Ignition Flame

— Today at 7:16 AM Buster wakes with a start again, though much less dramatic this time. Noticing the absence of their largest member wakes him up fully and he gazes about the room to notice a new open door. He checks on his brothers before curiosity urges him away from the warm pony pile. — Today at 7:20 AM His new mother stirred and mumbled, groggy. "Where do you think you're going?" — Today at 7:26 AM Buster freezes in a moment of complete panic, his heart skipping a beat before he could remember he was in a stable with a real family. Chickpea wasn't a slaver and he wasn't running from shift. Turning, he puts a hoof on the couch's edge and mumbles softly to not wake the other foals. "I... fime pa" — Today at 7:34 AM His mother stared at him, before rolling over and kissing his forehead. "Just be careful, okay… don’t wander too far." She rolled back over and gently scotches the other foals closer to her stomach, wanting to make sure they are as warm as possible. A look of sad longing crosses his face as he watched the three being snuggled together, but he had made his choice about needing a mom and would stick to it. For Beans and TS. Ears drooping just a bit, he quietly trots to this new open door and the set of stairs leading down it. ឵ — Today at 7:48 AM The first thing Buster would see is a spark of green energy, following up with a large expulsion of energy as his father placed his heavy hooves on metal that seemed to morph and bend in according to his will. This was not normal weapon making. It didn't take someone seconds to compile components and begining smithing an axe with his hooves. But that was exactly what Fritz was doing. His body was outlined in a nuclear green glow, and his eyes were a blazing nuclear green as he seemed focused on his work. The weapon itself was outlined in green as well. As if it were apart of him. — Today at 7:54 AM Buster creeps closer with curiosity and awe. What fritz was doing would've put most to shame where he was from. This was the work he'd lived around turned into an entirely new art. From about two feet away now, he stretches to better see the top of the table and the axe taking shape. ឵ — Today at 8:06 AM The stallion regarded his son with a nicker, but didn't stop. This was something he couldn't just... stop. It was just something Fritz did and poured everything into. The battle-axe crackled, turning a lovely black color from the sheer amount of energy tarnishing and ionizing the metals. Fritz paused only to consider the shape in comparison to "Soft Tyrant" before beginning to add his own alterations. He had seen on the axe of Flamejack that a name had been engraved into the weapon. Possibly by a knife. Should he, Fritz, design a name into this axe when he was finished? Deep into his thoughts, he noticed Buster continuously trying to see his work, before huffing in rather masculine amusement. He began to levitate the foal up onto the table, before tapping it as a signal to sit. Buster would be safe. It wasn't like he was going to lift this axe anytime soon. And the work his was performing was literally risk-less. A new art. Safe. — Today at 8:17 AM Buster lets out a small gasp of surprise at being picked up with just magic. He settles down on the edge of the table and looks between Fritz and his work. He wanted to say... something! Or offer to help, or ask how to do this and of he could learn it without magic, but the colt shudders at the increasingly daunting task of communication and resides himself to watching his pa work rather than disturbing him. — Today at 8:37 AM The stallion continued to work, before slamming his hooves down a final time. Not even on the weapon itself. But the effect was the same. A name was embedded into the hilt of the weapon, and it had a peculiar design. And design that made Fritz pause and brush his hoof along it, because it was purely unintentional. A strange flamelike pattern swirling and bending along the material, as if the weapon had be forged not in his hooves, but in a deadly furnace. Fritz noticed that even the color was somewhat different. This was darker and much more onimous than "Soft Tyrant." He didn't know how to feel about that. Especially because of the name that was now embedded into it. Which, because it was now paired with this ominous weapon, didn't sit right with him. In fact, he didn't show it, but he was almost scared of what he created. Because the name he chose was not of someone he knew. Nor someone alive. But someone completely abstract in his head, yet personal and close. Ignition. — Today at 9:00 AM Buster frowns and gets to nudge Fritz's leg, finding the simplest possible ways to express his concern. "Hep.. ou?" — Today at 9:24 AM Fritz blinked once, before growling faintly and trying to change the weapon he made. This was going to exhaust him soon, but he wanted to make this right. Ignition and this weapon just... didn't sit well with him at all. Like giving a child a battle-axe. But wasn't that his name a long time ago? Wasn't it? He stared and stared at the weapon, before slamming down his hooves and levitating it up. It crackled and morphed before his eyes, changing rapidly and bending to his imagination. Or was it something else? Will? Magic? The name remained engraved, no matter what Fritz imposed on the damn thing. This brought him minor levels of stress, before he looked to Buster and forced a smile. Help. Help you. The stallion had to seriously consider, before moving over to his son and levitating the weapon after him. Sliding it over to where they move were. "I'm not sure you can, bud. I'm not even sure how I do this. I just feel as if a part of me is absent and an axe is made. Like it's an extension of me." He considered this, before realizing earth ponies were much more in tune with their bodies. They had neither wings nor horns, and so their magic was imposed the same way his was. Through sheer presence and will. Through what they made. Through what they felt. Sowed. Grew. A slow smirk spread on his muzzle, and he draped a hoove over Buster's shoulders. "That doesn't mean you can't try it. Tell you what... we'll try together. And you can have your own axe if we can actually get this to work." — Today at 9:32 AM Buster immediately perks up with a smile and eager nod. Even if he didn't know the nature of Fritz's magic, he understood heat conduction and metal working with more than a few trinkets and blades crafted under the watchful eyes of dusty and fuega. Of course, none of this could be communicated more than a look of knowledgeful pride, but he seemed happy to help out his stressing pa nonetheless less and leans into the half hug. ឵ — Today at 10:03 AM The stallion seemed to rumble with a pleased fatherly noise, before levitating the weapon closer to them both. He gingerly moved one of Buster's hooves onto