The Fifth

by Dconstructed Reconstruct

They Find Their Own Order—Part One

Good Cop offers me another sugar cube. His ears twitch nervously as he breathes quickly and shallowly.

I raise a hoof to stop him. “I doubt that flavor’s mine.” I give the young officer my most ominous smirk. “After all, none of this is real.”

Both officers stare blankly at me.

“That’s why I don’t remember how I got here—because I never left that room.” I motion to the empty walls that surround me. “This whole place is nothing more than an illusion conjured by some voice in the shadows.”

Before either stallion has a chance to utter a retort, I leap across the table. I wrap my hoof around Bad Cop’s tie and deliver the blow I’d been building up all ‘interrogation.’ Without waiting for him to groan—or even stumble backwards—I slam his head on the metal table. I’m rewarded with a cathartic, albeit painful-sounding, crack.

I turn to face Bad Cop’s partner. Soon as I do, I find myself dodging a stab to the face, just barely avoiding having my eye gouged out as the blade leaves a nasty cut on the right side of my eye socket.

Before Good Cop has a chance to deliver another attack, I reach for the pencil he had been using to scribble down notes and drive it into his left eye. Instantly, he drops his hoof knife and staggers backwards, holding onto his eye and screaming in agony.

Feeling bad for the young colt, I swiftly position myself behind him and grab his head with both hooves. With a twist, I end his misery.

My brow creases as I let out a weary sigh. The right side of my vision starts to tint red as blood pours onto my eye. I levitate the same handkerchief Sapphire used to wipe her tears, and try to wipe the blood away. The wound’s deeper than expected.

I turn to face the blank wall ahead. “I’ve seen through your little mind game. Now, show yourself!” If there’s one thing I had learned to hate over the years, it was being manipulated and deceived.

“I was hoping you would see through this simple trapping, detective,” the voice from my memory unexpectedly says. Its tone isn’t that abnormal, but something about it still sends chills down my spine.

“Ponies these days are just so easy to trick that it’s been getting boring.” The voice’s tone has completely changed. It’s taken on a higher-pitched resonance, not too dissimilar from that of a young school-age filly. It adds to its unnerving factor.

“Face me, you coward!” I roar at the wall ahead.

“Why would I face you when I’m nice and safe in the shadows?” the voice smugly says. “Still, killing you in the flesh would prove my superiority, and could even earn me status back home.” The voice whimsically giggles at its own words. It is a twisted and horrendous giggle.

“Okay, detective. I’ll grant you the honor of seeing me.” The voice carries with it a glee that’s as unnatural as it is immoral. Once again, its tone’s changed. It is still filled with the giddiness that can only arise from insanity, but the pitch has dropped to one that wouldn’t be out of place on a young mare.

“It’s nice to know you hold such a high opinion of me,” I sarcastically say. I take a deep breath of air in preparation for what I’m about to face. “Too bad I don’t feel the same about you and your cult.” Keep your hubris in check , I tell myself. You’ve survived this long on sheer luck. Don’t you blow it now. I do my best to keep my limbs from visibly trembling.

“Don’t you mean our cult?” the voice says in an unremitting pitch. Before I can retort, the room begins to fade. Colors wash out to shades of gray and black as whatever foul magic had spawned them quickly drained away.

I look down to my body and notice my own trench coat is vanishing alongside the room, leaving me wearing nothing but my mythril vest and my stained, ripped white dress shirt and red tie.

Within seconds, the interrogation room is no more, replaced instead by the same darkened location I had been tortured in.

Now, however, there’s a new presence waiting for me in the shadows. Its sadistic smile is visible even in the murk. Once my eyes adjust to the low lighting, I see my opponent for the first time. I have to do a double take as my jaw hangs open from the shock.

“It can’t be…” I find myself whispering.

---

III
THEY FIND THEIR OWN ORDER
PART ONE

---

I stand face to face with what’s unmistakably a female Damnatorum. She’s a mish-mash of various creatures, all deadly to the average pony: serpent for her lithe and curvy body; teen dragon, for her right foreleg and tail; lycan, for her left foreleg; quilin, for her left arm; and minotaur for her right arm. Her actual body coloring’s surprisingly even and gorgeous: a silvery shine that’s only contrasted by the crimson of her hooded robes.

