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!