My feet held up unsteady legs. Legs that held up a wavering man.

Or whatever I’d become.

It was the middle of the night, and I'd had made my surprisingly unopposed exit from Tartarus. Cerberus had stood aside with an unreadable expression. Was it scared, or did it know somehow that I never belonged in there?

Regardless, the gnawing seemed to have gone down. After the attack, I felt like an aquarium. The most unsettling feeling was a dozen tiny bodies snaking their way across every rib, between every organ, and through every blood vessel. That sensation had thankfully stopped. In its place was a tranquility that I... frankly was frightened of. What did it mean? I can't hear the blood in my ears. I can't feel the thumping in my chest. All I can feel... is the ache of my legs. Twilight. Yes. My Little Pony. She can help, surely. She lives in a tree... right? Time to move.

That tree... It's bigger than I remembered... and it's glowing like some sort of salt crystal lamp. It'll... do.

“Uh, Boss?” a voice called out.

Ty blinked. He had been dreaming about going back to Ponyville after escaping from hell, with bloodstained claws and fangs, aching for more meat and--

Ty shuddered. He fought hard to control the hunger. The only hunger he would indulge himself in was the hunger of a man, not a monster. He looked around. The shipboard cabin was poorly-lit in the early morn, and the only thing Ty could see in front of him was the nervous Bullheart. The ship shifted in the waves, complicating Ty’s movements as he arose. The white sheets weren’t any warmer than when he had climbed in. Ty internally groaned. He was rather tired of everything being cold. The only warmth to be had these days was when the blood and gore ran past greedy lips, urging him with a fiery heat that only intensified as he...

Face in hands, Ty fought to control his breathing. “That bad?” Bullheart asked.

Ty managed to look up with a weary smile and said, “Oh, I just need to eat something. Something real. I’ll be fine.”

Bullheart offered his massive mitt, and Ty took it; Bullheart noted with some satisfaction that Ty seemed heavier than he was. He was still an utter lightweight, but... he should be feeling better, at least.

“Yeah. They should be having fish and eggs today.” Bullheart reminded Ty.

The aches went away. Ty blinked, then he smiled, as did Bullheart.

Perhaps Ty will overcome this after all.

“Ty the Martyr has returned? How?”

The throne room was well-lit, elaborate, ornate, and empty, save for two individuals. The former Griffon Prince turned King Foxhale clicked his talons on the armrest of the chair of his father’s thro-- his throne, as he had also inherited his late father’s property, his armies, his wealth...

His sins.

The white-furred, black-hooded and black-cloaked griffon servant bowed low again, and he meekly offered, “We... do not know, my liege. But we know this: the assassin your father had sent to deal with the upstart used a Blade of Surt, which banishes the victim to the darkest reaches of Tartarus. So, the only way Ty the Martyred could have returned...”

Blinking, beak agape, Foxhale quietly muttered, “...Is if Ty crawled out of hell.”

The servant nodded, and then continued, saying, “That seems likely, sire. What’s more, is that Ty harbors demonic spirits.”

Foxhale’s breath caught in his throat. The rhythmic clicking of the rings on his talons ceased as his claw froze. He clicked his beak some, then asked, “Demons? Doesn't sound good.”

The servant shrugged, then replied, “I am only relaying what I overheard, my liege.”

Foxhale’s beak began to grind. This was unacceptable. Not only would his throne be forfeit when Ty entered the Freytaran capital city of Summit, but...

“He is a danger to us all,” Foxhale grimly remarked.

The servant griffon, caught off-guard by the off-hand comment, asked nervously, “S-Sire?”

Foxhale rolled his neck, popping a few joints. With the rustle of robes and the clinking of jewelry, King Foxhale rose from his throne and paced around the throne podium. After a moment, Foxhale adjusted his crown and grimly said, “His popularity with the masses and the military means that his ascension to the ruling position is all but certain. If I were to resist him and his throng of followers with my honor guard, it would only result in bloodshed and... some sort of demon-host on the throne.”

The severity of the situation dawned on the griffon servant, and a bit of panic was evident in his voice as he asked in alarm, “B-But what can we do to stop this disaster in the making from happening, my liege?”

