Death Be Not Proud

by ShinigamiDad

Monsters

Luna twisted and squirmed, freeing one leg and driving a boot tip into the guard’s groin. He fell back with a curse, and Luna regained her footing and spun away from Yunada--just as Nai’a slammed a left then a right fist into her abdomen.

Luna’s legs buckled as she struggled for breath. She slumped forward onto her hands and knees, saliva hanging from her lips, then collapsed entirely as Nai’a brought his elbow down hard between her shoulder blades with a grunt.

“Please get back up, whore--I dare you!”

Luna dropped face-first into the dust and coughed weakly, trying to regain her breath and clear her head. But Yunada grabbed her hair again, twisting it in his fist, pressing her face firmly against the ground, bloodying her nose: “You two--strip her!”

Luna struggled as the guard and Nai’a pulled off her boots and clothes, casting them aside as Yunada shifted back and forth, keeping a knee in Luna’s back, pinning her down until she was naked.

Yunada hauled her up again as Nai’a locked her arms behind her back and drove her toward the far end of the pavilion, kicking his chair aside, and forced her face-down over the low bench before the dais. She squirmed free for a moment and rolled to her back, lashing out and raking her nails across the guard’s face.

Luna stumbled up, bent forward and tried to take a step, but Yunada darted in front of her and tripped her, grabbing at her hair as she fell. She hit the floor and tried to twist away, but Nai’a kicked her hard in the ribs, driving out her breath and sending her head spinning.

Nai’a and the guard pulled Luna back over the bench as she spat dust and blood in Nai’a’s face: “I will kill you if you do this! You do not know the depths of agony and despair I can summon!”

Yunada moved to the brazier as Nai’a stepped over the bench and pulled Luna’s arms taut, locking her wrists in a crushing grip. The guard crouched behind her, pinning down her legs.

Yunada reached for an iron, moving it back and forth in the coals briefly: “I had planned on taking more time for this after the battle, and after I had resolved Gerrar, but it appears I will need to take a moment to begin breaking you now.”

Luna arched her back and tried to get purchase with her feet, but they slipped and kicked out as the guard shifted to her side and pulled her left leg back and out at an awkward angle.

Yunada paused a moment to drain his wine goblet, which he sat beside the bench, before pulling his breechcloth aside and rubbing a palmful of saliva over the head of his now-stiff manhood. He knelt between Luna’s legs and pressed his right hand into her backside, spreading her apart. He leaned down and spat into her now-exposed opening.

Luna craned her head back over her right shoulder in an attempt to see behind her: “I swear on your Goddess, if you violate me, I will--”

Luna shrieked in agony and fainted for a moment as the red-hot brand in Yunada’s left hand seared the skin on her shoulder blade. The warlord pulled the smoking metal away as he drove his member between Luna’s folds and pressed his hips forward, burying his full length inside her.

Suddenly, Luna’s head snapped up, her eyes ablaze with silver-white fire. Nai’a gasped in shock and fear and fell backwards, releasing Luna’s wrists.

She felt an overwhelming surge of power, cresting like a dark tidal wave, washing away all pain and fear--which collapsed in a sudden explosion of bright, shattered light coursing through her brain, radiating from the back of her head.

She slumped forward and lost consciousness to the sound of Yunada’s waist rhythmically slapping against her rump.

---

“Luna...”

Moaning, eyes fluttering half open…

“Luna. Are you conscious?”

Luna forced her eyes open and found herself lying on her side on a floor of shimmering, grey, stone-like material.

“Wh-where am I?”

“Do you not recognize your old haunt?”

Luna propped herself up on an elbow and peered around at the silvery-grey environment, softly-lit by a cool, bluish light coming from no apparent source, suffusing the area without casting shadows: “Is this the castle? It appears to no longer be in ruins, and to be made of some sort of smoky glass or translucent metal.”

“Hmm…’translucent metal.’ Yes, I rather like that.”

