The night hung heavy over Slitherroots Woods, its chill thick as grave-soil. A clearing lay shrouded in darkness, where five figures stood—though calling them all alicorns would be a lie. Two still bore the shape they were born with. The others, once like them, had become something else. Something wrong. Their bodies gleamed, veined with unnatural crystal, their eyes void of what once made them whole.
Raybarn, the elder of the two untainted alicorns, took a measured step back, his gaze never straying from the creature that had been Pyvern. Once, they had known each other. For a short moment, they had shared a drink. Now, Pyvern stood before him, twisted beyond recognition, a grotesque reflection of what had been. Raybarn did not flinch, nor did he allow fear to creep into his voice when he turned his head slightly toward the other scholar. He smiled, a quiet, knowing smile. "What happened to your parents, Naegissa?"
Naegissa's ears flattened, her body tensed as if struck. "Wrong place, wrong time…" Her voice was quieter now, her breath unsteady. "I had to kill them."
Then came the shift. The trembling lip, the glistening eyes. The way her breath quickened, hitching in her throat. "It wasn't easy, you know?" she spat, her voice climbing. "They were kind to me! They were kind! But they had to be too damn curious! Why did they investigate? Why couldn't they leave it alone?!"
Grief and fury twisted together in her words, and Raybarn understood. Understood what she had done. Understood what she had become. Understood, too, that she had never sought help and never would.
But most of all, he understood that Naegissa had passed beyond redemption.
Pyvern had been wiped from Raybarn's mind until this moment, until he saw that crystalline horror before him. How many others had been lost in the same way? How many more names had she erased? The answer would only come if she were taken alive. And Raybarn doubted she would allow that.
Even so, he had to try.
His voice was calm, measured. "Come, Astrologia."
At his call, his Soul-weapon answered. A mirror took shape before him, faintly formed in the likeness of a wolf's skull, its surface laced with constellations. The stars within gleamed coldly in the night air, their light as distant and merciless as the void itself. The weapon hovered at his side, needing no telekinesis to keep it aloft. It was bound to him, a part of him.
Naegissa cast a sidelong glance at what had been Pyvern before shifting her gaze to Raybarn, her expression dark with something between loathing and regret. A breath later, the specter moved. It lunged, swift as a shadow, its crystal-wrought body cutting through the cold air with a silent, unnatural grace.
Raybarn did not meet it head-on. He had no need. The moment Pyvern struck, he was gone—vanished in a streak of white-hot light, the telltale hum of the Lightning Walk spell crackling in the night air.
He wove through the clearing with ease, each of Pyvern's savage blows striking empty air, each attempt to seize him met with nothing but flickers of afterimage. But even as he moved, his gaze flicked toward Naegissa.
She had not run. She stood among the ruins of her past, wrapped in the wings of her parents' crystalline forms. They encased her like a tomb, their embrace as lifeless as the rest of them. She did not weep, though the tears had begun their descent, carving silent trails down her cheeks. Her eyes, however, burned with something raw—anger, grief, hatred, all tangled together into something terrible.
Beside Raybarn, the mirror that was his Soul-weapon shimmered. Its surface reflected what others could not see—a bolt of lightning striking Pyvern's form. To the eye, no such bolt had descended, yet the effect was undeniable. The creature convulsed, its corrupted body shuddering as it loosed a cry not meant for living ears.
Raybarn had seen enough. Pyvern's movements had betrayed him, revealing the fractures in his defense, the remnants of a fighting style that once might have made him a formidable foe. Once. But the Protector he had been no longer existed. What stood before Raybarn was a husk, an echo, stripped of all but its cruelty. Against him, Pyvern had never stood a chance.
Lightning flared at the tip of Raybarn's horn, splitting into three jagged streaks. The middle shot straight for Pyvern, while the others crackled through the clearing, drawn toward the mirror that floated beside him. They struck its surface and rebounded, twisting through the air like living things before lancing into Pyvern's back.
And still, the specter did not fall.
Raybarn's lips pressed into a thin line.
Very well.
Above, the sky answered his call.
From the heavens, pillars of lightning descended, their glow illuminating the darkened wood with an eerie brilliance. At the same moment, Raybarn shaped another spell, bending the thunder itself to his will. The roaring sound waves surged outward, striking Pyvern with unseen force, hurling him backward—straight into the waiting pillars of searing white light.
The clearing pulsed with each impact. Again and again, the lightning struck, testing, searching. Somewhere within that cursed body, there was a weakness. And Raybarn would find it.
