Chapter Twelve: Dead Heat
Chapter Twelve: Dead Heat
The storyteller glared at the audience, rising to his feet. His eyes were glazed over with regret yet burned with determination.
Do it.
Do it, damn you all. Slander me. Beat me. Hurt me. Damn you all, hurt me! Show me your rage! Show me your indignation!
Come on, hit me. Hit me. Hit me! I got off too easy for what I did. Hell, what am I talking about? That was one of my lesser crimes, damn you!
What? Are you afraid? Are you afraid that I'll strike back? Well, I won't! Come on, I want to face judgment for what I've done! Are you telling me none of you give a shit that I killed an innocent woman and her daughter as one of the lesser crimes I've committed? Hm? Or, is it the issue of trust now? You don't trust that I won't strike back? Hm? Well I've been honest with what I've told you so far, haven't I?
Haven't I?
…
Stares. Trembling. Sweating. I see a bit of hate behind the stares of some of you at least. That's it.
Anypony? Anyone?
The storyteller sighed out a soft mist.
So that's it, then.
The storyteller merely turned and walked out the door.
* * *
He did not return come morning. There was not a hint of the unicorn in Lunar Guard armor in Junction R-7. Instead, the first child who entered the hall found Roanoke and an older griffin conversing with one another in hushed tones. Roanoke took one look at the child and smirked. His voice had an inexplicable edge to it. He spoke in a hushed tone, and yet it was incredibly intimate, unbelievably loud.
Tell them to come back in the evening after the DJ's broadcast. It's not over. Not yet.
* * *
Hey everyone. Frost won't be coming back for a bit. He has, uh... things to take care of. Things to set straight. I don't think he wants anyone to know the specifics just yet. I don't blame him.
The name's Roanoke. If you don't know me, I run afternoon shifts on the north side. Uh... whatever, you probably don't care about that stuff. Sorry about waiting until after the broadcast to start up tonight. This one is going to be a very, very important segment. It's not going to be as important as the next, but... well, I think the point got across. Let's get into this.
I, ah, also wanted to listen to the deeds of the Stable Dweller and Security myself. Sorry.
The griffin leaned back against the wall, back in his place near the jukebox.
I gotta hand it to you ponies and griffins who actually came back. I think... about a quarter of you. Just tell your friends and family that Frost did ask that you hold your judgments of him until the end of the story. Anyone remember him saying that? Anyone?
...
Well, so much for that.
Now, I'll admit I'm not good at telling stories. I've got the vocabulary, but I just can't put the “right words, right way” as Frost puts it. He sure gave me one hell of a critique...
Oh, right. Story time. Again, I'm... not too good at telling stories.
He shrugged.
Don't have to be.
Now, just slip away and let me handle things. Don't try to resist. This is going to be my first time doing this with so many people, so... make it easy for me will you?
He glanced at a particular griffin out of the crowd, the two sharing an all-knowing smirk as he raised a pair of claws to his forehead.
The name's Roanoke. Maybe you can all tell me my last name.
A light, buzzing feeling worked its way into the back of the mind...
Join me.
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<====ooO Ooo====>
The voice of the storyteller, the voice of the unicorn dribbled in with the buzz. It was as if he was face-to-face with everyone yet again. It was an interesting sensation, hearing the storyteller’s words without him actually being there.
My blackout lasted only a short few seconds. As I regained consciousness, I realized five things.
One- She was still there. I had expected that.
Two- She was angry. Again, I had expected that.
Three- She could hurt me. A lot. I did not expect that.
Four- I was in a hell of a lot of pain again. That old familiar sting. That didn't bode well.
Five- I was in a lot of trouble.
“Why, Frost?” She cried, descending to me. I had fallen to the floor below, grunting as I got to my feet. My vision was cracked from the blow, filled with spiderwebs.
“You know why,” I hissed, wincing from the burning pain as I reformed the ice. Even in my self-imposed nearsightedness, I could see Her with perfect clarity.
“You lied to me!” She screamed, tears flying from Her cheeks as She lashed out to strike me again. I took the hit, my expression stern as I shrugged it off, moving with the strike as it rolled along my armor, dissipating the full impact into something more manageable. In my mind, it was still as if She hit me.
“I did no such thing,” I spoke calmly, taking another heavy blow. Goddesses, oh Goddesses... I was using that hateful tone... “I told you I was seeing if there were any survivors.”
She reared back Her hoof to strike once more. It never came. She reigned it back in, gritting Her teeth and squinting Her eyes shut. She wiped the tears away. Her irregular breath was the only evidence that She had been crying at all. She opened her eyes and glowered at me. Her voice was steady, yet it manifested the rage of hundreds. “I can't believe you kissed me with that mouth last night. That same mouth you used to disguise your intention.” She snorted softly, shaking Her head. “Why? Tell me- why?”
“Because I lied to her so many years ago,” I answered, calmly, despicably. “The stories wouldn't have added up.”
“And so you killed her and her daughter because you didn't want Azrael to have any more reason to suspect you?” She challenged me, Her tone rising. Those hundreds grew to thousands. “You could have simply led them out of the area, away from Azrael! You didn't have to kill them! Why do you insist to keep the secrets and lies alive anyway? You already promised to tell later! Or was that a lie too?”
“Rig would have seen us moving, and it would have taken too long,” I rebutted. “They would have grown suspicious. Killing her was the only option. As unfortunate as her daughter's death was, she was collateral.”
“You... you... answer the second question!” She commanded, advancing toward me again, rising to full height.
“I won't tell anyone else,” I growled, my calmness breaking. “I can't. I refuse to!”
“Why?” She roared. Millions now.
“Because that's how I deal with it!” I roared back. “That's how I continue to go on every day! I can't ever turn ba-”
She didn’t pull back this time- She slugged me hard in the face, hard enough to crack my ice armor yet again. As I reeled from the impact, She scathed, “So you don’t let them continue to go on? All for you? Huh? Is it? Is this is all because you're afraid of punishment?” She slammed Her hoof down in rage. The floorboards splintered from the impact, the whole world behind Her. “You... you! You... aghhh! Words can't even begin to describe how I feel about you! What, did you plan to kill the rest of the survivors as well?”
“No, only Miranda!” I snarled, my cracked vision warping for a moment as I repaired my armor. “She was the only one who knew!”
We both snapped our heads to the front entrance as the door was kicked open.
A crazy-eyed unicorn stallion howled, “There you are, you fucker! I'm gonna skin you al-”
Never, ever do that. You never, ever, ever, ever, ever try to smack-talk an enemy with a clear line of sight of you. He and the two raiders behind him were felled in a quick, quiet burst from Night Fang.
As the last body slumped to the floor, I turned to find Her glaring at me. She pointed a direct hoof at me.“We... will... talk later,” She hissed. “I don't want any more bullshit.” I shuddered. She never... ever spoke like this before. “Go. Save the rest of them. If you make any move whatsoever to kill them, I won't hesitate to strike you down. Do not fail me.”
I blinked, and She was gone.
I shook my head, rubbing my forehead. Too many Goddessdamn emotional roller coasters in too little time. This was going to be a sucky week. If I could get through this.
That didn't mean I couldn’t still try to cover my tracks, though. I removed the IF-42 and bolt-action rifle, placing them next to their “respective” bodies as if they'd fallen when the raiders had died. Making sure I sublimated the suppressor thoroughly on the battle rifle, I took out Night Fang, checked the mag, and proceeded out the back door. Good thing that raiders had thick heads regarding paying attention to bloodcurdling screams of their own.
Did I ever mention how much alleyways sucked? Of course I have. They really do suck. Because three raiders were headed my way, weapons at the ready. At the time, I actually didn't know how many there were until after I had killed them due to the visual restrictions of heavy ice armor. Thank goodness for spray-friendly Night Fang, and thank goodness for raiders having an allergy to heavy armor.
The storyteller audibly sighed.
I don't think I should even bother with the details of killing the raider bastards. Shooty shoot, they die. After what just happened, I just... couldn't enjoy killing them. Sure, I got a kick out of every time I took out the legs and proceeded to curb-stomp the bastards as they tried to squirm away. Sure, I reveled in their cries and expressions after I managed to shoot some of the stallions' family jewels off...
Okay, I think you get the idea. I got a smile or a little laugh each of those times, but I never truly enjoyed it. I just tried not to think about Miranda or Wendy every time I got close enough to see the bullet-ridden corpse.
