//------------------------------//
// CHFIN: Dualities 
// Story: Pink Symphony 
// by DragonLS 
//------------------------------//

Special Thanks:

Editor: DaMobbs

Proofreaders: Meeester & Axel_Nyan


*****



The Final Chapter: Dualities




Darkness clouded your eyes. Were your eyes closed? Or were they open, and you just couldn’t see anything? Last you could remember, you stood outside of Berry’s apartment door and after that, nothing. You rubbed the back of your head, only to yelp when you found a tender spot just above your neck. 

You looked around, hoping to find anything hinting at where you were. Without knowing what else to do, you started walking in a random direction. You didn’t know where it led, but it was better than doing nothing.

A chill swept past you, making you flinch and shiver. Your eyes blinked rapidly as your warm breath condensed in the air. It was strange; you couldn’t see in the darkness, but you could see your breath clearly. Perhaps you were in a black-walled room with a hidden light source?

Raising your hoof in front of your face ruled that out, as all you saw was more of your breath and nothing else.

You closed your eyes for a brief moment, trying to sort this all out. Where were you? And how did you get here? Why was it so dark? 

As you stood there with your eyes closed, the chilling cold turned into a flaring heat around you. You opened your eyes in shock, frantically looking around for the reason behind the temperature shift. A bright, almost blinding light forced you to squint your eyes in pain as your light-deprived eyes readjusted.

The light began to twist and turn, morphing into something else entirely. In the blink of an eye, the brilliant light exploded, coating the surrounding abyss in a rainbow of colors. With each beat of your heart, you watched in awe as the color seemed to mold itself into different objects; books, chairs, rugs, windows, and wooden walls until the last brick of fireplace stopped its shifting. You could only stare in abject shock.

It was this room again, the same room where your father was brutally murdered. You tried to stay strong, trying to shield yourself from the inevitable scene that was about to befall your late father. You fought the panic rising inside you, constantly reminding yourself that this was only a dream. It was only a figment of your imagination.

The crackling fire illuminated the study in an orange glow as you fearfully surveyed the room. Thankfully, the body of your father was absent, the place where he used to lay unmarred by blood.

Something shifted in the corner of your eye.

You swiveled around, eyes frantically searching for what you thought you saw only to find your father’s personal desk. It was dark brown in color, made from the finest wood north of the Crystal Mountains. It shined brightly despite how old it truly was. You knew this desk well. Most memories of your father had him sitting at this desk, either with pen in hoof or idly playing his prized flute.

Speaking of his flute, it rested on the center of a pristine white cloth, positioned on the middle of the desk. Most flutes were crafted solely from metal but not this particular one. While it was still made of mostly metal, wood adorned sections of the cylinder as well as each of the keys. This constitution of both metal and wood gave it a unique look and an even more unique sound.

You felt drawn to it, picking it up in your hoof and admiring the fantastic craftsmanship. A minute signature lay inscribed on the end in cursive, which would make for a nice touch if the inscription wasn’t so small.

“Remarkable, isn’t it son?”

You jumped as a familiar deep, baritone voice shook the air. With the flute still in hoof, you turned around to find a rather old stallion, with a white mane and sunflower yellow coat, staring at you.

You rubbed your eyes in disbelief. It was your father, back from the dead. There was no mistaking it. You hesitantly took a step back, bumping into the solid desk, as that tragic night replayed itself in your head. There was no way it was him standing in front of you. He wasn’t real.

Yet, part of you wanted to believe that it was.

Your ‘father’ smiled at you, but this only made you tighten your grip around your father’s flute. You opened your mouth, ready to voice the torrent of questions that bubbled up at his appearance, but you choked. The only noise that you made was unintelligible stuttering.

He walked up to you slowly, but you only stood there, rooted to the spot. He placed a hoof on your shoulder and squeezed. He always used to do that. It was his way of saying that everything would be alright. What disturbed you was that he felt warm.

“It has been a while, my son. I take it you’re doing well?”

You couldn’t say anything, but elected to nod instead. He smiled brightly as he lifted his hoof off your shoulder.

“I’m glad. You’ve grown into a fine stallion.” He pinched your cheeks. ”Maybe a little chubby around the edges though,” he chuckled, grasping the flute you still held in your hoof with his. When he touched it, your left hoof involuntarily let go, as if the flute willed you to.

