Here is the disclaimer: I don’t own MLP: FiM. That belongs to Lauren Faust and Hasbro.

You Wouldn’t Believe Me if I Told You

Chapter 12: Under the Knife

She stopped running abruptly when she heard her name. it was not so much what the voice had said that made her halt, but rather the voice that had said it.

“Applebloom?” she replied, looking back frantically. “Applebloom, where are yah?”

She turned around and retraced her steps, analyzing the bushes on both sides as she passed.

“To yer left,” Applebloom clarified, sticking a yellow hoof into the open, beckoning for her big sister to follow. “Come in here!” she whispered urgently.

Not willing to argue, Applejack crouched down and crawled her way into the shrub. Inside was her little sister, huddled against the main trunk in the center. She had her forelegs wrapped around her knees, and in one hoof she grasped a small switchblade, blade extended. Her large pink bow was torn from crawling through the underbrush.

“Oh, Applebloom. Ah’ve been lookin’ every which place for ya!” she said quietly, fraught with emotions as she gave her sister a big, reassuring hug. Applebloom, teary eyed with fright and happiness, returned the embrace with both hooves, resting her head on her sister’s strong shoulder. Applejack was also wet-eyed, she was so happy she had found her lost sibling. “Ah thought Ah’d be too late to save you, too…”

Applebloom lifted her head up slightly. “Wha- whadda ya mean, by 'too', sis?”

A sudden crackling of twigs from somewhere outside of their foliage fortress made them both start. Applejack made a shushing motion with her hoof.

“She’s back!” Applebloom whispered, painstakingly quietly now. Applejack held her sister at arms-length and looked at her questioningly.

“Fleur de Lis,” she continued, struggling to keep her voice as low as possible through her emotions. “I saw her… she- she killed Sweetie Belle! She acted all innocent, but when they got close she took Sweetie’s sword and ran her through!” Applebloom’s facade began to break down into tears again as the grief resurfaced.

Applejack’s face was creased in horror and anger. “Hasn’t there been enough death out here fer one day?” she mumbled to herself.

“Ah couldn’t do nothin’ about it, sis! Ah came out with mah knife here, but then she just laughed at me. Then she recognized me as yer sister. Ah think she’s still mad that you took her coltfriend, Fancypants.”

Another twig broke, nearer this time. Applejack swivelled her head in the direction of the sound. A few meters off down the path Applejack had been heading earlier trotted the figure of the tall, white unicorn in question. But she was not all white, however. She had not had the time to wash off the blood of her earlier kill from her shoulder and hoof. Her katana in her mouth for easy access, she drove it into the underbrush periodically, even lopping the entire bush in half with a single swipe, ever testing for soft ponyflesh.

Applejack knew they would be discovered by one such maneuver, and if either of them tried to run, their position would be forfeit anyways. Breaking from Applebloom’s grip with a quick twist, she readied her rope.

“No matter what happens to me, y’all stay here in this bush, ya hear?” she ordered almost silently.

Applebloom shook her head nervously. “Don’t leave me here, sis! Ah don’t wanna lose anypony else!”

Fleur de Lis grew ever nearer, thrusting as she went, effortlessly severing branches and leaves from their stems with her immaculately sharp weapon.

Applejack paused and turned back to her younger sister with tears still in her eyes. Solemnly she replied. “Me neither…”

With a single leap, Applejack left the confines of the shrubbery and landed in the center of the path, obviously angry and facing off with a startled Fleur de Lis.

Recovering quickly, she reached up with her bloody hoof and removed the blade from her mouth to speak. “Oh! ‘Allo Applejack!” Her mouth perked up deviously. “I am… so glad to see you one last time. I vas hoping to be ze one to kill you out ‘ere!” She swung her long, curved sword a few times before resting it on her clean shoulder.

She took one end of her rope in her mouth, and, with an expert flick of her head, flung the looped end of her lasso around Fleur’s neck and pulled it tight. There had not been enough time for Fleur to realize what was happening before she was already caught, slowly being deprived of oxygen.

Panic subsided quickly, and Fleur quickly severed the rope with a flick of her still aloft katana, leaving a relatively tight noose around her neck above her three starred collar.