The only feature that appears ‘average’ in her body is her head, which is that of a young mare. Even so, the two antlers adorning her head—one belonging to a deer and the other belonging to a ram—change that. One look into her ruby red eyes shows me black irises. Portals into a twisted mind.

“Surprised?” the chaotic being shoots her arms into the air, smile broad on her muzzle. I have to fight the urge to agree with her.

The damnatorum are a tribe of lesser draconequi whose members had at one point been ponies, quilins, or griffons. Through some kind of magical metamorphosis, they had been altered. Most damnatorum were tricksters at worst, but their chaotic powers, Paries Transmuto, made them dangerous and unpredictable forces in combat when they did go bad.

And the one in front of me was likely as bad as they went…

I give my opponent a grin to hide my rising unease. “I’ll admit that I wasn’t expecting to run into… well… one of your kind.” I try to keep the trembling out of my voice. “In hindsight, it makes sense. Only a being that can control chaos and reality could trick a changeling.” I give the draconequus a feigned smile. “Too bad it didn’t work.”

The mismatched being impishly grins. “Who said it didn’t work?” she says, followed by a giggle. A silly, twisted, malicious giggle. “You honestly believe that I would let anyone see through one of my tricks so easily?” Her smile broadens, becoming more spiteful. “It was only intended to distract you.”

“Distract me from what?” I never divert my gaze from the damnatorum as I levitate my weapon off the floor.

Before I can react, the draconequus extends her left claw, which now glows with unmistakably powerful magic. Seconds later, a pillar of flames erupts from under my hooves. I get but a fraction of a second to dodge.

“Distract you from the real world!” she haphazardly shrieks, followed by a mad cackle. The fire she had summoned dies out just as quickly as it appeared, and she stands in its place with a broad smile on her muzzle

Did I mention damnatorum were extremely unstable?

Despite avoiding the worst of the attack, I hadn’t been fast enough to evade it completely. Some of the fire managed to lick my left back leg, causing a nasty burn that pierced through my thick chitin.

With a hiss, I fight back the pain and put the sensation to work for me. I aim my repeater as soon as I’m upright again and fire a single bolt aimed at the draconequus. Soon as she sees my weapon’s barrel aimed at her face, she vanishes. I only succeed in blowing a hole in the wall.

Taking my foe’s move as an opportunity, I levitate a small red vial from my saddlebag on the table. I pour its content over my wound, easing the burn and repairing the destroyed chitin in a matter of seconds.

I’m not even on all fours again when I feel the air gets charged with magical energy. I jump out of the way again, this time from a shadowy lump of energy that almost takes my head off. The ground erupts in a shower of rubble and dust, leaving behind a sizeable pony-sized hole in the concrete floor.

“Give it up!” the damnatorum says. “I’m stronger than you, faster than you, more determined than you! You’re waste; you’re filth; I’m going to rip you apart!” She viciously laughs at her own words, her voice reverberating all through the room.

I ignore the taunt as best as I can. Instead, I once again take aim and fire a shot just as the last laugh leaves my foe’s lips. A pained yelp rings in the dark, followed by a low thud. I instantly fire again, but I only hit another wall.

“Tricks and illusions aren’t going to save you,” I say, feigning a playful tone of my own. “Give up, you mismatched reject, and I might just let you walk out of here in shackles. Otherwise—” I prepare my weapon. “—you’ll not be walking out of here at all.” I bring my fetlock to within millimeters of the trigger.

The only response I get from my foe is a loud yell and a stream of crimson flames snaking along the ground toward me.

I stay perfectly still, watching the pattern intently. One false move and I’m ashes.

Closer and closer the trail comes. Eventually, it breaks into five strands of flames that zigzag across the floor.

With one fluid motion, I fire the remaining five bolts in my repeater just ahead of the flames. The five shots break the concrete and stop the fires in their tracks.

I pop open my repeater and levitate eight half-inch long steel bolts from the other saddlebag on the table. I put each projectile in its respective chamber while I recharge the repeater with more magic.

