Death by Dragon

by Compendium of Steve

Ep7: Desperate Struggle

It’s a path I haven’t walked in years, but it came to me fresh enough. The gnarled trees kept their distance, leaving grooved sloping dirt untouched by roots, though there’s the occasional leaf. Unless Zecora cleared this up beforehand, I’m pretty sure the path would’ve been packed with layers of undergrowth. Not that I’m complaining, since it saves me one thing to be bothered by. The sounds of the wilderness gradually recede as I near town, though it’s unusually quiet to begin with. Seems nature itself is aware of the upcoming storm and is gonna sit this one out.

They’ll be watching the main entrance to the forest, so I alter course halfway and go in the direction of Sweet Apple Acres, adding another ten or so minutes to the walking time. The light through the canopy remains unchanged despite the added time. Not too bright, but not getting any darker. Night appears to be waiting for the storm to pass as well. Glad they’re patient enough.

Eventually the space between the trees start widening and looking less wild, and soon I spot the edge of the forest. Getting closer, I see the vestiges of civilization in the form of cultured apple trees through the sparse brambles. The easy part just about done.

It’s only a couple of yards to the border when a familiar flapping stops me short. I remain still, then turn my gaze up. Sure enough, roosting on the one prominently discolored branch overhead, great eyes see me from within feathers seasoned by life.

“Hey Owli."

"Hoo. Hoo," he hoots.

“Glad you are at least. It’s been rough, as you can imagine.” He nods sympathetically.

“Hoo.”

"Yeah, I bet they are."

"Hoo?" Right to the point, then.

"I need to talk to Twilight. Clear some things up."

"Hoo?" He asks, tilting his head. I look to my sword, protruding off from my side. A pause before I reply.

“I'm just gonna talk to her. Are you gonna have a problem with that?"

"Hoo." He straightens his head just to shake it. "Hoo, hoo."

"I’m grateful for your understanding. And yeah, I say that's a good idea. At least until things settle down, which should be tonight if it goes like I think it will."

"Hoo?"

"No, I’ll see that it’s done today. The question is how much messier it'll get. Although to my credit, I'll make an effort to keep it as clean as possible."

"Hoo," he hoots solemnly.

“I know. But my mind’s set.”

Owlowiscious nods, and solemnly turns around on his perch. "Hoo, hoo."

"Much appreciated. See you around."

His thick wings spread out, and in a downward thrust he’s off into the twilit sky. Such commitment to the idea of wisdom and reasoning, you’d have to wonder how this world might’ve turned out if he were born a pony (or any talking four-legged animal). A pitiable loss for this realm of existence.

Onward I trudge and break from the treeline. There before me is a length of nostalgia-inducing whitewashed picket fencing, stretching along the outermost perimeter of Sweet Apple Acres. Past that, rows and rows of bountiful apple trees, enough to feed the learning minds of Equestria’s youth. Once this had been a fairly large but modestly prosperous family farm, at only the fraction of its current size. A place where family was key, and good-living was in the labor rather than the profits. Now... it’s all about the apples.

I resume moving, keeping close to the tree line while following the fence in the direction of town. I don’t see the tell-tale shimmer of a magic barrier, so it doesn’t seem this area’s covered. Technically it’s outside town limits, but Twilight isn’t one to leave such valuable property exposed. Guess she expects AJ to take care of herself, but I don’t intend on bumping into anyone this soon.

I’m halted by a jarring growl in my stomach. Zecora’s cooking may energize, it doesn’t do much in the way of filling one up. I groan quietly, glaring down at my traitorous gut. Then my eyes turn back toward the fields. Fields of trees loaded with ripe, juicy, succulent, all-natural sweet apples. Enough to feed a nation, and far more than enough to feed an adolescent dragon... Don’t really have time to deliberate and berate my needs, instead opting to walk over toward the farm and hopping the fence. It’ll just be a quick snack. I’m a ways from the main buildings, so they shouldn’t spot me. And what’s three or four apples out of a ton anyway?

I pick a tree at random and walk up to it. Those red beauties shimmer in the waning sun, begging to be picked. No doubt the summer harvest cycle is gonna start relatively soon, so may as well help myself and help the workers as well. I reach up and pluck down four apples, one at a time, and munch them down, one at a time. Only a few bites to eat each one (I’m still on a schedule). My stomach practically murmurs in delight, settling down from its tirade rather fast. Should hold me over till I get home at least.

It’s back toward the field edge once my hunger is subdued. I reach the fence, hop it and resume my walk to town. Nice that there are no soldiers running patrols out here, but it does beg some questions. If no dome, then surely Twilight would have sent extra security at least. Given what I had done today, the farm could use a bit more protection than what it’s got with its work—and right then I see them in front of me.

Lined up over the entire width of road are over two dozen hardened, burly earth stallions (maybe a mare or three) giving me hard looks. Each one is wearing some kind of farming outfit, be it hat, shirt, coveralls, flannel, sleeveless (ripped or not), and most are holding some type of farming object. Good honest  hard workers, each a pony with a good head on their shoulders. I know this for a fact, considering their boss’ strict hiring standards. A few of them I recognize as members of the Apple clan, distant cousins and such, though with the increase in demand, most of the workers are out-of-towners from similar “country” backgrounds. Though there still hasn’t been a need to diversify among the other two pony races... or anything nonpony for that matter.

I stop about four yards from them. We look at each other in silence, me before a wall of sheer horsepower.

“Hello there, Spike.”

The ponies in the center step aside to let the foremare through. Her hooves move evenly, slow, with no-nonsense purpose. The gait of a hardened businessmare in the midst of her workforce.

“Hey there, AJ. It’s been a while.”

“Indeed it has. Still wearing those sunglasses?”

“It’s my thing.” A cursory glance from her.

“I like the shirt.”

“Thought I’d wear something more cool this summer.”

It’s Applejack alright. Far gone is her warm tone and country slang, though the accent remains (some things you can’t beat out with a mountain of paperwork). Over the years of Sweet Apple Acres’ growth, she developed into the manager to fit its needs. Carefree and honesty became efficiency and extensive planning. It took little time for her mind to switch to the matter of bits and the longevity of her estate, and her look and demeanor changed to match (you’d think that was only natural, especially for her, right?). Her thick golden mane is wrapped in a tight bun, unopposed by any headwear. She’s wearing a prim blazer of deep purple, plum-like (suppose that’s a very studious fruit), a considerable clash against her orange coat. She’s also wearing a pair of those dainty spectacles hooked to beaded chains. Past the lens are the steely eyes of a pony raised to survive on and ultimately tame the earth. Behind that fancy felt desk at her headquarters-slash-home, she still retains the soul of a tried and true farmer.

Having shared introductions, she raises a hoof to pull off her glasses. “Although we know each other, it’s still wrong to come in and take royally-owned property.” Quick firm tone, straightforward. I suppose Granny Smith would’ve been proud with how her granddaughter turned out. A voice like that instills unshakable confidence in workers, as well as no hesitation in letting the hammer drop. Yeah, old AJ never sounded this scary...

“I’m surprised you found me.” She looks over her glasses absently as she replies.

“Back before this farm got royal funding, we occasionally had problems with apple thieves. Nowadays we can afford spotters which, as you can imagine, is immensely convenient.” She lets her glasses hang over her chest as she looks at me. “You’ve been making a mighty stir of things ‘round here. A stir everywhere, for that matter.”

“I’d imagine.” She shakes her head like a closer in deliberation.

“I don’t want to know the particulars or the reasoning, but you’re plain dangerous. Having you walk around like you own the place will only bring trouble, for business or otherwise.” She crooks her neck, making a pop. “Mind me asking why you’re back here, if I may so pry.”

“I just wanna speak with Twilight. About ‘this’ and other things.”

“Hmm, I’m sure you do,” she says, eyeing my sword briefly. “Now, the way I see it, there is one suitable way of handling that. Since we’re such good friends and have known each other for a long time, you can come with me back to the office and have some cider and pie while we have somepony pick you up. The fact you didn’t rush me with that sword shows you’re not stark-raving mad, so I’m sure you’d want the more civilized option. One where you go untouched, by me and my staff at least. I say that’s neighborly enough.”

Neighborly indeed. But,

“Thanks, but I’ll have to decline. Not that I don’t trust you, but I don’t think I’ll be able to talk to Twilight when I’m taken to a prison cell. If they even let me get that far.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not possible at this point, Spike. No one’s to speak or even go near her until you’re confirmed captured or killed. And I’d much rather not put you down while you’re on my premises.”

“Then let me through.” There’s a heavy pause as we just look at each other. Her workers have their eyes trained on me like a ballista. Finally,

“Still the stubborn kid I remember.” She sighs before lifting up her spectacles, saying with sharp finality, “We’re done here.” Once the spectacles are back on, she turns and re-enters the crowd. “Knock him out. Try not to rough him up too much.”

