//------------------------------// // Chapter Eleven: Never Bring Magic to a Gun Fight // Story: The World is my Sandbox // by PoniesMine //------------------------------// Pick up a rifle and you change instantly from a subject to a citizen. -Jeff Cooper “Sane is boring.” -R. A. Salvatore —— Chapter Eleven: Never bring Magic to a Gunfight “Well, shit.” This is what you get for walking through a group of flowers whose sole purpose is to alter the physical qualities and appearance of an animal. GOD DAMN IT! A pleasant, cherry-red heart is located on my flanks, instead of the usual ‘Thermonuclear Explosion', to a normal person, this may not be that bad. For myself, however, if I’m even one-hundred metres in the proximity of one of these, foul shapes, I will do anything, and everything in my power to remove myself away from that particular location. That may, or may not include death. But of COURSE, this fucking thing appears when I’m standing DIRECTLY NEXT TO A GRIFFON. The bloody animals thinks I’m in fucking love with it!     So I did what any normal person would do, I excused myself, teleported back to base, suicided and reformed from the biological fabricator. To make matters even worse, apparently the AI did warn me about an abnormal dark energy presence in my body, but me being me, I didn’t give a fuck. FLASHBACK *Door Slams* Atomics throws her saddlebag in a random direction, and falls, on her bed, with a satisfying sigh, in the process of executing the exceedingly important ritual, sleep. For some unknown reason, the AI decided it was a good idea to interrupt this peaceful sentiment, “Senses have registered a lingering presence of high-frequency dark en—“   “Cake,” she absently mumbled. The AI seemed to hesitate for a moment, “What made you come up with something so random? Seriously, this conversation had nothing to do with the sustenance ‘cake’,”. “Sweat, moist, delicious cake,” she continued. The voice merged into a dark, cheerless tone, “I’m sorry, cake is only provided to test subjects who have completed the necessar—“ I may have imagined that last part, not entirely sure, I only remembered parts of it, so my faculty probably filled in the blanks, but whatever. The important part is that I longer have the picture that ‘shall remain unmentioned’ on my ass. Naturally, I could have had the energy purged from my system by machines, however, I believed, no, KNEW, that my body was tainted, and thus, had to be incinerated. Literally. I’m lucky the biological fabricator removes 95% of physical pain from my system, allowing me to do things people would normally consider antagonising. On that note, I decided I’ve had enough of ‘laying on the ground to fire my weapon’ sort of thing, and I’d rather not use the stand-up musket sticks to rest my firearm. So, I designed an ‘add-on’ to my Land Pattern Musket, where a thin metal rod can be pushed by the inside of my elbow, and set off the trigger. This allows me to hold my beast of a weapon with one foreleg. Now that’s out of the way, let me describe to you my current situation. A whole division of Griffons, the very same army that was used in the previous battle, is currently standing in a perfectly straight line, directly in front of me. Every soldier is standing flawlessly at attention, musket barrels positioned on shoulders, eyes strained forward, perception on the target. An enemy army, the Monarch military, around four thousand strong, sits several hundred metres away, on the opposite side of the fence. It’s hard to see any details from this far away, but It’s quite obvious there’s an air of tranquillity, reinforcing the idea that they have some sort of plan of action in place, perhaps it could be to do with the occasional unicorn, and regular pony located at the front? Whatever, shouldn’t really be a problem, from what I’ve seen, they are complete, and utter wusses. Not to mention, GOLD ARMOUR AND WEAPONS. They literally do NOT stand a bloody chance. I shouldn’t really count my chickens before they hatch however, It’s still a possibility they could change the tie of this battle by using their dark energy strategically. Though, I still very much doubt it. General Bridges stands at attention to the side of me, with his sole objective, to improve musket tactics. After all, this weapon is still a completely new type of warfare, thus, strategies have to be improved. I think he doesn’t like me very much, it's pretty obvious from the small, almost non-existent frown he wears every time I’m in the proximity of him. Suddenly, a loud, deafening horn directed from the opposite side, blasts into the surrounding environment, signifying the start of the enemy attack. Instead of a giant stampede however, the enemy army simply marches forward at a moderate