Jinx sauntered through the winding halls of Fort Rapture, his hooves clacking against the pristine white floors, the sound stark against the stillness of the fortress. The black, pulsating substance that filled the cracks in the walls gave the place an eerie vitality. He snickered to himself, the chaotic energy of the place suiting his temperament perfectly, even if it wasn’t his idea of a fun time to babysit a fortress. Vex was off somewhere, likely scheming, and had left Jinx to "look after the place," which really meant trying not to burn it down in boredom.

He adjusted his tattered jester's hat, the bells jingling softly as he meandered to where the hulking Shadow Brutes were gathered. Their towering, obsidian-like forms loomed over him, their spiraling horns gleaming with an unsettling radiance. What caught his attention, though, was the bizarre behavior they were displaying. Instead of the guttural growls and fragmented sentences they typically uttered, they were making noises that almost resembled singing.

Jinx tilted his head, his wild black mane falling into his face. “Hah! Who knew you lot had it in ya? A regular shadowy choir, eh?” he quipped, his high-pitched voice carrying a manic glee. One of the Brutes turned its gleaming horned head toward him, the sound halting momentarily before they resumed, as if unbothered by his presence.

He rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine, ignore the star of the show. See if I care.” He skipped along, the chaotic energy in his step clashing with the grim efficiency of the fortress.

At the guardhouse, he stumbled upon the Shadow Swarmers dropping off their loot. Their glossy, semi-liquid forms shimmered with each movement, the glowing white eyes in their shells pulsating rhythmically. As more Brutes shuffled over to sort the weapons and armor into neat piles, Jinx leaned against the doorway, tapping a hoof impatiently.

“Y’know, this whole operation’s a little too neat for my liking,” he muttered. “Where’s the mayhem? The pizzazz? The—what’s the word?—chaos!” He emphasized the last word with a dramatic sweep of his hoof, startling a Swarmer that skittered off in a hurry.

He yawned exaggeratedly, peering into the gloom. “Now, where are those spider freaks? Arachnia’s crew, what do they call ‘em? The Creepy Crawlers? The Webhead Wonders?” He laughed to himself before muttering, “Seriously, where are they?”

With a flick of his tail, Jinx trotted off deeper into the fortress, his mind racing with possibilities. The Nightrüne were an effective bunch, but their sudden shift toward...organization? That was unsettling. Still, it wasn’t his problem—at least not until Vex got back.

“Let’s just hope the spider squad hasn’t decided to start redecorating,” he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I don't think I could handle that kind of creativity around here."

Jinx groaned dramatically, his horn sparking with chaotic energy as he muttered, “Of course, it’s always the sneaky types that leave no trail. Can’t make it easy for ol’ Jinx, now can we?” He concentrated, weaving a spell in his jagged, erratic style. The air shimmered as a distorted, greenish light pulsed outward, latching onto faint hoofprints. Most belonged to the Brutes, Minotaurs, and even hulking Mountain Trolls, but finally, a set of prints far more refined and deliberate emerged. The distinctive punctures from spurred hooves and faint claw marks left by spider legs led the way.

“Bingo,” Jinx chirped, setting off with an exaggerated skip.

The trail led him to an isolated building tucked against the fortress wall, the air thick with the pungent aroma of herbs and the acrid tang of molten metal. Strange magical runes flickered faintly across the doorway, and inside, the rhythmic clang of metal striking metal echoed. Jinx peeked through the cracked door, spotting Arachnia.

She was rifling through tomes and throwing metal bars around in what looked like organized chaos. Her six spider legs, glistening with dark gray material and purple joints, moved with eerie precision, grabbing items and placing them into strange patterns. Her glowing redish purple eyes were focused, but the jagged horn on her forehead sparked with faint irritation.

Without a second thought, Jinx swung the door wide open. “Whatcha doing?” he asked in his high-pitched, singsong tone.

Arachnia let out a startled hiss, her spider legs latching onto the ceiling as she vaulted up, her glowing eyes narrowing with both surprise and disdain. “Jinx!” she snapped, her voice dripping venom. “What in the abyss are you doing here?”

