The shuddering of his own body caused Zeccaran to stir from his slumber. It was not the shake of a cold body, but instead of a sick one. He groggily opened his eyes to find the light of a nearby lamp stinging his retinas. Snapping them shut as the throbbing headache he had slept to avoid reminded him there was no escape. However, he was at least not nauseated any longer, and he sat up on the bed. After several minutes of heavy breathing and a fruitless attempt to meditate the pain away, Zeccaran slipped down to the floor. He hazarded a small peek through squinted eyes and found the light of the room no longer as unpleasant.

Turning towards the vague grey tendrils of sun poking their way through the windows of the cabin, Zeccaran stumbled to the sill. From what he could tell it was early morning, and the snow covered everything. More importantly, even through his headache the zebra noticed a curious lack of noise, an important noise. The boilers were silent, their essential heat lacking as simply as their rumble. Zeccaran put a hoof to his head as his stress worsened his headache. It was going to be a long day getting the Onyx flight worthy.

Cautiously exiting the cabin, doing his best to ignore his growling stomach, he bumped into Bunker.

“You are awake! Good.” The other stallion panted. He was sweating through his enviro-suit, which was probably the only reason he was sweating in the first place. The door to the main deck had unmelted snow set around its frame, so it was clearly not warm inside the ship.

“Yeah I’m up. And it seems like we have a lot of work to do,” Zeccaran answered sluggishly.

“Da. I have been clearing the snow off the deck, and the top ballon.” Bunker pointed to their respect locations beyond the walls of the cabin.

“I found a busted seam on the ballon. But, I can’t reach it. We would need a team of pegasi to fix,” the larger stallion heaved a deep breath as he finished his sentence. He started to point down to the floor, stuttering over his words, a few curses in his native tongue slipping through as well.

“The boilers are frozen?” Zeccaran answered for him.

“Yes! Forgive me, I slipped back into the Great Forest for a moment.” Bunker rubbed a cheek with the hoof he had been pointing with. “You can fix it, right?”

“But of course.” The zebra proudly smiled to his companion.

“Once you do, come help me move more snow. I know the ship will be too heavy if we don’t.” He paused as he turned to leave. “What about lower ballon? How long do you think it will take to reheat all the air?”

Zeccaran was surprised by the question. He had totally forgotten that Bunker actually knew quite a bit about the Midnight Onyx. He just wished the stallion had let him see the manual back in the Baylands when they had initially captured the ship. It would have made the repair process much easier.

“About two hours once the boilers are at full steam,” he answered finally. Bunker nodded affirmatively before stalking over to the snow-caked door and yanking it open. Wind blustered in for the brief moment before he closed the portal again and disappeared. For a brief moment Zeccaran stood still, his mind coming to grips with the situation too slowly for him to move.

When his brain finally hit proper processing speeds, the zebra groaned loudly. A frozen boiler likely had busted its lead pipes and possibly its main chamber. Grumbling curses as he descended down to the engine room Zeccaran prepared for the worst. He set about opening the secure door, pulling and turning the levers and knobs in a slow rhythmic way that briefly let his mind wonder if he had the spare parts to repair the vessel or if he and Bunker were now legitimately stranded. Hastily, he entered the locks combination and reactivated the two necessary levers.

With a mighty heave he wrenched the giant steel door open and turned to his left looking at the emergency engine supplies cabinet. He did not even bother to cast a glance at the boilers, knowing that it would only upset him more if he looked at the damage before his spare materials. Briskly trotting to the large container, Zeccaran gingerly turned the handle and let the door fall open on its own, a creak of the supplies inside echoed in the metal room. He dodge back reflexively as the cabinet shook and the materials inside began tumbling out in heaps. A whole tool box clambered to the floor from the top shelf, making the zebra quite glad he had realized things had probably gotten jumbled from the crash landing.

Standing over the pile of various patch pieces of metal and several sets of spare pipe Zecarran nodded approvingly. There was enough material to fix both boilers unless the damned things had completely exploded. He drew up a big breath and sighed as he turned to assess the damage. His first glance at the long pipes and grand tubs of the machine left him confused. There appeared to be nothing wrong, and as he approached they still did not look to have any popped bolts or folded plumbing. He opened the firebox door of the right engine to a harsh roar of flames, that sent him diving for the floor. Patting down his mane in panic, sure he had singed something he stood up from the floor in confusion.