speed, shaking the ground with impressive might. Huge, rectangular purple energy shields appear directly in front of these soldiers, erecting over 99% of the front troops. Well, that’s a bit of a surprise, didn't think they had that sort of technology, well looks li— wait. Disregard my last statement, they’re only powered by dark energy, not electricity. “FIRST ROW, READY!” Shouts the Democratic General Major over the intense vibrations spitting from the Earth. The front file of Griffons lowered their Muskets swiftly, the three-hundred and thirty weapons blended together to have the appearance of a solid wall. As though nothing can penetrate it. Then, something interrupts the edge of my vision, a normal person wouldn’t have apprehended the movement, I, however, have enhanced eyesight, well, technically it’s the norm for our society, what’s the point in buying a 16384K TV if our eyes can’t live up to the standards of it? I’m coming off track. This ‘movement’ is actually over 200 enemy Griffons in flying Battalions, and what looks like, airborne ponies as well. Their arrangement is several crisp V formations. This will be somewhat annoying to the Republicans. I use my right forehoof to tap General Bridge’s cold dense talons, “Yes?” He asks, his voice silhouetted with a touch of annoyance. “Look,” I point in the direction of the incoming air assault. He squints his eyes and attempts to search the general facility where I pointed. However, eventually, his pupils dilate to extreme lengths, expressing signs of surprise and worry. “Shit,” Bridges silently swears, he turns to a Lieutenant on his right, “Alert the Major, we have incoming enemy air support, prepare the reserves.” The Major’s voice cuts through the atmosphere like butter, “FIRST ROW AIM!” 330 muskets from the front column lower they're deadly weapons to point directly ahead, preparing the Monarch army for the first round of gold projectiles. “FIRE!” These weapons’ ignited wicks are lowered in a swift blur, the hot tips proceed to come in contact with the grey power located within. Setting it ablaze, resulting in an extreme pressure build-up, and the eventual explosion in series of intense red and yellow flames, the muskets, expelling a large amount of plume and smoke, somewhat obscuring the Republican army. The small gold objects thrust from their designated hobbit hole, and propel through the air at extraordinary speeds. Though, instead of puncturing flesh and amour, these metal bullets hit something else first. The ‘magic’ shields Immediately, one-third of the artificial cover, drops, the unicorns responsible, clutching their heads, wrapping both their hooves around their horn and rubbing fiercely. Hoping to cease the agonising pain as quickly as possible. Though the army continued to march forward, Griffons stepping over the downed ponies, their morale, only a bit more worse for wear. The ones still standing, didn’t fare much better, although the shields are still standing, some more than others, repeatedly flicker in and out, the unicorns accountable for this, attempt to ignore the searing pain, by scrunching up their muzzles, and squeezing their eyes shut. Some shields continued to illuminated profound purple light, the lucky bastards controlling them sadly didn't get hit at all. All this protected the army from the very first assault, many Griffons thought that these ‘sticks of death’ weren’t put up to what they’re of rumoured to. Maybe these metal rods are really just a scare tactic? The Democratic Musket division’s first column, like second nature, begin to immediately reload their weapons with surprising efficiency. “SECOND ROW, READY!” The middle strip of Republican Griffons army raise their weapons, the barrels situated over the shoulders of the griffons directly in-front. You know what sucks? Being stuck behind the action. In the ultra-realistic movies based on the Renaissance era, you always had the best of views when it came to conflicts. The camera consistently pans over the battlefield, allowing onlookers to see everything up close, to even somewhat feel as though your in some of the soldier’s shoes, experience like your apart of the engagement. Don’t get me wrong, I love being here, the smell of expended gunpowder, the crisp clear bang of explosions, and the apprehension, all contribute to a greater sense of thrill. I just wish there was a way to increase my experience more, something that will remove this moderate sense of disappointment. *Sigh* All well, I’ll just shove these feelings into the back of my mind closest for the time being. “SECOND ROW, FIRE!” Unlike the previous volley, this time, it was chaos. The world seemed to slow at these fateful moments, the muskets yet again, exploded in quick seething hot bursts, thrusting out tonnes of ash fire, forcing the gold metal ammunition to spit forward so fast, they all seem like a blur. Practically, all the remaining shields suddenly dissipate, creating a huge sense of worry and dread from the soldiers located at the front. Due to the sheer surprise of completely demolishing one of their biggest advantages, several Monarch soldiers tripped over their own feet, to luckily catch themselves before they bump any of the adjacent soldiers. Confidence gave way into anxiety and trepidation. A few ponies, mainly the unicorns, like absolute pussies, made their hurried departure from the battlefield.   