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"Should be in here. If anything goes right today, it should be right in here."

"And what if it isn't? What if you're wrong again? This could be another one of those big rooms with the water again."

"Why are you always so cynical, Tanta?"

“I thought you loved the water rooms.”

"That’s enough out of you two," the leader of this griffon squad barks as he stops himself and his team. They all wear small backpacks of equipment and utility belts with several small tools. The cold, squinted eyes of this griffon glaze the room before him. "It’s unmistakable. This is it."

The four griffons that have been bickering find themselves inside a large room, filled with sand, odd pony engravings on every wall and ceiling tile, and tall, ten-foot totems holding candles that seem to still be burning after a millennia. These totems have engravings also, but they are etched with Old Ponish text rather than hieroglyphs. The air is cold, howling, fitting well with the grey and blue environment of this expansive ancient chamber.

The griffons make a steady, cautious pace down a wide sand-riddled bridge that connects the entrance of this room to the far end, where a large metal pedestal holds a luminescent green relic. This eerie artifact is a black-onyx hourglass with emeralds encrusted at the rims, containing an odd essence inside appearing to have the granulated texture of sand, though this sand is green, pulsating, and softly glowing.

"Hm, I guess the worst of the traps are behind us now," murmurs Tawl, an amber and white plumed female griffon as she scans the room. "Looks like a straight walk from here."

"You think so, Tawl?" asks Tanta, a brown and grey plumed female griffon, rather sarcastically. "Then why don't you go and head up first?"

"I said I was guessing," she replies with a huff. "I didn't say I was sure."

"You know who ELSE was guessing there wasn't any traps? Shark. And he's dead now. So you can keep on guessing!"

"Damn Shark," sighs Fawl, a male amber and white plumed griffon. "He was one of our best scouts."

"Well, he obviously wasn't that great if a flying log managed to smash him into a wall," Tanta retorts. "What kind of 'great' scout lets that happen?"

"I've known him since I first joined the Featherline!" Fawl snaps at her, pointing a clawed finger at her beak. "He was the closest thing I had to a friend in this damn gang. You talk shit about him, you talk shit about me. I should have known you’d be ungrateful. He died saving our asses back there."

"Ooo, is that 'emotion' you're showing, Fawl? I thought you were the cool, stoic type. What happened? Death a little too grim for you?"

"You're really starting to piss me off," he squints bitterly.

"Pft, wow, you and your sister really are a fruity bunch, aren't you?"

Fawl stops and grits his teeth under his beak, settled only by his sister Tawl placing her claw on his shoulder. He simmers down enough to follow behind his team again. They are coming closer to the relic perched on its seat of cold iron.

"Why am I always paired with the bleed-heart softies on all of my assignments," Tanta whispers under her breath.

"Hrrh," Fawl's dilating eyes bounce between the older griffon and Tanta. "... Hey, Grimace," he calls through grinding teeth, "you being the squad leader and all, I think you should get your squad member to watch that beak of hers. She's been running it since this operation started."

"All of you have," Grimace, the older, grey and white griffon says. "If there were any better time to shut up and focus, it would be now."

Fawl scoffs, "But it's Tanta that's--!"

"That's. An order." Grimace utters sternly, forcing Fawl to swallow his complaint. "Now, it would appear Tawl is correct. There is not sight of any indentations or ceiling grooves. No hidden traps," he states as he fearlessly walks towards the metal pedestal that holds the magically emissive hourglass. "The relic of Horis," he utters in awe to himself as he eyes the artifact. "... Whoever this Horis pony was, he must have not wanted anyone to find this. Ever. This immense labyrinthine temple is a testament to that."

"Psh, couldn't keep the Featherline's elite out," Tanta prides herself.

“What does this thing even do?” asks Fawl as he eyeballs the relic.

Tanta's grin drops for an annoyed frown. “SOME griffon obviously wasn’t paying attention in the debrief."

“That's enough out of you, Tanta," Grimace scolds her. "Any further disruption will be docked on your record. And we both know we don’t want that happening." Tanta rolls her eyes and bites her beak, squinting angrily at the siblings beside her. Grimace refocuses himself onto the relic, speaking again. "This relic is said to be imbued with the power of time manipulation. Its major properties are unknown," he furrows his brow line as he approaches the relic, "but they won’t be for long.”