Certain he had just experienced backdraft, Zeccaran leaned cautiously into the no longer exploding firebox. Down in the bottom of the pit sat low glowing embers of coal, just barely crackling.

“Wait a minute...if the firebox kicked out back draft but are still burning...that means only the feeds are frozen!” A broad smile spread his lips as she spoke to himself. This was an easy repair. They were not going to be stranded after all.

Zeccaran spent the next hour slowly building up each firebox with coal, attempting to melt the frozen air and water lines. He had almost given up when a long hiss of steam indicated that he had found success on the first engine. It was quickly followed by its twin making him nod at himself merrily. Though he could hear how sluggish the piston turnover sounded, that could only be overcome with time, so Zeccaran headed off to find Bunker and something to eat.

Both of his next tasks were quickly completed, his companion having found food when the zebra found him.

“It was time for a break. Had been cleaning snow for four hours!” the larger stallion declared as he approached. “But rations are a bit frozen, so we will use this lamp to warm them up.”

Zeccaran took the frozen package as Bunker instructed and held it over the lamp they huddled around. Where the lamp had been acquired the zebra did not know, nor did he particularly care. Once the ration had thawed he tore it open to find jerky and bread. They were Griffon rations after all, but that did not stop him. Ponies could eat meat too, most just did not like it. Afterall the jerky did taste like not starving to death in an icy grave, so he did not complain. Besides it was best to just eat it and never think about what it could have possibly been made of, and never let the thought come to pass again.

Once they completed their meal he stood up and stretched. “Okay, Bunker,” he started.

“The engines are still warming up and all I have to do if keep loading coal every now and again, how can I help with removing the snow?” Zeccaran asked.

“Bird form. The ladders to the top of the ballon are too slick for me to climb. Let’s go.” Bunker pointed up dramatically to the ceiling of the bunk room they were in. The zebra shook his head with a chuckle.

“We are still going to have to do something about that gash you found too,” he told his larger companion. “Even if that means just stamping some canvas over the whole.”

Bunker groaned, “And let me guess, I get to tack it up there with strange tool you’ll get me.”

“Now you get the idea.”

About three hours of carrying Bunker to problem areas Zeccaran was starting to feel dog-tired. Keeping the engines warm and been easy and almost as quickly as they had stapled a canvas patch over the breach in the top ballon great groan echoed in the frozen valley. However, it was not the sound of an Ice Giant but instead the sound of Midnight Onyx lifting up of the ground. Zeccaran landed quickly causing Bunker to shriek in surprise. He returned to his normal zebra complexion a proud smile spreading his lips. He dashed up to the helm, not waiting for Bunker.

At the controls, he shifted the throttle wheel back and forth then into neutral, to reset the topside controls. They were still a bit frozen being left out in the cold, but it could not be helped. Looking up he realized for the first time they had slid into a crook of sheer stone after having bounced off of a different mountain, which Zeccaran did not know. As the Onyx continued to gain altitude, he swapped the throttle control down to the first stage of reverse, both to help warm up the propellers and back them away from the rock. The creaking and shattering of ice like glass followed. The zebra turned to look at the ragged props to find them slowly spinning still trying to heat up from their dip in the frozen depths of the accursed valley.

Heavy hooffalls signified Bunker’s approach and Zeccaran turned to face his friend.

“We did good. Da?” he said with a big grin. “How long you think propellers need to warm up?”

“Not sure, you’ve driven this thing more than me. You know what they are supposed to sound like. Why don’t you take over and get us going as soon as they are ready?” Zeccaran responded.

Bunker nodded and moved to swap him out at the controls. Waving, the zebra motioned that he would be going down to check on the engines, to which his companion responded with a wink. With a spring in step Zeccaran eventually arrived at the engines. He heaved a few more shovel fulls of coal into each fire box from the bin and went about checking the pressure meters. The inspection took him some time and was quite distracting, so when he walked back out onto the deck into strong winds he yelled in surprise.

“Bunker!” he shouted as he pulled himself up. There was a vague response over the wind that he did not quite understand. Fighting the wind he started to make his way up to the helm when something odd caught his eye.

Out in the distance, in front of the airship, there glowed a bright orange light. Puzzled, Zeccaran remained transfixed as he watched in dumbstruck awe. A line of ground in the distance ripped open the snowy tundra and exposed steam and more orange glow. It took about another minute but a sharp piercing cracking reached his ears. It was the sound of earth and stone cracking and shattering, but still he remained confused. There were no known volcanoes or anything else that could do that this far out in the Frozen North. As the Onyx slowly began to clear the rest of the valley, Zeccaran traced the split in the earth to a center chasm.

