The What and Whatiful Who

by cosby7

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE: Oldest Trick in the Book

Menlo's mustaches trailed behind him as he ran at full force through the twisting walls of the Loony Labyrinth. Even though he had traveled the maze's corridors more than once, its ever-shifting nature did not make his trek a great deal easier. He had heard it though. He had heard that cry of pain and that scream of despair. This time, his blade had found its target. That was enough.

Of course, his faith in himself was not misplaced. Another turn was made and, like magic, there they were. The brown stallion, the mighty Doctor, trembled in abject pain and fury. When Menlo had met him before, it had been truly a surprise. Not because Doctor Hooves had correctly guessed that he was a time traveler, but because of the power, the intensity, he sensed behind the stallion's words. In a way, he reminded him of the Warden a little, somehow greater than just another earth pony. Now though, now he was nothing. Just another weak little pony, clutching at his friend for comfort.

And that was the best of it. Had his blade hit the Doctor, the threat, it would have all been over too quick. Menlo would not have been able to savor the satisfaction of their pain. Luck had been on his side, though. This way, he could truly and deeply taste the Doctor's pain as he held on to the lifeless body of the irritating blue unicorn. She definitely would not be so chatty any longer. Not lying in that red puddle.

“Ha ha ha hee hee ha ha!” It felt good to laugh like that again. There was not much laughter in the pit. He had earned this day. “Well, well, well, this has certainly gone better than I could have hoped. Hello, my dear Doctor. So sorry about your friend there. Well, not really, you understand. Call it droll, but I just cannot deny myself a jolly bit of sadism with a kill like that. We both know I would have found you eventually, but I'm curious: How could you have allowed her to make such a blunder? Did she not listen to you? She seemed the willful sort. I don't suppose it could have been a cold? My, that would have been dreadful, sick on her last day among the living. Or,” he stopped for one more subdued chuckle, before his voice dropped one more menacing octave, “was she really just that weak and stupid?”

“One thing.”

“What's that?” Menlo could have sworn he heard the faintest whisper, choked by anger. He should end it by now, he knew, but it had been so long since he had been allowed to indulge. “Did you ask something? You might as well speak up now that I've found you.”

Doctor Hooves raised his head. His eyes were hard and defiant. Menlo had hoped for tears, but one could not have everything one's heart desired.

“One thing, Menlo. We both know how this ends, so let me just ask you one thing.” His voice was cold as ice, a whisper no longer. There was a fury there, but not the flaming passion Menlo had so often encountered before. It was frozen, hard, crystal clear. Even through the haze of madness, he could feel it. Ice that burned. Instinctively, Menlo made to take a step back, before gaining control of his senses. He was in control here. He had the power. This was his day.

“Very well,” he smirked, injecting his voice with confidence once more. “Far be it from me to deny a worthy foe his final wish. Ask.”

“Why has your leader done all this, to this world? What's their goal?” Clear, crystallized, without hesitation. No second guesses.

“Hah,” Menlo laughed aloud, relishing in his victim's futile scrambling. He knew nothing. Even in his last moment to look for a weakness, an advantage, he could only be sentimental. The ice was nothing. “Is that all? Are you certain? You don't wish to know who the Warden is or how she gained her power? You could even ask at a chance for revenge. I might indulge you, you know. This has been fun.”

“Motivation is worth more than you might think. Just tell me.”

“Hm, stubborn,” Menlo muttered chidingly. “If that is what you wish, but I am afraid it is a waste of your last request. I cannot claim to know the motivations of the Warden. Her means and methods are beyond even my superlative ken. She is beyond me, just as she is beyond you.”

“Pity.”

“Quite. I had expected more from you. C'est la vie, I suppose. Now, Doctor,” Menlo's crimson daggers merged above his head, forming a heavy wicked-looking cleaver, poised to strike, “it's over.”

Then Menlo's world came crashing down.

Stars exploded, both in front of and behind his eyes. The impact was like a piston to the chest, but it burned and glowed all around him, like a spectacle of fireworks. In moments, he was flat on his back, sprawled in a haphazard pile of pony. As the hard landing took hold, a hat fell from his head and a spell vanished from his grasp.

“Now!”

Before he had time to process what happened, he saw the Doctor rushing at him through the stars. The brown stallion knelt before him and placed his hooves about Menlo's neck. For a moment it felt tight. A panicked mind shouted at him, telling him the Doctor had finally snapped and was trying to strangle him. Then it stopped. The Doctor moved away and the tightness faded, ever so slightly, until the impression merely lingered.