"Damn," Fawl's brows raise in amusement, "time manipulation, huh? I've got my doubts. If it's the real deal here, isn't something like this really dangerous?"

"Is that why the Black Horseshoes want it so badly?" Tawl asks trepidly.

“One could imagine,” Grimace replies simply.

"What are they planning to do with it?" Fawl prods.

"That's none of our concern. That is not what our job inquires."

“Whatever. Hopefully this damn thing was worth it,” he mumbles. "Shark's life was a heavy price to pay."

Tawl nods solemnly in agreement. "This temple wasn't like anything else we've ever raided. It was so confusing and weird, with all of the mazes and the clocks. How long have we been in here?"

"Too long," Tanta grunts. "Mostly because Fawl couldn't stop crying over Shark."

Tawl and Fawl stare sharply at her, but relax slightly after Grimace speaks up, "We lost a good scout today, we did, but the mission is all that matters. It was accomplished, we'll return back to camp with a grand success to our names. You better believe that this relic was worth the sacrifice of such a noble squad member. The power contained in it is too useful and precarious to leave unchecked. And even if you could care less about its marvels in magic, our commission for its acquisition will make us rich."

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” Tanta grins lustfully at the relic.

"The money’s great and all," Fawl muses, "but this is time manipulation here. The most taboo type of magic out there. Do the Horseshoes plan to do something crazy with it?"

Grimace glares at him seriously. "I will not repeat myself again. That. Is none. Of our. Concern." After Fawl scoffs and refrains from asking further questions, Grimace returns his eyes to the artifact. "Enough loitering, now to acquire it. Brace yourselves, the potential effects of this relic are unknown and possibly dangerous. Be prepared for anything," he warns as he prepares himself to reach towards the relic. The griffons surrounding Grimace get into a ready position, squinting their eyes and spreading their wings. Then, with a reach of courage, he grips the relic into his right claw.

Like a firecracker exploding in his grasp, the relic fires a plethora of magical streaks in every direction. The room becomes a lightshow of green energies, soon accompanied by whispers and frantic speaking in a language unknown to these griffons. The entire squad feels overwhelmed by an encompassing weight that seems to crush their bodies, driving them to squirm uncomfortably and hyperventilate. The sensations overtaking them are pure dread, they all feel the fear of death grasping at their hearts.

But then, it all ends abruptly. The magic ceases, the whispering stops, and the room returns to its quiet, eerie state. The griffons pant and fall onto their haunches, gripping and shifting the sand they rest over.

"Hnh, nnh..." Grimace's body relaxes and his eyes droop half-closed, taking on a discombobulated look. He is the only one who still stands, holding onto the relic on the pedestal. His squadmates rise onto their fours and compose themselves, adjusting their stunned vision from the previous mess.

"Fuck," Fawl shrugs his left shoulder as he surveys his surroundings.

"What was that?" Tawl asks worriedly. "Grimace?" she calls towards the unresponsive griffon. "... Hey, Grimace? Are you okay?" She takes one step toward him, but her brother Fawl places his claw at her chest.

They cautiously watch his still, laxed form stand in place... and after a tense silence, he finally blinks. His eyes adjust and he shakes his head, mentally returning to the world around him.

"Grimace? You alright?" Tanta asks skeptically.

"... Yes," Grimace replies after a moment. "I am fine."

"What in the fuck just happened?" Fawl questions with agitation.

"It was strange. I saw... I saw a dream. No, a vision. I saw... myself," Grimace's mind races ahead of his beak.

His squadmates squint at him, perplexed at the sudden revelation he is advocating. Fawl tilts his head back, raising his brow line, "... What did you see?"

"I saw myself. I was... sitting in a throne. I was a king. And the body I had! It was... it was perfect! The pinnacle lifeform! Powered by only the strongest and purest magic. Indescribable! I was the ruler of Equus. I was rich, I had... I had everything! The vision given to me by this relic foretold my grandeur!" He gradually gets more excited as he speaks. The other griffons give him an odd stare as he glues his now-pulsating green eyes to the relic. "Ponies, griffons. All bowed before me! I was their ruler! I had power... no, I WAS power!" Grimace says as he holds the relic high above his head. "All in due to the magic contained in this artifact. It speaks to me!"

