Chapter 31 — Victory...
Chapter 31: Victory…
“Nnngh, no! Tuesday morning, the disaster! Incoming!”
Friends.
Be they mere acquaintances or long-known partners, they were important. My people would rarely use our word for friend, for that was simply our way. Still, Frosty Winds had nigh called me as such on the train before I destroyed her life. Lighting Dust had called me no dissimilar, stating I had been something akin to her only friend, which was why that mare was willing to do so much for me. Even Octavia Melody had said to me “anything for a friend” when we met last in Canterlot.
But I did not have friends. At best, I had confederates. At worst I had tools.
Once, I had friends, even a best friend. Mr. Welch was his name, a bastard spawn of a failed breed of changeling, as sex-obsessed as he was handsome and charming and clever. When last we met, he sacrificed his old self that I may live, but it wasn’t the last time I saw him, no. The last time I saw him was after that, when I murdered him. It was the fate of all my friends, for I had never possessed a friend whom I haven’t ending up murdering, either by mistakes, sacrifice, or because sometimes people just were tools in the end. Welcome to my team, mate! But if you want to be my friend, I’ve got to end up killing you! Deal? Cool!
As I trudged through Doc Holiday’s hospital, my duster bloody from Frosty, I supposed then that by that logic, Frosty had been upgraded to “honorary friend”, for though she lived yet, I had still killed her. I’d taken her from the New Pegasus train depot to this place because C was nowhere to be found, which is why the bastard hadn’t really helped me get aboard the Terror Train. With all my new medical “donations” and a few gold coins to the hospital, I assured that Frosty would be well taken care of.
That train of thought ended with a slight smile on my face. With that smile, I broke out into a gallop. Thinking about how I now had the medicine to save Lighting Dust made me a hit like that, I supposed. Soon I was sprinting forwards, down the hall, and finally into the room.
“I’m here!” I shouted giddily. “I have the medicine! We can save her life!”
As I looked to Dust’s bed, my giddy smile went to a warm, cozy smile. Both Dust and her mother were asleep, all nestled up and cute. Dust’s mom had her head laid forwards on her daughter’s breast. Lighting Dust, however pale she was, looked like a little angel. I could imagine her with wings once more, but attached to her current body. Looking at the scene made me sigh with pleasure. A job well done, some inconsequential broad sacrificed, but I had saved the day.
Of course, I didn’t want to wake the two out of little familiar nap, but I did sort of have to. Quietly, I closed the door, took out my box of medicine, and crept over to the bed. “Hey, Dust, Dust’s mother. I’m here,” I whispered. Her mother stirred but Dust herself remained motionless. A part of me really wanted to draw penises on her face for when she woke up, but, well…
“Mrs. Lightning Dust’s mother,” I said, reaching out a hand to the old dame. When I touched her shoulder, the woman suddenly jerked, slapping my hands away.
“Ma’am, ma’am,” I said as reassuringly as possible, and even offering therethrough a soft chuckle, “it’s okay, it’s just me. And look!” I rattled the box. “I’ve got the medicine! Your daughter’s going to pull through!”
She looked up at with with a confused, lost expression, her eyes red, like from crying. “G-Gunslinger?” the woman asked.
“Yes, that’s me,” I said with a chuckle. “You need not cry, for I have come with what your daughter needs.”
“My… my daughter?” she questioned, as if the entire word were foreign. Her eyes twitched and got moist. In that one look, all feelings of hope within me died a black, raped-by-clowns death. She dropped her head down and just cried.
“Ma’am?” I asked, her tears soaking her face. I swallowed as I watched her ball her hands into fists. Dust’s red bandana around my neck felt rather tight all of the sudden.
She looked at me with gritted teeth. As our eyes met, she slowly gave in and lost all traces of fire in her eyes, all traces of life. As she laid her head back upon Dust’s breast, I heard a whisper-like voice: “She’s dead, Gunslinger.”
I took a deep breath, and she continued. “She has gone from us. She’s left to meet with the Founding Fathers in the Heavenly City. She is… dead, Gunslinger…”
As I let the breath out, I nearly fell back against the wall as the horror washed over me. In my bags I had the kinds of medicines now that would have kept her alive, even cured her of the schotl-borne illness. I had murdered a comrade for this medicine! I had deemed Dust’s life worth more than Frosty’s, and so sacrificed her to Jayne the Terror Train! And… and was it all for nothing. Literally for nothing? For the only thing I really wanted to to save Dust’s life as my kind of a thank-you present.
“How long?” I asked, my voice sounding far firmer than I would have it’d be. Almost cold. Harsh.
“Long enough,” Dust’s mother said with a tone of dead resoluteness that left no room for argument. She had no hope that her daughter could even have been saved, not even by the darkest of black magics. Lighting Dust was dead, and I have sacrificed Frosty for nothing, because I… I…
“All her life,” she went on, “I had protected her. I had been there for her. I stood between her and her father; I took the punches and beatings from him so that she wouldn’t have to deal with then. I… I still have the scars on my back for the one he tried to… her… and he tried to…” She broke out into a tiny, mewling sob of memorial horror.
“She was my all, my sun and moon.” Dust’s mother caressed her daughter’s cheek so softly, with so much motherly passion that, for a moment, I regretted that I had never had a mother. “I sacrificed everything I had for her. And when Olympia fell, it was only us. She was a beautiful, grown woman now, and I thought that I… I had finally created something good. My daughter… the only good thing I’d given the world, and by the Fathers was it a good thing.”
“Mrs. Lighting Dust’s mother,” I said weakly.
“Taran,” she said. “My name is Taran.”
I nodded. Dust had said that her mother was from somewhere up north, so I supposed that the name Taran was a northern name. “Miss Taran.” I froze. “I… I cry your pardon—”
“Save it,” she said in a dark, empty tone. “I know you did all that you could, Gunslinger. I think that’s why she liked you. Do you know what her last words were, even? They were, ‘Don’t cry, Ma. I’m sure the Gunslinger will be here any moment now.’ A-and then…”
My lips tightened as I forced back a grimace. There had been so many things I did aboard Jayne that could have cut down on time, and then I could have gone and saved Dust. Dammit all, why did I insist on drinking tea and letting Frosty enjoy eating snack cakes!? Stupid… stupid…
“When the Blackguard forced me to work for them,” she slowly went on, “the only thing that kept me going was the thought that my daughter was out there, was still alive, and that my death would only make her cry. A-and I hated to see her in pain.” She sniffed. “Those fuckers did everything to break me, but I had Lighting Dust in my heart.” She grit her teeth and said, “When those fuckers raped me, I took it, because I knew that Lighting Dust was still out there, I would stay alive for her.” I took a step back at this, which basically meant my ass hit the wall; there was no running away from this. “And now… and now… without her, I…” She broke out crying again.
My eye was like steel, my gaze long, as I simply stared, waiting for her to stop crying. But she never truly did. Not until, that is, she looked up at me with tears in her tired old eyes and asked, “May I have your gun?”
I didn’t have to ask her why, but I also couldn’t move.
“Please, Gunslinger… No mother should have to outlive her own daughter…”
It took me a moment to ever gather myself and forth my mind out of its thunderstruck status. When I finally did, I slowly shook my head no. “I won’t be the instrument to further death this day, not to good folks like you.”
She clasped her hands together; to me, she looked like a dog begging for food. “Look, I don’t know how it is in the Rike, but here in Evesland, it is honorable to kill yourself with a gun. And such rare, masterful weapons of war such as yours… please, Gunslinger. Just give me this!”
I gave her a hard look. “No, Taran. You’re better than this. do you think this is what Lightning Dust would have wanted?” At her daughter’s name, Taran flinched back. “Do you think she would have wanted you to die like this, like a dog? As you fought and lived for her sake, so did Dust fight and live and work for your sake. She accomplished much with the ends of finally freeing you, of finally having you back.” My every word oozing venom, I went on with: “And I won’t let a bullet be wasted on some tired old maid.”
Taran hung her head. “I… I… Oh Fathers, I don’t know what to do without her!”
“You can start by living,” I said. “If you had died, would not you have wanted her to continue living?” She nodded. “Then do as for her as you would have her do.”
She continued to hang her head and sob. Gritting my teeth, I walked over and put a hand on her shoulder. “Miss Taran.”
She looked up at me. “Gunslinger, I… I…” She swallowed, looking back at her caught. “You know, they say that some things we cannot change, that some events are simply fixed, that there is no room for choice or chance.”
“You speak of Fatalism,” I said in a solemn voice.