Three of the stallions break from the line and charge when she finishes. One comes swinging at me with a hoe, which I duck under quickly. The next guy comes at me with his hooves, trying to deck me with a right hook. I dodge that as well, and step away from the large beam of lumber brought down by the third. I look for a way to break through them when I catch the hoe coming at my head. Immediately I cock my sword arm and strike. The farm tool is severed, its two parts still in motion, splinters dancing in the air like blood. Thinking comes to a halt; how easy it was that it gave way to my blade. About as easy as slicing a pony’s head off... their heads. All of them. All of them would go down like that hoe. But they’re alive. How could they go down so easy like that? How could any of the ones before have died so easily??

A hard straight from the second stallion bashes my senses back into me while sending me a ways onto my ass. I shake my head while I hurry back up. I actually hesitated, felt doubt for my actions. This isn’t good; I never lost focus that badly in battle since I was knee high. Something really messed with my head after that explosion, and I might know who. In any case, I’m looking down three muscles with another two running to join in. Gotta get back in the game.

I rush at the two closest stallions, swinging fists and landing a hit on both their faces. The one with the lumber drops his weapon again, but I grab it mid-swing and wrest it from his grip, only to slam it down hard on his noggin. Laid out cold: one down. I turn to face the other two, looking to pay me back. I make to brandish my blade, but I feel the uncertainty from before tugging at a corner of my mind. Teeth grit slightly at freezing up over another moral dilemma, so I make a concession. Midway through my motion, I spin the hilt over so that both their mugs gets a hard smack from the broad side of my sword.

They’re made dazed, perhaps confused, but they shake it off just as the two newcomers arrive, with more on the way. Battering them is both silly and needlessly ineffective, but they’re only doing their jobs, what they’re told. Just like all those guards—No just got to take them out one by one. Tough ponies they may be, but they’re still only farmers.

The stallion coming at me with a rake I back kick hard in the face, knocking him back into one of those sleeveless enthusiasts, then I throw a punch into the jaw of the newcomer to my left as I spin around. One stallion swings down a shovel (watch those sharp edges!) and I step back to avoid it, and when he swings again I catch it with the flat edge of my sword. Another stallion tries to tackle me while I’m preoccupied, but I leap up and side kick his schnoz, and using the airtime I push away the other guy’s shovel, and on the way down I grab the sides of his head and slam it into my knee.

I got a thing going, but more of them are running at me. I pick up the pace of delivering punches, and even pulling off a leaping roundhouse to make some room. However, a stallion in a work vest gets in a lucky hit with a rake, smacking my side hard enough knock me away from the group (and taking bits of my shirt as well). I get back onto my feet a second time, but seeing the mounting opposition before me, I turn around for the (relative) openness of the fields.

I slam my palm onto the fence and leap without losing momentum, and looking back I see two others hop it before a third gets the right idea and simply breaks through it. My feet eventually touch ground that’s slanted slightly upward, and shortly up this slope I turn around to deal with my pursuers. As I work on kicking, punching, and sword-smacking them back I suddenly hear over the commotion:

“You’re paying for that fence, I hope you know that!”

Ah yes, even with a violent criminal around, a proper foremare remains closeby to make sure the job gets done. I grin slightly at this, but that goes away as the thwapping reminds me of where I am exactly. Which happens to be upward, since the encroaching farmworkers are pushing me further up the slope. I do my best to knock them back, but they’re built thick, and they just go at it again as more join.

We near the first of the trees when I manage to kick one olive-green stallion off his balance, resulting in him falling back into several others into an ungraceful landslide of grunting muscle. A claw mini-shovel gardening thing comes spinning through the air at my head, which I tilt to avoid (that can put an eye out!). It serves enough of a distraction for one flannel-wearing heavy-build stallion to leap over his fallen coworkers and grab me in a forceful shove (no doubt a lineman from Redneck U). My back is slammed into a tree hard enough to make me grit my teeth as leafy rustling fills the air. We’re both grunting as I try to shove and squirm my way out, but he’s got me pinned like a tree staple. Suddenly, fortune drops an apple on his head, and he absently looks around for the cause of the bonk sound. I hold out my free claw as another apple falls into it, and wasting no time I shove it right into his gaping mouth, then grip both sides of his head and drive his chin into my knee (fairly soft from the feel). His apple crunches into juice as I kick him away down the slope, freeing myself.

My victory is short-lived as I see his buddies back on their hooves and galloping. I turn and run further up to the crest of the slope before turning back to stem the burly tide. The stallion that hit me with the rake earlier has managed to get to the front and swings his tool for a second hit. Second time’s not the charm for him as I hop up and plant both feet onto the rake head, snapping it and some of the wooden shaft off. His eyes widen in a mix of surprise and grief before I backfist him to the ground, but a stallion leaps over him to bring down a thick hoof onto my head. My sword goes up to deflect it, causing me to slide back, but a scrawnier fieldworker leapfrogs from his buddy and collides his entire body against me.

Feet and legs fly out from under me, and the two of us go tumbling down the other side of the hill crest. Grass and wind going by my ears, blocking out any comprehensible sounds as my sense of vertical orientation gives way. I do manage to hear a harsh thud from close by, a certain mass hitting a tree no doubt. No early stops for me, though, as I keep rolling and rolling. At some point I sense things are beginning to level out shortly before I crash into something wooden that collapses around me.

When everything stops falling and quiets down I try pushing myself up. My arms seem stuck to my sides, and I realize that I somehow got myself entangled in a ladder. Unsteadily I use my feet and legs to get back up, though it takes a few tries. Planks of wood and a few wheels scattered about; guess that had been a cart. Probably for the coming harvest, and you can’t have a cart without a ladder as well, can you? As I work on standing straight, a yell comes from above.

“You’re gonna pay for that as well!”

I look up in the direction of the voice and Applejack standing at the peak of the slope I had tumbled down, with more of her posse running past. I’m back to standing straight (though still stuck) when the first of the workers get close. I twist myself and my newly-acquired ladder to the side, then twist harder in the opposite direction to smack him with a yard of wood. I twist back and heft up to bring ladder rungs down onto the back of the neck of the next guy. The third one to come down decides to leap off the slope and body slam me from above, but quickly I push back, planting the back end of the ladder into the ground. I kick off to angle the front of the ladder upward and it manages to catch the fly boy mid-air. The angle of the catch and his momentum causes the ladder to tilt backward full vertical before falling over and catapulting the stallion into a nearby tree.

The added exertion allows me to wiggle out of the rungs as that happened, and with all limbs fully moveable I look to the next musclehead. This one has a hammer, and the one behind him has a wrench (where there’s fighting in the country, there’s gotta be a wrench thrown in somewhere). My sword deflects the hammer, allowing me to hop back from the crushing blow of the wrench. Seeing the others running down towards us, I decide not to waste any more time with these two. I high kick the hammer out of the first stallion’s mouth and one-two punch him to the ground, and turning to the next one I swing my blade as he raises up his forelegs to bring his wrench down. Small part of me cringes at the pained yelp and trickles of blood coming from his limbs, but then I tell myself to suck it up; he’ll live ya wuss. Before my conscience can argue I turn tail, step over my would-be attackers and head further into the orchard.

A lot more trees down here, each with their branches loaded down with apples, set aglow by the low sun (good thing I had that snack). I hear the stallions stamping the ground in hot pursuit not too far behind. Arms are getting tired from hitting so much thick skull; best bet now would be to lose them and make it outside the fields, back on the road and high tail for town before they find me again. Considering there’s still more than a dozen left, I’ll need to get them lost somewhere further in.

Unfortunately they seemed to have anticipated that strategy because galloping out from behind the trees ahead are six stallions, two of them holding a net between them. With my arms aching and trees all around, it’s time I got environmental.

When the distance between me and the forward six closes to five or so yards, I leap up and grab onto a low-hanging branch. I swing forward and let go, flying the remaining distance and slamming both feet onto the respective heads of the net wranglers. I backflip off them and land on the back of a lanky colt wearing a grease-spotted wife beater. I do a little dance on his spine and plant my heel on his skull to get us both onto the ground. As I turn to find the other two, the loop of a lasso falls around my blade and snags the upper half of my arm. A hard tug makes me stumble forward, but I get traction and pull back. A stallion with a backwards cap is the one holding the rope, and his buddy runs forward to take me down. He gets a spin kick to the face, but then I feel more rope fall onto my shoulders before it snaps around my neck.

Choking and being pulled in two different directions, I’m left open for four workers to take shots with shovels and their legs. Bruises start to pulsate on my sides and my shirt’s ripping up from the beating. With a quick harsh breath, I breath out a stream of fire in front of me. The guys in front of me back off before they get singed, but my desperate ploy burns out the rope holding my arm. My freed elbow goes into the snout of one of my attackers, and turning around I grab the rope holding my neck and heave back with my entire body. The unlucky fellow holding the other end loses his footing and goes through the air, barreling through the backs of three of the attackers. I cut off and remove the ropes from my arm and neck while I have the chance, but none too soon as Mr. Backwards Cap comes at me in revenge for his destroyed lasso. He gets a sword swipe to the shoulder.