He grinned, unbothered by her tone. “Vexy-boy put me in charge while he’s off doing whatever it is he does. Thought I’d do a little tour, make sure everything’s shipshape. But you—” he gestured wildly with his hoof, “—were nowhere to be found. And your creepy crawly minions? Poof! Vanished! What’s up with that?”

Arachnia sighed, descending from the ceiling with a mix of annoyance and grace. “Of course you couldn’t find them. That’s the point. They’re supposed to be invisible, unnoticed, doing the things that need doing while idiots like you bumble around.”

Jinx gave a mock gasp, clutching his chest. “Oh, the pain! The insult! How will I ever recover?” His grin returned almost instantly. “So, how am I supposed to find them if they’re all... poof?”

“Tough luck,” Arachnia said flatly, her spider legs folding neatly behind her. “Maybe get your oh-so-glorious boss to sort it out for you. Not my problem.”

Jinx tilted his head, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Speaking of which, why are you even here? You don’t exactly seem like Vex’s number-one fangirl.”

Arachnia chuckled darkly, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Vex? That impulsive, egotistical warmonger? He’s a jerk, a tyrant, and an absolute nightmare to work with.” Her voice softened into a purr as her glowing eyes narrowed mischievously. “But damn if I’m not a sucker for tall, dark, and evil.”

Jinx recoiled, making a gagging noise. “Blegh! You’re weird. Like, really weird. Inside and out.”

Arachnia smirked, her jagged horn sparking faintly. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Jinx paused in the doorway, smirking over his shoulder. "I’ll just find them like I found you, spider legs. You’re the queen bee—er, spider—so the rest should be easy peasy!” He started to saunter off, bells jingling with each exaggerated step.

Arachnia rolled her glowing eyes and called after him, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Oh, and Jinx! Give Vex a big kiss for me next time you see him!” She winked and swayed her hips for emphasis, her spider legs moving in unison to make the motion unnervingly graceful.

Jinx froze mid-step, his ears twitching in horror. “Blegh! No! Stop! That’s so wrong!” he shouted, shuddering visibly before breaking into a full gallop, his cackling laughter echoing as he disappeared around the corner.

The room fell silent save for the faint crackle of the forge, but then a faint shimmer emerged from the shadows above. A figure dropped down beside Arachnia, its form resolving into a sleek and menacing presence. It wore a pale white mask resembling a spider’s face, its dark purple eyes gleaming with malicious intelligence. The dark purple cloak draped over its form concealed much of its pale purple armor, but its aura of danger was unmistakable.

The creature’s voice was low and smooth. “Do you want me to deal with the clown?” it asked, the disdain for Jinx evident in its tone.

Arachnia chuckled, an evil grin spreading across her face. “No, no… not yet. But I do want you to tell the others to mess with him. You know what to do.” Her grin widened, her jagged horn sparking faintly as she envisioned the chaos to come.

The minion nodded, its form shimmering briefly before vanishing into thin air.

Arachnia turned back to her forge, her grin remaining as she muttered to herself, “Let’s see how well the jester dances when the web tightens.”

Jinx trotted along the trail of hoofprints, his jagged horn glowing like a flickering flashlight. The chaotic green light illuminated the ground, showing the faint impressions left behind. “Weird hoofprints, weird spider legs, weird everything. Why does it always have to be weird?” he muttered, rolling his eyes.

The trail was straightforward at first, leading him through the fortress corridors. He paused occasionally to inspect the surroundings, only to find more faint impressions and scratches. His bells jingled faintly as he hopped over debris left by the Swarmers and Brutes earlier.

Then, the trail stopped abruptly at a wall.

Jinx frowned, his head tilting. “Oh, come on,” he said, tapping his hoof against the wall. His horn cast more light upward, revealing that the trail didn’t end—it went straight up the wall.

He craned his neck back, his jaw dropping as the glowing prints seemed to dance up the vertical surface, then split into three different paths. One set of tracks continued up the wall toward the ceiling. Another veered off to the left, clinging to the side of the wall. The third casually ambled to the right, as if defying gravity was just a casual stroll.

Jinx’s jaw went limp. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Who even does this?” He waved his hoof at the paths in exasperation. “What are they, ninja-spider-horse things? Ugh!”

