//------------------------------// // 125 - Planet Death // Story: Re:Harmony // by starcross7 //------------------------------// Open your eyes, Prima. The flies bit her again. Prima woke back up after what seemed to be an hour and used her tail to swat them away from Trista's body. The poor excuse for a cave at the side of a small mountain offered them little protection from the pouring acidic rain the flying biometallic weather squids were producing. The weather was not enough to drive away the hellish black birds that had been dogging Prima as she carried Trista what could be the closest thing to a civilization. From her vantage from the cave, the buildings were built hastily with no semblance of form or organization. The creatures here were ugly, inside and out, and not a day goes by when one, two, or a whole group of them claw viciously each other's throats for petty matters like food, money, and anything resembling the female of their species. She had seen what these bipeds of various shapes, sizes, and colors did to creatures who moved on four legs, and it made her sick to her stomach that Trista was one of them. No, Trista was not like them. The worse part was that Prima needed to go to that terrible town to find someone called a doctor to fix Trista. She was looking worse by the day. Hair was falling out. Her skin started turning green like those orcish bipeds in town, and her joints became stiff. She really did not want to go into that town, but she made it too far to hesitate and retreat. The rain might sting her skin, but it she would be more hurt if she lost Trista forever. The pony mustered all her strength to roll a several rocks to block the cave entrance. The nearby river was loud, and the black birds still perched nearby hoping to pick at Trista’s body. As she sloshed through the mud in her trot towards town, Prima could already hear the punches, the glass breaking, and the screaming in the nearby buildings. She stepped into one of the myriad of twisting alleyways littered with overflowing trash and sleeping vagabonds. One of them took notice of her, but he resumed sleeping after throwing up in front of her. Almost all of the bipedal creatures busily ducked under awnings and porches, with many more situating themselves in buildings where they drank, yelled, and fought. Prima could almost move without being seen, and she needed to find a doctor so he or she could fix Trista. Trista once showed her a book of a doctor who wore a white coat and had a red cross-shaped sign hanging outside his worksite. The closest thing Prima could see was black cross painted on the wall. She peeked inside and spotted a group of ogre-like bipeds drinking. One of them had a tan overcoat on him. It was close to white, so he might be a doctor. She took the risk. The door was unlocked, and she let herself in. Prima whinnied at the supposed doctor for several minutes, but the ogre-like bipeds laughed. Then they started throwing their axes at her. That was the wrong place. Prima went to another building that a red "X", but the metallic-wearing bipeds yelled and shot at her. She went into another that had a "#" sign, but the insect-like inhabitants kicked her out. What was going on? Why could no one understand her? Prima was too weak to search. She rested in an alleyway, but got up shortly afterwards to dig through a trashcan for food. She did not know what she ate, but it made her sick. Sometime had passed before she realized she forgot to return to Trista. The weather had cleared. Prima galloped out of the town and found the small mountain where the cave had been buried by a landslide caused by the rain. A gaggle of bipeds had gathered around the landslide, and Prima leapt through them and started to dig through the mud for her Trista. The crowd laughed at her. They threw stones and rotten food at the pony, but Prima continued digging. She had dug for hours, perhaps days. By then, the crowd had already dispersed and disappeared. Prima became so tired and weak, and all she could do was scratch the ground, which now had dried up. Eventually she collapsed and fell unconscious. She woke up with a forceful tug against her neck. A web of harnesses wrapped around her muzzle, and she was thrown into a cramped and foul-smelling cage of rust. Prima found herself on a large transport bed that took her further and further away from Trista, and she was not alone. There were numerous cages of many sizes pressing against one another filled with all sorts of animals. Some had fur. Some had scales. Some had feathers. Some look like bipeds, but they covered in fur and they moved mostly on fours. All of them showed signs of grievous injury, malnourishment, and fear. Throughout the ride, Prima tried to rock her cage off the transport bed, and only one time the ogre-like driver came out to shock her with a prod device. None of the animals tried to escape. All of them were either too weak or too frightened to try. Some were not so fortunate. Days passed, and at a few stops, one of the meatier animals were taken out to be slaughtered in front of her eyes and devoured ruthlessly. The remains were left on the spot, with flies and the birds cleaning off the bones with morbid efficiency. I