The pain and frustration of having my ass handed to me by farmhands overrides my hesitations, but doesn’t shut them up. I turn to face the ponies that have gotten back up or are coming in fresh. Hoes, hedge trimmers, shirts, hats, limbs, they all feel the sting of my sword. A lot of yells and groaning, but considerably less blood is spilt compared to my usual forays (doesn’t stop part of me from wincing at their cries, the families that would mourn—NO NO STOP they’re okay!). I throw in a punch or kick if I’m able to, but as before, the sword is the quickest way. I’m done wasting time here.

With about a dozen bodies either knocked out or cursing and nursing wounds on the ground, I finally have room to breath and calm down. Got lucky, all of you (and me). Still, more are on the way. I book it the way I had been going.

Running further into the orchard, I look back to see a group of six or so and counting. I look around me at the passing trees and suddenly think up a plan. My sword is held out before I twirl it and jump up, lopping off a branch weighed down with apples. I don’t stop running when I hit the ground, but I take a moment to jump and kick off another tree with both legs. I get to another tree and kick off that one, this time causing several apples to fall off. I do this with two more passing trees, and looking back I see some of the pursuers are tripping over the impromptu obstacles. But the truly seasoned farmers used to these kinds of conditions (most of them) run through without pause, and are nearly on me. Figured that wouldn’t have worked, but still worth a shot.

New tactic: I jump up and grab another overhanging branch, only this time I hang on and cut it off from the tree. I turn mid-air and once on the ground I use the newly-liberated branch to thwap the lead pursuer with a faceful of leaves. I keep thwapping away as well as belting the workers back with the flat of my sword. The apples on my new secondary weapon add extra heft to the blows, and I kick the apples that have fallen off like small hard red soccer balls for added versatility. Everything seems to be going well, confounding the stallions while keeping them at bay. But then there’s a rumble, followed by another, then another. We all pause as the rumbles get closer.

“HALT INTRUDER.”

The monotone, warbled announcement precedes a thunderous tremor that’s violent enough to make all of us rise two inches off the ground. Once my feet get back down and I’ve steadied myself, I look up at the latest arrival to this melee. Standing between me and the workers is a menacing giant of wood and metal, about ten feet tall. Atop two tree trunk-thick legs is a bulky torso lined with rivets set into the wooden frame as well as a mesh grating in the center. Two arms hung from its sides, bearing fists as thick as wrecking balls. An industrial funnel sticking out the back lets out a fierce release of steam, and the sounds of whirring gears and hydraulics as it moved added an artificial roar to its terrifying presence. And there, sitting at the controls of the giant, came the most unsettling thing of all: a peppy greeting.

“Howdy, Spike!”

Sitting within the torso of the machine is a young mare with pale yellow fur wearing a blue, oil-stained jumpsuit. Atop her grinning face is a long, unkempt mane of soft red, and above that is a well-aged Stetson. A cherished family keepsake, passed down from old to young. Must say her sister’s hat does look fitting on her.

“Whatcha doin’ making a fuss ‘round here?” she asks in that sweet chummy tone of hers. Unlike her sister, Apple Bloom has retained all her warm mannerisms from fillyhood, making her the ideal public face of Sweet Apple Acres. Or she would’ve been, if she wasn’t already in charge of another department.

“It wasn’t my intent to make any. Well, here at least,” I answer. “I was just passing by.”

“Were you now? Well shucks, trouble just can’t keep away from ya for long, can it?” she says while leaning forward in the seat of her creation.

Back when the two of us were still on good terms (ie her sister’s) she had told me about a new kind of farm machinery. Said she got the idea from seeing some monkeys at Fluttershy’s one time, how they could grab and pick up all kinds of things with ease. She went on saying that with the right size, that kind of design could be incredibly useful in moving heavy equipment or clearing out landslides, even help during especially large harvests. Perhaps steam-powered; no magic required. She concluded by saying she might build a prototype if she ever got bored. Less than two months later, the first fully functional “Apple Golem” strode out of her workshop.

Having spent an entire fillyhood tirelessly searching for that one special talent, she certainly wasted no time in embracing it to the fullest.

“Still, it ain’t nice cutting up the workers,” she continues. “Whatcha say we bury the hatchet before more ponies get hurt?”

“Don’t you mean before I get hurt?”

“Well that goes without sayin’.” She crosses her legs matter-of-factly. Gained a bit of smugness to go with her skill over the years. “Besides, do you really want to go hoof-to-hoof with this bad boy?”

“I’ll take my chances.” Smug against smug. Nice to know there’s some friendliness still alive from the old days, but the payoff is a smile on Apple Bloom’s face as her hooves reach for the controls to get her machine moving again.

“I’m sorta glad you said that, Spike. To tell ya the truth, I’ve been hopin’ for a chance to try this baby out on you. For combat testing purposes, of course. This here’s a Mark V, like ‘five’, and you’ll be the first to tangle with it.”

“Heh, I’m honored. But be careful WHAT YOU WISH FOR!” I hoped my shout would distract her as I fling my branch-club at her, but in a blink betraying their heft, one of the Golem’s hands appears before her and catches it. It extends to the side and closes shut into a fist, letting out a crunch and spilling of juices.

“Oh come on, did ya really think I wouldn’t catch that?” To this I shrug.

“Figured it wouldn’t work.” And with that, I turn and run.

I make it a couple of yards before there’s a great whoosh followed by another uplifting tremor. I look up to find Apple Bloom and her Golem blocking my escape.

“Come on, why ya turnin’ chicken now?”

The Golem pulls back its right arm and makes a fist before firing off a powerful right hook. I jump back, feeling much of the air rending from the arm’s ferocious passing, and look over in time to see the left arm preparing for a follow-up. That one I barely manage to duck under, and as it pulls away I force myself to spin while crouched and spring into a run in the opposite direction. The ground shudders and shakes as the farming behemoth stomps after me. It’s distracting enough that I barely have time to look ahead and realize oh yeah, there were others besides her.

The farm helpers run at me to make up for lost time. I come to a stop just before they meet me and I start swinging. A whack to the face there and a punch here, and it’s more or less where we left off, except now everything is shaking. I can only move inches with them ganging up and crowding me, and they even start getting hooves on my arms. Some violent twisting and my trusty sharp edge backs them off, and right when we have ourselves another nice standoff, the spines on my neck prick up. My head turns back slightly, and I throw myself out of the way of the running swing of the Golem’s arm. I hit the ground rough, but judging from the sounds of battered muscle and yells, I say I’m damn fortunate.

“Oops, sorry y’all.”

Getting back up, I see that dear AB has swept her co-workers several yards around, some into the trees. You can practically see the stars in orbit, though I’ll be sharing them if I don’t act fast. Apple Bloom always has been the determined headstrong type, so she won’t let me simply run away. That just leaves what I (regrettably) do best: offense.

I run up to the Golem as it turns to face me and I get to slicing at its massive mitts. My sword barely chips the hardened wood; must have metal reinforcement underneath. Even so, I keep hacking and forcing her on the defensive. She brings her creation’s arms up to guard the torso. Good sign: means I can switch to knocking out the legs (after I figure out how to). Before I have the chance, though, the arms spread forward in a burst, catching my sword and sending it and me flying back.

I hit the ground on my rump some yards away, but as I’m pushing myself back up, the Golem slams down before me, causing another of its signature tremors. My arms lose balance and my ass hits grass again, but luckily Apple Bloom lends a literal hand and has her behemoth pick me up in a secure fist. Makes for a comfortable squeeze, though she grips and releases as though expecting me to squeak. Since she’s getting none of that, Apple Bloom tosses me onto the ground and into a tree trunk. Think I felt a few bandages break. And the stars have stopped by.

I crawl up onto my claws and knees, shaking my head back into focus. I switch to a kneeling position when I hear the heavy groans. Looking ahead, I see the fist that had tossed me gripped around a tree and steadily uprooting it. There’s a shudder and a hard tearing before the tree is freed from its earthly bindings, with hardly a leaf falling in the process. The golem turns and stomps toward me, raising up its new thick club for one monstrous whallop.

“Apple Bloom!!” Both our attentions pivot to the smartly-dressed mare that’s magically appeared close by and went unnoticed somehow until now. “What do you think you’re doing with that?”

The question creates a painfully awkward pause, the Apple Golem shifting uncomfortably before Apple Bloom replies, “Uhh, I’m tryin’ to subdue the intruder... like ya wanted me to?”

“Who told you that you could go tearing up trees, huh?” Applejack adds some harsh business scorn to that one.

“Well, he has to be stopped by any means necessary, right? And he’s been cuttin’ trees so—”

“So you think that gives you the right to tear them out of the ground and go swinging them all recklessly in that robot of yours?”

“It’s nothin’ like that! Besides, I’m only pullin’ out an unhealthy one.” The golem holds out the tree and points out some areas on it. “See? There’s spots startin’ to form on the bark, and there are bare patches in the leaves. This thing’s diseased and you were gonna have it taken down anyway. I’m just puttin’ it to good use, that’s all.”

