A commision by Embroidered Equations, you find the Deviant Art page here: https://www.deviantart.com/embroideredequations
“Sleep is for the weak”
—A random person online.
——
Chapter Twenty Five: White and Red.
——
The sounds of metal clatter, hoof stomps and obscene battle sounds echoed all throughout the courtyard, hundreds of ponies dressed in gloriously dark blue amour, with a beautiful crisp crescent moon, trained in preparation for combat, all under the amazingly cool stars twinkling throughout the night. Some ponies used wooden swords to hit at dummies, others shot arrows at targets, and some were wrestling each other in what's known as ‘one on one’ combat.
The smaller, but yet, stronger mindful capacity of the blue alicorn, Princess Luna, stood to the side of one of the small circular arenas of duel combat. She too, joined in with the recruits, she participated by yelling all sorts of dangerously scummy langue, something that clearly, no princess should really have ought to say.
“Stab him, Cinnamon!” The princess pestered, “knock that bitch down!”
The current conflict was between two ponies, one new recruit named Cinnamon, while the other, a reasonably well-known veteran that had previously been with the Day guard but left due to personal reasons. She had won almost every duel, only now, the current participate was situated an adequate fight.
They took one swing after the other, dodging, ducking, swishing, jumping—it honestly gave the impression of one big chaotic mess. This all, however, preposterously ended when Cinnamon was able to nick the brunt of the sharpless sword onto the combatant’s leg. Which caused her to lose her balance, and allow Cinnamon to hold the vetrain into a deadlock.
Luna was happy with this turn of events.
“Hazaah!” She shouted.
The Princess turned towards one of her adjacent commanding officers, “You oweth me 10 bits,” she held out her hoof, and gestured towards herself, “pay up.”
The clatter of jingling bits was accompanied by a low groan as the officer in question provided the Night Princess with the requested amount of coins.
Of course, the Blue alicorn didn’t need the money, she had an entire treasury at her disposal, but that didn’t stop the fun with bets. She had been slowly gaining quite a hefty amount of bits in her personal chest; she was planning on using it to buy all the officers drinks at some stage. If she utilized the Royal treasury for something like that, she may be called out by the public for corruption. So, it was honestly best to just take the safest route when it came to something like this.
It was at this moment that Princess Celestia, a diarch of Equestria, and ruler of the sun, stepped into the courtyard.
Everything ingeniously fell silent, ponies rattled in their iron armour as her withering gaze cast over almost every individual. In her mindset, she believed her sister’s way of training and selection of troops was less than satisfactory, that is of course; only her opinion. Celestia is aware that her sister is an excellent tactician, and planner, she’s just not into...the management side of things. She has basically has no clue on how to handle taxes, location of resources, and just the crucial ‘know-how’ for organisational purposes.
But this isn't why the Ruler of the Sun decided to fly all the way to the outside of Canterlot, no, not to educate her sister of the absolutely of professionalism and how to administer her side of the smaller military.
Instead, to inform her of the current developments that involved a very special kind of weapon, and most ambiguous, to enquire some important questions that Celestia has had the desire to ask for the last couple of days. However, her sister, during these crucial moments in time, just so happened, was never around.
It was almost like she was purposely dodging her.
When the White diarch’s eyes locked onto Princess in question, Luna simply stared back, and slowly backed away. Her own blue pupils darted in random directions, her muzzle, a smile—of what most would refer to as—strangely suspicious.
She marched purposefully up to her target, her hooves, almost literally tearing the ground, this mare was clearly on a mission, a mission that would cut through any opponents like butter on a stick.
“H-hey so-sist-ter,” Princess Luna stuttered, “H-ow art thee going this fine morning?”
The Multicoloured rainbow alicorn halted directly in front of the Blue princess.
You’re trapped.
“We need to talk,” she wordlessly pronounced, “Come with me.”
The now trembling sister quickly-paced after her, they stopped roughly one-hundred metres away from the training grounds.
Celestia didn’t want this conversation to last too long, and so, she was straight to the absolute point.
“Where were you?”
Luna’s eyes darted in seemingly random directions, “I-I’m not s-sure I exactly follow.”
“The wedding.”
The blue alicorn faked a gasp, “Th-there was a-a wedding?!”
