The halls shined with the sunlight reflected off the white ceramic tiles and columns, giving off a splendor unlike anything that could be found outside of Canterlot. Banners depicting the wise rulers of old hung down in an elaborate pattern leading along with a grand red carpet to the royal throne room where the deity of the sun was sitting at. Princess Celestia was basked in the brilliance of the light of the hall giving her an aura which made her seem all the more divine. She was flanked by two Royal Guardponies, brown unicorn stallions clad in a golden armor with a white crest which went along with their tails, ensuring that the princess was protected at all times.

She was discussing with her personal advisor, a green-eyed light-cyan unicorn named Rayotia, about the agenda for the day. Celestia had ensured that the sun had dawned properly a few minutes back (as her duty demanded) and waited for what the mare had planned for the day.

With a warm smile the mare besides her began with a congratulatory comment: "Well done your highness," she grinned, "that took care of the first matter of the day. Now unto the next one…"

Rayotia skimmed the parchment floating in front of her. "It's a quiet day today," she said looking at the princess, "besides the usual lunch and revision of the previous day in the afternoon, there's nothing for you to do for the whole day."

Celestia felt relief wash over her: while her duties weren't often stressful she did enjoy every pause in her royal schedule immensely seeing as how few and far between they were. She beamed as she considered what activities she could divulge in later.

A merry hum resonated from within her. "Thank you very much Rayotia," she told her, her face calm and gentle, "you may take your leave now."

"Thank you princess," the unicorn replied with a curtsy and headed for the main doors. Just before she could open them they opened from the other side. A pegasus guard with a piece of paper in his mouth stood before her. He ignored Rayotia and galloped past her, a sense of urgency evident in his speed and stone faced expression. He bowed to Celestia as she approached her.

"Rise guard," she told the guard, giving him an inquisitive look with her eyebrow raised.

The pegasus placed the message on the carpet in front of him before explaining himself. "Your highness," he started, keeping his face and voice neutral and even, "a courier from Ponyville has arrived just now with this message. She says that she had been flying all night to bring this directly to you."

Celestia tilted her head curiously to see if there was anypony behind the guard, not that she had seen him enter with another anyways. "May I ask where is this courier then?"

He blinked, his stone-like demeanor fading for just an instant.

"Er," he began hesitantly, "she crashed just outside the castle gates milady. She's being treated by our healers. They say that her eyes were unfocused, so she misjudged her landing."

Princess Celestia took a moment to recognize exactly who the guard was talking about. She couldn't remember her name, but she did recall the mare who had the… condition of the eyes. She chuckled at her memory of the silly expression that the gray mare sported before turning her attention once more to the awaiting guard.

"Treat our guest with the utmost care," she declared, "ensure that she will be able to fly again as soon as possible."

The guard bowed his head. "It will be done milady."

Celestia then decided to take a look at this message. Without lifting a hoof she brought it in front of her and had it undid the seal by itself for her to read it:

Dear Princess Celestia,

I have disquieting news: strange sightings by a local near Everfree Forest have begun surfacing. There are claims of bizarre happenings occurring within the forest and around it, describing strange machines and beings doing something in the forest.

I do not mean to inconvenience you with what could possibly be a rumor started as a prank on the town, but the ponies of Ponyville are restless and I have no means to officially prove or disprove the rumors. If you were to be as so kind to have some of the Royal Guard come over, I will personally look into these sightings along with the guard.

Thank you for a moment of your time,

Sincerely, Mayor Mare

Celestia read the letter once more to ensure that she had read it correctly. Much to her disappointment the message did not change, the same letters and words stared back at her.

She fought the urge to groan in irritation. At times like these the princess was left to muse on whether or not someone or something had the intention to keep her as busy as possible. Celestia's royal etiquette won out and she limited herself to chew on her lower lip, both as a means to display her dissatisfaction and to decide on this matter.

"Guard," she announced to the pegasus still bowing in her presence, "have some guards travel to the town of Ponyville. Tell them that they are to follow the instructions of the headpony of the town Mayor and investigate the Everfree Forest."

All of the guards in the throne room, despite maintaining their unfaltering expressions, snapped their heads to attention at the mention of Everfree Forest, turning to the princess. "Ma'am?" the guard before her asked, a note of disbelief evident in his voice.

"I realize what I am asking of you," she admitted, her eyes glittering as if she pleaded to the guard with them, "there is something perplexing that needs to be looked into. Gather only those who are willing to go there; I am not going to force anypony in that dark place."