“Diseased or not, you don’t go uprooting crops without direct instructions from me first! That’s inventory you’re messing with, not your own little toys!”

“Dang it Applejack, stop treating me like a little filly! I’m the Head Engineer of your company for Celestia’s sake, so talk to me like an adult!”

“So long as I’m your older sister and your boss I’ll talk to you however I want, so put that tree back where it was and quit fooling around!”

“I’m not foolin’ around! I was just about to catch Spike until you came along and made a fuss over nothin’. Like ya normally do, at the worst times!”

“That’s sounding like sass. You watch that tone or I’ll downgrade you to foal!”

Always count on the time-honored Apple Family quarrel to arise at the most opportune moment. Before Apple Bloom takes another shot at her sister’s patience, I spring into a sprint and jump at the golem. Hit the wrist, vault over the tree and crouch onto the lip of the cockpit. AB and I lock eyes a moment.

“Heya.” I plunge my sword into the control console as a closing remark, and leap away as the sparks start flying. The wooden behemoth begins staggering around, dropping the tree to the sound of whistling steam.

“MALFUNCTION! MALFUNCTION! OVERLOAD!”

“It’s overheating. Doggonit, I can’t lower the pressure!”

The Apple Golem wobbles from the rivets shooting off from parts of its body, releasing spouts of searing steam before exploding into a shower of wood chunks and gears. Amid the clattering debris, AB lands hard on the ground and stays there, a dazed look on her unconscious face (she’s a tough girl, she’ll get over it... won’t she? What if I killed her? Oh no, please please not her STOP THAT). Nice tool there, but that’s one major fatal flaw. Wanna look into that when you wake up.

No time to marvel at my latest scene of destruction, because guess what there’s more of: reinforcements. With the golem out of the way, six or so workers canter at me undeterred. Getting knocked into a tree has worn me out some, but I have to remind these mooks how much trouble I am on my own.

I let them come to me and take them on one by one. A downward bap with the sword’s side on the first’s head, a kick to the jaw of the second, the butt of the sword hilt to the side of the head of the first, a haymaker into the face of the third (extra thick skull on that one, ouch), but the other three get wise and encircle me. I switch briefly to dodging, though they manage to land some punches to my arms and graze the side of my face. I punch one, elbow the one behind me, and grab the third to yank him into the one I elbowed. That just leaves one standing, and I give a side kick to the chest that sends him into a large crate, against which he slumps down into submission. However, what he hit isn’t a crate. In fact it’s very much alive... and woefully familiar.

He’s only a few inches taller than me, but he’s more than three times my muscle mass. Legs that only tree trunks wish they could be as thick as, a flaring red coat stained with the sweat of a hard day’s labor, short but rich sandy mane, unshorn fetlocks, and of course that heavy-looking yoke. Another rare individual who’s gone unchanged in looks all these years... except for the blue coveralls put upon him by the farm’s dress code. His deep, green eyes shine with the depth of a simple wisdom, that didn’t look very far but looked very deep, that wasn’t concerned with the happenings of the world except the one he walked everyday. A true workhorse. I’m pretty sure if pioneer writers throughout history met him up close, they’d orgasm on the spot both in rapture and impotency.

“Hey Big Mac.”

“Spike.”

A pony of few words; that along with his work ethic I’ve always had high respect for. Certainly not the kind of guy I’d want to fight, but that’s the cards life deals ya.

“Don’t suppose we can talk this out?” Right when I finish the question I twist my body and bring up my sword. There’s a clang, and to my shock and dismay I see that it’s been stopped by a raised hoof. More worrying is the fact that it’s the sword edge that it caught.

“Ee-nope,” he says with that same laid-back look, seemingly oblivious to the weapon being held inches away from his head. I only wanted to cut his nose, but I’m pretty damn certain that a hoof, no matter how hardened, can't withstand sharp tempered metal going at several miles an hour. I stuff away my shock and put more energy into moving the sword, but neither it nor the hoof budges. I’m straining to the point of breaking down in laughter, but then the hoof belts away the sword in another clang, and before I can even blink Big Mac’s forehead slams into mine, flooring me like a grand piano.

Despite my brain feeling like a china shop after an earthquake, I’m still conscious (oh gods why?). I hear his even drawl.

“It ain’t nothing personal, ya understand.” I feel hooves on my shoulders pull me up, and when I’m propped up into what could charitably be called “standing”, Big Mac pulls back a leg and punches me with the strength of a locomotive flung from a trebuchet.

Fortunately the hit knocks my brain back into one piece, but that allows me to register my flying backward at high velocity, as well as the subsequent painful collision against a tree that brings me to a jarring, teeth-rattling stop. Of course it makes sense: where brains fail, you send in the brawn. The Ol’ Apple Family One-Two I call it (at this moment in time).

I don’t dwell on this any further, because upon picking myself up I see nearly two hundred pounds of muscle charging headlong at me. I scramble out of the way, and shortly after there’s a thunderous crack as the tree I was against takes one for the team. Big Mac looks to me (completely unscathed), and breaks into a gallop. My sword is halfway up when he reaches me, and with one swift extension of a foreleg the sword is out of my claws and winds up embedded in a tree some distance behind. The disarming stuns me a moment, but I snap out of it in time to back away from another devastating headbutt. He tries another one, which grazes my side and puts me off balance. Big Mac uses that opening to rise and put his front legs under my arms and pull me off my feet. I get swung around in a twirl over his head before getting slam dunked into the ground. Barely any time to move a muscle before he’s turned around to deliver a buck into my overturned side.

The world goes speeding by again until I hit the ground rolling. I cough from the impact, but from what I can tell my ribs are still intact (guess he’s holding back. What a sweetheart). I struggle in getting up in a hurry, and that’s when I spot my sword sticking out of the tree in front of me. Looking over my shoulder, I see Big Mac trotting over to me in a purposefully slow manner. I stumble crawl over to my sword and take hold of the hilt, and after pulling myself up I yank it out and duck around the tree. I brace myself flat against the trunk and catch my breath, while simultaneously thinking up a strategy. For someone his size he’s insanely fast; always figured he’d be a beast to fight, but this is something else entirely. I’ll need something big to take him out, and sadly the Golem is out of commission. I look at the leaves and apples dangling overhead, and decide to improvise.

Mind goes into lockdown to negate the fatigue and injuries. I step forward and spin with blade drawn, producing a thin line through the base of the tree. Before it has time to topple over I turn the sword edge onto my palm, cut, and quickly put on a red coating. I breath out the necessary flames and incantation, and with sword alight, I pull it back and slam the Piston into the bark. The tree is blown horizontally from its trunk at ludicrous speed, but barely a second later there’s a thump from several yards away as the tree takes a ninety degree detour up. Standing at the turning point is Big Mac, a front leg raised, which he puts back down gently.

Lower jaw practically hits my collarbone, my eyes almost bugging out from behind my shades (almost). I’m rewarded for my gawking with a charging headbutt to the chest that knocks me on my ass. My palms find purchase on the grass and I push myself into a pitiful sitting position, but it’s enough to see Big Mac in his entirety slowly moving towards me. Pretty sure he won’t be holding back after my little stunt there.

He takes a few steps, and as I prepare to make like a crab in the other direction, there’s a whoosh followed by an air-rending bwoom. The tree that had so effortlessly been brushed away has come back down... on Big Mac’s head. There’s absolute stillness with barely a breeze going by, the tree teetering on its side atop Big Mac’s cranium. There’s a cracking sound, followed by a wooden tearing as the body of the tree splits in half and falls to either side of the stallion. When the noise settles, Big Mac remains standing like nothing’s happened.

My jaw drops again. “A-are you serious?”

He looks around to ponder this, then nods. “Eeyup.” Then he falls over onto the ground.

Mind’s finding it hard to grasp what just happened, but for now it seems the big guy’s finally down. The corners of my mouth crease into a grin of shaken relief as I carefully get back up. It was rough, but there’s finally some calm around here. Shame the barrel that’s blindsiding me wishes to object.

The stout container bursts into several bent planks as I skid to the side and nearly topple over. When the saw dust settles, I look over to see the big cheese herself going down a line of various crates, boxes and other accoutrements that had inexplicably gotten there. That’s when I remembered: Applejack’s Legendary Bucks.

“Chopping down perfectly healthy, fruitful trees. The sheer audacity!”

The cry of indignation hails the launch of a crate that zeroes in on me. Big Mac may be strong, but his bucking lacks the deadly precision of his younger sister’s. Many an apple tree were laid bare by those ferocious hooves, honed through endless repetition, trained to aim for the most optimal spot on a subconscious level. Around here, you’d have to be able to buck a full harvest single-handedly to become the boss, and that demands a lethal set of legs.