A bolt struck Pyvern's head, and the specter let out a piercing wail—louder than before, raw with something beyond mere pain. The blow had staggered him, his crystal-laced body reeling, movements sluggish, unfocused. Raybarn wasted no time.
Lightning crackled at the tip of his horn, weaving itself into a thin, sinuous chain, sharp as a garrote, swift as a whip. It lashed forward, coiling around Pyvern's throat like a noose. One end anchored to Raybarn's horn, the other to his mirror, the circuit complete. Power surged through the chain, humming with deadly intent. A flash of white-hot heat, the scent of seared crystal—then, before the specter could even struggle, its head fell free, severed clean.
The body swayed, then crumbled, limbs dissolving into crystal dust before the rest followed. Only the head remained for a breath longer, a remnant of what had once been, before it too was claimed by the wind.
Raybarn let the spell fade and bowed his head. "May you now rest in peace, honorable Protector." The words were spoken softly, a farewell to a warrior who no longer was.
But peace would not come so easily.
Naegissa had not been idle.
With nothing but a flick of her ears, she gave her silent command, and her parents obeyed. The towering figures of crystal and memory surged forward, their movements swift despite the weight of their forms.
Raybarn did not wait for the blow to land.
A pulse of magic, a flicker of light, and he was gone. The Lightning Walk carried him beyond their reach, streaking through the darkness like a phantom. He reappeared a breath later, already preparing his counter-strike.
Now, he knew. He had seen the flaw, the place where the corruption had taken hold but not yet fully hardened. Their neck—that was where they were weakest.
Lightning gathered at his horn and at his side, his Soul-weapon answering in kind. Together, they struck, sending crackling bullets of raw power through the night. Each shot found its mark, striking just below the crystalline horns of the alicorns who had once been Naegissa's mother and father. Their movements faltered, bodies locking, limbs stiffening as the energy coursed through them.
Raybarn did not hesitate.
The spell that had ended Pyvern's suffering was cast once more, the chain of lightning forming in an instant, looping around one throat, then the other. A single surge of power, and the air was filled with the sharp crackle of burning crystal.
Their heads fell, rolling lifelessly to the ground. The bodies stood for a moment longer, then, like brittle stone eroded by time, they crumbled—collapsing into dust, swept away by the wind.
A cry tore through the clearing, raw and unrestrained, steeped in grief, laced with fury. Naegissa's anguish filled the space where her parents had fallen, her voice carrying the weight of something shattered beyond repair.
Then came the smoke.
It coiled beside her like a living thing, thick and black, twisting in the frigid air. From within the swirling darkness, her Soul-weapon took form—Black Mist. Shadows bled from the music box's edges, seeping into the clearing, curling along the ground, rising in pulsing waves.
Raybarn exhaled slowly, his muscles tensing. The fight had only just begun.
He faced her now—not another mindless Crystallized, but a foe of true skill, one who would not break as easily. And yet, he could not kill her. She carried knowledge buried too deep, truths yet unearthed. If he wanted answers, he would have to take her alive.
The smoke spread, swallowing the battlefield, veiling the earth in a thick, undulating fog. It writhed and shifted, reaching toward the sky before sinking low again. Within its depths, shards of crystal took shape—knives, jagged and gleaming, moving as if guided by invisible hands. They did not fall at random; they followed her will, tracking Raybarn with precision, responding to the pulse of her magic.
Then they struck.
The attacks came from all sides, flashing through the dark mist. But Raybarn did not falter. His gaze flicked over the oncoming blades, his mind piecing together the pattern. Illusions. Most of them, at least.
Astrologia shimmered at his side, and through it, he called forth his own spirits.
Within the mirror's gleaming surface, lightning stirred—first as a faint glimmer, then a storm, swirling and coalescing. From the maelstrom, they emerged.
The wolves.
They leaped from the mirror one by one, spectral beasts woven from crackling thunder. Their forms shimmered, blue-white arcs of energy shifting with each movement. In Fulmenian forests, similar creatures were quite common. But everywhere else in Equestera, their presence was something far rarer. But these were stronger than any Naegissa had ever seen before.
Yet she did not waver.
Frost bloomed at her hooves, and from it, two massive claws took shape, forged from raw arcane power. Ice gripped the crystal knives, wielding them as extensions of her will. The claws slashed, carving through the wolves' ranks, meeting lightning with frost, shadow with storm.