Celestia just narrowed her eyes, “the one you clearly received an invitation to.”
The ruler of the night weakly smiled, “I-I didn’t receive any notifications about this.”
Celestia’s eyes were now at the point of piercing, “We talked about it at dinner.”
She smiled innocently.
“On multiple occasions.”
“Arlight!” Princess Luna admitted, “I don’t know Cadence much so I thought it would be awkward for me to go there, happy?”
She was not satisfied, her eyes may as well of have been cutting through metal at this point.
“Ok! Ok!” She confessed, “I may have had, one too many drinks.”
There was a pause.
“Ok! Fine, maybe three or…....twenty too many.”
Another pause.
“I was passed out drunk ok! Are thee happy with mine confession now?”
Celestia was.
“You could’ve been extremely valuable to the defence of our nation, your military could’ve extremely beneficial to our city during that point in time, and yet, they didn’t do anything because the orders had to come directly from you!” She accused.
“To prevent anything like this happening in the future, I’m introducing a new law that allows me to command your military if I so choose it.”
“WHAT!” Luna screeched, but after witnessing her sister’s facade, she quickly cut her loses, and submitted, “....I’m sorry.”
Celestia nodded with satisfaction,“now that is over and done with, I’d quickly like to inform you of ne-”
The Night Princess was taken by surprise, “Wait, wait, wait. I’m off the hook, just like that?”
“What did you expect?” Celestia started, “for me to strip away your title? No, I can’t do that, we rule together, I just wanted to scowl you; as your older sister. I don’t want you to do something that stupid again,” she pursed her lips, “plus it ruins the royal image.”
Princess Luna seemed generally happy about this new occurrence.
“As I was saying,” Celestia repeated, “I’d quickly like to update you on those ‘boomsticks’ we have recovered, new designs and weapon models are being created as we speak, it’s important we quickly adapt them into eac-”
Princess Luna waved her off, “Celestia, thee knoweth I despise those unhonourable weapons, I refused to let my soldiers hold those horrible abominations.”
“Yes, but what if you ran a trial wi-”
“Absolutely not,” she humphed, “I’m not even going to touch them.”
“Pleas-”
“No”
“Pretty please”
“Not going to happen.”
“With a cherry on top.”
“I don’t like cherries.”
Celestria thought for a few valuable seconds to come up with another ingenious way of asking her sister the impossible, that is, until she found a yet another response, “for your sister?”
Luna looked her in the eyes, “No.”
“What about…” The white princes had a devilish appearance in her eyes, “if I don’t pass that bill, that would allow me to take full control of your military?”
Luna raised an eyebrow.
“You and I both know the general populous and the nobles would support this,” Celestia continued, “you still have a lack of trust due to certain circumstances,” Luna winced, “so I’d like to propose a deal.”
She stiffened up, “I won’t propose it; the only condition is that you at least, trial run, the weapons in your military.”
“That’s dirty.”
“I am aware of that.”
The ruler of the night sighed, and paused for over what seemed like over a minute, until she finally resonated, “...Fine.”
“Though, you’re not going to receive them for a long while, “ Celestia continued, “nopony has any idea what the ammunition is made of, I’m planning on sending a diplomatic embassy over to the Griffon Republic, and set up some sort of a trade deal.”
Luna gazed at the ground and smiled at herself, slightly fortunate at that last prospect...
Celestia’s eyes narrowed, “I saw that.”
Major General Shrewd Preparation was having a very good day.
Ever since the conclusion of the previous conflict, the griffon had wistanded high spirits, despite the results of the conflict being nearly inakadate (and a large amount of men dead), the fact the Griffon Empire is closing on its defeat, is more than enough to make up for it.
The journey through the reality smooth terrain, with basically no rainfall, and sunny days have given Preparation the impression that it’s relatively smooth sailing from here on out.
Well, that’s what he hopes regardless.
It’s basically imropabe to predict that the Empire’s army has all but given up, it’s like they're going to have another encounter. One does not simply ‘let down his sword and allow the enemy to slice off their head.’
No, that’s not how it works.
Everyone knows that every war always ends up in a bang, a swoosh, if you will. The enemy will fight with every fiber of their being, and refuse to surrender to protect their undying loyalty, bravery, and honor to the nation they serve, so that their services, will always be regarded with respect and compassion.