I juke from the crate as my focus shifts back to the present. AJ proceeds down her row of munitions, bucking in fiery succession. I sprint sideways to avoid most of them, then switch gears and charge toward her. No more running, not after what I had to put up with till now. I dodge left and right to bypass the flying containers until AJ kicks off two in a row. I don’t waver from my charge, and at the last moment I leap up, extending my right leg to catch the edge of the foremost box. I spring off upon contact and soar through the air. In seconds the remaining distance between me and AJ diminishes, and I come to a landing right before her startled form. Her eyes and mine lock and she makes to shout before I deliver a powerful backhand across her face. She flies off and tumbles along the ground before sprawling out to a stop, where she remains prone. From over here I see her fancy spectacles have shattered, and I can make out the subtle breathing motions (so no fretting this time!). She kept her bucking in prime form, but she seemed to have let her natural earth pony resilience waste away behind that desk of hers. Old girl can’t take a hit anymore; it’s somewhat of a letdown.

Foremare dispatched, I cautiously look over my surroundings. Trees toppled, destroyed equipment, and lots of bodies littered over a wide radius. But all of them still alive (keep telling myself), miraculously enough. It was far more tiring than if I went strictly lethal, and as a result the fatigue I left back at Zecora’s has come back. Luckily I don’t see anymore workers running in, so I must’ve taken down today’s available workforce (woo-hoo). I suck in and let out a deep breath, then turn in the general direction of where I first ran in from. Ditch this place before the staff do something else inconvenient, like regain consciousness and break out the pitchforks and torches for round two.

Two minutes time when I get back to the picket fence, and one vaulting later I’m back on the outer road that leads to town. Given my fresh bout of exhaustion I should go at a slow, easy pace, but I’ve wasted far too much time on this stupid farm. I enter a brisk walk, ignoring the aches thrumming through my body. Still a ways yet to town; ample time for the pain to dull. One less thing to worry about.

It’s six, maybe seven minutes before I reach the town limit proper. Seeing those saccharine houses made dark and radiant by the sun, makes it seem like I’m returning after a decade-long excursion. I allow myself to slow down to a normal walk. Pain has numbed down considerably. Fatigue’s caught up, though. Also beginning to feel hungry again. Preoccupied by these concerns, I’m slow to recall the matter involving the magic barrier. But by the time I do, I’m already past the first house.

Immediately I stop and look around. Felt no resistance whatsoever back there. No glimmerings in front of me either. While Sweet Apple Acres might’ve been left out due to its relatively isolated location, there definitely should be a barrier covering the entirety of the town. Perhaps it’s only covering central Ponyville, like the town hall. But that doesn’t make sense. The Librarium is some ways from the center of town, and that has been Twi’s ruling site since becoming a princess. Maybe she relocated, or maybe the barrier is just covering her? None of this bodes well.

I resumed walking when I started pondering this, and it now occurs to me that the streets are completely empty. Sweetie said everyone was told to stay in their homes, but what about the Royal Guard? The soldiers? There’s nothing moving at all, not even the obligatory tumbleweed. For a normally homely little town, this is all too eerie.

Still, should count my fortunes that there’s no one out here to bother me. I stroll down the deserted streets with that in mind, keeping close to the edge of town. Have to make one stop before I go see Twilight. Find it a bit odd no one has spotted me yet, or it may be that they don’t want to step out, which makes it odder.

Several minutes of uneventful walking and I arrive at my humble abode. Exactly as way I left it (on the outside), and totally free of guards. Not even a citizen patrol stationed. Very very suspicious... but I’ll test my luck.

I go up to the door, pause, and bend down to the welcome mat. Some fingering around and I hold up the key. Before I dwell on it having still been there, I stand up and put it into the lock. A turn later and I’m in. Yup, everything’s exactly as I left it inside as well. I suppose there was no point in searching the home of a fugitive since the crime’s been committed. That in of itself is damning enough evidence.

I lock the door behind me before heading to the bedroom. The perpetual sunset makes for slightly poor visibility when I enter, but I don’t bother with the lights. I give the room a quick scan, and seeing nothing out of place I rest my sword against the door frame. My right palm’s been gripped around that thing most of the time since leaving Zecora’s, so I give it several flexes. Oh, what to do now... Freshen up, first off. Can’t go seeing Twilight in this state. Not for the execu—What? I look around for the unspoken source. Seeing nothing, I huff and head into the bathroom. I swear, this day can go to hell (it already has).

I walk up to the sink basin and give the mug in the mirror a good look. I take off my shades to get a second opinion. Damn, talk about haggard, but at least everything is where it should be. Eyes are looking a bit bloodshot, though. I pull open the mirror, and I take out some painkillers from the medicine cabinet and down about five of them. Usually don’t need them unless I have a headache, and they’re pony prescription so the regular dosage won’t do. Supposed to be good for the heart, too, though that may only apply to ponies. Eh, no big deal.

Shutting the mirror door, I then turn my attention to my tattered shirt. Well, mildly tattered. For all the abuse it went through it’s held together remarkably well. Still tacky as all hell, so I pull it up and toss it to a corner. Now for a look at my bandages. A number of them are split or torn, there are some specks of dark red, a splotch along the side that’s long dried. I put my claws to work in cutting them away. Fairly delicate process, given how much I have to remove, but it gets done. They’re tossed in the overfilled trash can, and I step back to look my body over in the mirror. Pretty good shape overall. Still a bit tender around the chest and side, but the burns appear fully recovered.

Mostly satisfied with my physical condition, it’s time for that freshening up. I move over to the bathroom door and close it. A moment, perhaps my last, to truly relax. Breathe easy, have a nice long hot shower, and most important of all, take a well-deserved, much-needed Save.

Fully cleansed after a half hour or so, I step out of the bathroom and walk over to the wardrobe. I don’t bother with the schtick of picking out suits and just pull one out. Shirt, jacket. Don’t have a spare sword sheath, so I’ll have to keep carrying it exposed. As I bring up my shades to complete the ensemble, I stop midway through the motion and stare at them. A moment of contemplation, then I open my coat and slide the shades into an inner pocket. No need for concealment, to uphold an image. This time around, I’ll speak to her truly face to face.

Steeled with this decision, I pick up my sword and exit the bedroom. Kitchen is the next stop, specifically the fridge. Put down the sword on the table first. Pull out some pasta from the cold confines (leftovers from last night) and chow down. Don’t even bother heating it up. I ate meat one time several years back (deer or goat. It was a griffon encampment), and with the day I’ve been having, I sure could go for a bite right now.

The cold lump of carbs in my gut, I make for the living when my eye catches something by the sink. A nondescript brown bag, crumpled and neglected. Suddenly my memory pulls a fast one and I realize that it’s the coffee Pinkie gave to me over a month ago. It hasn’t moved an inch since I tossed it there, utterly forgotten (man I’m losing it). Funny that I notice it now. Serendipitous, even? I tilt my head, then mentally I go oh, what the hell. I go over to the sink and pick up the bag. Just as good a time as any to make some coffee.

I take out a pot and fill it with water, about a cup’s worth, then put it on the stove and get it to boiling with help from my fire breath (always found it faster to do it that way). My early days as Twilight’s assistant had made me quite experienced in making coffee, as well as knowledgeable in what to do in the event of a busted coffee maker. I grab one of my mugs (three to my name) and put it on the counter, grab some paper towels to cover it, and put about a spoon's worth of grounds on top of that. Take the pot over and gently fill me up a cup. Pot emptied, towels and grounds trashed, and I’ve got some fresh steaming Joe. I give it a smell. Seems fairly safe. Probably no point in adding sugar or cream, this being Pinkie’s blend and all.

I hesitate before taking a sip, but go through with it. Immediately caffeine hits me like an anvil. All sense of fatigue disappears, leaving my mind and body feeling completely revived. Needless to say I’m more than pleasantly surprised. I would’ve thought I’d be running up the walls in a blind giddy fury, but this stuff is just a kick in the pants in the best possible way. There might be aftereffects if I drink it all, though, so I take just two more sips. That wonderful psycho; now I feel like I can take on the world (again).

The mug gets poured out and put in the sink with the pot, and with all my domestic affairs finally taken care of, I return to the living room with sword in claw and go to the front door. Back outside, I lock up and put the key under the mat (old habits, eh? Even in a crisis). I turn to the town, take a deep breath, and start walking. I make it a few yards before it happens.

“You have some major cojones coming back here, bato.”

That all-too familiar chill as I halt, but it can’t be, right? The caffeine’s playing tricks with my head, gotta be. But I know it’s all too real. I gulp and turn around. Sure enough, reclining on the roof edge of my house is Pinkie Pie, wearing her eyepatch and a delightfully malicious smile, with a sharp polearm leaning against her (with pink streamers). Most definitely the last pony I wanted to see. How the hell did she know I was here? Oh right, because it’s frickin’ Pinkie Pie.

“Interesting choice of words there. Trying to spice up your vocabulary today?” Can’t let her onto my fear and frustration.

“Still playing the smug punk act, even with all the shit you’re in,” she replies gruffly, not dropping that sneer of hers. “Though I see you ditched the sunglasses. Decided to finally man up? See the world for what it really is, am I right?”

In a firm tone, “More than you’ll know.”

