//------------------------------//
// Maraud 
// Story: On We Go 
// by I Am The Night 
//------------------------------//

	
"Please your eye and plague your heart."

-William Cobbett








Three Months Later

From the Perspective of Another




The days were always the same routine. I'd get up, put on my gear, go out and scavenge what was left, settle down for the night(s), and repeat. Gone were the days that I would listen to that damned radio. Why would I waste my breath twisting a knob for hours at a time to static and looping messages of the dead?

Today, this morning seemed to be no different from the rest in weeks.

The morning sun shone through the blinds of the window, forcing me to wake from sleep. It had to have been no less than nine in the morning. I could hear the sound of birds chirping, the wind blowing - and maybe even the sound of a couple of dogs barking in the distance. I never minded the sound of nature going on outside my window - but to be fair, it was annoying to wake up to, no matter how early or late I woke up.

As soon as I had gained the strength to move, I lifted myself out of the warm covers of the bed and plopped myself onto all fours, stretching as I went. Once all of my bones were cracked as needed, I walked my way over to the nearby dresser and looked into the mirror.

My mane was such a mess. It'd been days since I gave it any proper brushing or grooming - whatever the likely term was. Even a few pushes and slides up and down didn't do it any favors or changes. Not even a single drawer or cupboard in the house had a hairbrush or comb.

Perhaps someone took them a while ago...?

With a sigh through my nose, I grabbed my armor that had been sitting on the dresser top and began to fortify myself, tying and wrapping arm and leg pieces around until they were on just right. I saved the chest piece for last, being much easier to put on than everything else. The mirror also helped wonders, thankfully.

Once I was sure everything was fitted right, I grabbed my gas mask, but decided not to put it on right away, not wanting to waste the filter when it wasn't needed. I hooked it to my belt strap and headed back over to the bed to grab my backpack - more of a duffle bag, really - before making my way into the hallway.

I'd been familiar with this place, this house, for no more than a week or two. If it hadn't been all the more obvious - this isn't my home. I'm far from home. At the time of the war, I was a simple civilian, probably like the ponies who once lived here, living in Seaddle before being drafted. Within a few months after I had left - the whole city had fallen to the King. It was reclaimable, and had been at a point.

But after the plague came and went-...

It's all just rubble and smoldering ruin now. A lot of the cities did that - thought it would somehow push back the plague, and yet, all it did was leave millions without homes, just to die on the streets.

But I wasn't there to see it happen. I was here, nearly two thousand miles away, eating food from dead strangers' pantries and trying to get by while everyone else killed each other or died to the plague itself. The radios went out, the lights came second, and then...

Then it was just a whole different world after it got quiet.

This house - from what I can tell, it belonged to just the average family. Husband, wife...young daughter.

All of them dead to the plague by the time I got here.

I just closed their doors and tried to ignore it.

But no amount of air fresheners or sprays or any possible methods could shield me from the smell that was already beginning to form. I noticed it a few days ago - hardly pungent, hardly noticeable unless you were real close.

Now all you had to do was just walk up to the second floor; no matter where you were, the smell was there to haunt you, and unless you were uninformed - you knew exactly what it was and where it came from.

I had no clear intention to stay here forever in this place. I had already picked their cabinets clean with what remained. Sure, their windows had been boarded up, and the place seemed defensible enough...

But it was nothing more than a grave, and all I was doing was defiling it the longer I stayed.

Today, I was going to leave this place and move on, just like I had in the days and weeks before.

And I was not coming back.

Why would I?

With the things I needed, I was downstairs in a short time, but before I left, I made one last inspection - in case I had missed any possible cans or non-perishables. As soon as it was finalized, I was standing at the front door. Not forgetting, I grabbed my mask from my belt and applied it to my head, making sure it was airtight along the edges.

It'd been weeks since I came into any direct contact with either the infected or...goddesses forbid, their bodies. But there was always the risk that the air was still not clear, or clear enough that I could breathe it in without perhaps catching it. Of course, this only applied to areas, like a town or a city. Had I been out in the countryside or far out from any form of civilization, then I'd be more than glad to breathe in the freshness.