"... Umm," Tawl shifts her eyes left and right awkwardly, "... things are getting a little weird now. How about we get out of here and get that thing back to camp--"

"NO!"

"NO!" Grimace blurts aggressively, interrupting her.

"IT IS MINE!"

"It is MINE!" he brings it down to his chest, holding it tightly as he steps back, away from his squadmates.

"HE'S CRAZY!"

Fawl winces suddenly, feeling something tear at his mind. He resists the urge to shout out his sudden thought, instead grumbling, "Rh, my fucking head! ... Grimace, what's going on!?"

Tanta takes an angry step towards Grimace, who is quick to step back the same distance and spread his wings. He prepares to take into the air as he shouts, "You will NOT take my lordship away!"

"HE'S DELUSIONAL!"

Tanta closes her left eye, wincing at the sudden viciousness coming into her heart. "Rgh, y... you're delusional, Grimace. You're letting some stupid dream get to your head, and it's pissing me off." "GIVE IT TO ME!" "Give over that relic now, or I'll pry it out of your dead claws," she rumbles with dilating eyes, giving her already cynical front an unhinged look.

"ALL OF YOU SHALL PERISH!"

Tawl tucks her chin into her chest and grips her head while clenching her teeth, trying her best at fighting back the sudden rush of accusation. With a whimper, she cries, "Everyone! Nhn-- please, stop! Why are we arguing!?"

Tawl and Fawl combat the searing voices attacking their heads while Tanta and Grimace stand at a stalemate, eyeing each other with squinted eyes, wondering who will move first.

Only the sounds of hollow wind and creaking structure fill the air. Grimace moves his sharpened eyes all over the room, planning for an exit. There's nothing that can aid his slither as the only exit to this room is the way they came from.

"ESCAPE!" "Hryah!" Grimace bolts up, attempting to fly overhead towards the exit.

"KILL!"

He is quickly interceded by Tanta, grasped at the tail by her claw. She forces him down with a strong heave, getting a croak of pain out of him. He lands atop of her, and they begin fumbling on the ground. Tawl and Fawl both watch in pure angst, mixed between acting and staying out. Voices rumble in their minds, tugging at their will and tempting them to enter the violent brawl.

"It. Is. MINE!" Grimace grits through his teeth.

"You are SO DEAD when we get back to camp, Grimace! We'll have you EXECUTED!" Tanta shouts, almost sounding happy about it.

"YOU'LL be the one dead soon, you insect!" Grimace says as he sinks his free talons into Tanta's cheek, causing her to cry out in pain. "You WON'T take my rightful ruling away from ME! You will NEVER-- GYOAAH! AAGAAAH!" he lets out a loud bloodcurdling scream as Tanta retaliates, swiftly gashing his left eye with her talon. He shuts his eye, blood furiously leaking down his cheek.

Grimace jerks wildly and manages to kick Tanta in the beak, stunning her and rattling her eyes. Then, in a fit of pure, almost literal blind rage, Grimace rises and looms over the stunned Tanta. His one open eye stares at her, dilated to a pin prick.

"RELEASE ME!"

"You dare interfere with my lordship." He lifts the hourglass high above his head, preparing it for a mighty swing.

Tawl and Fawl return their focus onto the scene before them, slowly emerging victorious against the metaphysical assault on their minds. Their eyes widen upon seeing Grimace, with Tawl crying out far too late, "Grimace, no!"

"BECOME A GOD!" "HRAH!" he bellows, swinging the relic with all his strength. He smashes the relic over Tanta's head, plunging her into unconsciousness and leaving a bleeding wound upon her scalp. The relic breaks into two chunks, one in his claw and the other falling into the sand next to Tanta.

As the relic is broken apart, the world around suddenly comes to a halt. Everyone freezes in place, the magic contained inside of it disperses madly, causing an influx of unstable energies to spark and clash violently.

Soon, they all blink simultaneously. Everything resumes as normal and everyone is confused. They retake the scene before them, remembering what occurred but seconds ago. Grimace whines in pain and holds his claw over his face, his eye still leaks blood from the given gash. "Nrh, w-what the...?" he utters, using his right eye to look around.