“Czch! Then you ought to know how bad it looks, at least for you. Got ponies running scared, our one princess feeling nervous. You’re far from welcome in this town, boy. But even so.” She switches to a sitting position, kicking her legs over the edge in a carefree manner. “You just couldn’t stay away from your precious little crap shack, huh? I had a feeling you were on the way when the barrier went down, and boy was I right. As predictable as purple, heh!”

“It went down? When?”

“Nearly an hour ago.” Around the time I left Sweet Apple Acres. Then that would mean... Pinkie continues talking before I can ponder further. “Her Majesty’s compromise to keep the soldiers at bay. You know how stubborn Twi can be. This is her town, her citizens and friends, yadda yadda, and she’s gonna protect them her way. That and imposing martial law, which is why there isn’t anypony in sight.” She throws out her forelimbs in dramatic fashion. “Emptiness, peace and quiet. All the room we could ever want for our fight.”

Hold on. “F-fight?”

“Duh fight, lizard brain! Why else would I come out onto this lame rooftop? What, you thought I brought this along as a walking stick? Enjoy the sunset, wistfully recall my years of innocence and naivety?” She swings around her polearm as she talks. “Give your master some credit; I’m not that old, and I’ll be damned if I let my brain get mushy enough for any of that!” The polearm comes down to punctuate her statement.

“...A fight, just like that? Not gonna try capturing me?” I already know the answer, but I just wanna stall.

“Listen, kiddo: it’s tradition. A master and her student go through much training and tribulations, get on each other’s ass, bond, and inevitably have a duel to the death in what may or may not be an emotionally-stirring bit of high-octane drama and hoofticuffs. Though with me, we can skip the tears and heartache and just focus on the violence. And after what the audience has seen of me up to now, do you really want to deny them the chance to see me go all out on your brooding scaly ass?”

What she just said... Pinkie being Pinkie, saying random things, but the jumbled parts of my mind come into focus. This, all of this, isn’t what it is. Rather, it’s not what it should be. Everything and everyone. “It isn’t right.” Blurted that one out, but better keep going. “We don’t need to fight, Pinkie. I know it’s what we usually do, but don’t you remember when we could talk without going at each other’s throats with sharp weaponry? I’m curious as to why you changed all that.”

“HA!!” That’s practically a screech. “What’s this, dredging up your fond memories of being a pussy nobody? You bring that up now? Way too late for that, Spike. Sheesh, go changing your outlook and now you expect to change the world as well? Heh, you did a pretty good enough job today as is. But you say you want more? At the very least you should be aiming to make things considerably worse, but you want to talk it out and make peace and all that crap? You’ve gotten hypocritical and weak as hell!”

She adjusts herself, putting one hindleg back on the roof. “Forget the fact you’re Equestria’s Most Wanted, that you’re a walking death threat to every living princess both present and future. I’m doing this solely for myself! Sure the kingdom benefits, but that’s just icing.” A forelimb bends up, imitating a balled fist. The sound of compressing muscle fills the air as her face tightens. “I’ve waited too long for this, you have no idea! Like you, battle is all I’ve known since Twilight became a princess. Just one day I woke up and parties wouldn’t cut it for me anymore. I have to move to live, like a door to door salespony, and you don’t get more mobile than in the midst of combat. I lost my eye, my mane, and a fair bit of skin in that time, but even so I refuse to stand still!” She stops tightening her hoof-fist as her face softens. “Those days of jokes and kiddie games are no more. That was a party that ended too damn long ago.” Her eye closes as she lets her head and leg drop. Could swear her poofy mane deflated slightly.

A moment of silence, then she reopens her eye. “You know, part of me believed you went up in smoke along with Celestia. I actually began losing hope in having this awesome showdown. But seeing you here, alive and well despite what’s happened, fills me with hope that I will face a worthy opponent. One molded by not only my teachings but the harshness of the world, the wickedness of the damned and the badass. You shall give me this awesome moment, and this shall be our arena!”

“Uhhh, not to burst your bubble, but what about citizens who might poke their heads out in the name of curiosity?”

“No worries there. You know how cowed the average Ponyvillean is. They’ll just huddle closer when the noise starts. Besides, given all this open space around your place, there’s plenty of room right here where we can rumble without worrying about collateral.”

“How very thoughtful.”

“Always looking out for my number one town.” She pounds her forehooves together. “We’ve talked enough: Time to get down to business!” Snagging her polearm, Pinkie springs high from the roof and lands in an earth-shaking crouch, defying her small light build. She rises on her hindlegs and twirls the polearm in a whirlwind of impending doom before stopping it atop her leveled forelimbs, pointed square at me. The air crackles with the outpour of her adrenal rush and fury. Roped into her madness yet again, her one-eyed glare makes it clear this instance can only end in life or death.

“This is it, kid! There will be no holding back. I’m pulling no stops! Only one will walk away. Only one’s way of life is the right one. Kill or be killed. Which of us is truer to that glorious creed? Cocked locked and ready to blow. The end of all things. Time to get Doevarek UP IN THIS BIIIIIIIIITCH!!!!!”

Her yell signals a series of wild yelling flips, cartwheels and somersaults that brings her towards me (rather slowly, but very loudly). I bring up my sword, but in the middle of one flip Pinkie suddenly plants the pointed end of her polearm into the dirt and catapults it and herself at me. The polearm gets tossed and I knock it away, and a second later I swing my sword to deflect the flurry of kicks and stomps brought on by the pink pony deathdealer. In an instant it’s over, with Pinkie soaring a ways away and landing on her hindlegs. Her head snaps back with a look that could eviscerate (mainly because of that massive, sharp manic smile).

“Don’t get tripped up yet. This fight’s only started!”

She extends her right hoof offscreen, and I chance a glance upward before finding myself dancing beneath a shower of spiked metal balls. I manage to get out from the spiky downpour right before a chained iron weight crashes down, an angry face painted on it. A yell from the side and I turn in time to see Pinkie flying at me with her body bent back. My sword goes up and catches her hooves when they spring forward, revealing the clawed gauntlets attached. She strikes down again and again whilst midair, getting me stuck in defense mode deflecting her attacks. She springs back from one deflection, flips, and looses her gauntlets at me like knife-lined discs.

I step back to let them pierce the ground at my feet. Barely time to straighten myself before I’m bending from a throwing knife. Looking ahead, I see Pinkie back atop her hindlegs, winding up and throwing out another knife like a baseball. I bend from that, then from an actual baseball, a fishbone, I cut through a potted plant, get blinded by an exploding flashbang, then get bopped by a cackling sprite and hit in the gut with a bowling ball. As I’m reeling back, Pinkie throws her whole body against my torso and brings me down onto my back. I’m left flat and defenseless on the ground, and with Pinkie’s hindlegs straddling my chest, she starts wailing on my face with her forehooves. I take a few punches before I kick myself up and throw her off. I scramble back onto my feet and readjust myself, battling the taste of lead in my mouth when,

“Garbage Day!”

That conniving bitch slams a garbage can onto me (filled to the brim, too). The world goes dark and I feel (what could be) an aerial buck knock me over onto ground with a metallic banging. Legs work to get myself back up as I’m battling blindness and offending odors, and somehow I miraculously get vertical. As I try to come up with a way to loosen my arms, the answer is given to me when there’s a sharp grinding as the upper half of the can flies off. The light of evening blinds me momentarily, but once it clears I find Pinkie hovering before me, face contorted with sheer delightful mania and holding a massive axe.

She spins as I backstep, then quickly slams the axe down, cleaving the remaining half of the trash can and making a small tear down the lower part of my shirt. Pinkie lands on the ground and readies for a devastating overhead swing, but I bring up my sword and stop it halfway through its descent. The two of us are stuck firmly in this stance, both sword and axe refusing to budge. The earth shakes and sparks fly to sounds that could amount to a cargo freighter tipping over, but drawing on some extra strength I push back the axe and strike the handle. The handle isn’t cut, but the impact is enough to knock it from Pinkie’s grasp and send it several yards away, where its head sticks into the dirt.

I take a fast breath before readying to strike again. A bad move on my part, for Pinkie has produced two of butterfly knives and has time enough to pull off a fancy dual opening trick (how though?) before bringing them together to catch my falling slice. I keep cutting away, but those three inch buggers keep making consecutive knockbacks, and all the while Pinkie looks like a hopping lunatic. Abruptly she throws down her knives by my feet, only to reach to her sides and throw another two right past my head. I hold off the swordplay from the sudden attack, falling to the distraction that allows Pinkie to flip back from me as she throws two more knives. These manage to cut the sides of my knees, and I grimace as Pinkie lands.

“This is what we live for!” With that exclamation she launches at me, this time armed with brass ankle rings and shoes. Clang clang clang our colliding metals ring out as Pinkie continues to rant. “Individuals like us can only thrive in constant battle. Dragons always strife and decimate to find their place in their world, but I just enjoy the hell out of it!” She boxes my ears which puts me into a daze.

Shaking my head back into focus, I see Pinkie has landed herself several yards away again, her back turned and twirling around an elongated wooden tube with a hilt.

