"CHOKE ON THIS!" shouts a grimy, scraggled stallion as he lights a stick of dynamite and chucks it forward.

"BANTER! YOUR LEFT!"

"HRH! MMYEAH! EAT SHIT!" Banter grits furiously as he penetrates bodies with his partisan. He hears his captain calling to warn him about the explosive thrown his way, but he hardly responds coherently through his fervor.

A battle has ensued in the dirt plains of the west Applewood mountain region. A rambunctious gang of lawless stallions are hailing arrows and propelling dynamite all while they shout rebelliously. Team two of the Elite squad find themselves partaking in this violent exchange amongst several destroyed caravan carriages that were only trying to transport goods. With five dead caravanners, four stallions and one mare, the last remaining fragment of their group rests in the caring arms of Strix, who takes cover behind one of the destroyed carriages.

The young foal grips onto Strix as hard as she is crying. The whizzing of arrows and explosions continue to shatter her sundered world. Strix presses her chin atop of her head, attempting her best to calm the filly through this storm.

Banter and Snowfall are both enshrouded by the dance of death, constantly weaving and attacking without relent in order to draw attention away from Strix and the foal. Both frontliners have suffered minor lacerations from the Wildmane's bladed weapons, but they continue their sturdy defense. Their silver armor proves to be true over its aesthetic, covering them from the more fatal blows and allowing them to fight on.

While Snowfall warned Banter about the dynamite thrown his way, he only replied with a maniacal laugh. He doesn't bother kicking the explosive away, but instead twirls his partisan in a backspin before jutting it forward for an upward jab, impaling a Wildmane that charged at him with a bowie knife. With a mighty heave to spin the impaled stallion around, Banter throws him off of his spear-end and onto the primed dynamite. The Wildmane's body silences the explosive with a gutty mess, leaving Banter to grin ravingly.

Banter immediately bounces off of this victory towards another, moving with grace to not only avoid feathered projectiles fired at him, but to sever throats and arteries with his tipped staff of dissolution.

Snowfall as well acts with nimble evasion, but her movements are more coordinated and practical than Banter's exaggerated motions. As melee attackers charge her several at a time, she combines lithe wing-work with expert swordsmanship. These Wildmanes are brave, or stupid, enough to engage close quarters combat with a master of the craft, resulting in their heavy, wide-swung attacks parried and countered before they could even reset their swing.

Many Wildmanes have fallen thus far, but their numbers are great, with over thirty stallions aiming to make easy pickings off of this caravan. But, the two silver-donned equines of prowess aim not to let that be the case.

"AND THIS! HAHA!" Banter removes the tip of his partisan out of a stallion's eye socket, then proceeds with spinning in a full circle to cleave his weapon through the throats of two stallions rushing behind him. "TOO FUCKING EASY!" His senses then call danger, heeding him to spring to the left swiftly, evading an arrow shot at him from his flank. With heavy panting, he eyes the crossbow-wielding Wildmane with cynical glee, spreading his wings in preparation to close the distance.

Snowfall flicks her sword in a swerve moving left to right, catching a Wildmane's scimitar mid swing and flicking it away. She follows up without a break in motion, swerving her blade left again to pierce the stallion's jugular. She retracts her sword and springs backwards, aiming not to get any gushing blood on herself. A lock of her mane falls down over her left eye as she breathes heavily, finally getting a second to rest from the constant combat.

The numbers of the opponent are finally dwindling. It appears that victory is nigh...

... but something irks Snowfall. The amount of enemies she counted doesn't add up. Their force seemed much larger before than it does now... perhaps some of them retreated. She didn't see any one of them running away though.

She darts her eyes briefly to Banter. Her expression grows clutched at seeing him attempt to charge away from his defensive position. "BANTER! DO NOT PUSH!"

As she had expected, he doesn't listen. Banter charges the stallion who shot an arrow at him, flying up a hill to reach the attacker. The Wildmane shoots another arrow at him as he approaches, but Banter effortlessly evades it. As he comes up onto the top of the hill, the Wildmane grins widely. He doesn't even bother chambering another arrow. This confuses Banter briefly, but he soon realizes the source for this stallion's cocky attitude.