If only I had been born as a Pegasus instead. Hm.

If only.

With a simple grip and twist, I pulled the door open and almost immediately, I was greeted with the brightness of the outside world. As I slowly walked forward, all that stood before me was just another ghost town, inhabited by the cadavers of the once prosperous folk.

Cornwall back in the day, from what I found from the now empty town hall, was a popular town at least four decades ago. Ponies of all races, ages, and origins would visit and make themselves proper company for days, even weeks at a time. It was popular for, almost solely, its cheerful mood. Everyone you met was either giving a kind smile or wanting to simply "have a grand time."

I had heard about Cornwall from time to time, on the occasion neighbors or anyone else living in Seaddle who had visited it at one point, but it was commonly few and far between. I always planned to visit the place one day, maybe share some experiences myself.

But now - Cornwall is nothing more than a hollow shell of what it used to be. Its shops and houses are boarded up, every window and nearly ever door barricaded as a resort to protect belongings. All kinds of trash and garbage litter the streets, sidewalks and roads. Some windows that weren't blocked off were smashed in, if the glass on the grounds were any indication.

However, I think the worst of it were the bodies. The ponies of Cornwall seemed to strive to protect the town initially, keep its spirits up not just during the war, but also during the plague. Some of the walls of buildings were plastered with posters that promoted all kinds of peace and hope - they clearly didn't want a panic.

Of course, that probably all went down the drain as soon as the sick started to die as they...did.

Many of the deceased, many of them either face down or belly up, had crystals protruding from their mouths and noses. Sometimes, even the eyes were nothing more than bits of gems and diamond shards. Whatever wasn't destroyed by the shards was picked at by the buzzards and broken down by nature and the animal kingdom itself.

But the smell.

That never leaves you. Never left me.

With the mask, the pungent smell that roars over the town is almost completely sealed off and filtered at every breath, so long as the filter still works. The current filter had another good few hours worth in it; that was plenty of time to find another one - easier nowadays than before the war.

Even though I had been living in Cornwall for hardly over a week, I had already just about scavenged what was left to scavenge that wasn't already picked clean by everyone else. It was a literal hollow shell. I figured it was best to search one last time for anything left and leave before high noon.

So off I was into the heart of Cornwall. The Plaza, it was only basically called, was a mass common hangout for the majority of the folk either living here or visiting. Whatever parties or events were held in town, they were held right here.

The Plaza nowadays now greets any newcomer with body bags upon body bags, quarantine tents, barricades and blockades, guard towers, fences - either standing or knocked down. It was controlled with the intention of becoming a treatment center for the infected, a way to maybe contain the spread.

Of course - it didn't work.

I treaded carefully around the place, over every bag and around every barrier, hoping to make the least noise possible. Last I recall, this area was rampant with wild dogs - relentless and could tear someone apart without even hesitating. The last thing I wanted was to make noise and draw them right to me, even if I can outrun them.

With luck on my side, however, I was able to make it to where I wanted to go quietly. A Service tent was in the center of the plaza, a common place to find weapons, medicine - and filters.

Now - you might be wondering, why the filters? Why did the Service have them?

Chemical warfare, of course. During the peak of the war, the King had the idea of creating some form of "dirty bomb" that would basically kill you from the inside if inhaled. The Service gave out mandatory gas masks for every citizen, only to be used in the event of some kind of biological or, in this case, chemical attack.

It was hardly used - and so were the masks, even when they were needed the most.

Of course, a few of the bodies I had come across had masks still worn on their faces - that could have been any number of reasons.

I just hope that...

Shaking the thought away, I kept moving and carefully entered the tent. The sunlight was shining just fine through the open flaps, so my flashlight stayed off.

The tent, though it did show signs of looting, still had a decent share of supplies within. Enough antibiotics for a couple of weeks and some canned beans.

Now if I could only find some...aha!

One of the open boxes contained three remaining filters that hadn't even been used yet. They could keep me going for a long while if I kept them safe. Weeks, months maybe - though I'm sure at some point, it will be safe to breathe in the streets again. I mean - for all I know, the air really is harmless.

