Jericho

by Crushric

Chapter 42 — Lady

Chapter 42: Lady

“But perhaps you didn't have the whole story.”

Map.

Sure, I mean, there was the receipt that ended with the note about fetching the paper, but attached via paperclip to it was a supremely folded children’s coloring map. Possibly because I accidentally ordered my sandwich from the kiddie menu. Not my fault the Crystal Empire doesn’t label stuff well.

Unfurled, it was… God, Crystal folk had no idea how to make maps. There was no north, south, or anything. In fact, the very top of the map was Snechta’s mountain temple, which I was pretty sure was more westerly than any other direction.

There was a spot marked with red… was it crayon? It was crayon, alright; my guardian angel shares a pastime with the majority of tiny children. Good to know. But once place was marked “You are here”, and this other place was marked “Go here”.

Upon the reverse side was a crude drawing of Korweit sodomizing me while holding a banana and a box labeled “turtles”. The captions here read “This will probably end up happening if you don’t go to the place and look for three things necessary to stop the Voice in the Dark.”

I read all of this in the mid-morning sun, since my expletive had gotten me thrown out of the restaurant, and I wasn’t in the mood to throat-punch some innocent service mare just for doing her job.

One of these days, I was going to found the Hero’s Union. A worker’s union for people who are constantly stuck in the role of hero, whether they like it or not. We’ll picket and go on strike whenever we’re taken advantage off, even if that means the bad guy get to win for once, because we deserve some respect.

So, with that in mind, of course I grabbed the paper on my way, a copy of the Manehattaner. I didn’t care to read it, but having it felt like I was at least going to rack up that experience. Or maybe I could stockpile it—like that time I tried saving up my sleep by keeping myself drugged out of my mind on sleeping pills and remained asleep for the better part of a week, then spent the next week awake up until I collapsed from exhaustion.

Good times, I’d say.

What didn’t make for good times was trying to follow my angel’s map. Errand boy I may be; reader of broken tourist maps for kiddies I was not.

I paused as I walked down some nameless Côrint street, the Crystal Castle looming ever in the skyline. Somepony walked by, and I demanded to them, “What does it mean?!” And threw the map at her. She promptly screamed and ran off.

“Well, you’re no help,” I said with a sigh.

Distant jingling of a bell perked my ears. Rounding the corner, I spied a mare in robes standing by a collection bin, asking for donations via the mystical language of incessant bells. She gave me the sense of being an agent of Snechta is some way or form.

“Amazing that you’re just allowed to ask for donations to a terrorist organization right here in broad daylight,” I offered.

“I’m sorry, but…” the mare, looking up at me, trailed off. The face she wore went utterly blank in that way that implied some heavy mental gears were rustily clanking away in her mind.

“Oh hey, you’re that’s one priestess mare who tried to make me give money to your dopey cult that first day I got here,” I said.

Immediately, she grabbed her donation bin and spend off into an alley. And all before I could traumatize her. Again. Though, I had to admit, for as big city as Côrint was, I had the odd habit of running into ponies I knew or into incredibly improbable circumstances. Hello, meeting Lady Erysa.

I bit the corner of my lip. It remained as fact that my guardian angel clearly had at least some influence here. He’d gotten me this note, at least. Was it not then plausible that he utilized other subtle machinations to push onto me scenarios which, for any other pony, would be so ludicrously unlikely as to never happen?

There came a little sinking in the bit of my gut. The very same kind you got just before a pressing existential conundrum. Unfortunately for my inner philosopher, the idea of Korweit violently sexing up my ass loomed in the back of my head. But more importantly, so did the terrifying mental image of Snechta’s whacky evil schemes actually succeeding if I didn’t screw her over. Imagine, ponies thinking Snechta was actually competent. That kind of threat focused me back on my bullshit little map.

With a sign, I sat down on the sidewalk, propped open the map, and gave it a good read. Then another. And a few more. Until I was sure I knew where I was going. Or at least the general correct direction.

|— ☩ —|

Four hours and at least three ruined childhoods later, I finally made it. The midday sun hung high above, heating up the cold winter air. Still felt well below freezing, though, just a little a bit better.