Your father held the flute in his hooves, examining it with a scrupulous eye. You stood there, watching him all the while. Your heart beat rapidly. Why couldn’t you do anything? Was it fear? Fear that something might happen to him if you did anything? Nothing like this ever happened in your dreams before. Seeing your father alive and kicking was… disconcerting to say the least, but you kept reminding yourself it was just a dream.

“A composite mahogany and silver flute, twelve inches long and designed with a small grip for just the right balance. I’ve had this flute for years,” he began, showing you the small designs on the instrument. “You can tell by the wear and tear that it’s been played in many musical concerts and performances, but I’m sure you already know this. After all, I’ve told you about them all, son.”

Your father placed the flute down back onto the desk and fixed you with a hard stare.

“But enough about my flute, there’s something I must discuss with you.” He looked at you sternly. “Do you know why I was murdered?” You jumped forward, grabbing his shoulders with your hooves. The minute you heard those words, it was like somepony lit a fire beneath you, forcing your body into action. Yet, you couldn’t do anything else. Your father looked at your hooves and sighed.

“Yes, I suppose that would warrant this reaction. You’re aware of the nightmares you’ve been dreaming of?” You placed your hooves down, took a deep breath, and exhaled. You blinked and looked at your father, giving a firm nod, which returned before motioning for you to follow.

He walked towards the fireplace and took a seat in one of the sofa chairs. You chose to keep standing, only to watch him leaning forward toward the fireplace.

“Do you know why you’re having these nightmares?” You nodded your head yes, managing to eke out that one word that plagued your dreams. “Yes, my murder. I’m proud you were able to endure the horrid memories thus far. Such willpower is commendable for a son of mine.”

Silence fell, interrupted only by the crackling of the fire. The silence stretched out as he looked you over with a critical eye. You didn’t know how much time had passed. 

“Son, do you remember what you saw when you first found my body?” You went wide-eyed at his question, but you nodded. You also asked how he knew about this information. He chuckled in response.

“I’m just a figment of your imagination, son. What you know, I know. You should know by now that I no longer have a place in the land of the living? Ahh, it was a grim day for my death. Seeing me crumpled on the floor, my flute in hand, and my study completely trashed. You remember the scene all too vividly. Although, I don’t recall your nightmares being entirely correct. Since when could I ever multiply?” He finished with a sad laugh.

“Now, can you remember the rest, my dear colt?”

You didn’t want to, but a sudden wave of memories cascaded through your mind, forcing you to recall that night in stark clarity. You closed your eyes, not wanting to see your father slumped onto the floor. Guard ponies questioned you meticulously, repeatedly poking you about the letter opener that served as the murder weapon. You didn’t get a good look at your father’s corpse, but they told you the cause of death. They concluded that your father was walking around with it, tripped, and stabbed himself with the solid brass letter opener, puncturing his heart by accident.

The scene nearly made you throw up. You opened your eyes again to find your father absent from the chair.

“Yes, but you didn’t believe them in the slightest. You thought it was a murder?” came your father’s voice from behind. You watched as he slowly slid a hoof down the spines of books on his bookshelf. “You believed that there was more than meets the eye but the simple guard ponies didn’t accept your opinion as fact and… let’s see, you ran away crying, correct?”

You nodded again. He sighed. “Well, it’s quite a mystery to me as well. What you don’t know, I don’t know either.

“And let’s face it, you’re just an idiotic musician that needs to wake up.”

You raised a brow, his calm facial demeanor shifting to one of complete disgust and annoyance. He slapped you across your cheek with the back of his hoof.

“Wake up, Saxxy.” Your father’s voice was beginning to grow lighter. After each smack, his voice lost more and more of that baritone it had.

Your surroundings were beginning to dim into darkness. You shouted for him to stop and help, but it was like water draining away as it all swirled away into nothing.


*****


“Wake up. You’ve napped enough. Don’t make me start kicking you.”

Your cheeks stung, and you felt like a colossal wreck, like that time you accidentally downed a shot of hard cider and woke up the next day to what felt like a sledgehammer whacking away at your temples. Your eyes hurt when you tried to open them, trying to take in the surrounding scene as a bright light sent pangs of pain into your head.

