The Most Dangerous Game

by Warren Peace

Part One

“YOU’D BE surprised how many things that might seem scary stop scarin’ ya once ya deal with ‘em, mister Rate,” a middle-aged pegasus with a sea blue coat and foam white mane began, trotting up to the railing and throwing his forehooves over it, “very few things in life an old seastallion like me still fears...but we’ll be nearin’ one of ‘em soon enough.”

Burst Rate looked away from his camera, which he’d been polishing with a dark orange hoof, setting his keen gaze on the other pony with one eye squinting just a bit.

The sea air nipped at the pegasus’ navy blue jacket, his tense jaw clamped tight around an old cob pipe. His eyes held something that Burst had never seen before as they flickered across the sea...looking for something.

Fear.

“Okay, Captain,” Burst replied, letting go of his camera and letting it hang around its black strap, “I’ll bite. What is it that we’re approaching.” a smile split his face, “Don’t tell me that you’re afraid of this storm,” he gestured skywards with a hoof.

“Hah!” the Captain replied, “there’s nothin’ to fear from a storm so long as you’ve got the skill to beat it. Even then,” he looked skywards, squinting as he did so, “this is hardly a storm, more of a bad overcast,” the Captain set his gaze back on the sea, sliding the cob pipe to the other side of his mouth with his lips. The only sound that the two heard was the quiet splash of waves against the side of the yacht as it pushed its way through the ocean.

When the Captain began again, his voice was quiet and dead serious, “No, what we’re approachin' is somethin' far worse than any storm, mister Rate...It’s somethin’ that any sailor with a bit of sanity in his mind ought to fear worse than Nightmare Moon herself.”

“Nightmare Moon?” Burst Rate asked, a doubtful smile crossing his face as he looked out to sea, “I’d hardly call her something that a sane pony ought to fear. She’s nothing more than an old mare’s tale,” he said dismissively.

“Hey,” the Captain gave Burst a poke on the chest, getting his attention, “Don’t be dismissin’ Nightmare Moon as an old mare’s tale, ‘specially not at sea. It’s by her stars and moon that a sailor is guided by night,” he looked back out to sea, muttering, “bad luck to offer her insult.”

“Whatever you say, Captain,” Burst replied, pausing for a second, “So what is it that we’re approaching, then?”

The Captain was silent for a few moments, he slid the cob pipe back to the other side of his mouth again, squinting eyes searching the sea as if for sea monsters.

“Ship-Trap Island...” the Captain said, voice slow and deliberate, letting the words drop from his tongue like a pony falling off a cliff.

A sudden breeze kicked up, forcing Burst to shield his eyes with a hoof and pulling at the Captain’s clothing like a great many small hands. The Captain continued, unfazed.

“It’s an island, rocks with razor edges crouch like a sea monster with wide-open jaws surround it, making it inaccessible by even the most skilled sailors. A great many have tried,” the Captain looked back at Burst for a moment, “their ships now rest in pieces around the island, a fair warning for any darin' enough to consider gettin’ close.”

“So you have to rescue any survivors by airship, then?” Burst asked.

The Captain looked over at Burst again, “Survivors?”

“I take it that some of the crews are able to escape to shore?” Burst inquired.

The Captain held Burst’s gaze for a moment longer before looking back out to sea, “There’s never any survivors. They’d send out search parties, look for any ponies who might’ve washed ashore all right...but they never find any survivors.

“There was once a rescue party desperate enough to land on the island in order to look on hoof...” his voice grew quiet, quiet and afraid, “they disappeared as well, a party sent after them scanned the island from the air, but saw nothing of their airship...it just vanished, vanished like everything else that touches that damned island.”

“How could they just disappear into thin air?” Burst asked doubtfully, though his resolute attitude bore a single crack, his eyes flicking out towards the water.

Again the Captain didn’t answer straight away, holding off for a few seconds before he replied, “Nopony knows. The island is covered entirely in a forest," he gave wing-shrug, "perhaps Timberwolves prowl in those darkened woods, waiting for some poor soul to land on their beaches...perhaps something worse.”

The Captain slid the cob pipe to the other side of his mouth again, pulling his hooves back over the railing as he did so.

“If ya keep a wary eye starboard,” the Captain indicated over the side of the ship they were next to, “ya might catch a glimpse of Ship-Trap,” he nodded towards the camera around Burst’s neck as he trotted off, “might make a good picture. Have yourself a nice evening, mister Rate.”

