Red Blood, Blue Blood, Old Blood, New Blood

I am a machine. You hesitate just a little as your mind churns over this answer. This word — you don't know it. And now you feel foolish, and he made you feel it, and rage begins a two-step across the inside of your skull. Your expression narrows down. You're searching him for weaknesses, for further information, something — He looks like a pegasus, now. But you know he isn't Helovian. The blue is gone, the wound healed abnormally fast, and you know magic can do this but he's something else, something you've never seen before. You might be content to circle for a while, to ask further questions, but then he has the nerve to speak again. To issue a warning — to you. You pause, something nameless crossing your face. A shudder — some combination of emotions too strong for your body to contain. “Is that so?” you manage, and the words twist and sear on your tongue, anger grinding your low voice lower. Anger slicking back your ears, baring your young teeth. Holding you, for an instant, so very still. In that instant, you study his face. In that instant, you forget your purpose in the Portal. In that instant, you make a decision, and your body moves. Your horn leads, as always: a smooth, graceful push of the perfect sword in the direction of the machine's smug amber eye. countdown to selfdestruct

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