• Published 18th Mar 2012
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I Blame You - Whitestrake



The product of my friend and I having a Skype call that went to the subject of 'What if...'

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Now we go Hunting in the Sand

This was some Temple of Doom shit. Finding the scorpion lair was easy enough, or as easy as finding a man-sized hole in the middle of a vast grassland could be. Trixie was using the radio to whisper orders to Jay's team, who resided on the other end of the massive chamber. Hundreds, perhaps even over a thousand scorpions reveled and feasted in the massive cavern. It didn’t take a genius to know what meat they were eating, given the fact that it was a self-serve buffet. I have never seen such cruel and blatant disregard for a sentient species as these giant scorpion people were displaying towards zebras.

The drums made it too loud for any actual communication, but the heavy rhythm masked or movements into the colony. The human sentries were disposed of in a manner fitting their status, which I could tell Leviathan's machine spirit enjoyed greatly. While the scorpion king, because I'm totally calling him that, was smart enough to only give his guards spears, he was dumb enough not to implement an early-warning system. The entire species seemed to have some weird aversion to technology, even using open fire pits where they could have gas or electric heating systems. This also served to foil any plans I had of using chemicals or materials the arachnids had in the open.

“Team Two is ready for payload delivery.” the plan we had in place meant for us to begin the ambush by arming one of Leviathan's Mega Battle Cannon shells and throwing it into the unsuspecting bugs. At my approving blip, Lyra began levitating the massive explosive over the crowd, while Trixie and Chrysalis readied their scavenged firearms. This was going to be a moment we could cry about later. As inhuman as it sounds, emotional breakdowns serve no purpose in such a situation.

The caves turned to hell in a fraction of a second. The high-yield round exploded near the center of the seething mass of giant arachnids, spraying bits of greenish viscera in every possible direction. The beating of drums was quickly replaced by panicked shrieking as the sound of automatic weapons filled the air, clearing many of the warriors and scouts that tried to find a way to kill us. When the three magic-wielders had exhausted their ammunition, Jay and I took the initiative and jumped from our respective ventilation shafts. A massive, dark scorpion screamed at as it fled, and I realized the king was here.

“Jay, incinerate these eight-legged freaks, I'm going after big ugly.”

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“This seem familiar, Jay?” Chrysalis was over the slaughter of her offspring, the evolutionary necessity of drones made them easily replaced. She hadn't mourned their passing, though she was physically pained as a small potion of her then-massive hive was lost. Black humor was unheard of from the insectoid alicorn, and the break from sarcastic joking was noticed by her companions.

“Not really, I personally think it could use more noise.” Just because the pyro noticed her unusual behavior did not mean he cared. Another gout of flame engulfed a fleeing scorpion, its painful death would serve as recompense for the lives the overgrown horror movie rejects had ruined or taken. “I wished they screamed like burning changelings when they go up.”

“Yes, I suppose that is a feature to be desired.” The dethroned queen brought a side tunnel down on approaching reinforcements, while simultaneously preventing her comrades' escape. Cutting off the only viable way out was Taylor's plan, the teen had told her as much, and he obviously had a good reason for it. But, there was still something bothering the broodmother about this entire ordeal.

“We got civies over here!” Bon-Bon had taken to the role of mercenary almost jokingly, but she had the makings of a fine comm-operator. The other four wannabe bounty hunters ran to the candy maker, hoping to free whatever innocents they could. There were large slave cages, each holding a mixed group of zebras, humans, griffons, and the occasional minotaur. Male, female, young, old, they were all crowded into the cramped cells to be tortured, or worse.

“Christ.” Jay had to cover his mouth as he looked at the cells opposite from the heavily-occupied ones. There were some things even the most jaded of men retched at the sight of, and what he saw definitely qualified. “Bon-Bon, get Taylor on the horn, I don't want the fucker he's after getting off easy.”

“I'll make sure he gets in a few swings for each of us.” The cream mare knew enough about her begrudgingly accepted housemate that she could anticipate what he would do to the scorpion king. If what he did to Chrysalis was to protect a faceless city, the fillyfooler shuddered to think of what the tanker was capable of when it came to this.

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Steel met steel in an even fight, the sort that was horrendously uncommon on Earth when I left. Just the scorpion patriarch and I squared off in what I assumed was his private chambers, with his scimitar against my powered-down powersabre. Parries and slashes played between us in a dance of death, an elegant and fearsome display of brutal strength and refined skill. If the king was able to speak English, as he may have been if what the statue showed me was anything to go on, then there was no reason for him not to converse with me.

