//------------------------------// // 8 // Story: The Ballad of Dusk and Dawn // by Shatterpath //------------------------------// Chapter 8 I am exhausted. This is nothing new, but today has been particularly rough. That spindly, insect-like creature had been a tough one, quick and lithe with a piercing shriek that still has my ears ringing. Killing it had been a relief. The faceless guards are the same as always, silent automatons that do little more than herd us from one point to the next. Even killing a half dozen of them had garnered no more reaction than jabs from the pain sticks to get me to comply. That is what we must all do. Comply. For the entertainment of the endlessly hungry crowd, we take to the ring and fight until only one of us lives. I've become a favorite of the screaming, salivating masses because of my very differentness. There are few quadrupeds here, fewer that understand the sorcery that is the subtle heartbeat of this otherworldly place and none that bear my royal color. Some of the fans in the stands have even taken to wearing replicas of my proud horn, its single jutting length another testament to my uniqueness. They call me Starflash. It's not my name, some deep, confused part of me knows this, but it's as good a nomer as any. It describes the strange stamp on my flanks, the incongruously pink starburst like a firework against my purple fur. Though not so odd considering the stripe of that same pink in both mane and tail, highlighted by a deep blue in contrast to the purple. No, I don't know what I am, but I am very different even in a collection of the unusual. "Nice job, mule," mocks the burly male that is my trainer where he is suddenly leaning negligently against the bars of my cell. "Made quick work of that one." My glare is halfhearted as I've grown used to his quirks over time. As much as I may hate him, this place and the madness that makes up my life now, his teachings have kept me alive. Long gone is that fearful, confused creature that I was when I came to this place with no memory of what came before. He's seen it all before, though I seem to hold a particular fascination for him. The freshly slaughtered smell of my neighbor's dinner makes me a bit ill. No surprise as I am quite obviously an herbivore. Many an opponent, derived from predator stock, has underestimated me because of that. That is the last thing they ever do. With one ear cocked at my trainer should he speak again, I nose into the lukewarm mash of my own dinner, pleased at the crunchy, hard vegetables there. It gives me something to work at, despite my weariness, something to burn off some of my anger and frustration at what has become of me. What was I before this? Memories crowd close every moment, a heat mirage of an existence that was once mine. The sorceries of this place that I feel so acutely keep me separated from my memories like a frosted window keeps out weather. No matter how I strain for that knowledge, only vague images come to me. Grunting with the effort, I use my magics to loosen the intricate straps and buckles that hold my armor close to my hide. Barely thinking about what I'm doing, the golden plate and helmet are levitated to the rack by the door for one of the apprentices to deal with. I was one of the best at the task when new here, the endless repetitive task soothing my nerves and prepping me for what is my sole purpose now. "You aren't like the ones that came before." It is another trainer, obvious by the golden cord tied around his bicep. Licking away the crumbs of my dinner, I raise my head and watch him warily. I can never be certain what sort of personality I'm dealing with. This biped is striking, with a head full of bristling horns, a long face not unlike my own and jet black eyes like polished river stones. "Sir?" "When I heard the whisperings, I had to come see. You are indeed as striking as the rumors say." My itching need to question is tempered by lessons hard won in this hellish place. While I understand that I am a curious creature by nature, it is an indulgence rarely allowed. The bull-headed man stands with arms crossed over his burly chest for long moments before turning his attention to my trainer. To my surprise, they begin conversing in the language they use among themselves and is a mystery to those of us in gladiatorial slavery. Even more surprising is the ring of crystal tags the newcomer pulls from his belt. Is he trying to buy me? Others have tried, but the smelly behemoth that is in charge of me has laughed at all of them. Until now. Something on the ring of a mere double hooffull of slave tags quiets the mocking laughter. He's actually considering it! In fact, astonishingly, he is taking the three glassy tags offered, reaching to his own ring to reluctantly remove a tag from the metal. My tag. Astonished, I