The Story of Reik: The Communist Revolutionary: MLP

by Reik

Chapter 7: Shock and Awe

REIK LOST FEELING in his legs. The numbing cold regained its lost ground. He was moving though the alleys of Canterlot and his lungs burned with each labored breath. He was drifting in and out of reality, the cold was claiming him. He remembered his task, and forgot it, then remembered it again. He had just passed another guard patrol and his heart pounded with fear, without Vladimir he felt a strong sense of vulnerability. He stopped in the alley and slumped against a wall. If his memory was correct, and he doubted it was, then the guarded entrance into the third level was just beyond the exit of the alley. He withdrew the black talisman from one of his coat pockets and glared at it. He knew that until it held the elements of harmony it was nothing more than a simple rock, but Reik still found calmness in the thought that he still held it. He relished the coming hour when he would acquire the elements, and then unveil the true power of the now simple stone that lay before him. He felt a sudden rush of sentiment between himself and the inanimate stone. It was much like him in a sense, simple, unthreatening, and cast aside. But if given time, then they both could blossom into an existence that would rival nations.

“Who are you? Show yourself!” Reik half understood, half disregarded the command, he didn’t care anymore. He suddenly realized that he was running with the guards in close pursuit. He turned quickly came to the exit of the alley and was greeted with a sudden rush of freezing wind. He was in a courtyard, no he thought, a street, a big one. By the looks of the architecture, the road he was on now must have been a well used highway. He heard voices, distant at first over the sound of his beating heart. He turned to find a massive wall reaching high above all other structures built in its wake. Reik gazed in awe of the massive construction before discerning its purpose. It was one of the walls that separated the levels of Canterlot. At its base was a small gap, a beautifully decorated hallway leading to the third level, tall and wide enough for two carriages to pass each other without hindrance. Its smooth walls where carved with the likeliness of many heroic figures in proud poses, and one other. Who was that one Reik thought, tall, both unicorn and pegasi? Reik suddenly remembered again, then he forgot again, but with every ounce of mental power he latched on to a few crucial memories: Celestia, the caches, and then escape. He was warmed with a rising feeling of determination. Reik registered several beings on the road, crowding around a large gate that cut the tunnel in two. The ponies, Reik’s dulled reflexes now realized them to be guards where shouting at him. Reik stepped towards the roadblock empowered, by what he could not tell, but he walked as if Canterlot was his, and death to any that defied that claim. Slowly, Reik decrypted their voices.

“Halt” cried one.

“Who are you?” yelled another. At least twenty guards stood before him, one he remembered as the one that aided the fallen warrior Vladimir had dispatched. Their armor was crusted with sheets of frost; they stood in unnatural positions due to the restricted movement. They stood in an awkward position, apparently their superior had taken the day off, another fault with this backward society we live in thought Reik. Without their precious leader, all resemblance of society and order will come crashing down. A lone guard took a step forward as if he intended to apprehend him. Reik’s grin widened. If you capture me then I’ll just die a horrible and fiery death a few hours later, so what’s the point he thought to himself. He took a casual step forward. A short giggle drifted through the air.

“Stop, who are you, answer me now!” The guard was almost hysterical, he knew that a great shadow had fallen over Canterlot, but evidently his superiors had hidden the full truth. Reik thanked his gullibility. He displayed the talisman almost with a swagger. He smiled wide, much to the distaste of the guards who cringed with fear at the disturbing display.

“I am Reik, revolutionary, founder of communism, destroyer of fascism and racism. But you my frozen friend can call me the angel of death, for death is the only gift I will bestow upon you and the bourgeois class you devote your worthless lives to uphold.” Reik noted out of the corner of his eye the smoke trail hurtling across the dark sky. He looked up, holding the talisman above his head. Reik looked to a large spire, he didn’t remember its significance or its operation, all he knew was that it had something to do with his predicament. He also knew that it was the destination of the peculiar smoke trail.

“Death” the phrase hung in the air, unopposed, for several short seconds. Almost immediately, the sound of thunder rocked Canterlot. The roads, buildings and even the very air reverberated with the earsplitting roar. For a moment it seemed that the whole city would tear itself apart in a frenzy of chaos and madness. One of the two spires atop the guard’s headquarters disappeared in a shower of flame and rubble. Fire and brimstone raced across the sky, casting bright slashes into the horizon like a paintbrush on a black canvas. The falling snow closest to the explosion condensed and fell as water to the ground. The structure of the building groaned with exertion, the remaining tower listed to one side, poised to collapse itself. Stampedes of smoke and debris raced down the surrounding streets and alleyways. Flames residing in the ravaged stump of the severed spire flickered through the smoke. In the air, smoke mixed with snow and a gentle haze of soot enveloped the city. The smoke had only just begun to gather as Reik raced through the mob of stunned ponies, all of whom gawked at the annihilation of the monument to the royal guard’s invincibility and power.