You shook your head, trying to regain your composure, but something felt off. You attempted to move your hooves to find resistance, keeping them firmly where they were. Eventually, you were able to keep your eyes open long enough to gauge exactly what was happening.

The first thing you saw was a light black body with wings. Your eyes tracked up to see a rather familiar face. It smiled down at you as he slipped a hoof under your chin and pulled it up to within inches of his.

“We meet again, Saxxy. Did you have a good nap? Must have since you slept like a rock right after you got knocked out.”

Your eyes grew to the size of dinner plates as the realization of who the mystery pony was hit you. The voice, the body, and even the color of his coat only served to confirm your deduction. You spoke Beaver’s name out loud, but it came out slightly muffled. He let go of your face, sending a new wave of pain through your head as it hit the ground, and clapped sarcastically.

“Very good, Saxxy. You just won the ‘King of the Obvious’ award. Do you have anything to add, my liege?” Beaver teased with a chuckle. You muttered how ridiculous that this all was, but Beaver placed a hoof on your lips and smiled. “Now now, let’s not get too testy. Do you know where you are right now? Or even know why I brought you here in the first place?”

You blinked a couple of times at Beaver in confusion. Another sweep of your surroundings made you gasp. Mooring rope fastened around your front legs effectively immobilized you on the many old, wooden boards. You were tied down onto some sort of dock that extended out over a large body of water.  A lake or a pond, maybe? You couldn’t really tell from this awkward angle.

Beaver stretched his hooves out and chuckled. “Welcome to the performance in what I like to call ‘Hitting Rock Bottom’, starring your favorite host, Beaver! And your co-host, Loud Hoof! Let’s give them a round of applause, mares and gentlecolts!”

“B-Beaver, I didn’t want to be involved with this,” came a meek voice

Loud Hoof… somehow he got dragged into this whole debacle as well. You looked towards the source of the voice to find the stallion in question, looking around and fidgeting nervously. You tried to point at him but the ropes binding you to the deck didn’t budge at all.

“Give it up, Saxxy, you ain’t going anywhere. You’re not getting out of this that easily. I do believe yer marefriend is in the same position. I’d ask you to lend me a helping hoof, but you’re ‘tied up’ at the moment. Ha!” he maniacally laughed.

Beaver motioned to something on your left. You turned your head and froze in stark horror. 

Pinkie Pie was tied up, her head drooped down and eyes closed. You assumed she was unconscious just as you were earlier. Her front hooves were tied together with her back hooves with the same rope. However, there was an additional length of rope that trailed away. 

Following it with your eyes, you nearly jerked away when you found that the rope was secured to a sizable anvil. You turned your head to find a similar length of rope leading to the same anvil.

In other words, you and Pinkie were tied to the same hunk of metal. You looked at Beaver with anger in your voice, asking what the meaning of all this was.

“Heh, you’re wondering why you two are tied to an anvil, right? Well, it doesn’t take an idiot to see where this is all going, am I right? I just wanted to have a few last words with you before I send you off on your way. After all, I still have a score to settle with you, especially Loud Hoof.”

“Beaver, I didn’t have anything to settle with him.” Loud Hoof meagerly spoke up. ”I don’t have any qualms at all…”

Beaver wrapped a hoof around the unicorn’s neck, smiling. “Oh that’s bullshit and you know it, Hoof. C’mon, after all of those times that Saxxy played Mr. Nice Guy, you didn’t get the urge to kill him? Not even stage a few ‘accidents’? Did nothing make him rub you the wrong way?”

“N-No! Of course not. He’s a k-kind stallion that’s always taken care of me,” Hoof answered confidently.

“Tell me then, why didn’t you follow him if he was such a kind stallion, hmm?”

“W-well, he needed some time alone, I think? Don’t you remember the time when he nearly died up on stage?”

“Nearly killed? Which time? The sandbag, or that falling lamp back at that bar? Oh, that’s right, you mean every single one of them. Isn’t that right, Hoof?” You stared at Beaver, shocked at this startling revelation. Did Beaver inadvertently try to kill you back then? And what was Hoof’s part in all this? 

“B-Beaver, no more. Please.” he begged.