That was the good news. The other half of the tale forgot to include that what I was now looking at was a door by the sidewalk. A sizable door, don’t get me wrong, but a large locked door. It was almost in the middle of nowhere, on a street that looked to be in the more ragged side of town, where the elegant architecture of the inner city gave way to practical concrete and near rotting timbers.

It was a city in decay. A place that must have stood as a warzone years ago, been hastily, shoddily rebuilt, and then left to the sands of time. Sure, this particular street looked more well-to-do than some, but what did that matter?

So, there was me, a door, a little awning above the door, and a red carpet going down the sidewalk, similarly covered up. And like I said, the only conceivable way into the place was locked.

Of course, that meant I had to break in. I reached into my pack and, after some digging, pulled out my lockpick set. By instinct, I tried to telekinetically use it. A light, a shine, and a fizzle and a pop. Everything got all blurry for a moment, and I felt as though my head was liable to float off my shoulders.

With a grunt, I dug further, found my vodka, and took a swig. It burned like all hells, but it made me feel just a bit better. Returning everything to my pack, I slumped down to the ground. There I sat, a blank look on my face. Just staring into the aether.

At long last, I punched the wall, screaming, “Goddamit!” with such hateful vigor that even I was surprised. I quelled the upstart feeling with more heavy duty grain alcohol. The thought occurred that maybe this was how Cards felt: useless, weak, and with the only cure needing an unethical dosage of alcohol to make work. I could see how that little thing could stand to get so piss drunk now.

You know what, no? Screw self-pity. So what? I did a whole load of asinine bullshit, traveled to another dimension, got killed the one Cards that liked me, tortured another one, and all to get back my original body that didn’t even work as advertised. I had two eyes, a silly horn, four hooves, and fire in my belly. I could do anything! Well, anything short of empathy, that was.

With slow, deliberate motions, I got back up, found my lock picking set, and set to work undoing the lock by hoof and mouth alone. Tick, tack, tock—undo the lock. I breathed a sigh of relief, and put my tools back. The door opened, quietly at that, and before me was a long, dark stairwell.

How deep did it go? And why was there a red carpet here? Like, I had suspected some sort of club of discothek, not a dark stairwell into what was doubtlessly the realm of some clown-themed rapist.

Shaking my head, I acknowledged that my anus was going to end up perforated one way or the other, and I may was well try to prevent the Voice in the Dark’s attempts on me. So, shitty reason or otherwise, I made the trek into the dark stairwell, taking care to close the door behind me.

It was time for the sneaky sneaks.

Which was exactly why I tripped on a loose step (and totally not the impractically of my duster’s long tail in such a small space) and rolled head-over-heels down a set of really nasty stairs. When it finally ended, I found myself nursing a bloody nose and probably the making of a concussion.

Oh, and apparently I landed right in a sex dungeon. That’s kind of an important detail, I’d imagine.

I found it hard to precisely make things out in the grim light of things. As my eyes adjusted and my nose bled all over the goddam place, I noticed the stone walls. By no means did the builder intend for this space to be claustrophobic.

The ceiling felt low, but enough that I could stand. The dull red light slowly found itself aiding my eyes as they adjusted. Scattered chains against the walls. A spare few cages. Bounding hallways to further depths of this dark place. Wooden walls with chainlink makeup set up multiple smaller rooms in this grand place, with a few of them looking like seating lounges, and beyond one clearly lay a bar.

So, yeah. Sex dungeon crossed with a nightclub. Had somepony built this out of a section of the Underdark? Place looked like it certainly had seen use as a catacomb or dank stockade.

At length, the nosebleed cleared up. I breathed a sigh of relief for that. Only problem now related to how bloody my arm found itself. I was going to have to wash some blood out of sleeve later, too, I bet. Maybe ever—

Hoofsteps! A distant clip-clop, hesitant, slow, from a further hallway, but approaching.

Thinking fast, I slid into one of the small rooms and hid behind furniture like a true hero. I dearly hoped I wasn’t going to encounter more things like those risen dead Caroleans. But should that became the case, I readied myself to pull out a weapon.

In walked a lady, strong in posture but cautious in demeanor. Possibly trying to look more confident than she was. But very much lacking in the features commonly associated with face-eating corpse ponies. She looked around and deigned to proceed further into the room.