Two more lines of cracked ground shot out from the chasm and the odd seconds before their sound reached the ship. This time however, the Onyx pitched with the force of the shockwave. Somewhere in the distance Bunker screamed in surprise, as Zeccaran kept focusing on what he was seeing. As they inched closer a deep brooding feeling began building deep in his stomach. The area between the splits in the ground fell in with something like an explosion accompanying the sight. Then the magic hit him.

The air exited his lungs and he stood shuddering as he tried to draw a new breath, but was too terrified to complete the task. He knew the magics that were being thrown about like great wrecking balls. Somewhere a part of his brain told him he should confirm what he was feeling, and breath reentered his lungs as he shapeshifted into an eagle again.

Using the bird body’s innate ability to peer long distances, Zeccaran looked over the center of the chasm again. Suspicions confirmed he sucked in more of the frozen alpine air as a gasp of horror.

Gusty Twilight and Stormwalker floated in tandem. Great pressure walls of magic surrounded and shot out from the former while the latter deflected the blasts of magic, his fiery wings beating in a blur as he tried to reach his quarry.

This was the big one. There was no turning the Onyx around, no stopping the events. They were going to be forced to watch the fight unfold and likely die once it was over. Zeccaran hated that thought, but there was nothing he could do. If he was being honest however, he did want to see this fight, maybe he would cheer Gusty on, not that it mattered. So the zebra-bird watched, helpless but intrigued.

Gusty’s eyes shot open and were immediately stung by a piercing light. Jerking reflexively she found her limbs and head held down tightly by cold iron. Below her, coarse wood grated uncomfortably against her fur and wings. They too were bond under harsh metal making a panicked sense of claustrophobia set itself in her gut. Slowly, as she attempted to keep herself from thrashing about on the rack her vision focused up.

Before her was an empty room, black as pitch. The place felt familiar, yet distant. As she tried to understand why she had been left on a table of torture to rot Gusty reasoned within her own mind.

I’ve been here, but feel different than before. Why? She questioned herself. She drew a deep breath, but felt as if it was not enough to breath. Everything feels muted, as if I have another concussion...but yet, I don’t hurt…

Muffled voices moved from her left to the right, as if their sound was echoing to her over a great distance. A flash of teal revealed her own features and disoriented her further. Gusty grunted in frustration and confusion trying to resolidify the world around her.

I hate this nonsense! It makes it impossible to tell if I’m dreaming or awake...or hallucinating! I’m so close to keeping control of it and then I lose it! She complained internally as she tried to shift her head down to a more balanced spot before the feeling of hard steel kept her in the awkward position. A casual, disturbing sound reached her ears in the next instant and the world pulled itself together upon her recognition.

Slow, confident hooffalls clopped towards her from the darkness beyond the little light she sat in. Her eyes caught the motion of something large and even blacker in color than the void it glided through. A creeping, sliding horror worked its ways from the bottom of her hoofs up to the top of her horn. Her horn!

Immediately, Gusty attempted to cast a teleport spell. It did not fire. Next on the list was an permeable spell, something that would allow her to phase out of her bounds and into freedom. Likewise the spell also did not complete, only this time it was accompanied by a painful pinching sensation near the base of her horn. She tried to look up only to see the strap of iron that held her head in place. It’s position prevented her from seeing the tip of her horn. Worse yet, the hooffalls had gotten much closer and her fear seemed to take hold of her instincts as she pulled on her bonds with all of her might. It was all in vain, and as she broke from the panic, huffing haggard breaths, the dark form of her captor stepped into the small of the light.

“You really are a lively little mare aren’t you?” came the familiar voice of a stallion.

“Stormwalker?! Release me at once!” Gusty ordered, not about to play whatever game this was.

“Interesting. I was unaware you knew my name….excuse me...our name.” The demon scooted closer, the shadow of his brow dissipating in the light as he leaned over her. Glowing red eyes and long shining fangs greeted her. However, something seemed off. It was if the features did not match the monster she knew, even though he looked positively identical. As if to confirm her thoughts a sharp glint in the malicious red eyes hardened to a point so fine it made her jerk away from him in fright. A hoof harder than steel pushed her cheeks back to stare at his face from the small bit of movement she had made. The beast was not the Stormwalker she knew, he was the thing she had been believing him to be. No, this thing was much, much worse than even her fears.

