Cloth Hearted, Armoured Skin.

by Account No Longer Active

First published 30th of January, 2016

With the regular monster busters gone, the town relied on Vincent for protection. Too bad something's a bit off.

The ex-Elements of Harmony are currently out of town when magical beasts begins to prowl into Ponyville. Fortunately, Ser Vincent is more than willing to protect the town in their stead, for what else is the knight for if not to protect the ponies that had begun to accept his presence?

It's just... it's just simply one of those mornings that make this decidedly difficult. Very difficult indeed.

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The fifth story of the Changing States of Knight Series. Starting with To See Both Faces

Chapter One

Author's Notes:

So here is the sequel of These New Days making it the fifth installment of the Changing States of Knight series! I'd like to thank everyone that has followed so far, and to those that have supported me recently. You're positivity and critiques have made this whole thing so freaking awesome !

It starts with To See Both Faces. I cannot stress how important it is to read this in order to understand the world this is set in, but to summerise: anthro ponies are tastefully nudists unless specifically stated otherwise. No rude or explicit material will be described in this story.

As always, please like if you favourite and please leave a comment. They fuel my mind and soul and will sustain me this winter, and all criticisms help me improve further. Enjoy!

Ser Vincent followed after Zecora along a clearing beneath the haunting canopy of the Everfree. Her staff thumped the earth with every hoofstep, her traditional shaman wrappings jingling with rings. His boots crossed gnarled roots and his gloves pushed aside the hanging, gangly vines. He felt a bulb between the fingers and snagged it, putting it in a plastic bag and then into the gathering satchel hanging by his side.

“So what are they for?” Apple Bloom asked from beside him. Her inquisitive eyes moved to the limp vines hanging around as he turned his mask down to her.

“Nothing too special. Samples from the Everfree are always welcome in the Royal Alchemy Society back in Canterlot,” Vincent said with a shrug, keeping an eye on the undergrowth deeper in the forest. He remembered the timber wolves.

“Is that like a super alchemy club?” she inquired with a smile. “Are you in it?”

Vincent bobbed his head from side to side, raising a hand with a gesture of shaky balance. “I guess. I’m an honorary member; good enough to be a part of it, but something prevents me from officially joining.” He shrugged. “I get some privileges but I’ve proved I’m just as good as their best. So I’m an external consultant, running tests, collecting herbs if I can, etc.”

Heck, as it stood currently, he was the best at his field of transmogrification.

“Wow!” She leapt into the air, snatching a vine in a three-digited pony hand and then a bulb. The stretched plant slung back on release. She presented it to the knight. “How’d you get in then?”

He took the bulb and stored it away, “That’s a secret.” He gave her ear a gentle flick, his voice warming with mirth at her small pout, “Can’t make it too easy or else it won’t be that special, will it, Little Miss?”

“Please! I won’t tell anypony!” she persisted to no avail. His blank masquerade offered no sign of weakness, especially since he wasn’t even looking her way.

“Are we far, Miss Zecora?” Vincent said after noting the zebra’s wry smirk when she looked back over her shoulder.

“We are but moments away, Ser Knight,” she said as she moved a shrub from the path with her staff, “The mischievous plant is within our sight.”

‘Good, I’m absolutely tired after last night’s mission. And why must every guide remain fifteen minutes or so away from anything, regardless of how far we’ve traveled towards it, or from when I last inquire?’

He stepped beside her. Like a spill of blue ink the poison joke blossomed in bright contrast to the greenery surrounding it. Star shaped and with dark petals, the flowers had spread here, the illusion of an azure wild fire completed by their eerie, subtle sway. It pooled out and deeper into the forest, a thin safety trail visible.

He’d seen these plants out in the wilds, incredibly uncommon at best and he’d hardly had time to study them. Ser Vincent knew that nopony really wanted to go near these things, even most researchers were reluctant. Far too troublesome, or so they said. ‘Well, Nopony was going to now, won’t I?’

Ser Vincent looked down to Zecora by his side as she rested on her staff. “J’ckinal, Shanagin Zecora” he said with complimenting, gratuitous head bow.

She beamed a smile in return. “Dytana, dytana.” She then raised and waggled a finger before him, “That I am a shaman is very much true, but please, my masked friend, Zecora will do.”

“Very well,” he said, voice flattening with deadpan as he looked back to Apple Bloom, “ I suppose you want me to stop calling you ‘Little Miss’, too?”

“Nah!” she replied waving him off and grinning, “I kinda like it!” She grew concerned as she watched him migrate to the edge of the poison joke before crouching down, carefully digging around the roots. “You sure it’s safe for you to do that?” She edged closer but kept behind the knight.

These blue plants were as tall as her thighs and a single petal brushing her fur would cause her to fall victim to their nefarious pranks. Hence why she remained beyond their reach whilst she was unclothed. Yet, there he was, kneeling and hunching low enough to shoulder the flowers out the way.

“Don’t worry, Apple Bloom, I’m perfectly fine.” He raised a free arm after adding a poison joke to his bag, looking back to her. “All these layers aren’t just for show, how about that?” He threw out a chuckle, not that he found it particularly funny but it did the job of placating her.

Zecora rested on her staff, ear twitching with the flight of passing birds. “A bountiful harvest of humorous magic, is your research worth an ending comedic yet tragic?” she asked, eyeing other magical plants that she could see.

“Oh, I’ll get to the others in due time, Zecora,” he replied, seizing another that had half developed. “I’ll be quite the frequent visitor for, let’s see…” He paused to look up from where he crouched, scanning the area and pointing at strange plants respectively, “Dragon teeth, gator scales, virutiants…”

“What about this?” Apple Bloom asked from behind the knight. He turned and almost got a mask full of flower. Almost.

“Gah!” He quickly scrambled back, trampling a trail further into the pool of poison joke as he evaded her offering.

“What?” Apple Bloom asked, looking to the silver and pink plant in her hand. It resembled a pink and purple rose but with four fuzzy, silver anthers poking out the centre. She dropped it, her heart starting to race as panic took hold. “What was it?!” she looked to Zecora who swiftly knelt beside the child, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“Easy dear Apple Bloom, this flower will not spell your doom.” Zecora then noticed the foals quickened breathing. “You may feel the urge to run, jump, or flee; silver rush excites the heart of a pony.”

Apple Bloom took notice of her heart attempting to bash out of her chest, her ears falling flat and tail going limp. “W-what’s g-going on, guys?”

“Silver rush disperses pollen that results in ponies feeling more energetic,” Ser Vincent explained for the child from where he sat on his bottom amidst the poison joke, like a mountainous island amidst a sea of blue. He offered a hand as if it held the explanation. “Its pollen is good for smelling salts, a stimulant for the heart, and some medicines. However it can easily get caught in the throat and possibly the lungs but don't worry; it won’t hurt you. You’ll be fine.”

“I don’t feel fine!” The young farmer began hopping from hoof to hoof, rapidly glancing back and forth between the two. “Then why’d did you jump back like that?” she said with an accusatory point of the finger.

Zecora added to her comment with a quirked brow, “Your knowledge of the plant seems well versed, but I’m quite curious about why you reversed.”

“Let’s say its effects are stronger on me,” he answered, climbing back onto his feet, “It irritates the throats and snouts of animals, dispersing and further spreading pollen through coughs and sneezes. Typically, this is its secondary method of pollen dispersal as--" He cut himself off, saving that lecture for the worried foal for when she was interested another time. "Whereas the pollen dies in your throat it lingers in mine much longer and in its raw state can trigger my abilities.”

Oh, he remembered this plant. He was the first human in Equestria and the first human with magic. ‘But of course I couldn’t use it like a unicorn.’ The bitter truth was that he shouldn’t have his magic and when it was discovered that he possessed it, tests were needed to understand this strange, powerful development.

He was examined in a manner that was clinical and wasn’t invasive. It was like any other trip to the hospital he supposed, well for what was essentially an alien child that was different from his parents, though usually he wasn’t huffing a refined gas made from this stuff before running on a treadmill as fast as he could…

Looking back on it he could only be thankful that he was allowed to stop when he wanted to, or skip trips entirely. It was scary at first but he’d hate the thought of not controlling this broken part of him; the examinations helped him understand himself more and more, about what he really was… something rare growing up.

But, as it stood, continuously inhaling something that sustained an heightened physical and mental state for hours could be detrimental to his health. The medical version given to him was safe, drastically diluted and harmless compared to encounters in the wild; he’d fallen into a bed of silver rush once in his career and it was a horrible experience. The mana burnout nearly left him slipping in an out of consciousness for two weeks and he still struggled to remembered what happened after. At least the report on the matter mentioned that he'd finished his mission first.

“S-so what happens to me now?” Apple Bloom asked, still hopping from hoof to hoof.

“I think we shall put this harvest to rest. Calming you down might be for the best,” Zecora said. She nodded away from the poison joke, a comforting smile forming. “Perhaps you’ll find wisdom in this lesson, my friend. Snatching bright plants can lead to a terrible end.” She patted Apple Bloom’s pink bow before leaning back onto her staff. “Fret not, child, your spirit I will not crush. What you experience is – how you say – a sugar rush.”

“Pretty much, Little Miss.” Vincent added, batting away a blue petal caught in the breeze. In actuality she was feeling a antsy sense energy, the kind associated to the young paranoia that made one sprint across the landing, back into bed, after turning off the bathroom light. Just in case ghosts did exist. “It’ll wear off soon enough.”

With Apple Bloom feeling somewhat reassured, not completely however, they all departed.

Vincent shook his unconcealed head to rid himself of the fatigue.

He was in his lab, sat by the workbench spanning the wall, several glowing vials holstered in test tube racks on either side of him. His armour was in his bedroom and he sported an old fitness shirt that felt tight around the abdomen. His hair was growing out, appearing to have never known the touch of a comb in years; he’d have to get it cut soon.

Though he was sporting latex gloves fit for humans – not cheap to purchase considering that these were made for human hands not ponies – he was not using potions that would stain or cause severe damage to his skin. Unless he was daft enough to not wash up properly after himself anyhow.

His copper stubble itched but he ignored the urge scratch with honed discipline. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and looked to several emptied small hourglasses and running stop watches and then sighed.

“Missed all the testing marks…” he mumbled, halting a stopwatch with a vindictive click. Wasted chemicals were the mark of a poor alchemist. Well, at least the other full vials further along the bench were still bubbling away. The cork caps were punctured by tubes that fed gasses into a neat network of coiling pipes and beakers, silver and golden fluids soon dripping into a boiling tray a the bottom where a new batch of his special bandages soaked in a gently heated green liquid. Glowing seeds of blue were seen floating along the bubbly surface. If he simply left the tray heater on then it would be safe to let things run until morning; Blueblood had purchased several upgrades for the lab during the pharmacy's renovation.

Inside each of the tubes were different pieces of posion joke anatomy, from the flower down to the root, each aspects separate further and further. Primary roots, lateral roots, axillary buds, apical buds, ovaries, sepals, pistils, and even stigmas; the dissected pieces were all being tested by universal magical indicator that changed to a specific colour depending on the arcane nature of the plants pieces. There were far better indicators but that required one to know what type of magic you were looking for, and even within that field, the time it took for the colour to first appear would help provide for greater accuracy.

The fact that he awoke from his micro nap to find the plethora of rainbow neon tubes before him had rendered this test useless and had cost him six plants in total, at different stages of growth. All though it meant the plant could wield all manner of magic, it did not specify sub-categories, in turn, he could not deduce what methods were needed to extract such magics.

Vincent grunted before peeling off his gloves in a manner to avoid his bare fingers touching the outside. He tossed them into a hazard bin before sliding to the other side of the room on his seat. The knight arrived at the other work bench, a larger one with a few selected tomes open to his right, several dissected poison joke flowers to his left and an open book before him. Many blue petals had become strewn across the work bench.

His mask hung in front of him from a nail he had imbedded into the chemical cabinet door suspended on the wall. It watched with stoic interest as Vincent drew a rudimentary sketch of poison joke’s flower at full bloom to accommodate the other illustrated pages of this plant. Sure he’d found pictures already but with this being a hardly studied plant there was little detail in the nature of the plant.

Bzzzzz!

Startled the knight swiftly acted on rooted reflex, one hand flattening to table as another reached for the mask. At the same time he spun around, panic setting at the expectation of seeing someone at the door to his room—

He wasn’t in Canterlot castle. He wasn’t in his old room. He was in a new lab that still had the front door buzzer connected to it so that the old pharmacist would know when guests had arrived. He sighed heavily, a large smile quickly forming as he began to fit the mask onto his head. ‘Rather silly of me, wasn’t it?’

Further buzzing eroded his sense of bashful mirth as he descended the stairs, his shin-plated boots hammering with each step. “Hold your horse for one moment if you please!” he called to the door as he sought out his long coat, the one with the embroidery on the right shoulder. The room was lit by several electric lamps as he preferred keep the blinds closed.

“Take your time, big fella!”

Miss Applejack was calling, late this evening? ‘Oh joy, what is it now with this town?’ He rolled his malachite eyes. He then pulled up the cloth he kept around his neck before popping up his timber hood, to which he then realised he’d been without his gloves this whole time.

Quickly he searched his pockets, rummaging deep into his outer ones before finding them in his breast pocket. Soon enough, he opened the door wearing his pony-gloves.

Miss Applejack stood before him, a chipper grin as tired but as bright as the setting sun behind her. She raised her hat as she looked up to him (though given she was the tallest of his only visitors it wasn’t too far).

“Well, howdy, Ser Vincent!” she greeted.

“Miss Applejack,” he returned with a cordial nod of the head, “Is there something I can help you with?”

She opened her mouth, eyes scanning the new variation to the knight: the shirt. “As a matter of fact-“She abruptly stopped for a moment at around his gut.

He looked down with minor interest, seeing the only noticeable difference being the lack of his potion belt. He looked back to her a titled stare, “Is something-“

“Nothin’!” she blurted, eyes looking elsewhere. She coughed into her fist before continuing but he noted the slight wilt of the ears. “Say, I know it’s not really your thing, but d’ya think you can help around the farm for tomorrow.” Quickly she raised her hands, ears perking up. “If you’re not busy of course!”

“Shorthanded for the next harvest?”

“Well, it’s just that Rainbow and Fluttershy are heading out for their relay try-outs tomorrow and I’ve been trying to get some extra hands, even been making sure the loads gonna be light.” She offered a sweet, freckled smile, emerald eyes shimmering desperately. “’Course, if I can’t find help then I can’t go, and at the same time I know you might need to be called out… but if you can, we need a set of dependable strong arms.”

He recalled Princess Twilight informing him that she would be attending, as ‘Twilight Sparkle’, not as a princess, therefore he wouldn’t be needed. He really regretted accepting that agreement the other week; he’d intended for it to count only in Ponyville. Alas, she had spoken with verbal fine print and technicalities.

He folded his arms and leant into the door frame, appearing to look away due to the mask but he kept her in his field of hidden view. As a human not being enhanced by his magic, he was on par with a fairly developed earth pony. Without it, as a human in peak form and physique going against an earth pony in its prime… he was the inferior organism. Fortunately strength wasn’t his only trait and most weren’t hitting the gym regularly, but the fact remained all the same. He'd swear he'd be the worlds first half-pegasus-half-earthpony if he was a pony, forever stuck to never reach the full potential of either.

“So who will I be working with?” he asked with a tilt of the mask. He lightly tapped a gloved finger against his arm as he spoke, “I assume, as skilled as you are, you don’t work alone. Despite you physique.”

“Oh, well, there’s gonna be an extra hand or two, but my brother’s a guarantee.” She rested her hand on her hip, the other flicking her Stetson up. “And maybe a small bushel of apples as a reward to boot.”

She didn’t need to tempt him so but he wasn’t going to decline either. He regularly bought apples as a part of his diet, so why not remove that from his weekly costs? He hummed, bringing a gloved hand to rub the chin of his mask.

“What jobs will I be doing?” he inquired.

“Just a bit of heavy lifting and cart loading, maybe a bit of apple bucking if need be.” Her straw tail whipped as an errant thought crossed her mind. “Um, can you apple buck?” After he silently rolled a hand she got the message. “Can you kick a tree hard enough to shake a couple of apples out?” She fidgeted with her hands for a moment, an expression of unease taking her as she maintained eye-contact. “I’m only asking ‘cause you’re, well, you’re not a pony.”

“Miss Applejack!” he began with obvious, faux shock to his voice, “Are you discriminating against me for what I am?” He meekly brought his hand to his heart and felt his cheeks pull the corner of his mouth.

She smiled, a brow cocked as she let loose a cute snigger. “Just making sure you can do the job, Ser knight.”

“Sadly, no, I can’t kick apples out the tree. You’ll find my legs aren’t nearly long enough.” He let her chuckle warmly before offering a shrug. “I can probably assist with the heavy lifting. I’ll stay as long as I’m able, Applejack,” he conceded with an exaggerated nod. “You’ll understand if a mission comes up then my priorities will lie with it but I might last the whole day.”

She only nodded in kind, with great enthusiasm as she reached for his hand. Her smile dropped as she recoiled, remembering who she was dealing with. “Ah, well, that’d be just better than two zap apples harvests!” She held her hands behind her back. “See you bright and early Ser Knight!”

