Chapter Seven: Azrael
So yes. There was Rig, a Stable Three unicorn engineer and repairpony still not used to Wasteland soil, a young mare with only an intense hour's worth of combat experience. Armed with a heavily modified version of the weapon that once carried me through hell and back, a saddlebag full of tools and explosives, a Spetsnaz throwing shovel, and a pickaxe.
There was Azrael Razorwing, a disavowed Dead Boy griffin. Blind, yet able to see far more than either of us. She was proven in battle yet of questionable background and still testing the waters with our trust. Armed with a Kord 6P50, those deadly talons, and whatever other tricks she had underneath that cloak. Hell, her mind could be considered the most deadly weapon in her arsenal.
Then there was me. Frostbane Hokkaido Windchill, a unicorn in Lunar Guard armor. A cryomancer and solely a cryomancer, king in his trade but an invalid in others. Unquestionable battlefield experience, but a liar unknown all the same. Armed with a heavy-handed judge, a lightning-fast fang, and the fastest hands of all unicorns with a blade of death to match.
So that's us.
Okay, granted, no other unicorn I've ever met could form a hand. That technically makes me the slowest hands of all unicorns too.
A light chuckle escaped the storyteller's dry lips.
Heh, from the looks of how crowded this place is getting with you folks, we're gonna need to move to a bigger place. But enough about that. You all came for more of the story.
So let's continue.
Melt away.
* * *
Rig got the bed, of course. I couldn't let her sleep anywhere else, and Azrael knew she was way too big for that mattress. So the two of us slept on the floor. Neither of us seemed to mind as it was easily more comfortable than Wasteland soil. And at least we could all sleep easy tonight. We were at home in the City of Blood and Iron. Let keeping watch be someone else's problem for once.
~ ~ ~
That all-too-familiar, all-too-consuming cold seethed back to seize everything and everyone.
But I couldn't sleep easy.
“Why'd you do it?”
“Why did you kill us?”
“Why?”
“Why?!”
Whispers. Dark, accusatory, acidic, piercing whispers.
I was alone in the dark.
But I am a friend of the night. I can see perfectly fine in the dark.
Except this dark. This murky, muddy, muddled dark.
“Why me?”
“Why my kids?”
“Why my love?”
“Why my friend?”
“Why all of us?”
“Why?”
I could feel the gears spinning in my head as my mouth cranked open. Jaw unmoving, an emotionless, monotonous voice blared, “This program was not designed for casual conversation. Please desist and proceed on your way.” My mouth cranked closed.
“You monster!”
“You're not a pony!”
“Say it! You're not even equine! Say it!”
I could feel the gears spinning in my head as my mouth cranked open. Jaw unmoving, an emotionless, monotonous voice blared, “This program was not designed for casual conversation. Please desist and proceed on your way.” My mouth cranked closed.
And then I struggled to break free, the gears grinding to a halt.
“No!” I growled. “I'm fucking equine! I'm a pony! I'm a unicorn! My name is Frost Windchill of the Far North! And! I! Exist!”
The darkness shed away in an instant as if a light clicked on. Right before my eyes... was Her. She looked so, so sad.
“You're wrong.” She sniffled softly.
~ ~ ~
The cold left suddenly once more, but the return of warmth was uneasy.
I just couldn't get a good night's sleep could I? I ground my eyes open. Damn nightmares. So damn creepy.
Waking up to Azrael training her empty, unblinking gaze on me was just as damn creepy.
“Were you having nightmares?” she whispered. Her voice was... soft. I liked that.
“Was it obvious?” I whispered back in reply.
“Twitching, frenetic breath rate. I'd say it was obvious, yes.”
“Yeah, I was having nightmares,” I sighed softly. I glanced over at Rig. She was sleeping, snoring lightly. The poor girl was tuckered out.
“How close are you two?” Azrael asked quietly.
“Friends.” I turned back to her. “And I intend to keep it at that. I'm a little old for her in any case.”
“How old are you both anyways?” She tilted her head slightly.
“Fifty-two,” I answered, keeping my voice as even as I could. It was easy when whispering. “Rig's just shy of eighteen.”
“More than just a 'little' old.” Azrael cracked a light smile. “Last I gleaned, you don't look all that ancient, though.”
“I'm flattered.” I cracked a light smile of my own.
Azrael was silent for a while, our smiles fading away. I looked out the glassless window into the bleakness of the outside, only the clouds greeting me. Those damned, persistent clouds. At least it had the soft, subtle glow of the coming morn. Again, it was one of the few semblances of natural beauty left in the Wasteland, folks.
“I wish I could take them away for you.”
“Hm?” I turned back to the griffin.
“The nightmares,” she whispered, clarifying. “I wish I could take them away for you. Sleep, I feel, should be a time of solace in such an unforgiving world. One of the ways in which I can interact with others' minds is by altering dreams. Unfortunately, I can't do that for you as I can't directly interact with your subconsciousness. I'm just blocked from it, even as you sleep.”
I paused for a while, thinning my lips. I told her, “Well, it's something I'll have to deal with.”
Azrael nodded lightly, a touch solemnly. “Do they come often?”
I could've lied. But I knew that all it took was another chance wake-up like this, and she'd have reason to doubt whatever I say or do. I needed her to vest at least some trust in me.
“Every time I sleep,” I told her the truth. Rather than feeling relieved, it only made me feel worse. “It never fails.”
Azrael sighed deeply, softly, “I'm sorry to hear that.”
“I'm not,” I replied. Oh damn me, I let that slip out.
“Why?” She tilted her head.
Well, so much for that. Better just tell her at least some parts of the truth.