The clearing became a battlefield of clashing elements, the thick black smoke swirling with pulses of electric blue and shards of frozen white.
Through it all, Raybarn's voice rang clear.
"I will be arresting you," he said, his tone steady, unshaken. "Even if I'm no Bounty Hunter."
The mirror flared beside him, its constellations shifting in silent witness.
"You need to be interrogated."
"What makes you think you can capture me?!" Naegissa's voice was sharp as a blade, laced with fury and defiance. "We're both Sapphire rank, and you have no idea what I'm truly capable of."
A dozen crystal daggers materialized at her side, glinting in the dim light before streaking toward Raybarn like fangs bared for the kill.
He did not flinch.
With an almost lazy flick of his horn, the projectiles were cast aside, the real ones shattered, the illusions ignored as if they were nothing but smoke on the wind.
"The gap between two Sapphire-ranks can be vast," he said coolly, sending a dagger skittering into the dust with a casual swipe of his Soul-weapon. "For the only rank above us is Paladin."
The corner of his mouth lifted. "And, not to boast, but I must be rather formidable—considering my wife is the Third Paladin of Equestera."
Naegissa's eyes narrowed, but Raybarn let out a quiet chuckle, his mind flickering to memories of Leyla. The countless duels, the bruises exchanged, the moments spent dissecting the weaknesses of Harmonizers while she taught him the intricate craft of the Weapon-masters. He had learned much from her, but more than anything, he had learned not to waste time in battle.
His gaze snapped back to the present as one of his lightning wolves collapsed, torn apart by Naegissa's claws.
"It would be foolish of me to toy with you here," he mused, dodging another dagger with ease. "Not when I have my beautiful wife and my beloved children waiting for me."
He deflected the next strike with a flicker of annoyance. Then his expression darkened.
"So, it is time I teach you something of value…and show you the true form of my Soul-weapon."
The wolves that had been hounding Naegissa suddenly abandoned their attack. With eerie precision, they turned, retreating to their master's side. Their forms crackled with renewed energy, flickering like dying stars before growing impossibly bright.
Raybarn's voice deepened, a resonance beneath the words, something ancient and commanding.
"I call for thee…the one who leads the pack."
A single howl split the night. Then another. And another. The wolves cried out in unison, their voices reverberating through the clearing, shaking the very air. The surge of magic hit Naegissa like a tidal wave, the sheer weight of it pressing against her body, forcing her to brace herself. The ground trembled beneath their hooves, the air thick with power.
"Opensoul: Grimoire of the Beast!"
Light erupted from Raybarn, blinding, searing, consuming all in its path. Naegissa turned away, shielding her eyes with her icy claws, her body instinctively recoiling from the force of it. The pulses of his aura struck like hammer blows, rippling through the battlefield.
Then—silence.
The storm of magic faded, and when Naegissa dared to look again, she knew.
The alicorn before her was not the same. This was something else, something greater. Stronger than any spirit she had ever faced, more fearsome than any alicorn she had ever fought.
For the first time that night, doubt flickered in her heart.
Raybarn stood as a storm given form, his body clad in jagged tribal armor that seemed hewn from the bones of the earth itself. Atop his head rested the snarling visage of a wolf, its hollow eyes glowing with spectral light, its metal fur cascading like a dark waterfall over his shoulders. The armor pulsed with faintly glowing runes, each piece of leather alive with the crackle of lightning, as though the storm itself had forged his second skin. His forepaws, sheathed in clawed gauntlets, sparked with arcs of electricity, while his feline hindquarters moved with predatory grace beneath a long robe.
Beside him, a grimoire floated, its pages alive with swirling ink and glowing sigils, bound in storm-wrought leather and crackling with untamed power. And behind him, towering over all, was the spectral form of a giant wolf, its form both corporeal and ethereal, as though carved from the storm itself. The wolf's fur rippled with streaks of stylized lightning, its eyes twin orbs of blinding white fire. Its presence was overwhelming, a force of nature given shape, its every movement accompanied by the low rumble of distant thunder. This was no mere projection; it was the embodiment of Raybarn's unleashed soul, a guardian and a herald of his newfound power. Together, they were a tempest made flesh, a force no mortal or beast could hope to withstand.
He turned his gaze upon Naegissa, his expression dark as storm clouds over the sea. There was no hesitation in his stance, no doubt in his eyes—only the weight of duty, heavy as a blade in hand.
"Now then," he said, his voice quiet, yet carrying the force of thunder before the strike. "Shall we begin?"