Luna rolled to her side and sat up, discovering she was an alicorn again: “This is unexpected!”

“Do you know what happened?”

“I felt an overpowering surge of energy, akin to that when the hartz attacked. I felt an agonizing burn in my shoulder--”

“When Yunada’s brand struck.”

“Yes. I swooned for a moment, then felt Yunada slide inside me. The power crested, then--I felt it start to pour out of me, and I sensed you were there.”

“I was. That surge of power, that arising of Reaper’s deathly essence pulled me in like a riptide.”

Luna nodded: “Then just as suddenly as it came, it was gone in a burst of pain and blinding light. I assume Yunada struck me.”

“Yes. I was able to maintain consciousness and detachment for an instant, and I can confirm your impressions: moments after he entered us, Yunada hit us across the back of the head with his goblet. I have no good sense of how long we have been unconscious, but I am sure it has been several hours. I also assume we were defiled by Nai’a and the guard as well.”

Luna shuddered, then looked around for the source of the voice: “Where are you? I cannot see you.”

A tall, dark-skinned figure, clad in platinum-grey plate armor and Luna’s cloak stepped out from an adjacent alcove. Her long, black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her aquamarine eyes glittered with cold rage.

Luna raised an eyebrow: “Another new look?”

The figure smiled: “It seems more in keeping with my plan than a sheath dress or taking the form of a black dalzi.”

“Plan? What is your plan?”

The figure drew Gerrar’s sword from the scabbard on her hip: “To kill and kill until I no longer have the strength to lift my arm. Just as you did with Gerrar--clearing a task Reaper could not--I must do the things you cannot do.”

Luna furrowed her brow: “And then?”

The figure walked across the room and sat down on a low bench with the sword across her lap: “It is time for you to go, Luna. You do not belong here.”

“I agree, however--wait! You called me ‘Luna!’”

“Yes. We are totally separate now, you and I. Surely you have felt the growing gap between us.”

Luna nodded: “Especially these last few days.”

The figure ran her fingers lightly over the swirled and mottled surface of the sword, tracing a series of runes etched near the hilt: “The other night, when I was with Reaper and the girl in Bel’az, I believe he could nearly see me. I was also able to manifest enough to make physical contact.”

Luna frowned: “I am now unclear how this will all play out should we find our way back to our world.”

The figure shook her head: “There is no returning for me--I now belong to Kur. Fire, blood and pain have made this my world, now.”

She patted the naked blade in her lap: “And there is more to come…”

“I do not understand.”

The figure closed her eyes and took a deep breath: “This is my body now, Luna. When I awaken, you will be trapped here, able to observe, but not to interfere--please do not try to wrest control from me!”

“Then how am I to return to our world?”

The figure stood: “I will do my best to find Reaper, if he yet lives; he may have thoughts about this. We are all in uncharted waters now.”

The figure turned to leave the chamber, but paused and pointed to a shimmering indigo banner above: “You can watch from here. I do not know if we will meet again ‘ere the end--whatever end that is. If we do not, I bid you farewell, Luna.”

The figure swept toward the exit, her boots ringing on the glistening floor. Luna stood: “Farewell to you, too...hmm. What do I call you? Who are you?”

The figure stopped and touched her tongue tip to her upper lip for a moment. She glanced back over her shoulder: “Reaper had the right of it: I am your Dark Angel.”

Luna sat down heavily on her haunches, looking up at the flickering banner with apprehension as the figure disappeared down a corridor, silver-white fire building in her eyes as she dissolved like a dream.

---

She cracked an eye and surreptitiously scanned the tent. It was dark, with a dim light cast by a lamp on the map table providing a flickering, yellowish light. The light fell weakly on Nai’a’s heavy form, slumped in his chair, turned halfway from the table.

She heard Nai’a’s rough snoring and saw the empty wine jug at his feet, so she opened both eyes and lifted her head slowly, checking for other occupants.

