//------------------------------// // Entry XI: The AoT Theme Really Does Go With Everything, by Kildeez // Story: Kildeez and Sifty's Shameless Self-Insert Adventures in Equestria! // by kildeez //------------------------------// … Did… Did that just happen? Did Siftstone, the entire reason I was currently running around a post-apocalyptic hellscape and not snuggled up with a book and a bit of hot cocoa to ride everything out in my personal bunker, just disappear into a giant space-vagina I myself created? … Well, shit. In hindsight, I should’ve seen it coming. Divide and conquer: shoot Sifty off to some other world full of nasties and leave me alone so that this thing, whatever it was, could fuck with me all by my lonesome. Of course, the bastard didn’t have to use me. He could’ve just as easily keyed a portal to Sift’s biometric signature and left it in that back room we first busted into to spring his little trap. He didn’t have to use a small army of fuckheads and monsters from the darkest corners of the galaxy to make me use his/her/its portal trap. The fact was they did it because they could. That was the point. To show he could throw all this shit around, the small armies and the portal production, all of it, just to make sure it was my finger that pressed the button. Fat load of good figuring this all out does me now. It’s just me and a ruined town. The rest of the army is gone. Just a man alone with his thoughts. Fuck, this blows. “Goddammit, goddammit, goddammit,” I mutter, making sure to transform my arm back to my normal, humanoid form before turning my head while I facepalm (going the other way hurts like hell, as I have learned through experience). I let my regular, black changeling skin through now. No need to hide it anymore. In my rage, I start knocking shit around, my massive strength powering my arms around. “How could I have been so fucking stupid!?” I scream, finding the closest wall I can and pounding against it until it collapses, inadvertently crushing the group of Nightmares that had been cowering behind it. I didn’t even pay any attention, not even noticing when a Nightmare leapt from the darkness, tentacles surrounding a razor-lined maw. Without even thinking, I snatch it out of the air and use it as a boxing glove in my epic fist fight with the ground. “HOW! COULD! I! BE! SO! FUCKING! STUPID!” I scream, punctuating every word with another punch to the cobblestone. By the time I’m done, the Nightmare is a black stain of coiled gore around my fist. Doesn’t matter. I shake it off, just throwing myself to the ground on my back and making like a spoiled-ass kid in a grocery store. “FUCK!” I finally announce, turning over. Okay, I will admit, I’m getting pretty angsty now. Like, “MCR meets Linkin Park at a convention for teenage poets” angst. But I’ve just fucked up the only reason I had for moving forward every day, okay!? I now have to go back to a city full of adorable talking ponies and tell them Santa-Sifty isn’t coming to town with a sack full of death to give to all the bad little ghouls and boils. Not looking forward to that feeling of hopelessness, the way those wide, hopeful eyes will almost certainly grow in size with my arrival, only to shrink again with the news that I lost track of their last hope for ever returning to their old lives. Still, I gave my word. I will complete this mission and seal the deal for changeling-pony cooperation. And who knows, I might live long enough for everyone to establish something of a safe zone, just a tiny sliver of territory where changelings and ponies can live at peace, albeit within massive walls that surround them, defending themselves with a rapidly-dwindling army of… What was that sound? That deep, earthy rumble I just felt bouncing around my skull? The fuck was that? I open my eyes at last, only to stare up at twenty meters of pure pony, its massive eyes looking around dumbly. Finally, it spies me, and its stupid smile turns into a slobber-filled grin, spittle rolling out its mouth and trickling down next to my head. …. “Seid ihr das Essen!? Nein, wir sind der Jäger!” The pony raises a hoof the size of a VW Beetle over my body, but I easily roll away, coming up again with my shotgun already at my shoulder. “Dah-do-dah-do-dah-dah-dah-DAAAH!” I reply as I let loose with a shotgun blast against the thing’s muzzle. The