“What is it? What has happened, Deborah?”
Sir Michael gazed down at Professor Deborah with eyes full of concern, holding her firmly in his powerful arms.
At that exact moment, Cheese Sandwich returned with a silver plate; he had thoughtfully brought two glasses of Laphroaig instead of one.
“Your drink, Madame. Sir,” he announced, setting the plate down upon a nearby table with a low bow. He then tastefully retreated from the room, leaving Professor Deborah and Sir Michael alone in the room.
“Here. Drink this,” Sir Michael urged, passing Professor Deborah a glass.
Professor Deborah accepted gratefully; she took the glass and tossed back the whiskey in one gulp. Sir Michael watched her slender throat bob up and down, with a half-smile.
“Feeling better?”
“A little,” Professor Deborah admitted, with a small hiccup.
Sir Michael produced a case of cigars from his jacket pocket, passing Professor Deborah one; he took one for himself and set to clipping the tips for her and himself with an elegant golden cigar-cutter.
He then produced a golden lighter shaped like a tiny dragon; lighting Professor Deborah’s own, then his, he sat down in a chair and gestured for Professor Deborah to do likewise, which she did gratefully.
When they had smoked a while, he said, “Now, tell me what happened.”
Professor Deborah leaned back in her chair, exhaling large blueish-white clouds from her mouth and nose, looked up at the ceiling for inspiration, and began.
“Well, Michael, I was leaving the classroom, when….”
Sir Michael listened to her sordid tale with a grim look upon his handsome muzzle, his brows furrowed deeply in thought. When she had finished, he steepled his fingers and said, “This is, indeed, a disturbing business.”
“And I’ve brought their attention to us! We shall certainly be ruined!” Professor Deborah wailed.
Sir Michael waved a hand, noncommittally. “No. We shall fight them, Deborah! We shall fight them, and we shall win.”
“How?” Professor Deborah asked, brokenly. “I am no legendary hero! I can’t fight an entire army of vampires on my own! I didn’t even manage to save poor Junebug from those evil creatures…”
“I believe I may have a solution,” Sir Michael said. He reached in his jacket pocket, bringing out a business card, and presented it to Professor Deborah, who accepted it. She squinted at it curiously.
“What’s this?”
“The card of a mercenary company. I want you to contact them. We need all the help we can get, Deborah, and the man who commands that company I would trust with my very life,” Sir Michael declared.
“The Bandolero Comanchero mercenary company? Sounds foreign,” the Professor said, quizzically.
Sir Michael laughed, and settled back in his chair, puffing away on his cigar. “Don’t worry about that, Deborah. I assure you that they will defend our home from any and all threats that would shatter our peace. There is another pony I wish for you to speak to; a survivor of an attack similar to the sort you described.”
“Who would that be?”
“An Equestrian Limitanei Space Marine.”
The Professor rose from her chair, ready to protest.
“Is this one of your barrack-room friends, Michael? I warn you; mess-hall scuttlebutt will not suffice!”
Sir Michael raised a hand soothingly.
“Oh, she’s little more than a glorified truck driver; one of those charged with piloting the resupply craft to the colonies in orbit, but I think you will find her information useful. She may yet be of some use to us. Any intelligence we can gather on the enemy will prove crucial in our campaign. I warn you; she is a Zebra, so you must be as cordial as possible. You know what they’re like.”
“Making friends with those black-and-white striped crew now, Michael?” Professor Deborah said, raising an eyebrow in semi-amusement.
Sir Michael laughed, emitting clouds of smoke. “Well, you certainly seem to be in a better mood! Don’t worry about that right now. We’ll have dinner and then you can carry out your mission tomorrow.”
“Come to think of it, I am starving,” Professor Deborah admitted.
“The shock of battle does that. I’ve seen it numerous times.” Sir Michael rose from his seat, extending a hand towards Professor Deborah, who accepted it gratefully; she laced her fingers between his own, gripping his hand firmly. “Shall we, then?”
At the Villa Potentia, Poppaea was busily preparing for her bath.
She stripped off her light metal armor. A mere touch of her finger upon the collar at her neck loosened the grips of the armor, causing it to fall away with a clatter.
Claret rose from her chair, clapping her hands together. “Maids!” she shouted.
The twin doors to the dining room swung open.
In strode four hollow-eyed, grinning pony skeletons, dressed in neat black-and-white maid uniforms.
“Pick up Poppy’s armor,” Claret commanded them, and the skeletal maids hastened to obey, with a great jangling and clattering of hollow bones.
Poppaea strode over to her milk bath, sliding one leg into the warm white liquid. “Ah, it’s nice and warm…”
Julia watched her with a leering grin upon her lips, arms crossed under her heavy breasts.
“Julia!” Claret snapped.
Julia wrenched her gaze away from Poppaea, and approached Claret. “Your grace?”
“Our guest is showing signs of life. Turn her now, before she can rebel against us,” Claret commanded, gesturing at Junebug, who was starting to stir.
“With pleasure, Your Grace,” Julia purred, moving to Junebug’s side.
Junebug was starting to shift and move upon the table, frowning in her sleep.
