Corrupted Lands

by Nameless Narrator

Sunrise In Manehattan: Transmission

Ducking under the wide swing of a well-built Protector, I weave in a quick jab with my tail and take a bite from its side at the same time with a sucker mouth I grow on it in the instant of the attack. It makes me feel much more comfortable not having to use my own mouth and taste the tainted flesh. A surge of power revitalizes me mid-jump, and I get on the Protector's back, careful about tentacles growing from it in an attempt to shove me off.

There is a little trick I recalled the Corruptor Queen in Canterlot using, which has helped me immensely in feeding off another Corrupted recently. I can't replicate it on the cellular level, of course, but enough to a degree allowing me to incapacitate a Corrupted enemy quickly and efficiently. Hair-thin needles protrude from my body and pierce the Protector's flesh at the point of our contact, growing backward spikes to prevent him from shaking me off. They secrete a version of digestive acid, melting off the upper layers of the enemy's skin and flesh, and allowing me to absorb it. The deeper lodged needles serve to drain blood from my target.

As long as I retain my morality, I guess equinity can be put aside. I'm pretty sure that's the conclusion Nightshade came to a while ago.

I also made sure I feel nothing from the draining process other than a steady flow of energy into myself, not unlike waking up after a restful night.

The Protector's legs give out and he keels over. I stop absorbing him and drop off. He stares at me, exhausted but still defiant.

"All done?" I hear Cromach's heavy breathing coming from a pile of four concussed Hunters lying in the snow of the forest floor. He is sitting by a female Breeder watching our 'practice' with fear and barely contained lust. After all, we are the powerful alphas in this area now to her. I can feel her disappointment when she nuzzles and licks Cromach's face, and all he does is pat her head like a dog's.

Over past week, I've been joining Cromach in his outside training. I don't know whether it's his usual behaviour or whether he was only stunning Corrupted we found out of respect to me, but he still deserves some recognition for that. Today, we have found a pack of Corrupted nested north of Manehattan. They must have moved in recently, because I can still feel the shift in this territory's composition. They attacked us when we moved deeper towards their Breeder's location, and lost quite drastically.

"Blrbrbfl!" the Breeder's three tongues slobber all over Cromach's face. He just flips her away from himself and pulls her into a hug. She begrudgingly presses her back against his chest and grumbles to herself.

"Are we staying for round two?" I nod to the passed out Protector and the concussed Hunters.

"If you can tell this one," his talons ruffle the Breeder's oily mane, "to stay with her group and not follow us back to the city then no. I'd hate to punch her out as well."

"Female Breeders are mostly docile unless riled up. If we leave now, she'll just lie down somewhere safe around, and when the others wake up she will nurse them back to health. It's just what Breeders do, apparently even male ones, although I've never been on the recieving end of that. Have you ever, you know, succumbed to the desire to... have your way with one of them?"

"At my age, I need a little bit more than just a free roll in the hay, no matter how good, to get me going," the griffon chuckles, "Also, I kissed one once and nearly lost my marbles. I've got enough of a brain not to risk anything more."

As we leave the Corrupted behind and walk back to Manehattan, Cromach returns back to business.

"So, how's your recovery going?"

"Fine, I guess," I shrug, the territory dependence of Corrupted hit me harder than I expected, "I've never noticed it before because I haven't been gone from Ponyville for too long, but I can't recover fully until I'm back home. I'm not sure if I'm going to get worse, but I definitely am not going to get any better than now."

"Good to hear it," Cromach nods, "because I've got a plan ready. It depends purely on how your radio in Ponyville works, but we're going to combine it with an Order assignment and kill two birds with one stone."

"Oh? What Order assignment?"

"The griffon law increasing the amount of community service of ponies for even minor infringements has passed, and it's time for us to show they overstepped their boundaries."

"Des said you commited terrorist acts from time to time."

"Actually, it's not as simple. We don't straight up kill random griffons living here whenever we are mad about something. That would hurt us more than help. No, we actually have a decent number of allies even among police forces, and they tipped us off about certain griffons running a slavery ring. As luck would have it, one of them owns a radio station in the city."

"Luck?"

"Higher guiding force, whatever you want to call it. I'm pretty sure there is a will with its own goals somewhere out there."

"Interesting approach. How did you come to that conclusion?"

"Through too much of too improbable crap happening to me too quickly."