“Non, dear Applejack,” she replied a little hoarsely, “I ‘ave ‘ad quite enough ‘bush beating’ for one day.”

Quickly covering the distance between them, Fleur swung at her opponent. Applejack leapt backwards; using the time she had bought to draw her battle- axe, a long pole with a double-sided head adorning the end. Between the halves of the head was a single protruding spike.

Again Fleur lunged, driving in for her heart. Applejack, forced onto two legs to operate her axe, awkwardly deflected the blow, utterly unaccustomed to her weapon and its use. The taller mare had had practice with hers, and was also able to remain on three hooves, giving her an even more distinct advantage.

Unable to get a swing in herself, Applejack was forced to remain on the defensive, blocking the frenzied blows of the jealous mare, one hoof on the shaft and one on the flat of the head. It was obvious from Fleur’s eyes that she was hungry for her blood, and lots of it. All traces of her former serene grace had evaporated since her first attack, now just a rain of fury and steel poured on Applejack without relent. Despite the rapidity of attacks, Fleur showed little sign of tiring.

All Applejack needed to do was bide her time. Attacking took more effort than defending, and she knew she had to be stronger and greater in endurance than this supermodel. Not to mention that makeshift noose digging into her neck restricting her airflow. Although Fleur had speed, height, and her weapon choice in her favour, Applejack knew she just had to outlast the barrage. But then she noticed the shaft of her axe.

Fleur had been hacking at the sturdy pole by the head of the axe, slowly chipping away at the steel-wrapped wood. Realization dawned on her that if she did not act quickly, her weapon would be chopped in two, leaving her with a stick in her hooves.

Fleur gave her next swing most of her remaining strength, bringing her notched blade deep into the groove she had created. It hit with such force that it knocked the axe back against Applejack’s head, the sword giving her a small cut on her forehead. Fleur gave her sword a yank, but it would not come free. Applejack recognized her opening and, with a mighty shove, pushed the unicorn back a few steps; leaving the sword in the handle of her axe. She twisted the axe around in her grip, and with a quick swing, she dislodged the sword into a tree trunk, driving it in deep tip first.

The sudden blow, however, also caused the weakened shaft of the axe to break, sending the deadly end careening into the forest. Now left with a stick with a jagged metal sheathing on the end, Applejack advanced towards the drained unicorn, gripping it like a pike extended at her foe.

“Fer yer information, Fleur,” Applejack said, panting slightly and advancing steadily, “Fancypants told me everything. About him, about you; the whole thing.” She smiled. “He said that he was only with you to help your career, to advance you as a model. He was only trying to use his influence to help you.”

Fleur’s face fell in shock and despair, some moisture clouding her eyes. “Zat is not true!” she spat venomously. She screamed, “You are lying to me srough your teeth, you lying ‘orse! You stole my love from moi!”

Applejack, now within range, shook her head and winked. “Nope, sorry. Element of Honesty,” she said, tapping her chest, ignoring the pain in her head from the blow earlier. “It’d be real obvious if Ah were lyin’.”

With that said, and a final scream from Fleur, Applejack plunged the crude spear deep into her chest; her eyes bugging with agony. Her scream went silent, but her mouth remained open. Looking down at Applejack, she saw the small cut on her face, blood running lightly past her eye. She smiled disconcertingly at Applejack, prompting her to push the shaft clear through her body.

Fleur collapsed, dead before she hit the ground. Applejack released the shaft with contempt for both the object, the deed done, and the recipient on the other end of it. Her head was pounding, and she felt sick in her stomach. She called for Applebloom to come out as she checked Fleur for anything salvageable. In her bags, aside from the standard supplies, was an opened bottle. Curious, she looked in. it was filled with over a dozen liqui-gel pills. The label was just as confusing to her, so she tucked them under her left foreleg and hit the center star on Fleur’s collar.

Fleur’s body lifted a meter off of the path and began glowing radiant white, made all the brighter because the sun had begun to set. It continued to brighten for a second or two before collapsing in on itself with a whoosh, ending with a tinkling sound.

