Jericho

by Crushric

Chapter 11 — Knights

Chapter 11: Knights

“Isn’t there... somepony else who could... take over the jousting demonstration with you?”

“Well, this is fantastic,” I grumbled, looking up at the large castle-like building before me. By ‘castle-like’, I meant that it was built to look just like a small castle, and built by somepony with poor imagination. It had a little moat all around it, a drawbridge, faux turrets and ramparts, torches, and an assortment of random banners hanging on the exterior walls. About as stereotypical as could be imagined.

The sign for the place advertised it as “Modern Times Dinner & Tournament.” I really, really hoped that I’d go in and find bloody gladiatorial combat in the building’s advertised arena, but I knew better. The little brochure about it that I’d nicked from the Ritz’s front lobby advertised it a dinner theater featuring “the best in modern knightly combat—sword-fighting, jousting, animals!” Worst of all, in little print on the back and bottom it read “Nopony and no beast harmed during the show.” That pretty much ruined my hopes of bloodsport. It did, however, advertise “A feast for a king! Our four-course meal will be sure to satisfy even the hungriest knights.” But to my utter horror, the entire menu was vegetarian!

Earlier this night when I left my hotel suite, snuck into the kitchen, and set fire to the hotel’s entire stock of waffles—thus achieving my syrupy vengeance—I hadn’t seen a single article of meat. It was almost as if Equestrians didn’t consume the flesh of the dead. But that idea was nuts. Songnam must’ve just been one of those places.

Modern Times was in this fancy little corner of Songnam, and, according to the note Cards left Dust, Social Grace had taken the deputy mare here as the last part of their decidedly lavish date. Grace had apparently been keen on trying to impress Cards with his family’s wealth, because it really showed on the night’s plans. Hell, a single adult ticket for Modern Times alone cost some sixty Bits before tax, and I had no idea whether or not that was a good deal. So... for all I knew, Grace was a cheapskate. I really needed to learn the value of Equestrian currency in relation to Teutschland’s own Marken. But that was for a later time, because I had forged a confederacy with Cards, a confederacy that was right now sucking on the chocolatey nipple of time if I didn’t save her.

The listing for today’s shows noted that there was a show going on right now, and they didn’t sell tickets this late into the show. I looked at the large banner strung above the door which gave tonight’s date. So I did the only reasonable thing a perfectly law-abiding normal pony would do: I went around to the back and tried to sneak in through the performer’s backstage. All around, it was designed like the castle it wanted to pretend it was, down to the backdoor with the lone, armored, and bored-looking guard standing at it.

“Pardon me, good lady,” I said, trotting up to her. Strange that a mare is the lone guard here. I expected a stallion or two.

The guard looked at me. There was a surgical scar on her gray cheek, I noticed. “Hmm? What do you want? This ain’t the entrance; that’s ’round front.”

“Oh, no. I’m no patron, Miss,” I said with a smile. With hoof raised for time, I pretended to fumble with my waist, then shakily pulled out my sword. The weapon was sharp and had a pointy end, which basically meant it was good enough for me. “This is for one of the actors. They needed it, and I ran all the way here to deliver it.” You’re not winded enough to pass that lie off.

“Don’t tell me somepony actually forgot their sword again,” she groaned, facehoofing.

I shrugged. “They don’t pay me enough to really care.”

She snickered, and opened the door. “Yeah, I hear that. Look, just run on in and give it to that idiot.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” I said, sheathing the blade and scampering in.

“See ya around,” she said with a wink before closing the door.

I rubbed my forehead. Can’t believe that worked. You are a lucky pony. I looked around the little backstage area, trying to figure out where to go. The waiters’ place or the kitchen would probably lead me to the arena’s seating, I figured as I walked through the temperature-cool halls. There was a little sign on the wall, and I blinked at it.

← Wenches

Knights →

↑ Office ↑

“Wenches...” I mumbled. “The hell does that mean in this context?” I went right to the knights. The place was a little corridor with dressing room-like places labeled for various colors, Red, Yellow, Green, Blue, Black & White, and Red & Yellow. Clearly, the pony who’d named them all was the most creative pony who ever lived.

A tall green buck ambled into the Black & White room, chugging down a bottle of Juggernog. He took a heavy swig as he surveyed the dressing room. “Shee-it,” he groaned, his armored plating jostling. Well, it was partially armor, partially just soft padding. It was clearly just meant to look like medieval gear, and it was certainly the polar opposite of teutschen armor.

“Pardon me, sir,” I prodded, walking up behind him.

He shot me a ticked-off look. “What?”

“Are you the Black & White knight?”

“Ayep. What of it?”

“What are you doing here, sir?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Brief recess as they do some performance stuff outside. Need to find a picture of a girl. I selected her already, though I forgot what she looked like, and I got paid a bit on the side to select her as the maiden I dedicate the combat to. Hoping to win tonight.” He smiled, rubbing the back of his head. “Why the hell did I just tell you that?”

I noticed the wingéd helmet hanging via strap from his shoulders. The symbol on his breastplate was a golden eagle of some description. “Say, do you always wear your helmet during performances? Like, nopony knows your face?”

The stallion nodded. “I guess so. But look, this ain’t the time for q—” I slugged him in the nose, and he fell to the ground, nostrils bleeding. Quickly, I dragged the body into the room and shut the door.

A few moments later and the knight was naked, tied up, gagged, and firmly shoved into a closet. It took a little work to fit into it, but I managed to wear his armor and helmet, even equip his sword and wear his wooden shield. While the sword was made of metal, it was really dull, probably done on purpose.

I approached the dressing room’s vanity and paused. There was a little picture of Cards on it; to help identify the black-and-white photo, somepony had circled her face with red marker and written “This one” by it. So, Social Grace had bribed this knight into fighting for Cards’ honor? What honor? Kicking ponies in the groin as she did immediately disqualified you from the notion of honor. But before I could wonder too hard, someone knocked on the door.

“Come on, you’re gonna be late!” a mare hissed from outside. Tucking Cards’ photo into a pocket, I trotted outside. The little yellow mare grabbed my hoof and pulled me down the hall. “Dammit, I am not gonna be your Celestiadamned squire if you keep this shit up. This job is dumb enough as is,” she growled. I kept my mouth silent as she led me through the torchlit hallways. She glanced back at me. “Oh, what’s that? No snarky comeback? Good. Maybe you’re finally learning some damn manners.” At last, we arrived at a thick wooden door.

Through my wingéd helmet, I peered at the door, then at the mare. “Well, go on, then,” she said. I made to move for the door, but then the mare rose herself up and pecked my armored cheek. With a wistful sigh, she mumbled, “You’re lucky I love you.” I hesitated, and she rolled her eyes. Smacking my armored haunches, she commanded, “Go on out there and give ’em hell, cowboy!”

I went through the door and came out in a dimly lit room with a dirt floor. A buck galloped up to me with a wooden lance. “There you are!” he said, equipping me with the flimsy weapon. “Go on out there!” The buck pointed me towards a heavy black curtain on the far side of the room.

With a nod, I trotted through the curtains. I blinked as a crowd roared with approval at me. Stretching out around me was a small, entirely indoor hippodrome. Ponies sat all around the seating, each row of chairs resting neatly behind a long, slender wooden table. Colored lights illuminated six different parts of the hippodrome, parts whose top wall was decorated with a noble houses’ symbol. There were five armored ponies standing in the hippodrome, each set before an illuminated row of seats, save for area lit up black and white. I didn’t need to be a genius to figure out where to trot off to.

“Ah!” a stallion’s soft voice boomed out from above. Jerking my head back, I saw a little balcony above where I’d entered where a stallion and a fair mare sat in little thrones. “Last but not least, the black and white knight is ready!” The crowd roared as I arrived at my post. “My good nobles,” the stallion went on, “the time for the tournament is nigh. Tonight, we shall see who amongst our brave knights is mightiest. And as your King, I say—” He choked as a hoof emerged from a little set of curtains behind the thrones. “Uh...”

Then a white stallion wearing a pristine black suit emerged, taking a position next to the so-called king. He gazed out and around the hippodrome. There was a fiery quality to his amber eyes as they looked straight into me. The smile on his face said at once ‘I’m having fun’ and ‘I run this show’ in the most inviting yet subtly unnerving way possible, like some sort of BDSM-obsessed lion tamer.

“Now, now, children,” the stallion said in a silky voice that I instantly recognized, “how are we all doing?” My legs stung as I tried to stop to my trepidations, the eager pounding of heart making the cuts bleed. God, they more than likely needed stitches. “Well, I was just in the neighborhood, my king, and thought y’all could use a bit of spice in your lives.” He stepped out to the front of the balcony. After taking a bow, he announced, “It is I, your friendly neighborhood Duke Elkington, the Lord of Marcia and Ruler of Songnam, at your service. Pleased to meet you.”

The entire hippodrome roared with approval. They stomped their hooves, screamed, and cheered. Even my fellow knights exchanged approving nods. He’s a bastard! Don’t approve of him. I glanced over my shoulder to the Black & White rows and saw them. Social Grace and Cards were sitting in the front, the mare wearing a blue dress and... earrings, two on the same ear. Then it hit me, and the blow knocked the wind out of me.

I had a shot at interrogating Duke Elkington. I had a shot at saving Cards. If all went according to plan, I had to win this little tournament to get anywhere. The universe was arbitrary and contrived, so I put down twenty Marken on the chances being mutually exclusive. So, if given the choice, would I get Elkington, or would I save Cards?

Also, dammit—everything was getting all serious and boring again. I thought about kittens covered in spikes, doused in liquid fire, then forcibly taught how to tapdance to sexually provocative music. That cheered me up. In fact, if I could randomly kill any animal, I’d kill me some dolphins, because dolphins were assholes. Seriously, dolphin males often killed baby dolphins for fun, and dolphins thoroughly enjoyed torturing fellow marine mammals to death. Dolphins were actually terrible creatures.

Elkington magically grabbed the faux crown of the acting king and put it on his own black mane-topped head. “Coup d’état, friend,” he said with a shrug to him. “Thanks for the crown, but this kingdom today is King Elkington’s. Wanna be the heir apparent? I’ll wrestle you for it.” The crowd collectively chuckled.

Or maybe I should follow Elkington home, dress up as a sexy clown, and scare the hell out of him in his sleep.

Sexy clowns exist?

We’ll find a way...

The old king laughed heartily. “Welcome, Du—I mean, King Elkington.”

“That’s right, children! See, I was just over in my fortress of winning when a little birdie urged me to come on down here and see the brave knights of the realm duke it out for our amusement. Nothing wrong there, is it? I see fun, I want it, yeah?” The crowd cheered. “That’s how we do here in Song City! Now then, children, tonight’s fight is going entirely off the rails. Who will win? Who knows! Who wants to fight first?”

I rose my hoof and waved it around. Elkington looked at me and smiled a charming, winning smile that he’d probably been forced to practice since he was a foal. “Black and white knight, Sir Readynoble!” Wow. My name is stupid. Why couldn’t I have impersonated a cooler knight? “Any others? Yes, you, Sir Iron Pride!” The red knight was raising his hoof. Dammit, I want his name! Ponies came out from behind the dark curtain I’d entered from, carrying what looked like chest-high chess pieces. They arranged them through the center of the hippodrome, placing them down in the dirt until they formed a line. A moment later and they had roped them together so that they formed a jousting fence. “My brave bucks, take your places!”

Iron Pride trotted over to the far side of the trace and readied himself. Wondering if there was any chance I could actually kill Iron Pride with a shoestring, I trotted up to the opposite side. I looked over at Cards, the smile on her face, her date smiling dreamily at her. I could imagine easily that he was wondering how he’d hurt her, and not at all about how I was going to castrate him with my bare hooves.

Wait. I don’t know how to joust, I thought, fiddling with the wooden lance and trying to get it in front of me. In Teutschland, honorable knightly combat was not something they ever taught you. However, we loved fighting honorable enemies—it meant our dirty, utterly “dishonorable” tactics would be all the more effective. Unfortunately, I wasn’t sure how to fight dirty when jousting.

Iron Pride, a suitably red-coated buck without a helmet, smiled and waved at the red rows. He pulled a red rose out of... somewhere and put it in his mouth, wiggling his brows at the young mares in the audience. A real Prince Charming was he.

“Ready?” Elkington asked, wearing an eager grin on his face that I just wanted to introduce to sandpaper. Or a sand crane. Or a sand crane made of sandpaper. If only I knew origami! “Then on your marks, children, ready your lances...” I battled the lance to get it set and ready. This is why I wasn’t cavalry back home; I’d never make it as a member of the Mobilen Flugwaffe. “Charge!”

Red knight charged, and Black and White imitated. But my lance had apparently gained sentience and become a conscientious objector to violence. Needless to say, his lance had no such moral compunctions and, midway down the joust, impacted me right in the chest. The force was hard, heavy, and his lance shattered into so many splinters of wood like no real lance would. It was enough to tumble me onto the dirt, but I was otherwise unharmed. I found myself glad for the heavy armor as I scrambled to my feet.

A smile on his face, Iron Pride took out his sword and just sashayed towards me like he’d already won. Sadly for him, I was up and reaching for my own sword, the crowd cheering. “Readynoble, you can do it!” some cried. “Iron Pride, kick his flank!” others demanded.

“Let’s give them a show, shall we?” Iron Pride said in a surprisingly amicable tone. “When I win, you’ll owe me a beer. Beat me, I’ll buy you two.” It was in that moment that I remembered that I was not fighting to the death; this was a show, an act, actors dueling actors for fans. My more underhanded battle plans melted away as a smile formed on my lips. I nodded, raising my sword and shield.

Dramatic orchestral music played from somewhere off, probably more speakers. Iron Pride raised his sword and charged. With a deft motion I sidestepped and tripped him. His face slammed into the ground, and he came back up spitting up dirt. Now he was gritting his teeth. “Oh, just for that...” He raised his sword and charged.

He was slow, clunky, lacking agility. Iron Pride was an actor, not a pony who had to use his sword for killing every day. Rolling my eyes, I jerked my blade up and parried, showering us both with sparks. That’s when I noticed there was flint on the edges of our swords. It was a cool effect, I admit, but not good for any real swordplay.

Swing, parry, clash of blades, shield block. It was actually sort of funny how bad he was at this. So with a smile on my face, I practically dropped to the ground before ramming him in the chest from below. Grappling him, I pushed him onto his back. He gasped as he hit the ground, and I jumped off. The crowd roared with approval, even Duke Elkington joined in on the fun.

Iron Pride stumbled to a stand. He ran a hoof through his green mane, smiling at me. “You’ve gotten better!” he chuckled. No, you just suck. He charged at me, sword raised.

With a melodramatic yawn, I blocked his attack. Then I stabbed at the back of his leg. The good sport he was, he threw himself to the ground. Apparently, even without a script, there were some things you just did to make it look better. I rose my sword to the crowd. “Are you not entertained?!” I demanded, and they roared back at me. Don’t speak; they might realize you’re not who you’re pretending to be. Plus, they might notice you’re a little taller than him. “Then let me entertain you—does he live, or does he fall?” Fine, don’t listen to me.

“Finish him!” “Win!” “Off with his head!” “Hooves down!” came voices in the crowd.

I looked to Duke Elkington. “Ungula versa,” he said, his voice coming from the speakers. He pointed his hoof down.

“So be it,” I muttered, and went to Iron Pride. He made a show of trying to fight back, but being grounded, I just smacked his weapon aside. I stabbed down into his chest. Well, it bounced off his armor, but it looked cool. He feigned death as I pointed my sword up and roared a cheer. In that moment it was like I was standing in the ancient Kolosseum, it was four thousand years ago, and only so many years before the great Prophet emerged. Elkington was the ancient Imperator, his golden wreath shimmering in the sunlight. And I was a half-naked slave forced to either fight or work to death, and so I fought for the chance to earn my freedom. Actually, no, that sucked, and that train of thought collapsed. I wasn’t anypony’s slave!

My demented fantasy was so rudely destroyed when Red’s squires came out and helped Iron Pride to his hooves. “Nice work out there!” he chuckled to me, still trying to look dead as the squires carried him away.

“And so Sir Readynoble wins this fight!” Elkington laughed. “Good show, no?”

