“He who protests is an enemy; he who opposes is a corpse.”
— Pol Pot
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Chapter TwentySeven: The Shortest ruling Queen in History
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The President, and all of his subordinates, were speechless.
The initial motive of this meeting was to determine if there was a spy or mole in the building, but that was quickly dismissed when the whole situation was investigated. It was obvious who induced these dreadful circumstances.
President Senatus leaned against the table, with his winked brow held in a strained claw. His eyes were closed and unfocused, the previous events had made him overly uncomfortable. He should’ve trusted his gut feeling, thrown that stupid creepy pony in the dudgeon as soon as she provided those cursed weapons.
To make matters worse, he was deeply embarrassed, after all; he had sat on a whoopee cushion not even ten minutes prior. He made a note to himself to crack down on whoever was responsible.
“—yeah, the musket scientific team was devastated when they were informed that, ‘their lead scientist, Secta Ironwreck, was found dead by a maid in a closet,’” a griffon with the badge of ‘investigator’ quoted, ” Apparently he was a good friend and leader, research will be inactive in the next coming weeks until everything can get back on track.”
The President was honestly only half-listening to the conversation taking place.
“As I previously said,” the ‘head of security’ started, “The Safe was additionally breached last night, everything was burned to a crisp, but still recognisable. The only object not accounted for was ‘Atomic Discharge’s Musket’,” the griffon in question leaned back in his chair casually, “I think it’s obvious who committed this.”
The investigator, the same griffon from before, lightly slammed his fist onto the table, “Are you stupid?” He tapped the side of his forehead, “she was killed a few days ago in an attempt to escape,” the griffon smirked, “there is literally no harder evidence.”
“Of which she killed dozens of our highly trained guards before she was taken out,” his brow narrowed, “face it, she’s not a pony, but something else entirely.”
Now, the investigator was intrigued, “What is that, exactly?”
The other griffon paused, his facade, laced with total determination.
“She’s a literal God.”
After I broke into the Griffon Republic’s Parliament and stole back my precious possession. I’ve been silently craving for more, spiciness. Perhaps, I should plan a surprise that will no doubt prove to be extraordinary entertainment? But at the same time, retrieve some much-deserved revenge that will no doubt cripple the Griffon Republic.
[3rd of December, 989. 10:29am]
One could say the changelings are in a bad position.
After the initial death of their leader, Queen Chrysalis, by an unknown pony entity. All changelings deserted their posts within the Equestrian kingdom and scattered back to their respective hive where they could rest and especially, reconstruct/organise a new government.
Which was something they failed at, miserably.
“I PRONOUNCE MYSELF QUEEN!”
“NO YOU IDIOT! I AM THE MOST QUALIFIED! I DESERVE TO BE KING!”
“FUCK OFF YOU PUSSIES! IT’S CLEAR WHO IS THE TRUE LEADER FOR THIS KINGDOM!”
Comments like these were frequent, and interruptions occurred at almost every sentence. It was obvious the whole situation was going nowhere.
Since the previous queen never elected her ‘heir’, no changeling had the royal blood necessary to convert into a ‘royal’, and thus, have the obligatory power to control the hive mind. Many changelings struggled to deal without the continuous orders and the buzzing of the ultra-link within the back of their mindsets.
With no potential solution, the atmosphere within the hive continued to grow tense and apprehended. Love storages were beginning to hit critical levels—this rapid consummation only increased without a proper rationing system— and changelings were beginning to lose hope in the situation.
However, there was a saviour.
A single, lone changeling thought of an idea, so radical, so obscure, that it just might work.
“What about Democracy?”
It started as whispers, but the suggestion slowly climbed up the ranks, until people finally considered it as a viable solution. Although the changeling Kingdom was in ruins, outside formats, and scouts still were arriving with information, so, if it worked in the Griffon Republic, why not give it a try here?
The only reason anyone thought of it was due to curiosity ...a brand new idea, and it’d be interesting to try it out.
In the eye of the storm, six leaders rose up. They stood congregated, at the front of a massive audience of changelings—over ten thousand. They shouted with the might of the Changeling spirit, one that would hopefully match the greatness of the Changeling nation.
Each promised slightly different agendas to bring their nation back from the ground up. One wanted to focus on espionage, another on the military, while others on infrastructure or production.
They all made a speech of promises, schemes, that would ultimately attempt, but most likely fail, to lick the still hurtful wounds of the nation. Only one would actually succeed.
“I propose that we set up diplomatic missions to foreign countries to set up potential agreements that would solve our nourishment complication, and provide domestic security.”
But nobody liked it.
The one, single solution that would bring an end to the suffering, and struggles of the kingdom, was brought to a bitter end.
Some even had thrown objects—like rocks, at the offending changeling that would suggest such a thing.
The Equestrian battle still lingered in the minds of all these beings, they were far too bitter, and expressed too much hatred to actually even consider requesting help from an enemy they fought so hard to destroy.
No, they’d much rather stick to traditions, and continue what they had been doing for centuries.
Espionage.
And that's exactly the kind of person that receive the most votes in the hoof up assembly. Over half, if I’d wanted to be specific.
With the new shaky government put in place, an order was partially restored, the military resembled, and arguments were elicited. It seemed as though they had a chance to succeed, to regain their strength, and potentially—strike back.
The leader recognised the hopelessness of soldiers with no weapons, despite changelings had superior natural amour and a reasonably sharp spike on their foreheads. It still can’t compete with the incurability of hoof made weapons like spears, swords and especially; muskets.
