The Blazing Death

by Amaranthine Thought

Chapter 1

Within the great savanna, life was not easy. The zebra who lived within its tall grasses had long since accepted death as a part of life. A part of what they came to call ‘the cycle’.

All things were a part of it, and nothing could stop its ever-turning circle. All things had a beginning, and all things an end, and in their end, new things would find their beginning. Death was not something to be feared, but instead, accepted.

But now, there was a death to be feared.

It was a lioness, and there was no zebra in the savanna that had not heard of her. Not one zebra that did not fear her.

They knew of the lions. The great predators that occasionally stalked the herds. Losing members to the lions was just another part of the cycle, as natural as the day and night. But she, whom they had come to know as the blazing death, was different.

She was wreathed in flames, her skin and fur alight with burning fire, but she never burned. Waves of fire would break any line of warriors, and her blazing claws and teeth sliced through even the thickest of armor, wood no protection against the flames. Merely hearing her distant scream was enough to have entire herds fleeing for their lives.

But the worst was that she had gone outside the cycle. She hunted them, but she did not kill for food. She would slaughter every zebra that could not escape her flames, but their bodies were not eaten. She would just kill, and kill, and kill, until there was nothing left to kill, and then she would leave the burned and dead bodies where they laid.

To die to a hunting lion was a part of nature.

To die to a burning nightmare was not.

The blazing death had broken tribe after tribe, and survivors had gathered in numbers around the Deharan oasis; a sacred place for zebra, the sole place that always had water in the savanna. The water-speaker there had decided:

There, they would fight the blazing death. There, in their most sacred place, there, in the home of water, they would end her fire. She would come soon; her flames had consumed distant herds, and survivors flowed towards the oasis. Unwittingly attracting the nightmare to follow them, for the death knew where zebra ran would have more zebra.

But despite her clear threat, several zebra tribes would not rally. Old hates were too deep, and those who held the oasis most precious would not even conceive of fighting on its green grass. It was a great fear for those that did, for each felt that, if the blazing death would be ended, it would take all the might that all the zebra could bring to bear.

The few they had would only die against her, and her fire would consume the home of water.

And perhaps the savanna would never see water again.

Thus, a runner was sent, not to the tribes, but outside the savanna. Towards the distant ponies, so beg them their aid and warriors to end the threat. Then the zebra waited, praying that the runner would find aid, and that that aid would arrive before the blazing lioness did.

Worry continued to grow as more survivors of attacks came, and distant smoke appeared on the horizon. The survivors told of their stories, of rings of fire that penned them in, of a raging inferno that consumed their warriors, of a bolt of fire leaping from zebra to zebra, not caring for age or sex, tearing them apart as they burned.

Even the water was not safe from the blazing death.

The smoke grew closer and closer, and then stopped. The lioness was in the area, and sure to arrive soon.

And if nothing changed, she would find Deharan lacking the warriors it had been promised. Maybe even less, as fear was breaking the will of some of those present.

But as the sun began to set, the runner had returned.

And over him flew a god.

She shone like the moon above, shining in power and grace, and the zebra had gaped, seeing her.

She seemed a pony, but was more than twice the height of the tallest zebra present. She wore shining silver armor that glowed with a white light and her mane and tail appeared as if a part of the night sky. She soared on great wings and everything about her radiated power, and, to the zebra, divinity.

With her came twenty other ponies, with bat wings and similar silver armor, and as she and they went to land, the zebra scattered, respecting the goddess and her chosen.

The water-speaker stepped a little closer; servant of waters, best to speak to the coming goddess.

“We have arrived.” The goddess spoke, her voice booming with power. “Where is the burning beast, that we might end it?”

“She is nearby, great one.” The leader spoke, kneeling and keeping her head down. “We know this from the sacrifice of the others; she will soon come, to kill all those who are here. We made preparation, but we were not ready until you came, goddess.”

“Our name is Luna.” The goddess spoke. “Who art thou, that we might know the name of she who would challenge the beast.”

“My name is Zehara, great one.” She said, keeping still, her head still lowered. “Our thanks are endless, that you have chosen to come to our aid.”

