“Caro...”

It takes what feels like eons for Caro’s vision to return, but it means little. There is nothing but white as far as the eye can see. For kilometers in every direction, north and south, east and west, above and below, there is absolutely no sign of any kind of existence. It infuriates Caro to no end that he cannot even see his own shadow. Beneath him there is just more nothing. Nothing after nothing for all of eternity.

“Caro...”

There’s that voice again. It started speaking like a whisper into Caro’s ear since he fell asleep. Wait, he thinks, when did I fall asleep? He racks his brain for any memory of lying down for rest. There is nothing... much like the world around him. “ARRGH!” he shouts. “What the hell is happening?!”

“Caro...”

He erratically looks about for whatever could be whispering to him from so far away before his eyes settle upon a barely visible silhouette of a pony. Whether it is an earthwalker, unicorn or pegasus, it’s impossible to distinguish. Attempting to move toward the silhouette proves pointless. It remains in the distance, despite Caro’s increasing speed. “Who are you?!” he shouts in desperation.

“Caro...”

The figure begins to fade into nothing. “Wait! No! Come back! Don’t leave me here!” Somehow, Caro stumbles over nothing and collapses into nothing, and the only thing that exists in this mad world of nothing is him and his decreasing sanity.

"WHO ARE YOU?!"

“We have already told you! We are of the Imperial Legion and you will surrender!”

“Have you lost your mind?”

The cold wind and shallow snow feel alien to Caro after being pulled out of the white void. He manages to steal a glance at his surroundings. Cloudy sky. High stone walls. Gravel road ascending into the hills. There’s Tohro right next to him, in a battle ready position, as if he’s-

Thwack.

Caro falls forward after feeling the impact only the blunt side of an Imperial sword can deliver.

“Perhaps you will know to use your ears correctly next time. You dare ask, ‘Who are you?’ Only a Blackwing would show such disrespect.”

Somehow, the world continued to move forward in time while Caro was trapped in... whatever that was. The haunting voice of the silhouette - if that even was its voice - still ringed in his ears, or perhaps that was the aftereffects of Imperial steel to the back of his head. It’s funny, he manages to think despite the pain, Imperial soldiers used to make me feel so safe.

He turns to face the one that struck him. He’s a rather burly earthwalker, though he’s hardly threatening compared to the late executioner’s hulking figure. This one is brown with a large jaw and a few battle scars. His bulky armor is scuffed and scratched, and the pauldrons need to be replaced. Common sense says he’s seen more than enough battles in his lifetime.

The other two Imperial soldiers are female pegasi, blue and light red, respectfully. They look proper and organized, with their shining armor and flawless complexions, which means they haven’t been in the Legion for very long.

Tohro looks ready to pounce, though his attention is on Caro, who is still shaking off his splitting headache. “Come on, partner,” whispers Tohro. “Don’t let these hoity toity scoundrels getcha down.”

Caro curses through his teeth and tries to will away the pain. “I’ve got this,” he growls.

“So, rebel scum,” loudly says the soldier as he paces around, “on your merry way to Trottingham, are you? You both know what happens to your kind in these parts.” He grips his steel greatsword between his teeth and advances on Caro.

“You should know what happens to anypony that threatens me.” Caro bites down on the handle of his own sword and makes a blind swing at the soldier.

“Bastard!” A successful hit leaves a cut in the soldier’s left foreleg. Dodging right from a vertical swing, Caro spins around and bucks the other leg. The soldier’s muscles prove too strong to leave much of a lasting effect.

Tohro takes advantage of the mayhem and charges head first at the pegasi, drawing his wingblades and making a sweep. The girls prove to swifter and more tenacious than they appear, leaping into the air in unison and striking Tohro from both sides, causing him to lose balance and spin around. He plants his forehoof into the ground and hops back onto solid ground. “This is easily the second worst threesome I’ve ever been in.” He dodges a swipe from Red’s wingblade, which is followed up by a charge from Blue. He stands his ground and grabs ahold of her, stopping her flight and allowing him to land a haymaker into her chest, and another to the side of her face as she keels over.

Caro manages to keep dodging broad swings from the burly soldier but he’s tiring quickly. His foe is more aware and is keen on making sure there is little remaining of him when the battle ends. “Keep jumping about, rebel scum! Once my sword is drawn it must taste blood, and it will!”

“I find that hard to believe.”

They launch themselves at each other. Their swords lock together in a clash. The soldier is overpowering Caro easily, and to Caro it’s easy to see why. His weapon is pathetic in comparison. It’s barely half the length of the soldier’s greatsword and is much less impressive to look at. It’s beginning to rust at the edges. The greatsword, however, gleams in the sunlight and has multiple ridges along the blade. The soldier pushes Caro back before hefting the greatsword once again in preparation for a swing. Despite the danger, as a Blacksmith’s apprentice, it’s instinct for Caro to notice such things in an instant. His key advantage lies in the relative weightlessness of his sword while the soldier has to make a huge effort to swing his. This gives Caro an idea.