Tawl and Fawl look at the older griffon with faces of pure hate. Surely without the influence of the manic voice, Fawl darts at Grimace, leaving him with little opportunity to react before he is swiftly beaten into unconsciousness with two well-placed strikes to the jaw and temple.

With Grimace and Tanta out cold, Tawl takes this opportunity to quickly reach into her bags and tool belt for medical supplies. She mends and wraps their wounds as best she can so they can survive the trip back to camp. Fawl keeps his eyes open for an undue surprises while his sister tends to the agitated duo.

The siblings waste little time after, dragging their downed, bloodied mates out of the temple along with the broken relic. Navigating the temple is easier than before, as they have already become familiar with the traps and passages.

As they make their exit, they pass by a certain room with a large wooden log and a plank bridge... one which houses the burial site of their comrade. The two siblings give homage to the scout who paints the wall of this room with his innards, and they escape with their unconscious squadmates.

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With a trip to the far west, the griffons arrive by stolen wagon to their camp, the Featherline west camp. This camp is perched on the mountains of west-border Equestria, where tents of all shapes and sizes riddle the space, surrounded by tall wooden spikes.

Fawl and Tawl are both immediately interceded by Featherline gang security at the front mountain path entrance. After the inspection, they are both sent directly towards the lieutenant's quarters. They enter the large, white and brown tent that stands high above the other lamer tents that make up the camp. They try their best to swallow the fear in their throats as they fall under the gaze of their camp lieutenant.

"Fawl. Tawl. Where is the rest of your squad?" asks the lieutenant, but the tone of her voice speaks as if she was already accusing them. "Where is your squad leader?" Her gaze is cold and lifeless. Her feathers are swept back in a fashion that allows her icy eyes to be perfectly seen.

"Th-... Th-They’re, uh... u-unconscious, lieutenant," Tawl manages to stammer poorly.

"And why are they in this state?" the lieutenant tilts her head in a slow, creaking manner.

"Th-... We-..." Tawl loses her words. She looks at Fawl for help, but he appears just as frozen.

"Where is the relic your squad was sent after?" the lieutenant blinks slowly.

Lacking the fortitude to verbally respond, the siblings say nothing. Fawl reaches into the messenger bag he is carrying, taking out the broken relic and shamefully presenting it to the lieutenant.

The lieutenant stares at the miserable sight with nothing but apathy. Her head returns to normal from its tilted position. "Fawl. Tawl. I expected vastly better from one of the Featherline's elite scouting squadrons. Two members in critical condition? One dead? Two completely unscathed? This mission was a complete disaster, and I want to know why. If you do not come clean, a full investigation will ensue. With our enemy, the Sleeping Talons, approaching our borders, we would rather not waste our time and resources and simply execute every one of you, especially after such a catastrophic failure. So..." she speaks without a single change in pitch, "... I will ask again. Why are your squad members in this state?"

"Shark..." Fawl clears his throat, "... was an unfortunate casualty. The temple was much more fortified and confusing than anything we've ever dealt with before. Mind games, is the best way to put it. His body was irrecoverable. He died early into the temple raid. ... A-Afterwards, we found the intact relic... but after Grimace took it into his possession, he started claiming it as his own. He-- He went mad. The relic itself might have caused it, but... w-we're not sure. ... We're really at a loss, lieutenant. ... Then, Tanta attempted to seize the relic, but openly attacked Grimace instead of performing standard submission tactics. She and Grimace... are the reason the relic is broken..." he swallows a lump in his throat as he finishes muttering out his excuse.

The lieutenant's eyes rest boredly on him in silence before she looks forward at nothing, past the two griffons, "I see. And you swear upon your oath that this is the truth?” The two griffons nod quickly in response. "Then," the lieutenant's apathetic gaze rises to look above the siblings, "Tanta has too many strikes in her record. Her pugnacious nature has overtaken her worth. Your squad leader, Grimace, will also be tried for his betrayal. Magic or no magic, there is no excuse for such incompetence from an officer such as himself. Tomorrow morning, you will watch Grimace Flight and Tanta Claw be publicly executed in front of the entire camp. If you two demonstrate any sympathy for them, you will be imprisoned. In addition, your commission for this acquisition is forfeit. Is there anything else I should know?" The two siblings shake their heads in defeat. "You are dismissed," the lieutenant says, taking the pieces of the relic into her claw and setting them down on the table she sits at.

