The End of Ponies

by shortskirtsandexplosions

Chapter Two: The Last Pony

        Several dozens of hours later, somewhere above the mountainous spires of the Northern Reaches, the Harmony came to a puttering hover in the midst of a great gray cloudbed, just one gray body in an endless sea of thousands more like it. The vessel's spinning rear propellers came to a stand-still, and the copper rudders flanking the bulbous rust-red body of the miniature zeppelin pivoted back, slowing the airship's velocity to nil.

        Inside the cockpit of the floating vessel's suspended gondola, the goggled pony finished locking her levers into place. She raised a hoof and hung it loosely from a chain-linked handle. Taking a deep breath, she gazed through the wide windshields of her vessel. Once again, there was nothing to behold but endless gray mist and ash. The mare raised an unamused eyebrow. This was the agreed-upon coordinates for their rendezvous; she expected at least a mere hint of her client's presence by this point.

        She sighed. The mare unharnessed herself from the cockpit seat and trotted across the gently swaying, lantern-lit cabin until she came upon a long wooden spout welded to an elaborate speaker system along the port side of the gondola. With one hoof, she grasped a handle and vigorously cranked it. The spout glowed deeply from within as two teslacoils on either side of the device sparked to life. With a deep breath, and the pony spoke into the spout, listening passively as her own voice was broadcasted in loud, crackling intensity beyond the hull of her hovering craft.

        “I know that you are out there somewhere, Gilliam! I went through the gauntlet to get what you ordered. Now show your smelly faces before I go and sell this to that baboon at the M.O.D.D.!”

        She prepared to wait an hour for a response. She only needed a few seconds. Out from the thick soup of mist there boomed a voice on immense speakers that severely dwarfed those of the Harmony.

        “No need to get testy, pony girrrrl. We have been expectingggg you.” This, of course, was followed by a tumultuous rumbling sound as the clouds parted ways to reveal the thick black bow of a gargantuan airship lurching forward and above the Harmony. The arrogant proximity of the giant black craft forced the pony's vessel to rock back and forth like a foal's tiny balloon in the breeze.

        The pony hissed and muttered foul things under her breath as she leaped back into her cockpit and grasped both hooves to a lever, glaring up through the dashboard windows as the massive cloud-ship elevated high above the local mountaintops. Groaning inwardly, she pulled a chain-linked handle, adding more fuel to the boiler at the rear of the cabin, so that the steam vents pumped heated gas into the zeppelin's balloon and raised the craft's altitude to match that of the battle-cruiser.

        Both aircraft pulled above the highest cloudbeds, so that the ceiling of overcast transformed into a milky sea. Above, the dull gray sky twinkled with distant, dying stars. There was no Moon in sight. In the dim everlasting twilight, the pony pilot could see Gilliam's sky vessel in all its glory. It was a long, narrow, iron-clad thing with six horizontal propellers continuously spinning and giving it lift. The stern of the ship was slightly thicker than the rest, built to house innumerable bits of cargo, both nefarious and really nefarious. The bow of the ship was a narrow stalk of a thing that flattened towards the front and acted as a runway, atop which several bipedal creatures were busily moving crates and equipment to make room for the Harmony's mooring.Several intimidating cannons lined the hull of the heavily riveted cloud-ship, and across its port side a series of sprayed letters glinted in the twilight, shamelessly boasting the vessel's name: “The Dog's Bollocks.”

        The mare lowered her tiny airship towards the bow with residual hesitance. The huge looming vessel resembled more an upside down legless crocodile than it did a cloudship, and yet this was the only place where she wanted—or needed—to be. Without the payment for this latest job, she wouldn't get the strips she needed to buy a flamestone. Without a flamestone, she'd have to go for yet another consecutive stormfront without being able to fire up the signal.

        And without the signal...

        “Park her in the same 'ol place, pony girrrrrrl. Make yourself at home.” The booming voice was punctuated by what sounded ever so briefly like a chuckling voice before it was cut short by the transmission's end. If the pony was amused, she made no attempt to show it. Touching down to the runway of the airship, she locked her vessel's claws in place, cooled the boiler, stocked up on a few necessities, and—last but not least—saddlebagged the glowing little jar that this entire exchange centered upon. With a strong breath, she made her armored way down the spiral staircase and stepped through the lower compartment's aperture.

