Outsider's Game: Night King

by Bluecho

02 - The Kiss

Ch. 02 - The Kiss

---

1000 Years Ago

“GLLLAAARGH!”

Stolen blood sprayed out as the shimmering blade stabbed into cold, dead flesh. The emaciated equine kicked around, leathery wings flapping hard. The blade slid deeper and deeper, scraping rib bone as it traveled.

“Gack! Glaa...haaah...ack...” the vampony choked, clasping a hoof over the blade in a vain attempt to stop its ingress. They could gain no traction, however, on the ephemeral sword.

“For Equestria, and all innocent little ponies!”

The sword pierced out the undead Pegasus' back, severing its spine in the process, before digging into the boulder behind. Cold life juices flowed out like a river onto cold stone.

“Graaagh...GLOOOLGH!” With a final, desperate spasm, the stallion went limp, wings ceasing their tireless flaps. Blood welled from the corner of his mouth and dibbled down his chin.

“Huff...huff...puff...” The alicorn combatant eyed its quarry a moment longer, breathing heavily.

“Princess! Thou hast slain the beast!” said a member of the lunar guard, running up to the scene. He gulped at the impaled beast.

“Huff...puff...gulp...aye...aye, tis done.” Princess Luna turned to the guard, brushing a stray lock of flowing hair from her face. “...what of the victim? Yon child?”

The guardspony dipped his head solemnly.

“...we see...” Luna said, frowning. She looked to the vampony. It twitched here and there; she knew it had unlife still. Not for long, though. “Thou...foul beast...thou shalt not consume any more lives. Soldier.”

“Your Highness?”

“Post a guard on this tree until dawn,” she said. “When our sister, Princess Celestia, raises the sun, the foul creature shall be no more.”

“Right away, Your Highness.” The guard saluted, then looked to the East. “Dawn shall come none too soon.”

Luna looked to that horizon. Knew how, when she brought down the moon, Celestia would bring up the sun. How her light would do easily what Luna struggled so to: completely destroy the nightwalker.

Luna scowled. The thought added just a drop more to the growing resentment in her heart. She looked to the moon – her moon. Studied its shadows.

For not the first time, she found those shadows...inviting...

---

Present Day

Dougal Dempsey sat in the embrace of the shadows. How often had they comforted him on nights past.

They comforted him little tonight. Protected from watchful eyes, but not comforted.

It finally happened, he thought, hand clasped over his face. I've gone completely mad.

With trepidation in his mien, he leaned over and peeked around the corner of his hiding place behind the tree.

Up and down the street, four-legged figures trod. They were clad in varied, fanciful costumes, but their underlying nature was readily apparent. Ponies. Ponies everywhere.

Another set of trick-or-treaters approached leisurely. Dougal ducked back to his hiding place, hand clasped over his mouth. As the giggles drew closer, he could feel his fangs reflexively extend. Dougal could hear their heartbeats. Nonetheless, he forced himself to stay still.

“Let's hit that house next!”

“Sounds great!”

The voices grew more distant, and Dougal peeked around again to study them. On third inspection, appearances remained unchanged: equine creatures – talking equine creatures – dressed in clothes and walking about as if they owned the place.

I just...I don't...fuck, he thought. Can't stay here. Need time to think.

The vampire turned on his heels and slunk away, head bowed low. Glancing over his shoulder, looking left and right, Dougal rushed behind another house. He jumped over a fence, landing softly on well-kept grass. He trained his ear, listening for any commotion from the house. None came to his attention. He continued moving.

Nothing made sense anymore. As a creature of the night, Dougal perhaps held the erroneous impression that he knew all the strange, wondrous, horrible things that existed and remained hidden from the mundane world. In retrospect, an arrogant opinion to be sure. Every year he unlived, since the night he was turned, he had learned something new. Something that surprised him. Something that made him just a little more paranoid of what lay around the next corner.

Dougal jumped over the next fence, then slowly peeked behind a corner. He could see some of the street through the space between houses. A street lamp – decorative bats strung together in a chain wound around the pole – cast light over the cobblestone. Several costumed children – foals – sped past in a group, the smallest of them all tripping over his four little legs and falling to the ground. He scampered to his hooves, an older pair of guardians patting him on the head and telling him to catch up.

When they group had passed, Dougal skulked forward, crouched low.

Explanations. Rational – or at least plausible – explanations. Dougal considered it. He could be dreaming, he supposed. He might never have left torpor, that elaborate mechanism and his miraculous tripping of it merely a wishful thought of his own. While he didn't know very much of the mechanics of torpor, Dougal knew stories. Stories of extended, vivid torpid dreams. Nightmares, really. Now if he could be sure which his situation was.

