//------------------------------// // Pope Francis I Worked as a Bouncer to Pay for School // Story: I Blame You, Too // by Whitestrake //------------------------------// We were led through the hinters with complete ease, as though our captors had lived their entire lives within the jungle. The sneaky one, who introduced himself as a member of the Equestrian Inquisition, whatever the hell that was, had Dahl and I by the scruff of our necks. The Pyromaniac was forced t use both hands to hold Oleg's cuffs, due his considerable bulk. The flame-lover had our weapons, and responded to the skull-faced one's vocal commands. Oh, by the Throne, their spoken word. The two used a language that sounded brutish even when compared to the speech used barbarians on many feudal worlds. Nothing even remotely resembled High or Low Gothic, but it also differed greatly from the daemonic dialects used by servants of the Archenemy. A chill ran down my spine at the prospect. Were these two in league with Chaos? Did they serve Ophidia? It was possible, and the boss kept muttering the Prayer of Salvation under his breath, so did he know something I didn't? Alright, the town is just past this wall of trees. Can I trust the three of you to play nice so Pyro and I don't have to frogmarch you like criminals? “I am a member of the God-Emperor's Holy Inquisition; you have no right to detain me.” Inquisitor Dahl could be a very forceful man when he wished, having trained his voice to used a small amount of his psychic will. It was, in some small way, effective. The skull-faced man immediately undid the boss's cuffs and gave him a gentle shove forward. “Now, return my equipment.” No can do, Dahl. Also, before we continue, you probably want to clean your face. The armored heretic motioned with his hand, an attempt to get the boss to wipe the blood off his face. He immediately released me as well, slipping off my bindings like an old pro. I resisted the urge to punch him in the helmet. The stout one said something, his voice distorted by his helmet's microphone. Again, I couldn't understand what was being said, though I think the boss may have been peeking into his mind. Actually, he probably wasn't, given the startling power the smaller man displayed. The fire-starter tossed Oleg to the ground without difficulty. The skull-faced man in void-black said something quickly, almost like a chirp, motioning to his comrade's thigh. Ont the larger man's faded armor rested a cylinder f some sort, painted matte grey, like a grenade launcher. Given the method a small canister was loaded into it, the device almost certainly was. With a small thump, the container soared into the air, and exploded into an ice-blue nova. It was merely a flare, likely warning of our arrival. I've walked into some shit in my day, and seen things I wouldn’t recommend to you or your little buddies, no matter how tough you think you are. There was a hissing noise to my left, and I saw something I never quite expected. My mistake, really. Both the skull-faced man's hands were on his mask, which had a bit of steam jetting from the underside. Pressure was equalizing somewhere within his armor's confines, but I had no way of knowing why exactly he was doing this. Then, nonchalantly, as though he hadn't taken us prisoner, he slipped his mask off. $%$%$%$%$%$% Twilight Sparkle stared out her window as the high-alert flare burned in the sky above Ponyville. The fiery warning system was devised by Jay and Taylor in the event dangerous humans were found within the Everfree Forest, and consisted of eight different colors that represented severity. Red was meant friendly, and the color shifted to orange, then green, then blue, and finally settled on white for very dangerous individuals or those who displayed magic or similar abilities. Shades were often mixed and matched for different meanings; ice-blue meant the humans posed severe threat, but were not unreasonable enough to warrant extermination. It was a very specific color, to be sure. “Dad's okay!” Scipia, Twilight's goddaughter, cheered at the sight. Chrysalis had told the alicorn of Taylor sudden disappearance that morning, but had no idea the man hadn't taken the time to tell anypony where he was going. The flare meant Jay was with him, if only because he had the only grenade launcher in Ponyville; Applejack probably had no idea where he was, either. “Told you,” Chrysalis said as she tousled her daughter's mane. The queen would have known if anything had happened to her husband; the hivemind's synapse ensured such communication. Even as ponies stumbled and sprinted into their homes, the changeling could feel the increasing psychic footprint that heralded Taylor's approached. The man wasn't actually that powerful, he merely served as the central beacon for local changeling communication, like a radio tower. It would be, at most, ten minutes before he and whoever he had with him arrived at the library's door. “I'm sure Princess Celestia will want to hear about this.” Twilight immediately began writing the letter down, though she would need Spike to return before she could send it. Why, of all times, had the dragon chosen that day to run some errands? $%$%$%$%$%$% A child. An Emperor-damned child had taken an inquisitor and his top gunman, and his pilot captive. Well, Skull-face wasn't actually a child; he looked to be anywhere from his mid-twenties to early thirties. If that was true, he was younger than me by a couple of decades, not that I looked old. Skully was obviously a heretic, or a rogue psyker at the very least, who had access to advanced technologies that would have Claudius pissing himself glee, if the magos had a bladder anymore. If he had any malevolent plans for us, there was little we could do to stop him. Our friends aboard the Skyward Valkyrie were under strict orders to call for reinforcements from the Imperial Navy, or whoever was close enough to answer, in the event we were unable to return or make contact after twenty-fours hours standard. Ophidia was here, of that there was no doubt, but the question of who these two clowns were was still prevalent. Don't try anything funny; we've got eyes on us. The order from Skully was direct, simple, as though he expected our implicit cooperation. There was hint of... was it worry in his mental voice? The larger, helmeted man snorted something, and kept looking around as though searching for possible ambushers. Oh, yes, I think I've left something important out, sorry. The settlement was rustic, to say the very least. Thatched roofs and stone walls, actual, wooden doors, the sort of things you only see on pleasure worlds. The doors, at least from our position in the streets, appeared a but small, especially for one as large as the so-called Pyromaniac. Skully and Pyro seemed to have done all this before, like marching three of the Emperor's servants through a small town was just another day at the office for them. We walked ahead of them for what must have been twelve minute or so, towards the village's center. I will go on record saying this because, I shit you not, we were being led to a tree with windows.