The benefit of having such thick armor was that absolutely none of them could punch through if they managed to spot me. All I had to do was just turn in the direction of wherever the bullets were hitting and spray. I spent the majority of the time searching for other survivors rather than killing raiders.
It was only after busting down the door of the two closest intact homes that I realized just how futile my search was. The blazing fires claimed over half of the buildings in a town all too small to begin with- even the town hall was slowly caving in. I only found the mangled remains of the ponies, donkeys, and mules left, raiders already trying to string them up on chains in spite of the flames crawling ever closer. I mowed them down with extreme prejudice.
The only other building that could have housed survivors was burning down. It was an establishment simply known as The Motel by the former townspeople of Alhambronco; it was mainly reserved for travelers willing to brave the harsh terrain to reach the safety of Stalliongrad. The statue of La Mula stood before it. The fires and great, billowing plume of smoke made it seem like she was leveling that mighty saber down toward me, her regal stance suddenly an imposing one.
My search for survivors ended in failure. I found none in the buildings left standing. Crap, She was going to hate me...
One thing left to do- mop up. Swapping out Night Fang for Luna's Judgment, I took aim at a pony-shaped blob, drew a bead as best I could, and fired.
I never liked magical energy weapons. There's just something about using such a volatile device that made me worry it would just explode in my hands. Little did I think that such a thing could happen with any weapon. Then again, it's not surprising for something that fires two-kilogram slugs and whose crowbar I used to go to town on Heavies last night. Luna's Judgment downright exploded in my icy hands after I pulled the trigger and let the slug fly.
I was more startled than anything else. I was so sure of the Remhayngton Eighty-Seven Special, so sure of its durability and reliability, so sure that it would never fail me just like how it never failed me after all these years.
Another sigh.
But everything has its limit I suppose. With the roar of thunder fading from my ears, I couldn't help but feel yet another pang in my heart in a day of pangs as I looked at the fragments, my icy arm still clutching the remains of the grip and trigger assembly.
Then I realized something.
I was fucking moping. Over nothing more than a hunk of metal. After killing one of the first friends I ever made in the Wasteland. And the daughter I never knew she had. Now I really felt ashamed. But I couldn't linger; I couldn't dwell on it. I killed the memories, cut them away, and moved on. Rig and Azrael would be here soon, and it was my job to ensure a safe landing.
The flames were starting to die by now, save for the pyre that The Motel had become. Thinning my armor enough to see clearly, I started hunting down the snipers. The deaths, the flames, Her rage- they had taken away all pleasure in killing them now. I felt nothing when I chased one down and caved in her skull with my ice muscle-snared hooves. My heart was no longer in it as I pounced the next with enough force to crush him to death. I didn't draw any of it out. I just wanted to get it over with.
You know, I really should have seen it coming. Alhambronco was burning. How did they start the fires? Somehow, it came as a surprise when a raider popped around a corner with a battle saddle equipped with a flamethrower. I reacted on instinct upon seeing the bastard coming, time slowing down as I sprayed at him, kicking backwards. One of the rounds must have punched through something important because one moment he was there, and the next bloody chunks and a ball of fire. The heat did its job, catching me unaware with my thinner armor. I growled in irritation as my ice cracked away, and the full force of the burning world hit me, sapping my strength. Night Fang clattered to the earth before me, and I was forced to take it up in my mouth to fire, covering my retreat as I made my way back to the general store, the only intact structure remaining.
Damn this fire! Damn this heat! The flames had yet to come anywhere close enough to touch me, but every fiber of my being tore at me in agony without my cryomancy! Damn it all!
And damn that raider who got a lucky shot at my right foreleg!
There was no pain to it, no more than I was already suffering. What did I expect? The bullet did, however, slice through my muscles and send me staggering to the ground. Now trying to limp on three legs back to the general store, I attempted to lay down fire on the advancing raiders. I had only once before been forced into firing it the earth pony way, and it was not a fun experience. The impact of the recoil against my head was something I was... uncomfortable with, to say the least. Then there was the taste of the grip and trigger and the fact that I just couldn't work the trigger as fast as my ice arms could. The inaccurate, “oh-shit” moment lead hose that Night Fang was supposed to be was now a deliberately aimed weapon.
A deliberately aimed weapon whose trigger fell slack.
Bullets clanged off of my breastplate and armor as I tried to limp away. Another surprisingly well-aimed shot took out my left hindleg, sending me to the ground. Without ice muscles or just plain cryomancy in general, I was a sitting duck. The bastards had stopped shooting at me now, instead galloping toward me with their crazy eyes showing just what they intended to do.
No. It wasn't going to end this way. Reaching my good foreleg toward the eye-shaped gem on my breastplate, I prepared to utter the incantation...
<====ooo*afGH3wEjj9*OOO*contr[aband]ol*ooo====>
But instead, I kept going. No. No! I was losing control, helpless as I raced for the security team, their bullets streaking slowly by as I skirted around them to-
<====ooo*999999999999999*OOO*666666666666666*ooo====>
No... no, I couldn't do that. Not with Rig and Azrael coming. The risk was too great. As the closest raider at the head of the group about ten meters away brandished a machete, I idly wondered how good my CQC skill would be with two crippled legs. Good thing I decided to tack a screwdriver bayonet on Night Fang.
I was just starting to force myself to my feet, my lips pulled back into a snarl when I noticed one of the raiders in the back of the fivesome was looking up, a shadow passing over head. A fat 40 millimeter grenade slammed into the ground behind them, the shrapnel pulping the two closest to the blast and sending the three others sprawling with deep gashes and cuts. I staggered back to the ground, having turned away just in time to let my armor take the brunt of the shards that flew out at me. My sensitive hearing was reduced to a dull ringing.
The three surviving raiders staggered up to their feet, groaning and shaking their heads before looking around to see where that had come from. One looked up just in time to see Rig land beside him and slam her pickaxe through his spine.
“Surprise, bitches!” she yelled, voice oddly reverberating through her helmet.
The remaining pair weakly raised their weapons toward her. Then Azrael come down, landing hard on the one closest to me. The impact was enough to shake the earth and pulverize the mare. The last one was just starting to stagger away when the massive griffins swept her wing round, knocking the raider aside. Her myriad wingblades gleamed darkly in the fiery glow that basked the town as the bloodied stallion bounced along the ground in pieces.
Azrael leveled her head at me. “I told you nothing good ever came from you going in alone.”
I spat out Night Fang and grumbled, “Yeah, yeah, you were right. Now help me get a pair of healing potions so I can get back on my feet.”
“On it!” Rig complied, slotting another grenade into Luna's Fortitude while winking out a bottle, cracking the seal, and levitating it to me. Instead of chugging it down, I dumped the contents onto my crippled legs. The healing magic was concentrated in them instead, and they quickly stitched back up, allowing me to whip back up to my feet.
I nodded at her in thanks, then flatly reported, “There were no survivors. Clear to engage. Just try not to destroy the general store.”
As I was starting to reload Night Fang- very, very difficult with only hooves, mind you- Rig flipped up her welding helmet to glare at me and teleport the pistol away. “Ohhhh, no you don't. You've got no magic, you're still injured, and there's still fire everywhere. You get into the store and stay safe. We'll handle it.”
I just glared at her. “Never stopped me before.”
My tone was convincing enough. “Orrrr... you can just do... whatever you do when you have no magic, are injured, and there's fire everywhere,” she feebly muttered, teleporting Night Fang back out and levitating it so that I could bite the grip and finish reloading.
Azrael coughed politely, “If you two are finished, I'd like to start hunting the remaining raiders down.”
“Definitely up for that!” Rig smirked that lovely smirk before flipping her helmet back down. “And for Pete's sake, save some raiders for us while you're at it!”
“There should be some left,” I grunted around Night Fang's grip. “Call it payment for that grenade. I didn't ask for danger close.”
“What now?”
“I'll explain later...”
I was starting to head off when Azrael grasped me firmly on the shoulder. “We. Will not. Go separate ways. I mean it.”
“... alright, fine,” I grumbled.