titony roars as a molar the size of my head sailed out of its mouth, replying with a forehoof stomp. Another dodge, only this time I grab hold of its fur and hang on for dear life as the thing tries to shake me off, swaying back and forth with its hoof, still grinning that damn smile. I scramble up the side of its leg, careful to avoid its attempts at brushing me off while keeping it busy with shots at the eyes and mouth. The fucker’s almost blind and I’m almost out of shells by the time I clamber up the side of its muzzle and wrap an arm around a humongous ear. I grin. I’ve made it. If there’s one thing anime and presidential assassinations have taught me, it’s that a shot to the back of the head is a sure-fire way to take something big down. I stand triumphantly, work the lever action on my shotgun, and level it one-armed against the back of the damn things head, pressing it through a coat of matted fur. Alright, so here is the part where the action hero says something amazing and smart to tie the whole moment together. Here’s where I cement myself in the pantheon of heroes! … “Hasta la vista, pony.” BLAM! Oh fuck, I’m so sorry. That was bad. I grimace in pain at my own bad one-liner as I ride the giant pony’s ass back to the ground, sighing as I step back onto the cobblestone and start picking up spent casings to remake into functioning shells. Gives me a good amount of time to think, to reflect, and drink in the sheer carnage that Sifty and I unleashed. The bodies are everywhere, some sliced to ribbons, some riddled with bullets, others just ripped in half. Holy shit. I nudge a big dude in leather armor over onto his stomach, revealing the hole his lungs fell out of so I can salvage a few shells. Holy fucking shit. This…Jesus, if this thing hits me like this again, without Sift or some last minute save, I’m screwed. And it knows this. It fucking knows this. I peer around before shouldering my shotgun and heading down the street, salvaging what I can from the general store before making for the outskirts of town. I spend that night in the woods, with the white trim on some of the buildings still in view, wondering what might be watching me through the bushes, or listening to my breathing on hidden microphones. Still, I’m too exhausted, way too many transformations today to stay awake, and after an hour of clutching my shotgun while I rest on my back like a meth head militia wannabe back home (sans tinfoil “anti-government spy satellite” helmet), I finally drift off to sleep. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- The morning is uneventful. I wake up to the sounds of birds and a stream of dew from a leaf overhead dribbling onto my face, gently nudging me awake… Waitaminute… That’s not fucking dew. “AWW, SHIT AND PISS!” I scream accurately, leaping to my feet and blasting at the giant vulture that chose the wrong motherfucking branch to use the bathroom on. Somehow, it manages to avoid an ass full of buckshot and swoops away, shooting over the horizon. I swear, it’s laughing at me the entire way, the way it’s cawing. Fucking birds. Fuck ‘em, man, fuck ‘em. With two more shots echoing into the distance, I grumble as I head to the nearest stream, hoping it’s not filled with tetanus or Hep C or something else to make a shitty day even shittier. Fortunately, it looks clear enough to wash my face off with, and I even manage to build a small fire just beyond its banks to boil some in. Can never have too much water, especially once that midday sun hits and you start sweating like Frosty the Snowman doing Pilates in Hell. I take the time while my water’s boiling to really lean back and listen to the tune of nature. Even after the titanic battle yesterday, I can still make out that glorious tune of birds tweeting somewhere far away from me, giving away their positions so that I might avoid and/or hunt them at my choosing, because they are little feathered assholes. Literally. Just an asshole with wings. I know I’m ripping on birds a lot, but one just shit in my face. Fuck ‘em right now, y’know? Just fuck ‘em. Ah, nature. Leaves rustling, birds tweeting, crickets chirping, the roar of some gigantic horror just narrowly masking a cry for – OH COME THE FUCK ON! JUST ONE DAY, HUH!? JUST ONE FUCKING DAY! “Fuck this, fuck my life, fuck my job, fuck Celestia in her strangely-toned yet