can only eye this newcomer as he steps into my cell, the door opening effortlessly at the magical prodding of my slave tag. Stooped under the too-low ceiling, he eyes me for a long moment before speaking. "I know your kind and you are like nothing that has ever come here before. Not the least is that you are a female." Females are rare here, I've noticed that, and nod warily in acknowledgment of the words. With something that might be a faint smile, he speaks again. "You may call me Ahmet. Come now." Some perverse part of me wants to dig my hooves in and stay in this hellish, but familiar place. Change doesn't bode well to my battered body and soul. But I know as well as any fighter in this place that too much distance between me and the magical tag will result in agonizing pain. At best. We all know the whispered stories of the violent, messy deaths of those who try to escape. With a thick arm, Ahmet gathers up my dirty armor where the gold metal looks like little more than a bracer and the helmet, a child's toy. With a glance around the small cell that has been my home since becoming a gladiator, I reluctantly follow. "In all the time your kind has come to pay tribute to the games, they have all been males and identical in shape and color. So much so, that I was astonished to find that there are those among you that bear neither horn nor wing." "Wing?" Startled, I blurt the word out, reassured by that half-smile. "Indeed. They are called pegasus. You are a unicorn. The two without I have taken to calling elementals because of their personalities and the marks on their flanks. Yes, each of you bears them." More and more people crowd closer and my alarm grows. There is little random foot traffic near my quarters, well, my old quarters now, and all of these people are unnerving. "Come, Starflash." I have to obey, wanting nothing to do with the pain that will award disobedience. Thankfully, we pass through the pressing throng into more slave quarters, though these are on a much larger scale than where I have just come from. Dust flies from opened cells, accompanied by the sounds of industrious cleaning. This aisle is clearly in far better shape than I've been accustomed to. That's something. While I live, my existence may be slightly better now. A negligent gesture has me following Ahmet into a workshop where he prods at my armor, murmuring to himself. Still tired and with only half my dinner in me, I park my rear on the hard packed earth and wait patiently. "You are not marked with a collar as the others are." Yes, damn him, I'm curious, but hold my own council, only my cocked head betraying my need to know. "I have seen you fight and you are as different from them as night to day, despite the commonality of the dimension you hail from. There is magic in you that you have not yet tapped into." My former trainer is not a talker and this casual conversation is disorienting. "It has kept me alive." That odd smile says more than I can understand. "Indeed. Come meet the others." Following Ahmet, we round a corner and I cannot help but freeze in shock. They are indeed shaped like me, oh a bit different in shape and size, but the kinship is unmistakable. The closest one is vivid pink, brighter than raw, torn flesh, the cheerfulness of the shade incongruous in this place. Her mane and tail have been shorn brutally short and her coat is dusty as though she's rolled in the dirt. Around her neck is an intricate gold collar set with a brilliant blue stone shaped like perhaps some sort of exotic fruit? "Filthy again, Crazy-Eyes?" Ahmet sighs with something like exasperated fondness in the deep voice. "Really, you cannot stay clean, can you?" The pink quadruped makes a rude noise and butts her head against the bars as though seeking affection. Ahmet does not respond to the silent plea, nor can I blame him. There is something feral and completely insane lurking in the glassy blue eyes. This is a warrior who an opponent would have to hack to pieces simply because she isn't sane enough to know she is dead. Next door to Crazy-Eyes is a bony pile of fur that barely looks to be alive. She too is strangely cheery colors, a close-cropped ridge of pale pink fur running down her neck and a flowing banner of tail in the same shade. Her hide is a soft, sunny yellow, and when she raises her head and begins to climb to her feet, I see wings wearily flick back into place along her ribs. Like the first, there is a necklace, only the stone is pink and in a shape I don't recognize. Some sort of insect? What really stands out about this one is the stark, bleak depression in her watery eyes. She has not adapted well to this new life, it has broken her spirit and left her little more than a shell. How has she survived the fights? But survive she has, the tales of those battles written in scars on