Behold the Light—It Beckons

“Oh aye, a blood moon? We’ve nawt seen thos’ ‘cept when… ahm… Moony’s been ‘round, nay?” Ever the mare to lack subtly, Dainty blurted the very thought that occupied the minds of everyone but dared not openly admit. Still, she spoke the truth.

Light looked over at his closest friend, locking eyes with him. “Yes, those are the only other times in recorded history.” The statement rode dangerously close to outright claiming that Nightmare Moon had returned. In a way, he worded it that way to test the emotional volatility of his friend. It was foolish to test, knowing that uttering the statement held inherent risk of sparking agitation from him.

“Nightmare Moon’s gone, Light!” Stormy retorted with a huff. “That mare was defeated by the Elements, and there’s nothin’ more to it than that!”

“Easy now, Stormy,” Light said, bobbing a hoof in benignly. Precisely the reaction he suspected, Light both secretly felt satisfied to be proven correct yet regretful that he had not elected for a more tactful approach. Though it did satisfy him that he had received a reaction from Stormy. He continued: “I think it is fair to recognize that it is both strange to see a Blood Moon again, and that the only other instances it has appeared in history were both during Nightmare Moon’s… visitations. Other than that, we do not know what is going on.” A daring game of implication, yet plausible deniability.

Stormy stared for a moment longer, his steeled face barely hiding his combativeness, before he turned aside and let out a huff of frustration. “Alright, fine, but maybe this is just Luna gettin’ really angry or somethin’.” Ah, the comfort of the unknown—anything could be possible, no? It was only natural for one to bristle in defense of his world view.

“There was an explosion at the stage, right?” Page interjected, glancing from pony to pony. “No way that could’ve been an accident. Sabotage, or…” He trailed off, silently implying the alternative.

“Wot, ye thinkin’ assassination?” Dainty put in, once again breaking through the hesitations of “polite” conversation.

Alderberry scoffed and stepped forward. “Who’d be stupid enough to try to…” He shook his head in obvious disbelief. “Who’d be crazy enough to try regicide?”

Page echoed with his own scoffing huff. “A racis—“

“Enough!” Light interjected, stomping a hoof down. It was one thing to imply action, another to flagrantly assign blame. “There is no benefit to idle speculation. Something terrible has occurred, and we have another Blood Moon. We can assume with high certainty that there will be trouble in our future, but for now we know very little. Our best course of action is to seek out more information about what happened in Manehattan.”

“Ah can pop thru’ t’ stations fer anotha signal, aye?” Dainty offered. “Reckon somepon’s got t’ave somthin’ ‘bout th’ explosion on t’waves.”

“It is worth an attempt,” Light agreed.

“Hang up,” Page said, looking at Light in bewilderment, “what’s she doing? I didn’t understand that… at all.”

“Ah says ah’m gonna pop thru’ th’ stations fer—“

“Dainty,” Light cut in, “not all of us are blessed with an understanding of your delightfully unique accent.” He winked at the burly mare.

Dainty blinked, then let out a chortle and landed a solid pat on Page’s back. “Giv’ i’time, y’ll pick oop on i’, luv!”

“Ack!” Page exhaled as the heavy hoof made contact with his back. “Yeah,” he wheezed, “don’t have her strength either.”

The rest of the group all snickered at the sight, and Dainty giggled again, moving over to the radio to begin carefully tuning through the stations.

“Well,” Light said, letting out a huff, “while Dainty fiddles with the radio in hopes of finding another live station with news“—he winked at Page, who rolled his eyes—“I intend to pay a visit to the naval base in hopes they still have a connection with any of the military bases in Manehattan. Perhaps they will have more information.”

There was a collective nodding of acknowledgment from the group, save one pony. Page darted a glance between everyone. “You all are taking this rather calmly, given there was an attempt on Princess Luna’s life.”

Stormy shrugged in response. “What’d you have us do about it outside what we’re doin’ now? Not like we can do much about it.”

“Or that panicking would solve,” Alderberry added.

Page opened his mouth to respond, paused, then let out a long sigh. “Fair.”

Light Shine gave a final nod to the conversation, content to finish it and move on. “Right then. Dainty, I will leave you to your attempts. Alderberry, I know you have your family stationed here with you; do you want to return to them?”

Alderberry offered a single, practiced nod. “Yes, sir, I would. I don’t see much use for me to stick around. If something does happen, you’ll let me know? Sir.”

“Certainly.” Light gestured to the front door with his muzzle. “Off you go, Commander!”