The guard blinked once more before bowing his head again. "At once your highness," he responded, withdrawing from throne room at a fast pace.

Celestia shifted in her throne to a more comfortable sitting position; she felt troubled. Granted as Mayor had written to her, the word about anomalous creatures and apparatuses could very well have been nothing but an elaborate hoax thought up by some mischievous ponies. Yet something in her told Celestia that there indeed was something going on in Equestria, something which she could not control: anything which she could not control was not something to turn a blind eye to. It had been well over a thousand years that she had protected Equestria, and anything which she had no power over was a liability to the safety of her people. She would get to the bottom of this.

Then a thought occurred to her, didn't her sister Luna see some strange sights over the night skies as of late? It might have been a mere coincidence, but what if the lights she saw were perhaps connected with the happenings in Everfree? Princess Celestia would have to have a chat with her sibling. But first, she needed to reply to Mayor's letter.

Getting a quill and a clean sheet of paper she began writing: Dear Mayor...

The area of wetland which Lashonda had made her first landing the day before had now grown into a full-fledged encampment complete with a fully functional landing pad and other colonial structures: some of the utilitarian structures had cubical or block shapes, others were either igloo shaped or looked like horizontal half-cylinders. She supposed that the latter were the barracks and the mess hall. The outskirts of camp Challenger was dotted with various DFPs and large HESCO barriers, making the camp seem more like a fortification than a scientific research station.

Her dropship had made another flawless atmosphere entrance and the landing proceeded without fault. Unlike her first trip to Krig 7B, she was carrying new colonists. "Welcome to camp Challenger Firefly 12, out," the flight controller in the camp greeted the shuttlecraft pilot.

"Much obliged," she said as she opened the ramps and began the post-landing checks and terminating the shuttlecraft's functions.

From her viewing screens Lashonda could see the ground operators wheeling in a solar battery and rocket fuel tank towards the dropship to refuel it for the next flight; they reminded her of diligent worker ants tending to their queen. Once she was finished with her part of the landing procedure and gotten her bag with her personal possessions, she made for the opened doors. Just before reaching the ramp Lashonda caught whiff of something that caught her off guard. At first she believed that it was perhaps an artificial aroma that someone had brought along with them. Only with a deep breath did she realize that it was Krig 7B's air.

It wasn't so much as the elevated humidity that surprised her – the camp was in a wetland after all – or the perfectly temperate climate; rather it was the clean air. It was completely pristine, untainted by centuries of mass fossil fuel combustion as was the case back on Earth. Just breathing in the alien air seemed to rejuvenate the pilot. Not even the Promise's environmental support could pump air this clean.

After taking a few more deep breaths she walked down the ramp along with the colonial passengers to meet up with the pilot who was due for his shift. A man similarly clad as she was with shades came up to her. "Lieutenant Angelus?" he asked as he offered his hand.

Lashonda shook his hand. "Yours truly Master Sergeant," she answered, taking a quick look at the pilot's rank, "you take good care of my bird while I'm gone, a'right?"

The pilot gave a light chuckle. "Don't worry Lieutenant," he said with a lax salute, "she won't even have a scratch on her when I get back."

Before the sergeant left Lashonda called to him one more time: "Do ya know where I can find a sergeant Bowie?"

"You should find him by the barracks giving hell to some marines," he replied before entering the shuttle.

She slung her bag over her shoulder and began seeking Sergeant Bowie. She headed towards one of the half cylindrical structure, specifically the one where most of the soldiers were either relaxing or doing working on small chores and tasks at. Lashonda soon began hearing someone scolding someone else with the fervor of an inquisitor of olden times. She circled around the building and found an NCO pacing around two marines who were counting off their push-ups.

With caution she approached the NCO, and heard more of the man's colorful language...

"Fucking worms is what you two are! You think that I wouldn't have known that you assholes stole from the fucking pantry of the goddamn mess hall? I have your names, I own you pieces of shit! You are my fucking responsibility, and I am not gonna have a bunch of nobodies like you make me look like a spineless maggot who stays back, doing jackshit while the likes of you fuck around!"

He stopped; his was gaze on one of the marines, the one who seemed to be struggling. "What the hell do you think you are doing private?" the man yelled, squatting down by the marine.