Other than Nai’a and the melted man on the dais behind her, the tent was empty. She shifted slightly and reached over her back, running her fingers lightly over her left shoulder. She clenched her jaw and her eyes watered as she touched the seared, raw skin.

She slowly rolled onto her side, spreading her legs enough to run a hand between them, which came back slick and sticky. She probed further, wincing as she tentatively brushed her fingers across her aching, swollen anus.

She ground her teeth as she withdrew her hand, wiping the traces of semen and blood on her leg: “Both holes--how thorough…”

She stretched and carefully propped herself up on an elbow, peering at Nai’a. She noted the small, opened stone jar lying on the floor next to his chair, and a faint, spicy scent in the air.

She laid back down, smiling coldly as she dropped into a light sleep: “You fool!”

---

Nai’a awoke to find himself sitting in his chair atop the cracked and damaged dais in Celestia’s ruined throne room. He struggled to rise, but found his limbs bound to the chair by twisting, grasping vines. He looked around wildly: “Where in Belzul am I? What the fuck is happening?”

A large black otsa entered the room, stepping over skeletons of both ponies and kurlin, and slowly worked its way up the dais: “An interesting choice of words in both cases, Nai’a.”

Nai’a tipped his head to the side and squinted at the beast sauntering toward him: “L-Luna? Is that you?”

The otsa smiled grimly, exposing a row of razor-sharp teeth, glistening in the lamplight: “Not anymore.”

“Wh-where are we? How is this possible?”

“You are in my realm now, limited though it is at this time. Were you not warned? I recall the words: ‘you do not know the depths of agony and despair I can summon!’ We are about to plumb those depths.”

“You stupid cunt! When I wake up--”

The otsa stepped up to the top of the dais and laid its muzzle in Nai’a’s lap: “Oh, no, no! You will wake up, but it will avail you naught. I am not my True Sister, and you are not Gerrar. You are subject to my tender mercies! To wit--”

The otsa opened her maw and took Nai’a’s manhood in her teeth, clamping them shut with a snap. She jerked her head to one side, tearing away the flesh with a wet, ripping sound, throwing his ruined cock and testicles to the floor.

Nai’a’s eyes rolled back in his head and he screamed in agony and terror, straining against his bonds as blood coursed down his legs, spattering the cracked marble below his chair.

The otsa shoved her muzzle into the resulting wound and chewed her way into the writhing man’s abdomen, pulling out intestines and viscera, spraying blood and the contents of his bowels all over the dais.

She shook free of Nai’a’s shredded guts as his head sagged forward, spewing vomit down his chest. He shuddered violently, coughing and blubbering.

The otsa stepped back, blood and flesh and shit falling from her slavering jowls. She regarded the quivering, twitching, spurting body before her: “Good, but still a bit too lively…”

She moved to Nai’a’s side, taking each of his limbs into her mouth in turn, almost delicately, and crushing their bones with her powerful jaws.

Nai’a was now wailing constantly--a thin, high, keening scream that rang throughout the throne room.

The otsa laid her ears back: “And all that racket will never do! Let us quiet it with a kiss.”

She put her paws up on Nai’a’s chest and plunged her bloody muzzle into his open mouth. She yanked her head back a moment later and tossed his severed tongue aside. Blood poured down Nai’a’s chin and streamed down his heaving chest.

The otsa stepped to the edge of the dais and shook from snout to tail: “Well, I think my job is done here. The time has come to take this back to the waking world and conclude our business there.”

She began to fade, then stopped and sighed: “Just once more, for old-time’s sake…”

The otsa turned away from Nai’a, backed up, lifted her tail, and relieved herself into his wrecked, gaping abdomen. She looked over her shoulder, nodded and faded out.