She stepped back as the knight stood up straight, only stopping when he offered a hand.

“I’ll see you in the morn, if not, then upon your return.”

She grinned and seized his hand. She gave a friendly shake as she felt his grip tighten in kind, solidifying the gesture. “Mighty kind of you, Vinny, mighty kind.”

“Be sure to give Applebloom my regards, I suspect that she’s fine by now,” he said with sincere concern in his voice as he quickly put his hand by his side. “And best wishes to Rainbow and Fluttershy, of course.”

“She is, just a bit shook up but Zecora tells me she’ll be right as rain soon.” She turned to leave, waving. “I’ll pass the message onto the girls. Bye for now!”

He waited. He waved with his hand, the one that hadn’t been snared in what felt like the jaws of a hydra. He then returned to his abode, flexing the ache out of his crushed hand. ‘Do these apples put up a fight before she harvests them?!’ Quickly he removed the glove, freeing his fingers and thumb and letting them curl and flex.

He yawned, becoming painfully aware of how tired he was. That was enough excitement for the rest of the evening. He sluggishly walked upstairs, his head quickly clouding by the time he had finished cleaning up the lab. He could take off his mask, his other pony-glove, and even the coat but… the bed was across the hall and waiting.

He fell onto the king-sized bed, a size that always felt big for extravagance sake. He’d only ever needed a single bed. This wasn’t the first time he’d fallen asleep in his attire, but typically it was on a train back from a painful, exhausting mission or at the very least he was wearing his reinforced chain-mail chest piece.

With a long exhale he folded his arms on his chest and closed his eye beneath hood and mask. He squeezed his gloved hand, feeling its warmth and security. He flexed his exposed fingers, feeling the cool soothing air run over his knuckles.

Alas, had he checked his long coat pocket before he plunged his right hand into it he would have found a blue petal. And had he checked his fingers, he would have found the sliver of poison joke caught under his fingernail.

The morning was harsh and hazy and the sun wasn’t even up. Ser Vincent’s head didn’t hurt, per se, in fact, whatever discomfort that throbbed across his body felt more of an itch than blistering pain. He traversed the halls rubbing against his coat or pants helped soothe the sensation. It came and went and came back enough for him not to mind.

He reached the bathroom and let the sink run with steaming water. He yawned, the soft baritone rumbling within the mask as he kept his three-digited gloved-hand on the tap. He blinked once, twice, thrice, and the sink was nearly overflowing.

He quickly stopped the water flow and looked into the mirror of his toiletries cabinet. He couldn’t see much with it having steamed over and so he wiped it with his hand—

And found a grey stallion staring back.

Surprised, he jerked his head back. He blinked and rubbed his eyes until the world look crystal clear again. It was just his mask! He released an amused sigh, chuckling to himself as he reached up to remove his hood.

‘By the Fates, it’s been a while since I’ve dreamt of that.’ He grunted when it wouldn’t move.

“What?”

Vincent struggled to peel back the hood and strained when he dared exert himself. He tried to run his hand between the brow of his mask and the lip of the timber hood, finding his fingers not only were halted by a sealed crease but that he actually felt his bare hand touch the metal of the mask. As if he were touching his own skin.

“What…” he traced the snout, feeling not only the edges but also the trepidation of a finger trailing the outline. Disturbed by the development, he reached for the bottom of his shirt but found that too was sealed to his belt-less pants and that pulling the fabric felt like a dull pinch.

He could lift the lapels of his coat but couldn’t remove his coat. He could roll back the sleeves of his right arm a little but it was firmly melded with the skin of his exposed wrist. His right hand was very much human but he couldn’t even remove his left glove nor could he wriggle the pairs of fingers that filled it. He stepped onto a towel and it startled him; he felt the cotton under his boot!

Then, Ser Vincent felt a twitch and stopped his self-study. He paused, mild horror in his heart as something twitched again. He shifted his hips and turned, putting his back to the mirror and looking back into it.

His false tail, his short, brown, trimmed mop head for a pony tail… was now flicking from side to side whenever he thought hard enough.

“What!?” he barked, without a mouth, in terror.

Chapter Two

The last remaining remnant of Ser Vincent’s humanity was his right hand; his left had become the three digited pony glove, gaining a fire-retardant property. He’d also gained a mop tail but that wasn’t important right now. Ser Vincent the Nopony had endured pretending to be a pony long enough to not be handicapped by this change. It made his mind race, but he managed wrestle his thoughts and focus on researching a way to undo what the poison joke had done to him.

He skimmed book after book, finding the collective knowledge of decades worth of research by others to amount to a deeply unsettling “Do not touch! No cure known. Pray to Discord or endure until new moon.” These were rather old texts, and even the newer ones reference previous scholars and their failed attempts at remedies.

He closed a thick tome, one that had once been a reliable source of botanical knowledge, and growled at the disturbing sensation of feeling the binding through the gloved hand. Or rather, with the gloved hand.

Was he trapped in his attire or had it become his very flesh? He felt the air as if it was kissing his bare skin and yet bits of him flexed and protruded in reminder that it wasn’t; the lapels of his coat were folded; the cloth around his neck thankfully didn't hang like a turkey’s wattle; the belt loops added strange new sensations along his waist. The worst part was how he was becoming aware of all the short, brown mop strands that made up his false tail with every unintentional swish. He was thankful that he was wearing a shirt at the time of exposure.

“Nothing?!” His thoughts often escaped him. Sure he was calm and composed, absorbing as much information as he could, remaining generally quite as he strolled about his bedroom and kept dire thoughts at bay, but the lack of information meant he had to vent. Steam engines had exhausts and chimneys for a reason, after all.

He didn’t know how he was breathing so deeply. The cool air rushing through his nose was only a vivid recollection for his mask lacked nostrils, and yet his lungs filled and pushed out his chest. Full body transformation, body fused to exterior coverings.’ His arms linked behind his back, masked gaze falling to his heavy pacing steps, accompanying his heavier thoughts.

‘Poison Joke obtains weaknesses from prey's psychology, then derives mental state and physical form. Attacks subconscious of predator and applies magic to render them harmless, typically. ‘Joke’ aspects perceived as such by ponies and beings of equal intelligence as ponies, after all, humour is subjective and not the plants main goal. Creatures such as ponies and myself have a far more developed psyche than that of lesser animals therefore the effects twists one’s own image due to confusion with the magic at work.’

He stopped before his body armour, the scaled piece protecting a mannequin for the time being. ‘Hence, why I would still be capable of taking more samples as opposed to taking serious harm. It has too much work with when irrational fears, bad habits, quirks, personalities, potential psychological trauma are at work-- to name a few-- and must have mistook my dependency for my guise as being what I would need to attack it. The plant’s magic identified my clothes as a vital part of my ability to travel and attempted to remove it.’

He sighed with a weary shake of the head, face palming, cringing as gloved hand felt mask. ‘Merging of body to clothing was supposed to link me to inflexible shell in order to hinder my movements. Evidently, a clear misunderstanding on its part. It wished to render me immobile as I perceive myself to be when I am without my mask and coat etc. etc. I’m now supposed to be ‘vulnerable’ to potential predators, or so it concluded in its confusion.’

“Dear Fates, what have I become?” He didn’t know what exactly he was asking and couldn’t think over feeling a hand against what felt like his muzzle. His tail twitched from time to time just to drive home how strange things had become. He had grown a tail and he wondered if he had a bone in there. That was when an errant thought crossed his mind.

Quickly, he opened his wardrobe, the one that housed numerous belts and identical coats of green, sand, and white. Every belt had a small hunting knife sheathed and attached to them – he’d reach around his back for it when hunting on long missions and it was always hidden by his long coat. He maintained them weekly, ensuring that they were dangerously sharp.

He took one and opened his coat as far as it would go, feeling a dull pinch as the fabric of his old fitness shirt stretched. He couldn’t cut through his coat but he could possibly slice the seam where it bonded with the shirt.

There was a moment of hesitation, a single flicker of doubt revealed by momentary withdrawal, before he took a deep breath and pressed the tip into the seam on his left side. The puncture was about an inch wide and felt little more than a playful bite one may get from a family pet. Alas the fact that he felt something made him pause on reflex before he slowly cut down the seam.

Coming to five inches, he stopped for a moment of inspection. He sheathed the knife back into its belt before easing in his human fingers into the hole. He hoped for more flesh, to chill the skin of his sides with his cold finger tips. Instead he felt something scratchy, and a lot of it.

He pinched a piece and withdrew his hand. Cotton. He’d pulled out cotton. Confused, he tried again, reaching in and far around the large body of cotton before wriggling his hand through like a stubborn eel. It was only when half his forearm was inside him that the momentary confusion vanished. Transformational alchemy was a field that would lead to several strange incidents in one’s life, transmogrification specifically being the attempt to enhance and gain unnatural abilities or features without regard to any form of grace or beauty. He didn't look particularly good with gills and with a second set of waterproof, transparent eyelids.

Becoming a walking plushie of how he wanted others to see him? Definitely new.

“I best clear my schedule…” He spoke to the cotton in hand, as if it would answer back, before quickly returning it to whence it came. His words came shaky, calm and disciplined, but he felt the chill within him, his mind still calming the storm of terrifying thoughts, “Fortunately my heart still works fine, wherever it is.”

With swift resolve he headed to the door, “But first, I need to inform the Apples of my predicament… and to get out of this house. Zecora may be of greater help than myself.”

The night before he had stuffed his right-handed pony glove into his inside breast pocket and through the night it had fused with it. Ser Vincent simply resorted to hiding his human hand in an outer pocket as his briskly made his way down the garden path.

He kept his gaze to the hoof-tread road, not registering the stones with his malachite eyes. He’d head to town before turning towards Sweet Apple Acres – the journey would be longer and give him more time to think over the matter, to raw up theories and soothe his mind. He was losing control of his runaway thoughts.

‘Another side effect?’

That was troubling. He was a master of his craft and yet he was still failing to concentrate. His coherent thought gave way to bursts of panic but were just as quickly corralled. Yes, this was a fairly bad turn of events, but by now he was overreacting.

This was terrifying; true his response was rather placated relative to what others my experience but this was not his first magical backfire. He’d studied potions for years and had developed his own method of coping: small distractions to drain his nervous energy, such as pacing. Above all, he was knight and a professional. He simply needed a few more seconds to recollect and control his emotions and thoughts. He needed the control… Control.

'I'm beginning to see why this plant is so despised.'

His main issue was that he’d be out of work for a month. That, now that he had collected his thoughts, seemed worse than being transformed. Another issue to gnaw upon his neurons. Never mind that he was capable of feeling bodily functions, such as a heartbeat and an empty stomach, occurring within a cotton stuffed shell, but he’d be rendered useless to Equestria for thirty days! What was he to do in his state for a whole month?!

He brought his train of thought back onto the tracks of solving his problem with an irate shake of his hooded head. Now that he could think, he was devising possible tests to solve this magic mishap, experiments for a cure.

“Knight, help!”

He looked up to find a teen mare racing towards him from above. The creamy pegasus skidded when her hooves touched down, her wings splaying as she tried to run after the shaky landing. Wide eyed and with ears at attention, her desperation came through her voice, “Please help! There are monsters in town and the Princess is still away!”

'Fan- flubbing-tastic! Hardly beyond the gate and my day has become worse!’ He lowered his head to her level as he rested the gloved hand on her shoulder, his shallow baritone voice honed to a well-practiced calm. “Okay, keep calm, and tell me what monster I’m dealing with in detail.”

She shuddered and tucked her tail at his touch, but managed an agreeing nod. “I-I thought it was purple mist at first but then I saw claws, just floating and swiping at ponies.”

She gulped and he removed his hand, studying her body language as he listened intently.

“But then I saw other bits and pieces of, I dunno, bone? Like a spine, but not a lot of other things.”

“Good, anything else?” he said in a warm placating manner.

“S-s-sorry but my friends are in trouble!” she cried, eyes watering as she held herself, looking past his house and towards town. “We were just in the field nearby when one of them floated out towards the rest of the ponies just enjoying the sun and—It teleports!”

She gripped him and he allowed it; she tried to shake him but he was unmovable, partially stunned because even though she pinched the coat in her grasp, it felt like she was pinching his skin. “It has this big face and seems to teleport everywhere! It tries to grab you with its arms, that kinda look more like rock than bone, and then it bites you!” Her pupils narrowed and her voice began to croak. “Oh Fates, my friends!”

A shrill scream stole both their attention as an equally young earth pony mare came racing around the corner, her dress in tatters. That’s when he heard a crackling fizz --Fzzz, kack!-- and but a second later, a strange creature burst from thin air in a cloud of amethyst smoke.

The ghostly body of purple magic was triangular, the broad shouldered monster ominously drifting towards the mare. It seemed to grow in size as she fell back in a desperate attempt avoid a vicious swipe of its black claw. The translucent body was adorned with bones, seemingly burrowing in rather than becoming exposed, clinging on and spanning random parts of its shape. A dark spine arched too far out and off, a shoulder blade extended out like poorly suited wings, a sharp elbow pointed out; nothing fit, especially when the claw stretched out at the tip of those ethereal arms.

“Run!” he commanded the pegasus a he pushed her away, charging towards the monster. His human hand slid along his – he hadn’t attached a belt, fearing that it too would meld to his form, the pockets remaining sealed. No potions... a troublesome problem.

“Oi!” he taunted, garnering both their attention. At the same moment, Ser Vincent unleashed a solid blow with his human hand to its face, sending the monster back with a dazed shake of the head. The knight felt the sting of impact, felt the cold against the scrapes and cuts on his knuckles, but he barrelled through as it reeled in shock.

He pulled the mare to her hooves and kept moving, dragging her startled mind as it failed to keep up for a moment.

“Get away, somewhere away from town!” Ser Vincent yelled when his hidden eyes met hers.

“Th-th-thank you,” she said, shook up and backing away. Her friend flew above, taking her by the hand and pulling her away from the scene. He didn’t watch them leave. Ser Vincent turned back to the beast and got a good look.

Above a rib-cage -- seemingly too big -- was a unicorn skull, eyes possessed by a deep purple gaze. Elongated fangs hung from the upper jaw, the rest of the teeth dull. The lower jaw was naught but black fragments and a barely visible tongue. He recognised it immediately: a lesser shade.

When a particularly ambitious unicorn dies amongst the wilds of Equestria, where harmony has less influence than competing forces of magic, a part of their soul will carry on. A small fragment, one willing to deal with Discord or sell itself to tartarus for a chance at greater power. It was parasitic by nature, feeding off the natural magic of others to strengthen itself. It was the vampire story told to reckless students of the arcane arts, a warning of what comes to those that will do anything for greater power, damn the consequences.

And he’d punched it in the face.

It also collapsed in on itself.

Its body was supported purely by magic, the physical aspects mere additions as milestones on its never ending quest to absorb magic. Without a sound its entire form shrunk to a pin prick and vanished, leaving the knight seemingly alone in the open.

He stepped forward, arms at the ready. He hated teleporters, made all parties involved tired by the end of the chase. He couldn’t guess where it would come from but he could listen to the dead silence that had settled.

Fzzz, kack!

He rolled forward, dodging the pair of claws that slammed together where his head would have been. The claws flexed as it reached out for him, a guttural growl escaping from within its dark, magical core. The eyes flared bright as it moved closer to the knight.

He needed to get inside the house, he needed to get to the metal cases he kept in his room and he needed to act fast. All that stood between him and them was this monstrosity.

It snatched at his side but he’d already stepped out of its reach. It swung its other claw low but he hopped over it, only to be clocked on the back of the head by the first claw that had tried to grab him. He fell before the monster and instinctively rolled away, narrowly avoiding a large, bony fist crushing where his chest had been.

Getting to his feet but keeping low, he charged forth again, feeling his heart race. He was close enough that it tried to grasp him with rocketing claws but he dove over both of them, rolling and coming to stand uncomfortable close to its ribcage. Quickly, he tried to simply duck through its intangible body, moving his head aside as he passed its spine, but his arms became snared when he exited the other side.

Due to its arms being intangible it could manoeuvre its claws to be anywhere within three-hundred-and-sixty degrees. It had thrown its own fists through itself to catch him.

He was yanked back with a grunt, back through the deathly scented magic and foul miasma that held the lesser shade together. Both of his wrists were caught in a vice like grip, tightly felt even through the effects of poison joke.

It lifted its upper jaw as it suspended him before it, the split lower jaw of magic and bone shard working up and down as it drew closer to his chest. It would feed around the heart, neck, or skull. He struggled in vain as it lowered its horn, primed to skewer its lively prey.

Ser Vincent then swung his boot into its cheek, earning a shocked yelp. The claws kept him in place as it self-righted its skull-face, sneering and snarling up to him. The knight did not take kindly to the display of disrespect and kicked it again. With a howl it tried to stretch Vincent’s arms further, discomforting him less than it certainly should have.

With flailing legs, he managed to hook the toe of his boot between its ribs and pulled himself closer. Given the obtuse nature in which the bones joined the mystical body of the monster, the shade couldn’t turn its head enough to bite at his ankles as a skewed collar bone blocked it. It tried, almost leaving Vincent struggling to maintain his anchorage as his leg wrestled with that phantom tongue.