“Oh yeah, let’s also not forget that time you nearly skewered Saxxy’s head with an arrow. You need to work on you aim, you idiotic buffoon. This would have been over with if you hadn’t missed.”

The longer the conversation kept up, the more speechless you became. Even Hoof took a swing at you?

“But I-I didn’t want to, you forced me to do that.”

“Oh but my dear Hoof, I didn’t force you to,” Beaver sang, pulling a shiny metal object out from his mane. With a flick of his wrist, out sprung a sharp blade, maybe three to four inches long. He placed it on Hoof’s chin and watched as Hoof began stumbling on his words, sweating like a pig. He grinned mischievously.

“I thought I told you that I’d give you another hole to breath out of if you didn’t keep quiet.”

Even from here, you could see that Hoof was scared out of his wits. With Beaver the way he was right now, there was no way of knowing how this would all end. You shouted at them, trying to draw his attention away from Hoof and back onto you. It was about time Beaver told you why he was going to such lengths to make your life a living hell. Beaver looked at you, eyes twinkling mirthlessly, before looking at Hoof once more.

He shrugged, flicking the blade back into its slot and storing it in his mane. Hoof’s legs gave way in relief, shaking as he held his hooves in front of his face.

“Sounds like our little Saxxy is impatient, but you’re right, you deserve answers.” Beaver sat on the ground, staring at you intently, like a predator would stalk prey. “Now then, what is it you wanna know, little Saxxy?”

You first asked him to stop calling you ‘little’, and second, asked him where you were. He chuckled.

“You haven’t figured it out yet? And here I am thinking you were smart,” he chided, prodding your forehead with a hoof. “I’ll give it to you straight: we’re on the dock of Ponyville lake, where my grand performance is about to take place.” You raised a brow. What was this ‘grand performance’ of his supposed to be anyway?

“Hah, of course you wouldn’t know. Here, let me show you.” He then grabs both sides of your face, and turns it around towards the anvil behind you. “See that anvil right there? And the rope that ties you and that bitch to it? It’s right at the edge of this dock. Isn’t it obvious?” He walked up to the black, metal anvil and knocked on it a couple of times. 

Your eyes went wide as your gaze shifted back at Beaver. His smirk evolved in a full ear to ear grin.

“I see you figured it out. Good boy Saxxy! You’re absolutely right!” He tugged at the rope that was tied to the base of the Anvil.

“As soon as I throw this anvil overboard, both of you will literally hit ‘Rock Bottom’! Doesn’t that sound like fun, Saxxy!? An underwater musical performance, starring you and your marefriend! I am just ‘dying’ to see it, hah hah!”

You tried to twist and turn your hooves out of the rope, but your squirming resulted in the rope tightening further around your hooves.

“Oh give it a rest, Saxxy! There’s no way you’re getting out of those binds! Now… is there anything else you want to ask me before I start the show? Or should I just push it over right now? C’mon, I’m begging you to let me throw it over. I want the fun to begin!”

You merely shook your head. You needed time to think. If asking questions bought you more time, then you’d ask as many questions necessary.

You looked up at Beaver and asked why he was doing this, and why he wanted you dead. Beaver stared at you quizzically.

“You don’t even know why I want you dead? You really don’t? Oh c’mon!” he exclaimed in frustration, turning around on the spot. ”Surely all those ‘accidents’ weren’t obvious enough?” You shook your head slowly. He scoffed. “Psh, of course. When it comes to you, even the obvious has ways of not registering in that dinky peanut you call a brain. You always needed that extra minute to figure out what two plus two was!”

He sat down in front of you once again, and brought his hooves together. He rested his head on them, glaring at you through his dark, chestnut brown eyes. You asked him to stop staring at you and demanded an answer.

“Shut the buck up. I’m getting to it,” he scolded with an irritated sigh. He pulled the switchblade from his mane and flicked it open. You flinched, thinking he was going to stab you with it, but instead he looked at the blade, twisting and turning it as if examining it. “It’s a rather long story. In fact, this knife is part of it.

“You see, it was my father that inspired me to become a bassist many years ago. He was a unicorn of great standing, and my mother played with him in his duets. Ahh, my mother. I’ll never forget her: Her gold mane, her tough personality, and she was one of only a few Pegasi violinists. They were made for each other, always performing, making everypony smile, and of course, they had me. It’s a moment like that that a child can treasure.” He admitted happily, wiping a tear from his eye.