He jumps into the soldier’s range, who makes a horizontal swing. Instead of dodging, Caro ducks. It’s a close call as he feels some of the hair at the top of his mane get sliced clean off. The soldier is left vulnerable as the momentum of his swing keeps his from making another before Caro pounces onto him. Ignoring the soldier’s thrashing and kicking, he hacks away at the steel armor until the plating comes loose, revealing flesh. He grips his sword even tighter and brings the end straight down into the gap.

Schlick.

Caro listens to the sound of blood escaping the wound and the soldier’s ever lessening growling. When the jerking stops, he dismounts. “Now you know what happens.”

He takes a moment to stare at his handiwork before remembering that he isn’t the only one locked in combat. Looking skyward, he sees Tohro and the two pegasi participating in what appears to be a fast and fluid ballet, though he knows better than to think their little spat can be solved by a dance contest. Tohro seems to have the upper hoof in terms of his prowess with his wingblades, but Caro can see that the mares outclass him in agility. Whenever he dives for one, she skillfully flies away, while the other swoops in and lands a blow.

“Gah, I’ll never make any headway like this. I can’t believe I’m being out maneuvered... By mares.” He curses to himself. Dropping his voice to a murmur he says, “If I can get at them one on one, I can take them out fairly easily. But...”

Tohro’s train of thought is cut short as both mares shoot forward to hit him like they had on the ground. He remembers his previous mistakes and moves out of the way at the last instant, causing the mares to sideswipe each other, the larger of the two accidentally disorienting the smaller. Tohro sees his opportunity. Springing into action he sees fit to goad them. "Oi, feather dusters! I know every trick in your book! Your mums told me about them last night!"

The mares’ eyes go wide, to the point of their vessels showing. They’re growing frustrated, unable to maintain the calm composure they require to successfully defeat their foe.

One final insult is all it takes. “If I give you three bits will you go down easy? I’m sure that’s all you’re good for!”

They make another mad dash for Tohro, leaving all reason and organization behind for shrieks of rage. Despite their speed it’s easy for Tohro to drop below and watch them overshoot. He then flies to the small red one and slams his hind leg into her midsection, backing her into her comrade. They both lose their balance entirely and topple to the gravel in unison.

They’re doing their best not to black out from the long fall and impact, but all that awaits them is Caro and his bloodstained blade. The look of horror upon their faces fills him with an unhealthy amount of satisfaction and joy.

“Here’s your three bits.”

“You’re a damn sadist,” Tohro says as he searches the bodies of the two mares, what’s left of them, at least. While most of their possessions are bloodstained from Caro’s brutality or damaged from the impact with the ground, he manages to retrieve thirty bits and an enchanted bag of holding. “Hey, we can use this to carry pretty much anything.” He sticks his head inside the bag out of curiosity. “Wow, it’s like a void in here. I wonder what happens if we turn it inside out?”

Caro yanks the bag from Tohro’s head. “Don’t talk about voids,” he says. He sets the bag down and slides the earthwalker soldier’s greatsword inside.

“Do you plan on selling that?” asks Tohro.

“A blacksmith could find it valuable,” says Caro. He stays quiet as he continues to search the soldier’s pockets. There are more gold pieces, roughly forty in total. He also collects one of the spaulders he dislocated from the soldier’s armor and equips it to his left shoulder. It’s hardly protective but it’s better than nothing, and it still allows him more mobility than a full set.

Caro is able to take a step forward before he winces. While he has gotten over his headache he realizes that blood is beginning to flow from the wound. “I didn’t even... where did that come from?”

Tohro reaches into his pouches and finds a roll of gauze. “Adrenaline is a mean mother, huh? Sit down.”

Caro waves him off and starts trotting again. As he passes Tohro he sways and falls onto his knees. The blood drips down his neck and onto the gravel, and his expression goes from nonchalant to greatly concerned. “I... I don’t feel so well.”

Tohro bites off a strip of the gauze. “Let’s just cover that up, and you’ll be right as rain.”

Applying the bandage over the wound and wrapping it around Caro’s head, Tohro does his best to make the injury look more like a stylish headband. He’s quite the fan of making the best out of a bad situation.

Caro is once again grateful for his companion’s assistance, even though just moments ago he saw fit to abandon him and travel to Riverhoof alone. Any time such a thought crosses his mind, a coincidental encounter or near death experience reminds him that he needs Tohro, whether it be to kill a dormant bear or apply a simple bandage. Hell, I should stop being selfish and admit that we both need each other, he thinks as Tohro returns to the bag of holding.

Something else concerns Caro as he takes a glance at what he reduced the red and blue mares to. It’s quite messy. “Tohro?” he asks as he smooths out the bandage. “Do you think I’m rather mad?”