He sat down with a dramatic sigh, scratching his mane under his tattered jester hat. “Alright, Jinx, think. You’ve got three choices, and all of them are a pain in the flank. Up, left, or right? What’s it gonna be?” His hoof hovered in the air like he was about to play eeny, meeny, miny, moe with himself.

His chaotic grin returned as he sparked his horn to life again. “Well, when in doubt, go up! Up is fun, up is unpredictable!” He leaned closer to the wall, his hooves sparking with a little chaotic magic as he prepared to scale it. “But if I run into another one of those creepy spider-drones, I’m gonna prank it into next week…”

With a manic cackle, Jinx began his ascent, determined to follow the most absurd path he could.

Thunderhide’s hooves pounded against the crumbling stone of the Ever-Stretching Path, the long-forgotten road that wound its way through the forgotten lands of his people. The ancient stones, cracked and worn, were all that remained of the once-great kingdom that had fallen to ruin, a distant memory now buried under the weight of time and overgrowth. The thick forest on either side seemed to close in around him as he walked, the sound of his heavy steps echoing in the eerie silence, save for the occasional screech of a bird or the rustle of leaves in the wind.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting the world in shades of gold and amber. Thunderhide’s glowing amber eyes stared ahead, yet his thoughts were far from the path before him. The weight of the world hung heavy on his broad shoulders, his thoughts consumed by the choices he had made. The familiar warmth of the sun was no comfort; instead, it only reminded him of the legacy he carried—the bloodline of his tribe, the honor of his people. And the question that gnawed at his mind: Had he abandoned his brothers in their time of need? The thought lingered like a shadow, unwilling to leave.

“They’ll never let me forget it,” he muttered under his breath, his voice rough, as though the words had been dragged from deep within his chest. His fingers absent-mindedly traced the runic tattoos etched into his arms, symbols of a heritage that tied him to his ancestors. Those markings should have brought pride, but now they felt like chains, reminders of the duty he had yet to fulfill.

Thunderhide’s mind wandered back to the moment that had shattered everything. Tradition had demanded it—when a warrior’s kin fell in battle, they must run, preserving the bloodline. It was a law as old as time itself, passed down through generations. And yet, no tale had ever spoken of the shame that followed. The shame of leaving your brothers to die while you ran. The whispers of the tribe, the glares of those who questioned his resolve. They didn’t know the truth. They didn’t know that Thunderhide had not chosen to run—he had been forced to.

But now, the path had brought him here, back to his people. Back to a decision that could shape the future of the tribe. The sound of smoke rising on the horizon broke his reverie, the scent of burning wood and campfires wafting toward him. A strange comfort washed over him. The smell of home. His pace quickened, the heavy thud of his hooves resonating in the stillness. His people were waiting.

As he rounded the final bend, the camp came into view—his tribe, his kin, gathered around the familiar tents and fire pits. Minotaurs milled about, going about their daily tasks, while others sat in quiet conversation. The sight should have brought him joy, but all he could feel was the weight of his decisions pressing on him.

His arrival didn’t go unnoticed. Several familiar faces looked up, their eyes lighting up with recognition. A few greeted him with hearty slaps on the back, others nodded in silence. But there was no warmth in their gestures, only a quiet scrutiny, as if they were waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And then, there he was. The chieftain. Thunderhide's heart skipped a beat as the towering figure of the tribe’s leader approached. The chieftain’s battle-worn armor shimmered in the fading light, the intricate markings of the tribe standing out in stark contrast against the weathered leather. His sharp gaze scanned the scene, pausing only when it fell on Thunderhide. A heavy silence settled over the tribe as the chieftain stepped forward, his voice cutting through the quiet.

"Where are your brothers, Thunderhide?" The chieftain's voice was deep and resonant, carrying far despite the lack of volume. The question hung in the air like a challenge, a demand for an answer. And as his eyes flicked over the gathered warriors, they, too, turned their gaze to Thunderhide—expecting an answer.

Thunderhide felt the weight of their stares bearing down on him. He stood tall, his posture unwavering, despite the storm brewing within. He took a deep breath and began, his voice steady but carrying the weight of everything he had endured.