At the same time, he stomped its skull. Hard. Bitter anger built as the fight had been going on and he was unleashing it every time the heel of his boot landed. Every crack of the cheek bone came with a snarl of his own, every splitting web of impact made the lesser shade recoil.

It gave a horrendous wail and released his right arm, leaving him precariously suspended from his left wrist and his lodged boot. Quickly he reached over with his human hand, ignoring his bleeding knuckles as it gripped the shade’s claws. He pulled and pulled and strained and strained until—

Snap!

Two bone-claws snapped and the beast howled once more. It dropped him to nurse the disfigured claw, him having tossed the digits upon landing. His foot came lose and so he rolled off his back and madly scrambled to his feet and raced away. It caught him again, by his ankle.

“Ahhh, flub!” he cursed as he was lifted into the air. He could see the garden gate before him and then he was looking directly to the dirt floor as he was suspended. He levelled his inverted gaze to the shade as it growled and twitched its jaws at him. “I am going to enjoy obliterating your pitiful existence.”

It merely slammed him into the earth. Once, twice, thrice, and again for good measure. Harsh phantom pains wracked his body, the blunt trauma confusing his mind, racked by the disorientating sensation of having a temporally none-existent skeleton beaten. Another slam, and another beatings, and yet despite the throbbing of his sides ached rather than felt destroyed. It was like being protected by his armour but the blows were nowhere near as softened.

Limp and dazed, he felt his body be dragged to the side before his entire weight was slung forth. Weightlessness then took him, and when he was quickly gaining distance between him and the shade, he realised what had happened at the moment of impact.

With a shatter of glass and a cacophony of torn down blinds and a collapsed coffee table, Ser Vincent landed in the living area of his abode. Shards skittered along the floor and between the knight and the crumpled blinds. His mask was buried in the rubble of the once fashionable piece of furniture and his entire body burned. His arms shifted through rubble, pale fingers sending spikes of sharp impulses whenever glass slit the flesh thinly.

He rolled over with a grunt, feeling his chest sting with every cool, ragged breath. Supporting himself on his elbows, he felt along the shirt that made his chest. His exposed human hand found several small, jagged pieces of glass embedded in his chest, the webbing of between a pair of flesh fingers sliced, along with a short gash over his appendix and liver. Tufts of cotton leaked out, fibres hanging off his fingers. Nothing but surface wounds but at the same time, he'd have to find someway of treating them as they couldn't be ignored.

‘Nothing a bit of embroidery couldn’t fix.’ He bled cotton, its scratchy texture weaving between his fingers as he stuffed himself with clumps that had flown out of him. Things were far from ideal he thought, his mind once again spinning out of control. Dark ideas and grisly foresights hit. Would he be shredded? Was this is it? Ser Vincent The Nopony, the brave, the proud, defeated due to being handicapped by a plant? It made his heart race in a manner he hadn’t felt since he was a squire. The fear was there but something else burned, a fury born fueled by grief and years, a hell-fire cleansed his mind.

And then he realised that his broken magic hadn’t awoken yet.

Why couldn’t he feel his magic stir? Why hadn’t it? It always had previously. He then had control, he could unleash it as required.

“Oh my,” was all he simply said, staring down to his cotton – stuffed wounds and then between his hands. One was almost human, as ever, the other pretending to belong to a stallion. “Nothing…” His heart sank. Never had this seemed remotely feasible to him. Magical nullifiers existed, he used them on plenty of unicorns, but they imprisoned the spark of magic. It was still there merely caged.

His magic felt dead – there was no familiar abnormal spark.

‘Magical nullifiers!’

A shadow consumed him as the monster approached the window. Damaged claws gripped the window frame and crushed residual shards of glass as it attempted to drift in. He wasted no time in getting to his feet and bolting up the stairs. It wouldn’t be long before it decided to teleport once more.

He barged into his room and almost took the door of its hinges. He spied the two chromatic steel cases at the foot of his armour stand. He pushed aside the longer of the two and opened the smaller, bulkier one.

Inside, upon a bed of red velvet, twin gauntlets rested with immaculate polish of bluish-silver. The tip of all four fingers were sharp, every segment framed by small runic symbols trailing about like connected roads of simple spells. At the wrist was a thick band of silver and what appeared to be a key hole from which all the runes travelled from. Surrounding these gauntlets were numerous prisms of various colours, each ended with a handle of wood.

He reached for the right gauntlet and promptly fitted the silvery-blue piece of armour. It was light, durable, and would help pack a punch. Alas, given that his left hand was still three-digited, the other human gauntlet would not fit.

‘I only need the one.’ He felt a determined frown sprout.

He took one of the keys, a pink one, and inserted it into the hole on the wrist, feeling the gauntlet vibrate as it awoke. He snapped off the handle and spun the band, watching the mystical symbols covering the entire gauntlet glow pink and bright. The band slid over the key hole, white runic words glowing into existence. He once did this before his parents and they described the runic patterns as ‘like circuitry on a motherboard’. He had no idea what one of those were despite their best explanation.

All he knew was how to fight magic with magic, without unicorn magic.

Rosy crystals exploded into existence and he held out his arm. They squeaked and cracked as siblings appeared, fighting for dominance as new arrivals sprouted and butted against previous residents. Every new shard was vicious and sharp, wicked and nasty as the magic spread up along his forearm and stopped at the top of the bicep. Finally it settled and he flexed his arm and digits, mechanically balling a fist and shedding mystical shards that dissolved into magic mid-air.

He now held a serrated claw of his own, one specifically designed with magical monsters in mind. His hand glowed from beneath the crystal. The gauntlet was the work of someone else, another associate skilled in crafting, and the rune scheme was something he worked out with the same stallion. The key however allowed him to produce elemental effects, depending on what type of key he used. He made these keys himself through alchemy.

As Ser Vincent left he attached a specific belt he felt a frown deepen beneath the mask that had become his face. Literally as the case was. He was, decidedly, in a bad mood.

He quickly made his way downstairs, mindful not to scratch the walls with his wrist, and past the shade that made to lunge at him over the dividing low wall between the kitchen and the living area. He felt the table debris beneath his boot try to press into the sole and fail. In one fluid motion he vaulted out the window. The glass couldn’t possible cut through his left gloved hand.

He took deep breathes and left the garden, feeling his heart race in his chest. By now he probably would have used his magic, in fact, a lot of his injuries would have been avoided any other day. As it stood, he had to make do with what he had, and he had a burning ambition for some payback. Potions, powders, and their locations upon his belt ran through the knight’s mind, his gloved hand sliding along his pockets.

Fzzz. Kack!

With a haunting growl, the lesser shade emerged from the ether with its arms and claws outstretched and dangerously close. Deftly he side stepped the charge before blocking a powerful blind swing with the crystal arm.

It recoiled instantly with a howl. Like a cancerous growth burning like fire on dry wood, rosy crystals erupted at the point of contact. It ate away at the forearm and consumed half before stopping, a mercy given that was when the monster fell silent once more.

The knight witnessed it channel more of the magic keeping the beast alive into its arm, a sign evident by further growth of the crystals. Ser Vincent wasted no time and threw another slash directly into the crystal growth, shattering it and cutting through the other half of the arm. The effect was immediate; from the forearm down, the shade's arm had crystallised.

The monster leapt back as fast as it could drift, growling as it lost the ability to control its claw. The growth took magic, effectively consuming the energy needed to sustain an arm. It desperately tried to reconnect feeling to its claw to regain control, but Ser Vincent had taken that from it, and kept it with every new micro-growth of solidified magic. The shade merely had a complex stump extending from its elbow, of pink crystal and dull, black claws.

It snarled and glared at Ser Vincent as he ran towards it.

He noted that it tried to shrink and teleport again and again, inciting the growth to enlarge a little more with every bit of magic wasted on the endeavor.

Ser Vincent worked with others to create a way to incapacitate magic wielders, be they beast or pony. This power came from his little pink prism.

And thus the gauntlets were forged.

He leapt over the shade’s vain attempt to lash at his his knees with its working claw and brought serrated claws down onto its shoulder. His arm passed through, though this time it was like dragging his entire arm through mud as fast as he could swing a blade.

The affect was immediate. A crystal cluster appeared and swallowed the shoulder whole. This cut off magic suspending the flailing claw and it promptly fell out the air and the bones disconnected and turned to dust.

Despite missing an arm and being unable to teleport, the shade swung at him with its paralysed stump of a claw. Ser Vincent blocked the solid stump with his left arm before driving the same gloved fist into the shade’s ghastly face. The impact was harsh on the shade, the pain increased when the crystal fist soon followed after, striking the rib cage, cracking the sternum and several ribs. Nimbly, the left hand reached around the ribs and gripped the spine right below the skull.

There was a gurgle as his arm past through the neck before another sneer came about. The ethereal tongue quickly wrapped around his left forearm and attempted to move it closer its snapping jaw and pointed fangs.

So Vincent beat it with his crystallised gauntlet. He aimed for the fractured cheek and delivered painful blow after blow. It tried to clobber him with its stumped arm but he simply gripped its gut, waited for a crystal clump to form, before tearing it out and tossing it away to dissipate.

Lesser shades may come from the haunted, dissatisfied shards of power hungry unicorns, but they have the same flaw: they cannot refill their magical supply naturally as unicorns can and therefore must feast to replenish their mana. Their vampirism kept them alive and restored lost or spent magic. The accumulated dark force at work was all that kept the ethereal husk together and Ser Vincent was ripping out pieces at a time.

When he felt the magic supporting the neck was weak enough, when he felt he had secured his grip with his left hand, and when he met its dark purple eyes with his own sharp malachite stare, he spoke.

“You got nothing on a monster like me.”

He then drove his sharp crystal fingers deep into its purple eyes. It wailed with a shrill cry as he tried to secure a tight enough grip. Its entire body lowered as its dark magic flared bright, its shape starting to spasm as he pulled. It roared and quaked, Ser Vincent’s unenhanced strength barely keeping it in place.

“Rest… in… peace…” He felt teeth he didn’t have grit as he gradually, seconds by wrestled seconds, steadily tore the decaying skull from its old black spine.

The popping noise that soon followed was wet like festering blood, and squelched with the stench of a bog. With a single arcane pulse that almost pushed back the knight, the decrepit magic of the lesser shade dissipated and the bones and skull in Vincent’s hands quickly turned to dust. Wisps of light drifted out and away from the scene, slivers of magic returning to prey feasted on within the last twenty four hours.

‘Many will recover but it will be a disorientating experience.’

For a moment he simply breathed, pouring off the sand of the dead from both of his hands. Looking down reminded him that he was leaking cotton and he began to grow concern over possible contamination of bone dust and glass getting lodge within him. He allowed himself a small chuckle at a passing thought.

‘Thankfully, my magic is not needed for me to do my work.’ He looked to the white glow on the back of the gauntlet, finding it not as bright as before. He curled the crystal claw into a fist, watching fallen flakes of crystal and purple necrotic magic dissolve into nothing. For a moment, he was thankful that he was never overly reliant on his adrenaline-infused magic – it did only serve to amplify the present abilities of the man wielding it, after all.

“You did it!”

He turned back to find the teen mare from before hovering near his roof. Her tail swished merrily as her body shook with unbridled joy and relief; her smile grew wide and thankful, her hands were held near her chest and her ears stood on end.

“That was amazing!” she added, swooping down and parting her long golden mane out of the way. “I knew you could do it!” Her ecstatic smile faltered when she lowered her gaze from his mask to the cuts in his chest. “Are you okay? You took quite a beating.”

“Tell me, are you feeling dizzy or weak in the heart and wings?” He watched her tilt her head, ears folding when he gave a well practice snap of his pony-gloved fingers. “Quickly, I need to get to town.”

“Um, no, it didn’t get me.”

He nodded and passed her, looking back over his shoulder. “Get ahead and tell everypony to hide indoors – it can’t teleport under doors nor can it teleport through glass or small spaces, so close the windows too.”

“Oh okay,” she said with a quick nod.

“Also, if it does try to break a door down, tell everypony to leave through the back, and go to somepony else’s house. Lesser shades hunt what they see and give up the chase easily enough.” He watched her take to the skies, wishing for a pace that matched Rainbow Dash’s. He then bolted along the dirt road into town to hunt another shade.

“Thanks, Ser Vincent!”

Between huffs of breath, Ser Vincent looked up to the mare that had thanked him as they both headed into town.

Chapter Three

The familiarity of a hunt nearly eroded all sense of how alien Ser Vincent found the current situation. The thunder of his boots along the ground beat in rhythm to every masked breath; his muscles were warmed, he felt the heat and twist of every muscle fiber as he charged into town; his strides were swift and hit hard, hard enough to almost feel like any other mission.

But the air bit harder as he sprinted. It surged over his coat and he felt every inch of his front. He felt it catch on his coat collar as if it against his skin, felt it ride over his hood, crash into his thighs as he ran. It was impossible to completely escape these new sensations, to try and become what he once was.

The knight glanced to the sky to where the young mare was leading him. He passed many ponies fleeing the scene and he barked orders at them.

“Get inside and away from the windows!” he commanded one group, startling a few despite seeing him coming. “Close the curtains and wait!”

It was the same with every street. He’d surprise ponies by being the charging through and then they’d pause to consider his advice. Vincent only heard a handful call back that they would be following the instructions; he couldn’t say for the others. He turned a corner and found himself in the village centre. First thing he noted was the shivering body slumped against the corner of the building beside him.

A blonde unicorn rested, shoulder against the cold stone wall. Now that the knight had actually taken a moment to stop he could see several patches of frost and ice dotted around, trailing erratically out and away. The fur of his coat was damp, as if he had been spat out. The stallion gripped himself, scarlet eyes opening halfway at undetermined intervals. His shoulder sported blackened punctures: tell-tale signs of a shade attack. His hands were brought close to his chest, tail and ears drooping against skull and pavement, breathing shallow and quick.

Using his gloved hand Vincent reached to his side for his green bandages, his rose crystal claw searching the pockets on his other hip. As he pulled out a dark purple vial wing beats were heard by his side.

“Oh no.”

Vincent didn’t respond to her gasp nor when her hooves touched down. He quickly rolled out a strip of bandage before tearing it off and folding it over and over. He knelt down.

“I’m going to partially restore his magic and tend to his wounds.” Ser Vincent still didn’t look to her as he handed over the purple vial. He applied the thick bundle of sapphire-speckled bandage over the wound before wrapping more around his chest and shoulder to hold in place. Phantom wisps of blue began to drift out, an earthly and garlicky aroma faintly generating. “Vial, if you please.”

He held out his gloved hand and was returned the glass tube. The cork had a piece of string passing through, a tiny green bulb on the end. With the gauntlet he pulled the string and watched the bulb snap off. As soon as it came in contact with the viscous purple liquid, the mixture grew warm and gently bubbled. Wisps of white trailed out of the hole where the string had been.

“What is it?” the mare inquired.

“A little something to kick start the magic rejuvenation process that the shade interrupted.” Ser Vincent carefully slid the vial into the delirious stallion’s hands, gently closed his fingers around the glass, and then lifted the gripped potion close to the muzzle. “See, when magical creatures are born, their body automatically begins to breathe on its own, as well as generate its own pool magic. Shade’s empty this pool to the point that the body gives up, temporally stopping all form of mana regeneration.”

He stood up, both hands searching for more vials and bandage bundles. He observed the stallion inhale the sparkling wisps of white before turning to the young mare. She looked up to him, distressed but bright eyed. “Ser Vincent, as you know.”

“Butterscotch,” she replied, giving a quick and awkward curtsy. Her ears fell flat as she spoke with an uncertain inflection, “Um, nice to finally meet you…”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to make you change your tune.” He handed over six vials and two tightly packed rolls, much to her confusion. “Listen, Butterscotch, you have to do two things.” He raised the gauntlet and two fingers, glancing between her pin-pricked stare and the twin serrated claws momentarily before switching to the pony glove. “Continue to spread the warning and instructions, and patch up others.”

“Wait, I can’t do that!” she cried, trying to push the offloaded items back into his hands. He let both arms fall lose and blocked her attempts to return the vials back to their pockets. “I don’t even normal first aid!”

“You don’t need to.” He earned a brief pause and continued, “The bandages are a magical disinfectant, gauze, safe clotting agent, a slightly effective healing accelerator and dressing.” He rolled his left hand over his right, keeping a calm tone, “Roll up and fold about four hands worth of bandage, apply it, then wrap it in place with more bandage.” He then gestured to the vials but took a quick glance towards the trail of ice leading towards a street. “Pull the string and then give him the potion. Make sure the white vapour is being inhaled. Then move on.”

“B-but these can’t nearly be enough for everypony that these things have bit,” she said, tail tucking as she looked to her hands with worry.

“After I defeat the shades the magic will return to those it has fed upon.” He glanced to trail of ice leading towards the next street. “I just need you to tell me the shade’s current location.” He point up with the clawed gauntlet, noting how her eyes hadn’t stopped focusing on it for a while. “If you please.”