surprisingly pliable ass…” I grumble as I crawl to my feet. The little aches and pops in pretty much every joint from my neck on down inform me what a shit idea this is, and the stab of pain from an overstressed muscle in my shoulder screams it. But I’m here for a job, and a Kildeez doesn’t fuck around when it comes to the job. Shifting back into my less-threatening, soft-and-squishy-pink human form, I run along the riverbank, shotgun in hand. I’m pretty tired, but if shit gets tight I’m fairly certain I can manage a claw or two. Maybe. God willing, Shelly will be able to handle anything that happens. Coming up on a hillside, I drop to my stomach and army-crawl up to peer over the crest of the hill. I don’t like what I see. A pretty little mare, galloping on her pretty little hooves as fast as they’ll carry her. Too bad the tusked/horned Nightmare-infused freak with veins and muscles popping out everywhere looks dead-set against her continued life. What’s more, it’s chasing her right into a graveyard, which besides being a natural hotbed for Nightmare activity, is nestled in a horseshoe-shaped valley. Real picturesque for those extended burial ceremonies where you want those nice, long shadows and a quick sunset for your last goodbyes. Not so much if you’re trying to escape something that looks like a jackrabbit fucked Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson and raised the result on a diet of paint thinner and steroids. And…now she sees it too, if the panicked way in which she pauses and looks around is any indication. Alright, alright, alright, this is the part I kinda like. She’s gonna turn around, eyes wide. She’s going to back up, her flank bumping against a tombstone, eliciting a quiet, fear-filled squeak. Then, she’ll turn back to the slobbering monstrosity, shivering, helpless, praying silently for some help… Any moment now, she’s gonna…turn back and look at the Nightmare with a predatory look? What? And what’s that green tint in her eyes? And that confident little smile? All at once, a deep rumble echoes through the graveyard, the mounds and tombstones shaking. I clench my shotgun instinctively, knowing damn well that a zombie apocalypse is well within the realm of possibility here. The dozens of graves all around the mare fall over; the grass roiling and bursting like a teenager’s face on prom night. Rotting hooves pound their way into freedom, jaws connected by barely a length of skin and rotted patches of flesh clacking in the shadows cast by the gravestones. The crypt at the height of the hill lets out a terrible grinding sound as its doorway crashes to the ground and skids into the valley, followed quickly by the dead-eyed remains of the rich ponies entombed there, stumbling along on shreds of leather and silk. After a while, a low, wicked laugh fills the air, the zombie horde descending upon the Nightmare as it struggles, fighting with all its might against the never-ending sea of rotting fists and gnashing teeth stained with the clay of the grave. This isn’t just necromancy; this is a display of raw power unlike any I’ve seen before. It’s hard to tell who to root for, the Nightmare with the quickly-widening eyes being dragged to a massive hole being dug for it by a couple scattered zomponies, or the pretty little pony laughing like a maniac and glowing an eerie green through it all. The Nightmare claws and roars the entire way down, grabbing futilely at the earth, which comes loose in its jagged talons. Every now and again, it manages to wriggle free of the undead hordes long enough to take a swipe at them, but any undead that wind up mangled beyond usability are quickly replaced. When the whole nightmarish group reaches the bottom of the pit, the first hooffuls of dirt start raining down on them. The Nightmare spits and coughs, trying to keep its muzzle clear for as long as possible. In its last despairing moments, it finally spies me on the hill and lets out a choked-off roar, perhaps a desperate cry for help? Nope, sorry pal. Odds are you’ve done a ton in your past to deserve this. Besides, I ain’t fuckin’ wit dat noise. Once the Nightmare is under a humongous mound of dirt, the bodies all return to their respective graves, crawling back down to their eternal rest. The final cherry on top arrives when a skeleton in the pointed hat and tassels I’d usually associate