FOE:TEST CHAPTERS

by No Opinion

Rim Fire

TEST CHAPTER

I bucked the stallion in the side as another brought a knife down upon my shoulder. With a quick flash of red being drawn up in a line before my vision he again brought the knife down, this time onto my scrambling hooves; I needed a weapon I didn’t have. He and I were both genuinely surprised when the blade only scuffed the surface of one.

His eyes widened, rusty gears turning as he wasted time trying to understand what had made his knife suddenly go dull. Hired raiders; a complete waste of caps.

Using the same hoof I chopped into his throat and watched as he collapsed into the muddy soil, his windpipe bare to the world. How in Sombra’s hotly styled mane did I do that? I didn't have the time for questions as knife guy’s buddy rose to attack again. The unicorn brandished a collapsible machete from the inside of his skinned vest, a wicked gap-toothed smile forming over his scarred features as the weapon expanded to close the small gap between us. With an upward slice it bore in to my cheek, barely missing the left eye.

When he brought the weapon back down I moved just in time to miss his second hit. Up again and I slid backwards away from the grimy point. His attacks came faster and faster, up down up down, I only a moment faster than his swings. We were dancing in the rain with our lives on the line. And he wasn't tiring. However as he continued his attempts at obtaining a private showing of my innards, he seemed to forget about his fallen companion.

I quickly stepped over the new corpse as I twisted away from yet another jab. The machete took a long swing down, but as he tried to strike up once more the handle was ripped from his maw and instead stayed lodged deep in the ribs of knife guy. Hey, he was useful for something!

Machete was smarter than most raiders, I’d give him that. Suddenly I was surrounded by every weapon that had been on his buddy’s body. The black and green aura brought every sharp object to every vital point on my body.
I was a dead pony. Should have been, anyway.

“Rusty Handles says Hi.”

Our eyes locked. Of course this was her doing. Only a mare like her had the need to play game like this. “She’s been looking for ya scout. Been a real long stretch she says. Almost didn’t find ya in time.” Machete laughed, some blood dribbling down his chin. “Heh, ya got a kick on yah. Yes ya do.” That little dribble was turning into a mighty river the longer he talked. “Wah? Not gonna say anytin? Oh well. She say ya not a talker.”

His magic was going. The armada of knives was starting to wobble under his grasp and his pupils were starting to turn funny colors. It must have been the aftereffects of something. By the looks of it, it might have been the only thing keeping him standing.

“Rus-Rusty want’s ya back champ. Got an offer. A big big big one. “ He swung his arms out wide and wiggled them around. “Sooo big. Be a real real shame if ya turn her down.” I ducked out of the way as the blades aimed at my head fell and was swallowed by the mire around us. Sadly, that still left three quarters of all the weapons left mere millimeters from turning me into a pincushion.

“Sh-she misssss yas. A whole lot, lot. Took us-“After a glance towards his deceased comrade, he shrugged “Me, a looooong while to t-tr-track ya down.” He did the leg wobble again and another chunk of knives took a dive. “Gotta go back now. Ya and me. Me and ya. Together forever!” Okay, he was singing now and I was officially done listening. Rusty Handles could screw the goddesses for all I cared.

Before I could grab for something however, his magic rung my neck tight; his eyes a little more focused. He brought me close until my face was up against him, our breaths forming thick clouds around us in the chill rainy night. “Don’t trust her…” Machete was starting to cough up blood, painting himself as he wiped a leg across his face”…. scout. “The corners of his eyes started to bleed. “That vulture will kill us all.”

Machete then dropped me and what was left of his attack. On shaky legs he turned around weakly trying to walk in the opposite direction. He made it about ten meters before his hind legs gave out from under him. With one front hoof after the other he tried to drag himself, mumbling incoherently. He wasn't going to make a lot of progress that way.

Getting up from where I’d been dumped, I worked on wrestling the machete from its meaty encasement. Once it finally dislodged I checked for damage. It had a slight nick in the metal. Most likely from hitting bone, but looked remarkably pristine. Odd; raiders aren't known for taking care of their toys. How one had come across something as unique as this also struck a cord of suspicion.