“Just follow my lead,” the ebony griffin grunted as she assumed an interesting battle stance. She pushed off of the ground onto her hindlegs, her wings snapping outwards. The longer wingblades on the leading edges acted another pair of legs to stabilize her as she strode forth. She swung out Valkyrie to her side, the eldritch blade sparking and igniting in its horrible green and rainbow sheen. At nearly two stories in height, the way the glow of the fires danced around her, cloak billowing to expose her skeletal armor and blank eyes, it was hard to see how anyone could mistake her for anything but the Angel of Death. “Terrifying presence” doesn't begin to describe how she looked just then.
And she could move fast! Several raiders emerged from the alleyways to see what the commotion was all about and were stunned motionless by the sight of the towering griffin. Her wings “strode” in time with her earth-shaking footfalls while she dashed for them. Valkyrie's ghostfire blade generated a strange buzzing tone, growing in volume as it picked up speed and culminating in an otherworldly drone as she slashed mercilessly at the raiders. Until then, I only saw what ghostfire did to the dead. Now I saw what they did to the living. The wicked blade passed right through the raiders, lighting them up instantly. The fires let out a ghastly whine that melded with the screams of the raiders as they flailed and rolled about in a futile attempt to smother the flames. Flesh and muscle separated from bone before their bodies crumpled to ash, still burning.
Rig and I just stared in awe and horror.
Azrael turned back to us. “Well? Are you coming?”
I shared a quick glance with the cybermare and followed after the behemoth as she cut a swath of destruction into the raiders we encountered. She swung Valkyrie around with a strange grace, demonstrating a level of dexterity and beauty I thought would be impossible for someone so loud and clunky on her feet. Those out of her reach were felled by Luna's Fortitude or my own Night Fang. In cases where Rig didn't notice the enemy, Azrael would snap a wing toward the raider and sent a single blade at him or her with deadly accuracy. Given that she could only see through the eyes of others, it was a wonder how she could be that accurate. Soon, the raiders started to flee the ruins of Alhambronco. We granted them no mercy. As they scrambled away, Azrael collapsed Valkyrie and brought Harbinger into play. She roared in time with the quiet hiss of Luna’s Fortitude and Night Fang’s bark. The lucky ones were blown into pieces by 12.7 NSVT, killed almost instantly by shock. Those less fortunate were left to bleed out into the world of dust and fire.
By the time the hunt was finished and the few lucky raiders had disappeared over the low hills and toward the mountains, the fires were just starting to die. The angry red glow of the world deadened to gray, ashes fluttering gently around us. Alhambronco had been wiped off of the map just like that. Only the general store, the town hall, the husks of a few homes, and the plaque-less La Mula survived. I had no idea why raiders suddenly decided to hit the town or why it was worth traversing the mountains to do so. But then again, raiders didn't have any logic behind their activities, did they?
We made our way back to the general store, Azrael having to duck under the doorway and stoop over from cramped space. I just couldn't concentrate hard enough to get rid of my magical burnout. I just couldn't. Looking over the place, I was filled with bitter memories. The old jukebox in the corner where I heard my first DJ PoN3 broadcast was now forever silenced. The once meticulously organized shelves, arranged in boredom and all too much spare time, were in disarray. Bodies littered the floor. There was no more Miranda. That cheery donkey jenny was no longer there.
Because I killed her to keep my secrets buried, her and the daughter I never knew she had. I just felt so bitter, so... empty.
“So... no survivors?” Rig asked, flipping her helmet up.
I shook my head with a hollow sigh.
“Well, uh, on the bright side, we won't have to pay for the stuff, then,” Rig tried to smile cheerily at me as she moved behind the counter to check the storeroom.
That heavy weight on my heart grew, dragging it down to the pit of my gut. I drew in a shaky breath and let it out, blowing out nothing but ashes.
“Did you know the owner?” Azrael asked.
I looked at her. The griffin's eyes were blank and hard yet gentle and compassionate. “Yes. She was one of the... first friends I made in the Wasteland.”
“I'm sorry, Frost.”
“Yeah.” I closed my eyes. “So am I.” Was I? Really? Why was it now that I started feeling remorse for what I had done? Was it just because I knew that punishment was coming?
“Hey, Frost!” Rig leaned out of the storeroom, levitating a crate. “Found a whole bunch of flechette shells for you!”
I closed my eyes and dumped the shredded remains of my shotgun's grip and trigger assembly from my saddlebags.
“... oh...” she muttered before shifting the crate out of sight, shying away.
“You're going to need a suitable ranged weapon,” Azrael said.
I bit my lip. “I know.”
“I know it isn't much, but this seems to be an option.” Azrael lifted something off the ground and handed it to me. “It merely requires a proper repair job.”
It was the beaten IF-42.
“No!” I barked, sending it flying from her hand with a swing of my hoof.
I felt as if both of them froze at that moment, watching me as my chest heaved, heart thundering in my chest. I lowered my head. “Just... I can't use it. I can't use a weapon that was used to kill... kill good people.”
“'People'?” Azrael inquired softly.
“Donkeys and mules lived here too,” I hissed. “I can't use it. I just can't use it.” My shuddering tone and posture somehow, somehow managed to make it all the more convincing. I took in a deep breath before saying, “Take what you need. Then we're leaving.”
“Frost?” Rig peeked out of the storeroom, trotting to me with worry etched all over her face. “You okay?”
I closed my eyes. “I just want to get away from this place. I just... just want to leave it all behind.”
Rig flattened her lips and nodded slowly, heading to the back once more. Azrael merely nodded and started looting the bodies. I headed upstairs, my body still burning with that all-consuming agony. Maybe, just maybe I could concentrate up there. I needed my magic back. I needed the refreshing cold, that comforting cold.
Their bodies were gone.
Miranda. Wendy. Their bodies were gone. No clothes. Not even any hair. No trace save the spent casings that lingered over the floor and the spatters of blood. A cold washed over me indeed, but a cold horrible, a cold dreadful.
“I'm sorry,” She whispered into my ear.
“What happened?” I whispered back. “What happened to their bodies?”
“You wouldn't believe me if I told you.”
And the She was gone.
I swallowed hard.
“Come back,” I whispered. “I want to talk. Now. Just... now.”
“Are you so eager to get it over with?” She sighed. I turned to face Her. She no longer looked angry. That puzzled me the most. Was that sorrow I saw in Her? Shame? I just knew that She looked worn and tired, drained from rage.
“Are you going to punish me?” I asked.
She closed Her eyes. “I already have.”
I gulped. “What do you mean?”
“You'll find out,” She sighed. “Perhaps... it was too much, though.”
“What do you mean?” I repeated.
“I was just so furious!” She raised Her hoof to slam it down on the floorboards but held Herself, controlled Herself. She set it down gently. “But it was too much. I shouldn't have done that. I was just so furious that you killed them just to protect your secrets! You didn't even tell her the truth those years ago! You lied to her just like the others! Why kill her?”
“Because what I told her and what I told Beat Blaze wouldn't have added up,” I replied, sighing drily. “I already told you that. Look, I know I shouldn't have done it, love. I'm... I'm so-”
She held up a hoof, and I stopped. “You're not sorry, Frost. If you knew that you shouldn't have done it,” She finally opened her eyes, voice scathing, “then you wouldn't have done it.”
I closed my mouth, no words left to say.
She shook Her head sadly. “While you were fighting, I asked myself- what have you become?” She shook Her head again. “Then I realized the answer, and I realized who caused it. And then I asked myself- have I not done the same?” She huffed softly.
I said nothing. What was there to say to that?
“There are ties that bind, Frost. There are also lies that bind.” The sadness was gone now as She whispered, “Can I really blame you for following in my footsteps? I can't. I can't take back what I've done, and neither can you. I'm going to leave it at that. I shouldn't punish you for something I've done, but I already have.” She shook Her head sadly.
I spoke at last, whispering, “This talk... it still sounds like I got off with just a slap on the fetlock.”
“Maybe,” She nodded, “but so did I.”
“By dying?”
She smiled, actually smiled. I knew in my cold heart that it was meant to comfort, but the all-knowing smile made my gut wrench instead. “Something like that.” The smile disappeared. Now she just looked so, so sad. “Please, Frost. No more lies. No more killing just to keep others in the dark. Don't follow my footsteps. If you're truly sorry, then give me reason to have faith in you because I'm... I'm so tired, so tired of all these relapses. You just keep on relapsing time after time. You make strides forward and then take a step backward.” She shook Her head again, hanging it low. “So please, Frost. Give me something to believe in.”