But I'm not gonna take the risk just on a thought, so the mask stays on until otherwise.

I grabbed the three filters and put them in my backpack carefully and quietly. With an unsure conscience, I decided at the last moment to do one final sweep of the place to be sure I had everything I came for.

As soon as I was certain, I started making my way to the nearest exit.

Then I stopped the moment I heard something.

What is that? Sounds like something's...moving.

There's no way it could be survivors. Hasn't been one here in weeks, why would there be any-...

Wait...no...shit, not now!

My movement was slower; I basically sneaked my way over to the door flap. With a calm, gentle push of my hoof, I carefully opened up the flap just a tiny bit.

Sure enough, my fears came true.

"Dogs."

The dogs were back. No way they could have heard me? Is it my scent? Did they track my scent?

The once domesticated creatures were now crawling their way around row upon row of body bags, one after the next - sniffing and pawing at them as if looking for their next meal.

Sure enough, that's what they were doing once they sniffed the right one.

They hadn't noticed me...thank Celestia.

But they did notice a meal.

A slightly bigger body bag, bigger than the rest, was almost immediately torn open by the canines' sharp, vast incisors, cutting it open like they were scissors. As soon as the bag was open enough, the corpse of a unicorn came rolling out, clearly bloated from advanced decomposition, almost as if it was ready to-...

With one immediate bite from one of the dogs, the bloated stomach popped like zit, splattering its contents onto the ground and all over one of the canines - and they didn't even mind it, which...made it all the more...

More...

I turned away. I couldn't look at it, the sight was so...gross, for a lack of words. It took all the willpower in me not to throw up. I gagged, I threw silent coughing fits - but I didn't vomit.

I couldn't.

With a brief inhale of the filtered air, I looked back to the scene. Sure enough, the dogs were well into their meal, feasting on the rotting organs and peeling the skin off like a spoiled orange. All the while - the face of that unicorn...

That stallion...he didn't wince, he didn't scream, he didn't cry in agony or try to fight.

All he did was stare.

I carefully closed the flap and tried to think of a plan, assess the situation. The dog population was few and far between in Cornwall nowadays - but goddess, those fuckers will sprint like athletes whenever a sound goes off and some kind of opportunity arises.

It was already a pain to get in here; now I needed to get out without alerting a bunch of pony-eating devils.

Again, for lack of better words.

At this point, I had three options, two of them shit.

Option one - I wait it out. Wait for them to eat their meal, dig around a bit more, then wander off some other place, and get out of dodge as quick as I can.

Option two - I sneak out from the back. Take the chance and be careful not to make any noise and just sneak my way out of town.

Then there's option three - make a run for it and don't stop until I'm out of town.

One is a shit idea. Who knows how long they'll be there before they're full or bored?

As for three, the fact that they're not starving by a long shot means they could probably chase me for miles if they wanted to until one of us got tired. And with my backpack full of weeks worth of food and air filters - I'm pretty sure I'd be the first to go.

And I don't plan on becoming a dessert meal for a bunch of dog.

So...

Option two it is, I guess.

With a calm exhale, I started to slowly creep my way to the back of the tent, hoping to stay as quiet as I could. My hooves didn't clip-clop on the ground as much as they usually had, which worked wonders for me at the moment.

But it was my backpack that was more of a problem. The contents inside were moving gently and very faintly clanking about. I only worried something loud would move and cause them to turn their heads.

"Don't make a sound, don't make a sound..."

I felt it was better to just shut up. For all I know, I was gonna end up-


*clank!*


Fuck.

A metal bucket, part of the garbage piles on the ground, clanged loudly as I kicked my hoof into it. It hurt a bit, but the sound worried me.

Immediately, I froze in my tracks and listened.

The shuffling stopped, and the dogs were quiet. It was likely they were listening in, maybe thinking whether or not to investigate. Hopefully, they wouldn't and would just go back to whatever the hell they were doing.

Please do that, I'd rather not deal with this.