By some miracle of where I ended up, I could see her well, and she couldn’t see me unless she stared really hard at me and maybe used her imagination a little. Slowly, she proceeded up to the stairs. Peered up them. And after a breathless moment, shrugged and walked away.

And froze. With an expression of horror, she looked down at the floor, and pulled her hoof up. A hoof now wet with nasal blood. Sonofabitch! A panicked look on her face, the mare snapped her head around her shoulders, rapidly peering into every nook and cranny of the room she could. When she gaze was directly opposite where I was, I gambled and swung myself up and over the couch I was behind and slide in a corner booth, assuming an incredibly relaxed, amused posture.

“Blind?” I inquired.

The mare practically leapt ten feet into the air as she spun around to face me. We stared off at each other, she eying me up and down, and I giving her a confident look back.

“Well, you’re not deaf. Daft, perhaps, but your ears do work,” I offered. “Say, grab something from the bar. Share a kind word with a venerable vaudevillian with a desperado’s disposition.”

“Who are you?” she demanded. She wore her tough exterior, and from my point of view, she failed at making it convincing.

I returned her a dark chuckle. “At this point, ma’am, I don’t think my name means me much. No one dares use it. Titles, though. Aye, folken know me thereby. But ladies first, as the most chivalrous of fools say.”

The mare’s postured stiffed. “I am the Lady, and you are in my domain. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t get the guards in here right now.”

“‘I’ve three to offer. One, I wager I’m bigger, faster, and stronger than you. You’d not even be halfway up the stairs before I dragged you back down. And two, because a little birdie told me something something about a certain object I need to collect. One of the three, whatever that is. And I’m no stallion if I can’t see through things to the end.” I smiled as genially as possible. “And lastly, because I’d just murder the guards and torture the information out of you anyhow, so why not play Miss Nice Lady and cooperate. Save us the trouble, do it please ya.”

My eyes met hers, and we locked until she dared look away. “I know who you are.”

“Aye? Do tell, lass.”

“You’re the one who’s come to take my key.”

I continued smiling as I stared her down. “Suppose it were so. What then?”

Her dark eyes lit up with hate. “Then I’d rather die than see you have it!”

Quicker than greased lightning, I was over the table and had crossed half the distance between us. “That can be arranged,” I said with deathly calm.

The Lady utter a shrill little squeal as her eyes widened to the size of saucers. She made for the stairs, but I stood true to my words and bound upon her. I bit her tail and jerked back hard enough to nearly tear her a whole new asshole. The Lady flew down the few stairs she had climbed, her face landing in the little puddle of my nose blood.

She tried to shriek, but I cut her off by kicking her hard in the stomach. All she could do was lay there, face painted with blood, dry heaving and gasping for air.

I picked her up and threw her against the nearest wall. She scrambled to get back to her hooves, but I forced her back against it. “Now, tell me no lies and tarry no further, or I’ll cut off your other ears.”

She looked upwards, as if she could actually see the top of her head. “B-but I’m not missing any…” The Lady fell silent as she caught the look in my eye.

“Oh, I know. The first ear’s non-negotiable—shows you I mean business.” I pulled out my knife, holding it hard in my head as I grabbed her long mane and forced her head against the cold stone.

Without fear or mercy or hesitation, I moved the knife. The steel touched the base of her ear, so that not even her wildly flicking it about could save it.

And I froze. Just… froze. No other word for it. I knew what I was doing. It was a proven method of “kinetic information retrieval”. I had no moral or ethical qualms with that I was doing. Yet as I looked at her, I saw my reflection in her golden eyes. The visage of tall, faceless golem—the very same pony whose skin I’d occupied nearly three months ago in the Acolapissa Cabinet of Curiosities, the blood of Glasses on my hooves, and a little white mare before me.

By Saint Markos the Protector, I looked back at her and saw how Cards must have seen me. The daemon from afar. A monster, no different from the things I swore to murder. And I… just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t fucking do it!

“I don’t have it!” she screamed. “Pleases, don’t do it! Don’t do it! I’ll do anything, just don’t cut my ear off!”

Though my expression remained stoney, suddenly I felt a pit in the depths of my gut lessen. I remained a stallion priding himself as not one to make idle threats, but at last I could stop here and save some semblance of face.

