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.’