“Sure.” With that, Butterscotch took to the air and Ser Vincent returned his attention to stirring stallion.

Crouching back down, he gently laid the five-clawed gauntlet on the victim’s unharmed shoulder. The eyes flickered again and the stallion looked Ser Vincent right in the masked face with a hint of lucidity.

“I’ve got you. You’re safe.” The knight observed the stallion blink, harder and harder each time, face shifting more to confusion than discomfort, before resigning to lean back against the wall and nurse himself with more magical vapour.

Ser Vincent stood up as Butterscotch came racing back.

“It’s in the next street, hurry!”

He didn’t waste time and ran. The cobble stone road was littered with puddles of ice thawing under the sun. He turned at a bend and frosted lamppost and what he saw made him reach for his belt once more.

A few unfortunate souls were discarded along the pavement, and if it weren’t for the rampaging issue ahead, he’d swiftly attend to them. Others were scurrying away from this glacial brute whilst Ser Vincent charged on. He passed stand aftermarket stand and leapt over

This shade was half-times taller than him, phantom white dark magic heavily armoured with what seemed to be layers and layers of ice. It lacked a head as such and sported four long, skeletal arms, frosted and with vicious claws at the end of each. The hooves were as thick as trunks, frost spreading where one was placed. Wisps of grey surrounded the exposed phantom waist, beneath a thick torso. The monstrosity had already spied him, the thick chest splitting, revealing a haphazard collection of rib cages and a central unicorn skull, drooling with ethereal tendrils. Purple eyes glared back, a rumbling growl head by Vincent at the end of the street.

He slowed, having gained its attention. He’d allow it to approach, make the first swing, and make the first and last mistake. His pony-gloved hand withdrew two capsules; one pink and silver and the other blue. With lumbering steps the veteran shade sealed itself within its chest case and made its way to the knight.

Ser Vincent was ready as he could be against this obviously aged monster. It had begun to develop its own brand of magic and that only meant that it was meaner and hungrier. The knight rolled the capsules between the three digits of his glove, and flexed all five serrated digits of his gauntlet.

The ice shade then came to a halt, crossing its arms over its chest before flinging them to the side. The torso split open and the sound of frozen winds howled towards the knight. Ser Vincent saw the explosion of white and covered his eyes, a rush of icy magic hitting him like the harshest of Northern winds.

The cobble stone was glazed with thick ice, the glassy touch spreading outward towards nearby fallen stands and barrels. As the stream of magic continued, loud and unrelenting, icicles formed on a nearby lamppost, a lake of frost soon pooling, and clinging to the boots of the still standing knight. A mare scurried out from behind her stand, slipping upon the wave of magic she sought to escape.

The torrent of magic soon stopped, the shade studying the frosted the knight with beastly eyes before turning towards the fallen mare. She shrieked as it took a heavy step towards her, a hiss heard through its fangs and tendril maw.

Pffff!

A cloud of silvery pink magic exploded at the thick hoof of the juggernaut, causing it to reel back. No ice formed where it moved to however, faint arcs of white magic dancing around within the rosy mist.

With exertion born of inconvenience and annoyance, Ser Vincent tore his boot from the frozen pool. With a shrug, his shoulders rolled cold slush and water droplets off him and down along his viridian coat. What little wall of ice that built around him crumbled as he slid out, practically untouched.

There were many, many forms of magic a knight would confront, be they scorched by arcane fires or blasted by sub-zero tundra magic. Ser Vincent’s armour and clothes were always prepared to face against anything unicorns or monsters could spit at him.

He tore his other boot free and flexed his gauntlet hand, rolling the blue goo capsule in his pony hand. The shade snarled before sealing its torso once more and bared its claws. Ser Vincent readied his stance, heart thundering in his chest.

‘How strange it is to finally not have that burn of magic within me.’ He’d never gone a mission without feeling the caustic burn of magic within him, his years of growing with this fire that wasn’t for him amounting to dampening the flames or wielding it. And now all was cold within him.

‘Of course that could just be the ice blast and poison joke further confusing my senses.’

He blinked hard, cursing himself for the distracting thought. The mare! Quickly he looked to her. She rose back to her hooves and used the nearby wall for support.

“Hurry! You have to get out of here!” he barked. He continued to watch her as she struggled to hop along, her leg frozen up to her shin. The rosy mist surrounding her helped thaw the ice magic but it was alarmingly slow. She was about to fire back a heated remark, a glare harsh, eyes frenzied by panic and stress. Vincent then saw her ears wilt, horror taking her features. He tilted his head at the display, mind going blank.

“Look out!”

He felt himself frown as he snapped back to the sha—‘The shade!’

With one long upper arm it clamped its claws over his head, the lower firmly grasping his abdomen as the knight indistinctly gripped the smothering appendage. It raised him up off the ground as he began beating into the frozen, elongated bones. It raised both claws on its left just as Ser Vincent seized the ulna and radius of the arm tethered to his head by a skeletal hand.

He struggled to snap the wrist off as the shade slashed at him, razor tipped claws glancing off the thick hide of his coat. Still he persisted, kicking out, growling as he strained to break the bonds of dark magic and ice, of frozen tendon and bone. As most of its necrotic magic was shielded by ice, it mean that his gauntlet was unable to syphon the magic and crystallise it. If he could get to the core then maybe he’d stand a chance.

Finally, with an all mighty snap, the knight tore apart the forearm of the monster, freeing his hooded head. The broken upper arm recoiled, the severed claw turning to dust upon the knight’s masked face. He shook loose the particles from his metal muzzle and fended off a vicious slamming blow from the upper claw on the left.

Its grip on his abdomen tightened, the thumb claw slowly seeping through the fabric of his exposed shirt, slowly drawing cotton. It clobbered him on the back of the head but he managed to deflect the beastly swing of the lower left arm. He beat upon the wrist of the abdomen gripping claw but soon found his focus turning back to the torso.

The chest doors flew open with a thunderous roar of chilling breath, a blast of icy magic hitting at point blank. He felt his body stiffen as he covered his eyes with the gauntlet, which helped absorb some magic. Frost coated his body once again, his wounds and hanging cotton freezing over. The moment it stopped it slammed him into the cobblestone and raised a thick hoof.

The magic had already began to thaw for the knight and so he rolled away. The road shattered beneath its heavy stomp, stone chips flying out and skittering along the floor as Vincent returned to full height.

‘Concentrate!’ He mentally berated himself for failing to gain control of the situation. Vincent then pulled out another blue goo capsule with the pony hand. His breathing was heavy as the shade turned to face him, the injured arm tucking itself close to the body.

The chest split open just enough for purple eyes to glare at him from within. The remaining arms flexed their claws as it growled deeply. Ser Vincent moved his own clawed gauntlet out wide, his legs bending slightly.

Then they charged. No roars or war cries, just thunderous steps.

The monster brought the upper left down but Ser Vincent palmed away with the gloved hand. The capsule burst, bubbling away as the goo solidified. The blow sent an arc of pain along the knight’s arm. At the sight of the torso splitting he turned to the side and kicked high and hard. Only half the chest opened and the blast of frost magic intended for him was halved as well, skimming his crystal arm.

He brought the same boot down on the lower right claw that tried to sweep him off his feet. He pinned it in place as he blocked a swift swipe from the lower left, his strength waning as blow after blow was blocked or deflected.

He ducked under the head skewering interlocking of lower claws and struck the thick knee of the shade with the gauntlet. It shuddered as a crack appeared on the surface, a pink glow marking the webbing where crystal had embedded itself.

The chest case burst open once again and he rolled under the beast, sliding on the ice around its trunk-like hooves. From behind he spotted the ridged spine frozen onto the body alongside the exposed waist. Ghostly magic was free and he could taste the haunting stench of the shade’s corrupted soul.

‘Always cover your rear.’

He placed the gloved hand on a thick vertebrae and plunged the serrated claws of the gauntlet into the deathly mist. It roared in anguish as chunks of white and rose magic solidified onto the gauntlet, the monster twisting and flailing as the knight held on.

Its lower left reached back but the knight was faster this time. He pulled himself onto the shade's back and climbed up. The accumulated magic of the gauntlet dissolved into light, the inner glow of the gauntlet dimming as he swung over to the front.

It clubbed itself with the upper claw sealed shut by the blue goo as he landed before it, turning in time to catch the frenzied grab of the lower right with both hands. He snapped off all of the digits before taking a punch of frozen magic that knocked him back.

Without his magic he couldn’t react nearly as fast as he could have. He rolled with the blow and wound up kneeling a few feet away. He raised his gaze up to it as it prepared another torrent of icy magic.

Vincent charged once more, side stepping the frosted beam that winter-ised the house behind him. The gooed claw thrusted at him from above, striking his chest. More cotton burst out from the knight, some clumps frozen. He staggered for a moment before regaining control and dodging a deadly swipe at his throat.

He nimbly leapt back as a wall of ice was forged before his eyes. He pulled out another silvery pink capsule and jumped from beside the wall as it was crushed by an over extending claw that would have gutted him.

He tossed the capsule by the shade’s hooves, the mist causing great distress for the shrieking monster. It was incapable of projecting its magic within the mist and that hurt it terribly. As it stumbled back and writhed, Ser Vincent seized the advantage.

He took out a silver dagger, nothing more than a thick pink vial that functioned similar to the capsule he just threw, but heavily reinforced by silver casing, bearing a metal tip at one end and a fuse plug at another. He gripped it tightly in left, three-digited hand and launched himself at full speed.

It heard his steadfast steps and blindly swiped at him but he leapt over its claws and dove between its legs. Through the mist and towards its weakness. The air was now a sickening aroma of tart berries and rot as he regained his footing by its waist.

Without missing a heartbeat he plunged the bladed base of the vial into the bony pelvis that was swimming in white dark magic, his recoiling hand pulling the fuse in one flowing motion as he leapt back from another desperate haymaker.

The explosion was high pitched, like a whistle blasted in his ear, and effects were instant. Like how his gauntlet had crystallised, blossoms of solidify magic burst into existence, protrusions of rosy thorns bursting out. It roared once more, an unnatural cry of pain the shade had only heard from its victims.

A belt of solid magic soon formed and it hadn’t ceased its howling. It remained rooted to the spot despite all this, its bulky legs turning from a frosted white to soft pink. Ser Vincent skulked around, hidden eyes studying the effects. Upon noting the crack at the knee was glowing again he came to an all too satisfying conclusion. And although his face had become the stoic mask he still felt himself grin as he watched the shade struggle to twist or turn at the hip.

With panting breaths he marched up the rear of the beast before planting a solid blow right into its spine. The ice cracked as he pulled back the gloved fist and struck with gauntlet like a jack hammer. The shade writhed and weakly clawed at him as he delivered powered blow after power blow. He worked the spine an lower back and occasionally drove a knee into the crystallised waist.

Cracks formed along its back, ice splitting with roads of anti-magical pink tainting the torso, further aggravating the frost shade. Wisps of milky fuchsia ebbed away into non-existence as the massive amount of harvested magic the shade had collected was being pummeled away.

When the rear of the shade was nothing more than a collection of fragile ice, bone, and growing cracks he made his way to the front without facing the shade. Still, roaring, with anger, pain, misery and hunger… it threw all it had at him in one final, feral attempt.

To which Ser Vincent spun around and delivered an almighty buck of a kick into the centre of its exposed skull. Combined with the heavy damage it had just sustained to its back, the weakening of its hips and spine, all form of support collapsed and snapped.

The upper half of the shade was launched off the still standing legs. It landed onto a previously frozen patch of street and skidded a few yards, ice flying where its claws had dug in. The bottom half fell to its knees, vaporising into magic and water droplets as Ser Vincent strolled by.

His breathing was harsh, his legs were jelly, and he fumbled from side to side as he migrated over to finish the job. Normally, he wouldn't be in such a sorry state. Heck, he wouldn’t even need a break with his adrenaline magic at work. ‘So, this is what it’s like to be completely human? Can’t say I appreciate the change.’

The bottom half completed fell over, shattering into chunks of cold crystal. The upper half of the shade still writhed like a tortured spider with half its legs torn off and the remaining severely eviscerated. It tried to gain traction, to move, to do something, but between the broken arms and the goo sealed fist, it only had one function claw to paw at the cobblestone.

It rolled onto it back as Ser Vincent pulled another anti-magic dagger vial from a pocket. With a weak swat it struck his side. He bore its strike and watched the claw slide down and off his coat. When it attempted a second time, he snapped the large claw off at the wrist.

With one final unsteady step he approached as it opened its chest doors again, but the blast that came out was nowhere near as powerful as before. It still burned his chest with frost and cuts in his shirt were clotted with frozen cotton. His arms stiffened due to the ice magic but quickly thawed out thanks to his coat. It still felt like his very skin had frozen, however.

He stared into the deep purple eyes of the shade, those eyes that bore a hatred and loathing, a primal hunger and animalistic fear that wanted to crush and devour the knight. Its forehead had cracked, fragments of cranium spilled out among the slowly disintegrated rib cages that formed the torso.

Its maw flared its ethereal tendrils before the knight plunged his gauntleted hand through its ‘mouth’ and gripped the spine. Tight. It wriggled as his plunged the dagger vial squarely between the eyes and pulled the fuse.

One ear splitting flash later and he found himself arm deep in a body of pink crystal. In its depths he spotted the now lifeless skull staring back. With a grunt he tried to pull himself free, going as far as to plant his boot on the rosy mound. He paused to collect his breath before tearing the skull free from its crystal coffin.

He held it over head as it turned to dust. Bright wisps of light danced freely, excited and flying out and away from the despicable of the shade that was slowly evaporating from existence. The extensive amount of magic that was returning to fallen ponies and animals was testament to just how many had fallen victim to this shade. And how powerful it once was.

Once.

After all traces of magic and the shade had vanished Ser Vincent fell to his knees. His arms hung limp at his side as he curled over his lacerated stomach. He felt the forehead of the mask, or his forehead as things were, touch the stone cold street. He felt the overhanging edge of his hood fold. It felt like bending the hair on his head. The pain inflicted on his torso was nowhere nearly as bad as it should have been, and for that reason, he was thankful that the poison joke messing with him was that merciful. For a while he remained there, panting at the intense abominable pains and aches as he tried to think about what his symptoms actually were.

‘Obviously, there is more going on internally.’ Was… was he actually reduced to being human beneath all this? Beside the cotton stuffing was he operating as a ‘true’ human being? He could only compare himself to his father for a what a male human should be like, and even that was a bad comparison given that Ser Vincent was a highly trained solider and his father was a chef in Canterlot.

Still, if he was still an ‘Equestrian-human’ then he should still be as partially as strong as earth ponies and partially as limber as pegasi. Which made him as strong as his father at fifteen. Now? He was strong but not as strong as he could be without resorting to his adrenaline magic.

‘So it might have reduced me to being a mere ‘English-human’. He felt rather ridiculous calling his parents ‘Earth-humans’ as, growing up, earth was associated with earth ponies. So he just categorised them by the name of the land they came from. Not the planet… apparently.

As he panted, he chuckled as he always did at this one passing thought on his heritage. ‘Where does thine species hail from? Planet ground? World of dirt?’ Couldn’t his people be a tad more creative about naming the world they lived on?

“Is-is it safe?”

The meek, scared voice gained his attention. Startled, he shakily rose to his boots and faced the pony to his right. The colt hid behind the corner of an alley, wide eyed and trembling.

“Yes, I do believe I’ve tackled the situation here.” His voice hid his exhaustion with well-practiced ease and with the friendly tone he was using, “Do you live nearby, my little friend?”

The colt nodded, gingerly putting a hoof out. “Behind you, um, mister.”

Ser Vincent turned and saw a home layered coated in cold; icicles hung from the roof and some reached beyond the upper windows; frost and ice had sealed the doors; a barriers of frozen water as tall as him spanned the bottom of the building.

“Ah.” Was all he said, attempting to rub away some discomfort from the back off his hood. It felt like massaging his skin, save for the leathery feel of the glove and hood. He put his arms on his hips. “Well now that’s a problem.”

“Ser Vincent!” Butterscotch flew over a house with a beaming smile on her face. “You did it.” She landed in front of him, wide eyed and leaning in close. “Saw the whole thing – it was fantastic!”

He stepped back and tilted his head, his tone going down to a notch labelled ‘luke warm.’ “What about the ponies that had been bitten, Miss Butterscotch?”

“Well I don’t really know what exactly happened but everypony seemed more alert, I guess.” She handed him back a purple vial. “There was these little balls of light that kinda just sunk into their chest and then they were all of sudden complaining about headaches.” She shrugged but chuckled. “I think if that’s the most they're worrying about then everything’s sweet as cream.”

He nodded but looked to where he threw the pink and silver capsule first, seeing the magic suspension mist had only just began clearing up.

“Miss Butterscotch, you’ve been a fantastic aid during this time of crises,” he complimented, with earnest. Normally he’d tell her to hide but quite frankly, given his current condition, he wasn’t going to shy away from assistance.

She scuffed her hoof on a patch of frosted pavement and looked away. “Oh, I did what I could, what you told me to do.”