Every possible firearm was recovered and restored. Mares and stallions loyal to the newly created Changeling nation and the leader were assigned these weapons and was unmannerly trained to low expectations, only around 100 muskets were actually recovered, nevertheless, it was more than enough for the army to be partially restored.
Despite having sent out hundreds of love ‘gathering’ groups to mix in with the local population, by the time everything was actually achieved—the government formulated. The food supplies had almost completely drained, to the point were there where only an equivalent of a few millilitres of sustenance left remaining in each tank.
Of course, if one were to add all of these ‘millilitres’ up, one would be left with quite the hefty amount of love reaming, attributed to the extraordinary amount of storages around the complex.
Which was something the current ‘leader’ wanted to take advantage of.
He had plenty of time to make preparations. Nobody would ever notice.
That’s at least what he thought.
I suppose he was partly right in that regard, no-one, per se, found out about the situation. It was instead, due to loyalty issues that resulted in the eventual discovery of the leader’s preparations.
While the leader, (or ‘King’ as some changelings regarded him) ran the crippling government— kept the whole system from breaking down and restored numerous jobs. Behind the scenes, he and his small group of loyal ‘lackeys’ began to gather the love around the facility into small, portable tanks. Tanks that could easily be transported by ‘horse and cart’.
No-one suspected anything, the whole scenario was camouflaged as the ‘Reorganisation and reservation of the Love Rationing System’ or RLRS for short. The ‘fake’ intentions of this ‘totally legitimate’ program were to cache all remaining sustenance into one, single area, where it could be handed out easily, and with organisation.
It would not come as a surprise that when a ‘bystander’ witnessed the unceremonious movement of love by the ‘King's’ subordinates, they shrugged the situation off as ‘governmental businesses’. What all of them failed to realise, however, was the government was not their ally, but instead, an adversity. A group of greedy thieves prepared to steal all the essential nourishment right under the populous’ noses.
Everything was going according to plan.
The ‘King’, despite the fact that he had launched one of the most subtle, and duplicitous missions ever to perceive changeling kind, he still failed to account for one, single, synopsis.
Traitors.
Surprisingly, hundreds of Changelings weren’t happy with the way the current government was functioning. Suspicions, allegations, and conspiracy theories already highlight that something was…fishy, to say to least. They could feel it. The only substitute they didn’t have, was hard evidence.
On another note, several soldiers, and administrators, located throughout the ‘loyal’ ranks were actually, disloyal. They joined these stratums in hopes of exposing the truth to the public, to expose the King, and replace him with a much more admirable leader.
The majority of these changelings were eventually able to come in contact with the secret ‘resistance’, and furthermore, slowly trickle in sensitive information.
As the days grew old, the guerrillas congregated their own love and a mix of nationality random weapons. Fifty of them just happened to be muskets.
It was certain they had more than enough intel to fortify their suspicions. With the continuous rise of tension, on the 8th of December, 989; everything snapped.
They enlightened the population with the secret projects the new government was committing to and urged everyone to join their cause against them.
They attacked.
The nation, of which was only a few weeks old; was in a civil war.
The one and only goal of both sides were to retain the remaining emotional sustenance.
‘Food collectors’ in local pony and griffon settlements didn’t know which side to join, this actions completely cut off even the small amount of nourishment the changeling lands were receiving.
Neither side was able to make any progress at stealing the ‘love’ reserves off the other, but, either one knew it, all the emotional sustenance had totally drained. And yet, they continued to fight with vigour.
Once the soldiers and civilians alike began to die from starvation, that was when everyone knew, it was all pointless.
Over time, fighting began to slow down, until it came to an absolute stop. No peace treaty was signed, but it was obvious the war was over. There were no winners, only the changelings lost in the sands of time.
Many decided to just give up, lie on the ground before starvation claimed their lives, others flew from the hive individually and attempted to embed themselves into foreign societies (most were caught), or contact already immersed spies.
The very few smart changelings decided to take a different route, to ask for forgiveness and/or aid from the countries around them. Although they only numbered around 200 in total, these changelings split into groups and set out for different territories, the Griffon Empire, Equestria, the German Reich, and Yakyakistan (the frozen north).
Almost all fail. One is imprisoned, one is murdered, and one is sent back to where they came from.
One; withholds a different fate.
Today was a proud day for the Griffon Republic.
The long, twisted, and terrifying war had to all intents and purposes, finally come to an end.
Patriotism swelled inside of General Shrewd Preparation’s chest, this day would be forever inscribed into the history books as a simply historic moment. A moment that would continue to impact the entre country for centuries to come.
But not for the reason he originally transcribed.
With the Republican army occupying on all fronts, with little to no resistance—as most of the enemy’s army had dissipated due to insufficient aspiration, and hope.
The only thing left to do was capture, and kill the King before he could be a coward and run away if so, it could possibly reignite an organised gorilla resistance.
Which was the exact reason why multiple brigades of troops have begun to scour the Griffon Empire’s capital, Griffonstone. Every house, every street, every nook and cranny was searched. They flowed over the city like water, flooded from one end, and slowly made their way to the other.
Amongst it all, a small group composed of elite soldiers (six), and the infamous General, Shrewd Preparation, were to head directly to the castle located in the centre, and hopefully catch the royals off guard before they could make an eventual escape.