“Though I’ve had carnal knowledge of the sweetest cakes in Equestria and tasted the finest hot sauces, nothing excites me more than when I draw my blade!” In a grand exaggerated sweep, she unsheathes the sword and tosses its covering in my direction. I sidestep it, allowing it to pierce the ground in a theatrical boom. Thoughts of a proper sword fight are swiftly dashed as I dodge another flying sword sheath, followed by another, and then several more. A storm of sheaths come blowing all around me, each one twirling with enough force to split a stone wall. Dodging the empty carry-ons, I can see Pinkie repeating her earlier motion of drawing out a sword, casting aside the sheath and tossing the sword onto a growing pile of blades before repeating. Nearly ten seconds go by before the barrage stops, and I’m left standing in a field of upstanding sheaths that gives the impression of a petrified rice field, or a warrior graveyard.

No time to contemplate what this arrangement signifies. Pinkie is staring at me, and she’s holding something gray and square in one hoof.

“Time to light up your life.” Her other hoof taps the square, causing a beep. Suddenly a mass unified beeping arises around me, and I spot the red lights atop the sheaths blinking rapidly. I dash forward right as they detonate. Everything gets fiery and smoky, but I run through before it overtakes me, bursting out of the cloud and right toward Pinkie. My sword arm extends, bends and strikes at her. She hops back but I follow up with a kick that catches her square on her hindlegs.

Pinkie flows with the momentum of the kick, soaring upwards and doing an aerial corkscrew before diving into the pile of swords. There’s a clattering of steel as she disappears, and then silence… until the sword pile erupts. Jettisoning above the scattering arms is Pinkie, legs spread eagle, three swords attached to each hoof like some horrific twelve-legged screaming sword spider. Her battle cry rings in the air along with mine at seeing this terrifying atrocity to blade-handling falling toward me.

Next thing I know I’m toe-to-toe against a creature more blade than pony, a living sword dance, with Pinkie as the eye of this ridiculous hurricane of sharpness. With each deflection by my own sword there’s thrice the clang and considerably more sparks, and they keep coming fast from above and below. I don’t bother keeping count of the strikes I manage to stave off, but eventually my arm gives out and one three-pronged arm swipes and cuts out three parallel lines over the front of my suit.

“I say that looks good on ya! Yahaha!”

The fact I’m fighting for my life combined with her choosing now to assault my attire causes a break in focus, but that’s quickly filled by a flash of frustration. Heat growing inside, I rear back and cough out a fire burst to burn through the nonsense that’s trying to disembowel me. Pinkie gets the picture and disengages, dropping her dozen swords in the process. The pink menace executes a long string of backflips all the way toward one of the street openings before pirouetting to a stop. She’s still got that deranged smile, though the tip of her poofy mane is burning green. She blows it out quickly and looks back to me.

“Hmhm. I’ll let you in on a little secret: along with the adrenaline and bloodlust, I’m also feeling a bit of pride.” She rears back into a two-legged stand, with one hoof on her side. “When we first began as master and pupil, you were small, weak, scared, and a massive crybaby. The thought of blood just made you want to curl up into a sissy little ball, but just look at you now. See how far you’ve come? Even as I go all out to kill you, you aren’t fazed in the slightest. The sort of guy who really can kill the likes of Luna and Celestia: a bonafide God Killer. It downright makes me sappy how you obliterated my early expectations for you!” Her hoof is brought up and squeezed in fist fashion. “To think I could turn you into such a magnificent badass, it makes my heart soar! You complain about all the shit I do, but look what’s it’s done for you! You’re finally stepping up for yourself, taking the world by the balls and telling it where to go! Nopony, not even gods can say otherwise! At long last, you’ve tasted true freedom!”

“I want nothing to do with any of this, Pinkie! For once will you just cut it out and leave me alone!”

“NEVER! You can’t have your way unless you cut down all those who oppose you, and I’m the last mean bitch standing between you and doing whatever the hell you want. If you want this to end, then you’re gonna make it end. Otherwise, I’ll end you!”

“You’ve always been insane, y’know? Even before you started training me.”

“Good to know, boyo! But this battle intermission’s gone on enough. We have to keep the rhythm going, and what better way than to make some heavy-ass rattle and BOOM!”

Her last word heralds the abrupt appearance of her powder blue party cannon popping up underneath her, letting off a thunderous blast in my direction. Instead of the colorful streamers and confetti one might expect from such a device, I’m faced with a hail of axes, knives, shuriken and Molotov cocktails. The noise of their respective impacts is cacophonic to say the least, adding more distress to my zipping and dodging maneuvers before I finally hit the ground flat. Once the shattering of Molotovs and whizzing of sharp objects cease, I get back up and stare down my ever-maniacal foe. She’s standing atop her cannon like a ship’s prow.

“Don’t go slacking off just because of my long-ass speech.” She steps forward, making the cannon tilt forward into the ground. “Here comes Pinkie Pie’s Calamity Carnivale!”

A powerful roar mixed with scorching earth fills the air as a pillar of flame erupts from the mouth of the downed cannon and blasts it away. At breakneck speed Pinkie turns it around on its little flower-decorated wheels and fires in my direction, legs held out as though surfing. She whisks right by me, but a second later I jump back as she zips past from the opposite direction. For her next run I try to get my sword to meet them head-on, but instead Pinkie pulls back on the cannon and launches upward, barrel-rolling overhead before landed clear across the yard. The cannon and its rider zoom past some distance away, only Pinkie tosses out a line of round bombs at me that I narrowly avoid before they explode. Pinkie comes by again at the same distance, tossing out bombs high into the air that detonate into showers of kunai.

Getting my suit torn up from that attack, I look to see the speeding cannon dropping a row of what looked like Poman candles, except they shoot off flaming mortars aimed right at me. Blasts go off everywhere as I flee the explosives, and still the madness continues. The cannon’s tilted back up and fires off several bundles into the air that parachute down a ways before turning into fast-falling drills. Next the cannon fires off more into the air, this time unleashing spears by the triple my way. The cannon tilts forward again, but it fires off the jet of flame to resume its wild run all over my yard. At this point I’m running around trying not to get run over by the damn thing, and at some point Pinkie has gotten off, gotten hold of a massive drum and is pounding out some heavy rhythm with two thick sticks (she’s even got a bandana on!). She eventually ditches the drum (in my direction no less) and gets back on her ride. While I navigate around the wayward instrument,

“How about this from your tender past: cross my heart hope to fly, stick a cupcake in your EYE!”

It happens so fast it may as well have been a blink. Which is mighty inconvenient since Pinkie, in passing on her cannon jet, has shoved a pink-frosted (what else?) cupcake into my left eye. Stinging pain coupled with moist crumbs blind me and leave me stumbling around trying to get my eye clean, which is an open invitation to getting side-winded by the cannon. It’s a rough landing and messy tumble, but it manages to remove most of the sting in my eye. Also wakes me up to the fact this absurdity has gone on for long enough.

I slam my palms into the dirt and spring back up into a stand, training my eyes on Pinkie and her cannon as they go around the perimeter of the yard. The moment they veer toward me, I spin deftly to the left, and spin back the other way a moment later. Thwarted twice, Pinkie comes back around with a trident lowered for maximum skewering. I spring high into the air and back flip as she passes under, and once she’s past I hit the ground flat with a split. From my lowered position I see Pinkie barreling towards me. A corner of my mouth creases up.

A flash of steel as I shoot me up into a rising vertical slash just when Pinkie and her cannon reach me. In obscene slow-motion the cannon splits clean down the middle during my rise and flies apart into several hot pieces. Pinkie is thrown from her dismantled mount, cartwheeling through the air before hitting the ground with her face. She plows through the earth for several yards, building up a thick wall of soil by the time she finally comes to a stop. A silent twitch, and right back up she springs, spitting out dirt and rubbing the grime off her face.

Looking at me, her eyepatch looking a little tattered, she doesn’t look so jovial. Guess that got her attention.

“That was my life partner you just mangled, you bastard.” She wipes her face out of anger. “Okay, I you’re done with kid games. You’re ready to play with the BIG fillies. Well you got it, buster!” Pinkie slams her forehooves together and hunches her shoulders tight. “Ain’t NOBODY destroys my Party Cannon and gets away with it! One Ultimate Attack coming right up, and there will be BLOOD! HAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!”

Through her yelling a yellow radiance inexplicably grows out of her and the loose soil around her crumbles and blows away. The light in her one eye flashes with intensifying drive, the burning will to inflict only the most legendary of overkills. I raise both my guard and sword for defense. Just about anything can happen at this point (she might even breath fire... nah, too simple). After what felt like minutes needlessly stretched into days, Pinkie unleashes her attack… by rocketing up into the sky with a resounding boom.

I maintain my stance a moment, then cautiously let up as confusion sets in. Nothing’s coming down (certainly nothing pink), and the total silence of the empty town has returned. I walk forward to where Pinkie was, looking up to see if I can find her. Empty skies. Might’ve disintegrated midflight; doesn’t really have the build to withstand that kind of launch. Then again, Pinkie Pie: physics (or sense of any kind) rarely apply to her.