        “Izzat—?”

        “Shhh! The girrrrrl might hearrrr you!”

        “But izzat—?”

        “Shhh! Of course she isss!”

        Two smelly, hunched-over shadows squatted behind a series of crates and watched with glued anticipation as the four-legged mare trotted out of the gaping exit of the Harmony's gondola.

        Three canine creatures greeted her with untraditional salutes and pointed towards the entranceway positioned halfway down the airship's bow. She proudly lifted her snout and marched slowly towards her destination. When her back was turned, one of the canines greedily rubbed his paws and made to peek inside the Harmony's storage compartment. Without looking, the pony voiced two blunt words. The aperture shut loudly, shielded with glowing runes. The sneaky dog fell flat on his stubby tail and shook an angry fist at the pony while his two companions snickered at him.

        The two hunched shadows shuffled to the other side of the crates and watched with panting breaths and wagging tails. “Look how she walksssss! So bizarrrrre!”

        “You dunce! That's how all ponies walk! Or at least how they usedddd to.”

        “Poniesss? What are 'poniesssss?'”

        “Grrrrrrghhh—Silly, ugly, selfissssssh creatures who hogged the Sun and the Moon when Equestria had color!”

        “Hah! Hahah! Silly mutt! The Moon is a myth! It neverrrrr existed!”

        “Baaah! Shows how much you know! The night usedddd to have a Moon! And there were living thingsssss in the sky as WELL as on the ground!”

        “On the ground? You lie! What happened to them all?”

        “They left when the poniesssss left Equestria.”

        “They all left?”

        “Mmmmm-Yes. All died. All exceptttt herrrrr.”

        “So izzat—?”

        “Yessss! Don't you see? She is the lastttt one. The last ponyyyyy.”

        “Ohhhhh.... Mmmmm—I bet her flankssss are scrumptious.”

        “Heheheh—I know, right? What I wouldn't give to have one bite—”

        “BAH! You two! Back to workkkkk or Gilliam give no bone!”

        “Yes, boss.”

“Y-yes, bosssss.”
        

        The metal doors to the runway closed with rusted thunder behind the pony. The mist and ash of the Equestrian sky dissipated, giving way to an odorous brown haze that permeated the stuffy air of the battleship's interior. Her goggles practically fogged from the stench as she gazed left and right. Corridors bled rustily into haphazardly-riveted hallways full of bickering and brawling canines. A few metal-helmeted guards leered and drooled at her. Others poked sticks at rabid brothers rattling inside iron cages. In mess halls, dozens of mangy bodies dug their maws into basins full of rum and laughed over crucibles of brimming incense.

        The pony's brow furrowed. Clumps of panting creatures gathered behind her, watching with mixed curiosity and stupidity as she trudged her armored self up a final flight of stairs and entered the command center, the ship's bridge, and the waiting presence of her client therein. A pair of guards parted ways to grant her access, but growled sideways at her passing form nonetheless.

        Once on the bridge, a wide panorama of glass windows and portholes bathed the black metal surfaces and instrument panels with an endless gray gleam. At four windows towards the front of the bridge there were swivel chairs fixed to giant harpoon guns that aimed straight out into the clouds. Standing around a broad table in the center of the bridge were several tall dogs, far bulkier and more intimidating than the grand pack of lackeys whom the pony had marched past on the lower decks. They all muttered and clamored over an ugly-but-practical map of the Equestrian Wasteland. Upon first sight of the pony's arrival, they parted ways to reveal one husky canine seated with his back to the mare-for-hire.

        “Hrmmm—Your swiftness is either a gift or a jokkkke. I do hope you have brought evidence to disprove the latterrrrrr, Harmony.”

        The pony rolled her eyes. “For the last time, Gilliam,” she muttered, “'Harmony' is the name of my ship. Not me.”

        “Then what does that make you—I wonderrrrr?” The figure swiveled around in his chair. He was a stubby, stout excuse for a canine. The upper right portion of his skull was substituted with a metal-riveted iron plate. His left eye housed a whirring aperture lens that pistoned slowly in and out, focusing on her lonesome figure. “A mercenary with no name? Perhaps you should just settle for 'pony.' That's easy for all of us to rememberrrrr, yes? Even you? Heheheh.” Gilliam's fellow cabinet of airdogs chuckled in cadence with him, at least until he silenced them with a vicious pounding of his paw against an armrest.