This is going to prove a certain problem for his remaining army, just over 65% of soldiers have been lost to the winds of the enemy, and the remaining, suffer from the aftereffects of enduring a cold battle, and the notion that they just took the life of another person.
His army is going to be a liability.
The only possible thing he could do is rely on the other professionally experienced and trained division escorting him, that they will have the endurance to be able to withstand what comes. Although it is definitely likely the remaining resistance will be nonexistent, it’s always important to keep your mind open, just in case events take a turn for the worst, or some sort of surprising development unfolds.
(Since you're all aware of Preparations absolutely amazing streak of good luck, I’m sure you can guess what is going to exactly happen.)
It was at this particular moment, murmurers of fear and credibility started to expostulate around him, gossip and rumours spread like a wildfire burning through a dry bush.
Shewerd was able to discover some of these inconsistent murmurings around him, they were somewhere along the lines of;
“The enemy was spotted.”
Of course, Preparation was silently judging this new ideal, for one; he would’ve been notified immediately, and secondly; not even two days ago did the last battle occur. There was very little chance that the Empire would’ve been able to get their shit together that quickly, and reorganise their military.
Nonetheless, this doesn’t stop him from flying fifty metres or so over to the other division commander, and enquiring such a matter.
Shrewd was metally preparing himself for the standard line, ‘Don’t listen to rumours expressed by the troops; it’s usually false.’ What surprised him, however, was that the commander simply screwed his face in disgust, and vocalised the impossible.
“I’m not entirely sure,” he started, “a scout has claimed that he has spotted about two thousand enemy soldiers heading in our direction, we’re not sure if he’s lying, or is experiencing some mental issues, so we’re confirming it now with other soldiers.”
This was honestly...quite surprising for Preparation on his part, to him, if a scout was to report something similar to this, no matter how unlikely, or false the scenario maybe, he’d still prepare for the worst. Even with the current situation.
Shrewd had no idea why the commander is even confirming this; he should immediately begin preparing some sort our defence and reorganizing his army.
Of course, at the time, he failed to grasp the true meaning of the commander's actual hesitance.
“Why don’t we do some preparation?” Shrewd enquired, “We can never be too careful.”
The commander hesitated, “....It’s not that,” he paused for a few moments to collect his bearings, “We’re not even entirely sure how to format a strategy.”
“And why’s that?”
“We don’t know how to counter muskets.”
“So, you all think your all Wonderbolt material, don’t cha?”
A blue suited fire manned pegasus slowly trotted down a preposterous line of wonderbolt volunteers. Each individual was practically shaking to their very core, all had the ultimate desire to join the contrapious, loyal, and professional section of the Equestrian military.
Very few were able to get into the program, so it’s honestly not such a big surprise that most had the thought process they’d fail miserably.
What they didn’t know was that the minimum requirements for joining had been lowered ever since the Princess stated their intention for military reorganization, and distribution of Equestria’s forces has been submitted.
The yellow and orange mane pegasus known as ‘Spitfire’, suddenly stopped in front of one of the partially violently shaking recruits, flipped her head his direction, and bore her eyes into the very soul of that being.
Originally, he twitched, but after a few very short seconds, immediately tensed up, and stood relativity still.
Spitfire began the walking cycle once again, and let out a disappointed sigh.
With the new prerequisites lowered, she practically has to accept 70% of the applicants, something that was clearly, not spitfire's taste. In her opinion, is being transformed from pristine and professional, into a downgraded, no good, piece of shit.
But those are the way things are; she’ll have to deal with them.
Spitfire yet again decided to come to a halt directly before another pegasus; a blue and rainbow maned one to be exact, only this time, she didn’t stop in front of a pathetic little wimp. Instead, due to a certain characteristic; one she had seen way too many times to count.
Overconfidence.
Of course, this would usually lead to the applicants eventual denile, however, due to the previously mentioned circumstances, that’s no longer a viable reason to kick someone out.
This just makes her unknowably hate the pegasus in front of her to an even larger degree.
“You think you’re good enough?” She poked her in the chest with disdain, “Huh?”
Spitfire didn’t even provide the unknown Rainbow mare enough time to formulate a response, after she quickly walked off, it appeared as though the pegasus definitely had the desire to say something in response.