The marine let himself drop from mid-push-up. He was exhausted, his breathing ragged and shallow and his brow red and sweaty.

The NCO roared in the poor soldier's ear. "Get the fuck back up right now!"

Trying not to get the officer any more irate the man tried to get himself off the ground; it was to no avail. "You are a fucking cock-sucker! You get up right now, or I will personally skullfuck the living shit out of you!"

Again the marine tried to raise himself up, getting up farther than before, but faltered at the last second and froze up.

The officer would have none of it. He got the soldier on his feet and got in his face. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself private," he snapped at the man, "ten laps around the barracks, now."

Out of breath, he gave off a weak 'yessir' and began to jog.

Lashonda seized the opportunity. "Sergeant Bowie?" she asked tentatively. The NCO turned to face her and she got her first look of the man. He was of African descent and very large. Despite being in his MCCUU with the sleeves covering his arms his muscles were very defined and bulky. Visually he was intimidating, even without hearing his booming voice.

"Good morning ma'am," he said with a salute, recognizing her rank, "welcome to the camp."

She returned the salute, noticing the sergeant's shift in tone: had she heard not heard him before the man would've sounded like a gentle giant.

"Lieutenant Angelus," she offered, "they told me that you'd take care of me."

"Yes ma'am, unfortunately I got my hands full with those two thieves," he pointed to the marine still counting off push-ups, "so I'll have a marine assigned to you."

He looked around and called to another marine who was passing by. "Private Vara, get over here."

The private ran to meet the sergeant and stood to attention. This marine had brownish hair kept high and tight by marine standards which were a striking contrast to his ice blue eyes. He must've been in his late twenties, with his face still young and smooth. While he was tall and relatively well built the marine was dwarfed by the massive sergeant. He wore the same woodland utility uniform as the sergeant but opted to have his sleeves rolled up.

"This here is Lieutenant Lashonda Angelus, Air Force," Bowie said, showing him the pilot, "you are going to lead her to her living quarters and show her around the camp. If she asks anything of you do it, otherwise I'll be a very unhappy staff sergeant, you get me?"

"Yessir, Staff Sergeant sir!"

The staff sergeant, pleased, relieved the marine before leaving to check up on the troublemakers.

Lashonda looked at the private. "So," she said, "we gonna stand here all day or what?"

She and her guide left the sergeant alone with the marine who was now worn out, afraid of what was to come.

"Do you need anything else Lieutenant?"

"How many times do I gotta tell ya?" Angelus asked in an annoyed voice as she made herself comfortable in her new living chamber, "just call me Lashonda, I really don't mind having you call me by my given name; us folks from the air force ain't as uptight as you grunts may think."

Vara bit his lip to try to ignore the derogatory nickname before continuing. "Well, uh, Lashonda; if you need anything else just ask."

She dismissively waved a hand while she began unpacking her belongings. "Yeh, yeh, I'll be sure to holler."

"Lunch will be in a few minutes," Guy added, "do you remember the way to the mess hall?"

"Nah," the pilot responded cheekily in a cynical tone, "I'll just live off the land and eat nothin' but roots and berries. Of course I know where it is, I'm not a five-years-old."

She certainly is something, Guy thought to himself, a small smile growing on him. With that he left the room and made his way for the mess hall.

The mess hall had expanded considerably ever since they had first made landfall, from a somewhat humble building it had turned into a sprawling hub not just to eat in but commute. Had it not expanded the camp would be hard pressed to feed the influx of colonists. As Guy expected the mess hall was full of people, some getting in line early to get first pickings, others simply hanged about at the tables and benches, marines and colonists alike. Were this a few centuries earlier one wouldn't find military and civilians mingling with each other so seamlessly; Vara didn't know why but seeing all of those soldiers and colonists chatting, laughing and eating together warmed his heart. Were it not for the uniforms, they could have well been just people having a good time as far as he could see.

Not seeing any of his friends Guy decided to get himself some food. Nothing special today: just some soup, a dish of salted beef and a small salad on the side, all defrosted. At least they're not serving toothpaste food, he thought to himself, a weak attempt to lighten himself up.

He left the cafeteria and began searching for a vacant seat or table.

"Oi!" a man with a distinct Australian accent called out over the noise in the area, "over 'ere Guy."