        The pony took a deep breath, her goggled gaze fixated on the captain of the canine airship. “Have you had your fill?”

        “Mmm... Of laughterrrr?” He raised a clawed finger. “Yes. But—er—Of magic red flame? No. That is why I am—eheheh—droolingggg in anticipation of what you have brought us, lone pilot of the Harmony, infamous rogue of the sky. Eheheheh.” He leaned forward, grinning ear to metal plate with ruby-studded teeth. “Did you gettttttt it? Did you get the phoenixxxxxx flame? Yes? Y-yes??”

        The pony stared apathetically at him. She reached a hoof back towards her saddlebag. There was a metallic ringing noise as every guard in the room took the sudden movement as an excuse to show off the lengths of their razor-sharp polearms in her general direction. She glanced at them with no less boredom, then produced a glowing glass jar from the depths of her leather pouch. A gold-and-crimson glow lit the room as the impossibly shrunk bird shimmered from deep within the tiny, rune-capped prison.

        A deep, howling chant filled the bridge from every canine's slobbering lips, most of all Gilliam's. “Oooooooh—So beautifulllll! And trust me, childdddd. That's a compliment coming from someone who—like you—knows that there are very few beautiful thingssssssss left in this world.” He scratched his scraggly chin as his one ear flickered curiously. “Funny. The burning bird is a lot smallerrrrrr than I had imagined.”

        “I have a Second Age Lunar Seal enchanting the container,” she explained matter-of-factly while gesturing towards the jar with professional nonchalance. “Laws of mass and energy can be bent when magic is at play.”

        “Something you poniessssss were all good at, once upon a time, no doubtttttt.” Gilliam hobbled up with the assistance of a diamond-studded cane, greedily eyeing the glowing item in the mare's grasp. “You really should be proud of yourself, girrrrrl,” he slurred as his eyepiece pistoned her reflection in and out. “In spite of everything that has happened, you are a shining—no—a radiantttttt example of true Equestrian grit. Only someone of your—eheheheh—calibre could be so capable of ensnaringgggg such a creature, and in the dead heart of your much beloved capital, no lessssss.”

        “I didn't come all this way to be paid in compliments, Gilliam!” she snapped, her brow creasing over an angry amber glint. “I expect strips. Lots and lots of silver strips.”

        “Please, little girrrrrrl,” he smiled, his ruby-studded teeth glistening. “Humor an old pooch—Yes? After all, you are a very precioussssss specimen. Why, it isn't just everyday that my fellow cohortsssss and I get to have dialogue with the only known pony in existence.”

        “The day I sit and have tea with Diamond Dogs is the day I know I've really sold my soul.” She casually juggled the glowing jar of Canterlotlian essence to emphasize her statement.

        Gilliam jolted noticeably, pointing with his cane. “Easy—Easy girrrrl!” He gave a brief frown. “And don't call us 'Diamond Dogs'! We are the 'Dirigible Dogs' now! We have been called that for longer than you care to rememberrrr, I will bet!”

        “But you've got friggin' diamonds in your teeth, for crying out loud.”

        “Well, er, yes, but—”

        “And seriously...'Dirigible?' You live in a giant metal suppository held in the air by propellers! That hardly qualifies as—”

        “E-NOUGH!” Gilliam whined, his one ear sagging as he waved his diamond cane overhead. “Yeesh—What would it take to gettttt you to show some respectttt?”

        “Strips.” The pony frowned. “Lots of them, given to me, as agreed to.”

        Gilliam exhaled through two snorting nostrils. He glanced at one of his closest advisers, and then nodded. After a return nod, the taller canine produced a leather sack from a belt satchel and tossed it the pony's way. She caught it, and with even less effort tossed her glowing jar straight at Gilliam. He gasped and dropped his cane in order to catch the imprisoned phoenix in two floundering paws. Panting slightly, he shook the slobber off his double chin and frowned the pony's way.

        “Always keeping things a centimeterrrr above unbearable, girrrrrl?”

        “You wouldn't keep hiring me if I didn't,” she retorted, counting the many silver bars inside the pouch.
        
