Looking to be the very epitome of bored disinterest, Dim watched Blackbird with his lip curled back into a fine aristocratic sneer. For about the past week or so—he had lost track of the days, quite honestly—training had been hard, fast, and furious. While Blackbird was amazing with pistols, she was incredible with the massive revolving ten gage she had procured. Few creatures had both her strength and her hand-eye coordination; this allowed her to rapidly acquire targets, draw a bead, and pull an anvil-heavy trigger that unleashed the very bowels of Tartarus. The long gun revolving configuration of the ten gage suited Blackbird—a unique gun for a unique creature.

The scariest thing however, was that she could fire it one-handed.

It occured to Dim that Blackbird hid a lot of her strength, either holding it in reserve or just flat-out pretending that it didn’t exist. Having been raised around ponies, little ponies, perhaps Blackbird wished to appear gentle, or maybe she didn’t want to scare them. Either way, Blackbird was a colossus, a half-breed titan, a creature whose physical strength knew no bounds, no restrictions.

At the moment, she was sweating, glistening from her repeated efforts, standing on two legs—a feat that she did without struggle. Her hooves and stout legs allowed her to be a biped with ease. Standing up on a balcony, Mars watched and Dim wondered what the minotaur must think of Blackbird. Dim had spent the week or so getting to know Mars and Modesto better and he wasn’t sure whom he liked more; Mars was one for action while Modesto could hold a conversation far, far better. For Dim, it would be nice if they were one minotaur, rather than two.

Modesto was cautious—wary—to the point of frustration, and this drove Dim nuts.

“Blackbird”—Mars’ voice rang out through the firing range—“why don’t you take a break. Dim… rather than sit there and exhaust yourself while looking so smug, why don’t you show us what you can do? Surely a vizard of your calibre can do something. So far, all you’ve done is laze about, and we don’t do that here in Istanbull.”

The nerve of some disgusting primitives. Dim had been improving his mind and trying to unravel arcane mysteries—and not lazing about as had just been so insultingly suggested. Pulling off his hat, Dim fished around inside with his magic, reaching, searching, until he pulled out a spear, which was far too long for such a short hat. Ah, yes, the spear would do.

And then, without further ado, Dim began chanting: “Incertus pulcher imperio—”

The effect was quite sudden and immediate. Blackbird spread her wings and flew away with all the haste she could muster. Munro sprinted away as fast as his legs could carry him, lept over a retaining wall, and the young minotaur hunkered down under protective cover. Other soldiers scattered, some of them even dropping their weapons; meanwhile, Bombay Sable lifted the Bard in her arms and hurried away as arcane energies began to form a nexus over Dim’s horn and crackled along the length of the spear.

Only Mars remained where he stood.

“—Facio! Voco! Fero!” Dim’s words held a terrifying resonance.

Dim’s heterochromia was more than just a pretty look, something more than fuel for his vanity and ego. Two distinct streams of magic could be seen flowing around the spiral band of his horn—the signature magic of the Darks. Dipolar thaumaturgy was a rare thing indeed, in unicorns, a creature evolved with a natural mono-emitter device sticking out of their foreheads. Sepulchral pink mingled with ambient amber arcane aetherfire, forming snapping, popping ribbons of energy.

“Klaatu, barada, nikto!” Now, the locus forming between his horn and the tip of his spear burned like a second sun and Dim’s voice had an ethereal, otherworldly reverberation to it, as if he was speaking from the plane right next door. “Scio! Didici! Pecto!”

Even the bravest had fled now as shimmering bands of heat rose in a wide area around Dim. Tiny arcs of lightning could be seen leaping through the strands of his mane, like dolphins frollicking in the waves—or porpoises in the surf. On his balcony, Mars waited, squinting, his eyes dazzled by the light show.

A beautiful butterfly—a creature made of fire—formed over Dim’s head. Like any butterfly, its wings fluttered and it took off, flapping. Dim willed it to fly towards a distant target, and off it went, trailing popping sparks and crackling embers. It was a thing of beauty, a spell cast for art, fire given form. Lifting his spear, Dim directed the butterfly with his weapon, coaxing it along, his face was that of orgasmic rapture.

Dim had made a butterfly, constructing it from death and destruction. The very air around him thrummed, the ground shook, and squiggles of strange light could be seen streaking away from the butterfly as it continued on its graceful journey towards the distant target. Blackbird was now with Munro, hunkered behind cover, and there was no sign of Bombay and the Bard. The vizard and his butterfly were too beautiful—too perfect for these disgusting primitives, and they had fled like superstitious rabble before some unfathomable god.