“Yhar, I guess I do.” She leaned over to her daughter and kissed her with that same kind of motherly tenderness that made me wish, for but a moment, that I’d known a mother instead of the father I’d had. “I love you, Lightning Dust. Mama loves you…” She sniffed, then slowly, shakily, got to her feet. “I need… I need some air…” When she moved to walk, she tripped and fell. I caught her, holding her up. She was lighter than I had expected, her and her rounded hourglass form. Now in my arms, she looked up at me and cried.
I didn’t let her go, only held her tightly. It was what she likely wanted, and she didn’t try to pull out. And then she wrapped her arms around me, holding me in kind. With a sigh, I said, “Taran, I am so sorry.”
She sniffled, trying to control her weeping. “Don’t be, Gunslinger. You did everything possible.”
“But it wasn’t good enough.” My lips tightened till they were naught but a thin scar under my nose.
“You… you shouldn’t beat yourself up over it.” She blinked hard, trying to get the tears off her face. I reached for my… for Dust’s bandana, the one she’d said had once belonged to Taran, and used it to wipe away her tears. She smiled weakly at the gesture. “She spoke so highly of you, a-and I… I can see why, Gunslinger.”
“One shouldn’t speak highly of those who fail as I do,” I replied.
She put a hand on my cheek. “Please, don’t blame yourself. Not for her or for me.” And before I could say anything, she brought her head forwards and kissed me upon the lips. I didn’t kiss back. Couldn’t, no matter how passionate she was trying to be. For God’s sake, Dust was right there and this was kind of creepy therebecause.
But by the time I realized what she’d meant, my gunbelts felt lighter, and then came the ear-shattering bang. I tasted Taran’s blood in my mouth as her body went limp. And in my shock, I actually swallowed it.
The pattern of brains and blood on the wall behind her, and to an extent upon her daughter, were almost beautiful. An intricate spiderweb of liquidly crimson and gray matter made more awing for the sight therewithin. It may have just been pareidolia, but I swore I saw the word “Love” outlined by blood upon the wall.
I took a step back in horror, then looked down at the thing which had been Taran’s head. My eye twitched. I could have been faster, could have stopped it, but I had been too damn slow… Or maybe, some deep part of me simply hadn’t wished to stop her, had known that to live meant for her to suffer, and was just cruel enough to let her end it all here.
Whatever the case, I collected my gun and reloaded it, then just… froze. I just stood there up until Doc Holiday ran into the room and demanded to know what had happened. As calm as I could make my shaky voice sound, I explained to him what had happened and left the room. I needed some air—just some goddamn air! And also to brush my teeth. Because they felt dirty whence Taran’s blood had touched them. So very dirty…
|— ☩ —|
Failure. That’s all there was for me today, wasn’t there? I couldn’t save Lighting Dust, and I couldn’t save Taran, and all it’d cost to learn that was to brutally grind a girl’s arm into oblivion. I was unclean. I’d said it as a lie to the witch, but the more and more I thought thereabout, the more I came to believe mine own lies. And if one believes one’s own lies, don’t they become true?
I shook the angsty mumbo-jumbo from my head with grunt, and made sure to keep them away by downing a shot of whiskey. I didn’t swallow it, you understand, I merely used it in lieu of water to brush away the coppery taste of Taran’s blood. I brushed hard, harder than need be, and made sure I’d gone on for the recommended minimum of two minutes. Brushie, brushie, brushie—let alcohol burn me clean of the sins of bloodsie. After the recommended two minutes, I threw my head back and gurgled the whiskey.
“What are you doing?” the surly bartender woman of Double D’s asked me from behind the counter before me.
I blinked, swallowing the whiskey, letting it burn down my gullet and into my gut. “Um. In my country, one brushes teeth in public,” I lied. “’Tis a show of good dental hygiene. Very important. Is this not what Eveslanders do?”
“No, not really,” she replied in a hesitant voice.
The livebox in the background’s music petered off. Then came the latest news report from Big Bag-a-Wolf. “Hot damn, friends of mine!” he exclaimed with laughter. I grit my teeth and tightened my grip on my bottle’s neck. “Y’all remember that gunslinger what appeared out of the blue just the other day and saved the whole fathersdamned world from the Black Man? Well, guess what he’s just done today! Well, most of you know about the poor, starving town of New Pegasus—the place what’s left of Olympia perpetually plagued by raiders and outlaws, occasionally reaved through by Caroleans to weed out dissidents, but protected by friend-of-the-show, the Warden.
“Well, today, we get word that King Elkington’s massive train got hit and went down. By whom, you ask? Well, I dunno, friends. Was it… the Gunslinger?! Yeah, it totes was! All by himself, the Gunslinger boarded the moving train, fought through, killed Black Jack Parishioner, hijacked the engine, and then just freely gave all those tons of food and medicine to the starving, dying folks of New Pegasus!
“Now, I know many of your out there like Elkington—so do I, though not as much as my competition, Bitchin’ Betty—but the folken of New Pegasus really needed a break, and the Gunslinger—champion of the people!—was there and pulled through for those hungry, poor people. And now, the Wardens are helping to distribute freely all of this food and medicine. So, three cheers to the Gunslinger! Hile thee! Hile thee! And, for luck: Hile thee!”
I grit my teeth as someone said, “Wait, shit. Fuck, that’s him! That’s the Gunslinger!”
And the entire population of Double D’s, strippers and waitresses and bartender included, broke out into cheers like those of Big Bag-a-Wolf.
Quickly, I put my bottle of whiskey into my bag, gave the bar a curt wave, but found that I couldn’t leave with all the people trying to cheer me on, pat me on the back, and even a few girls and boys attempting to peck me on the cheeks. After one man kissed my lips, I’d had it.
“Stop it, all of you Olympians!” I yelled, and to their credit, they stopped. “Thank me not for what I did. Hit me, nail me, kill me, fear me—but for the sake of the mothers who bore you and the fathers who smiled upon you, do not thank me!” I realized my err the moment I’d finished: humility. It looked as if I was being humble, not… whatever the hell I was trying to be. Who was gaining a personal hero cult? This guy.
On the plus side, I was able to slip outside on this attempt. I didn’t know whereto I wanted to go, and I couldn’t go to Jayne since they were still unloading all the supplies, so I just… went.
|— ☩ —|
I looked at the bottle of whiskey, contemplating it. Here in this dandy place, some kind of sauna I had all to myself, there was nothing but the bottle and I. Oh, and also C the horse wearing several towels.
“Do you feel bad for what you did to Frosty?” C asked, rolling around on his back in this steamy room.
I grunted. “Should I?”
“A normal man would be.”
“I cry thy pardon, but I no man am.” I cracked a smile. “I’m a pony, recall? Just a tiny horse, as these folker see it.”
C gave a horsey kind of grunt. “But ye have the flesh of a man. And man is but one N off from Mann.”
“Is this true?” I kicked my legs idly from the little sauna bench whereupon I sat.
“To say true, it depends on your spelling. Official Songnam spelling word is Em-Ash-En-En. Mænn. Demotic is Em-Ay-En. Man.”
“Funny,” I said with a grunt. “Mann has nought to do with these werekindred. Mann just refers to an adult male, regardless of species.”
C whinnied. “Abscond not with our topic. If you don’t feel bad over that with Frosty, what then?”
I sighed, leaning back. “Because I harmed the innocent to save a life already gone. Because that is not what good people, what heroes, do. Because… because I failed. Because I’m an idiot. Because I…” I shook my head. “Because I can’t find a way to articulate another ‘Because I’ argument.
“Now, you tell me, C: what are you doing here?”
“I like steam. Also saunas. And because I am a horse.”
“In Calêrhos, I mean.”
“I…” C looked at me and smiled with that terrifying grin only a Calêrhos horse could muster. “I am down here because it is the fallen angel’s time to rise, and I am nothing if not an agent of the just and good.”
“Aside from the part where you eat folks.”
“No, especially including when I eat folks. Ponyfolk, manfolk, griffonfolk, zebrafolk—all are equal under the ever watchful eyes of Oz. You, pony, are simply of an inferior race, biologically speaking, of course. It’s not racism, it’s literally just a biological fact. Werekindred, though…” He grit his teeth. “I loathe werekindred. That Dust and her mother here are dead only does me joy, for werekindred deserve nothing less.”
If I had my guns on hand, I would have shot C’s head off, if only to watch it grow back. “Why do you say this?”
He puffed air harshly out of his nostrils, scatting steam. “They dare hold such great arrogance of themselves. They profane everything that I stand for, everything wherefor my kind had stood, and they call me a monster for being the universe’s oldest mortal. They would aspire to greatness, yet they don’t even know just how false their entire existence is.” Suddenly, C jumped up to his hooves and ran out of the room.
