//------------------------------//
// Chapter Eleven 
// Story: Cape and Cowl III: Showdown 
// by Artimae 
//------------------------------//


1

January 23rd, 1008,

It’s time. The last couple of days have been the hardest I’ve ever faced - I’m not a mare who likes to wait.

I admit that I’m scared. Scared at what I may find… scared at what I may do. I’ve talked for days about killing the Red Hoof, but soon it will be time to put my money where my mouth is. Can I do it? Should I?

The answer, to both of those questions, is yes. It’s gone too far. Either he dies, or I do. There isn’t enough room in this city for both of us.

This could very well be my final journal entry, but I’m finding myself at a loss for words. I suppose all there’s really left to say is my name is Snow Storm, and I am Manehattan’s Mare do Well.

For Frost Storm. For Primrose. For all of the Guards who’ve been lost. For mom, and dad. And for Manehattan.

It’s time.
-Snow Storm.





2

Gilded Leaf stood before the rest of the Guard, his eyes scanning over them. He shuffled in place, trying hard not to show his discomfort at the situation. Normally he’d deal with one or two of them at a time, or even all of the Lieutenants when a meeting was called.

But this was different. What stood before him wasn’t the Guard he knew; it wasn’t the Guard which upheld peace and civility in Manehattan.

What stood before him was an army. An army about to go to war.

All of them looked up at him expectantly, waiting to hear his orders although every single one of them already knew what was coming. What unnerved him the most, Leaf decided, was the fact that there wasn’t even any excited babble or murmuring amongst the Guards. They were all so… quiet.

He glanced to his left, and caught the eye of the Mare do Well, who nodded her own bit of reassurance. Easy for you, he thought sourly. You’re not the one rallying the troops.

“Fillies and colts, you all know as well as I do, why we’re gathered here today,” he began. “We are here to put an end to things; to close the chapter to a book that has gone on for too long, to rid this city of a cancer that has plagued it for far too long, but like any disease, it will not go down without a fight. And fight, we shall. We will fight for what is right. We will fight for those that we know will be affected if we do not succeed. We will fight for our families, our mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, husbands, wives and children, because none are exempt. None will be spared should we fail… but we will not fail. We will succeed, and we will finally free ourselves and our beloved Manehattan from his grip. We will fight for honor, for justice, and for righteousness. We are the Manehattan Royal Guard, and we do not back down from a fight!” he says, drawing cheers from the gathering of Guards.

“However… as we all know, no fight is won without sacrifice,” he said solemnly, his words echoing in the ears of all who heard him. He took a breath, and continued. “Some of us, may not make it back. Do your part to make sure your fellow Guard returns home. No pony gets left behind. We are not just the Guard, we are a family. We watch out for each other, we protect each other. Unfortunately for him, he pissed off the biggest family in this city, and this family, is about to clean house!” he yelled, raising a hoof high, the remainder of the Guard doing the same.

“Good speech,” the Mare do Well said, sidling up beside the Captain. “You think they have any idea what’s coming?”

“I don’t think any of us do… but frankly, when have we ever?” he replied. “At this point, the best we can do is get in and out as quickly as possible, and minimize casualties.”

“Right.”

* * *

High above the notice of the Guards, a pair of binoculars poked through the belly of a cloud. “Not good,” the pegasus muttered, stowing the binoculars away. He lifted off, flying silently through the dark, cold sky/ The boss had to be warned, and now.





3

There was a knock on the door. The Red Hoof frowned, swishing a glass of wine in mid-air as he studied his fireplace. “Enter,” he growled irritably, already deciding on the method of execution of whomever dared to interrupt his meditation.

“Boss!” It was the scout, his wings twitching and his chest heaving - a stitch had lodged itself deep in his side, and he thought he was gonna have a stroke any second. “Boss, I was watching the Guard, like you told me to, and, and… they’re coming! All of them! It’s like an army out there! And the Mare do Well’s with ‘em! I saw her myself!”

