Mooked
Just as Tarnished Teapot entered the outer yard of the Manehattan Financial Station, the rising sun began to wobble. Alarmed by the sight, he froze in place, astonished and more than a little terrified. The sun flickered like a lightbulb during a brownout, almost as if it would go dark, and it moved in ways that the sun should not move, such as north and south, up and down, east and west, and for a time, it even zigzagged.
All of which were things that suns should not do.
Smarter than most, he realised that something, someone, was attempting to wrest away control of Princess Celestia’s sun. Perhaps moving the sun around the world and causing an early, unnatural dawn had left the sun, and by extension, Princess Celestia, rather vulnerable. Above him, the sun rolled about in circles like a flaming marble, and for a few seconds, he found himself wondering if the world was about to end.
The mere notion of the world ending left him feeling peeved.
Maybe angry.
It was a good thing he didn’t have anger issues…
No, anger had Tarnished Teapot issues. They just didn’t get along together. Could not be in the same room together. They did not see eye to eye. Swiveling his head around, he listened. Sure enough, the false-alicorn inside the train station was still trying to reassure his captives—and they were most certainly captives, because Tarnish had been listening. Ears pricked, he listened for a bit longer, but his attention was stolen away by the sun wobbling to and fro as it struggled to rise.
The train station was a mess, with broken skylights and windows. This meant glass on the floor, dangerous, awful glass that might slice his frogs. Glass that he might use to mess somepony up, somehow, if the opportunity presented itself. One of the front pillars near the central entrance was shattered and collapsed. A train sat in the cradle, ready to go by the looks of it, ready for the morning commute… which would be late this morning, no doubt. Or maybe it was the Midnight Special, because the financial district of Manehattan operated at all hours of the day, a sector that never slept.
As for the massive clock that stood as a sentinel in the outer yard, it had stopped functioning just a little before two forty-five. He found himself glancing at it to get an idea of the time, and was disappointed by its utter lack of movement. The false-alicorn was still bellowing, still orating, saying all manner of pretty words that infuriated Tarnish.
It was time to shut his mouth—perhaps permanently.
When Tarnished Teapot made his entrance, he did so with his best stiff-legged swagger. Mindful of broken glass—it was no good to have your power-walk interrupted with a sliced frog—he asserted his natural dominance in a way that never worked well in the past, but he was never one to quit trying. Octavia insisted that confidence was a matter of presentation, so he’d worked on his dramatic entrances with the hope of shoring up his fragile ego.
The false-alicorn, standing on a dais above a fountain, paused.
A million dreadful promises were made when they locked eyes, at least, it felt that way to Tarnish. He wanted it to feel that way. Something about the false-alicorn’s sheer unnaturalness unnerved him, unhinged him, it left him unsettled and rather queasy. This was a creature that should not exist, and could not be allowed to exist. It was a perversion of the natural order.
“Have you come for safety?” the false-alicorn asked. “Submit to me and I shall shelter you. Soon, when my fellows come, we shall leave on the train, and a new life will begin. Join us.”
“No.” Tarnish made his feelings known with his simple denial.
There was quite a crowd; a herd of terrified ponies, all of which were frozen and huddled together in terror. Tarnish surveyed them, trying to get a quick head count, and determined that there were maybe a hundred or so. A hundred that might also become unnatural abominations, false-alicorns. One-hundred or so potential new threats to Equestria, and the world at large.
“Kneel before me, and I shall give you new life, one free of tribal bonds. Submit and obey, and you too, might also become like me. A god—”
“You know,” Tarnish interrupted, “I once destroyed a god. And another, I gave him a black eye. He now holds a vendetta against me, and kind of stole my daughter. Don’t speak to me of godhood, gods bleed, and I’ve seen it.”
The false-alicorn’s face went twitchy and its wings slapped against its sides. “I just want to give you a future. You can share my future. We can all be gods, free creatures with self-determination. Free of tribal bonds. No more birth lottery pre-determining our lives, our fates, and our fortunes. Please, submit to me. I find what you’re doing quite enraging. Unlike my fellows, I’m better at controlling my rage, which is why I am here, trying to save these poor souls.”