with the Germans (probably from a land called Germaneigh here, because talking horses and their damned puns) takes a final look over his shoulder, catches my eye, and tips his helmet in a quick salute in my direction. I can’t help but return with one of my own. He nods and pulls the stone slab back into place with a final thud. The pony sinks to her stomach in the sand beside the river, breathing heavily. I finally return to my senses long enough to start easing my way down the side of the rocky canyon towards her, figuring a quiet approach might be more advisable here. As I grow closer, I watch as the pony suddenly disappears in a flash of green fire I only find too familiar. Sure enough, the pony’s coat is replaced with black chitin, her wings with insect-like translucent wings, and a pointy spire of a horn materializes in her forehead. Huh. Necromancer/changeling. Nice plot twist. But wait, it doesn’t stop there. Once I get close enough, I can spy the shimmering bands of royalty across her back, running horizontally with her wings, announcing her princesshood to the world. So, I’ve just stumbled across a pony who turned out to be a necromancer/changeling princess. Jesus, did I just step into a Shyamalan movie, or what? I’m about to say something, introduce myself, probably nerdgasm over how fucking awesome what she just did was and ask if she wanted to join me on my quest to possibly stop the Nightmare invasion and maybe have sexy times, but then the fucking ground starts rumbling. “You gotta be shitting me!” I shout, which of course attracts the changeling’s attention. I can’t spend any time on that though, as I swiftly turn just in time to catch the big, charging bastard tearing ass down the hill: a warthog with fleshy growths of bone stretching all down the middle of its face and over its head. I raise my shotgun, working a fresh shell into the chamber, but the changeling is already at my side. “Hey, I got this!” I yell. “What, you and your walking stick?” She mumbles, barely staying on her hooves. Her horn fizzles up with power, but I can tell it won’t be enough. That little flicker she’s managing right now is nothing compared to the healthy green glow she had on earlier, and she’s gonna need a lot more than that if she things she’s gonna stop the towering monstrosity getting ready to bash us to the ground. Sighing in exasperation, I step up beside my new changeling friend and fire a single round at the bit of exposed sinew near the thing’s black maw. It’s shaggy head bucks back as it roars in pain, revealing a crocodile-like maw trailing stringy, black hair. I decide I’d like to feed it after all. Nothing much, just a solid twelve-gauge slug. Directly down its throat. At 1100 fps. Think that’ll satisfy it? My next shot slams into the thing’s lower jaw, shattering it and careening out the back of its neck. It drops like a sack of potatoes, its face little more than so much blood and gore dribbling down its neck. I grin and turn to my new companion. She frowns up at me. “I…had it…” she pants. “Keep telling yourself that.” “I…coulda…could…” she pauses, and then collapses entirely. I roll my eyes, then look around, grabbing a couple of branches and some twine out of my backpack for a makeshift cot. My mama (my human one, I mean) taught me that a true gentleman makes sure a lady is safe if she ever swoons at his feet. Not sure if collapsing due to magical exhaustion after summoning an army of undead to destroy a monster that looked like Bugs Bunny after a few hundred years in hell counts as swooning, but it’s the end of days, I’ll take what I can get. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ It takes an hour of dragging before she finally comes to. Let me tell ya, it was love at first sight, her looking up at the back of my head as I walked, straining with the ropes that carried her, hopefully feeling safe in the few moments it took for her to gather her marbles and rocket up to buck me upside the head with a magically-enhanced attack. “Who are you and why shouldn’t I rip your head off and turn you into one of my undead minions?” She hisses into my ear as she stands on my back, horn primed. Tale as old as time…song as old as rhyme… “First of all, that’s really how you’re gonna introduce yourself, toots? By threatening the man who just saved your life?” I ask. There are a few