One particular concern in regards to the whole ‘situation’ was that there was absolutely no resistance. In fact, not even one single soldier was found among the secluded civilians.
This is extraordinarily strange event left most griffons scratching their heads, this is the capital for faust sake! There should be at least some troops remaining to protect their precious king.
It made a lot of soldiers paranoid.
Though, this question came with an eventual answer as the small congregate of elite soldiers and the General, opened the throne room doors to the castle. Each individual was definitely not anticipating, well, anything different or abnormal, about the room they were to enter.
So it came as a massive surprise when they found something plumped on the gloriously golden crested throne.
Guess who was laying there casually.
Go on. Guess.
I dare you.
Despite the group had congregated unevenly at the opened throne room entrance, their weapons, lazily clasped to their side. They still just stood there, flabbergasted, simply unresponsive. It was obvious they weren't going to move anytime soon.
Atomic Discharge, highlighted by her crimson hair, smiled from ear to ear.
“WELCOME!” She spread out her fore-hooves in a massive arch, similar to a welcoming gesture, somehow, her grin widened, “TO MY DOMAIN!”
The soldiers blinked in response. A small pool of thick blood covered the throne, seemingly soaked up by the white-furred being on top. This only appeared to have made the griffons’ eyes water from sheer shock. Similar to the consequence of being exposed to onions for a long period of time.
A golden, gem gilded crown perched on the pony sat at an absolutely obscure angle. Her mane greased together by splotches of blood and frazzled by the complete lack of proper hygiene. Her extremely large eyes stood unwavering, with pinpricks dilating in the centre. A tiny red square sticker was as well— for some odd reason—located on her right hoof.
Did I mention she was also wearing the previous king’s royal robe?
The creature was evidently pleased with the Republic’s conversed reaction, despite this, she still had the ultimate desire to take things to the next level. She licked her lips, seductively winked her eyes, and seemingly relaxed further in her reposed position, “May I take your order?”
It was during this point in time that the griffons couldn’t exactly handle the circumstances. The sheer astonishment at the whole situation— especially the rapid change in attitude towards the end of her short tirade—induced all non-ponies to stare dumbfounded.
This only seemingly became more of a complication when they were actually able to slightly register their surroundings.
Nothing could whole-fully describe the monstrosity before them.
The small congregate of gore on the throne seemed minuscule in relation to the rest of the butchered bloodshed around them.
Bodies, guts, and dribbling crimson fluids floors littered the floors, walls, and somehow, even the ceiling of the room in the dozens. It was like someone decided to shovel loads of corpses into a large blender, accidentally left the lid off, and turned it onto ludicrous speed.
Even the pillars located around the room were affected by this—even debris withheld guts.
“I’m sorry to announce that the expiration date on the Griffon Republic has come to an end,” her facial and body utterance continued to express allure, “perhaps you could help me dispose of it.”
This unexpected statement appeared to have mentally knocked multiple griffons—which included Major General Shrewd Preparation.
“We won’t help you with anything you feral deceased beast!” he shouted in expiration, “get away from us!” Nothing would ever persuade him, in any shape or form, to betray his country. Especially not from someone who was supposed to be dead.
Atomic gradually inspected her bloodied hoof with interest, “Did you honestly anticipate that I would hire your services against the Republic?” Her satanic star seemed to desire an answer to the rhetorical question.
Shrewd’s ‘what the fuck are you talking about’ glare was all she needed for an answer.
“No no no no no, if I want to take down the entire country I need to be in tip-top shape. Which of course, also encompasses my general mental physic,” Atomic rubbed her frontal hooves onto her tubby muzzle, smearing blood all over it, “and what better way to increase my mental physic then by killing every single one of you.”
Silence was the only comeback.
“That is what I mean when I refer to ‘help me’,” she puffed up her fluffy chest in delight, “One does have to maintain their mentality to stay healthy, after all.”
A short period of silence presented itself for a short period of time, until, one griffon decided to disturb it.
“Your mad.”
She laughed with overdue insanity, “I know!”
“We should’ve kicked you out of the Republic as soon as we had the chance,” Shrewd shook his fist, “You’ve been nothing but trouble.”
The demon stopped laughing.
“Don’t you forget that it was because of me, that you triumphed in this civil war,” Atomic sat upon the throne, a wet squish was accompanied by this sudden movement, “how does it feel that you had to be saved by a pony of all things,” she pursed her lips, “disgraceful, isn’t it?”
The General clenched his fist in anger.
While the totally legitimate self-proclaimed ‘Queen’ babbled on, the griffins were able to slightly reorganise themselves into a crud line, with muskets pointed upwards towards their target. Most, nevertheless, were still shaking from the adrenaline that rushed through their frames.
“Your outnumbered and outclassed,” he gestured to his subordinates, “I’d appreciate it if you surrendered yourself immediately.”
Atomic was not impressed.
She wasn’t stupid enough to not see this coming a mile away.
“I AM??!” The demonic pony rapidly rotated her head around in fake shock, “Wow, I just didn’t see this coming!” Atomic was so expressive you could practically hear the sarcasm dripping from her voice, “I just wish a mare in distress, such as myself, would have some sort of saviour!” Her body pretended to flop onto the throne, her eyes sealed shut, this small act was an attempt to create a reproduction of a faint.
By this point, Shrewd Preparation had more than enough of this pony’s bullshit. Theatrics or not, this whole act had gone way too far, and he’d much rather dispose of an enemy of the state, then continue to do ...this…
“Fire!”