“Funny,” Tarnished replied, “that’s also why I’m here. To save these ponies from you. Do they know about the high failure rate? The introduced insanity? Do you really think you are a suitable example of the final product that you have to offer—”
“Shut up!” There was a dreadful sound as the false-alicorn ground his teeth together, and his voice was ear-piercingly shrill. “Shut up! You must shut up! You make the anger come! The rage! The thousand voices all screaming! I had them almost silenced! SHUT UP!”
Eyes narrowed, Tarnish wasn’t sure if that final ‘shut up’ was directed at him.
“No… no… not the screaming… not the screaming…”
“How many souls were stolen to make you what you are?” asked Tarnish.
In response, the false-alicorn wrapped his wings around his face, and began sobbing.
“Get out,” Tarnish said to the crowd, hoping that they would flee while they had a chance.
“Don’t you move!” Now, the false-alicorn’s voice was unbearably shrill, almost like a foal with its hoof held to the fire. “You are needed! Every soul is needed! If we keep rearranging, we will find the right combination and all of the pieces will fall into place! That’s why we need the sorcerer! If we spread him out among us, we can be whole. You can be whole! No longer a mere part of a pony, but a whole alicorn… a GOD!”
“You’re not much of a god—”
“SHUT UP!” the false-alicorn shrieked, its voice causing everything in the train station to rattle. “Sharing is caring… sharing is caring… sharing is caring… we must share our souls and splice them together for the greater good. It hurt having a part of my soul ripped away, but it was a good pain! A great pain! And now I have the souls of others! I am never alone! NEVER ALONE! I am an army made strong with the souls of many!” While the pathetic creature rambled and raved, it also sobbed. “Twilight Sparkle’s friendship principles can make me whole! Mariner promised!”
Sensing opportunity, Tarnish advanced with slow, careful caution.
“I was like them once,” the false-alicorn babbled. “Scared. Confused. Uncertain. I didn’t want to submit. But Mariner assured me that I’d see the world in a different way. I had part of my soul torn out. It hurt… it hurt… it hurt like nothing else. The pain… a good pain. Lovely pain. The pain in that empty place… no words… no words…” Tears dripped down the pitiful creature’s cheeks and it turned a hollow stare upon Tarnish. “THE EMPTY HOLE MUST BE FILLED!”
There were a great many screams as the false-alicorn attacked, and everything happened all at once, which was the sort of thing that took place when chaos erupted. The crowd, screaming, all took off in random directions, every pony for themselves, and the false-alicorn fired at them as Tarnish watched, helpless to do anything to stop it.
Death happened quickly, with great rapidity and suddenness.
When the insane behemoth pointed its horn in his direction, Tarnish dove for cover, and threw himself over the rail of the stairs, not caring about the fall or the sudden stop at the end. He felt the telekinetic bolt fly mere inches above his spine, and the sheer heat radiating from the magical blast blistered his flesh. He fell, several yards, but landed well, his long legs flexing like springs. Now, more than ever, Tarnish understood the piles of corpses outside, as this false-alicorn was capable.
Screaming… so much screaming.
Glancing about, Tarnish searched for something—anything—that might help him. Construction was being done here; there was scaffolding, heavy equipment, tools, cans of paint, but nothing caught his eye as being immediately useful. The mezzanine was getting remodeled, and from the looks of it, so was the area leading down into the subway.
And then, Tarnish saw it. His heart almost stopped. There was a rivet gun on the floor, still connected to the machine that powered it. But between himself and the rivet gun was a sea of broken glass from the shattered skylight up above. Pegasus ponies were escaping out of the skylight now, some of them carrying earth ponies and unicorns. This moment of kind courage gave him hope, and reminded him what he was fighting for.