Banter reaches the summit of the hill, seeing another platoon of Wildmanes coming up the opposite end, the same platoon Snowfall swore went missing. It wasn't that they retreated, they never pushed...

... but that isn't the problem.

"BANTER, GET BACK HERE!" Snowfall angrily calls as she flies towards him.

Banter's dilated pupils turn to the captain, then back. He gawks at it for a second longer before he dives back down the hill, racing towards Snowfall. "BACK, BACK! GET THE FUCK BACK!"

Snowfall halts her flight, turning around to retreat next to her squadmate while turning her look back, up towards that sneering Wildmane at the top of the hill.

"SHITSHITSHITSHIT!" Banter bellows.

"INFORMATION, BANTER. WHAT IS IT?"

Snowfall doesn't receive a reply from him. For a moment, the battlefield goes quiet. The only noise to be heard is the loud ringing in her ears from the mess of explosives going off earlier. She watches the top of the hill as she flies, waiting for the source of Banter's angst to show itself...

...

...

...

"YyyyyyeeeeeeEEEEEEHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAW!"

Out bursting from the top of the hill comes a make-shift motorized steel flatbed, driving down in a wobbling mess towards the two guardponies. It slams violently at the bottom of the hill, causing the engine to die instantly and leave the flatbed stationary. A dirty, robust stallion barely keeping his balance on this flatbed has something around his back, and it's big, it's heavy, and it's pointed right at them.

"THEY GOT A FUCKING GUUUN!" Banter shouts desperately. Snowfall's eyes dilate to grains of sand.

"HERE'S A LIL' SOMETHIN' SOMETHIN' FOR YA! YEEEHAAAAW!" The stallion with the gatling takes the rope of his battle-saddle into his grinning mouth. With a mighty yank, the six-barreled spinning led-pusher of death at his side fires indiscriminately. A .45 caliber hailstorm tears through the air, injecting rounds into everything in front of it.

Snowfall and Banter clench their teeth and squint their eyes. Strix, still hiding behind the carriage, whimpers as bullets break repeated holes all over its diameter. The three ponies pray that none of the bullets acquire the accuracy to end their lives.

But soon, the projectiles find their targets.

TA-TA-TA-TA-TA-TA--PANG-PANG-PANG-PANG-PANG!

"Gch!" Snowfall emits a sound of startlement when death doesn't arrive, but instead a crashing wind that scatters dirt everywhere does. The sound of the gatlin gun's fire also transitions from raw pelting to the twang of metal-on-metal contact. The cloud of disturbed dirt obscures the barrage of bullets for a moment before dispersing.

Both Banter and Snowfall turn in awe at seeing an angel guarding them from the rush of led. He holds a towering heater shield of pure essence in front of him, keeping his ethereal wings tucked behind his back. His teeth grit furiously at keeping his ground stable against the ravaging pelting of bullets. His feet skid back inch after inch on the dirt over every shot thrown at him.

The Elite squad isn't the only awed party either. The Wildmanes are thrown into stupor at the golden being before them... but it isn't enough for them to retreat. They instead take this as a challenge, with the stallion at the top of the hill shouting, "FUCKIN' GET THEM MOTHERFUCKERS!"

"YEAH! FUCK 'EM UP!"

"RIP OFF ANGEL BOY'S WINGS!"

"YOU'RE TOO CLOSE TO THE SUN, SHITHEAD!"

The Wildmanes proceed to march down from the hill, readying blades in a reveling cry.

Banter snatches a crossbow as he flies back towards the broken carriages, hiding behind them next to Strix, Swirl, and Bulletpoint, the latter two who were deposited by Crimson before charging to the front line. He helps himself to one of Bulletpoint's quivers, preparing for the stand.

Instead of flying back to the carriages, Snowfall halts. She watches Crimson's shield clanging at every shot, his arm and body recoiling back in protest, his boots skidding along the dirt. His guard appears impenetrable, but his body language shows blatant signs of strife.