The glass shattered, spilling wine and debris all over the ornate rug beneath the hearth. He had known this day would come ever since she appeared, but still the reality of it was unthinkable. He, the Red Hoof, caught? Impossible. Even if he managed to win this final battle, he would be over. He’d no longer be able to pull Manehattan’s strings from the shadows. Could he usurp the Mayor’s position, control from the throne? Quite possibly. But how long would it be before those most annoying Princesses decided to intervene? Even they wouldn’t be able to ignore everything that happened. He could fight them, potentially. Flee them, more likely, and then what? Everything he worked for would be gone; so many years wasted. It would be impossible - he was where he was because the Red Hoof was as old as Manehattan itself. It was a name that carried power behind it. It would have no effect in the next city over, let alone some other nation altogether.

All because some little filly had come out of the woodwork, put on a costume and attacked the lowest tier of his empire. Why? Why!? It was the question that kept him up at night. What had he ever done to deserve her unrelenting wrath in the first place? He racked his brain, trying to come up with the possible solution. Her very first targets, as far as he knew, were some little shit-kicking hopefuls looking to break into his ranks. Rough Houser… he was one of her original targets. A small-timer with a huge ego. Facade, Charade’s worthless brother. He’d kept an eye on him, of course, because Charade was a very valuable asset. And lastly, Bolt Buck. The Red Hoof let the name swim around his head - there must be some importance to the pegasus. Had that petulant mare not come to him, crawling on her knees, begging him to spare Bolt Buck’s life? And why should he not? The Red Hoof was many things in the eyes of Manehattan, but a murderer was not-

His thoughts broke off, his eyes widening. The last puzzle piece had finally fallen into place, the one he’d been grasping at for so long. The Orange family, he thought. They had a son. He was killed. I remember now. Of course! It was all over the news. They hadn’t blamed him, so he put it out of his mind. Forgotten about it, even, so the ultimate connection was never made. She’s his sister. She attacked those three because they killed him…

His eye twitched. All this time, the Mare do Well had thought that he had ordered the attack.

“Boss…?”

The Red Hoof started; he had forgotten the pegasus was still there. Or that he even existed. “Bring me the Orange family. They’re in the cellar. They are not to be harmed or frightened in any way. Am I understood?”

“Yes, boss.” The pegasus shot out of the room, passing the trio of Rind boys arguing amongst themselves, and let out a breath he’d been holding in. Had he ever seen the boss acting that odd before? Had anypony? He didn’t think so. He was lucky to be alive, and he knew it. After he got that family, he’d bail. Maybe see his sister over in Baltimare. Move there, away from all this crap. He’d get a real job. Yeah, yeah. I’ll go straight. I swear it.

The irony of atoning to his family after condemning another wasn’t lost on him.





4

The morning sun was creeping over the horizon as the Mare do Well and Bolt Buck slipped into the vast, frost-covered grove of the Rind family. They crept through the empty rows of trees, Bolt Buck biting down on his cheek to keep his teeth from chattering in the cold. “What’s the plan?” he muttered, looking back every now and then to make sure they weren’t being tailed. “Bust in, hooves flailing?”

“Sure,” the Mare do Well whispered sardonically, “if we want to get ourselves killed.” They had been stalking through the grove for about ten minutes, and the Rind house loomed ever closer.

Her stomach turned as she eyeballed the rows of sickly orange trees; they had a dead, dull look that can only come from uncaring neglect, and she saw that many had developed the deadly Tristeza disease. Every so often they would pass ancient, rickety sheds which seemed to be held up only by magic and luck.

“It’s sad,” she said, shaking her head at everything she saw. “This whole place is going to die in another couple of years.

Bolt Buck, whose knowledge of flora was strictly limited to Manehattan’s Central Park, grunted. “We’re here to get your folks, not avenge a bunch of trees.”

The Mare do Well released a small, sad sigh. “Yeah, I know.”

“Think of it this way.” Bolt Buck shot her a small, reassuring smile. “Take down the Red Hoof, put the Rinds in jail, and y’all can own this grove, too. Or at least help out with whoever takes it over. That’ll be fun, right?”

She snorted. “What’s the catch? You want a job?”

“Oh, no! I like being on the weather team.” He gave her a sideways grin. “… Of course… all this acreage… it’d need a weather team all its own, wouldn’t it? And maybe somepony to, y’know, boss them around?”

“Wow, straight for the jugular. I’m impressed.”

“I gotta go after an opportunity when I see one, y’know?”

“All right, but you know there’s no guarantees, right? The city will most likely seize this property.”