In the storage space beneath the impressive marble staircase, there was an emergency firehose and a flow valve. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do, it was all he had at the moment. Reaching out with his telekinesis, he smashed the glass case, sending more glass to the floor, and began pulling out the coiled hose. Then, gritting his teeth, he gave the flow valve a hard yank to get the brass wheel spinning.
The hose came to life with unexpected suddenness, and he had trouble holding on to it.
Tarnish wrestled with the hose, uncertain if he was strong enough, but he did not decrease the flow of water. No, he opened up the valve all the way, and would deal with consequences as best he could. The rushing flood of water swept the glass away, but also flooded the floor. Tarnish saw the false-alicorn coming around the corner, where the bottom of the stairs met the floor, and in a moment of inspired brutality, he turned the hose on the rampaging psychopath.
The insane creature was knocked from its hooves, which gave the crowd a chance to get away. Tarnish watched as they stampeded for the exits, many of them leaving behind bloody hoofprints. Much to Tarnish’s dismay, the alicorn began to recover, and astonishingly enough, it stood up, though it had to lean into the crushing flow of water.
It seemed impossible.
Uncertain of what to do next, Tarnish continued to spray his foe while advancing towards the rivet gun. Surely, red-hot rivets would do some damage. While he’d never actually operated a rivet gun, he had once smacked a mook with a jackhammer, so he had experience with heavy equipment. There was still glass on the floor, though not as much, so he had to watch his step. More ponies were escaping, some of them going down into the subway tunnels. Tarnish realised that he didn’t need to win this fight—he just had to keep the pseudo-alicorn occupied so that the ponies could make good their escape.
The alicorn-shaped brute fired a magic blast, not at Tarnish, but at the flow valve, which exploded. Water geysered up out of the pipe, and Tarnish, still holding his hose, heaved a sigh of unsettled disappointment as it went limp, the last thing he wanted when dealing with a larger, more dangerous, more capable foe. His hose going limp enraged him, and also left him feeling oddly insecure… inadequate, somehow. When he looked down at the now dripping nozzle, he scowled and then tossed the hose away.
When the pseudo-alicorn began shooting at him, Tarnish was forced to flee, to take cover. He scrambled about, but there didn’t seem to be any particular place to go. One blast came a bit too close, and left a crater in the floor mere inches from his hind hooves. He owed Vinyl a hearty and heartfelt thank you for the live-fire exercises, where she had shot at him without holding back. Sure, Octavia and Maud both were distressed by this activity, but it was saving him now. He had to survive this so he could gloat about it—possibly, if the opportunity struck.
One blast grazed his tail; which not only left it a bit shorter, but now the stench of burning hair tickled Tarnish’s nose and threatened to make him sneeze. These telekinetic blasts were crude, not particularly magical, but dangerous nonetheless. The sheer, terrifying friction from their force almost made them fireblasts. Another blast grazed his ass, skimming right over the spot where he’d been shot long ago, and he could feel skin peeling away.
Yep, he owed Vinyl breakfast in bed for those live-fire exercises.
“HOW ARE YOU STILL ALIVE?” the false-alicorn shrieked, its voice somehow foalish.
Unwilling to respond, Tarnish hightailed it to the food court, hoping to find cover, and maybe something sharp.
“WHERE DID YOU GO?”
Squatting beneath a counter, Tarnish could hear the ominous crunch-crunch of the nightmarishly tough abomination approaching. His ass hurt—considerably—but not much could be done about that right now. As much as he wanted to sit down in a tub of cool water and soothe his burning buttocks, now was not the time. He wouldn’t be able to sit for a while, that’s for sure, and the injury’s location would make pinching a loaf more than a little difficult.
No one shot him in the ass and got away with it; no one.
Now was not the time to get mad though, but it was the time to get even. Sniffing, Tarnish could smell burned food and hot fryer oil. Ears pricking, he listened as the false-alicorn drew closer, closer, and closer still. The fryer was just about two yards a way, but would also leave him exposed and in the open. He waited, unmoving, trying not to think of the pain in his ass, and allowed the false-alicorn to come even closer, a risky move indeed. Reaching out with his telekinesis, he snatched a metal spoon out of a pot and hurled it to the back of the kitchen.