Ten seconds pass under fire, and his ethereal shield of light is starting to crack. Visible shards of the shield are breaking off and fading into the ether, while the entire shield itself is cracking like glass. Snowfall curses under her breath and flies towards him, unsure that she will be of any aid, but unwilling to stay back while he takes the brunt of the death-storm.

"NRH! BACK!" Crimson shouts at her without looking over. His eyes, the sockets of light that they are, remain focused on the red-hot barrel of the gatling attempting to kill him.

Snowfall's chest flutters at the boom of his voice, resonating like a rumble of thunder even over the weapon's boisterous fire. Banter also takes a moment to blink away his confoundment, prepping his crossbow by resting it on the handle of the carriage.

Snowfall already knew that nothing in this situation is going to work. At this point, there's no way she can help, and there's nothing Crimson can do to get to safety. The only hope she can have is that he can withstand the storm long enough for their ammo to run out, or their weapon to fail from overheating. The latter seems to be their only hope, dictated by the ridiculously long belt of bullets that streams across the entire flatbed.

In a huff of desperation to swallow her pride, she flies back again, proceeding as Banter did and acquiring a crossbow from a fallen Wildmane. She positions herself on the opposite end of the carriage to Banter, developing a triangle formation with Bulletpoint as he sits at the top of the fallen carriage's side. Swirl stands next to Banter, horn charged with her pink aura.

They begin to take methodical shots at the Wildmanes running down the hill towards Crimson.

The angel's teeth clench tightly as he exerts every part of himself to keep his guard up. His body is struggling to keep his Arch channeled. He already flew several miles with it to arrive here, and that alone was enough to tire him a good sum. It's been too long since he has done something like this, and the sudden pressure he's putting on himself is present in how painful his muscles are clenching.

He feels like he's about to fall asleep trying to keep his Arch charged, like when one runs for too long and their world starts to blacken at the edges.

Speaking of falling asleep, he is completely certain that if he had not gotten as good rest as he did last night, he would have hundreds of bullet holes in him by now.

PANG-PANG-PANG-PANG-PANG-PANG-PANG-PANG-PANG!

That sleep. It sure was a good sleep. The best he's had in a long time. ... Well, he supposes that's not fair to say. He had another great rest not too long ago, back when he slept with Moonlight in her home at Baltimare.

PANG-PANG-PANG-PANG-PANG-PANG-PANG-PANG-PANG!

... Now that he thinks of it, both times he slept well...

PANG-PANG-PANG-PANG-PANG-PANG-PANG-PANG-PANG!

... he slept with Moonlight...

PANG-PANG-PANG-PANG-PANG-PANG-PANG-PANG-PANG!

He hears a voice calling from behind him. It sounds like... Swirl? She's yelling something at him, but he was drowning everything out subconsciously. What does she want?

"Let it fall! Crimson!"

Crimson's face turns slowly at Swirl's shouting. Her dilated orbs reflect the light from her charged horn quite marvelously. She just told him to drop his shield. He isn't sure that's a very good idea, he might die if he does... but she's a smart girl. She probably knows what she's talking about.

"Allow your guard to fall! I will aid you! Do as I ask!"

'Okay. Sure. Drop the shield,' Crimson thinks to himself. '... Dropping the shield. Now.'

His body accidentally overdoes the release, not only dropping the shield, but dispersing his Arch entirely. His wings and halo are banished, the lights in his eyes fade.

PANG-PANG-PANG--- WRBL-WRBL-WRBL-WRBL!

He nearly loses his balance, feeling blood rushing into his head at releasing all of the strain his Arch placed on him. His muscles are still flexed and twitching, the veins on his body are pronounced to a concerning degree.

The bullets are still being fired at him, but he's not dying. Weird.

He refocuses on his surroundings, now realizing the pink dome of magic that surrounds him. The peculiar wobbling it emits when bullets strike it is entrancing. Inches from his face, Strix's magic stops the lead storm from shredding him to pieces.