Although the majority of the soldiers weren’t exactly prepared for the premature directive, all were able to surpass their unprepared mindsets by the explosion of neighbouring muskets.
Boo~BOOM!
With a simple click, flintlock muskets alike initiated the process of sparking the gunpowder to life, the resulting controlled explosion mandatorily imposed the golden projectile within, to push forward, and sail through the air at blinding speeds.
Three of the six embedded themselves into the target’s flesh
“Ooooooof.”
The several spheres that sadly, missed their objective, bounced off the golden infused throne with a CLANG. The others, nevertheless, in a small explosion of gore, expectorated blood from multiple body parts. The hip was greatly affected, a reasonably large crater started to spit crimson liquid, the bullet, implanted itself within the calcium bone structure, which exposed it to the outside world.
One projectile travelled from side of the stomach to the other.
The last one didn’t seem to achieve much damage at all, the ear was torn off, the only reason it didn’t tumble to the ground, was due to a single strand of skin.
What put many of the griffons off, was that throughout it all, the earth pony never misplaced her smile.
It was like she was enjoying this.
A strenuous quantity of bullet wounds congregated across her fluffy coat, blood oozed, dripped, and flowed across her in a thick horrific river. Gravity pulled the liquid down to further congregate into the puddle underneath, and drizzle down the throne.
Fur, like many things, can easily be related to a sponge, it sucks up (to a degree) liquids, and is much more difficult than it should be to remove. Thus, is the reason why the bottom third of Atomic was totally stained red with gore.
If the griffon weren’t petrified before, now, they definitely were.
Nothing can survive a shot from a musket, let alone three of them.
“Not cool,” the demon sat herself back up again, “I was trying to build up to a point, but of course, the momentum had to be ruined.”
“Anyway,” she started, “as I was saying, before you rudely shot me.”
“I never come unprepared.”
Atomic Discharge, in a sudden change of tone, shouted to her heart's content, “COME OUT YOU FUCKERS BEFORE I GIVE YOU THE SAME FATE AS THE OTHERS!”
Hesitantly, a griffon head peaked from the rear of the throne, his eyes darted around the room, scanning its premises. The young adult was clearly terrified, evident by the consistent tremor in his head’s movements.
After only around two total seconds, he slowly step out from behind the throne.
A soldier of the Griffon Empire.
It was obvious due to the worn-out steel amour, and his military-grade boots. A distinctly unfamiliar black matchlock musket was also strongly clasped within his claws. Every once in a while, he glanced towards the being that had plumped oneself on the throne, whether it was due to Atomic’s disrespect for the royalty, or to check that the panic-inducing being wasn’t coming after him. We’ll ever know, but evidence suggests that it’s most likely the latter.
This soldier was followed by another griffon of a similar age and equipment composition. He also held a musket.
He was followed by another one.
And another one.
And another one.
They persisted with leisurely ambling in front of the throne, accumulating in a wonky line until the number hit eight.
They held their muskets up, ready to fire.
Atomic spread her hooves, gesturing to the troops located in front of her, “These are the soldiers that have kind-fully volunteered their time to protect me during this time of need.”
Their expressions say otherwise. Not a single one had the desire to be there.
“And as the kind, fair ruler that I am,” she genuinely winked, “I provided the necessary resources; like thee muskets, for them to be here.”
Shrewd Preparation was still fretting over the fact she wasn’t withering over in pain and now she pulls this out of her ass?
What. The. Fuck.
None of the Republicans had even started reloading their weapons, the sheer, randomness of the situation persisted with feeding their blank stares.
“Let’s play a game!” The demon extended her hooves out in expiration with a grin, “You win, you live. But if I win,” she smirked, “you die an agonising death.”
“All you have to do is not die, deal?”
They stared vacantly at her.
You might what to know how a person can die, and then die again in even more agonising pain.
You don’t want to know.
“Not that you have that much of a choice anyway,” Atomic leaned luxuriously back in her seat as she prepared for her next instruction.
The pony slammed her right hoof on the throne, smudging blood onto the armrest, “Fire!”
Without formation, each black coated firearm set off with a distinctive BANG. Totally unlike any other firearm utilised before.
If one were to look closely enough, they would notice that in fact, the projectiles unlisted by these ‘new’ weapons were foreign to any primitive technologies on this planet, instead of a relatively normal ‘sphere’, each ‘bullet’ was rounded and smooth at one end, and flat on the other. It was as though some absolute genius unexpectedly decided to merge a spheroid and a geometric configuration known as a cylinder together.
This not only gave it a much better aerodynamic capacity, but the repetitive engraved spirals inside each musket bestowed a rotating motion on the projectiles, referred to as ‘rifling’. This spinning monotonous motion spread the weight evenly within the bullet, which provided an even greater ability for aerodynamics, in addition to a much higher accuracy.
As these ammunitions shot through the stale, blood induced air, the utterance on the military griffons receiving said lead changed to horror, the kind of horror that expresses whole-fully pure fear.
In spite of the buildup of tension, only one munition was able to make its mark.
A griffon serviceman toppled over in agony, his claw, clutched a red splotch of his chest, which without interruption, persisted with sizzling crimson fluid onto his appendage, and cluster on the wooden floor.
The remaining projectiles struck the stone wall behind them with a clack, forth-prodding shrapnel of cobbles to shatter.
Atomic was severely disappointed.
“Those are rifles for fuck’s sake,” a trail of blood found its way onto her pearly white teeth as she gritted her teeth in frustration, “how could you have possibly missed??!”