Not again! he mentally screamed. He would not fail again. He would not lose again. This was his day. Pushing past the pain and confusion and the stars, Menlo the Mustachioed brought himself upon his hooves and readied the killing blow. His horn glowed a fierce crimson and—

“AAAARRGHHk!”

The pain crashed back down around him like a torrent. Not the explosive impact he had felt before, though. No, this felt more like an electrical shock. A shock that started at his neck. A shock he had felt years ago, when he had first come to Ponyville Penitentiary and had never forgotten. Menlo the Mollified reached a hoof to his neck in bewilderment and felt the loop of hard metal. So baffled was Menlo that he scarcely noticed the pony walking over to him.

“And that,” she said, even then a hazy purple glow emerging from behind him and dropping a mad dope wizard hat gracefully upon her head, “is why I am called the Great and Powerful Trixie!” Menlo stared unblinkingly. She bowed before him, making sure to show off her neck, unadorned, save for the clasp of her cape. “'Weak and stupid,' indeed!”

“But,” Menlo stammered, dumbfounded beyond reason, “. . . how? You were dead!”

“The Great and Powerful Trixie grew up on the stage, you neigh-ve!” She whinnied the last line, making sure the pun came across. Nothing was going to stop her from enjoying this triumph. “She can perform a death scene in her sleep.”

“I don't . . . how did you . . .” he turned to Doctor Hooves, searching for answers. “ . . . you . . ?”

“It never even occurred to you, did it?” Doctor Hooves asked, more pity in his tone than mockery. “It never occurred to you for a second that she would be the one to beat you, not me.”

“Normally, a magician never reveals her secrets,” Trixie announced loudly, making sure the attention was focused back where it belonged, “but for this occasion, Trixe will make an exception. Honestly, you were defeated by the same things that go into any great performance: Timing, luck, and a little magic.

“You see,” she continued in full lecture mode, making the Doctor a little envious, “the only real difficult part was getting your help.” Menlo blinked, stunned. That part didn't sound right. “We knew that you would strike wherever you heard something that might give us away. Obviously, you weren't able to resist. So we took advantage of it. We got you to show your hand and, with help from my lovely assistant, Doctor Hooves,” the Doctor took a bow, “made sure your attack was aimed for the one place we would be invulnerable.”

“The collar,” Menlo whispered.

“Precisely,” Trixie agreed with a smug smile.

“But . . . even if you could force my spell to hit that precisely, how did you know it would work the way it did?”

“Well,” Trixie couldn't help swallowing just a bit at the memory, “that was where the luck came in. Luck and faith, of course. I knew that if my Doctor said he could make the blow count, then he would, but the rest just sort of worked itself out. Surely you know, just as well as Trixie, that the collar not only causes pain to a wearer when a spell is cast, but manages to cancel the spell, as well. Based on that, Trixie thought the best case scenario would be that the collar would cancel the attack and give us a chance to strike when you weren't expecting it. When the spell hit and ended up being the key to removing the collar, not without a fair deal of pain mind you, it was just as shocking to us.”

Menlo shook his head, disbelieving. This was ridiculous, stupid, insane, even for him. Nopony was that lucky . . . was she?

“With the collar removed, Trixie was free to stretch her improv chops and demonstrate a little of the aforementioned magic.” Her horn glowed and a puddle of red appeared to surround Menlo. He flinched, only to find the creeping wetness never touched him. “Blood illusion. Never have a fake death trick without it.” The blood vanished. Once again, her horn glowed and the concussion made Menlo's ears pop. Stars returned. “Magic fireworks. Always a showstopper.”

“And then I put the collar back to its proper use,” Doctor Hooves supplied. He wasn't lecturing and he wasn't mocking. His words were a matter of fact and brooked no debate. “Shackling inmates.”

Without transition, without a single longer consideration, Doctor Hooves and Trixie both seemed to forget about Menlo the not-so-Menacing.

“I didn't like that, you know,” the Doctor reprimanded Trixie, “letting you stick your neck out like that. Literally. There was no guarantee that would work. Had there been any other—"

“I know, Doctor, I know,” Trixie interrupted playfully. “'Had there been any other way, I would have taken it, because I'm the big smart tough pony who handles all the problems.' You know, you'll never be able to protect your friends if you don't let them protect you once in a while.”