I took a place next to where the other knights had gathered, all camped out at the far end of the hippodrome. I cast a quick glance at Cards, then to Elkington. Then the next two knights got up to fight. Green won. Then another round of fighting. Red and Yellow carried the day. Then Green fought Red and Yellow, and Green was victorious again. I really didn’t care, just wanted to either save Cards or get Elkington, then go to bed. Or the hospital. Stupid legs, stupid hole in my wrist—they’d better not get infected...

Spoiler: they’re so getting infected.

Shut up. I shook my head. Talking to myself was bad, bad, bad.

Her a little romp of celebration, Green—I hadn’t bothered to learn her name—trotted up to me and smiled. “Doing good, Readynoble?” she asked, and I shrugged. “Oh, suddenly stoic? That’s cool with me.” I looked at her and noticed slight signs of Nippönischen blood in her facial features. The various squires disbanded the jousting line markers.

Then a stallion in light armor trotted through the show curtain on the far side of the hippodrome. His squire carried a banner depicting a... Teutschfalke? The hell? He reached the middle of the hippodrome before he turned around to face Elkington. “Hail to thee, King Elkington,” he said, his voice also coming out of the speakers. I suddenly remembered how badly I wanted to hack into Songnam’s speaker system and blast some proper music.

“Ah, I see you have returned, strange noble from a faraway land,” Elkington replied in an authoritative voice.

“What an oddly complete summary of who I am,” Falcon Flag commented. If he had a name, it was now Falcon Flag. “But I am not here for this... tournament,” he spat. “No, I come now to tell you of why I have come, as well as bearing gifts from the Northern King.”

“The Northern King,” Elkington said flatly, cocking a brow. The crowd was utterly silent, probably because they were eating food. “What business has he here, I ask.”

“Lord Vaikuta knows of your realm’s status,” he said darkly. Vaikuta? Northern King? Well, ten guesses what inspired those, and the first nine don’t count. Hello, King Viktor. “And so he would make thee a proposition. The Dark Lord’s own Legion thirsts for blood, and thine innocent lands are so rich and tender and... innocent.” If I were evil, I’d make my evil title ‘The All Around Swell Guy’. Less cliché, less stupid. “So, here is our proposition: the hoof of your daughter in marriage to the Dark Lord, a union of our two kingdoms!”

The crowd gasped. Point one: that’s a perfectly reasonable suggestion in a feudal realm... does that also mean a lord’s daughter is his property in Equestria, or is this just drama? And point two: Teutschland does not work like that! We are not feudal!

Elkington looked over to the mare sitting in the throne. I’d actually forgotten she was there. “My dearest daughter, fairest maiden in the land, what would you make of this?”

“Of course,” Falcon Flag went on, “to deny would mean war between our two realms. And against the Legion of the North cannot you survive.”

Elkington slammed a hoof down. “I will not be threatened in my own court! How dare you!”

Sighing, I let the two verbally battle it out, the crowd hanging on their every word. Cards looked fine. Social Grace looked like a perfect target. Duke Elkington looked as charming as could be, but had all the appeal to me of a masturbatory sock. And I’d be so happy to take him to the cleaners myself. Note to self: ask someone why socks are fetish fuel for Equestrians. That’s a mystery that must be solved.

There was a single main patron entrance and exit to the hippodrome, which would be my main avenue of escape. So too were there a few entrances that were clearly for the mares and bucks bringing out the food and drinks. Right, so the escape was basically planned out. Now the question was, How the hell do I save Cards? Or get Elkington, even.

Apparently during the course of my internal musings, that not-Teutscher went off and it was just the green knight and I. Elkington, rubbed his head. “OoooOOoooh, look at me, I’m a fancy pants-y pansy pony from the North,” he said in a mocking tone, accompanied by a little twirling dance. The crowd exploded in laughter. “If our beloved Maîtresse du Soleil were here now...” He shook his head. “You two, ye knights of the realm—Dame Cherry Berry and Sir Readynoble.” Wow. ‘Cherry Berry’? And here I thought my real name was stupid... “We won’t let threats from the North stop our proud feast, shall we?” The crowd voiced its approval for more fighting. “Then let us continue, my dear children!”

The squires came out and again set up the jousting line in the center of the hippodrome. Cherry Berry gave me a wink. “Your ass is mine, hotshot.”

“You hitting on me?” I replied, trying my best to imitate Readynoble’s voice. Thankfully, the wingéd helmet muffled my voice, as it probably did for Readynoble himself, so my voice wasn’t all too defined.

She snickered and went off to the far side of the hippodrome.After a squire helped attach a new lance ono my armor, I went to my side. Jousting! Second match, same as the first, and I was soon lying on the dirt with splintered bits of lance all over my body. God, I really hoped someone in the audience got a splinter from that, the splinter wound got infected, and they died horribly of gangrene.

The squires came and removed the chess pieces, leaving the hippodrome just for the Dame and I. Cherry Berry strode over towards me, her sword clenched firmly in her earther jaws. Groaning, I ambled to my hooves and pulled out my sword. “Let’s rock,” she said, and charged.

“’N’ roll,” I replied, dropping down and ramming her chest with my shoulder. The blow knocked the wind out of her. A shield bash to her face later and I’d bet she was glad she was wearing a mouthguard, but she held onto her sword. The crowd was happy, I was happy, Cards seemed amused, even Social Grace seemed pleased with everything, the bastard. I looked over at Duke Elkington, a knot in my stomach wondering how I could get close enough to him.

Somehow, the first non-clown-related solution that came to my mind involved asking Cards if she was lactating. And if not, the plan then demanded that Dust and I work to trick Cards’ body into doing so. The plan ended with yogurt and Cards crying in the corner, so... how did this help me fight Duke Elkington—

The crowd cheered as two hooves introduced themselves so vigorously to my head that, from the safety of being flat on my ass, I wondered if I’d broken my whole freakin’ face. I was not glad that I had a mouthguard at all, mostly because I didn’t have one at all. Oh, hey, look! Little Lightning Dusts were flying around my head. Wait, no, hallucinations of naked girls flying around your head was generally a bad thing. “There a the rapist in the house?” I muttered, watching Cherry Berry panting.

She smiled like the Devil as she watched me. “So, you wanna play rough, hotshot?” the mare asked. She stepped towards me and lowered her voice. “Then let’s play.” When a girl can hit you like that, it made you wonder just who was the genius who ever denied girls the ability to serve in the army. Good ol’ King László, de-sexually-segregating the Mobile Infantry since 1974!

With a supreme effort, the Lightning Dusts still flying around my head, I ambled back up. I swatted away the little pegasi with a hoof just as Cherry Berry swung her sword. Hell no, I wasn’t taking any more Scheiße from a girl named “Cherry Berry”. If she beat me, I’d have to give up my right to being a Mann.

I rolled to the side and affixed her a glare so hard you’d think I was trying to use my super secret heat vision. (I didn’t have heat vision.) “Du Lappen! It. Is. ON.”

In real life, sword-fighting wasn’t always as glamorous or as awesome as they make it out to be. Truth was, if the combatants have a good idea about dodging, sword-fighting turns into less of combat and more into so much awkward flailing. And if I were to describe our fight, it’d be “awkward flailing”. Embarrassing, silly, nopony really touching each other, and filled with grunts—like really depressing intercourse!

“Fuck it,” she spat, sweating dripping from her forehead. She sheathed her sword and pulled out a half-empty bottle of Juggernog. “Time to finish this baby,” Cherry Berry said, then chugged the bottle dry.

“Wait. You were drinking that?”

“Yeah,” the mare snickered. “Guess I need the rest of it. You’re getting good, hotshot!” She bristled, shivered, shook, then smiled wide at me. Stupid uncontrolled substances! A squire came up and took the glass bottle from her, and Cherry Berry grabbed her sword. “Come on,” she laughed through the sword in her maw, “hit me!”

“Not taking that bait,” I said calmly.

“Okay!” she chirped, and quickly slugged me in the face

I stumbled back in surprise, dropping my sword. “Ow, my dick!” Stupid fake armor! But... Juggernog is.... holy hell, that’s a powerful drug. No wonder she bucked me so hard little Dusts appeared! “You punched me right in the face-dick!” Great, now I’m having trouble figuring out where male genitals are located.

She dashed to my side and bucked me so hard that I was pretty sure I’d just popped a lung. This wasn’t just acting anymore, was it? “I’ll teach you a lesson for leaving me for that slut!”

Oh. Great. Readynoble is one of those guys, and Cherry Berry is his... Why did I have to impersonate this stupid knight?! She dove at me, but I still had a shield and the presence of mind to use it. Even through the shield, I felt the blow through my whole arm. The crowd roared with approval as my hoof and her nose lovingly embraced each other as hard as they could. Her face didn’t love my hoof, and I could feel blood leaking through the bandages on my wrist, but at least she was forced to drop her sword.

Cherry Berry smiled at me. “Damn, hotshot, you hit like a freight train. You been workin’ out? All your nights with that whore?”

I was just about to tell her not to say words like “whore” and “slut” because they demeaned all females and that she had no right to judge anyone else for their sexual habits, but then she ducked to my side and kicked me right above the left knee. With a scream, the leg went numb, and she punched it hard for good measure. There wasn’t enough leg armor! I tumbled to the side and to the ground, feeling the tears in my flesh bleeding out through the bandages.

The mare stepped on top of me, a decidedly evil smile on her face. “Payback’s a vindictive bitch, and, hey! So am I.” I twitched, trying to get feeling back into my leg. She giggled like a filly in a candy shop. “I just dead legged you, silly!” Cherry Berry lowered her face to mine and whispered, “That means you’ll be needing crutches for the next few days! Ooh, and lots and lots of pain!” She clopped her hooves together. “Isn’t this exciting? Now you only have four working legs to stomp on a girl’s heart with, like a normal pony.” Was that a penis joke? “So, how does it feel, hotshot?”

“I’m a peachy as can be, love,” I lied. From the groaning tone in my voice, I was either in some extreme pain or extremely constipated. And it wasn’t the latter.

She shook a hoof in the air, laughing as the crowd cheered for her victory. Really, I didn’t need to win; I didn’t even know why I was out here. What was my plan, exactly? But this Miststück had just made this personal. I grabbed her arms and spread them apart; she fell on top of me, allowing me to headbutt her before rolling over and putting her onto her own back. Going to get a headache.

Cherry Berry gasped as I slugged her in the jaw. But with a blow to my chest, she took hold of action. She rolled to her feet, and I tried to imitate but failed when my left leg remembered how to feel, and, like an Equestrian to socks, had a sexual fetish for pain. I nearly collapsed to the ground; she nearly collapsed my windpipe with a swift blow. A crippled limb, bleeding legs and wrist, armor way too heavy, and up against a chick high on combat drugs, a smart pony would just give up. A stupid pony jabbed the point of his hoof into the bridge of the drugged mare’s nose. Needless to say, I was not very clever that day.

It hurt to punch her. It hurt to headbutt her. It felt so geil when she stumbled back with a bloody nose. It didn’t feel so good to limp after her, blood soaking my bandages. Chivalrous, knightly combat was one thing, but here in the dirt and grime, fighting with bare hooves, I knew the advantage was mine. Just like versus Glasses, I knew that real fighting like this didn’t last for more than a few seconds on average; a few seconds was all you needed to kill; ponies were, when you got down to it, surprisingly weak, flimsy, and breakable. But I didn’t want to kill her, just make her hurt.

She swung; I blocked with a hoof. Another try, same result. Third try, no difference. The definition of insanity... I mused, stabbing the point of my hoof just below her jaw. Cherry Berry gasped, and the crowd whooped and hollered. “I’m on Juggernog,” she coughed, “how the hell are you—”

I grabbed her face and, twisting her whole body against mine, slammed her head into the ground. “Das Leben ist kein Ponyhof,” I chuckled darkly. In just a few more hoofy dates with her face, I’d broken a cheek, given two black eyes, concussed her, made her bleed, made her hurt; more importantly, the acts had made my hooves hurt. It was like her bones were denser and harder than a pony’s should be. Juggernog was one hell of a drug and it needed its list of ingredients published.

Sweat dripping off my forehead, I stood up over her body, trying to hide my limp. I rose a bloody hoof into the air and screamed, “You have been entertained!” The crowd roared with delight and excitement, cheering the name of my colors. Black & White, again and again. On the other hoof, the squires standing around the hippodrome looked shocked and appalled. They certainly must have known what had happened down on the field, the audience probably didn’t.

“What... are... you?” Dame Cherry Berry asked, barely audible over the stamping of hooves and cheers.

I looked down at her and said, “Ich bin ein Mann aus Stahl.” I’m more like an abused househusband standing up to his substance-abusing wife, come to think. Squires rushed up to carry Cherry Berry off the battlefield. I saw Cards standing up in her row, furiously applauding alongside her date. A black and white squire, not that one mare, came up and gave me a flower. “For that mare up there, right?” I asked, and she nodded.

“You know the drill. Give her the gift, take the photo, and get ready for the next round,” she said.

“Next round?”

“We still gotta fight that evil dude from the North, plus his two squires. Did Berry hit you so hard you caught amnesia?”

“I wouldn’t rule it out just yet,” I muttered, and hobbled over where Cards and Social Grace were. My dead leg wouldn’t properly bend at the knee. I swore under my breath as I tried to hide the rather obvious limp for all I could, ignoring the blistering pain and the wet feeling of blood. When I got to the hippodrome wall, that nice squire helped boost me up over the wall.

I arrived just in front of the first raw table, Cards eyeing with a giggly, girlish glee. It was almost like I hadn’t murdered her best and only friend a little over twenty-four ago. She didn’t look down at the blood on my legs or hooves, just at my clean breastplate and helmet. I could see some of the waiters or whatnot coming down, one of them with a holding a large camera .

I gestured for Cards to come up to me. She glanced at Grace, then skipped up to me. I knelt down and gave her the rose; she grabbed it and put it behind her ear. Trying not to alarm her, I wrapped my arm around her shoulder and pointed to the pony coming up with the camera.

“Lady Cards?” I asked her in a hushed tone, trying to hide my voice. Why are you disguising your voice?

She looked at me, sparkles in her eyes. “You know my name?”

I nodded. She looked so happy on her date, the little twinkle in her eyes. “I have a message from a friend.” Then, like being told by your lover that he secretly had herpes and he caught it from a lesbian with tentacled genitalia because he’s into the weird stuff, it all came crashing down. “Dust is unconscious, that Government Boy is half dead, and Social Grace is trying to kill you.” The ponies got here and, with their large camera with its huge flash disk, took our picture. “Don’t take off the earrings, because if you do, you’ll die. Seriously.” Her expression collasped into a well of blank horror.

I contemplated doing something violent to Social Grace while his guard was down, but that probably wouldn’t end well for me, I figured. With Elkington here, I was sure Songnam Security was skulking around the place.

In any case, I wasn’t pulling any stunts with my dead leg. I really hoped Cherry Berry was hospitalized, because I wasn’t going to wear me no crutches. “Duke Elkington,” I imagined myself saying, hobbling into his throne room on crutches, “I’ve come to stop your reign of evil! Just-just sit there. My leg isn’t what it used to be, okay? So, hey! You wouldn’t hit a cripple, would you? Because a cripple would totally hit you!” It wasn’t a very proud fantasy.

After managing to get myself back into the hippodrome, I looked to the little curtain where I came in from. Pathetically limping along the wall, I made my way for it. My bags were still in the Black & White dressing room, because it was sort of conspicuous to carry them out here with me. I needed a Muntermacher injected directly into the swelling muscled above my knee, the only shot I had at un-crippling the limb before the wound really set in and went beyond healing serums.

“A most... brutal show, wouldn’t you say, children?” Elkington remarked, and the crowd all agreed. I just limped along, thinking of all the ways it was possible to make a duke cry ‘Mommy!’ A bag of crushed glass and a bottle of crushed hopes and dreams came to mind quickly. “Another round of applause for our bravest of knights, Sir—”

“Stop!” a mare screamed at the top of her lungs as I was almost home free. Everything fell silent as a little yellow mare came out from the curtain, a bruised green buck leaning against her shoulder. Scheiße. “Stop this farce!” She pointed at me. “This buck is an imposter—the real Sir Readynoble is right here!” The crowd gasped.

“Hmm, the plot thickens,” Elkington mused aloud. “You there,” he said to me, “who are you if not Sir Readynoble?”

Does he think this is a part of the show? Roll with it! I fiddled with my helmet enough where I could speak clearly but not reveal my face. More drama that way. “I am but a poor peasant pony from the fields.”

