Reddux the Tyrant

by PaulAsaran

Blood and Ashes

“Mister.”

Fancy grumbled, but didn’t bother to open his eyes.

“Mister, wake up.”

His ear twitched against the noise. He turned so his back was to the disturbance.

Something pulled his ear back.

“Wake up!”

Fancy let out a shout and jumped to his hooves. It happened so quickly that he was unable to keep his balance and, after a couple wobbly sidesteps, collapsed back to the floor. “Ponyfeathers! I’m up! What is the matter with… you… ponies?” He looked around, finding himself in a small, dark room filled with tools for boat maintenance. What was he doing in here?

He looked to his side to see a familiar filly, her pink coat so light in color it was almost white. She was pressed back in the farthest corner from him, watching him with worried eyes.

The memories of the previous day hit him like a hammer, effectively knocking the air from his lungs. He took a moment to calm himself, not daring to think on the things he’d seen. His ears aimed to the door, but he heard nothing but the lapping of the waves against the rocks.

The filly took a tentative step forward, her eyes shifting to the door. “I… I think they’re gone.”

Fancy stared at her for a few seconds, then turned to the door. “Are… are you certain?”

She lowered her head and averted her eyes, which was all the answer he needed. Fancy considered the door for several seconds, his mind fighting with itself. If he opened that door… what if the dragons were just waiting out there, looking for some foolhardy survivor to wander out? Stepping through that door might be the last thing he’d ever do.

But then his stomach growled. He frowned and glanced around the supply shed, but there was no point; they’d never find anything to eat here. He glanced back at the filly and saw her quickly pull her hoof away from her stomach and take on a solemn, calm pose.

Damn it all, it was either risk a quick death out there or be guaranteed a slow one in here. This in mind, Fancy forced himself to his hooves and made his crouching way to the door. He waved to the filly to keep back and focused his magic on the door handle. He lingered, clamping his jaw and focusing on his courage. Gradually, he let the door open by the slightest crack and peered outside with a single eye.

Nothing. The world was quiet. He could see the morning sun hanging just over the water. He waited a few seconds, just in case, and at last pulled the door open all the way.

He sank to his knees, a fresh hit of horror clawing at his mind.

“What do you see?” the filly asked from the back of the shed.

Fancy couldn’t speak. He could only stare at the waters a scant few feet away.

It was filled with bodies. Blackened bodies, ripped bodies, bodies with wide eyes that stared at him blindly. They pressed against the edge of the rocky path, clumped together by the waves and a tide that would have just reached its height. Some looked as if they’d been frozen in a position of struggle, their legs bent at odd angles. A few of the black ones had their mouths open in silent, eternal screams, their lips burnt off to leave their teeth showing in demented grins.

“Mister?”

“Don’t look!” Fancy turned and slammed the door. He pressed against it with his forehooves, tears streaming down his cheeks. “D-don’t look. For the love of Celestia… don’t look.”

“Hey! Mister!” She banged on the door. “You can’t just leave me in here!”

He ignored her. He turned about and pressed his back to the door, his eyes going over the sea of death at his hooves. It was too much, far too much for his mind to take in: he curled into a ball and sobbed. The scent of burned flesh nauseated him, the screams still echoed in his ears.

He could just barely hear the filly’s voice over his own weeping. “Mister, please. L-let me out…”

“No!” He pressed his back against the door, breath coming in sharp gasps as he closed his eyes to avoid seeing the horror before him. “This is not something for filly eyes to see!”

“I can handle it.”

He felt the door push against his back, and he held firm. He was not going to subject her to this.

“Mister, I’m going to see it eventually.”

A small gasp escaped his lips. It was true, wasn’t it? Eventually she would come out. He couldn’t guard the door forever. Yet to have her see this…

He started to suck in a deep breath, but in so doing he caught a strong hit of that burnt smell. As soon as it hit his nostrils the nausea came back and an image appeared on the back of his eyelids: Sparks, staring at him in quiet horror just as the flames engulfed her.

Fancy’s stomach rebelled, and he jerked to the side to vomit the empty contents of his stomach. He was still on his knees, body shaking as he fought down the urge to throw up a second time, when he heard the door to the shed open.