“And it was brilliant, brave, and shows that you’re capable of wonderful things,” he replied, straightening his composure and swinging his arms behind his back. His gauntlet gripped his gloved hand as he offered an exaggerated bow of the head. “Your efforts were and are deeply appreciated. I’m fortunate to have met this morning.”

“It was noth-“

“Not to those you healed,” he said, interrupting her.

She blushed, tail flickering as she combed her mane to the side. The young mare looked down, anywhere to avoid eye-contact and hide her smile. “Gosh. Thanks, Ser Vincent.” Her wings rustled on her back as she sheepishly looked up to him. “You weren’t bad yourself.”

He tilted his head in confusion but let his voice warm, hoping to sound friendlier than demeaning, “Actually, I’ve recently come down with something foul, unless you think all knights routinely volunteer to be pounded into the earth?” He shook his head at her blinking silence. “Pardon, my mind’s a mess due to an illness that’s sapped me of most of my endurance.”

He glanced to his lacerated, heaving chest and acknowledged that if it weren’t for effects of poison joke he’d definitely have to begin treating himself; gashes cut through pectorals and a round hole had been punctured just below where his belly-button was. It became more apparent as snow-white threads bulged out.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” she asked, stepping forward again.

“I’m fine,” he replied calmly, easily concealing the burning throb of his gut wounds from his voice.

“You look hurt though,” she pressed, ears wilted.

“I assure you, this is just the padding I use when I’m wearing my armour spilling out -- It can chaff terribly at times.” He lied to placate her. He lied instead of telling her that he was bleeding out stuffing. It seemed to work. He looked back to the young colt. “What’s your name, little stallion?” he said warmly.

The colt edged further out of the alleyway, clutching the end of his tail. “Dusty Meadows, sir.”

Ser Vincent crouched down to eye level and kept his head atilt as he regarded Dusty through masked eyes from beneath the hood. His voice was warm like the first spark of a fire. “Well then, Master Meadows, now that things are safe how about we get you to Sugarcube Corner until I find your parents?”

The colt beamed a hopeful smile, seemingly coming out the nervous shell he had retreated to. “Really?!”

Ser Vincent nodded in a slow, deliberate manner. “Truth be told, a fr—acquaintance of mine works there and has been pestering me persistently to visit. It’ll be my treat,” he said, before looking up to Butterscotch, “for you both.”

“That’s really-“

Fzzzz, kack!

Ser Vincent leapt forward, tackling both the mare and the colt to the ground and away. He heard the fizz of teleportation magic, felt it surge along the back of his coat (which actually was his back). Something whipped through the air over head before he swiftly climbed to his feet.

With the feeling of cobblestone beneath his boots, his body standing protectively over the ponies, the knight stare back at the lesser shade that snarled back at him.

It was a caustic green, deep dark bones swimming in venomous magic. Its form was low to the ground as it used two clawed hands to leap or run. A sinister collection of vertebrae, not all from ponies, extended along its back and out of the viridian smog, making for a cruel, barbed whip of a tail supported by sickly vines. It’s main bodily mist hovered, empty of bone fragments. The unicorn skull glared up to him with snapping mandibles formed by separated halves of lower jaws.

It spat at him and the ponies shrieked. Vincent blocked it with his coat and felt the splatter burn upon the surface. It felt like a first degree burn the size a dinner plate but the coat merely sizzled below Rarity’s embroidery, appearing to be a cleanable smear at worst. Vincent growled through the pain and flexed his dimly glowing clawed gauntlet.

“Get the child to safety. Now.” His orders were heeded, Butterscotch hooking her arms under the child’s and flying into the air in short notice. The lesser shade tried to creepy around Vincent when she first extended her wings but the knight took as single step forward and it leapt back. It hissed once more, purple eyes burning with hate and… fear.

’Must have seen me take on the regular shade.’ Vincent watched it scuttle on its thick, front claws, and noticed that more and more of it was composed of animal bones than pony; the hands it clawed on were equine the claw tips were hooked; the coccyx that formed the tail end was tipped with a baby dragon tooth.

Regardless, Ser Vincent was capable of backing this one into a corner, or the very least, out of town.

Alas, it bound away like a demonic scorpion, growling as it sped away. Ser Vincent gave chase, crossing the street when it did, back tracking when it did. Once or twice it teleported behind him, scorching his back with acid that only momentarily paused the knight if at all – all it did was bring itself closer to him time and time again.

It was desperate to feed as the chase went on. Fearing for its afterlife, it tried to feed on ponies still in the streets. But for every pounce at a neck or horn, Ser Vincent was always there to prevent it from harvesting more magic to support it deathly existence. Starved and angry, furious and hungry, the lesser shade desperation drove it to the outskirts.

Ser Vincent was running ragged by this point but held strong. A pursuit of teleporters was never easy but he wouldn’t fail, couldn’t fail, and refused to. The wind burned his wounds, cotton slipping out, and even breathing was difficult with every swift stride but he never slowed. He was closing in on the lesser shade as it bound for Ponyville Elementary.

For one last meal.

Author's Notes:

My apologies for the late delivery of this one. A lot of things are going on IRL, nothing dramatic but very time consuming. remember to like and comment, chow!

Chapter Four

With an agonised leap, Ser Vincent pounced upon the back of the lesser shade. It groaned as he pinned its tail and back into the grassy ground with his knees, the gauntlet hand forcing the skull into the earth. The claws on both of its arms flailed at him, reaching back to graze his mask or coat. The acidic, dark magic singed the ground, staining the surrounding flora with darker shades of colour.

The knight wrestled out another silver dagger vial, the viscous pink liquid within shimmering as he raised the dagger high in the pony-hand. His crystallised gauntlet sprouted more and more rosy crystals as he held onto the back of the monster’s neck, each time the glow in the centre growing dimmer and dimmer.

He brought the vial down but pierced only sickened soil. The lesser shade had teleported once again, the magic pulling its crawling shape into itself and out of physical existence for the crucial moment. With an irate growl, Ser Vincent shook his head and rose back up to his full height with a heaving chest. He gazed snapped in all directions as he scanned the surroundings.

He had been lead down a small road, frequented but with no obvious need of expansion; the path was well kept, still green with short cut grass; a tree line stood along one side, facing an expansive field opposite, standing between that and the rest of the town. Various building dotted the scene at unspecified intervals, sparse and some beyond hills.

Fzzzz, kack!

Once again, Ser Vincent gave chase after shade once it had reappeared up ahead. It was pulling itself along on its powerful claws at a staggering rate, tail snaking along the path. The knight, however was gaining.

Abruptly it leapt forth, landing with its claws digging into the soil and twisting itself to face the knight. With a mighty crack the lesser shade whipped its wicked bone tail. Ser Vincent stopped, legs standing strong as he moved his head out the way. It caught his shoulder, the baby dragon tooth tip managing to break through the immensely durable fabric. It lodged itself in deep.

Pain exploded from within his collar, a fiery blossom that touched the very roots of his nerves. He gasped. The chest wounds were on the surface, the largest aching fiercely, almost to the point of crippling him. This last wound brought the knight to a knee and he could feel it wrap its black, bony claws around his ankles. His saving grace was the poison joke once more – this kind of damage should have left him in complete agony, at the mercy of the lesser shade leaning up.

But he merely looked the unicorn skull in the eyes as its ethereal tendril tongues waggled excitedly, and tilted his head.

“What makes you think you’re worth bowing my head to?”

With harsh yell, Ser Vincent snapped back up to stand straight and pushed the tail out of his shoulder. It tore his coat further. A flurry of cotton clouds burst force. Quickly, he brought down the fisted gauntlet to the top of the beasts skull.

It yelped as he broke through the horn and cracked the cranium of the skull. The lesser shade then retreated before he could connect the heel of his boot to its face, swiftly turning to bound down the road.

He dodged the horizontal whip of the tail that could have shattered his mask’s muzzle, a deep breath following after. Rolling the injure shoulder, Ser Vincent then pursued the monster as swiftly as his beaten body would allow.

If his heart wasn’t in his throat from running ragged then it was because of the chilling horror that seized him once he caught up. From the shingled roof, the shade crept down and onto the side wall of Ponyville Elementary. The warm, nurturing red walls were clawed as it slithered along, a trail of sickened wood in its caustic wake. Ser Vincent locked eyes with it as it rested before the top of a window. He could see a class in session from where he ran.

Vincent entered the schoolyard as a bored child glanced his way from their seat. The knight leapt over a bush as their eyes widened. She then screamed as the lesser shade descended further down the window. The movement of an entire class of young ponies drew its focus, deep purple eyes scanning them hungrily. With its claws anchoring it the window frame the shade used its tail to shatter the glass, the sounds of children’s’ screams booming in volume.

The misshapen congregation of black bone and green miasma easily poured into the open, gaseous aspects decaying glass, sharp claws shredding wooden frame. The skull of the beast rotated a full ninety degrees as it spied the dark fuchsia teacher at the front.

“Everypony to the door now!” she declared as she raced the back of the room, towards the petrified foal still sitting before the monster. The very foal that shade was reaching for. “No!”

Her cry was enough to pause its action, a retching sound heard from its dripping magical maw. Green ichor fell and burned through the floor boards as it opened its mouth as the teacher approached.

The shade then came crashing onto the floor as Ser Vincent tackled it through the window, onto the floor, knocking the child away. Acidic magic flew to the class entrance, scaring numerous young ponies as the door was slowly consumed by the ichor.

The knight had managed to hook his arms under its powerful ones, the gauntlet hand holding the unicorn horn down as he pushed both himself and the monster away from the teacher and stunned student.

“Get out, go!” He ordered, his quivering, aching legs slipping where he failed to get a foot hold from time to time. Slowly, as if his legs were jelly stuffed (or perhaps cotton to more realistic) he managed to drag the flailing lesser shade to the wall opposite the window.

It bucked and writhed, the toxic stench and touch of the magic composing its ethereal body almost becoming unbearable for the knight; there was a constant hiss as his coat’s resilience to acid endured the struggle. Alas, his once snug fitting shirt was not treated to protect the knight – it was like pressing his wounded chest against a wall of molten salt. That was even with the poison joke in effect. He hit the far wall as the shade swept its tail wide, shattering desks and trimming the tail of the earth pony mare fleeing.

It reached back and nipped the edge of his hood between its sharp claws and Ser Vincent felt it like a thin slice across his forehead. He dipped his head to the side to avoid a strike of the tail. It plunged into the wall and retracted as quickly. Lightning fast strikes came closer and closer, the screams of the children growing distant as Ser Vincent focused on his breathing and dodging the next blow.

He waited for it to prime its tail. He eyed the baby dragon tooth that dipped and bobbed as the shade made a guess for where the knight’s head was. Then, as it struck once again, Ser Vincent moved its skull into the path of the strike.

There was a high-pitched shriek as the tail was embedded in one of its sockets. The added energy of the shade in pain enabled it to pry itself free of the knight’s weakened grasp. It wriggled and writhed, dragging itself away as Ser Vincent rolled onto this front.

With shaky breathes he rested his gauntlet hand on his stained chest; where once had been a few nicks and gashes were expansive breaches that exposed a body of cotton, like pools of white with blackened shores. It burned to touch this monster.

With a quivering breath he balled his hands into a fist, trying to regain control of his mind and thoughts. This entire ordeal had felt like a lucid dream under another’s control, his thoughts cloudy, his body pained by new, alien sensations tormented by whatever misery these shades had thrown at him all morning. With a hiss he steadily rose back to full height, feeling the stitching of his shirt come undone and tear further.

He looked to the gauntlet that was completely spent: a five-fingered metal gauntlet, tipped with sharp edges. There was no evidence of any rose crystals that once encased the metal. His gloved hand pressed against a large tear in his shirt to prevent further bleeding of cotton. His mind was hardly lucid or coherent, but even he noted the tufts scattered around. His head was spinning, his thoughts telling to reach for something, his body’s morphed state burning on the surface.

He was losing control of the situation. What was he trying to grab? To hold? He held his wounds in one hand, one pony hand, but what else was he supposed to do? Why was it so hard to think?

The vial-dagger!

Swiftly he reached into a belt pocket—

Fzzzz, kack!

The shade was upon his disorientated state, one clawed hand digging into the wound in the shoulder of his coat, its horn burrowing into his exposed shirt collar. A scorching pain exploded forth, earning a bark of anguish from the man. He fell to a knee once more as he weakly tried to push off the shade. He tried once again to find his special daggers but froze, despite the torment, when a cold sensation pricked his chest.

The emerald ethereal tendrils of the monster flowed into the tears of his shirt, hungrily feasting on whatever magic it could find. It was chilling, numbing for the knight. Something was writhing deep within him for arcane nourishment. He felt his missing heart pound frantically and sight became blurry. He tried to fight, to push off the shade but strength was waning.

From the edges of dulled senses he felt its tail constrict around his leg, his chest was agitated – only a minor itch now – as the shade’s corrosive touch pushed against his exposed cotton wounds. His grip on the world was fleeting, pouring out and into the maw of the monster that drank from his soul.

But his anger was there. As was his fear. He was a knight and he would not be beaten by a mere shadow of a mage struck down by their own megalomania. He was better than that. From the fringe of consciousness he pushed on, eyes closed, mask face lowering, and his stance tucking. He searched for strength within among the torrent of cold parasitic magic surging inside as well. Feeding off him.

Then he felt it: a burn in his core, a fire in his belly, a familiar spark of alien magic. With what little shred of a lucidity he had he seized the magic and felt it rush throughout his body. Almost immediately his mind cleared as energy coursed through his displaced arteries. All sense of agony was silenced but that didn’t mean that the corrosive leech on chest wasn’t doing damage. His strength was returning as he slowly rose back to stand tall.

‘Control… Control…’ He moved his hands to the underside of the shade, hearing it groan at his touch. He took a deep breathe. Then Sir Vincent marched forward, his powerful muscles returning to full potential as the tail failed to remain tightly wrapped around his knee. He pushed and pushed, lifting the shade up and away as his strange magic enhanced his capabilities.

He practically threw the shade against the wall, tearing its skull and ethereal tendrils from his shoulder. There, deep in the centre, was a patch of crimson slowly spreading among the white clouds of his insides.

The lesser shade hissed angrily, renewed from its half-finished meal. Its dark purple eyes glared up with a burning hatred and faltered when the knight glared back. From beneath the hood and through the eyes of his masked face a fierce golden glow took hold, staring back with the ire born of indignation and grave offense. Wisps of yellow drifted out as Ser Vincent stood tall, tower over the shade.

He saw the scene before in greys, silvers, blacks and white. The fallen chairs scattered around, toppled cupboards, fallen drawings of childish rainbows and playing ponies, were all chromatic to his eye. The only thing with colour was the crawling, cornered, emerald shade.

It leapt at him but time seemed to crawl by. Angered by the monster, Ser Vincent tackled it into the wall and cracked the surface. He held it by the throat by the gauntlet easily catching the flailing tail with the corner of his eye.

Like competing vipers, his pony-gloved hand struck for the tail as it tried to latch onto his shoulder once more. But Ser Vincent was faster and stronger, stopping it dead in its path. Before the shade could make its next move he brought a boot down hard at the base of the tail and broke it in two.

The shade wailed as the dark detached limb turned to dust, wisps of phantom jade magic dissipating into nothing. It raised a claw and that was all it managed – Vincent slid his elbow into the throat so that he could press his weight into the monster as well as firmly grasp its shoulder socket with his gauntlet. And then, with but a precise, vindictive thought, Ser Vincent tore its arm off with his other hand.

His breathing was all over the place, between controlled, laboured, and rapid. “Perhaps I’ll show you why losing control of myself is bad for things like you.” With the monster subdued and in pain for the moment, he quickly seized a grey vial of petrify potion.

Without a word he crushed it in his hand and the gritty, viscous fluid hardened almost instantly. Stone soon encased his fist and cocked his elbow, pulled it back as the magic stopped at the bottom of his forearm, and drove it forward with enough force to shatter the unicorn skull and embed itself in the wall behind. And it was no effort on his behalf.

He breached the wall behind it as all the toxic magic stopped maintaining the shade’s body and disappeared. What little skeletal structure it originally had fell apart as embers of bright magic took off in search of the victims they were stolen from.

Debris fell from his stone fist as he retracted it from the wall, pulling it back through lingering lights of magic yet to return. Ser Vincent felt like he’d been awakened by a bucket of ice water. He could think properly, clearly, the confusion was finally gone.

The fire of his eyes still burned as he moved to lean against the wall to allow his body the rest he knew it was telling him but could not hear. He was numbed to the sensations of pain but that did not mean that his body was healed. He’d pressed his gauntlet hand against the various cuts in his shirt and when he raised it for inspection, he found not cotton but small stains of blood.

Looking to the floor where he’d battled with the shade in its last moments he found a minute number of scarlet droplets staining the floor. It seemed that the where the lesser shade had bitten deep into him as well as buried its claw into his shoulder were the only places with blood seeping out. He quickly removed the gauntlet before fiddling with the wrist straps of his pony-glove.

‘Get out. Secure the school and children. Self-medicate. Search the town for more.’ He put the glove to the side and realised for one fleeting moment that he could flex all five digits of both hands. Slightly pale were his fingers but they bent and stretched in the cool air happily, free of their confines. He could linger on the sentiment for long, he needed to treat his wounds.