He stopped at the next corner, looking either direction. The next few pedestrians were far off on either side. Dougal sneaked into the front yard of one of the houses, counting on the glare of the street lamp to mask his movements from distant observers. Ducking into a patch of bushes, he paused, ears and eyes alert.

Next possibility, the whole sequence was an overblown, thorough illusion cast by some particularly demented Ravnos. A Ravnos with...questionable tastes. It would need to be a powerful, experienced one to fool all of his senses so completely. Or it could be a Malkavian, inflicting a mad vision upon Dougal for their own inscrutable reasons.

Dougal remembered the freak from the Sabbat war party. That he was assaulting Dougal's mind so was certainly possible. But did that mean they staked him, then sent the lunatic along to torment him? Or was he still in the battle?

He shook his head. Such speculation was unproductive. Giving room for some sort of mental dialation of time applied to such a vision, the Sabbat pack would in reality have their fangs around his throat right then and there. So that was either not the case, or he was about to die, rendering the point moot. Besides, Dougal could ill afford to constantly question his own perceptions. There was no way of knowing, so his only prudent course of action was to continue thinking and acting under the assumption that what he saw was reality. A bizarre version of reality where horses could talk...and build houses from pastel colors, by the looks of it...but reality nonetheless.

Otherwise, he might as well give up and assume he was a brain in a jar, being lied to. That was unhelpful.

Dougal peeked between leaves, past the bushes. Across the street, he spotted something that was very helpful. Potentially.

Glancing over the hedge row, he inched around the side and dashed across the road. Giving the street light a wide birth, Dougal sped to the opposite lawn. Ducking behind a fence, he looked to the house's front porch. Sticking out of a bush – no doubt cast carelessly by a delivery boy (colt) – was a newspaper.

Mindful of potential witnesses, Dougal crept forward. He cast his eyes to the windows, but they were black as pitch. Deftly he snatched the newspaper, then slunk towards the side of the house. He jumped over a fence.

Somewhere along the street, a voice said, “did you see something over there?”

Dougal clapped a hand over his mouth. The other clutched the newspaper dearly.

“See what?”

“...oh...it was probably nothing. Come one, we'll be late for the party!”

Muscles relaxing, Dougal unfurled the paper and scanned the cover.

Trottleville? Where in the hell was Trottleville?

Trottleville is where sapient horses live, apparently, he thought after a moment. He shook his head ruefully.

Dougal looked up and down the front page. The “Trottleville Times” seemed like a small town paper, except adorned with horse shoes at the upper corners. He turned the paper around several times, scouring for publishing information. The publishing time gave him a date that made no sense to him. But the publishing address pointed him at least to a place: Trottleville, Equestria.

The vampire sat frozen for more than a minute, before shaking his head and reading the front page story.

NIGHTMARE MOON COMES TO TROTTLEVILLE

By Front Page

After a month of labor and preparation, the streets of Trottleville run in a much spookier vein than usual. Yes, Nightmare Night has returned at last! Everypony is trotting about, hanging last minute decorations, scrounging for the last bits of candy, and performing those last costume repair tasks in anticipation. A fun, scary night is expected by all.

But Trottleville citizens are more excited than ever before this year. A treat unseen in our town's history is in store: Princess Luna, the Mare in the Moon herself, has chosen Trottleville for her seasonal visit.

On any other day of the year, Princess Luna holds her position as diarch and ruler of the night, opposite her sister, Princess Celestia. But for one night a year, our Night Princess wears the mantle of her infamous historical persona, Nightmare Moon, in honor of Nightmare Night. And this year, she has chosen Trottleville to visit. So be warned, trick-or-treaters. Nightmare Moon is on the prowl, and she expects offerings of candy...or else!

Later, Princess Luna will be attending the annual Nightmare Night Dance in Trottleville Town Hall. The party starts in...

Dougal let his hands go limp, dropping the paper to his lap.

He didn't even know where to begin. Equestria, Nightmare Night, a Princess – TWO Princesses. “Everypony”.

Dougal shook his head, rubbing his cheek. He brought the paper up again.

Nightmare Night Dance. Town Hall.

He stood up, looking over the fence. The street was growing eerily empty, scattered ponies rushing off out of sight. They were headed deeper into town.

Dougal stroked his chin. He needed blood. His fingers shook for want of blood. It would do little good to dwell on his situation without first slaking his thirst. And if the ponies were the only blood bags around, then there simply wasn't anything for it. But who to go after?

He looked at the houses lining the street. The lights were all off. One house – the one he'd spotted giving out candy earlier – had its front door open, and three pony adults head out. They walked towards the center of town.

It seemed the town hall was the place to be.