“I HAVE YOU NOW!”
Not knowing his enemy’s exact location, Tarnish launched himself at the fry-station. He lifted the basket, slung it around, and boiling hot grease spattered his hide, burning him and leaving dozens of angry red blisters. As for the false-alicorn, it was right there, at the counter, mere yards away, and Tarnish hurled the fry basket, filled with burnt, black food, right at him.
There was an awful sizzle when the basket collided with the pseudo-alicorn’s face, and the creature screeched as it was drenched in boiling hot oil, which ran down its neck in rivulets. One eye burst as the jelly within boiled, and the screeching, howling creature swiped at its face with its wings, trying to make the burning stop.
Tarnish was just about to toss the second basket when his foe vanished.
Reflexive teleportation?
For all of its power, the false-alicorn didn’t seem particularly skilled in magic. He waited, listening, his ears straining to hear. This fight wasn’t done, this score was not settled, and Tarnish was still sore about being shot in the ass yet again, which brought out the worst of his vindictive nature. He heard screaming and splashing, but he wasn’t sure where he heard it. Now, it was his turn in this game of hide and go seek.
Wincing, he looked down at his own grease burns, and then quickly turned away. Those would leave scars, maybe even bald patches. The grease was still burning him, still cooking him, the hot spatters that had rained upon him still fried his flesh and there was little he could do about it at the moment.
Of course the pseudo-alicorn had retreated to the fountain, that made sense. Tarnish peered between two enormous potted plants, which gave him cover, and watched as the horrible beast rolled and thrashed in the water. Safe, at least for the moment, he calmly considered his options. Water was wet and electricity was a terrible, unforgiving mistress. His eyes went from place to place, surveying the wrecked, demolished lobby of the train station, and he hoped to find a suitable source of electricity that he could use.
Above him, there was an electrical cable that hung down from the ruined ceiling, the cord that gave power to the overhead ornamental light fixture. He wondered, briefly, how Princess Celestia was doing, how her battle to maintain control of the sun fared, and then with icy calm, he yanked the electrical cord free from the light. With a casual toss, he flung the cord into the nearby fountain, where his foe still thrashed about, trying to stop the awful burning.
A keening wail filled the lobby and in the fountain, the pseudo-alicorn went rigid as blue arcs danced along its body and its wings. Wearing an unbearably smug expression, Tarnish chalked this up as a hard-won victory. Alicorn or not, this sort of electrocution was fatal. Organs would be cooked, arteries would boil, and brain cells would pop like popcorn.
Inside the wall a few yards away, there was a sizzle, a pop, and then a bang. As Tarnish licked his lips, the electrical arcing ceased, and the false-alicorn, steaming and partially cooked, began to rise up out of the fountain. One eye was ruined, its face was a nightmarish mask of cooked meat, its lips were gone, which left its teeth visible, and it had no ears.
But it was very much alive, and angry.
So angry.
“Well,” Tarnish said to himself, “that could’ve gone better.”
A single blast destroyed the machine that powered the rivet gun and Tarnish was forced to keep moving so that, he too, would not be obliterated. His frogs were on fire, and each step was agony as little shards of glass worked their way into the sensitive flesh. Alicorns, even false ones, were tough—impossibly tough creatures, and they took exception to being fried in grease and shocked. He was doubtful now, wondering if he’d live through this.
At least some of the crowd had escaped, maybe more than half. He had no idea if they’d survive the city, and he couldn’t worry about it, either, because he was too busy trying to survive this. He bounded left, he bounded right, going this way and that way, but never travelling in a predictable path. Powerful bolts of telekinetic magic skimmed by him, some of which he could feel the searing heat from.
He thought about tapping into his druidic magic, but worried that it might do more harm than good. That was something that couldn’t be controlled, it could only be unleashed, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready to deal with that sort of catastrophe right now. He was hungry, in pain, and getting tired. When had he slept last? He’d been up late, burning the midnight oil, as he was prone to do. When he slept, he dreamed of Skyreach, so sleep wasn’t high on his list of priorities.