"Heh. So, about the radio station..."

"Yeah, we're going to do few things at once. You, me, Desert Shade, Lyam, and three Order members. First, we'll capture the main studio and broadcast a message proclaiming our intent to 'punish griffon slavers' over all frequencies in Manehattan. While that's going on, you and I will hijack a long-range dish directly on the roof of the building, connect a device which will let us take control of it from there, aim it towards Ponyville and send a message you will pre-tape before we leave. The other Order members will break into our slave lord's office, beat the location of any more incriminating evidence out of him, and then publicly execute him."

"Ummm... isn't that a little too much?"

"Remember, pony lives don't matter to him. I would love to give him to authorities and wait for the verdict, but the verdict would be him going free. His gang abducted ponies nopony would miss. They can't hide with nopony to protect them and would end in the situation again. Police will not care nor look for them, trust me. This way, we will send a message that no amount of wealth and influence will protect a bastard AND do a good thing at the same time."

"You are killers," I say flatly.

"Yes. Are you still with us?"

And that's it. No attempts to blame it on greater good or anything. Just pure admission and conviction about being the right choice. Hard to argue with that.

"I am. My mother will change all of that."

"I definitely hope so."

---

"Sooo, how does this work?" I ask, presented with a microphone in a soundproof booth back in the Order mansion. A mare is watching me from behind a pane of glass, pushing sliders and buttons on a complicated-looking dashboard.

An intercom speaker built into the ceiling hisses, and a female voice answers:

"When the red light in front of you lights up, you say your piece. Make it short and snappy so you can set it on repeat before you have to GTFO. I doubt you'll have more than five minutes before they call for police."

"Okay."

"Ready?"

"Yeah."

The red light above me pops to life, and I lower my eyes to the lectern where a message I prepared before lies.

"To princess Twilight Sparkle. Mana Burn here. I'm sending this message from Manehattan. Neither Guiding Light nor Shadowstep are in a situation to help with you know what. The good news is that Manehattan still stands and there are hundreds of thousands of ponies alive here. Unfortunately, that's about the only good thing. The city is run by griffons using ponies as cheap workforce, slaves, or organ banks. The princesses and Equestria are mostly unknown things to them, legends at best. I'm not in the greatest shape so I can't be sure to get back to Ponyville safely through a wilderness full of corrupted griffons. A griffon by the name Cromach is helping me recover and says his name should mean something to you or princess Luna. Things here are beyond my knowledge, so I think I need you here to consider what to do next."

I wave at the recording mare, she nods, and the red light dies out. The ceiling speaker crackles again.

"Alright, let's check if it was recorded correctly, and then I'll make a copy for everypony involved in the mission just so you don't lose it on accident."

---

"The great Bardini and his entourage need no introduction!" one of the Order members posing as a posh-looking servant joining us on the transmission mission slams his hoof on the reception desk in the lobby of the radio station.

"I... I still need some ID, sir," the young griffon withers under the pony's gaze.

"Is THIS enough?" our 'negotiatior' throws a newspaper open on a page where a fat but well-built brown griffon poses on a royally decorated stage.

So, how did we get into this?

As it turned out, Cromach's information sources reported that the our targeted station owner paid a hefty sum of gold in order to get a renowned griffon cellist and singer in one to perform here in Manehattan in a two-hour special broadcast. We waylaid the great and only Alfonso Bardini, the brown griffon Cromach is currently posing as, in his hotel suite, tied him up, and paid his servants for silence with the singer's own money. Those unwilling to take the unexpected 'day off' joined the famous griffon in his chemicals-induced sleep.

It was only a matter of time for Cromach to take Bardini's performing clothes, stuff them with some pillows, and because he had dyed himself brown before we left the mansion all he had to do was to stay posh-ly quiet while we, his servants, did the talking for him. Granted, our Bardini is a little taller and much more toned, but we believed his well-known clothes should cover the little differences. We couldn't do anything about Cromach's bright green eyes glowing with divine power, in light of which we decided to make him even less approachable by making our 'servants' a little more aggressive.

My disguise was more difficult considering my size, but I managed to shrink myself a little so that now I look only like a very large earthpony with sunglasses. I can see just fine through them, but nopony can identify my corrupted eyes. Thankfully, there were enough outfits in the Order for ponies of various sizes and shapes so that I could pick something extra covering. In short, I look like a special agent crossed with a bedouin. I had no clue what either of those looks meant until a nice dresser mare showed me some pictures.