“You… really are as—augh—g-good as they say!” the draconequus shouts. Seconds later, I barely dodge another blast of magic—this time electricity—before I return the attack. My foe once again vanishes before I can get a good lock on her. I again hit a wall.

“All I need is one shot, right between your eyes,” I shout, using the same playful tone from earlier. “Even a being of chaos can’t survive having her head blown off!”

It wasn’t exactly the most interesting taunt or threat I’d ever uttered, but the added playfulness to my tone, coupled with her injury, must have struck a chord.

Seconds after my boast, the draconequus leaps out of the shadows and tries to swipe at my head with her claws. I jump back to avoid her attack. She winces as soon as she tries to stand, left claw over her abdomen.

“I have... defeated many… stronger opponents… than… you!” she says through clenched teeth. Her voice again changes. It’s not only a lower resonance, but there’s a strong note of doubt in it. “You’ll pay for all the comrades you’ve killed tonight!”

Rather than wasting my breath on a retort, I rush the draconequus. It catches her completely off-guard, giving her no time to perform any defensive maneuver or cast any barrier spells. I end up delivering a powerful ram attack directly to her chest. My horn almost gouges her as she slams against a nearby wall with a loud yelp. Before I can bring my repeater to bear, she again teleports into the shadows.

“You… relentless… monster…” The damnatorum’s voice no longer holds any kind of amusement, but outright fear. The voice is coming from… right behind me! I wheel around and fire all remaining seven shots. The bolts miss entirely, only striking the walls. I charge my horn and reach for more ammunition.

“A fool’s mistake!” the draconequus’ voice mockingly echoes, coming closer with each word. “You should have been more attentive to your ammo reserves!”

She’s getting closer, I think to myself. I quickly grab all the ammo I had left and start to reload just as her silvery form slips from the shadows.

As soon as she sees me reloading, she lets out a yell and charges me, a pale gray light emanating from her right claw. I watch my foe’s movements carefully. Timing is everything.

The glow becomes brighter, enough that I have trouble seeing her full form. Seconds later, a beam of blue energy shoots out of the pale gray light.

I slam my repeater shut and roll away just in time for the blast of energy to sail over my head. I exit my roll and leap towards the draconequus. I land right on top of her chest. Soon as I do, I dig my back left leg into her abdominal wound. The damnatorum screams in agony, closing her eyes for a fraction of a second. When she opens them again, the barrel of my repeater’s positioned right between her eyes, just as I had promised.

She didn’t see it nor expect it. She has no time to move, no time to counterattack. A wide smirk forms on my muzzle as magic surges in my weapon’s barrel. “NO, PLEAS—” the damnatorum starts, her voice cracking with absolute terror, but the sound of thunder coming from my repeater drowns her words out. I jump away just as my foe’s lifeless body hits the floor with a dull thud. Her remaining black-irised eye stares back at me. In it, I can see one final message to me: “Why?”

I let out the breath I’d been holding and fall on my haunches, both from the shock of the battle, and the exhaustion. At first, I softly chuckle, glad to be alive and relatively unharmed. Then a pang of guilt starts to form in my chest. It’s followed soon after by numbness as the draconequus’ last words ring in my head, a genuine cry of parlay I ignored and mocked in favor of cold retribution. In the back of my mind, a small changeling celebrated the death of yet another foe who’d foolishly underestimated me. Thinking about that changeling made me feel sick all of a sudden. Why? I ask myself.

I look to my vanquished foe, and all I can really think about is Velvet. Why Velvet? Why am I even caring? With a heavy sigh, I move closer to my dead foe. My lips purse. With my magic, I close her remaining eyelid. I can’t bear to look at that eye anymore.

I sit on my haunches again, heart rapidly beating. The adrenaline in my system’s still pumping me full of energy, but I have no more use for it. I take a deep breath to try and relax. When that fails, I stand and walk over to the table. Without sparing another thought, I gather my belongings. The bitter taste in my mouth is now multiplied tenfold. I’ve no idea where I am, but something told me I wasn’t in the Golden Vision anymore. I let myself groan in frustration. Somehow, I’d ended up killing a griffon, two ponies, and a draconequus.