Slowly, unable to stand, he turned his lowered head. The filly sat just outside the door, her eyes wide and her face green. She swallowed as her chest heaved from her deep breaths.

Fancy rubbed the bile from his lips and forced his wobbly knees to support his weight. “I… I told you to stay in there…”

She turned away from the sight, closing her eyes and setting the back of a hoof to her lips. “I’m ok-kay,” she whispered, though her shoulders shook. “I… I’m okay…”

Fancy tried to think straight. He brushed the moisture from his cheeks and tried his best to ignore the bodies as he looked out over the water. Most of the docks were little more than skeletal posts and frames blackened by dragon’s fire, but a couple still appeared to be intact. All the ships had sunk in the waters, but a few had hit bottom before they could be completely covered.

He had no appetite, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t at least search for some food… and maybe survivors.

“Go back inside,” he said, breathless as he fought to keep his breathing under control. “I’m going to search where I can.” He turned and tested his legs; they shook, but he could move. He began to walk along the path, his eyes set directly forward so as to not have to look at the nearby horror.

A moment later, the filly was at his side.

“I thought I told you—”

“Do you want to be alone right now?”

He swallowed his argument and refused to look at her. His mind kept going over the same thing: find something to do, be useful, try to keep busy. Don’t think about what happened, just work. He didn’t dare to even glance at the bodies. Fancy knew his mind was at that intensely fragile point between despair and survival, and he was determined to keep it in the latter.

He could only imagine the state of the filly’s mind.

They came to the tunnel. It was filled with collapsed stone, large cracks running up the cliff wall above them. Fancy stared at the former entrance for several long seconds, his thoughts going to Lance.

The filly glanced between him and the rocks. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

“Yeah…” Fancy felt his stomach clench and promptly turned away. He gave himself a few seconds to recover before making his way to the nearest intact dock. The filly followed behind without a word.

Walking along that wooden path over the water required all Fancy’s willpower. He kept his eyes held high so that he wouldn’t have to look and see the bodies. It worked for a while, and he was fortunate that the tide had pushed the majority to the island; once they got so far, the bodies became much less common. He still hated to look down, but it became inevitable; there were still a few corpses on the dock itself.

“Why would the dragons do this?” the filly asked as she stepped gingerly around broken body.

“I don’t know.” Fancy paused at one particular corpse, its lower half missing and dried blood seeping into the wood. He stared at it for several seconds, unable to take his eyes away. His stomach couldn’t take it; he turned away and threw up over the edge of the docks. A moment later, he heard the filly doing the same.

Fancy sat back and rubbed his lips. He noted the filly sitting opposite him and sighed. “Still glad you came along?”

She glared out over the ocean, but said nothing.

It took some time, but they finally reached the first of the three ships at the dock. Its stern had sunk beneath the waves, causing the stern to rise in the air at a steep angle. Fancy examined the ship closely, and determined that they could get on if they jumped at just the right position, so they did. It proved an easy.

The deck was mostly free of corpses, save for a few that were lying against barrels or the main mast. Fancy helped the filly climb the steep incline to the cabin door.

The filly eyed the door as they pressed against the wall of the cabin. “Do you think there’s any survivors in there?”

“Goddess, I hope so.” Fancy glanced about the area, quietly looking to see if any of the dragons might be nearby and watching, but they seemed to really be in the clear. Using his magic, he carefully pulled the door open… only to have a body collapse to the deck.

Fancy pressed himself to the cabin wall, his breath catching in his throat, but nothing else happened. He looked past the door at the filly, peering around the open door with wide eyes. Fancy slowly made his way to the open doorway and peered in. There were four more bodies, but other than that the cabin was empty.

“Th-this doesn’t make sense.” The filly lowered herself to examine the dead pony. “No dragon could have entered the cabin without destroying it, so what killed these ponies?”

Fancy stepped inside and took a closer look at the nearest dead mare. Her body was perfectly intact; no wounds, no burns, nothing. Her mouth was hanging open, but not to scream. Her eyes were opened, staring blankly at the wall.

No blood. No wounds. No evidence at all.

“Mister?”

