i'm on the wrong side of heaven, and the righteous side of hell
He should have accepted his fate. He should have laid down his arms ages before, when the lamb had asked them if they accepted. But something within him, be it an unyielding stubbornness or an iron-clad will had prevented him from doing so. Never one to shy away from the call to action he had answered, and now here he stood. Trapped in the in between, fighting for survival even as the deck was horribly stacked against him. Against them all, really. He could accept his fate, but he wouldn’t like it, and he wouldn’t go down until the last breath was robbed from his bruised and battered body.
As before the seal was soothing as the ancient magic absorbed into his skin. He could feel the blood flow stem though his withers were still almost as painful as they had been. The bleeding had stopped, but Wars fangs had touched bone, and that was a wound that would be slow to heal, seal or not. He glanced around, making mental notes of all of their injuries, years of a soldiers life coming into play. They were a ragtag group at best and they were struggling. Had it not been for the magic of the stones, they would have all been dead long before now. His eyes fell on Weaver and she appeared intact for the most part though bleeding in various places. The same stood true for the rest of them. Remarkably though they were alive, and for that he was eternally thankful. As he took note of their injuries he watched the sky flicker again, all greens and yellows against an otherwise dark sky. It appeared as though the worlds were colliding; the world of the living and purgatory, each one fighting for control. He found hope in that. The world hadn’t quit fighting yet, so neither then should they. Through the flickering another horse disappeared, a mare he hadn’t known personally or even amidst the fighting, but still he wondered her fate. Surely she had gone back to their real world of living breathing flesh, though perhaps she had gone to the other side of purgatory, if their was such a place. He didn’t have long to contemplate her fate though, for through the haze stepped the lamb once more.
He didn’t even wince as the third seal shattered. He stood strong amidst the explosion, his only bit of weakness being the closing of his eyes. It was common place now, the shattering stone, and it was not much more upsetting to him than thunder before a spring rain storm. By now he knew without asking what needed to be done; it was always the same, after all. Though the beasts were always different the end game was the same. As a man whose life had been rigorously structured he found comfort in that, albeit in miniscule doses. When he could no longer feel the sting of shrapnel on his face he opened his eyes. Conquest and War appeared startled somewhat, their earlier rampages forgotten. Like whipped dogs they slunk into the forest, eyes trained on something the rest of them had yet to see. Their beasts trailed along behind, and Warship was pleased to see that they were all limping and defeated-looking, a few of them even lying cold and dead. However, he was no fool. Something in those woods was more fearsome than Conquest and War. Something in those woods sought to lay waste to them all in a way Conquest nor War had ever thought of.
“Famine…”
He heard the whisper through the trees and he was hard pressed not to shiver. He could feel the voice in the very marrow of his bones. His stomach clenched involuntarily and he swallowed hard, almost visibly. The new name brought forth a new fear in him and he was unsurprised when a nervous sweat broke out along his neck. He stared into the trees where Conquest and War had disappeared, starting slightly at the new flashes of light. They were not like before, where the real world was reminding them that it did still exist. This was an almost sickly glow and his nervous sweat flowed freer. He glanced around at his comrades, again taking note of their well-being, and fear had almost exclusively warped their features.
Despite the nervous energy that had flooded his brain, he did not let it warp his judgment. His years of training had forced him to hide him emotions behind a steel mask, so that is what he reverted back to. Swallowing hard he put up his mask, allowing his face to remain carefully blank. Weaver spoke up and he nodded in agreement. There was no time to debate it, no time to try and come up with a better plan. “I agree. I’ll go this way.” he said, nodding to Weaver, Titanya, and the rest before stepping off in the opposite direction. He was sore and limping, but he shrugged that off as best he could. When Weaver stepped off to the right, he went left. For the moment he flanked the outside edges of the forest, his eyes peeled for a piece of the desired seal. Famine was in the woods, and he needed a moment of solitude to regroup himself mentally. He sensed that Famine could not be defeated physically. He felt that it would come down to a battle of wills, and thankfully he had that in spades. They had come this far and he would not, could not let them down.
Hardening his jaw and his eyes he stepped into the forest, breathing deep of the damp smell of most and rotten foliage. It was almost like home, and he should have felt comfortable here, but the flashing of lights and the sickly glow of Famine made it damn near impossible. It was a reminder that despite how familiar the forest was to him he was still trapped in purgatory, fighting a battle that he had somehow been chosen for. For now though the forest was quite, but he would not be lulled into a false sense of security. Not only was Famine prowling the underbrush, but Conquest, War, and their hordes of beasts were here too. He walked quietly, carefully, his hoof falls uneven due to his pronounced limp. He made little effort to be quiet; if anything wanted to find him it would. Efficiency trumped stealth at this point. There was a rustle of brush to his left and he turned his head sharply, his eyes straining through the darkness. “We meet again, boy…” War hissed, stepping through the clump of briars and coming through entirely unscathed. He should have known that he would meet War; they were one in the same, both born from the clash of sword and spillage of blood. But whereas Warship used war to serve a purpose, War used it to pillage and plunder recklessly. “Fuck you.” Warship growled, his eyes flashing with a fierceness he wasn’t sure he still had. War laughed and Warship felt sick but he refused to let it show. As War laughed he stepped forward, and as he did so stepped off of a fragment of seal. Warship spotted it but did not react; he was afraid that War would also notice the seal and run, and he knew he was in no condition to give chance. Instead he snarled, practically begging War to come to him. That would save his energy while giving him a chance to get to the seal. His threat worked; War did not appreciate being taunted. With a bellow like a wounded bull War charged, his mouth open and fangs flashing in the light. With an effort that cost him Lord know how much Warship wheeled around and flung his hind legs out. His withers screamed in protest and his knees threatened to fold but he held back nothing, giving War only his very best effort. It worked and his hooves hit home, landing on the boney protrusions of Wars chest. Unfortunately, Warship himself could not escape unscathed, nor could he have hoped to. This was War, after all, and not some washed-up stallion on the battlefield. Warship screamed as War’s fangs tore the flesh along his rump, leaving the skin to dangle grotesquely. Fortunately though, War seemed to be done, at least for the time being. He glared and gnashed his teeth but he slunk away like a snake through the grass. Warship, meanwhile, hobbled to the seal and stepped onto it, allowing that ancient magic to flood his veins and patch him back together.
The seal collected he continued on, slower than before but still miraculously alive. He had now gone toe to toe with War twice and lived to tell the tale; he would always have that. As he journeyed farther into the forest he noticed a subtle hunger gripping at his belly. That was no surprise, given how hard he had been working. But the hunger grew stronger and stronger, gripping and pulling at his stomach with an iron-cold fist. Sweat broke over his neck once more, but it wasn’t the sweat of a nervous animal. It was the sweat of a body working far beyond its means. His pulse whooshed in his ears and his eyes felt clouded but still he traveled onwards. He had to find Weaver, had to find the other girl who had told them to kill the beasts. Through his cloudy vision he caught a glimmer of smoke through the trees, and flash of that sickly green glow and he knew, knew that Famine was ahead. Famine was patient and cunning whereas Conquest and War had been very forthcoming with their desires. Warship spotted Weaver and the other girl spread out through the trees, and he noticed they too trembled where they stood. Famine was dragging from them reserves they couldn’t spare to lose, but there was nothing they could do to fight. Instead he stood as tall as his weak knees would allow him, turning his unfocused gaze to Famine. “You won’t win.” he said in a bitter whisper. It was only a matter of hardening their resolves more than Famine could do his.
warship