It was something that both he and Vinyl dealt with, a shared problem.
Fearing that he might be out of ideas, he lept over the retaining wall of the indoor garden and took cover.
Too much ground had been lost, and now, Tarnish found himself backed into a corner. He was safe for the moment, but not for much longer. His enemy—his surprisingly capable enemy—seemed to be taking a bit of a breather, and Tarnish didn’t blame him. Trapped in a corner, there wasn’t a whole lot that Tarnish could do, and he wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. Tarnish knew that when his foe came for him, he would come on strong and ready.
The mistakes made in the kitchen ambush would not get repeated.
Glancing around, he searched for something, anything that might help him, but nothing presented itself. He could hear the clip-clop of hooves on marble tile, and the heavy, laboured breathing of his injured foe. As for Tarnish himself, he left bloody hoofprints behind with each step, he was blistered, burnt, and had a sore ass.
This wasn’t how he wanted to die.
He thought of Maud; their last words had been angry ones, shouty ones. They’d never been the sort to make outright demands of one another, that just wasn’t their way, but he’d done exactly that—and now, as he was stalked by an enemy that he’d underestimated, Tarnish felt guilty and ashamed.
No weapons. Nothing he could improvise with. This game of hide and go seek would end poorly. Badly. While the delay was pleasant, it gave him time to think, Tarnish began to wish that the end would just hurry up. He glanced around, still trying to find something, still hoping that some opportunity would present itself, while not feeling terribly optimistic about his chances.
Then, he noticed the brass vent. Tarnish, a skinny stringbean, could not help but smile. Most ponies would never be able to fit into the vent, but he was not most ponies. Sure, he was a giant, but he was a giant made of noodles, as Pebble was fond of saying. Maud teased him sometimes about being stick-thin, and Octavia fretted that he was too thin, that he needed to eat more.
As quietly as possible, he began to unscrew the vent so that he might escape.
He emerged into a dark storage closet. It was a tight squeeze, and he’d lost more than a little skin squeezing through some spots, some corners, but he was alive, if bloodied. A little light crept beneath the gap under the door, and he had himself a look around to see what he might find. Pulling aside a heavy sheet of canvas, he found himself a construction cart of sorts, and it was filled with tanks of compressed gas. Turning one around, he saw a yellow warning sticker emblazoned with bright orange flames.
This was something.
There were six tanks, each of which was almost as tall as he was. Heavy, solid, and filled with something flammable—it almost left him giddy with glee. If all else failed, things could be exploded. Surely the abomination was vulnerable to good old-fashioned exploding. Outside the closet, he could hear the pseudo-alicorn bellowing, making wordless shouts, and shrieking.
The big green canister was almost too heavy to lift, but somehow, he managed. With a flick of magic, he flung open the door, stuck his head out, and spotted his target right away. Tarnish recklessly smashed the valve at the top of the canister with as much telekinetic force as he could muster, and when it broke off, the makeshift missile went flying off with a foul-smelling whoosh.
With a wordless shout, the false-alicorn dove away. It’s alarm was understandable, reasonable even, but Tarnish was annoyed when his shot went wide and his makeshift missile went flying right past. There was a terrific kebong as the canister buried itself into the wall of the mezzanine, and lodged in place, it hissed as it continued to release its gaseous contents.
“You know,” Tarnish said as he lifted a second canister and took aim, “the newspapers once called me the most dangerous unicorn alive. Some of them still do. It gives me a real rush of ego, let me tell you. When I’m done with you, I do believe there will be some actual truth to that statement. Have fun riding the express train to Tartarus!”
With a telekinetic chop, Tarnish snapped off the valve and set his second missile flying.
A wordless stream of garble streamed forth from the lipless mess that was the pseudo-alicorn’s mouth. Tarnish had a pretty good idea of what was being said, probably the usual questions that he got during moments just like this one, asking if he was mad, or suicidal, or both. Or perhaps a warning that he was about to kill them both, that one was pretty common.