I slowly sheathed my knife and smiled at her in a way that would get most ponies thrown into a room with padded walls. And though my grim heart felt ever so calm, I was nearly shaking in my metaphorical boots. Dearly I hoped she wouldn’t see through my façade as I had seen through hers earlier. That she wouldn’t know I couldn’t follow through.

“If you deign to be whole after this day, then you will tell me everything you know of these keys, Lady,” I commanded, and threw her to the ground. My did I tower over her.

A pregnant moment of silence followed, broken only by her heavy, panicked breathing. “You… you don’t know anything of the keys, do you, Equestrian?!” she accused. “Calschpamidh Sejfêodh!”

“Call me no Equestrian. For though I’ve no luster to my form as you, I come not thence. I am a son of Ñwlcorvim, von Nûlkar. And I am here to fix the errs of you Westerners.”

She slowly tried to crawl away from me, but I stopped that by stepping onto her leg and putting weight down hard to pin her. “You’re not with Solnyshko, are you?” the Lady asked hesitantly. Quickly, it dawned on me that I had screwed up. In no small way. She suddenly had the confidence to ask questions. Ball was in her court.

“I would so hope not,” I offered. “Especially not since I brutally murdered the bitch.” I blinked with a sudden thought. “Although if you tell me you were told of my coming via an angel, and then you have a hidden Voixson somewhere detailing how you touched yourself thinking of our meeting, I will murder you.”

“What?”

I shivered. “Ewgh… Bad memory of an event that happened to me back in Calêrhos.”

Her eyes widened again. “You are he who emerged from the mirror! The Mirrorborn! The bitch Solnyshko spoke of you when she tried to make me give her the key.”

“Okay, Mirrorborn. That’s a new one. Better than Strider, and possibly better than the Champion of Côrint. At least it’s not Government Boy. Although of all the nicknames I’ve had over the last three months, I liked Gunslinger best. Had a ring to it.

“But in any case, you spoke with Solly before I brutally executed her by accidentally stabbing her exactly fifty-four times with this knife here? Over what? And to what end?”

An almost calculated look splashed across the Lady’s face for a fraction of a second. Then she gazed upon me with a little smirk. “You are the Champion of Côrint, he who makes strides against Shining Armor’s laws, Snechta’s juggernaut, and Sygwł Erysamim. But yet… you’re implying your agenda is directly opposed to that of Solnyshko and Snechta.”

All I dared do was glare down at her. I could practically hear the gears in her head churning up a storm.

“You… you’re not going to hurt me, are you? You wouldn’t—couldn’t!”

There was only one way to get back in control, for there was no telling what this mare was capable of when she was the holder of frame in this situation. I had to hurt her. Badly. Or else… or else… Ave Laurentia, and by the Archangel Thor, I was hopeless here.

I grit my teeth. My horn didn’t function, and I couldn’t even bring myself to torture a bitch. Who in God’s name was I? Because I sure as the Nine Hells wasn’t Jericho anymore.

The lady just slipped out from my weakening pin and sat up, looking me in the eye. She appeared so suddenly menacing. The witch actually had the gall to smile at me as my old blood dried on her face. “You want the three keys, don’t you? Perhaps I misspoke earlier. Maybe it’d be good to see you have them. But not for free. Not without something of value for me, their last guardian.”

“I shan’t count myself your servant,” I replied flatly. “You’re little more than a fool made for me to toy with, like a cat its mouse. Ich bin der Ritter und du der Knecht,” I spat in Teutonic, making the language sound as rough and throaty as possible. Westerners always found it so threatening a tongue.

She cackled like a harpy in head. “Oh I don’t think so, boy,” the Lady said with a psychotic sneer of her own. This was clearly turning into a disastrous battle of the psychos. Step right up and see which of these two loonies can survive a fight to the death! This Sunday at Modern Times Dinner and Tournament! (Bring your own Cherry Berry!)

“Dare you bet your life on this little assumption of yours?”

“Damn straight,” the Lady added with a grim chuckle.

“Well, it looks like you lose, girl,” I spoke, plodding towards her with an expression oozing malice.