Dougal pondered his options. The easiest and fastest solution would be to jump the three ponies there. Combined the three could easily fill his belly. But as much as the Beast inside urged him to attack...the risk was too great. He could stop one, maybe two, but his mere appearance would likely be enough to send them all running and screaming. Then the entire neighborhood would investigate, and everything would spiral out of control.

Dougal simply was not confident in his ability to get them all, weak as he was, and not be found out. It would take only one frightened individual getting away before the entire town was in alert. It would take one corpse for a full manhunt to be on...and making a corpse of one of them was always a possibility.

Unlike among the humans, there was no blending in with these creatures. No Masquerade to shield him.

He could break into houses and look for individuals who decided not to go out that night...but it would take an extremely long time to carefully enter homes without leaving undo evidence of his entrance. Add the silent searching of every room, avoiding detection, getting out, and going to the next house, and he could be all night at the task. Dougal didn't have all night; he needed – wanted – blood immediately. Moreso since he also had to devote time to finding a place to take haven for the day.

There was, additionally, no guarantee that anyone stayed home that night. They could all be at the party. Or so few stayed away that searching houses would be akin to searching for a needle in a haystack.

Dougal jumped over the fence, crouching. He fixed his eyes on the retreating figures of the three ponies. He started tailing them.

A party was large and packed. There was danger of discovery, with so many present. But at the very least, he knew where the prey was. He could do his predator best, and find one that wandered too far from the herd.

It was only a matter of time.

---

“Princess! It's almost time!”

Princess Luna gazed down from the roof of a building. “Coming, Kibitz!” The lunar diarch leaped from the roof, great wings outstretched. Gliding down, her majestic form cast a shadow upon the ground by the light of the moon.

Several ponies passing through whistled and cheered.

“Princess Luna! Princess Luna!” cheered a filly, clad in a little red bodysuit and topped with a metal helmet, shaped like a dish but with wings on either side. She hopped excitedly. “Can I have your autograph?”

Luna landed, smiling. “Why of course you-”

“Mmhmm!” grunted Kibitz, bushy mustache wiggling impatiently. In truth, he felt rather silly in his flowing black cape, bow tie, and black eyeliner, but bore it with dignity befitting his position. Plus, he would hear no end of it from Princess Celestia if she found out he wasn't in “appropriate costume”. How he suffered for the crown. “Your highness, we do have a schedule to keep.”

“I...well...” Luna said, frowning. She looked back and forth between the royal planner and the child.

“Pllleeeeeeease?” said the filly.

“Oh...oh, we can stop for a moment, can we not, Kibitz?” Luna said, looking expectantly at him.

Kibitz shook his head. “I'm afraid we cannot. We're expected at...I mean to say...uh...” The unicorn stallion looked from his royal highness to the child. They both bore the same pleading expression.

“...botheration...” he finally said, rubbing his brow. “Very well, but we really must hurry. The dance is already begun.” He absentmindedly cleaned his spectacles.

“Thank you, Kibitz,” Luna said, winking at him. She turned to the filly, who smiled broadly. “Now, what is your name...?”

---

“Hold on, girls. I need to use the washroom!”

A unicorn mare with a fiery red mane ducked into the bathroom. She wore a blue and black jacket, and had a Flamingo stamped on her flank.

Flamingo's hoof pushed at the door, but the locking mechanism didn't engage. She pushed again, then a third time. She shrugged, then approached the mirror. Gazing into it, she removed a tube of lipstick from her jacket pocket and began applying.

“Wait'll the stallions get a load of me,” she said, admiring her handiwork.

From somewhere behind, the sound of a window opening could be heard. Flamingo felt the rush of air against her back. “Huh?”

“You'll do.”

Something grabbed her mane and jerked her head to the side. Flamingo gaped, “Ack! What the-”

She felt a sharp pain in her neck. Two stabbing sensations along a major artery. She gasped. Flamingo tried to struggle, but felt great limbs coil around her front and clutch tight. “Get...get...off...”

Flamingo's head swam. Her eyes wandered to the floor, glancing at the meaty digits caressing her body. Felt how very cold they were. She saw the individual threads of the creature's own jacket sleeves. Felt cold breath against her neck. Felt warm fluid gush from her flesh.

Felt the acute pain transform into the most exquisite pleasure she'd ever felt. “H...haaa...haaaaaa...” she moaned, hooves falling out from under her. But the caressing creature bore her aloft, supporting her with its great, big arms.

Dougal Dempsey tasted the fluids pouring into his mouth. It was the most exquisite thing he'd ever tasted. Such was the taste of a starving man.

He began to suck. Swallowed. Dougal's throat flared with soothing relief. Dry esophagus walls swelled, cracks mending under the deluge. Rushing to his stomach, the blood warmed his belly. Dougal's tongue danced, lapping up the delicious nectar.

