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// Chapter 9: Broken Promise 
// Story: Only Chapter 12 is any good 
// by SRC 
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If I learned anything from the few brawls I fought in high school, it's got to be that whoever keeps his cool, wins. Once you outgrow the primitive idea of a fight being a conflict of strength, you realize the true nature of such a confrontation: it's all about strategy, not passion. Mere hatred won't do much more than motivate you, and rage is most definitely more of a hindrance; it blinds you to your surroundings and the tactical situation. The art of combat is precisely that: an art. It requires elegance, it necessitates finesse, it demands grace and cunning while retaining the aspect of ruthless efficiency. For example: If your enemy is untrained, why attempt to terminate him with a brutal barrage of punches and kicks, when a simple and precise hit to the throat would collapse the trachea and suffocate your adversary, thereby accomplishing the same goal in a quicker and less tiring manner? Nevertheless, physical engagement is a secondary tool, to be used only when necessary...

In the words of Sun Tzu:

"Hence to fight and conquer in all your battles is not supreme excellence; supreme excellence consists in breaking the enemy's resistance without fighting."

Or in cases like this, when the guy really, really deserves it for being a complete asshole.

Still, there's a middle ground: When you have to beat the schnitzel outta someone, do it effectively and skillfully.

"Why are you interfering? This is none of your business!" he yelled bellicosely.

"It became my business the moment you decided to harm the boy, and I wasn't just going to stand there doing nothing!" I shouted back.

"He deserves it, and who are you to say otherwise?!"

"The real question is who are you to carry out this 'justice', let alone even make such a judgement?"

As the discussion went on, I distanced myself and took strategic position next to a market stand manned by a rather timid mare. It sold wheat, oat, barley, and a variety of other cereals. I asked if I could take a bag of flour, and she nodded.

"-the second time he escapes from the orphanage. No doubt to cause more trouble," he finished.

"And what about his mother?"

As he answered, I placed the flour in front of me. I also took the empty crate next to the stall and placed it behind me, facing the pegasus. To anyone willing to observe, the plan was blatantly obvious. Fortunately, my foe was too careless and emotional to notice it, and I used this to my advantage.

"Alright, I guess everything's set up. Still, I can't help but feel there's something missing. Let's see, I got my distraction, my backstop... Aha! I know what just what I need!"

I looked around to find someone selling clothing or fabric, and once I found what I was searching for, I approached the merchant.

"Hi, I'm sorry, but can I borrow this sheet? I kinda need it to-"

"Hey!" the furious stallion interrupted, shrieking. "Are you even listening?!"

I grabbed the black cloth and returned to my previous location.

"Of course, dude. I can multitask, you know?"

"Not really."

"So where were we...?" I continued. "Oh that's right, I was about to kick your ass!"

I tried to contain my chuckle, but couldn't. He started to breath heavily and scraped the ground with his hoof like a furious beast ready to strike... In response, I signaled him to come at me with my left hand. I don't think it was possible for him to understand the meaning of such a gesture, but I did it anyways.

My rival calmed down slightly before muttering, "Let's see if you can still laugh after I'm done with you."

And with those words, he charged at me with all his might. Little did he know, he was doomed to fail from the start... Once he was sufficiently close, I stepped on the flour bag, creating a cloud of whiteness which camouflaged my ingenious ruse. All I had to do know was hold the sheet in front of me and step aside when he had passed through the brume.

"¡Olé!" my Spanish half exclaimed as I evaded the bull pony.

He impacted the crate at full force, but did not relent immediately, taking a few unbalanced steps before collapsing beside a fruit stand. I advanced to take a closer look.

"He's still moving!" remarked the owner of the kiosk.

I grabbed the biggest fruit I could find and raised it over my head in preparation to strike.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" pleaded the booth-keeper. "Wait a minute!"

"Ok, what is it?"

"Use this one instead: it's rotten and nopony will buy it anyways," he said while handing over the product.

After having exchanged items, I struck my fallen opponent, incapacitating him and ending the conflict definitely.  

"I'm surprised everything went as planned... Anyways, it's time for a post-combat report."

Adversary Analysis

Physical damage sustained: 
-> Considerable sanguine build-up in frontal section of the head due to blunt impact. (Hematoma.)
-> Loss of consciousness and mild traumatic brain injury.
-> Breaching of epidermal layer caused by anomalous imperfections in the colliding object's material.
\-> Class I Hemorrhage.

Estimated Time of Recovery: Several weeks.

Psychological effects:
-> Pride shattered.
-> -10 I.Q. points.
-> Will think twice about harming a child.
-> Will hold grudge against opponent.

Estimated Time of Recovery: Not applicable.

Justice Status: Served. (With a side order of potatoes and gravy on top.)

Jimmies Status: Rustled.

Soon after, an awful stench began to rise from the fruit's carcass.

"Whoa! You weren't kidding when you said it was rotten!"

"Yeah, a month overdue."

I relaxed my muscles and did some stretching before noticing the absolute silence the crowd was in. I turned to look at them, and with their stare, I realized they were in the process of judging the events. Were they mad at me? Perhaps I simply did what no one dared, but wanted to do? I could only await their deliberation with uneasiness. The quiet pondering was to continue until someone spoke up...

And indeed, many did.

"I say it was about time someone gave that shameless bully a lesson in decency and kindness!" said a mare.

"It was a good one, too!" shouted another.

"He'll rue the day he messed with us!" remarked a third.

"Um, guys?" a fourth whispered timidly. "Shouldn't we take him to the hospital...?"

The sound of stomping slowly began to rise in a roaring crescendo of praise and approval. With a large smile of relief, I waved at them and even bowed pridefully.

"This wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I thought of a 'grand entrance', but this is way better than getting sent to jail for assault. Although an interesting thought is that my fate was entirely in the hands of this audience, if they had disapproved... Nah, forget it, man. It's your moment of glory, so enjoy it while it lasts!"

Except it didn't last very long, because the entire celebration was interrupted by one particularly angry purple unicorn...

"CHARLES CROWNE, WHAT THE HAY DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!"

"Oh shit oh shit-"

"I THOUGHT I HAD CLEARLY WARNED YOU NOT TO HOSPITALIZE ANYONE ELSE!"

Twilight's voice came from afar, but it grew closer as she traversed the group of ponies.

Moments later she was right in front of me, eyes gleaming with burning fury.

"Charles, you promised!" she stated in a calmer tone, with a hint of exasperation. "To whom am I going to need to apologize, now?"

She then glanced at the limp stallion covered in a smelly mix of flour and fruit juice.

"Wait, this guy? Oh, he totally had it coming."

Twilight took a small pause before finishing, "Yeah, ok. It's fine, I forgive you."

I took a deep sigh of relief and looked up at the sky.

"It's getting darker..."

"Well, look at the hour!" I exclaimed. "Time sure does fly when you're serving justice... I think we should go see our friend at the hospital now, Twilight."

She nodded in response.

And so, we left the scene in a hurry: eager to learn news concerning the state of our unfortunate pal...


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