Bolt Buck shrugged. “Worth a shot.” They stopped, having reached the edge of the grove. Beyond was perhaps a tenth of a mile of open land, which led to the house. “So, again, what’s the plan? You don’t just come into a place like this without a plan.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head,” she said. He could see the mask crease as she smiled. “I have a plan. Maybe.”

“‘Maybe’!?” he hissed, glaring at her. “What do you mean, ‘maybe’!?”

She gazed out across the yard, spotting a pair of ponies patrolling around the house. “I mean lay low and hold tight. This is going to be quick.” She was gone before he could say another word, slinking across the yard, her eyes fixed firmly on the two targets. She snuck in behind them, grabbing their heads and smacking them together. Bolt Buck winced at the a crack! of breaking bone, followed by a dull thud as the bodies fell limp to the ground. She waved him over, after looking around to make sure the area was clear.

“Are they…?” He looked down, his face growing pale as a trickle of blood seeped out of one stallion’s ear and turned the snow red.

“They’re fine,” she said dismissively, walking over to a pair of wooden doors laying at the foundation of the house. She grabbed the handle of one, succeeding only in rattling the door, and spat out a vicious curse. “Cellar doors are locked. Barely.” She tugged at the handle again, this time studying how much give the door had. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. “This is gonna hurt.”

“What’re you thinking?” Bolt asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

“I’m thinking I may need your help. We’ll see.” She took a firmer hold of the door’s handle, making sure her hoof’s grip was as tight as it could be, and positioned herself to give herself leverage.

And then she pulled.

Both doors rose only a bit, due to whatever lock or jamb lay behind them, but it was enough to encourage her. She pulled harder, pushing off of her back legs which she had set up against the house’s stone foundation. Her free hoof found its way to its sibling, both now gripping the handle, offering much more power. The lock inside held, possibly solid iron, but that wasn’t what she was interested in. Harder and harder she pulled, feeling her forelegs threatening to come out of their sockets, feeling her back legs wanting to wiggle and then snap under the pressure she was exerting onto them. Her neck had become a map of veins. Her teeth clenched and ground together. But, inch by agonizing inch, the doors gave way.

Bolt Buck picked up the idea, and grabbed the second door, adding his own strength to the mix. Finally they heard it: the dry crack of wood beginning to splinter.

“All right!” Snow Storm said, setting her side back down. Bolt Buck did the same. “All right,” she repeated, feeling herself smile. “We got it to crack. Now, we rip it open. On three. Ready? One… two… three!” They pulled, hearing as the door broke in more places. “Again! One… two… three!”

It was after the third time that the door finally let go. Snow Storm had pulled hard enough to send herself sprawling onto the snowy ground, the iron door handle still attached to her hoof. Bolt Buck, sweating heavily despite the chilly air, laughed at her tumbling. She glared up at him for just a moment, and then broke out into laughter herself.

“Come on,” she said after the fit had passed. She limped over to the cellar, opened now, and peered inside although there was nothing to see.

“Ladies first,” Bolt Buck offered in a gentlecolty fashion. She nodded, stepping over the threshold, feeling a chill go down her spine, for now she was truly entering the lair of the Red Hoof.

She wondered if entering Tartarus felt the same way.





5

Kabosu Rind rummaged through the house’s makeshift armory, digging out suitable weapons for his siblings. “All right, you little shits, it’s time to get serious.” He threw a crossbow at his youngest brother, scowling at how Valen fumbled and nearly dropped it. Suma, as usual, was ready to go. “The Big Fella says Guards are comin’, and we gotta take ‘em out. Got it?”

“Guards!?” Valen blanched, looking down at the crossbow in his hooves. “I’m not attacking any Guards! No way!”

“Oh, come on!” Kabosu screamed, glaring at Valen. “Grow some balls, kid! The time’s come! It’s them or us! Even a retard like you can see that!”

“No!” Valen shouted back, backing up out into the narrow hallway and raising his shaking crossbow at Kabosu. “I’m done with this! I’m done with you! You’ve abused me for too long, you… you bastard!” As soon as the word escaped his mouth, Valen felt a great weight lift off of him. It had been something he’d wanted to do for a long, long time, and now was his chance.

