//------------------------------//
// Chapter 9 
// Story: Apple of Twi's Eye 
// by Willow Arqueiro 
//------------------------------//




Chapter 9
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"Oi! Stay awa' frea me!", this, accompanied by short choppy barks and the thud of something large falling over, resonated from the smithery.
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"Sonuvafuck! Doon dumb dug!" Big Macintosh hefted the wood chopping axe before poking his snout inside.
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The big brown Scotstallion was practically prancing about his work area, mainly circling the big pile of embers in the middle that was his smithery oven. As a Timberwolf of the smaller variant chased after him. Both lumbering four legged creatures knocked over projects off the shelves to further clutter the path. The blacksmith was taking no offensive measures whatsoever, keeping his (or at least trying to) distance away from the gnashing jaw and slicing claws.
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Big Macintosh stood there in the doorway, mouth agape and axe on the floor as he watched in shock, the stallion bigger than him run away from the smallish Timberwolf.
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The red farm stallion watched for a moment before shaking his head and yelling out, "Just hit the damn dog!" He raised a hoof as he prepared to march in and take over from Celtic Slew, before his next comment made him stop walking in general.
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"Can't! No innocents have been harmed at all!" Celtic threw this over his shoulder at Macintosh.
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Macintosh cocked his head to the side in confusion, "So? Shouldn't be stopping ya from hittin' it."
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The black smith flashed him a sheepish looking smile, "Curse, vow, dumb promise, call it what ya will. But be reminded I'm only pacifist for a limit."
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Suddenly, he stopped running and came to a full stop, letting the wolf slam into him. Celtic's ears  pricked at attention and angled out the window, picking up a wounded cry from somepony.
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The Timberwolf, still stumbling from running into the rock hard Earth Pony, was picked up by it's throat and then was locked in the eyesight of a now great angry Scotstallion.
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"Somepony's been hurt, all bets are off now," said the blacksmith with a malicious grin. Fore hoof kept outstretched, holding the Timberwolf aloft, Celtic turned and slammed the Wolf's face into the glowing hot embers of the forge. The wolf howled in agony as the wood that made up it's face charred and burned.
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Smoke curled above the howling beast as the scent of burning pine wafted through the air.
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After what felt like an eternity to the Wolf, Celtic picked it back up and threw it bodily into his spare arms locker. The brown heavily built pony shrugged his shoulders after the debacle while the farm pony was appalled at that he just witnessed.
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Celtic turned to face Big Macintosh, "What? Even Pacifistic Highlanders have their limits, mine just happens to be innocents."
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The black smith reached under a counter and retracted a spade headed shovel, walking out the front door, "Come on laddie, bitches await."
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Working quickly as the sound of baying Timberwolves and the roaring of the Ursa Minor acting as great incentive, Celtic slammed the spade repeatedly into the ground with his hooves and mouth. Voraciously digging down a foot before striking something solid.
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Slew reached in and grasped a wooden box with his mouth, yanking it out, "Oh yea, baby. Ah'm back."
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He opened the wooden chest revealing many things but he only pulled out four things. A bundle of cloth that looked as if plates of metal was sewn into it, a black watch saddle bag, and two octagonal hammers set on short handles. Short being a foot and a half. The hammer heads themselves were over a foot long in length and the 'diameter' of the octagonal faces of the prism hammer was roughly six to eight inches.
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The Scotstallion unraveled the cloth and adeptly wrapped it around his waist and hind legs, revealing it to indeed be an armored kilt. He cinched the belt on and then threw the saddle bags over his barrel of a body and tightened it as objects inside it clattered around. Celtic looked at Big Macintosh, then the axe held loosely in his mouth, and then back to Macintosh.
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"Ah am not going in town while you have a weapon as unclassy as that, wait one," the big brown pony trotted back into the shop and soon trotted back out, hoping a generic double bladed battle axe swinging loosely in his mouth.
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"Here, now we can kill bitches," he said as he tossed it to Macintosh.
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The red stallion finally his voice, "Just like that? Ah walk in, and not a moment later you're set and ready to kill things."
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Now the big brown Scotstallion was confused, "What d'you mean laddie? Hot mares are in danger, and you know what hot mares like more than being saved by a sexy, albeit sweaty, Scotstallion swinging great lumps of metal around?" He hefted his dual hammers. "Really though, I have no idea what they like more than that, if you know, do share," With that, Celtic Slew began to wander off.
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"Hold on, there's a violent horde of Timberwoles, a freaking Ursa Minor and you're gonna march in there because of hot mares?" Macintosh grabbed Celtic's saddle bag to slow him down.