more moments of pressure, and then she steps aside, allowing me to lift my face out of the dirt. While I clean my mouth of all the sand and shit, she maintains her narrow-eyed stare. I shake my head. “Look, if I wanted you dead I could’ve just let that charging motherfucker mow your ass down.” “Oh please, I could’ve handled that in my sleep,” she scoffs. “Oh good, based on how you looked facing that thing down, that’s exactly what you would’ve had to fucking do.” She doesn’t let the glare down. I just remain where I am, flat on my belly. “Just because you don’t want me dead doesn’t mean you don’t want something from me,” she says, still glaring suspiciously. “Bitch, I just met you, what the hell could I want from you?” Still glaring. Great. We’re already off to a wonderful start. I roll my eyes. “Look, there’s a very good reason you should trust me.” “And what’s that?” “For one thing, I’m the one holding the gun,” I reply, and she looks over, bringing herself face to face with Shelly’s barrel, just barely poking out of the sand from where my arm is buried. I grin and stand up, still holding the shotgun. She just glares at me until I shoulder it. “Pulled it out on my way down. Nothing personal, just reflex.” Her eyes still narrow at me, but the glow in her horn finally subsides. “And?” She asks. “And what?” “You said ‘for one thing,’ that usually means there’s something else.” I facepalm. “Oh, yeah! Damn, I’m stupid.” Finally, I let my disguise fall, my skin covering with my natural chitin, my pupils narrowing to cat-like slits, and my fangs expanding until they poke between my lips. The changeling’s eyes widen. “Oh my sweet flank, it’s you,” she whispers. “Um…it’s me?” I ask. “You know who I am?” She nods, awestruck. “Chrysalis’s fist: part weird monkey monster, part changeling. Kildeez of the Northern Hives.” I scratch my chin in thought. “Of the Northern Hives? Haven’t heard that one before. Sounds epic, like some medieval ass-kicker. I like it.” “You-it’s really you! I didn’t think you really existed!” “Well…uh…” I spread my arms out. “Ta-da!” “So you’re really…” “Yep, son of Chrysalis and a monkey-monster from an alternative dimension.” “And…” “Yep, I’ve survived all this time,” I grin, my pride inflating exponentially. “So tell me, little princess, am I everything you thought I’d be?” She looks me up and down and puts a hoof to her chin. “Meh…not as ugly as I thought you’d be, but I also thought you’d be taller.” I grimace as my ego comes crashing back down. “Yeah, well…” I clear my throat, coughing awkwardly. “Wh-who the hell are you, anyway? And what’re you doing out here?” “Oh, well, I’m Princess Chittery!” She exclaims with an ever so adorable flail of her hooves. “I’m from Chrysalide hive, in the East, here on a love-gathering mission!” “Love-gathering?” I arch an eyebrow. “A princess? Shouldn’t that be something a lower-level drone handles? Especially with demons and shit running around?” “Well,” now it’s her turn to cough awkwardly. “Me and my sister don’t really see eye-to-eye on some things, and she’s the queen, so…” “Ah,” I nod. Changelings are infamous for their Game of Thrones-style political moves. I wouldn’t be surprised if this little changeling had already survived a half-dozen attempts on her life undertaken by her own family. Hell, after a few weeks with her, I was shocked that Chrysalis sent a transport to pick me up instead of a hit-squad, until I figured out my human blood made me ineligible for the throne. I wasn’t a threat to her power, and that is honestly the only reason she wasn’t waiting with a couple dozen crossbowmen for when I arrived in her palace. One big, happy family, I know. “So, what was it you disagreed on?” I ask. “Oh…she didn’t like the fact that I was so…promiscuous…” she whispers as she walks along, and it’s only then that I notice the way her hips have started swaying while she walks. “ Umm…” I mumble, trying my best to focus. “P-promiscuous how? Like, did you flub up a few missions or something?” “Nooo…” she coos, running a hoof along her side and slowly trailing it around to her flank. “See, every time I went out, something always seemed to happen.” “Wh-what was that?” I ask, repeating the words Not a clopper not a clopper… over and over again in my head. She grins and twists to look at me over her shoulder with a little wink. “Some stallion or