“How dare you? How dare you aim that thing at me!?” Kabosu raised his own weapon, aiming the bolt tip straight between Valen’s eyes.

“Boys!” Julius stepped around a corner into the hallway. “Unbelieveable!” he said, his old heart beginning to race as the scene played out before him. “My own grandchildren, about to murder each other!”

“You stay out of this!” Kabosu growled. “Your time is long gone, and you should be, too!”

“Don’t you dare talk to grandpa that way!” Valen demanded. He could feel his forelegs already growing tired from the weapon, but he didn’t dare lower it now.

“Now, now, let’s all relax here,” Julius said, stepping closer to his grandsons. “The Guard will show leniency if we surrender. Drop the crossbows and we can all get out of here. Alive.”

“I’m leaving no matter what!” Valen declared. His forelegs were feeling heavy and sweaty, making the crossbow ever more difficult to hold on to. “Come with us, Suma. You don’t have to stay with him anymore. You won’t be treated like a piece of meat anymore.”

Kabosu continued to glare viciously at Valen, but after a moment he lowered his crossbow. “Fine, you can leave. Get your ass in gear, Suma. We have to fight soon.”

Suma looked between his brothers, one older and one younger. He had been the middle child for a long time, but not always. Unwatched by an absent-minded mother, and focused too much on by an alcoholic father, he had become Kabosu’s first punching bag, the focus of his brother’s rage and hate and even fear. The convenient target, in other words, until their parents somehow managed to tolerate each other enough to conceive Valen. Then he became the focus of torment, and Suma slipped quietly into the role of Kabosu’s muscle. Not to get back into his good graces, as he didn’t believe such things existed in the first place, but only so he could be ignored. He had paid his dues, and after a while had come around to believe they all must. Didn’t Kabosu pay his own with their father, after all?

Those early years came flooding back to him; those few years where he was the outlet. Never did he lay a hoof on Valen his own self, for he knew what it was like, although it seemed as if he’d forgotten over time. Or maybe he only made himself forget because he wanted to.

“No,” Suma said simply, and moved over to his younger brother.

“What!?” Kabosu looked dumbfounded. Valen was a piece of work, but Suma? Suma never told him no.

“I said no. It’s over, Kabosu. The family is retreating and the Red Hoof is going to fall. There’s no future with his kind.” He dropped his crossbow and kicked it away. After that, he placed a hoof on Valen’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s go. I have years of being a brother to make up for.”

“Traitors!” Kabosu screamed furiously and fired. The bolt shot free from its crossbow, soaring past Suma before he even realized what had happened, and Valen screamed as the projectile shot into his left hind leg. Suma’s face contorted with fury - he trained his horn at Kabosu and blasted him backwards, sending him through a wall and into another room. There was a dull thump, and Suma turned around to see his younger brother had passed out. He lifted Valen up, draping the unconscious kid across his back, and looked at their grandfather.

“Time to go.”

“Agreed,” Julius said. “But, how about we pick up a couple of guests on the way out?”



6

The pegasus landed hard in front of Captain Leaf. “Sir! Beg to report!”

“Do so,” Leaf commanded.

“The Mare do Well and her companion trekked the length of the orchard, and managed to find what appeared to be a storm door, which she… sir, she ripped it opened.” The young scout looked both baffled and impressed, which caused Leaf to smile.

“Yes, she’s quite strong, isn’t she?”

“Yes, sir.”

“She made it in. Very good, Sentry. What of the grounds? And the house? What activity can you and yours spot?”

“Sir, the grounds are empty, but the house is active. They have an obvious defensive position, and they’re not stupid enough to lose it by sallying forth. I would make the count as… two crossbows to every window, maybe more.”

Captain Leaf nodded. “Not good, but not bad, either. Everypony, listen up! We have numbers on our side, for now. We must use this advantage while we can! Reports indicate the Red Hoof’s forces are gathering from the city in order to try and flank us, but they’ll need time to consolidate. We must keep an eye on our backside, but our primary goal here is the rescue of the hostages. I propose we form up and surround the house, with our strongest unicorns creating overlapping barriers to prevent any lucky little shit from getting a potshot on us! Our best will be near the doors that I was just told about, because I assume, and Celestia forgive me for doing so, that they will come out of that doorway. If I am wrong, and one of you others happen to see them, bring them into your fold and keep them absolutely safe from harm. I will want at least two unicorns covering them at all times once they’re out! Once they’re secure, they’re to be moved to a nearby wagon, where they will all be taken into the city, and into safety. Afterwards, our mission will be the capture… or the execution… of the Red Hoof! Am I understood!?”