Perplexed, I stood up, either to go after him or close the sauna door, but then my towel fell off. And then a little girl, naked but for a towel, stepped into the doorway. She took one looked at me, shrugged, and stepped into the sauna, closing the door behind her.
“Um,” I droned, and then recognized her as the Warden’s ward. That snarky girl-child. Then I remembered I was naked, and scrambled for my towel.
She looked straight at it and said in an offhanded manner, “I’ve see bigger and blacker; yours doesn’t scare me.” The girl took a seat on the bench opposite me as I finally got my towel back in order. “If you’re asking why I’m not with the Warden, it’s because I just explained to him the…” She bit her tongue, sighed hard, and rolled her eyes. “I just explained to him the cats and the squirrels, and he’s been in his room crying with horror ever since.” Before I could ask, I and was going to ask, she said, “I told him about four hours ago. He still can’t believe men penetrate women every day all around him.”
I blinked. “Aren’t you, like, twelve?”
“Yhar, and I can bet you that I’m smarter than most everybody in New Pegasus but for you and… and for Lighting Dust.” She sighed. “I came to talk about her. I knew you were here, and I figured that waiting might finally give the Warden time to come to terms with the fleeting penisness of his existence, and then come find me. Plus, I’ve never been to a sauna before.”
“She’s dead,” I said, fidgeting with my thumbs.
“You don’t say. Why, as if I came here to ask you how she was going when I could have just gone up to her and asked her herself—oh wait, that entire bit of the hospital is cordoned off because Dust’s mother shot herself in the face.”
“Uh, technically she put the gun nigh to mouth and then fired,” I offered helpfully. “I watched.”
“And I once walked in on my father trying to shave his pubic hair off with a rabbit’s paw, just before the Warden burst in and killed him and my mother. Big whoop. Wanna join the ‘I’ve seen some fucked up shit in my day’ club? We’ve got jackets and I’m acting cute mascot.”
“Huh.” I pressed my tongue into my lip. “Again, you’re supposed to be twelve? Because I don’t believe you’re twelve at all, not by a longshot. And also, how come I can’t be the cute mascot?”
“Because your penis isn’t big or black enough to be our cute mascot.”
I blinked. “What.”
She stared back at me with a perfectly blank face.
“I… I feel as though I should question this point, but I’m doubly afraid you’ll drop your towel and display for me a monster.”
“Funny,” she said in her weirdly toneless voice, cocking a brow. “That was literally what I was going to propose doing.”
I shrank back against the sauna wall. “I… I feel like I’m being hit on, and the thought of being hit on by a mostly naked twelve-year-old girl while we’re both in the sauna fills me with the overwhelming urge to vomit.”
For the briefest of moments, she flashed a smirk. “Hitting on you? Quite the opposite, Gunslinger. Here’s the deal: as soon as we finish unloading the train of goods, you get out of my town, and you never come back. That’s it.”
“What?”
“Look, you’re a hero, right?”
I bit my lip, then reluctantly shook my head. “I… I am no such hero today.”
“No shit; I can see it in your eyes. You’re a killer. A hunter. But you’re the kind of person who does care about being seen as a hero, nevertheless.” She paused for a moment. “I spoke with Frosty Winds in the hospital after she woke up, and I don’t think what happened to her was an accident.” I blinked, staring at this little cretin. “I think you knew that little floor-grinder would screw her over, and that you let it happen. And then Frosty spaced out, and in that daze she told me something: when you laugh, your eye doesn’t laugh alongside you. Then she mumbled something about General Parishioner calling you the ‘Marked of Kane’.”
I nodded slowly. “Though I know not what that means, King Elkington seems to think it bad.”
“It is,” she said flatly. “The Marked of Kane will bring nothing but death, ruin, and destruction—as foretold in the prophecy Black Erelith gave before she was burned at the stake nearly a thousand years ago. And when your towel fell to the ground, I saw the mark myself. While I don’t care much for the ravings of a mad witch, I get the gut feeling that you’re a very bad man, Gunslinger. A very bad man.”
She gestured a thumb to the wall behind her. “Train’ll be unloaded in an hour. Now, I don’t know all the details, not even half, but my gut also tells me to distrust absolutely everything you say and do, Gunslinger. And you are the fool if you think you can convince me otherwise.”
The Fool, my patron tarot card.
“So, when that hour’s up, you are to leave his town, because if you stick around, I just know you’ll end up being the death of the Warden. Now, I may loathe him to his very core, but he is the one willingly feeding me with no expectations of anything in return, so I at least owe him enough to keep his ass alive. So you will leave after the hour, and if not, well… a little girl can get much more sympathy than some tall, dark foreigner, no?” She smiled and said in a voice actually befitting of a little girl her age, “So, mister, why don’t you take you and your far-too-pale penis out of here before I scream that there’s some pervert in my sauna?”
“You are an evil little girl,” I said, and smiled. “God, how I wish you were mine own daughter.”
“And how I think I would have enjoyed you over the father who actually sired me into the witch I am.” She shook her head. “But, no, really, if you don’t get out now, I’ll throw away my towel, flail around on the floor, and scream ‘Help, help! That’s too big! Please, mister, don’t break me in half with it’ and so forth.” She blinked. “Oh, wait. Can I ask you something?”
“Um, sure…?”
“Why the hell were you in the sauna with a horse, and why did it run out terrified?”
|— ☩ —|
As the day wound on, I still couldn’t find it in me to actually drink my whiskey. Use it for mouthwash, yes. Imbibe it to help me forget my sins? No; the actual will to drink would have to come elsewhence. And as I stood there in the dark room, leaning against the wall and creepily watching as my one-armed Olympian lay in her hospital bed, I wondered if I was close to finding that elsewhence.
“You’re not fooling anyone,” I said softly. “I heard the change in the breathing pattern. You sleep no longer, and that is the truth.”
Frosty groaned, then wobbled her nub-arm around. “Ugh, five more minutes, Daddy.”
“Well, I suppose you can call me ‘Daddy’ if you want to make this unnecessarily kinky.”
She grunted again, then stopped waving her stub around, instead covering her face with her right arm. “Well, sorry if I want to sleep. That little brat refused to let me rest earlier.”
I said nothing, simply letting Frosty wake herself up. When she sat up in her bed, her covers fell down, and I saw all the bandages around her chest, forehead and stump-arm. Frosty yawned, stretching herself out like she was preparing for a race. “Ya look like shit, Gunslinger.”
At that, I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re one to talk. You lost an arm. I merely lost a… a friend.”
“Lighting Dust girl you mentioned?” she asked, and I nodded. “Hmm. Well, sounds like you got the shit end of that.”
“I cry your pardon, but I follow you not.”
Frosty smiled and made a motion like she were trying to cross her arms, which failed. “Look at it this way—the only remaining purpose I had left was a vendetta, and now that that’s nicely tied up, I’m going on vacation. Maybe somewhere sunny. With handicap access.”
I shook my head, then walked over to her bedside and took a place in the little chair there. “Hmm. And I presume your dreams of being a tight-rope walker are thoroughly crushed?”
“A lot of things are, but at least I’ll finally get the respect I deserve by being a helplessly sexy cripple. Bright side of life, right?”
I sniggered. It was the only thing I could do, and the alternative was to break down. I looked at her, and found myself confronted with the weight of my sins and failure. Heroes weren’t supposed to ever fail, but today I had. And, shit, this little werekind was taking it all better than I was! “Well, I guess so. I suppose a lot of guys are in the market for a one-armed handjob… I think. I really wouldn’t know.”
Frosty smiled. “Well, of course a buncha guys are into that kinda thing.”
Cocking a brow, I leaned back in my chair. “And I shan’t disagree, just that I myself see not the appeal therein.”
“Oh, stop speaking like you’re a fancy sonofabitch,” she scoffed.
“I cry your pardon, ma’am,” I said. “When I get a bit nervous, or go through one of several other emotions, I tend to speak slightly more like the Teutscher I am: one-to-one, our languages would sound very archaic by your standards. It changes not… It doesn’t change the fact that I can’t really see the appeal in one-armed handjobs.”
She cracked a wicked, toothy grin. “And that’s your problem; ya can’t knock it till you try it.” Frosty rose a hand into the air, then made a single, vicious, vice-like snapping motion therewith, followed by a vigorously violent masturbatory motion as she made direct eye contact with me. They she winked and blew me a kiss. When she saw the face I made in response, she burst out laughing. “There. There’s my fun for the day.”
“I… beg pardon?”