I blinked, and She was gone.
* * *
“Find anything up there?” Azrael inquired, hearing me as I came back down. As Rig likewise turned to see me, the griffin tilted her head, regarding me. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”
My lip twitched from the validity of the statement. “Something like that. I found where... she kept her caps. We're up to around four-thousand now.” I scowled. “Goddess, it feels so wrong taking all of this without paying...”
“The owner is dead, Frost,” the ebony giant said as she sat down and crossed her forelegs. “It's the unfortunate truth.”
“Well, uh, we're a little more topped up on food and ammunition,” Rig spoke up, smiling uneasily at me. “Also found some weapons, so if you want to rearm yourself...”
I grimaced and let deep exhale. My throat was scratchy and dry. “Well... let's see what she has.” I winced. “... had.” Be strong, Frost. Force yourself through this. Push the hurt away. It's all in the façade.
“Um... how about this auto shotgun?” Rig levitated a-
“IF-Twelve,” Azrael spoke up. “Twelve-gauge, fully-automatic, three-hundred rounds-per-minute.”
“Oh come on!” Rig pouted. “All he needs to know is that it's an auto shotgun, gun nut!”
“Too many feed issues,” I shook my head. “I appreciate the sentiment of picking a shotgun first, but... no.”
“Well... okay, then...” The earth-coated unicorn lifted up a pistol now. “Nine-millimeter pistol?”
“Flock Nineteen,” Azrael corrected, Rig shooting another glare at her.
“Already have Night Fang. I need a true primary weapon. On that note, did you find any ACP?”
She answered by teleporting out a case of ammunition, to which I hesitantly accepted. As I started reloading my magazines, she teleported a compact assault rifle out. “Bullpup Assault Rifle?”
“That's a PDW-R. Won't last on me. Five-five-six NETO sucks like a bucket of ticks.”
“Battle rifle?”
“M-One Galant. Can't speed-load, or at least not easily. It's an option, though.”
“Grenade laun-”
“No.”
“Aw come on! Wanters can't be pickers, Frost!”
“It's 'beggars can't be choosers.' Go through the entire selection, then we'll talk.”
“Haysian Assault Rifle?”
“Type Fifty-Six. Cheap Haysian knock-off of the AK series. No.”
“Isorreli Assault Rifle?”
“Galil. Isorreli knock-off of the AK series. But... maybe.”
“Three-fifty-seven revolver?”
“Blacksmith & Westward Model 64.” I shook my head.
“DMR?”
“IF-55.” I shook my head. Hey, wait a second...
“Fifty-seven auto pistol?”
“Hold up, hold up.” I trotted over to the counter.
“Really, the pistol?” She stared at me.
“What?” I blinked. “No! No, not the FN Fifty-seveN! The last one, the IF-Fifty-Five!”
“Well, uh... okay...” Rig blinked as she levitated the weapon into my hooves. Yes... the old familiar weight...
“Interesting,” Azrael huffed. “The DMR?”
“Yes,” I nodded, looking it over, “the DMR.”
“DMR?” Rig asked.
“DMR.” I nodded again.
“No, I mean, what's a DMR?” The cloud-maned mare blinked.
“Oh, that,” I chuckled softly. “Designated Marksman Rifle.”
“So why pick this one, if I may ask?” Azrael inquired.
<====ooo*AWEg2h8f*OOO*5h0(k32374u*ooo====>
I looked over the weapon hoofed over to me, taking it up in my icy hands. It had a bullpup design and was perhaps three-quarters of a meter long, maybe a bit over. Also, it quite frankly looked like a block than a gun. The barrel was ridiculously short for a rifle and was lined with equipment rails. I noted how the magazine was actually inserted all the way into the weapon, locked in place by a heavy, sliding plate for easy reloading by hoof. Pushing the plate forward would eject the magazine; if it still had bullets left, there was a catch to allow the user to snatch it off instead of letting it clatter to the ground. Slam a fresh mag in and slide the plate forward, you'd be topped up and doing so would also chamber the first round. The scope had a simple, adjustable eyepiece with a dust hood over the front. It also had a mechanism that allowed the scope to flip off to the side of the weapon, presumably for CQB. The backup ironsights, which consisted of a “W”-shaped post with Day-Glo green luminescent dots for the user to line up correctly, seemed usable enough in such a situation.
I lowered the weapon into my hooves, just to get a feel for it. It was pretty bulky, pretty hefty for a bullpup weapon. It was an Ironshod Firearms, alright- the IF-55 “Spikeshot.” It definitely lived up to the company philosophy. Heavy, durable, no-nonsense. Or... maybe it was “AAAAppleloooooooosa.”
“Now here's your ammo,” the quartermaster grunted, sliding across three magazines. “Sixteen rounds per, THV-LR. Can also accept both seven-six-twos, NETO and SR. Just mind that THV-LR can't be suppressed, though that's not much since you're not getting a suppressor.” Sixteen. That's a pretty healthy capacity, but-
“THV?” I asked.
“Tres Haute Vitesse,” he answered.
“I-I'm sorry, what?” I blinked.
He leaned across the counter and looked me in the eye. “You're that equinpologist buck, right? You mean to tell me you know whatever the hell those buffalo and zebras speak but you don't know Prench? It's 'very high speed,' and the round's designated for 'Long Range.' Now scram and get onto the range. Next in line!”
<====ooo*A0g2;dpf;3*OOO*<~~~)0I1JdifNw*ooo====>
I grinned, feeling it in my hooves. Bulky? Check. Heavy? Check. No-nonsense? Check. Durable? That remained to be seen, but let's leave it as “check.”
“Let's just say I've had prior experience,” I answered back, looking up at her. “... Azrael?”
The griffin's eyes narrowed, and she clacked her beak. “There's a survivor.”
“What?” I widened my eyes.
“Really?” Rig brightened up. “Where is he? Or she?”
“It's... tough to get a fix...” Azrael narrowed her eyes further in concentration.
That certainly wasn’t usual for the griffin. “Why?” I inquired.
“He's a ghoul.”
* * *
“How far?” I asked, the IF-55 slung across my back.
“Appears to be in that building over there,” Azrael replied as we followed after her.
The “building over there” turned out to be the town hall, still burning, barely standing. I only call it a “town hall” in the vaguest sense. It was actually Alhambronco's pre-war bank, the only other large building in town other than The Motel. Given the lack of capacity (or necessity) for such in these times and that The Motel was already used for travelers, the building made a fitting gathering place for voting. Rarely did we ever have such direct democracies even before the Great War. The building was flat-roofed, rectangular, plain, but very large. It was also burned halfway down, and smoke was still billowing out from it. That was one lucky bastard of a ghoul to have survived the blaze- hell, to still be surviving the blaze that continued to ravage the building!
“How the hell didn't you notice before?” Rig asked. The cloud-maned unicorn agreed to share her THV ammunition with me, forking over most of it given how rarely she used her KP-12. Even though it would rapidly lose velocity at longer ranges, it would have to do for now until I could find a reloading bench to convert it to LR. I didn't mind that the ammunition was so rare- it was just something to hold me over until we found something better.
Of course, there still was the matter of being without magic. This was going to suck until we got away from this town. In the back of my mind, I knew we should have waited until I had regained my strength and cryomancy, but I couldn't wait. If this was a chance for atonement, even a little, I would take it while I still had it.
“Ghouls are tough for me, alright?” Azrael scowled. “Leave it at that.”
“Well what about you, Frost?” Rig yelled.
“Oh come on, how could I know that anyone could still be alive in that place!” I growled. “It's halfway burned down!” I galloped ahead, trying the door and gave it a good shove, howling in pain when I discovered it was still burning to the touch. Even through my armor, it still hurt a lot.
“Ahem,” Rig coughed politely as I clutched my shoulder. I stared at her for a second before remembering- cybermare. I stood back as she swung around to deliver a heavy buck with both of her hindlegs. The door buckled, falling inwards but was still propped up by something unseen behind it. She kicked out again and the door flew inwards clear off its hinges.
I couldn't help but shudder at the sight of what was blocking the door. Two charred corpses flopped to the floor now that they were no longer resting against to the door. Their flesh was blackened and browned by the licking flames that still lingered. Clothes and coat had been burned away, and I couldn't even distinguish what species they were from the extent of the damage.
