Book Two: Chapter Twenty-Three: The War of the Summer Sun; Sweetie Belle
Myths and Birthrights
By Tundara
Book Two: Duty and Dreams
Chapter Twenty-Three: The War of the Summer Sun; Sweetie Belle
Sweetie’s descent to the Lowest Ward of Southstone Spires was joined by many others. The undead occupants of the city thronged towards the commotion caused by the bombards, drawn as moths to a flame. Mindless zombies jostled into a shuffling sea while the ghouls and ghasts slipped across rain slicked rooftops and silently passed through shadowy alleyways.
But it was the greatest of the undead that formed a procession around her.
Bearing crimson and white banners portraying the heraldry of Southstone’s royal house, now with the addition of a blood drip motif, the former griffon nobility marched in practiced lock-step. In life they’d been knights and questors, bannercats of the crown that formed the military elite. Now, with faces pale and sunken with insatiable hunger, they were more frightening to behold. Polished plate barding clattered, lances waved in the air, and glowing emerald eyes were fixed ahead behind steel helms.
A slight tremor worked its way up Sweetie’s spine.
She tried to take different roads, but there were few that ran between the tiered wards. Inevitably she was forced to cantor alongside the loathsome creatures. Her horn itched to draw Durandal and strike them down. Only concern over whether it would break Hades’ commands kept her in check.
The thump of warm bodies pushing up on either side broke Sweetie out of her trance-like march.
The lower wards of the city were cramped, buildings tightly packed and leaning over the roads, pressing the building horde together. Looking over Sweetie was shocked to see it was Apple Bloom next to her, Scootaloo with Talona on her back on her other side.
“What are you doing here?” Sweetie demanded loudly.
“We ain’t letting you go off alone again. Not ever, you hear me. So take all the arguments I know you wanna scream and keep ‘em under your hat,” Apple Bloom shot back with surprising fire. Sweetie was a little shocked by her friend’s vehemence. “You need our help, and that is that.”
Slowing, Sweetie tried to round on Apple Bloom, but the press of bodies prevented her from turning. She had to settle for shouting over her shoulder. “Like I needed your help against the Diamond Dogs? Or when that crazy filly had me fighting to the death for her amusement?! Look at her! She is excited because there are ponies trying to attack the city.”
Chest heaving, Sweetie’s anger burned in her mouth. Why, she asked herself over and over, had so stuck her neck out for Talona when Hades came. Why had the disc become so mad? So full of misery and darkness. Why had the princesses allowed such horrible things to happen?
“She’s a filly who has been raised by the Gaeans and griffons. O’course she don’t have her head right. That is why she needs us to set her straight.” Apple Bloom shot back, her glare burning hot.
Stopping in the street, Sweetie fired back, “She’s a sociopath!”
“So, we teach her how to be better. Ain’t that what Princess Celestia would do?” Apple Bloom put on her innocent smile, like they were in their old clubhouse, discussing ways to find their Cutie Marks.
Well, Sweetie had her mark now, and it was for something society shunned; fighting. Whether it was about protecting those she loved, or just fighting in general was unimportant. Nopony in Ponyville had fighting marks. If the town had any guards, Sweetie somehow doubted even they’d have had such cutie marks. Theirs would have been for things like ‘Investigating’, ‘Settling Arguments’, or some other silly, coddled thing. Even the ponies in the army and navy seemed to have their marks more about either running logistics or sailing a ship, respectively.
The military was a useless relic. Its complete lack of effectiveness had been put on display too many times in the last couple years. Especially by the changeling invasion.
She was an aberration. Somepony to be shunned and ignored if they ever made it back to ‘polite’ society. Doomed to become an outcast by everypony. It was only a matter of time until even Apple Bloom and Scootaloo grew distant and left her behind. That would be the best for them. She’d only drag them down with her through association.
If they ever made it home, of course.
A deep snort echoing in her throat, Sweetie resumed her march. “Celestia? Who knows! Probably leave Talona to inflict misery on everypony, and only when things got really, really bad, would she send somepony else to clean up the mess.” Sweetie spat out the accusations like they were mud.
Frowning, Apple Bloom shook her head. “Princess Celestia does her best, just like everypony else.”
Failing to hold back a deep sigh, Sweetie fixed her gaze forward. “Go back to the castle, Bloom. Take Scoots with you and stay where it is safe.”