could be next, Prima thought to herself, but fortunately no other animal was eaten after the last one. Fortunate was all relative when they arrived at the next town and parked inside a large warehouse. It happened too fast, and there was not much light to see. Her captors finally pulled out of her cage and gave the worst kind of bath and the worst kind of grooming. The water smelled rancid, and her captors pasted used bandages on her scars. They then led her and the other animals outside on a platform that stood over a crowd of ugly bipeds. She was not the only one being presented, for at the other side the females of various biped species stood half naked and in chains. A well-dressed blue-skinned biped stood at a chipped stone podium and began shouting while moving his gavel back and forth in the air. The bipeds and crowds shouted back, and one by one the animals and the female bipeds were given to their new owners in exchange with shiny metals or large weapons. Both the animals and females screamed as they were being manhandled by their new owners into their transports. Prima was the last to be exchanged, and the only buyer was an orc-like creature with small horns and a fair face. She did not like the words of her captors, but she disliked the words of the buyer even more. The auctioneer and the half-orc buyer shouted at each other louder, and the buyer waved his jagged machete threateningly. The auctioneer threw up his hands and slammed his gavel on the podium. Prima's buyer, now her slaver, clapped his hands and jumped up and down before giving the disappointed auctioneer a bag of shiny metals. The pony resisted being taken away. The harness around her muzzle did little to protect her from a sharp kick to her nose. She felt she would have been sent flying if not for the chain around her neck. Her jackbooted bipedal slaver yelled at her in a vile language that she did not want to understand. He may be one of the better-looking bipeds on this planet, but his personality was anything but nice. Half-obediently, Prima shakily rose to her hooves, and almost immediately her slaver slapped sacks of heavy junk and onto her pained back. She could not run away, and she could not run back to find Trista. If she resisted following his barely understood orders, her slaver would hit her. If he was in a bad mood, he cut her. For days, perhaps weeks or months, her slaver forced her to carry his wares so he could sell metal junk to other bipeds from town to town, and he would use his money to buy more junk or drink strong-smelling liquids. Too often, he got in fights with others, and the people would run him out with knives and guns. Whenever that happened, he forced Prima to run with him. Just as often she would bear the brunt of the angry townspeople's weapons that was directed to her slaver, and that was on top of the physical abuse she suffered under him. At the very least, she was unintentionally offered time to herself when he went off on his own, and her days were spent staying in a pathetic excuse of a ramshackle of a tent while chained to an iron stake. It was when she was alone she could contemplate on her thoughts. She knew not how long since she landed in the Planet of Death filled with a constant air of meanness where bipeds stole and murdered one another daily. She missed the days on the starship. She missed the lanky metallics and the metal-wearing bipeds that treated her nicely. She missed Trista's father and her five friends. She missed Trista most of all, and every time she thought of her, Prima wept. She tried to breaking the chains with her teeth or with some of the tools her slaver left behind, but she failed each time. When her slaver noticed, he whipped her. On one late "morning", her slaver suddenly returned to their ramshackle tent with a wide grin, a rolled parchment in his hand, and purple blood dripping from a fresh cut to his forehead. He gathered one of his bags and yanked Prima out of the tent by the chain. She barely had enough strength to keep up with him, and she knew why he was running. Behind them, angry bipeds with large fangs, teeth, and horns chased him on foot and on their motorized carriages yelling as they fired their hand-blasters towards Prima’s general direction. A few of their blasts grazed her fur and they threw scaly green eggs that exploded right next to him. The slaver jumped into a narrow ravine and took Prima along with him. They landed with a sprain in their feet, and then quickly hid themselves in an alcove as the biped mob launched over the ravine with their motorized carriages. When it all became quiet, the slaver laughed a threw out offensive gestures at the pursuers. Afterwards, he and Prima made camp at the bottom of the ravine. Him being happy was just as worse as being angry. He drank that strong liquid again, and lots of it. After pouring all its contents into his throat, he threw the empty bottles at Prima as he opened another one. He sang, danced, and kicked dirt around and into the pony's eyes. He started talking to Prima, but she still did not understand his words. He unrolled the parchment on a flat rock and stabbed a knife where there was a large “x” marked on it. “Treasure,” was what the word