“You too, Captain,” Burst replied, looking off the starboard side.

Warm Mareibbean waters met his gaze, ocean waves bobbing the yacht up and down in near silence, splashing up against the sides, the sails snapping in the wind.

Nothing but clear, open water greeted his gaze, stretching to the horizon under the cover of dark clouds overhead.

“Creepy,” Burst muttered to himself, looking back out to sea.

As the yacht pushed onwards, a low fog began to creep in towards the vessel, surrounding it from a ways away and making the distant horizon disappear under a cold, grey sheath.

A chill filled Burst’s guts like an icy dagger at the side of the fog, and upon realizing this, he frowned and shook his head.

“You’re letting a little thing get to you, Burst,” he berated himself, “It’s just some fog, the Captain’s story’s just getting to you.”

And then it appeared, like a beacon punching a hole through the fog. At first Burst thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, he leaned further over the side of the yacht and squinted his eyes at the thing taking shape.

Black, rising from the water and then dipping back in shortly thereafter, like a large hill amongst rolling plains of water. Small black dots flitted above it, floating around like kites.

An island.

Burst raised his camera to his face with a combination of magic and forehooves, leaning forwards with his stomach against the railing for balance. He lined up the shot, placing the island in the middle of the viewfinder lens. It would be a perfect picture.

The light fog surrounded the black shape of the island as he snapped off a picture, a mechanical whir meeting his ears as the shutter snapped open and closed faster than the blink of an eye.

Burst brought the camera away from his face, winding up for the next shot with a hoof, eyes fixated on the island.

It’s got a rather intimidating beauty about it, he thought, might make a nice postcard in some Mareibbean tourist shop...

And then the ship hit another large wave, lurching violently.

Burst threw out his forehooves for balance, wobbling them in the air as he tilted dangerously close to the edge. In his panic he released his magical grip on his camera. The device dropped from the air, swinging on its strap and heading right for the outboard side of the rail.

Burst brought his forehooves together in a snap, leaning further forwards and catching the camera right before it smashed into the sight of the yacht.

“Phew,” he said, right before he flipped over the railing and splashed into the warm Mareibbean Sea below.

Burst sputtered to the surface, his green mane plastered across his face, blinding him. He moved it out of his eyes with a hoof, about to cry out when the wake of the yacht slapped him in the face, filling his mouth with salty sea water.

He gagged and strangled, spitting out the water and gasping for air as he began to paddle as fast as he could after the yacht.

“Hey!” he called out, “Wait! Hold on!”

But the yacht continued onwards. No heads poked over the stern and the vehicle didn’t deviate from its course as it sped off across the sea.

“No! Don’t leave me!” Burst tried again, giving up on chasing down the craft and instead paddling in place as the yacht met the fog, disappearing behind the thick whiteness, “No,” he groaned, floating in place.

His eyes grew wide, turning down in a panic.

“My camera!” he cried, spotting it beneath the water’s surface, still strapped around his neck, “No, no, no!” he continued, fishing it out with his hooves and holding it out of the water. He gave a low moan as sea water dripped from the ruined camera, “Great! Could this day get any bucking worse!?”

And then it started to rain.

Burst squinted upwards at the grey clouds above, great sheets of rain pelting down and making the water boil around him.

“Buck!” he yelled.

A flash of lightning accompanied his curse, a spear of white light splintering downwards from the heavens. A blast of thunder forced his ears against his skull soon after.

It was then that Burst remembered the black shape of the island. He twisted in the sea, letting his ruined camera go and paddling again with his forehooves. Which direction had the island been in?

Cursing his damned and drowning luck, Burst treaded water, turning until he spotted a blackness against the white fog.

Upon seeing it he began to horsey-paddle his way towards the dark shape, the sea boiling up around him from the rain...

~ ~ ~ ~ < \/ /\ \/ > ~ ~ ~ ~

...Fatigue stabbed at his limbs with daggers made of fire, desiring to drag him down under the boiling water.

He struggled against the sea, a chill beginning to permeate his drenched coat and his teeth chattering as his body tried any way it could to remain warm. His strong paddling had slowed down a bit from when he’d first entered the water, his body having grown sluggish as he continued to be drained of energy.