“No way!” Scootaloo interjected, voice cracking with emotion. She seemed to be a bit better after her earlier panic attack. She marched with head held high and shoulders stiff as if on a proper military parade. “The three of us stick together, no matter what.”
“Besides, who says the castle is any safer?” Apple Bloom added. “Where is the first place everypony is going to go charging? The castle of course.”
If she weren’t being pushed along in a crowd of horrific undead griffons and shuffling zebra zombies, Sweetie would have face-hoofed. Her friend’s logic was beyond unsound, as no doubt Apple Bloom was already aware.
It took far longer than Sweetie anticipated to reach the lowest ward of Southstone Spires. Where it seemed only minutes for Hades to go from the gates to the palace, it took Sweetie almost a day and a half. It was like traveling to a whole different city, winding back and forth between from the palace, through the gates of the Middle Ward, and down to the Lowest Ward on switchback roads. With her friends she spent the night resting at an inn at the bottom of the Middle Ward, half-way down Kiligrifjaro.
From the windows they watched siege leave blazing orange streaks across the night sky until the hour grew late and the fillies curled up together on a large bed. All except Sweetie. Tension running down her back in steel cords, she sat up all night making sure nothing tried to snatch her friends.
Morning came, and after scrounging a light breakfast, they were on their way. The Middle Ward was utterly empty except for them, the sleepless undead of the city having all congregated in the Lowest Ward.
Little was said the rest of the trip down the mountain. Sweetie brooded the whole way, her lips pinched in a sour frown. Apple Bloom and Scootaloo tried to cheer her up, but she always shot down their attempts with a surly, “Go back to the castle.”
Her coat itched, and Sweetie constantly shot furtive glances at every corner. She could feel somepony watching her, a voice in her head screaming that she should take Apple Bloom and Scootaloo back to the palace. But, she continued down the mountain, like a moth drawn to a flame.
The Lowest Ward was packed shoulder to shoulder with the monstrosities that now claimed the city home. A heavy rain pelted the district out of an otherwise empty sky, the clouds unable to pass through the barrier encompassing the city. Leaving the main road, Sweetie and the others made their way up to a narrow path that ran the length of the wall.
In the Lowest Ward, the walls were thick and squat, with emplacements for ancient onagers every fifty hoof-lengths. Positioned as it was on the mountainous slopes, no walls fully encapsulated Southstone Spires. There was little need as the mountain itself provided ample defenses with impassable slopes and sudden gullies that prevented any alternate means of entering the city other than flying.
There were fewer undead off the main thoroughfare. It was only a short while later they reached the Lowest Gatehouse. Clambering up to the parapets, they looked out and beheld the grand siege of Southstone Spires spread out before them.
From their vantage point a quarter of the way up the mountain they had a clear view of the battle between the zebras and griffons.
As half of the zebrican army clashed with the griffons to the west, the remainder marched up the winding roads to one of the three gates into the city. Behind them cannons hurled magic shot at the glowing blue shell that continued up from the walls. Cannonballs shrieked as they slammed into stone and magic walls. Ripples flowed across the surface of the Southstone’s aetheric wall from dozens upon dozens of impacts, but the walls gave no signs of yielding.
Shields placed over their backs, several dozen zebras hauling battering rams up the roads. The shields were unnecessary. The ancient onagers on the city walls stayed silent, and it was the salivating faces of the undead peering at the soldiers, not archers. If Southstone had been next to open fields, rather than on the side of a mountain, it would have been a simple matter to breach her gates. Even as it was, it was only a question of time until the gates fell.
Sweetie sighed, and shook her head.
As she watched the battering rams approach Sweetie began to frown. The lower gatehouse was wrong, its black stonework incongruent with the rest of the city.
A hulking monolith of black basalt next to the sandstone works of the rest of the wall, it stuck out like a sore hoof. Gargoyles rimmed its weatherworn face, gates of rust encrusted iron held shut with gold hued grasping talons as if wrapped in the arms of a giant diamond dog.
A palpable aura of wrongness permeated the air. Sweetie was unsure if it was the gates themselves, or all the undead that bothered her more.
Undead monstrousities jostled against her, fighting to reach the blue shell keeping them trapped in the city. They scrapped their withered, decayed talons over the shield, pitiful moans creating a rolling, disconcerting chorus.
