Both Nettle and Fever were patrolling the silent dead city that their father had entrusted them with. they were both constant in their belief that he would come back again and take his place at his rightful throne and push back all of the monsters infested the caves. He would come back. That, they were certain of.

But the caves were quiet, and Fever spoke very little as the time passed on and on. It hurt Nettle, just a bit, to see her so withdrawn. It seemed like so long ago that she was so happy, laughing at the smallest of things and bringing out the light in the darkest of situations. Now, she saw no hidden treasures in the dilapidated ruins, and she saw no dangerous mountains to conquer in seemingly harmless piles of rubble. There was no laughter in her now, just a deadly silence and a wordless purpose.

He opened his mouth to try and find some sort of joke that would lighten this heavy air, to try and make her eyes glint like the stars above again, but a startled rock turned his attention. "Did you hear that? He asked her softly, alert.

She could feel the tension in her brother easily enough as they patrolled. The eerie silence of the place sat just as heavily on her as it did him, but it was too much to try and lift the dreadful pall. In the beginning, she'd tried to converse with him, but her words had fallen flat, and she saw the silent pain in his eyes when he saw how much she'd changed.

It was too difficult. She couldn't look at him without seeing the scars that littered his body, the tear marks and the burns that half-blinded him, caused by her and her recklessness. She'd hurt the person who mattered the most to her, her twin, all in some idiotic notion of trying to make the two of them stronger. And now his milky eyes that should've been a deep brown stared at her, waiting for her to say something. Anything.

He was about to speak, but both of their attentions were taken by some activity behind them, and she nodded. "I heard it." She murmured in a reply, ready for what might turn into a fight.

This place is ever shaded black. Even the shimmer of distant crystal-light only serves to emphasize the velvet darkness of its more distant corners.

Khloros stood silent in one of those shadows, motionless, invisible to all but the sharpest eyes except for the unholy glow of his pale eyes. He had drifted, from here to there, travelled; his mind had delved into the secrets of the world and come back changed. Discordant, incoherent... but so acute. So very acute.

The soft, almost inaudible padding of the rhino twins passed by; he'd seen them before, but he had never approached. He had never had reason to. They reminded him strongly of his beloved Nemesis--mother-sister to him, an aunt, a matron. Stoked fire and flame, fury of spirit.

Yet these are not flickering infernos. Look at them; cold and quiet, still, as if death has already taken them. Pained. Ghosts, spiritually starving in this dust-ridden crypt of rock and empty, meaningless starlight.

The black horse took a single step forward, hoof clipping gently against the stone--then another, until his long, thin neck extended from the shadows. His ears pricked toward the twins, and he watched them--watched them hear him, watched them exchange quiet, pain-filled, saddened words. They were huge, slowly drifting, like falling clouds filled with rain.

No fire. Not even a smoldering ember, only cold coals.

The faintest, most distant twinge of pity took him, and he began to slowly pace his way down from the ruined corner, picking his way among the rubble, his emaciated, dull coat seeming to absorb the quartz shimmers rather than to reflect them.

Pain. And pain must be offered mercy. They have nothing to live for. I will end their suffering--or give them new reason to live. Let plague decide.

The thin horse moved close enough for his voice to be heard, lifting his narrow head, lank mane hanging thin and greasy along his neck. His voice was a quiet but carrying rasp, as hollow as his eyes; his nostrils flared as he spoke, blowing stale air forth as he looked down upon the two.

"The empty darkness of this place has already filled you. Your coals must be raked and buried, or reignited. Come."

And the black horse stood, waiting to see whether the rhinos would come to him and accept his gift willingly--or if he would have to offer it to them through force.

________________

BRING OUT YOUR DEAD

@Feverfew

That cold, slithering voice came from the dark, setting Nettle's skin to prickle. It was wrong, though, while the faint light showed its rotting skin to the two of them and its form showed its herbivore heritage, the new voice was no friend of theirs. Raking the coals? It was a death threat that filtered from the corpse like so much oil and tar coming from its lips, and Nettle would lend no quarter to those that threatened their safety, especially not that of his sister's.

It didn't matter what happened to him. That much had stayed the same since the very beginning. He summoned the storm inside himself, putting himself two steps in front of Fever in a wide, protective stance.

"Wait," Fever's voice startled him out of his spell, and he turned, his expression dark. "He's a herbivore, Net. We can't..."

Round: 1
Attempt: Set himself with an electric charge
Defense: Wary stance, defending Fever
Injuries: None thus far

"We can't what, Fever?" Nettle's harsh words came, making her flinch. "Did you not hear the call for battle? The corpse is begging for death, and we should oblige it."

Fever hesitated, biting her lip. Father taught them to never harm another herbivore, regardless of who they were. The monsters were the ones with the fangs. Going against Father's creed was unthinkable, wrong. But Nettle was right. The strange horse was beckoning them to fight, if looks were true, would not hesitate to attack first.