Come on, Burst, you can make it! he silently cheered himself on, You’ve been in tight situations before, just keep calm and swim on! You’re going to make it!

It was at this moment that a sound met his ears, a dull roar against this hissing of the rain against the sea. Burst slowed his swimming as he concentrated on it, the sound was familiar, almost like...

“Waves!” he exclaimed, now paddling with renewed vigor, “Waves crashing upon a shore!”

He spat out some seawater, holding his head higher as his legs pulled him faster through the seas. He was going to make it after all!

But was that such a good thing?

He frowned at the stray thought as he remembered the Captain’s tale of Ship-Trap Island, presumably the one he was swimming up to now.

No, he reasoned, though a cold feeling that was growing in his gut refused to leave, I’d rather take a cursed island than drown any day of the week.

The sound of waves crashing upon the shore grew louder against the pounding rain and Burst soon felt as if some invisible hand were first pulling him back and then pushing him forwards ever so slightly.

Burst squinted up against the rain, he could now see a sandy beach that led up into what looked like dense, dark forests. The black dots of birds he’d seen earlier were now gone, the creatures no doubt having landed to take cover from the downpour.

Without warning, the sea surged forwards, accelerating Burst towards the lightly colored sands with a yelp of surprise. He hit something solid and he was flung head-over-hooves as the waves continued to force him forwards and onto the sandy beach.

He began to slow as the wave rode further up onto the sands, depositing him there like an offering to a mighty god. Burst coughed up seawater, pushing himself to his hooves and wobbling just a bit with fatigue.

A sharp wind bit into his soaked hide, making him begin to shiver. A bolt of lightning was spat towards the ground behind him, lighting up the forests for a split second.

He hurried up the beach as thunder rolled over him, knowing that he needed to get dry soon lest he catch a cold...or worse.

The trees offered a decent amount of cover from the rain, their densely packed bodies and leaves able to shield the ground from most of it. Burst halted for a moment and tried to rub some warmth into his body, looking this way and that through the thick foliage.

His teeth chattered as his eyes met the earthhy ground and he scanned for any sign of tracks, something that might show him the direction to, or not to, go. It was to his mild surprise when he did indeed spot what looked like paw prints in the dirt, leading off to his right in the jungle.

Squinting one eye just a little bit, he bent closer to the tracks, eyeing the depth of each step, how each was positioned to one another, and their age.

His first thought was that it might be a manticore, but the paws were neither large nor deep enough to be made by any creature of that size and weight. On top of that they were placed as if the creature that had made them was walking bipedally, not on all fours.

A griffon, maybe? What else has paws like that and can walk bipedally? he wondered, looking up for any sign of lost feathers and seeing none, Well, where there are griffon tracks, there are griffons. Where there are griffons, there is shelter.

His teeth still chattering, he started after the tracks, But what sentient creature would be in such forbidding a place? Those tracks are relatively fresh...perhaps he was stuck on this island as well?

So distracted was Burst by his thoughts that he almost missed when the tracks paused in what he took for a cramped clearing. It was only upon a second examination, that he noticed that the clearing wasn’t natural.

“S-Something got i-into a f-fight here,” he noted with chattering teeth as he saw the crushed grass and brush from struggling bodies, how the dirt was torn in a few places, the large bloodstain in the middle of it all...

Burst cringed at the sight of blood, but stepped closer to further examine the scene.

This time, he was able to find a few small and ruffled feathers, all of them a dull grey color.

A griffon for certain, then, he noted.

Upon further examination of the pool of blood, what appeared to be drag marks showed up, leading out of the clearing and trailed by occasional streaks of red.

Burst gingerly stepped closer to examine these, spying what he hoped was more paw marks preceding whatever was being dragged.

“S-some sort of s-scuffle,” he repeated, looking around the clearing once last time, “though with w-what, I d-don’t know.”

With that, he headed after the griffon’s trail, never noticing the second set of tracks that led to the clearing...hoofprints...

~ ~ ~ ~ < \/ /\ \/ > ~ ~ ~ ~

...The trail had grown easier to follow. Whatever the griffon had dragged through here made a clear path through the dense underbrush. Burst’s teeth continued to chatter, his body shivering in an attempt to restore his body temperature.

The sky had grown a shade darker, the temperature dropping as rain and thunder continued to pound the canopy above him, few drops escaping through the tangle of leaves and branches to reach the ground.