He also sees that a mess of Wildmanes are attempting to rush him, but they are being swiftly picked off by the three snipers behind him... though, it still doesn't look like they're killing enough of them in time, and neither do any of them have the range to kill the stallion with the automatic firearm. Wildmanes are soon going to rush past him and towards his teammates, and there isn't a damn thing he can do about it.

Crimson turns back to look at Swirl again, seeing the strain on her face at keeping the bubble up against such an onslaught. It looks like she's having an even harder time than he was staving off the bullets. Her eyes squint to a nearly-closed state, her teeth brace tightly and her muzzle is scrunching.

He watches her exert her little body. Her horn is sparking at the tip, her chin is tucking automatically. The strain she is putting on herself is clearly visible, even if she has just started casting. She's obviously trying her hardest, but perhaps magic doesn't fair well against sustained high-velocity impacts.

It's not enough. It doesn't look like it'll be enough to save him. Her magic is going to give out sooner than hoped. Crimson supposes he understands why guns were outlawed now. Swirl is a pretty powerful unicorn, and even her magic can't hold a candle to a gun.

He faces forward, looking at the nearly-combusting gatling gun. It's so red from firing so much, it might just melt right then and there. It probably won't be shooting for much longer, but he doesn't have much longer. His muscles are still burning and spasming from his previous channeling, it could cause internal damage to him if he tried it again.

He hates this. He loathes this. His own power gives him more pain than it returns in usefulness. At least he knows why now. Thinking back to what a peculiar being told him, he has been using it wrong his entire life... not that knowing this will help him right now.

The dome that shields him is growing more transparent. It's going to fade. He looks back towards the mare that is exerting herself for him... and to his dismay, he sees an unmissable sign of overexertion. Her scrunched muzzle is dripping blood from the left nostril and her left eyelid is closing itself over and over. By now, she has been keeping her magic charged for fifteen seconds, too long for her poor body to handle.

The two look into each other's eyes. Crimson lets a small smile take his lips. He nods to her, letting her know that she did well. It doesn't matter that she couldn't shield him for very long, it's the fact that she even tried is what makes him proud. He knew what he was getting himself into when he dove down to save Banter and Snowfall. Sure, he half-expected to survive and get out of this alive, but the chance of dying is always there when setting yourself in front of harm's way.

He isn't about to cry about it now. If he's going to go down, he'll do it just as he always did.

Crimson faces forward and spreads his legs apart again, raising his left arm in front of him. He takes in a long breath through his nose and lines his brows at the top of his eyes. If the bullets don't kill him, his own Arch probably will. Might as well take the gamble.

WRBL-WRBL-WRBL-WRBL--- PANG-PANG-PANG!

The transition of sound comes when Swirl's magic fails unwillingly. He can hear his team shout for him in horror.

"NRRCK!" Crimson's scorching muscles catch fire when he forces his shield to manifest again, absorbing bullets just as the dome faded. His shield instantly cracks at the repeated impacts. It hurts, someone is taking a blowtorch to every fiber in his body. Someone is digging hooks into his biceps and ripping them out. Someone is peeling his quadriceps off with a crowbar. Someone is jamming nails into his abdomen with a mallet.

That someone is himself. It's not enough.

It's not enough.

...

"FUCK ALL!"

Crimson's focus is disrupted by a Wildmane's unnaturally loud scream. His shield finally shatters and fades into nothing. He is blown backwards when bullets begin riding into his torso. One bullet. Two bullets. Three, four, f--

... no. Only four.

Four bullets lodge themselves in his chest and stomach before the trajectory of the gunfire is shifted madly upwards. He is propelled away a few feet and lands on his back, skidding on the dirt before sitting up to grasp at his searing chest. His eyes automatically begin to glow golden, his Arch pushes itself passively to keep him alive. A trickle of saliva trails down the corner of his mouth as he grits his teeth furiously, mixed with a fear for his life and measureless anger.

Though his attention is seldom left on himself. He looks forward quickly, seeing why he was spared a much worse fate... and his mouth falls to shock.

