her eye lined up the posts, she recognized their purpose.

It was an aiming mechanism, much like those on artisan crossbows.

Her head snapped back. They were armed, to an extent she did not know, but they were armed nonetheless. She glanced over at the warrior, finding his eyes were on hers with a sense of alarm. She looked back to the weapon, then found her talon fit around the offshoot rather well. It was a grip, and likely, the crescent was a bolt-release.

"What kinda weapon is this?"

The creature muttered something, and when she looked to him, he shook his head and nodded it towards the pile. She frowned at him and continued fiddling with the device. She rested a claw upon the trigger and the creature raised his voice slightly. He shook his head again, eyes wide in warning. She turned towards him and ruffled her feathers.

"What are you trying to say?"

He babbled incomprehensibly.

She acknowledged the inherent danger of the unknown weapon, but curiosity burned inside her breast, and she knew she needed to test it. The frail creature began to stir as the warrior spoke, and she soon began to repeat what the male was saying. Gilda grew frustrated and pointed the device at the wooden plate she had eaten upon.

She lined up the sights, and despite the protests of the creature, slowly depressed the trigger.

A sharp crack cut through the air, and with it, a blinding white light burst from the end of the device. She flinched and blinked, letting out a yowl in surprise. The once-sleeping Lightfeather promptly fell from the tree he was resting in and landed on the ground with a deep thud. He sluggishly pulled his sword from his scabbard and looked into the darkness, breathing fast and shaking. Her hearing had been washed away with a faint whine, Lightfeather's panicked speech muffled by the ringing.

She blinked and looked at the plate, finding little more than splinters. Her hearing began to return.

"What was that?" Lightfeather asked in a shrill voice. He looked away from her and off into the trees.

Instead of answering him, she began to laugh at the shocked look on his face, his beak dipped open in a rather dumb-looking manner. Then, when she began to turn back to the creature, the knife was pressed against her throat and a hand wrenched her beak shut. The warriors eyes looked into hers with an implicit warning. She drew in a sharp inhale through her nares as he quickly threw her scabbard to the ground.

"Gilda!"

Lightfeather crouched low, sword in talon, eyes wide in terror. The creature was free, and before Gilda could turn the weapon on him, it was already taken from her. She was taken to the ground and the knife pressed tighter against her throat. Her heart thrummed in her chest as the other creatures began nervously yammering away.

"Let her go!"

The creature pointed the weapon towards Lightfeather and kept the knife on Gilda. She hadn't felt fear like that since she was a hatchling. Her vision clouded as tears came to her eyes. Before Lightfeather could move, Gilda heard something over the ringing. A horrible wail, distorted and broken, from off in the distance. It echoed over the trees and through the forest, immediately silencing all of them.

She did not recognize the sound, but it filled her with a deep sense of dread all-the-same.

The plump creature began to talk, but the warrior silenced him with one word. His eyes were wider now, scanning the trees. He looked down to Gilda and pulled the knife from her throat slowly. She took in a breath as he stood, towering over her, watching the periphery. He threw the knife back towards the other creatures and made a gesture to Lightfeather, pointing to it with a finger. He cut his palm across the air horizontally.

Lightfeather realized he wanted him to put out the fire. Before he could protest, another wail broke the silence. Gilda looked to the bound creatures and found the frail one had already freed herself, working on the binds of the plump one. The plump one drew in fast breaths as fear gripped him and the frail one was whispering something to him. Lightfeather began to throw dirt into the fire, the orange glow dimming and dimming with each kick while the warrior fixed a large mask to his face.

The leaves nearby rustled, and all was silent again, save for the faint whispering of the wind. Gilda looked up to the creature and it very slowly crept back. Something burst forward from the opposite side of camp, and Gilda could see Lightfeather leap away in panic as a whip-like appendage cracked through the air. It collided with the side of the tree he had been sleeping in, bark exploding outwards into fragments and splinters.

Lightfeather let out a shout, sword slipping from his grip and going to the ground. Gilda reached out to it, just a short distance away, and gasped as she saw a blur of fingers yank it from the underbrush. The creature ran forward with intense speed, closing the distance with the unseen opponent, only wet orange reflections on its body served as indication it stood there. More concussive cracks exploded from the device in his hand as he charged forward, while the enemy responded with another swing of the whip. She could smell blood as wind rushed over her, the whip mere inches from touching her. The fire surged as leaves were sent flying into it, and she saw Lightfeather's skull explode as white barbs on its end cleaved it apart.

When the weapon cracked again, she saw the monster, only a glimpse. Whatever it was now, she knew it had once been the Sergeant, and there was nothing left of him within it. The warrior sliced at the tail, repurposed into a bone-barbed whip, cutting it free and sending it sailing past the glow of the fire. The weapon in his hand did not crack when he depressed the trigger, but that did not stop him, and he dived forwards with a muffled snarl. Her sword seemed small in his hand, but he used it to brutal effect, the ragged and wet breathing of the monster drawing to a close as the creature hacked away at it.

When it quieted down, only the sick thumping of sword against bone was heard. Gilda stood shakily and watched as the creature turned back to face her, wiping off the blood onto the Sergeant's feathers, looking more akin to a nightmare than anything else. She looked to Lightfeather's crumpled body, his beak shattered and his eyes bulging from their sockets. She gagged. Her instincts screamed for her to take flight, to run, to be anywhere but here. He said something to the other creatures, and the light from the fire died down as the plump one threw more dirt onto it. The frail one collected their gear. The warrior approached Gilda and she could not move.

Gilda felt a weight against her chest and found her sword pressing into her feathers. The creature looked down to her and nodded, his gaze behind his mask penetrating and deeply serious.

They had to leave.

They had become prey.

Author's Note

So sorry for how long this chapter has taken. Recently, my drive has taken a rather steep nosedive, exacerbated by the progression of the plot. To make a long story short, I realized that my reveal last chapter was something I should've saved for later. I've had to pick apart the storyline and the timeline a bunch of times over to get it into a place I want.

I'm also overthinking how I want this story to go, but I'd take overthinking over underthinking, if that makes sense.

Hopefully I get the next one out sooner, and I'll see you there for the release,
Caspian