her sunny hide, in the shadows in her hollow gaze. The two creatures that share my shape are disconcerting at best. The magics imprisoning me are pressing hard against my soul, burning like acid, and I have to turn away from the two strange ponies. Ponies? Where did that word come from? Is that what we are? Shaking off the curiosity, a survival technique to avoid the pain, I put the two pathetic creatures out of my mind. A snort captures my attention and I look over into the most striking green eyes. The blast of familiarity makes me cry out, my vision going white. Even as darkness closes in, I hear my bleat of pain echoed. In time, my consciousness and sense of self returns. Sorcery buzzes faintly nearby and the omnipresent sounds of this life are muted in the cool air. It is night then. Blinking slowly, I allow all my senses to come alive, the haziness receding. Astonishingly, there is a thick, luxurious bed of prickly grass stalks cushioning my limp body instead of the hard dirt pack I've grown accustomed to. Apparently my impressions of Ahmet may indeed be true; that he is a far better overseer than the oaf I was trained by. The cell is also enormous compared to what I've had. Four of my old cells would fit in here! The space makes me feel indulgent and I stretch every muscle group, enjoying the pleasant strain and ending in a luxurious yawn. There is activity across the way where a squat being with six limbs and no discernible features scrubs diligently at my armor. Except… it's not my armor. Well, that clinches it. The other quadrupeds who share my shape are certainly from whatever dimension I came from. The armor is proof of that. The set the apprentice is working on is far more battered than mine, proof that my kinsmare has a far different style than myself. "Ain't got no magic," comes an unexpected voice, rich with aloof disdain. The electric tingle of connection makes me wince and I jerk my gaze away from those bright green eyes. I hadn't even seen her in the shadows behind the apprentice. "Well, you've obviously held your own without it," I concede reluctantly, not wanting to alienate her. It's difficult to discern details in the flickering torchlight, but the mane is a pale blur, long like mine and her hide a ruddy, fiery orange. There are what looks like deliberate scarifications mixed in with the lines of battlescars on the familiar round skull and short muzzle, tracing down to the deep chest and strong forelegs. One ear is mostly gone, the ragged stump almost lost in the pale mane. "Yer the one Ahmet's been lookin' for. Seein's as we're obviously kin and all." The style of speech is so very different, the words accented oddly, shortened up in strange places. It, too, seems so very familiar. Shaking off the pain of remembering, I focus on the stranger and shrug. "I suppose we must be. It seems a perverse gift to bring us together only to watch the others die." She flinches at that and I'll bet my horn that she has already watched some of our kin die. Frankly, the idea is already starting to bother me. It seems so much worse that I should care about these strangers that surely must not be strangers at all. A flurry of activity draws away our attention and I see the pegasus appear at the bars of her cell beside the orange one. Snorting with high emotion, Ahmet stomps into the courtyard and violently hurls a crushed and bloodied pile of clanking golden metal to the rubbish pile. The armor looks empty and pathetic without the pony who wore it. I didn't know the crazed pink kinsmare who has obviously died this night. She was nothing more than a passing encounter only made distinct by the broken bond between us. I will never know who she was. Scrubbing his face with big hands, Ahmet struggles for calm, breathing deeply. When he addresses the trio of us, the deep voice is deliberately steady. "Starflash, meet Kicker and Berserker. Get some more rest. We'll all need it." The apprentice's six big paws are shaking. Come morning, I begin learning my new routines. A hearty, warm mash full of grain and vegetables tastes immeasurably better than the slop I've been eating and it makes me feel strong and sound. Ahmet opens the cells and Kicker is immediately in the courtyard, stretching and prancing about to warm up. She is a magnificent figure, ropy with muscle and light on her hooves. I can't help but admire her physicality that stands in such contrast to my smaller, lighter frame. Berserker slinks into the sunlight, close to the ground and looking ready to bolt. As Ahmet and Kicker pay the behavior no mind, I file my observations away and once more wonder how she has survived this long. Sans armor and the razor-edged golden shoes, Kicker and I dance about one another in the courtyard. It's exhilarating, sparring with this stranger who feels so familiar. It's as