“Cool,” Scootaloo exclaimed as she leant over the parapets. There was a little crackle as her head passed through the shimmering blue barrier extending from the walls. Jumping in surprise, Scootaloo began to stumble forwards, pressed in from behind by the undead.
“Whoa there!” Apple Bloom clamped her teeth onto Scootaloo’s tail, and pulled her friend back from the edge.
“That was close,” Scootaloo chuckled and rubbed the back of her head.
Sweetie sighed, trying to calm her racing heart, and stared at the writhing sea of bodies below the mountain.
“There ain’t anything we can do to stop this, is there?” Apple Bloom said softly, sadness filling her yellow eyes. Her shoulders slumped, and she leaned against Scootaloo for support.
As they watched a group of griffons swept up out of the battle, gathered near the bottom of the clouds, and then dived back towards the battle. They passed just a few ponylengths away, almost within reach.
“Gilly!” Talona shouted with glee.
What happened next unfolded in slow motion.
Talona jumped towards the top of the parapet. Apple Bloom and Scootaloo both grabbed at Talona, shouting in unison for her to stop. Jump halted, Talona tilted into a forward spin, lurching Apple Bloom and Scootaloo off-balance. Sweetie spun on her hooves as Apple Bloom and Scootaloo’s yells echoed over the battlements. She tried to shove her way towards her friends and reached out with her magic. Something jostled into Sweetie, a mad scramble ensuing to reach the hole Talona had made. Sweetie on the side of the head, her magic guttering out just as it was clamping down on Apple Bloom and Scootaloo’s tails.
Sweetie’s last sight of Apple Bloom, Scootaloo, and Talon were the trio tumbling down the cliffside towards the waiting army below as the hole in the barrier slammed shut, severing a zombie’s leg in the process.
Screaming for her friends, Sweetie was knocked backwards over the edge of the walls. Eyes widening, heart leaping into her throat as she fell, Sweetie cartwheeled her legs trying to latch onto anything to halt her descent towards the wet cobblestones. Instead of a yielding road, she met the soft, prickly embrace of straw heaped on a wagon. Gasping and spitting straw, she scrambled out of the wagon, and found herself in the even more cramped street before the obsidian gates.
“No! No, no, no!” Sweetie repeated the word over and over, trying to push her way through the throng back to the wall, but the press of bodies was too tight.
And her friends would have already…
Sweetie clamped her eyes tightly shut, forcing the thoughts out of her head.
“Hades! Celestia! Luna? Iridia or Twilight? Please. Somepony, anypony, help them. Please.”
Half expecting a miracle, Sweetie looked up, and her hopes were smashed.
Just like her friends on the rocks beneath the mountain.
The image of them, broken and twisted, forced itself into Sweetie. She tried to push it away, but it only became stronger.
She’d failed them.
No, Celestia had failed them. Celestia, Luna, Iridia, and Twilight. All the alicorns.
The princesses refused to come.
They let Scootaloo and Apple Bloom…
“Why does this keep happening?” She sobbed, jaw tight with the fanning flames of hatred. “Why won’t they do something? Why is everything so wrong? Why won’t you help me? Why have you turned your back on me?”
Sweetie fell to her knees, mud splashing over her chest, mane slick across her face in the pelting rain.
Why was the disc so cruel and unfair? Where was the justice?
This was all Talona’s fault.
That stupid, stupid filly had killed her best friends.
And, of course, she’d be fine. She was one of the oh-so-important alicorns, afterall.
It wasn’t right that everypony else had to suffer, but not Talona.
If only there was someway to make her pay…
“Call Her name,” rattled a discordant voice in her head, alien among her racing thoughts. Sweetie gasped as if she’d fallen into an icy pool. “And She will pour Her flame into your vessel, and nothing will be beyond your grasp. The alicorns abandon you. But, She will not. All you need do is call out to Her. Save your friends. Save your world. Or, see it all burn. It will be your decision alone. If you but call Her name.”
Though the abomination had never said its masters’ name, it came as easy to Sweetie as her own.
Her tongue burned as the name filled her mouth, like she’d bitten into a glowing ember. It hurt trying to keep the name contained, to hold back its uttering. Throwing back her head she let unleashed the name to the uncaring sky.
“Astaroth!” Sweetie screamed, her horn alighting with magic pulled by the foul name.
She poured all the pain that had fallen on her young withers these past few months into the cry. All the anger that had grown to the proportions of the oldest dragons, growling in a restless cavern at the core of her heart. All the bitterness that seeped through every sinew of her body until all the disc appeared utterly bleak and devoid of any justice.