“Yes sir!”

“Good. Unicorns, shields up! Pegasi, in the air! Guards, move out!”



7

Small beam of moonlight coming through dusty windows was the only source of light in the Red Hoof’s basement. Snow Storm was mildly disappointed in a way - usually, in her favorite stories, the descent into the deep, dark dungeon took a thousand steps or more, possibly as a way to build up the tension before the ultimate climax. The stairs leading to the outside had only been nineteen, however. It was silly to be upset about such a thing, she knew, but some part of her couldn’t help it.

They looked around, although there was little to see; only silhouettes of varying shapes and sizes. Snow’s imagination kept placing monsters, horrible eldritch abominations from the most twisted of fantasies, in these lightless nooks and crannies. They would be watching her with thoughtless malice, their only concern being to eat her and her companion.

These thoughts, and more, were flooding through her mind when they both saw the shadows move on the far wall. Her heart leapt into her throat when a familiar voice pierced the darkened air.

“And if we refuse to come with you?” It was Mosley Orange. It was her father.

She took off at once, galloping at full speed toward the source of his voice, the aches and pains of her body forgotten completely. She could now see the outline of both him and Annabelle, between lines of black she assumed to be bars, as well as a third pony standing in front of the makeshift cell. That latter turned as he heard something coming toward him, but it didn’t matter. She’d plow him right into the goddess-damned wall, search him for keys, and free everypony down here.

“I would suggest you surrender, friend.” That was the voice of Pick Pocket, lying alone in a cell all to himself. “Surrender and just give her the keys. If you don’t, she’s liable to tear you apart. Quite literally, I’m afraid.”

“W-wait!” But before the stranger could get another word out, the Mare do Well was on him, lifting him up and slamming him onto the stone floor, pinning him there. “I do! I do surrender!” he cried, squirming against her steel-tight grip.

“Then give me the keys,” she snarled, glaring down at him.

“Belt! They’re on my belt! Please, I just want to get out of here alive!”

“You will if you cooperate,” the Mare do Well said, running her hoof down the stallion’s side until she found it: a ring with keys hanging from it. “Which one opens the cells!?”

“T-Third one from the left!!” he said. He felt her move away, but elected to stay where he was on the floor. It seemed safer there.

She plunged the key in and roughly threw the door open, ignoring its metal clang! which rang throughout the basement, and stood there, looking at her family in the shaft of moonlight. She took a step toward them, took another, and then threw herself at them, embracing them both and pulling her mask back, letting the large hat drift to the floor.

“Finally,” she said, pulling them tighter to her, feeling the first wave of tears escape her eyes. “Finally!”

“... Snow?” Mosley Orange looked at her in disbelief. His adopted daughter’s head poking out of the Mare do Well costume. It couldn’t be, he told himself, it couldn’t. He looked over at his wife, and later that day would wish he hadn’t, for he saw her joy, but not her surprise. She knew… he thought, and then realized just how much that revelation hurt him. She knew and didn’t tell me. Neither of them did.

If they managed to get out of this ordeal alive, there was going to be a very long, and very serious, family discussion.

Meanwhile, Bolt Buck found the key and unlocked Pick Pocket’s cell. He grinned at the latter, who did not return the favor, or even give so much as a thanks. Instead he frowned, looking over at the Oranges. “This family reunion is touching and all, but I say we should blow this shack before Tartarus rains fire down on us.”

As if that were a cue, the far door leading into the house opened. Snow Storm pulled away from the Oranges, replacing the mask and the hat.

“By force, if we have to.” The voice wafting down the stairs was old, but it was hard. Mosley frowned - he knew that voice, but it had been many, many years since he’d heard it.

“... It can’t be. Julius?”

“Mos’!” Julius Rind, along with his grandsons, one carrying the other, made his way over to the cells. “Me and the boy are here to break you and yours out! Though… I see we’re a little late.” He looked around, seeing all the ponies together, even Red’s trusted little key keeper. “Mind if an old codger and his two good boys tag along?”