Alderberry saluted, then made his exit.

“Stormy, would you care to join me?”

His friend nodded. “Makes sense to me. I should check in with my crew anyhow.”

Light looked over at Page. “I would offer for you to join us, but given the circumstances, I know they will not allow a civilian on base. You are, however, welcome to stay and keep Dainty company.”

“Oh, uh,” Page darted a glance over at Dainty, who beamed a disarming, childish smile, “yeah, I guess that’s fine. Don’t have anywhere else to be. Wait, you don’t have a telephone?”

Light bobbed his head. “Oh, I do indeed possess one, but given how close my suite is to the naval base, I would rather inquire in person.” Light started toward the front door, and motioned for Stormy to follow. “Right then! Stormy and I are off. Best of luck, Dainty.”

“Aye, sir!” Dainty replied.

Exiting his suite with Stormy, Light tightened up his demeanor. Now away from the others, he allowed his concern over any potential reaction to the failed assassination of Luna to surface. Regardless of who initiated the attempt, thestrals would undoubtedly be furious that harm had come to their… well, that harm came to Princess Luna.

“You know there will be protests from this,” Light said, closing the door behind him and starting toward the elevator. “Thestrals pointing hooves at anypony that is suspect.”

A huff came from his friend. “Not this again. Demands for justice? Yeah. They aren’t all going to wildly blame ponies. Maybe some of the more extreme ones, but come on, Light, if Princess Celestia had an attempt on her life, I doubt you’d be as level as you are now.”

A difficult question to truly answer. Would he be calm in such a situation? On one hoof, Light felt he could keep his composure regardless of the situation—like he had after being put on probation—but could one really know how they would act in any given situation prior to its occurrence? This was more than a simple question of one pony’s reaction, though. “Perhaps, though that is focusing entirely too much on the individual.” The elevator chimed, its doors sliding open, and Light and Stormy stepped inside. “Even you must admit that we have an unusual situation on our hooves. Princess Celestia does not have a nigh-religious following of ponies who view her as some… divine being. Nor does she have a race that is uniquely loyal to her.”

Stormy stood in silence as the elevator hummed along its journey, dinging as it passed floor after floor on its way to the lobby. There was a delicate balance to maintain if Light hoped to nudge his friend over to his point of view—the objectively correct point of view, naturally. His friend had proved to be quite the stubborn one in the past, but patience and time saw him eventually come around to the truth, most of the time.

With no response coming from Stormy, Light pressed on. “Given the elevated levels of tension, I am most concerned that herd mentality will take over and lead to rash actions. It distresses me to say it, but Baltimare is a powder keg of political and social discontents. Anything could ignite it.”

A trio of dings from the elevator signalled their arrival at the designated floor, and the doors slid open. Silence greeted the duo as they stepped out into the grand lobby. Not a pony was to be found in the foyer, which did not shock Light at this hour. What did, however, was the lack of any receptionist at the front desk.

“I suppose you have a point, to a degree.” Stormy’s response echoed throughout the lobby, serving to heighten Light’s mild concern. “Yeah, herd mentality and all that, and yeah, Baltimare is a bit on the tense side. Maybe there'll be some demonstrations and protests, but once Princess Luna addresses the nation again, it’ll be fine.”

The echoes of their hooves rattled throughout as the two made their way to the main doors leading to the outside. Light cast nervous glances around the room, checking every corner, nook, and cranny he could see for signs of… well, anything.

“Now, don’t you get any idea in that head of yours that—” Stormy cut himself short upon noting Light’s nervous behavior, before letting out an annoyed huff. “Oh c’mon, Light! You can’t seriously be scared right now.”

Light shot his friend an incredulous look. “The receptionists are missing. And I happen to know that said receptionists are thestrals.” He caught an irritated eye roll from his friend. “Yes, yes, I know you think I am prematurely, and unfairly, casting judgment upon the poor ponies, but you need to understand that the front desk is always staffed with at least two receptionists at all hours. Were they not present when you arrived here earlier this evening?”

“Well, yes, but—“

“But nothing!” Light interjected and halted his gait right at the doors. “Stormy, listen to me, please! Thestrals do not simply share a collective dream and then abandon their posts, only for a Blood Moon to appear, and it all be a mere, inconsequential happenstance!” He stomped his hoof onto the marble floor, sending echoes reverberating throughout the lobby. With pursed lip and indignant expression, he locked eyes with his friend, who himself adopted his all too familiar emotionless, deadpan expression. Despite the surety he held of his own position, this still was no time to further elevate the tension of the night with impassioned rhetoric.