Lightning crackled through the storm, and Kiligrifjaro trembled. Sol dimmed as she shivered and a shadow stretched across the disc.
Yanked forward by some invisible force, Sweetie’s vision went black. Through the thinned boundaries between realms Sweetie plunged. Yet, she could still feel the rain on her face, the loamy stench of the undead horde curled in her nostrils, and the cold cobblestones never vanished beneath her hooves.
Sight returned, and before her stretched a wintery wasteland. Gnarled, frost choked trees thrust out of snow encrusted with rime. Icicles like curved talons dangled from bare branches, threatening at any moment to drop and tear through the unwary below. Tilted towers made of black ice loomed in the distance. Black obelisks floating over their tops, loops of massive chains binding them to the towers. Between the towers rolled a thick fog pierced by single meandering road that linked them to a bleak crystalline palace. Icy thorns clawed from the sharp edged walls in jagged spires that glimmered like obsidian talons. Just seeing the edifice scratched Sweetie’s eyes raw.
She was yanked again and catapulted over the frozen wastes.
Doors wide enough for a dozen ponies to stride through side to side without touching each other flung themselves open at her approach. Shrivelled bodies impaled on spikes filled the chamber beyond. Skulls dangling in barbed wire nets from the ceiling formed ghastly chandeliers, torchlight flickering in their sockets. Faces twisted with fury covered the walls, a continuous, moaning wail echoing throughout the palace from their fleshless lips.
Deeper and deeper into the unholy palace Sweetie plummeted until she found herself at the heart of the frozen realm, and before it’s unchallenged queen.
Astaroth rested on a throne of rime encrusted, cloven shields, a gaunt figure that loomed over the gigantic hall. A crown of frozen blood adorned the Queen of Wrath, a thin, lanky mane hanging in damp wisps from between the glimmering ruby spires. Her face was malformed and repulsive, flesh taut over a deformed, flat skull, hooked teeth visible behind cracked lips that oozed black blood. In place of her eyes burned crackling flames in empty sockets. Delicate wisps of torn satin draped her otherwise pale, naked form. From the ceiling hung great chains, each as thick as a pony, that hooked through the flesh of her shoulders, arms, hips, and thighs. With the slightest movement of the monolithic figure they rattled with a thunderous cacophony, and spears of ice cascaded in a deadly rain.
A seven fingered hand swung over Sweetie’s head, talons draping down to create a cage around her.
“My herald has done well this day,” thrummed a voice like the calving of a glacier in Astaroth’s throat. “So much anger and bitterness. So much desire to see the wrongs committed to her redressed. And power too. An alicorn has touched her, given her but the most minor of protections. Not enough. Never enough. The alicorns quickly forget and discard their champions once they no longer have a purpose. What was hers? Ah… Discord. Woe. Suffering. Yes, yes, I see. Such a tragic tale of betrayal by the ones who should have protected her.”
From her throne Astaroth arose to tower over Sweetie Belle.
“It has been some time since one so worthy of my blessing has graced my palace.”
Talons scraped across the ground and plucked Sweetie up. At their touch she was crushed beneath an avalanche of hared. Fathomless bitterness swallowed everything. Primordial rage burned through her, igniting mane and tale into columns of white fire. She curled in on herself, writhing in ecstatic agony as Astaroth’s blessing crackled into her.
“Vengeance will be delivered. Scorn will be answered. The disc’s injustices will be rectified. Or it will burn.”
With this command, Astaroth dropped Sweetie, and straightened back on her throne.
Sweetie plummeted through clouds of bitter anguish. They boiled and crackled with jagged tongues of acrimonious lightning, dark purple-white in the reddish haze. She reached out a hoof, eager for the power promised. For the ability to rectify the alicorns’ mistakes. In a scrapping hiss the clouds rushed towards her and into her, filling her with so much undiluted power. She couldn’t withstand such seething aether, her small form full beyond bursting.
Wrath so pure and blinding consumed every fibre of her being, and she let it.
Her vision turned red, and then white.
The gentle rain evaporating on her face was the first indication that Sweetie was fully back on the disc. She took a deep breath, and tasted sweet anger on the wind. A feast of rage waiting to be harvested.