“However, my family was poor,” he continued, this time in a sad tone, “and their performances scrounged up enough to barely make ends meet. At that point in time, I had already moved out to forge my own path. I didn’t want to burden them with another mouth to feed. Despite that, I heard some rather disturbing news, so disturbing that I thought I was going to kill myself… just like my parents did. That’s when I met you guys.”

He continued to examine his knife, more focused on it than you at the moment. It was as if he was the only one on the dock the way he was talking. “Your father—by Celestia, how I hated your father—took everything away from me. My parents managed to save enough money to perform in a musical contest; A ‘battle of the bands’ but more upscale. It was their big opportunity to raise enough money to live comfortably, just like the old days.

“They hadn’t a single gold bit to both of their names when they walked onto the stage. They staked everything they had on that performance; A last ditch effort to make things right again. Naturally, I went to watch them. Who wouldn’t want to watch their parents come out on top of everypony else?

“But no, they didn’t,” he spat out, impaling the knife into the decking an inch from your face.”Your father decided to hog the spotlight with that stupid flute and some other buddy of his; probably some hooker he hired to ‘woo’ the crowd.”

That ‘hooker’ that Beaver had so aptly named was your Mother, which you vehemently sweared at him for. Beaver took note of this and grinned.

“What’s that? Your mother’s a hooker? I would never have guessed! I guess it does take an accidental birth to know that, huh?”

He struck a nerve with that. Your mother was the most kind, loving, and thoughtful mare you had ever known. Nopony, especially Beaver, dissed her. You let loose with a flurry of swears and threats, all aimed at that blasted black pegasus before you.

“Oh calm down, it’s a joke! Do you want to hear the rest of it or not!?” he shouted, jabbing your snout with the razor sharp blade. You shut your mouth quickly in response. “Now, I completely loathed your father after he won. Well, not at first, but as soon as I found out my parents couldn’t support themselves, they… well, I didn’t find out until the next day.” Beaver trailed off, withdrawing the knife and slowly pacing around you. “They killed themselves... They committed suicide…” Beaver stopped, looking down at the switchblade he had in his hoof with pure hatred. “…with this very switchblade.”

You mind reeled in shock. Was your father to blame for his parents death? No, it wasn’t. It was just bad luck for his parents for the contest to not end in their favor, which you carefully explained to Beaver. He stomped on the planks with his hooves.

“Shut up! You don’t know what it’s like when your parents kill themselves because they couldn’t afford anything anymore! Do you know the pain I’ve gone through? This gnawing pain that continually eats at you!? No, no you don’t. You couldn’t possibly understand!”

How this all involved you stumped you. As you thought about it, Beaver chuckled. “Oh come now… Hey, hey Hoof! Take a guess on how this involves Saxxy here.”

Beaver waited for a reply for Hoof, but the instead of a bumbling answer, silence reigned. Beaver huffed in annoyance, turning around to see what Hoof was doing.

“Hoof? You better damn well answer me you son of a—huh?” Hoof was no longer in sight. You couldn’t tell from your position, but you were sure that Beaver was furious. He stomped his hoof into the ground and yelled.

“Hoof! You backstabbing coward! Get your flank back on this dock before I slice out your throat!”

As Beaver started going about his temper tantrum, your hooves felt somewhat looser. You blinked a couple of times as the restraining pressure around your hooves kept lessening until it was no longer there.

You looked at the rope that tied your hooves together, only to see that the rope was no longer tied around your hooves! You subconsciously rubbed them to get the circulation flowing again. Who could have done this? 

“Grr, the minute I grab him, it’s going to be… gah!”

You immediately placed your hooves back into the ropes, pretending to still be tied up when Beaver looked at you again, none the wiser.

“Oh forget it. Even if I told him what to say, he’d be a stumbling mess. He’s still pretty damn funny though. He even peed himself once. Now then…”

He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up him. “Do you know why this involves you? Why the son of a flute player—my own band partner, is here right now? I’ll tell you why, Saxxy…” He leaned closer, bringing his mouth next to your ear.