---

She opened her eyes and sat up stiffly as her vision adjusted quickly to the dim, murky surroundings. She smiled grimly as she peered at Nai’a, hunched forward, slack-jawed, spasming, vomit dribbling from his mouth. The pooled urine in his chair dripped steadily to the floor.

She stood and stretched, wincing anew as the blistered and throbbing skin on her shoulder moved. She stepped behind Nai’a’s chair and lifted her cloak free, draping it across the map table, fishing her dagger out of its inner folds. She then set the lamp beneath the table, casting the pavilion into deep shadow, drew her blade, picked up Nai’s robe from the floor, and melted back into the gloom toward the tent’s entrance.

She chewed her lip for a moment as the silver-white fire built in her eyes: “Guard! Come quickly! Your Master Nai’a has taken ill from an excess of wine and mets’il and is choking on his vomit!”

She heard the tent flap rustle: “Shut up, galdu! He does this sort of shit all the time! Lord Yunada can deal with it when he gets back!”

“He does not appear to be breathing. Are you certain you want to be the one to explain why you let your Lord’s trusted Lieutenant die from his own spew? I bear none of you anything but hatred, yet even I do not wish to encounter Yunada after such a thing.”

She heard a heavy sigh and muttering as the flap opened and a figure entered slowly, sword drawn: “What the fuck happened to the light? I’ll kill you without a second thought if you try anything, bitch!”

The guard picked his way warily across the tent floor, passing by a dark, unseen figure.

She jumped out from behind the guard and threw Nai’s robe over his head, twisting and spinning as she did so, kicking his legs out and forcing him back against the table. The guard slammed against the edge awkwardly, then sprawled on the floor, his cloth-bound sword arm trapped beneath him.

She was on him in an instant, her blade rising and falling with a ‘thunk’ every time it struck home. She plunged her blade in everywhere from his abdomen to his face over and over as he cried out and writhed in an attempt to free himself from the now-blood-soaked robe and the rain of deadly dagger blows.

Her eyes burned white as the guard’s cries and trashing died away. She shifted position and straddled his body, gripping the dagger in both hands now, driving it down with renewed energy, shattering his sternum, spraying bright-red blood everywhere.

She sat atop the guard’s twitching body for a moment, breathing heavily as his blood ran down her breasts and stomach, listening for signs of activity or possible discovery from outside the tent. It was silent save for Nai’a’s choked gurgling and the low crackle of the brazier.

She rose from the guard’s body, and crouching, yanked the blade from his chest, spraying blood across her lower legs. She wiped the dagger off on the hem of the guard’s cloak and set it on the map table.

She lifted the lamp from beneath the table and returned it to the top, then stepped over in front of Nai’a. She placed her bloodied hand against his forehead and shoved him back into a slouched, sitting position. His eyes were frozen open: “Now, where were we?”

She took a step back and tapped her lower lip with a finger: “I could simply leave you like this, a shattered shell of a man, almost a vegetable, really, unable to communicate, or--”

She placed a hand on his thigh, leaned in and grabbed his scrotum with her other hand: “I could simply tear these off, again, and leave you to bleed out. There would be a sense of symmetry to that, no?”

Nai’a’s eyes went wide as a strangled wheeze rose from his throat.

She ran her tongue over her lips and glanced toward the faintly-glowing brazier: “Better still, I could take a rod of hot iron and jam it up here--”

She drove a fingertip roughly into Nai'a’s anus, and locked her blank, glowing eyes on his as she bared her teeth and pressed her finger deeper: “Pushing it in until I could no longer feel its end, listening as it burned out your bowels from the inside!”

Nai’a’s eyes dilated to their maximum and a trickle of saliva ran from the corner of his mouth as his tormentor’s finger was quickly yanked free from his ass.

She wiped her finger in his hair and drew back a step: “Sadly I do not have the time for that, perfect though it would be. I have more important things to do, and very little time in which to do them, I suspect. As a result--”

She walked over to the map table and picked up Gerrar’s sword, unsheathing it as she returned to face Nai’a: “I will simply have to content myself with taking your head. I will leave it to the denizens of Belzul to mete out final justice when your spirit arrives there.”