He then noticed an orb of light drift towards him. It spiraled in flight as it struck the knight in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. He braced himself against the cupboard behind him, nearly passing out as his breathing slowed and he felt his energy abandon him without warning. With laboured breathes and a shake of the head he double checked himself.

His eyes had once again lost their glow and felt the surface of his metal mask as if he was touching the very skin of his human face. His wounds were back to being claw marks in his shirt and a puncture in his shoulder above the floral embroidery, but they were smaller and cotton packed. With a dizzy mind he tried to pull up the sleeves of both arms but found them melded with the skin of wrist.

He lowered his head in exhaustion and tried to think about the magical phenomena that had occurred. ‘The shade must have syphoned the poison joke’s magic before feeding off me. Upon removing the poison joke, its effects begin to dissipate and my magic could come through.’ He groaned like a maimed animal as he turned to press his hooded head against the cool wall. ‘What a headache.’

At least he had his hands back. That was something he had going for him. That made him pause to think further as he glanced to the hand that should have still been a stone fist. Had the poison joke that had returned to him reset his body and all magicks in effect prior to its separation from him? Are the effects of poison joke so tailored per creature that upon reintroduction they return the previous symptoms they inflicted? Would this apply to a different poison joke or are no two exactly alike in what they inflict?

He’d have to write this down. He could present a case study to a few scholars back in Canterlot, add its discovery to his ever growing resume. Or maybe have a nice chat about exotic plants with them. ‘Would be a fun tale to share with mum, dad, and Blue Blood.’ Not that the Prince was interested but they both liked to listen to each other’s passions regardless of interest or level of understanding.

Alas, that would be for later, as for now he had to…

What was he doing?

“E-e-excuse me?” somepony asked from the half-demolished door. Ser Vincent managed to crane his head around to see the mare that dared ask. She looked the best side of thirty, looking young yet maternal. Her choice in attire was a long skirt of fresh root green, her button shirt as white as snow. Her fur coat was reminiscent of a red violet, and her ruffled mane and tail were two tone soft pinks. A chunk of tail had been cut off from the bottom and he could see the hairs laying on the floor mere metres away. From the door she peeked in, fearful but with a hopeful inflection, “Is it gone?”

With an exaggerated bob, partially from weariness, Ser Vincent nodded. “Aye, Miss, the shade’s been slain.” He watched her meekly approach as she studied the classroom, ears folded as she folded her arms beneath her bust. Her tail limply swayed as she surveyed the carnage with a disheartened stare.

“I’d spent the better half a month planning today’s lesson and it was hijacked by a rotten pile of bones.” A kind smile sprouted as she turned to face the knight. “It’s a wonder you arrived when you did.” She approached him and he instinctively balled his hands into a fist, to make them smaller and less noticeable. He didn’t know he did it until she stopped and stared.

He gave her the liberty of staring for a moment longer, keeping his masked stare at eye level so that when she glanced his way she knew she had been caught staring. She offered a sheepish smile as she wrung her hands together.

“I’m so sorry.” she apologised, stepping over a fallen desk. Spotting a smattering of blood around where the lesser shade had bit him her expression shifted to concern. “Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not.” His casual reply stopped her hooves dead as he turned to completely face her, leaning once again onto the cupboard. He raised both hands and, as if wearing his pony gloves, mimicked the notion of raising five pony fingers, “Just need five minutes, worry not.” They both glanced to his hands, her confused as to why he paired most of his fingers together, him wondering the same. He lowered them and put on a friendly, more energetic tone.

“Oh, but enough about me, how are you and children?”

She blinked for a moment and stepped closer to the knight, unsure how to feel between gratitude and concerned. “We’re all fine. Dust Stone’s a little shaken up but he wasn’t hurt.” She settled her mood and regarded him with a warm smile again. “Thank you, Ser Knight.”

She nipped the sides of her skirt by her finger tips and offered a playful little curtsy. She then laughed it off. “That’s how it goes right?”

“Practically textbook,” he said, humouring her as he breathing settled. He didn’t lie, that was half a proper greeting – it was simply realistic not to expect one every time. But to expect a knight not to reciprocate was practically unheard off. Using what little strength he had, he stood tall once more, and gave a proper hand on heart bow. He swallowed a pained grunt as he rose back up. “A shame our meeting was not on more pleasant grounds, Miss…”

At the tilt of his head she flattened down the creases to her teaching uniform and offered a furred hand. “I’m Miss Cheerilee and, whilst I agree that meeting you during a monster attack may not be the best introduction scenario, I think that saving the children does make it a very good first impression.”

He stared at the hand for a moment or too longer than he should have and she saw it. He wasn’t wearing his gloves, nor was he wearing his gauntlet. He couldn’t turn around and put them on either before touching her.

As if his hand were slipping out of whatever tight bond kept it by his side, Ser Vincent gingerly reached out before Cheerilee could revoke her hand. His fingers smoothly slid over her fur as he gently gripped her and vice versa. He could feel where chalk stained her finger tips and where the hairs became course from hours upon hours a day of wielding a ruler and book.

“Ooop!” It was a strange, but pleasing noise that escaped her but it startled him all the same. She simply beamed a toothy smile. “Sorry, sorry! I didn’t know what to expect from a fur-less handshake and the smoothness of your palm took me a bit by surprise.”

“It’s fine.” His misplaced heart was racing from anxiety, he was trying desperately not to seize up and lock her hand in his stony grip, and he was mentally fighting to think straight whilst not passing out. A pretty good introduction as far as things went. “You’re taking this remarkably well.”

She nodded in response. She pushed a lighter strand of pink mane out from over her pastel green eyes. “Oh, you get used to this sort of thing whilst living here in Ponyville.” She waved him off, “At first it's strange how the town can so quickly get over a monster attack but you just learn to go with the flow and pick it up afterward. Just another Tuesday and all that.”

He released her hand and decided that he liked this mare; upbeat, gentle, optimistic, and quick to rebuild. “Well that’s a shame.” He watched her ears twitch and face forward as she looked back his blank stare in confusion. His tone shifted to a state of lament, “For if your other Tuesdays are like my other Tuesdays then what exactly makes me remarkable?” He ended with a shrug before scratching his hooded head with his bare hands, feeling the nails scrape against his scalp.

She laughed and he sighed, glad to have his hand back, and glad for it all to be over. ‘Now I just need to try and turn back to my old self.’

Chapter Five

Ser Vincent migrated towards town hall with the entire class of school foals in tow. With the eyes of the young upon him, he put more effort in being the iconic image of a knight in an aftermath; his back was perfectly straight, making him as tall as a mountain; his head only turned to catch a questioning filly out the corner of his eye, for he was always focused on the road ahead; his steps were swift and heavy like a rolling stone.

He had moments where he failed this. The mountain of will he had was built upon the crumbling stone of his body, beaten, bruised and sapped of energy in his weakened state. He could only turn his head so far because to face the foals properly made him hiss in pain, to stop mid explanation. The knight was reduced to a steady stroll, his gait occasionally falling to a limp. He had even become numbed to the twitch from his brown mop tail that poked out the back of his coat.

He did his best to push on, escorting the children and their teacher to the town hall, what he designated as a safe place. They were in awe and it was uplifting to see positive expressions beaming up to him in contrast to what could have been devastation instead. If he had one issue it was that they were curious about his hands.

He had removed his the pony glove and the gauntlet in the brief moment he was rid of poison joke, alas, upon the return of its effects, the sleeves of his coat had melded to his wrists. For now it felt good to air both hands out, the cuts on his knuckles from where he punched the shade earlier in the morning had stopped bleeding whilst under the gauntlet.

Still, he clenched his fingers tightly as the children gawked. It was hard not to feel their scrutiny. It got to the point where he handed his gauntlet and glove to the class to share and inspect, a diversion to ease his self-consciousness.

Fortunately, he had three little helpers that kept the focus on more… comfortable topics.

“That was a totally amazing punch!” Scootaloo cheered, jumping with her wings abuzz. She led the march through the ruined street, swinging fists wildly. She turned to look up to him, blowing her purple tussle of mane out the way. “You gotta teach us how to do that!” She spun around to face Miss Cheerilee at the back, whose twitching ears had caught wind of the conversation. “Miss Cheerilee, can we get Ser Vincent in to teach us how to fight—what were they called?”

“Shades,” Ser Vincent said stiffly.

“Yeah, that!”

“Ohoho…” The earthpony smiled as she held the gauntlet in her hands, a pony finger prodding the sharp tip of the gauntlet’s finger. “Absolutely not.” There was a collective groan, mostly from the colts, which caught the teacher off guard for a moment. She rolled her eyes before passing the gauntlet off to another foal eager to spin the spinney thing on the metal wrist. “I’m sure he’d be much too busy.”

“Awww, c'mon!” Scootaloo pulled at the knight’s coat.

His immediate response was to snap his focus to where her hand gripped him, his reflexive desire not to be touched kicking in. He ignored the spike of pain across his shoulders and neck as she pleaded up to him-- withheld the urge to swipe the small palm away.

“You can take over a gym lesson! It would be so awesome!” she added.

Apple Bloom stepped in from his other side, bright eyed and tail swishing. “You could teach us about army training and stuff.”

“I’m not crawling through dirt!” Sweetie said up from behind him. Her disgust was palpable, her shrill objection mimicking her sister in his mind. Only this one was the micro version.

Apple Bloom side stepped a fallen barrel before glancing back with a confused expression. “But the other day we were practically rolling in the mud for our cutie marks. You seemed fine with that.”

“I wasn’t fine. Rarity nearly used the hose pipe to clean me last time, and it was because it was for our cutie marks that I did it in the first place.” Sweetie shuddered at the memory of cold water streams jetting out nearly drenching her.

“Hypothetically I’d do only fitness and endurance training,” Ser Vincent said, mechanically raising a hand and finger. He quickly let it fall after realising he was drawing attention to his exposed limbs. He tried to warm his voice, to be friendly as he spoke, “Nothing too severe to warrant a dust bathing.”

“Oh, good!” Sweetie chirped.

“But I wanna learn how to punch holes in the walls!”

“Me too!”

“Me three!”

Ser Vincent stopped to turn around as they reached the end of the street. Through natural habit he tilted his head as he shook it, but what was new was how his once false tail flickered as he addressed the class. “How did you lot even see that?”

“From the outside window,” they said unanimously.

He scanned the foals once more, from left to right before speaking. “I don’t believe your parents will approve of me teaching you how to destroy public property.”

“So is that a no on the gym lesson?” he was asked by rather skinny colt, trying to put on his pony glove. It was far too big for him and the forearm straps hardly helped.

“Ask your teacher. I’m only going to say that my work, my actual job comes first.” He gave Miss Cheerilee a respectful bow of the head, despite the aching pain, and continued with his voice hiding his discomfort. “I’m sure you understand what I’m saying. That I wouldn’t be able to give you consistent lessons as I’d be away most of the time.”

She waved him off. “It’s fine, we understand, right class?”

Upon hearing the collective murmur of disheartened acceptance, Ser Vincent reached behind to rub the back of his hood (or head given that he felt his hand touch it thanks to the poison joke), as if to brush away that annoying ember of guilt. It was a small voice, as if spoken from a very disappointed grandmother breezy that told him to at least try.

“Although I would be happy to attempt to make arrangements if your teacher would like to.” He offered a shrug and turned around, noting the number of ponies steadily leaving their homes. “I could assist with geography… just a thought.”

There, he felt it, beneath the pain and ache, beyond the strange effects of poison joke, there it was: a small smirk under the mask as the class cheered.

He led them into town hall, a majority of the class welcomed by worried parents. The cutie mark crusaders had charged off on their own as well. His previous estimates for town hall was that it could house a hundred, and a swift head count honed through years of standing guard gave a fairly accurate guess of forty-seven ponies hunkering down. Disheveled, frantic, scared – they needed good news.

“Ser Vincent!” Mayor Mare stepped forward with a lash of her tail. “What’s going on?”

“You are all safe. A few shades had wandered into town and, as far as I’m aware, they’ve been dealt with,” Ser Vincent said with bold conviction. They needed to hear it in his voice as standing with his arms folded, imposing as it was, was not enough. “For now, I’m ordering everypony to return home and stay there for the night.”

“I thought you said it was safe?!” a stallion interjected, rudely in Vincent’s mind despite acknowledging the appropriate nature. More and more ponies voiced their concerns and confusions to which Vincent silenced with a stiff raise of a human hand.

He wasn’t sure if it was his authority as a knight or the unusual nature of the appendage that quietened them. Given the murmurs, it may have been the latter.

“You are, so long as you follow my instructions accordingly,” he stated firmly, “Collect your family or friends, spend the next hour and a half or so ensuring your neighbours have enough food and water, and then hunker down in your homes.” He stepped aside and gestured towards the door. A few hesitant ponies stepped forward, preparing to brave the streets. “You’re all fine, this is purely a standard procedure. Chances are these shades came from the Everfree and if any remain, they are in there. If they were still in town I’m guessing somepony would have found me.” His assurance bolstered the resolve of a few.

“Pegasi are the safest from shades,” Ser Vincent added. “Although some can hover, none could possibly levitate to reach the level of clouds. If you have a cloud home, you should be safe.” He rolled his shoulder, the one with the gash. “Alternatively, if you can fly, I need you to spread the word.”

He then swung his hands behind his back. “Who here is a pegasi and is in flying condition? Raise your hand.”

Several hesitant hands rose into the air and Ser Vincent whipped his hand around and pointed to numerous members of the crowd. “You. You. You. You. You. All of you are now going to inform the rest of town to stay indoors.” Ser Vincent ignored the bewilderment as he walked towards the door he spoke to Mayor Mare in passing. “I need everypony indoors tonight. I’ll leave it to you to smooth things over and I apologise that my charm left the burden to you.”

“It's fine, Ser Vincent.”

Ser Vincent came to rest against the wall by the door. He watched Mayor Mare take charge of her town, appreciating the cold wall cooling his back. It was a shame his tail kept slamming into it. With a moment of peace he could wade through his sluggish mind and attempt to think of a solution to his magic problem. He held a hand upon the cuts on his chest. Well, given the possibilities right now, he’d rather have the feeling of cotton than blood.

“Ser Vincent!” Apple Bloom burst forth from the crowd, dragging a tall, burly stallion in hand. “Can you help us?”

“If I’m capable.”

“We need to get home to my Granny Smith!” she cried, worry in her eye.

“Eyup,” said the earthpony stallion she dragged in tow.

“I assume you’re a relative?” Vincent questioned him.

“Eyup,” he replied with a curt nod.

“He’s my big bro, Big Macintosh!” Apple Bloom chirped, releasing his hand. “But everypony calls him Big Mac.”

Ser Vincent got a good look at him. One of the few stallions on equal height to the knight in the town. A powerhouse of a farmhand by the looks of things with muscle not toned but clearly evident. Vincent, as built as he was, had shared traits with pegasi which made him more lithe compared to this pony. Very masculine: squared muzzle, defined jaw, coarse fur thinning on his fingertips, and fetlocks exposing his hooves. A ginger mane and tail, windswept, ragged and married to the red delicious fur coat, a green apple sliced in half to show its seeded core for a cutie mark. He wore a chest harness, fairly thick too. There was a lot that could be done with earth pony strength on a farm, and given the agricultural heritage of earth ponies, they made efficient use of it.

It was easy to see through his tranquil demeanour given the ear twitch, worried scowl, and the way he kept shifting a stalk of wheat from one side of his mouth the other. He held a hand out and his expression softened to a warmer, welcoming grin.

“Howdy,” Big Mac greeted with a deeper baritone, far deeper than Vincent’s.

The knight once again felt his hands twitch and curl for comfort, for sanctuary away from these ponies. It never got easier. Not in this town. Steadily his human hand reached for the stallion’s. He gave a firm hand shake, noting the fur was as coarse a Mr Macintosh’s sister, Applejack. He also spotted his pony ears shoot up, likely from how his human hand felt compared to a pony’s.

“Greetings,” Vincent replied in kind, “I must apologise before we go any further though.”

“Why?” Apple Bloom inquired.

“As I understand it, I was supposed to be assisting Mr Macintosh this morning, or so Miss Applejack told me.” Ser Vincent looked back to Big Mac, “I do hope you can forgive me. I was side tracked by a bit of poison joke infliction and three shades running about. Contractually, I’m obligated to sort little things like that out before anything else. Sorry, I hope you hold no ill will on the matter.”

Big Mac chuckled as he fondly tussled Apple Blooms mane, knocking her pink bow askew much to her protest. “Nope!”

“Wait, poison joke?” the youngest Apple sibling said as she fixed her bow. She looked up to the knight, “You got sick?”

“I still am.”

“Really? But you beat up all those monsters!” she remarked, tail wriggling.

“Only because I didn’t know what the cure was,” Ser Vincent admitted. He felt it was a blow to his pride but acknowledged it as an unreasonable, illogical one. Yes, he was good in his field but he could hardly know every potion and cure under the sun. Not yet anyhow.