She swallowed forcefully, and looked to the horse, weighing it in her head.

In the end, she gave Nettle a deliberate nod. She would protect her brother in all things, against the entire world, if it need come to that. So, over his shoulder, she sent a heated blast of air at the corpse, determined to at the very least scare it off.

Round: 1
Attempt: Deciding whether or not to fight, if so, will release a heat wave at Khloros
Defense: Behind Deadnettle
Injuries: None so far

@Khloros

They bristled, the darkness falling away as fire and sparks flared and struck around them. The softest shuffle of their feet--so like Nemesis's feet--and the words, by turns pleading, and harsh.

Khloros stood stock still as the superheated blast of air coursed over him, ruffling what little hair he had that wasn't matted. His eyes near closed against the blistering heat, nostrils flaring as he drank in her fury.

This one still has fight in her. This one needs no more reminding. But the boy--his flare is born from the cold, from fear and hate.

"Who do you hate?" Khloros rasped, waiting until the hot air had subsided. He stepped delicately down from his rock ledge, over the loose stones toward the two, sickly pale eyes fixed on the male rhino. "It is a dark thing. A loathing so deep-... Is it yourself? Should I hate you, too...?" the horse asked mildly. He wondered at the idea of hatred; and he pondered at the pain that coursed dully over his neck and chest. And for a moment he was proud of it--of the pain, of the creature who had created it. His long, narrow head swung toward Feverfew, eyes fixing on her.

"Your fire is as hers. We will not let it go out. But his coals still lay dark. I wonder what it would take? I think I know. Let's remind him. You and I, together."

Her illness, her failing, it will bring him rage. Perhaps it is the only thing. The only mercy I can offer, or if it fails, I will end it.

The black stallion stopped, the clopping of his hooves dropping into abrupt and eerie silence. He summoned up the powers within him, the roiling pinpoints of bright sickness that churned like rotting stars; and he compared them to Feverfew. He could touch on her own, pull on them, tug, feed them, feed his energy and his power into them.

He would not kill her, no. Her fire was bright.

But he would hurt her--oh, yes. He would hurt her, and this, he thought, was the only thing that might truly hurt the male.

And perhaps when his dark coal hovers close to her dying flame, they will both flare up one more. I wonder what has become of Nemesis?

Nostrils flared once more, the plaguebringer lifting his head, filling the life of the sickly things within the creature of fire, trying to multiply and enhance them. He took two strong steps forward, sending his power and his will into the bacteria within her.

BRING. HER. TO. HER. KNEES.

________________

BRING OUT YOUR DEAD

Round: 1
Attempt: Sicken Feverfew
Defense: Slight distance
Injuries: Blistering Skin

@Feverfew

The hot air she let loose over the corpse roiled over its face, but it stood there complacently, its eyes almost closed like the heat was pleasant. Fear roiled over her back, remembering the fight with the jaguar monster, the one who laughed when he was set on fire. Even with Papa's Goddess helping them, he wouldn't go down, no matter how hard they tried.

"Your fire is as hers. We will not let it go out. But his coals still lay dark. I wonder what it would take? I think I know. Let's remind him. You and I, together."

Her eyes went wide, and she snarled in reply to it. It was asking her to betray her brother. Every last inch of hesitation she'd felt melted away in the heat of her flame, as her throat glowed with an eerie red light. As she opened her mouth, she bared her teeth, the hiss and steam erupting from between her teeth as she took a breath in and aimed it carefully at the corpse's neck.

As just as she did so, as she let it loose, and lost the heat inside her throat, it was replaced with a rolling wave of nausea so powerful that she retched then and there, dry-heaving and gasping for air. Her whole body wracked with it and shivered, and she leaned against her brother as her vision swam.

Round: 2
Attempt: Spit fuel at the monster for later use
Defense: Behind Deadnettle
Injuries: Feeling sick, getting worse

Nettle felt his sister's fear and shared it too, as the corpse walked down from the ledge with its hissing, popping skin on its face and its relaxed tone of voice. It spoke to him casually, asking him where his hate came from, and silently, with his head lowered and his eyes dark and glinting, he replied, 'I despise everyone but her.'

With pride he stood and felt his sister sneer and lob some of her terrifying magic at the monster. He remembered the terrible feel of it, like burning glue that wouldn't come off, and the panic that came with it, once he saw her throat and her eyes burning red.

But then she shivered and retched behind him, and he turned his head, his eyes wide. "Fever-? Fever! What did he do to you?!" He saw the drops of sweat on her face and the suddenly haggard look to her expression, and he turned back to the corpse ridden with disease and let loose a battle roar.

His head lowered, he charged at the beast, his three horns sharp and ready to rend flesh apart.

Round: 2
Attempt: Charge at the corpse
Defense: None
Injuries: None thus far