Fawl and Tawl leave the tent with lowered heads. The two siblings find a place to perch themselves inside the camp, remaining thoughtful and depressed. Other careless griffons move about their business, ignoring the two that toil over their recent disaster.

Fawl lets out a sigh, looking at his sister. "Hey, T, can... can I ask you something kind of weird?" Tawl says nothing, but turns her gaze towards him. "So... when the relic broke. Did you feel that too?"

She nods, "It-- it was weird! That pain... it's like someone was choking me. Then, I was getting really angry. I had to try my hardest not to get physical. I... didn't feel like myself back there."

"Yeah, exactly! It was total lunacy. It felt like I was having a nightmare, but I knew I was awake."

"Good to know I wasn't the only one who felt like that. ... I wonder if Grimace and Tanta felt it too."

Fawl shrugs, "Probably. One thing's for sure, Tanta definitely felt something... a priceless relic to the head. What the fuck was Grimace thinking!? Using the relic we were SUPPOSED to nab to bludgeon Tanta!" he throws his arms up in frustration, then he leans forward and rubs his eyes. "Fucking idiot. ... Whether they felt anything after the relic broke, we’ll never know. They'll be dead in a few hours from now."

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"YOU ALWAYS WERE JUST LIKE YER FATHER! DUMB-SONUVA BITCH! YOU AIN'T GOT MUCH TIME BEFORE YOU BLEED TO DEATH! COME ON! COME ON OUT AND FACE ME LIKE A MAN!"

Lightning surges in the sky, briefly illuminating the dark night as rain pelts the earth. A man wearing a torn, ragged duster, breathes unsteadily while he slips his last six bullets into his revolver's cylinder. He hides behind several bales of hay, avoiding his oppressor as he reloads his weapon.

Two men stand off at a farm home, tired, bleeding and muddy. The home belonged to the man who hides behind the bales, but now finds his property destroyed, shambled, and riddled with bodies. The broken wagon, the collapsed water-tower, the dead animals, they all served purpose after their destruction as cover for this elongated gunfight that has lasted since the early morning. Corpses of twenty-six men are splayed out across his yard, each falling fate to the sleight of his hand. But his breathing is rasp and trembling, he is tacked with several bullet holes from the gang's assault. Each wound stings horribly, his body burns, and his vision is blurring. Regardless of this, he still holds his own.

"WE WERE LIKE FAMILY, SKY! LIKE FAMILY! YOU COULD'A MADE IT EASY ON YERSELF! ALL THESE DEAD MEN 'ROUND YOU WERE YER BROTHERS ONCE! YOU GET THAT!?"

Sky, the young man behind cover, gets his six bullets in then flicks his weapon to the right, locking the cylinder back into place. He cocks the hammer back, then shifts his eyes to his side, furrowing his brows and coughing blood. He wipes his mouth with his duster sleeve, and with his patience ran thin by the man shouting at him, he finally shouts back, "YOU TALK TOO FUCKIN' MUCH!"

"HAHAHAAAA! STILL ABLE TO YAK AFTER GETTIN' SHOT TO HELL REALLY REMINDS ME OF YER PA'! DID THE SAME FUCKIN' THING! WELL, LEAST HE WASN'T COWERIN' AWAY! C'MON, SKY, DON'T MAKE ME FUCKIN' GO OVER THERE!"

Under the thunder and rain, he hears footsteps trekking along the mud and water. He squints his eyes, preparing to intercept.

He swiftly rises from his cover and grips the figure that approached him, grasping it and firing two successive shots at their belly. "--- Ngh!" his eyes widen, realizing he's gripping the corpse of a dead man that was used as bait. The bearded man known as Michael drops the body he used and grasps Sky's gun-hand, twisting it and pointing it away. The two tall men enter a tussle, Michael taking the lead by swatting Sky's face with the butt of his own revolver. He follows up this attack by further twisting Sky's gun-hand, and due to not surrendering his weapon, Sky's wrist cracks.

He exhales sharply, finally letting go of his revolver, allowing Michael to take it and throw it away. He then drives his elbow in to bash Sky's jaw.

