The Werewolves Came on a Friday
a novel by Pony Riley
Chapter Nine: The Mirrors of the Reflective Soul Shine
Yori Bits stumbled into the bathroom of a decrepit, ninth floor apartment building in the center of Wellingtrot. Laying the splintery baseball bat atop a towel rack, she flicked a nearby switch and leaned over the sink. Turning the faucet on, she splashed water over her muzzle and gazed under cold, blue, flickering light into the cracked mirror before her.
The mare was a disheveled mess. Yori's blue and green mane was tangled with frayed strands. Her white tank top dangled in bloody tatters around her upper limbs.
“A city full of lycanthropes, and all I have left is a baseball bat and two cans of mace.” She hissed and spat blood into the faucet. “At least in the clinic, I had scalpels,” she managed to say before gulping. “And then everypony died.”
Howling noises lit the urbanscape outside the window. The translucent sheet of glass flickered from the strobe of a distant police wagon. She heard sirens competing with the beastly shrieks, then gunshots, then nothing.
“Dear Epona, what I wouldn't give for a bottle of Jockey Daniels.”
Just then, a crackling sound burst in front of her. With a girlish shriek, Yori Bits fell down onto her haunches. She clung the baseball bat in two hooves, gazing bright-eyed through disheveled mane hair, looking quite sexy.
New fissures were forming in the glass surface of the mirror. As the bathroom light flickered paler shades across the room, she saw the unmistakable formation of a crystalline snout in the reflective sheet.
“Oh no!” Yori whimpered. “The mirror is a lycanthrope!”
With a howling noise, the mirror leapt down from the wall and took on the shape of a hunchbacked wolf. Its fractured joints creaked and rattled as it leered over the mare and raised a vicious, crystalline paw to slice her throat out from under her quivering chin.
“Eeeyaaah!” She flinched under the flimsy shield of her baseball bat.
Just then, something happened, and it happened loudly. A stallion in Kevlar armor burst through the bathroom window and flew into the compartment under a shower of glass. Sliding to a frictious stop, the muscular horse glanced up, snarling, his black mullet framing a scarred face under a leather-tight eyepatch.
The mirror-wolf spun and roared at him.
“Imperius Whinny!” The stallion jumped across the bathroom, backflipped, and came down with a vicious knee drop across the mirror-wolf's snout.
Shards of glass flew from the lycanthing as it spun twice, shook its head, and viciously charged back at the assailant. Its translucent paws ripped loose tile from the ground as it snapped its fangs across the thick of the room.
“Huttt!” The armored horse hopped over the creature and tossed a fan of knives down at its reflective hide.
Two daggers ripped the wolf's glass tail off. That made it angry. It spun, opened its mouth, and vomited a cloud of crystal bees at its foe.
The stallion landed beside Yori, grabbed one of her cans of mace, bucked it high into the air, spun, and aimed a steel revolver so that its sight aligned with the cylindrical body of the thing just as the transparent insects clustered around it. In slow motion, a bullet whizzed through the air, pierced the body of the pressurized can, and sent shrapnel flying all throughout the swarm so that all of the mirror-bees' stingers tore off and they died.
The werewolf paused as if he was about to say something at that. Precisely at that moment, time resumed to normal, and the stallion-in-Kevlar was bull-tackling the cretin. The two surged ten, twenty, thirty feet across the bathroom until they both collapsed into the shower stall. Gnarled hooves wrestled with glass limbs.
“Yaaaaghraaaah!” The stallion's one eye flared as it gripped the mirror-wolf in a leg-bar and repeatedly slammed its cracking skull into the walls. Tile and plaster littered the shower stall as the horse then dragged the struggling monster towards the toilet. The stallion lifted the seat and shoved the howling lycanthrope's glass mouth into the bowl. He applied all his weight, gritting his teeth, reveling in the sputtering sounds of bubbles and panic. For two minutes, the werewolf struggled and thrashed and kicked... but soon hung limply in the armored pony's grasp.
Spitting on the translucent beast's hide, the stallion let go and trotted icily towards Yori, holstering his revolver.
“Nghhhh... We were friggin' lucky to have silver plumbing,” he hissed, his one eye twitching.
“What's going on here?!” Yori wailed, frightened, her coat turning into a blistering yellow hue under her bloody, tattered tank top. “Who are you?”
“I've got a better friggin' question.” The stallion throated, the veins showing under his skin. “Who's the friggin' caterer of this friggin' party?! Because where there was once a bowl of refreshments, the whole friggin' world has deposited a bunch of friggin' lycanponies! And they're not friggin' easy to snack on!”
“Lycanponies?!” Yori gasped, her eyes twitching. “You... You mean to say...?”
“Yes, I friggin' do.” The stallion plucked a toothpick from his lips, lit a cigar, and popped open a beer. He squinted his one good eye out the shattered window and hissed through gritting teeth, “It's happening just like friggin' prophecied. This is the friggin’ Werewolfing!”
“Oh dear Celestia no!”
“Stop being such a friggin' girl!” The stallion tossed her a shotgun, produced a second one from under his armor, and popped a smoking shell loose. “My name is Alan Whinnie. Come with me if you want to live... to kill lycanponies!”