“Wait, no!” the mare yelled, but her voice was drowned out over that of Elkington.

“Ah, a peasant defeated all our knights?”

“Blue blood is no sign of finesse or skill.” Do not declare the revolution to be at hand. That’d probably break this illusion. “In truth, I am no mere Equestrian.” Elkington leaned towards me, a clearly interested look on his face. I cleared my throat, deepening my voice and slipping out of ‘Equestrian accent’ mode. “I am from ze Kingdom of ze Nors, mein Herr, und I have come to prove myself before ze crown of zis lahnt.” God, that accent is stupid. Your own countrymen wouldn’t possibly speak Equestrian with that dumb accent, right?

“You are a pony of the North?” He visibly fought to keep down a smile, pretending to be serious.

“Zis is vat I have said, ja?”

“Don’t listen to him! He’s a crook! A monster!” the mare continued to yell, but she was utterly ignored.

The Duke looked out over the crowd. “What do the good children of my fair country think?” The crowd’s response was mixed, some cheers, some boos, and Cards looking horrified at Grace. “Looks like folks know what to make of you. So, what business have you here, brave buck?”

“I have come...” I paused. Why was I in Equestria? Really, why was I here? To kill Elkington? No, that’s not why I really came. To see Celestia? No, that wasn’t right; that was more of an afterthought. To teach everypony the meaning of love by introducing them to other, non-sock-related sexual fetishes? That was too good for these damn Solari. I... didn’t really know, did I? You’d think that after spending years of my life just going east and reaching this fairy tale kingdom, this Märchenreich, I’d know why I’d come, but no.

So I just said the only thing that made any sense to me anymore “...to battle evil, to bring light vhere vonce zere vas only darkness, to protect ze freedom of every pony... und to fight ze good fight. Vhat better vay to do zis zan to prove myself before ze lords of ze realm, ja? ” This accent makes me feel sick. It’s so... horrible. To remind me that I was totally badass at speaking Equestrian, I muttered under my breath, “Squirrel.”

A part of me was already planning my vengeance for Equestria. See, there was this one board game I loved to play that involved leading armies around and conquering stuff and other awesome military stuff, plus internal politics, but whatever. I might have even had the game and pieces in my bag. Point being: I was already planning to brutally, brutally enslave Equestria and teach them all to have a fetish for mares in stockings and corsets and thongs, like normal ponies were into. So long as the dice were in my favor, Equestria was nothing compared to whatever historically anachronistic nation I chose to play as.

Elkington nodded. “Well then, all who are willing to fight the good fight are welcomed in the court of—” he chuckled “—King Elkington. I don’t suppose you’ve had a meal yet this night, have you?”

“Zat have I not, mein Herr,” I admitted, not untruthfully.

“Would you care to dine in my good old castle? Those who fight the good fight are like brothers to me.”

Wait. Is he hitting on me? And hitting on me in a way that suggests I’m his brother? So he’s incestously hitting on me, then? Oh god! “Servus Humillimus Domine Spectabilis,” I said, bowing my head. “Noble Lord...” If he’s for real, this means that there’s no way for you to save Cards. I totally called it, you stupid arbitrary universe. Pay up the twenty Marken.

Cards could handle herself, right? When her courage was up, she was capable of breaking my shoulder with a wooden baton. If her spine was up to it, she had the potential to kick all kinds of ass. Cards was no damsel in distress; she was a mare on a quest of vengeance. And Social Grace was a pansy compared to a mare like Cards.

Elkington was inviting me into his own realm, presenting a golden opportunity to put the bastard right where I wanted him. I didn’t know if I’d ever have another shot at this. So, just abandon Cards to her fate and go off with the Duke? Seemed easy enough. And if Cards died, she died; the task of my angel was easily more important than her life.

“Yes?” Elkington prodded, leaning towards me. A part of me hoped that he’d fall off the balcony and into an inexplicably placed tub labeled ‘venomous reptiles’.

“Noble Lord, I would be most honored to attend your own personal feast.”

“Ah, what excellent news!” He clopped his hooves together.

“But I must decline the offer,” I said, and sighed. It was... it was probably a trap anyways. I wasn’t going soft! “I don’t like you that way, not enough for a dinner date, at least,” I finished, and the crowd actually laughed.

Elkington frowned. “Well now, that is a shame. See, I was most curious as to who this strange knight was who can fight and wants to take part in the good fight. However, you aren’t a part of the show, and without the protection of being under my metaphorical wing—” he tapped a hoof on the balcony “—I’m afraid there’s nothing stopping Songnam Security from having to arrest you. I truly am sorry, strange warrior.” From the far side of the hippodrome’s entrance came a small number of Songnam’s finest.

“This is racial profiling!” I yelled out.

“My offer’s still open, for the record.”

Well, great. That was what I got for trying to be the good guy. Like a cute, pathetic, dying puppy trying to chase his tail even though he’s been cut in half by a particularly heavy door, I raced/hobbled for the exit curtain. “Vive la révolution!” I screamed because I just really wanted to sound badass.

“Finally!” the yellow mare groaned. “Arrest this jerk!”

“Screw you too, Madam,” I replied, running past her. That damn leg really didn’t want to work for me, but, thankfully, I had three other limbs to make up with. It didn’t help that one of those limbs was bleeding heavily, or that another one had a mostly healed knife hole through it. But Songnam securityponies had four legs, which was something of an advantage over crippled ol’ me.

I galloped through the little backroom, searching for the door out. All I had to do was remember where the yellow mare had led me. Thanks to a God-given sense of “I can remember things from a few minutes ago”, I ducked and weaved (slowly, painfully) through the back halls. And there it was! Black & White room! Panting harder than I should have, I raced and raced and was almost there and then I was—

A hoof grabbed me by the neck, moving into a headlock, and dragged me into the wrong room. As I was thrown to the ground and the door closed, I read with horror that this was the Green room. Scattered empty healing potions labeled “For Sports Injuries” sat around the vanity, I noticed. The next thing I noticed was the peach-coated mare straddling me, keeping me pinned under her armor.

The splattering of images and noises that ran through my head were too pathetic and messy to be considered thoughts. Nevertheless, they conveyed enough meaning to me that I could formulate the correct phrase to describe what I was feeling just now: Well, I’m going to get castrated. It’s been fun knowing you, genitals.

Cherry Berry, looking less beat up than before, gritted her teeth and looked down at me. “You beat up Readynoble, tie him up, lock him in a dark closet, impersonate him, and go out on the field!” she yelled in my face. “Then you somehow completely kick my ass with a dead leg and when I’m Juggernoging?!”

Well, that was it. I was screwed. Exactly how screwed? That’d be determined by my actions in the next few seconds, but I estimated it to be between ‘definetely’ and ‘holy shit!’ “I can explain!” I blubbered.

“That’s hot!” The mare grabbed the wings on my helmet and forcibly tore the headgear off. “You’re hot! Kiss me!” With forehooves pinning my arms, it was rather hard to defend myself as she tried to kiss me—well, lick me. All I could do was look away, clench my mouth and jaw, and try not to cry for my mother. “Oh, so that’s how you wanna play this game, is it?” she giggled, taking her lips away from my literally licked lips.

“I-I-I-I,” I stuttered, watching her remove her armored breastplate and toss it to the side. A part of me found it amusing that the closest thing to pants Equestrians wore was in their archaic platemail. I didn’t realize that she’d let go of my hooves to remove her arm until she’d pinned my hooves again.

“So. You like to tie ponies up? Kinky... I like to do that, too...”

I can see why Readynoble left you, you psycho! “I need an adult!” I whinnied.

Cherry Berry let out a wicked laugh as she undid the bun in her hair, letting her long champagne-colored mane down. “I am an adult.” I heard Songnam Security race by the door, and I sort of wished they’d check in here. She leaned in close to me. “Now, isn’t this romantic, my sweet? In the thick of it, hounded by the law, and two lovers in the act...”

“This is not love, this is rape, and this is not a good thing!”

She giggled. “You’re so cute when you’re being funny.” Cherry Berry slapped her cheek. “Who am I kidding, you’re always cute!”

I’ve only known you for a few minutes! “You’re crazy!”

“Crazy in love,” she crooned.

“This is not love, this is you raping a crippled stallion! You’re a rapist!” And I’m morally obligated to kill those.

The mare pouted at me. “What do you mean? Girl can’t do that to guys, they don’t have the parts; only bucks do.” She winked. “And I know how bucks work; guys are always eager; they can’t not like it. Everypony knows that.”

“That is a terrible double-standard and you should be ashamed for thinking it,” I practically shouted back. Only ‘practically’ because I still didn’t want Songnam Security to come in here and beat me up. I squirmed under her, trying not to move my pelvis too much because of just where she’d straddled me. “And it horrifies me that the Equestrian culture honestly holds this wrong, wrong belief!”

She blinked. “You say that like you’re not an Equestrian.”

“I’m not! That Kingdom of the North? It’s based off a real place and that’s where I’m from! Let me go! Lass mich los, du feiges Schwein!”

“Oh. My. Celestia!” Her eyes went wide. “I can’t wait to tell my friends about my super sexy foreign boyfriend!”

‘Super sexy’? Well, now I can safely conclude she’s delusional, too. “Nein, das sollst du nicht!”

“Nine?”

“Nein!”

“Eight!” she chirped.

“No, ‘nein’ is Teutsch for ‘no’—I’m screaming ‘no’ at you!”

She gave a wicked giggle. “I know just how you make you scream yes.” Cherry Berry slid her hooves down my body and then to her armored pants. She engaged herself in the process of removing them. But now my hooves were free, and I wasn’t having any more of this Scheiße.

I punched her straight across the face. Cherry Berry gasped as I punched again. In a second, she was on the ground and I was standing. “Oh, have I been naughty? You know, you can always just spank me,” she cooed with a lecherous smile. I saw a little wooden bowl of fruit sitting nearby and remembered that I was a unicorn. After improvising the bowl for a weapon, I bashed it across Cherry’s head, sending little fruits flying around the room. “I... like it when you... play rough,” she groaned.

“Yeah, well, I don’t like you,” I replied, breaking the little bowl over her skull.

Cherry had been trying to get back up, but the second blow knocked her to the ground. She let out a sniffle. “What’s-what’s wrong? Am I-am I not pretty enough for you?”

I gave a heavy, exhausted shrug. “No, like so many of you Equestrian girls, you’re very pretty. It’s just that you’re nuttier than a bag of peanuts used to murder a walrus—in short, you’re crazy!” I pointed to my chest. “I’m crazy, too. But when the crazy guy thinks even you’re too crazy, that’s when you know you have a problem, you psycho bitch!” I looked at the ground and saw a rope. Of course I picked it up. “Oh my God, you actually have a rope in here. Was this for me?”

She shook her head. “For us.”

I punched her again. “Now it’s for you,” I said, and went about hogtying her. When all was done, she was all secured on the ground, and I collapsed against the wall, panting. “You’re a complete monster.”

Even though she was tied up and lying on her stomach, Cherry inched towards me, looking not unlike a caterpillar. A Cherrypillar! With hope-filled eyes, she looked up at me. “So. I forgot to ask, but you’re single, right?”

Teeth gritted, I bucked her in the face with my good leg. Cherry screamed as the blow pushed her to the side. It took her a few seconds to gather herself up enough to look at me, blood and tears running down her face. I said, “Every single one of you Equestrians are crazy. Each. And. Every. One. Why?!” I took a breath. “And yes, I am single. Unless you count that one weird time I got turned into a girl and, because of an incredibly obscure tribal practice of that one tribe, I ended up married to the lesbian daughter of the Warchief. That was weird. I really prefer having male tools, really. When they bleed, I’m supposed to go to the hospital and I know there’s something horribly wrong. Not girls, though.” I pointed at her. “And for the record, that’s not sexist: it’s just an observation.”

“You’re married?”

“No. God, no. It was more like... engaged against my will. They didn’t have the words to distinguish marriage and engagement. Thank God that Mister Welch was some kind of omniglot.” I shook my head. “But that doesn’t change things between us.”

“There’s... there’s an us?” she said with a flutter of lashes. Her eyes were too puffy and teary to really pull off that look. Unlike Dust, she didn’t look all that cute when crying. “Do you think you could, maybe, help get the rest of this armor off?”

I kicked her in the side and coldly replied, “No. In fact, the only reason you’re still alive right now is because I don’t have the energy or care to kill you here and now. Really, I came here to save the life of one of my confederates. Save the girl, save Equestria, you know? But... that plan fell down while having an erection, and then its penis fell into a hole suspiciously labeled ‘dick cutting-off hole’.” I put a hoof to my chin. “You know, a nurse once told me that if you were you to cut that part off a stallion during such a time, it’d take about a minute for him to bleed to death. So. Does that apply to this metaphor here, or am I just reading too far into my own metaphor?”

“Uh...” She blinked at me. A moment passed, nothing really happening. Then the Cherrypillar inched towards me. I was about to kick the rapist in her face again when she said, “Your hooves are nice. Did you... did you get a ponypedi?”

“I got a ponypedi and hooficure earlier today, yes. Then I got myself all groomed up, brushed my teeth thoroughly, and shaved. I also have a suit being pressed, but that’s another story. I have a few suits, but I was feeling angry after seeing a certain brand of cigarettes, so I relaxed in a spa and got them done there and then.” She just blinked at me, confusion bubbling onto to her face. “I like to feel clean and rested, Ma’am. In fact, tomorrow, I’m going to get that suit back and wear it. After all, ladies adore a sharp-dressed stallion.”

“I just adore you.”

“That’s nice, Ma’am.”

“And so polite, too. You sure you don’t wanna gimme a hoof with this armor? You can keep the ropes on.”

I facehoofed. “You know, if we lived in a weird gender-swapped universe, you’d be an utterly monstrous figure. You tried to rape me, Dame Cherry Berry. That’s not cool, and your insistence that girls cannot commit such vile acts is utterly horrifying to me.” I paused. “Do all Equestrians believe that?”

Cherry Berry hesitated. “It’s just kinda inherently silly to think a girl could do it,” she said in tones that told me she wasn’t lying. She was wrong, of course, but wasn’t lying.

That rose several questions in the mind, the foremost being: is Equestria matriarchal or patriarchal? After that little comment of hers, I knew that Equestria wasn’t purely gender equal, no. That deed tended to occur in sexually unequal societies. I recalled the story I’d once read in a textbook about a general fighting an ancient, now-exterminated tribe; in his report, he complimented in a backhanded sort of way, “No matter how brutal these savages are, at least they never lay a hoof on captured mares.” Ugh, battlefield sexual violation. I was glad that was instant grounds for a summary execution, and somewhat proud that Teutschland was the first nation to ever instate such rules. I bet Equestrian romantic comedy plays thought that female-on-male rape was hilarious, the sick fiends.

I considered asking the Cherrypillar which gender Equestria favored, but something about her eyes still pleaded with me to take her pants off, and that didn’t exactly inspire me to think she’d actually know anything about that. So I had to indirectly poke at it with a stick. “Is female promiscuity in Equestria seen as bad and shameful?”

The Cherrypillar blinked. “Um, sorta. I mean, it kinda is.” She looked away and muttered, “That’s why I needed to teach Readynoble a lesson for messing with my heart.” She perked up and she said in a decidedly girlish voice, “But now I have you, so it’s all better now! Plus, you kicked his ass for me.”

Right, enough being serious and contemplative. Her bloody, teary face was starting to annoy me, anyways. I stood up, putting as little weight onto my dead leg as possible. Deep breaths, I crept up to the door, the Cherrypillar silently watching me. Okay, it’s been long enough for Songnam Security to have wandered onto other parts of the building. Quiet as a ghost, I opened the door and peeked around. Empty, and the door to the Black & White room was open and ponyless.

I snuck across the hall and into the proper dressing room. Ah, my bags were right where I’d left them, hidden slightly behind an armor stand. I got them out and set them on the floor in front of the vanity. Taking deep breaths, I dug through my bags until I found what I was after, the Aufputschmittel I’d contemplated using earlier. It was a large syringe carrying an almost glowing red liquid, the cap still on. I fished through and pulled out two leather belts. That was all I needed.

Now with my equipment, I needed to remove my armor. I began with breastplate for mobility’s sake. As soon as I managed to get it off, somepony whistled. I jerked my head around to see the Cherrypillar inching through the door. When she looked at my bare breast she paused. “What’s wrong with your chest?”