What was even more frightening for them, however, was that some troops, both pony and griffon alike, dropped like rocks, dead, their bodies almost immediately shut down, and gave up. Blood and chunks of flesh exploded outward, covering several of the surrounding soldiers in distasteful gore, resulting in may Griffons and especially ponies, to stop in shock, mirrored to just like what happened in the first battle. Only the number is much, much lower than previously. The whole Monarch army had already been addressed of the sheer capabilities of these weapons, and, over 80% of the troops are what you would consider as ‘seasoned’, their fear, buried under layer, and layer of emotional walls. The element of surprise has already dried out. Though it’s still quite obvious to any outsider, the situation for the Monarchs is still deteriorating at an unmanageable rate. A loud metal clatter can be deciphered from above, followed by another, and another, until the sky is filled with an untenable sound mass of clashing metal, by virtue of this severe disturbance, I rotate my head to look up. The sky has transformed into the second battlefield. An extreme unorganised mass, roughly 300 vs 300 of ponies and griffons fight to the absolute death, swords plunge in flesh, armour rattles, bodies drop, some, unlucky soldiers become a cushion, to fall on top of, turning these plummeting bodies in impromptu artillery.   ‘When technology becomes equal, soldiers fall on the level of they're training, to live up to our expectations,’ this is one thing that becomes increasingly obvious, the Republican soldiers don’t have much experience to fall onto, and as a result, more of them drop from the sky, then compared to the Monarchs. Giving a death ratio of around 2:3, presenting, as clear as on live television, the Empire will win air superiority eventually. Although, the number of soldiers left afterwards wouldn’t be enough to cause enough significant damage. This is with the exception of the pegasi, they’re armour and weapons are absolute dog shit, the gold is cut like butter, and their weapons fail to penetrate the thinnest of steel amour. Their ratio is more along the lines of 30 to 1. Rounds of musket explosions are dulled in my ears, as I watch, with a satisfying amount of cheerful glamour, I can’t help but feel amazed by the slashes of blood, and guts as they pour down from the heavens, like light precipitation. The irritating unfastening sound of a sword, that slices through my atmosphere, is projected to the right of me, I switch my view to General Bridges, the person responsible for the creation of this noise. “What are you doing?” I enquired, somewhat annoyed that my peaceful period was interrupted. He replies in a warning, but still friendly tone, “Some are coming in our direction,” he points to a portion of the shy where three Monarch Griffons, the closest ones to our position, are flying directly at us, around 100m away, the series of blood splatters located on their light amour, highlights that they recently finished off the Democratic soldiers they were engaged in. “Get behind me,” Bridges ordered. Normally I wouldn’t take commands from a foreign military officer, except, one, I don’t want to die, or else I would miss out on the rest of the conflict. Two, it would arouse suspicion if I don’t at least appear a somewhat scared civilian. Despite the fact I can’t technically depart my life, as biological fabricators just ‘rebirth me’, and the emotion of ‘fear’ is a remote feeling for me, I still appeal to his orders and hide a portion of my body behind him. Using my right forehoof, I stanched my flintlock musket from my saddle bag, and proceed to point it in the general facility of the incomers. “If I tell you to,” General Bridges continues, “run to the closest soldier for backup, I can’t have you dying on us.” Yeah, cuz’ I’m too much of an asset, aren’t I? The General didn’t give me enough time to reply as several, heavy THUMPS interrupted our conversation. The three griffons, as mentioned earlier, surround us. Each point they're ‘not so deadly’, but still increasingly sharp swords at us, acting like walls covered in spikes, blocking us from accessing the outside world, trapping us in as mouses, in a mousetrap.   “Give us the pony, and we’ll be on our way.” A gruff voice chimed in, “we would rather not fight.” Of course they’re monologuing. “If you think I’m going to claw her over without some ‘persuasion’,” sassed General Bridges, as he tracked them with his sword, “then you’ve got another thing coming for you.” And then, he jumped. Well, so not much as bouncing up and down, I mean he leaped at the closet soldier to him. Sword positioned outward, ready, and willing to kill whatever it touches. Though there is one major problem, he sucks. I mean literally, he sucks at using a sword. I have no idea how he was even able to become a general if he doesn’t even have decent fighting skills. Bridges attempted to slash the head off the closest Griffon, but the potential victim, if only a little surprised, jumped out of the way easily, and countered with his own attack. Straight into the chest. Well, it would have been if it weren’t for the General’s top notch, steel amour. The sword just bounced off, leaving a decent sized scratch. Bridges slashed and stabbed randomly, hoping to acquire at least a single, lucky shot, that could potentially cripple his opponent, however, none did. The seasoned Monarch warrior consistently dodged, ducked, and jumped out of the path of his sword. Occasionally returning his own extremely effective attacks. Of course, that left me with the other two soldiers. “RUN!” Bridges hissed, while attempting, and failing miserably at dodging at incoming attack, slicing him in-between the armour plates, “Get out of here!” Obviously, I didn’t listen to him. Who would? The action is happening right here, and I’m apart of it, and if I’m honest, I’m loving every moment of it. “Grab her!” The one to the left of me yelled, “before she runs away!” And so I did what I do best. I fired the trigger. The majestic flint, propels forward, striking against the frizzle, resulting in a shower of intense sparks, that flit directly into the pan. Igniting the small amount of gunpowder located on top ablaze, this acts as a relay to the main course. The fire continues to travel inside the gun, entering through a tiny opening, in repercussion, causing the rest of the black dust, to burn up. The exothermic reaction results in an extreme pressure change, forcibly pushing the lead projectile (I’m not using gold), out the muzzle in an explosion of fire, and smoke. Manufacturing a sound not dislike of the other matchlock muskets shooting in the surrounding area, except, a slightly more distinct, powerful blast. Of course, this is because the gun can fire on average 80m faster velocity than that of the other muskets.   This all happened in under half a second. The lead projectile is immediately lodged directly into the chest, of the opposing Griffon, cutting through his light steel armour like butter, providing a small shower of blood on the surrounding grass. He drops, on the ground, clutching his chest, and gurgling in and out rapidly, the musket ball, likely punctured a lung, and as a result, his respiratory system is leisurely filling up with his own blood, choking him slowly to death. A small, predatory smile appears across my features. Magnificent! I turn my vision towards his other companion, he expresses signs of horrid surprise and fury. “You bitch!” He fumed, a small, almost non-extant tear strikes down his cheek, “I’ll get you for that!” He charges with overwhelming fury, sword suited outward. For me, everything slows down for me at that moment, Griffons moved slower, blood dripped at a slower rate, and sword swings were gentile. I was able to sneak a quick glance at the end of my musket, murky white smoke still expelled from the barrel, giving it an almost calm and calculating look. The bayonet, glistening in the sunshine, is just begging to be used, to feel the blood running down the shaft, to take the life of another living being, and, in an almost twisted and wicked way, protect the defenceless.   So, I sprinted with every fibre of my being, directly at my sole enemy. As we both approached each other at rapid speeds, he attempted to swing, with the understandable intention to slice my noggin clean off. With surprising agility, at the last second, I ducked my head. Newton’s third law is ‘For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction,’ so when two objects smack into each other, it equates to double the total force. And this is exactly what happened here. I thrusted the bayonet with my combined velocity, mass, and sheer strength directly into the Griffon’s chest, his own speed causing the force of impact to be twofold. The amount of power in this single blow could be possibly labelled as ‘the greatest stab of all time.’ The sword, penetrated straight through his internal organs, smashed his rib cage and turned his own biological structure into a fine meat smoothie. The gun barrel itself lodged several centimetres into the split flesh. Blood dribbled from his wound, running like a small fountain down the side of his body. Several splashes of the fluid squirted onto my beautiful white fur. His eyes, posed wide open, as though he can perceive death clutching his boney hands over his soul. To finish it off, the cherry on top. I did a 90-degree twist, transforming even more of his important, internal organs into soup. I ferociously, yank the melee weapon out from his chest, resulting in blood to trail behind the short sword, spitting like a drinking fountain. In a dramatic display of bravery, just like in the movies, he drops his sword to the side, lands on his knees, and falls face first into the ground. Blood begins to pool underneath his body, caking his brown and white feathers into a deadly crimson red. My whole body is shaking from excitement, a goofy grin expressing over my facade, adrenaline rushing through my veins, and my brain expelling millions of bliss-inducing chemical reactions. I am able to take my attention off the dead body, and onto the still, ongoing conflict between General Bridges and the random, Monarch Soldier. The latter seemed to be winning, only covered in a few, non-concerning scratches. The General, however, is obviously running out of stamina, his own blood covered a good few potations of his body, his amour, filled with a ridiculous amount of possibly dangerous cuts. Both seem to be in their own world, concerned with playing their own hyperactive dance. Should I reload my weapon, or charge straight in there? By the time I finishing reloading my musket, the General could possibly be already dead. Sometimes, situations like these require you to not think, only to do. And so, I charged. Bayonet positioned forward facing, completely saturated in red sticky blood, this short sword no longer wants death, it needs it. Ready, yet again, to take the life of another. That’s what I planned anyway. The soldier's eyes, at the last moment, widen, using his extreme reaction time, to jump out of the way. With the action considered unexpected by me, I barrel past him, trip on my own hooves, and face plant directly into the grass, spitting up dirt in several directions.   Fuck. With General Bridge worse for ware, he’s not able to do anything when the Griffon kicks me in the side of my stomach, in repercussion, causing me to skid across the ground, soil continued to make itself present all over my body, sticking to places anywhere you could possibly imagine. I am able to look up, and I spot him, slowly, and confidently walking towards me, General Bridges, attempted to stop him, only to stagger and fail every step. I quickly propel myself upwards, and sprint at him, once again, with my bayonet pointed towards my target. This obviously surprised him, as he obviously didn’t expect me to get back up. My hooves pounded against the hard, solid ground, my heart rate enlarged, and my excitement increased yet again, my body quivering for the anticipated kill. Just as I was about to thrust a bayonet into his chest, he twisted and used his left talon to smash the middle section of my body, impacting my figure against the ground, covering my midsection in even more dirt. My musket dropped to the side of me. He then reapplied his claw into my spine, and continuously administered force, keeping me from escaping his clutches. His sword, located on his right appendage, positioned the steel weapon onto my back. “Any last words, pony?” He smugly taunted. *Dry Cough* “Fuck you.” I growled. “Very well,” he stated professionally, “I hope not to see you on the other side.” And with that, he proceeded to thrust his sword straight through my back, missing my spine, and slicing several of my internal organs. Blood oozed out, coating my dirty white fur into a red crimson, matching that of my hair, and tail. I proceed to cough up some of thus vital fluid, my mouth tasted like copper, and all my nose could smell was intense metallic alloy. The unnamed soldier dramatically slides his sword from my body, and proceeds to stash it away, furthermore, departing from by atomy towards the half downed General. Obviously, I was a little pissed. I grabbed my firearm once again, slowly stand up, my legs still wobbling from lactic acid build and I sprint, with every fibre of my being, directly at this son of a bitch as he walked away. This time, it was different. With a startled yelp, the bayonet found home, as it sunk into the back of his flesh, causing blood to spray into my face, and some into my teeth, as I still had a maniac grin suited across my facade. I twist the sword 90 degrees, causing even more blood to spill out of his wound.    