“I… I don’t know.” He stepped backwards to the door, a quiet alarm filling him. “I don’t know much about dragons, but I can’t imagine how they would have done this.”

The filly wouldn’t go inside. She peered into the darkness and chewed her lip. “W-what if whatever did this is still in there?”

The possibility was a little too real for Fancy; he backed out of the cabin and closed the door. He turned around and sat against it, trying to make his heartbeat slow down and keep control of his breathing. His companion sat nearby…. but not too close.

Fancy leaned his head back. Though fear and worry were creating a horrid emotional combination in his mind, his thoughts were clear and he was somehow able to keep calm. Perhaps after so long the brain stopped being shocked by such things.

His eyes fell on the fort, which loomed atop the cliff far above his head. It was shattered, little more than a ruin. Thin wisps of smoke still trailed into the sky. He couldn’t believe that not even twenty-four hours ago he’d been standing on the balcony… which no longer existed. Sparks and Lance had still been alive, the port had been as busy as ever, and he was gazing out at a beautiful sunrise.

How quickly it could all fall apart.

The filly’s voice drew him from his dull reverie. “Shouldn’t we check the other ships?”

Fancy sighed and slowly pulled himself to his hooves. “Yeah… yeah, that might be a good idea.”

The thought didn’t occur to Fancy until they were both back on the dock. “So what’s your name, anyway?”

The filly ducked her head. She kept silent for several seconds. “It’s…. Fleur. Fleur Purpurnyj.”

He tilted his head her way. “Fleur… what?”

She blushed with a scowl. “I was born in Griffa, okay?”

“I see.” He glanced away with a weak cough. “Well, Miss… Miss Fleur, I’m Fancy Pants. I’m sorry we had to meet under such circumstances. If it’s any consolation, I had planned to introduce myself in a gentlepony manner before.”

He walked on for a few more steps before realizing she was no longer at his side. He turned about to find her glaring at him, body low as if she were prepared to bolt. “Did I say something wrong?”

Her lips curled in a small sneer. “What did you mean about introducing yourself?”

He was taken aback by her sudden, blatant aggression. He stepped back for the sake of giving her space and sat. “At the restaurant. I saw the owner throw you out. I was going to buy you some food, because you said you were hungry.”

Her eyes remained locked with his, piercing as her horn sparked. “Is that all?”

He shifted. He started to look around in search of inspiration, but that only gave him a hideous view of just how many bodies were floating in the water. His stomach churning, he forced his eyes back to hers and held a hoof at his midsection.

Fleur tensed. She looked as if she would flee at any moment.

As soon as he was sure he had control of his insides, Fancy said, “What other reason do you expect?”

She snorted. “From you, I—” She let out a small gasp, her eyes widening as they shifted to aim over his shoulder.

Fearing that the dragons had returned, Fancy jerked about. What he saw instead filled him with relief; a pegasus squadron was circling the island. “Thank Goddess!”

He saw three of the pegasi break formation and dive for them. Within seconds, they were hovering over Fancy and Fleur. The leader landed before Fancy and saluted, and she responded in kind. The pegasus had wide eyes that kept shifting to the waters.

“Captain Oak Feathers, 42nd South Squadron.” She held out her hoof.

Fancy accepted it. “First Lieutenant Fancy Pants, Canterlot Reserves.”

She nodded, then looked about at the ruin. “What in the name of Celestia happened here?”

Fancy grimaced and waited for her to look his way before answering. He said only one word, for really it was all he needed.

“Dragons.”

Fine Crime leaned against the stone wall, his breath coming in sharp gasps. He didn’t bother to wipe his hooves clean; it never helped. His stomach was fighting with him, but four years of practice had taught him how to keep control. He still covered his mouth, just in case. The coppery scent assaulted his nostrils as he did.

Seconds perhaps. Or was it minutes? His mind kept flitting over his actions. He could remember them, vividly. Every stroke, every slash, every scream. Worst of all was the sadistic pleasure it gave him. He always remembered.

He always hated.