“I've done many things in the past that I regret,” I whispered. “If my punishment is to suffer every time I close my eyes and drift away into the Dreamlands, then I got off with just a slap on the wrist.” I chose to use the griffin version of the saying for clarity.
“What sort of things?” Azrael asked.
I chose my words carefully, pausing for a while. “The sort of things I believe that you've done in the past with the Dead Boys.”
The giant, ebony griffin's expression grew somber as she asked, “Innocents killed?”
“Far too many,” I answered. “I don't want to talk about it. Just know that at times I feel like I don't deserve to wear this armor, that I'm just tainting it. But I can't help but hold onto it.”
“I don't blame you.” Azrael shifted a little. “Frost, I'm sure the regret weighs heavily down on you.” Oh you have no idea. “Have you ever... considered... ending it all?”
“You mean commit suicide out of grief?” I asked, frowning. “Don't sugarcoat it.”
“Yes, I mean commit suicide out of grief,” she sighed.
“Only once or twice,” I told her truthfully. “But I've never actually tried.”
“Though once is always too many, that's... quite the relief,” Azrael whispered softer than normal.
“How so?” I inquired.
“Recall for a moment that I am a telepath.” The griffin straightened out a little. It then occurred to me that she might be cramped in such a tight space, but I let her continue. “Also recall, for a moment, that I can glean sensations and thoughts from any living thing within a mile radius. Everyone and everything I've killed has always been within that mile radius, often very close. I know what happens when you die. It's just one way how I earned my name, my title as the Angel of Death.”
I widened my eyes for a moment. I hadn't thought of that. “What does... death feel like?”
Azrael tilted her head, clacking her beak lightly in deep thought. “There truly are no words to describe it. Even through all the most eloquent, well-versed speakers I've gleaned, there simply are no words for what one feels in death.” She trained her gaze on me again. “But trust me, you'll want to pack as much living as possible into the time you have left on this world.”
I bit my lip. “Noted.” Then I asked, “Azrael, are you... cramped in here?”
“Like you wouldn't believe.” She flattened her beak.
“Agh, dammit,” I sighed. “My apologies.”
“I did technically barge into your household as you did ours.” She shrugged. “And you thought I was going to kill you. I was under the assumption that this was punishment. Are you telling me it was an accident?”
“Yes.” I smiled apologetically. “Look, I might know a lot about griffin culture, but that doesn't mean I always practice it.”
“Fair enough.” Azrael huffed lightly in amusement.
And now I had questions of my own. Start simple, Frost. Then go deeper.
“I've got to ask you, if you don't mind,” I whispered, “but what do you... consider yourself to be species-wise? After all, you have a unicorn mother and a griffin father.” I took special care to allocate them in such a position. Griffins primarily practiced matrilineal rules of descent, but last names were always received from the father. It's not quite like the bilateral descent system that ponies follow, so it's still something to take care to bring up correctly.
She noticed. “Again, your knowledge of our ways continues to surprise me. I consider myself to be more griffin than anything else. Same with Silas, though he has no such unique traits as I do. For all intents and purposes, consider both me and him as griffins with unicorn blood flowing through our veins.”
“I see,” I chuckled. I couldn't help but smile as a certain fact about me resurfaced through my memories.
“... my, I didn't realize that you had such sharp teeth, Frost,” Azrael remarked.
I huffed, idly licking at the white spines. “It's something that I inherited from my Lunar Guard ancestor. The same goes for my eyes.” Wait a second. She was blind, and the only one she could fully read was asleep. “Hold on, how'd you notice?”
“Because of her,” Azrael spoke- not whispered- and pointed at my bed. I turned to see Rig stretching, eyes open.
“Did I hear someone laugh or something?” the earth-coated mare yawned.
Oh, maybe not asleep. Whoops. “That's... my mistake,” I smiled apologetically at her.
“Yes, such sharp teeth,” Azrael giggled softly, a giggle that seemed like she tried to stifle. That was... rather uncharacteristic of her, considering her name. Then again, we really only just met.
“Yeah, you really do.” Rig squinted to see. “Huh, never noticed. So, everyponnnnn- er, everyone sleep alright?”
“Well enough,” I spoke, at least truthfully by my standards.
“Quite well barring the tight quarters,” Azrael replied. “How about you?”
“I could go for a cup of hot coffee right about now,” Rig grumbled. “A bit of cream, a bit of sugar. But... this is the Wasteland. I know, Frost.”
“You learn fast,” I grinned. “I do have a good substitute, though.”
“Really?” She fixed on me. “What?”
“Well, you asked for it.” I smiled wide and toothily as I formed a large block of ice before me, my horn flaring up with a soft blue before a torrent of water gushed out at her, striking her square in the face. She shrieked in surprise and from the shock of the ice-cold water spraying at her. Azrael let out another stifled giggled and I felt a husky laugh escape my own lips.
“Frost!” Rig babbled over the stream. “Cut it out!”
“Fine, fine.” I ceased the flow, my flaring horn winking out as I sublimated the ice block. “Consider that payback for the flamethrower. Besides, you needed the wash.”
“Huh?” The shivering young mare blinked, wiping a hoof over her face and noting that I had washed off the soot.
“See?” I grinned. “Now hold still and let me handle the water...”
“You two are very peculiar, do you know that?” Azrael regarded us with a light smile of her own as I froze and then sublimated the water still clinging on her.
“Well look who's talking!” Rig smirked that lovely smirk of hers, though it was a bit ruined by her chattering teeth. “You big... blind... griffin... pony... person!”
The griffin looked down and smiled wider, craning her head back up. “Guilty as charged.”
“Well, I suppose now's a good time to eat as ever,” I grunted, sprouting ice arms and fishing into my saddlebags for some... vegetable soup? Well, that was a pleasant surprise. Better than more canned yams. I began handing the others a couple of cans after slicing the lids off, fishing out a pair for myself. “If you want more, just ask. I just hope you don't mind it cold. Can't exactly build a fire in here. Azrael, you can move around if it makes you a bit more comfortable.”