Suddenly, I heard an icebox open. The Lady’s expression went very cold. Looking over towards the bar, I watched as a little filly failed to sneak away, carrying a bottle of alcohol. She glanced over to see us and froze like a deer right before it gets hit by a train.

The Lady nearly jumped up to her hooves. Sad for her that I remained there to trip and shove her back onto the ground. She fought and scrambled to get up, but at this angle, I was in control. Bitch wasn’t going anywhere.

“Missy, get back to your room!” the Lady shouted.

“I didn’t mean to walk in on your adult wrestling! I swear!” the kid called back, jumping behind the counter.

I looked down at the Lady. “My, what have we here?”

“Don’t you so much as fucking look at her, you bastard!” the Lady snarled.

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll tear your dick off and stab it into your eye!”

“My my, how protective. I take it she’s yours?” I asked, smiling like the Big Bad Wolf. Shoving a hoof in the Lady’s mouth, I said as sweetly as possible. “Little lass, don’t pay me no mind. We’re not doing anything of note. You’re in no trouble. Why not just come out of there.” I felt the Lady try to bite my hoof, but, well, it’s a hoof. Very hard and painful to bite.

The little filly—Missy, if I wasn’t mistaken—poked her head from around the counter. She eyed me, as if sizing me up, while I tried to estimate her age. Then, with a hesitant smile, she slunk out from behind the counter, still carrying a bottle of alcohol behind her back.

Missy bit her lip as she saw the Lady, saying, “Are you alright?”

“She’s fine, I swear,” I offered as genially as possible. “We’re just playing the quiet game. She lost, so now she’s trying to win again, but I suppose now I’m losing, so the real winner is up in the air as this point.”

“Lady,” Missy said, then rambled on something in Mijôra, the damn local tongue that I still needed to learn. Slowly, the filly walked towards us. Was she really that stupid? In any case, around this point, I felt my hoof getting covered in drool from the Lady’s attempts to gnaw it off.

“Say, what have you there, Missy?” I inquired.

“Nothing,” she replied in a guarded voice, still inching towards us. I got the sneaky suspicion she was going to try to walk past us and to her room, or wherever else she was supposed to be. I had to leverage this to my advantage. I couldn’t hurt a child (again) and for some damn reason the Lady couldn’t be harmed in any meaningful way, but the threat might be enough to get what I needed.

“Oh please. When I was a tyke, I too did some pretty sneaky things,” I told her. “I won’t be mad if you tell me. And I promise nor will she.” I winked. “We’re on good terms like that; I’d be up to bat for you.”

“Well, um… some of the other girls were being kinda mean to me, and so I was going to show them that I was cool, too. I got this thing and, um…” She was almost close enough to grab. “I got some of that algwl.”

“You mean, that’s alcohol?” I inquired, making sure to stuff my hoof further into the Lady’s face to keep her silent.

“Um… yes?” And the filly took the bottle out from behind her. “See?” I leaned in slightly to read the label in the darkness

And then the little bitch hit me upside the head as hard as she could with a full bottle of booze.

Now, to anyone who’s never had the pleasure of being in that situation, allow me to intimate to you just how heavy a full bottle is; how strong the glass is; and how, even if you hit weakly, the force from the bottle’s weight will still screw you up.

In a flash, I felt a gash in my forehead, suffered a raging migraine, had blinding spots in my eyes, and lay on the floor. Oh, and blood. Lots of blood. My brain became scrambled eggs as I tried to process what had just happened.

The girls highhoofed each other, and then the Lady hugged the little girl hard. “That’s my filly!” she declared with a laugh. Then, in a strongly stern tone: “Although you and me are going to talk about you stealing alcohol. Don’t think you’re off the hook just yet, Missy.”

With my forehoof that wasn’t covered in slobber, I reached up to the gash in my head. Not that I needed a measurement of my bloodloss (a lot), since it was already leaking into my eye, stinging like a bitch and a half.

Lethargically, I moved to get back up. I set a forehoof down, and slipped on my own blood. “Whores in a blanket!” I swore. Or, rather, tried. It came more like “Mores uh lanka”.

So, of course, I faceplanted into the cold ground. Missy kicked me, but her hooves were a lot less murderous than a bottle of drink. “That’s for thinking I’m just a stupid kid, you creep!”