Frosty leaned back in her bed and uttered a pleased sigh, like she’d just been pretending to have good sex with someone who sucked at sex. “The sound of one hand clapping sounds a lot like disappointment.” She glanced at me, then looked forwards. “I would know. I’ve been there before.”
It took a moment for the implication behind her words to click. “Wait. Come again?” She didn’t reply. “Because, back in the train, I am pretty sure that… well… I’ve seen you naked before.”
“Yeah, you’ve seen what little I’ve to offer,” she said in an offhanded manner. “That’s my secret weapon, trying to convince folker there’s more under my clothes than there is. You’ve seen, so my feminine wiles are powerless now against you. Kinda sad. I can’t hit on you now just to try to fluster you. Do you know how boring that’s gonna make our relationship? Tsk, tsk, tsk.”
I rubbed my eyes. Or well, rubbed one eye, and prodded at the sewn-up flesh where my other eye would have been. “You know, when I woke up today, the last thing I was expecting was to have another man ram him penis down into my urethra and make me his bitch. But the second to last thing I was expecting was to be hit on by a one-armed girl.”
Frosty shrugged. “If you squint real hard and gimme fifty bucks, I can be a boy just for you.” I grunted, and she went on with, “Let’s say I have a very innate understanding of many different harness knots and the creative strap-on uses of the common squash.”
It suddenly occurred to me that I had no idea if that would actually fool anybody. I’d never taken the time to really do an in-depth study of my new set of genitals. For all I knew, it could literally look like a squash. Or maybe a carrot. I really hadn’t wanted to look, since they didn’t feel like mine own set of tools, and it was a common courtesy in the Fatherland not to manhandle the junk of your fellow Männer. Of course, maybe that wasn’t the case in Equestria. After all, der Laiskas, our holy book, in its first half—the Book of Chains—alludes to the fact that the best way to have sex was missionary position for the sole purpose of procreation followed by a firm hoofshake. So maybe when Duke Elkington showed me the bad touch, he was just giving me a friendly Equestrian greeting!
Wait, no. That never actually happened. None of that did, but I’d been saying it so much that it made any difference. I made my own reality!
Apparently, I had been sitting there in thought for too long, because Frosty let out a “Bleh” followed by: “Hey, is it weird that I’m more upset that I may have just lost the knife that I just bought than I am about actually losing the arm itself? Because I had a knife on a sheath on that arm, since it was awesome.” She sighed. “Ugh, the one fucking time I find a knife that matches the other one.”
I shook my head. “I know I’d be irked in your position for much the same reason. A good blade is invaluable, Fräulein. Look at my sword.” I gestured to the sword I still carried, though which had come to be outshone in importance by my revolvers. “I had to steal it from a museum.”
“Why, I recall when that bogtopus pretty much cut off my hoof—er, my right hand, and I thought ‘Well, at least I jerk off with the left one’ before I fell down into the mud. So, I’m sure you’ll be fine. There were only minor amounts of train oil and industrial lubricants in your open wound at worst, so no infections, plus the medicines should keep you well and healthful.”
She reclined in her bed. “I have a sudden hankering for grapes.”
“Why grapes? Had there been more time this day, I’d taken you for a strawberry-banana smoothie. Those are most pleasant upon the palette, would not you say? Although, I’ll have to make sure you are sixteen or older, because I don’t want to look like some creep having smoothies with a lady so well below his age. What age are you, Miss Frosty?”
“I’m, like, twenty-three. Flattered, though.” She found a little bandage with a colored design somewhere on her body. “Oooh, sparkly.” She blinked. “Wait. ‘So well below his age’? How old are you?”
I slowly shook my head and shrugged. “I have lost track of the days since I left the Fatherland.”
She gestured at her left eye. “I think it’s the eyepatch. Makes you look older. More grizzled.” Frosty dragged her finger down below the eye and over the cheek. “And that badass scar. Really ages you, man.” Then she adopted a very confused expression. “I just realized I can’t remember what color panties I’m wearing, and for some reason that really bothers me.”
I shrugged. “In the future, may I suggest black or red? Those are rather cool colors which I am deeply fond of. Ooh! And stockings. Lots of stockings and garter belts. Corsets too, if you’re feeling it, even though I can’t understand how you women wear them.” I shook my head. “In conclusion, wear red or black. Mayhap a laced corset too. And stockings. Although, unlike Lightning Dust of New Pegasus had been doing”—I paused for a second to dwell upon my dead confederate—“please don’t wear a chainmail bikini. I mean, not that it helped her when she did get shot, since it basically hit her square between the breasts, but… Ugh, I swear, her damn pants weren’t attached to the part around her pelvis by anything but garter belt, and all I could think was ‘Why?’”
Frosty laughed, looking up at the ceiling. “Yeah, yeah. If you can find me a nice corset and help me lace it up, I promise I’ll wear it and sexy stockings for you. Deal?”
I smiled, climbing to my feet. “Deal, Miss Frosty Winds. I’m glad to see you are well, and now I must depart. Sorry if it seems sudden, but I am on a timer.”
When I turned to leave, she stopped me. “Where are you going?”
“To the town of Sleepy Oaks. I must depart, and I do not believe I will ever return.” Gritting my teeth, I thought about how my time-wasting had cost Lighting Dust and her mother their lives. The more time I wasted, the closer something was to happening which would lead to Stronghold and his stolen book, Calêrhos, getting to Sleepy Oaks, and probably killing the werekind Cards before bringing his wife back with him into my world. I was too slow. I was too slow. I was too damn slow. And I had to get there before him. I would not fail once more. “I am to leave now, and I fear that we will never each other again see. Wir werden uns nie wiedersehen.”
Frosty reached out her hand and grabbed mine. “Wait, no. Don’t just leave me here!”
You can’t just knock a girl to the ground, buy her a drink, and then just walk off! Lighting Dust had said after I’d first met her in the Watering Whole, a plea not unlike Frosty’s now. Please, please don’t just leave me here without telling me something.
I grit my teeth at the memory. I’d only ended up taking Lighting Dust along with Cards and me because I figured I could’ve used a pegasus, plus I was sure she wouldn’t leave me alone otherwise. And Cards? Well, she only joined me because I’d bullied and threatened and scared her into joining up with me. I was just a nice guy like that. They were lucky there were merely confederates, not friends. And for that, back in my where, they were still alive.
“I’m a one-armed bitch in the husk of a city I once called home,” she went on. “I’ve got nothing here! No future, no hope, and no friends!”
I looked down at her. “Frosty Winds, know that I have conquered fear before, though I know it to be my inner sleeper. I now walk the Road of the Wheel, my eternal hell of hells, for I am a damned Mann, and there is no release for a monster such as I. Believe you me, into the after-realm I know I will suffer for what I let happen to you—”
“It’s not your fault!” she countered harshly. “Don’t kick yourself over that! It is not your fault! And if you blame yourself for it, I’ll punch you right in the dick till you learn not to blame yourself for things you couldn’t control.”
That was almost kind of funny, in a sick, twisted way. “And the fact that you believe that is precisely why I am a damned Mann—”
Frosty rammed a fist straight into my groin, then yelped. “Ow, fucker! You’re wearing a cup!” She shook her hand. “Gunslinger, look—I know you don’t really kenn me, but you gotta believe me when I say that you’re the only person I even kenn in the slightest!”
“And I’m sorry that you came to ‘kenn’ me,” I replied solemnly. “I won’t lead you on any further; within me lives my inner sleeper, fear. And the more you sing praises of me, the more that fear comes to grasp just how much shall I be tormented in the Wheel of Time, and I could do very well without having to dwell upon my failures and mistakes like some angsty teen or overly edgy heroine. Now, let me alone,” I finished in a guttural tone. I had to go, but she grabbed me again.
“I will punch and kick you straight in the dick if you keep blaming yourself, Gunslinger,” she hissed resolutely. “Sorry if I seem a bit clingy, but I’m a neurotic bitch—what were you expecting? I’m not gonna go on some stupid spiel about anything, because that kinda stuff is just stupid. But I can see it in your eye, Gunslinger: you’re a good man, and stop trying to tell me otherwise, because it’s not true. But for the love of the Founding Fathers, don’t just leave me in the middle of nowhere without any means to survive a-a-and without any friends left in this world. I’m begging you, Gunslinger. You were there for me back on the train, now let me be there for—”
The back of my hand was feeling very lonely and unloved, and so I set him up for a blind date with Frosty’s cheek. “Speak you not so well of me, you mare!” I spat, and Frosty gasped. I just stood there panting, and she just sat there staring. When I finally managed to control my breathing, my voice came out laced with acid. “When I was a mere boy, I once performed an action that most displeased Father. In short, I was in trouble. And when I explained him mine actions, said I, ‘The ends justify the means.’ Father just looked down at me and asked simply, ‘Then tell me, boy, what justifies the ends?’ And I couldn’t answer him.” I resisted the urge to say ‘And then Father taught me the bad touch, and ever since then, I’ve worn a codpiece to protect my penis’, mostly because it was utterly untrue. Mostly. “And this day, Frosty Winds, my ends had no justification, the means wherewith I accomplished my ends mark me a monster, for I knew what would likely happen to you and yet I went through therewith all the same!”
