He Who Walks The Graves

by The Zealot

Prologue: And so...

He Who Walks The Graves
By: The Zealot
Prologue: And So...

‘Twas a beautiful view, where I was standing, anyway. From the high peak of a mountain, looking out across a valley, the sun setting on the horizon. I clasped my hands together behind my back, head held high, looking over the valley. It looked beautiful on the surface. But below all that, in the villages, there were ponies suffering. All of this, because of one simple mistake. It was of no matter now, soon it would all end. Soon all would be- I was interrupted from my thoughts by the sound of hooves on the cobblestone behind me.

“Foul miscreant! Thou shalt suffer for thy crimes! Surrender thyself, lest thy punishment be even more severe!” I heard a mare’s voice call out. Spinning around I saw a battle hardened unicorn in steel armor, sword held in a green magical grip. Her coat was of cerulean, her mane of peach, her eyes of deep indigo. And she was here to try and kill me, or, more likely, capture me. They needed information, that of which to stop what I had set in place. They would not get it.

“You insult me. I have slaughtered your brothers and sisters by the dozens, one against many, no less. And yet you, a single soldier, think you can bring me down. But you aren't here to kill me, you are here to capture me, your rulers need information, you will not get it.” I said, my deep basso voice rumbling through my helmet and across the space between us. I drew a revolver, 45-70. in nature, it was known as a ‘Taurus Raging Bull’, it was a favourite weapon of mine. I placed it to the side of my helmet, against where my ear would be. I pulled the trigger.

What should have happened then, would have been a 45-70. round going through my helmet, doing what so many .50 caliber rounds and other weapons could not, and making my brain mush. It was part of a plan, you see. I have a particularly strange ability, that to come back. Whenever I ‘died’ I would find myself back again, some time in the future. Be it weeks or months, I always came back. Healed, both my body and equipment. I had used this power time and time again to avoid capture, they thought me dead, and I would be back a time later.

This time, however, it didn't work. There was a bright flash, the sound of jamming metal, and a cold covered my body. I couldn't move, I darted my eyes to my arm and body, and found cold grey stone. It was then that she walked in front of me. So regal, her alabaster coat and tri-color mane impeccably groomed, her regalia polished to a shine. Her glare so deep and hating. The last thing I heard before the stone took me over were her last words of boast.

“We have you now, Reaper.”

[1200 Y.R.S.]

Author's Note:

And so it all begins. I've been wanting to do this after reading such stories as 'F*ck It I'm Having Fun', 'Maledius', and 'The Rise of Darth Vulcan', along with some other stories. I don't quite think this story fits in with the verse they're all in, but they inspired. So, this is mostly for me to have fun with, but if people like it, well that's nice.

Comments

[Need More Gore]

Well...shit that was intresting. By the way unless he ia mounting that valley at the beginning I'm preaty sure spell check got you. I'm going to read the next chapter.

[Arxsys]

Well, huge problem with your firearms. First, the Raging Bull is NOT chambered in .45-70. It is .454 Casull. Secondly, .45-70 has far less power than a .50BMG. And lastly, the Raging Bull is one of the worst firearm designs I've seen. (Engineer at Taurus) "Lets design a gun to shoot a magnum caliber, but not make the components strong enough to do it on a steady diet...herp derp."

[hades21]

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