//------------------------------// // My Effects, If You Please // Story: Wild Card: Two of A Kind // by Barrel-of-fun //------------------------------// As he casually batted another roaring pegasus out of his way, Grante couldn’t help but sigh. This was supposed to be a simple job. Go to Trottingham, find the satyr, introduce himself and then kill the satyr. Simple. One of the minotaur’s giant hands snatched an earth pony and slammed him into the wall, burying the unfortunate guard there. He had no one to blame but himself, he mused as he kicked another Guard down the hallway. He should have just finished the job as soon as he was alone with the target. Grante would be the first to admit that he underestimated the satyr. Ace had a reputation for outsmarting those trying to catch him but that was mainly with incompetent Equestrian Guards and brutish pirates. The minotaur had made the mistake of thinking himself superior to his foe. A swift headbutt forced an unconscious unicorn into the ground, Grante stepped carefully over the pony before continuing his unstoppable stride. The Trottingham Guard were trying their very best to detain the minotaur but were quickly finding their efforts to be in vain. The understaffed and undertrained Guard were no match for their efficiently brutal opponent. Grante was careful to only use just enough force to put each pony down without killing them. He had his target for this job and, despite their seeming incompetence, the Equestrian Guard could get quite serious when it involved the death of one of their own. He would much rather avoid the stress. He could just pick out Ace in the distance, a flash of red fur partially obscured by the technicolour horde that was bearing down on him. Heaving his shoulders in a shrug, Grante planted his hooves and braced himself for what was about to come. The next second, ten ponies slammed into him with the force of a train. The majority of them were earth ponies, actually giving them a weight advantage against the giant minotaur. So great was their momentum that they even managed to force Grante to take a step back. “An excellent attempt.” He grunted from beneath the pile of ponies, “But not quite enough.” All it took was one swing of his arms, accompanied by a roar, to send the ponies tumbling through the air, the majority of them slamming into the floor a few second later. They stumbled back to their hooves, bruised but still fighting, just in time to see what had become of their comrades. As he had flung the horde away from himself, Grante’s swift reactions had enabled him to snag two of the ponies out of the air by their tails. They now hung helplessly from his meaty paws, an earth pony is his right hand and a pegasus in his left, snarling in anger at their captor. Their protests transformed into screams a moment later as Grante charged at the Guards who were still standing, swinging his pony-maces as he came. The earth pony was sent in an underhand swing towards one of his allies, their thick skulls colliding with a solid thunk that caused both ponies to be immediately knocked into unconsciousness. The pegasus was less fortunate, his trajectory sending him smashing into the side of one of his comrades, dazing him and knocking the wind out of the Guard he had collided with. During his youth, Grante would have undoubtedly found the entire situation hilarious. Beating up ponies with other ponies. However, he was an older bull now, and liked to think himself above the immaturity that afflicted him when he was but a young taur. The only enjoyment he got out of the fight now was the satisfaction of a hit well swung, such as the blow that sent one of the few unicorn Guards into the ceiling, the poor stallion’s horn sticking as he hung limply there. It was not usually Grante’s style to inflict such humiliation upon his opponents, but he was in a hurry. Employing weapons was an effective strategy against a numerically superior foe, and clearly he couldn’t use the axes holstered at his waist. Dropping the two bruised and beaten Guards that had served as his maces, the minotaur looked round and surveyed the damage he had done. Of the ten guards that had jumped him, not a one was still standing and, from the looks of it, most probably wouldn’t be standing for a few days yet. Nodding in satisfaction, he strode past his defeated opponents and after Ace. “My commendations to you.” He said, stepping over a moaning pegasus, “And my apologies as well. You were only doing your duty after all. As I must do mine.” It was not overly difficult to guess where the satyr was heading to. Prior to his mission, Grante had made sure to memorize the layout of the station. Which meant, if his mental map was correct, then just around this corner should be… “Come on you bastard thing!” Ah, there he was. Sure enough, standing before a large metal door and fiddling with the lock, was his diminutive target. Once again, the satyr had his back turned to Grante and was absorbed with picking a lock, though this time a large sign declared that the door in question led to the station’s evidence lock-up. Remembering the hassle that had come his way the last time Ace had managed to pick a lock, Grante reacted swiftly. Both his hands flew to his belt, pulling out the axes that were tucked in, as he began to charge down the corridor. Grante never claimed to be the swiftest of creatures. His mass made it difficult for him to move with any impressive speed. However, when it came to momentum, he was second to none. Whilst his charge started off slowly, it quickly began building up speed. After a few seconds, the lumbering minotaur was more like a streaking comet bearing down on his unfortunate victim. “Ha! Got it!” Grante could only stare in resignation as his target once again opened a door and slipped beyond his reach, slamming the solid metal portal shut behind him. It was then, of course, that Grante realised the problem with momentum. He couldn’t stop. The entire room shook as something massive, possibly a meteor or a strangely land-savvy whale, collided with the door. Fortunately, the metal held, which is more than could be said for whatever hit it. Judging from the groaning coming from the other side, it wasn’t in good shape. “Hey, you alright over there?” Ace called through the metal. More groaning, “I’ll be much better once I cut you in two.” Oh, it was Grante. That made sense. By the sound of it, the minotaur didn’t sound too happy. Not that Ace was overly concerned with the well-being of the person currently trying to kill him. Turning his back on the door, the satyr went over to the shelves and began rummaging through the various boxes that the Trottingham Guard used to store their evidence. “I said it earlier but it bears repeating. Even if you escape this room, I shall find you eventually. You are merely delaying the inevitable.” “You could say the same about everything mortals do.” Ace replied, getting dangerously close to the realm of philosophy. There was a harsh clang of metal against metal. Evidently, Grante had started trying to cut through the doors hinges. “Perhaps you are right, but consider this. If you open this door now, then only you have to die. If you prolong the chase, then how many shall you drag down with you?” This actually got Ace to pause in his search. The minotaur had a point, if a twisted and morbid one. Still, the satyr was not so eager to meet his reaper just yet. Silently, he got back to his search, throwing boxes to the ground as he tore through the shelves. “No response? As I expected. I have heard rumours about your so called ‘heroic’ deeds. Rarely do they mention those that you left behind as you fled.” The tempo of steel striking steel increased as Grante doubled his efforts to get through the door. “Are you truly so much of a coward that you would let others die in your place?” Ace blocked out the minotaur’s words as he reached the final shelf. He was all too familiar with taunting as a strategy. It was one of his favourite and most used techniques after all. Finally, the satyr pulled the last box off the shelf, ripping the lid off to reveal its much-welcomed contents. The box was filled with an assortment of pouches, a knife, a brown coat, a wrist-mounted card holder and, of course, a deck of cards. “Always in the last place you look.” Ace commented with a rueful shake of his head. Swiftly, he began to equip his gear, even as the door behind him gave a final screeching protest and fell to the ground. Ace could hear the heavy steps of Grante as he strode into the room, the minotaur’s hooves clanging against the destroyed door. “At last. Let us end this.” Turning, Ace grinned at his opponent as he adjusted his belt. For the first time since meeting Grante, he felt confident staring down the minotaur. With an idle flick of his wrist, a card shot down his sleeve and into his hand. “Agreed.”