Turning to the direction of the voice, Vara saw someone waving at him. He'd recognize the accent and face anywhere: Eric Chase. Another of Guy's friends, Eric had a striking look about him, mainly his forest green eyes, seeing how they contrasted with his aboriginal heritage. His nose was flat and he had a dominant and large chin, with the top of his head receding back. He was barrel-chested, but only by requirement, seeing as he was Vara's platoon medic: he didn't enjoy exercising too much nor did he need to do as much as the other marines did. Eric was sitting with Clinton at a reserved bench, ready to start eating.

Vara greeted the duo as he approached them. "Hey Eric! Haven't seen you since we made landfall."

"Ah, you know how the top brass are" he said, a merry look on his face, "they kept us D's in briefing for hours on end to cover all 'possible threats'. Couldn't even sleep fer the first day; had quite a few cases of faulty masks, leaky gas exchangers, chaos an' panic in tha streets, dogs an' cats livin' togethar."

"Just like how the Corps likes it," Clinton chimed in, earning a heartfelt laugh from the table.

As the laughter subsided, Eric asked "Which reminds me, didn't Joker react badly when he lost his mask?"

The mood changed instantly. "Yeah, panic attack," Clinton responded, his tone somber, "Ah really didn't mean fer that whole screamin' an' stuff. It was jus' Joker doin' his thing, and Ah reacted badly."

Eric placed an assuring hand on the Texan's arm. "It could'a been worse, at least he's still living an' breathing."

"Speak of the devil," Clinton exclaimed, "howdy Joker!"

Both Eric and Guy were surprised, but thankful, when they turn to see Neil Burbidge, his grin still as large as ever, coming towards their table.

He sat down. "How's it been fellas?"

"We were all worried about ya mate," Chase told the Kansas native, "how ya holdin' up then?"

Neil paused to get himself comfortable in his seat. "Just fine and dandy," he answered, and after noticing Clinton he added, "and I forgive you big guy."

"You rascal you," Clinton said with a predatory smile, before hugging the smaller man, "you had me goin' there, what with ya'll shaking like a leaf in autumn."

Neil patted the Texan's back. "Yeah it's alright Clint, I had me going there for a second."

Another series of cackles emanated from the table of marines. Then he put on a roguish expression when he spoke up. "And that's not the best bit: the doctor's told me that I should avoid 'stressful activities' for the next few days."

Burbidge clapped his hands. "So no out-of-camp duties for two days!"

This time the others moaned. "Ya lucky sonuvabitch," Clinton punched playfully at his shoulder, "git one measly fright and he gets two days off. How tha hell do ya do it boy?"

Neil shrugged, wearing an innocent face. "It just happens. Maybe you should have your mask punched off next time, Clint."

Smiles only this time. For a long moment no one said anything, each one of them content of how well their friend was. Suddenly Guy broke the silence:

"So we gonna eat up? Us working marines," he looked hard at Neil, "gotta get ready for the South-East and North science recons."

As everyone began digging in, Eric, still chewing a bit of the hard beef asked, "Is that right after lunchtime?"

With a nod of the head the medic swore under his breath. "I need to smoke a fag after eating."

That earned him some odd looks. "A cigarette," he clarified, clearly annoyed, "bloody yanks…"

They continued their meal in relative silence.

Of all of the things that Eric could have been thinking about, his mind was solely focused on how badly he needed a smoke. Yet there he was, clad with a gas mask and full equipment, marching along with the escort assigned to the surveillance vehicle. The escort included a fourteen strong squad, including the Aussie medic. The convoy had by then traveled through forest for a mile, occasionally stopping for scans from the science vessel. The vehicle itself was a long eight-wheeled flat bed with forest camo and various instruments and apparatuses, a scientist manning each one.

Two hours had passed since their departure when a scientist radioed in, "Stop, I'm getting some strange readings here; we're gonna want to take a look at this..."

With that the driver brought the flatbed to a halt, the marines following suit. The squad leader immediately got to work and barked orders to his men: "I want a full fire perimeter covering everything around the primary objective; keep an eye out for any movement."

Eric watched the vehicle's seven-o'-clock along with Clinton who was covering eight. Despite the alertness of the marines they allowed themselves for some small banter between themselves.

As much as Chase hated to admit it he was unnerved by the dark forest. He had never been in such a thick forest before – not that they had many forests in Australia to begin with – and it was a miracle that the flatbed could manage off road drive through such terrain.

He eyed every possible hiding and ambush point: bushes, trees, creeks, outcrops…we're so vulnerable in the open, he realized as he scanned the tree line with his submachine gun, a cloud of doubt plaguing his mind.