All of a sudden the foliage dropped away, the forest opening up to a high bluff, three cliff sides diving into the roiling sea below. And situated on the bluff was something that took Burst’s breath away.

It was an enormous building; a lofty structure with pointed towers plunging upwards into the gloom. Large spiked gates enclosed the property, giving the whole thing an unfriendly look. Another flash of lightning erupted from the heavens, lighting up the large structure for a brief moment.

Burst grabbed his camera with both magic and hooves, instinctively bringing it to his eye and centering the viewfinder on the large structure...before remembering the long trip in the sea that he’d had.

“Dangit!” he groaned, cradling the destroyed camera in his hooves.

A violent blast of wind, bringing with it a blast of chilling rain reminded Burst that he had bigger problems to deal with. Pushing against the gale, he galloped towards the large estate, squinting his eyes against the pouring rain.

The large gate was oddly unlocked and Burst pushed past it as fast as he could, rushing up the marble steps to the door and almost slipping a few times in the process.

The massive, oaken door held a large steel knocker in the guise of a griffon’s head and Burst lifted it with his magic, slamming it against the door a few times as the rain cut into his soaked hide.

“Come on!” he yelled when no one came.

He reached out with his magic to lift the knocker again when the door swung open, golden light spilling out, silhouetting a massive earth pony. The color of the pony’s massive body reminded Burst of some borscht he’d once had in a visit to Stalliongrad. His short, two-tone mane, crimson and a brownish color that looked like dried blood, was tied back in a tight knot against his skull and a small crimson beard dangled from his scowling chin.

Two dull grey eyes regarded Burst coldly, a shoulder-mounted crossbow to the right of the pony’s head aimed right at him.

“D-don’t be alarmed,” Burst chattered with a smile that he hoped was disarming, “I’m n-no robber. I f-fell off a y-yacht. My n-name is Burst R-Rate of M-Manehattan.”

The menacing look in the pony’s eyes didn’t change. The crossbow aimed rigidly as if the pony was a statue. He gave no sign that he understood Burst’s words, or that he had even heard them.

“I’m B-Burst Rate of M-Manehattan,” Burst began again, “I f-fell off a yacht. I-I’m freezing.”

The pony’s only answer was to raise his right hoof to a stirrup-like mechanism below the crossbow. Burst’s eyes grew wide, and he froze up as the growing cold muddled his brain. He needed to move! He was going to be..!

“Cossack, ne strelyat',” a cultivated voice marked by a slight accent spoke up from behind the earth pony. The pony immediately dropped his hoof from the crossbow’s trigger, coming to a stiff attention with a click of his hooves on marble flooring, staring off above Burst’s head.

The large pony stepped aside and a griffon took his place, eyeing Burst up and down with a golden gaze. The majority of his body was a stormy grey, his feathers on his wings and head a much lighter shade. A white bandage was wrapped around his left shoulder and he had a small moustache protruding from his beak.

The griffon’s beak lit up in a smile, “Ah, Burst Rate!” he said, eyes alight with recognition, “I knew I recognized the name from somewhere. The great camera hunter, if I’m not mistaken?” he held out a clawed hand for shaking and Burst, after a moments hesitation, shook it.

“Yes...” Burst replied, a bit confused, “...y-you know my n-name?”

“But of course!” the griffon replied, he frowned as if noting the fact that Burst was drenched for the first time, “but please, do come in, you must be freezing after a trip through this storm.”

Burst nodded and trotted inside. The large pony slammed it shut behind him, “Yes, th-thank you, mister..?”

“Ah, my apologies for not introducing myself,” the griffon said with a small bow, “General Rayford, at your service,” the General turned to the earth pony, standing still like a statue off to the side, “Cossack, individual'noye mesto za stolom dlya nashego gostya zdes.'”

“You’re f-from Stalliongrad?” Burst asked, dripping and shivering on the marble floor as the large pony saluted and trotted off.

“Yes,” the General replied with a single nod, “Are you familiar with the language?”

Burst shook his head, “S-Sadly not, I’m a-afraid,” he looked down at himself, the growing puddle at his hooves, “S-Sorry if I’m d-dripping all over your n-nice flooring.”

“It’s just a bit of water, nothing to worry about,” the General replied with a smile, “I’ll have Wolf get you a towel,” then called off, “Wolf, pridi!”