Do you know what scares me most about fire? If you're completely swallowed up in flames, the eyes go first. The eyes go first. The corpses only had black holes staring back out. The way they had died, it looked like they were clutching over them, trying to block the flames out before their forelegs slumped away in death. It was a horrible, horrible sight.
“Twilight Sparkle...” Rig murmured as we shimmied over them.
And then we saw the other bodies. These weren't the only ones- there were at least a dozen more who had sought refuge in their place of unity. Some tried to barge out another door and were caught under fallen debris. The entire building was burnt or burning. Many of the pillars holding up the place had crumbled down with a scant few left intact. Thank the Goddesses that the floor was tile instead of wood, but I still had to squint, my eyes stinging and watering under the heat. Damn the searing heat, the searing pain!
“Where is the survivor, Azrael?” I growled, the agonizing heat sapping my strength. Rig jumped as more of the ceiling collapsed ahead. “Are you sure he's in here?”
“Positive,” she answered, pointing. “Coming from... there.”
The safe room. Of course. The flames couldn't penetrate through a steel-bound room. Of course, air probably couldn't either. Ghouls still needed that, and I was wondering just how much was left in there. I galloped over to the door, minding the flames, looking for a lock to pry open. Then I remembered- I had no magic. Then I realized that there was no lock. Instead, a the screen of a terminal right next ot the door glowed softly over the flames. Stable-Tec, folks. When they build something, they build it to last. You'd be surprised just how many of those things survived the spellfire apocalypse.
“Come on, no password, no password...” I pleaded as I switched it on. I snarled as I found it was, in fact, locked by one. “Dammit!” I pounded on the door. “Hey! Can you hear me in there? Can you open the door from the inside?”
There came a reply, but it was muffled by the thick steel. There was someone inside! But if the door wasn't opening...
“Fuck!” I cursed, trying the terminal again in the vain hope that it would somehow just allow me to open the door. “Bull... fricking... horseshit!” I had to make amends for her, for Miranda and Wendy. I had to atone. I had to atone. If not for me, then for Her.
“Frost!” Rig shouted, shaking me by the shoulder and jarring my attention from the screen. I looked into those indigo eyes, artificial yet bright and wholesome. “Frost, I got this!”
I panted softly, looking at her for a second longer before nodding and moving out of the way. “Hurry.”
The cybermare's horn flared up as tinkered with her PipBuck and then the terminal, whose display immediately changed to some sort of system boot screen or something. It displayed all these lines of code that made no sense to me, though I spotted phrases like “BIOS” and “DEBUG.” The screen then changed to a slew of lines of code that made even less sense to me, filled with various symbols. I spied some words out of the mess, but it didn't make it any less confusing for me. Rig began sifting through the jargon, and I noted that she stopped at sections with a set of closed brackets or parentheses with gibberish in between. Selecting them would delete one of the words. I might not be brain-dead- though I was more creative than intelligent- but I just couldn't make any sense of it.
More of the ceiling collapsed near the service counter, the crash jarring my attention for a moment. “Hurry!” I repeated, louder.
“I'm trying, I'm trying!” the earth-coated unicorn snapped, scowling as she started flicking through the words. I now perceived the words to be possibilities for the password, and the PipBuck program allowed her to find the right one through the process of elimination through getting rid of duds and pure trial-and-error. It was a guessing game, where an incorrect answer would still yield clues as to how many letters were entered correctly “Got it!” she exclaimed as she finally hit the right one- MARKETS. Rig quickly punched it into the terminal, her gray aura dancing across the keys. Other than a simple greeting for the user, it had a single prompt.
>Disengage lock.
Rig entered the command and there was an audible snap and click as the lock cycled. I immediately rushed to the door as it pushed inward slightly and slid out of the way. Inside was a slew of safe deposit boxes that ran from the floor to the ceiling in a space large enough to fit ten fully grown ponies. Inside was also a large figure dressed in a patchy, time-eaten cloak of a faded green, a figure that immediately gasped at the inrush of air. The figure was indeed a ghoul, one that looked old even for one supposedly immortal. Even the rot-brown skin left behind looked tarnished somehow.
The figure was also a griffin ghoul, only a head shorter than Azrael.
“Gods above, get me out of here!” he hacked, coughing out black ichor as he hobbled to his feet, flapping his scraggly, featherless wings to get up and out of the safe room. “Go, go, go! Run now, talk later!”
One of the pillars gave away, bringing a whole section of the flaming ceiling down with it. Rig raised a hoof and exclaimed, “I'm cool with that!”
“Then move, you idiots!” the grizzled ghoul squawked hoarsely. “Mooooove!” We made a break for the entrance, Azrael grunting as a light fixture crashed down on her. She shrugged the impact off as if it were nothing, merely rolling forward to smother the flames before bolting out with the rest of us.
Rig and the hobbling ghoul were the first to get through, and I was about to follow when I heard a crackling from above. I had no magic, but I still had my adrenaline rush. Time slowed as one of the rafters tumbled down toward me. I couldn't force myself to push forward, but I could sidestep far enough to avoid it. Scattered embers stung at me as time snapped back up to speed and I rushed forward with Azrael.
“Get clear!” Rig yelped, still running. “Get cleeeaaar!”
I didn't dare look back; I knew the whole building was coming down. I only gave Azrael a glance to see if she was still beside me before surging forward as a horrible, metallic groan filled the air. The bank came crumbling down behind us shortly after, a choking plume of dust and ash rushing past us. I shut my eyes tight and held my breath. I was already overheated; I did not need embers in my lungs and especially not in my eyes! The coughing of the others still filled my ears, and I could still feel the heat as I wandered blindly away. From the heavy, thudding footsteps, Azrael was by my side.
She nudged against me and sputtered, “This way.” I could only follow in her footsteps to get away from the choking dust. I heard the others moving with us, and my lungs started to burn from the distance and the recent exertion. Just how far did we need to go? Tension spread from my throat to my chest. I needed to breathe!
Finally: “We’re clear.”
I opened my eyes and breathed deep, sputtering out phlegm. Looking back at the town hall, a little over half of the building had collapsed. The other half wouldn't be far behind. Sighing, I turned back to the the others. “Everyone alright?”
“Yeah, I'm okay,” Rig answered, slipping off her welding helmet and tussling with her dirtied mane.
“Accounted for,” Azrael replied.
I stared blankly at her.
“I'm fine,” she added at last.
I looked at the griffin ghoul.
“Oh yeah, sure, now it's my turn,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, just dandy. Didn't quite run out of air there, at least not long enough to suffer brain damage. I think. Maybe. Hm, two squared is four, four squared is sixteen, sixteen squared is two... hundred-fifty... six. Yeah, let's not get higher than that. Okay, good enough for me, no brain damage.” He crossed his forelegs and nodded, smacking his beak in the way ponies would with their lips. “Yep.” The “p” came out with a soft pucker.
Is it bad that I already decided I didn't like this guy? His voice was scratchy like all ghouls, but it came with a certain tone that could only be described as slick and sinister like old grease.
“Good.” I maintained eye contact with him, keeping an even posture. “Now. What's your name?”
“I am Grimm Asher,” the griffin answered, getting to his feet and shifting his wings. Grimm... Asher? Oh there was no way. That was impossible... “You know, Grimm Asher? The first griffin in space? The whole reason why Equestria tried to run a space program in the middle of a goddamn war? … anyone?”
Grimm Asher... no, that was impossible. That was impossible. “Who are you?” I asked him. “Really.”
Hm... his cloak had a rather large bulge in it, much like Azrael. She and I shared a moment's glance. We seemed to be of like mind.
“Oh come on, why is it always the same thing?!” he pouted, stamping around indignantly. “Really, I am Grimm Asher! Argh, for fuck's sa-”
It was at that moment that Azrael brandished Valkyrie at him and I whipped up to my hindlegs, brandishing the IF-55 and leveling it at this “Grimm” fellow with my forelegs. Rig jumped in surprise before uneasily winking out Luna's Fortitude and doing the same, slipping her welding helmet back on.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” The ghoul recoiled, taking a few steps back.
“Are you with The Dead Boys?” Azrael challenged him.
“Well, uh,” the ghoul stammered, “you see, there's a fuuuuunny story about that...”
Our weapons tensed.