this foul creature said to her. He kept repeating the word as he made wide gestures with his arms and made cupping motions with his hands. If Prima could speak, she would have promptly told him to shut up. The slaver slept a long time afterwards, and even with all that time, Prima could not cut her chains. When he finally woke up, he left Prima alone for a while to gather supplies, and then came back to pile them onto her back. He had more supplies than before, and no amount of whinnying could compel him to lighten the load. He used his sheathed machete to whip her into motion. With a lot of panting, Prima hatefully and grudgingly followed her slaver. It was not like she had any choice in the manner. That creature continued to keep her muzzled and chained. Days passed when they started on their trek back into the barren wasteland lorded by the perpetual sun and moon. She carried her slaver's pack almost without rest, food, or water. When she collapsed, he whipped her. When she showed signs of collapsing, he whipped her. Just as random as his thought process, he would whip her for no apparent reason while screaming in his native language, and him drinking made his words louder. How she hated that creature. They eventually arrived at an area where the sun was slightly lower than the moon. Past the horizon, the sky thundered, but there were no signs of the metallic sky squids that produced clouds and acidic rain. As they approached closer, two starships stood opposite of one another firing their array of destructive weapons at each other and on the surface below them. The slaver jumped up and down excitedly. He tugged Prima harder as he started running, and no longer worried about the packs that fell off that he beat Prima for dropping days before. They crossed over a ridge overlooking a valley of death and destruction. Prima recalled Trista mentioning a "war" her father was involved in. One side was called the Empire, and the other was the Republic. She could not tell which side was which, even before they were felled by their firearms, bombs, their ornate dragomechs, and their giant and utilitarian exo-suits. She was not surprised when her slaver pulled through the midst of the battle, ducking under streams of bullets and the metal claws of the dragomechs. Yet, she was scared all the same. The constant bombardment made her ears ring. Soldiers left and right rushed in with their rifles and bayonets, and they were deep in the trenches brutally stabbing one another. Prima tripped and stumbled piles of bodies of bipeds of many shapes and colors. She saw one pitifully reaching out his hand for help, but she could not help because her slaver yanked her away. They finally reached the towering hulk of a downed starship where both the Empire and Republic surrounded like flies and vultures. Prima and her slaver maneuvered through the chaos to safely enter the hull of the metallic ruins. Despite being on its side, the interior structure of the downed hulk was black and sleek. Several bullets ricochet off the walls, but none left a dent. Here, the sounds of battle were muted. It felt unusually strong and cold, and if Prima was not careful, she might accidentally become lost or fall down into darkness. Her slaver provided light through a chest-mounted flashlight. He pulled Prima through the dark obsidian-like corridors, and ducked past patrolling soldiers of the Empire or the Republic. Prima knew they were arriving at the location of the treasure when her slaver slowed down, became quiet, and snuck carefully to peer over an opening leading to a large area. Though weak, Prima managed to retain an ounce of curiosity as she struggled to peer over the opening. Below, soldiers in ornate knight-like armor gathered around a massive black sphere where a giant crack had spilled out spiked objects. They were usually on guard as their lanky metallics sifted through the sharp rubble to wrestle out a perfectly cubic black box. With the black box revealed, the slaver smiled widely, and he shook in his spot at excitement. He made a startling gesture by reaching for Prima's muzzle and collar, but instead of roughly pulling her, he did something unexpected. He unlocked her. The metallic restraints split apart. Prima could now move her jaw freely. She was free, and the shock of this rendered her frozen. She was free! However, in one last cruel parting act, her slaver picked her up and threw her into the group of knight-soldiers. Even if the knight-soldiers did not move, she was offered no soft landing, and she broke her leg upon impact. The knight-soldiers gathered around her with initial confusion, but they cautiously kept their rifles drawn and ready. Almost immediately, the one with a crested helmet stepped forward, pressed the barrel of his rifle on Prima's head, and slotted his finger just above the trigger. Surely, she would be released from the pain of living in this Planet of Death, but the hatred of that biped slaver was stronger than ever. Suddenly, the opposing forces burst in with a surprise ambush. They did not have the ornate armor like the knight-soldiers, but they were more dressed dark green padding and khaki. Despite appearing lightly armored, they put up a good, but