He turns his head and looks directly into my eyes. Using his sword, he attempts to lacerate at me, but as a result of excruciating pain, his movements became sluggish, allowing me to pull out, and dodge. He turns around, but he does so, I stab him once again. And again.   And again.   And again.   And again.   And again.   And again.   And again.   And again.   And again.   And again.   And again.   And again.   And again.   And again.   And again.   And again.   And I still, continuously impale his body, until all that’s left is just a red mush and a few pieces of amour. My grin was so wide, it split my expression in half, blood completely caked my face, legs, body, and hooves. It caused my clothes to mould around my body. Blending my whole figure, into one, glorified red demon. My teeth are the odd ones out, as the contrast between the colour crimson, and white is so strikingly different. I can feel blood continuously trickle down the side of my body from the wound the griffon administered, but that doesn’t stop me. Nothing does. Nothing ever will. I return my attention back to General Bridges sitting down, his eyes, are displayed wide open, full of shock, and surprisingly, respect. But here’s the thing, I want more. No, let me rephrase that, I need more. And so, I went to the one place where I could find plenty of that. The front lines. I once again sprinted full of excitement and energy, so fast, my body became once massive red blur to any onlookers. From what I can discern, the enemy griffon air battalions retreated, maybe it was intimidation, too few numbers, or abandonment. I will never know. I reach the back of the griffon musket line, and push myself forwards, accidentally smearing blood on some of the surrounding griffons. Most of them looked at me in horrid shock, all, however, don’t stop me, whether they know I’m on their side, or I’m too intimidating, I can’t be too sure. Eventually, I’m able to shove my way to the front and stand at the very first line. White smoke makes it difficult to discern anything on the battlefield, but from what I can see in this position, the enemy army is just over 100 meters away, and they continue, to march forward, holding tightly packed together shields, although the unevenness in their structure suggests serious loses. I’m estimating around 2000. The troops to the side of me, look at me with trepidation, though, all continue to reload their weapons with sufficient efficiency. “THIRD ROW READY!” Oh, I should probably reload. As I begin the sacred process of reloading my weapon, I tune out all the surrounding noises to concentrate on the task at hand. I grab an ammunition capsule from my saddlebags, and use my teeth to bite down on it, to furthermore, rip the tip-off, and slip it onto the ground before me.   Carefully, I pour a small amount of gunpowder on the pan, in addition to concealing the powder by closing the frizzle over the top. I pour the rest of the black powder down the muzzle, then violently shove the remaining cartridge into the barrel, and in addition to, taking hold of the metal rod located underneath, sliding it out, and plunging the shaft straight into the barrel, then compressing to a sufficient extent. I returned the struct back into it’s designated position. Ready to fire. “FIRST ROW, FIRE!” And not a moment too soon. Without even a second thought, I aimed my weapon forward and fired. Expelling the lead projectile forward at an absolutely incredible rate. Sadly, I have no idea whether I hit a target, or not. The sheer amount of munitions being fired is so huge, it'll be impossible to determine where my shot even travelled. That is, without a machine. The bullets without much difficulty penetrate through the steal shields, roughly, a third of front line Monarchs cease their hold on life, and proceed to fall on the ground. The army, still, continues to march forward, survivors picking up any of the dropped cover, to form a protective line. And so, I reload my firearm once again and position it forward. With the ambition that something even more exciting will occur.   A few seconds later, my prayers are answered. Two blasts from a horn, expel onto the battlefield, signifying that the conflict has taken a step into the next stage. 50m away, the remaining Monarch army rush forward in a frenzy, a desperate attempt to scavenge anything from their current predicament.   “EVERYONE! FIRE WHEN READY!” Oh, it gets even better.    