Rolling my eyes, I walked over and shut the door. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten to do that and now the Cherrypillar was looking at my breast. “Nothing is wrong with it,” I hissed. The only reason I didn’t shove her back into the hall was because a hogtied knight outside the dressing room would probably look conspicuous. With a mind set to ignore the hogtied mare, I went back to trying to remove my armor.

She asked, “Well, what the hay is it?”

“Something.”

“I mean, it’s like you’ve got a cutie mark on your chest!”

I sighed as I removed my shin guards. If only they had real armor to defend my upper leg. “Your language has no word for it. The closest term you have would be ‘ritual self-mutilation’.” As I removed my leggings, Cherry Berry crooned in a low, breathy voice. And as she saw my underwear, she let out an annoyed groan.

“You know, I could have helped you get that armor off,” she commented, and I shot her a murderous look. The mare looked less and less like a caterpillar to me and more like a sushi roll. If I tossed her into the Île-de-Nippun, would they eat her, or was I just being racist?

“Hey! Just sayin’...”

Stretching my injured leg, I looked at the injury itself. The flesh was definitely swollen just above the knee, and it hurt so much just to look at. I grabbed one of the belts and fastened it into an absurdly tight band just above the wound; with the other belt, I did the exact same just below the knee. There, now the wound was isolated from the rest of my body, at most by a factor of eighty percent. That was twenty percent worse than I’d’ve liked, but it was what I had to work with.

I picked up the little Aufputschmittel and pressed the needle to the very heart of the swelling. The needle stabbed easily into the muscle, and I watched the red fluid empty the syringe. It flowed smooth, and I felt a hot, hot burn as the stimulant worked its magic on the muscle. It felt like what happened when a fire ant queen fell in love with you and decided to move into your house against your will; she ate all the chips and snacks, then dug a nest just above your knee; and the pain was the agony of the painful ant-breakup when she realized you weren’t a sexy fire ant. Of course, I also grunted like mad.

“Are... are you okay?” Cherry Berry asked in worried tones. Her body language told me she was doing her best impression of a dead crab.

“Shut up,” I growled. “God, every time you speak, I feel like my blood is turning into roaches.”

“So... does that mean you don’t want a hoofjob later?”

“I would rather masturbate with sandpaper than have any sort of intimate contact with you! You don’t realize how heinous, evil, and vile you are! I mean, are you stu—no, let me rephrase that. You are stupid!”

“You know, I am hot, young, juicy, and willing. What’s the damn problem here?”

I flexed my leg. The knee worked, the leather belts had contained the Aufputschmittel and healed the dead leg, though not at all the bleeding wounds from earlier. “Because you’re a crazy pony! Even if for some unthinkable reason I decided to willingly lay with the girl who tried to rape me, I am absolutely positive I’d end with being very incredibly unsatisfied with you, and more than a little disgusted with myself.”

The mare blinked. “Un... unsatisfying?” she said in a weak, shaky voice.

“I flat-out refuse to accept anyone has ever slept with you and afterwards concluded that ‘yes, this was a satisfactory experience’. I mean, not even in terms of sex, I mean in terms of anything at all. You are a sick, twisted, narcissistic, sexist witch who thinks only of herself. I don’t care if you were the queen bitch of Equestria and the sun herself, what I’m telling you is the honest-to-God truth! By the Prophet and her holy virginity, you have less charisma and sexual aptitude than Cards! And it’d take more than just a sexy look and lifting your tail for me to even contemplate entertaining the notion that you were anything but!”

Cherry sniffled, her lips trembling. “You... you... you don’t have to be so mean about it,” she whimpered, and burst into tears. “I was just trying to make you happy!” she cried. “Trying to show you how much I love you!”

“I mean, I guess there’s something uniquely and morbidly fascinating about you. With you, it’s like watching a rat in a maze, but the maze is just one circular loop, and the rat’s really stupid and not getting it. I’m just like a scientist here, and I’m just staring at it, thinking, ‘This has absolutely no scientific value, but I can’t believe this goddamn rat doesn’t get it yet.’ That’s me, and the rat is you. And rather than a circular loop maze, it’s the fact that not only do I not love you, I don’t even like you, nor even tolerate you, and the mere concept of intimacy with a foul witch like you makes me want to vomit blood from my eyes!”

She tried to fight the tears back, but failed and only cried more and louder. “Are you happy now? You made a grown mare c-c-c-cry...”

I rolled my eyes and grunted, “I don’t care.” With a sigh, I undid the leather belts before my leg actually died from lack of oxygen flow. The swelling looked much, much better, and I fancied I could walk on it without limping. Oh, the joys of a teutschen healing potion: you were never more than one injection away from getting back into the fight—outlawed in civilian markets!

Massaging my former leg wound, I pulled out my clothes from the bag. My bandages could be changed later; right now, I needed to get out of here, needed to find Cards, needed to get back to the hotel room, needed to go to bed. I started with my pants, I ended with my hat. All suited up, I equipped my sword’s sheath and strapped the dagger’s sheath around my bleeding wounds.

Cherry Berry, mewling on the ground, watched me stand up and stride to the door. “I-I know what I must do,” she whimpered. I paused, looking down at her cold eyes. “I’ve got to—” she choked down a sob “—got to win your heart, earn it, not take it. Please, please, just... just give me a chance.” I moved for the door. “At least tell me your name, please!”

I regarded the pathetic bundle of fur, rope, and tears on the ground. “My name is Carlos Bond von Bismarck Montoya, and I kill dogs and eat demons for a living,” I said as I opened the door. “Ich bin ein Mann aus Stahl.” And the door closed. Then I popped my head back into the room for a just a second and said, “Now then, I must leave you forever because I suspect that some ponies in togas are plotting against me.”

There. And we all lived happily ever after. The Cherrypillar was clearly off her rocker, and it was probably far crueler to her to let the damn mare live, so live she did. In any case, if I had tried to kill her, I knew that something odd would have happened that would have involved Songnam Security bursting in and fingering me for attempted murder, because the universe was capricious like that.

But now that I was out of that armor and had all my gear, I needed to get back into the hippodrome’s audience, assuming they were still there. At least nopony but Cherry Berry had seen my face and associated it with the pony under that armor, so I was probably safe being in that regard.

Pressing on through the halls, I eventually came into the little area with the ‘wenches, knights, and office’ sign. “Oi!” a mare shouted from the wenches’ hallway. Two mares dressed in the the uniforms of Songnam Security charged up to me. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“Hmm?” I hummed with dull interest. “Oh, I’m that guy you’re trying to arrest. You can tell by the armor I’m wearing, the fact that I’m running away from you right now, and my outrageous accent,” I said amicably, standing still. “I most certainly don’t just work here or anything.”

The tan mare, the one who shouted, looked me over. Her gaze lingered a second too long over my haunches—no doubt curious about my pants but choosing to say nothing—before going back to my face. “Yeah, yeah, real funny, wise guy.”

“I try,” I replied, tipping my hat as they walked down the hall and towards the back entrance. I wondered if that one guard mare was in any trouble for letting me in. When I was sure they were out of sight, I trotted down the wench’s hallway. I needed to get to Cards before the show ended. In fact, it was probably already over and everypony was leaving. Double time it, me!

The wench way had a few different doors down it, so I picked the big double doors. That somehow ended up with me barging into a room with ovens, metal stoves, pots, pans, cabinets, counters, and all things cooking-related. Oh, hey, look, the kitchen. As the sliding double doors behind me closed (and hit me on the ass), I stared out at the five tired-looking ponies wearing chef hats, then to the four security ponies that had been either loitering around or chatting with the chefs.

“Howdy, folks,” I sighed with irritation as I walked on through. If I acted like I belonged here, maybe they wouldn’t stop me. “Sorry for barging through. I’d figured you’d be almost done in here. No trouble, hmm?”

A security stallion took a step towards me. “Where are you going?”

I shot him an irked look. “Exactly where I’m told to go, officer. Unless that’s a crime, sir, I’m not being paid by the hour.” How do wages in Equestria work, even? “Got a problem with that?”

He put a hoof on my shoulder, stopping me. “As a matter of fact, it’s not. But that is no way to speak to an officer.”

I sighed, eyes to the ground. “Look, sir, I’m sorry. But my wife left me this morning for the gardener and I just found myself a single father.” And Cards isn’t my daughter, I swear! “I’m a bit stressed out, okay, sir? I’m sorry.” Also, I almost got raped, and that didn’t help my mood, either.

“Oh...” he said, offering me an empathetic look as he took his hoof of my shoulder. “I... I understand. Son or daughter?”

Cards. “Little filly. Feisty one. She once got me this watch for my birthday, a-and I didn’t know where she got the money for it from. Her mom would never...” With a nostalgic smile on my face, I looked at my hooves. “And she says to me, ‘Porn. I sell hardcore porn.’ And it was just the cutest thing ever, and my heart exploded. I know I shouldn’t encourage such things, but it was too adorable for me to scold her for it.” I walked towards the double doors on the far side of the room, eager to leave.

“Wait a minute!” he exclaimed. “You’re not wearing a watch!” Scheiße! Forgot to put that back on! “No true father wouldn’t wear a gift from his daughter! You’re clearly a—” A metal pot hit him upside the face. Then it hit him in the forehead. He yelled as I picked up a large wooden spoon and beat him against the neck with it. Dammit, I was dual-wielding a pot and spoon, now I was a badass!

“Clearly a pony cooler than you!” I said, knocking him to the ground. I hurled the metal pot into a chef’s face as I picked up a rolling pin and slammed it lengthwise into the neck of another officer. She collapsed onto the ground, choking and grabbing her throat. “Sit down.”

The other two security ponies charged me, batons raised. One of them even had the audacity to jump onto the little counter in the center of the room and run at me. I rewarded her cool but impractical move by breaking her elbow with the rolling pin, and she tumbled off the counter. The last one, also a little lady, got a hit off on my poor, poor shoulder, the blow making me drop my weapons. And I was doing so well, too!

Doing what I could, I grabbed a strange metal bowl with a little handle from a stove and proceeded to repeatedly introduced it to her face. I didn’t notice until it was all over her fallen body that the bowl had been filled with a strange red liquid. I licked the bowl. “Huh. Tomato bisque,” I muttered. “I just beat a mare half to death with a bowl of tomato bisque.” She twitched. “And her lack of pants makes this completely dignified.” I looked at the horrified chefs, then at a closet. In a minute, the chefs and barely conscious guards had been safely locked away.

So far, so good, I thought, leaving the kitchen. I went through the little hallway, trying to find a way into the hippodrome. “So. You goin’ to see the game tomorrow?” I heard a stallion asked.

“Who, me?” a mare scoffed. “Why do you ask?”

“Well... it’s the Songnam Seraphim versus the Mare Orleans Mustangs. They say it’s going to be the biggest hoofball game of the year, two rival teams duking it out for the championship. y’know?”

“Sounds cool,” she sighed mournfully.

“A-and it’s just that I... I...” He took a breath. Then he said really quickly, “Glitter, I really like you and have two tickets to the big game and I heard from your sister that you liked hoofball and I was wondering if maybe you’d go out with me tomorrow to-to-to the game and, uh, yeah.” Silence reigned over the hall as I trotted through. “I-I mean, i-its cool if you don’t—”

“Hey,” she said in a soft voice. “Shut up.”

As I turned the corner, I spotted two securityponies guarding a doorway. Well, supposed to be. One of them, the mare, was pushing the buck against wall as she kissed him, and he kissed back. So cute. The buck saw me and gasped, the mare also taking stock of me. Like two teens caught in bed with their pants off, they jumped up and tried to pretend they weren’t doing exactly what they had been doing.

I merely smiled and said knowingly, “I didn’t see anything.” They just stood at attention with red cheeks as I sauntered on by. The doorway they guarded led me into the the hippodrome’s audience. A few ponies walked around and cleaned up, but they looked like employees. The only ones that looked like guests were the small family heading out the large open doorway. I followed them out and found myself at the top of a large staircase leading into a large room filled with ponies and novelty Modern Times Dinner & Tournament merchandise, plus the knights (sans the Cherrypillar and Readynoble) giving out autographs.

Cards and Social Grace had to be here, dammit! Where? Where? Where? There! A white mare with black-with-red-streaks hair wearing a blue dress was being escorted around by a dapper stallion in a white suit. Well, the odds of seeing another white mare with a mane like that who wasn’t Cards were ridiculously slim in my book (which probably meant that this mare wasn’t Cards and the universe was just screwing with me, but whatever). She and Grace were at the far end of the lobby area, going straight for the exit. I raced through the crowd to get at them.

“Alright, we got everypony here?” a stallion asked a small crowd of foals and teens. They all nodded and mumbled ayes. “Ah, good.”

I froze and pointed at him. “Oh my God, it’s you!”

The bartender looked at me, his eyes wide. “It’s you!”

“Why the hell aren’t you back in Ponyville, harassing travelers and generally being a crotchety jerk?”

“It’s the Clan Marekenzie reunion, ya bastard! And what are you doin’ here?”

“I’m trying to save the world, you crazy pony.” I took out a gold coin and threw it at his face. “There. I have few Bit but enough raw gold coins to completely tank the Equestrian economy by flooding the markets with gold and lowering its value as a whole, damn you!” I shook my head. “I don’t have time for this, but I do hope the slightly off-center painting is driving you batty.” I galloped away, trying to get to Cards and Social Grace.

At the entrance area, the tellers’ booths purposefully resembled little keeps. No Cards or Grace here. I raced towards the large front doors, which was more an open slit of wall leading out to a drawbridge. The ponies, I suddenly noticed, were all wearing paper crowns of colors matching the knight teams. Keen. As I reached the doorway, I stopped. There was a torrent of cold, cold air billowing down on me from seemingly nowhere. Stepping outside, the air got warmer. Air conditioning magical talismans? These damn Equestrians, their magic was going to be the end of them all. Still, no Cards or Social Grace.

Wait, there! They were walking together towards a parked carriage pulled by... two stallions? What the hay? A carriage pulled by ponies? Did Equestria have slavery or something? Serfdom? Well, if Equestria was apparently a feudal realm, serfdom didn’t not make sense. But serfdom seemed off, and there was a probably another, more rational—albeit stupid—explanation. whatever the case, I galloped after the two, determined not to let them get away.

The carriage-pulling stallions tipped their hats to the duo as Cards and Grace stepped in. I saw Cards hoofing her right ear as she sat down, but she never once looked out and saw me. “Alrights, bucks,” I made out the carriage conductor say, adjusting his blue peaked cap, “we’re off to the Ritz.”

Wait, what!? No, I just came from there! I don’t want to be almost raped for nothing! As the carriage took off, I so awesomely tripped on my own hooves and rolled across the sidewalk. “Scheiße!” I hissed, looking up and watching the carriage race away. Growling teutsche obscenities, I jumped to my feet... only to step on my duster’s tail and fall face-first face onto the ground. Today was just totally my day.

By the time I got myself onto my hooves and ready to go, the carriage was a way’s away. I certainly wasn’t catching up to them before they got there. That meant I was walking all the way to the Ritz. Again.

“Why can’t I just get a damn break?” I sighed.

|— ☩ —|

So dark, so depressing, so tired, but Social Grace needed murdering. The little receptionist mare, a different one that the one from before, hadn’t taken too much convincing and undertoned threats before she gave me the number of the room Social Grace was staying in. And, hey! Guess what? It was the the goddamn penthouse suite. No, not just a room on the top floor; his room was the small house on the Ritz’s very rooftop.

Now, I had gained something that might sarcastically be referred to as “cardio” during my lifetime, but, Scheiße, running across a city and then climbing several flights of stairs was going to give me a heart attack. That is, the kind wherein your heart stopped working, clawed out of your chest, then beat you with a 9-iron until you accepted its demands to let it rest. You couldn’t say no to your heart, because then you’d die.

With any luck, Cards would be back in her hotel room, and Social Grace was mine, all mine. The doorway to the penthouse looked only too inviting compared to the green gardens outside, the moonlight dancing through them like a floozy whose STD test just came back negative, the bags under my eyes baggy enough to store said STD tests.