I tried to breathe quieter in order to listen better. They were starting to move again, but only very slowly. It didn't seem like they were inching their way towards the tent, but rather - circling it. Were they trying to find an entrance, maybe?

I knew it was only a matter of time before they did decide to wander on in and catch me in the spotlight, so I had to act fast. Do I keep on sneaking? Or do I make a run for it and hope I lose them eventually? Cornwall was big, but there were only so many places I could hide or take cover from anything, dogs or not.

My chances of fighting them and coming out the victor was slim to none - there were total of five, maybe six dogs. Six vicious, bloodthirsty hounds with massive chompers that could easily tear into something without even trying?

That was a losing battle, not even an argument.

But I've gotta get out of here, out of town. If I thought the dogs were bad, I'm not sticking around when or if something worse rolls by.

Okay...don't make a sound.

I got up from my sitting position - I hadn't even noticed I was sitting - and started to advance once again to the back exit, while looking more at the ground this time around so I didn't bump into anything loud. It was commonly cans that made the fuss, but there was sometimes a bucket or, up ahead, an empty barrel. I simply moved out of the way, and they weren't even a problem.

After a tense minute, though it felt longer, I finally made it to the exit. Before blindly walking out, I gently let loose a flap and looked out with a single eye.

More body bags, more barriers and guard towers.

No dogs. Good, they were still on the other side.

With a quickness to it, I started to unzip the flap just enough to fit myself through. One hoof in front of the other, I started to gently hop my way through the flap. I was thankfully quiet and careful enough that my bag didn't make the noise I initially expected of it.

I might actually get away from this.

But as I was slipping my last leg through, I noticed something on the ground right below me.

A bear trap.

Too late.

My leg fell free from its hanging on the flap and straight onto the pressure plate. In an instant, the metal teeth of the trap clamped onto my leg. The second my brain registered what happened, my whole body shook with the pain, and I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs.

It hadn't been the first time that I was caught in a bear trap - but how could anyone expect to be accustomed to this pain, on this register of that very word?

My eyes were blinking rapidly as tears quickly started to roll down. I fell to the ground, and the contents of my backpack immediately started to shake and clang about.

It was a fucking dinner bell, that's what it was.

I had to get out of here, fucking fuck, had to get out! This fucking pain...!

That was when the adrenaline kicked in, and at the best time.

With all the strength I could muster, I grabbed both sides of the trap and started to pull them apart. The pain sensors of my leg were going into overload, but I couldn't just stop. Any second now, those dogs were going to come around that corner and rip me apart like a steak.

That only made me pull harder.

Come on, come on...!

As the sound of a great clank filled my ears, my leg was finally free from the trap's clutches. I immediately lifted my leg out and let go, the trap instantly clamping down, but on air.

I took a brief moment to breathe the air I could before trying to get back up. When I managed to get up on all...well, threes for the moment - I made the attempt to dart in the opposite direction from the tent, putting as little pressure on my wounded leg as I could.

And just as I did, the pitter-patter of paws and the sound of angry barking was behind me.

My hooves dug themselves deeper into the ground, and I tried to run faster. But no matter how fast I seemed to run, crippled as I was - the noises and the barking was only growing louder, growing closer.

I was hardly fifty feet from the checkpoints and the creatures were practically biting and lunging at my tail, just trying to pull me back and dig their teeth in.

Could I even fight with an injured leg? I could punch, I could kick with my working one - but would I even have the strength to pack any kind of defense?

No more asking questions and thinking up answers - they were there, right behind me. I could feel it.

I either die now running, or I die fighting.

Now or never.

Readying my hooves, I started to slow down, just enough to ease my hoofing and be ready to strike.

And as I turned around - they died.

But not by me.

I heard the whistling sound of something passing by me, and I immediately reacted as to protect myself. I heard three, maybe four brief whines, followed by five or more thuds to the ground. 

And as soon as I opened my eyes, I watched what had happened.

All six of the dogs fell to the pavement, bouncing and sliding for a split second before coming to a complete stop. They were still and limp, clearly dead.

Looking closer, I saw what killed them, and immediately I reeled my head back in confusion, maybe even a bit of worry.