“My sister knows the cure.” Apple Bloom’s abrupt, blunt statement actually made the knight stop all forms of thought.

“What?”

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Apple Bloom had informed him that her sister, and the Elements of Harmony, had a run in with the plant in the past and that they had cured themselves of its cursed influence on their bodies. So after escorting them to their farm, and after peeling Little Miss Apple Bloom from his shin after she begged him to visit for a dinner, he waited for the girls to return from their trip. He explained his situation at the station, withstood the initial giggles at his expense, and gladly walked with them to the cure. Otherwise he was none too happy about going to the spa.

Ser Vincent Costello found it to be a tad grandiose amongst the regular cottage homes of the town. Another rounded building with two spires on the roof. The walls were cream but gilded with golden swirls and the tiling for the roof flowed like fuchsia fabric, pouring over the front to smoothly border the front entrance. He could smell the aromatherapy herbs from the open windows and spot the hanging sign of a mare flowing of her glittery, flowing mane from down the road.

“So… you’ve been stuck like that all day?” Applejack asked with a small smirk.

“Yes. Made things only slightly more difficult,” Ser Vincent admitted with a hand across his torn chest. By this point, he’d opted to button his coat up, feeling the pinch of every button he pushed into the button holes. It didn’t hide the puncture in his shoulder, above Rarity’s embroidery.

“And you can feel this like skin?” Princess Twilight asked him, leaning in to gently prod the scratched tail of his viridian coat. Upon contact, she spotted the shocked whip of his mop tail. It amused Pinkie greatly, and the knight’s mechanical turn of the head in indignation brought a smirk to her lips. She offered a toothy grin and quickly removed her hand. “Sorry, sorry, I’m just a little fascinated by it.”

“As am I,” Ser Vincent said with an exaggerated nod of the head. “It will definitely make for an interesting article to publish for the Royal Alchemist Society; poison joke is such a unique plant, an oddity that’s difficult to record any form of concrete explanation for, but I believe my encounter with the last shade could reveal a bit of its inner workings.”

He found the talks with the girls to be pleasant -- a desperately needed distraction.

“And what’s that?” Princess Twilight asked him.

“And does it explain why you have cotton pouring out of you?” Rarity had asked. In the early evening sun caught her summer pink dress, the hem cutting off at her thigh and revealing more of her ivory leg than Ser Vincent had seen to date. She tried to peer into his shoulder wound and he was oddly surprised to find she had been scrutinizing her embroidery work mostly. Of course when he turned his mask to face her she backed off, her twitching ear tapping the snout of his mask and jingling a diamond earring. She still wore lilac perfume.

Before he could explain, Rainbow drifted by on a cloud bed. “It’s because the guy’s a big, mushy softy on the inside,” she said through a baby voice. For once he saw the lithe mare in her own sporting get up, making her and Rarity the only two dressed ponies in his company; a navy flying top for her small bust and short, sleek bottoms, featuring rainbow stripes on the side and completely covering her cutie mark. He supposed if he could breach the sound barrier he’d also want covering for certain assets.

Looking up to Rainbow he found her mushing her cheeks together and cooing at him. Ignoring that, and the group tittering, he found a rainbow medal hanging from her neck. Another victory for her, and one for Fluttershy who drifted not far behind him. She also had her own sporting get up, one designed by Rarity as they were away.

He put on airs of offence but it was easily seen through as him humouring her. “Why, Dash, was there ever belief that I was so stone cold to the core?” He placed a hand on his heart, an exposed human hand he realised all too late. “You wound me.”

“Your hand!” Fluttershy was quick to pounce into action, cradling his palm as if it were composed of fragile bone. She studded the scabbed knuckle as she saw freshly wet spots of crimson seeping through. He tensed at her touch, her soft feathery touch, stiffening his fingers like the last curling moments of a dying spider.

She retreated and he pocketed his hand, lowering his gaze and offering a friendly tone. “There was a short moment where I had to make do without my gloves. It’s fine.” He waved her off.

“Here we are!” Pinkie decreed, cartwheeling into view in her cheerleaders outfit. “Give me a ‘C’ for cure!” she cheered whilst shaking her pompoms.

Vincent heard a small, quiet cheer from Fluttershy behind him before he was escorted in the deceptively large building. He met the spa twins, clearly of North-Eastern origin given their accent. Their colour palettes were of powdered rose and soothing blue, for mane and tail, alternating between the two. He believed Lotus, whom he assumed was the blue furred masseuse, was the most apprehensive at first glance. Her sister was busy conversing with Rarity.

“Ah, good evening Madam Rarity!” she welcomed warmly, bowing her head upon spotting the royalty that had entered the spa. “And of course, greetings to Princess Twilight.”

“Lotus, darling!” Rarity greeted with a small smile and a deft hand settled on her heart. “Oh, you won’t believe how relieved I am that you’re okay.”

‘Well it was a fifty-fifty chance.’ Ser Vincent thought as he slipped between the Ex-Elements and made his way to the front desk Rarity now leant upon. If this was Lotus, then the pink furred twin had to be Aloe.

“I do hope today’s events haven’t been too overwhelming,” he said in a formally friendly tone. His masked gaze glanced to Aloe, the pink mare, as he observed her tidy her headband. He brought his hands behind his back, hiding them from her stare.

“N-non…” she stammered having been caught by the knight. The masseuse coughed into her three-digited hand before offering a bashful, strained smile. “We just recently heard the commotion, right Lotus?” She quickly turned to her sister to avoid the knight’s gaze.

He took note of her new shifting features; her body turned away slightly so that she could politely escape beyond the door behind them if need be, her smile was less strained but her sky-blue eyes were still wide. Though her ears perked up and tail wasn’t tucked so she was comfortable enough with her twin around that she wasn’t afraid. ‘Whatever helps.’

“Oh, yes, and we were fortunate enough to not have the monster find their way over here.” Lotus seemed much more comfortable with his presence, or at the very least hid her concern well enough. “Are you checking up on us?”

“Actually, Vinny needs a little help with something,” Dash said as she came to lean into the knight.

Vincent wasn’t sure what he was offended by more, being so informally introduced or the fact she felt chummy enough to rest against him on one hoof. He slowly craned his stoic masked glare down towards her.

She fired a defiant, cheeky grin up to the knight despite the standing-fur-on-neck feeling his hidden scowl produced. Given that she knew what was beneath the mask before, she could often catch glimpses of malachite if she looked hard enough into the shadowy eye sockets of the mask. Now? It was an almost abyss-like, soulless stare. Still imposing enough to warrant her to back off him, shifting her weight to her other hip.

“And what would that be?” Aloe asked with a tilt of the head and perk of the pony ears.

“It would seem our master alchemist had an unfortunate run in with some poison joke,” quipped Princess Twilight. He turned around to face her, shoulders intentionally drooped. It earned a giggle or two before he returned to proper posture.

“Ah, well, we shall prepare a bath,” Aloe said, turning to grab her sister by her arm. They both parted, one more eager than the other as Vincent jerked upright having been caught off guard.

‘Nopony said anything about a bath.’

He was told to wait, and rather than receive further cracks at his pride he chose to inform Rainbow about the day’s events, apologising profusely to Applejack for not being able to help with the farm as he had agreed to.

“Shucks, Ser Vinny,” she said, slugging him in his arm. Hard. “Don’t be too hard on yourself.” She flicked up her steston and gave a cute freckled smile. “It’ll be hard work catching up but we’ll manage. You can help out one of the days.”

Only momentarily curious as to whether his arms would be bruised or broken after reverting back to normal, he lowered his gaze to the floor as he leant back against a wall. “I could have better handled this.”

“Well, I think you did really well,” Fluttershy chirped with surprising conviction. Well, to him it was. “Even whilst sick you saved a lot of ponies today.”

“Speaking of which,” Rainbow added with an impatient tap of her hoof, “What happened when you found the second monster?”

“I’m surprised you girls knew the cure to poison joke whilst I didn’t,” he admitted, facing Princess Twilight and shrugging. “I have a fairly in depth library on the subject of magical herbs and their effects, but poison joke eluded me.”

Twilight nodded along. “The girls originally thought it was a curse,” she said, “I was looking for the symptoms in my books at the library. It wasn’t until after the whole fiasco that I learnt that everypony to suffer from poison joke’s magic has a unique experience.”

“My theory as to why is because poison joke searches for ways to render anything that would attack it harmless,” Vincent began, “It’s capable of searching the victim’s subconscious for something it depends on or has value in and twists it a way to make it ineffective. There have been cases of herbivores becoming unable to withstand the taste of plants or move completely.” He tapped his mask. “My hypothesis is that creatures of greater intelligence confuse this aspect of poison joke that it ends up mistaking personality traits or talents as vital aspects of what they assume is their next predator.”

“Interesting,” Twilight admitted with a hand to her chin. She turned her slowly, curling lips away from an exasperated Rainbow Dash to hide her smirk.

“May I ask what the name of the book was?” Ser Vincent asked as Dash gave a very Equine huff.

“Sure: Supernaturals: Natural Remedies and Cure-alls That Are Simply Super,” she recited from memory.

“Sounds less of an encyclopedia and more of a collection of old wives tales.” He felt ashamed of himself for overlooking such a book, especially as an alchemist. He reached up to massage the bridge of his nose, finding it thicker than usual due to being the pony mask’s snout. “My only defence is that healing remedies are not my specialty.”

Twilight shrugged with a wan grin, reminiscing about her own moments of ignorance years ago. “It’s also better suited for the cooking section if that any consolation.”

“A little.”

“Gah!” Rainbow finally cried out. She stepped in front of Ser Vincent, who crossed his arms as she approached. “Finish the story already!”

“Ser Vincent?” Aloe said from where she peeped around a door, “Your bath is ready.”

“Oh come on!”

He was lead into the back room, a grand affair lightly scented with refreshing herbs and dotted with lush ivory on the walls here and there. It was fairly humid due to the saunas on his far right opposite the five mud baths on the other side. There were separate stations for what he assumed were touch ups in the name of vanity, horn filing, hoof polishing and the like. In the centre were three wooden baths, perfect for six ponies at a time.

Throughout it all, as he took in the sights, he felt every moisture drop on his coat, between the crevices and the creases. It made the small strain his buttons felt all the more apparent as they kept his long coat closed, hiding his clawed shirt, or chest from the girls. He felt the sleek surface of the tiles beneath the sole of his boots, and the patches of water yet the dry up. It made him itchy.

“Here you go. For the knight that helped save the town!” Lotus said with a gratuitous voice, smiling as she poured seeds into the large bath.

The mere sight of the cure made his leathery coat skin writhe, although he may have become aware of a new sensation birthed by the poison joke. It did only occur when he shook the baggier aspects of his attire, the sleeves and coat tail. It was with an excited wriggle of his tail that finally set him on a straight march towards the bath.

“You have no idea how much I appreciate this.” His mind was clouding again, his focus waning on all but one thing. One thing he was clinging onto. That bath.

Without ceremony or grace he rolled over the edge and into the bath in order to soak his entire body. The water enveloped his senses; he felt its warmth upon every inch of his attire, feeling it upon his mask and boots as if it were touching his skin; the air in his lungs pushed against his chest, the cotton wounds starting to soak and sting.

Abruptly, he felt the workings of the cure on his inner body. As if strips of his skin were slipping off like loose leather, Vincent felt the warm surge of water seep up his sleeves, as sign that he was once again separating from his guise. The very definitions of what was his skin was blurring with an every second and with a building bout of bubbly magic in his cotton gut.

He felt water on his eyelashes, his shirt soaking and clinging to his chest, and a relieved grin form as his flesh cheeks diffused from beneath the mask. Then, as his lungs burned for breath, he planted his boots to the ground, relishing in no longer feeling the wooden bottom of the bath beneath his feet.

With a gasp and a splash he breached the surface, standing on his two feet. He could feel his breath against the inside of his mask again, the chill of the air permeating through his coat. Vincent wasted no time removing his coat, his mind still focus on one thing: getting out of his clothes.

Vincent cast his coat to the side without ceremony and began to quickly unbuckle the straps holding his mask in place. That fell onto the tiled floor with a clatter, but before he could relish in herbal infused air against his coppery stubble, he fought to strip himself of the soggy shirt. In the frantic rush and with his mind clearing he simply opted to grab his collar and rip it half.

As the discarded shirt landed with a slop, Ser Vincent immediately began to scan his built form for any sign of bleeding on his slightly haired chest. Nothing. No deep gash in his shoulder and no strips of red ribbons trailing across his abs or pectorals.

‘The shade must have only harvested a portion of the poison joke’s magic, leaving me in limbo between my state prior to infection and after being nearly gutted.’ With a chuckle he brought a hand over his eyes and lifted his head, basking in the freedom of being half naked. ‘I would have likely bled to death had I remained only half cured.’ He felt his hair between his fingertips as he smooth it over. He then immediately began to fiddle with his alchemy belt after noticing his wet fake tail hang limp and dead against the back of his leg.

Then he heard a feminine giggle.

Shock and morbid fear struck him like lightning to his gut as he lowered his hand, a rock falling into the pit of his stomach passing his quickening heart. His malachite eyes fell upon the girls that were looking at his dripping form with varying smiles and quirked brows.

Princess Twilight and Pinkie seemed relieved for him, the latter jubilantly so. Fluttershy being the meekest kept her eyes elsewhere, but smiled none the less with teal eyes over blossoming cheeks. Applejack kept her grin even as she lowered her hat, but both Rarity and Rainbow stared back, the former with a hand against her cheek in appraisal, the latter guffawing.

Ser Vincent felt his blood run cold, his mind clearing once again but remaining silent as he was studied by these mares. His stone jade eyes slowly shifted to gold tint seeped in. It seemed to prompt further interest in Twilight, especially when she caught onto the glowing lines emerging around Vincent’s neck and heart.

“Heck, Vinny, ease up.” Dash chuckled as she rump-bumped a now-frozen Applejack. “I mean he isn’t ripped like Bulk is.”

‘They can see me.’ He backed into the edge of the bath and fell out. He hit the ground hard and heard Dash and Pinkie burst into fits of laughter. The hard tiled floor chilled his spine as he let their mocking giggles ring in his ears. With a low growl he rolled onto his front, eyes almost alight. Vincent ground his fist into the floor, splitting a tile as his veins glowed. He crawled over to his coat and put in on as he stood tall.

He snapped his gaze to the side when he was approached by Lotus, who immediately faltered at his gaze. He interpreted her jarring shift from concern to terror as a sign that he was wearing a harsh scowl. Her ears fell flat, tail tucking as her shrinking eyes gazed up to the burning glare of the knight. She held his mask in her hands until he swiped it from her with flinch-inducing speed.

With it in hand he stalked around the bath, not facing the still tittering girls.

“Princess Twilight, I’m heading to your library to instruct Spike to send a letter requesting support for a shade hunt.” His voice was curt, the edge of spoken command before barking orders. He had to rein in his anger, his humiliation. It was his problem, not theirs. “Then you’re all going to return home and spend tomorrow inside until I say it’s safe to leave.”

“Wait, what?” Princess Twilight asked. Ser Vincent didn’t respond and strolled on, past a giggling Pinkie.

Then, much to everypony’s surprise, she stopped. Abruptly, suddenly, wilting as a small whisper stripped her of joy. Her ears fell as she brought her hand to her mouth in a gasp, turning to face the knight who cast a harsh, burning glare back at her over his shoulder. Her shoulders slumped as he bared his teeth, exposing those sharp canines inside that vicious sneer.

He then shook his head, glancing back one final time with a much more apologetic, remorseful look. Shame softened his features and returned some traces of green to his eyes. But Pinkie was still frozen in place as he turned to migrate on, Vincent’s head now hanging low as he fixed his mask to his head.

She just heard that little whisper in her head, over and over again: I hate mares.

Author's Notes:

Pardon the slow updates, between real life and bad internet I've had terrible time updating this story. Alas, I have returned and shall be posting a final chapter soon. I appreciate everyone that has stuck with this story so far.

Chapter Six

Ser Vincent stepped out of the forest just as the sun rose over the horizon, the rays of light kissing his freshly scorched mask. He wore both gauntlets; his forearms were embalmed with rosy crystals, less so on his right. The diamond thread embroidery on his right shoulder glowed, appearing like ghostly emerald veins upon moss green stone. Smoke drifted off his form as he brought his left fist to his muzzle a yawned. There was a faint sparkle of gold in the eyes of his mask, a dying light.

Walking further out, he looked down to the writhing remainder of another lesser shade. All that was left was the charred skull of a unicorn and its spine, flaming tendrils squirming for its lower jaw and necrotic mists of yellow and red falling from the bone. He held it by the spine before hoisting it up and then pressing both his palms against its temples. With fatigued strain and looking into its purple eyes the knight crushed the skull.

Lights of magic danced. Bone fragments turned to dust. Darkness fell, a slice of harmony was returned to the world. He’d done this another five times since he left the spa.

Jubilant features, soft like cotton candy and warm like a welcomed hug, fell hard at his admission. Shock and pain struck innocent blue eyes, Laughter ceasing before him and regret tainting his heart.