The second canister-missile also missed, but came close, so close. It skittered over the floor like a skipping stone, smashing and shattering marble tiles, and disappeared down the stairs leading to the subway. Tarnish readied another canister as his enemy hurried off for cover and he wondered just how much flammable gas was getting dumped into the air. At the moment, he didn’t care, but had secret hopes that this would be a fireball visible from Princess Luna’s moon.
“Third time’s the charm!” There was a whole lot of crazy in Tarnish’s voice, but he failed to notice, he was too busy preparing to fire.
As it turned out, the third time was not the rousing success that he had hoped for. Slack-lipped, Tarnish blew a raspberry of disgust, but did not give up. Now was not the time for quitting, not when he was so close to blowing himself to smithereens. The third missile had smashed into a wooden newspaper stall, and reduced it to splinters.
Unknown to Tarnish, the third missile had also ruptured the natural gas line, the same line that supplied the entire mezzanine. Oblivious to this fact, he prepared the fourth missile, all while wearing a mad, bloody grin that showed far too many pink teeth. The false-alicorn was running back and forth now, panting, its lone eye glittering with fear.
This time, he scored, and a harsh, barking cheer erupted from his lips as the flying canister missile struck the pseudo-alicorn. The impact tore off a wing, severing it neatly at the joint, and bowled the impossibly-durable creature right over. From the looks of things, several ribs were shattered, and a tremendous puddle of blood spread over the floor as the felled creature floundered about, bleating from pain.
But this was not the end that Tarnish had hoped for.
Somehow, the felled behemoth managed to get its hooves beneath it, and Tarnish watched in wide-eyed horrified astonishment as it stood up. Several ribs could be seen poking through its side, its wing was gone, a bloody mess of feathers and meat on the floor, and arterial jets spurted from the gaping wound where the wing once was.
The closet behind Tarnished Teapot was of stone construction, with a metal door. He considered this as he chose his next action, and hoped that it would be enough. If not, he doubted that he would suffer much anyhow. This fight had to end, this abomination had to die, and Tarnish hoped that this would not be a pyrrhic victory.
Retreating into the closet, he struck a spark of flame…
What happened next was indescribable. A Tartarian fury engulfed him, and in seconds he was deafened. The heat was hot and the world became a smear of impossible colours as everything exploded. Though deaf, he heard strange beeping in his ears, then silence, then beeping again, a sound that resonated against the inside of his skull. He was being cooked alive, not that it mattered, because this would all be over in seconds.
But the seconds stretched to an eternity.
As the Tartarian eruption continued, Tarnish tried to think of good things before he died. His thoughts turned to Pebble, as was so often the case. For whatever reason, he thought about when she was young, so very young, and he had just returned from Skyreach. She’d sneezed, and he thought it was the most precious thing ever, never mind the fact that his face had been drenched in snot.
The world around him tumbled, and Tarnish felt himself falling down, him and his closet.
As his head smacked against the steel door, dazing him, he thought of Megara. He was only just getting to know her, and as much as he loved her, it was quite possible that Maud loved her more. It left him jealous sometimes, the special relationship that seemed to be developing between the two. He wanted Megara to be a daddy’s girl, he wanted her to adore him like Pebble did, but life it seemed, had other plans.
Hot, sticky blood dribbled into his right eye, and the sting of it made him cry out.
The contents of the closet clunked around him, bashing him, smashing him, and cruel corners of crates pressed hard into his flesh as reality collapsed. Something monstrously heavy struck the back of his skull and the impact filled his vision with dancing multicoloured lights. What was up was now down and what was down was now up. Left was right. Right was left. Nothing made sense.
It seemed as though he would go tumbling down forever.
Just as he thought about his mother, whom he loved, the hard, sharp corner of a crate crashed into his left ear, and he knew no more.