“I killed your father.” he whispered happily.

Your clenched your jaw and digested what that bastard just told you. You couldn’t believe this. Beaver, a pony that you used to call friend, was your father’s murderer. This was all a bad joke.

But no, you weren’t laughing. You were paralyzed with overwhelming grief and anger. You wanted somepony to tell you otherwise, to tell you that he was completely off his rocker. Beaver chuckled.

“Eh heh… Hah hah, ahahahah! That look, right there: That’s the look I was waiting for! How’s it feel to finally know who murdered your father, eh!? I can still feel the knife piercing through his skin. He wants to kill my family? Then he deserves the same fate as them! He is the one who made me this way and YOU are going to feel the same as I did: All alone, powerless, and nothing you can do to change your fate!

“No… It, it can’t be…”

Your ears turned toward the source of the voice. You turned your head, only to find Pinkie Pie wide awake, her hair drooped down and tears in her eyes. You didn’t know how much she had heard, but if it was any indication, she now knew about what happened to your father.

She looked at you, tears streaming down your face.

“Mr… Top Hat. Is that… Is that why you couldn’t tell me…? Because your father was… was…” She couldn’t finish as she broke into a fit of sobs.

“Hah! It’s like an early birthday present!” You looked at Beaver, whom had a satisfied grin on his face. “This is just rich: two ponies, grieving over somepony’s death? This is beyond perfect. Now, cry your tears of grief, they give me such joy! Hah… Hahahah!” He said as he bellowed with laughter.

You couldn’t take this anymore. You wanted to punch him so badly. You wanted to hurt him, strangle him, stab him, anything to make him stop laughing.

“Actually, I’m joking.” Beaver suddenly said, his laughter ceasing instantly. “I didn’t kill your father.”

You blinked a couple of times and the sobs from Pinkie died down with a final sniffle. You stared at him in mute anger, part of you debating why he would joke about something this serious while the other part was relieved to hear—

“Hah, actually, I lied. I did kill your father.” he smugly stated. ”Geez, you are so easy to fool! The faces you make are just… pffhahah!” he laughed, grabbing his chest with a hoof. 

“Mr. Top Hat, I… I’m scared. I, I just want to go home… Why does he have to be so cruel and… and mean?”

“Enough talk.” The next thing you knew, the blade side of the knife was hovering on the spot between your eyes. Beads of sweat trickled down your face as you stared it down. Beaver grinned maliciously. “I was going to drown you, but I think it’s a helluva lot more fitting to kill you before I send you to your bubbly grave.”

Pinkie let off a high pitched scream when she saw the blade aimed at you. You had to spring this just right. If you jumped him at the wrong moment, he might kill right there and then. Beaver turned towards her, eyes burning in anger.

“Shut up, bitch!” Beaver smacked her across the face with a free hoof, knocking her down the deck a couple feet. You looked back and forth from the huffing, puffing pegasus and the crying pink pony. A feeling welled up inside you, this time much more concentrated and directed.

Anger. A sudden urge to punch Beaver in the face. The urge to give him a beatdown the likes of which he’d never forget. All to make him regret ever butting into your life and sending it to Tartarus in a hoof-basket.

“Now that the baby has shut up…” He aimed the blade back at you. “I think it’s time for you to die.”

Protect… you wanted to protect her. You didn’t want to see her sad or hurt. Feelings welled up inside you, building on top of one another. Your heart thumped in your chest like the heaviest of drum beats. Beaver continued his monologue entirely unaware of the turmoil in your mind.

“It’s a shame to see you go, too. I mean, we’ve had so much fun together these last few days. It’s a shame I didn’t bring a camera. Oh well, guess i’ll have to settle for some of your blood instead.”

Why did you want to protect her? Was it because she was your friend? Or was it something else? Something deeper...

 “Nice knowing ya, Saxxy. Say ‘Hi’ to your father for me!” He brought the knife up above his head, aimed at yours.

No, you weren’t ready to die yet. You still had a lot to live for, a lot to experience firsthand. And there was this feeling. This feeling that you’d never thought you’d feel ever again.

The desire to protect the ones closest to you.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion as the knife descended. Your hooves moved of their own accord, whipping up to smack the blade out of his hooves. Miraculously, the knife went flying out of his hooves and down the dock. The expression of shock and rage on Beaver’s face was indication enough that he wasn’t expecting resistance.