He sighed out loud and through the mask. Ser Vincent didn’t stop himself from bringing a crystallised palm to his snout, the metal squeaking as he rubbed the bridge with his sharp gauntlet fingertips. ‘I should not have said that whilst in that frame of mind.’

It was a strange scenario for the knight: never would he have ever thought he’d be upset about getting his powers back, furthermore, never would he have thought that he’d be the reason. Then again he never made the best decision when he wasn’t in control. His strength, how close he allowed others to be… his emotions…

“I wonder if the bakery is open?” he asked himself, clapping away the dust of the dead. He’d finished here and the guards were still about. He walked down the path to until he found where the sergeant of a squad of twelve guardsmen composed the typical three pony races. By this point the light of his eyes had vanished and felt further exhausted.

All were identical save for the species type of pony and the leading stallion; unlike the others he was thundercloud silver, contrasted by golden armour. All these guardsmen wore smaller, compact gauntlets similar to the knight, resulting in only the knuckles and palms sprouting spiked crystals. Vincent’s were more robust, heavily durable and with five digits instead of three. The leading sergeant held his guard helm under his arm as he spoke sternly, but admirably to the guardsmen.

“Gentlecolts, I believe we’ve done well for ourselves – six lesser shades have been put to rest.” He spun around as Vincent approached, hoof boots clanking as he gave a formal salute. Those under his orders followed suit. “Ser Vincent!”

The knight returned a fist-on-heart bow.

“I hope the hunt was as bountiful as ours, ser,” the sergeant added with a proud smile.

Vincent tilted his head and abruptly halted in his tracks. “What a horrible thing to say, sergeant.” He gazed to Ponyville but kept his concealed eyes on the off-guard stallion from behind his mask. “Bested five aggressive monsters hunting near a town full of civilians today, eight if you count the other three I destroyed in town yesterday.” He tutted and shook his head whilst patting down the still smouldering floral design on his shoulder. He’d need to pay Rarity to fix the slash in his shoulder.

“Eight?” asked one of the privates, his raised brows seen through the open faced helm.

Ser Vincent recalled the night with a slight fondness in the sense, and only sense, of one being reunited with an old friend. Having his powers back, the strength to launch these vampyric monsters into one and other, the speed and agility to hunt them down, the sight of a grey-scaled world bursting into colour as anything moved… it was wonderful to be back in working order.

“On another note, I found myself going deeper and deeper into the forest as the night went on, and they appeared further and further south, and further between encounters.” Vincent then swung his hands behind his back, inclining his head. “I appreciate your response time last night gentlecolts and I believe were are done here.”

He turned to leave but caught sight of the sergeant lost in his thoughts. With a mental eye roll he patted the sergeant on the shoulder. “It was a simple jest, sergeant. You did well.” He saw the sergeant’s ears perk up and tail lash harshly as he grinned.

“Aye ser, we all did.”

“Then I wish you all luck in your future endeavours.” With that, Ser Vincent walked off glad to no longer be exhausted by talking. He’d need to save his strength for Pinkie Pie he bet.

Through empty streets of an early morning the knight strolled, pain lingering in his chest and his limbs weary but alive. He had shed the last of the anti-magic crystal growth on his arms and sported on the gauntlets. He had a lot to think about as he migrated towards his new destination, a place he heard about but never went himself in the couple of weeks he’d been here. He only paused his thoughts to check for signs and landmarks, visual signs he been told to look out for as he journeyed along the cobblestone roads.

Then he found it…

…simply looking at the place hurt his sweet tooth.

An atypical cottage where the lower floor was smaller than the upper floor, leading to an oversized roof resembling gingerbread and skirted by thick, creamy white frosting. The sugary theme was crowned by a central tower, capped by a pink-frosted cupcake-esque roof. Chocolate-like external beams streaked across the pale, cream walls and even the windows had a strawberry tint to them. The entrance had candy-cane pillars to support the gingerbread stairway and overhead arch. He tried the front door. It was open and he slid his hand up to reach for the doorbell inside before it could ring. Most shops had them. He’d… take a quick quiet look.

The inside certainly smelled like a bakery, though scents were more of various loafs of breads as opposed to confectionary. Vincent quickly scanned the room out of bodyguard habit. Between him and the glass counter the front of the shop was incredibly spacious, a set of stair blocked off by a baby-gate were took into the corner. Only three tables for four were present and they were by the windows.

Glancing to the floor he could see hoof marks leading to the counter, polished but worn into the wood. Obviously, though ponies frequented the place, they queued and left more than they stayed. Though he’d heard a few parties were hosted here regularly.

He heard Pinkie Pie humming merrily to herself as she worked in the back, her rump and tail swaying to her own merry tune. He approached the half-filled counter, silently at first before taking a deep breath and then making his steps heard.

She stole a peek, muzzle lightly dusted with sugar powder or flour before looking back down to whatever she was doing. “Hey Vinny!”

He tilted his head, mirth putting an odd pressure on his face as she took a double take.

“Vinny!” she chimed with smile. One that slowly crumbled before him, stealing the warmth he had been feeling with it. “Oh… hey.”

He straightened up and kept his voice level – calm and lukewarm, but as softly spoken as ever. “Greetings Pinkie Pie.”

She brought out a tray of butterfly cakes, the frosting ranging from white, blue, and yellow. He watched her set them beside the éclairs, took note of the ivory apron being the only thing he’d ever seen her wear beside the cheerleader’s outfit, and berated himself for not looking her in the eye as he spoke. Not that she could tell with the mask and shadowing hood but if he was going to do this then he’d do it properly.

“I’m here to inform you that the town is safe for today, but you should keep away from the forest for a while,” he began with tensing hands and head lowering. He turned his masked gaze to the side, feeling himself clench his eyes shut as he struggled for words.

“Well, thanks,” she replied with a weak smile. “I’m glad these treats won’t go to waste, be a real shame if all this yummy food had to be thrown out 'cuz nopony was about.” She laughed awkwardly but Vincent’s responding chuckle sounded more authentic. Yet, at the same time, maybe that was why it blatantly wasn’t. It died down and silence polluted the air between them. She finished laying out the cakes and rubbed her arm. “So what happens now?”

“I’ll probably go tell the girls and the rest of the town to avoid the forest for a while.” Ser Vincent took another loud deep breath and sighed. He shook his head and tried to speak but was cut off by the deep blue eyed stare of Pinkie.

“I’m sorry I laughed at you yesterday.” Her apologetic stare was married to the meek way she fiddled with her apron. “I guess it was silly of me not realise how badly you don’t like to be seen without your clothes on.” Her once bubbly demeanour had burst and even the frizz to her mane was de-frizzing as she apologised for what was essentially a reflexing response. She shouldn’t have to apologise for his lack of control. He raised a hand to cut her off.

“You did not deserve what I said to you.” His words were blunt, his tone self-assured and warming. “I wasn’t in my best state of mind yet, lacking control of my emotions and thoughts and—“ He stopped when he realised he was making excuses, diluting his own apology, mixing in shared-responsibilities so that something else could take the blame and he’d salvage more of his pride. In the end he slumped his shoulder and pulled his hood back.

Pinkie watched as he unfastened the gauntlets and left their metallic form on the glass before he undid the straps on the back of his head. In the light of the new day she caught his features as the mask was slowly lowered; dark chocolate hair, messy and reaching his brow and in need of a good combing; his strong jaw and soft, rounded chin was shaded by the short cinnamon beard, his face sapped of energy as fatigue made rings under his eyes.

He was looking down at first, seemingly both morose and… angry. With ears lying flat she reached out to him with a kind smile. Then he looked her in the eye and she was as still as stone under his empowered malachite stare.

“I am so sorry for what I said.” She saw those features soften, cheeks sinking and pain stinging his eyes. “I don’t… It’s not like that—“ A spark of rage took hold as he clenched his jaw and looked away. With a quite huff to make his nostrils flare, he set the mask onto the county, facing him. And gave up, her heart sinking when his face did.

He was startled when she laid a hand on his and the shocked look and tense clenching made her giggle. “Hey, it’s okay, big guy. I know you didn’t mean it!” She beamed a smile up to him and it seemed to straighten him up a bit. She’d learnt to look for subtle bits of body language to gauge the mood of the knight but without his mask he was easy to read like a cook book! “I mean, I bet you were worked really hard, being sick and all.”

She then leant back and brought her pony-finger to her chin, “Though I don’t think you said you were ill, more that you couldn’t use your magic thing where you become a super-mega-knight and beat everything up—“

“Pinkie,” Vincent said with an amused brow.

“—So was it more that it was, like, default Ser Vincent versus the monsters—“ she babbled on.

“Pinkie?” Vincent pressed with sterner look.

“—Which begs the question, if Vanilla Vincent can beat two little magic monsters and one big magic monster, then can Super Vincent beat four times as many?—“

“Miss Pie,” the knight said through grit teeth and petrifying scowl.

She saw the sharp canines in his maw. Pinkie immediately clamped her maw shut with her hands, offering a sheepish smile as he returned a wry grin of his own. “Sorry, sorry.”

He huffed in amusement before speaking, though his tone was level and neutral. “And to answer your question: easily, but let’s try to keep on topic.” Then his voice and face fell sombre as he recollected his thoughts and chose what to admit. “I’m… not comfortable around... I don’t do well being so exposed around those I’m not that familiar with.”

He looked away, grimacing at the use of the ‘half-truth’ method before continuing. Distain was still on his features due to both his escape from an honest apology and from explaining his weakness. ‘Pride is fickle; you try to be humble so that you are never humbled. Because it feels awfully like indegastion.’

“It’s my own issue, for me alone, and I appreciate it if you didn’t tell a soul.” He looked back up to her with a sad smile, emerald eyes lukewarm in the shadow of the hood. “But, if I don’t get to the other girls before you do, I’d appreciate it if you told them how sorry I am if they heard. And once again I am deeply sorry.”

“D’aawww, it’s okay Vinny!” She beamed wide smile and her tail waggled with joy. Then to his concern, she offered a coy look, leaning onto the glass. Her predatory manner were emphasised by her furred digits slithering onto the metallic mask. “It’ll be completely fine with a hug though.”

He grimaced at the suggestion, visibly flinching and scrunching his face. He stole a glance at Pinkie and recoiled further. Her eyes had grown large and sparkled like shimmering lakes catching the summer light; her lip quivered like jelly in an earthquake, her pout as potent as any child denied a birthday present.

With great reluctance and with arms lifting like a rusted mechanical wine de-corker, largely due to the previous day and night of physical exertion, Ser Vincent offered a hug. He had barely finished opening his arms before he felt her crash into his side.

Of course he was mountainous in stance so she might as well have attempted to move a building support pillar. She wasn’t though, instead she was trying to feel the warmth of a ‘let’s-be-friends-again’ hug. It was difficult through the scaly armour of his and she was only shoulder high. Still! She had managed to get a little hug out of the stallion. Or the human equivalent.

Well, half of one. He was still lowering his arms.

He… wasn’t sure what to make of the scenario he was in. So few every hugged him like this. The closest thing in recent memory was one of the shades; the last pony to do so was a cocky earth pony attempting to grapple him but soon found his jaw malfunctioning; the last truly friendly hug of affection came from his mother a while back after the opera.

‘Why is it so much easier to lay my hand on those that have done wrong?’ He awkwardly wrapped his arms around her before berating himself and actually hugging the mare. Vincent decided to share in the embrace, catching the strawberry aroma and feeling her cotton candy mane tickle his cheek. He patted her shoulder as she held him tight and felt her plush fur. It felt nice.

Was it the sense of partial redemption? Having his pride almost restored? Simple friendly contact from somepony new in his life? He couldn’t quite put his finger on it but quickly pondered on it for the moment.

He had spent the night with his powers restored, going from being sapped and disorientated to powerful as he hunted down dangerous shades. He had a power that made him feel unstoppable as he stormed the forest as swiftly as he did, rocketing from a weakened soldier to the true powerhouse of force that Ser Vincent was capable of being. Nothing that dared challenged him survived.

It felt good to be back to being that powerful again.

But he couldn’t say it compared to the moment Pinkie Pie looked up to him with a goofy smile. Maybe there was something to knowing just a little bit about who and what he was protecting daily.

“You smell spicy,” she said through a giggle-snort. She back out of the hug whilst scrunching her muzzle cutely, still laughing. He gave a half smile as he reached for his mask.

“It’s the coat. The odour masks my scent against most animals that don’t have the nose of a dragon. So, you know, half of what wades through the forest and is the size of a house.” He began to refit the mask, noting her wilting ears.

She kept the smile though. “So what are you gonna do now?” She tilted her head and returned to behind the counter.

Vincent dusted off whatever powder and frosting that had lingered behind the departure of Pinkie and her apron. His words were only slightly muffled by the scratched mask. “Check around town and with the girls, seek atonement, and then rest at home before noon.” He paused and rolled his free hand as he picked up a gauntlet, “Or so I hope.”

‘Hmmm, I’ll make him a nice surprise.’ she thought. She watched him refit his gauntlets before he tossed up his hood. “I’m sure they will. I mean, to everypony else you might have been a bit of a grumpy pants. But it was probably stress.”

Ding!

With a wide eyed gasp, Pinkie looked back to the kitchen. “The gingerbread ponies!” She regarded Vincent once more but found him halfway to the door.

“Take care, Pinkie Pie. You have no idea how much I appreciate your understanding and secrecy.” He sounded happy but she knew he could change his voice just as easily as she could rework the iced lettering of cake. Yet, she felt he was sincere this time.

“Hey, Vinnie!” She called, stopping him as he was stepping out the door. The overhead bell rang as he gazed back. “You should smile more,” she said with a cheeky wink before zipping into the kitchen.

Ser Vincent brought a gauntleted hand to the cheek of his mask as he tilted his head. “I was smiling during that ordeal?” With a brief further pondering, then a conceding shrug, Ser Vincent left Sugar Cube corner.

He walked further along the road, a tad merrier than normal given that the mood was much lighter than earlier in the morning. The street was full of more ponies as well, all drifting this way and that as an easy morning began to roll into full swing.

“Good morning, Ser Vincent.”

Caught off guard, the knight spun around to almost stare down the passing mare. She recoiled shrunk slightly but kept her gentle smile as she passed by.

“Do you require my assistance, Miss?” he asked kindly, soft as to seem approachable but with reserved strength so that she knew he could get the job done. Especially with himself back to working order.

“Oh, no, I’m just saying hello, silly.” She passed by and waved. “Thanks for yesterday, but I have to go. Bye-bye!”

He waved back out of automation as he processed what had happened. Other than the girls, nearly nopony greeted him. Strange. He walked on, heading home and for wine and classic opera. Along the way he was greeted and thanked by many he had personally rescued. It was the ones he had never seen before that struck him as odd.

“Good morning, Ser Knight!” He was pretty sure that stallion used to dart across the street at his passing.

“Greetings,” he replied cordially. Genuinely. “Oh, and I need to inform you to stay away from the forest.”

“Gotchya!” With that the stallion moved on, humming a pleasant tune.

“Hello, Ser Knight!”

“Here’s some free carrots, Ser Knight.”

“It’s Vincent, right? S-ser Vincent, I mean, um, ser. Um, Thanks for yesterday.”

He continued his walk and found that not everypony greeted him. However, those that didn’t either didn’t see him, smiled as they passed, or were too busy to stop. He was glancing around as he passed the park.

“Ser Vincent!” Butterscotch called from amidst her gaggle of friends near the small pond. She waved at him from her picnic and he returned the gesture.

“Pleasant morning, Miss Butterscotch.” He allowed a bit more cheer to creep into his voice than usual. Another name in this town he had to remember. He already had more pleasant acquaintances than he expected and one more certainly wouldn’t hurt.

The town seemed warmer, in a communal sense. Autumn was fast approaching. On the outskirts of town, before the road leading to his house, Ser Vincent turned to look back. Ponyville seemed to be warming to his presence and all it took was a small shade invasion whilst drained of his magical prowess. Who would have thought? A strange place for stranger folk. He had regarded the town with his head atilt before yawning loudly once again. He had the others ex-elements to check upon, and if they heard what he had said, then apologise to.

And he’d do so without feeling as if he was being watched for.

Pinkie Pie would later check on the knight at his home, finding the front door slightly open. It was late into the evening and she would peek inside to inform Vincent of her presence and that he had left the front door open.

She would also find him fast asleep by the coffee table, the faintest of curl to his lip subtly indicating a pleasant rest. A small journal was open before him, the slits of light through partly open blinds falling on both page and the metal mask on the coffee table. A small plate of peeled and sliced carrots joined them.

With a wince and a chewed lip she would set a carefully wrapped slice of banoffee pie beside the pencils and make to tip-toe back out of the room. But she would pause to notice the basic template of pony standing, jovially throwing their hands into the air. It was an empty sketch, yet to be filled in with any discernible detail or even a cutie mark.

But she had a good idea as she left, smiling as she quietly closed the door.

Author's Notes:

Again I profusely apoligse for the terrible update schedule this story had. Been busy.

Still enjoyed writing this one and I hope you you had stuck by had enjoyed it too. Please comment, like if you favourite and favourite if you like. Until next time, Ser Vincent can have some rest. See you soon.