“To me, ALL OF YOU LOOK LIKE A PIECE OF SHIT JUST SERVED HOT FROM A DOG’S ASS!” She gritted her teeth in frustration, “To me, EVERYPONY HERE IS A PATHETIC SHRIMP WHO SHOULD SHOVE A SPATULA IN WHERE THE SHINE DON’T SHINE!”
After a brief pause and several seconds of catching her breath, she continued to stare angrily at all of the applicants.
Spitfire proceeded to growl under her breath incomprehensibly, “But I’m going to have to hire most of them anyway.”
What’s more, those who pass will immediately join the wonderbot team, not reserves, but actual, qualified, wonderbolts.
Something that used to be considered a great accomplishment.
“YOU ALL THINK YOUR ELITE FLYERS!??” She received a mix of confident and pathetic agreements in return, Spitfire recapitulated, “SO THEN!” She gestured to the shy, “SHOW ME WHAT YOU GOT!”
She exaggeratedly pointed to a flagpole on the outskirts of the training area, “EVERYPONY! 500 LAPS! NOW!”
At the conclusion of the training session, thirty-two of the total forty applicants earned a rank into the wonderbolt academy.
The Rainbow one was included.
A single unicorn, pink coated in nature, sat shuffling through various documents, and papers at his desk. The room of which this stallion was located in was his own predetermined study, the biggest, and most luxurious of its kind. Several various instruments were scattered across this wooden table, protractors, rulers—all of which were golden in colour— candles positioned across the room lit up various darkened spots, all where supported by amazingly prestige instruments.
Despite all of this, the space was, in all respects, quite dark. The only thing in the entirely of the room that seemed to stand out, was the unicorn himself, his pink fur, and brown hair stood seemingly out of nowhere. It just didn’t feel…right.
A stallion of this feminine intensity shouldn’t even be sitting in such an honourable, and challenging position—the Captain of the Guard.
The only reason he was even up this high on the ladder was due to his mazing social standing, reputation, and his ability to organise. Ask him to complete documents, or transport goods from one space to another; was his speciality. His cutie mark, after all, was literally a wooden crate on a transportation cart.
Relatively recently—just after being promoted—he had a little ‘attendance’ with Princess Celestia. In this particular meeting, he had been given exclusive permission to start a mass propaganda campaign, and, to be the head organiser for the manufacturing, and allocation of the new ‘boom-sticks’ in production.
He’s already placed the foundation for the propaganda operation—several thousand posters encouraging Ponies to join the military—but this is just the beginning, he plans to demonstrate great speeches from him, and the princesses alike, and furthermore, teach the honourability, and astonishment of joining the military to foals at a young age.
Just from the posters alone, volunteers had practically increased ten fold, each precipitant poster outshine in premature beauty, they glorified the Equestrian guard as a fun—adventurous, romantic, exciting—and presented a large amount of undefined nationalism towards each individual. It sucks how advertisements always have a catch, there is always a risk involved.
This one just happened to include death.
At a certain point in time, of which the pink unicorn was signing a series of documents to prefix a small military course within the education system. That a lilac unicorn withholding—in her magic—a delicious cup of steaming tea, slowly trotted into the study. Her uneasy smile seemingly echoing through the study.
“Here you go sir,” the purple unicorn professionally informed, “Your tea.”
The stallion disgruntledly turned his head to peer at the cup in question, he picked it up in one motion, and took a single whiff of the vapours leaking from its surface. A special blend of herbs and spices specifically manufactured to give a sweet, but spicy smell and taste.
Despite being aware of how the beverage will taste, he still set down the drink in revulsion.
“It’s too cold, make me another one.”
The only reason he did this was to keep his pesky little assistant known as Twilight Sparkle out of his office, he clearly didn’t want to deal with her shenanigans. Especially since she consistently fires enquiries at him left, right and centre. The pink unicorn had the desire to continue with his work, not answer a bunch of school filly questions.
The lilac unicorn’s face scrunched with un-impression, this was the second time he’s distinctly refused her cup of tea.
“I’d appreciate it if you said the magic word,” she said.
The stallion exaggeratedly rolled his eyes, “Please?”