If Cards was actually back in our hotel room, would that be worse? I sighed. “Great. I’m just going to go back to the room and find Cards dead, her head exploded, and Dust catatonic on the floor, aren’t I?” As if to answer my question, I heard a decidedly feminine, Cards-like voice shouting from somewhere inside the penthouse

Shaking my head in annoyance for her actually going home with him, I ran up to the door and tried it. Locked. Natürlich. Knife and lockpick out. Tick. Tack. Tock. Lock picked, and in I stormed, though I took the time to close the door because open doors made me nervous. I entered a foyer (this damn place had a foyer?), and the voice came again from what looked like the living room (it had one of those, too?). I ran for it, there was a damsel in... distress...?

I stared past the flipped couch at the stallion cowering in the corner, covering his face with his forehooves. In front of him, panting hard and pressing a baton against his neck, was Cards. The elegant dress she wore earlier was now torn into so many strips, the earrings still in her ears.

“...’cause you listen right the fuck here, you sonofabitch!” she screamed into his face. “I’ve had it! You think I care about dying anymore? My life ended yesterday! Sweet, innocent little Cards died when the light in his eyes went out—you think I care about dying anymore?!” She let out a howling-mad laugh, then brought the baton down across his face, knocking him to the ground. “I’m done with being pushed around and told what to do! My whole life, ponies told me what to do, except him. But he’s dead now! And now Cards is dead! I’m just what’s left, and if you think for just one fucking femtosecond that you can control me and tell me what to do, too, you’ve got a another thing coming!” She kicked him in the groin, and he squealed in pain. “And that other thing coming,” she said darkly, almost calmly, “involves a lot of screaming from you.”

Well... this was different. This was the Cards I’d first met, this was the Cards that broke my shoulder and tried to crush my testicles into a fine paste. There was the question of where that baton had come from, but screw it, this was awesome. Kind of precious in its own little way, too. If only I had some popcorn.

“You... you don’t seem to understand,” Social Grace groaned.

“No, you don’t seem to fucking understand!” She smacked the baton against his ribs. “I don’t care if I die, you’re not controlling me, telling me what to do, and certainly not sweet talking me into your bed!” Cards kicked his family jewels again. “Know what? I really hate your face, and you were never all that hot in the first place. I’d sooner touch myself to that government boy’s face than yours!” Ouch. Burn.

“I—”

“Shut it!” A blow to the face. “You know, it’s a sign of just how fucked my shitty excuse for a life is right now when the only one being genuine with me is that one bastard who murdered my only friend! Right now, Gracy, I’m queen bitch of the land, and you’re gonna tell me what I want to know.”

“Or what?” he coughed. “You’ll torture me? Kill me?”

Cards looked down at him with a hard expression. “Torture you?” she scoffed. “And become more like him? No; then he’d win.” Me? “So here’s a novel idea, you listening?”

“No, you listen, girl,” he said with a crooked smile. Grace’s horn flashed, and Cards was screaming on the ground in the next moment. Panting hard, he stood up, then coughed up blood onto the floor. A ragged look in his eyes, he went on: “I don’t really care. In truth, I do like you, Miss Cards. You’re cute and feisty, and everything I said to you has been honest, but you’re working against the good guys, girl. I don’t know what lies you’ve been told, but Elkington is trying to save this nation. We’ve accepted that what we must do terrible—” he coughed up more blood “—terrible things for Equestria and our Princesses, but our love for them is so great that we do so willingly. You don’t understand that you are the villain here, not the hero. I’m not going to tell you things, you’re going to tell me things.” Cards stopped screaming, resolving herself to twitching like a charred victim of electrocution.

I tried to whistle for his attention, but failed because I didn’t know how to whistle. One of these days I was going to learn how to whistle, probably when I wasn’t trying to save the world, which meant that I would never whistle. I watched as Grace slowly strode up to Cards, and the little mare crawled away from him, none of them even looking anywhere near my direction.

There was another couch in this room, one that was sitting upright and was facing the fight. With a shrug, I made my way casually over to the couch and took a seat. Sighing, I leaned back, tipped my hat forwards, stretched my arms over the back of the couch, crossed my legs, and watched them go at it. As it so happened to be, the little area the couch was in was poorly lit. There was a certain je ne sais quoi about sitting there, counting the seconds till one of them noticed the stallion watching them. I even had time to take out my sword and set it across my lap.

“Now you listen here, Miss Cards,” he said smoothly, kneeling down before her. “Unless you do exactly what I say and help me capture your companions, those earrings you so graciously accepted and put on will do... certain things to you. Nasty, terrible, painful things, even. And, see, I’m a nice guy, but if you push me, well... then I might have to get a tad bit mean. Don’t make me have to be a mean colt, dear.” He stroked her cheek. “I really don’t want to hurt you.” Rather than calm and evil, the tone of his last sentence almost made it sound like he was pleading with her. He clearly had never killed before.

“H-hey...” Cards mumbled from the ground.

“Yeah?”

“Blow me,” she whispered, and bashed the side of his neck with the baton. He yelled as she struck him again. Can fillies say that?

Social Grace stumbled backwards towards the couch. As his purple eyes drank in my sight, he shrieked, “Who in Celestia’s name are you?!”

I smiled. “Oh, I’m just a stray dog,” I said casually, grabbing him by the neck. “And dogs are oft to eat little shits like you; it’s why you should never kiss them.” And with that, I leapt up and tackled him to the ground, not even caring that my sword went scattering. He struggled below my weight, and Cards panted in the corner. “No, wait, that’s a terribad one-liner. I-I’m sorry, can we do that again? I was trying to think of them, but instead I got caught thinking about socks again. Here, give me a second to think of a better one, then we’ll try that again. Because, you know, if I don’t say witty things before a battle, I’d just be a morally questionable thug, not a hero.” I picked my my sword and sheathed it. It took me a few before I thought of a good one.

I stood up and jerked Social Grace up with me. “Vive la révolution,” I growled darkly, and tackled him to the ground again. I looked up at Cards and added helpfully, “See? Now I’m both a hero and fighting the oppression of the aristocracy. I’m like that one pony who stole from the poor and gave to the poor, except not at all and that I kill people.” Grace groaned, and I slapped him. “Hey, pay attention! I don’t talk just for my health.”

Cards somehow got to her hooves and took hard, stumbling steps towards Grace, baton raised. Grace, on the other hoof, laughed at me. “You’re her friend, r-right? Yes, of course... Maybe if she won’t listen, you will.”

“Okay, I’m listening,” I casually replied, as if discussing the weather.

Grace seemed to stumble at my response, but he collected himself. “Unless you do exactly what I say down to a T, Cards is going to die. Horribly. Those earrings in her head are enchanted to kill her, and so unless you want her to die, you will obey me.”

“You phrased that in such a belligerent manner. Did no one train you in the art of coercion?” I shook my head. “And for that matter, why should I believe you?”

He smirked, and Cards collapsed to the ground with a shriek “Because they’re already working. You’ve got five minutes before the girl dies. You can either obey me or let her die. If she removes them, she dies. If I die, they go off fully and she dies. You have two choices. Better choose fast.”

I bit my lip, looking over at Cards. She was rolling on the ground, clutching at her head. It wasn’t hard to recount Chausiku’s words from the Voixson. He wasn’t joking, wasn’t fibbing, wasn’t bluffing. Obey or let her die. Those were my choices. But even with the pain she must have been feeling, Cards refused to stay on the ground.

“F-f-fuck... him,” Cards growled, a spark of pink energy arcing between the earrings. The knife around my leg itched. Cards. If she removed them, if he died, if I did nothing, she died. Obey or let her. Earrings.

“Come on, you stupid sonofabitch,” he goaded through gritted teeth. “Her life or your obedience. Choose, dammit! She’s not removing the earrings! Two options! Make the right one and she lives, wrong one and she dies.”

Cards collapsed to the ground again, screaming and thrashing, blood leaking from her ears. Her horn suddenly went dark, dropping her weapon. Gurgling in agony, she look at her baton, concentrating on it with what was clearly every bit of energy that brain of hers was capable off. All that came out was a little, depressing fizzle of sparks. Tears of blood cried from her tear ducts, mixing with actual tears as she sobbed a pitiful, heart-wrenching mewl of pure animalistic terror. It was the sort of sound that made me want to jam a sword through her eye and into her brain, ending her misery.

I looked down at Grace, looked at Cards, looked at where the knife was, at the mare’s ears, back at Grace, at the muscles and flesh and cartilage holding his ear to his head. One of these days, I was sure to actually get a black and white decision: Choice A with pink bunnies and cute girls in unreasonably skimpy bikinis at the beach, or Choice B with spikes and the Cherrypillar. Oooh, the tough choices in life!

Grace gave me a ragged, but almost pleading smile. I bet that Hurensohn would just love it if I jammed a fork into his eyeball and then slammed it in so I could ride him like a butterfly, and he’d probably get all kinds of hot if he lost an... ear... A thought came to mind. A terrible, dark, desperate thought. It wasn’t reasonable. It wasn’t even sane. It was what I had to do. It was what I was going to do.

I took a third option.

Cards... Cards... Cards... Bleeding from her tear ducts and ears, sobbing, and legs shaky, she refused to remain still. I got off Grace and he leapt up, scooting his back against the couch. Cards fought and bit her lips until it too bled; her efforts to fight were herculean; even so, she was utterly unable to resist when I grabbed her, put her on her back, and pinned her beneath the weight of my much larger body.

“You can’t remove the earrings!” Grace shrieked. “If you do, you’ll kill her!”

“I’m not going to remove the earrings,” I said darkly, pulling out my knife. The earrings were stuck into the outer-middle of her right ear.

A proper hero would probably now say something about choices, think something deep and introspective about the choices we make, how they affect ourselves and others, ultimately writing a little essay to justify himself. They would distract themselves from the task at hand with philosophy and half-baked ideas about morality and heroism, about life not being about easy choices, and about sometimes having to make those hard choices for someone else’s good.

Me? There were no such moral justifications for my actions running through my mind like a witness preparing a false testimony. There was no philosophy to explain what I had to do and why it was the only choice; there was only what had to be done. There was only me, there was only Cards, there was only the knife.

The ear wasn’t exactly the sturdiest part of a pony. Attached only by cartilage and some muscles for movement, it was easy to cut off. With one hoof, I made sure to force Card’s head against the ground, and with the other I pressed the base of her ear against her head to keep from simply ripping it off; with my teeth, I held onto the top of the ear; with my magic, I brought the sharp end of the knife against the base of the ear.

There was no dignity in what Cards then did. She screamed at the top of her lungs, nearly deafening me with her strident shrieks. The mare thrashed uselessly under my body, pinned too well to ever hope to free herself, and against my teeth, she didn’t even have the hope of wiggling her ear away. Cards begged and cried and cried and begged not to do what I was doing. “No! No! Please, no! No! Don’t do this, please!” She was like a broken record, repeating various renditions of the same begs.

“May God in Heaven have mercy on my soul... because the Devil in Hell shall have none,” I whispered through the ear in my teeth. And with that, I adjusting the position of the knife, no longer planning on just looping the entire thing off. The screaming continued, she whinnied and neighed and flopped her body in terror, her eyes unable to leave mine. If the eyes were windows into the soul, I was hanging Prussian blue curtains...

The knife plunged and pierced directly through her ear. It took as much effort as doing the same with paper, even if this method was significantly harder than just lopping the ear off. I twisted the knife and sawed and sawed and sawed. Blood everywhere. The ear was on the head, and the head bled like a whore. With the cut I had made—the cut I was making—I estimated she’d lose maybe an eighth of a pint of blood per minute. Cards screamed about her ear, her words garbled by chokes and sobs, but I gathered something about going deaf. That was normal; the body was defending its ruined ear, temporarily deafening it.

With a meaty sound, the blade came out of her ear, mere eyelashes away from the lower of her two earrings. With the first part of the incision made, I could now cut out the other part of her ear, removing that without having to remove the entire organ. Her screams became just a single, neverending garble loud enough to wake the dead, and then deafen the dead. Even Social Grace was screaming. I adjusted my bite, keeping the flimsy ear as taut as possible as I brought the knife back for round two.

The flesh split like a teenager who just found out his girlfriend was pregnant as the blade cut through her ear, severing and tearing cartilage. I could physically see unbridled terror in her eyes as it happened, as her blood filled my mouth, as the ear failed to flitter away, as I did the deed. Each incision, even the slightest nick, brought a wave of fresh blood from new wounds, created fresh screams; but I wasn’t making slight nicks, I was sawing at her ear with a knife designed for hurting and cutting, not for surgery. I didn’t have a medical degree, either, and the ragged cuts testified to that. It split, it parted, it bled, and it made a slight meaty sound that, in any other case, I might have found pleasant.

And then it was over, my mouth drowning in the mare’s coppery blood. I wiped the blood off my knife using bits of her tattered and soiled-with-blood dress. Begging God for forgiveness, I grabbed my prize and stood up, sheathing the blade. It was just a bloody little chunk of ear with soiled white fur that had been pierced by two earrings. Cards’ ear, bloodier than a newborn, was still mostly intact, no matter how red it looked. I could see the blood coursing beneath her skin bleeding out the ragged cut in her ear.

I gritted my teeth at the screaming, bloody, helpless excuse for a mare. She clutched her bloody ear, and I knew there was no possible way she was applying enough pressure to stop herself from bleeding out. But at least her tear ducts were no longer bleeding. Still, I estimated at least half an hour till she stopped bleeding on her own, and that was time she didn’t have. I fished through my bags and pulled out a dark orange syringe filled with a clear solution. Good enough.

Then I grabbed her arm, forced it down and still, and injected her with the Aufputschmittel. It wasn’t the kind that healed; this was the kind loaded with vitamin-K. In about three minutes, assuming I didn’t overdose her and cause her to die, her ear would clot enough to stop bleeding. I capped the needle and stored it; it would, after a thorough cleaning, come in handy again. Oh, and I really needed to rob a hospital for more medical supplies.

Social Grace had apparently thrown up off to the side in horror. What was with Equestrians and vomiting at the sight of a little violence? “You have made a grave mistake this day,” I said with an almost supernatural calmness. Lyra’s description of me went through my mind as I said, “And I just so happen to be the director of my own little funeral parlor.”

I floated the ear piece before me as I slowly, casually sauntered over to him. “See, where I’m from, we have this little thing called ‘justice’. Perhaps you’ve heard of it? And see, we like to punish people that do wrong and evil, like yourself. Serial killers? We encourage the victims’ families to take an active part in the execution, and there was always something about allowing rape victims to stone their rapist to death, that never failed to put a ‘job well done’ smile on my face. As for ponies like you, well...” I stopped right before him, crouched down, and lowered my voice. “We purge the mage. But I’m feeling mighty poetic today. How long until the earrings would have killed Cards?”

Grace stuttered to respond. “A-a-few more minutes, I—”

I grabbed him by the jaw. “Open your mouth, it’s time for poetic justice,” I said sternly, still as calm as before. When he failed to instantly comply, I shoved the back of his head into the wooden floor. I spun him over in order to grab the back of his head. No time wasted before I violently shoved his mouth into the floor. “Open. Your. Mouth,” I demanded sharply. Weakly, he complied, and I flipped him onto his face. I grabbed his chin and held it open as I brought Cards’ ear to bear. He tried to close his teeth only too late, myself already magically shoving the chunk of ear and earrings down his throat. A natural reaction exploited; he couldn’t help but swallow the bloody ear.

“Wha-wha-wha?” Grace blubbered, and I only smiled warmly as he began to twitch.

“There. A taste of your own medicine. Now, here’s the deal,” I replied: “you tell me what I want to know, and help beat you until you can vomit those earrings out. If not, well...” He twitched more violently. “What do you know about enervation?”

“The hay’s that?” he coughed. It didn’t feel like he was lying.

“Okay then, why are you trying to kill Cards?”

He sputtered out something, then spat up blood. It was red, so that meant it was just nasal blood he’d swallowed and regurgitated. “Bite me.”

“Don’t tempt me,” I growled. I looked over and saw into the other room. It was a fancy kitchen with hard counters with sharp edges, just the perfect place for a wet foal to play around in and—hello, foxy! An evil gleam in my eye, I grabbed the noblepony by the scruff of his neck and forcibly dragged him into the kitchen, trying to ignore Cards’ ongoing wails.

“Where...” he tried, and then promptly spasmed like a freshly drowned corpse.

“Tell me what I want to know,” I said like a perfectly reasonable pony, eying that foxy thing.

“I... I can’t.”