Tohro, putting away the remainder of the gauze, laughs for the umpteenth time. “You’re always mad. I can barely get a word out of you unless you start getting sentimental-”

“I’m not speaking of anger. I feel as though I may be losing my mind.” He grimaces as he sneaks another peek at the mares’ and soldier’s rotting corpses. “When I draw my blade I cannot control myself. My words and my actions are hardly my own. When I see an opening and go for the kill I relish the feeling of my blade piercing their skin and rearranging their innards. Every drop of blood is like mead. I...” he swallows. “Murdering them was... was like a sexual release.”

The blue sky above is gone. Drops of water from the sky begin to wash away the excess blood from Caro’s head wound. As his mane and tail wetten, he realizes that this rainfall is the closest he’s had to a bath in several days. He doesn’t feel any less filthy.

Tohro is at a loss for words, not having blinked for several seconds. As he ties his mane into a ponytail to keep his wet bangs out of his eyes, he quietly says, “You’re mad.”

The words hurt Caro worse that he thought they would. He shivers and collapses to the gravel, his tears mixing with the raindrops on his face and splashes of dirt.

Tohro flies to his side. “Hey, hey... I didn’t want to offend you,” he says. “Yikes, never thought I’d see somepony like you cry.” The rain is intensifying. Water starts to pool in the dips of the road. “Hey, let’s get you out of this downpour,” says Tohro as he helps his companion to his hooves. He has to drag Caro through the mud and wet gravel as the broken earthwalker refuses to move his hooves.

Eventually they come to a dry spot covered by an overhang in the stone cliff. There’s barely enough room for both colts but they make do. Caro curls up against the wall and continues to sob. “I’ve got a few potions on hoof if you catch cold,” says Tohro.

Again, there is no response.

Tohro rolls his eyes, grunting as he shifts into a more comfortable position. “You know, I hate being given the silent treatment.”

Hours pass. Caro is asleep for most of it, only waking for Tohro to apply a new bandage to his head. Tohro passes the time between Caro’s waking moments by singing to himself and polishing his leather armor. He also makes use of the rain to wash out his boots, vials and anything else that has gone without a proper cleaning.

He looks over his personal map of western Equestria, retracing his and Caro’s steps from Ivarstable. Like the once intact soldier said, they were on their ‘merry’ way to Trottingham. It’s intriguing to him, for he has never been there, yet has heard so much about it. Next to Everfree, supposedly it’s the safest settlement for supporters of the Empire. Of course, if he is to go marching in with his Blackwing attire, he may as well paint his entire self red and shout, “Archers, ready your crossbows!” Perish the thought.

He does have an idea for countering any potential stupidity in entering Trottingham, but he requires Caro’s assistance, and the poor bloke is catatonic. It seems that he needs some good news. “Hey, I think the weather is letting up,” Tohro lies. If anything, the rain has only fallen faster and heavier since they took refuge.

Caro stirs and slowly opens his eyes.

“Listen,” says Tohro, “I understand you’re less than happy about your bloodlust, but... well, some of the greatest warriors in pony history have had that. I mean, look at Pansy. During the settlement wars he was pinned down by fifteen minotaurs and he tore through all of them in an explosion of fury and passion, much like you did with the soldiers.”

Caro whispers, “Did he walk away a hero?”

“Actually, he got on his hooves and knees and cried like a mule, but that’s Pansy we’re talking about. What I mean to say is, regardless of how terrible you feel about your impulses, they could save your life someday. Hell, they already have.”

Caro sits up and removes the his bandages. The bleeding has finally stopped. “What if I’m unable to control it?” he asks, wiping his tired eyes. “My bloodlust, I mean. I don’t want to assault somepony I care about. I’ve already lost my master.”

“Well...”

Tohro thinks back to Caro’s behavior during the swordfight and when he gutted the mares. He seemed so stoic and unwavering, like he became one with his own blade. To think that a sick desire for murder lies beneath such stoic eyes... “I think that fear is unjustified, mate.”

“How do you mean?”

“When you fight, all you have to do is keep track of your morals and identity. I know you have the capacity to tell who’s your friend and who you’ve gotta slaughter. You’ll be okay.”

“It’s hard to control myself when I don’t even know who I am anymore. Who I was before I was locked away is like a completely different pony.”

Tohro brushes Caro’s wet mane and feels his forehead. He’s cold and clammy, whether it be from the rain or his state of mind. Either way, it’s unpleasant.

There’s one item that was stored in the bag of holding before it was ransacked off the soldiers, a single pink blanket with floral patterns. “I don’t pretend to have all the answers, mate,” he says as he lays the blanket on top of Caro. “I know you don’t trust me, but at least take my word for it when I say that you’ll be fine.”

His reasoning goes deeper than meager reassurance, though. He knows that Caro, that sobbing colt burying himself into the blanket, will never harm anypony he cares for, regardless of how much his bloodlust takes over.

Tohro knows this because Caro didn’t attack him.