Of course, Twilight wasn’t going to get him another cup of tea, she had, up until this point; dealt with his shit, but now, she has had well and truly enough of his deception.
If she actually wanted to be included in any of his matter whatsoever, she’ll have to develop some sort of sense of wisdom in the ways of battle. The Captain would much appreciate any assistance that truly had the knowledge to be useful in his department, or else, she’s nothing more than a maid or secretary to him.
No, Twilight will have to go down to the library and study on the art of war.
Perhaps, then, she’ll be noticed.
That night, Sparkle didn’t get even one wink of sleep, the only thought that sufficiently processed through her mindset was ground tactics, and military manoeuvres.
Ugh
I’m so bored.
I was sitting at my desk with my right hoof lanced onto my cheek, casually expressing the deep, unyielding blandness of my situation, furthermore, informally fidgeting with a quill in the other hoof.
A commision by Embroidered Equations, you find the Deviant Art page here: https://www.deviantart.com/embroideredequations
Lately, the Griffon Republic has been depending on me less, and less. It’s practically at the point where they think every ounce of information has been squeezed out of me, and as a result, don’t assign me any functions (mundane ones anyway), in addition, they have been slowly withering away my authority. I used to have an entire team of subordinates (about five) at my disposal, I could tell them to do this, or command them to do that.
But not anymore.
I think at this stage, they are just keeping me here as a formality. It would look pretty bad if they were to throw out the individual that literally gave them technological weapons, and provided the renewed vigour of war.
Many Griffons have been starting to give me the, ‘I’m watching you look.’ Honestly, some probably haven’t skipped over the possibility that I’m a spy of the Equestrian Government, I am a pony after all.
It’s also in likelihood that the Griffons don’t want to sustainably rely on a pony of all people, to ruin their tradition, loyalty, and patriotic ideals. The government feasibly already sustains a tarnished reputation that an outsider had to come save them. Not to mention ponies aren’t liked very much over here. This only escalated when the Equestrian Diarchy sent over that ‘volunteer group’, many citizens of this country already think they’re an enemy of the state.
And thus, this leads me to here.
Sitting on a desk, with absolutely nothing to do.
Particularly after last time (when I casually dropped into the Canterlot Wedding), the Republican Government has posted ‘bodyguards’ around me at all times. They assured me, ‘it’s for my own safety', but I highly disagree, I mean, why else would they consistently refuse me entry or exit to certain parts of this building? It honestly feels like I’m trapped in a cardboard box. Disgraceful.
It’s as though they don’t appreciate me anymore, that they think I’m completely useless.
I’ll tell you what; It’s definitely not a good feeling to withhold.
You know what? I’m sick of this bullshit. Sick of all everything, sick of the way ‘superior’ officers treat me, sick of the never ending ungratefulness, and sick of telling me the way to think, feel and act!
Fine. They don’t want my help? Then they can face a whole new challenge, I’ll expose them to weapons that make muskets look like sticks from the stone age.
After all, the saying goes, ‘treat people how you want to be treated.’
I’m only returning the favour.
With that relativity simple conclusion, I stood up from my wooden seat and headed for the door.
…Only to stop midway as I spotted myself in the mirror across the room.
It was just…so, unlike me.
The official blue uniform of the Griffon Republican military was sewn on my figure, each corner, curve, and button gave the impression of patriotism, and glory. I used to feel almost proud of wearing this stupid piece of clothing, but all I endure now, is the overwhelming taste of distain.
I ripped it off.
If you’d really think I’d be that stupid to go naked around town, then I hope you stop, and rethink of your life choices.
My previous garments that I brought here; from Earth, are still located in the closet. I quickly shuffled into the them, and continued the path to glory.
Honestly, this new decision made me kind of excited.
A diabolical grin set over my muzzle.
——
Two griffon guards stood side by side, they scanned the hallway with worn out and weary eyes. Their particular job was to ensure that all of the People that Traversed down this particular hall, is to always have a security pass to do so, all the people who walk down these hallways are obliged to always reveal their ID. Even if they were as important as the President.
Not to mention that some, particular individuals aren’t allowed to travel within the building without some sort of escort.
Speaking of which, said pony was currently walking down the hall towards them, and most notably, without any sort of ‘minder’. It was impossible to mistake her for someone else, especially with those soul bending eyes of hers.
