xjuggerscrapsx

by xjuggernaughtx

A Periodic Tale of Elements: Generosity - Chapter Two (Dark, Adventure)

One Day Before The Ritual - Bluestreak

Bluestreak’s eyes fluttered open as dust rained onto his muzzle. He was supposed to be guarding the doorway to the bunker’s inner command center, but he’d been on active duty more than a day now, and he was worn out. Rolling his eyes up to the ceiling, he noted dully that the crack in the ceiling above him was widening.

When he’d first arrived on the front, he’d been so terrified that he thought he would never sleep again, but soon enough he’d found a combination of terror and boredom had exactly the opposite effect. Even now, with the battle going so poorly, he could barely keep his eyes open.

Quit worrying, he chided himself, covering his wide yawn with a dirty hoof. That stone is ten feet thick. Nothing’s getting through that.

As the heavy wooden door slammed abruptly against the wall beside him, Bluestreak jumped, snapping to attention and wishing he could rub his chest where his heart was hammering wildly. Deep in conversation, the two ponies emerging from the interior command center didn’t even spare him a cursory glance.

“We’ve got no choice! We have to hold!” the larger of the two growled.

Bluestreak kept his eyes respectfully focused on the wall in front of him, but pursed his lips. He had no love for Ironsides, the company captain. He’d heard all kinds of stories about the enormous, shaggy stallion. How he was obsessed with glory. How victory was more important than the lives of his soldiers. In Bluestreak’s tenure as a guard, he’d never seen Ironsides do anything that would dispel those rumors.

How long’s it been since you’ve gone out there and risked your neck? Bluestreak wondered, staring with distaste at the back of the captain’s head.

“That’s what I keep telling you!” the smaller pony shrieked. “There will be no holding! We must retreat!”

Bluestreak winced, attempting to rub his ear without drawing attention to himself. Battleplan had joined the company several months ago when they’d lost their original strategist in a surprise attack, and had been rubbing them all the wrong way ever since. His nasally, screeching voice sounded to Bluestreak like rusty nails and broken glass being dragged across a blackboard.

“We’ve been driven back on all fronts!” Battleplan continued, absently pulling his ill-fitting uniform back into place. Bluestreak had often wondered if they’d needed to make Battleplan’s uniform especially for him. Where Captain Ironsides was a muscular brute of a stallion, Battleplan was anything but. Fat bulged out from beneath his uniform jacket, but his legs were so spindly that Bluestreak often wondered how they didn’t snap under the strategist’s weight. “We don’t have the ponypower or the resources to hold this position!”

Ironsides whirled, snatching the front of his strategist’s uniform in his hoof, lifting Battleplan’s front hooves several inches from the ground. “We will hold!” he snarled into Battleplan’s face. As his collar twisted painfully into his neck, Battleplan choked and pulled ineffectually at Ironsides’ hoof. “Now get back in—”

A sudden, intense concussion hit the base and Bluestreak stumbled, slamming his head against the wall. For a moment, he lay dazed on the ground, comforted by the cool stone floor.

So tired, he thought, blinking away the brilliant spots swimming before him. I’m so tired of all of this. He glanced over just in time to see Ironsides heave off Battleplan’s corpulent, quaking body. The strategist landed a few feet away with a flabby thud.

Bluestreak grabbed his spear and scrambled to his hooves. He wanted to return to his position before Ironsides could turn around. He’d seen what being on the wrong end of Ironside’s temper could be like, and the captain looked angier today than Bluestreak had ever seen him before.

Moving slowly, Bluestreak leaned over and quietly spit out the blood that had filled his mouth. Though he couldn’t remember it, he must have bitten his tongue when he’d hit the wall. Shuddering, he worked his tongue around his teeth, trying to scrape away the blood’s flat iron taste. He hated having blood in his mouth. It reminded him of every schoolyard fight he’d ever lost. It tasted like defeat.

“Now listen to me, you fat, useless coward!” Ironsides yelled, his lower jaw jutting forward as he advanced on the cowering strategist. “The king himself put me in charge of holding this valley, and I am not going to lose it!" As the captain advanced on Battleplan, Bluestreak began to sweat more profusely. Ironsides’ eyes were brilliantly white. His pupils seemed to be mere pinpoints in the fort’s dim emergency lighting.

He looks like a trapped animal, Bluestreak thought, swallowing hard. Like a mouse that’s been backed into a corner by a cat. He knows that it’s fight or die! For the first time, he felt a surge of pity for the mewling strategist as the captain towered above him. But how can we fight that thing? We don’t even know what it is!