“Wise words,” he replied with a proud and jovial grin. “Very wise words, Ms. Great and Powerful Trixie.”

“Why, thank you,” she flipped her mane, acting the part of, well, her. Her totally rad wizard hat shifted against her horn. It was good to have it back. Both of them.

“No.”

“What was that?”

“No. It won't end this way. I won't let it.” The sandy unicorn with the fraying mustaches spoke with utter calm.

“Menlo. Mustache Jack. Josef Mengele.”

“Oh look, you're terrible at nicknames too.”

“Quiet you. Oi, Mean Mr. Mustard, eyes up. It's over. You lost. Up against the Great and Powerful Trixie too, so, you know, odds weren't really in your favor to start with.” He bent down to look the sullen unicorn in the face. When he got a little closer, Doctor Hooves noticed something curious: Menlo was shaking. “Don't worry. We'll put you somewhere safe until this is all over. Maybe we can even find you some real help. It's clear you're sick. Just keep calm.”

That was when Menlo raised his eyes.

“I am calm, Doctor. I am completely calm and I am telling you,” he made a point of looking at Trixie, “both of you, that I will not let it end this way.”

And that was when Menlo's horn started to glow.

“Menlo, stop it. You're only going to hurt yourself,” Doctor Hooves, his tone taking on the sound of a parent instructing a child.

Yet still, Menlo's horn glowed. His horn glowed and his body shook. Doctor Hooves didn't need to be standing close to see it any longer. Menlo's body was spasming, his teeth clenched tight. It took the Doctor a moment to realize, for whatever reason, it just did not connect, but then it dawned on him: Menlo was in pain. He was in pain and he did not care.

“Trixie, get back!”

“What? Doctor, I—"

“Back!”

Quick as could be, Trixie jumped back, her face a mask of fear and confusion. Doctor Hooves soon followed after, one hoof after the other as he backed up, never taking his eyes off the shuddering unicorn with the glowing horn.

“RRAAAAAAAGH!” Menlo started screaming, between his clenched teeth. The spasms wracked his body. Trixe and the Doctor both watched without blinking, as electricity actually looked to be arcing through his body. All the while, his horn glowed a brighter and brighter red.

“I! RRGH!” Another sound sputtered from his mouth, accompanied by a white spray of foam.

“WILL! KRAHH!” A shaft of red light began to appear above his horn. It looked like a handle.

“NO—T! URGH!” Faster and faster, the handle grew, expanding outward and upward, forming a grave and piercing edge.

“FA——IL!” Menlo's cleaver of pure dense crimson, buzzing with energy, plunged downward, hurtling at its intended targets like an edged rocket. Trixie flinched, clenching her eyes shut for all they were worth. Doctor Hooves made to cover her, protect her, take the blade for himself, but he knew. He knew the blade of pure rage was meant for them both and he could not watch it happen.

. . . nothing.

Hooves and Trixie hesitantly opened their eye once more, fearful the final blow was only waiting for an attentive audience. Even then, nothing. The red weapon was gone and they were still breathing.

But Menlo wasn't.

Their former assailant, the maniacal unicorn who had hunted them across time, lay stone dead on the floor of the labyrinth. Smoke rose from his body and his horn was charred and twisted. The occasional spark still jumped from the collar around his neck.

“It was too much, even for him,” Doctor Hooves explained slowly, wary of his words tempting fate and forcing their attacker to jump awake once more. “He burned himself up. Like a sun going out.”

“Well,” Trixie began, attempting to audibly swallow her fear, “it couldn't have happened to a nicer pony. Still, you were right. He was very powerful. I don't think I would have been able to do that.”

“And why should you?” the Doctor replied in playful admonishment. “Lovely mare like you. Don't you give it another thought, alright? You're the brilliant one. Menlo was daft. Poor and daft.”

“Of course,” Trixie said, allowing herself to smile at the Doctor's words. “Trixie knows that much full well.” And I look much better in this hat too.

“Does make me wonder one thing, though.”

“Oh? What's that?”

Doctor Hooves looked off to the horizon. He was staring at the high walls of the labyrinth, but he was looking somewhere beyond. Even with the thick, suffocating walls, even amidst the twisting paths, Trixie could tell where the Doctor had set his sights: The Warden's Castle.

“Just who was it he was so devoted to?”