Once I put my real trench coat back on, I got ready to leave the dark room. That’s when I hear a low moan echo in the murk. I turn around to see the changeling I had knocked out earlier start to come to. I instinctively raise my repeater, aiming for her head. The urge to pull the trigger’s strong. She’s one of them, I hear myself thinking. She’s evil scum! Rationally, taking her out was the intelligent thing to do. I close my eyes and prepare myself to pull the trigger.…

…but I don’t fire.

I lower my weapon and sigh in defeat and exasperation. I… I don’t like to kill, I lie to myself. I. Don’t. Like. To. Kill! I walk over to the still-recovering filly changeling. Before she has a chance to fully recuperate from her addled state, I whip her on the back of the head. I don’t let her hit the floor. I wrap her in my telekinetic hold and carefully place her on my back.

I make my way to the far end of the room. There, I start feeling along the walls for an exit. After locating a hidden door, I leave the room of death. As expected, my exit leads me into an old abandoned warehouse somewhere in lower Canterlot. I only have to take a short walk outside to find a vandalized payphone. Thankfully, it’s still in working order.

I put the unconscious filly next to the phone booth as I meet my own reflection. It’s only then that I note that aside from my trench coat, my shirt and tie are not only ripped to shreds, but stained with the life essence of other living beings. All my kills suddenly return to me. The griffon, the two ‘cops,’ the damnatorum, Velvet—all faces that flash before my eyes. Why? I again ask myself, leaning on the wall for support.

I shake my head, focusing instead on the task at hoof. I take out a bit coin, pop it into the machine, and dial the first number that comes to mind. “Lieutenant Shining Armor, This is detective G. I… I need your help.”

---

The first rays of sunlight have crept over the city’s skyline by the time I make it back to my building complex.

I’d been in the torture room exactly four days by my count. Still lying on my back is the changeling filly. She’s unconscious, but unharmed. I can’t help but roll my eyes as I recall how I got stuck with her.

*** *** ***

After Shining Armor and Ingot had arrived at the scene, the three of us agreed to involve only the E.B.I. and guards in the mess I had made. Once Canterlot PD officers started arriving on the scene, we got to cleaning as quickly as we could manage, but only after making the officers swear to not speak of the details. We picked and packed the bodies, and made sure there weren’t any suspicious objects that a random pony could stumble upon.

The only real loose end was the filly.

Naturally, the colts of the E.B.I. had wanted to take her as a “suspect of interest.” Two issues, however, made that a difficult proposition.

First: Equestrian law, which prohibited the detainment and processing of anyone under the age of eighteen, which the filly clearly was.

Second: the desire to suppress the now clear fact that Canterlot had the Crux Nato running about. The E.B.I. was clear in wanting to avoid further panic among the populace, especially since there was still a killer on the loose. My ordeal had to stay a secret for the greater good.

Because of the delicate situation at hoof, the only course of action many officers came up with was to remove the filly from the official picture.

Unfortunately, that either meant killing her, putting her through the arduous and painful reconditioning and memory adjustment procedure—which could just as easily kill her—or putting her in a windowless cell for the rest of her life—which was as good as killing her.

The choices, aside from blatantly breaking laws—written and unwritten, governmental and moral—didn’t seem even remotely appropriate, even if the filly was affiliated with the Caelestibusque. After all, she hadn’t actually harmed me. It had been Ingot, of all ponies, who had suggested that the filly be left in my care.

Though it wasn’t my first choice, it was still somewhat sound. After all, I was not only a changeling, but also a former Crux Nato member myself. I had a higher chance of getting the filly to talk about her assignment than any other officer had.

With the choice settled, we tagged the filly with a tracking spell in case she managed to make a run for it. If she so much as sneezed, the E.B.I. would come down on her with hankies and shackles.

After the procedures, Ingot had ordered some of his men—but not Shining Armor—to accompany me back to my office. Unfortunately, they departed soon after arriving at my home, likely to keep my profile as low as possible. An escort of five guards draws a lot of attention near the slums, after all.