Inhaling a deep breath, Light closed his eyes as he slowly exhaled. “I am not making any accusations.” Yet. “There are too many unknowns to make an accurate assessment of the situation. Even still, there are also too many unusual events occurring at the same time for me to ignore. Am I concerned? Yes. Yes I am. I do sincerely hope that nothing will come of this. That Luna’s thestral referendum will pass tomorrow, and we will all move on from this tragedy. But—“ He peered deeply into his friend’s eyes, hoping for a sign of an open heart and mind. “—but as I hope for that day, can you understand my fears that there is a chance that the situation may deteriorate further?”

The two stood in silence. Stormy held his composure. Light desperately wanted to move on and address the situation at hand, but he also knew that his friend needed time to digest the moment. Agonizing seconds passed, before Stormy finally turned into the doors and pushed them open.

“Fine,” he curtly offered. “I still think you’re blowing things outta proportion, but fine.”

“I hope I am as well,” Light said, letting out a sigh of relief and following his friend outside. While he did not expect much in the way of activity in the evening hours of the day, especially on a night such as this, he still found it odd that the street was completely devoid of traffic. No taxis, no pedestrians… nopony. He paused in mind-thought as a distant sound caught his attention, and perked his ears.

Stormy mimicked the same attentive focus at what Light presumed was the same sound. “Sounds like there’s a bit of a commotion off that direction.” Stormy motioned a hoof toward the west, in the direction of the downtown region of Baltimare. “Almost sounds like…”

“A fight?” Light finished for his friend.

“Yeah, that.”

Honing in on the distant noise, Light could just make out the echoes of angry shouting, the thuds of blows being exchanged by combatants, and… screeching? “We can make a slight detour to see what the commotion is about.”

Stormy turned to give Light a bemused look. “You… actually want to investigate?” He tossed his head back in laughter. “You! The one who was just whinin’ about danger around every corner? Ha! That’s rich!”

Light rolled his eyes. “Stormy, I—”

“Let’s do it.” Stormy bolted off toward the sound of fighting.

Light shook his head and chased after his friend. He had no intention of getting involved in the fight—assuming it was even a fight—but his curiosity about the night’s strange sequence of events begged him to at least observe from a distance. As long as they remained far from the chaos, they would be safe.

Racing down the street, Light took note of the buildings around him. Under normal evening conditions, the darker, subdued colors of the city environment fed his fears of lurking dangers hidden within the shadows. He twitched as an anxious shiver washed over his body, tossing a frustrated glance up at the night sky. The red taint that the Blood Moon drenched across the cityscape further heightened those fears as it warped an otherwise unfriendly scene into a nightmare of blood-soaked pavement and angry caricatures of brick and steel urban beasts. He shuddered at the imagery, stumbling as he briefly lost his concentration.

He inhaled a deep breath, slowly released it and regained his composure, peering ahead to see Stormy slow down and cautiously approach a street corner. He picked up his gallop once again to catch up.

“What do you see?” he asked, trotting up beside his friend.

“Oh, it’s a fight, alright,” Stormy responded. “Gotta be hundreds of ponies.”

Light peered around the corner for himself to take in the sight. Before him, about two blocks away, two large groups of ponies clashed in the streets, wielding clubs, hurling objects, or throwing bare hooves. Some ponies were locked in wrestling matches, others haphazardly zipped and zoomed in the sky in amateurish attempts at jousting, while still others verbally assaulted their foes with insults.

Squinting, Light tried to make out some of the combatants. Those on the right side of the fight appeared to all be wearing plain, laborer’s clothes, and were of mixed races. Those on the left, on the other hoof…

“It’s a group of thestrals fightin’… everypony else, I reckon,” Stormy observed. “Forget protesting, this is somethin’ else entirely.”

Light slowly bobbed his head in hesitant affirmation. He had feared that disagreement, angry rhetoric, and even some minor physical altercations would occur, true, but… this? This was no exchange of gentlemanly hooficuffs and it was far worse than the tales spun of the “pie skirmish” in Appleloosa. What he witnessed before him was much more disturbing than anything he had conjured in his mind. Ponies were exchanged blows so hard as to bruise muzzles and break bones! Only now did he realize that several bodies lay unmoving on the street, many of their coats matted with fresh blood.