mare wound up having the night of their lives.” “Oh…” I murmur, a lightbulb finally dawning behind my eyes. “Hold on, I think I remember hearing about you!” “Oh, so my reputation does precede me,” she sighs. “I suppose it was only a matter of time before you figured it out.” “Y-yeah,” I gasp. “Jeez mare, yes, I’ve heard of you. Princess Chittery, the ultimate seductress!” She looks at me again, this time offering a little wink. “Worked hard for that title, champ. Don’t go throwing it around.” “O-okay…” I say, trailing off. “So, one last question for you, big boy.” “What’s that?” “You want a ride on your new pony?” There are many ways to react to a little black succubus asking you for a good, hard dicking. Running away, screaming “NOT A CLOPPER” at the top of your lungs like a little girl so she can dive into instant hot pursuit is not one of the better ones. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “So,” Chittery asks, having securely duct-taped my hand to her behind. “What’s a guy like you doing around here?” “Oh, I had a job to do,” I sigh, consciously not moving my hand to avoid contact with dat smooth, round flank. “It’s just that….well…things kinda got all…fucky, you know?” “Oh, totally,” she agrees. “I mean, once you roll around in the hay with your partner, it does add a whole new level of awkward to everything. Believe me, I know.” “Yeah…wait, no – goddammit!” I grumble. “Do you just have a one-track mind when you’re not pissed at someone!?” “Sex isn’t all I think about,” she gasps defensively, as if I just insulted her mother. “There’s also Kegel exercises to focus on. This booty isn’t just genetics, you know!” “Of course,” I roll my eyes, trying to look anywhere but at the changeling secured ass-first to me, and contemplating how much love it would take to grow a new hand if I just blew mine off at the wrist. “But really, what happened?” She asks, fluttering her eyelashes up at me. “C’moonnnn, you can tell a fellow changeling!” I groan. “I guess it doesn’t matter, now that everything’s gone to hell,” I trail off, gathering my thoughts. “Okay, so you know how Canterlot’s pretty much the last safe-haven against the Nightmares in Equestria?” “Duh, where did you think I was heading?” She rolls her eyes. “Hard to get love from an empty village and a bunch of fang-covered freaks.” “Yeah, well, it ain’t gonna be that way much longer,” I sigh, looking around and trying not to think about what a full-on Nightmare occupation would do to the overcrowded castle at Canterlot. “They had this last-ditch, plan though. Well – not a plan so much as a call for help.” “So…who’d they call?” She snorted. “Faust? Solar Flare? Did they commune with the spirits through sunbutt’s blazing tramp stamp?” Snorting back a laugh, I reply: “Have you ever heard of a man named Sifty?” After a brief pause, she suddenly jerks up, trying to flip herself over to face me. Of course, since she’s secured to my hand, all she manages to do is to throw my balance off and make me face-plant in the gravel. “The Champion!?” “Oh good, you’ve heard of him,” I reply, spitting up a mouthful of gravel. “Fuck yeah I’ve heard of him! Why do you think Chrysalide hive is only now reestablishing infiltrators in Equestria!?” She gasps. “I thought my sis was being paranoid, but even I figured we’d have to give Ponyville a way wider berth as long as he was there!” “Seriously?” “Eh, no big loss,” she shrugs. “That town is a magnet for all sorts of weirdness. Anyone crazy enough to live there probably had some funky-tasting love to go with the madness.” “I getcha there,” I snicker. “So, didja find him?” “Yep.” “Holy – really!? What’s he look like!?” I actually pause at that, hmming and hawing for a second. “Well…he had this curly, wild brown hair…muscles pretty much coming out everywhere…” Chittery’s pupil-less eyes went half-lidded, then she shot a green bolt right into my face. Didn’t hurt, like the magical equivalent of a smack, but still took me by surprise. “Damn woman!” I shout, jolting back. “The hell was that for!?” “Doofus, you’re a changeling, remember? Show, don’t tell!” She exclaims. I gawp down at her for a second, doing my best goldfish impression, then I give myself a physical smack in the face. “Right,” I sigh, and a split-second later, there’s a green flash which zaps away my black skin and fangs. Sifty’s curly hair