“Thank you.” The griffin nodded, footsteps crunching against the floor as she set herself down near the slightly more open area around the piano, now by my side. As Rig smiled at the new choice in cuisine and dug in happily, Azrael inquired, “Frost, I beg your pardon, but do you have any sort of... meat?”
Rig promptly dropped her empty can, those indigo eyes wide open. “M-Meat?” she whimpered, aghast.
“Think about it for a moment.” Azrael turned to her. “Lions eat meat. Birds-of-prey eat meat. Griffins are half-lion and half-bird-of-prey. You can draw the conclusions from there. Granted, I'm part-unicorn, but that doesn't quite change much.”
“What... what kind of meat?” Rig shivered, and I doubted it was from the cold.
The ebony griffin contorted her face in disgust, “Well certainly not pony meat like you're thinking right now! Who do you take me for? Nightmare Moon?”
I choked a bit on my vegetable soup, gagging and sputtering a little before forcing it down.
As I panted for breath, both sets of eyes were on me and Rig asked, “Jeez, Frost, you okay?”
“Choking-” I paused to cough a few more times, setting the can down. “Choking does not classify as 'okay'!” I wheezed a few more times. “Sorry, that... that last bit kind of hit home for me.”
“Lunar Guard descendant.” Azrael smiled apologetically. “Right. My apologies.”
“In any case, we don't pack any meat,” I told her. “We didn't plan to have a carnivorous addition to our group.”
“Well, I suppose I'm omnivorous now,” she sighed, grasping her can. “At least for the time being.”
“I was planning on us heading to Benson's general store on the way out,” I spoke. “We can pack up there.”
“Thank you, but you've already opened up the cans for me so I may as well show proper gratitude and eat.” Azrael nodded and smiled lightly in thanks before grimacing and lifting the can to her beak. She was definitely not happy about it sliding down her throat, and she gasped a little after finishing, slamming the can down.
“We're really sorry about this...” Rig winced.
“It's fine.” The giant cleared her throat. “Besides, if ponies can handle eating meat, then griffins can handle eating vegetables.”
Rig went aghast once more. “Ponies eat meat?!”
“Sadly, this is the Wasteland, Rig,” I sighed, cool mist expelling from my mouth as she looked at me. “We don't always get the luxury of a guaranteed vegetable, fruit, nut, or baked good meal. There's plenty of dangerous creatures in the Wasteland, and so we must do what we must to survive. If that means eating mildly irradiated meat that belongs to the denizens of the Wastes, then it must be done. I've had to do so myself a few times. Granted, I'm more adapted to it than most ponies out here, but... sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.”
“Well... okay...” Rig gulped.
“And yes, it might mean having to eat meat yourself if things come down to that,” Azrael spoke up. “My digestive tract probably isn't going to like me for this, but may I have a little more? I have quite the... appetite, as you can imagine.”
“Sure, of course.” I nodded, sliding over a couple more cans, to which she opened up herself using her own talons. “Azrael, if you don't mind me asking, what else can you eat?”
“As long as it isn't pasture food, I can stomach it,” she answered. “Even vegetables are pushing it a little. So, nuts, sweets, baked goods, pastries, anything else is on the menu. I'm a bit partial to sweets myself.”
“The Angel of Death has a sweet tooth?” Rig chuckled. “Imagine that!”
“I'm still equine, aren't I?” Azrael smiled.
Okay, that one hit home a bit for me. I tried not to show it. I'd have to say things the right way to get the answer to this specific question. My voice was calm with a slight pleading undertone as I said, “Azrael, I've been meaning to ask you something. If you knew that Langson followed you here and you have a mile-wide radius of telepathic detection, how come you didn't just have your family slip away without noticing?”
“Because air traffic in and out of Stalliongrad is so infrequent,” she replied. “If a group of griffins were to leave even under the cover of darkness, someone would see. Leaving by ground would only raise more questions. News spreads quickly in Stalliongrad. You know this. Langson would be on our trail again in no time, and this time there would be no chance for bribery. Speaking of which, he's one of the few Dead Boys who apparently knew of my abilities and thus knew how to keep out of my area of detection. All business we did with him was through letters and packages. All transactions were in a different part of the city, and it was always through a middlegriffin. Crafty bastard. So aside from doing what we could to get the caps to make each month's payment, my father and I would spend time trying to track him down. Stalliongrad is an expansive city, however, and we couldn't actually nail him down until last night. My father and Silas took him down while I drew the attention as best I could. You know the rest.”
“Well... that satisfies my question.” I crossed my forelegs.
“So... your name is Azrael, and that's pretty much the um... something or the other Angel of Death, right?” Rig asked.
“The equine Angel of Death, yes,” the griffin replied, turning to her. “There have been various depictions of Azrael ranging from a skeletal alicorn to... well, an all-black griffin. You can guess how I got my name.”
The young mare canted her head a little. “Well, I don’t know about the griffin version, but, if you're the Angel of Death, how come you don't have a-”
Azrael quickly reached behind her cloak and pulled out a meter-long rod with a gem-embedded grip and handle. Squeezing the handle in, the ends extended outward, tripling the length of the weapon as a curved spike jutted out from near the top. A green spark traveled down the length of the spike as an eldritch, green flame burst into life to form a sickle.
“Twilight Sparkle, you do have a scythe!” Rig jumped backwards in surprise.
“Whoa whoa whoa!” I likewise startled, scampering away from the flame in panic. But then I realized that the flame wasn't hot. No heat radiated from it. But as we both drew closer again, I immediately recognized it. That unmistakable ghastly green, that rainbow sheen of the edges, the cold- not warmth- that seeped out.