He looked down at his hooves, their mottled brown color stained a deep red. He could feel the fur of his coat sticking to his body, and a disgusted sensation threatened his insides once more. A bath… he desperately needed a bath. But first…

He turned to stare at the small room. His eyes roamed the gore, scanning for the item. In all the… excitement… he’d forgotten where he’d left it. He stepped over the body parts, peering in the darkness and trying not to focus too intently on the blood-soaked evidence of his revolting deed.

Ah, there it was, embedded in what he thought might have been lungs. He used his magic to jerk the black blade out, noting how the blood dripped from it. He let the knife rotate before him, examining the bone carefully. It was one of his little rituals now.

“I’m sorry, Sugarcube,” he whispered. “That’s sixty four.”

He reset the necklace to the blade’s handle and let it rest on his neck. Sucking in one last, shuddering breath, he turned and knocked on the door. “I’m done.”

He heard a deadbolt unlatch, and the door swung open. He stepped out of the room and into the dungeon’s main hallway. The guard took a cautious step back at the sight of the blood drenching Fine’s body.

The guard sucked in a slow breath before speaking. “I take it there’s a bigger mess than usual.”

“Five weeks will do that to a stallion,” Fine grumbled. He turned away without another word and made his own way out.

Keeping to the shadows was an easy task, one Fine had perfected over a lifetime of practice. It came in handy when one was soaked in blood and didn’t want to be seen. His mind kept going over the scene again and again; the panic, the pleading, the shrieks.

His own delighted laughter. The sound echoed in his ears and made him shiver. Even if they had been depraved criminals, Fine wished there could be an alternative. Yet he knew better, so he kept his mind from lingering over the guilt and unpleasantness. He could do nothing for his anger and frustration, but he had something to help him out back at his hotel.

Fine paused in the alley, his eyes on the building across the street. His room was on the second floor. He crossed his eyes at his horn with a glower. “Might as well…”

He closed his eyes and concentrated. He tried to calm his mind, to exert a level of control over his emotions and find just the right magical combination. He knew this didn’t require a lot of magic. Minutes passed as he concentrated, the red aura of his horn shifting and drifting in small, experimental motions. Every passing second was a strain on his mind and he could feel his anger building.

At last he let out a small snarl and gave up, the magical aura fading as he opened his eyes and glared at the hotel. So much for a little magical experimentation to calm his nerves. With a sneer and a quick check to make sure that there were no late night wanderers to see him, he crept across the street and made his way to his room. Not once did he stop his stealthy routine; by now it was second nature to him.

He paused at the door, not bothering to take out his key. Fine felt at the lock with his magic, prepared to pick the lock for practice as always.

He tensed; the door was already unlocked. He stared at the peep hole for several seconds, eyes glaring daggers and legs flexing. He reached up to tap the blade dangling from his throat, making it sway like a pendulum. There could only be two possibilities here…

Fine stepped aside from the open entrance and used his magic to slowly open the door. Nothing came bursting out, but he wasn’t relieved. Keeping low and ready to act in an instant, he crept to the door and peered inside.

The light in the kitchen was on.

“Don’t worry, Fine. It’s just me.”

Fine sneered, but relaxed. He went inside and closed the door, instinctually using his magic to silence the hinges. He walked to the kitchen and glowered at the sight of a pegasus sitting at the table and eating an oatburger. Every time Fine saw the stallion he felt as if the divine goddess had decided to play a cruel prank; the pegasus had a dark grey coat and, contrasting harshly with it, a bright pink mane. It was truly a hideous combination.

The stallion lowered his glasses to peer at the bloodsoaked Fine. “You look like you had fun.”

Fine snorted his displeasure and turned to the bathroom. “What do you want, Hoofknife?”

“Is that any way to treat your boss and mentor?”

Fine glanced at himself in the mirror, revolted by the blood that was smeared across his face. Was that a piece of skin in his mane? He grimaced and threw it into the toilet, flushing the piece of flesh away, then jumped into the shower.

He called over the noise of the shower. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Coltcago putting the screws on Don Trotioni’s ponies?”

Hoofknife didn’t answer… and that caught Fine’s attention. He waited until he’d scrubbed every last drop of blood from his coat – which took a considerable amount of time – and was out of the shower before trying to speak again. He found Hoofknife still at the table, his burger eaten and his head bowed in contemplation.