“Sweet Epona, what happened to him?!” the Mare do Well asked, seeing young Valen draped across Suma’s back like a sack of meat. What looked like the shaft of a crossbow bolt was jutting through his leg - she saw how his leg darkened as it went down to the hoof, suggesting quite a bit of blood loss.

“My now-disowned grandson shot the boy. What’s this world comin’ to!? Anyway, the boy’s passed out is all, but he’s gonna need some care soon enough. Son of a-... where are my manners gone!? Suma, light please.”

“Yes, sir.” Suma grit his teeth, bringing a ball of light to the tip of his horn. Most of the others winced at the blinding glare, their eyes so used to the dark basement.

“There,” Julius said, pleased. “Now that’s much better. Good work. All right, we’ve all been here long enough, I think. Suma, what do you say you finish your atonement and lead us all out of here? The Guard is out there, waiting for something to happen. We can make a break for them and the city. ”

“Yes, sir. Everypony all set? Let’s get going.”

Before any of them could move, however, a new voice cut in. It was cold and deep, and it came from the top of the stairs leading into the house. “None of you are going anywhere.”

They all turned, a collective chill running through the group, and saw the silhouette of a large stallion make his way down the steps and into the basement. He was far from the light of Suma’s horn, just an ink spot on a black backdrop, but everypony present could see on his left hoof a glistening, blood-red boot.

The Mare do Well stepped up at once, putting herself between the monster and her loved ones.

“Well, then. Here we are, at last.” The Red Hoof’s voice was booming, and full of a joviality which was underlined with unmistakable malice. “Face-to-face with the enigmatic Mare do Well. You’ve caused quite a lot of headaches, my dear.”

“I can fix that for you,” the Mare do Well growled back. “Permanently.”

“Mm, yes, you do seem to be an agent of death, don’t you? I’m sure that wasn’t your intended goal, of course, but…” He shrugged, as if to say It is what it is.

“I haven’t killed anypony!” she shouted, taking a step forward. Mosley reached out to grab her, but she shrugged him off. “You’re the killer! Murderer! There’s blood on your hooves, including my brother’s!”

“My hooves are dirty, yes, but let’s not pretend that your hooves are any cleaner, either.” The Red Hoof strode forward, coming to meet the Mare do Well halfway. “The important question now is, what are we going to do about this little situation we find ourselves in?”

“Easy,” she retorted, craning her neck to keep eye contact with the looming stallion. “You’re going to answer for everything you’ve done.”

“Oh? And a little filly like you is going to force me to cooperate? No. No, you are right. There is only one way this can end. Preferably, I would let all of you go, under the stipulation that we never deal with each other again, but that wouldn’t satisfy you, would it? You’re too tenacious… single-mindedly stubborn, if we’re to be honest with each other. You hunted me down due to an unfortunate misunderstanding, and the situation has already escalated well beyond its critical point. I’m remiss to use an old cliche, but, strictly speaking this city is not big enough for both of us to exist. And, dare I say, I am far too much for you to handle. Which leaves us with only one option.” He gave her an amiable smile, as though they were old friends instead of mortal enemies. Without warning, his horn flashed, and Snow Storm found herself thrown back, rolling across the stone floor.

Yells and cries erupted from the group. Mosley and Julius both started forward, but were held back by the others. The Mare do Well struggled to her feet, swaying as she stood back up and charged. She leapt at the Red Hoof, intending to throw her entire being at him, but his horn flashed again and she was flying backwards.

“It’s futile, girl,“ the Red Hoof said, staring bemusedly at her as she had to use the wall to pull herself up. “You will never get close enough to lay a hoof on me. I am not heartless, however; surrender wholly to me and I’ll spare your group of friends. Is that not fair?”

Snow Storm leaned against the wall, feeling a retort on the tip of her tongue. She looked over, seeing fear and anger on the faces of her companions, and the retort died before she could spit it out. Their rescue was her primary goal, wasn’t it? That’s all that mattered now. And had she really expected to not only survive, but to win the day? Like the heroes of her comic books?

“... Fine,“ she said, ignoring the erupting protests of her friends and family. “I surrender.“