Unexpectedly, the closet door opened, and Tarnished Teapot peered out into the unknown. He saw dancing dust motes and darkness speared by a few shafts of light. He guessed that the entire lobby had collapsed down into the subway station beneath. There were no flames to be seen, which was odd, and he wondered if the explosion had somehow snuffed them out. Bloodied, busted up but alive, he emerged from his closet to have a better look around.
Metal beams, stone blocks, steel conduit cables, glass, and other hazards were all around him. To his left was brown dirt and sunlight—it seemed as though some of the outside had come spilling in during the collapse. A section of wrought iron fence poked up through the dirt, and Tarnish, a paranoid sort, picked up a piece of the wrecked fence to use it as a makeshift spear. It was two yards long, black, had a wicked spiked tip, and would no doubt do incredible grievous bodily harm.
As his hearing returned, he heard the arcing crackle of electricity. Water dripped down from above, and poured from broken, exposed pipes. Would Princess Celestia forgive him for blowing up the train station? Would Cloudy? Thinking of his mother-in-law chilled his blood, and he feared her anger more than just about anything else.
In the darkness, something whimpered, and Tarnish felt his guts twist. He was not alone here, his enemy still lived. Though his ears were ringing, he tried to listen. Somewhere, nearby, he heard the squeal of metal against metal, and the grinding of stone. Killing alicorns, even false ones, was a dirty, dreadful business, and for the first time, Tarnished Teapot began to worry about a princess taking a turn towards evil. Taking them out, subduing them would be almost impossible, and it was only now that he understood Princess Celestia’s obsession with purity of thought, an issue that they’d discussed a few years back.
He did a poor job of guarding his own thoughts, and maybe, just maybe, that needed to change.
Everything ached and he limped. His head had a few knots that hurt now, but he knew from experience that the pain would be unbearable later. If there was a later. He still had to survive this somehow. Gripping his iron implement of impalement in his telekinesis, he scrambled over the rubble, mindful of the sharp, pokey bits, and made his way towards the whimpering.
Near the subway tracks, he found his hated foe, now little more than a pitiful mess half buried alive. One hind leg made feeble kicks, its hoof trying to knock away rubble, and the other hind leg was a mangled, twisted mess. The creature’s rump was visible, exposed, but the rest of him was buried in a jagged prison of shattered steel, broken glass, and crumbled stone.
Still alive, though not for much longer.
Stabbing him wasn’t enough. Tarnish feared that ramming his makeshift spear into the creature’s rump just wouldn’t be enough to end it all. Woozy, he wobbled, but recovered himself. There was a lot of water down here, everything was wet, and Tarnish thought of his failed attempt to electrocute his foe. This time, he would not fail.
The subway’s third rail, damaged, had an exposed power cable—one of the big dangerous ones. It was still quite live, hissing and popping as though it were a living thing. This had to end; it had to end because this creature was just too dangerous to let live. An alicorn, even a false one, was just not something that one could imprison. Even if it could somehow be contained, Grogar’s agents raided the prisons.
No, this poor creature, twisted by soul-splicing, had to be put down.
Tarnish climbed, getting up and away from the wetness, and using his telekinesis, he lifted the cable that powered the third rail. It crackled like an electric serpent, hissing and spitting, and never in his life was he more careful than he was right now. He moved away from drips, wondered briefly if there still might be explosive gas in the air, and thought about how good some ice cream would be, how cooling, soothing, and refreshing.
“I’m sorry,” he croaked, his voice cracking. “You and I, we can’t exist in the same world. I exist to defend the natural order from corruptions such as yourself. I gotta admit, at first, this was all about me being pissed off. You… you came to the city that I sometimes call home and you… you’ve done all these awful things. My daughter has been foalnapped. I was having a bad day and I suppose I came to take it out on you. But I’m putting all that behind me right now, so that I can do what is vitally necessary.”
As he spoke, he wrapped the live cable around his makeshift spear.
“Princess Celestia warned me to guard my thoughts, and she’s right. I’m not doing this out of malice, or anger, but from a sense of duty. Cloudy… my mother-in-law, she told me that I’m not supposed to kill things, even if those things are trying to kill me. But she also said that exceptions have to be made when others are dying… I’m allowed to do what’s necessary, what’s needed. Right now, my conscience feels pretty clear. No hard feelings.”