*** *** ***

As I enter my building’s foyer, I can’t help but grunt. The guards could have at least helped me get the filly up to my office. My back’s getting sore from lugging her around.

As soon as I exit the elevator, I notice the hallway lights are out. Not that surprising, considering how cheap the building’s owner tended to be. Still, it is early in the morning, which means the lights had likely been out all night. That seems wrong.

I make my way down the empty corridor, keeping a sharp ear for any suspicious sound. Just to be safe, I levitate my repeater and keep it near my head instead of strapping it to my right hoof. I’ll need all four of my limbs should trouble rear its ugly mug.

Everything looks the same far as I can tell: same dusty wood floors, same gaudy and cryptic graffiti on the wall that read ASTRO$RF LIVES, same everything. The further in I trek, the clearer it becomes that the normality itself is a sign that something’s not right.

I gently place the filly down against a nearby wall before leaning around the next corner. I see nothing but empty hallway ahead, but do notice glass littering the floor. I look up and quickly discover why; the lighting’s been shot to Tartarus.

I gaze further down the hall. I spot my office door, and it is slightly ajar. Prudently, I prowl closer to get a better look. I don’t have to inspect it too carefully to see that it had been bucked open. The inner lock shows signs of tampering, but it wasn’t successfully picked.

I gaze around before quietly concentrating, and seconds later, my body’s enveloped in emerald flames. When the flames recede, I’m no longer myself, but instead a Windigo. My new ethereal body lets me phase past the door without disturbing it. Despite wanting to turn back to my original form, I stay as a windigo. I’m not a fan of being an ethereal strife eater, but I’m not stupid enough to walk right into a possible trap.

I focus on my surroundings in the hopes of sensing emotion, but there is nothing. My home, it seems, is long vacant. I assess the damage done to it. My desk’s overturned, my filing cabinet’s torn asunder, and all of my furniture—save for the couch—seems to have been beaten and ripped by what I can only really describe as either an angry bear or a pack of timberwolves.

I can’t help but growl and snort in rage. At this point, it doesn’t really matter if I make noise. Whoever broke in was long gone, and aside from the neighbor—who was never really home to begin with—the entire floor was vacant. I momentarily consider organizing my stuff and carrying on as best as the circumstances allow when I spot several things wrong about my office.

First is my alcohol cabinet. It’s far too pristine, especially since it was subject to a violent ransack. Next is the hall leading right up to my room. It’s not only clear of damage, but there isn’t even a single sign of traffic in it, almost as if the culprits hadn’t even bothered going there. Finally, I note several obvious clues strewn about, including hoofprints and small objects such as cufflinks and discarded pieces of paper with writing in them. I turn to my front door.

How much do I want to bet… I think to myself as I look behind the door. Of course. A small bundle of balefire gems primed and ready to blow with the slightest tampering, I angrily think as I see the small mechanism strapped to the door. I can’t see them, but I’m dead certain there’s more traps waiting for me.

With my office compromised, I’ve no choice but to report to the Palace of Justice. Ironically enough, I have to wait for the cover of night to move again since getting there while lugging an unconscious changeling in broad daylight was just asking for trouble. I guess I can call in for help, but something told me the phone lines were being monitored. I give my office one last look over before I phase out. Once I’m back in the hall, I take my natural form again and I carefully levitate my still-unconscious charge. I’d have to hole up in a nearby motel till nightfall. I knew which one.

---

Roy’s motel is called “Big 12.” Why did he choose that name? Hay if I knew.

Roy’s a mild-mannered earth-pony, and an old friend. Once upon a time, he had been an E.B.I lieutenant detective. He was forced to retire after he lost his left hind leg to a vicious gang of auto-carriage thugs. I was shortly after assigned to bring the thugs to justice.

One massive fight down an abandoned highway later, and all but the gang leader remained without being a stain on the pavement. I also lost my auto-carriage in the process. I got Tartarus from Ingot, who ended up giving me a month’s probation for my use of “unnecessary force.” He didn’t kick me out of the E.B.I., despite having every right to do so though.