Sky takes the robust strike, but doesn't topple, and instead he winds back like a coil and headbutts Michael on his nose. Once Michael is stunned and croaking in pain, Sky uses his functioning hand to snatch Michael's revolver and twist it away, but the weapon-holder is quick to pull the trigger, sending his last bullet right into Sky's left abdomen.

Another bullet travels through his body and sears him like a smoldering inferno, but he continues to twist the weapon away, cocking back for another headbutt. He slams his forehead into Michael's nose once more, and it cracks audibly, breaking unnaturally to the left with blood now furiously running down his nostrils. Sky pulls the gun away, taking it into his grip, and he attempts to fire off into Michael.

Click! Cli-cli-click!

"Fhk!" Sky grumbles, throwing the empty gun at Michael's head, causing him to stumble back, hunch over, and hold himself. Sky himself grasps his hand over the fresh bullet wound in his abdomen, falling onto one knee.

They both toil in their pain for a moment, then lift their heads to lock eyes.

Michael stares with a twitching grin. "... There it is again. There's that gold in your eyes... richer than the mineral of the Earth..."

Sky stares back with pure disdain.

"... They glow just like yer dad's... just like yer brother's. Whatever you are, you just don't fuckin' die. I'd even put my money down to say, you're tougher than both yer older family, they'd be dead by now." He sighs disappointedly, "You're somethin' alright. Fuckin' hell, we could'a had it all, Sky, we--," he is briefly interrupted by a blood-ridden cough, "-- we could'a made this land ours. With yer strength and will, we could'a had everythin'. We could'a had a good life. ... Ain't that what you wanted? A good life fer you 'n your sister? ... Especially yer sister... m'I right?"

"... Don't..." Sky spits a glob of blood and mucus, "... fuckin' talk about her, ya' bastard."

Michael chuckles, "Make me, friend."

Sky grunts as he rises onto his feet, continuously keeping his eyes locked onto Michael's.

Michael remains still, only waiting to be approached.

Sky limps forward, coming into grappling distance with him. He reaches out with his good hand, grasping Michael by his plaid shirt, pulling him in, and sending his right elbow into his face.

Michael spits and bleeds from his mouth, taking the attack as if he wanted it. He then reaches out and grapples as well, driving his fist from under to cram it into Sky's chin for an uppercut, then following up with a sharp knee to his gut.

Sky keels over, coughing out saliva and blood, but only briefly as he rises back up with his own high-knee to Michael's diaphragm.

Michael's wind is knocked clean out, bending him over and throwing him into a coughing fit. Michael knows he's physically inferior to his ex-best friend, but he wanted to experience it first-hand. He dared enter a scrap with a man who can decapitate with only his fists. He wanted to see the explosive show of golden lights that he once saw before many years ago... but he has been denied his wish. His opposition had purposefully made the showdown harder on himself by not using his gift, only to spite and not give him the satisfaction. Michael secretly admires Sky's stubbornness, it was one of his favorite things about him.

Sky grasps his head, kneeing him in the face hard enough to bring lightning to his conscious. Then, with a powerful left straight into his jaw, Michael finally stumbles backwards and falls onto the mud, feeling his face churning horribly.

Sky limps forward and stands above the toppled man, staring down at him with rage. He falls down onto his knees, pinning Michael onto the ground. He raises his trembling left fist into the air, clenching his teeth together in resentment.

"Y'know..." Michael coughs, gathering his last ounce of strength to speak. Sky's fist remains raised, but does not swing. "... I saw this comin'."

Sky doesn't reply, he only stares at Michael's barely-recognizable face as rain and blood further the mess.

"Knew I wasn't gonna win." He coughs profusely, clearing his muddled throat, "Yeah... guess you can say this was my... last... desperate attempt to finally take you out. ... Part'a me was hopin' you'd finish this, knew I couldn't keep it goin' forever. ... The other part of me really, really fuckin' hates you for actually doin' it. ... You killed my best men, 'n today... you've killed my only men. We were a super-power once... but you ruined the entire foothold we had over southern U.S. You single-handedly ruined my grandpa's entire empire, the one that cared for ya' and raised ya'. ... What do you gotta say for yerself, Sky?"

Sky shakes his head slowly, "I didn't ruin anythin'. You did. You 'n yer older brother. Your grandpa and father were great men, it's a cryin' fuckin' shame that you were what came outta 'em."