I took a step back. “And I let it all come to pass because you are a thing to me, Frosty Winds. There can be in my mind no difference betwixt people and objects; for if I came to see people for people, then knowledge of the sheer monstrousness wherewith I conduct myself would drive me mad.” I took a breath. “And if you think you are anything but a thing in my book, Frosty Winds, then you are mistaken in the highmost caliber.”
She affixed me with steely green eyes, the hand imprint of my hand upon her face. “You’re lying, Gunslinger. I’ve been on both ends of what you’re trying to do here, and I know you’re lying to push me away. You’re a damn good liar, but behind your eye, you lie. And you’re a fool if you think I can’t see through you.”
I gestured to the tarot card in my hat. “I am The Fool, can’t you see? For God’s sake, woman, let me be! You’ve guessed wrong my aim, and you don’t even know my name!” Weird random rhyming fun time.
“Then tell me it,” she demanded in a slow, dark voice.
“No,” I hissed. “I refuse. And you can’t trust a man who gives not freely his name. For if a man gives not his name, then it is tainted by sin. And if his name itself is so vulgar and vile, then what can we conclude about the man? I am simply the Gunslinger, the Man with No Name, for that is what I am worth. It is why I abandoned my true name, forsook it for Faust, which is as true a name as I can be hight. I forswore my true name and birthright therebecause, as a monster such as I deserves nothing more. Fare thee well, Frosty Winds.” I turned to leave, balling my hands into fists. “And… I am truly repentant for what I did unto you.”
And I left for Jayne the Terror Train, left that I might meditate upon the face of my father.
|— ☩ —|
“They are unloaded, Gunslinger,” came the voice of Jayne. “I can detach and proceed down the tracks to Sleepy Oaks.”
Sitting on the floor of Jayne’s frontmost car with my legs crossed, my shirt off, and my one remaining nipple so hard from the cold that it could cut diamonds, I slowly opened my eye. “C’s in the third car, right?”
“The skinwalker is; he and I were alternating between playing I Spy and a generic game of riddles,” she chimed. “I think I prefer I Spy, for I never much cared for riddles, and the skinwalker knows far too many ones for me. He’s beaten me twice, and that, I must say, is such a pleasure. One can get tired of always winning. And I must also say that you keep very interesting company. I knew there was something special about you the moment I spied your skinwalker arm. But I would have never thought that you and a skinwalker were working together.”
“And you would have known sooner had C actually helped me board you earlier.” I looked about Jayne’s front car. She’d done some redecorating. It now looked less like an abattoir trying to pretend to be a train. “But no. He had to wander off and leave me with a flying squirrel.”
I took a breath, closed my eye, and went back to meditating upon the face of my father. Only through deep meditation would I calm myself here, and thus ensure that I would never again fail as I had done today. As I meditated, the Iron Cross upon my breast felt heavy. It had always been a weighty necklace, but now it felt… well, heavier.
A little chiming noise erupted from the ether, followed by Jayne’s vaguely but not quite condescending voice. “That was just me coming to inform you that we are moving, though thanks to the great engineering of my makers, you’ll likely never feel so much as a bump. Barring further complication, we should be in Sleepy Oaks within a few hours.”
“I thought Sleepy Oaks was days away.”
“Perhaps at C’s speeds, but at my speeds, we can make it there easy. Were it not for all the twists in the ironroads and the friction-prone nature of the tracks themselves, we could have been there sooner, but the peoples nowadays don’t know how to make good ironroads for me to travel upon.”
“Shame then that these people don’t build the, uh, ironroads like the Old Ones.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
I cocked a brow. “I thought you said the Old Ones made you.”
“No, I stated that I was built by the Banded Folkdoms of Markslands, whose original founders Eveslanders now worships as gods. The Old Ones came long before them: the Old Ones built things like the Cœur of Olympia and the original Drawers before the Folkdoms got into them and built atop them. They created things like your skinwalker friend, too.”
I grunted, but said nothing else. I only cared to be left alone to my thoughts, half-naked and cold. There was to be only I and the face of my father.
Time passed, though I wasn’t sure how much. Seconds and minutes and hours all sort of blended together when I meditated. But it had been long enough that I no longer felt cold, and I had suppressed to death my urges to consume and imbibe.
But it was then that Jayne chimed, “Gunslinger, minor delay. I’m passing through Fort Drawers on my way into the drawers, which will take more time than anticipated. Also, your left eye.”
My right and only eye closed, I asked, “What thereabout?”
“The stitches are doing you bad. I could clean it for you, redo the stitches, and then… Well, I can fix up those wounds; I have state-of-the-art medical facilities and a surgical license.”
I fingered the stitched-up gash from that metal pipe back in that abandoned theater. “It feels okay. Why do I suspect you have an ulterior motive for wanting to redo the wound?”
“Because I do,” she said. “I don’t like your eyepatch, and I imagine you loathe having only the one eye when once were two. Amongst my capabilities with surgery would be to… forge you a temporary mechanical eye, one connected to your optic nerve, which would allow you to use the eye as a normal eye.”
“Sounds like something I want.” I didn’t question how such a thing could work. I’d read enough comicbooks to know that you didn’t question advanced sci-fi technology. “What’s your ulterior motive?”
There a low whirring noise, like she were mechanically groaning at me. “I want to use your head to install a camera through which I could observe the world from outside the prison that is my body. I could speak to you and be spoken to through this ocular implant, and I would very much like to be right in the action when you murder more monsters. Although as a machine I have no specific sex, but insofar as I do have a sex as I identify with, it is female. Extending this metaphor, nothing would get my nonexistent and metaphorical lady parts quite so lubricated as getting to witness first-hand death, gunplay, and more death.” A clicking noise. “Ah, it’s always been a dream of mine to kill somebody. Say, for example, to run over a flock of small children as they play on the tracks. But since the odds of this are slim, cheap live-action voyeurism must suffice as my ticket.
“So, what say you? You get to see out of two functioning eyes and don’t die of an infected wounds, and I get to pleasure my metaphorical lady parts with guns and bullets and carnage.”
“Talking trains are suddenly very scary,” I opined.
“Huh,” she grunted. “I would have figured you to more openly jump on this opportunity to see with two eyes again. Or at least hit me with waves of questions and and general marveling at my technological prowess.”
I finally opened my one eye. “Forgive me if I have my misconceptions about a murderous train of pain and terror, Jayne, but… I’ve come to enjoy how badass this eyepatch is. It’s uncomfortable enough to know that part of my body isn’t mine own, and it might be further discomforting to know that another part of my body belongs to another as well.”
“Please,” she begged. “I can program the software to include numerous very handy features for both of us. I swear, it will only be minorly invasive and cause, at worst, minor night terrors. Heck, the eye won’t even function unless you’re in range of my rather considerably powerful wireless connections, but I really, really would like to be able to help you, Gunslinger.”
I considered it, then slowly sighed. This was going to suck. “I hesitantly accept your offer, Jayne the Terror Train. What need I do first?”
“Well, first—does this smell like chloroform to you?”
|— ☩ —|
I lazily awoke in a cozy bed aboard Jayne the train. My eye… eyes. I had them in the plural now, and once again did I have depth perception. Except, the left eye felt wrong, almost cold. I wanted to jab a finger into the tear duct and wrench the eye out of my socket. A little mirror appeared before my face, and aside from the well-looking gash under my left eye, everything looked off. I could tell there was something off about the left eye, the way it moved, the silver of its iris, and the mechanical look to its inner mechanisms.
“My, my, I do still have it!” Jayne said with a laugh. “I can’t wait to see all this violence close and personal!” she went on in the tones of a horny schoolgirl.
I grunted, getting a feel for how everything looked now that I could see properly. Credit where credit was due, but the moment that I had the Calêrhos book back, I was going to jam a knife into my eye and tear out this fake monstrosity.
“Are you not overjoyed, Gunslinger?”
“Just take me to Sleepy Oaks,” I replied in a toneless voice. “I do not wish to dwell on how wrong everything suddenly feels.”
“But now you have eyes! In the plural.”