Balefire.
Eyes wide in shock, no words could form from the sheer dread seizing me. I was still silent, eyes open wide, mouth agape.
<====ooo*~ aa23*OOO*5rgwb (]]-*ooo====>
Flying, I was flying, flying fast. I was trying to reach them in time, trying to get them out of there when that hideous, billowing burst of green erupted before me, curving upwards into that horrifying-
“Frost?”
-mushroom shape. I paused for a moment in shock, what little hope remaining in me crushed-
“Frost, what's wrong?”
-into oblivion as I hovered there, speechless. And then the blast wave caught up to me, flattening me and flinging me back. I was falling, wings burning away. I was burning now, and falling, falling fast. The eerie coolness suddenly transformed into searing heat. I only just started to cry out in pain as the ground rushed up to meet me. The last thing I saw was that new sun rising in the distance, glowing with a dark, sinister power underneath the clouds.
“Frost!”
{Goddesses, I've tried...Am I lost in your eyes?}
<====ooo*l<ervf>una*OOO*204cZ{....*ooo====>
Rig shook my shoulders, startling me out of my stupor as I gasped, the world rushing back to me.
“Dammit, Frost, what's wrong?!” she cried out, shaking me wildly.
“I-I'm fine!” I pushed her away, panting as I grew aware of the world around me again. It was a blatant, obvious lie. “I'm fine...”
“That's rather doubtful,” Azrael, still at my side, spoke with her eyes bearing on me. Her weapon was contracted once more but still in her grip.
“Would you expect anything less from anypony- hell anyone who laid eyes on a weapon that harnesses the power that destroyed our world?” I exhaled coolly, mist settling down. They looked less doubtful now at least, but I couldn't help from feeling something boil up from within me. My tone was assertive and dead serious now as I asked, “Azrael, where in the world did you get such a weapon?”
The griffin exhaled slowly, closing her eyes. The effect was like sheathing her head in blackness. “From the Dead Boys.”
I had probably tread on some uncomfortable memories there. Now I felt bad.
“Sorry...” I relaxed now, the fury taken from me. “But... I have to ask. How did the Dead Boys obtain the resources to construct such a MEW?”
“MEW?” Rig inquired. “As in, magical-energy weapon? I thought The Guide only referred to them as firearms, though!”
“Firearms are a part of the category, yes, but so are any other gem-powered tools of death,” Azrael spoke. “Energy lances for example. Look, Frost, I don't know the details. All I know is that they gave this to me and I couldn't glean anything particularly important. All I know is that they have weapons similar to this, though few in number.”
“May... may I see it?” I asked as politely as I could.
Azrael regarded me again for a few moments before nodding and handing it over.
I formed ice arms to take the weapon, looking it over. I squeezed the handle to grip tightly, causing the weapon to extend and the fiery blade to form. I did not fear it this time. The heat was nonexistent until one made contact with it, and I had no such intention.
“How... quaint...” I whispered.
“What do you mean?” the griffin inquired.
“The substitution of a solid, metal blade for one formed of a simple containment rod for the balefire blade gives it far more equal weight distribution in comparison with a normal scythe,” I began to speak. “The grip itself is embedded with amethyst, which has weight-reducing properties if I recall correctly. I also see fire rubies, which enhances the weight-to-force ratio of an object in motion.” I moved to the tip, where a slew of small gems surrounded the rod where the blade extended. “Yes... this is spellfire alright. The darksteel focus is too perfect; it gives it all away. Hm... opal and diamond with emerald, inlaid. Not the same matrix that I know for a balefire gem reactor. Rig, are you picking up any radiation on your PipBuck?”
“Nope, not at all.” She shook her head. “Isn't balefire supposed to be extremely radioactive, though?”
“Yes... yes it is.” I nodded, looking back at that gem matrix. “This isn't balefire like I first thought, isn't it?”
“And now he's a weapon, gem, and spellfire expert too.” Azrael crossed her arms, huffing in surprise. “Books again?”
“I've met one expert on gems and another on spellfire,” I told her, handing her weapon back. “Too much free time and curiosity led to many questions answered and much information gained. And I've always found myself to be a bit of a weapon junkie.”
“Fair enough.” The griffin grasped the grip, notching the handle in a very peculiar manner to relax it to its original position. The blade extinguished, containment rod retracting as the extended staff retracted to its original compact size. “This is a ghostfire scythe. Ghostfire is similar to balefire, yes, but there are notable differences. First, it's not radioactive. Second, it can't be extinguished by anything but time. It will burn for a set thirty seconds, even underwater. Third, it only burns whatever object it comes in contact with and only within a set area. Setting fire to a raider in a house won't burn the whole structure down. Now... what's this about Luna's Fortitude? That would be your weapon, right Rig?”
“Uh... yeah.” Rig blinked. “How'd you... oh, I was thinking about it, wasn't I? Jeez, these random subject changes aren't easy to get used to, you know.”
“I can't help it sometimes.” Azrael shrugged. “Especially in your case, where you're the only one I can remotely read out of the two of you. Now, may I see your weapon?”
“Sure, I guess.” The young mare teleported it out, looking at it so that the griffin could do the same.
“Hm... an AKMB with a BS-03 suppressed grenade launcher.” Azrael inspected it through the unicorn's eyes. “EPOTech holographic sight, modified magazines, bayonet, and suppressor. Impressive. Oh, may I see the barrel?” Rig levitated her weapon closer to her eyes. “In labors and dangers... how fitting for a weapon called Luna's Fortitude.”
“Indeed,” I nodded. “She served me well in the past. It was only after only finding more specialized weapons that I no longer used her and instead left her in her home city.”