"Eeah," Michael grins wryly, "your grandpa 'n my grandpa', your pa' 'n my pa'... great men. Great friends too, just like you 'n me. We're still friends... right, Sky?"

"Not in this life."

"... Shame. Shame you lost track of what was important. Success."

"Success? My pa’ ‘n brother were executed by your pa's men, all cuz yer brother manipulated them. What success did that merit? Huh? My family didn't want to be apart of the shit your brother was pullin', and he had 'em killed. What fuckin' success did you get outta that? What about all the mothers and children killed? Burned to death? Kidnapped 'n sold off? Success? What fuckin' success are you referrin' to, Michael!?"

"It ain't that simple, Sky."

"Bullshit. You saw what the Black Spurs were becomin'. Thieves, murderers, rapists, scum of the earth. Yer brother Dern bastardized the goals our forefathers stood for, then when Dern died 'n you took over, you weren't like your brother... you were worse. Least Dern made his intentions abundantly clear... unlike you, fuckin' backstabbin' snake."

"Aww, come now. Don't be like that. I did what was best for the gang. You're my best friend! 'N I'm serious! You should understand why I did what I did! ... You can't blame me for lookin' out for me and my family, right? Just like you look out fer yer sister?" Sky squints furiously at Michael's remark. "... How is she anyway? She in the house, all boarded up from the scary men out here?"

"None of yer fuckin' concern."

"... Been a while since I spoke to that dime-piece. Ever since we were kids, I wanted to get into her skirt. ... I ever tell you that? I ever tell you that I wanted to bed yer sister? Real bad?"

"She ain’t into rat-shit like you."

"Heheah. Yeah. I love you, Sky. ... Goood damn it, this almost feel like one of them sparrin' spits we used to have so long ago... 'cept... 'stead of gettin' back up, now I'm out fer good." Michael, for a final time, sees the glowing, putrid hate inside the eyes of the man that looms above him. "... You was like a brother to me... remember that."

Sky finally drives his fist down, again and again, buffeting Michael until his face is churned a gory mess.

After an uncounted number of strikes, Michael finally lies dead, pooled in blood and mud. Lightning cracks the world a searing blue-white color, followed by a heart-rumbling thunder that rattles the ground.

Sky indolently stares at the dead man, his breath visibly leaves his mouth from the cold air. He rises from his knees, slouched and gently swaying from overtrodden equilibrium and nearly losing consciousness. His shimmering golden orbs languidly look towards his house.

The doors were locked and the windows were boarded up, leaving the inside preserved against the entire showdown. He limps towards it, dragging his boots across the wet mud, the countless bodies, and the puddles of blood. He steps up the creaking wooden steps of the porch and stands in front of the door, resting himself against it and knocking, "Vi. ... Vi, open up. It's safe. They're dead... they won't be botherin' us anymore."

After a moment of reprieve, furniture is heard being disturbed from the inside, then the door clicks as it unlocks. Sky comes off of the door when it opens, revealing a girl standing on the other side. Her jet black hair droops over one eye, leaving only one of her cyan orbs visible. The tailored blouse and skirt she wears is different shades of black and deep purple. Her nose is tinted pink, her cheeks are warm, possibly from crying or sickness. Perhaps both. Her expression is horrified as she witnesses the dying state of her brother.

Sky cracks Viola a wry smile, trying to appease to her shock just before his lights flicker off. He loses consciousness on his feet, slowly leaning forward into the arms of his sister.

She holds him firmly, wasting no time to come to his aid. She backpedals with him inside, kicking the door shut before resting him down on the wall next to the door. She quickly undresses him from his blood-battered soaked clothing.

She moves with haste, jogging to the restroom to retrieve a towel and return to Sky, drying his naked form from water and grime. She looks at every wound on his body, every bullet hole, every bruise, puncture, laceration and disjointing.

Her glistening half-lidded eyes scan his body, silently thanking him for not dying. She wouldn't know what to do if the only family member she had remaining left her.

The violent exchange between Sky and the Black Spurs lasted from dawn to dusk, nearly twelve hours of bullets, blood, and death. The raid on this homestead was the gang's final attempt at squashing out the man who once had connections to them. Now with Michael's death, the gang has no leader, it has no direction, and with newly-rising law-enforcement in the south, the Black Spurs will eventually disband into vagrants.