Slow down, he told himself, reining in his enthusiasm. Savor. Enjoy it. Blood can't be taken in haste.

In spite of himself, he continued swallowing greedily. Dougal felt the beating heart of this...person...beneath his fingers. On his lips. Tasted the blood. Metallic, scarlet ichor, in his mouth, down his throat. It was...different, though. He feared an animal's blood would be thin – bland and lacking nutrition – but this was as pure as any human's blood. And its taste...spicy, almost. Tangy, and strangely energizing. Something about this creature's vitae that set it apart from the blood of humans. She was a unicorn, this creature. Is this what unicorn blood tasted like?

Was...he supposed to be remembering something? Dougal tried to think. But the blood...the blood was so good...and he was so...thirsty...

Not too much, he thought. He opened his eyes, pausing ever so briefly. I can't take too much...only so much blood. Can't take everything. But...but...

“...uuuuuh...oh...” the unicorn moaned weakly.

...but I'm so...thirsty!

“Flamingo! Are you done in there? Sorry if I just barge in but the door is open and I-”

Dougal looked up. Another mare – one with wings – appeared in the doorway. She was heavyset, with a white coat and blond mane. She wore a similar jacket to the unicorn mare, but white and blue.

Her chubby face portrayed shock. Then it twisted into one of horror.

Dougal swallowed what was in his mouth, then pulled it off the mare clutched in his arms. Blood dribbled around his mouth, and flowed in a little river from the unicorn's neck wound. Flamingo's eyes were glazed over, insensate.

The pegasus in the doorway sucked in air, a gasp preempting a fearful scream.

Dougal locked eyes with the pegasus. He pointed a finger at her. “Sleep.”

The mare's scream came out a quiet pop. Then she swayed in place. Her eyes swam, fluttered. Became very heavy. Staggering on her hooves, she groaned, “uuuuuh...” She teetered, vision fading. She toppled over.

She was asleep before she hit the ground.

Dougal gulped, staring at the pegasus. A pegasus. First a unicorn, then a pegasus. He shook his head. Turning to the unicorn, he felt her chest. Heartbeat rapid, breathing labored. The mare's trance had given way to unconsciousness.

He had taken more than he intended. Though not nearly as much as he wanted. He frowned anxiously.

Leaning in, Dougal stuck his tongue out and passed it over the girl's neck. He caught the stray line of blood at the bottom and worked up. The fur of the unicorn's coat felt unusual. Finally, he licked the puncture wounds thoroughly, lapping up the fluids and working into the holes. Beneath such ministrations, the marks closed, leaving no trace of the vampire's work.

None except the problematic blood loss. Dougal knew she would require medical attention. He gently lowered her to the ground.

He still hungered, of course, but his supply of blood was enough to afford a greater degree of control over himself. Dougal turned to the pegasus.

This one was heavier than the other, but Dougal had no trouble lifting. Holding the slumbering pony in his arms, Dougal felt her neck for the telltale artery. He'd been lucky with the unicorn – the unicorn indeed – but with extra flesh it always paid to be careful. When he was confident of its location, Dougal bore his fangs again and bit down.

Stirring briefly in her sleep, the pegasus flinched, then relaxed. She even smiled. “...oooohhh...T-torque...” she moaned, muttering softly.

Slightly bemused, Dougal drank deeply of her blood.

Once again, the vitae was strange. No less potent – for a mortal anyway – but sweeter, perhaps. It differed from the unicorn's blood, however. It seemed more...airy. And crackled with an electricity that tingled as the blood flowed down his throat and throughout his body. Like drinking static. It seemed moister as well, with a taste reminiscent of...morning dew.

More in charge of himself, he prepared to break off of his own accord.

“AAAAAAAHHHH!”

Dougal shot up. There was a third mare.

Why didn't he lock the door? He cursed himself, trying to lock eyes with the new mare. “Sle-”

“Monster! Vampire!” the mare shouted, turning away abruptly and dashing off, the bathroom door clattering closed in her wake.

A new scarlet sweat broke over Dougal's brow. He scowled.

Damnation, he thought, chasing after.

Comments

[tellhimtogoeatshitjohnny]

What clan does Dougal belong to?

[F0lkL0re]

5552168 considering what has been written so far he is probably either a Tremere or a Ventrue, personally I'm leaning toward Venture.

[Jess887cp]

I love the story, keep up the good work! :D

[Grahf]

5552601 I'm actually leaning toward Tremere seeing as he used Auspex in the cave and just showed he knows dominate and those are 2 of the Tremere's starting disciplines along with my favorite if he was taught it Thaumaturgy

[TBear]

Looking forward to more.

[BronyGuy2014]

Me gusta....
Lenny approves!

Ponies. Ponies everywhere.
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