though I dreamed her, vivid and almost real, only to find something impossibly near to that dream. We speak little, none of us wanting the pain of magically repressed memories, but the electric tingle of connection is unavoidable. Over the next two days, Kicker and I learn that we are an amazing team. Ahmet watches us quietly, only interjecting his opinion when he has something pertinent to say. It's a far more efficient technique than the haranguing of the last idiot that I am already putting out of my mind. Forgetting is very easy here. Berserker does not spar. She hangs in the shadows and watches us with those hollow, stricken eyes. Something about her calls to me and one afternoon I perversely try to coax her out in the filmy sunlight by dancing around playfully and… smiling. Blowing air through flared nostrils, my chin on the ground, sends eddies of dust towards the timid pegasus. When she giggles thinly, I think she's more surprised than I am. Suffused with a feeling of happiness as foreign as breathing water, I leap away, to prance playfully about Kicker, who eyes me as though I've gone mad. Perhaps I have. Seeing Berserker perk up, Kicker shrugs and joins me in the cavorting and, miracle of miracles, the trio of us find ourselves dancing about in a fog of dust. Laughter rings through our hell for an endless moment, before the shock of the confining magics sends us all to our knees. After that, we soberly go our separate ways for the rest of the day. It's so obvious that we were close once; but I do my best to put it out of my mind. Their faces haunt me, even when we are not together, together with others like us, hazy in my mind's eye. On the fifth day, Berserker is dragged away, whimpering in fear, hooves digging furrows in the dirt where we had played. She does not return. "Only us now," Kicker whispers mournfully. "D'ya think death is a way out?" "Maybe the only way out," I reply without thinking. Neither of us will sleep well for many days. On a whim, Ahmet arranges a tag team match for Kicker and me. He doesn't bother to even look in our training sessions anymore, as we work so well together. There's no reason to not exploit that. Our first match is a near disaster, but my slip is covered by Kicker, the one who would have killed me falling in a spray of orange blood. There's a reason Ahmed started calling her by that name! It's the first time I've seen how deadly she really is and I vow to step up my game. Six matches pass and we are undefeated. Our personal relationship is bizarre, an intimacy that is completely hands off. Oh, how I want to be closer to her, my fascination like a living thing inside me, but we are not allowed that. The pain does not stop our eyes from straying to one another all too often. My internal compass is off now, the weeks and weeks of being close to this extraordinary soul changing the rules. Before, I feared only for my own life, and time had made me numb to even that. Now, I fear for her life. It will ruin me. The arena is a massive structure of seemingly endless ripples of stands reaching to the sky. They are always full and they are always loud. And they are always bloodthirsty. There are no details, only a blur of shapes and colors. No gladiator pays attention to the stands anyway. That is a sure way to get oneself killed. No, all that matters in that vast circle of hard packed dirt and whatever is sent in to destroy you. Large and small, armored and soft, quick and slow, I have seen all manner of opponent. None of them really make an impression on me, as they are merely an obstacle to overcome. All of them are whisked away by magic once I kill them. One day, fighting side by side with Kicker, I spot something that shocks me. A presence makes itself known amidst the chaos of the crowd. A hole of darkness, an evil presence that I instinctively know is the force behind this hell. Shaken by the unexpected realization, my life is only spared by Kicker's diligence. She saves me frequently as the bouts get harder and harder. I save her nearly as often, our teamwork thrilling the voracious crowd. But they will tire of us, it is inevitable, and that scares me far more than the fellow slaves I face in the ring. It's been several weeks since we've been in the ring, both of us still recovering from a battle that was nearly the end. Honestly, I don’t know how we survived. Kicker has begun working out again, but I can see that she is not sound. She may never be sound again. We can both feel it, the damage that we have sustained so often that we barely feel the pain anymore. Ahmed told me the day we met that I have depths of magic that I have not tapped. Frankly, that thought scares me more than any other threat here, including my own death. I have done terrible things, torn other intelligent beings limb from limb with the sorcerous