Atomic mumbled incomprehensibly, “I guess I should’ve done more than give them a 10 second brief on how to operate the weapons.”
Loud gunshots, and the searing painful moans of a fellow benevolent soldier was more than enough for the solider’s training and experience to glide on autopilot, and ultimately, harshly kick them out of their predefined mental slumber.
They all scattered to cover. Some scratched their way to behind a stone pillar, while others found themselves’ home beside a pile of debris or an abnormally tall congregation of corpses. Preparation even participated in this.
Due to the forthcoming disorganisation, not even one singular troop decided it was in his/her best interest to sprint at the enemy, this clearly would’ve been the most desirable selection, as the ‘Queen’s’ soldiers hadn’t even begun the process of reloading, and were clearly unprepared for any sort of direct attack, it seriously would’ve been a breeze to knock the militia if anyone had actually considered it.
Too bad they didn’t.
Once each individual reached a desirable defensive position, they began the process of reloading so a volley of return fire could be entirely possible.
Never encountered a situation like this ever before, not even a single one of Atomic’s troops had the faintest idea what to do. Their muskets hadn’t even been reloaded yet.
In consequence, their glossed eyes gazed questionably at their so-called commander.
Atomic couldn’t possibly fathom why they stared at her with entreat, there was only one response she could possibly come up with that worked well in a given situation like this.
“What?” She glanced at them with a small amount of annoyance, “Do I need to point out everything for you? Do your jobs.”
They should’ve expected an answer similar to that regard.
As a result, they did the one thing that actually seemed sensible in this situation. Reload.
It was at this point in time a drop of blood decided to helpfully introduce itself into Atomic Discharge’s right eye, staining the pearly white optic to strain a healthy dose of red. Of course, the pony didn’t really give that much of shit on account of it being only a small nascence, to tell the truth, the only registration that she gave it was a simple blink. After she received a repetitive, exponential increase of these drops. It started to rise above Atomic’s thin line of ‘actually giving a shit’.
“What the fuck?” The demon attempted to wipe the multiple trails of blood off her, similar to a dog that would strive to remove that stupid Santa Hat you put on it. Only for her muzzle to scrunch up in annoyance in response to the rather large amount of red fluid left on her foreleg.
She licked it.
“Yep,” she rolled the flavour around her mouth, “definitely blood.”
This self-relation was abruptly interrupted when the echoing sounds of several uncoordinated BANGS going off one the other side of the room. For once, they weren’t actually aimed at her.
Atomic paused mid lick.
These immediate artificial screams were quickly followed.
As the untrained soldiers were fumbling with their muskets, the enemy had thought that in its best interests was to promptly fire their weapons that the demon’s temporary security personal. This resulted in a catastrophic event which lead to three griffons withering on the ground in pain.
Without much of a pause, gunshots still persisted with popping from behind hastily found cover. Most missed, but the occasional hit from the inaccurate weapons was more than enough to take down one enemy soldier.
Atomic was surprised her soliders were this stupid.
Even after that mess, they still thought it was a good idea to stand in the open, where they could easily get shot.
Brillant.
If these guys maintained the IQ of a potato, she wouldn’t honestly be that surprised.
Idiots like these deserve to die.
Fortunately, Atomic didn’t exactly place any of her confidence on these primitives, she legitimately just wanted to see how well they faired out, even with intelligently superior technology.
Eventually, the sacks of potatoes were able to shove in their own rounds.
BA~ban—BANG
….And they all missed.
The entre atmosphere devolved onto ‘ultimate chaos’, the consistent bangs and pops that occurred in the environment would’ve been utterly worrying to some, others may have found it a bloody annoyance to their eyes.
To the blood-covered demon, it was like music to her ears.
To enjoy serenity to its fullest extent, she blissfully closed her eyes. She listened to the horrifying terminal screams, the shouting, the smell of gunpowder…she could’ve literally fallen asleep, if it weren’t for the uncomfortable position she was in. A dense metal seat and a puddle of warm blood tend to create this sort of situation.
As it happens, people are inclined to casually forget that they are bleeding profusely, and as such, their general bodily processing slows down until it comes to an absolute stop. Something that Atomic seems to forget on a daily basis.
Fortunately, a recent device added to her endoskeleton authorised the red blood cell production to act in hyperdrive, as long as she withheld the necessary nutrients, the manufacturing capacity would match the volume being lost.
One thing you should keep in mind though, there is a limit to everything.
If you thought about it, the earth pony was like a living, breathing, pretrial fountain that always kept seeping out blood from the various holes that lined throughout her body. No matter how long it ran, it would never run out of water.
A horrifying thought if I ever had one.
It was during this point in time that Atomic was beginning to become bored, so bored in fact it was starting to become agitating. Its great and all too forcibly boss people around, this however, signifies that she is no longer the focus of this battle. Since she’s no immediate threat, no-one had the guts to assault her.
Most sensible people would prefer this; as it puts you directly out of threat, but to the pony in the room, she loves being the centre of attention. To really get her hooves dirty and do what many would consider as insane.
Since the focus of the enemy was on the troops she mindfully ‘hired’, nobody seemed to give two shits about her. They wanted to focus on the threat at hand.
Admittedly, a stray golden projectile would ping to the side of her, but that’s just it— a stray bullet, something that probably wasn’t intended for her.
Atomic came to a decision—she was glad she gave commanding a go, but honestly, never really needs to try it again.