Fine frowned and sat opposite the Mane Archon, before a burger than had already been set for him. Fine pushed it away; he didn’t have much of an appetite after tonight.

“Something’s come up,” Hoofknife said, at last looking Fine in the eye. His green eyes had that hard manner that he only acquired under severe circumstances, and Fine paid appropriate attention.

“Must be really bad if you decided to leave Trotioni alone over it.”

Hoofknife nodded. “A situation has arisen in the Bay of Trotaloosa.”

Fine leaned back and said nothing.

His boss waited a couple seconds, perhaps to see if Fine would say anything. At last he explained, “Dragons have attacked Mirar el Cielo.”

Fine blinked, not sure he heard that right.

“They wiped the place out,” Hoofknife continued, his eyes on his hooves and expression solemn. “It was a slaughter. A pegasus patrol spotted the smoke this morning and only found two survivors. They’re en route to Estéril Pezuñas as we speak.”

Fine stared at his mentor for several seconds as he struggled to process this information. The only thing he could think of was the most obvious of all questions: “We’re at war with the dragons?”

Hoofknife nodded. “Celestia will be leaving for the castle soon, if she hasn’t already. She’s hoping to mediate a peace before things get any worse.”

Fine leaned forward, his hooves set in a triangle on the desk as he thought. There was no way Equestria could survive a war against the dragons, even with Celestia on the frontlines. “Have there been any other attacks?”

Hoofknife shrugged. “Archon agents on the southern border haven’t reported anything, and it’s been about twenty-four hours since the attack.”

“So no blitz attack.” Fine peered at his boss for a couple seconds. The stallion should be on his way to rendezvous with Celestia right now, but he’d come by to see Fine instead. There could be only one reason.

“What are you going to have me do?”

Hoofknife smiled and nodded as if pleased. “You’re coming with me.”

Fine thought for a few more seconds. “What am I supposed to do? I’m not exactly known for my dragon slaying. Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t the Lord of Estéril Pezuñas a dragon slayer?”

Hoofknife glowered. “Yes, if the stories are to be believed. Even the Archons aren’t sure of all the facts. But I’m not bringing you along to help fight, Fine; it’s not our job to go marching into battle.”

“So?” Fine leaned back once more and waited.

“The dragons wouldn’t attack without good reason,” Hoofknife told him. “They’re a greedy race of bullies, but they’re not monsters. Your job will be to find out why they attacked.”

Fine’s eyebrows roe. “You want me to sneak into the Badlands and spy on the dragons?”

Hoofknife cringed. “Hopefully you’ll be able to find something out without resorting to that, but if it’s necessary…”

With a groan, Fine grabbed his oatburger and took a big bite. It didn’t taste like much, but then his stomach was still roiling from the events of the night. “I take it we leave immediately.”

“As soon as you’re done.”

Fine raised an eyebrow at the stallion. “So if I’m risking my neck saving a nation full of morons, what will you be doing?”

Hoofknife’s frown deepened. “Keeping an eye on Celestia.”

Fine tilted his head. “You think she may come under threat?”

“I think the dragons are attacking for a reason,” Hoofknife repeated. “That reason could be to lure our high and mighty princess south and test her immortality.”

“You just insinuated not sixty seconds ago that the dragons could be reasoned with,” Fine said. “Do you really think they’d slaughter an entire island of ponies just to get to her?”

“We have to observe all possibilities,” his mentor reminded him. “My responsibility is to Celestia first, and always has been.”

Fine sniffed and focused on his burger. “I say let the stupid lizards eat and get it over with.”

Hoofknife’s grimaced. “Someday you’re going to learn to respect Celestia and what she does for Equestria.”

“As long as she ignores Equestria’s worst issues, she’ll get nothing but loathing from me,” Fine grumbled.

Hoofknife heaved an unpleasant sigh and stood. “I’m not having this debate with you again. Eat quick and meet me outside. And keep that kind of crap to yourself, ya got me?”

Fine snorted and turned his face away, waiting until his boss had left the room to mutter, “Yes, O’ Blindly Loyal One.”