//------------------------------// // Chapter XVII: The Mark of Insanity // Story: The Equestria Games: First Blood // by 8_Bit //------------------------------// Twilight ran as fast as her legs would allow. She had to put as much distance between herself and everypony else as possible. The screams of terror fading into the distance behind her only fueled her forward, the horrified screams of dying tributes only serving as a reminder of what would happen if she stood still for long enough. The only times she slowed down were to pull the saddle pack up to stop it sliding down her back. It was only when her legs began to burn with exhaustion that she took to slowing down, theorizing that she must have put a mile between her and the cornucopia. A mile at the very least, maybe a little bit more. As she stopped to rest, breathing deeply, the cannon fire began. This was good news, because it meant she’d been running at full pelt for more than five minutes. Her real threat, the clique ponies, would have fought to take control of the cornucopia. If they failed, some of them would be dead, and if they’d succeeded, it would take them a while to go through supplies before they began to hunt down the remaining tributes. Either way, she had a bit of time in which she could recuperate. Twilight counted six fires of the cannon before the silence resumed. Six ponies were dead, meaning there were eighteen remaining. She’d secretly hoped for more to be killed at the Cornucopia, so it meant she’d have less to worry about. But, as was usual for her, she wasn’t going to get her way. Beginning to catch her breath back, she remembered the saddle pack, and slid it off her back. It was a simple pack, two separate bags with strong magnetic clasp seals, connected by a middle strap that sat comfortably on her back, and a buckle at the front to stop it from going anywhere in situations that involved running. She’d have liked to grab more if she could have, but Lightning Dust had advised against it. She opened up the first of the bags, beaming with joy as the first sight that greeted her was a hunting knife. It was quite a fancy one too, with a molded rubber grip and a serrated edge. She took a practise throw at a nearby tree, sinking it deep into the center of the trunk from thirty feet away. Satisfied that it was a good knife, she trotted over to the log and pulled it out again. It was weighty, but not bulky, similar to the knives that Shining Armor had taught her to throw in the Everfree Forest. She took a few more practice shots, each time landing within centimeters of the mark she’d made on the first throw. Confident it would suffice in the situation of an attack, she lay it down next to the saddle pack, before continuing to go through its contents. The same bag she’d found the knife in also held a long length of rope, which according to a tag attached to it, was partially woven with carbon filaments, as well as an empty flask, and iodine pills for water purification. The other bag contained a small sleeping bag, several packets of crackers, a small bag of energy bars, and box of tissues. “Well, that’s toilet paper sorted,” Twilight said to herself jokingly, as something caught her eye in the second bag. At the bottom of it was a small zip, presumably opening up another small pocket. She checked to see if there was one in the first bag, but that was a dead end. She reached into the second bag, and unzipped the pocket, revealing what at first looked to be a pen. She picked it up for closer examination, revealing lots of small warning labels written all up and down it. She had to squint to read some of them, but she was able to identify that it was only for emergency use. The type of pen looked familiar to her, but she was unable to put a name to it. She pulled the top off experimentally, revealing not the usual nib of a pen, but a needle instead. Then the words flooded back to her, what it was, and what it did. “An EpiPen,” she said to herself, before she spotted a single word on one of the warning labels that brought a wide grin to her face. “Adrenaline. That may be useful.” A distant rustling snapped her to her senses. She knew she was getting near to the sea when she stopped, but this wasn’t the sound of waves crashing. This was the sound of somepony breaking branches. She quickly packed her equipment into her saddle pack, making sure to leave the knife at the top of her right bag, and the EpiPen near the top of the left one. That gave her easy and quick access to either one in case of emergencies. All packed, and saddle pack now tightly strapped to her back, she vigilantly made her way through the forest to investigate the source of the noise. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Scootaloo ducked down instinctively as she heard somepony walking past. As soon as the timer had reached zero, she’d turned away from the cornucopia and ran towards the ruined city, hoping to find food there. What she’d found instead was desolate stone buildings that all looked on the verge of collapse, completely bare of food. She’d stopped for a quick drink from the river, but was starting to get stomach cramps. It can’t have been safe to drink, but it had quenched her thirst and cooled her down from the exhausting run. Now here she was, cowering under the windows of what had appeared to be a shop, but was as desolate as the other buildings. The hoofsteps continued past, so Scootaloo peeked up through the window, greeted with the lime green silhouette that was Limerick. She was walking slowly through the ruined town, seemingly completely unaware of the situation she was in. Scootaloo left the cover of the shop, following Limerick from a distance. As she got closer, she could hear Limerick gently singing a nursery rhyme. “Horsey Horsey, don't you stop, Just let your feet go clippity clop, Your tail goes swish and the wheels go round, Giddy up, we're homeward bound.” As Limerick walked past an alleyway, Scootaloo spotted shadows inside the alley. She quickly dived into the nearest house as she heard a pair of hoofsteps walk out onto the street. She dared to take a quick look through the doorway, to reveal Blueblood and Rarity stood in the middle of the street, Blueblood brandishing a sword, while Rarity held a bow, with a large quiver of arrows attached to her back. Blueblood cleared his throat loudly, to which Limerick turned around to face the pair of them. Rarity notched an arrow in preparation. “So,” Blueblood began. “How do you want this? Quick and painless, or slow and torturous?” Rarity grinned at this. “We can do either.” Limerick looked at them, the dopey grin still present on her face, before tilting her head slightly sideways, and continuing her song, only louder. “We ain't in a hustle, we ain't in a bustle. Don't go tearing up the road, We ain't in a hurry, we ain't in a flurry, And we ain't got a very heavy load.” Blueblood smiled menacingly. “Slowly? Got it.” What happened next was too quick for Scootaloo’s eyes to keep track of. Limerick began charging towards the two unicorns. Rarity quickly shot an arrow at her, but the half-zebra somehow deflected it with her hoof. As she got close, Blueblood swung his sword, only for Limerick to jump over the swing, kicking him brutally in the head, and sending him flying backwards. She landed next to Rarity, who was desperately trying to notch another arrow, only to be cut off as Limerick bucked her, sending her flying backwards into the wall of Scootaloo’s building. The small pegasus tried not to whimper as she heard the unicorn’s head make a dull thud against the other side of the wall. Satisfied that Rarity was dealt with, Limerick walked over to Blueblood, who was lying on the floor in a daze. She picked up his sword and held it tightly against his throat, not tight enough to cause a fatal puncture, but enough to cut the skin of his neck. He looked at her with pleading eyes as she leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Horsey Horsey, on your way, We've done the journey many a day, Your tail goes swish and the wheels go round, Giddy up, we're homeward bound.” She stood up again, and looked back at him. What terrified Blueblood the most was the face. She was wearing the same expression she had been wearing all this time, the distant eyes and the dopey grin, the mark of insanity. He tensed and closed his eyes as she pulled the sword back to swing, but as he did, he felt something warm splatter on his face. He looked up again to see Limerick, same distant expression, with an arrow sticking out of her neck. It had entered from the back, the tip sticking out of her throat. She coughed gently and dropped the sword, which clanged loudly as she sent more blood splattering on the floor in front of her, before her legs buckled, and she fell to the floor completely, spluttering and convulsing gently as the blood slowly filled her lungs. She convulsed for a few more moments before the last dregs of life drained from her body, and the cannon fired. Blueblood looked up to see Rarity limping over, blood dripping from a deep gash in her head, and her back right leg twisted awkwardly. The buck had clearly dealt her some serious damage. “Thanks for that,” Blueblood said, before walking over to her, lifting his injured colleague onto his back. “Come on, lets get you back to camp.” He walked over to the Limerick’s corpse, yanking the arrow out of her neck, so Rarity could put it back in her quiver. “Should be lunchtime soon,” Rarity said in forced cheerfulness as Blueblood carried her down the street. “Good,” he responded. “I’m starving.” Unbeknownst to the pair, the whole event had been witnessed by a small orange filly, one whom was huddled up in the corner of the building she’d dived into, crying silently, completely unable to stop herself. She’d seen something so horrific, so brutal, that when she went to leave ruined building, she didn’t expect to be so horrified by anything else the Gamemakers could throw into the arena. She’d been wrong, as when she’d stepped out, she’d looked over towards Limerick’s lifeless body, only to see her grin, her distant eyes, aimed right at her. The mark of insanity burned into Scootaloo’s memory as the road slowly soaked in Limerick’s blood.