Foxhale took off his crown and observed his own image in a bright red ruby, scrutinizing his own dour expression. Taking a slow breath, Foxhale turned to face his servant again and said, “We abdicate.”

This caused the griffon servant to rise, and beseech his King. “But my Lord, you can’t just--”

Foxhale lifted a bejeweled claw, and the griffon servant was silenced, and he clicked his beak shut, slightly hysteric that he had just spoken out of turn.

Foxhale didn’t seem to notice this breach of conduct, or perhaps he didn’t care. The King continued by declaring, “We already know we can’t prevent Ty from taking the throne. This is fine. In fact, it would better serve our plans if I played the part of the wise leader and willingly stepped down when Ty comes to challenge me. This gives us time to prepare.”

The griffon servant hobbled closer and readjusted his wings. “Prepare what, my liege?” he said.

Foxhale’s face turned more serious, and he said, “A means to destroy Ty before a demonic blight befalls all of Freytara.”

Subtlety.

Subtlety was for a man who didn’t want to be seen. Subtlety was for a man who needed a bit of guile in his everyday demeanor and of his otherwise normal self. A man who might be a bit shy of attention and being in the spotlight a little. A man who would take secluded alleys and side streets to avoid exposure and people. A man who goes in under the cover of night

I was having none of that subtlety garbage. I strode right through the city they called Summit during a sunny day with my gathering crowd of various creatures and individuals, Bullheart being one who stood close to me, decked out in the very silvery armor I made for him. Good to know it held up. The shale cobblestone feet clacked underneath the many feet that it had to suddenly endure as the throng proceeded up the grey mountain. This march was done in complete silence, my mere presence having stunned the populace into silence, then intrigued them as they wanted to know what was going on.

It helped my visibility that I now wore a white cloak and robe for this occasion. It came with a hood, but I left it off, so everyone could see just who the hell I was.

I could hear some hushed whispers along the lines of,

“Is that really Ty the Martyred?”

“Has he really returned?”

“How did he come back?” And other generic hearsay, but I paid no heed to them, as I had a destination to reach.

The Palace. Good name. To the point. It was also pretty massive and elaborate, which was just a bonus for the eyes. I really liked the griffon gargoyles that were brandishing weapons. Menacing.

At the front was a very mean-looking gate, as well a few mean-looking griffon guards, whom Bullheart seemed to recognize. However, the guards weren’t impeding my path. They were... in ranks and formations as if my arrival was expected or even scheduled. I didn’t like this. It seemed like a trap, but still, I proceeded. The crowd that followed were still too busy gawking at my person with all the flowing bits, so they came with me into the castle. That wasn’t part of my plan, but at least I couldn’t be threatened too badly once inside this not-so-humble fortress.

Once I confirmed the location of the throne room from an overeager griffon guard captain, who seemed a bit young to be a guard captain, I was able to lead my host through winding hallways of Freytaran history, with plenty of busts, murals, paintings and tapestries to go around. Soon enough, the spirited young eagle-lion Maia had dutifully led me and my horde through the castle to the throne room, which I unceremoniously entered, while everyone else stayed back to see what would transpire here.

I saw the current King, a cool-looking griffon that I was sure would be Foxhale.

Classily, I greeted him, saying, "'Sup?"

“Please enter, my liege,” said King Foxhale.

To say that I was not expecting this was an understatement. I was expecting at least a little hostility, if not hesitation to the idea that I was just coming to seize the throne of Freytara from King Foxhale who had fought hard to earn that position during and after the war. It just seemed... off.

Foxhale stood next to the throne, with his robe and crown. Several guards flanked him, their gleaming armor shining in the light that filtered in from stained-glass windows. The King stepped forward, hind paws clapping on marble and tiled floors. He stood in front of me, hands behind his back. We looked into each other’s eyes, gauging each other’s strength, and studying for any signs of weakness. Thankfully, Foxhale broke away the impromptu staring contest, and, with a single motion, he presented his crown to me. The gold patterns glittered, and the gems and other precious stones sparkled. To see such a thing... and to know it was mine... the applause sounded, too...

Feels good to be the King.

Author's Note

I wonder what a Freytaran banner/flag would look like.