the safest part of the blade, before placing one of his own massive hooves on the hilt. Imediantly it began to hum with unknown energy. And the feeling Buster would experience would be nothing short of a strange overwhelming vitality. And a strange afterthought. The urge to protect and guard. Fritz was two things. A father and son. And one of the most potent was the spark between them, and the motivations a stallion named Flamejack had. It was possible that the axe was more so an extension of that. That raw unmistakable river of energy within the tall stallion. He watched his son and studied him, taking into account his reaction. Woefully oblivious to whatever the foal was feeling. But steady. He only nickered in slow confusion as a green outline began to appear on his son's body. And vaguely he wondered if this was safe. It wasn't hurting Buster. But it was... a little scary to see his son surrounded with ionizing nuclear green energy as much as he was. Fritz in his thoughts didn't even notice as the axe began to morph and change. The name "Ignition" being replaced with the name of the colt that he now called son. — Today at 10:24 AM The colt had smiled with mounted excitement that morphs into confusion when he isn't given verbal commands. When his hooves are placed on the blade, they slide along the metal and his eyelids lower with concentration and thought, though he didn't know what to do here. There was no forge or flame or hammer. The answer is given to him through the magic emanating from Fritz and he finds his own thoughts move to Beans and TS. Old memories of chasing bullies away from Tenacious back in the workshop surfaced. He almost pulls away at the realization that he was glowing. Was this unicorn magic? Something from the wolves? Not quite knowing why, he takes a breath and channels the emotions and thoughts the spell brought into the light into the axe along with Fritz. ឵ — Today at 10:33 AM The metal began to twist and morph, the name on the hilt becoming more pronounced and emboldened as the weapon shifted from being a battle-axe to a literal war hammer. Fritz was growing increasingly alarmed as he stared at the weapon taking shape, which was steadily becoming something had never made before. — Today at 11:53 AM Buster doesn't seem aware of what was happening to the weapon. With his eyes closed, all he saw was his nightmare. Beans dieing under the axe, TS getting sick, Fritz dieing over and over in a personal hell. Beans and TS fighting over Chickpea, falling apart and all the while, he stood in his little bubble, unable to so much as scream, unable to help these ponies that declared their bonds for eachother and now him. He wanted out. He wanted the power to do something. Anything. He imagined a large hammer appearing, using it to shatter the bubble and beat back the vampires and wolves that threatened to make their lives that much worse All Fritz would see during this was Buster pressing down on the blade, shaking with his face scrunched up as though in concentration ឵ — Today at 12:16 PM The father steadied his son with his free hoof, fritzing up as the weapon began to crackle and hum with an entirely new synergy that made him want to remove his own hoof. But he didn't. Fritz was perpetually frozen as a strange sensation stirred in his chest. A sensation that shook him to his core. Just the sensation of succession. And his talisman picking up on the strange energy that was the little foal beside him on the table. And all at once, Fritz understood Buster. He understood Buster in a way that a normal pony shouldn't be able to. But Fritz wasn't just a pony. He was a father. And a talisman meant to pick on these things. To draw power and information from these things. His free hoof remained on Busters back as his other hoof lifted off the weapon, which was now not even his. But Buster's. The stallion touched his muzzle to the foal's head and nickered proudly. "I think... you just made your first weapon, bud."

When Ignition stepped out of the medical bay, he was greeted by a crowd of wastelanders all enthralled to see him walking. Cheers of "blood talisman" swept around the main floor, like a chant. A chant that was more damning than any of them would ever realize. The stallion did not bear this new scar of that title with any resemblance of pride, but despair and shame. And that flickered on his face now as he began to move through the crowd slowly, painfully. It parted for him of course. And he was able to see clearly the blood-red trail that led from the stable door to the medical bay. It was a stain no one would waste time trying to clean, because of its significance. After all the good I've tried to do, this is what they see me as. What have I become? The thought raced through his mind as he forced himself to keep moving. To ignore the chants. To just get the fuck out of here. Every nerve in his body felt as if it were on fire. His ears rang with the stomps of wastelanders who loved and admired him. And he resented them for it. He resented them so strongly he felt something integral break and die in his chest. And suddenly his voice rang out in a thunderous baying. Because he couldn't take it anymore. "BE SILENT!" The crowd shut up imediantly, one of the members of which appeared to be a member of the herd, unnamed, who survived. But Ignition didn't care. He couldn't care. The imposing stallion swept the main floor in his gaze, recognizing Ringers, a ragtag named Teacup, zebras from the Striped Conglomerate, and others. Each of them cringed underneath the brilliant nuclear green radiance of his eyes. When all eyes were fixated on him, his body seemed to strain and well with contained wrath. "Be silent." He was in the best of ways, tyranny without a tyrant. The anticipated response was not fear, but deep respect blossoming among his stable like a weed he wanted to destroy. His blood-red mane and tail seemed caught in its own perpetual hurricane. The clumps of fur bristling in several different directions. And that only served to make him seem massive and powerful, the edges of his mane catching the lights of the stable above him as some strange ethereal crest. And that scar was enough to make any of the wastelanders imediantly regard anyone with a little wary resignation. Ignition looked more like a god to a pony to them. And that wasn't far from the truth. What regular pony could survive a wound like that? What regular pony could die and come back repeatedly over one hundred times? What normal pony could endure that, all of that, and still walk out of the medical bay with his head high and eyes blazing? They parted for him silently but watched him begin to leave the main floor behind with whispers of awe and genuine wonder. They would maintain a healthy fear of him. And they would only listen to him. Even if that wasn't his intent.