replaces the changeling fins on my head, my skin darkening to that Balkans look, adding on top of that slightly-Asian tilt to his eyes. Finally, muscles bulge out of my everywhere. I mean, everywhere. What do you want from me? Dude was a Gray Warden/Dovahkiin/Whatever-the-fuck-the-pony-equivalent-of-Rambo-is. Obviously, you gotta be built like a brick shithouse for even one of those titles. Chittery’s eyes widen. “So, that’s him?” “Eyup,” I say, proud of muh mad changeling skillz. “Thought he’d be taller too,” she snorts. “And not a pink, spongey bulgey monkey.” I grimace at that. “Not monkey, human,” I grumble as I resume my natural form. “So, I was sent to pick him up…” “And judging by the fact he’s not around, things didn’t go too well,” she says. “Give the lady a cigar!” I enthuse. “But no, things didn’t go too well.” “What happened?” I sigh, shaking my head. “I fucked up. There was this battle, a big one, back there somewhere,” I cock my head in the direction of the village I just left. “Even went full minotaur on their asses, which helped, but not enough.” “Wow, you went full-minotaur!?” “Uh-huh.” “Impressive,” she whistles, which shoots my pride up maybe one or two points. “Yeah,” I moan, realizing how stupid I’d been. “Look, princess, this army we were facing had to be just one of many. We’re fighting this…thing. Don’t know what it is, but it’s been stalking us for a while. Now that Sift’s gone, I don’t think…” “You can shut up right there,” she says, bending that flexible little spine so she can glare right up into my eyes. I’m too stunned by the sheer flexibility it’s taking for her to keep her back bent up like that to even try to insist. “Don’t you dare try to pull that ‘helpless maiden’ bullcrap on me. I knew the risks when I walked into Equestria, and you saw what I did to that Nightmare back there. Yes, I’m a princess, but I’m no namby-pamby little horsey princess, I had to fight just to survive my childhood, always being prepared in case my sister brought a razor-filled balloon to my birthday party or had an assassin try to shoot me in the neck with cockatrice poison while my back was turned. So you can take your chauvinist, ultra-masculine bullcrap and shove it up your ass, because I’m seeing this shit through whether you like it or not.” I blink down at her, actually pausing in my step from that one. “I’d clap, but I’m worried I’d give you a concussion.” She smiles back at me. “That’s okay, dearie. I can clop for you.” I bite my lip. “I said clap.” “You surrrrreeee?” She asks, blinking prettily. Desperate to change the subject, I rest my arm and pick up the pace. “S-so, did you have any more questions?” After a few minutes of silence, she pipes up. “Actually, I did have one more.” “What’s that?” “Why couldn’t this have been an invasion from one of those dimensions filled with tentacle-rape monsters?” I pause, take a very, very deep breath, and lift my hand up so she’s eye-to-eye with me. “You have trouble talking to other people about anything but sex, dontcha?” She gasps sarcastically, hooves going to her cheeks in mock surprise. “How did you know!?” ----------------------------------------------------------------- And miles away, a dark creature watched the pair on a small screen clenched in its fist. Its grip tightened on the little Plexiglas screen, the view turning white under its fingertips from the pressure. “Goddamn you, half-breed,” it snarled. This was not supposed to happen. The rabbit and the boar should have been enough to handle the princess. He should’ve done more research on the area, should’ve seen the graveyard and made the connection to the princess’s necromancy. Now they were together, and the half-breed had a new companion just the day after losing the old one. Now the creature would have to get creative. He did not like getting creative. At least, when it wasn’t on his own terms; not flying along by the seat of his pants, having to adjust to a changing battlefield. He controlled the battleground, he wrote the rules, that was the whole fucking point. He didn’t adjust to changing vectors when the vectors all bent before him. His hands ached from clenching the screen. He loosened his grip, sinking to his knees while cursing under his breath. “Enjoy your victory while you can, mutt,” he snarled at the picture of Kildeez before him. “It will not last long.”