She moved to her left and gripped the sword’s hilt in both hands: “Give my regards to T'zarjāin! And if you feel lonely, fear not--Yunada will join you shortly!”

She swung the sword in a wide arc, and Nai’a’s body jerked violently as his head separated in a spray of blood. It bounced as it hit the floor and rolled to a stop against a leg of the map table.

She bent down and picked up the head by its hair, and turned to the tent’s entrance just as a green-clad soldier stuck his head through the opening: “Where are you, Gurtas? You can’t abandon your post like this!”

She dashed across the tent before the soldier could react and brought her sword down across his collarbone, cleaving him from shoulder to navel. He let out a horrified scream and collapsed in a heap, dousing his killer’s legs with his blood.

She held Nai’a’s head before her and strode out of the tent, naked, dripping with blood, sword glinting in Larg’s light, and turned to see her frightened dalzi still hitched to the weapon stand a few yards away.

“I am glad you are well, Bitch. I will be back for you shortly. I have business to attend, first.”

The soldier’s scream had attracted the attention of a patrol, which jogged toward the tent. She turned on her heel and broke into a trot, meeting the four men within seconds.

She never broke stride as her sword wove through the soldiers in a blur, hewing off limbs and heads before any of the men could even attempt to strike a blow.

She picked up her pace and passed through the gap in the earthworks, slaying the two guards there before they were even fully aware of her presence. A third guard on the western side of the barrier fell back shouting for help. He died with her sword through his throat as she turned to her right and headed north.

Another small group, en route to battle clad in chainmail, bearing spears, broke into a run heading straight for the dark figure.

She drove straight into the unit, shattering spears, shearing through mail like scissors through silk. Four men died within seconds, the other five fell back, trying to defend themselves--to no avail.

She slashed and lunged faster than the soldiers could react, and within moments, two more lost their heads, as the other three turned and broke into panicked runs. She ran two of the terrified men down within seconds, slicing through their backs, severing their spines and spilling their entrails before they hit the ground.

The third man turned aside, flung away his spear, and screamed as he ran: “Broka Nosk'a! Broka Nosk'a has returned! Flee!!”

She grinned savagely as she sprinted after the horror-struck soldier: “Yes! Not all your gods are lost! I am Revenge incarnate, come to bathe in your blood!”

She overtook the man moments later and brought her sword edge down on the top of his head, slicing effortlessly through his helmet and splitting his skull like a melon. His body staggered forward a few more steps before toppling nervelessly to the ground, spilling his brains in a gout of blood.

She stopped for a moment and took her bearings, noting the outriders and their dalzi pen two hundred yards to the north. She jogged swiftly and effortlessly toward the pen as the men scattered, unsure whether to defend, attack or flee.

Three soldiers mounted their dalzi, took up spears and charged toward her, intent on riding her down. A cold smile spread across her face: “Do you not recall your own stories, fools? None but gods may fell me! I am centuries old, and you are but mere insects to me!”

As the first two riders reached her, she dropped Nai’a’s head and her sword, and grabbed the spears leveled at her just behind their heads, jerking the cavalrymen out of their saddles as though they had hit a wall. The third rider was thrown when his mount reared in terror and fled before the figure’s burning, silver-white eyes.

She flipped the spears in her hands, walked swiftly to the two stunned riders and impaled them through their throats, pinning their twitching bodies to the ground. The third soldier scurried away on his hands and knees until he too, died with a blood-curdling scream as she drove his own spear through his back, tearing through his heart.

She returned to her dropped sword, recovered it and picked up Nai’a’s severed head. She walked to the pen where a few terrified men crouched behind the gate.

She pointed her sword at Colt: “Who brought this dalzi here?”

There was no answer, just panting and sobbing.