“Wrong answer, I’m afraid.” With all the joy of a colt with a new toy, I rammed the back of his head into the foxy thing, a large, large window overlooking the city. Outside the window was a solid multi-story drop. To my surprise and glee, little cracks appeared in the glass. Weak glass did my little heart good. “Who are you working for?”

“Elkington!” he admitted hastily.

“Good answer.” I winked. “And remember: your skin and fur are privileges, not rights. I can take them away whenever I so choose.” He swallowed. “Why did Elkington send you?” He hesitated for too long. That meant I got to slam his head into the glass again. I even punched the glass for effect. It was weakening oh so nicely. “Why?!”

“Because you came by that damn boat!” Social Grace blubbered. I cocked a brow, and he went on: “I got orders to check out a bunch of strange ponies that came into town on our boats! They’re our boats because only we have exclusive right to use them, I swear!”

“And what do you specifically do for Elkington?”

He swallowed. “I do whatever he asks me to, without question.” I watched with morbid fascination as all the blood vessels in his left eye burst, and he screamed. It was as if somepony had just boiled his eye in a pool of saltwater. He grunted furiously, failing to hide his pain. “And I’m... just doing my part... for the good fight.” He screamed as blood leaked from his tear ducts. Good Heavens, even Cards sounded less like a little girl than he did. “You-you s-said you’d...”

I waggled my hoof in front of his face. “Uh-uh-uh, I’m still a curious colt. So. Who else is working with Elkington?”

“I don’t know!” Head slammed against the glass. It cracked more and more, and I was actually hoping that he’d keep lying to me so I could do what I really wanted to do. I thought I could feel a breeze through some of the bigger cracks.

“Try that again.”

“I-I don’t! OPSEC and the need-to-know, dammit!”

“OPSEC?”

“Operations security! Silence means security! I don’t need to know, so I don’t know; makes sure bad guys like you—” Head slammed again, and blood flowed through the cracks.

“You realize that I’m the hero, right? You can tell, again, because I had the awesome one-liner. If I hadn’t had it, I’d be the bad guy here. But because I had the one-liner, I’m clearly the hero.” I lowered my voice and pressed my lips to his ear. “And the good guys always win. Why else am I one of them?” I went away from his ear, enjoying the sight of his body parts just breaking down before my eyes. For a moment, I wondered how horrible my life would be if I had a fear of blood; I’d probably be locked in the looney bin my whole life were it so. “Tell me what you do know, then.”

“That we’re the good guys!” he choked. “We’re the ones putting food on tables! We’re the ones putting smiles on sad faces! We’re the ones who build, not knock down!” He coughed more blood. “The monsters like you will be defeated. I owe my life to Elkington and the good fight, and I regret that I have but one life to pay him back with.”

“Does Elkington know my name?”

“Hell if I know. They didn’t tell me.”

“Does he know I’m in the Ritz?”

“I haven’t filed my field report yet! No!”

Good. I was still on the down-low enough, despite everything that happened today. I was just about to do something fun when somepony dragged themselves into the kitchen. Turning my head, I saw Cards, her eyes hollow, blood covering half her face, literally crawling into the kitchen. Four strips of the blue dress had been torn and woven into headbandages for the ear. I watched as she steadied herself against the doorway, using it to help herself get onto all fours.

“Goverment Boy...” she moaned, “it... it hurts...”

I steeled myself. Ich bin ein Mann aus Stahl... “I know, Cards,” I said in an utter monotone. Ich muss ein Mann aus Stahl sein. Sei ein Mann aus Stahl! I sighed, turning my attention back to Grace. “Why Cards? Why not me? Why did you try to hurt her?” I slammed his head. “Why her!?” I roared in his face.

A part of me couldn’t help but wonder if these sudden outbursts and attempts at raping me would have an adverse affect on my blood pressure. Yeah, I took as good care of myself as a pony wandering the world could, but I hadn’t been feeling too well lately, mostly because of having been lynched, had my legs torn to shreds, getting dead-legged, and almost being raped, but still.

“Because I... didn’t like the way you treated her,” Grace coughed, his other eye going bloodshot before my own eyes. “But she worked with you. I didn’t have a choice.” He sputtered and choked; it sounded like he was drowning. Pulmonary edema, I figured. He was already dead.

“And Elkington knows you’re with her right now?”

“Who else got me front-row tickets to Moderns Times.” Coughing, sputtered, hacking. He had a few minutes at absolute most because his lungs would have been filling with bloody fluids.

“Please...” Cards whispered, “don’t do what I think you’re gonna do, Government Boy.” I glanced at her, she stumbled onto the tiled kitchen floor. She look up at me and begged, “We’re the good guys. We can’t do that. Please!”

Was she arguing for Social Grace? I hesitated for a moment. Lightning Dust wasn’t here this time, and Cards already hated me. Risk versus reward. Cards lost. “Social Grace, do you have anything else to say?”

“Nothing...!”

“How about ‘goodbye’?” I asked.

“Wha’?” Grace tried, and then I shoved his head through the glass. It shattered as I threw him out. Time seemed to stand still as his eye locked me eyes, and I gave him a toothy grin. He held out a hoof to me as he fell. It was a long, long way down.

“Goodbye.” I laughed as I watched his body shrink almost out of sight and hit the pavement. My toothy grin was still on my face as I said to nopony in particular, “Oh, damn! I’ve always wanted to do that, spout a badass one-liner and then push somebody out of a tall window. It’s, like, always been a personal dream of mine. Plus, the one-liner reaffirmed my heroic status.” I looked at the window, more just of a giant hole now. “Wow. Equestrian windows are really poorly made. I mean, do they not yet have safety glass? The window just shattered into giant spears of glassy murder. If there had been a room on the other side of this glass, Grace would have just been horribly impaled to death.”

My vision poked off to the side, and I gasped. “Oh my God, a fish tank!” It was in the wall, separating two rooms, and a number of expensive-looking fish swam idly around. I trotted over to it. “Are these his fish?” Then I gasped in a high-pitched voice as I saw a black-and-white fish covered in spikes and spines. “You’re a lionfish; you’re highly venomous!” Another gasp as I saw a little eel hiding out in a rock. “An eel! I hate fish,” I cooed in a childlike voice. “Oh, I am going to kill all of you out of spite,” I went on, fishing around my bags for my crowbar.

Cards moaned. Oh yeah, I’d forgotten about her in my rush of fun. Forget? You’re a complete monster right about now. Her legs weren’t working, and she held herself up only by her arms. Tears stained her bloody face as she looked straight at me. Her lips trembled as if speaking, but nothing came out.

I walked up to the little mare who had been so strong so few minutes ago. “Cards,” I said softly, sitting down by her side.

“I... I want to go home,” she whispered. “I want to go home, I want to go to bed, I want to wake up to a dead-end job and work my shift with Glasses. B-but I’m a freak with a broken ear...”

Something snapped in my heart, and I reached out and embraced Cards in a hug, pressing her good ear against my breast. “It’s okay,” I cooed. “Everything’s going to be okay. I’m going to help you stop Elkington, help you go home a hero, help get you a life back.” She tried to resist, break away from my embrace, but there was no strength in her. Instead, she hugged me back. “God, I’m so, so sorry, Cards. I’m sorry about your life, sorry about Glasses, sorry about insulting and making fun of you today, so, so, so sorry about your... your ear.” Everything would have just been so much damn easier if those things hadn’t happened. But what was done was done, there was no changing that, even if I could. Time traveling to fix things never worked out, anyways.

“Can you... can you fix it?” she asked with hopeful, moist eyes. “My ear, like you did with your broken leg? I-I could handle a needle through the b-bone If I...”

I hesitated for far too long. “No.”

“W-w-why not?”

Tell her the truth, or tell her a lie. Because I don’t have enough needles for you, only for me. Because I’m a greedy, selfish bastard whose own pain is worth more than yours. Because I don’t think they’d actually regrow missing parts of the body that have already clotted off so well. Dammit! I held her tighter. She looked at at me like a dying puppy. A cute, odd-hair-colored, ear-mutilated puppy. “Because I don’t think they’d help you at all here,” I said somewhat honestly. Another third option?

She didn’t reply. She only sulked into my chest. I shushed her like a father—no, like a big brother to his baby sister. God, what was wrong with me? I stroked her hair, my hoof going through both her clean hair and the hair matted with blood. She’d done a surprisingly good job with those impromptu dress-made headbandages.

“It’ll all be okay,” I told her, not sure if I believed it myself. It was just what I knew I should say. “It’ll all be okay, it’ll all be okay.” It was less for her now, more for myself. I hadn’t made the right choice with her, but I hadn’t made the wrong one, either. I had simply taken fate into my own hooves, and I had decided her fate was to be missing part of her ear. Were there even right choices anymore?

No, there were none. There were only the choices that best serviced me, and damned be he or she who was hurt by those choices. Damned be Cards, damned be Mister Welch, and damned be Equestria.

But at the end of the day, I was still the good guy, right?

And dammit! That lionfish was making funny faces at me! It needed to be murdered with a crowbar to the face.

|— ☩ —|

The slow crawl down the stairs took longer than the way up. There no longer was a sense of urgency; the vitamin-K had done its job perfectly, and her ear was no longer bleeding. The unconscious mare on my back was now permanently disfigured because of me, and that thought went through my head again and again like a broken record. I needed something to calm my nerves; ich war und bin ein Mann aus Stahl.

In the empty stairwell, I could hear every little sound as I selected an album to play before putting the earbuds in. Das Weiße Licht, a little song about the white light, played into my ears. Could Cards even use earbuds now? Of course she could, don’t be silly. Her ear canals still exist, after all. Headphones might be somewhat uncomfortable, though.

Each step took an eternity, even with the song playing at almost deafening levels. I banished all thoughts of Cards from my mind, focusing on and even singing under my breath the song.

“Hörst du die Engel singen?

Spürst du die sanften Schwingen?”

No, song. I didn’t hear the angels singing; the one I knew simply pointed me in the right directions. No, song. I didn’t feel the soft wings. I reminded myself that Celestia was going to be here soon, and just how much I wanted to see a living fairy tale, a living Märchen, before my very eyes. The song went on through the chorus, the singer certainly one of my all-time favorites. If I ever got back to Teutschland, I had to see if the band had more albums, and hopefully they hadn’t perished during the Dark Crusade; if they had, I’d deal with a few months of depression. In the meanwhile, I just kept walking.

“Hat sich das Leiden nicht gelohnt?” the song asked as I stepped onto my room’s floor. It roughly meant, ‘Wasn’t the suffering worth it?’ To answer that, I needed to ask Cards. I was ein Mann aus Stahl; I didn’t feel, didn’t suffer. But at least that lionfish had been brutally, brutally murdered.

The song went on as I opened my room’s door. With a sigh, I switched the record player off and took out my earbuds. Rather that go into the room to the left, which had a bed for Cards, I instead brought her into the bathroom. I wetted some rags and tried to clean her bloody face, even got out this herbal salve I had and gently applied it to her ear in the hopes of hastening the healing time. She grumbled and moaned, but didn’t wake up; she must have had a special talent for falling asleep during stressful situations.

Gently as could be, I carried her into the next room and set her on one of the two single beds. Like a good brother to his little sister, I tucked her in and made sure she had enough pillows before slinking out of the room.

I set myself down in the middle of the red couch and sighed really hard. With a little fumbling into my packs, I pulled out a bottle filled with a clear liquid, followed up by a crystal shot glass. “Damn these Equestrian ponies,” I muttered, “they drive me to drink.” A glass poured and a glass downed at once later and I was leaning lazily back into the backrest. “Ahhhhh, Wodka.”

Somepony opened up a door. Looking up, I saw Lightning Dust standing in the doorway to her room. I should’ve given Cards the bigger room; the injured mare needed it more. Something about Dust’s eyes were wrong—and was she trying to give me a come hither look?

“Something up?” I asked, a little voice in my head screaming at me to grab a weapon.

“It will be soon,” she purred with a wink, and my hair stood on end. I felt oddly poofy. The mare took slow steps towards me, an exaggerated swing to her hips that made me reach for my sword. Something was wrong, wrong, wrong. I saw that her eyes were red, and there was a slightly tremble to her steps.

My bag was open, and I put a magic grip on Cards’ baton to reaffirm myself it was there. It’d been put there because I didn’t know how she’d carried it with her in the first place. I sat up and asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Whatever you want it to,” Dust giggled, and I gritted my teeth. “Why don’t you come over here and find out?”

I didn’t move. “Lightning Dust, what’s wrong?”

Her eyes twitched several times. “Oh, just a cold bed.” And then she was standing in front me, just on the other side of the little glass table before the couch. I narrowed my eyes as she said, “So, why not just c-c-come here, cutie?”

“No,” I said coldly.

“Yes,” she said, her eye twitched harder as she took a step towards me. “I know you want to.”

“No.”

“Lies. I know you do, I know I do,” she giggled like a schoolfilly, walking around the table.

“Lightning Dust,” I warned. “What’s wrong?”

“Come. Here,” she demanded in an authoritative voice, pointing down at the ground.

“No. And besides, you’re not really wearing the appropriate getup for this. The least you could do if you’re trying this is dress up in stocking and a really skimpy pair of panties—either red or black because I like those colors.” I shook my head. “But, even then, I’m not even in the mood.”

A memory from years back flashed through my head and my mouth decided to just run wild. “I mean, you can’t tell me that you haven’t been in such a situation before: Your boyfriend gets home, and you walk out of the bedroom, dolled up in your sexiest lingerie,” I spouted, and Dust just tilted her head in confusion. “But I—I mean, he looks at you, sighs, and goes, ‘I’m sorry, but... but not now.’ And he said it because he had a long day working on a particular case and just got out of a short stay in the hospital because he just caught a serial killer and the killer didn’t go down without an axe-fight.”

“What are you...?”

I sighed. “In short, no. In long, I have a headache.”

“Stop talking and come here!” the mare commanded.

“Eh,” I groaned.

“Come. Here.”

“I have a headache.”

“I. Said. COME HERE!” she roared, pulling out a pipe wrench taped to a spade head from... somewhere. Then she charged. Was that the same damn tool that drunken mare was ranting about? Where’d Dust get it?

“Sit down,” I said calmly, bashing her upside the head with the baton and knocking her onto the couch. Her weapon clattered to the floor as I grabbed her arms and twisted them behind her back, holding her against the couch. “Now, care to tell me why you’ve gone and entered psycho town all of the sudden?”

She thrashed and fought against me, and Dust was a tough girl, but my grip was tougher. “Eat shit! I know what you’re doing! You’re trying to kill me! Kill Cards! You lie, lie, lie! There is no Toy’s Land or wherever you’re from, only the lies of a murderer! Well, fuck you, I’ll kill you first!”

“What,” I deadpanned.

“You don’t want me to write that story! You don’t want me to do anything! Well, fuck you and the train you rode in on, because I’m writing those stories, and I’m stayin’ alive!”

Chausiku’s words echoed through my head. “Alpha enervation affects the mind. Causes aggression, loss of reasoning and generally impaired judgment, paranoia, schizophrenia—mental trauma! Brain hemorrhages! Aneurysms! Something!”

“Fuck you!” she screamed into the couch cushion. “Fuck you and fuck the Wonderbolts and fuck Rainbow Dash and fuck everypony! I’m no two-Bit, flank-spanking whore you can just boss around and control! I’m Lightning Dust, I’m a damn reporter—I’m gonna write that story, I’m gonna succeed in life for fucking once, and I’ll be fucking damned if anypony stands in my way!”

“Must you be so vulgar?” I asked, shaking my head. “It doesn’t make you edgy or cool; it just make yourself sound so childish when you swear like that.”

“Eat my cunt out!” she shouted, flapping her wings like mad. Yet another thing I had to pin down. Damn pegasi and their extra limbs and slightly different bone and muscular structure to account for them.

I sighed, rubbing my nose. “Great. Just... just great. The Princess Vulvaria of Vulgaria has gone psycho and is trying to kill me. Fantastic!”

Lightning Dust proceeded to spout off an incredibly creative rant utilizing more curse words than I was sure even existed. I had no idea you could combine “a dishtowel”, “Nightmare Moon”, and “exactly seven gallons of industrial lubricant” together like that. And I was pretty sure that Princess Celestia wasn’t into that kind of thing, because it was part of her job to never put out. I felt my eyebrows singe and the overwhelming urge to take a shower as she finished her tirade.