“My dear...what is the matter? You should be overjoyed, the first thing you woke to was me, instead of my father,” the creature cooed. “I was starting to worry if you would remain unconscious until he...roused you.”

“What do you want?” She squeaked out, almost surprised at her own words.

“Your assistance in a matter near and dear to my heart,” he chuckled. He gave the side of her muzzle a long lick up to her eye with a single efficient stroke. Gusty winced but refused to give him the satisfaction of a gasp or curse.

“Why would I help you?” she asked, a bit of anger having built up at his touch and presumption.

“Because it will ease your time spent here.” He met her eyes, the same awful predatory gaze piercing her soul like a knife. Glowing with ever increasing malice, his look served to worsen the moment. It reinforced that he held the power here, and that should he wish it, she would suffer, severely. Who was to say she was going to avoid it anyway? However, if perhaps it provided her more opportunity to coerce the monster, she would do ask he asked, at least that idea put logic into the decision.

“Tell me what to do,” she closed her eyes as she answered, unwilling to continue looking into his.

The demon tutted darkly as Gusty felt him pull away: “My father does sure know how to pick’em.”

A few cranks of chains and wood echoed in the small room before Gusty felt her weight shift forward. She opened her eyes to steady her mind as the rack swung forward to where she hung completely vertical and stopped. More mechanical clunking sounded and the faux-Stormwalker strode into her field of vision.

With a better view of him, Gusty confirmed that the creature before was a different monster all together. His body was sleeker, younger, his skeletal structure clearly designed for efficiency of movement. The grand wings were still present like in the modern version, and the looks, but something still felt off. Though he seemed much like his descendant, there was a primal presence about him that Gusty could feel in the air. As if his depravity, and his ruthlessness knew no bounds, and nothing in this mortal coil entertained him more than seeing her before him, bound and scared.

“I hate to inform you my sweet, but my father has taken a rather strong liking to you,” he spoke methodically.

“Why is that important?” Gusty questioned, a shiver of disgust snaking up her spine at the declaration. The demon chortled with a bit of classic Stormwalker clicking.

“Because that makes him weak, and vulnerable,” the monster’s voice grated harsh like nails over slate, “and that means his time as patriarch has come to an end.”

Gusty could not help but raise an eyebrow in confusion, “What does that have to do with me?”

“I need you to...enjoy him. If you reciprocate his passion it will make everyone’s lives easier.” A too wide a smile with too many teeth split Stormwalker Prime’s jaw. A hard rock of disgust and fear anchored itself in her throat. There was nothing about that statement that made her feel in control as she had believed it would or more comfortable as she had been told.

“You mean he is going to come in here and…” she let her voice trail off. Prime finished the sentence for her, “Violate you? Oh, yes.”

Gusty shuddered. The world around her seemed to shake alongside her as the moment she resided in started to shatter. However, just as she seemed to be free of the cursed place she found herself in and returned to the black void of before the scene rematerialized. However, as it did she experienced an odd double vision, as if she was seeing things from her own eyes and over her own shoulder.

“Just pretend it is your husband. It is not as if my father is incapable of satisfying you. In fact, I can confidently say that he will bring you more pleasure than your spouse,” Prime declared in a haughty fashion.

“M-my husband?” Gusty asked. It seemed suddenly like she had asked that question an uncountable number of times. She could not tell if she was inquiring about Bunker or the white hunk she had seen in her visions back in the Baylands. Then again, she was beginning to wonder what a Baylands and a Bunker were.

“Yes. That rather elusive snow-colored fellow. He is yours, no? Just consider my foolish father your mate for a few minutes. That should provide me the necessary ingredients to relieve you from my most loathed relation’s clutches.” The monster nodded confidently.

“I guess I don’t have much of a choice,” she moped. Letting her be bait was all a part of the creature’s plan. She was going to be taken against her will, and there was no way to fight back. If perhaps one of the accursed Shadow-kin was going to die while having his way with her, Prime was right, she should enjoy the pleasure of his advance and relish his death. Gusty curled a lip up at herself, is this how low she would go? Letting herself be raped by demons without a fight just to kill them? The thought left her numb and empty, trying to push her body to become more ready to be aroused by a monster. The only instinct to survive no matter the cost, at least that was what she internally rationalized.