Roy and I greet each other, and after a few suggestive jabs and an innuendo about my “catch,” Roy agrees to help me. He gave me his most “luxurious” room and promised to keep an eye out for suspicious activity. He also swore not to snitch me out as a jailbait chaser. I roll my eyes and laugh at his jab. I definitely wasn’t going to hear the end of it from him now.

After making sure the room’s truly empty, I unload my still-unconscious captive carefully on the bed and take a seat on the nearby table. My thoughts then drift back to my office. I probably should have checked more for actual evidence, I think to myself. I frown at my idea. I couldn’t have risked setting off any of the traps. I snort bitterly. Even if I got the office cleaned and repaired, it would never really feel safe again. And the rent was so cheap, too…

I take off my trench coat and tie, but leave the shirt and mythril vest on. Without much else to do, I switch on the nearby radio and tune in to the local music station. A block of news passes in which an overly excited DJ talks about how peaceful Canterlot is before announcing that he’s got a special treat: a live performance by an upstart whose voice has to be heard to be believed.

Upbeat jazz music starts to play, and to my surprise, a familiar voice starts to sing. It takes me all of five seconds to recognize the charming and dulcet voice of Sapphire Shores, the filly I had met in the Golden Vision selling overpriced sugar cubes for a living. She must have really impressed in her debut to have made it to the radio in less than a week. At least she wasn’t stuck in that manure hole of a casino anymore.

Soon as the song ends, the DJ once again takes over, at which point he thanks Fancy Pants for his contribution to the station and for introducing Canterlot to “the magnificent Ms. Sapphire Shores.” I smile. Figures Fancy Pants had something to do with this. At least one pony has gotten her happy ending.

I yawn and let myself relax a bit. An hour passes before I start to feel particularly thirsty. I turn off the radio and give the changeling filly another look. She’s still out cold, so there really isn’t much of an issue. I stand up and put on my trench coat. It’s then that I note two very important aspects I had entirely missed about the filly.

The first was age. While I had known she was a filly, I’m left wordless by just how young she actually is. She can’t be older than sixteen. Same age as Velvet was.

That thought led straight to the next aspect: physical looks. Now, I had seen many pretty faces over the years, a few dozen belonging to my own kind. The filly though, she was by far the prettiest changeling I’d ever seen. Shortly thereafter, I remind myself I’m not a Jailbait chaser.

Wait, what? I think to myself.

I look away and growl. Damn you Roy…

I look back at the filly and sigh. What was such a gorgeous young gal doing running around with the Crux Nato?

As I open the door, I make sure to set the extra lock the motel owner gave me. If the filly woke up while I was out, she wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry. More importantly, the extra lock would keep any unwanted visitor out of the motel room. Something told me her life could be at risk.

---

---

As soon as I open the door, I find myself dodging a blast of green flames.

I grit my teeth, instinctively bringing my repeater to bear. I feel a curse forming on my tongue as I aim the weapon at the head of my attacker. I turn to face my foe just as I’m about to magic the trigger. On seeing who it is, I stop myself.

Baring her fangs and with horn aglow is the filly changeling, now wide awake and very much displeased. Her emerald eyes glare at me, and I sense rage and fear in her. Mostly fear, on closer analysis.

I lower my weapon and magic the door shut. I give the filly a careful gaze before taking my purchases and walking towards the kitchen as if nothing has happened between the two of us. She jumps in my way, attempting to appear as threatening as possible. The more she tries, the more helpless she makes herself out to be.

I roll my eyes and walk around her. Just like a puppy, I think to myself. She’s got plenty of bark, but no bite...

“You!” the filly says. Her tone’s wavering between determination and trepidation. “You—you killed them!” I turn to face her; that’s when I note her death-glare.

“Damn you! I am not going to roll over and be your damn prize!” she lets her horn glow again, gathering power for another blast of green flames.

I scoff. “I did not take you as my ‘prize,’ ” I furrowed my brow as I felt my face get warm. I’m left stunned that the filly could even believe such a thing. Then again, if I had awoken in a motel room to a stranger who had previously knocked me unconscious and killed my allies, I’d probably be thinking the same thing, right before I went for the nearest blunt object.

“Then why am I here, still alive?” The filly’s magic is only growing more and more concentrated.