Applejack’s headache grew worse from the light, so she did not bother watching. Instead, she called for Applebloom again, only to be interrupted by her own retching. When she opened her eyes, she saw only red.

She had just vomited blood all over the path in front of her. Suddenly dizzy, she stumbled towards the bush where she had instructed Applebloom to wait.

Once inside the bush, Applejack tripped over a branch and landed next to Applebloom’s leg.

A leg which was no longer attached to Applebloom. Applebloom had not moved, so Applejack could make out that her wildly flung axe head had embedded itself into the trunk of the bush right where her leg met her shoulder. Applebloom, barely conscious from shock and blood loss, reached out to her sister with her other hoof. Applejack grasped it weakly and together they pulled one another close.

Applejack, her eyes clouding over, looked up at her sister. “Ah- Ah love you, sis… Ah’m sorry… Big Mac… Flut…shy…”

And with those words, she passed away in her sister’s arms. Applebloom, barely alive, passed out.

Scootaloo charged through the forest, practically blind in the diminishing light.

She did not know what lay ahead of her. She did not really know exactly what was behind her, for that matter. Except for Trixie. She knew that she was behind her. And that is why she was running.

She slowed suddenly, noticing something out of the ordinary some meters off to her right. Something coloured sky blue and hovering off of the ground…

“Rainbow Dash!” Scootaloo shouted to her idol, bolting in her direction. “Help me, please! I’m being chased by Trixie! She’s gone nuts and she-”

She saw that Rainbow was not hovering. She was hanging. Scootaloo almost threw up. When she got near the base of the tree, she found Berry Punch. She was still in the same position as she had been when the crossbow bolt had pierced her brain through her eye. Blood had long since stopped flowing from the wound, crusting on her face and on the ground below. The smell was horrible.

“Why’d you do it?!” she screamed, angry at the dead pegasus, angry at the world. “Huh? Why’d you go and kill yourself? Something doesn’t work out so you hang yourself? What about me, huh?!” she yelled, punching at her dangling hooves in rage. “Who’s gonna help me now, huh? You killed yourself, and now you’re gonna kill me! This is what I get for my years of devotion? Thanks for nothing. You selfish…”

Her curses died in her throat, choked by tears and a need to inhale. She looked again at the suspended pegasus. “I loved you like a sister,” she began again softly. “I tried everything to be like you…”

And she had. Unfortunately for her, she had never been able to fly under her own power because she had been born with underdeveloped wings. It was a rare occurrence, to be sure. It was even rarer for a newborn pegasus to leave the birthing room of the Cloudsdale hospital alive with such a deformity, with doctors even suggesting such a course of action and claiming a still-birth.

But she had been born in Ponyville. Her father had hated her for it and had attempted to kill her right then. The nurses had restrained him and security had dragged him out. He had spent a few months in jail for the assault, but had managed to escape. In a late night attempt on the infant’s life, her mother had killed him in protection of her, but had herself gained mortal injury and died soon after.

She had been adopted by Cheerilee, as Ponyville had no orphanage, and had loved her as if she had been her own. Nopony mentioned the incident anymore, as if trying to forget it had ever happened.

Years later, utterly dejected that she could not fly, she had resigned herself to a life on the ground. That is, until the Cutie Pox incident taught her about hang-gliding. Ever since then, she had been leaping off of cliffs near Ponyville with her hang-glider, using her small wings to help keep her aloft longer than would otherwise be possible. She had even gotten a hang-gliding cutie mark and begun a gliding tour business with a rental shop to let other earthbound ponies to have the chance to fly. She was immensely proud that her unique business had ‘taken off’ lately (she used that pun constantly on the subject).

A sudden left hook to her jaw jerked her back into reality, and sent Scootaloo tumbling to the side. Trixie had caught up, and she liked what she saw.

“Well, well! Look at what we have here!” she remarked vilely, looking around her. “Two freebies! Present company excluded, of course,” she said, now focussing her eye on the sprawling pegasus. “You, I earned, fair and square. I lost my eye trying to get you… so I’m gonna have to make you pay for that one.”