Bon-Bon's voice filtered in over my headset's background static, giving me news I wished not to receive despite its necessity. A number of, for lack a better term, bodies, all tortured and raped, possibly simultaneously, were found in a cage-turned-hellhole. Marauders were expected to display such behavior, and that alone would have spurred me into anger, but this fucker cranked it up to eleven. From a cursory observation, a few of the victims seemed pregnant, and there was a handful of children among them. You know something is very bad when I hope those that endure it are dead, but Bons hadn't said if their suffering continued.

“Take a pistol from a dead human, and – fuck! – kill any survivors, after you set the others free.” I needed to get rid of that scimitar if I was going to exact revenge, and I had one surefire way to accomplish this task. I took a small leap back, and cranked my powersabre to Purge. The golden-wreathed blade sliced through the blocking sword, as well as the chitin-covered arm that held it. I didn't allow the scorpion time to bleed before I slammed a foot into his chest. Under normal circumstances, I appreciate an even fight, because I knew there was no such thing as a fair fight. This was not a normal circumstance, and it was no longer a fight.

As I tossed my powersabre to the side and punched the king in his arachnid face, I realized just how different this was from what I'd done to the locals of Cuatla. There was no need for the added violence, I could just kill him and be done with it, but there wouldn't be the satisfaction I'd get from making him suffer. This was not combat, it was not self defense, I was committing murder, and loving every second of it. I punched the bastard in his face again, and felt something break under the pressure. If it was my hands or the scorpion's chitin-covered face, I had no idea. There was no rush of pain either way, so I'd have to wait until my body calmed enough to feel anything.

I swung with the same fist, and felt a similar snap. That was definitely a few metacarpals breaking under the impact, but I still had another hand and two feet to bludgeon with, should the pain become too much. Unfortunately, my body's limits went untested as the king's tail slammed into my back. I was killing a giant scorpion with a humanoid torso mounted on its body, how could I have forgotten about the famous stinging tail the arachnids came with? I stomped on his throat, crushing his equivalent of a windpipe as the leathery connective skin bunched and tore under the force output.

Adrenaline does funny things to the body, and effects vary from between individuals, even if the basic symptoms of a rush are the same across the board. In my case, pain tolerance and reaction time took a boost, but my coordination roll a nosedive. Right as the king sputtered his last few breaths under my boot, my high started to fade. With it came the immediate withdrawal symptoms, including increased sensitivity in my extremities and skin. Two metacarpals were broken, at least, not to mention the now-throbbing puncture wound in my back from that damned stinger. I took the requisite evidence of the king's death as I left the chamber, dragging the powersabre from my semi-useless hand.

Right as I reached the others, with the burning fires cleaning away the horror of the torture cells, the scorpion venom hit full-swing. My vision throbbed once and the next thing I knew, I was saying hello to the cave floor.

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Extra – A Night Through the Eyes of a Killing Machine
The Night of the Raid on the Scorpion Nest

Leviathan had a max speed of twenty-five kilometers per hour on roads, and eighteen kilometers per hour when off. So it went without saying that the current thirty kph the Baneblade zipped along at was more than impressive, given the lack of any sort of roadway in the Borderlands. With the Korpsman suffering from a came of poisoning at the hands of a filthy xenos, it was its duty to protect the young man, and that included breaking the specs the Mars techpriests had built into the machine husk Leviathan's spirit inhabited.

With the entire team aboard, begrudgingly including the bug-xeno known as Chrysalis, the massive beast tore across the savannah. Anything too slow, stupid, or immobile to move out of the tank's way was crushed beneath its mighty treads. It would still take a few hours to reach Equestria, and a many more to get to Canterlot, but there would be no delay unless every system of the Baneblade failed at once. Even then, it would take every force of the Ruinous Powers to hold the steel monstrosity in place. The tank shook as it ran over what resembled a Terran elephant, shame it couldn't collect the ivory. Land Raiders may be credited with the most advanced machine spirits because they can fight entire battles without a crew, but Leviathan previously filled in a job its cousin would find impossible.

Taking care of Guardsmen was very different from being cared for by Astartes, and the Baneblade only had to replace one crew member due to injuries during its five centuries of service. Given the exorbitant attrition rates the Imperial Guard suffered, that made the Baneblade a certified badass, and much better than any Space Marine Land Raider could claim. By the Emperor, the hulking tank wouldn't allow its sterling record to be tarnished, and it'd definitely do its best to prevent the loss of an excellent human life to xenos filth.

The Baneblade meant absolutely zero offense to its equine-xenos, because they were its commander's closest allies, and therefore under Leviathan's protection.

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