“Oh, so she was yours?” The griffin smiled a little. “Well, don't just sit there! Show me your other weapons!”
“Oh dear Lorn, not another gun nut!” Rig laughed.
“You won't survive long out here without forging an attachment to your weapons.” Azrael crossed her forelegs. “Frost and I just take it one step further it seems. Now come on, show me! And Rig, would you kindly keep your eyes on him?”
“Well, you ask, you receive,” I said as I whipped out my blade and began to play with it. “But we best get going. We'll be stopping first by Benson's for additional supplies and some meat for you too, Azrael. We'll walk and talk.”
“Excellent.” Azrael sighed in relief as we all got up and made for the door, her joints crackling as she shook herself a bit. “And a balisong. Tell me more.”
“This is Midnight Talon,” I told her. “The blade is formed out of a hellhound claw, 'weehawk' shape. It's the shape I'm most comfortable with. Four-point-five-inch blade, five-point-five-inch handle. I made the carvings myself, and I also inlaid the bite handle with the remains of said hellhound claw to keep it from slicing through. The handles are made from a single billet of titanium I was able to acquire, milled down for the blade cavities. The blade is attached by screws rather than pins. Again, made from the hellhound claw to prevent from stripping due to the blade's material.”
“Interesting.” The griffin huffed. “And yet, how on Equestria did you wear down the claw in the first place?”
“With another hellhound claw of course,” I chuckled, still playing with Midnight Talon.
“Of course.” She rolled her eyes. That was a tad weird to see considering her blindness. “Your skill with the balisong is impressive. Granted, I have yet to see even a griffin still using the weapon, but it is impressive nonetheless. But why use it? Why not form a solid blade instead of such an elaborate weapon?”
“Five reasons,” I replied, still letting her dance between my fingers as Rig and I made way for Azrael to get through the doorway. “One, very few know what a balisong is. No one ever expects one for that reason, to say nothing of its ease of concealment. Two, it more often scares the hell out of anyone who might want to potentially start something with me than not. Three, it keeps my dexterity with my ice hands in-practice, something I need because I can't really feel with them too well. They're not a part of my body after all. Four, and quite possibly the most important,” I took a moment to hold the blade open, “it is the strongest folding lock design due to the construction. Once the knife is open and in your grip, there is no way that blade is going to fold due to the tension of your grip against the counter-rotating handles. The handles would have to snap, and good luck snapping a handle made from hellhound claw-lined titanium. There's simply no way for it to fail on you, at least not compared to the spring and lock-based mechanisms of the switchblade or folding knife. The balisong, when constructed the right way, is very much a functional knife. And five, it's just too plain fun. Uh, hold on for a moment.”
I closed the door behind us and used my blade to pry out the broken lock. It simply fell free with no resistance and rolled along the floor awkwardly, all three of us watching as it popped down the stairs.
“And nopony ever stole anything from you?” Rig stared after the still-rolling lock.
“I guess I have my reputation to thank.” I shrugged, forming a new one made of ice. “And remember, no 'one'.” I nodded in satisfaction of my new lock. No keyhole needed, so lockpicker threat- zero. Granted, all it took was some strongman and someone could just knock the door in, but... whatever. We needed to get going.
“That aside, I see your reasoning now,” Azrael spoke. “Now, what else do you have?”
“Next up...” I paused to close Midnight Talon with a backhand aerial, slide over the spring latch, and pouched her away, whipping out my shotgun as we descended to the ground floor, “is Luna's Judgment. The decals... are a personal touch. She is a Remhayngton Eighty-Seven Special. I removed the stock and front sight in lieu of welding a crowbar onto it. It serves not only as a replacement for said removed stock, but it also acts as a bayonet and still serves the multiple functions one would ordinarily use a crowbar for. I modified the feed to bypass the underbarrel tubular magazine and accept drums instead. Swapped out the barrel itself for a heavier, vent-rib barrel to accept two-kilogram slugs in addition to the standard fare of flechettes. Oh, and I also have buckshot shells of course. Triple-aught, gas-expanding buckshot.”
“Excuse me for a second,” Azrael interrupted. “Did I hear that right? Two-kilogram slugs?”
“Yes, you heard right.” I nodded. On that note, I decided to load a fresh drum of them in, swapping out the flechette shells. “Two-kilogram slugs in twenty-shell drums for forty-kilo drums of hard-hitting firepower. Let me just say that anything that gets hit by one of them most certainly dies unless said target's in the possession of incredibly dent-resistant armor. There's a reason I had the barrel swapped. Even improved the rifling for increased accuracy.”
“Isn't that a bit overkill though?” the griffin asked as we stepped outside, heading for the market district, pulling her cowl up once more.
“Right, and this is coming from...?” I raised an eyebrow at her.
Azrael raised a claw for a moment to tap at her lower beak. “Point taken. And good Lorn, triple-aught buckshot? And it's gas-expanding?”
“Unless I'm using flechettes, I expect whatever I'm shooting at to be dead if I hit,” I said simply. “Killing raiders in such a manner also helps to, ah, send a message. As in 'you're going to look like that paste that's left of your friend there if you keep doing what you're doing.'”
“Noted.” Azrael nodded. “Now, anything else you have?”