Eerie crackled into existence beside Mars, a look of astute alarm etched upon her features, and right away, she raised a powerful shield that pulsed both pink and amber. As the butterfly continued its meandering journey, Dim ignited himself so that he would not become a mere pile of cinders and he raised a shield to protect himself from any physical debris that might go flying about.

More hurried protections were cast by Eerie, who did her best to contain the coming blast.

After a long, fluttery journey, the butterfly landed on a distant iron plate pockmarked with potshots—and nothing happened. Dim waited, watching, as the butterfly changed colours, a beautiful, mesmerising bit of magic that was impossible to turn away from. The flames burned orange, pink, yellow, blue, green, a splendiferous rainbow inferno that spat out brilliant multihued sparks.

An arsonist’s sneer—contemptuous of life—could be seen on Dim’s face as he muttered, “Ich bin ein Gott unter Insekten.”

“Mars… you idiot… you just had to provoke him! I told you not to do that! Didn’t I tell you not to do that? I specifically told you not to provoke Dim! Verboten!”

“It’s just a butterfly, he’s showing off. Stop overreacting—”

At that moment, the butterfly exploded and the world was bathed in both heat and light. A roiling concussive wave radiated outward as the atmosphere itself ignited. The iron plate on a pole liquified, boiling away in the span of an eyeblink, and the dirt on the ground became like a bubbling pot of runny gruel. A mushroom cloud in miniature rose from the butterfly’s detonation and the concussive wave pummeled Dim’s protective shield as the searing flames washed around him.

Ablaze, Dim reveled in his own power, thrilled by the artistic destruction of it. Standing amidst scorched earth and with much of the firing range radically transformed, Dim hollered in a reedy, nasal whine, “Schau auf meinen Schmetterling, sieh zu, wie er die Welt zerstört!”

From the balcony, now blackened with soot, Eerie shouted, “Dim! Die Welt ist nicht dein, sie zu verbrennen!”

And Dim, in response, “Wenn ich es verbrennen kann, gehört es mir!”

There were times, like right now, when Blackbird wanted nothing more than to slap some sense into Dim. His casual act of destruction had left her singed and parts of her felt as though she had a sunburn. Smacking him, while no doubt satisfying, wouldn’t do much good, because he was just too fragile and frail. Even Eerie, who adored Dim, seemed irritated with him right now and was giving him a well deserved stink eye. But as a target for Eerie’s ire, Dim was not alone; no, Eerie seemed every bit as irked with Mars for egging Dim on and the sulky minotaur avoided the gaze of his mentor.

Munro had suffered the worst of it though and had to go and change his breeches.

Motte and Bailey worked to restore the shooting range, which Dim had glassed. Interesting word, glassed. It was a term that Blackbird had just learned, but somehow seemed so fitting for what Dim had done. She watched the two unicorns as they tidied up, fascinated by them, because they were the same unicorn. Not brother and sister, as she had first thought, no, Motte and Bailey were the same unicorn but from different existences.

Dim too, watched as Motte and Bailey worked, while smoking one of his cigarettes.

Huffing slightly, Modesto arrived on the scene but didn’t seem concerned by the evidence of wanton destruction. Shoving his brother aside, he kneeled down to be closer to Eerie and he said, “Jolie is coming in with captives and she’ll be here before sundown.”

“About time she reported back,” Eerie replied as she looked up at the pale minotaur kneeling before her. “I was starting to worry. Get everything ready for restock and resupply. I want her off to Fancy as soon as possible.”

“Her ship has damage—”

“Then repair it!” Eerie snapped, revealing her state of agitation. “Just do it with all haste. I have a bad feeling about Fancy and I want Dim there yesterday to deal with it. Something feels wrong. I keep having these confusing precognitive flashes. I don’t like it.”

Blackbird’s ears pivoted around to face Eerie, and she found herself listening, wondering what might be wrong.

“The Ascension, or the Ascendancy, or whatever they’re calling themselves right now, they pose a real threat. By themselves they are incompetent boobs pretending to be alicorns, but I fear that Grogar’s minions have nefarious plans for them. Killing the pseudo-alicorns and reviving them as undead or liches might fix a lot of what is wrong with them.”

“What can be done about it?” Modesto asked and the bull had a look of profound concern upon his face, an expression that filled Blackbird with dread. Modesto was not one for dramatic reactions. “I mean, what can we do about it? How do we stop them from doing such a thing?”

“We send Dim to kill these pseudo-alicorns and burn them into ashes before they can be captured and assimilated into Grogar’s undead horde. If there are no bodies, then there is nothing to be revived. We can rob Grogar of a potential resource.”

“So… you are sending Dim to just murder them?” Modesto stood up, flexed his mechanical fingers, and then stood there, grim, while looking down at Eerie.