I mull over her words, realizing she had brought up the fact that she was still alive as a factor. Had she expected to die?

At first, I don’t answer. Instead, I choose to glare back. When I finally do answer, I do so with a threatening tone. “I wouldn’t bother with magic, kid. I’m not going to kill you, but that doesn’t mean I can’t shoot that horn off your head if you force me to.”

My bluff works. Her lower lip starts to quiver as poisonous doubt seeps into her mind. I decide to keep up the assault.

“You saw me kill your griffon buddy. He was easy. He went down after only two shots.” I look at her eyes slowly and menacingly. “Your other friend, the damnatorum—while unexpected and quite proficient with magic—I killed in a single shot!” I feign a smile, which starts to fade. Just recalling the draconequus brings about a wave of numbness that threatens to expose the deception.

“I can tell that you’re young and inexperienced, kid.” I force myself to chuckle. “Arashi and I used to chew and spit out rookies like you back in the good-old days, you know. Back when I was Crux Nato royalty, so to speak.” I feel revulsion just bringing up that manure stain on my life. I felt twice as sickened recalling how I actually used to carry that fact with pride.

The filly jerks back at my words. Her eyes go wide as tea plates. “You—you were—”

I force a smirk at her reaction. “Come, now, don’t tell me you went in and took an elimination assignment without knowing who you were going to be eliminating?” My wings once again start to vibrate. This time, they do so at my own lies and pride of past sins. To hide this, I stand on my hind legs and press my back against the nearest wall, crossing my hooves while keeping my repeater pointed at the filly’s face. The effect makes me appear like a laid-back killer. I complete the deception with a wicked smile. Physically, I feel like vomiting.

The filly doesn’t answer my question. Instead, she drops on her haunches, eyes still wide. Whatever magic she had been gathering dissipates as my words sink in like a lead weight.

She looks me in the face again. Slowly, she starts to back away, shaking her head as tears form in her eyes. “You’re—you’re—” she stutters right before she bumps into the wall. The shock causes her to wince, gasps for air, and before I can say a word to ease her, start to weep like a month-old foal.

“Please, please, please don’t—don’t kill me!”

I do my best to hide the shock as I turn back to my purchases. “Didn’t you say something about expecting to be dead?” This only makes the filly flinch and cower further. “If I had wanted you dead, I could have killed you right after I took your partner out.” I close my eyes and feel the weight of my own words. My mouth feels bitter and filthy after uttering those words.

There’s no reply from the filly. I sigh and turn to see why. I’m left speechless when I see that she has somehow willed into existence a jagged dagger made of an icy material. How did she summon that without speaking? I think to myself. More importantly, just what kind of magic is that?

The filly closes her eyes and lets out a primal shout. Then she charges me, knife in mouth. Before the weapon even gets near me, I instinctively levitate my repeater out of its holster and aim for the filly’s face. I quickly grit my teeth and alter my aim, firing a single bolt straight at the dagger’s edge instead, careful to not harm the changeling in any way.

The icy blade shatters as my bolt makes contact. This snaps the filly out of her attack and makes her wince. She instinctively readies herself for another charge when her eyes settle on my weapon, which is now pressed over her horn. I give her a hard and cold glare.

“Don’t,” I say in a grave tone.

The filly tightly shuts her eyes and backs away, body near to the ground. She again bumps into the wall, and despite fighting with all her might, the dam breaks and she bursts into wails. She collapses on the floor, hooves over her eyes, screaming, “No! I didn’t want this! I didn’t want this!”

I walk up to the young filly, not sure how to best proceed. It’s obvious she isn’t a full-fledged Crux Nato operative, but merely a rookie who bit off far more than she could chew.

Even if she was an actual operative, she wouldn’t really stand too much of a chance against me. Still, I can’t help but feel sorry for her. After all, she’s just a kid.

“Kid,” I say to the filly in as soft and gentle a voice as I can manage. “I’m not going to kill or hurt you. I… I don’t like to kill…” I lie through my teeth once again. “I… I give you my word as a lieutenant of the E.B.I.”