The lines ferociously explode in a massive blend of explosions, creating an almost machine gun feel to the atmosphere. I fired myself, several times, preparing each round a quickly as possible. The smoke drifting in-front of us obscures our vision, so we really only know what coming when it’s directly on top of us. And that applies to me, except with a satisfying twist. A yellow earth pony mare, with a red mane and tail, with dark ruby highlights, appears through the fog of smoke. Wearing the expression of intense hatred, and fury, this one, is likely one of the very few remaining. Her golden armour glistens in the sunshine, her hair, tied up perfectly, the only thing that ruined her perfect image is the few, blood splatters on her metal plating. War, conflict is not meant to be beautiful, although it is in its own way, the whole reason of the military is to protect, not to look physically appealing. The funny thing is, that I only just noticed, the Republican griffons are completely ignoring this pony, same with all the others, from what I can tell. Would you be threatened if a soldier comes at you, with no military experience, and fuck all trash for a weapon? Yeah, me either. Imagine her face when she realises that she isn’t taking on a Griffon, but a fellow pony. Shit gets real. This pony immediately stops in her tracks, her velocity setting to zero, and stares wide eye, directly at my majestic form. She began to shake involuntarily, several tears striking down her face, only just barely clutching onto her spear. I just grin. That seemed to overload her systems, and so, she passes out. Well, that was easy. And so, I continued on my merry way. I sprinted at the nearest Monarch Griffon, and proceed to stab and twist him in the chest, several times over, eventually, he to drops dead too. Covering myself in even more splatters of blood, though, it simply blends into my already caked fur. I then turned to my next victim and proceed to stab, twist, pullout, next victim, repeat, twist, pullout, next victim, repeat, twist, pullout, next victim, repeat, twist, pullout, next victim, repeat, twist, pullout, next victim, repeat, twist, pullout, next victim, repeat, twist, pullout, next victim, repeat, twist, pullout, next victim, repeat, twist, pullout, next victim, repeat, twist, pullout, next victim, repeat, twist, pullout, next victim, repeat, twist, pullout, next victim, repeat, twist, pullout, next victim, repeat, twist, pullout, next victim, repeat, twist, pullout, next victim, repeat. Honestly, I lost track on how many people I killed, pretty certain I got stabbed a few times myself, not entirely sure, but eventually, a horn yet again blasts onto the battlefield. Signifying the end of my entertainment, well, at least not quite yet. I chase the retreating army, none of the Republican army follow, and I continue my slaughter of stab, twist, pullout, next victim, repeat. Though, at a much, slower efficiency then what I’d prefer. Sadly, my actions seemed to only make the army run even faster. Eventually, I couldn’t keep up with them, so I turned, and walked back to where the front was with, slow, shaky steps. Soldiers were scattered all over the field, some standing around talking, others crying uncontrollably, and some, counting the dead. My body was still quivering from the thrilling sensation, and a huge, goofy grin expressed across my features. But I still wanted to do something, something more. And so, once I arrived at where the mass of the battle occurred, I found a suitable location, and rolled my whole body, just like a dog, all over the dead. Soaking up blood like a living sponge. And the funny thing was, I was enjoying every moment of it.   Bits of flesh got caught on my fur, as I forcibly stream-rolled, the dead griffons, and few ponies alike, red, juicy fluid continuously splattered like a fountain, spraying in almost every, single, direction.   If beforehand I was soaked, now I drenched, immersed, as one, with blood. I am blood, and blood is me. To any onlooker, I’ll just be indistinguishable, from the red mass all around me, and possess the appearance of an insane pony, laughing uncontrollably, in the face of death. Basically, people would think, I am mentally ill, and that I would defiantly, need to be locked up in a psychological ward, for a very, very long time.      