“Missy, that’s enough,” the Lady chided. “Hand me the rope. I’ve got an idea.”

Ropes? Right. If this ended with me almost getting raped à la Cherry Berry, I was going to give up and let Korweit destroy the Crystal Empire. Purely on principle.

So the Lady rolled me over onto my back, stood on my chest, and bound me. The little filly helped keep me down. And then, because it wasn’t like it could get any worse, the Lady produced a bag and forced it over my head. Why not? By all the saints, I was going to get murdered by a fetish lady and her creepy daughter.

Sometimes, I really hated the shit I did because my guardian angel thought it’d be a good idea.

|— ☩ —|

My face was getting all sweaty and gross by the time the girls took the bag off my head. I gasped for breath. “Holy dog shit on a hammock, have you never washed that bag? It stinks like you’ve used it for nothing but dirty socks and—oh dear God, do crystalfolken also have that strange sock fetish like your southern neighbors do?”

The Lady smacked me across the face.

I growled in return, looking around the room. Some sort of sex dungeon, indeed. And she let the filly in. Great. Seemed about as appropriate as a school curriculum teaching ten-year-olds the “perks” of brutally throat fucking each other. Lousy liberal education system.

“You know,” I offered with a chuckle, “I actually just ended up in the domain of whom I can only surmise is an expert on sexual fetishes. From you I can finally figure out if Westerners have a sock thing.”

“Except I’m the one asking questions here,” the Lady retorted, and only then did I realize her attire had changed. Or rather, she was wearing a really shiny peaked cap and a suit which I could only describe as being made out of leather so tight yet revealing that it was implausible to suggest she could move. Must have caused some serious friction burn when she moved about in it.

“That so?” I asked. I looked down at Missy. “What’s with the little backpack there, little lass? Planning on a trip?” She stuck her tongue out at me. Before I could say anything else, the Lady bitch smacked me again like a two-bit whore.

“Who sent you?” the Lady asked, staring me down.

“The Tooth Fairy. She and I got a little thing. So long as her husband doesn’t find out, I’m golden.” I gave a grin so shit-eating you could swear I was a buffet.

The Lady looked to her protégée and back to me, a skeptical look on her face. She wasn’t going to countenance my bullshit, I knew. Though honestly, mocking your torturers was always worth the eventual mutilation you received. I expected that. Not the sudden wide grin on her face.

“You know,” the Lady sussurated, “you’re in a vaunted position. I lot of stallions would kill to be where you’re sitting. Aside from the breaking and entering part of getting here, that is. And the bottle of booze upside the head,” she added in a conspicuously childlike voice. The kind of girly thing that only made me want to strangle her; I didn’t find it cute.

“But sadly for you, you made the idiot’s mistake of entering my domain. Just when I was trying to teach Missy here the tricks of the trade.”

“Oh, yes,” I replied. “I understand child prostitution is a big thing in the North. Tell me, how much do you make by selling the bodies of a children under your care?”

“I run an orphanage of thieves and scamps, not childhood whores,” she retorted alongside a twitch of the eye. “Any income they bring me, I supplement by the nightclub I run. I am the Lady of something, you see.” I glanced at the weak candles keeping the room in a state of semi-twilight and inquired as to whether or not she could care to make it less dingy in here.

All the Lady did was groan and look to the filly. “Missy, would you care to help your Lady out here?”

Missy shot me a cheshire grin, bouncing up and down like a serial killer on a pogo stick. “Can do!”

With a skip to her step and an air of childlike wonder, she looked around the room. Her attention fell upon a section of tools on a wall that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a stallion-cave, if that was a thing in Equestria. Aside from the actual selection of tools. Whips, clamps, something that looked like a mohawk, painful-looking spiked phallic tools.

A sinking feeling in my gut told me that it’d be better to stand locked in a room with the Cherry Berry. I struggled against the ropes that held me to the chair. I hadn’t even realized I’d been in a chair, but there I was. Based on how they’d bound me, I figured the knots found themselves behind my back. Thinking and focusing really hard, I tried to telekinetically feel for them, and only got a sad little fizzle and a quick spot of double vision. The mares didn’t even bother to pay my antics any mind.

