Meanwhile, Nebula is recollecting her senses from all that’s happened to her over the past hour. Snatched up by the so-called “Headless Horseman”, almost sliced in half in front of an audience, and now being surrounded by multiple Terranians. They lift her up from the ground, beginning to overwhelm her senses by asking her if she’s okay, where she’s hurt, and if she needs medical assistance. There was a loud ringing inside of the mermaid’s head, blurring out most of the scattered questions from her ears. Too much was happening all at once; she couldn’t afford to lose sight of her goal. The big fluffy beast was running away from the monster, holding up what she could only guess was some shiny metal weapon. It seems fairly important to the rider, seeing as how his steed chased closely after it.
“Please, get up! We need to check your neck!” her hearing picks that up, but guards her neck from the nearby medic- quite the small one at that! The Terranian lifts her up from the ground, almost effortlessly, plopping her on a makeshift stretch a bit roughly. Greedily gulping down massive amounts of air, Nebula checks on the water pouch surrounding her neck- no bursts, no cuts, no blood. That’s always a good sign. The small medic checks what she assumes to be her vitals (Nebula thinks that they don’t know what exactly to look for)- neck, sides, and her temples. All the prodding makes her uncomfortable; it feels like being examined under a microscope. She swats the medic’s hand away, trying to reassure her that she is fine. The petite doctor seems to take offense at that, insisting that she still lies down.
“Can’t you see that you’re hurt!? Your neck-” she lectures, moving her hand to it until she stops mid-touch. It turns out that her neck is completely fine- almost like the pouch around her neck was tough armor.
“How- how did you survive? I don’t smell blood on you at all…” Raising her eyebrow at the lady, Nebula opts to swing herself off the table and start ‘swimming’ away from the village, trying to find where the beast that rescued her ran off to. The village starts to run after her, trying to tell her to wait, but she can’t- she’s got bigger concerns.
They're trying to chase her down, but her scales are too slippery. She whines as she hears them yell at her to come back. Her head aches and throbs in pain. But their shouts are quickly fading, getting fainter and fainter; fewer and fewer start to follow her as they realize where she’s going. Despite what the dullahan put her through, she insists on chasing after the danger. The medics were the last to attempt to run after her. They needed to take care of their home first. With a shared hesitating glance between the redhead and the blonde, they make a sprint back home. Worry plagues the back of both their heads; will she be okay on her own?
With Nebula, she only manages to catch a quick glimpse of her savior, who ran off somewhere. Quickly, she turns to try and chase them, hot on their tail. “Hey, wait!! You!!”
They don’t answer, but Nebula calls again. “Wait!! Please, wait! Come back!!”
This time, they look back at her. Their face is obstructed by the gold shining off of their armor. Despite that, she can still see eyes shifting- ones with shock, surprise, and fear. Rather than answer Nebula’s call, they turn around and make a mighty sprint forward. The siren is impressed by the sheer distance they manage to cover-she stops for a moment and sighs in exasperation. ‘This is the last thing I needed, but that beast is my only point of familiarity. Either I go after them, or give up.’
She picked up her pace, swimming up through the hills towards where the wolf had gone, until she hears the voices again and yelps in fear. She frantically flicks her head around desperately before diving into the nearby bushes. Squeezing herself into the tightest ball she could muster, Nebula attempts to camouflage with the unusual landscaping. The yelling strengthens, barking back and forth between a rough, gritty man, and the snarling of an animal.
This must be it...but what now? She decides to wait and see what happens. She'll act when the time is right.
In the eyes of the werewolf, Vortex has all the cards. Their weapon of choice- a flaming hot sword- seems to be shapeshifting accordingly. The trio of troublemakers- the Headless Horseman, Horseless Headman, and… horse- all sneer, ready to cause some damage. So long as the forged steel weapon was out of their reach, the armored wolf had the advantage.
“Bad mutt. Put that down if you know what’s best for you,” the smoking headman says, squinting his eyes to intimidate. “If you give it back like a good boy, maybe we’ll grant you a swift death. Now hand it over!”
Another growl erupts from the werewolf’s throat. Their grip on the hilt tightens, a magical power swirling around the blade. “Your friend here talks. Explain yourselves!” The pumpkin tilts their head in initial confusion, but gives out a sinister laugh once it clicks. “Oh right,” he starts, voice smooth but sharp, “that thing. I had it forged by some blacksmith that specialized in demonic energy. I can never remember their name- easy to forget when you slay them with their own work!!” A gasp escapes the lycanthrope. They killed the blacksmith behind this? It was to be expected, but that knowledge still weighs down the blade to feel heavier. The gourd continues, “It’s a beauty alright. Can end a life as fast or slow as I please. Every slice, every slash- pure bliss. Innocent, guilty… I don’t discriminate. So long as they can bleed and I can witness the doors to their souls close.” Throat tightening, Vortex’s resolve is wavering. How could this happen? Why were they never stopped?!