The entire Elite team witness some sort of grey, fissuring, crackling magic growing out of the ground like an emerging puddle, right under the stallion with the gun. This enigmatic essence appears to have touched the steel flatbed and aged it.

It is growing rust, the wheels that moved it deflate and become saggy, making the entire platform lopsided. This jostle caused the stallion on it to lose his balance and fall onto his back. His burning-hot weapon lands on his chest, searing him viciously and melding onto his flesh, forcing him to curdle in pain as smoldering steel slowly kills him by cooking his chest cavity.

The magic continues to expand, gurgling and revolting like tar, traveling through the ground at an alarming speed. The Wildmanes attempting to rush Crimson are met by it, and it encapsulates their entire army.

Bulletpoint and Swirl release gasps, while Crimson, Banter, and Snowfall watch in silence as this magic ages the stallions it touches.

Right before their very eyes, the Wildmanes are growing old. Their long messy flowing manes are turned grey before falling off, their lips become chapped and cracked, all of this done before their flesh becomes nothing but dust, briefly leaving their skeletons to fall to the ground as even those fade into the wind.

The anomalous magic travels towards Crimson. In a panic, he begins to crawl backwards across the dirt, huffing and gritting at the bullet wounds on his body. The combination of darting pain and smoldering musculature bind him, it feels like he's trying to move while all of his limbs are glued to his sides.

"SHITE!"

"CRIMSON!"

His team cries and rushes towards him. Bulletpoint and Banter grasp onto his shoulders, helping drag him back to the carriages.

It draws closer and closer. It spits and fissures like an old television, grey like the clouds above.

It nears Crimson's left boot. He stares at it with trembling pupils. It damn near touches him...

... but it fades. Instantly. Gone. Like if it were never there. As if someone turned off the signalless television, not even a trace is left on the soil.

Banter and Bulletpoint continue to drag Crimson until they can seat him next to Strix behind the broken carriage.

Snowfall immediately moves in order to tend to Crimson, proceeding to remove the bullets with tweezers while stifling the bleeding with a number of narcotics that come in their utility belt's medical pouch. He winces in discomfort from the brute treatment, but keeps his composure. It's definitely not the first time he's been shot multiple times.

A massive silence surrounds the squad. Even the foal in Strix's arms has stopped crying, now only sniffling and choking. Not a word is spoken for nearly a minute, leaving the wind to play a melody along with the ringing in their strained eardrums.

... until Banter indiscriminately shouts, "What the FUCK was that!?"

"What?" Snowfall asks sarcastically. "The part with the gun? Or the part with the magic anomaly?"

"THE FUCKING--! YEAH! THE MAGIC ANOMALY! THOSE FUCKING THINGS ARE REAL!"

"No shit, dick-ead," Bulletpoint grumbles and squints at him. "Least you pikers should'a been aware comin' 'ere that you'd see one. Was reported, afta all. ... I'm more fucked on that damn gun."

"A fucking GATLING gun!" Banter stabs his partisan into the dirt. "Seriously!? How the fuck did they even get one of those!?"

"You have dealt with the Wildmanes before, Banter," Swirl states monotonously. "Is your question supposed to be rhetorical?"

"Grraah, FUCK the Wildmanes! Wish the Black Horseshoes would just bend them over already!"

"If it were that easy, they would have done it already," Snowfall replies sharply.

"Oh fuck that! They CAN do it! They just-- just-- ... RRaaaH! We almost DIED today because of their stupid fucking politics!"

Banter's desperate shouts begin to rile the foal again and she starts crying.

"Banter, stop yelling!" Strix demands as sternly as her mellow voice will allow her. "You're making her feel bad!"

"OoOH! I'm sorry! I didn't realize SHE was the most important factor right now! You didn't even SEE it, did you!?"

"I, like, totally did! I saw what it did to those Wildmanes! Now please lower your voice!"

"Then it just-- just... DISAPPEARED! GONE! LIKE IF IT WAS JUST FUCKING WITH US!" Banter flings his arms up.