VLADIMIR RACED DOWN the narrow road, searching for the cache, scanning walls and door for any form of anomaly that could hint the location of a cache. The snow fall had subsided to a more manageable level and Vladimir’s vision was now unaffected by the elements. But almost in a tradeoff, the freezing winds where whipping at him from every direction. Vladimir cursed reality, he cursed the bourgeois, he cursed nature, and he cursed the royal guards. He relished his rage, drawing strength and warmth from the burning emotion. He skidded to a halt, almost losing his balance on the slick ground. A small storage room lay before him. Old and unused, its entrance was barricaded with planks o wood and warning signs. Vladimir cursed again to the fools that had just made his task slightly harder. He turned and kicked at the door, his legs nearly broke as they missed and struck against the white stone of an adjacent wall. Vladimir roared into the freezing winds curse after curse in his native tongue. On a second try his back legs passed almost unfettered through the decaying wood. Vladimir stormed into the room, searching for the cursed rocket he had laid there so long ago. He tossed barrel after barrel aside in his search. Vladimir chuckled at the thought of what Reik would say, should he ever know how he had just treated the precious and delicate explosives. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a long thin tube tumble out from under a crate. He ceased his current assault on a locked container to examine the new item. It was stone grey, almost invisible in the damp storage room. It tip was rounded, its other end a gaping maw with a thin cord running out its mouth. Vladimir nudged the explosive to examine it further. He immediately withdrew his hoof when three fins extended from the side of the tube with an audible crack. Vladimir gazed at the odd contraption at his feet. He searched his stores of knowledge for any bit of information that might justify and explain such a reaction.

Almost instantly he remembered. Fins, yes that’s what they are called, thought Vladimir. He remembered one of the many celebrations he had attended in Canterlot. It was those fins that kept the fireworks traveling strait, and not hurtling out of control. He dragged the missile out of the room, disregarding any thoughts of caution. He laid the rocket in the snow and raced to the shattered remains of the door in search of planks that could be used to form some kind of stand or rack. He returned to the missile with a bundle of wood and began setting up his firing position. Vladimir dug two planks into the snow, forming an X styled rack, and gathered snow around the planks base for further support. He gently laid the rocket on the rack, not for fear of damaging the weapon but for fear of damaging his creation. Vladimir took in a sharp breath as the stand groaned slightly under the rockets weight. He waited several seconds, hoping the jumble of wood wouldn’t tumble down. The stand succeeded against the rockets weight and stood firm. Vladimir sighed lightly and looked up to examine his target. The tower was close, just four blocks away. Hitting the structure would be easy, doing so without taking lives though was different task altogether. Vladimir closed his eyes and consulted his memory for guidance. The tower broke off into two minor spires near its peak; Vladimir searched his memory for their significance. One he remembered was the quarters of the master of the guards. Vladimir repressed the urge to fire the weapon at that tempting target. The other, his memory strained for this last bit of knowledge. The archives, yes thought Vladimir, the records of all arrests, employees, and other legal records of the royal guard. Vladimir suddenly remembered how empty they were. The records where never occupied, maybe by one or two ponies a month visited the building. Vladimir turned to adjust the position, bobbing his head up and down, tracing imaginary lines from his position to the target; he adjusted for drop and wind. He rose, convinced of his works completion, and took one more satisfied look at his creation. His grinned suddenly dropped into a frown and he roared into the freezing wind. How will I light the fuse? He thought.

Vladimir tore at his armor, he was tired, he was angry, and he was annoyed. Every ounce of patience was gone. He ripped of a bolt from his armor; several pieces of the harness fell off in response. Vladimir tore is helmet of and held it close to the fuse. He began bashing the bolt against the side of the helmet, sounds of impact carried down the street. Vladimir shouted curses at the rocket as he assaulted the helmet. Sparks flew in every direction each time the bolt struck the helmets metal. On the fifth strike, a lone spark flew onto the rockets fuse; the spark caught flame and rushed up the cord. It was immediately snuffed out by a gust of frozen wind just as the cord entered the tube. With another cry of anguish Vladimir adjusted his body to a pointy where his form would serve as a shield against the biting wind. With a cry of defiance he set upon the helmet with a vicious gusto. The helmet groaned and bent under his unrelenting attacks, soon the headgear looked more of scrap than of some tool of protection. On the eighth assault the helmet finally came apart in a shower of sparks. Vladimir turned the broken, collection of metal near the fuse entrance. Suddenly Vladimir’s vision went white.
He rotated quickly and ran. The sounds of thunder and fire where booming behind him. The rocket had launched this he knew. He slammed into something hard and grunted in pain. His world was spinning, his ears where ringing and his vision were disabled, he wanted to cry out, lash out at whatever had done this too him, he was in chaos. Vladimir’s vision began to steadily return as he regained his footing, pushing up against the wall for support. The world just began to clear when another blinding light enveloped. Vladimir averted his eyes from its source, and began running. The ground shook, had he not been the one that caused such a disturbance, Vladimir would have guessed Canterlot had been dropped kicked by a monster. Added to his disoriented state, he stumbled and fell again. His lip split as his head connected with the ground. With the metallic taste of blood in his mouth and a sharp ringing in his ears, Vladimir’s crawled into an alley, desperate to escape, the madness he had wrought.