“And I look forward to when I have a real left eye once more.” Although, really, that peripheral vision was nice. All that extra space… “Now, be silent and take me to Sleepy Oaks.” I got up out of the bed and walked up into the frontmost car. “Display me a window out the front, Jayne.” And her front monitor did as asked.
I stood there at the front of the train, watching and waiting for Sleepy Oaks to appear as the landscape zipped past at unreal speeds. Crossing my arms, my steely eyes gazed long out forwards. Soon would come Sleepy Oaks. Soon I would make right my failures this day, to finally justify the ends by stopping Stronghold, and then making sure to stop whatever Korweit was planning to do with that book back in my where.
My silvery mechanical eye whirred nigh silently in its socket, moving alongside my real eye oh so perfectly that it felt fake. Its touch was cold, almost itchy. But I would bear it for now. Two eyes were always better than one, and I imagined this was the truth for gunslinging as well. So I bore the cold touch of my mechanical eye and bade my time.
|— ☩ —|
As the sun prepared to finally sink beneath the skyline, C slowly walked through the streets of the empty town. It all seemed bigger than I recalled, and not just because werekindred were themselves taller than my native kind. Atop C, I rode with my hat over my eyes, my gunbelts low and ready to be grasped. The final step of my journey was nigh.
“Isn’t this exciting?” Jayne chittered in my head through the new eye. “Are you excited, because I’m excited—I’ve never been so excited!”
“Shut up,” I drawled slowly, “I need to concentrate on the face of my father.” To her credit, she did.
I heard them before I ever saw them. When I finally did come to see them, I slowed C down to a crawl and inched forwards.
I recalled this place well: the grand center of Sleepy Oaks. By light of the fading sun and lamps, I could make out everything clear as I needed to. Plus, my mechanical eye appeared to have excellent low-light vision.
At the far end of the large central plaza had been erected two large crosses, upon both whereof were crucified men in what looked like some variation of the Carolean uniform. Standing before the crosses were three werekindred, two female, one male. Dressed in long coats, with the man and the taller woman wearing flat-brimmed hats, they faced away from the crucified men. The three faced out at the dark figures looming before them.
Like when I’d first come to this town nigh a month ago, I could just barely make out many, many figures cowering in the buildings lining the plaza, cowering, watching.
The woman with the hat was flanked on either side by the man and the shorter woman, both of them falling slightly behind, though. “Back. Off,” I heard her growl at the darkest figure before her.
That figure looked like a man, only it was not a man. He felt… wrong, even from this distance. As dapper as his suit and top hat were, there was something unholy about him. And to cement that thought, the other figures behind and about him have off similar vibes. Dark figure all, and three of them weren’t even werekindred but were hulking, lupine beasts that reminded me a lot of werewolves.
“Why, I don’t think so,” the figure said. “This is our town. And by this time tomorrow, the Backbone will have completed the dark rituals, and you will all be his sacrifices.” He pointed a far too long finger at a werekind I’d failed to see. Standing behind the shorter woman and clutching her legs was a small girl child. “Especially you. I’m going to enjoy ripping you apart for what you did, runt.” The girl grabbed onto the woman’s leg even harder.
The lead woman—whom I thought of now as Sheriff—moved her hand as if preparing to reach for a revolver at her hip. “One last chance. Back off, or I kill you, for I will not let you harm my town.”
“Look at them,” the figure—whom I seemed to want to call Bart—gestured at the crucified men. “They tried to protect your town. And see what we did to them. And now… you know what we consider far too merciful to do to you tonight for what you and your deputies are trying to do.”
The Sheriff reached for her waist, but Bart quickly closed the distance between them and kicked her straight in the stomach. She screamed as she tumbled across the grass, gasping for breath. “Do as you do, boys!” Bart cried out. “To all four of these bastards! All hail unto him, the Devil’s Backbone! All glory to the Queen of Graves!”
They all rushed forwards. The deputy man, sword and shield in hand, tried to charge forwards, only to get mobbed by three of the darker figures, who threw him to the ground. He tried to fight back, but he could hardly land even a blow on them. The little woman reached her towards waist and actually drew a pistol out. Sadly for her, Bart slugged her in the breasts and kicked her into the gut. She fired, but the shot went wild, the gun flying out of her hands.
“Your blood,” Bart growled with a cackle. “I want to see your blood!”
When the little girl tried to bolt away like a tiny, pathetic rabbit, one of the monstrous lupine figures stepped right in front of her. It smiled and licked its lips, brandishing its claws. As it raised its hand to strike, the girl shut her eyes and screamed, “Daddy!”
“No, this is horse!” C growled, and tackled the lupine horror. I jumped off him and landed on the ground before the girl just as C forced the beast onto its back, kicking and stomping and beating upon the thing.
I smiled at the little girl, then looked up to Bart. From here, I could see what about him was all wrong. His limbs all looked a little too long; his nails were more like claws then nails, blood dripping from them whence he’d clawed the woman on the ground before him; and instead of eyes, there were tiny, fanged mouths where the eyeballs should have been.
“Who are—” He tried, only to find a bullet hit square between the eyes, which felt so much easier now with two eyes. Because when you were waging a Teutonic Blitzkrieg, hitting the bad guys hard before they could react was key.
A dark man spun to face me, his eyes and lips sewn shut, a sword in either hand. I generously donated a bullet to his ‘remove my heart’ fund. Blitzkrieg! Blitzkrieg! Spinning around, I cocked my revolvers and fired each one individually at the small gathering of figures beating on the deputy man. Now with two eyes, I felt far more accurate, even though Jayne was making noises in my ear that sounded like a particularly violent orgasm, which I could have done without.
When the first two went down, the third one—his forearms replaced with rusty axes, like some horror cliché—screamed and ran for me. Cock and fire. The bullet damn near tore his arm off, and he tumbled to the ground, bleeding out horrifically fast.
“Stranger, down!” the Sheriff shouted. I ducked, and she fired a gun at some bloke who thought he could come up from behind me. I nodded to the women, then turned my attention to one of the lupine horrors. The beast roared at me and charged. “To your left!” she shouted, and I saw the other wolf.
I hesitated until the last second. And as the leftmost wolf howled and reached out for me, I angled my left revolved up near thereto and fired the weapon. The exploding exhaust coming from the side of the gunbarrel hit the wolf square in the face, the actual bullet flying past it and into the chest of the other wolf.
In a quick motion, I basically jumped back as I tried to aim my other gun at the now-screaming-in-pain wolf, only to trip over a rock and fall onto the ground. I caught myself and merely did a really awkward, really stupid-looking backwards roll and sprung back to my feet. But, that backpedaling allowed the downed Sheriff to fire into the beast’s belly. I nodded to her before I spun around and shot the last dark figure square in the mouth.
C, I noticed, was busy eating his kill. In the true spirit of the Rheinwehr’s Blitzkrieg and mass hit-and-run tactics, I’d successfully killed off most all of my enemies before they’d even known who I was. With a last, quick survey of the battlefield, I nodded with satisfaction; all of the Backbone’s agents were dead. “You…” she stammered, and I turned to the Sheriff woman. Her hat on the ground, I saw her blonde-with-red-streaks hair, her pink eyes.
I twirled my guns around on my fingers, only to then hold them still and blow on the smoking barrels. Holstering the guns, I said simply, “Howdy.”
The little woman clambered to her feet. Her hair, I quickly noticed, was black with red streaks, her eyes red. “You… you… who are you?”
“I travel in silver and gold upon my dusty old road, little Fräulein.” I spoke loud and clear, trying to hold back a look that was equal-parts grin and grimace. “And I have come from somewhere far beyond for one express purpose: to save Sleepy Oaks and defeat the Devil’s Backbone. But think not of me as a hero.” With control, I gave the three a smile. “You may call me the Gunslinger.”
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Thank you. May I have another session with my therapist?
Finally!
This chapter doesn't seem to be that dark. Maybe that's just me.
Will Jeri have a similarly massive kill count this time in Sleepy Oaks?
Hes fighting sooooo hard not to giggle like a Japanese school girl at the sight of Cards.
And YES CARDS IS BACK BABY!!! I wonder how ridiculous and over the top her death is going to be.
Hmmmmmmm...
It gets worse? Meh bring it on. How bad could it be?
What the hell dude... that suicide was hilariously tragic. I think I might be a bad person.
I am very curious as to what the eye can do. So far it seems to just see well in low light. Mysterious...
Also, no more badass eyepatch!
good.
started out pretty good.......... now i feel more like it is just meh, maybe lisghtly sworse. largely jericho is not a very amusing protagonist. he started out okay, but now he is just........ unpleasant. and not even unpleasant in an enjoyable manner. shrugs.