“That’s the spirit, my dear! Always good to savor the moment!” Prime pulled her attention back to him. “Now, he will be along soon enough.”

The Shadow-Kin slipped back into the dark of the room. His form fading entirely as the confident clops of his hooves went silent. Gusty sat there in the eerie silence knowing he watched her from the black void of shade. She trembled, both in stress and terror. What plagued her more than the upcoming still unwanted breach of her body was the feeling of the unknown. Certainly Prime was not going to keep his promise, and even if he did, did that mean he would be the next beast in line to pleasure himself with her body? Gusty felt several long beads of sweat slip down her brow and chest. The blanket of emptiness around her and the unnatural starkness of the grey light shining down at her antagonisingly collectively increased her nerves.

By the time a set of clacks and cranks echoed from somewhere far in front of her, Gusty was happy for noise other than her own breathing. Ruddy orange torchlight flooded in from a large door, its color dim and muted compared to the unpleasant shadow and grey where she hung. A large silhouette blocked the light partially, before a long creaking of metal hinges slowly closed the rest of the outside light away. Louder, less precisely measured hooves marched their way through the black dark. Quickly a new Shadow-kin appeared before Gusty, his size more intimidating than his offspring.

“Oh, how I have waited for this moment,” he grinned. He moved up close to her drawing in a deep breath as he pressed his muzzle into her neck and mane. Gusty shivered, her mind starting to teeter dangerously away from the balance she had struck while waiting. The elder demon leaned back exhaling exuberantly and placing a hoof on either side of her head. His features more roguish, bolder, but just as appealing a his offspring. However, the sight of him compelled Gusty to well up a ball of phlegm and hock it directly into his face.

The spit hit his cheek below his right eye and a broad smile spread his lips. His long tongue snaked out of his mouth and lapped up the loogie like it was a rare chocolate. Gusty cringed in disgust as he leaned down and licked the side of her face, just like his son had. The demon paused after he had completed the motion.

“Strange. I taste the smell of my youngest son. It seems his capture of my prize has left its mark,” the monster grumbled. Gusty remained silent.

“No matter. You still have enough fight to make making you mine particularly ...enjoyable.”

Now more than willing to side with Prime’s plan end this scum, Gusty bit her lips closed. That was until the beast began slowly moving his muzzle down her chest and abdomen, rolling his tongue as he went. Her resolve began to shatter, and her urge to escape increased as he proceeded. It was not what she wanted and something she had never desired to relieve.

With a colossal effort Gusty fought the waking feelings and tried to break the enforced reality. Just as the memory reached a fever pitch and she started to feel the most preyed upon the sensations broke. Free from re-feeling her darkest moments, Gusty desperately closed her eyes in an attempt to remove the still moving, though shattered image of what was happening to her. Even the black prison of her mind however could not completely drown out the horridness of the past. Even the happy thoughts of her Amethyst, Bunker or Celestia did nothing. Her voice screamed and cursed at her assailant, hurling hatred and sadness at once. A disgusting feeling of pleasurable euphoria pulled at her edges and the screams turned to upset moans and insults that she did her best to ignore. The atrocity lasted for an unknown time until the grunts of the monster came to a sudden halt with an unsettling gurgle.

As a last insult she was saved from passing out as a final image forced itself into clarity keeping her awake in its iron grip. Prime stood next to her, face covered in blood and gore, on the end of his hoof the slack-jawed head of his father, face frozen in a twisted look best described as pure, satisfied infatuation. The younger beast opened his maw and revealed pieces of a heart making Gusty gag. He snapped his mouth shut into a wide terrible grin of bloody teeth, gummed with the flesh of his father. A desecrated body, its chest rent open and its organs devoured lay in a pool of black and crimson ooze.

Hot breaths slapped her cheeks as Prime moved up close and kissed her in a faux affection. Gusty quaked with true fear, remembering now the feeling of pure horror she had felt back in the Cave, when they had met again.

“Thanks for your help, sweety,” he laughed coyly. “Now that the old coot is out of the way...it’s my turn.”

Her screams and wails echoed even more fiercely than before. Their sounds and the moment dissolving into an inconsistent ricochets of betrayal and pain until her mind gave out again and she was returned to blackness. For now...

Next Chapter: Act 3: Chapter 7 - Method to Our Madness Estimated time remaining: 11 Hours, 56 Minutes