Had they been allowed to bring armored cars then it would have likely been a different story; too bad that command felt that one vehicle out per recon squad was already too much and any more would have attracted too much attention.

Fucking pricks is what they are.

Minutes passed by while the scientists analyzed the landscape. Too many minutes, too long: Eric was now not only bothered by his tobacco craving but his need to relieve himself as well.

"Sir?" he patched to his squad leader through his helmet radio, "permission ta take a piss in a bush sir?"

The officer's static-like voice in Eric's helmet brought his answer: "Alright corpsman, make it quick."

He turned quickly to the Texan to his right. "Can ya watch 7 while I'm off, Clint?"

"Jus' don't go wanderin' too far pardner," Clinton implored, a small chuckle punctuating his answer.

"Well I need my fockin' privacy," the medic shot back as he headed for the dense foliage, "anyone watching will be dead meat."

"Hey," Clinton called back, "Ah'm serious: don't stray too far from us."

Eric dismissed his companion-in-arms' advice and entered the thick tree line, leaving the safety of the convoy.

Trixie was pleased, very pleased.

It had taken her a full week of stalking in the horrid Everfree Forest, but she was finally on a trail; the trail, that is. The Great and Powerful Trixie had proved once again that she was no mere illusionist and that she had the capacity to do what few other ponies would dare to even contemplate. If only somepony could see her now…

They'd see a small, dirty, hungry, and frightened azure unicorn who just wants to go back home.

Trixie shook her head. No! She was great; she was powerful; she was—

Hopelessly lost and had no idea what she was searching for, let alone what she was tracking.

No, no, no! She was the Great and—

Pathetic.

A-and Power—

Wretched.

Tri—

Weakling.

"Get out of my head!" Trixie yelled, ridding herself of such thoughts.

She took a moment to regain her composure and remember what she was doing. She was on a trail, yes, but whose? It wasn't a pony's, or at least highly unlikely, who would enter Everfree anyways? So it was definitely a wild animal, exotic, not something seen outside of the forest which could be...

"Anything from Everfree forest," she concluded, her tone completely defeated. "Celestia's mane I am so useless!"

If only she had read up more on the elusive but dangerous creatures of the forest, then perhaps she would have been able to track one and defeat it; for real that is. That's what that Twilight Sparkle did: study, study, and study some more. Trixie was a naturally gifted magic user but she never did go beyond the parlor tricks which had been her show for so long. Granted they were better than what most unicorns could do but they were still tricks, not powerful spells. She had been practicing on some of the more potent spells as of late; yet managing to make a tin can fly off from a shot of lighting was not the same as using it against an Ursa Major or, hay, an Ursa Minor. If she was to make a name for herself once more then Trixie needed to practice on smaller but still dangerous animals, such as the cockatrice and then slowly work her way up. Before all that though, she needed to understand these creatures better and the only safe way to do so was by studying.

But where could she arrange the books? The Ponyville library banned her and Canterlot's library could only be accessed by a royal family member or with special permission from one of the Royal Sisters. Trixie could have tried traveling to the more distant cities like Manehattan and Fillydelphia, but ever since that accursed Ursa Minor destroyed her one-pony-show wagon she had to leg it; such places were simply too far for her to reach.

As such the only books which she did own were either bought, borrowed or, as much as Trixie hated to admit it, begged from traveling ponies. While she was no stranger of a life on the road she definitely had a hard time doing it all without her old trusty carriage. At least in her wagon things were kept organized, they were static, they would always be there, in contrast to the constant packing and unpacking with a tent; a very old and worn tent.

Trixie hated that life.

The Great and Powerful Trixie deserved better than a flimsy bit of canvas and wood for shelter, she deserved regular showers and proper meals.

And yet there she was: skulking in a dark forest known for its mysteries and dangers, without a definite plan as to what she was really going to do if she found whatever she was tracking.

It was a clear sunny day, but the thick trees blocked out the sun and had made it dark, not as dark as night but it came quite close. Birds happily tweeted and chirped their songs, there was the soft pitter-patter of squirrels collecting acorns, the rattling of an angered sna—

A snake.

There was a snake, rattling furiously, its almond-shaped eyes locked with Trixie's own gaze.

That's a snake.

She had to stand perfectly still an—

It's looking right at me.

Her book said not to move a mus—

The snake is still rattling.