“You know what,” the blood-covered demon growled in agitation, “Fuck it, I’m going in.”
The pony began the process of sliding down the rather large throne with difficulty, while her saturated fur left a thick trail of rich crimson in its wake. Her hooves attempted to grab onto the surface of the giant seat, but the thick adhesive of blood caused the metal to become slippery.
Hence the reason why she fell on the ground in an embarrassing matter.
“Mother fucker!”
Unlike a cat, she did not twist around and land on her hooves, but somehow, crashed into the wooden floorboards face first, eyes closed and muzzle scrunched. Bizarrely, Atomic thought it was a good idea to hold that position for a couple more seconds.
With a small amount of effort, the winsome mare shakily pushed herself up onto her hooves, only pausing to look at the large pony shaped blood splatter on the floorboards.
It was obvious the remaining three griffons next to her noticed this—it would be impossible not to. They all spared a quick glance at her before swiftly returning to their undesirable duties.
All besides one. One soldier, no less than half a meter away stared at her with absolute, unadulterated fear. The kind of fear that only succumbs during a near-death experience.
He was obviously distressed for his own safety, it’s….not a real surprise especially if you considered what Atomic had done to many of his coworkers.
This expression unlocked a feeling inside her.
Her entire time on this planet had always left her asking, what do I want? What do I most desire? She had used this planet as a means to escape from her daily torment, but there was always a hole in her tiny metaphorical hearth that was just…never filled. No matter what she did, or what she accomplished, it just never got totally fill. To tell the truth, there had been brief periods of time where temporarily, she felt the astonishing emotion of being happy.
Even just for a moment.
-The griffons presented admiration for providing muskets to win the war.
-During deep throated conflicts, she slaughtered hundreds of petrified troops who would tremble in her wake.
-And now, this expression.
It may have come at a weird time, and place. Notwithstanding, Atomic had finally realised what her inner, deepest most primitive instincts had always desired. Every animal has had the dream of being on top of the food chain, and Atomic ultimately wanted to be that animal.
She wanted to have the ability to hold life in her hooves, to mould to her will. In retrospect, she wanted to be known, to be respected, and most importantly, to be feared.
These stupid griffons she ‘hired’ only contributed to one of those sectors—fear. Before she ‘recruited’ them, they had absolutely no idea who, or what she stood for. They had no respect, they didn’t understand what Atomic could and would do. They had no idea of the power, ambition, and personality this pony withheld.
Therefore, they could never respect her, they could never fill her soul with belonging.
The pony had come to the ultimate realisation, a realisation so grand that she felt inspired, as it happens, like any normal person, she had the desire to express herself through a song.
The red demon’s smile reached borderline intensity, so large and unfathomable that it covered from ear to ear. Her crisis pupils shrieked to the size of pin-prick, they shook with unseasonable madness.
She rotated her head towards to still gaping griffon.
“Hi there!” She squealed.
The splotched, red dripping pony sauntered her way towards the griffon trembling like an engine in overdrive, each step the demon took exponentially increasing his shaking, and decreased the size of his pupils.
“Want to play….” she licked her lips, “a game?”
The griffon didn’t even have an opportunity to respond, she leapt at him.
She withheld no weapons at the time, despite this, multiple naturally selected intimidating body parts were more than enough to accomplish the tasks she set herself up for.
Just before the pony crashed into her digressed target, the demon’s eyes indirectly dilated to take up the enter surface, transforming what once was a slightly stained red, into a terrifying, dread-less soul that consumed your being.
Her smile widened.
The devil herself slated with the force of an earthquake into the unprepared soldier and hugged him tightly, which choked him in the process. As he fell to the floor in solid gasps, Atomic utilised her sharp teeth to bite through the thin skin on the side of his neck and ultimately, rip out the oesophagus.
Blood literally exploded from his scruff, caking the entirety of the pony’s muzzle in a deep contagious red.
After the firm thump from the griffon from landing on the floor, regardless of the fact soldier was clearly going to die, Atomic still savagely ripped her way through the neck, one piece at a time, before ripping off the head by clutching the feathers between her precious teeth.
The room was quiet.
Her head snapped towards another griffon, one to the right of her just over a meter away, her eyelid twitches. She momentarily licked leftover gore on her muzzle.
Her ‘security force’ ran towards the Republicans for protection, in a brief moment of hospitality, it seemed as though the aggressors had teamed with their original enemy in an abnormal fear of surprise.
Atomic sprung at her nearest victim.
Shrewd tensed his body in preparation for an incoming fight, “Kill her!”
*Note: Anything that involves ‘~’ stretches out the word. Eg: Instead of meeeeeeeee it’s me~.*
The pony began to ominously sing, “I have a dream~!”
Her mane spilled behind her head as the wind rushed through it, bundling it into something comparable to fire, her body twisted into a frontal position, arms spread out.
The monstrosity before the soldier slammed right into him, hugging his autonomy, the resulting force in consequence to the acceleration and weight of Atomic, dictated the being to plummet forwards uncontrollably, arms flailing with uncountable terror.
Atomic was able to contribute a few extra newtons of brute force, which in turn, enticed the spin to break in multiple fractures. With his back bent at an odd angle, the white pony proudly stood on top, blood pooled at her heels from the various gashes, while the primate life-form screamed in expiration.
The demon grinned.
“As you can see~!”