        “Hmmmm—Or perhaps I just won't hire you from now on at all,” he said, picking his cane back up in one paw.

        “Keep trying to make me laugh, Gilliam,” she droned back. “I need more things to keep my journal entries interesting.” There was no response this time—only dead silence. She was so engrossed in counting the strips in her pouch, that she didn't notice until the last second that several sharp, glistening polearms were being raised towards the nape of her neck. She squinted through her goggles at them, then glared cooly Gilliam's way. “A double-cross, Gilliam? After all we've been through?”

        Flanked by his smirking peers, Gilliam grinned within the purple haze of the jar's runed cap. “Oh, no double-cross, pony girrrrrrrl. We agreed that I would hand you the money for your job—And I didddd!” He gestured with a slight chuckle. “I did not, howeverrrr, guarantee that you would leave with the money.”

        The guard dogs surrounded the pony on all sides now, ensnaring the mare in a forest of sharp blades. She gazed over them at her sudden ex-client. “Who was it? Harpy pirates?One of the ogre factions from the Valley of Jewels? The Golden Gang? It wasn't Gilda, was it?”

        “Mmm—Like you, I am also a dedicatedddd worker—and never give out the name of the wealthy mutt who paysssss me.” He inspected the glowing jar up close and shook the frothing red thing besides his one good ear, chuckling. “But, suffice to say—When I show up at their mountainside bunker with both the red flame and the last tender side of horsemeat on Earth—well—maybe I'll have twice the richesssss to make us worthy of being called 'Dirigible Dogs' after all.” He nodded his head towards the distant image of the Harmony hovering over the runway of the bow. “Along with other fringe benefitsssss. Eheheheh.”

        The pony glanced over her shoulder, then back towards the group of leering canines. “Of course, I only have one word to say to all this.”

        “And what would that be—?”

        Hooves taut against the metal bulkheads, the pony bent her legs and grunted forth: “W'lynmh!”

        “What in the heck is that supposed to—Wait.” Gilliam's eyes narrowed as he pointed with his cane. “Did you just spout out one of your—?”

        The bracelet of horns on the pony's right foreleg glittered, and a rune flickered responsively on the side of her armored leather. In a sudden hiss, four metal studs popped loose from her saddle and a thick green gas filled the room from the uncorked vents in her armor. As the surrounding guard dogs gasped and stumbled breathlessly away from her, she flicked her neck to the side—activating a trigger in her neckpiece. In a series of metal clanking noises, a mouthguard extended downward from her pilot's cap and covered her lips—filtering oxygen through a series of tubes attached to a bottle at the top of her leathered neck. With a blurring of hooves, she disappeared effortlessly into the rapidly expanding smoke.

        Hobbling back into his seat under a storm of hacking breaths, Gilliam shook his cane in one paw and the glowing bottle in the other. “St-Stop herrrr! Kill herrrrr! Skin herrrr! But most importantly—Get me my silver backkkk!”

        Several guard dogs and military advisers held their breaths and stormed bravely into the thick of the haze. Gilliam watched dizzily from his swiveling seat as a cacophony of metallic clanging sounds emanated from the chaotic emerald cloud bubbling before him. A few shrill cries of pain later, and three guard dogs fell before his pawed feet in a groaning heap. Another pair of snarling canines tackled themselves stupidly to the floor, mistaking each other for the rogue equine.

        “Curse you stupid mutts! She's the only one of us with hooves! Attackkkkk the one with hoovesssss!” Gilliam hyperventilated.

        “I see herrrrrr!” A guard dog charged up from the side and aimed his spear at a shimmering glint of light from deep within the cloud. A pair of goggles and a mouthguard hovered a few meters ahead of the nearest pack of clamoring dogs. “Have at you, rockinghorse!”

        Gilliam's eyes twitched. He realized what was happening and leaned forward on his cane. “No! Wait—!”

        The guard dog went charging in and slammed blindly at the goggles-and-mask with the full length of his polearm. A few resounding thuds ricocheted off a helpless skull, followed by a groan. Still hacking and wheezing from the smoke, a frustrated and perplexed Gilliam finally resorted to swiveling towards his “war table” and slamming his paw over a yellow switch. The many windows flanking the bridge pivoted open on command. Simultaneously, a series of metal fans descended from the ceiling and blew the excess smoke out, returning the room to its usual gray gleam. As the fumes dissipated, the victorious guard dog stood with his battered polearm waving over the thoroughly bruised figure of one of Gilliam's most trusted advisers. The pony's goggles and mouthpiece had been slapped over the misfortunate canine's head amidst the blinding confusion.