“Are you with The Dead Boys?” she demanded.
“I was, I was!” he squawked back. “I'm not anymore! Now put your weapons away!”
“Clarify,” the giant griffin ordered. “Then we'll consider it.”
“Well what do you think, Soraya? Do you think you were the only one to disagree with what The Dead Boys stood for? Huh?!”
Azrael, or rather Soraya, visibly balked and backed up a little, eyes wide.
I looked between the two of them, still training the IF-55 on him. Dammit, it had been ages since I was last forced into having to stand up like some zebra gunner. My hindlegs were already starting to burn, if only a little. “Do you know him?” I asked.
“No,” she shook her head, “I've never-”
The griffin ghoul cut her off. “She doesn't know me, no. I do, however, know... her.”
“How?” Azrael growled.
“I was with The Dead Boys.” He puckered his beak, looking away. “You savvy? Look, for Pete's sake, you're not the only griffin on the run. I flew the coop, now I'm paying the price. Damn bastards hired freaking raiders to burn down the whole town to get to me... fucking locked me in the safe room.”
“How?” I asked, still keeping my DMR up.
“They chased me with flamethrowers?” He eyed me, sweeping his arms wide, indicating the destruction around us. “Isn't it obvious?”
“How did they lock you in the safe room?”
He paused. “Well not all raiders are brain dead, you know!”
Too long of a pause. Broken eye contact earlier. Lower jaw tightened. I kept my aim steady.
He noticed and slowly began to smirk. “Heh, told 'em they shoulda saved Akrama for this.”
Everything happened too fast after that. He shifted his head to the side with a sickeningly loud crack just before I fired, causing my shot to whiz past him. At the same time, Azrael swung out with Valkyrie as he spun away, catching his cloak as he kicked Luna's Fortitude out of Rig's telekinetic field. The ghostfire flared up around him as he backed off in his spin, whipping his garment off into the air before the fire claimed him, revealing...
Oh holy fucking shit.
In a split second, my memory took a snapshot of him. He was skidding away on all fours now, with what laid under his cloak now open for all to see. He was dressed in what could only be described as an armored version of a griffin cosmonaut suit, rubbery and matte black. The Aldornan flag was emblazoned on his shoulder- the claws of two griffins clasped together in unity, clutching a lace with the Star of Alda dangling between them. Even stranger than this were the meter-long spikes that jutted from his back, stacked in rows of two down his spine. They were partly transparent, revealing a murky fluid capped inside each of them.
And I paled as I laid my eyes on the most horrifying sight yet.
He had a flamethrower. The tank was cradled between the spikes with the hose and nozzle snaking over his right shoulder down to his forearm so that it had hidden by his cloak's sleeve. The pilot light was already lit, the fire demonically mirrored in his milky eyes, his beak curved up in a hideous sneer. The ghostfire-lit tatters of his cloak rained down on him as the first row of spikes let out a puff of air and pressed down into his back with a hiss. The liquid trickled down as the ghoul let out a slowly growing growl, opening his mouth and twitching spasmodically before throwing back his head.
“Aaaaaaaaaahahahahahahahaaaaaaa!” That high-pitched, maniacal, howling laughter lanced through the air as he unleashed a jet of billowing flames toward us.
I scrambled away, collapsing back down to all four as the heat seared my back. I ducked into an alley, my heart thudding... and then falling as I heard Rig let out a cry of pain. I felt a sickness rise up within me. I hadn't cared about Rig, I hadn't cared about Azrael- I had only cared about putting as much distance from me and that ghoul as possible.
“Rig!” I yelled back out, shutting my eyes tight as the rush of flame continued to blaze by, feeling sick. The jet ceased and I heard something hobbling toward me. I forced open my eyes and readied for close, suicidal combat and a horrible, horrible death... but instead I found Rig stumbling over to me. She was gritting her teeth, the left side of her face engulfed in flames. She swore as she used her hoof to smother the flames, turning to me. Most of the synthetic flesh and a bit of her mane was burned away, leaving a smoky ring around what laid beneath- her aperture-like photoreceptor and a good portion of the sub-dermal armor that made up her skull. I could only widen my eyes in horror as I stood there, panting.
She offered a tentative smile. “It's... not as painful as it looks.”
I nevertheless stared in horror. “Good to know.” Another jet of flame rushed past the main road, jarring me. “Come on, we've got to get away from him!”
“I'm down with that!” Rig yelped and flipped down the welding helmet, winking out... the IF-55. “You left this!”
“Just teleport it onto my back!” I told her as I made for the road on the other end of the alley, the familiar weight of the DMR resting on my back once more. “Oh Goddessdamn it!” The ghoul landed down at the other end, cutting us off. Alleyways have always, always sucked.
“Burn!” he rasped as he leveled the flamethrower at us. Rig managed to fire first (Thank the Goddess for S.A.T.S.!), some of the rounds catching him in the head and bursting his left eye. He stumbled to the side, flailing his wings and forelegs. “Rah!”
“Backbackbackbackbaaaaack!” Rig yelped, scrambling the other way. She didn't need to tell me twice! Now we were running away from the ghoul, rounding the corner as another blast of flame tore past us. The gray world around made the flame seem almost golden in contrast.
“Azrael!” I yelled as we made a break for the other end of Alhambronco.
“With you!” the giant griffin shouted back, swooping down from the air and landing beside us in a trot, speeding to catch up.
“We're getting out of here!” I barked. “We can't fight him like this!”
“And he'll chase us down!” Azrael yelled back. “You have no ice! You can't fly! We have to fight him!” I swore, realizing she was correct. She added, “Frost, we can't stick together like this! He'll get us all at once with that flamethrower!”
“And you see what happens when we split up?!” Rig rebutted. “You're the one who pointed it out!
“Do you have any better ideas?” Azrael snapped.
“Azrael's right!” I hissed. “I've got no ice and Azrael can't glean him! We split!”
“Rrrrrr, fuck!” the cyber growled. We broke off, and I made a break for the town square. I did not like the idea of being out in the open, but it was better than being in an alleyway where he could ambush me and catch me with a narrow avenue of escape with a weapon such as that.
“YYYYYYYeeeeessss!” I heard him cry. “That's it! Come out!” I looked back to see him soar upwards, rolling and jerking through the air as Azrael fired up at him with Harbinger, the ghoul somehow able to dodge the bullets effortlessly. “There you are!”
He swooped down, lacing the air with fire. I could only watch as Azrael took flight, and the pair swerved through the air in a desperate chase, trying to get the bead on the other. He was fast, extremely fast. She couldn't evade him for much longer even if she was more maneuverable than he was. Knowing I was probably going to regret this, I kicked up into an upright position, bringing the IF-55 to bear and taking aim, letting the adrenaline flood me. Time slowed- I could still pull that off even without cryomancy, thank Goddess- and I placed the crosshair on his head, aiming upward to compensate for bullet drop and to lead him. I fired, watching as the round burst from the barrel with a loud, drawn-out CHAFK. The THV round broke the sound barrier almost three times over at first but quickly began to decelerate due to the shape. Please hit him, please hit him... yes! I may not have hit him in the head as intended, but it smacked into his wing and caused him to look... directly at me just after swallowing up Azrael in flames. Fuck! Goddess fucking damn it!
… I'm sorry, I can't believe that actually crossed my mind back then...
Did I mention he was fast? Well holy fuck, he was fast! He veered off for me as the ebony griffin dropped from the sky, and I could only brace as he plowed into me, sending me rolling along the rough earth. My armor absorbed most of the impact, thankfully, but I was a bit more sluggish whipping to my hindlegs and taking aim again. He continued to go past me, skidding along with lit fuel dripping from the nozzle.
Oh what the fuck, his eye had grown back!
“Who are you?!” he hissed. “My fight is with Azrael and Azrael only! Or Soraya! Whichever you prefer!”
“Who the hell are you?!” I challenged him back. Had to buy time, had to buy time. He seemed talkative enough at the moment.
“Me?” The ghoul's eyes glowed eerily as he threw back his head. “Aaaaaaaahahahahahahahaaaaa! Me?! You mean, you haven't already guessed?! Well, let me give you a hint!” With that, he rose up on his hindlegs and sang:
“If you're feeling like I feel,
then run you life like it's a dance floor!”
He paused, flashing me a vile, vile sneer.