Battleplan got his shaking legs back under him and stood with a groan. Busying himself with dusting off his uniform, he avoided Ironside’s intense stare. “We’ve lost eighty-five percent of our force. There is approximately one week’s worth of food in storage, and less than that in munitions." Battleplan raised his eyes hesitantly up to the captain’s face, and immediately wished he hadn’t. He’d been hoping another logical breakdown of the situation might sway the captain, but his unyielding, furious face told the strategist that nothing short of total obliteration would force Ironsides to see the battle for what it was: a totally lost cause. “We simply don’t have the resources,” he finished miserably.

“Then I’ll order all reserve and support forces to join the front!” Ironsides spat out, clipping each word short with his snapping teeth. “The enemy won’t expect it! One final push, and this battle is ours!”

“There are no reserves!” Battleplan screamed. Throwing caution to the wind, he grabbed the captain’s lapels and attempted to shake the hulking stallion, with little success. “We’ve already sent them out—”

Another explosion rocked the base, and Bluestreak followed the crack above him with his eyes as it snaked its way across the ceiling. He shifted uneasily, glancing at the reinforced steel door that opened out into the once-lush valley that bordered the Crystal Empire. It was the only way in or out.

Maybe I should tell them, he thought, licking his lips nervously. He tried to tell himself he was imagining the faint cracking sound above him, but as more dirt began to fall around him, he found himself unconsciously edging for the door to the surface. Frowning, he forced himself back to his assigned position. I don’t even know why I’m still here, he thought, leaning on his spear as the ground continued to shake. I’m just a guard. That thing out there is leveling whole platoons!

The two oblivious stallions arguing before him reminded Bluestreak of his mother and father. When King Sombra had instituted the draft, his father had been all for it, proclaiming that it was necessary for all Crystal Empire ponies to do their part in this time of aggression. His mother had argued vehemently against sending untrained bakers and gardeners off into war to die by the hundreds. It was one thing for soldiers to do it, she’d said. They’d signed up for it. It was another thing entirely to force ponies into battle. She’d said they were risking more lives by possibly putting inexperienced and unwilling troops onto the battlefield.

On and on they’d argued, until the day his letter had finally come. His parents had stared at it in quiet horror as he packed up his saddlebags. Finally, his father had taken him aside and offered to send him away to Hoofington. It was big enough that a pony could hide there, if he was smart and kept his nose clean, his father had said. But Bluestreak had refused. He’d lived all his life in the Crystal Empire, and everypony that he knew was being called off to war. He’d felt it was his duty to help out.

I’m such an idiot! he thought as he watched his superiors scream into each other’s faces. These guys don’t have any idea what they are doing. Why didn’t I run?! He glanced at the heavy steel door. I could still run! Bluestreak lightly bit down on his swollen tongue, hating the pain, but also perversely drawn to it. It was irresistible, in a way, and the pain helped to sharpen his mind. The stress was beginning to make him feel sleepy again. He could feel his body shutting down, wanting to hide away in unconsciousness. Unable to stop, he scanned the ceiling again, and felt his blood pressure rise. Secondary cracks were beginning to branch away from the main fissure. To Bluestreak, they looked like claws.

“Then find some way!” Ironsides screamed, saliva frothing at the sides of his mouth as he tore into Battleplan. “You’re supposed to be this great strategist! Figure something out!”

“I can’t squeeze blood from a stone,” Battleplan replied with surprising strength, “but you’re going to find a lot of blood on your hooves if you don’t order a retreat!" Battleplan’s knees were knocking so loudly that Bluestreak could hear them all the way over at his post, but the rotund stallion held his ground. “No matter how much they might wish to, a school of salmon cannot fight a grizzly! We don’t have any options left!”

A grizzly, huh? Bluestreak thought, reflexively clenching and unclenching his grip on his spear. The solidity of it felt reassuring. If only it was a grizzly! If we only knew what it was at all! Eyes on the ceiling again, Bluestreak was reminded of the snaking lines of marching soldiers that he’d arrived with. They’d seemed invincible to him. Row after row of recruits, fresh out of training and ready to help defend the empire. He’d felt so proud. Terrified, but proud; not just of himself, but for all of them. For the whole empire because they’d chosen to fight.

That sure didn’t last long, he thought, sucking his teeth. The taste of blood was still thick in his mouth, and he’d never wanted a drink of water so badly in his life. We thought the troops would welcome us with open arms! We thought we’d be heroes! They treated us like we were a bunch of morons, and they were right. We were morons. We were just too naive to know it yet.

When Bluestreak had arrived, he’d been bitterly disappointed that he’d pulled guard duty as his assignment. He’d been daydreaming of serving on the battlefield, working shoulder to shoulder with the other recruits to help protect his brothers-in-arms. Maybe even winning a medal or two he could show to the cute mares back home. The veterans had treated him like he was out of his mind when he’d complained loudly in the mess hall. They’d told him that he had no idea what he was talking about and to shut his mouth.