"Well, well," the harrassed receptionist staggers, "you still need to undergo a security check."

"A SECURITY CHECK?!" our spokespony blows up, "YOU invited US here into this... for lack of a better word... city!"

"Is there a problem, miss?" a guard lured here by the commotion asks.

"See the griffon there?" she points her hoof at disguised Cromach, "Notice anything familiar?"

"You are early," the guard looks at her suspiciously. It is instantly clear he knew what he was getting into before coming to interact with us directly.

Our mare doesn't skip a beat. She and the others must have thought through all possible scenarios.

"The great Bardini refuses to arrive five minutes before the broadcast. He needs to get to know the studio, to have his pre-performance rest, to pick the right outfit," she nods to a trolley stacked with suitcases the two other Order members are keeping from toppling.

"You will undergo a quick patdown, all of you. Then you will be shown around. We will perform a standard check of your luggage and then we'll send it up to you. It won't take long."

"The great Bardini refuses to let anyone touch his instrument," she pouts.

The guard walks over to Cromach who is trying to look so insulted that any more infractions might end his 'visit' to this continent prematurely. A gigantic cello case on his back containing a real cello, his battleaxe, and our radio hijacking tool is gently lowered on the reception desk.

"I need to see-"

Cromach opens the container, interrupting the guard.

"No touching," he hisses.

The guard looks and looks, taps the case with his talons repeatedly, then nods.

"You can go. Stellar!" he yells, and a mare in her twenties wearing a ruffled suit rushes to his side, "Show the maestro to the studio."

"Y-y-yes, sir."

"And stop fidgeting, or you're going in the report."

"Sorry, sir," she gets a grip of herself, but I can see her trembling. As Cromach puts the case back on his back, she smiles at us, "Follow me, please."

Phew, infiltration successful.

Everything goes smoothly. She shows us the studio where Desert Shade and Lyam stay under the pretense of making sure the sound levels are correct for the performance. Cromach thinks up a crazy request for some rare snack or whatever the tongue-twisting name I'm not going to butcher is and the three other Order members leave to get it. They will, of course, pretend they got lost inside the station when encountered. All that's left is for me and Cromach to get to the roof.

As we're ready to leave the comfortable dressing room before the station owner decides to greet the great Bardini in person, the mare intern trips over my flowing clothes. In her in impossible clumsiness, she miraculously wraps her hooves around me mid-fall and somehow strips the tunic off me completely.

"Ah-" she yelps and is immediately silenced by my claws wrapping around her muzzle. She stares, eyes wide and trembling all over.

"Calm down, I'm not gonna hurt you," I lean closer and whisper. Releasing my grip a little, I see her tearing up, "I said you'll be fine."

"Nuh uhh..." she shakes her head. I let her go, ready to silence her again if she screams. She just whimpers quietly, "They'll sell me back to the Empire..."

"I thought you worked here."

"She does," Cromach steps in, helps her up, and points first at me and then at my lost clothes, "Most ponies are born as servants. If they work hard and reciever recommendations from their employers, they earn their citizenship. Of course, if they don't they either stay as slaves or... material. Griffons know that and abuse it as much as possible."

I give the intern a questioning look and she nods.

"We are going to change that," I say firmly and grit my teeth, "The sooner the better."

"But... but you are a Corrupted. How do you speak? How did you get here? Why-"

I put a claw on her mouth.

"The pony kingdom of Equestria is rising again. Some Corrupted and ponies are working together to make this land a place to live for all of us," her eyes bulge even more, "Now, I'll knock you out so you don't get into even more trouble. You will wake up soon and completely fine."

She whines as I grow a thin needle from my tail and inject a mild anesthetic agent into her neck. She goes limp, sprawling on the floor.

"How long?" Cromach asks when the mare is completely out.

"Half an hour, hour tops? I haven't really tested it on ponies yet."

"Then put your clothes back on, we can't dawdle. If we're asked, you say that Bardini wants to watch the sky or some esoteric crap. I'll look as unapproachable as I can."

He lifts the cello case which must be crazy heavy with ease. I mean I could do that as well, but I'm a Corrupted. Speaking of the thing...

"How did you trick the griffon guard back in the lobby to let the thing through? Is he one of yours?"