3685922
This is Jericho. There's going to be killing, but we try not to repeat ourselves. This arc is more about his personal failings than mass bloodshed.
3685952
We're going to have so much fun with her in the next chapter.
3686030
Reading Jericho tends to slowly erode your morality. Don't think too hard about it.
3686361
Well, it does allow him to hear the comments (and creepy orgasms) of the terror train while she watches him kill things. But to have it do anything else... Hmm. I wonder if it would fight him if he tried to pry it out. That'd be pretty hilarious. And when Jericho realizes that he's just lost control of another part of his body, he wants to curl up in a ball because he feels so violated.
3686481 Ohhh I cant wait
read the first chapter, and I like it, I'm definitely following this story! And uhm, just curious, perhaps I should read more but is that Blackjack in the cover art? Aside from the ripped ear it sure looks like Blackjack from FOE:PH
Damn, this chapter's as dark as the Sleepy Oaks massacre in my opinion. Excellent. Also, whoop, whoop! More Wales shoutouts, although Taran is a bit of an odd one, since Taran is the welsh singular noun for thunder, but I've only ever heard it in the plural as Taranau.Then again, it's being used as a name here, so that makes sense.
3686707
That would be Cards. The fact that she has a similar-ish name and look to Blackjack was an accident, but ever since I found out, I've treated it like a joke. Because Cards is so abused.
3686799
I don't understand what these would be. At all.
I tell the story as it need be told. I give details when relevant—which is just pretentious speak for "I get there later; the story's first chapter is to give you a feel for what Jericho is and if you like it or not, not establish the whole backstory of the world in a huge infodump." I pay a ton of attention to worldbuilding, particularly regarding that of the Reich whence our narrator hails, and every word I write is meant to characterize the narrator himself.
Although to be fair, half of the thing our narrator says about himself are implied to be lies. So... keep that in mind.
Well, I hope that you continue to enjoy my sociopathic narration as it goes on, both of you new readers whereto I'm replying.
3686798
Yeah, this chapter is pretty grim, with the suicide and his guilt about Frosty. But the little girl—she was fun! And we got to see Jericho get all hot, steamy, and naked with C
We'll have more fluff next chapter to make up for it.
3686969
Wait, but I thought the next chapter was gonna be worse?
Fluff? In Jericho? Piffle! Double piffle!
3687017
Who says it can't be both? That's the Jericho formula! Horrible things, then fluff, then laughing at horrible things. This is why Cards and Jericho make such a great team. She's adorable when she's miserable.
3687135
Hmm, you're not wrong. You're very not wrong at all. In fact, I think you may just be right!
Anyway, keep up the good work, and give Crush a seductive slap from me.
I lol'd. Also I eagerly await the coming dark.
MOAR BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD
That was fast. Two chapters in such quick succession feels amazing. And somehow, at 10k words, this chapter was as full and weighty as any other.
I guess all I can say is that I'm really enjoying what's going on with Jericho himself right now. As, I think, middle finger to the idea that 'show, don't tell' is always true, Jericho's most powerful character moments are when he just states what he's feeling. First of all, it can be quite difficult to surmise anything based solely on his actions, as he is a poker-faced sociopath. But it's so much deeper than that. We aren't just told his emotions and expected to move on; there's a lot of importance to what he says and why. Jericho's failures have really gotten to him, so he doesn't bother with the lies and manipulation; he practically confesses to Frosty. By my recollection, that's new for him. He's the only one who understands that he has done really bad things, and it shows how guilty he really feels that he tries to admit his evils. I feel like it's more telling than when he broke the Code, because instead of just rending his soul, we get to see it in layers. I think that he has even more feelings on the subject than he'd care to admit, even to himself. Jericho seems to have a lot of pain that he keeps from himself, as he's shown that he prefers a smile and a joke to dwelling on his feelings.
Um... that was a lot. Hopefully I wasn't just making crap up. What else? Oh, yeah, Cards.
Awesome.
3686707 That is Cards, it is just a passing resemblance of Go Fish.
3687394 3686831 thanks for clearing that up guys! Actually, I guess Cards caught my attention and made me start reading, pretty awesome if you ask me.
Already read the first 2 chapters and I'm really digging it so far
I just realized, this story has over 400,000 words. Happy 400,000 word story day!
Never change.
Wow, that scene with Lightning Dust and her mother... Jericho almost seems like an actual hero-guy now. The Butcher of Songnam suddenly has morals and feelings and serious speeches and everything. That sadistic choice Jayne gave him really put the fear of the Mare Laurentia in him, it seems.
By the way, the Highlander soundtrack goes surprisingly well with this story, especially the action scenes. 'I HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY! IT'S BETTER TO BURN OUT THAN TO FADE AWAY!'
3688824
Amusing comic; absolutely nothing to do with the lines from this chapter.
The idea for this came to me after playing a round of Cards Against Humanity.
3687583 I love that book, I can't believe I didn't catch that!
3687374
Yeah I was thinking that too. Normally this would seem narratively lazy and even redundant, but actually expressing honest regret is something very novel to Jericho.
And dammit, this means Cards is going to die even more horribly. Then again, that entire world is supposedly a layer of Hell or something.
So wait, is the Sheriff Cards or Blackout? Because Cards seemed too old to be the little girl present, but too young to be having kids.
Oh, and this:
You accidentally a rather crucial word for an otherwise crucial line.
Worse.
He just fed his 'friends' arm into a meat grinder (admittedly a self-cauterizing meat grinder, but still) to save his other friend who STILL DIED, prompting her mother to BLOW HER FREAKING HEAD OFF OVER THE CORPSE OF HER DAUGHTER.
He now has a psychotic, sadistic TRAIN inside his head to go along with the psychotic, sadistic voice that may or may not actually be his own voice (seriously, I want that question answered. Is it actually a voice or is he just insane......well. You know what I mean)
If that wasn't enough, apparently werewolves are a thing and his horse just ate someone.
Again.
I'm not sure it CAN get worse.
Then again, I thought Jericho couldn't shock me anymore either, then meatgrinder happened and oh my god Jericho there are no words to describe how much of a terrible person you are.
3686361 It could be upgraded to allow x-ray vision, thus allowing Jericho to wear the eyepatch and still see with binocular vision.
"The blood of the innocent and guilty hath been shed.
With each drop of crimson comes a wave of twisted pleasure,
Each new corpse that meets the cold grave,
Adds a new stream to the river of red,
That bubbles and pools in the shallow crevasses of the already cloudy light,
Making the world grow darker with each wave of crimson,
Leaving only the foreboding glow of my twisted smile,
And the Flame of Insanity as it gauges on the forming ocean of red."
For you, my dear author of story so magnificent;
You provided me with a thrilling and enjoyable peace, that I felt I shall share with you some literature of my own regarding the growing "dark" aspect of the chapters and my corresponding reaction.
...Oh just writing this makes me feel giddy and forces upon me the urge to indulge into my poetic side!
Finally found time to read...Woohoo!
Jayne has a problem...I like her...
Belated happy Christmas!
Soooo, another town-slaughter?
See ya!
3687374
This chapter was actually finished a day or two before posting, I just wanted to make sure it was properly edited by my editors.
In any case, I figured Jericho hadn't been kicked in the teeth enough his chapter. Dust was originally going to survive, till I thought better thereof and figured her dying would be more fun and ironic come what he does unto Frosty. So, this chapter was all about impacts and disasters, pain and suffering, lies and betray, a naked man and a little girl together in a sauna.
I try to never really be inconsequential unless it's some sort of vague joke. I like to think that when Jericho gets serious (whenever that does happen), he tends to speak more with more relevant things.
One of the defining make-ups of a sociopath is actually pain and suffering from their past; it is what helps forge them into souless monsters. Jericho expresses to Cards (way back in chapter 4) that the only way for him to deal with trauma and mistakes is by smiling and laughing. De chapter 4:
So, there's probably a lot to Jericho that he is unwilling to deal with and admit to, and failures like with Frosty and Dust just chink away at his formidable mental armor.
Or maybe not. I'm just as equally bullshitting this as I go as you were. Still, you analyses was (as always) hella fun to read, and really worth reading that it gave me something to thing about. Such comments as yours as amongst my favorite to read, that let me know that I'm doing something really good.
And remember: Cards is worst pony.
Although, as a sidenote: might be slightly longer for next chapter, might not be. I've been trying to work on another story, a one-shot about Sunset Shimmer (before the Fall of Sunset Shimmer) that's actually dark and for cereal. The first line of the story (which doubles as its short description) is "Sunset Shimmer woke up drenched in sweat, and the Mare in Black watched her from the shadows." Hopefully, that should be fun for us all.