On the outskirts of the crowd, a small group of thestrals stood at attention observing the fight. A lone thestral would occasionally approach them, engage in some sort of dialogue, then leave to join the fight again. Elevated above the chaos atop a stage, these ponies had a commanding view of the development of the conflict, and appeared to be rather calm about the affair. Light squinted in hopes bringing the trio into better focus. Of the three, one in particular attracted his attention. There was something about how that particular pony—a stallion, it seemed—now leaned upon the stage railing.

A shift in the sea of ponies stole his focus away from the stallion. A group of perhaps a few dozen thestrals took to flight in a mostly coordinated effort, soaring high into the sky before diving down and swooping into the opposing mob, knocking a number of ponies to the ground. The sudden disruption in the “front line” allowed for a group of grounded thestrals to surge forward, piercing into the center of the horde of ponies. Almost immediately, the mob lost what little cohesion it had, and ponies began to flee the scene, running in all directions away from the core of the fighting.

Amidst it all, a sudden leap into flight by the “coordinating” stallion from the stage seized Light’s attention again, and he locked his focus upon him. There was something far too familiar about that stallion, even though he could not make out his features. Almost as if on command, the stallion inexplicably returned the gaze, and a cold chill shot down Light’s spine as his face flushed with a harrowing dread. He froze, his mind caught in a loop of desperation as it frantically struggled to process why that particular thestral seemed so familiar, despite his inability to make out discernible features.

“Time to vacate!” Stormy blurted, shattering Light’s paralyzation and backpedaling away from the street corner. A number of ponies fleeing the fight were headed toward their position.

“Right you are!” Light spun around, stealing the briefest of glances back at the familiar flying thestral—he was motioning at Light—before dashing away from the scene. With Stormy in tandem as they galloped back down the street toward his resident tower, he mentally reviewed the path back to the naval base while darting a look back and forth at his surroundings. It was a left on Fifth Avenue, and they should be near Eighth, but he had not counted the city blocks when they were racing to investigate the fight.

He slowed slightly as he focused ahead, hoping to spot his resident tower amidst the row of other high-rise buildings. If he could quickly make it out, he would have a better idea of where they were and—

Without warning, the lights across Baltimare winked out, plunging the world into suffocating darkness, drenched only with the tormenting red din of the Blood Moon.

Light slowed to a walk and frantically looked around for his friend. “Stormy!”

“I’m right behind you,” came a reply, “like I’ve been the whole time!”

“You have a dark coat!” Light shot back, a hint of panic in his voice. “Can you blame me for losing sight of you?”

“No, but you’re easy enough to find, and we need to keep moving!” Stormy said. “You still know how to get to the base without lights?”

“I, ehm…” Light squinted his eyes, peering down the street again. Everything looked so… foreign and hostile in the dim light of the Blood Moon. “I…” His heart raced, his eyes darting from random point to random point. Nothing looked right! Nothing felt right! He needed to maintain his composure, collect his thoughts, beat back the darkness—

A shove pushed him forward. “We don’t have time! Move!”

Light shot a glance behind him, and caught sight of a trio of thestrals flying toward them. Gasping, he bolted into a gallop again. There was no time to think, no time plan, no time to ponder. Only time to act. His instincts engaged as he let go of his thoughts and focused on just running. What the street signs read, which buildings he passed meant nothing—not that he could make them out anyhow. The thunder of his hooves pounding the pavement mimicked the thumping of his racing heartbeat.

Left. The word flashed in his mind, and he obeyed his instinct without hesitation, turning at an intersection to head north. Toward the coast, yes. This was the way! If he-eeeee could simply-eeeee—he jostled his head. What in all of Equestria was that shrieking sound? He turned his head around to see the source of the high-pitched squeal, catching sight of a thestral soaring from the sky in a dive toward him.

”Ah!” Light yelped, tucking his legs in to duck into a roll as his attacker’s own legs swiped at him, grazing his buttock. The near miss was enough to knock him out of his attempted roll, leading him to tumble onto the pavement, and leaving him on his back. Flailing aimlessly for a moment, Light twisted his barrel to flip himself back onto his belly and re-established his footing. Staying low to the ground, his eyes scanned the sky in a desperate attempt to find his assailant. Failing to do so, he jumped onto his hooves and dashed down the street again.

He was at a severe disadvantage against his thestral attacker—lacking night vision, he could not make out the nightscape with any reliable clarity. If the thestral made this mistake of engaging him on the ground in a fair hoof fight, Light’s earth pony strength would certainly tip the scales, but that assumed his assailant would make that mistake.