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Celtic Slew huffed, "Nope, that was just a joke. Ah'm a Highlander, Ah gotta save bitches."
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He said this with such serious conviction that both stallions burst out laughing after a short period of tense eye contact, "Sheesh Mac, of course it's for the hot mares!"
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"Now hold on, there IS a small army of them! What makes you so confident about just marching in!" exclaimed Big Macintosh.
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"Looooong damn back story, and we ain't got time.
All you need to know is that Ah'm a badass
Ah've trained badasses.
And that Ah was so badass Ah had to leave my home land for fear of my loved ones as nopony could touch me but could harm them."
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He turned away from the farm pony and glared at a random point in the air, saying to nothing in particular, "And Ah'm not OP, go bug the writer for the rest of the story."
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Acting as though nothing strange had just happened, he turned back to Macintosh who had an inquisitive look on his face. "Just a trick Ah learned by watching Pinkie, don't think to hard about it or you'll get a headache," said Celtic as he began to trot off.
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The red stallion shook his head and began to trot after him. "Game plan?" mumbled Macintosh around the axe handle.
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"Ah dunno, Ah'm just wingin' it, bitches like that," with that, Celtic Slew loped off towards Ponyville.
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()()()()()()
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Both stallions arrived in the center of Ponyville after their brisk trot. The red stallion had insisted to charge immediately for Twilight Sparkle's treehouse but the Scotstallion said this was more tactically savvy. Amid all the chaos and confusion however, both armed stallions went by unnoticed. Ponies ran pill mill and so did the Timberwolves. A few fires seemed to have started in various parts of the village for smoke started to spread around. Ponies yelled and screamed while Wolves growled and howled, adding together to create a cacophony of noise with the loud roar of the Ursa Minor as the bass back up.
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They exchanged worried glances as the Ursa Minor continue to rampage around, and the Timberwolves studiously ignored them to run amuck and terrorize ponies.
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"Don't hate me," was all the warning Big Macintosh got before Celtic Slew unfolded a large plaid thing out of his right saddle bag. He snapped some pipes from his left bag before holding the sagging lump of pipes and cloth up and placing a thin reed between his lips.
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The noise that spewed forth from the strange lump frankly hurt the red stud's ears. It started relatively high before dropping down an octave or so and bouncing around between notes very rapidly before stabilizing out into a swift heroic sounding tune.
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The strange noise made Big Macintosh want to do two things. Either to destroy the infuriating noise, or, the more liable of the two, to destroy every evil being currently in this village with extreme prejudice. Macintosh was pumped.
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Unfortunately, all movement around them stopped. The Timberwolves had highly tuned ears that now almost bled from the horrendous noise. A herd's worth of eyes narrowed into glares, teeth were bared and low growls emitted from the horde surrounding the two stallions.
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Macintosh was twitchy, he kept moving. Understandable as he was surrounded by Timberwolves who are all pissed at the stallion next to him. Thanks to the level of adrenaline being pumped through him, he almost launched himself into low orbit when Celtic quietly whispered in his ear, "Granted, not mah best plan..."
"But at least we got their attention."
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The farm stallion steadied himself, "What now?"
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"Hmm, you know, it's kinda a good thing we're surrounded," the Scotstallion said this as if he was a third party looking in on this from above, not as if he was about to have his throat ripped out.
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Macintosh whipped his axe near a Timberwolf that tried to edge closer and it slunk off with a growl, "And what good is that?"
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Smiling with a cheeky grin, "We're surrounded, that simplifies things!"
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"How can you be so damn cheerful! We're surrounded by more than a score of bloodthirsty wolves!"
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"Yeah, those poor bastards," Celtic Slew reached to his waist and tightened his belt. With absolutely no warning or sign, the brown power house was leaping full up into the air and pouncing for the Timberwolf closet to him with the blood curdling war cry tearing from his throat.
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"FAUGH A BALLAGH"
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Ah hail was all Big Macintosh thought before he launched himself at the mass of Timberwolves with the raging Scotstallion.
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Celtic held his dual hammers somehow in his hooves, and as he came down, his right hammer struck with all his muscular strength and the momentum of the jump, right on a Timberwolf. A direct hit where the base of the neck met the torso. Shattering the entire wolf on the spot.
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Right hammer slammed into the ground, grinding bits of wood beneath it, another Timberwolf jumped at him. His right hammer still connected to the ground, he swung a vicious back hand swing with his left, catching its jaw and blowing its head apart into small bits.
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He paused and locked his stance, now separated from Big Macintosh and muttered to himself, "Surrounded by assholes, all alone...