“Halt!” One exclaimed, “Immediately present your ID!”
You’d be surprised the number of times this stupid pony has attempted to get past them without an escort, it infuriated both of them, to say the least.
The mare’s eyes seemed to bore straight into them for a few undetermined seconds, in spite of this, it quickly ended before either of them could grasp its true meaning. She quietly stopped a metre in front of them, rummaged through her pristine saddlebag, and hoofed her own identification to the right guard.
The soldier only needed to perform a quick inspection to determine that it’s not counterfeited.
But that still doesn’t answer why she is completely unattended.
The griffon gave back her recognition.
“Atomic Discharge,” he scowled, “We both know you require an escort to travel around this building,” he pointed at her, “please return to your office and fetch one immediately.”
But she just shrugged, and kept on walking.
The guards transfigured their muskets before the doorway in the appearance on an impaired X, terminating any further movement from the pony in question.
“Ms Discharge,” he started, “Please go back to your office, this is not a suggestion but an ord—“
It really did suck he never got to finish that sentence.
The white-coated pony launched oneself by propelling her legs forward, and pointed her own specially manufactured musket at him, in combination of the momentum, velocity, and the sharpened bayonet, allowed the fatal weapon to pierce straight through his skull, and for the crimson coated blade to drive straight through its back.
Blood and skull fractures exploded in a semi-fluid direction, causing said thick liquid to paint the wall with a natural splotch of red.
Her pinprick pupils and craze induced smile appeared to have stamped over the dead griffon's soul, forever embedding that last image into the mind of the dead spirit, it was the last face he saw before his painful death.
The other guard simply stood stock still, utterly surprised by the dramatic turn of events, not only did one of his best friends get murdered, but by the Republican saviour nonetheless.
After the demon violently thrust the bayonet from the dead body, her head slowly rotated to point at her potential new victim, her large expressive eyes seemingly engulfing his entire being.
To say the least, it scared the absolute shit out of him.
And so, he did the only thing a prey would do when confronted by a predator.
Get the absolute fuck out of there.
The remaining soldier's body immediately began to mass-produce adrenaline, and in consequence, swiftly began to sprint in the complete opposite direction. In this drug-induced scenario, he failed to notice the relatively loud clip-clops following behind him. Roughly halfway down the hall, the guard in question, quickly rotated his head behind him, to check the oblivious location of the demented mare.
Only to turn into the eyes of the demon herself.
She was less than half a metre away.
This small action of revolving his head around denoted a decreased value of momentum, and thus, reduced velocity, allowing the pony to launch oneself from the ground, and sail through the air with the bayonet pointed onwards.
The bayonet’s momentum and direction caused it to embedded itself into the venerable spine of the retreating griffin, the unquestionable impact disputed the skin, allowing blood to spray into the already splotched blade.
The griffon was speared like a delicious succulent kabab.
The crazed earth pony’s grin continued to grow larger and larger, as she shanked the blade further into the luxuriously slick fur, blood pooled at the heels, and caked the feathers.
The guard’s last dying breaths accompanied by a solid drop to the floor, and the release of the musket in claw, in reverberation, both beings crashed into the ground with a large THUMP.
Atomic Discharge ferociously twisted, and tugged the blade from the deceased body. Slightly withering in its natural beauty. A quick check on her own physic, concluded that crimson life fluid had suck to several places along her coat, staining the clean white, into an almost defying dark cherry.
“That was fun,” she hauled herself to her hooves, “I should do this more often, “Atomic wiped her bloodied appendages onto the side of her coat, smearing it.
She rotated her head to look at the now open doorway, which of course, lead to another hallway. There were still a few guard patrols to ‘take care of’ before she would have her freedom.
But that just meant there would be more fun.
Let’s just say the smile reached her ears.
Atomic Discharge had made a necklace, in her honest opinion, is a really nice ornament too. Others, however, would disagree.
From one of the dead griffons, she was able to scavenge a shoelace of reasonable size, not to let a convenience go to waste. Atomic started to thread a single eyeball from every griffon she slaughtered. Of course, the eyes were literally massive, so it ended up being a pain in the ass to carry around.
It was at this point all signs of white had completely vanished on the demonic pony, all that remained was the piecing crimson pupils.