His ear twitched at the onset of the sound of a rapid swooshing right before a hoof connected with his right side, knocking the breath from his lungs, and sending him hurtling to the pavement, tumbling across the street before slamming into the brick of a storefront. Pain shot through his whole frame as his muscles ached from the punishment inflicted upon them. Light groaned, both at the physical agony and his rusty combat skills. The life of a senior officer had left him softer than he now cared to admit. Lifting himself up onto his hooves once again, he winced at a sharp sting in his side—a rib undoubtedly was fractured.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins as his flight or fight instincts surged to the forefront of his consciousness. The muscles throughout his body instinctually tensed up as his ear twitched at any and all sounds around him.

His right ear twitched, and he spun to face the sound of whooshing air. The blur of a diving thestral rapidly filled his vision, and Light reared up, thrusting a hoof forward to intercept the assault. An explosion of pain burst through his body as the thestral slammed into his outstretched hoof, while also collapsing at the impact of a kick to his chest. The two tumbled to the street, but quickly recovered to face each other. Releasing a high-pitched squeal, the thestral dashed forward to swipe a punch at Light. Barely managing to pull his face out of the path of the swing, he countered with a swing of his own, landing squarely on the thestral’s flank to the sound of cracking bone.

Undaunted, the thestral pivoted and threw another jab toward Light’s face. His vision flashed as the offending hoof connected solidly with his left eye socket, tearing into the flesh of his cheek. Instinctually, he countered wildly, thwacking his assailant in the temple.

Light shifted to bear down on his opponent again, halting at the sight of the thestral lying motionless on the pavement, her eyes blank and lifeless. Light heaved deep breaths as blood and adrenaline coursed like fire within his body, masking the pain that burned throughout. He approached the mare’s body, and gave it a gentle nudge. No response. Reaching a hoof forward to shift her mane aside, he uncovered a deep, penetrating indentation on the side of her skull.

Dead. She was dead. He had never taken a life before. Not this way, not this personally. Pain mixed with horror. How… how could it have come to this? He was no killer. If only—he winced at the pounding throb in his head and grimaced. If only she had not attacked! It was her fault! She did this!

Light gasped at the sting of blood entering his eye, closing it to prevent further contamination. He hurt all over, but was still serviceable. He just needed to find Stormy—his head shot up in realization. Stormy!

Distant shouts and muffled impacts of flesh against pavement caught his attention as he listened once again to his blood soaked surroundings—a nearby fight? Stormy? His heart pounded in his chest. Aiming an ear toward the direction of the noise, he slowly moved toward its presumed source, grimacing past his own pain. Another loud grunt echoed through the night air.

Poking around the corner, he spotted a shifting blob of pony-like figures tussling some several dozen feet away. Between the darkness of the blood night and the clouded vision of his blood-soaked eye, he could not make out who was fighting. Was it his friend and the two other thestrals that attacked them? Or was it a minor spillover from the mob fight from earlier? It was so close to where he himself had fought, that it was reasonable to believe it was Stormy and the two thestrals, but… what if it was not?

There was no time to deliberate. He dropped his guard and bolted down the street, gritting his teeth at the sharp pain piercing his right flank and the sting of his swollen eye. He fought the temptation to unleash a battlecry, wanting to retain as much surprise as one could muster while charging in at a full gallop. Nearing his target, the blob became more identifiable: two winged ponies—undoubtedly thestrals—were locked in melee with a dark-coated pony. That pony appeared to be holding his ground as best as one could while lying on his back: alternating between defensive gestures to block assaults and the occasional offensive kick.

Now within a few feet of the fight, Light let out a yell, and leapt toward the thestral pinning the dark pony on the ground, swinging his hind legs forward, aiming a now extended hoof at the thestral.

As the weight and force of his hoof connected with the head of the thestral, a sickening crunch of a caving skull reverberated up Light’s leg, followed by a pop in his chest.

The thestral’s body hurled to the pavement, flopping limply to a cold rest. Light himself tumbled to the pavement, wincing again as his right side was racked again with a sharp pain. He placed a hoof to his flank and twitched at the feeling of a broken rib.

Gritting his teeth once again and suppressing a groan, Light rose to his feet and spun around, only to be tackled to the ground. Impacting upon the street, Light’s adrenaline flared up once again, and he instinctually bucked at his attacker, managing to blindly land one hoof. The thestral was flung aside by the impact, rolling away from Light before extending his wings to assist in recovering from the blow. Letting out a hiss, the thestral lunged back at Light, who in turn wildly threw a kick to counter the assault.