The filly looks to me, face softening at my words. It really isn’t much, but it’s enough to get her to stop crying. I’m reminded of the damnatorum by the fear I now feel in the air. It’s filling and appetizing, but bitter, sickening, foul.

I give the filly a nod and decide to give her room to think and decompress. I head for the kitchen. I’m in dire need of a sweet drink.

---

---

Five hours after her sudden bout of tears, the filly quietly sits on the lone motel bed. She refuses to speak either out of fear or shame.

I had left the motel room several times during those five hours. I restocked on bolts, spell scrolls, potions, and sweet liquors. Every time I returned to the room, the filly was still sitting on the bed. She could have made an escape while I was out even with the two locks in place. She’d shown me she was more than capable of slicing the door’s hinges with her powers. Instead, she chose to sit there, gazing emptily at me.

By the time I made my fifth trip, the filly began to show signs of exhaustion. I decide to look into her emotions to see what was wrong with her. It’s then that I realize in horror that all the fear she’s bottling inside is draining her already perilously low energy reserves. At the rate she’s weakening, she’ll starve by the end of the week, maybe sooner. I feel another pang of guilt form in my chest. If the filly dies, she would be the sixth corpse on my already heavy conscience.

I shake my head. What’s wrong with me? I’ve never before cared about who I maimed, or even killed. Why am I worrying all of a sudden? I feel a sickness in the pit of my stomach soon as the notion of another death crosses my mind. Those I’d killed in the past—they had had it coming.

This… this was different…

“Hey,” I look the filly in the eyes. You do not care about her dying, my mind starts to repeat. You do not care about her dying. You. Do. Not. Car— “Do you still consume love?” I completely cut my inner monologue off.

The filly looks at me with surprise, but swiftly nods at my question.

I sigh with relief. At least she hasn’t been made into a preferity by the Crux Nato. That’s good… and bad…

“What about you?” the filly suddenly asks me. “You’re so full of hate. How come you’re not starving?”

I instantly grimace at the question. “That’s none of your damn business!” I glare daggers at the filly.

The filly recoils at my sudden outburst, her eyes going teary once again. Her reaction makes my fury die out as shame takes over. Instead of digging myself a deeper hole, I turn away and move into the kitchen. I take a seat at the table and look in the opposite direction of the filly.

My mind starts to fight a tug of war with itself. One side screams and rages towards the filly. It demands her blood be shed for the insult. The other side also rages and berates, but its scorn is for allowing me to be such an insensitive prick.

I shut my eyes as tight as they go. Dammit, what’s wrong with me? Why did I go and frighten her like that? Why did I take offense to a question I once would have gone out of my way to answer with pride?

I put a hoof over my face, weary of all the bull now assaulting me. Something in me is changing, and maybe not for the better…

---

TO BE CONTINUED

---

Comments

[Eater-of-Worlds Smooze]

Eww... first person present tense. Still, it's well done first person present tense.

Chapter 2:

In my mouth, the bitterness is intensifying.

You could use active voice here.

Chapter 4 ends with a paragraph out of format with the rest of them.

Well, that's the extent of the obvious errors I noticed. This is very well written noir. I particularly like the setup and the way you take plot twists and twist them further. Liked, and favourited.

[Dconstructed Reconstruct]

3494829
You best come back and enjoy it brother. Otherwise, you'll be missing out BIG TIME

[Dconstructed Reconstruct]

3520118
More is on it's way. Next chapter in... less than an hour!

[Dconstructed Reconstruct]

3517388
I'll get to correcting those little issues you pointed out.

As far you liking the story, that's freaking awesome. More is on its way. Matter of fact, new chapter's in less than an hour's time.

[Casca]

Hah, called it!

Also, you've just made me read well over 20k words in a sitting. Dang. Wasn't expecting that.

Seriously, though, this has been quite the pleasure to read. I like it a ton better than Dear Diary, even, because damned if I don't like G. While the whole internal struggle thing could be pulled off cleaner (it feels weird that he's having these struggles triggered from the current events, since I'm reading it that he's gone through such events before as a detective - why hadn't he resolved them by then?), the rest more than makes up for it. The action scenes, especially, such a nice, crisp, smooth execution. Much to be appreciated here.