//------------------------------// // III. // Story: Steel Blade! // by Alsvid //------------------------------// The Villa Potentia is an old, decrepit manor situated a short walk away from Oxbridge University, ringed with high walls and iron gates, constructed with well-worn red sandstone, with dark tan-tiled roofs and large, luxurious windows. However, it shows signs of age; ivy wreathes nearly 75% of the walls, the grounds are overgrown and wild with weeds, the trees look like angry green giants guarding the property, and the gates are blood-red with rust. The interior is surprisingly clean and neat, with beautiful light wooden parquet flooring, eerily wallpapered red-and-black walls with intricate coffin-print. Ornate golden fixtures, plush, gilded chairs, vast tables, towering armoires lay here and there. Crystal chandeliers suspended in golden chains, blazing with taper candles give off a harsh, glittering light. Claret was in the dining hall, sitting at the head of the table in a vast chair decorated with carvings of ponies clad in the armor of Celestia’s Royal Guard, fighting with each other, her boots on the table, her bare thighs crossed. She had her chin in her hand, her brows furrowed deeply in thought, her lips pressed in a severe line. Beside her was a wooden bathtub large enough to hold at least three ponies at once, filled to the brim with milk. The unconscious Junebug lay upon the table, spread out upon her back, her arms outstretched in a cruciform pattern. There was a timid knock on the large oaken double-doors at the end of the hall - it resonated throughout the large room, the sound bouncing off the walls. Claret looked up. “Enter,” she called, a little testily. Julia swept into the room, with Poppaea in her wake. Poppaea’s wound had healed long since, with no indication of scar tissue. She seemed visibly abashed and avoided Claret’s gaze. Julia and Poppaea approached Claret and knelt quietly before her, making their obeisance before speaking. “Your grace,’ Julia began, “We successfully extracted yet another student from the University.” Claret allowed for a short silence. Then she spoke: “And what of that professor? Dead, I hope?” Julia swallowed visibly. “N-no, Your Grace. Poppaea was forced to retreat.” “Is this true, Poppy?” Claret’s voice was dangerously sweet. She uncrossed her legs, planting her boots on the floor, and leaned forward in her chair, hands closing around its large wooden arms. The red-haired Vampire Fruit Bat mare in form-fitting, bladed armor licked her lips, nodding slowly. “Yes. She is obviously an expert duelist; I was unprepared, I-“ “You are incompetent,” Claret stated, with a sniff, her nostrils flaring. “She will try to seek us out, now. We are in very grave danger, Julia! Poppy! She has seen us; she no doubt knows what we are trying to do, and I am certain that she will try to kill us all if she reveals us! If not that, her allies will do the same. You know of whom I speak; that ancient enemy of all our kind; Her!” Both Julia and Poppaea shuddered. Claret stood, walking over to Poppaea, who squeezed her eyes shut nervously as Claret raised her hand… …and caressed Poppaea’s chin. Poppaea opened her eyes, looking surprised, but pleased. “Therefore, Poppy, we must kill her. That is your new task. Find the Professor and kill her. Then we can return to our duty to our Party.” She moved closer to Poppaea, pressing her body against Poppaea’s, her slender white belly rubbing against Poppaea’s peach-colored one, her breast squeezing up against Poppaea’s own, and lowered her head, her lips meeting Poppaea’s ruby-colored ones. Poppaea let out a low moan, lifting her head, as Claret placed her hands upon the red-maned mare’s waist, stroking her bare flesh with her fingers. Then Claret drew away; Poppaea was blushing darkly, her mouth open, panting slightly, her ears pricked forward, her tail switching back and forth. Julia crossed her arms under her vast blue breasts, laughing elegantly with one hand covering her mouth. “Ohohoho….silly Poppy, you’re so excitable. What a typical redhead!” Poppaea leaped at Julia, thrusting her muzzle into Julia’s muzzle. “What’s THAT supposed to mean?” she cried. Julia gave Poppaea’s nose a teasing kiss. “Nothing, Poppy. Don’t worry about it.” Poppy glared at Julia, with an angry huff. “Girls, please,” Claret cooed. “Save your wrath for the Professor.” “Oh, yes, I can’t wait to get my claws into her,” Poppaea murmured, lifting one gauntleted hand, and clicking her blades against each other, one after the other. “I shall strip the flesh from her bones and boil them! She’s caused enough trouble for me as it is! I won’t let her get away with embarrassing me like that!” “How all too terrifying of you, Poppy,” Julia said, mockingly pretending to be frightened. She yawned, stretching her arms over her head. “Hadn’t you better have your bath?” “Indeed, Poppy,” Claret said, crossing her arms. “I ordered the servants to draw it for you the moment I returned, so that you may have a reward for all your hard work.” The Professor returned to her modest townhouse in the outlying city borough surrounding the Oxbridge university at about the same time Claret had returned to the Villa Potentia. It was a cozy little two-story affair, Tudor-style, with a tan roof and sturdy wooden walls painted a pleasant white color, with dark timber framing. The Professor entered her living room, and shut the door. She shuddered violently; now that the fight had passed, she was gripped with horror at what might have happened if Poppaea’s evil claws had opened up her stomach. And now they’d all seen her. And they’d want vengeance; she’d drawn blood, it was in the nature of these evil creatures to retaliate swiftly and violently. “Madame is troubled? May I ask why – if you would give me the liberty of doing so – the long face?” A light, piping male voice came from the hall; Cheese Sandwich, her butler, shimmered over to her. He mouth twitched ever so slightly upon delivering his joke. The Professor managed a weary grin. “Nothing…nothing for you to worry about, Cheese.” She looked up into the honest, pleasant cheesy yellow face of her butler, and a fresh pang of guilt tore at her heart. Good Celestia, the Professor thought, I’ve put them all in harm’s way. Poor Cheese and Pinkie Pie…they don’t deserve this. To think they could come to harm because of me… She fought to keep a sob from her throat, and spoke, slightly tremulously. “I’d like a glass of Laphroaig if you would be so kind. Where is Michael?” “Very well, Madame,” Cheese Sandwich murmured, bowing low, and he began taking the Professor’s coat off, folding it neatly over his arm and retreating from the living room. “Sir is in the Drawing Room, waiting for Dinner and, if I may add, Madame. The head maid, Miss Pinkamena, is overseeing Supper as we speak. I shall now obtain the drink for Madame…” He flitted away. The Professor fell into a chair, her legs feeling rubbery. Why? Why am I so afraid, all of a sudden? It’s not like this is my first encounter with Vampire Bats. Yet she felt cold fingers stroking her spine. She hugged herself violently, shoulders shaking. “Deborah?” A warm, deep voice, like a double bass. Sir Michael Bladefield Bowes-Lyon, Commander of the Equestrian Monarchy (C.E.M.) stood in the doorway, watching her. This was a tall Pegasus stallion in his prime, with a steel-grey mane, wide shoulders, a slender waist, thickly muscled arms, and broad thighs, wearing an elegant black suit with a tailcoat, a monocle, and a fluffy white cravat. He had great feathered wings like that of a heavy bomber aircraft. He had an army general's firm gaze, his golden eyes flecked with light blue. “Michael!” Deborah gasped, springing to her feet and throwing her arms around him. “I’ve done a terrible thing…”