The shadow-gang that once held control over political and militant affairs from behind curtains of secrecy through out all southern United States is no longer.

Viola begins to undress herself now, undoing her corset and unlacing her blouse, sliding her stockings off, then placing the pieces of clothing carefully on a stray couch that was used to board the door.

Once she frees herself of her clothing, she collects a moist towelette from the restroom, returning to her brother with haste. She gets down on her knees before him, reaching out and placing her hand on his chest.

Her eyes close, and the palm of her hand begins to glow a faint golden color. Her lips quiver from the pain of sacrificing skin from her thighs and her own blood to transfer new and vigorous cells into her brother, effectively speeding up the healing process of his body. With her current cold, her body selectively picks and chooses from her healthy cell pool to donate.

The wounds on the Sky's body, in such a grotesque and quick display, cease their bleeding and close as flesh forms in real time. The bullets lodged in his body pop out like jumping beans, and cracks are heard as the bones in his body snap back into place.

After sharing enough of herself to restore him to a stable state, she takes the towelette and pats down the minute bleeding on her thighs. She eyes her unconscious brother, and her heart flutters in emotion at seeing him in such a vulnerable state. She's used to seeing him this way, bleeding, and roughed up, as it's a tendency of his to get hurt, but this is definitely the worst he's ever been.

He let himself get this way, the battle he just finished fighting could have ended sooner and cleaner had he used his gift. But instead, he kept it stowed away, he didn't want to give Michael the satisfaction of seeing what he wanted to see. He let his back-stabbing ex-bestfriend take his crave and wonder to the grave.

Viola will never understand why he would put his life in danger for a vendetta, but she's grateful her stubborn brother is still alive.

She gazes at his face, at how innocent and helpless he looks in this very moment. Her eyes shimmer in ardor, a kind that makes her heart beat faster and tints her cheeks pink. She leans herself towards him, planting a soft, unobtrusive kiss on his lips, then up onto his forehead. She doesn't know whether or not he'd ever condone her sentiments for him... so, just as she's done for many years, she'll keep them hidden away and admire him from a distance.

She rises up and takes her brother's clothing. She retrieves a sewing kit from the bathroom, returning to the living room right after and sitting down on the couch. She begins mending the roughed-up rags that her brother always manages to ruin in his escapades, despite her constant efforts to keep his clothes whole.

The storming night continues on as the two remain together in their broken home. Viola has a small smile forming on her lips, finding happiness in finally being free from the curse that plagued their family for generations. She hums to herself a nursery tune that her mother used to sing to her before she passed away, slowly swaying her head from left to right as she sows up Sky's ruined duster.

After sewing up the torn clothes, she moves to fit them back onto her brother slowly and methodically, as she isn't in any sort of rush. She gently pats his chest and unwrinkles his duster collar with a uncounted joy. She thinks forward, smiling at how Sky is probably going get up first thing in the morning like if nothing had happened, getting started immediately on sorting the yard out, cleaning up bodies and fixing up what was broken. He's going to need his work clothes whole and intact for that.

After Viola sorts his attire and gives him one more kiss on the forehead, she returns to the couch. She fixes her gaze on her brother, blinking tiredly as she moves to rest her head on a couch pillow. She sniffles - her eyes remain on him until they close, and her smile doesn't leave her face. The happiness welling in her heart gives her the warmth she needs to sleep soundly. She hopes her brother is doing the same.

After a lifetime of tragedy, they can start over and live in peace. Tomorrow will be a new day...

...

"I see you, Arch Angel. Your gift is unique. Beautiful. I need you now. Please... pardon my reach..."

... Sky's eyebrows twitch. These words, uttered by an unknown, feminine voice, are the final thoughts absorbed by his consciousness, before his world is cast away and pulled distant from him.

Thanks a bunch of checking this story out, reader!

This story is kind of a spiritual successor to my first story The Duo from Dirt. It was a messy project done for shits and giggles, but I wound up inspired by it to write something serious.

Hope this catches your interest! Please feel free to leave any comments down below.

This story has images embedded in each chapter. If they're dead or missing, feel free to let me know.

You can find a reference map of Equestria at the bottom of the chapter order. It can guide you through major locations if you so choose.