“You look conflicted, pup. Confused?” the smoking man speaks up, their Cuban cigar bouncing as they speak. Their mono-heterochromatic eyes stare dully at the shaking wolf, smirking slightly. “I see. Here, let me ease your curiosity- we were never stopped. Cannot be stopped by anything, or anyone, be it living or dead. No knight, no samurai, no soldier ever took us down because you cannot kill what is already dead." Vortex's spine shivers, regardless of her already knowing the truth. "We’re undead, darling. Or sir. I frankly don't care about your doggy parts.” Vortex squinches their face from the brash words, reflexively bending the thighs. That was definitely not what needed to be brought up. “Like I was saying-” smoking headman continues, “-we have never been stopped. Not by man, not by a mortal, not even by beasts like you. What makes you think things will be different? We will have our outcome, whether you like it or not. Now…” he spits out the near-finished cigar, letting the incoming wind and dry grass light the smoldering ember up.
“Let’s make this interesting. Either you hand the sword over, or you go up in flames. Two easy choices! If I were you, I’d make the smart one.” The threat was not a hollow one- in a blink of an eye, the raging wind had managed to make the ashes go up to heatwave levels. The werewolf couldn’t make a potential escape from any sides. Vortex looks down at the weapon, staring at the blade reflecting off the surrounding fire. If only the cape shield was still perched on broad shoulders, maybe the lycanthrope would stand a chance. ‘I have no other choice,’ Vortex internally says, gearing up hind legs for a risky leap. Despite being taller than most mythical beasts, the fire stood even further above, leaving no choice but to swipe at it with the demonic sword.
With a flick of the wrist, the sword slices through the fire as if it were soft butter, leaving a large enough opening for Vortex to squeeze through and escape the ring. Face to face with a surprised duo, there’s no time wasted swiping sharp, talon-like claws. The horse whinnies and flies out of range, leaving Vortex’s feet to meet the burning hot floor. The headman chuckles- out of pity or amusement, that is uncertain- while the rider bellows out a haughty laugh.
“Really?! You thought that would work!? I’ll give you credit, I’m surprised you used my blade to get out of there. Not everyone can wield my beloved Gutripper.” So that’s the weapon’s name? Vortex stares at the offending steel, but for some reason, it felt like the weapon couldn’t meet eye to eye. Like if it had too many thoughts of its own. “Still, little puppy, playtime is over. I’m done humoring you. HYAH!” With a piercing ‘neigh’, the dark horse, emanating an evil bold green glow, lunges at Vortex.
“YOU LEAVE THE WOLF ALONE!” a scream emerges, shooting out of the bushes to reveal the fallen siren once again. Nebula latches on to the Headless Horseman, pushing her weight forward to knock him off the saddle. The surprise element works in her favor; the dullahan is caught off guard, and hits the gravelly ground with a resounding snap. The shock doesn’t last long. Narrowly avoiding the trampling, Vortex recovers and swings the sword again. This time, it’s aiming at the Headless Horseman’s chest. The headman is faster, materializing another cuban cigar to puff out a strong smokescreen. All Vortex feels when striking downwards is the crumbling, dry earth. The billowing smoke makes the siren and werewolf cough up a storm, desperately trying to find clear air. Nebula’s yelp is vaguely registered, the battle drowning out the closest noises. Vortex picks up the sound of a cape cutting through the air before the crushing weight of the horseman’s leather armor crashes into Vortex's torso. Looks like they took a page out of the siren’s book and knocked the werewolf back a few feet.
Meanwhile, the flames roar to a wildfire intensity on the hill, licking at the dry leaves with the aid of the raging winds. Vortex inhales sharply, trying to find the willpower to stand back up. The sword is gripped tightly on their left hand, stabbing the ground again, but to prop the brown lycanthrope up. The smoke is beginning to make seeing/smelling harder. ‘Not like this’, Vortex thinks.
“Now, will you lie down and sleep, mutt?!”
Finding the energy to push off the ground, Vortex twists their torso to slash up at the offender, turning out to be the headman. Gutripper tore its ally up! Even if said ally is undead, it was enough to stun the head. The rush of adrenaline in landing a hit zaps the wolf’s legs to life, speeding over to the horse. Running towards the weakest defense of the equine (the front), their hands grip Gutripper’s hilt tightly for a large swing. Unfortunately, the green galloper is faster- he rotates counterclockwise to buck right on the helmet. Vortex goes flying, dropping down to the epicenter of the smoky heat.