Looking up Sweetie found herself standing half-again her height over the undead griffons about her. Their glowing eyes settled on her, and slowly they gave way, the more intelligent sweeping into low bows. Primal hunger and hatred for the living pulsed like the beats of their former hearts in the undead host. A wrath magnified a thousand fold by the chances to feast Hades had denied them. They despised the mortals for possessing life when their own had been stolen so cruelly.
Without speaking Sweetie stepped towards the great iron doors. With a shrieking ring she drew Durandal. The sword glowed red-hot in her aura, the air about the blade distorted by waves of heat. A roar sounded from Sweetie’s throat. Blinding light burst from the ancient sword as she brought it down on the door and in a single swing cleaved it in half. There was an echo like a thousand strikes of thunder as the top half of the door slid and then slammed to the ground. With a shove of her magic the bottom half joined the top, and the way out of the city was clear.
Howling with glee the undead swarmed around Sweetie and down the mountain towards the embattled armies on the fields below. Around the undead flowed a thick fog that poured out of the sundered gates, down the cliff, and out onto the fields.
At an almost sedate pace Sweetie strode from the city, unfurling elegant, leathery wings as she did. Blue-hot flames sprouted around her hooves, tail, and mane. Her horn became twisted, and gnarled like a weather-worn branch. Durandal floated by her side, a plume of incandescent magic growing from the blade. Each step made the disc tremble, for she had become the Avatar of Wrath. And it felt… Justified.
Her grin grew wicked, anticipation bubbling in her stomach, imagining the faces of the alicorns when she set right the disc’s many wrongs. When she did what they refused to do. She could sense Talona, just below her, out there on the battlefield.
“Talona!” Sweetie roared, and the clouds responded with jagged tongues of lightning and deep, booming thunder.
Half-way up the winding road, the battering ram and its attendant soldiers were overrun in an instant. Throats were torn apart by ravenous maws, others withered into husks by cursed claws. Zebras at the back jumped over the cliff, deciding to risk the sheer drop rather than contend with the monstrosities consuming their compatriots.
Faster and faster the undead surged, Sweetie picking up her own pace. The zebras trembled in their lines as the undead came towards them like a rotting tidal wave. Zombies and animated skeletons formed the bulk of the horde, with shrieking wraiths gliding above. Interspersed among them were the greater monstrosities, ghouls lopping along on gangly legs, and fampyr nobles striding with bleak purpose, directing the flood of horrors towards the tightest zebra formations.
Drums sounded, hesitant at first but increasing quickly with urgency, directing the zebras to prepare for the charge. Dread rippled across the front ranks. They set their teeth and spears as the undead spilled down the cliff face. A series of bangs rippled along the zebras’ ranks, smoke obscuring their lines from the undead wave. With a heavy patter hoof-cannon shot sank deep into rotting flesh. The first line of undead stumbled, and were subsequently trampled by the mindless horde rushing towards warm, tantalizing blood.
For the final time that day there was a mighty crash as one army slammed into another.
Through the charnel fields Sweetie strode, a burning white pyre leaving a trail of ashen bodies in her wake. She cleaved through undead and living alike, her line unwavering towards Talona. Near the back of the zebra ranks, Talona screamed as Sweetie approached. The dahkrit stood around the alicorn filly, and around them prowled a ring of fiery lions.
“You killed them!” Sweetie raged. Wrath clouded all thoughts but one; destroy the filly that stole her friends.
She raised Durandal high, a crimson gleam on the sword’s blade.
“You killed my best friends!”
The first spell struck her on the left shoulder. Wicked orange flames curled through her fur. She let out a little grunt and pushed through the magical fire as it slipped over her unable to so much as singe a single strand of hair. Without looking away from Talona, Sweetie swung Durandal with all her might at the ifrit who had cast the spell. The ifrit reacted too slowly. With a grinding squeal enchanted metal cleaved the spirit from throat to tail. A mangled howl escaped dying lips, and the ifrit crumbled to the muddy earth in a pile of glowing embers. A similar scream erupted from one of the zebras around Talona, his eyes rolling into his skull so only the whites were visible, froth falling from his lips as he crumpled into a twitching pile.
As if it had been a signal, the other ifrit charged. All except for the largest. She stood back with a wide snarl as a scorching cone of intense flames issued from her mouth.