        “What in the—?”

        “If that's nottttt the pony, then where did she go?”

        “Lookkkk!”

        “Over there!”

        “Woof!”

        Gilliam spun and looked. At the far end of the bridge, towards the bow, the mare in question was in full gallop, abandoning a pile of freshly throttled and dizzy-eyed canines. Sneering, the metal-plated ship's captain grinded his studded teeth until a diamond popped loose. “NO.”

        The pony dove clear through the window, sending glass shards flying in cadence with the fluttering ash and snow of the great gray sky surrounding the Dirigible Dogs' cloud-ship. Skidding down a few lengthy bulkheads, she kicked to the side, performed a half-flip, and landed squarely on the flat runway of the ship's bow.

        In full gallop, she burned a straight path towards the spot where the Harmony was last moored. Her scarlet eyes were exposed, along with a slender neck with a completely shaved mane, all the way down to its stubble. Gripping the leather pouch of silver in her teeth, she glanced breathlessly from side to side as several metal hatches and trap doors lining the Dogs Bollocks' hull opened. Angry, frothing guard dogs poured out with spears raised overhead.

        “Stop her! Stab her! Guttttt herrrrrr!” Gilliam's voice crackled horrendously over the battle-cruiser's blasting speakers. “Do not let the pony gettttt away!”

        Barks lit the air. Foaming snouts howled against the wind. Spears flew. The brave mare dodged and skirted past them all. Two bladed weapons barely missed her, shredding at her brown coat. She galloped faster, eyes tearing into the cold winds of the high altitude as she spotted several mutts leaping out from behind piles of supply crates lining the flat runway. She ducked two diving bodies, leaped over another, kicked two more charging from the side, and jumped high to dodge yet another cluster of spears. Still airborne, she found herself sailing towards a ridiculously muscular guard who was dual-wielding a pair of axes.

        “I have you now, horse-meatttttt!” He grinned and raised both weapons.

        While plummeting, the frowning pony clapped her hooves together. With a metallic ring, all four of her horseshoes extended razor sharp cleats.

        The guard gasped and dropped his axes, flailing. “No-no-no-no-I didn't mean itttt—AAH!” He let loose a blood-curdling, yipping noise as she landed square on his chest with the full force of her agile body. Retracting the pointed cleats, she kicked off him and barreled down the last half of the runway.

        “Cast it off! Cast it off! Don't let herrrrrr get back to her shipppp!”

        Glancing up in mid-gallop, the pony's scarlet eyes twitched. She couldn't afford to gasp or else she'd drop the precious silver dangling from her mouth. Several meters ahead at the end of the runway, half a dozen work dogs had pried loose the mooring clamps of the Harmony. Now her zeppelin-and-home was drifting off into the great gray expanse ... without her.

        “Yes! Yessss—Hahahaha! Stupid girrrrrl! You are stuck with us now! Hahahah!”

        Spurred on, she galloped even faster. She skirted past three guard dogs, shoved another off his feet with a swinging snout, and side-bucked two more before zooming towards the very edge of the runway. Squinting, she shuddered to see the aimless body of the Harmony floating further and further away. Three meters' distance... four... seven... nine...

        Before her scarlet eyes could blink, her body jolted hard from a thrown spear grazing her closely—slicing at one of the straps that held her leather-armored saddle in place. Briefly stumbling, she bolted back into full gallop, chased by the roaring echo of over a hundred angry, blade-wielding canines hot on her hooves.

        “Nnnnngh—Confounddddd it! Stick her already! Gut her ---Wait, where in the heck does she think she's—?”

        The Harmony was at an impossible leaping distance, but the pony still rocketed towards it. The saddle sagged loosely from her flank, and with a few well-timed jumps she effortlessly flung it off her. Then, in an explosion of mighty brown feathers, she spread two wings majestically to her sides and caught a gust of wind. Kicking off the last sloping length of the bow, she leaped gracefully into the air and coasted like a shimmering kite through the naked gray sky and towards the entrance of the Harmony. With two words shouted, she opened the aperture as it swallowed her hurdling body safely inside.