She grinned maliciously with her deformed face, and trotted over to the recovering young pegasus. Scootaloo shook her head as she started to push herself back onto her hooves, but was socked in the gut. Devoid of breath and racked with pain, she collapsed again, moaning at the familiar sensation of a bruised rib.

Trixie straddled her and seated herself in the middle of Scootaloo’s back. Her machete, now somewhat dulled and notched from its blows on the pot lid and on Lyra’s spinal column, had returned to her right hoof. She enjoyed the feel of the wooden handle, the weight of the blade; the feeling of power she had when she wielded it. She loved this weapon more than anything. Except, perhaps, using it.

Scootaloo struggled under the unicorn’s body weight, but she could only just barely budge her from her prone position, unable to get her legs under her.

“Well, this is no good! How am I supposed to have fun with you constantly moving around?” Trixie put the machete`s point under her chin and scratched. Suddenly she had an idea.

She gave a quick wind-up swing and chopped Scootaloo`s right foreleg down to the bone, just above the hoof. She screamed in agony, writhing involuntarily. Another swing landed in the same spot and the hoof came off entirely. Trixie twisted herself to the side and hacked at her left hoof, severing it as well. She dismounted the maimed filly and admired the scene momentarily.

Scootaloo, blind with pain, curled up screaming, drawing in her injured legs to herself in a vain attempt at relief. She rocked herself in the mud below her, made with the blood flowing from her cleaved arteries.

Despite her condition, she made an attempt at escape. Trying to get up again, she placed the stubs on the ground beneath her and buzzed her wings to lighten the pressure on them. Trixie laughed as Scootaloo again doubled over from the new shots of pain from trying to walk on the tender ends of her forelegs. Now she was sure that her prey would not get away from her as she had some real fun.

Scootaloo vaguely felt Trixie grab her small left wing, ending abruptly with a sharp, piercing pain of the machete separating it from her back. Her throat gave out on her as she tried to redouble her efforts of screaming. It had become totally dry and hoarse, so she could only moan and utter croaks at her tormentor. Her eyes bugged out and she opened her mouth in a soundless scream as the second wing was unceremoniously ripped out of her back.

Next, Trixie moved around behind her and gave her tail a hard yank paired with a solid swing of her weapon. This was more for humiliation sake than to inflict pain, as the tail itself was only long hair with no nerves in it. The nerves were in the skin at the base of the tail; and that is precisely where she landed her next blow. It went in deep, but was stopped by the pegasus` pelvis bone. Scootaloo spasmed and froze at the sudden pang, and continued to spasm as the blade was drawn up her back all the way to the base of her mane at the nape of her neck. Another few well- aimed hacks on her rump, and Trixie held Scootaloo`s prized hang-glider cutie mark in her hoof. She regarded it briefly, but quickly grew bored of it and cast it aside.

Scootaloo was delirious now, unaware of anything in the world other than the agony she was going through. Nothing else mattered; nothing else existed. That, and the face of her torturer, her mutilated face imprinted on her mind, scarring her mentally as the real thing worked on her physically. She was so absorbed in her world of hurt and affliction that she did not notice Trixie roll her onto her back.

A strong thrust forced the end of the machete deep into her gut, ripping through flesh and tissue with its dulling and nicked edge. The wound would have made her vomit, but not only was her stomach essentially empty, but the blade had cut the connection between her stomach and her esophagus. Another plunge and a pull at the machete opened the contents of her gut to the open air, spilling blood, fluids, and bits of organs on the ground around her. Bleary from torture, agony, blood loss, and now the inability to breathe, Scootaloo fitfully and violently died under Trixie`s bladework, with which she was quite pleased.

For her finishing touch, she rammed the dented machete into the pegasus`skull. This final duress caused the blade to snap clean off at the handle, leaving a bloody wooden handle quivering in her hooves. A tear fell from her eye.

At least until she remembered the other two ponies, and the crossbow and sickle resting on the ground nearby. Tossing the chunk of useless wood aside and grasping the sickle in her right hoof, she grinned once again. She tapped the razor-sharp tip to Scootaloo`s hide. It entered effortlessly.

You Wouldn't Believe Me if I Told You

by PinkiePiedPiper

Chapter 12: Under the Knife