Her hooves rose half a metre above the ground until they came trashing down onto her victim. She performed this multiple times, spiralling the sincere beating to grind the region, squelching thick red substance all over Atomic’s hooves.
Blood caked her fur in numerous locations, her winsome muzzle, her limbs, and other collected places like the stomach. Venues that remained white, still held their fluffy nature, despite this, these locations across her autonomy weren’t free without crimson droplets.
The devil rose up onto her hind hooves, “To kill you so it’s only me~!”
In recognition of the enemy’s attempts to terminate her with weapons she created, the crimson caked earth pony harvested the unwounded musket beside his corpse, obtained a sensible grip, and heaved the weapon in the air identical to a harpoon. She aimed the rifle like a spear, an adorable blep popped from her muzzle in concentration.
Another one of her previous soldiers was clearly still attempting to run to some sort of cover, but fortunately (or unfortunately depending how you look at it) hadn’t taken the initiative to find some quickly enough—every other griffon was clearly already in a suitable position, the majority poked their heads around their impromptu shelters, and attempted to briskly reload their weapons.
“I will raze every city!”
In a gloriously smooth effort, Atomic launched the improvisational spear at the still retreating prey, the bayonet sliced into the back of the griffon’s noggin, straight through one eye on the other side. instantaneously killing him.
The recipient, according to Newton's first law, maintained his velocity, but with the now plainly infective legs, crumbled to the ground and slid across it face first. Blood that originated from the skull made itself known by smudging a line of a thick crimson substance across the floor. The musket stood proudly up at a ninety-degree angle, comparable to a flagpole, but with no flag-waving upon it.
The dead griffon skid to a stop directly next to another soldier that was hidden behind a pillar.
“Which will be more than eighty!”
Some of the ‘near to be victims’, that had successfully loaded their weapons, had began to fire their weapons at her with the occasional BANG. None made its mark.
Seven griffons remained.
Atomic dropped to the floor in a commando crawl, and utilised her front two hooves to heal herself across the floor—the blood on her stomach acted as a lubricant, which permitted her figure to move across the ground swiftly.
She headed towards a Republican griffon behind a pillar on the left.
“The innocents are dead, what an adversity!”
This particular stooge had already reloaded his weapon, and was waiting with a sense of satisfaction for the devil to get closer—he had the intention to blast her at point-blank range.
Atomic didn’t give a single shit, she continued to rapidly creep towards him.
When she was one metre away, he pulled the trigger.
BANG!
The golden projectile hurdled directly into the soft fur of the pony’s neck, and spat out of the other side.
It had hit a large vein.
Ichor flowed in generous amounts as it poured straight out of the open wounds like a fountain, it cemented multiple hairs together. It drizzled down her coat.
Though it didn’t seem to subdue her.
“I will drink your corpuses during tea!”
The griffon turned scared stiff for a few minor seconds, he didn’t expect the pony in front of him to be able to receive that kind of blast— it should be able to kill anyone. And yet, here she is, a literal demon, singing.
“This I can, guarantee!”
Atomic kicked him in the balls, hard.
So hard in fact she probably crushed them under the force.
At least he still has his balls—in spirit.
THUMP
He fell over in pain, clutching the nether region like his life depended on it.
Atomic stood over him, her vibrating tiny eyes and her creepy smile never left his perception.
With muskets still firing, other griffons in the vicinity slowly began to traverse themselves to the other side of the room.
“But here’s the thing.”
If he was totally honest with himself, she was actually quite beautiful. Her white and red-stained fur, the way her hair flowed… It was like the angel of death was standing over him.
She instantaneously crushed his face with both hooves.
Then danced on his body.
“I have a dream!”
She pointed to the ceiling and proceeded to perform tap on his body.
“To kill you, so it’s only me~,” The white monstrosity gestured to herself.
Multiple rounds of musket projectiles made themselves known by spiralling in the general direction of Atomic. They made whistling noises as they passed.
One, however, was able to embed itself inside the pony’s fluffy chest.
She didn’t even flinch.
“I want respect!”
She jumped from the body and into the ground, and leisurely sauntered her way over to her next closest victim—who had slightly backed away from his original spot, his musket, still positioned up in caution.
“Or I’ll neglect!”
Atomic un-expectantly sprinted and launched herself up into the air, belly first.
He saw the shadow defend upon him, despite the griffon best efforts, he still copped the full force of Atomic’s weight to the head, he slammed into a pillar adjacent to him. In defiance of the unlikely possibility, he was still able to remain standing—with help from the column next to him, of course.
“With a simple killing spree!”
The demon sat on his back, identical to the way you would sit on a horse.
He tried to push her off.
His efforts were negligible because she snapped his neck anyway.
The soldier toppled to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
“Get. Wrecked.”
Five griffons remain.
Atomic darted towards her next target.
The soldier had his musket, bayonet facing forwards, he was ready for her.
Although she could’ve evidently brought her motion to a standstill, she choose not to—it was too much effort.
The pony slammed straight through the blade, it implanted itself through her chest and splinted her like one giant kabab, embedded deep inside her.
The Republican soldier that withheld the weapon smiled with premature delight—this was surely the killing blow, nothing could recover from this.
Atomic licked her lips, her white amorous stare never left his eyesight.
She was clearly not in pain.
“Hey!”
His smirk utterly dissipated.
It was obvious he was in some deep shit.
“I have a dream~!”
Chest first, she thrusted herself forward with her front hooves, more blood befell from the wound and congregated with other running streams. This contributed towards the growing puddle of crimson blood underneath her.