Oh yea, Ah'm back. If only Steel Head and Shadowflash were here." He then launched himself back into the fray.
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Macintosh at first tried to keep up with Celtic Slew, but a sea of Timberwolves quickly swallowed the space between the veteran and the greener than grass farm pony.
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Acting solely on instinct, he barreled into one before slamming the heavy axe into its crown and through the head, into the soft ground underneath.
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Low growls behind him made him jump around, he bucked in midair with his hind legs. Pain spiked up his legs and the Timberwolf attempting to pounce on him was nailed in the chest. The wood shattered and Macintosh's legs shot through into the Wolf's body cavity, getting stuck.
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With his legs stuck in the body, the Farmpony decided to try and emulate Celtic, he spat the hammer into his hooves.
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Huh, I didn't drop it, that's weird..., sure enough, the Axe was being easily held on his right hoof, as though it was magnetic.
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His eyes caught a flash out of the corner of his eye as another Timberwolf made a move, he almost acted without thinking when the axe spoke.
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Yes, the axe spoke.
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Kick and thrash legs, roll under leaping Wolf's trajectory and violent uppercut, sounding relatively reasonable, so not hesitating, Big Macintosh scissored his legs apart, cracking and destroyingr the body entrapping his legs.
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He leapt into a roll as the Timberwolf pounced, it sailed over him.
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Cutting his role short, he sprang to his feet swinging the axe from the ground up with all his might. Slamming it into its chest.
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The Timberwolf simply collapsed all around him in pieces.
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Macintosh stood and regarded the axe with a confused expression, wondering what the actual hail was going on.
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Backwards roll, suddenly sounded in his head.
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Not hesitating again, Macintosh rolled backwards in time to see a Wolf leap through the air he was occupying earlier.
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Now the red monolith was startled, making the mistake of taking his mind off the fight and looking at the strange axe.
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From across the square came the distance Scottish accent, "Just trust the axe!"
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Big Macintosh looked up in confusion, Snap axe up to block.
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Once again acting before thinking, he snapped it up and presented the face of the axe with himself to provide the most cover area to block.
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Wooden claws raked over the steel in a ear splitting screech, startling him.
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Backswing, now, Macintosh twirled around, Axe swinging in a blurry haymaker. The sharp axe blade cleanly decapitated the rearing Timberwolf behind him.
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The axe talks, thought Macintosh, Alrighty then.
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Spotting a Timberwolf, the red stallion didn't wait for the axe to tell him what to do, he charged it. Barreling towards it, Macintosh went tunnel vision and locked onto it with an intense gaze, almost willing it to explode before he got to it.
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Simple Diversion ya dumb nut, swing right.
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The farm pony stumbled slightly as the axe's orders conflicted, his hooves caught traction again and he took off.
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To the right!
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This time, the orders rang more clearly in Macintosh's head and he tried to slow down and swing his massive frame to the right.
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Too late, don't say I didn't warn you.
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The charging Timberwolf slammed into Macintosh's side, raking its claws threw his skin and slicing down his side, creating three long slashes.
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Pain acted as a great incentive for action, more adrenaline flooded his system and blocked the majority of the pain. Warmth spread from the wound and down his side to seep down to his stomach.
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The new source of adrenaline also found his vocal cords, "AAARRRRGGGGGHH!"
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Macintosh snapped his around and used the momentum from the spin to slam the axe blade deep into the Timberwolf's chest. The axe blade buried itself deep in the chest, to the point that the entire head was inside the Wolf.
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Macintosh gave it a vicious twist and rotated the axe ninety degrees, before yanking it out to cause a gaping hole to form in the Wolf's chest.
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The Wolf stood there stunned, clawing weakly at the huge hole, before collapsing into a pile of tinder.
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Macintosh lowered into a crouch,l and darted his eyes around. Seeing nothing, he spun around to check the other side of the clearing, hot liquid ran down his side and flung off of him as he snapped about.
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The clearing was empty except for two things.
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A Timberwolf trying desperately to flee from an enraged Scotstalling.
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And an enraged Scotstallion hurtling his right hammer like a Tomahawk.
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The heavy, flying, chunk of metal slammed into the Wolf's skull with a tremendous *CRACK* splitting it and knocking it clean off.
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The rest of the Wolf's body continued running before crashing into a building's wall and turning into a heap of kindling.
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Despite himself, and the serious situation, the Farmpony let out a short snort of laughter.
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The Scotstallion seemed to calm back down from his rage and went to retrieve the thrown hammer, he then sighed in exasperation.
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Trotting over, "So talking axes?"