As still as a—

It hissed.

Trixie took off galloping away at full speed in panic. In what direction she couldn't tell, it was all a blur and she wasn't in control of her primal fears and instincts. The only thing that Trixie's mind was sure of was that she was going as far away as she could from the snake.

She galloped past trees, past thick bushes and even at one point jumped over a boulder just to avoid wasting time going around it. She could feel the brushing of leaves and the hard whips from old dry branches. But it didn't matter that it hurt her, Trixie needed to be away from there, as quickly as possible.

Eventually, after running for many yards her legs began to slow down, wobbly and weak from the lack of fuel. Trixie let her body rest (or, more appropriately, collapse) on the base of a tree stump. Her legs were burning, completely exhausted from the run and the lack of proper nutrition; she found herself breathing faster, trying to alleviate her poor lungs, completely wiped out after such a dash.

Trixie rested by that small stump for several minutes until her body recovered and her adrenaline in her blood was completely gone.

Okay, she thought in an attempt to make sense what happened, I panicked and ran in a random direction. Where am I now?

Wherever she was now, Trixie needed to get out. She lost the trail and was now far off the beaten path, not that there were any beaten paths to begin with, and she had to regain her bearings. So I can get out of here.

No, no, the Great and Powerful Trixie had needed such a deviation! To track the untraceable one must be lost, right? Yes, it was exactly what she needed and knew that she would have to get back on track; well, at least once her body was rested. A quick break wouldn't hurt.

She took the time to listen in the ambience of the forest around her. Much like before there were birds singing and fluttering about, blissfully ignorant of the Everfree Forest's dangers and of her. Thankfully there were no snakes in sight nor ear shot this time.

And then something changed: the sounds of the forest became more subdued. Why? Perhaps they had noticed her? No they would've stopped singing as soon as she had arrived. Someone or something else was close. While contemplating the implications Trixie heard rustling nearby. Her body tensed, ready to fight or, more likely, fly. She took a deep breath and sucked it up.

Slowly and carefully she inched her way to the moving bushes, dragging her body as close as possible to the ground. For all of the extravaganza and flamboyant flair about her, Trixie was not quite ready to make herself conspicuous. She stuffed her head through the bushes and took a peek.

Even the Great and Powerful Trixie was taken aback at what she saw:

It was clad in a shirt with a vest over it, strange metal attachments hanged down from it (amulets or charms?) and the many pockets on the vest. It stood on its hind legs (like a Diamond Dog or a monkey, but straighter) its other legs holding a curious-looking metallic object not with hooves but with hands. Unlike what she knew these hands bore neither claws nor spikes, and seemed to be made of a soft brownish bronze leathery skin (never seen anything like that). A strapped helmet with a cloth-like material covered the top and much of the back of the head; the face was hidden by a dark mask (what a frightening mask) with odd projections to the left and front side of face. All of the creature's clothing items were designated with a seemingly random pattern of colors which helped it blend in with the forest environment (to hide from what?) while the mask itself was a dark gray, nearly black. The being was completely covered with clothing and artificial skins except for the hands and the neck (that is a neck, right?).

It was nothing like she had ever seen before, what could it possibly have been? A sort of scale-less dragon? Perhaps some kind of Diamond Dog without the characteristic hanged gait and other obvious traits? Whatever it was it wasn't a pony.

What the Great and Powerful Trixie saw in the creature however, was the opportunity to gain her name back: she would take down this mysterious animal and bring it back for fame and glory!

She placed down her bags gently to avoid detection and kept observing the biped to formulate a plan to capture it. She also removed her hat so that her horn was unobstructed, still keeping her eyes on the creature. What was it doing it anyways? It kept looking around, ensuring itself that it was alone. It then gauged a tree; perhaps it was going to climb it? Eat the leaves or bark?

The creature propped its metallic object on a tree besides him and stood straight in front of the tree of interest. Its hands fondled with its lower half, at the joining of its back legs and…

Oh.

Ooh…

Well, at least Trixie now knew that it was a he and what he was doing.

This was her chance; he was at his most vulnerable, too busy relieving himself to pay attention to his surroundings. She searched her mind for the incantation needed for a stun charm, her horn glowing in a faint purple aura. The charm was ready: all Trixie needed to do now was to release the magical charge stored in her horn and it'd be done in a second.