It was terrifying.
It was also funny that basically no guards within this parliament building had muskets. They were, after all, focused on the western front, where obviously, all the major battles were occurring.
Something that she’s clearly wish she saw.
Speaking of which, Atomic wondered, where were the guards at this next point? Why is it completely empty?
After finally trotting through a few more doorways—completely absent of any life—she finally found the reason why.
A moderate gathering of griffons—around twenty in total—stood around 40 metres in a semicircle around the large entrance to the parliamentary building. Their weapons—a mix of swords and matchlock muskets—directed unwavering at Atomic Discharge.
Some, however, stood stock still, and many almost prematurely dropped their weapons in sheer fright.
The horrendous monstrosity, was literally dripped blood, and wore a terrifying penitent of huge eyeballs around her neck. They could even smell the horrible stench from their studious position.
“Halt! Put your hooves up,” a griffon yelled, “and surrender your weapon immediately!”
Atomic Discharge simply flashed an innocent smile, sedulity blinked her eyelids. Her saucer didn’t fail to stop as she continued to slowly approach the group.
The same being from earlier decided to continue his advance notice, “This is your last warning! Surrender immediately or handle the consequences!”
She licked her lips, whipped the dyed blood that had collected around her muzzle. Her advance slowly began to speed up.
The speaker from previously was flabbergasted, every griffon was, honestly. They’d never come to expect that their technical saviour is now an enemy of the state, and so, he hesitated to give his next order.
“Ready!”
Atomic Discharge knew what those words meant—she’s herd it dozens of times already—and so, her slow trot, turned into a full-blown sprint, meanwhile maintaining an oversized grin.
“Aim!”
Her eyes seemed to sparkle with anticipation, like a predator, ready for the kill. Those who could potentially be victimised, pretty much shat their pants.
“FIRE!”
Roughly seven matchlock muskets expelled a small gold projectile at their running target. Two of which—due to the lack of distance—easily hit their mark.
But that didn’t seem to stop her.
Skin, blood, and bone fractures scattered as the bullets embedded themselves into flesh. This loss of momentum caused her to trip over her own hooves and fall onto the ground in a heap. Normally when a person encounters this sort of ideal, they wither in on the ground in pain.
Instead, this mare sustained a continuous grin as she partly fell on the dirt—she had only lost half of her footing.
Despite this, she still persisted with moving forward, one leg, dragging on the floor behind her.
It was obvious at this point nobody knew what exactly to do; most were confident that she’d die within the first volley.
Lucky, however, the bullets resulted in Atomic being injured, which in turn, caused a dysfunctional muscle system, and slower motion.
Allowing the griffons to quickly wedge in another round.
“FIRE!”
Bo~! BOOM!
Vital fluid and gore spat in distinction to Atomic Discharge, chunks of flesh discarded from the body in serious confiscation. Her already damaged right leg crumbled under the already crippling pressure, bent backwards at 60 degrees. Inspiring her entire body to lead towards her right side, and a thick trail of crimson to spread on the ground below.
It was obvious that another folly wasn’t possible—she was simply too darn close—and so, the griffon persisted with pointing their bayonets and swords in her general direction.
Despite Atomic Still attempting to walk towards them, could help but gently slow down—due to the loss of blood—until she came to a complete stop, directly in front of a griffon, and fell over in a shedding heap.
Notwithstanding, her creepy smile never dissipated, forever embedded on her oblivious facade.
In a room, hundreds of kilometres away…
Nitrogen gas escaped a confided cylinder chamber, spreading over the metallic floor similar to a smoke machine. Evidently, it cleared, presenting a new manufactured, and pristine white earth pony. Not a speck of dirt, mud or blood was smeared along her coat.
Her perfect saddest grin, and contented attitude would’ve put off anyone else if they were located within the futuristic room.
“Finally!” The pony known as ‘Atomic Discharge’ kissed the floor multiple times, “I’m finally back!” She pumped her hooves into the air, “Wooohooo!”
Atomic patted herself and straightened her back “AI!”
“Yes, Jack?”
She smiled, “Please get the robotic fabricator prepared, I’m ready to receive some much-deserved equipment.”
Editor's Note
Well, this took me longer to look over than usual, I was busy.