So I did the only thing I could think of: I grabbed her by the back of her head and slammed her face into the wall. Then grabbing her face, I thrust her head off the couch and into the carpet. A tear rolled down her cheek as I dragged body away from both table and couch.

Pinning her down, I asked, “Any better now?” She coughed. “Because I really, really just don’t want to fight or kill anymore today. I really don’t. There’s been enough violence, killing, and bleeding for one day, Lightning Dust. Please,” I begged, “please don’t make me have to hurt you. I don’t want to kill you; I want you to write that article, I want to leave you happier off than before you met me.” Because a hero has to make lives better, not worse. And if I wasn’t a hero, what was I? “Please!”

Dust blinked hard, scrunching up her eyes and grunted. When she opened her eyes, they looked softer, less murderous. “G-GB?” she asked.

“Last time I checked,” I replied with a smile.

She shakily reached up her hoof to my face. The soft look died. “You sonofa—!” Head slammed. Brain damage probably caused.

“Squirrel!” I hissed.

Dust gasped, closing her eyes even harder. “Daddy,” she whispered, “w-why is Mommy crying?” Her eyes moistened as I just stared down at her, baffled. “D-daddy?”

I searched for something to say. “She’s... she’s crying because—” I thought for a moment “—because some crazy pony killed her pet lionfish with a crowbar, but he was clearly a hero because he said ‘Now who’s king of the jungle?’ before killing it.”

She sniffled, gritting her teeth as she opened her eyes. When our eyes met, her teeth chattered like she was freezing. “Why does my head hurt?” she groaned.

I ignored the question. “Hey, you still planning on writing that story about the dark magics shop?” She nodded. “Because I’ve got another story.” And I gave her the short version of the what happened tonight after I’d left the mare on her own. “Does that sound like one heck of an interesting story?”

“Yeah,” she muttered, “it does.” Dust smiled up at me, a decidedly out-of-it, disoriented look in her eyes. “Did I tell you you hadvepretty eyes? Be-because you totally do. I just thought you should—you should know that.” Her own eyes rolled up and her body slumped.

Standing up, I watched her body for a few seconds, as if the enervation was about to turn her into a zombie. I had had enough of zombies during the Dark Crusade, and I certainly hadn’t seen any necromantic spore clouds, but at least I was inoculated against catching it. Still, I poked her a few times to make sure she wouldn’t jump up and start biting me.

Secure in the knowledge that she wouldn’t bite me, I picked her up and brought her back to her bed. I also took the liberty of tying Dust to the bed with leather belts in case she got any funny ideas. Something about the idea of the naked pegasus tied to a hotel bed put funny-haha thoughts into my mind. Shaking my head, I left the room and closed the door.

I reclined back into the couch after taking note of the dent in the wall. That was coming out of my pocket, wasn’t it? Sighing, I poured myself another shot and quickly downed it. A fire in my belly, I set about the dangerous task of thinking today over.

Farmhouses, falcons, riverboats, statues, dogs, a city without walls, this hotel, Chausiku, enervation, almost getting raped, Cards losing an ear, enervation affecting Dust. It was a lot to digest.

Another glass poured. I held the glass up and swirled the liquid around it. I thought back to that mare mentioned in Doctor Dome’s coronary report, and it reminded me of the poppet Jeepers had used. That dead mare must have been Lightning Dust’s reporter friend; had she been used as a test subject for becoming a poppet? Because that poppet looked like it’d once been alive, though her friend was a pegasus, not a unicorn... Would that have been Lightning Dust’s fate if I hadn’t shown up, to become a hollow monster or just a terrifying corpse?

Then there was the Miasmatische Trübung. No effect on me, but it affected Dust. Was the response delayed, like being slowly poisoned to death by languidly increasing doses over time? I didn’t know enough about witchcraft to speculate much there. And if there was enervation in Sleepy Oaks, but only in concentrated pockets, it might explain why some ponies were worse off than others, I thought. And what if Dust was still a paranoid, violent wreck in the morning...?

I touched my sword for comfort, deciding not to down the third shot glass. Elkington knew neither my name or whereabouts, but odds were that he knew what I looked like. Thank God I brought multiple outfits to wear. Still, Elkington might have had political strength and manpower, but I still held the advantage; I could pick and choose my battles, he could not.

My legs did me no end of woe, itching under their bandages. The left leg was only slightly less cut up now, but that didn’t do me too good. The pierced hoof was doing fine enough for now, but if I got into too many more hooffights, that wouldn’t last long. Before I thought any more, I set about redressing with the wound with fresh bandages, the old ones sullen and orange-red in color.

Tomorrow, I was sure, Duke Elkington was going to die. That thought, that commitment, alone was enough of a fire in my eyes and stomach to make me smile. Ding dong, the Duke is dead. The only problem was figuring out how I’d get close to the Duke. I stood up and walked over to the window, looking out at the city. Tomorrow, the dragon would fall. Tomorrow, I would get to the bottom of this mystery... Tomorrow, I could help Dust get that story and then some, assuring her a great career and reputation in the journalistic field. Tomorrow... I could help Cards get back her old life, give her some semblance of comfort before we inevitably parted ways.

I went back to the couch and took my hat off, placing it on the table. Deep breaths, me, deep breaths. I eased myself into the couch, lying on my back. Sleep came easy enough. It was a good night’s sleep.

It was so good because I did not dream. It was made better with the knowledge that all the waffles had been incinerated.

Author's Note:

Footnote: Level up
New Perk Added: Improvised Weapon Skill — Years locked up in Adventurer Prison have made you a master of unconventional weapons. Protip: the point of this perk is to see how many different things you can kill people with!

After writing the Cherrypillar’s scene, I learned there was an actual pony with her name. So, uh, just presume that sometimes ponies have the same name, okay? Other than that, this chapter also caught a case of chapter cancer, refusing to let me stop writing until this chapter was well and truly ready.

Comments are craved desperately! I’ll lick your feet, I’ll wear a collar, I’ll do anything for a dollar comment.

Comments

[Khorne]

Moo.

[Redderject]

I demand you add in a swedish speaking cow that throws shovels at people ponies.

Comments are craved desperately! I’ll lick your feet, I’ll wear a collar, I’ll do anything for a dollar comment.

[shtbird]

I'm sure it's been said but he looks like Caleb.
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Oh goodness.
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[Tulip]

Why to you any comments? Your characters are excellently constructed, the world of the story moves like integral tidy picture. Many local authors are not capable of the such. Such work doesn't cause any complaint

I wait for Jericho`s meeting with Luna. Your story deserve much more attention.

[Jojo Salatcia]

2770589
Haha. You wouldn't believe how may times Crushric, Siffer, and I have had that conversation.

[Malefic Scholar]

so he cut a notch into card's ear? or removed the whole thing?

[Rixx_Klori]

2770918 A notch. He cut off the lobe, not the entire ear. Basically just where you wear earrings.

[shtbird]

I want Jojo! I want Jojo! Jojo! Jojo!

[Jojo Salatcia]

2770870
Nope. Crushric is terribly modest. He always believes that whatever he writes is crap and can be bettered, which is true (the "can be bettered" part, not the "whatever he writes is crap"). Thus, he constantly craves reader feedback like the comment whore good writer that he is.

And Jericho and Luna's next meeting shall be grand.

JeriLuna 4life! Shut up, Siffer!

[nogoodnamesleft]

Is he ever gonna meet the mane six or the princesses?

[appelpieman]

Not enough stories contain ponies being thrown out of multi-stories.

[Jason Brony]

Damn, I always find the best stories!

[Beyond the Horizon]

Comments are craved desperately! I’ll lick your feet, I’ll wear a collar, I’ll do anything for a dollar comment.

. . . Well. I wasn't expecting this.

Let's see. . . I could go with the standard cliche "Self-Insert-That-Doesn't-Mesh-Well-With-The-Rest-Of-The-Plot-And-Screws-Up-The-Storyline" thingy. But no, I'd only do something as low as that if the character in question was only tangentially linked to myself, which wouldn't make it much of a self-insert, but I think that was the point. But really, what to demand. . . .

I really don't have anything at the moment. I'll put this away for a rainy day. . .

-Plunks it in the I-O-U box-

[Beyond the Horizon]

2771004

-Pokes head back behind the scenes-

Need help with the OTP Shippers? I have some Anti-Shipping weaponry left over from the last Avatar: The Last Airbender Shipping War.

[Myriad of Failure]

Ha - I loved this chapter! Jericho is an amazing character, and I really like how he isn't the infallible hero, and that quite a lot of what he does is rather questionable. I'm looking forward to the next chapter!

[Luminous Lead]

I have to say, I liked the impromptu ear surgery. Definitely the first thing that came to mind. Making Grace eat them was not something I'd have done, but completely expected for Jericho. Well, either that or attaching them to Grace himself. Speaking of Grace, that's what, the fourth sinister minion group he's axed? We had the abandoned house dudes, Jeeves, conjoined-bros, and now Grace. Where will we go from here?

Dust going psycho was unexpected, although I'm concerned at how many times he smashed her head against thing, given she already had brain damage.

Also,

mean, you can’t tell me that you haven’t been in such a situation before: Your boyfriends gets home, and you walk out of the bedroom, dolled up in your sexiest lingerie. But I—I mean, he looks at you, sighs, and goes, ‘I’m sorry, but... but not now.’ And he said it because he had a long day working on a particular case and just got out of a short stay in the hospital because he just caught a serial killer and the killer didn’t go down without an axe-fight. And because of all that, he’s way too tired to really do anything, and then for some reason you get really, really pissed off at him because you were in the mood and, dammit, all the magazines told you that guys couldn’t resist you when you dressed up all sexy for them but it didn’t work because he was too tired!”

Seems incredibly familiar, have you used this before?

2771027 Princess is meant to be visiting Songham soon, I think. If this is going to be a longer story they'll probably miss like ships in the night, but if they do meet I imagine they'll be quite something. Then again, he totally might have already met Luna (Selena) way back in chapter 3.

[MessoriaAQ]

Hah, it's always nice to read something, and afterwards you think "Holy crap, I need a doctor."
I really loved the whole knight-turnament setup. Was that buck with the flag displaying a falcon some poor imitation of a teutschen?

Again, what the fuck?

Somehow, the first non-clown-related solution that came to my mind involved asking Cards if she was lactating. And if not, the plan then demanded that Dust and I work to trick Cards’ body into doing so. The plan ended with yogurt and Cards crying in the corner, so... how did this help me fight Duke Elkington—

Damn, the pictures on my inner cinema screen... Could Cards even give enough milk for an entire yogurt? I mean she's pretty small.
It's things like these which make the story extremely enjoyable, especially the part which involved an injured Jericho and a slightly horny, masochist mare/Cherrypillar which tries to rape him, and claims she'd love him. He was so deserving it. I hope Cherry Berry will appear again to get sliced up or something (am I a bad person for hoping that?).

I was actaully really suprised to read the whole part involving Cards beating up Social Grace. Well, at least she's become a bit more assertive. Being borderling suicidal and all.

Tomorrow, I was sure, Duke Elkington was going to die. Tomorrow, I would get to the bottom of this mystery... Tomorrow, I could help Dust get that story and then some, assuring her a great career and reputation in the journalistic field. Tomorrow... I could help Cards get back her old life, give her some semblance of comfort before we inevitably parted ways.

So you're going for the final sprint of the first act? Why do I think that I won't be as easy with Cards and Dust. I mean, they're pretty much mentally — and in Cards cast now physically — damaged from the time spent with our anti-hero. Also, is Celestia going to be actaully important for the story? I mean, you've dropped some line in each chapter hinting at her attendance in Songnam.

Well, all in all I think the wait for this nice chapter was worth it. Aber auch nur wegen Cherrypillar. Warum kann ich nicht aufhören zu grinsen?

[Beyond the Horizon]

2771486

I dunno, I sort of expected it to happen to her after getting exposed to that much of the stuff. Surprised it didn't outright kill her, to be honest.

[KingOfTheMuffins]

I had a notepad document open full of what I wanted to comment on. I think it will suffice to say that this chapter entertained me too many times to write down... good job.

Also, I caught the Julius Caesar reference, the French Revolution reference, and possibly a song reference:

“Crazy in love,” she crooned.

"Crazy he calls me. Yes I'm crazy; crazy in love~"

[Seoman]

Obligatory grammar backstab:

Her own eyes rolled up and her slumped.

I would suggest to insert "body" or "head" after "her", or change that to "she". I like the "she"-version better, but I don't know if "she slumped" is a good construction... who knows?
Ha! As soon as our hero obtained the quest item "fluffy earpiece of deadly earpieces of perdition (from "perdere". I love Latin)", I knew where it belonged: into our beloved Grace. And Jericho picked up that thought and did just so.
That's the farthest I could predict one of his "unpredictable" actions. Meaning: You write him better than I ever could. And that's why I love this story so much! Especially this chapter. It's jumbo size! Weiter so!
...I wonder if he would use his pistols of godly doom to shoot Elkington if he saw him from some distance? Nah. Then the duke couldn't hear Jericho's cool one-liner
And what about the pony that fell out of the window without much grace? Sleeping in the hotel where somepony just died doesn't go without consequences, as this should raise some attention from the police... That won't be a very pleasant morning for our 5 3/4 eared party.

[blazikenking]

Jericho called the bound Cherry Berry a Cherrypillar. That's a cute nickname. But why he didn't think to set her up like a column is beyond me.

[Goggari]

Cards. “Little filly. Feisty one. She once got me this watch for my birthday, a-and I didn’t know where she got the money for it from. Her mom would never...” With a nostalgic smile on my face, I looked at my hooves. “And she says to me, ‘Porn. I sell hardcore porn.’ And it was just the cutest thing ever, and my heart exploded. I know I shouldn’t encourage such things, but it was too adorable for me to scold her for it.” I walked towards the double doors on the far side of the room, eager to leave.

Last of Us reference? Or is it just me?
Anyways, great chapter once again! Keep up the good work

[Luminous Lead]

2771687 Crushric's set up way too much room for character development and growth for her, so it would be a huge waste if she died right now (at least permanently, given that zombies/undead exist in this universe). She has a good deal of plot armour (well not physically, but you know what I mean) so I imagine she'll be around for a while. Of course, now we'll probably have to deal with crazy Cards once SHE awakens.

I'm not quite sure why Jericho didn't just go borrow some rope and secure them (or use bandages, since he seems to have quite the supply of those) given that they're not really stable at the moment. Ah well, hindsight is 20/20. At least all the waffles were incinerated, wouldn't want them haunting one's dreams.

[phlamingsoul]

*slow clap* I approve of this story. Carry on.

[Beyond the Horizon]

2772954

At least all the waffles were incinerated, wouldn't want them haunting one's dreams.

Indeed. Someone must have cooked them wrong, my waffles never lie to me. We must find the scoundrel and give him a stern talking to! And by stern talking to, I of course mean a railroad spike through the kneecap.

[Captain_Savage]

Jericho is best Anti-Hero

[monkeyXtypewriter]

i'm not sure if i can read this story anymore i was fine with the insults he threw cards way - it was pants soiling goodness after all!, but when he starts cutting off her body parts and she still sides with him, i think thats where i draw the line. i understand he's an anti-hero (i think??) but this was just evil. i probably will keep on reading, but this is gunno bug me i can tell

[Methbawks]

set fire to the hotel’s entire stock of waffles

fuckin hell Jericho, you don't do that to fuckin waffles, take penance for your actions infidel!

[TheLordSiffer]

2774894
You confuse me, good sir, when you post this comment. You say that Jericho was evil for cutting Cards' ears and removing the earrings, but doing so saved her life. Is Jericho evil for making the right choice? Is he evil for being capable of making that choice? Cards' situation was so that she was, all things considered, quite quickly being killed by a pair of malevolent earrings which Social Grace had tricked her into wearing. They could not be removed from the flesh in which they were entrenched, for that would cause instant death, and Social Grace probably had no intentions of ever letting her remove the earrings safely.

Consequently, the only way to save Cards' life and defeat the Bad Guy was to cut the earrings-cum-flesh out of her ear. Jericho did what he did to save her, whether he likes her or not, whether she hates him or not. And, quite frankly, this way Jericho's intentions were all for her safety, no matter the consequences, whereas Social Grace—who worked for Elkington the Daddy of Evil in this case—betrayed her trust and tried to kill her. If anything, I'd see her become even further loyal to her cause and, by extension, Jericho. Also we wanted to have Jericho mutilate Cards, because we're evil and insane.