Luna watched her, her face firm, before she told Zehara, “We will go and see what we may. Our captain shall speak with thee, so that our forces might cooperate.”

The goddess took flight once more, and Zehara slowly got up, relaxing as she flew into the darkening sky. The ponies watched her go, but one came to her.

“I am Princess Luna’s captain; the name’s Dark Flight.” He told her, Zehara looking to see who the goddess chose. “We’re here to help.”

Zehara nodded, and told him, “We welcome your help, chosen of the goddess.”

“It’s just Princess Luna.” Dark said, and Zehara wondered at his mild discomfort. “I heard that you’re planning to fight a burning lion?”

“The blazing death is far more than just a burning lion.” Zehara told him. “She is the nightmare of all the tribes, and has carved a bloody and ashen path through the savanna for almost a year. Before the goddess arrived, I had feared that this attempt to end her would have been nothing but a new field of dead.”

“Princess Luna.” Dark corrected. “And I assure you, we will do our best to ensure that nopony here dies. How is moral? Facing such a thing can’t be easy.”

“It is not.” Zehara told him. “A number have already fled into the distance.”

Dark nodded. “And yourself?” he asked. “You’re in charge here, and the leader’s moral is the most important.”

“I stand firm from hate.” Zehara told him, Dark hesitating. “The beast burned my family in front of me, and I have seen her death many times before. This night, I do not fear, but once this is over, I fear I may see her in my dreams for the rest of my life.”

“…My condolences.”

“What?” Zehara asked, giving him a confused frown. “You give me your sorrows? Why? You never knew the dead, nor me, and you are pony, and not zebra.”

“…That makes a difference?” Dark asked, baffled by her response. “Pony or zebra, it’s still sad. It isn’t like ponies don’t have families too, you know.”

Zehra cocked her head, wondering at him. “…A zebra of another tribe would feel nothing.” She told her, Dark blinking. “The more distant the tribe, less. And there is no more distant a tribe than pony; I had thought that ponies only cared for their own kind.”

Dark gaped a little. “…You sent a runner to call for help.” He said, finding it difficult to understand how Zehara could have thought that.

“An act of desperation.” Zehara told him. “I know the blazing death well, and the zebra here are not enough. The runner had scars of the lioness, and I told him to warn ponies that the blazing death was coming for them, if not for us gathered here, so that they might be encouraged to send their warriors to bolster our own.”

As Dark gaped, then understanding why Princess Luna had been so urgently called, Zehara continued, “But in all the days of my life, I would never have thought a goddess would come to save us. All that we might give would not have sufficed to merit her voice, much less her being here, intending on fighting with us.”

“…Pr, Princess Luna would never leave somepony to a monster.” Dark said, shaking his head. “And even if you just asked for help, we would have come to help.”

“…Truly?” Zehara asked, finding it difficult to believe.

“Y, yes!” Dark told her. “Ponies don’t leave ponies, o, or zebra to die!”

Zehara cocked her head again, thoughtful. After a moment, she softly said, “Perhaps I know less of ponies than I thought I did.”

“Perhaps.” Dark said, huffing a little.

“…I think I would like to talk to you more of pony and zebra.” Zehara said.

Dark opened his mouth to speak before a call of “Captain!” echoed through the area.

“Your goddess calls you.”

“Princess Luna.” Dark corrected once more, taking flight. “She’s called Princess Luna.”

Zehara watched him go, thoughtful. Dark was an odd sort, she felt, and she wanted to know more about the captain of a goddess; more about ponies.

Then she nodded, and went to speak with the warriors.

---

As night fell over the savanna, a soft wind blew, making the golden grasses wave, and rusting the few trees that grew in the dry plains. It’s gentler whisper the sole sound in the savanna.

Tonight, the wind seemed to whisper, tonight is the night. Prepare, be ready; it happens soon.

The zebra had found that wind worrisome.

The thirteen lions resting under a few trees not too far from the oasis found it exciting.