Light barely missed landing his strike, only managing to soften the thestral’s thrust, with the offending hoof grazing his cheek.

The thestral landed on Light, winding him. He needed to end the fight sooner than later, preferably leaving himself as the clear victor. He attempted another kick as he desperately countered the assailant’s own hoof strikes. Finally locking forelegs, the two found themselves in a momentary pause, neither able to maneuver without compromising their position. In that moment, Light met the frenzied stare of his opponent, and at last took notice of his features.

There before him, bruised, bloodied, and eyes full of rage and hate, was the familiar thestral from earlier: his own first officer.

“C-Coral?” Light sputtered, his one good eye widening as he reeled at the shock of the discovery. “Why—”

Coral Shelf screeched and lurched his head forward, mouth agape, and sank his fangs deep into Light’s shoulder.

Light yelped in agony and shock as his adrenaline surged once more, breaking a hoof free of the stalemate. Channeling all his might and energy, he threw a final blow, slamming his hoof against Coral’s head, the force tearing him off his shoulder, ripping flesh and muscle.

Coral spat chunks of meat and blood back at Light’s face as he reared up and slammed a hoof onto Light’s muzzle. As Coral reared up to strike again, Light managed to swing first with his right hoof, landing it squarely into the left side of Coral’s barrel. It disrupted his strike, but not enough to stop Coral from swiping a second blow on Light’s cheek.

Blood and saliva pooled in Light’s mouth, forcing a gurgled cough. He believed he still had the stamina to keep going, but his vision was both obscured from blood spilling into his eye and blurred from agonizing pain—coupling that with the darkness of the night, he could no longer concretely make out Coral’s movements. Despite this, if he could just land one more solid blow…

Another form slammed into the blur of Coral’s body, also incidentally jostling Light to his side. The form—Stormy, it had to be Stormy—recovered from the tackle, lunged at Coral, and threw a flurry of pummels, targeted at what Light assumed was his head. His friend roared in passionate fury, rising in crescendo as he pressed his assault.

Light shifted his weight in an attempt to stand up, but was met with excruciating agony from his left shoulder and right rib cage, forcing back down to the pavement. He moved his weight to his hindlegs and right foreleg, and managed to prop himself up on the second attempt. As the adrenaline waned, the fiery torment of a myriad of bruises, the broken rib, and the gaping hole in his shoulder raged throughout his senses, nearly sending him into paralyzing shock. Mustering what remained of his strength and leaning heavily on his mental discipline, Light pushed past the torturous agony and returned his woozy attention to his friend.

Stormy had collapsed next to Coral, who also lay unmoving.

”Sh—Storm…” Light choked, his voice gurgling with blood and saliva. “You… you okay?”

He could barely make out the movement of his friend’s head. “Yeah,” came a weak reply.

Light carefully stood up, cradling his left foreleg up against his chest, and limped over to his friend.

Stormy, for his part, looked bruised and bloodied from muzzle to tail. His breathing was laborious, and one eye was badly swollen. Grunting, his friend slowly rolled over to his stomach and stood up, flinching as he did so. Which of the two ponies was in worse condition was difficult to ascertain—Light knew his injuries, but could only guess at the totality of Stormy’s.

He turned his gaze upon the bodies of Coral and the other thestral that still laid motionless on the street. Why did they act so… violently? Why would his own first officer assault him! What madness would consume these… beasts to such extremes? His brow furrowed. No sane pony would ever stoop to such horrid violence!

Both stallions’ ears perked at the distant sound of shouting. He couldn’t quite make out if the sounds were coming or going, but Light did not wish to risk finding out.

“We need—” Light winced as a sharp pain pierced his lung. “—to leave.”

Stormy weakly nodded. “Yeah.”

Light gingerly turned about face, nearly stumbling as his head spun and throbbed with dizzied nausea. Finding his way through the streets of Baltimare without the illumination of street lamps already proved to be a difficult challenge—combining that with his obstructed and fuzzy vision would make it nearly impossible.

He felt a hoof rest on his back, eliciting a tinge of pain, as his muscles instinctually winced.

“Oh, sorry,” Stormy apologized, removing his hoof. He stood next to Light and sighed, his face flinching before hacking a cough. “Yep, that hurts.”

Light labored a deep breath. “I think… the bashe… ish…” He coughed, and spat more blood-tainted spittle onto the street.

“Don’t talk. Just walk.”

Light mumbled a weak, affirmative hum, and began hobbling his way down the street, heading generally toward the direction of Baltimare’s coastline.

They had a long night ahead of them.