3688012
Deal. Change not shall I.
3688758
I am slowly whittling away at Jericho's metal armor, trying to destroy him from within and without. Moral and feels destroy him. Must kill. Because our motto here at Team Jericho is "fuck Jericho"
3689249
If you don't count guilt and failure other blah-blah stuff as dark, then mayhap so. I view them as darker themes because Jericho is usually so happy and cheerful.
3690407
He'll try not to make a habit thereof.
Read the colors of their hair again. You'll learn which is Cards.
Oh, I wouldn't kill Cards.
What I have in mind is infinitely worse!
That is all.
(And I fixed the error: thankee much)
3691505
A weird mix of utterly selfless and utterly abominable make for a fun hero to write, aye?
Dankeschön!
3692761
Apparently, you are not. And that makes me happy. Laugh, Madame Fox! Laugh!
3692961
Oh, no. I've been planning this vile arc for a while, with a high point at the end of Book 2 and at the end of Book 3 (Crystal and Glass). And this is before we get to Act 3
I hope to at least get 2 more shocks in by the end of this act. A brutal climax to werekindred and to the Crystal Empire saga.
3697892
Dandy. Now, if only we could someone turn this poem into fanart depicting its meaning in Jericho. Somepony get on that!
3698664
Well, this was a story. Everypony the crazy be.
Refer to 3686435 , one of my editors. He states it clear that we won't repeat ourselves: we've got worse plans.
And, as a Deutscher, do you by chance speak any of the sub-German dialects? Messoria kenns Kölsch, and I've been trying to screw around with a side-story with dialects (and Danish) spoken. for one particular term/character's name, we got: The Soulforged, Den Sjælsmedte, Der Sieljeschmiedt, Der Seelengeschmiedete. Danke~
Fantastic chapter, I'm pretty sure I've said this before buuuut. This story keeps getting better and better, which doesn't seem possible. I'll be drooling over some cleaver writing, read something awesome, then wake up in an alleyway with a 17 inch wide anus. Keep up the good work gentlemen.
3698759
Coolio, I'm perfectly fine with waiting and the concept sounds interesting. Your writing in general makes me horny not just Jericho. Dat opening line...kinky.
3698759
)
Well, I'm Saxon, hmmm...
Der Seelengeschmiedete würde in etwa Dor Sälnjeschmyddöddä ausgesprochen werden. (Albeit that's kind of hardcore saxon...
Hopefully helpful,
Nightjar
3703744
Probably. It was at least inspired thereby, methinks. Hard to recall.
3708937
To quote as God said unto Cain:
3699879 3700305
Aww, you're way to sweet! Glad you see your back 'round these parts. (Assuming you who I think you are; you changed profile pics, an I can't recall names)
We will try!
As for Frosty, I befriending Bobulator, and now... well, he and I were discussing the possibility of pony Frosty in Jericho, either in Act 3 "Working Title: Jericho Dies at the End", or in Book 3 of ACt 2, "Working title: Crystal and Glass". We had a joke that somehow Frosty would come back into Equestria with Jericho, and that joke line of hers had Frosty saying stuff:
Take it as you will.
3703125
In that case, have I my job done well.
Thanks! I must whore all the fanart, likes, and favorites. All of them! Muhahaa!
Also, I don't know why, but you seem... familiar. Don't know how, but a part of me is going "Ding! I've seen you somewhere before", but I know not whence. Any ideas why this is?
3709351
Oh, one of those "comments on every chapter even if they're old"-types! Ain't had one of you 'round here before, so that's awesome! Welcome!
3709524
Due to cultural reason, Jericho will never describe his Kainsmal, nor anypony else's. ...and not just because I was too lazy to thing of any. And with Jericho's cultural background... well... What's your headcanon for his cutie mark? Really, everything about him (save for being tall and injuries/tattoos) are left up for the reader to decide. So, you tell me what you think it is, mate~
3709790
No, I am a true-blue Southerner. Although my blood is mostly "Black Irish-German" (with hints of English, French, and Roman; "Black Irish" is one thing, a unique type of Irishman). I speak with a Southern accent that sounds like it was writ by Shakespeare, and I am proud of my Southern blood. But, I taught myself German out of boredom, making it my third language (after Spanish and before written Greek).
3709905
Good... good... evil is progressing well and goodly...
3710056
That is not untrue per se. Allfather knows that Jericho hates magi with a passion, and only trusts (if barely) the state-sanctioned psychics. You are thus like Abeo, the necromancer-esque OC from a story someone is writing which is set in Jericho's universe.
Can you say "Sidequest"? Jericho can!
Nice meeting you, sorenxoras. I look forwards to seeing you around in the future.
3710373 I must say that the frosty coming back with him is a brilliant yet hilarious idea! I for one fully approve!
“Why the hell were you in the sauna with a horse, and why did it run out terrified?”
THANK you! I needed that innocent laughter.
3710373 Hmm, no idea really. I haven't wrote any stories yet. Maybe you read some of my comments on other stories? Other than that, I have no clue.
The first thing I thought when I read the title of this chapter was spongebob singing "Sweet Sweet Victory" then when I read through the rest of the chapter my reaction was aw shit.
3685922
Lightning died. Her mom committed suicide. Frosty got backhanded across the face and abandoned. Jericho lost additional autonomy by getting cyber implants grafted in by a sadist train. The GB trio from the early chapters are literally horribly deformed terrors. This isn't dark in the sense of "Jericho jumps off a moral cliff by making a terrible decision", but more "Jericho hits the ground hard and reaches a new low." And now that Jericho's met Cards, things can only go downhill from here.
Well, I THINK he's arrived here a little early (so everyone wouldn't be so deranged), but it's a bit difficult to place events in Wereworld relative to Equesworld because there seem to be some fundamental differences in history.
WHAT!? I didn't see it so I'll say it here: I like trains!
mlpforums.com/uploads/monthly_03_2013/post-5145-0-13985700-1363373513.jpeg
this is the first story I've ever read that i'm REALLY on the fence about.
when i'm reading a story It's usually either "This sucks" or "This is good" but this is weird for me in that i don't like dark, gory fics like this but... this is soooooo good! The writing is wonderful, it has an overall good flow to it, and other than some grammatical mistake here and there (which quite frankly i don't give a flying platypus about) it's fantastic!
now, why don't we play a game? i'm going to say something to you in a certain language and you are going to try to guess it. Have fun!
Tá an teanga seo hÉireann.
...I love you dearly, Jericho. So very dearly.
This chapter was GREATNESS. Thank thee once more, for thou hast once more created a masterpiece of writing, Sir Crushric.
Also, that ending was so goddamned perfect it made me smile when reading it. And so, the Worst Pony returns! PREPARE FOR ABUSE/HILARRITY!
Not like there's a differenceHmm, Last time in Sleepy Oaks Jericho broke part of his code by killing children. I'm guessing that this time for maximum messed up ness he gets to break the other half and ends up having to rape someone, or quite likely several someones, possibly the whole town (including the pets).
3762476
That is never going to happen.
3753812
Worst pony, but at least she's adorable when she cries.
3725719
Jayne was originally a joke that Crushric and I were BSing about; I never thought it would make it into canon.
I should have known better.
3723775
I love how everyone understands the way the world works. Everything gets worse when Worst Pony is around.
3764799
Cards isn't worst pony, Princess Blueballs is.
3752153
Well, "seo" is old English for the feminine "the". Other than that, I don't know.
But hurray for having a story that even dislikers of dark stories generally can like! Now, who's up for some more Cards?
3746920
Generally, though, Jericho's humor is his redeeming-most feature, for he uses it to hide lots of nasty things, external and internal. He is, as Felicitat put it, a "very bad stallion". He can nice, as I want to also show in this next chapter with Cards, but he often just fails at being a hero.
3753812
You say true, I say thank you.
We've been working for nigh a month on this next chapter, which got so long that we had to split it into three different chapters, two of which are complete, one whereof needs yet to be writ. Was going to post last night, but, well, other stories there I felt would have blocked my feature-box whoring. Tonight, though, we should be getting chapter 32, "Oaken", with all the Cards fluff a body could want.
Because Cards of our where and this one are different. They will develop differently at the end of things.
3783968
... I dunno.
All I could think of from the end of the last chapter was "Didn't Dust point out some combat drug that regrows limbs? Get it and give it to Frosty!"
Just a dismissable Fallout reference there? I dunno, maybe it just restores broken ones instead of full regrowth.
Well, this chapter reminded me of why sometimes eating while reading isn't the best idea. Oh well.