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Exasperation fading, Celtc smiled, "Yeah, Ah make 'em and an ol' buddy of mine enchants them for the newbies being thrown straight into combat."
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"Remind me to not piss off you or any other Highlanders."
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"Trust me, you won't need a reminder for that."
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Celtic looked around the clearing before narrowing his eyes in anger. "Sonuvafock," he threw that with a short bark of annoyance.
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Macintosh looked at him in confusion, "What's the problem?"
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The big brown blacksmith smiled thinly at the smaller stallion, "First off, save for that pile of new kindling, we're alone in this square now."
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"No we're not, there's all the Timberwolves around here..." Macintosh trailed off as he looked around. Celtic was right, all the wolves had reformed and fled. Save a few small piles that seemed to have been hit too hard to reconstruct, "Luna damnit."
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"Exactly mah sentiments, should have spread this stuff as Ah fought. Ah probably could of but mayhap wouldn't come out completely unscathed," Celtic Slew withdrew a small canister from his saddle bags.
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Trotting over to the pile of fresh wood, hammers swinging from straps attached to the bases of the handles and looped up to Celtic's elbows(?). Gently squeezing the canister with his teeth, it let out a dark and viscous fluid, covering the Wolf.
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"Uh, Celtic? What is that?" nervously asked the Farmpony.
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Not answering him directly, "Ah, Ah love the smell of Napalm," he pulled a match out side of his bags and struck it across his hammer. Before flicking it at the pile of Wolf.
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"That oughta kill it, no reforming for that bastorwd," Celtic Slew smiled maliciously into the rising flames, "Now, to find the others."
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He walked off, while Big Macintosh stared dumbly at the flames, "B-b-but, that was a living creature!"
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Not stopping, Celtic shrugged, "Not anymore!" he said in a cheerful voice.
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"You killed it!" Macintosh yelled accusingly as he turned away from the flames and trotted to catch up to the deadly Scotstallion.
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"Yeah, and now we got one less to worry about," he didn't even glance over at Macintosh as the red stallion caught up to him.
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The Farmpony tried to stop Celtic with a hoof on his shoulder, "That's just wrong, it was a innocent Timberwolf!"
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"HA! Innocent," now Celtic stopped and locked eyes with Macintosh, "If ya had given it a chance, it would have ripped out your throat with nary a second thought." He began to walk off again.
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Macintosh held his ground, "That's what makes us different from animals. We care."
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The Scotstallion spun around, now with anger in his eyes, "Well too Lunadamned bad! It's kill or be killed, or kill or they kill others. No more of this peaceful bovine excrement."
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"Just do it, Ah nary care about their little feelings. A dead enemy is better than a your self conscience staying clean! Kill an enemy when you get the chance, or pay the price for 'innocence'." He sneered the last word out.
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"But it--"
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"No buts, welcome to the way of the Warrior. It sucks, but if we do it, others are spared the suffering of it," Celtic seemed to soften a tad, "You've already been whacking away at them with an axe, Mac. With the intent to kill."
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Macintosh almost wanted to throw the 'evil' axe away in disgust, but something stopped him, "Fine, let's go get the rest of those sorry sons of female doggies."
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"There we go! Not exactly mah choice of words but that's the idea!" Celtic clapped him on the shoulder and began trotting off again.
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Shaking his head to clear it, Macintosh quickly followed him.
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Following the conspicuous track of clawed feet away  from the square, the battle duo reached the mark where the mass of paw prints separated into two tracks. Ponies sprinted past them, some carrying items or foals, all sprinting somewhere, anywhere, who knows where. A pony almost collided with Celtic, who looked after it as she bounded away. His face read, Really mare? Working stallions here. Or at least that was the expression on his face. He looked back at the path, now two separate paths.
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"Well jobby, well, one set goes towards close to Town Hall and the other goes..." Celtic trailed off as he looked up from the path.
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Which led straight to the library on the edge of town.
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Glancing at Macintosh, "Ah know which path we're taking then."
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A sharp scream of a mare air cut through the rest of the chaotic noise of ponies clambering about.
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From the direction the other path led to.
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"Um, uh, oh, hmm, huh. Shit," the Scotstallion looked at Macintosh, "Sorry, just ran through a half dozen plans and there's only one logically for maximum effectiveness.
We gotta split."
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"Ah got this set," said the red stallion as he pointed on the direction of the Library.
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Celtic smiled at the stallion, "Of course you do, Ah got dibs on that Ursa though, Ah could use a nice fur blanket or rug. Now, may you see the sunrise. Or die trying."
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With those cheery words, Celitc galloped off away from Macintosh, who spun the axe in a quick, readying, circle before taking off towards the library.
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