bloody fight. Prima hobbled away, and in the middle of it her slaver landed and started slashing away with his machete. He wrestled the black box from one of the metallic's thin arms and kicked it down so he could stomp and spit on it. With a manic smile, he fought off the opposing khaki soldiers one by one, gleeful creating large gashes across their chests and necks. Just as he acted when he was drinking, he laughed wildly, but then stopped when he and many others saw the crested knight-soldier lobbing a large, egg-shaped device in his general direction. The explosion was big, and it was one of many. Prima did not get away in time, and she was thrown off her hooves to be sent crashing through a hole in the hall and into a large trench. More than ever her entire body was in pain. Several bullets had struck her body during the firefight. Scars she had suffered from her slaver had reopened, and she might have broken more than just two legs. The battle still raged on close by, but now she was by herself. Her vision became hazy. The smell of blood and smoke became stronger, and she could hear the screams of the dying soldiers filling the air. Prima wished she could die right now, but the idea of this terrible world continuing to exist after death angered her so much that it kept her alive. I hear you. Prima heard the voice, and to her astonishment, she understood it. Ahead of her was the cubic black box split open from its hinges, and it had ejected a glowing white orb. The curious sight caused Prima to muster enough strength to crawl towards it and bathe in its dim light. She cradled it tightly with her broken hooves. It was the warmest and most comforting thing she felt in a long time. I hate this world, she prayed. I want these to creatures suffer as much as I did. No, I want them to suffer more! “Thy call hath been heeded,” the orb spoke. “Thou art the meek and suffered victimized by a universe beset with perpetual ignorance. Receive thy power, bearer of the Element of Creation. Crush and destroy those who turned your life into misery! Crush! Destroy! Crush! Destroy!” Crush. Destroy. The mantra repeated in Prima’s mind as the orb glowed brighter, tempting her to take the power into her. Slowly she lowered her head in as her chipped teeth clamped onto power itself. “There you are, lil’ pony!” spoke her green-skinned slaver. “You finally found the treasure the damned Empire and Republic are trying to get their weakling hands on.” I understand his words. “Now give it to me.” His terrible and ugly words. “Hurry up and give it to me.” His entire existence is ugly. “You damned bitch! Give me the treasure or I’m gonna gut you!” Prima held the orb in her mouth as she stood up. She waited as the fang-smile widened on her slaver's face, and then she shattered the orb with one clamp of her jaw. His smile disappeared. He bore his teeth and his machete as he lunged towards Prima, who held up her front right hoof to shatter his blade on impact. Then she grabbed his claw-like hand and listened to the sound of joints cracking and the muscles tearing. “No,” she said. She twisted and crushed his hand before flinging vileness towards the side of the trench like trash. Her body, burning with hate and vengeance, marched towards him as he sniveled his worthlessness against the wall. “No,” she repeated. “Hey, I was just kidding!” he winced as clutched his bloodied and mangled hand. “I was making sure you weren’t mind-controlled by the Republic Psychics.” A lie. For that, Prima slammed her hoof on his foot, crushing it. His pathetic scream was music. “Please spare me!” he pleaded in tears. “I know I wasn’t nice to you, but it was the war! The war made me what I am! I had to do what I can to survive!” “NEVER SPEAK AGAIN!” Prima screamed. She ended his pathetic life by crushing his head. Prima bit her lip has she enjoyed the satisfaction of her slaver’s permanent silence, and she licked his wretched purple blood off her hoof. However, Prima’s satisfaction could not be sated for long. Instead, her anger came again, and it was stronger than ever. The slaver she killed was just one of many. The hatred and all the evils of the universe polluted the air around her, and they emanated from every individual on the Planet of Death. She understood their words. She read their thoughts. Their vile emotions poured into her heart. The idea of them existing for another second enraged her. Soon, the soldiers from the Empire and the Republic surrounded her with shaken bodies and panicked voices. Their guns rattled in their hands as they as they took aim. "What's going on here?" "That pony. That damned pony! It ate the Element!" "Who cares? We'll gut it up if we have to!" “What about the others, sir?” “Forget the enemy, men! Take aim and shoot that thing to bits!” Her bones self-healed to perfection. Muscles rearranged themselves to create strength. Scars vanished from her skin before fur took over. Her mane and tail fluttered against the winds of war. Prima slowly surveyed the Empire and the Republic soldiers encircling her. If she was her former self, she would have cowered in fear, buried her face into the dirt, and pleaded by whinnying. Prima was no longer afraid, but she was beyond anger.