“Thanks,” Burst said again, looking around. The walls were wide and tall, adorned with plenty of candles and pictures from across the globe. The black marble floor displayed an inverse reflection of him as he trotted up to one of them.

Burst opened his mouth to say something, but a scattle of claws over the marble cut him off. He looked up the hall a ways in time to see a slim-looking diamond dog with wolfish colored fur appear.

The dog halted when he spotted Burst, yellow eyes narrowing as he gave a low growl.

“Um...Wolf, I presume?” Burst mumbled as the General walked up beside him.

“Wolf,” the General began, earning Wolf’s instant attention, “Bud'te khoroshey sobakoy i prinesti nashemu drugu polotentsem.”

“Da, General,” Wolf replied with a growly voice, giving a quick salute before turning and running off again with a scattle of claws.

“Diamond dog?” Burst asked, a bit confused.

“One of my pack,” the General said with a proud smile, “I am a hunter, you see,” he gestured to a picture: the General stood with a smile and a bow over a dead manticore, “when my prey proves to be ruthless in their escape, I use them to help in my hunt,” he gave a chuckle, looking over at Burst, “Great sport, hunting.”

“The best in the world,” Burst agreed, still wet but no longer shivering. Wolf returned with a white bathrobe clenched in his jaws, offering it to Burst who took it with his magic and slipped it on.

“Indeed,” the General agreed. Somewhere in the bowels of the large mansion, a clock struck six, “ah, that reminds me,” he continued and started down the hallway, Burst followed, “I was having dinner prepared when you arrived and would be honored if you’d join me.”

“The honor would be mine,” Burst replied with a smile.

“Ah, but were there any others aboard your yacht that made it to shore? Or are you a sole survivor?” the General inquired.

“Oh, I just fell off is all. Trying to snap a picture of the island when she hit a rather large wave or something. I don’t think that anypony saw me so I swam to shore,” Burst replied.

“How unfortunate,” the General said, mostly to himself...

~ ~ ~ ~ < \/ /\ \/ > ~ ~ ~ ~

…“Here we are,” the General said, gesturing expansively as he opened a door to the dining room. There was a medieval magnificence about it; it suggested a baronial hall of feudal times with its oaken panels, its high ceiling, its cast refectory tables where twoscore ponies could sit down to eat. About the hall were mounted heads of many specimens - manticores, timber wolves, hydras, bears, tigers; larger or more perfect specimens that Burst had never seen.

The General gestured to one of the two chairs with silverware set out before a large, steaming bowl filled with a reddish looking soup.

“You’ll have a cocktail, mister Rate,” the General suggested as the two seated themselves, “Cossack!” he ordered, the large, red earth pony from before stepping from the shadows.

Acting as waiter, Cossack stepped forwards and took a bottle from the table, popping the cap and filling both the General’s and Burst’s cups.

“Thank you,” Burst said, earning only a glare from Cossack that made him flinch away before the giant turned and trotted back to a corner.

“Please excuse Cossack,” the General said apologetically, swirling his glass a little, “he’s mute and doesn’t understand a word of Equestrian, but please enjoy the drink,” he indicated with a dip of his own glass, “Imported from Equestria’s finest apple orchards.”

Burst lifted his drink with magic, eyeing the golden liquid for a moment before taking a sip and feeling the burn of hard cider course down his throat.

“Do you think it’s suffered from it’s long ocean trip?” the General asked, swirling a bit of his own drink in his mouth for a moment.

“Not in the least,” Burst replied, “I mean, I’m no connoisseur of fine drinks, but it’s still very good.”

“Hm,” the General replied with a swallow.

The two ate in silence for a while, having borscht, the rich, red soup with whipped cream so dear to Stalliongrad palates. Burst ate much faster than his host on account of the grueling ocean trip.

The General seems like such a nice fellow, a true Cosmopolite, Burst thought to himself, musing, almost makes falling off my yacht and swimming Celestia-knows-how-far to this island worth all the trouble!

Despite all this though, a question kept coming back to Burst’s head, how did the General know his name? He lifted his head, looking up from his mostly finished bowl of borscht and opening his mouth to ask only to find the General appraising his guest narrowly, swirling his glass ever so slowly in a single clawed hand. Burst shut his mouth, growing a bit uncomfortable under the stare.