“And if you need a little heat in your face,
that's what I'm here for!”
He waved his flamethrower nozzle dangerously close to his face... and blew. I stumbled away, ducking around the statue of La Mula as a jet of flame spewed out where I was moments before.
“If you're chilling in the dark
and you're looking through a telescope!”
I watched as he made a ring with his left claw and peered through it, grinning childishly. “Woooooo!”
“You will see me sipping
on the soul of a new hope!
Woo! Woo!”
Wait. That childish grin, on a grizzled, old ghoul. Old... and young in one. My Goddess.
“Javahl...” I whispered.
He was positively beaming now, leveling that flamethrower at me. “So burn it down!” Another rush of golden fire burst around the statue, and I howled in agony as the heat seared every fiber of my being. I had to get away. I sprinted for the other side. “Burn it down!” No good! The flames sprayed past me now and I ground to a halt, eyes burning from the brightness. I fell back against the statue, trapped. “Burn it down!” He was getting louder; he was getting closer, and I was pinned. “Burn it down!” I shrunk as close to the middle as I could, gritting my teeth and growling in pain. “Burn it down- burn it down, baby, burn it burn it do-”
I tensed, prepared to be engulfed, but the flames never came. Looking back, I found him clutching the nozzle, the world a dead gray once more.
“Whaaaaaaaat?!” He scowled, flicking the gauge. “Not enough pressure?! Well fuck you too! If you can't last after burning a whole town with raider help, you're useless to me!”
My ears perked up at that, and I could feel a smile creep along my muzzle as I took aim and pulled the trigger as fast as I could. His head snapped back as I planted one right in his temple, the rest of the rounds scattering and hitting all over the place. Yeah, I really wasn't accurate with this, dammit. The first shot counted at least. I was only just starting to reload, when Javahl lurched back up, howling as another of the spike pairs lowered into his back, the fluid level dropping.
Then it hit me. How didn't I see it sooner? Those were liters upon liters of combat drug cocktails he was pumping into himself! His head wound was already closing as he snarled from the injection, boosting for me. I could only dive back to the ground, bucking upward into him as he sailed overhead. He only grunted in passing, clattering on all fours and skidding by as if nothing had happened.
“That's right!” he squawked at me, tightening the nozzle. “I am Javahl, The Callow Elder, God of Vitality and Atrophy! Now who are you?!” He looked down at the pump with a cracked smile. “Oh hey. Pressure's back. Stupid, silly flamey...” He looked back at me, my smile vanishing. “Too bad! You die now! You can at least tell me your name as you burn!”
“Ah what's it to ya?” Rig called out, causing us both to look at the burned-out house she was hiding in. Yet again, I leaped back as she fired a grenade at him, striking the ground in front of him and sending him stumbling. His flamethrower nozzle and hose teleported away in a gray flash to leave behind the tank, now leaking fuel all over him. “Yeah, that's right, motherfucker!”
“Incompetent whoooooore!” Javahl bellowed. Thankfully, the guy was talkative enough. I took aim and fired as deliberately as I could, trying to score enough headshots to really kill him this time. He moved too fast, and I missed as he rushed toward Rig.
“Uh-oh,” the young mare said simply before running away. Javahl dashed blindly along... and was knocked to the side as the ground exploded from beside him.
“Bitch!” he yelped. “Watch the mines, Grimm, watch the- rah!”
The griffin ghoul was send skidding a meter or so when a grenade detonated in front of him, shattering several of the injector spikes. The spikes!
“Rig!” I yelled. “The spikes! Aim for the spikes!”
I took the opportunity to plant several rounds into him from behind, trying to hit the injectors as he started to push himself up. Luna can legitimately damn him! How much could this guy take with all those combat drugs?! I wasn’t doing a thing to the injectors, even with the THV rounds!
Javahl whipped up to his feet, looking between the two of us, ignorant of the bullets punching into him. “Which one, which one... no, go for Azrael, yes, go for Azrael! Where are you? You can't be dead, not yet...”
“Right here!”
Javahl flipped to the side as Azrael cut down from above with Valkyrie, evading the flaming scythe. The giant was still smoking from the flames, though I couldn't tell just how bad it was due to her coloration. Her cloak was more or less burned away, but she was still alive and kicking. Javahl stuck his tongue out at her as he ducked and dodged and weaved around her swings.
“Missed me, missed me,” he taunted. “Now you gotta kiss me!”
And what the fuck?! He kissed her! Right then and there, he locked beaks with Azrael! I think we were all stunned with the act, and I could only sympathize with her as her eyes squinted in disgust. She bashed him away with a knee to the gut, slashing at him with Valkyrie. He only cackled in delight as he pulled away as she gagged and coughed.
“That's it!” Azrael spat, snarling. “You're dead!”
Javahl paused, looking down at himself. “Well yeah. I mean, duh, just look at me! I'm a ghoul for goodness sake-”Azrael pulled Valkyrie apart, breaking the weapon in half. And Twilight Sparkle, the second half sprouted another ghostfire blade! “Oh, what the fuck, you've got two of them?! Rah!”
The two clashed, Javahl barely evading as Azrael swung fluidly with strike after strike, swapping for kicks and lashing out with her wingblades on occasion. It was a divine thing to watch- it was as if she was dancing rather than fighting, the twin Valkyrie scythes droning in that unequestrianly manner. And yet Javahl was just spinning around her, blowing raspberries and puckering his lips at her in a drug-addled craze. And neither Rig nor I could do anything with the pair so close and so fast.
“Azrael, you've got to back off!” I yelled, trying to draw a bead. The giant cried out as he caught her in the gut, sending her staggering. “Azrael!”
“Damn... you!” she growled, angrily and reluctantly kicking out of the way.
“Damn you!” Javahl countered, sneaking a leg behind her and tripping her up, causing her to fall flat on her back. He pounced at her, but she delivered a crushing kick to his chest, causing him to fly back onto the ground rolling just enough for me to pepper him with shots before he staggered back up. “Fuck you fuck you fuck you in the ass! Don't you know that's not doing anything to me you little pr-”
And it was then that Rig got the bright idea of launching an incendiary grenade at him. Javahl squawked as it detonated behind him, catching him on fire. It quickly caught the rest of the fuel in his tank, and it exploded, shattering several spikes on his back and spreading the flames around him, save over his head.
Unfortunately, he still didn't die.
“Ooh...” Javahl sneered, activating something on his shoulder and causing a space helmet to form around his head, shaded black and emblazoned with The Dead Boy rebel yell skull. “I can make this work...” And with that, his last surviving set of injectors plunged into him as we opened fire. Right about now, I wished I had the ability to go back in time and buck whoever invented Turbo, because he was just moving faster than we could aim now. He just kept on dodging our shots while he lashed out at us.
And he was on fucking fire while lashing out at us no less!
“Thank you very much, Rig!” Azrael scowled as she did her best to evade Javahl. I tried to take shots when I could, but I was quickly burning through all the ammunition that Rig gave me. I was doing jack shit to him without my cryomancy.
“Son of a bitch, how was I supposed to know his suit was flame-retardant?!” Rig shrieked as the berserk ghoul suddenly went for her, the unicorn mare crying out in pain as he drove a fiery fist into her side, sending her flying into a wall- through a wall.
“Flame-retardant...” I muttered. Wait. Then... then maybe... “Grimm!”
“Mm, heh?” He blinked (at least I thought I could see him blink through the flames), holding his curled claw back as he was about to strike Rig again, who was clutching her side and grunting in pain. “Wait. What. Did. You. Call. Me?!”
“You... you really are Grimm Asher, aren't you?” I kept the DMR steady, even as he was calming down. “You really are the first griffin cosmonaut, aren't you?” He stepped away from Rig now, heading for me with an slow, determined stride. The way he burned made him look like the devil alive. “They said you died on re-entry, that there was an oxygen tank malfunction and your pod burst into flames... but you survived because of your suit...”
Javahl... Grimm stood before me, regarding me. “Yessss... that's right! HHHow do you know this? I've never told anypony, anyone... about... that... save the others...”
“Let's just say I've read up on the subject,” I told him. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Azrael was getting in position, Harbinger glowing orange as she reloaded. Ten seconds. I needed to keep him busy for ten seconds.