So imagine my surprise when someone asked me if I was alright. “Umm, ma’am,” a deep voice interrupts, “a-are you alright?” I freeze instantaneously, similar to if you're playing musical statues, and turn my head, slowly towards the source of the voice, until my vision, lands upon the face of a Republican soldier. His face expressed signs of disgust, shock, and most importantly, immeasurable fear. My grin faded to neutral physiology, that is until it returns at full force. Presenting my now deep crimson coloured teeth, small chunks of flesh stuck in-between each tooth. “Yes?” I asked in a relatively calm voice. The unnamed soldier continues to stare at me for an undetermined amount of time, his face, each second, pursued with intensifying his horrid/terrified countenance. That is, until he speaks, “The,” he seemed to hesitate for a second,” General would like to see you, follow me.” My smile faded once again, as I was forced to leave my entertainment behind, and so, I got up, blood proceeded to continuously drip down my flanks, and onto the grass below, similar to when just exiting out of the shower, and so, I followed behind the soldier (most likely a lieutenant), with my saturated tail dragging on the ground behind me. We passed lines, and lines of bodies, something I didn’t notice when I was chasing after the retreating army. It’s easy to determine when each folly was shot, as every 20m or so, there was a stroke of dead soldiers. To me, it looks almost like a grid, virtually perfect spaces in-between each line, expect, without the y-columns. A few seconds in silence later, I noticed something. The pony I caused to pass out was still, spread out, on the ground, unconscious. Her entire yellow figure is saturated in crimson blood. She is still, though quite lightly, breathing, as her stomach travels in and out at a slow, steady rate. I can’t leave her here, that would be barbaric. What? I’m not a complete psychopath, I have some morels. “Wait a sec,” I hastily stated, the soldier turned around, and gave me a mixed expression of annoyed and confused. I quickly trot up to the body and take a long, good look at it. Statistically calculating, and observing several different aspects of the animal, which includes, but not limited to, weight, height, age, cutie mark (a spear) and appearance.   Though one thought stuck out from the rest; Could do with more red, the yellow is too overpowering. Using my musket already in hand, and my absolutely fabulous cutting skills, I was able to lacerate the thick cloth straps holding the pony’s gold armour together, only accidentally cutting the flesh several times. The metal plates came undone with a handful of metallic CLAGS, exposing the rest of her clean lemon fur, for me to see. To allow the utilisation of my appendages, I drop my weapon to the side, and shove my head directly underneath her neck, and proceed to rather gently, drag the rest of her body onto my spine, comprised with some squishing noises due to the large deposit of fluid on my physique.      It doesn’t take much effort to completely situate her on-top of me. I could feel the irritating warmth radiating off her, the slow, steady breathing onto my neck, and her annoying, consistent heartbeat, on my midsection. Seriously, why manufacture a radiator, when you can literally just stack some of these things into your air conditioning system? Well, I guess their bones would eventually get sucked in the vents. Anyway. I pick my musket back up and deposit it into my saddle bag, once again. I swivel my head back towards the soldier directing me, and he, simply has a single brow raised, as if he is questioning my actions. Before I could say anything, however, he shakes his head, forcing his own thoughts out, and continues to walk in a particular direction. So I followed. Almost every soldier I pass stares without deviation at my form, as if I’m a ghost or some type of extremely rare species. Though, it probably has something to do with the bloody succession of blood splotches trailing behind me. … Has anyone ever played the organ? … No-one? … I thought it was funny. Anyhow, did anyone give me hallucination inducing drugs? Why is everything so blurry? Eventually, we approach the General, whose whole-fully surrounded by at least, ten, other Griffons, providing aid, and furthermore, keeping him upright. His armour is discarded to the side, allowing me to perceive the number of scratches, and cuts adorning his body. Which if I’m totally honest, isn't as much as I expected. “Atomic!” he marvelled, with over-exaggerated enthusiasm, “just the mare I was after!” General Bridge’s smile is sincerely overbearing, his arms, are positioned wideout, almost hitting some of the soldiers next to him. He seems to be generally happy to see me, as though I saved his life or something. Oh, wait. “I just wanted to deeply thank you,” he beamed, with a small bow, “for your services, as you have not only saved my life today but many others as well,” He gestured to all around him, “I don’t know how I could possibly repay you.” “Don’t worrrrry, about it,” I slurred, accompanied by a weak hoof wave, “anytime.” And at that moment, all the blood loss, organ damage, and oxygen deprivation finally caught up with me, inspiring me to cascade under the weight of the pony mass on-top, and coil into the realm of unconsciousness.