“Perhaps,” began General Rayford, “you were surprised that I recognized your name,” Burst remained silent, “you see, I read all books on hunting published in Equestrian, Stalliongradi, Gríf, and Zebrikaans...though find the first two to be rather lacking. Anyways, I have but one passion in my life, mister Rate, and it is the hunt.”

“I can imagine,” Burst replied, eyeing all the heads mounted around the room, “that Hydra must’ve been tough to take down.”

“Ah, yes,” the General said, almost fondly, “the brute almost got me as well. Had I brought any lesser a bow, my arrows wouldn’t have pierced his scaly hide.”

“I’ve always thought Hydras to be the most dangerous game to track,” Burst stated, “one whiff of pony and they’ll be onto you in a heartbeat.”

The General replied with silence, content to just sit there and smile, staring at Burst. Two diamond dogs came, taking the two’s mostly finished bowls and placing two salads before them.

“That, sir,” the General replied slowly with an almost malevolent smile, “is where you are wrong,” he took another sip of his drink and, at a gesture, had both his and Burst’s glasses refilled by an ever-silent Cossack, “here in my preserve on this island, I hunt the most dangerous game.”

“I can’t really imagine anything more dangerous than a Hydra,” Burst commented, giving a weak smile under the dark glow of the General’s version, “dragons?” he asked.

“Oh, no,” the General replied, creepy smile replaced with one less so, “I grew tired of hunting dragons years ago. Big brutes with foul tempers they may be, but they’re cocky and hardly intelligent. No, I’d not constitute dragons as this world’s most dangerous game.”

“Really?” Burst inquired.

“Really,” the General replied, taking another sip from his glass, “but do enjoy your salad, ingredients imported from Prance and prepared with expertise here.”

Burst found the salad to be excellent, the lettuce and cucumbers crisp, the cherry tomatoes juicy and plump, etcetera, etcetera. He glanced up every now and then, eyeing the General as he ate his own plate at a more reduced pace, taking his time as he eyed Burst across the table.

“I notice the bandage around your arm,” Burst began in an attempt to spark a conversation. He set down his fork and dabbed a bit of dressing from his lips.

“Ah yes, just a small scuffle with some of the game I was hunting. Nasty brute, but I got him,” the General replied, taking a sip from his drink and still holding onto that appraising smile, “I always get them.”

“About that,” Burst began, clearing his throat, “what sort of game is this most dangerous game of yours, General?”

“Only the most dangerous that there is, mister Rate,” the General said mysteriously, before conceding, “imported of course, as with most of what’s around you,” the General gestured around the room with his free hand.

Whatever creature he’s talking about mustn’t be too big, Burst thought, That scuffle I found was hardly made by something like a Hydra or Manticore.

“Yes, but what sort of animal, General?” Burst asked again, “if not beasts like hydras and dragons, then what is this most dangerous game that you speak of?”

The General chuckled, wiping his beak daintily with a napkin, “I’ll tell you. You’ll be amused, I am sure. In all modesty, I feel that it is fair to say that I’ve created a new sensation, a rare thing as any,” the General continued, he reached over and picked up the half-empty bottle of hard cider, “more cider, mister Rate?”

“Yes, thank you,” Burst said, magicking his glass to the griffon.

“The gods make some of us poets. Some they make beggars while others are kings,” he finished refilling both glasses and Burst pulled his back to him with magic, “and, in our case, they made us hunters. My father said that my hand was made for the bowstring and the arrow. He was a wealthy man, my father,” the general continued fondly, “the griffon owned a quarter of a million acres in Stalliongrad and, like me, was an ardent sportsgriffon.

“On my fourth birthday, he gave me a little bow to shoot sparrows with and, when I shot a few of his prized turkeys, it was not punishment I received, but a compliment on my aim. I killed my first bear at the age of nine, a single shot from a long bow at two hundred paces. In its entirety, my whole life has been one great hunt!”

Two more diamond dogs came and took the two’s mostly finished salads, neither griffon nor pony noticed them.

“I joined the army of my homeland, Great Grifŏn, as was expected of a noblebird’s son and for a time commandeered what felt like a small army of my own,” he gave a small chuckle, as if reveling in the nostalgia of a moment or two, “but my real interest was forever vested in the hunt. I’ve hunted every animal on every continent of the globe, it’d be impossible to give an exact number on how many I’ve taken.