Yet doubts began to surface. Was the stun spell powerful enough to put down the animal? Could she bring back the creature (and herself) back to civilization? And, more importantly, was it right to do this?

No. It isn't. And you know it better than anyone else Trixie.

The Great and Powerful Trixie would've been stronger; she wouldn't have had second thoughts on such matters. However even she realized, begrudgingly, that while she had the capacity to carry it out, Trixie herself did not have the willpower to do it. Prudence won out and she began withdrawing.

And then something changed: it was subtle, but the birds' tweets silenced themselves. What happened now?

A dark figure approached from the shadows, skulking behind the upright animal. This time it was not at all difficult for Trixie to recognize.

And it frightened her to no end.

Much better, Eric thought as he closed his zipper, his body now fully satisfied. Had he waited a few minutes longer he would've exploded. Thank God for trees, he smiled to himself. He made sure to tuck his trousers properly before he noticed something odd:

The birds had stopped singing.

He hadn't heard them that much before, what with his mask dampening all outside sounds yet he was sure that the birds had brought their tweets to an end, as if they were… scared. Maybe another marine had come over to him from behind.

"What did Oi tell ya blokes?" he hissed in irritation, still checking that none of his equipment fell off, "if it's you I am going ta murder y—"

Something interrupted his wordy frustration, and it wasn't a human voice; it was a low and aggressive growl. A sense of dread filled Eric as he turned to look behind him.

Beastly yellow eyes gazed back at Eric, burning into his mind. They belonged to a nightmarish being which took the form of a lion with huge bat wings, red as blood. It bored its yellowing teeth, a sickly slither of dark drool oozed from the corner of the jaw. It stood on its four burly legs in an intimidating stance, as if ready to pounce at the slightest whim.

Chase's body scrambled, the reins controlling it now gone and he wasn't sure what his flailing arms were trying to achieve. He ordered his body to reach for the submachine gun by his side, still uncertain whether or not it could've helped him.

The beast must've sensed his intentions, because it moved with terrible speeds and struck him. A blur flashed and disappeared, and all Eric felt was something large sting his left shoulder. Whatever it was it had punctured deep into the vest and retracted itself out rapidly before Eric could've seen what exactly it was.

The wound burned painfully enough for the Australian to exclaim a sound, mixing pain, shock, astonishment and fear together into one incoherent word. The force had been great, he staggered back as a result. Now his mind was regaining control and he once more made for the discarded weapon, his eyes locked on the monster. Much to Eric's amazement the lion-like creature held its ground, not reacting to the soldier's attempt to recollect his firearm. Perhaps it didn't know what he planned to do so it just stood there, watching his every move.

Eric's eyes widened when he saw what seemed to be a malevolent grin growing on the animal's face. It was smiling?

Impossible, no animal besides humans could smile like that; it was just a wild beast which – which…

Wait. Wha- what's happening?

Eric's arms were slowing down and so was everything else: his hands, his legs, his breathing, even his mind. His hands had reached the gun but his fingers were too numb for him to grasp it. Only then had he noticed that the burning sensation in his shoulder had gone, replaced by a numb feeling;

And it was spreading.

Soon he couldn't move his arms, then his legs gave way and he collapsed in the tall grass. His eyes drooped, heavy with the sudden need to sleep. The slower heart rate and breathing compounded this need to just shut his eyes and have a long rest.

Eric tried all that he could to fight that urge, heaving and fluttering his eyes trying to keep himself awake. It was, unfortunately for him, a losing battle. Even his mind had been affected by the poison which had by then taken over the body.

His vision darkened, Eric could still make out the figure approaching him as the lion which had attacked him, its predatory grin, while blurry, was still apparent. A final attempt to stay awake failed, and now, completely powerless to do anything, watched the beast clamp down on his stomach with its fangs.

Much to his surprise and horror he felt nothing: no pain, no discomfort, no pressure, nothing at all. All that Eric could think of, seeing his own body being mauled by a monster of another world, was how odd it felt: he could see his blood seeping out from his wound, covering his vest with dark splotches, and yet he did not feel a thing.

The warmth had by then left his body. The only heat Chase could still feel was in his mind, an attempt to make his death as comfortable as possible. Darkness engulfed him. A small sparkle of light was the last thing he saw.

And when he lost that speck of heat and felt no more. "We're finished here," one of the flatbed operators stated, "time to head back SL."

"Saddle up ladies!" the squad leader barked, "We're going home."