"Yes, that was the most concerning part," Swirl adds as she takes a cloth to her nose from her pouch, cleaning the blood off of it. "How it amassed so quickly and disappeared the same way. We should be fortunate that whatever made it recede did so at the right time. We have no indication whether these anomalies work randomly or are projected. The worst of it all is that I failed to activate the mini-ANA in order to scan the anomaly for a signature."

"Ain't yer fault, Swirl--" Crimson sighs out, only to be interrupted by a blood-spat cough. "Hrmh. There wun't exactly an ample opportunity. We just gotta hope it don't come back 'r nothin'." Crimson croaks again briefly and bends forward. He sighs and sits up again, followed by a pleasant tinge of surprise when Swirl levitates the cloth she used to clean herself, folded to offer him a clean side. He accepts it gratefully and wipes the blood off the corner of his lip. "Hopin' we get outta here soon," Crimson clears his throat again, "I'm sure we won't get lucky a second time--"

Everyone eyes the man with perturbed gazes as he struggles, which is led by Snowfall humming to him, "Shh, shh, shh. No talking. One of the bullets hit you in your left lung, the only one I couldn't get out. If you weren't you, you'd be dead right now... so don't take your chances until a doc back at Canterlot can fix you up." She leans her face closer to his, eyeing him directly into his golden left eye.

"I'll be fine."

She pulls back a bit and furrows her brows at him. "Shh, that's an order. I don't doubt you'll make it, but regardless." Crimson shoots her his bemusement with a bored glare, but he stops talking. At his compliance, her stern front gives way for a hardly noticeable smile and her voice comes with a hint of adore. "We're still going to need you after you recover."

Crimson sighs through his nose and cups the cloth into his fist, letting his eyes drift off to his right. It seems that the little foal has stopped crying again. He didn't get a chance to get a good look at it before he saved Banter and Snowfall. Looks like she's already looking at him with her huge emerald orbs.

It's a white-coated pegasus with a silky straight grey mane and tail. It's small, cute... so desperately innocent.

He lights instantly in realization, brows raising as his expression turns for gloom. He knows this filly... and she knows him too.

"Hyu... muhn?" her squeaky voice mutters out.

Crimson eyes her tiredly, but does his best to smile. He nods twice, extending his free hand out to her. Strix shuffles a little closer so he doesn't have to extend his arm so far. His hand greets the top of the little filly's head. He caresses her smooth hair, running his fingers along its natural direction. The little filly lowers her head and closes her eyes... and sobs again.

"Maamaa... paapaa..." she weeps for her parents, tears streaming down her already damp cheeks. "Mammaaa... papaaaa..."

Everyone lowers their gaze to the ground, save for Crimson, who keeps his melancholic eyes on her. At the front of this broken carriage he sits at, the ponies that lie dead on the ground were the wife and husband who he had met at Dodge. He can't remember their names... it was a very hot and muggy day, with Dahlia yanking him around on a leash. The last thing he would pay mind to was their names... but he knows this little filly's name. It stuck around with him even if he hadn't realized it.

"Foo... ree," Crimson mumbles it, just how he remembers hearing it. "Furi."

Her tearshot eyes look up to him when he calls her name. She still bawls, her body jostles with every choke, but she stares at him. Crimson moves his hand from the top of her head to her right cheek. He wipes off tears, including those that run after the first wipe. While her emotion continues, she visibly melds into his embrace. His smile widens slightly, happy to be the one caressing her now just as she did to him all that time ago.

"We need'a get," Bulletpoint says seriously. "Stayin' here for longer? Not a good plan."

Snowfall steps away from Crimson and reaches for the pouch at her belly. Everyone watches her as she takes out another call button, one that she kept apart from the team's first set. She presses it, the red button begins to glow. A moment of static goes by before a voice is heard uttering from it.

"Captain Snowfall," sounds Mace Collateral's voice.

"Second-Head Collateral. Tell patrol to send us our balloon. We're waiting for pick-up."

"Understood, captain. I take it your mission was a success."

"..." Snowfall looks back towards the situation. Crimson is tacked with bullets, she and Banter have blade wounds and dented armor, Swirl nearly gave herself an aneurysm, then to top it all off, a caravan was sacked and left them with an orphan. "... We'll see."