“I will not ask again. You have seen what I can do. Who brought this dalzi here?”

Soros stood slowly, trembling: “I-I did, m'Lady…”

She locked on Soros and strode up to him: “Highness.”

He furrowed his brow and swallowed hard: “Sorry, what?”

“You will refer to me as ‘Highness.’”

“Y-yes Highness! I brung this dalzi here.”

“Do you know where the Tunzal Gerrar is?”

He turned and pointed further north: “I-I seen ‘em escort him up towards the prisoners’ stockade. Nobody told me nuthin’ new, so I’m just waitin’ here ‘til somebody does!”

She nodded: “You have new orders now--you are to find the Tunzal and send him to me. I will be before the gates of the fort, which must be fully engulfed in flames by this point, I would think.”

Soros furrowed his brow: “I don’t think they’s gonna let him go on my say-so, beggin’ your pardon, Highness.”

She stood silently for a moment, then held up Nai’a’s severed head: “If you fail me, I will take you down to T'zarjain’s dire mansions myself, where your flesh will be stripped from your bones every day for eternity!”

“B-b-but…”

She leaned in close and frowned: “Do you doubt me? Perhaps you should ask Nai'a here, how he died!”

Soros’ knees quaked and a dark stain spread across the front of his breeches.

She leaned back, smiled coolly and pointed at his crotch with her bloody sword: “It appears you do understand. Wise man.”

She dropped Nai’a’s head at Soros’ feet and turned around, pausing to look over her shoulder: “Do not fail me!”

She took off at a brisk jog, back to the south as the scattered troops, and bearers and slaves fled before her, crying that the Goddess of Vengeance had come. She effortlessly struck down a guard who tried to bar her entry to Yunada’s pavilion.

She thrust aside the tent flat and stepped over the bodies of the soldier and guard, stooping to collect the various articles of her clothing and armor that had been cast aside earlier. She piled these on the map table, then bent down beside Nai’a’s chair, ignoring the decapitated corpse, and picked up the small stone jar of mets’il.

She turned toward the back of the pavilion and regarded the sagging, lumpen figure on its pallet. She took up her dagger from the table and walked to the dais, stepping up next to the melted man.

She reached two fingers into the stone jar, scooped out a bit of the sticky paste, and slipped her fingers into the man’s lipless mouth-hole, wiping the mets’il across his tongue. He swallowed and made a low, moaning sound.

She set the jar aside and laid her hand on the man’s shriveled, scarred scalp: “Sleep.”

The melted man slumped to his left against a cushion and shuddered as he fell into a deep, painless slumber.

She probed the folds and scars beneath what should have been a chin, then brought her dagger up, pulling it in a smooth, sweeping arc from jugular to carotid, spraying her hands red as the blade sliced cleanly through the man’s throat. She wiped her hands and blade on a cushion, picked up the stone jar and returned to the map table.

She studied the map for a few minutes as she pulled her clothes and boots back on, then her greaves, vambraces, spaulders and belt. At last she threw her cloak over her shoulders, resheathed her dagger and Gerrar’s sword, and dropped the stone jar into her pocket.

She uncorked a fresh jug of wine as she walked toward the back of the pavilion, toppling the brazier next to the dais and dropping the Goddess’ holy book on top of the coals. She drank deeply from the jug as she watched the tome burst into flames.

She threw several cushions, scrolls and tapestries on the growing blaze, before turning away and heading toward the pavilion’s entrance.

She looked back at Nai’a’s headless corpse, and the fire now consuming the melted man’s body. Flames had begun to lick up the rear wall of the tent, and the whole space was now filled with an acrid smoke and lurid red light.

She pushed through the flap: “One monster left…”

Comments

[Bleddyn]

How can I put this in a calm rational manner?

HOLY FUCKING SHITE!!!!!!!!!

Yeah, I think that'll do. I take it this is only the beginning.

[kryvian]

Shits tense yo