Collecting up the rest of the blades and whatever else could be scavenged from their late owner I came up behind Machete. He had managed to roll onto his back and was gasping for breath; his eyes silvery white and as wide as saucers.

I could almost swear they were reflecting the moon.

Then I stabbed him.

And took whatever I could carry.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Those raiders had chased me farther then I had previously thought, almost a haft hour passing before I made it back to the shanty shack I had been currently calling home. Surprise surprise, but of course it’s the one night in a long time that I sleep without my battle saddle on that I’m ambushed.

Luckily everything was untouched.

I dumped the pile I had brought back in the center of the one room building before moving over to retrieve my belongings. Proudly I looked over my hard earned stash, the hours of prospecting old stables and rotted out houses having not gone to waste. It wasn't my best haul, but I’d be able to get a good price for most.

Before my late night jogging session I had had plans to head towards a nearby pony friendly zebra village. The villagers didn't bother me much and were willing to pay for more exotic things like bloatsprite bile, hellhound tongue, and pony hair. Just to name a few. It meant making more off of a hard kill and since what they needed were rare I could jack up the prices. Either way, I won.

And those plans weren't changing even if Rusty Handles was looking for me.

But I would have to be more careful. No more getting caught with my metaphorical pants down.

The moment I saw my saddle I buckled up. A firm leather harness kept it tight against my body but still allowed freedom of movement. Unlike a normal saddle this one was specially catered to my tastes. Instead of nasty, noisy guns bolted to the sides, elegant yet strong hoofed carved spears guarded my flanks. The poles were held tight by metal barrels that locked them in place against the saddles barding. The spear tips themselves were actually multi-prongs of different lengths with each having backward facing serrated edges. The icing on the cake was the ability to cap each tip with a poison capsule.
I was a close combat nightmare. Just the way I like it.

Tapping the tiny fiery oval gem that met as the crossroads of the straps over my chest, I got to work organizing my newest merchandise.

Seven generic knives, four butter knives (Why?), two box cutters, three butcher knives, five letter openers (Really?) twenty one sewing needles (This is a joke right?), two busted shotguns, a rusted revolver, one very unique collapsible machete, and a complete lack of ammunition of any type.

How had these bucks gotten the drop on me? Oh right. Idiot slept without her armor on.

At least the lot would be an easy sell. Not the machete however. That I was keeping for myself.

What was left mostly appeared to be scraps and junk that didn't seem to be worth the weight to carry it. They only made it this far because I couldn't tell it all apart in the storm. The smaller items I’d take, but the ashtrays and paperweights would have to go.

I almost face-hoofed when I didn't see one healing poultice of any kind. And I was on the losing end of that battle? Maybe I should get my head checked soon.

Then I found what I was really looking for.

Buried at the bottom of the machete stallion’s bags were little packets of silvery goo. Sure enough, I would place a prime sized bet that this had been the cause of him demise. Whatever it was had kept him going after that crippling kick. Whether this would have killed him regardless of that blow didn’t matter. The outcome was the same and I wasn’t interested in taking any strange rides tonight either.

This all brought me to a new problem. Most of my wares I could carry on my back alone, but even I had a limit. After another hour of hard decisions, I packed what I could move without slowing down my pace. I hid the leftovers under loose floorboards in pure vain. The wasteland had a way of making things mysteriously disappear.

I relit the fire that had gone out hours ago and settled under a layer of moth chewed blankets. Then I began to stare at my hooves. I've slit ponies throats before but never like that; just a quick bare-hoofed jab. I had sliced without effort into the skin. Hopefully that could be duplicated. I quite liked the idea of never having to wear battle gloves again, since standing on my back legs just to operate them was a danger unto themselves. Who would ever want their belly exposed like that? I’d already known a few idiots who learned that lesson at the ends of my spears.

Yawning, I watched the shadows in the corners dance under the fire until sleep finally got me.

Author's Note:

I might continue this one. Would anyone be interested in reading more of something like this?