“Of course.” I nodded, stowing Luna's Judgment away and drawing out my side arm. “This is Night Fang. She's the simplest weapon of mine, but she's a Colt M-Eleven-Nine-Oh-One. Probably the only notably durable weapon that company ever made. Well... alright, it was designed by one Pecan Mocha Brownie, also behind the namesake of the fifty Browning Machine Gun cartridge, but Colt acquired rights to it. Made to survive the Great War, and hell if it didn't survive that and the spellfire apocalypse. Loosened up the slide a bit to sustain the speeds at which I can fire her, and I also use forty-five-round double-stack extended magazines for longer time spent spitting out forty-five ACP when I need to. Heh... forty-five forty-fives. Anyways, I also widened the mag well as such. That was a bitch, let me tell you. When I use Night Fang, I don't use her for a weapon of precision. I use her for 'oh-shit' moments where I need to get the lead out fast and all over the place. Oh, and I also tacked on a screwdriver bayonet. I like to keep a melee implement of some sort on all of my weapons if possible.”
“Waste of a perfectly good flat-head if you ask me,” Rig grumbled.
“You have yours now, so why are you complaining?” I grinned.
“I'm the engineer-repairpony here!” She threw her forelegs wide for a moment. “I mean, at least your crowbar's still usable! The only thing you'd be able to use that screwdriver for anymore is lockpicking with how much that's worn down!”
Azrael and I promptly stared at her. “For lockpicking?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Sure, to apply torque when you use a bobby pin or something else to fiddle with the tumblers. Trust me, I've had to do some pretty unconventional stuff in my line of work.” The young mare nodded proudly. This also had the unintended effect of causing her welding helmet to flip down over her face, and she knocked it back up with an annoyed grumble. “That's it! I'm tightening the screws on you!”
As she teleported her tools out, levitated her helmet off, and set to work, I said, “So that's my weaponry. Night Fang's the newest addition to my family. I actually don't intend to keep her, hence the lack of carvings. She's just a placeholder until I can get a real bullet hose.”
“Yes, you're a gun nut, alright,” Azrael chuckled softly.
“I prefer 'gun enthusiast' myself,” I smirked, “though I know a thing or two about other weapons as well.”
“Regardless, you know your way around firearms.” She waved a claw dismissively. “Perhaps, then, you could tell me a little more about my own. Now, you've already become quite acquainted with my ghostfire scythe.” She whipped it out again, extending it and igniting the blade. She held the weapon, walking on three legs before collapsing it and stowing her away. “I call her Valkyrie, my weapon of choice for close-quarters combat. After all, she serves two functions- slashing and burning.”
“Valkyrie...” I mused aloud. “It means 'chooser of the slain' in old Horse. A fitting name.”
Azrael nodded in agreement. “And this...” She took a moment to pull back her cloak to reveal her Kord 6P50, “is Harbinger.”
“Holy shit that's a big fucking gun.” Rig stared, words coming out without a pause.
“Indeed.” Azrael let out one of those stifled giggles again. “Wait, you're relatively new from your Stable, yes? How do you know such language?”
“My slaver captor,” Rig answered with a sigh.
“Oh.” The griffin lingered for a bit before coming along. No doubt she was taking a look at what Rig had on her mind. “My apologies.”
“It's okay, I'm kinda over that now.” The earthy unicorn shrugged. “No biggie.”
“Well, alright...” Azrael let out a polite cough. “Continuing, Harbinger is a Kord 6P50, and yes, it really is a big fucking gun. It fires ten-bottlecap twelve-point-seven NSVT cartridge at seven-hundred-fifty rounds-per-minute. It costs one-thousand-five-hundred caps to fire for twelve seconds.”
“Hold up,” I interrupted her. “That fires not the twelve-point-seven NSV round but the twelve-point-seven NSVT? Tungsten core and whatnot?”
“Why yes, it does,” the griffin replied. “And they're tracer rounds. The standard Stalliongrad green. You couldn't exactly see them earlier given the close quarters we were engaging in, but it helps to know where my shots are going since I can only see them through the eyes of others.”
The little gun junkie pony in my head was having a fangasm right now. “The real NSVT?” I was smiling from one ear to another now. “As in the NSVT cartridge that has over three-thousand Jewels' worth of muzzle energy over the original fifty BMG round?”
“Yes, that NSVT,” Azrael responded. I couldn't tell for sure with her hood on, but I had a hunch she was beaming.
“Something tells me you two are gonna get along niiiiice and swell.” Rig just shook her head with a smile.
“That's good, then.” The cloaked griffin swung Harbinger down close to me so I could get a better look.
“Wow...” I just plain marveled at the weapon. Oh how different things were now that I realized that she wasn't an enemy. “It's in such pristine condition! How?”
“I was getting to that.” Azrael halted, as did Rig. Huh. Weird. I just kept looking at the Kord-
-and walked straight into the front door of Benson's crumbly general store like an idiot.
“Of course.” I sighed, backpedaling a bit. I popped open my saddlebags and sprouted an ice arm to hand a bag of caps to Rig. “Uh... do you mind buying stuff for us? You can wake up Benson if he's still asleep. I think I want to-”
“Have more gun porn to clop to?” Rig snickered as she levitated the caps away and entered the store before I had a chance to form a rebuttal.
“That's not-” I started, but she was already inside. “Dammit.” Azrael gave a polite cough. “Oh, sorry. Uh, continue.”
“With pleasure.” She nodded. “Now, can you disassemble my weapon by any chance, or can you at least fully expose the chamber?”
“I'm afraid not,” I answered, shaking my head. “I know about the weapon, but I don't know enough to actually take it apart.”
“Understandable. I'll handle it, then. Just... forgive me if it takes some time. I don't exactly have other eyes to work off of.” And with that, she began to pry apart her Kord. She first unloaded the drum-fed ammunition belt and worked to remove the components necessary to fully expose the chamber to me. Given the hallmark overall simplicity of Stalliongrad-manufactured weapons, no tools were required. It was nevertheless still impressive for the blind griffin to do so, and soon she revealed the chamber itself, which was lined with quite an array of sparkling gems.
“Interesting...” I mused aloud as I took a look inside. “You have a gem-powered spell matrix in here.”