Electric arcs danced along the length of his improvised impaler.
With nothing left to say, Tarnished Teapot jammed the wicked point of his electrified spear right into the false-alicorn’s exposed, vulnerable rump, harpooning his enemy. He drove his weapon down, ramming it through, until he felt the iron tip strike stone. The body ignited as blue electrical arcs crackled, and wishing to spare himself the sight, Tarnish turned away. Though he did not watch, he knew that the sound would be one of those things that would haunt him forever, something heard in dreams, just one more thing to cause him insomnia.
Panting, in pain, Tarnish somehow pulled himself up and out of his tomb. He emerged into the sunlight, which seemed dull somehow, not as bright as it should be, and had a hazy moment of understanding, a realisation that Princess Celestia was having a bit of trouble with her sun. It was dark to the west, a line could be seen in the sky where the light abruptly ended, and even the stars could be seen.
He hoped that ponies wouldn’t think that the Royal Pony Sisters were having a spat.
Turning about, he had himself a look at the train station. It had collapsed. Well, some of it. Most of it. The outer walls still stood, sort of, but the roof and middle had come tumbling down. Rubble covered the tracks, and from the looks of things, the train in the cradle wouldn’t be moving any time soon.
“Oh no,” he groaned as he noticed the pseudo-alicorn flapping clumsily, no doubt flying over to investigate the train station, perhaps to check on its companion. “No… no…”
The pseudo-alicorn didn’t land so much as it just smashed into the ground. It was quick to recover though, and Tarnish tried to think of his options as his new foe approached. This one was female, not that it mattered, and she appeared to be completely whole of body. Running wasn’t an option; he wasn’t sure if he could run in his current condition, and it probably wouldn’t do him much good.
Since running wasn’t an option, that meant fighting.
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Very good. Its nice to see Tarnish in action again. (I don't know how he is gonna survive this one)
This really puts into perspective how kick-ass Tarnish can be amidst the chaos of battle. His improvisational fighting style is really fun to follow, and effective to boot. I'm glad to see that he's getting his head in the right place as well. I'm sure there are universes where Tarnish went bad and it's good to see him actively trying to work against that potential, even if it is unlikely.
Good fight. Time for contestant numbah two!
Now that is an intimidating statement. Nothing like real experience to back up a statement.
Tarnish really is a lot braver than he gives himself credit for.
A suitably violent and action-packed chapter.
“Kaio-“
“Nooo”
“Kennn-“
“No no”
“Times..four!!”
“No no AH GOD DAMMIT”
9619468 Sooner or later Tarnished is likely to either let loose with his druid powers or totally lose it and Terra will cut lose
Loved the fight scene. I'm surprised tarnish isn't a bit more broken from the crates and things that were in the closet with him while he fell. He got lucky there. As for the new Alicorn? I would so play dead, lol.
9619468
Maybe this crazed soul-spliced abomination is nice and friendly?
9619864
Funny thing about sharing bits of soul amongst yourselves... you can feel when others die.
There was a fire fight!
That rivet gun sounds like a very Tarnish idea.
Hot oil to the face, ouch.
That seems promising.
Tarnish is going to be such a mess when this is all over.
Fights only end when your opponent gives up. Sometimes it pays to be stubborn and have no limits.
I feel sorry for Tarnished. What an off day he’s having.
They're going to have a big barrel full of body spackle, and just dip Tarnished into it until he resembles a corn dog of justice.
Sorta like Luke in a bacta tank. Only stickier.
...who the bleep is trying to take control of Celestia’s sun?
You would think the false alicorns are kind of busy now, unless they’re not all in Manehattan.
Dare I ask how many of them have been created?
Has this story been written yet? Cuz it sounds awesome.
Wise words.
That's the sort of scene movie makers would put in trailers to pump up the audience. Tarnish is best action movie hero.
9641271
You're reading it right now. Pebble was stolen.