"They're not here," he said, his tone low but firm. "After we raided a pony settlement, we were captured by a Diamond Dog warlord. Slaves, for four days." His words landed like a punch, the memories of chains, betrayal, and helplessness flooding back in an instant. The tribe’s warriors shifted uneasily, murmurs spreading through the camp like wildfire. Their eyes narrowed, questioning, as if they weren’t sure whether to believe him or to pass judgment.

"But we broke free," Thunderhide continued, the fire of his resolve sparking in his chest. "With the help of a few slaves. We fought back, took what we needed, and escaped. But fate had other plans. We ran into another warlord. A bastard named Crystallus. And, once again, we were captured. Enslaved. But this time… something changed."

The chieftain’s eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable as Thunderhide spoke. The murmurs around the camp quieted, each warrior hanging on his every word.

"We were saved," Thunderhide said, his voice growing stronger. "By a demon. His name is Vex. He gave us the power to fight back. And we did. We took over Crystallus’s camp. We made a deal with him, though I don’t know the details. I don’t need to know. What matters is that Vex gave us the strength to survive."

The tribe’s warriors exchanged uneasy glances, the name Vex heavy in the air. Thunderhide could see their doubts, their wariness. They weren’t fond of demons, but Thunderhide knew this was the truth.

"We were betrayed. The warlord sent a war golem to finish us off, but we escaped. We were thrown through some kind of portal. And we ended up at Fort Rapture." Thunderhide’s jaw clenched as he remembered the chaos of that night, the fire, the blood, the taste of victory. "We took it. We conquered it. And now… Vex has his sights set on Crystallus. He wants to make things right. And I’m here to offer you the choice I made: Join Vex's army. Or stay as his subjects. Either way, the tribe grows. We gain power. We gain glory. And we gain a future."

The chieftain was silent for a long moment, his eyes studying Thunderhide with a piercing intensity. The warriors around them remained equally silent, the weight of Thunderhide’s words settling over the camp like a storm cloud. Thunderhide stood tall, his heart hammering in his chest. This was it—the moment that would determine the tribe’s fate.

Finally, the chieftain spoke, his voice a gravelly chuckle that held no humor. "You always did have a way of making decisions that no one could predict, Thunderhide," he said. His tone shifted, becoming harder, colder. "But your choice… it’s bold. And maybe it’s the best we’ve got."

Thunderhide exhaled, a sense of relief flooding him, but the chieftain wasn’t finished.

"I won’t make this decision alone," the chieftain said, his voice rising. "The tribe will decide. We’ll talk. But we’ll listen, Thunderhide. And you will answer for your choices."

Thunderhide’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “I’ll answer for whatever comes. I stand by what I’ve done.”

The chieftain studied him for a long moment before turning to address the tribe. His voice rang out, strong and commanding. "Gather around. We’ve got decisions to make."

The tribe murmured restlessly, their voices like a low rumble of thunder as they gathered in the open circle. The air was thick with tension, uncertainty hanging like a storm cloud waiting to burst. Thunderhide stood in the center, his eyes unwavering, watching as his people debated fiercely around him. His stomach churned with the knowledge that, no matter how strong his conviction, he couldn’t control what would come next. The tribe's future was now in their hands, not his.

The chieftain raised a hand, silencing the crowd, his expression grim. "Enough," he rumbled, his voice carrying authority despite the uncertainty in his tone. "We’ve heard Thunderhide’s tale. Now, we will speak of it. Speak of what’s to come."

One of the older warriors, a towering bull named Brak, snorted in contempt. "Vex is a demon. An outsider, one who doesn't understand our ways. We've been enslaved once, and now we're supposed to follow him?" His hooves scraped the ground, a sign of his frustration. "We are minotaurs, freeborn. To bow before anyone, even for glory, is to abandon what we've stood for. Our people fought for their freedom, their pride, their autonomy. This Vex may offer power, but at what cost?"

The crowd murmured in agreement, but another warrior, Torak, a younger, more ambitious minotaur, slammed his fist against the stone ground. "We are nothing but savages in the eyes of the world. The kingdom is gone, and we are left to raid and scrape by for scraps. This Vex... he offers us a chance to rise. To rebuild. To make our tribe into something more. We could become a clan, a force that the world fears, not scorns."