        “She's a pegasus...”

        Inside the Dog's Bollocks' bridge, Gilliam's voice sneered. His snarl turned into a growl and he slammed his fist into the nearest metal bulkhead he could find.

        “The lasttttttt pony on the face of the earth and it's a god-forsaken Pegasusssss! Rrrrrrrrgh! Somedog! Anydog—Arm the harpoons! Shoot that miserable, silver-swipinggggg piece of filth out of my skies!”

        A guard dog coughed and wheezed as the last of the green smog dissipated from the lengths of the bridge. “Y-yes, sir! Rightttt away, sir!” He hobbled up to a harpoon gun and pivoted until he had the distant copper-red image of the Harmony in his sights. “A bit hard to see through all this—KAFF! KAFF!—smoke though—”

        “I don't want excuses! Now skewer her with a harpoon or I will make a collar out of your tail!”

        “Aye sir! Consider her glue!” The harpoon's barbed tip glistened in the twilight while every other dog ran to his post under the warbling chaos of battle-station alarms.

        Scrambling up to her cockpit seat, the pony yanked at several levers at once. Not even bothering with the seat harness, she raised her muzzle and pulled two chain-linked handles, one after another. The boiler towards the rear of the cabin surged hotly as a rush of gas filtered through the pipes and into the zeppelin balloon over her shaved mane.

        The entire gondola shook. Even through the metal bulkheads and reinforced hull of the tiny Harmony, she could hear the alarms from the nearby airship. Glancing out the cockpit windshields, she spotted the huge, hulking bow of the Dog's Bollocks pivoting to face her, its six looming propellers kicking the air into a heated frenzy.

        It was only a matter of seconds before any one of the ship's innumerable guns fired a single zeppelin-dooming projectile straight at her vessel. She could very easily outrun the mutts' battleship, but not any of their merciless harpoons.

        So it was with a breath of finality that the glaring pony lowered her brown face towards the bracelet of horns on her right limb and muttered into their mystical haze:

        “Y'hnyrr.”

        Back on the dogs' bridge...

        “Have you got a fix on her yet?” Gilliam growled.

        “Aye sir! I justttttt need to measure for wind resistance—”

        “Less mumbo jumbo and morrrrrre blood!” the diamond-studded leader snarled, waving the glowing red jar in his paw. “Bounty be cursedddd! I want to smear the skiesssss with the the last pony's unholy juicessss—” No sooner was this uttered, but the flickering rune on the cap of the bottle suddenly died, its glow fading in a blink.

        The tall cabinet of military advisers glanced at their leader. The guard dogs shifted nervously, whining. Suddenly, the jar vibrated as the red flame inside—no longer magically contained—began to buckle and expand.

        “Hmmmm.” Gilliam blinked closely at it. He exhaled. “Oh. Well ain't thattttt cute—?”

        His voice was cut short by a huge flaming explosion erupting point blank in his studded face. Several howling voices barked but were just as quickly snuffed out as giant wings of lava-hot plasma expanded throughout the entire space of the bridge and melted the rivets off the black bulkheads and everything else in between.

        From her cockpit seat in the Harmony, the mare watched as a great, winged beast of insufferable flame burst outward from the top half of the cloud-ship. The Dogs Bollocks lurched severely, then veered hard to its starboard side as three of its six propellers failed. A series of heavy explosions ripped through the belly of the great black vessel in muffled chain reactions. The hulking thing slanted northward towards an inevitable wall of granite mountains beyond the blinding mist that enveloped the plummeting carnage and all of its howling occupants within.

        Soon, she was once more awash in the gentle, puttering rhythm of her steam-powered cabin interior. Weathering a deep breath, the brown mare juggled the pouch of silver in her hoof. She gazed at it closely for a few emotionless seconds before tossing it expertly into a dangling hammock two meters behind her.

        “Hmmph... Should have just named yourselves 'Dead Dogs.'”

        That muttered, she pulled a handle down and shoved two levers forward, kicking the zeppelin into an accelerated gear, coasting her gently southward into the yawning void of the gray Equestrian Wastes.