The General took a sip of his drink and continued, “When my father died, wracked by disease instead of killed in the heat of a hunt,” the griffon shook his head, exhaling a sad sigh, “horrible way to go...but when he did I, his sole heir, inherited his wealth and put it to good use: hunting. Everything from the badlands of Equestria, to the chilling mountains of Germaneigh, and the humid plains of Zebrica. Everything from the smallest of rabbits to the largest of bears, with ranging calibers of arrows and draw weights and bows...” the General trailed off, taking another sip from his drink.

“Zebrica’s an interesting place,” Burst piped up, “Zebras have quite an interesting culture.”

“Ah, yes,” the General agreed with a nod and a smile, “but far more interesting traps I think. Have you ever been there, mister Rate? Zebrica, that is.”

“Yes, actually,” Burst replied, “my yacht was returning from a trip there when I fell off.”

“Hm,” the General commented with another sip of his drink, “but where was I? Ah yes, I’d hunted everything that there was to hunt with everything there was to hunt with. Viscous cats with only daggers, large bears with nothing but my own two claws. No animal on this earth can match a hunter with his wits about him, and a high-powered long bow.

“It was around the time that I did take a large bear with nothing but my bare hands, no pun intended by the way, that I came to a realization. I was laying in my tent after having field dressed the large brute and an odd feeling overcame me. I wondered at what it could be for a while when it struck me,” the General paused for dramatic effect, taking a sip from his drink as he did so, “Hunting was beginning to bore me! The challenge, although still present, was lacking. The mind of an animal is a simple one at best and the mind is the greatest weapon that there is. Put two in a cage, one with a simple weapon and the other with a finely honed one, and the latter shall prove victorious again and again.

“Hunting had been my life and it was beginning to bore me!” the General stressed, “I’d imagine a pony like yourself would be driven mad if your special talent began to bore you.”

“Probably,” Burst conceded.

“I had no wish to be driven mad, so I had to think; think of some way to bring challenge back into the hunt, to make it interesting again! Mine is an analytical mind, mister Rate. Doubtless why I enjoy the problems of the chase, a thing to solve where the answer is yet another animal fallen to my bow and arrow.”

“No doubt,” Burst replied with a nod, taking a small sip of his drink.

“So I thought to myself: why does the hunt bore me? What can I do to stop it?” the General paused to take another sip of his drink.

“And why was it that the hunt was beginning to bore you?” Burst asked.

The General gave a quick laugh, “because, mister Rate, it was no longer challenging! Manticores and timberwolves and bears! Nothing was a challenge anymore! I always got my quarry,” the General looked down his beak at Burst, “always. There is no greater bore than perfection.”

The General reached over and grabbed the bottle, pouring himself a fresh drink. He tipped the bottle in Burst’s direction, but the pony shook his head.

“So I had to think, think of a way to bring something new into the hunt, make it more interesting. I’d already tried different bows and weapons, everything from the famed traps of Zebrica to the powerful crossbows of Stalliongrad, so I needed something else to bring in! And that is when I came up with it...” the General paused, smiling intensely at Burst, who again withered a bit under the General’s gaze, “...I needed whole new type of game to hunt, I had to reinvent the prey!”

Silence.

“You’re...you’re joking. Right, General?” Burst asked after a moment’s pause, an amused smile crossing his face, “Invent a new animal?”

“I never joke when it comes to hunting,” the General said defensively, smile fading to a frown, “It was rather obvious when I realized it, I don’t know how I didn’t think of the idea sooner. But that aside, I found this new animal with relative ease and settled on this island, which is perfect for my hunting. It’s filled with jungles and game trails and swamps...”

“But the animal, General Rayford?” Burst interrupted, curiosity continuing to grow.

“Ah yes, well I wanted the ideal animal to hunt, so I asked myself what attributes this animal must have to make it the most dangerous game. I came up with a few: the creature must have courage, it must have cunning, and above all else, it must be willing to reason!”

Silence again.

“But...no animal can reason, General. Perhaps a few can to some degree, but none as much as a griffon or a pony or...” Burst froze, his speech ending as he came to a realization, “you...you don’t mean...”

The General’s smile returned, pulling his beak apart in a wide grin, “But whyever not, mister Rate?”