"Heh," Cromach grins and we leave the changing room, "The good thing about having my kind of reputation among ponies is that they are willing to share some secrets, especially magic, that Imperial agents have to torture unicorns for. The reason why the Order is hidden in plain sight is that we have mages tirelessly keeping us ahead of whatever scraps of information get to the Empire. If anypony looks inside the cello case all they see is a cello, and their desire to keep looking evaporates instantly. It's a subtle enchantment the griffon devices can't detect... yet."

Thankfully, the staircase leading to the roof is unguarded, and we quickly slip through a door locked with a padlock Cromach cleaves off. The roof is filled with radio dishes, antennae, and power cables. Cromach knows his way around and leads us towards a large central dish equipped with hydraulics. Few minutes of tinkering later, the box of dials and buttons he brought with himself is linked to the transmitter.

"There, I found an ancient map which showed the coordinates of old Golden Oaks library. As far as I know, the crystal tree castle grew in its place. Even if not, the spread of the signal should be sufficient for some makeshift recievers. Now we let your message run for a minute or two, pack our bags, meet the others at the studio, and fire up the teleporter home."

"No epic escape through the cityscape?"

"I'm pretty sure the station will be surrounded by soldiers soon enough. One-way teleportation onto a static exit is our best way out of a sticky situation."

"Why didn't each group get a teleport device or whatever it is?"

"First, I'm not leaving the mission unfinished in case one of us messed up. Second, I don't trust Lyam and Desert Shade not to lead an armed platoon into the mansion. I've done some digging on her and she is a mercenary well-respected even in the Empire. Not for being a griffon tool, definitely not, but it pays to be careful."

As soon as we see clouds of police griffons centering on the radio station we know the time's up.

The inside of the station is in panic, but with so many unarmed and terrified ponies and griffons we don't even have to knock anypony out. At least not until we reach the barricaded studio. A squad of griffon guards aim their rifles at us.

"The great Bard-"

I drop the act when they instantly pull the triggers and harden my skin as much as I can. The impacts feel like a hailstorm, but eventually the guards have to reload. Next to me, Cromach looks from behind the dented cello case, lets it go, and roundhouse kicks it straight at the enemies. I follow suit, almost literally, and transform my claws back into hooves in order no to kill but knock out.

As soon as those inside the studio see us through the soundproof, reinforced glass they open the door and let us in. All five of our accomplices are already waiting.

"What now?" Desert Shade barks.

"Now we go home," Cromach nods to the three Order members still wearing the clothes of Bardini's servants, "Prep the portal."

"Wait," I stare at him, "YOU didn't have the portal device?"

"Did you think I would rather sacrifice my subordinates than myself?" he smirks, "Also, it's not really a device."

The Order ponies create two interlocking circles, one from black pebbles and one from white ones. Two of them are unicorns, and their horns flash brightly. I suppress my instinct to affect the source of magic with horn rot, and...

...after a quick falling feeling appear in a brightly lit cellar swarming with ponies in white robes.

"Any injuries, sir?" a stallion whose outfit is screaming 'medic' rushes to Cromach, who just waves him away.

"I'm fine, go check the others."

The medic bows and starts bothering Des and Lyam.

"What now?" I ask.

Cromach shrugs.

"No idea. Depends on what Twilight thinks up. All we can do about it is wait."

"Time is what you immortals have in abundance?" I ask, smug about being able to use his words against him.

"Time and patience. There are things for which I'm willing to wait eons, Mana Burn, eons. Things and ponies."

Comments

[funguy26]

keep up the great work!

[Nameless Narrator]

7139360 Keep up the uplifting comments :P

[Anonymous Critic]

"Higher guiding force, whatever you want to call it. I'm pretty sure there is a will with its own goals somewhere out there."

Shit, he knows...

[Anonymous Critic]

"First, I'm not leaving the mission unfinished in case one of us messed up. Second, I don't trust Lyam and Desert Shade not to lead an armed platoon into the mansion. I've done some digging on her and she is a mercenary well-respected even in the Empire. Not for being a griffon tool, definitely not, but it pays to be careful."

Which one? Lyam, Desert Shade, or both?

[Anonymous Critic]

7139584
Strange... this reply has a distinct lack of sarcastic or depressing remarks...

Who are you, and what did you do with Nameless!?