“Two, actually,” Azrael corrected. “First is the lightning sapphire array you see going into the barrel. I'm not sure exactly how the gem matrix works, but it essentially electrifies my bullets.” Oh. That explained the Heavy's spell matrix crash last night. “Granted, they're usually strong enough to pulverize whatever I shoot at, but bear in mind my vulnerability to machines. Even high-caliber rounds don't always have the stopping power to put them down, which is particularly true when I can't exactly aim at what I can't 'see'. If I can't aim at the more important parts, I can at least add a little more electrical punch to them.”
“How do you deal with machines and whatnot anyway?” I inquired.
“I spray in the general direction of the mechanical sounds and/or wherever I'm getting shot from,” she replied. “Again, machines aren't fun for me to deal with. Now, I believe the second gem matrix toward the rear of the chamber is what you'll find more interesting.”
“Diamond... quartz...” I ran off as I took a look. “Inlaid with gold. I don't recognize this kind of matrix.”
“Neither did I until I first tried to reload,” Azrael spoke, starting to piece the chamber back together. “It's a temporal spell matrix, one that affects the weapon as a whole. Every time I initiate the reload cycle on the battle saddle, it temporally rewinds the weapon to its original condition, ammunition included, in ten seconds flat.”
Holy bucking shit. Not only did Harbinger have a shock matrix in it, but it also had a gem-powered spell matrix that could wind back time itself for the weapon? How the...? Oh this needed some answering.
I narrowed my eyes a little. “Now-”
The griffin cut me off. “Before you ask, I have no idea how the Dead Boys were able to get their hands on such a weapon. Nobody I gleaned seemed to know. All that I do know is that the Dead Boys are in possession of some pretty high-tech weaponry.”
“And they'll be on our asses for the duration of your time with us.” I sighed, closing my eyes. So, a mercenary organization with war-era weaponry, power armor adapted for griffins, and gem-powered spell matrices far beyond my level of understanding was going to be after us. Wonderful.
“Are you having second thoughts?” Azrael asked me.
“No,” I told her, opening my eyes again. “I made a promise to you, and I intend to keep it. No turning back. After all, that's not the griffin way now is it?”
Azrael took a good look at me and nodded in approval. A few moments later, Rig exited the store with a full set of saddlebags and- I frowned- an empty cap bag.
“Jeez, Benson's a grouch in the morning,” Rig grumbled. “Sorry, kinda used up all the caps you gave me.”
“I noticed.” I took the empty sack and stowed it away. “Were you able to get enough food?”
“I hope so,” the young unicorn mare answered, teleporting and levitating out... not enough food.
“No, you didn't.” I shook my head, sighing as I began to distribute all our supplies between the three of us. “Well, on the bright side, at least we have some carnivorous fare for you now, Azrael.”
“Thanks, but... I think your bartering skills are in need of some work based off what I'm gleaning from Benson, Rig,” the griffin spoke, taking a good portion of the meat and stowing it under her cloak.
“Oh come on!” Rig threw out her forehooves as she levitated cans away into her saddlebags. “It was my first ever market transaction! I mean I tried to pull what I saw Xamuros did when I got my armor and tools and saddlebags and stuff, but gimme a break!”
“And so we're down to around five-hundred caps or so,” I said, jingling what I had left as we made for the city walls. “Next time, I won't make that mistake. I’ll just handle the bartering myself. Best hope we don't need to make any big exchanges out there. Oh, well. There are plenty of raider nests along the way.”
“Wait, we'll be flying, right?” Rig asked.
“Yes, but raiders are the best source for the food and caps we're a little short on,” I replied. “And they've always got lots of goods on them to sell for a cap or forty-two.”
“Unfortunately,” Azrael added, “raider encounters are going to be rather common for us. After all, I planned on us flying low.”
“Any particular reason?” I inquired. “Why not stay high and out of sight? You know, since anyone but griffins would think to look up, aaaaaand I just answered my own question.”
“Indeed you did,” the griffin huffed. “The Dead Boys will be scouring around for us, namely me, and they'll keep their eyes skyward. At least in my opinion, it's better to stay low. It'll decrease our chances of being spotted by them if we stick lower to the terrain, and it's more preferable to fight lowly raider scum as opposed to better-trained and better-equipped mercenaries. Also, do recall that my telepathy has a radius of one mile, and this radius is spherical, not circular. The higher we are in the air, the less I can detect on the ground. To add, I also think it'll be a bit easier on Rig. Since she's never been higher than a few stories off of solid ground.”
“Uh... well how low are we talking?” I asked.
“Around twenty feet should suffice,” Azrael responded. “Why?”
“I'm not too keen on flying less too low due to some... unfortunate mishaps when trying to learn to fly,” I admitted. “That should be relatively safe for me, though.” Both of them opened their mouths to ask. “I don't want to talk about it.” Both of them closed their mouths.
The southwestern section of the walls were in bad shape. Ripper shells had turned them into Swiss cheese the night before, and portions had simply collapsed. Dozens of ponies and griffins were working to piece them back up, using nearby sheet metal as a quick-fix in lieu of stronger materials that would take time to produce or get hold of. The citizens of Stalliongrad were an industrious people. The walls were liable to be in a serviceable condition within the week, I estimated.
I heard a rather tinny noise, causing me to perk up my ears to get a fix on it.
“Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiit!” an all-too-familiar voice shouted, growing louder by the moment.
Aw, fuck.
Sly tackled into me, sending the two of us bowling over before he ended up on top of me.
“... I'm waiting,” I stated simply, mildly irritated. “Also, this kind of stuff is getting a bit old now.”