With the hoof that disarmed Beaver, you jabbed him in the face, aiming for his eyes. Your hoof hit something squishy yet solid, eliciting a painful shout from the black pegasus. He stumbled slightly, caught off guard by such a quick retaliation. You didn’t let up, quickly redirecting your assault to any part of his body that was in hoof’s reach.

“You… how did you—urgh!?” You didn’t bother to reply. Actions spoke louder than words at the moment. Rage coursed through your head, filling it with different ways of exacting vengeance on the bastard before you. He tried to spread his wings at first, presumably to fly away, but you had none of that. You lunged, pinning Beaver and his wings to the deck. You couldn’t use your hooves in this position, so you began headbutting him as hard as ponily possible. Each repeated impact sent a pang of pain through your already throbbing skull, but you kept on the assault. Blood seeped from his nose and bruised face as he tried to wiggle his way out of your grip. You pulled your hoof back, ready to stomp on his face with your weight behind it.

However, Beaver shifted his head at the last second, narrowly avoiding your hoof before kicking you away with his rear legs. You sailed a few feet into the air, landing on your back with a painful grunt. 

You weren’t finished, not yet. You pulled yourself up easily, as if that blow hadn’t phased you one bit. Beaver, using the brief respite from your feverish assault, now hung in mid-air, supported by his jet black wings.

Rain began to plunge down from the sky a moment later. Flashes of light lit up the area as thunder cascaded through the area. For a moment, you both stared at each other, rain quickly drenching your coats and panting heavily. Beaver spat at the ground as he wiped blood and saliva off from his muzzle

He looked at his hoof for a stern moment before looking back at you despondently.

“You… you ruined my beautiful face! Look at this, Saxxy, you made me bleed! What the hell is wrong with you!? This… this isn’t how I had pictured it at all; I wasn’t supposed to get hurt, dammit!” Beaver bellowed, grasping his head with both of his hooves.

He was insane, no doubt about it now. It was almost amusing, listening to Beaver throw a miniature tantrum like a 3 year old foal would. He growled at you, until he shifted his gaze slightly to your left.

You caught this and followed his eyes. He was staring at Pinkie Pie, but you didn’t know why. In fact, why was he staring at her? You looked back in Beaver’s direction, only to not see him there anymore. You readied your guard, wondering where he could be, until a sudden gust of wind rushed past you. 

You turned again to find Beaver diving towards the anvil. He was going to throw her over! Pinkie screamed for help, realizing what was about to happen, as she struggled against the tight moorings.

“Mr. Top Hat, help!”

You rushed towards the two of them, propelling yourself forward as fast as your hooves could move. Wings triumphed where hooves could not.

*SPLASH*

Beaver collided into the anvil, sending it toppling over the edge of the dock and into the water. The rope began uncoiling rapidly. You lunged forward, hoping to grasp her hoof and keep her from being pulled under. Just as your hoof almost grabbed her leg, the rope pulled taut, pulling her out of reach. You watched in mute shock as she disappeared over the edge of the dock, screaming your name, before a second splash drowned out her voice.

“Ha… HAHAHAH! How do you like that, Saxxy? Now your marefriend’s going to drown! I hope you’re happy to have another dead pony on your consciousness!” Beaver shouted at you, now high in the sky. He pointed an accusing hoof at you and then waved. “I’ll kill you some other time, Saxxy. I’m satisfied enough with having another pony you knowingly love and care for dead! Ha… Hahahahah!” 

Beaver flew off towards the opposite end of the dock. You didn’t know what to do now. If you hurried, you could actually catch up with Beaver and put an end to this chaos once and for all. You started to trot towards the end of the dock but stopped before you took a second step. You couldn’t just leave Pinkie to drown but on the same note, you couldn’t let Beaver escape as well.

You were at a loss on what to do. That’s when you eyed the switchblade that Beaver dropped, just near the edge of the dock. You… you didn’t know what to do. Should you go after Pinkie and abandon your revenge against Beaver, or abandon Pinkie Pie and settle your score with Beaver, once and for all?

-Rescue Pinkie Pie-

-Go after Beaver-