A hunt was a hunt, but this would be an attack. A strike against the zebra. Each of them felt thankful that they could be there; forgotten sons of dens and lions fallen from honor, finally given a chance to merit their own glory. Here, they would face their foes, and here, they would merit their places.

A chance they thought would never come, but this time, the one they followed had allowed them to join her.

That lioness rested alone against a lone tree, atop a small hill in the land. She was strong, and beautiful. Her fur silken, a dark golden color that complimented her dark brown eyes. Her claws were sharp, her body sculpted, and amongst the lions, none were faster, in body or mind.

She was what the zebra had named the blazing death.

Amongst lions, she was the burning lioness.

Her name was Casca.

The rest saw her relaxed, calm, but hidden within her, she had a terrible, frigid fear. A fear that had come to her when she saw the shine over the oasis.

After a while, she got to her feet, and turned to the lion currently nearest to her. He too, had followed her there, but not as the others had.

He was there to see what happened.

She went to him, and he lifted his head as she settled across from him.

“Sion, fifth son of Sion, the master of the Great Den, I wish to speak with you.” She told him, settling across from him.

“Always, it is granted you, Casca.” Sion said, surprised. “What do you wish to speak to me of?”

Casca didn’t answer for a few moments. Then she told him, “Of my mistake.”

“Your mistake?” Sion asked, wondering. More so, as Casca looked at him and he saw the uncertain fear in her eyes. “…Casca, I doubt my own eyes. A great and glorious battle awaits, but yet you seem… uncertain.”

“…It is nothing glorious.” Casca murmured.

“I do not believe it.” Sion said, shaking his head. “You are the burning lioness, the terror of all prey. You are never afraid.”

“I am.” Casca told him. “I am more than merely afraid. My mistake has led me here and now I and those that follow me go to our deaths.”

“Casca, you cannot think such things.” Sion told her, firm. “Your flames burn hot, your claws are sharp, and none are faster. No matter if every zebra pretends at being a warrior, you will overcome them as easily as flame consumes the dry grass.”

Casca looked at him, and Sion paused. After a few moments, he looked away, unable to keep looking.

She was certain. As certain as the sun would rise in the morning, Casca was sure of her death.

He shuddered faintly, and weakly asked her, “H, how do you know?”

“I can feel it.” Casca told him softly. “A power that dwarfs all things, coming from the prey’s camp. A power that could shake the very savanna itself.”

“At long last, it has come for me, and I face judgement for my mistake.” Casca said, her voice quiet. “Tonight, I face the end I was fated for a year past.”

“Tonight, I face the cycle’s wrath.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again, Sion gaped.

Casca was terrified. Casca, the burning lioness. Casca, the one who had growled at his father, the greatest lion amongst lions. The one who refused to be held or bound by any rule or custom. The terror of prey, legend of lions. Terrified.

“…C, Casca, you cannot run.” Sion said.

“I know.” she said, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, losing the terror in her, and adopting a sad, resigned expression. “If I were to flee, it would follow me. And if it were to find the dens…”

“All lionkind may face my judgement.”

“May my death appease it, and return it to the skies it came from.” Casca whispered.

“…All lionkind shall know of your sacrifice.” Sion said.

“It is no sacrifice.” Casca hissed at him, her eyes suddenly flashing in hate, her body starting to warm. “This is judgment, Sion. It is the price I pay for my grudge. I shall not allow it to be thought of as anything else.”

“I, I understand.” Sion said, intimidated, Casca smoldering a little. “But many would never believe it, Casca. They would spit on me for saying such, and never believe that I, a mere fifth son, was told this by Casca.”

“They will.” Casca said, standing. “Turn your head, Sion.” She told him, one paw alighting.

Sion did so, and then hissed as she scratched the side of his face, leaving three burnt lines.

“They shall see that, and none shall doubt you.” Casca told him, again laying down.

“A… great honor.” Sion said, doing his best to ignore it. To do otherwise would be to show weakness; shame.

“I will now tell you of my mistake, that it may never happen again.” Casca told him. “Listen closely, Sion. Listen and learn of my past, the origin of my flames, and of the judgement I now face.”

“My blood be frozen shall I lie this night.”