This break in frantic action is making me nervous, but then my left ear picks up something distant… from behind. I turn and see nothing. The sound gets slightly louder, and my gaze turns up. I blink; sadly what I see is still there. Taking up a good portion of the distant sky is a large, flaming mass of wood, covered in masts, sails and the colors of the Royal Army, with Pinkie hollering and waving a hoof on its bow like a rider of the apocalypse. Where the hell did she get an airship?!

I freak a moment but refocus and split open my palm with my sword. Waste no time in coating up the blade, and two seconds and some fire later I bring down my sword to unleash a Jade Slicer directly at the incoming wreck. The hit is dead-on, separating the ship in two in a deafening crack. It’s not separating enough, though. As the halves come down with only a few yards between them, I run in the opposite direction. When the roar of impact reaches me I dive, only to get swept up in a hellish maelstrom of destruction.

Takes about a minute for everything to clear. Once it does, I get up from under the burnt planks covering me and look around. Piles of burning wreckage, possibly a few unsuspecting crewponies underneath (the maniac), my house having nothing near it (freakishly lucky). But no Pinkie Pie. I bring up my sword; definitely no way she’d die from a devastating airship crash. Perhaps if I get to higher ground: climb atop one of the piles, or get onto the roof of my house. Spot her when she pops up, get the jump on her. Beat this hilt into her head and at long last bash some sense into h—

“Mole-Ryuken!!”

I manage to see Pinkie dressed in some stupid mole outfit shoot up from the ground before my chin shoots up to where my snout had been. My body goes limp as I lose the grip on my sword, and I the ground hard on my back. That’s followed by a wet schling as my sword plants itself through my left palm. Before I have time to properly writhe in agony, Pinkie throws herself onto me and begins an enthusiastic tap dance on my chest, all while wearing that stupid costume and bending down over me with that mocking smile.

“Having lots of FUN lizard boy? I say are you having FUN you Cannon Wrecker!!”

Pain from my palm and the hooffalls on my ribs mount, but so does something else. It’s also the thing making the claws on my right palm flex, grit my teeth, and make my rawest glare. Pain gives way to red. Rage Red.

In one motion my free claw swipes up across Pinkie’s face. She quits the dance and reels back covering her eye cursing, and the sword is pulled free as I spring back onto my feet in an instant.

“Fucking BIIIIIIIIITCH!!!!!!!!!!” My screech matches that of my sword as it tears a shower of crimson from Pinkie’s torso, and before the first drop hits the ground I’ve dropped the sword and balled my palm into a roaring fist. Hits her square on the cheek and launches her clear across the yard and into the side of my friggin’ house, leaving a trail of blood like a pink macabre bottle rocket.

I take several loud breaths, then immediately pick up my sword and go charging, yelling like wrath incarnate with every intent to drive my weapon straight through her cursed heart. However, the moment I catch sight of the pink and brown limb sticking out weakly from the dust, my unstoppable charge stops. The red in my vision fades, and the screaming in my head mutes out. Somehow, despite everything, I managed to recompose myself.

Pinkie is lying in the crater that had been the wall of my house and part of my living room. She looks utterly battered: the costume is practically gone, her face scratched up and her eyepatch missing, though the eye it had covered remains shut. Apart from the hoof raised up, the other one is clutched against the large seeping red gouge in her chest and upper stomach. Her raised hoof drops after seeing me stopped.

“I guess it’s safe to say… there’s nothing more for me to teach you,” she says in a more raspy tone. “I’d give you a medal, but I’ve seem to have run out, along with all of my damns.” She laughs harshly, spilling blood onto the few parts of her that were still pink (or brown). Even with the obvious pain she keeps talking. “You know, I had a feeling you’d be the one to do me in. Ever since Twilight had me train you, I felt that… special link, where one of us would have to die by the other’s hoof, claw, whatever. Now that it’s happened, I can say it was totally worth the wait. Heh, though you could’ve done it faster. Guess all you needed was that one, extra push.”

That word: push. How much difference a small push can make. Especially when no one suspects it’s being done. Fulcrums to move the world. Very, very, very tiny ones. And Pinkie and I wound up being on the very edge of the scales. Us, and just about everybody else.

“So listen,” Pinkie speaks up. “You’re nobody’s Fetcher anymore. You do whatever the hell you want now, and ain’t nopony around who can stop you anymore. Though, I know you’re gonna go to Twilight right after this.”

I stiffen in surprise, and Pinkie gives another harsh laugh at seeing this.

“Yeah. I could tell from your eyes, the tone in your voice when you were telling me to stop. You got to report to your superior, have a final word or whatever. Give your two weeks notice, even. That’s understandable. With me gone, she’s the closest thing to a threat to you… plus, she’s known you longer than she’s known any of us.” She takes a deep breath and shudders, but makes a sharp grin. “I know what it’s really about though, Spike. For all your smart-assery, I know what you really think of her. How you feel about her.” A pause, then in a more serious tone, “When you have your face-off, and believe me there will be a face-off, will you defend yourself, or lie down and take it? I won’t be there to pick for you. Though, honestly, you better not do something disappointing like kill yourself, otherwise I’ll scour through all of hell to haunt your ass.”

Her head drops to her chest, but with some more breaths she raises it back up. At the same time, her leg begins to lift. “Thanks for letting me get that out. Real honorable, but that’s just a weakness begging for trouble.” Pinkie’s leg is now up to her head, and in her shaking hoof is a small gray cylinder with a red top.

“It’s been fun. Sayonara... asswipe.” A chubby digit pops out from the hoof and presses the cylinder’s top. Light appears behind Pinkie’s closed eyelid, and I quickly turn and run. There’s a flash of light followed by a huge explosion.

It takes a moment for the ringing in my ears to settle. When I’ve made certain nothing’s pierced me, I look back, and part of me weeps. There’s nothing remaining of my house but scattered wood, clothes, furniture and one standing wall. Leave it to Pinkie to go out with a bang. She’s always been the one for theatrics (albeit EXTREME theatrics). Suddenly I hear the sound of dragging leather, and looking over to my right I see the green scaly mass of Gummy coming toward me. Just great: I forgot to take vengeful pet into consideration. We’ve tangled and tussled before, but given how crazy this day has been, he might actually be more deadly than Pinkie was. He gets within a yard of me and opens his fleshy mouth.

“Hers was a soul whose brilliance shan’t ever be seen again.”

I could only stare, mouth agape, at the words of an elder sage having inexplicably come out of the maw of a full-grown alligator. My lower jaw struggles to work up a response.

“You can talk?” is all I can manage, to which Gummy nods.

“Indeed I can, though I very seldom do. I acknowledge such discourse has led to considerable miscommunication many times in the past. But that is no longer here nor there.” His purple gaze turns to the wreckage of my home. I feel like I should keep talking… but I don’t know if I want to (or can).

“Uhhh.” That’s a start. “Sooo... you’ve come by to—”

“Pay respects. There is an intimate connection shared between myself and her. Or I should say, was.” He looks to me. “Worry not for any retributions on my part. Things are the way they should be.” He looks back to the resting place of his former owner.

“Soooo... you’re okay with this?”

“Most definitely,” he says with certainty. “It is the way she would’ve wanted to go: doing what she enjoyed most. But it is still sad, regardless. She was a most kind and friendly caregiver. She gave me a chance at life that I would never have had had I been left in my natural habitat. A conviction and enjoyment of life so genuine it was inspiring.” He sighs. “It is uncertain what I will find in my travels, but so long as I honor her spirit and keep her memory alive in my heart, then I can face the world without fear.” He starts to walk off the way he came from, but stops. “Although, there was one thing I found objectionable in my time with her.”

“And what was that?”

“...I never liked the name ‘Gummy’. I always felt it insulting to my condition.” And without another word, he departs as slowly as he arrived. Well… that happened. Before I think further on that, I walk over to the ruins of my house.

Not one trace of Pinkie left (though I did find an ear from the mole costume). I dig around the debris and manage to find a mostly intact shirt. I tear a strip of cloth off and wrap it around my left palm. Not much bleeding, but I’m not feeling too machismo to just leave it as is (and gotta be presentable). Lucky for me the stab missed any major muscles or bones, though it’s beginning to feel stiff. True to her word, nobody has come over to investigate the rash of explosions that have been cropping up. Just perfect: I’ve had just about enough ponies for today (mortal ponies, anyway).

I stand back up and look back to the silent town. Way more fighting than I wanted. The battle had used up most of the coffee’s effect, but it’s nearly over. “Ain’t nopony can stop you now”, she said. At long last… I’m free to take care of this mess my way.

Not looking back at the remnants of my house, I start walking to the other end of town. No more delays this time.

Her Majesty awaits.

DESPERATE STRUGGLE
end

*I’m just a soul whose intentions are good.
 Oh lord, please don’t let me be misunderstood.