• Published 22nd Jun 2015
  • 1,096 Views, 3 Comments

Fallout Equestria: Victor Cordis Mei - Indulgence



Blood and ash are the realities of the wasteland, breeding degeneration, corruption and decadence in response. But a great fire exists in this darkness, uniting those it burns whilst lighting a path to purpose, glory and so much more.

  • ...
6
 3
 1,096

Memoriam III

Deep breath in, slow breath out.

A dark black cross cut through the world, quartering its image. These severed pieces were all dirt and dust, reddish clouds swirling up from the burnt earth, what scant punctuating vegetation there was providing no protection against the heat. Charred, picked clean and empty, it was well befitting of the title of ‘wasteland’.

Breath in, breath out, and repeat.

His movements were slow, considered, creeping infinitesimally forward, so as not to draw any passing eye. He therefore crawled, baking beneath a dense net of camouflage, flattened on his stomach against the hot ground. Internally meanwhile he winced at every harsh scratch and scrape of his armoured form against the jagged floor, along with the occasional metallic clink from his saddlebags, both sounds seeming loud beyond measure.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Little by little he came to the edge of the rise, his forehooves reading what his eyes could not: the disappearance of the path into a sheer precipice before him. His vision was elsewhere as he settled on the cliff face, sweeping across the ruptured landscape of fissures and ravines (not all of the craters having natural origins), landing on the single feature of any interest in the emptiness. Like some cancerous taint-filled growth a town rose out of the copper coloured dirt on the horizon. His sight briefly blurred, zooming in on impulse.

Remain calm. Breathe in and breathe out.

He did his best to obey the serene words, tightly regulating his breathing even as his inner tension grew in intensity. So far the heady thrill of anticipation remained his most resistant adversary, although in truth he probably enjoyed it far too much to effectively combat it. Why draw up battle lines against one of life’s few unadulterated pleasures? The hunt had few rivals in this regard, different to the quiet satisfaction which came from planning or manipulation, second only to the pure euphoria of the main event.

Calm. Remember that you are the predator here; you are in control.

Herein perhaps was the reason of it all. He had been cattle, he had been prey, but having risen beyond these fetters he revelled in his antithesis. Or perhaps he was afraid, scared of any retrograde step. He knew where he came from and from there he drew his hate, his past wretchedness granting him direction, but beneath this was there fear?

His bisected vision filled with only his target, casting his bloody gaze throughout its streets and buildings. Their timing could not have been more perfect: it was market day. This swollen abscess of a settlement therefore teamed with “life” (or rather the meaningless form of existence which many mistook for life), its rusting arteries clogged with a mass of ponies. From the youngest to the oldest, all looked the same in his eyes. In a flurry of chaotic movements wares and caps exchanged hooves, all conducted to an orchestra of competitive bleating. On each passing face, momentarily illuminated in his crosshairs, there was a hunger, a desperate want of sustenance. At the back of their irises he could see it: a collective void, for which they all bade for a filling anything, pitiable to behold. Except that he did not pity; he could only loath.

Theirs was not the only hunger however, his own roaring just as loudly, bearing its fangs as his scope alighted on each fresh visage. His at least could be satiated (at least for a little while), although like theirs it lacked a living cure. It was almost too tempting, requiring only a simple squeeze of the trigger gripped in his jaws to be granted relief. His mouth curled up around the bit into a broad fanged grin. Such a small action with so great a reward and…

Any and all focus was instantly shattered as a tongue ran its way in a slow teasing lick up the back of his ear.

‘Buck off!’ a surprised Malignus just about managed to mutter through gritted teeth, majorly hindered by the battle saddle in their grip, only barely refraining from jumpily firing the weapon.

‘Is that any way to address your Caesar?’ The whispered words were soft and playful, much like the touch which preceded them, and in this totally at odds with their speaker.

‘Cut it out.’ Again the frumentarius struggled, his voice fighting through a giggle, tickled as a set of lips moved to kissing his neck.

‘Consider it training’ his attacker continued in between further defiant kisses.

‘How exactly is d-distracting me supposed to be helpful?’

‘A legionary cannot become complacent.’ The answer was only jokingly serious, its mock solemnity evident in a smiling undercurrent to its base tones, toying with him. ‘His senses and nature must be constantly sharpened to tackle any obstacle, no matter its surprise or source. In this way he is tested in both body and will in order to grow great.’

Malignus’ task of scouting had quickly become a losing battle, utterly unable to keep up his concentration under the barrage of affectionate attentions. In a last vain attempt at composure his mind registered, with some satisfaction, the crowd of emaciated figures huddled around the town’s clinic. A few of the refugees he recognised, having “charitably” furnished them in flight with supplies positively glowing with radiation, a plan which had obviously been effective beyond its limited malicious aims. Then he was reminded again of his Lux at his side, the pale brown earth stallion’s warm breath and whispered words playing at his ear. To this he had no defence as it irresistibly pulled him from his scope, immediately falling victim to the gleaming emerald eyes which waited for him in ambush.

Lanius’ capacity to sneak up on him (or in fact to be stealthy at all bearing in mind his Caesar’s hulking armoured frame) would always be a surprise. Then again though, most others would likely be more surprised at the ‘Monster of the East’s’ tenderness as opposed to his sneaky approach. Like the unmasked and scar marred visage now before Malignus, the granite grey zebra foalishly clung to these unique views of the other stallion that only he could claim. The horned helm which the world normally saw instead and rightly feared lay discarded on the floor alongside the frumentarius’ own.

There was quiet between the two of them, not a void, rather nothing needed to be said. Malignus simply gazed, silenced. He was Legion, he had been of the dissolute, he had been made frumentarii and then raised to decanus. With all these chains at his back (all of which he was proud to bear) the hunter would never admit it openly, but he was still prey. He had long ago fallen victim to his tall dark predator’s soothing voice, warm smiles and soft caresses. Now he was tightly and inescapably bound, but in this he was far from fettered. His bindings were truly enveloping. In them however he could soar, loosed with direction against the world, aflame, whilst beneath him he was supported by an adamantine foundation. The central pillar of this was set beside him, with whom he needed no disguise and from which he demanded none; somepony who somehow brought him contentment, silencing his bloody hunger.

A vast part of Malignus hoped that some small part of this, as well as his intense accompanying gratitude, was conveyed in his enraptured gazing. Keeping his saddle’s bit in his maw he closed the slight distance with his partner, meanwhile he cycled his rifle’s ammo selector to high explosive. As their lips came together he squeezed the trigger, sending a single round tearing through the arid air. Unseen to either of them, both distracted with eyes contentedly closed, the bullet struck the clinic’s sign, exploding like an airburst in an eruption of flame. They remained carelessly locked as one and his gun continued to thunder, flaying apart far off flesh and bone in a storm of vicious shrapnel.

Comments ( 1 )

You know, when I first saw the synopsis I thought that this story would be much longer. It's probably because of this story.

Login or register to comment