Arrows. What?

Was there a trap somewhere? Did I step on a pressure plate?

Or...

I froze.

Then I turned around.

And immediately, I was greeted, for the first time in months - by ponies. Actual ponies, living and breathing. They wore their own armor, making sure they were fitted right, just enough to keep themselves safe.

There were three of them standing almost in a line, holding their own seemingly self-crafted bows. 

One thing I did notice, however, was that none of them were wearing gas masks. Could it mean the air was safe to breathe? Or was it still bad and they just screwed themselves by walking into town?

My thoughts halted when the middle stallion, I'm assuming the leader, spoke up to me.

"Almost got your ass chewed off there," he said.

His voice was high, indicating he was somewhat pretty young. Clearly, he was talking in that typical "smart-ass" talk. It was obvious he didn't save me just for the purpose of saving some poor survivor.

I knew exactly what he was playing at, it didn't take a genius to guess it.

But for the moment - I said nothing, just waited for him to continue.

And continue he did.

"You know, you're pretty lucky. We managed to show up just in the nick of time, and yet - I haven't heard a 'thank you' or anything from you as of yet, because if it wasn't for us...!"

He shrugged, lifting a hoof and twisting it upside down, all while letting out a "ptft" noise.

In a way, he might've had a point. On every other factor, however...

"Sooo, I think it's only fair if we got some kinda...compensation for our service?"

And there it was.

I played along anyway.

"What kind of compensation?"

The stallion was now up close to me, having casually walked closer with every step he took, just to get face to face with me, only inches separating us. I was cautious just in case he was either to take off my mask, try and attack me, or otherwise.

But he didn't do any of that. He just simply got close enough to answer my question.

And it was exactly as I had expected it to go.

"Like...all of your shit - including that cool-ass gas mask of yours."

Hm. Never saw it as cool, but...

"Not gonna happen," I flat-out told him.

The stallion - would it be more appropriate just to call him a raider at this point? - stared at me for a few moments, almost like he had frozen. His face then contorted into a look of confusion and maybe even impatience. Even his head pulled back a slight bit.

He scoffed briefly.

"Excuse me?" he asked, moving his head forward like he wanted me to repeat it.

So I did.

"I said no."

His head pulled back again, and the impatient look started to show just a bit more. He looked in a random direction behind me, more likely the checkpoint, before turning his head back to me.

That's when his friendly, caring façade he put on finally died down, and his real intentions started to come out.

"We just saved your ass. You're lucky we didn't leave the dogs to munch on you, and you're even luckier we didn't decide to just put an arrow between your fucking eyes and call it a day! I'm letting you off with a price, and that price is all your shit. So unless you wanna fuckin' die right here, right now - you'll give me what I fucking want. Understand?"

I stared at him. It was amazing how just a couple of months can turn someone so angry and bitter, so violent towards others. Of course, he could have been like this before the outbreak - maybe due to the war? He seemed like someone who had a lifetime of just...this.

Not as bad.

So maybe I could try and talk him out of it.

It never worked - but there was never harm in trying.

"I appreciate the fact that you saved me. Grateful, even. But just because you saved me, that doesn't mean I'm gonna give you all of my shit. I'll leave a can, maybe two if I'm generous. But you're goddamn stupid if you think I'm just gonna bend over because you killed a bunch of mongrels. So my answer...is no."

And there he was, with the staring again. He didn't immediately respond, nor did he immediately react. All he could do at this point was just stare at me in disbelief.

He was probably thinking to himself, Is this fucker stupid?

Was I? Probably. Two armed stallions and an apparent...

What is this guy-?


*smack!*


My mind instantly filled with the sense of pain. My immediate thought went to wondering what the hell just happened.

But as soon as I could think straight again - which honestly didn't take as long as you'd assume - it instantly clicked.

The guy punched me straight in the face. It didn't seem to hit me anywhere in the snout, but more or less under my left eye.

I couldn't believe it. The guy had the decency to save me, then decides to hit me when he doesn't get what he wants.

Of course, I knew it wasn't the kind of hit I was hoping. I knew the guy was immediately going to try and kill me, then take everything he could off my corpse before leaving me to the birds.