“‘Whyever not?!’” Burst exclaimed, “surely! You’re joking!”

The General’s smile died and he leaned towards Burst, making him lean away a bit, “I never joke about hunting,” the General said.

“Hunting!?” Burst exclaimed, “Celestia’s flank, General Rayford, what you speak of is murder!”

“Come now, mister Rate. What makes killing one thing any worse than another?” the General inquired.

“If you have to ask that then you’re insane, General!” Burst shot back.

“Oh?” the General asked. He set his glass down and pressed his fingers together at the tips, “enlighten me, then.”

“What?” Burst asked.

“What makes killing a pig worse than killing a pony?” the General asked, “enlighten me, mister Rate. Or rather, hear me out first,” he leaned forwards as Burst frowned in annoyance, but begrudgingly listened, “Just as the gods make some of us poets and kings, they also make some of us weak and some of us strong. You and I, we are two of the strong of this world. Life is for the strong, to be lived by the strong, and, if needs be, taken by the strong. The gods put the weak upon the face of this planet for our pleasure, the pleasure of the strong! So why should I not use my gift? If I wish to hunt a pony or a griffon, some sentient creature, why should I not be able to? Hm?”

Burst stared across the table, looking into the General’s mad eyes above his wicked smile, “You’re insane, General. No matter weak or strong they are still fellow sentients!”

“Exactly!” the General replied cheerily, “they can reason! Think! like me! That makes them dangerous, and dangerous, mister Rate,” the General folded his hands together, still smiling, “is exactly how I like my game,” he paused a moment, smile fading as he considered something. He stood from the table and headed around it, Burst tensed up, a light glow coming from his horn, “would you like to see how I get my game, mister Rate?” the General asked, walking over to a window, “come, I’ll show you.”

Burst followed with caution, keeping his eyes on the General the whole way over.

“Sometimes the gods bless me with a storm, wrecking a ship on the dagger-like rocks surrounding the isle. Other times somegriffon from Great Grifon ships in a condemned soul when the noose isn’t desirable...or legal. And yet others...” the General gestured out across the island, and procured an odd looking device. It was palm sized and cylindrical, with a gem atop. The general pressed down on the gem and a set of lights flashed from a spot across the island, “they indicate a channel where there is none. As you can imagine, the rocks get any ship that comes close enough.”

“Rocks?” Burst inquired.

“This island is known as ship-trap isle for a reason, mister Rate.”

“But ship-trap island is uninhabited!” Burst retorted, “nothing but jungles could be seen from the air! How could you disguise such a place as this?” he gestured to the mansion around him.

“Ah, with magic, of course,” the General indicated the flashing lights again, “magically powered utilities, we try to be civilized here. As to the rest, a simple cloaking field generated by the magic in the air. If you were to fly an airship overhead, all that you would see would be false forests where my mansion is.”

“Civilized?” Burst snorted, “and yet you hunt sentients as you would animals?”

A flicker of anger flashed across the General’s face, and Burst wondered if he’d gone too far this time, but it faded and the General spoke, “But have I not lived up to the definition of civilized? I’ve given you shelter from this storm and fine food for your belly. When we hunt I shall give you outdoor gear, a fine hunting knife, and food to last a few days.”

Burst was quiet for a second, the General had been rather civil, despite the hunting other sentient creatures part, that is.

“I will have nothing to do with you and your games, General. I will not hunt with you.”

A chilling smile slowly spread across the General’s beak, “Ah, but who ever said that you’d be hunting with me, mister Rate.”

Burst was silent.

“Hunting another, lesser, creature would be a bore with or without another seasoned hunter at my side. No, I aim to make things interesting and pit two seasoned hunters against each other. Your wit versus mine, your skill versus mine,” the General looked out to the dark of the night, “you versus I, mister Rate...”

Author's Note:

So how do you like it so far? I know that the original wasn't in multiple parts, but this one will be in more than one part due to the extended length.

Comments

[Mysterious Stranger]

I'm liking the story so far. I've read the original, so I knew what was coming, but you still managed to give me the chills. I also liked your use of imagery. Given that photographers don't really know how to set traps, I'm looking forward to seeing how Burst outwits Rayford.

[nullvariable]

I'm reading Rayford's lines with Leslie Banks' voice (he played Zaroff in the 1932 film adaptation) and it sounds glorious.