Sweaty is an understatement to the situation; Vortex’s face is drenched underneath the golden helmet. Ears are ringing, heart is pounding, blood is most certainly oozing out from all directions. The sound of the shiny helmet shattering rattles the werewolf’s skull, crackling on both sides. A draft of air comes in, thick from humidity and disgusting. Vortex coughs and nearly hacks up both lungs from trying to find clean air. Shakily, hind legs lift them back up, looking at the rider again. He seems calm. Too calm. Calm as in confident that he has undoubtedly won.
“What’re you looking at, brainless?” the monster barks out, wincing from pain.
“Oh, nothing. Just hate when I have to put perfectly healthy puppies down- but oh well, so is life!”
Vortex flexes their left wrist, but only finds claws digging into battered fur. In overwhelming heat, their blood runs cold.
“Looking for your toy?” The horseless headman taunts, voice muffled by the hilt in his mouth. He drops it to the Headless Horseman’s hand, licking his lips in satisfaction. “Good job, Risabro. Let’s wrap this up for good.” He raises Gutripper above his head, swinging the tip of the sword in circles. The movement is slow at first, but speeds up for the werewolf to realize what was happening. He was taking the wildfire made by Risabro’s cigars and concentrating it back to a fireball. All Vortex could do was watch in horror, eyes shrinking further and further at the sheer power at display.
Suddenly, the siren tackles the Headless Horseman from behind, gripping tightly on their back. “No you DON’T!” Nebula snarls out before biting down on his sword-wielding wrist. He screams out from the attack, hurling from side to side like a bull, trying to shake her off. “You wench- I thought I told you to STAY DOWN!” He hunches forward to throw Nebula’s body to the front, swinging his free arm to clock the side of her head. The impact knocks the siren off.
She’s dizzy- that hurts like HELL. She clambers back up, trying to regain her sense of balance. She glares up at the rider, groaning from the pain rippling through her head. But she can’t take too long. She takes a moment before lunging, and scratches the horse to startle it and get it to kick the rider off. The Headless Horseman hits the ground, yelling at the horse for being stupid enough to get scared of all times. Vortex can hardly comprehend friend from foe, so instead, relies on instinct.
Risabro heads in, blocking the path between the two. “Not a step further, you drooling bi-”
In a fit of rage, Vortex grabs down on his torn head, squeezing the flesh together. “Not another WORD out of you!” Gearing their arm back, the werewolf takes aim at the sky and throws the smoking man with the intensity and vigor a pitcher would do to a softball. The horse neighs out, galloping flying after the head. Instinct guides Vortex further, but the familiar veins of animosity creep up in their vision. No. No no no. This is not the time to lose their senses.
The fallen siren makes another attempt to get up and help, but her move with the horse took her strength. She hits the ground, breathing hard, her vision blurry… the last thing she hears before passing out is a loud snarl from the werewolf, along with the words of, “you’ll pay for this!” Thanks to her quick thinking, the glowing fireball was extinguished with no host to fuel it.
Their fury consumes reason, leaving them not only dangerous to deal with, but extremely vulnerable to a calculated hit. Vortex goes wild, slashing at the Headless Horseman. No matter how many swipes it takes, how many scratches and tears embedded into the enchanted leather armor- the man kept standing. It was dangerous to unfold to their full height- so, Vortex kept low to the ground, mauling the sentient fire with no success. A swift kick to the diaphragm knocks all the wind out of the werewolf, slamming them down to the ground once again.
“Are you done? I told you, no matter what you did, you would lose this fight,” the Headless Horseman says, only winded from the scuffle. While their vision is blurry, they can clearly hear the whinny of the horse along with Risabro yelling out for them. “I am impressed. You did manage to pry Gutripper out of my grasp, even if for a few minutes.” He stares at his weapon, admiring the shine of the metal coating back to their signature red on its shining teeth. He kicks Vortex again, the beast crying out in pain.
“What say we finally wrap this night up, ‘sabro?” the Headless Horseman smugly remarks, swinging Gutripper above his head once again. “You had a slim chance of making it out of this, but you blew it. Now you and that rotting fish can cross the rainbow bridge together to the depths of the underworld.”
Vortex clambers to back up from the immediate blow, shoving further away from the trio. Risabro blows up and out another big puff of cigar smoke, spitting the magical chemicals to start a whirlwind of fire. ‘I can’t get up,’ they realized. The werewolf watched in stunned silence, the crackling flames condensing to a brighter angry blood orange. ‘I can’t run. I can’t, even if I wanted to. I won’t be able to go back home…’ tears welled up, both from the blinding light building up and the terrifying reality of demise. A haunting laugh echoes throughout the air, the Headless Horseman’s gourd head cracking a wicked smile. Vortex couldn’t tell if the tickling sensation on their body was energy from the sky ready to come down, or if they’ve lost too much of their blood. “Say goodnight, pup!”
‘All I can do…’