That was typical of any survivor - or so I had assumed.

I wasn't gonna be part of that.

Or better yet, I was gonna die trying.

Before I could fall to my side, I caught myself with my front hooves and reached for the knife I had hidden in my pocket - only for this occasion, a fight I could actually win.

When I looked back to the stallion, he was already planning either a stomp or another punch to me.

But I knew more about fighting than he did - I could tell.

As I guessed, he did attempt to stomp his hoof down onto my head, but I was quick enough to dodge his attack. I took the knife out of my pocket and gripped it tightly in my hoof. Before the stallion could react - I jammed the knife deep into his side, in a spot just between his armor, warranting an obvious reaction of shock and clear pain.

But I didn't stop there. Rather than pull it out and take more jabs, I started to slide the knife down, towards the rear. The stallion tried to pull me off, to stop me. I was obviously more capable of keeping my stance.

I only stopped once I had cut along nearly the entirety of his side.

And just as soon as I pulled the knife out - his side flew open like a broken dam, his organs and his own blood pouring out as he screamed. I moved away from him, allowing him to fall to the ground while continuing to scream. I focused on the other two stallions, the ones with crossbows. One was in the process of reloading his own.

The other, however, left his behind and started to charge me. As he closed in, I noticed the guy was a unicorn. At the last moment, I dodged and moved out of the way, causing the stallion to stumble onto the ground. As quick as I could, I ran over to him - and with the strength I had in me, stomped on his head, breaking his horn in two pieces. Whatever came loose fell to the ground and its color faded, something I never knew happened until just a few years ago.

The stallion screamed in pain, immediately grabbing onto the stump where his horn once was and seizing in agony.

Looking up, the armed stallion had now reloaded his crossbow and aimed it at me. Before he fired, I grabbed the unicorn from the ground and picked him up.

"Please, no-..."

I didn't attack him, but he assumed that I would - for the last half-second of life he had left.

The moment he was eye level with me, he wasn't anymore. His warm blood splashed onto my face as the arrow snugged its way in between his eyes, only inches from touching me. His whole body became limp in a single instant, and I let him fall freely. The other stallion on the ground was still in agony as he tried to put his organs back inside of him.

I focused instead on the stallion, staring at me with an empty crossbow once again.

"Shit!" he yelled as he threw the crossbow onto the ground, knowing reloading was too slow, and stood up on his hind legs and raising his hooves, ready to fight.

I quickly charged him on all fours, but stood on my own hind legs as I made contact. Despite him having readied himself, we both fell to the ground and tried to throw punches at one another.

A few of his punches hit my face, one in my shoulder, and another hardly tipped my nose. I could feel every hit - and it hurt like hell every time - but I had to stand my ground.

Eventually, I managed to get on top of him, enough so that he couldn't be able to fight back.

And I beat the shit out of him.

In the old world, a sane fighter would know when to stop after beating in somepony's head. It was common - did anyone really want to spend the rest of their life in a dungeon over a few slurs or a broken glass?

But in the current world, those rules no longer applied. If I stopped and let him go, what was stopping him from coming back with more guys and following me just to take me out?

I couldn't - I wouldn't risk that.

So I killed him.

Each punch against his skull broke more and more of it. With each crack, his head felt mushier, bruised, and battered. He spat blood, sputtered it from his mouth.

As the life faded from his body, his eyes started to relax - and all he did was just...stare at me. No matter how hard or how much I punched, he just stared at me in the calmest manner.

At this point, he was gone - if he wasn't, he would be soon.

I punched and punched for a minute, maybe more. When I stopped - his face was broken. Disfigured, broken nose. Hell, I hit him to the point where an eye popped out.

The ordeal left me out of breath. I sat on top of the body, breathing heavily, in and out, trying to regain myself. My hoof was shaking, covered in blood - and probably broken a bit in itself.

When I was finally able to balance my breathing, I let out a great sigh. I started wiping my bloodied hoof all over the corpse of the stallion I had just killed. Surely, he wouldn't mind right now.