Ave Laurentia, I didn’t mean to further demean the little thing, but was this how Cards felt whenever she tried to wield the heresy of magic in general?

It dawned on me what I’d just thought. Were it not for the terrifying calmness of my heart, it might have skipped a beat. A pseudo-insult to Cards that I meant as no insult. Saints above me, I was losing it. Just completely off my rocker and as low as they go. I wanted a mirror. I need to see who was looking back out at me from my own skin, for whoever the sonofabitch was, he had forgotten the face of his father.

Missy put a hoof to her chin. “Nah, none of these seem right.” Her countenance lit up like New Year’s Day. “Oh, I have an idea!” She set her bag on the ground, unzipped it, and pulled something decidedly furry out of it the size of my eyeball.

The Lady hummed quietly. “You had that the whole time, huh?”

“He wanted to come with me,” Missy replied, looking at the ground and kicking a hoof idly. “B-but he’s perfect for this—watch!” With the furry ball in her arm, she trotted to my chair. Wearing a smile that’d not be out of place on a serial killer, she held it up for me to see.

Eight little legs unfurled, black and spiky. They reminded me of one of the forms C’s limbs had taken, back there in the cathedral with the Devil’s Backbone.

“This,” the miniscule hellion declared proudly, “is Mr. Cuddles! Say hi, Mr. Cuddles!” Before me, the ball of fur hissed and stabbed it legs in my direction. Eights legs meant spider, and spiders weren’t supposed to hiss, goddamnit!

I could imagine it on my face, its leg cutting into my pores as it gnawed my retinas off, using its sharp nature-given tools to burrow into the viscous eye fluid and make itself a home. It would do this in order to make a nest, spin its freak legs, and raise a spider family dedicated to desiccating me from within. My eyes, organs, and finally, my flesh consumed, it would move back on to find a new host. Not unlike an arachnid version of the virulent fungal necro-plague unleashed against the Reich during the Dark Crusade.

With an underhoof toss from the filly, the furry hellspawn attached itself to my face. Unleashing a torrent of Teutonic vulgarities and threats, I jerked my head about as though trying to shake my skull out its skin. But the freaky little thing’s shark legs dug into my flesh and clung with ease.

In fact, it moved up. Nearer and nearer to my eye. The same goddam one I’d just spent months getting replaced, too! Its pinprick steps rubbed against the bottom of my eyelid as I forcibly closed the eye, holding it shut tight.

Mr. Cuddles moved on. Off my eye, onto my forehead. To my temples. And finally, poking around my ear. For a moment I did nothing. I could only think in jumbled, half formed garbles of thought and terror as the arachnid crawled deeper into my ear.

I howled like a banshee, thrashing my head around as though caught in a thresher. The pissant bastard attached itself into my ear with a snug, prickly feeling. The more I moved, the deeper it pushed itself. Clawing and scratching my ear canal. The sound of scraping little legs and its fur in my ears deafened me to the sounds of my shrieks.

If I could have focused, I would have stared daggers of pure venom at the girls. It wasn’t like I could see them through the tears. But through the deafening sound and the tears and the jumbled mess in my mind, there was only a single thought with any coherence in my head: I didn’t care if it broke the Code in spirit, I was going to break every single bone in Missy’s body and leave her a soulless cripple for the rest of her miserable existence!

“Oh Mr. Cuddles, you can stop playing hide-n-seek now!” Missy singsonged, stabbing a hoof into the joint of my mandibles. It probably ruptured an eardrum. Claws, hisses, stabs, scratches. Something hot and weak. Aural blood drawn.

And then it came out, stained yellow with earwax, but not without a hint of crimson. Mr. Cuddles ran up her arm with what only could be described as joy.

I gasped for breath. Sweat dripped down my forehead and into my eye, blinding me. My throat felt hoarse enough that I thought if I dared cough, I’d spit out blood. More blood. Blood from my nose, my ear, and then my throat. Not going to happen. I tried to drink my own spit to soothe it.

Missy looked up at the Lady, and only then did she the see the dark, barely contained look of horror of the mare’s face. “Sorry. Mr. Cuddles was getting uncomfortable in there. He wanted out. It’s that fear thing of small spaces, I think.”