power I wield. I have impaled them on my seemingly insignificant horn, slashed them with the razors on my feet, stomped and kicked them to death. So much blood has soaked my hide I wonder sometimes it has not dyed me the color of death. Yes, the fact that I may be capable of so much worse frightens me. When Ahmet comes for us, Kicker and I see the truth in his dark gaze. For a long moment I cannot look away. How many beings see their own death sentence in another's eyes? Then I look to Kicker and she too sees it. In that meeting of our gazes, we say our silent goodbyes. One last time, I focus my magic and don the battered golden armor that is the symbol of a home I am not allowed to remember. One last time, I follow the guards through the maze of slave quarters. One last time I hear my razor-shod hooves ring against the stone of the long, dark tunnel where countless others have gone to meet their deaths. Eyes closed, I stride proudly into the ring, head held high, and let the discordant energy of the crowd wash over me. "Prove 'em wrong?" Kicker's voice is for my ears only, and I find myself smiling at her. In that moment I know deep in my heart that I love her. I may have always loved her. "Prove them wrong, indeed." She smiles almost shyly as I lean in to touch foreheads with her, our helmets clinking. It is a brief goodbye, a desperate, silent plea for a miracle. But the pair of creatures that enter the ring from the opposite side are chilling, suffocating the faint tendrils of hope. One is not much larger than we, only spindly and bearing a foursome of colorful, translucent wings. An insectoid of some sort, iridescent green and purple as though its ancestors had little need of camouflage. Then again, look at me. Besides, as it darts high above, it's fast enough that camouflage would be a waste. The second creature is some unfathomable conglomeration of stones that lumber in comparison to the insect, but impossibly quick for something that should not even be animate. Something whizzes sharply and Kicker and I leap apart to avoid the spray of deadly little darts that kick up little clouds of dust. Even as I blur into motion, I call up my arcane energies, priming all my skills and knowledge to once more fight for my life. Fearful and exhilarated, I match wits and skills with the flashy insect. It is faster, but I wield better weapons. One of its wings shatters like glass and I smile grimly as I dodge more of the darts. The damn thing seems to have an inexhaustible supply of them! Kicker snorts and the stone monster grinds menacingly. When my opportunity comes, I almost miss it, tired and sore and worn down by this insane life. Gathering my strength, I launch myself like a comet away from the earth, streaking towards my enemy. It flew too low and now it is mine. Its carapace shatters satisfyingly as I ram it, twisting my body away to miss the rake of those scythe-like forelimbs. It almost works, but fiery pain rakes over my ribs and spine. That feels like a nasty flaying, my left hind leg tingling alarmingly. Time to finish the thing before it really does kill me. Reversing my magical flight, I ram the thing into the dirt as hard as I can walk away from. Blinking gore from my eyes, I immediately whirl to help Kicker. Only a moment more would have been enough. The stone monster's great club arm is already in motion, even as I scream warning, too far away, too tired and off balance to do more than cry out. In horrific slow motion, the battered, dusty stones bash my love like a child angry with her toys. I can hear the crunch even over the roar of the crowd. Something inside of me shatters like frozen glass in a blinding wave of agony like nothing I have ever felt and… And I remember. My parents, my life changing when accepted by Princess Celestia for special teaching. Spike's sweet little face, new from his egg. Pinkie Pie, always so fun and unpredictable, the life of the party. Sweet, timid Fluttershy, her kind soul broken by this place. The faces of Rarity and Rainbow Dash, whose fates I will never know. My beloved Applejack, the first pony to welcome me to Ponyville, doing her best to warm up my aloof attitude. Finding friendship and trust that became love. Our lean, muscled bodies that hold no sign of the foals we once carried. This hell has taken all of that from me. Ahmet once echoed Princess Celestia in telling me that I have powers I have yet to tap. Screaming with a rage I cannot contain, I let it come to me. The force of the very stuff of creation flashes a needle of power to me that feels as though I have swallowed a thousand suns. Oh how it burns… but I welcome it. Immolation is my only escape, all I want now that everything I love is gone. But, by all that is good and holy, I will take them with me as I go. I am rage. I am revenge. And I let loose.