"Fear isn't respect," Brak spat back, his eyes flashing with anger. "You think Vex can make us legendary? He’ll use us, just like the last warlord. We’re his tools, nothing more. And when his plans fail, where will we be? Dead, or worse. Slaves once more."

"But what if he succeeds?" Torak's voice was pleading, his eyes alight with the dream of something greater. "If he brings back our warriors, if he helps us reclaim our honor... We could be more than what we are now. We could finally earn respect, not through blood and terror, but through power, through might. They would fear our name again."

"You don’t understand," Brak growled, his hooves stamping. "We’ve lost too much to trust a demon. Even if he can bring back our warriors, what will he demand in return? Our very souls? Our freedom? No deal’s worth that."

The chieftain, ever calm, raised his hand again. "Brak speaks of our freedom. But Torak speaks of our future. And therein lies the heart of this decision. We can continue as we are, wanderers and raiders, or we can gamble on Vex’s vision. But there is a price."

"One that may be worth it," said a quiet voice from the back. It was Gaul, a female warrior, her hooves strong and steady, her voice cutting through the arguments like a blade. "We’ve already lost much. Our king. Our God. Our honor. All gone with the fall of the kingdom. We raid, we fight, we survive, but... Is that enough?" She looked at Thunderhide, her eyes full of conflicted thoughts. "If Vex could bring us to glory, if he could bring back our brothers and make us a force that even the kingdom would fear, is that not a worthy cause?"

Her words seemed to hang in the air, a challenge to both sides. Several warriors exchanged uncertain glances, the seeds of doubt sown in their minds. Gaul’s voice was steady, filled with a quiet power that resonated with many of them.

The chieftain let the silence settle for a long while. He could see the tribe’s doubts, their desires, their conflicting needs. They craved glory, but they feared losing their identity. They craved power, but they feared being slaves to another’s will.

Finally, the chieftain spoke again, his voice low but resolute. "We have lost much. Our God. Our king. Our honor. But we are still here. We are still minotaurs. And what we decide now, Thunderhide, will be the course of our future. We are not foolish enough to follow blindly, nor are we weak enough to cower in the shadows forever. If Vex can bring back our warriors, if he can show us the path to power and respect, then we will follow him. But if he fails... we will show him the price of failure."

Thunderhide's heart tightened in his chest. The decision was clear now. It wasn’t just about his future, or even the future of the tribe—it was about their legacy. They had already given up on so much. Could they truly risk everything for one final chance at glory?

"Then it’s settled," the chieftain said, his voice final. "Vex will have our allegiance, but only if he succeeds. If he fails, Thunderhide will stand by his side on the spike. And we will make sure no one forgets the price of betrayal."

Thunderhide's eyes hardened, and for the first time, he felt the weight of their decision settle fully on his shoulders. There was no turning back now. He had led them here, and he would stand by Vex through this war, no matter the cost. But the chieftain’s words echoed in his mind: If he fails… Thunderhide knew the stakes. He couldn’t allow that to happen. He wouldn’t allow it.

"Agreed," Thunderhide said, his voice deep and unwavering. "We stand together. In victory, or in defeat, we will face the consequences. And we will not be forgotten."

The tribe let out a low murmur of approval, some with hesitation, others with quiet excitement. They were taking a gamble, but it was the only choice that made sense. The only choice left for a people who had already lost so much.

As Thunderhide turned and began to walk away, heading toward the distant fort where Vex awaited, he felt the tribe’s eyes on him. Their future was now intertwined with his, and with Vex’s success or failure. The path forward was uncertain, but one thing was clear: the legacy of the minotaurs would be forged in the fires of this war, and nothing would ever be the same again.

Author's Note

Hey everyone, Trashmanic here! Chapter 16 of The Shadows We INHERIT is up! In this one, we get a closer look at how Jinx and Thunderhide are handling the task that Vex set before them. Originally, I had plans for the Grand Galloping Gala arc to take place around this time, but I’ve decided to shift focus. I want Vex to be more established as a warlord first, so this arc is going to delve into the Minotaur Kingdom and give us some much-needed character development. Hope you all enjoy this change of pace!