Little by little, he started to get the picture. Stories came back of terrible, vicious battles where the rules of reality itself didn’t seem to apply. Gravity would reverse, and suddenly whole battalions would fall into the sky, screaming, never to be seen again. Soldiers would mistake friend for foe and fall on each other, stabbing the life out of the pony next to them without realizing that they themselves were impaled. Battlefields transformed into vast living carnivals, with rides that whirled and tilted, scooping up screaming stallions and drawing them into their mechanical maws.

With ever-increasing and alarming frequency, panicked sergeants and lieutenants thundered past his post to breathlessly recount losses so terrible that Bluestreak would suffer from nightmares for weeks afterward. These days, it seemed he was always on the verge of falling asleep, but he never seemed to be able to drop off when he returned to his cot.

As the bunker shook violently again, the ceiling shuddered. Bluestreak gulped as tertiary stress fractures snaked off past his field of vision. Taking a few deep breaths, he stood at attention again. “Sir, may I make a report?” he said, saluting.

Locked in a battle of wills with Battleplan, Ironsides didn’t spare Bluestreak so much as a glance. “No one asked you for your—” he began, snarling out the side of his mouth.

Then, chaos descended upon them. With a deafening crash, the ceiling gave way. For perhaps the thousandth time, Bluestreak thanked his lucky stars that he’d been assigned guard duty. His proximity to the walls of the inner command office were all that saved him from the falling rubble. As the ceiling began to fall, he’d ducked into the recessed doorway and thrown his hooves over his head. Coughing and dazed, he felt uncontrollable laughter welling up inside of him.

“And I used… I used to… to complain about this post!” he cackled. In the ruined bunker, it was nearly pitch black, and the air was thick with dust. Despite his best efforts, the laughing caused Bluestreak to take a deep breath, and he started coughing. A deep, hacking cough, that only filled his lungs with more dust. Rolling over onto his side, he covered his mouth with his hoof, trying to get himself under control. I hated this stupid guard job and I’m probably the only one left in the whole division! he thought. Inside, he felt the laughter trying to fight its way out again. A wild, screaming laughter that might never stop. A laugh that didn’t move up past your mouth and left your eyes looking terrified and out of control.

“Well,” a jovial voice called out somewhere above him, “that performance certainly brought the house down, didn’t it?”

“Who’s…” Bluestreak croaked, coughing. “Who’s there?" He attempted to get up, but hissed in pain as something pulled on his tail. Turning, he was dismayed to feel that it was caught beneath what was surely tons of rubble.

“Why, do we have a survivor?” the voice called merrily. “Ah, that good ol’ pony will to live! It’s so inspiring! I’m simply moved to tears!" As the voice broke into comically loud sobs punctuated by trumpet-like blasts that sounded like an elephant blowing its nose, Bluestreak frantically ran his hooves along the doorway. When he slammed his leg into the shaft of his spear, he nearly fainted with relief. Turning it awkwardly in the tiny space, he set the sharpened edge against his tail and started sawing.

“So, what did you think of my bombastic performance today in this great theatre of war?” the voice called out again, snickering. “Did you have a blast? All of your ponies friends did, I can assure you of that! They were so moved that they simply went all to pieces over it!”

“What do you want with us?!” Bluestreak screamed out, ripping the last of his tail out from beneath the boulder. “We didn’t do anything to you!”

“What do I want?” the voice replied with a silkiness that reminded Bluestreak of a coiled viper. “I want what we all want. A little fun. Some good times. Your king’s head on a platter and dominion over the world. You know, the basics.”

Bluestreak cringed against the wooden door as the huge boulders in front of him began to shift. Shaking, he watched as they floated gracefully up and out of the ruined bunker, and that laughter began to well up again as he noticed that each one was tied to a smiling balloon. In the middle of it all, a patchwork monster stood, silhouetted against the blood-red setting sun. With reflexes that he wasn’t even aware he had, Bluestreak cocked his leg back and threw the spear into the creature’s chest. I got him! he thought, grinning savagely.

In the blink of an eye, the monster grew in tenfold in size, until it towered over Bluestreak. With a horrifying casualness, it plucked the spear from the air with its lion-like paw and began to use it as a toothpick, working it around a single protruding fang.

“As for what you’ve done to me, well, why don’t you ask your king about that one, eh?” the monster said to him. “I’m sure he’ll be able to make it… crystal clear!" The best threw its head back and roared with laughter.

Bluestreak took the opportunity to jump to his hooves and begin scrambling out of the bunker. He didn’t know what this insane thing was going to do next, but it was his only shot. He’d have to make a run for it and hope this thing was slower than it looked.

“That’s right, pawn!” the thing called out. “Run on home and ask good King Sombra how he’s rooked the Crystal Empire!”

Bluestreak put his head down and pumped his legs for all they were worth. He’d been a mediocre student and an average soldier, but there was one thing he was better at than anypony else: He was the fastest stallion in the Crystal Empire, and he used every bit of that speed as he ran from the living nightmare.