Rockhoof perked his ears. Heavy hooffalls on undergrowth. He readied his shovel.
Two stallions entered the grove. Both of them were earth ponies, covered in heavy fabric with knives in their mouths.
Nike tsked. “Not a good second bout for you,” She whispered into his ear.
“You can’t be here,” Rockhoof informed his new opponents.
The first stallion lunged, slashing his dagger at Rockhoof’s face. Rockhoof took a step back, swinging his shovel up to deflect the blow. The second came at him from the side. He winced from the cut along his flank.
Rockhoof, in a desperate bid to shove his way out of the situation, tackled the first stallion. Normally, he wouldn’t have been able to do so, but his increased strength from his battle with the fox allowed him to stagger the stallion and knock him down to the ground. The stallion wheezed, his knife dropping, the wind knocked out of him.
He heard the second rush at him. Rockhoof lifted his shovel quickly to deflect the incoming knife. They both moved away from the first stallion, a flurry of blows exchanged between them.
“There’s a way through,” Nike whispered into his ear. “A way to overcome someone more experienced than you. Something only you can do.”
Another cut got through. He hissed back the pain and continued to keep blocking the assailant’s attacks. Each swipe was quick, a single mess up resulting in another cut. He could feel himself getting tired from the loss of blood and continued defense.
“You’re no stranger to pain,” Nike added. “Take it. Then kill him.”
Close calls were indeed something he was familiar with. But lava and knife wounds were two different things, and he wasn’t so sure he would come out of this alive.
Besides that, he’d never killed another pony before. It was a line he had yet to cross, and was unsure whether he wanted to.
“Unless, of course, you want to stay weak forever,” Nike mused in his ear once more.
Something snapped inside of him at Nike’s words. He rushed forward, the assailant stumbling forward in surprise as his knife cut a long line along his torso.
He pulled his shovel back. Then pushed forward, sharp tip in front, falling momentum skewering the stallion upon it.
He never knew flesh could yield so easily. Blood and gore spewed from the open wound, spilling across him, his weapon and the ground. The stallion went slack. Rockhoof removed his shovel, and the new corpse fell to the ground.
He’d killed. The stallion had been alive and now he was dead. He’d killed. There was so much blood. He’d killed. He was a killer. He’D kIlLeD. Panic shot through his mind as he tried to process the ramifications of what he’d done. HE—
Agony shot through him. He cried out. His body snapped. It cracked and reformed itself, stronger than before. He was left in a panting heap, becoming quickly accustomed to his newly strengthened body. It had been easier that time, a bit more pleasure, a bit less pain.
“Your reward,” Nike stated.
Rockhoof stared at himself. He was taller. At his new perspective, the clan couldn’t look down on him anymore. But… maybe if he won a few more times… he could look down on them?
Nike gestured toward the other stallion trying to get up. “If you kill’em, I’ll give you another blessing.”
Ignoring the change in wording from their original pact, Rockhoof grabbed his shovel and swung the sharp edge at the dazed stallion’s neck. He was decapitated in one clean sweep. As the splatter of gore settled over him, he felt less disturbed by the act. It was necessary. They were trying to enter the cave. They were trying to kill him.
They were in the way of him becoming strong.
Yet again, agonizing victory broke his body, and remade it into what it should be.