“The entire world is at risk while they still live, or while their bodies exist. It is too dangerous to allow their existence to continue. It is a harsh measure, but necessary. They have taken to banditry, so no one will mourn their loss.”

“Eerie…” Modesto folded his arms over his chest and shook his head.

“Modesto?”

“This feels… it feels—”

“Wrong?” Eerie shuffled on her hooves. “The lives of a few misguided souls mean nothing when you’re trying to ensure the survival of all life on this planet. The risk is far too much. Each and every one of the surviving members of the Ascendancy must be hunted down and exterminated for the safety of us all. It is unfortunate, but necessary.”

“Dim too, poses a great threat to all life, because of his transmuted flesh. Why allow him to live?” Modesto extended his arm and gestured in Dim’s direction. “Why take this risk? Wouldn’t it be safer for us all and for the continuation of all life as we know it to be rid of him, by your logic?”

Reaching out, Mars placed one of his mechanical hands upon his brother’s shoulder. “While Dim is not a good pony, not by a longshot, he is not actively aiding the enemy. He stands in resistance to Grogar with no allegiance to anypony but himself and maybe Blackbird, from what I’ve observed. Dim is potentially a danger to everyone around him, but to Grogar and his minions most of all. For now, Dim remains useful.”

Snorting in disgust, Modesto pulled away from his brother and turned to face Dim. Blackbird watched, all of her muscles twitching, and she wondered if Dim was listening. If so, what was he thinking? How did he feel about this? Was he off in his own headspace thinking about new ways to set things on fire? Blackbird found herself wanting to take Modesto’s side about this, well, except for the whole part about killing Dim. She didn’t want that. But she could see Modesto’s point.

“Dim isn’t any better than the ponies you’re sending him to go and kill. He is utterly amoral, his moral compass? Nonexistent. He’s a hedonist who thinks only of himself and seeks to only serve his own needs. His only interest in Blackbird is for his own eventual self-gratification, no doubt. The entirety of his existence seems to be for nursing his ego, which has to be of incalculable proportions. Eerie, I’m sorry, but he is your complete opposite. I admire your adherence to order, even if it frustrates me sometimes, and even now, I can appreciate your pragmatic thinking on dealing with our enemies. You are making a mistake though and your emotions are clouding your judgment. So long as you court Dim as an ally, the moral high ground is lost to you.” Taking one last look at Eerie, Modesto then hurried away, slapping away his brother’s outreached hand as he departed.

“Modesto—”

“Mars, let him go,” Eerie commanded.

“Always what is moral with him,” Mars remarked as his brother stormed away. “I admire my brother for his convictions, but sometimes… sometimes… he sounds so pompous. So full of himself. Before Dim’s arrival, he seemed hopeful for Dim’s help. But now… something feels off. He was eager for Dim’s help, saying we needed somebody that could do skullduggery and dirty work. But to listen to him talk now… confusing.”

“He’s jealous because of how Eerie treats Dim.” It took several seconds, but Blackbird realised that it was she who had spoken these words, and everypony was now staring at her, including Dim. Why had she said what she had just said? What had made those words leap out of her mouth? “Before Dim came along, Modesto probably felt that he was hot snot on a silver platter, but now, he’s cold boogers on a tin plate. I mean, it all goes back to our first meeting in the study that day when Eerie gave that whole born to rule speech, and I suspect that Modesto might have some doubts if he’s really born to rule, and Dim, for all of his many faults, and he has a lot of them, Dim knows stuff. Dim’s educated and Eerie used him to teach Modesto, and I think Modesto is a little miffed that somepony like Dim might actually make a decent ruler. Maybe. I don’t know. Wow, everypony is staring at me and I don’t like it. Look, I’m not a stupid ditz, okay? I pay attention to stuff. I’m no birdbrain.”

While she let out a hiss, Eerie’s tail swished from side to side, and she chewed on her lip for a moment. Then, shaking her head, she said, “Excuse me, I have to sort out Modesto.” With a crackle, Eerie vanished.

“Blackbird is an exceptional observer. Duly noted.” Folding his arms behind the small of his back, Mars bowed his head somewhat, gave Blackbird a nod, and then strode away, his mechanical fingers twitching. “You have surprised me, Miss Coffyn, and I am not a minotaur given to surprises. I shall have to reconsider what I think of you.”

With a turn of her head, Blackbird watched him go.

“Hey, Blackbird…”

“Yes, Dim, what is it?”

“After that impressive bit of magery on my part—”

Blackbird sucked in a deep breath, already knowing what Dim was about to ask.

“—I am left famished. Would you, could you, maybe fix me some eggs?”

“Of course, Dim… I can fix you some eggs. Come on, let’s go have lunch.”

Author's Notes:

It's cold. That is all.

Happy New Years!