“As you can see~!”
The pony shoved herself forward again.
To kill you so it’s only me~.”
She plunged forward again.
And again.
And, again.
This contributed the motion of slowly being pushed down the shaft.
The griffon blinked in shock.
Her muzzle slowly leaned in until it was pressing firmly against his beak.
The Republican soldier couldn’t honestly fathom the situation, one moment he had stabbed her, and the next, she was grinning in his face. For whatever reason, the pony—or the God in front of him, actually liked being impaled.
Which she did.
The demon snapped his neck.
“To be feared.”
A griffon reasonably close to her—about three to four metres away. Realised the hopelessness in the situation, and made a break for it.
Morale was hitting critical levels.
“But never sneered.”
Atomic pretended to become comfortable, she sat her plush fur on her previous victims back. A musket stock prodded from her chest, sporting blood, she waited in anticipation.
“To decimate.”
The griffon attempted to open the doors.
Only to be immediately set alight in a futuristic blue flame, this fiery exposition was followed by the dramatic forceful explosion that originated from the door. The kinetic energy rippled, and shook the entire room, this momentarily stopped any gunfire.
The resulting directional force propelled the body to fly through the air in slam into the wall on the contradictory side of the room. A trail of indigo followed in his wake.
“Cremate.”
He was dead as soon as he touched the door.
“And brutality intimidate!”
With the now embedded musket inside Atomic’s chest, every muscle movement enforced blood to spit from the open wound, and the bayonet to scramble all of her insides, which caused her interior bodily functions to transform into a meat stew.
She began to saunter over to the three remaining griffons in the corner, all huddled into a tight circle. Shrewd Preparation was one of them, he too, held musket high, and persisted with firing relentlessly at her.
As a matter of fact, he was directing them.
Atomic shrugged at their hateful stares, “But, hey.”
The endearing white pony was beginning to feel a bit woozy, perhaps it was the lack of blood? She had, after all, normally fatal wounds on almost every part of her body. She was literally, 98% red, sections of bones were even appearing, and with the almost consistent pepper of golden projectiles—it’s going to get worse.
Maybe she should cut things short.
“I have a dream~!”
The pony’s four hooves slammed on the ground in sequential order and spread her legs out into what may seem like a power stance. The hoof ‘beats’ that accompanied this, emphasised her glorious singing.
“As you can see~!”
The griffons persisted to fire at her—some hit. Though it was obvious all of them were scared shitless, the solitary reason they continued to fight was they all witnessed first hand, what happens when you try to leave.
“To kill you so it’s only me~.”
Then, the strangest of events occurred.
Atomic slammed her right hoof with three repetitive thwacks on the wooden floor, and twisted it on a ninety-degree angle—this seemed to really confuse the reaming griffons, what the fuck was she doing? Dancing?
In a glorious show of robustness, she utilised her front legs to balance herself on her hind hooves —in a similar stance to a bipedal, she also held her right appendage directly up, indistinguishable from a fist punctured in the air.
“I will raze every city.”
Bullets still pounded her body, yet, she still didn’t flinch.
“Which will be more than eighty.”
For some reason, the small, square red sticker that was located on her right front hoof began to glow permanency, the once 2D shape extended upward to create a one by one grey centimetre cube. This geometric shape persisted to expand on all sides, more cubes broadened from its shape and began to form a long, grey shaft.
Atomic transversed her left hoof in-front of her other appendage.
“And all of the innocent as well!”
This object persisted to grow, it stretched over the pony’s shoulder, over her hooves. A handle materialised which she immediately gripped onto. An enlarged hole on the back formed, and an abnormally shaped oval thing appeared at the front.
The sudden weight inspiraled the object to fall slightly due to gravity, Atomic caught it.
To the remaining Republicans, it looked like a stick.
To the demon, it was a rocket launcher.
“I will drink your corpses during tea!”
The white rather pony closed one eye in concentration, and aimed the weapon at the corner of helpless animals….
“Rip your limbs,” she pulled the trigger, “an amputee!”
A trajectile thrusted through the air towards its unlucky targets, it left a thick sea of black smoke in its wake, smouldering anything in its path.
The only conception that was able to enter Shrewd Preparation’s thought process before his inevitable death was, “This sucks.”
BOOOOM!
With an amazing crack and thunder, a large explosion rocked the entire room, it bathed the walls with premature yellow light and echoed the loud sounds throughout the space.
All of the primitive creatures were evaporated immediately.
“This I can, guarantee~!”
When the flames rested, the only remaining evidence of their extent was the large scorch mark, and their red scalding metal tubes from the muskets.
Atomic threw the rocket launcher to the side with no hesitation.
“This I can, guarantee~~!”
The pony ended the performance by extending her front hooves out in an arch and eventually, collapsing on her hooves in expiration.
Well.
That was interesting.
So interesting in fact that the majestically bright explosion and loud sound caught the attention of the other Republican soldiers in the city.
When they entered, the sight they were greeted with was extravagant, to say the least.
Although the environment was in utter shambles—debris, blood and guts littered the room. The supposedly ‘dead’ white pony was laying on her side, with the hole stricken cape draped over her. A golden crown (now caked in blood) unanimously relaxed on Atomic’s head.
A pool of blood was congregated around her.
“Awww, fuck,” Atomic muttered, she had just noticed her new ‘company’, “Now where is that machine gun…?”
They didn’t survive.