Julia placed a slender hand upon Junebug’s chin, caressing her flesh with her fingers, bending over the unfortunate Unicorn mare. She brought her lips to Junebug’s neck, breathing lightly upon Junebug’s flesh, and opened her mouth, baring long, cruel white fangs.
Then she buried them in Junebug’s neck. Her icy eyes glowed like lamps.
Claret watched as Julia closed her lips ‘round Junebug’s neck. The bright pink color of Junebug’s coat began to fade, turning a light, sickly pink.
Suddenly Junebug’s eyes snapped open, and she began to scream in agony, arching her back, but Julia’s hands gripped her body, pinning her down mercilessly. Junebug’s cutie mark began to change, melting away, as a white skull with a red apple and a golden dagger materialized. Her eyes changed from a pleasant blue to a fierce electric blue, her pupils narrowing into catlike slits.
Then Junebug collapsed back upon the table. Her eyes closed, her body going limp.
Julia withdrew her fangs from Junebug’s neck, straightening, turning to Claret with a triumphant grin. “The process is complete, Your Grace.”
Claret walked over to the table where Junebug lay in a swoon, running a hand over Junebug’s muzzle, lips, and cheek slowly, admiring the newly minted Vampire Fruit Bat unicorn.
“Splendidly done, Julia. When she wakes, I want you to take her into the third bedroom with the other girls. Introduce her to her role; make her understand that she is now in my power, and must obey my will.”
Poppaea was sumptuously reclining in her bath of milk, the warm liquid trailing down her flesh. She had her head resting upon the rim of the tub. At Claret’s words, she opened her eyes and gazed over at the unconscious Junebug, her yellow eyes glittering. “What a pretty little slave she’ll make! I’m jealous, Julia! It’s not fair! You should let me touch her first…”
“It is Her Grace’s will that I should do so, Poppy. Perhaps, if you’re good, she shall see fit to let you train our next slave,” Julia said, not a little proudly.
“It is as she said, Poppy,” Claret agreed, moving back to her chair, and sitting down. “Besides, there shall be no lack of new slaves for you to sample, Poppy,” she reminded the red-maned mare. “Soon enough, all of Equestria shall be mine. We shall wipe out these inferior mortals. They are a plague upon our existence; life unworthy of life, fit only to be chattel. My solution to their unworthy little lives is simple.”
She made a fist, closing the fingers of her right hand firmly. “Little by little, we shall extend our reach over this city. We shall topple Her; we shall throw her down from her golden throne and turn her subjects into glorious Fruit Bats. Ah, we are truly superior, indeed, Julia, Poppaea – we are strong, powerful, intelligent, bold, and noble; everything these filthy mortal ponies are not. A monarchy filled with lesser creatures like these mortals ought not to exist at all. We shall recreate Equestria in our image and it shall cease to be Equestria. There will only be Night’s Imperium, and our reach shall span the entire globe itself!”
Claret grew pensive, and she let her hand fall upon the arm of her throne. “I will not allow anything to stand in our way; especially not some third-rate professor.”
“How shall you bring her to heel?” Julia asked.
“Easily enough, Julia,” Claret declared. “Dog!” she shouted. “Dog, come here! I have work for you.”
The doors of the dining room banged open.
In bounded an awful creature – a stallion, running on all fours, covered in thick, matted brown fur, with paw-like hands, long, sharp claws, twisted black horns stabbing up from its temples, slavering, gaping jaws ringed with shark-like, pointed rows of jagged white teeth, thick, heavily muscled limbs, staring, rolling, bloodshot eyes with burning red irises like coals. The stinging scent of brimstone and ash clung to its flesh, its long, lion-like tail snapping at the air.
The creature ran to Claret’s side, throwing itself down upon the ground and panting like a dog, its long red tongue hanging from its mouth. “What would you ask of me, Your Grace? I am here,” he rasped.
Claret carelessly pushed at its head with her hoof; it snuffled, lapping at the leather of her boot and the sharp heel with its tongue, leaving a trail of slimy saliva. “Hellhound! I want you to take your pack to Battle College in the Oxbridge University! Find a grey-maned, golden-furred Pegasus mare there, and destroy her. Crack her bones; eat the marrow within. Drink her blood. Eat her flesh, and satiate yourself.”
The Hellhound bowed his head. “It shall be as you command, Your Grace! My pack hungers; I am glad you offer us mortal flesh.”
He caught a glimpse of Poppaea; the red-maned, heavy-breasted, wide-hipped mare was languorously rubbing the nice warm milk into the bare skin of her arm. She had submerged herself low enough in the milk for the liquid to cover her plump breasts, but, upon catching the Hellhound’s gaze, Poppaea lifted one elegant leg from the milk with a small splash. Milk ran down the supple curves of her calf and thigh.
Julia strode over to the tub, the better to observe Poppaea’s body, baring her teeth in a wicked grin.
The Hellhound panted, ears pinning back, eyes blazing. Poppaea grinned wickedly, and allowed her leg to submerge itself once more.
Claret interrupted sharply.
“Go, then, and see to it tomorrow. And one more thing!”
“Your Grace?” The Hellhound’s ears pricked upward.
“You and your pack can start with her students. I want you to tell me what her face looks like when she sees her precious students being ripped apart in her classroom. I’ll teach her what it means to oppose us.”