"... Hmh," Collateral huffs at her response. "I will have your escort arrive as soon as possible."

Snowfall opens her mouth to reply with a simple acknowledgement, but the button dies out as soon as Collateral finishes talking. She closes her mouth and lowers the button a little, staring into the nothing briefly. She moves to purse her button back into her belt after, sighing and moving to sit next to Crimson.

After another pocket of silence, Crimson's eyes steadily cease their glowing, and the first one to notice is Swirl. She stares at him, prompting him to stare back.

"... Mm?" Crimson hums questioningly.

"Your irises are no longer radiating... Arch."

"Reckon that means I'm notta boutta die."

"I'm pleased to hear... you will be okay, yes?"

"Sure will. Kinda hungry though."

"Food?" Snowfall asks dubiously, to which Crimson nods with a slight smile. "... We'll get you plenty once the balloon arrives. Will you be alright till then?"

"Yuppers."

"Your... um..." Swirl speaks up again, but takes a moment to think. "... Your capability to survive four high velocity projectiles perforating vital organs is..."

"Fuckin' insane?" Bulletpoint finishes for her, smiling wryly in an attempt to lighten up.

Swirl doesn't smile in return... but nods acceptingly. "Indeed, what Bulletpoint said. I would also like to... show my admiration to your strength. Moonlight's prior assessment to your Arch is conclusively inaccurate. I firmly believe it is of another nature in comparison to magic, perhaps at the subatomic level."

Crimson raises his brows in interest, prompting her to continue.

"Your Arch held itself much better under scrutiny of gunfire than my magic did. It was much more difficult to shield against than I previously assumed. I do not mean to bolster my ego, but my magic is developed and very high-grade. I graduated second in my class at the Canterlot Academy of Magic, second only to Head Researcher Wish herself. There were many prolific unicorns in said academy, yet I proved to be greater than them. ... Despite this, I have never had an encounter with a gun before, so I... overestimated my ability. I only called you to lower your guard in faith that I was an equal or greater. In my attempt to extricate you, your death was nearly at my hoof..." her eyes fall to the soil under her, "... I ask for your forgiveness."

"Forgiveness?" Crimson echoes, retracting his hand from Furi. "You are incredible, Swirl. A true talent. I should be the one thankin' you. I would have died if you didn't give me that moment to rest. What you did fer me saved us all, 'n you should feel pride in that. ... You even hurt yerself protectin' me."

Swirl returns her gaze to him solemnly. "... Yes, well, it appears you do it all the time. There is nothing special about me returning the favor."

Crimson grins lightheartedly, shaking his head, "Hate to disagree, but it was very special. Gettin' hurt's my job, girly," he points his thumb at himself. "Not yers."

Swirl turns away again, staring blankly at the ground. "Had anyone else possessed magic, they would have done the same. I am merely the only unicorn present."

"Yer a modest one, Swirl. I like that about you."

"Ugh," Banter rolls his eyes. He is quickly met with sharp stares from everyone around. "... What? I'm not the one being corny, you guys are. Save the touchy-feely crap for your own time."

"Be more grateful, mongrel. He saved your ass too," Bulletpoint scowls at him.

"Ch... yeah," he looks away dismissively. "Thanks or whatever."

It wasn't much of a thanks, but Crimson felt it was fairly genuine coming from someone like him. It's all he really needs. Banter might still have resentment towards him, but maybe he'll come around soon enough.

Everyone falls into silence and shifts to wait mode. Bulletpoint sits next to Strix, while Banter removes his partisan from the dirt. He twirls his weapon in idle, commencing a self-induced patrol circuit around the team in case any more threats appear.

Crimson rests his head back on the base of the carriage, looking upwards to the slowly clouding sky. Masses of grey bodies shroud the blue atmosphere, dimming the world to a tired tone.

Looks like it might rain soon.

Next Chapter: Rekindling a Withered Wick Estimated time remaining: 20 Hours, 14 Minutes