Quickly, the Lady went over to a drawer and got out a needle before returning back to me. I glared at her, warning, “Don’t you dare.”

She dared. I felt cold metal pierce a vein, and a freezing ice lock up all the way through my heart. The Lady tossed the needle and looked at the filly. “Missy, I think we need to talk. Just you and me.” Then all I could make out were garbles.

It took a sparse few minutes before I blacked out.

Author's Note:

Footnote: 50% to next level
Quest Perk: Arachnophobia — -20% stress resist vs spiders. We stopped stealing Fallout’s mechanics and are now plagiarizing Darkest Dungeon. What you gonna do?

Comments

[Xennar]

... Well it could be worse. She could be Cherry Berry's sister.

[FloydienSlip]

Holy shit.

[Moongaze14]

Damn, Jericho has bad luck with mares. Glad to see this again, though.

[Proudtobe]

Well, wonder how he is going to get out of that.
And, screw that Missy. You don't let pet-spiders crawl into ears.
I say they need some good old Jericho punishment. Who is with me?

[Midnight Rambler]

“Now, tell me no lies and terry no further, or I’ll cut off your other ears.”

*tarry

The Lady looked to her protogé and back to me, a skeptical look on her face.

*protégée

If this ended with me almost getting raped á la Cherry Berry, I was going to give up and let Korweit destroy the Crystal Empire.

*à la

We stopped stealing Fallout’s mechanics and are now plagiarizing Darkest Dungeon.

Huh. Actually the "three keys" thing reminds me of another game entirely...

you need a yellow key to open this door

[RoboRed]

Oh fucking Jesus that spider. I'm not arachnophobic, but no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no nonononononoHELLno.

Also,

So, yeah. Sex dungeon crossed with a nightclub.

FUN TIMES!

“Amazing that you’re just allowed to ask for donations to a terrorist organization right here in broad daylight,” I offered

Forgot a period.

“you’re in a vaunted position. I lot of stallions would kill to be where you’re sitting.” Aside from the breaking and entering part of getting here, that is. And the bottle of booze upside the head,” she added in a conspicuously childlike voice.

Out of place quotation mark.

[Luminous Lead]

By Saint Markos the Protector, I looked back at her and saw how Cards must have seen me. The daemon from afar. A monster, no different from the things I swore to murder. And I… just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t fucking do it!

This moment. This moment right there. I've been catching up on the past few chapters and this moment stands out. It's not the funniest moment. It's not the saddest moment. But as the first real time (that I can remember) that Jericho refuses to further his own agenda by making others take the pain, it's a defining moment.

...

And I love it.

[wulf95]

Great chapter, Crushric. I can't wait to see the next one!

[dominatusimperator]

Finally, a new chapter. It's like Christmas, it is.

[Scarheart]

5685079 um....spoilers?

[sorenxoras]

There came a little sinking in the bit of my gut. The very same kind you got just before a pressing existential conundrum. Unfortunately for my inner philosopher, the idea of Korweit violently sexing up my ass loomed in the back of my head. But more importantly, so did the terrifying mental image of Snechta’s whacky evil schemes actually succeeding if I didn’t screw her over. Imagine, ponies thinking Snechta was actually competent. That kind of threat focused me back on my bullshit little map.

This paragraph gave me a sense of joy usually reserved for watching small children fall and hurt themselves.

[Kingofstarryskies]

Jericho, you ain't the only one who just got a horrific fear of Spiders.

[Mad Pancake]

With a sign, I sat down on the sidewalk, propped open the map, and gave it a good read.

Sigh?

[Always Breakfast]

Dat map. And we always thought Luna was the artistic one.

Upon the reverse side was a crude drawing of Korweit sodomizing me while holding a banana and a box labeled “turtles”. The captions here read “This will probably end up happening if you don’t go to the place and look for three things necessary to stop the Voice in the Dark.”

...well. Maybe she is the artistic one.

Somepony walked by, and I demanded to them, “What does it mean?!” And threw the map at her. She promptly screamed and ran off.

Oh God. I want to see fanart of this.

Ave Laurentia, I didn’t mean to further demean the little thing, but was this how Cards felt

Holy shit, recent events really have been fucking with his head.