“Hey buddy, almost forgot I had some stuff to give you before you go!” The giant was grinning happily, blissfully ignoring my comment. At least he got off and allowed me to snap to my feet. “I managed to get some off of the last trade caravan, and I know how much you like 'em, so... here you go!”
He then proceeded to dump a few cans. Hm, they were all-
“Canned biscuits?!” I exclaimed, jaw dropping. I then promptly brought more forehooves up to my cheeks with an endearing expression, letting out a light, happy squee, the previous few seconds forgotten for the moment. “Oh sweet Luna, canned biscuits!”
…
What? That's really how I reacted, folks!
Ahem, so Sly beamed proudly. “Of course! Go ahead, they're all yours!”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you! Oh, most wonderful of-” I began to cheer. And then I caught sight of Rig and Azrael. Both of them were staring at me with an expression similar to a lot of you right now. “What?”
“Biscuits,” Azrael said simply. “Really?”
“Yes, really!” I exclaimed. “Do you have any idea how much I love biscuits?! And do you have any idea how rare they are in the Wasteland now?!”
“Well... alright...” She eyed me strangely. She was probably judging me right now.
And so I began to put those cans of fluffy joy away as Sly asked Rig, “Uh, what's she doing with you two?”
“Long story, don't ask,” the unicorn answered.
“Ooookay then.” Sly blinked. “Well, I guess you're going now, right?”
“Yeah,” I answered, nodding. “Again, thanks much for the biscuits. I'll see you soon.”
“Alright, buddy!” Sly grinned. “Kick some ass out there, you hear?”
Okay, that wasn't exactly the way I'd put it.
“... will do?” I blinked.
“That's the spirit!” Sly exclaimed before zipping back for the walls. “See ya, buddy!”
“Your friend is very...” Azrael paused, trying to find the right word.
“Eccentric?” I suggested.
“Quite.” She nodded as we headed for the walls again. “And I thought I was supposed to be the telepath here.”
I huffed lightly in response, waving a few working ponies a good-bye as they let us through the torn shards of the city gates.
“You're going to be carrying her, right?” I asked, turning to Azrael.
“That's correct,” she replied. “Carrying Rig will be no problem.”
“So... this flying thing...” The young mare skittishly kicked at the ground as we passed through the walls. “It's not too bad... right?”
“It's scary the first time, trust me,” I told her. “After a while, it gets better, even exhilarating. Don't worry. Azrael will be carrying you, so don't be afraid to shut your eyes.”
“Do I look like a foal?” Rig stared at me. “Sure, I'm probably gonna be scared shitless, but puh-lease! I'm almost a mare!”
I shrugged lightly. “Do what you must then.”
So this was it. It was time to go back into the desolate, monotonous, dreadful Wasteland and leave behind the place I've come to call home. I exhaled sharply and sprouted my smooth, bent, blade-like sextet of wings once more. The ice crinkled lightly as I tested to make sure they were the right dimensions.
Meanwhile, Azrael's cloak whipped open and she spread wide a massive pair of jet-black wings, dust kicking up as she flapped them lightly, joints crackling. We're talking a bit over six meters for a wingspan here, folks, and that's a conservative estimate. And those massive, jet-black wings were covered in blades. All black, almost blending into her feathering if not for that telltale sheen. A set of wingblades on the leading edge of her wings extended a good half-meter or so past where the tip ended.
Well, now I knew why they were called the “Razorwings”.
“Wow,” both Rig and I stated simply as we stared at her.
The ebony griffin sighed lightly, shifting around and cracking several of her joints. This included her knuckles, wrists, the ankles on her hindlegs, her back, her neck, and even her sternum and clavicles. Rig looked disgusted. I was rather intrigued.
“Ah... so good to be in the open once more,” Azrael sighed in content. “Well, I'm ready when you two are.”
“You're not going to be able to cut me up with those as you fly... right?” Rig continued to stare.
“Of course not,” she replied. “It's why I'm carrying you instead of letting you ride on my back. “Now, on your go, Frost.”
I gave my saddlebags a final inspection to make sure they were closed up tightly before nodding and beating my wings down, lifting off and soaring away. With a mighty beat and gust of her own, Azrael took off and clutched Rig in her claws. We sped off, flying low over the Wastes, bearing southwest towards Manehattan.
Oh, and Rig was blabbering and shrieking obscenities for around five minutes after taking to the air. What did you expect, folks?
* * *
Footnote: Rig (really) joined your party! Azrael joined your party!
Frost- Maximum Level
Rig- Level Up! Level 4 Reached!
Trait#$@%^%#%STMP: ERROR; TRAITS MASKED
Origin: Stable Pony- Born and raised in a Stable, you know very little about the Wasteland relatively speaking. Your work-related skills still come in handy in the Wastes, though! You gain +15 to Repair, Science, and Lockpick skills. However, you have a -10 penalty to Survival and all combat-related skills (Guns, Explosives, etc.).
Quest perk added: Crash Course- Knowledge is power, and you learned and trained under the best of Frost’s former companions. You gain +10 to all combat-related skills (Guns, Explosives, etc.), your aim is noticeably steadier, and your reload times are reduced depending on your weapon.
Azrael- Maximum Level
Origin: Disavowed Dead Boy- You are a former member of The Dead Boys, a notorious griffin mercenary organization. Some people recognize you, and this can both work for and against you. Regardless, you will attract attention every time you are detected by a non-animal, non-machine in a location. Be warned, The Dead Boys can use this to track you down! Leave no trace!
Unlockables added: Soundtrack- Theme of the Slayer
Commission Art- Azrael by Julep
Bonus feature added!
Azrael's S.P.E.C.I.A.L.
Strength: 10
Perception: 10
Endurance: 8
Charisma: 4
Intelligence: 10
Agility: 5
Luck: 3