Calmer already, I took a look at my surroundings, trying to be sure nopony else was nearby, or that these guys didn't have backup lurking in the shadows. Cornwall wasn't too complex, but anything could hide between its corridors and alleyways.

But the only sounds I could hear in the distance was the barking of dogs elsewhere and the chirps and squawks of birds flying every which way. It was enough to calm me even more. It always helped. I could kill someone and act like everything was fine a moment later.

And in a way - it was. 

I was still alive, wasn't I?


*click*


I heard the sound and turned to it.

And the next thing I knew, I was lying on the ground, groaning and moaning in pain - with an arrow straight through my body. It had to have broken through my shoulder blade. Right? Is that what this felt like?

"Ggg-eeaagh!" I screamed.

My breaths became heavy and ragged again. I took glances at the arrow. Half of it had buried itself deep into my shoulder...or is it my chest-...

Oh goddesses...was it almost poking out the other side?!

I took a look towards where the arrow had come from.

The stallion, the one whose stomach I split open - he was still alive! His organs were still there, still next to him, and he seemed hardly alive - but he also seemed full of adrenaline. There was no doubt he was gonna try and kill me.

At first, I tried to get up, maybe run off. But the pain from the arrow forced me down - and I had already started to remember about my leg having been in a bear trap just three minutes ago.

I wasn't going anywhere.

"Y-....Y-You killed my friends...tssttt...y-you m-...motherfucker...!"

He was clearly having trouble trying to talk at this point. He could talk more than me right now.

"Hhha-...I....H-hh-I'm gonna kill you...yeeugh hear that?! I'm gonna ffffuckin' kill you!"

I didn't have the willpower or the general strength to respond back, only look. The stallion had an expression of pure rage plastered upon his face. He had a true intent to want to kill me. He really meant it. Even with his organs spilt in front of him, he seemed that determined, that pissed off at what I did.

Pissed off at me for surviving. That was all too-...

And in an instant, his face changed. He was no longer angry.

He immediately looked...scared.

That was when I heard the clip-clopping behind me. I didn't have time to turn around.

The figure had already passed me. The pain was already making me dizzy. I was nearly passing out - I couldn't recognize or see what the figure had looked like. But it was definitely a pony. Not a dog or a gryphon.

One of my own kind.

"N-...NNoo. Get away. G-Get away!"

I didn't understand. Did he know him? Her? Them?

It?

Whose side were they on?

It was obvious that the pony was not on the stallion's side - because before I knew it, they were hacking into him with what seemed to be a machete. He screamed and cried and begged for mercy, for life, only for those screams to be cut short with a swift slice to the throat...or what sounded like that.

My head lay on the ground, looking up into the sky. I just listened as the figure chop-chop-chopped away. The stallion was probably dead now, but I could still hear that gurgling of blood, at least for a little bit. Soon enough, though, that stopped too - and a very weak lift of my head saw the stallion now no more than a corpse like the rest of his friends.

And I noticed the figure again, standing over the body, looking down at it with the machete still in their hoof. The body was battered, beaten, shredded with parts of it cut apart where the blade struck deep within.

They stared at it for a few moments - and I stared at them until my body grew weaker, the blood became wetter on my hooves, and I became more tired. Eventually, I laid my head back down onto the concrete and groaned again.

I could feel, hear the figure turn their head towards me. Perhaps a shift in their body? Maybe the sound their clothing or their armor made when they turned...I wasn't sure. But soon enough, there was that clip-clopping again, getting louder with every step towards me.

I wanted to run, escape. Who was this pony? Were they kind, or did they kill everything in sight?

Was I going to die?

But I was so weak. I couldn't run even if I could cough up any adrenaline for just a few seconds.

And as I looked up at the clear blue sky - there they were...their head hovering over me, watching me. They were just a mere silhouette to my eyes for the time. I could hardly keep them open.

They looked at me and observed me, but they said nothing and only breathed quietly.

I looked at them weakly, waiting for my fate.

My eyes closed, unable to open anymore.

And I heard the figure speak.

"You'll be alright."




And then I met her.