“Read?” Grimm hissed. “Hah! Where? I doubt anyone made a biography of me! Maybe newspaper articles!” He leered at me. “I'll ask again- who are you? You wear the armor of the Lunar Guard, you know of me, and yet you don't look like a ghoul...”
“My name is Frostbane Hokkaido Windchill, but I wish to be called Frost,” I answered in the formal griffin introduction. “I hail from the Far North. I take the role of bounty hunter.”
Behind the veil of flame, beyond the imprinted skull, beyond the tinted acrylic, I could see his eyes widen. “Tell your friends not to aim at me. This is between you and me now.”
I glanced at Rig and Azrael from where they are. He knew me, and now I realized I might just know him too. I would be so easy, so easy to just let him get torn up by 40mm and NSVT. He knew the truth, the real truth.
But then... I remembered Her. I remembered Her words.
I sighed, lowering back to all fours and slinging the IF-55 back. “Stand down!” I barked.
Rig and Azrael exchanged glances before the latter yelled, “Why should we?”
“Because he hasn't tried to kill me yet, and I think he realizes I've had no magic for the past several minutes!” I shouted in reply.
“Yeah, I do now,” Grimm nodded slowly, swaying lightly as he started to come down from his chem-induced high, “so, ah... I'd disarm myself, but it's a little...” He gestured to the flames engulfing almost all of his body, “... hard. Shall we be civil?”
I glanced at the two again. This time, they slowly lowered their weapons.
“You trusted me?” the ghoul asked.
“You're no Akrama,” I huffed. “Your lying sucks.”
“Rrrr... yes, it does,” he grumbled. “So... are you really...?”
“I am Frostbane Hokkaido Windchill of the Far North,” I repeated. “I am.”
Grimm grumbled lightly, patting at his right foreleg, trying to smother the flames enough or at least try to shake off the petroleum jelly off of his claw. Finding he couldn't, he used his left claw (which was only flaming around the wrist) to reach into a small pouch on his waist.
He pulled out a balisong with crimson, skeletonized handles, opening it with a full twirl. The blade had a thick, drop point tanto shape. He fanned it into an orbit around his claw before swiping it into a horizontal aerial, catching it and rolling the handles over his index finger into an open position. “Prove it.”
My Goddess, I knew that balisong. I didn't just know who he was. I knew him.
I looked back up at him and reached into my saddlebags with my right hoof, pulling out Silver Skean and opening her up with the only flashy technique I could pull off effectively without hands- the suicide drop. They call it that for a reason- it's not easy, especially with hooves. Reverse grip, snap it up into the air by the junction, catch as it comes down.
“Heh... you've been practicing...” He smirked, closing the blade with an aerial. “Too bad I can't see what else you can do.” He leaned in close. “Turnstile Model 42. Weehawk blade. Yes. It's you. I'd remember any non-griffin customer.”
My heart was pounding. What was he going to do? Was he going to ask how I lived? Was he going to force me into a situation where Rig and Azrael learned everything? I was actually holding in the temptation to kill him (how, I had no idea) then and there, but I held it in. Perhaps if he was still hostile, maybe... but not like this.
“So...” I murmured, quickly closing the blade with a simple flick of the fetlock. “What happens now?”
“Now?” He chuckled, tossing back his head. “Aaaaaahahahahahahahaaaa! Ahhhh, now? I wish I could hug you, buuuuut that'd be a terrible idea as I'm sure you can imagine.”
I forced a smile. Bad image. Baaaad image. “Indeed.”
Grimm huffed. “Jeez, what happened to you? You used to be a lot more talkative! … and... less... slit-eyed-ey.”
“Oh really now?”
I snapped my head back to find Azrael looming over me, reconnecting her scythes and collapsing them. Now that she was this close, I could see that practically all of her feathers were frizzled from the fire. She didn't look too badly burned, thankfully, and thank Goddess her eyes were still fine. Her cloak had burned away, leaving Harbinger exposed in all its imposing glory.
“Dammit!” I growled. “How can you be so sneaky sometimes?” The giant merely shrugged. I then heard some light, uneven footsteps... “Rig, don't try it. You just can't.”
“Aw,” she pouted, flipping up her helmet. Yeesh... again with the creepy photoreceptor. “Well, uh... you mean you're not fighting us?”
“Mmmmm...” Grimm paused to tap his chin, then huffed. “Nah.”
“I find that difficult to believe,” Azrael spoke. I noted how she didn't put Valkyrie away just yet. “About as difficult to believe as how you two know one another.”
“Really?” he huffed. “If you haven't noticed, I'm kinda all out of drugs. I'm also on fire. Being on fire is bad, if you didn't know. I'm at a bit of a disadvantage now.”
“So I can kill you right now and there's no problem?” Azrael loomed closer, Valkyrie extending once more with a horrible crackle and hiss.
“Uhhhhh... I guess...” Grimm backed up a little. “Come on, we said we'd be civil!”
“Azrael, drop it... at least for now,” I spoke slowly.
The giant turned to me. “He. Set me. On fire. And then he kissed me. I really, really want him dead.”
“You still owe me for letting you in,” I reminded her.
She exhaled and clacked her beak in distaste. “Yes.” She collapsed the scythe and lowered herself down. “Yes, I do.”
“Thank you,” I sighed in relief.
“Now, uh...” Rig finally spoke up, “you two know each other?”
“Only in passing,” I spoke. “I, ah... bought Silver Skean off of him when he was a vendor a long time ago.”
“Silver Skean?” the ghoul eyed me (I think).
“That's what I call her, yes.”
He blinked. “But... that's not a skean.”
“I know.”
“But that's still not a skean.”
“I know,” I repeated with a light grumble.
“So why call that a skean?”
“Because I wanted her name to be an alliteration, alright?” I snapped.
“But it's not a literal alliteration! Aaaaaahahahahahahahaaaaa, hoo! Hoo! Hoo...” Grimm raised a finger to wipe a tear away, but he grumbled as his helmet got in the way. “Sorry, I just wanted to pull that off.”
“Fascinating.” Azrael stared blankly. “So, you met each other when he was a vendor. How long ago was this?”
“About twenty-” I started.
“Before the Great War,” Grimm answered, sitting down and crossing his forelegs.
I blanched as all eyes were on me, suddenly feeling very, very cold.
“You know, Frost,” Azrael bore her eyes down on me, “'a long time ago' just doesn't quite seem to cut it in this case.”
<====ooO Ooo====>
<========>
<-------->
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Footnote: Frost- Maximum Level
Rig- Level up! Level 8 reached!
Azrael- Maximum Level
Unlockables added: Soundtrack- Theme of The Callow Elder, Javahl
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384061 "Some" is putting it lightly.
Oh, yes. The Angel of Death, armed with the Chooser of the Slain- pray they do not choose you.
Thanks kindly. And wow, that was a fast read.
Is that "The Fury" reference I see?
Javahl, Grimm or Richard. Seriously how many names does one griffin need?
Ooh is it backstory time? It sounds like backstory time. Or more likely Frost will try to bs some stuff. He seems to be good at that.
Unfortunately that means I have to wait for the next chapter to find out.
And I'm still holding out that there's a reasonable answer for him behavior.
Wow another excellent chapter makes me wonder if other ghouls would remember him, Also Azrael sound out right deadly with that blade.
384959 ... maybe. *applelieface.pny*
Oh most definitely yes.
384985 FFFFFFUUUUUUUU- Dammit, I thought I replaced all of those Richards. *edited now* Okay, now he's just Grimm/Javahl.
About that, I used to have his name set to "Richard Doyle." That was a bit too blatant of a reference to The Fury from MGS3, though, and I had to agree with my pre-readers that it was too human-like. So, Grimm Asher. Slight reference, but I doubt anypony will get it.
Let me give you a hint- the subtitle for chapter thirteen is "Frost."
You'll have to wait a while. Or, at least, until we get into heavier stuff.
385005 Thanks. And let's go with... "yes." *cough*ChiefThunderhooves'dialoguefromchapterfive*hacksputtergag*
Yeah. She is. Very.
474344 *corrects with haste* Thank you kindly, gapaot. *murmurs something about probably having to do a lot of that in the future*
474480
Feel free to PM me if you need any help with russian. I'll be happy to help!
474484 Thank you very kindly. Will try to remember that for when that time comes. ^^ *memory is not like Frost's, derp*
Rogue capital letter here at the end.
*to pry