"Hold yer horses sir," the gruff Texan called, "Chase ain't here yet."

The officer grumbled, marching crossly towards the back of the flatbed and Clinton. "Goddamn that Aussie, as soon as I find him I'll…" he trailed off as he activated his radio.

"Foxtrot PL calling Fox eight, get your ass back to the flatbed, we're leaving."

No answer.

He spoke into his two-way again. "Fox eight, don't play games with me. Report, now."

Nothing but static. Now he wore an anxious expression rather than an irritated one. "Fox eight? Do you copy me?"

The radio replicated nothing other than background noise. The squad leader looked around only to see the worried looks of the other squad members. Then he dropped his head to think.

"Reifstack and Foreman," he finally called, pointing to the two marines, "get the idiot over here, and I don't care if he's pant less, just get him here."

The two soldiers exchanged looks and, with a shrug, got going.

Foreman attempted to get a conversation going. "So uh, Clinton, was it?"

Clinton grunted in acknowledgement. He checked his sides for anything.

"You're…friends with that Aussie?"

Another grunt. He used his rifle's barrel to lift some vines to see through the foliage.

"Does he tend to do stuff like this, just to mess with the NCO?"

This time the Texan stared hard at the other soldier. "Eric wouldn't do anythin' like this. He ain't Joker. Somethin' definitely happened to him."

Foreman fell quiet. Clinton blinked in surprise: I didn't think I was that harsh. The man still kept staring, slowly raising his rifle. "Turn around," he finally whispered, "slowly."

"What are ya playin' at Foreman?"

Still aiming his rifle, behind Clinton he realized, the soldier's voice was stern but frightened: "Behind you. Look, behind, you."

The Texan obliged him, albeit slowly and with his weapon poised. A large body lay there, rising slowly up and down with each breath.

It was a red lion. With bat wings and a scorpion-like tail. It was sleeping soundly; its snore was a low rumbling hum resonating powerfully through the open air. The creature was larger than a regular lion, and even though it was sleeping it was still an intimidating sight to behold.

Foreman inched close to Clinton. "Do you see that blood?"

He pointed to a small pool of still-fresh blood by the paws of the lion. Only then did Clinton notice that along with the animal's near-black saliva, an ooze of blood seeped from its jaws. Just a ways off there stood a discarded SMG, Eric's weapon, but no body.

"Oh mah Lord… Where is he?"

"I—I," Foreman stammered, "think it ate him."

Without second thoughts Clinton aimed his rifle at the sleeping beast's head and squeezed off a burst in cold revenge. The air resounded with the echoes of gunshots. Birds took off from the thunder of the gun. The beast didn't have enough time to wake to see its own death. The first shots fired on Krig 7B had failed to save a life.

Their radios crackled to life. "Gunshots heard, please confirm."

Foreman answered for Clinton: "That's ah… copy, shots fired. Hostile wildlife encountered and neutralized."

"Report status on Fox eight."

He shifted his gaze to Clinton's to seek for any suggestions, finding none. "Body not recovered. Assumed KIA."

A long silence.

"Copy Fox six," the response came, "mark the location of the alien body and return to the convoy, we're going back to camp."

The radio signal faded out and the two marines were on their own. They stood there looking down at the corpse the lion. Foreman kept shaking his head in disbelief. Clinton glanced and moved about searching.

"What are you looking for?"

"That thing couldn't have eaten Eric completely in ten minutes," he explained, "if there's no body than he must've scrammed before dyin'."

He kept on scrutinizing the nearby area without hesitation, still holding on to the hope that Eric was still alive, somewhere.

"Clinton," Foreman chimed in, his tone solemn, "there is no body. That thing looks like a manticore."

Clinton stopped. "What?"

"An ancient creature from Babylonian mythology," he clarified, "legends say that it could devour entire bodies in minutes, leaving nothing in its trace."

Foreman placed his hand on Clinton's shoulder.

"He's gone."

AN: So, SO, sorry for this being so late, but I had moved apartment, settled into University life, and the likes. As compensation, here's a longer chapter. Hope it makes it up for you all. :)

Paxtofettel: Got the Heavy Rain right, though the second reference was the song in the final chapter, which is to the upcoming movie Iron Sky.

Solrac III: I know, evil wasn't the right word, but I couldn't make it work any other way unfortunately. Though I don't want to spoil it, I'll just tell you not to worry just yet. You shall see soon. :)