[Jojo Salatcia]

2775013

Also we wanted to have Jericho mutilate Cards, because we're evil and insane.

Yep. I got me my handy-dandy barrel of pain. Let's see what we've got here... Oooh! An iron maiden, waterboarding... crucifiction, stoning, defenstration, removing teeth with a claw hammer, general eye horror, amputations... Oooh, scaphism! Rob Schnieder films, aaaaaand lynching. Oh wait, we already did that one. Well then! On to the next pony!

[Thadius]

I think the incredibly dysfunctional relationship between Cards and Jericho would make for a very interesting romance sub-plot, involving huge amounts of self-loathing and liberal amounts of mental breakdowns.

His relations to Dust have sofar been relatively "normal" and is thus not as interesting in my book as the quite awkward and fumbling interactions between two broken ponies such as Cards and Jericho would be, not to mention the mental issues that would arise.

Then again they both might be killed off, I cant really tell.

Keep up the good work!

[Crushric]

2770589
The neat thing I've noticed about the character of Jericho is that he can pretty much function in most any sort of setting. He's probably have... a lot of fun in the Wasteland. Hell, maybe one of these days I'll get drunk and side a one-shot side-fic wherein Jericho ends up in the Wasteland and proceeds to have fun.

2770864
Caleb? Who is this Caleb? And, technically, I haven't described what Jericho looks like other than "tall" and "likes to dress like a cowboy".

2770870
Aww, schucks. Jojo is not incorrect when he says I'm convinced all I write is crap. I just do love hearing peoples' thoughts and opinion on these words I wrote.
In truth, when I was writing, I was convinced everyone was going to say stuff like:

Yeah, so I was readin' this ponyfic and the main character almost got raped by a girl and then he cuts part of another girls' ear off. Worst story ever. disliked and unfavorited.

Glad you like this meager tale I put out here!

2770918 2770989
Well, pony ears don't have earlobes and humans have them. Jericho cut a notch off, and he'll later compare how it looks like to a sharkbite out of the exterior-middle of her ear.

2771389
I like it when the reader has to decide themselves whether or not Jericho is the good guy, or even if he's being honest. Ambiguous wording helps, because clearly heroic heroes are no fun, even when they feel bad about things, and Jericho's habit of not feeling bad makes it even better (or worse)! Glad you're liking him!

2771486
:Evil Grin: Jericho's enemies are like a reverse Russian doll; you open one up and, like a TARDIS, there's a bigger thing inside it. But at least he's not fighting world-eating monsters like the Mane 6 do, he's fighting ponies a bit grayer than he is (or ponies better than him, if you want to interpret Jericho as a villain). I love anti-villains and ambiguity, if you couldn't tell. Where does it go from now? :Psychotic Smirk: The musical!
"Ich heiße Jericho!
Fick dich!
Ich lächle weil ichs mag.
Hi, wie gehts denn?
Ich wünsche und bereite euch
gern einen schönen Tag."
At least I caught you off guard with the Dust thing.

And those lines? I don't think I've used it before or anything. You'd think I'd remember using something like that which wasn't a brick joke before.

2771564
Was du hast mich geshrieben... Wer hätte das gedacht? (<— Dat hätt dä esu jesaat)

2771703
Aww, I'd've loved to see a line-by-line commentary with your thoughts on the lines themselves. I've never had one of those, and thought one'd be cool. Some other time, perhaps?

2771761

..perdition (from "perdere"...)

Hey! Don't you get ahead of me. That name is already taken by something else, something important, something not unlike an appropriately-named continent where Teutschland may or may not be. I assure you, Jericho's actions shan't slip under the radar after that little stunt...

2772617
Yes, certainly inspired by that.

2774894
Siffer pretty much said it better than I could've.

2775006
They had it comings; these waffles lied.

2776765
Ahoy, shipper! It certainly would be a curious dynamic: at once she'd have naughty thoughts while looking at his face, and in the same moment want to murder him. Once one she'd see a romantic object and the living embodiment of her every nightmare. At both the one who drives her suicidal yet gives her something to live for. Curious indeed. The wild card here (no pun intended) is Jericho himself.

Then again they both might be killed off, I can't really tell.

Don't you just love stories where anyone could die? I sure do! And I like to kill/maim literary figures, particularly my own!

[KingOfTheMuffins]

2777203

If you don't mind having a comment that puts your comment's length to shame, I'll be much obliged to do it next chapter. ^_^

[Crushric]

2777214
I don't mind at all! I'd find it a joy to read every last and individual thought someone has while reading, sort of like a stream of consciousnesses. A sort of "pick your brains" and "try to figure out what kind of masochist reads this story" sort of deal.

[KingOfTheMuffins]

2777243

"try to figure out what kind of masochist reads this story"

The one who's obsessed with multi-colored ponies, conceptualizes of how many ways it's possible to kill a person with a fruit (can coconuts cause enough cerebral trauma to kill a person? Call in the mythbusters!), has a soliloquy over some major philosophy everyday, and calculates the amount of energy it would take to manipulate the sun and move it on a whim. And that's only one one-billionth of the parts in an amalgam that forms my conscience.

I imagine the banana part would end up like this:

[monkeyXtypewriter]

2775013 i see that it was a necessary evil, i really do. i think its just me personnally thats freaked out by what went down other people might be screaming 'blood for the blood god!' but i still think it could have happened...better-er-er. i will take your comment on board though

[Crushric]

2778303
(Probably going to be dealin' with this sort of comment for a while, heh.) Am I fan? I am now, but only after creating Cards. See, I created a girl (originally a male before I thought a girl would work better) who looked like a playing card because I thought it was a neat little look. Then people in the comments mentioned this little "Project Horizons" story (as well as many people directly comparing Jericho to it). I only picked it up after writing chapter 4, though I did throw in one purposeful reference to it afterwards because a certain two characters here looked so similar, because I found that similarity to be kinda hilarious.

[.Tzeentch.]

wow i loved this chapter one of the best so far (imo)
i still miss the first jericho story and im still wondering if you will make warhammer imperim relics show up like you had hinted at in the original

[Victisaadi]

Oh mein gott. I learnt about this story YESTERDAY, and I've now read everything in it, and it is -glorious-.
A beautiful, yet unholy, mix of christianity, the crusades, the germanic language, what feels like hints at the WH40k Imperial universe, and now you bring up Oomph!, which is possibly my favorite band fullstop (with Dero being my favorite singer of all time).

Add that to excessive morbid, violent, and humorous actions, and a lot of things I've been thinking about myself recently, all strewn across the broken remnant of 'the line' between 'good' and 'bad', with sufficient reminder that "Good and bad are merely perspectives. The bad guy only ever sees what he's doing as 'good'."

And then, a Quest of the Manwhore reference. You truly are a talented writer...

~"Links rechts gradeaus, links rechts gradaeus...

Keiner kann dir sagen, wer die guten und die bösen sind
mein verlones Kind"~

(edit: Oh, and you have a Diablo 2 reference from the greatest old man in gaming, on your.. main page.. thing. Many writers spam memes and generics, few throw references to less commonly known things such as Oomph!, and even less scatter such things among the more common memes such as Cain, and all so faint. It's not like having a meme shoved down your throat, just one tantalizing you from beyond the edges of your vision.)

[Crushric]

2780578
I glad you think it's "glorious"! Really, it does my heart good to hear people's thoughts on this little story I put out. And I too feel that exact same way about Oomph! and Dero (which is why I have me the Oomph! albums I do). I'm no real fan of shoving memes into places, since I find them less funny in those ways.
And that song? Curious. Jojo is convinced that song is Jericho's themesong, but if Jericho had a themesong, it'd be Ooomph!'s Unter Deiner Haut. To me, it just sounds so like him, slow and malevolent, threatening yet poetic, clever and manipulative.
{My translation of the chorus: "I'm well aware that you'll miss me tonight. Come, let me into thy dreams... so that my curse thee haunts and thy heart corrodes. I am under thy skin."}
I hope to see thee and thy thoughts around here in the future!

[MessoriaAQ]

2780785 I guess that song could apply since Jericho can get pretty much unter meine Haut sometimes. You translated pretty accurate since they used "du" rather than "Ihr".
The only thing that annoys me about Ooomph! is that annoying microscopic drawl the singer has. It's small, yet highly distracting. Also, huzzah, you're once again a genius, germany. Couldn't watch it on YT.

[Crushric]

2781001
Dero has a drawl? Huh? How do those even work in German? Well, I didn't know that at all. S'pose it don't help none that I often learn how to properly say German stuff by listening to German music, which means that I probably slightly have elements of that same drawl. A Saxon accent?
Well, when I translate me these German songs, I tend to retain the German word order and use of thou, partially because of the archaic feeling it takes on, and partially because I was also so intrigued how understanding Shakespeare made German easier to understand. That word order and thou-ing makes it all feel more epic, I think. And I always wanted to understand how come saying something like "so that my curse thee haunts and thy heart corrodes" makes perfect (if archaic) sense to me in English. In fact, I will sometimes accidentally use the German word order/sentence construction in my English sentences: "I mind not", "Know you where it is?", "I can you help".
And Unter Deiner Haut is one of my all-time favorite songs, too. Every time I hear it, I think of Jericho doing things.

[MessoriaAQ]

2781094 I don't know whether "drawl" is the correct term for it. He overstesses Ös and Äs a bit, which isn't bad or even uncommon, just a bit distracting because I hear such things and if I hear them I concentrate on them instead of the music. It's still a nice song.

The whole thou business resembles the composing of "du" a lot. For obvious reasons such as the same inflection --> -(e)st. Complete topic shift: Do you think it is possible to ask questions without using the aux. verbs when using thou? I mean, there are phrases like "Lovest thou me?" or "Whither goest thou?" whereas the modern ones would be like "Do you love me?"

Dumb example: "Sprichst du Englisch?" --> "Do you speak english?" --> "Speakst thou english?"

[shtbird]

2777203
Caleb was a cowboy that rose from the dead to kill basically Satan. He spoke One-Liners and killed everything in his path. Indeed you didn't describe Jericho so I guess I shouldn't have made such a hasty conclu- Oh hey Jericho!
i53.photobucket.com/albums/g53/cswing1/darkwatch.jpg

I need to stop this...

[Jojo Salatcia]

2782351
I can't believe I never noticed that! I'm a disgrace! *Seppuku*

[shtbird]

2782551
Committing Sudoku RIP in Resees Pieces.

[Nightheart]

so i hammered through the first 8 chapters of this at work and i have to say, this is awesome. the language,love seeing latin and my wife was a german language major in college, is epic. the charecters are deep and relatable. its a joy to read. is it just me or is Jericho an elitist xenophobic prick, whitch is hilarious in its own special way. love the charecter though.

[SIGAWESOME]

2777243

I'd find it a joy to read every last and individual thought someone has while reading, sort of like a stream of consciousnesses. A sort of "pick your brains" and "try to figure out what kind of masochist reads this story" sort of deal.

Wrote the author a block of stream of consciousnesses comments. Authors love stream of consciousnesses comments. (I hope).
Anyway, ask and ye shall receive in all its inane mediocrity...

Well, it was partially armor, partially just soft padding. It was clearly just meant to look like medieval gear, and it was certainly the polar opposite of teutschen armor.

That has got to be a weird (for lack of a better term) feeling to see your country's ongoing deadly struggle against the forces of the Outer Darkness trivialized and sugar-coated into a form of entertainment at a resort town.

In fact, if I could randomly kill any animal, I’d kill me some dolphins, because dolphins were assholes. Seriously, dolphin males often killed baby dolphins for fun, and dolphins thoroughly enjoyed torturing fellow marine mammals to death. Dolphins were actually terrible creatures.

The more you know...
Jericho should get some dolphin sashimi and kill two metiphorical birds with one stone: he gets his fix of dead animal munchies and gets to murderize some of those bastard dolphins.

Or maybe I should follow Elkington home, dress up as a sexy clown, and scare the hell out of him in his sleep.

Sexy clowns standing over my bed? Do not want!
They float, they all float... and when you're down here with me, Elkington, you'll float too.

In Teutschland, honorable knightly combat was not something they ever taught you. However, we loved fighting honorable enemies—it meant our dirty, utterly “dishonorable” tactics would be all the more effective. Unfortunately, I wasn’t sure how to fight dirty when jousting.

If you ever find yourself in a fair fight, you have done something horribly, stupidly wrong...

Somehow, the first non-clown-related solution that came to my mind involved asking Cards if she was lactating. And if not, the plan then demanded that Dust and I work to trick Cards’ body into doing so. The plan ended with yogurt and Cards crying in the corner, so... how did this help me fight Duke Elkington—

2771564

Could Cards even give enough milk for an entire yogurt? I mean she's pretty small.

Too small for yoghurt perhaps, but what about a shot or six of kumis?

Juggernog was one hell of a drug and it needed its list of ingredients published.

I'll say! It is like PCP, methamphetamine, and adrenalin all packaged up in a readily available alcoholic liquor. Party time!

“Stop!” a mare screamed at the top of her lungs as I was almost home free. Everything fell silent as a little yellow mare came out from the curtain, a bruised green buck leaning against her shoulder. Scheiße. “Stop this farce!” She pointed at me. “This buck is an imposter—the real Sir Readynoble is right here!” The crowd gasped.

Of all the worst possible times to make that announcement. Now you will have to work twice as hard to convince everyone that what you are saying is not part of the show...

Does he think this is a part of the show? Roll with it! I fiddled with my helmet enough where I could speak clearly but not reveal my face. More drama that way. “I am but a poor peasant pony from the fields.”

And Jericho, being a complete bad ass, takes full advantage of the mare's blunder.

“Squirrel.”

The shibboleth returns...

“That’s hot!” The mare grabbed the wings on my helmet and forcibly tore the headgear off. “You’re hot! Kiss me!” With forehooves pinning my arms, it was rather hard to defend myself as she tried to kiss me, well, lick me. All I could do was look away, clench my mouth and jaw, and try not to cry for my mother. “Oh, so that’s how you wanna play this game, is it?” she giggled, taking her lips away from my literally licked lips.

Cherry: Do you want to play the rape game?
Jericho: No!
Cherry: That's the spirit!

You know, a nurse once told me that if you were you to cut that part off a stallion during such a time, it’d take about a minute for him to bleed to death.

Uhhh...
Did you ask the same nurse you asked about the physical effects of strangulation and hanging about this? That must have been an interesting conversation.
Crushric: What happens when you hang someone?
Nurse Friend: blah blah blah...
Crushric: Ok, great! Now how long would it take someone to bleed out if they were castrated?
Nurse Friend (furtively reaching for the phone to dial emergency services): Umm..

(All you are missing now is a description of that happens when you electrocute someone in their lower spine, and the most efficient techniques to cut tendons in order to cripple someone...)

Cherrypillar

The image that conjures up in my mind is so bonkers that I cannot help but chuckle every time I see that word.

You can either obey me or let her die. If she removes them, she dies. If I die, they go off fully and she dies. You have two choices. Better choose fast.

Two thoughts immediately popped into my head:
1. What happens if you cut the enervation earrings of bloody doom out of her ear?
2. Did Grace not think this through properly? Once Dust dies there will be nothing stopping Jericho from getting creative with the sexy clown suit and the yoghurt...

squicky, slicey, dicey ear surgery

I see Jericho has made his own "option 3". Poor Dust though. I cringed in sympathy at that part. Reminded me of "that scene" in 127 Hours

“An eel! I hate fish,”

heh heh heh...
Just wait until he sees Quarry Eels.

As an aside, I did find some sentences missing some bits:

It had a little moat all around it, a drawbridge, faux turrets and ramparts, torches, and an assortment of random banners hanging on the exterior walls <missing period?> About as stereotypical as could be imagined.

I pressed the base of her <missing word?> against her head to keep from simply ripping it off

2775243

... Rob Schnieder films ...

You sick sick person! That is just uncalled for!

[Jojo Salatcia]

2789336
I try.

[Puzzle Reader]

I added some stuff to the TV Tropes page from this: Double Standard Rape Female On Male (averted and lampshaded), Gender Bender (as a Noodle Incident), Sarcastic Confession, and A Man Is Always Eager got its own entry.