Sweetie met their charge head on. An ifrit latched onto her side as one of its fellows was cut down. Molten hot fangs and claws sank into her flesh, but only left shallow wounds. Another latched onto her left hind leg just below the knee, while still another went for her throat. The last ifrit leapt through drifting embers, fangs and talons spread wide. Like the lions they resembled, the fiery spirits pounced onto Sweetie from all sides.
In a blur of motion Sweetie curled her left foreleg around the ifrit on her side, and hurled it away with a terrific swing. Midair it met the leaping ifrit and both were sent tumbling into a sprawling heap. Jerking herself forward, she pulled her leg from the jaws of the ifrit behind her, fangs scraping across bone. Legs cocked, and then snapped out in a ferocious buck that struck the ifrit squarely on it’s broad face. With a crack its head was twisted almost backwards on its neck, and it too died.
Durandal returned to her side, and together pony and sword continued their unstoppable march towards Talona. Her eyes never wavered from the small alicorn. All her attention was on that little, dark pony. The ifrit were no more than flies. Minor irritants to be swatted aside. The wounds inflicted by the ifrit sizzled shut before she’d stepped beyond their ashes.
Only Lord Halphamet remained between Sweetie and her prize.
The large stallion snorted, and pawed at the ground as if he was going to charge.
Sweetie pre-empted him with a telekinetic swat the sent him and his ifrit flying.
Where the Empress’ Hoof had stood huddled Talona. Around the alicorn filly dozens of zebras soldiers cringed, threw down their weapons, and tried to flee. They were caught by the undead bounding along in Sweetie’s wake, filling the hole she’d made in the army’s lines.
Silent in her boundless hate, anger so bitter it locked her jaw shut, Sweetie stared down at the tiny, trembling form of Talona. Durandel floated over her head, and then came down angled at Talona’s throat.
Out of the corner of her eye Sweetie saw a flash of white fling itself from the sky.
Durandal blazed white-hot, and with a deafening clang impacted on Aegis’s round face. Fleur skidded across the blood slicked earth, hooves churning up long furrows as she desperately tried to slow down and come to a halt over Talona’s prone form. Pallas twirled over the shield, driving Sweetie back a short step, just enough for Fleur to reach down with a wing and scoop up the trembling filly.
“Sweetie Belle, stop this!” Fleur shouted, her voice carrying over the clamour of the battlefield. With each word a deep note of aurichalcum striking aurichalcum resounded as Durandel battered into Aegis.
Fury evident in every rigid line of her body, Sweetie pounded Aegis with unrelenting hate. “Another pony who tried to steal my sister… Who steals my revenge! And now a loathsome alicorn! I’ll just destroy you as well!”
Sadness flowed over Fleur. Her startling blue eyes glowed bright with Power, and she slowly shook her head.
“Rarity would be appalled. It would break her heart to see what has happened to you.”
“Don’t you dare speak her name!”
The ground trembled as Sweetie launched herself at Fleur with even greater vigor.
And Fleur did not balk. Her hoofwork, sloppy at first, quickly found the flow of Sweetie’s strikes. Eyes darting to follow Durandel’s exceptional speed slowed, and settled onto Sweetie’s face. Flustered breaths evened out as if Fleur were doing nothing more than strolling through a park. Resignation and peace cloaked Fleur, while brutish hatred and burning rage were Sweetie’s armour.
Fleur’s calm demeanor only heightened Sweetie’s rage.
“Nopony else has the right to say her name!”
Every blow, no matter how strong, no matter how cunning, was met by shield or spear. Fleur began to move Pallas to intercept Durandel before Sweetie had even started her swings. Somehow, she knew Sweetie’s attacks before Sweetie herself.
Around them the mortals and undead moved as if in sticky sap, motions slow and languid as alicorn and demon battled at impossible speeds. So much power flowed through Sweetie, and yet she was unable to catch Fleur. This pampered, pompous, presumptive pony who’d dared try to steal away her sister.
Who’d wanted to take her Rarity away for herself.
A frustrated scream burned in Sweetie’s throat.
Why? Why? Why?
Why couldn’t she get her revenge?
Why couldn’t she stop bad things from happening?
Why couldn’t she protect anypony?
Sweetie didn’t even realise she howled each accusatory question.
“Sweetie, I loved Rarity too,” Fleur spoke softly, her swings growing faster, more fluid as she lept, parried, and blocked. “Her loss pains me every day.”
Tears flowed down Sweetie’s face.
“Then bring her back!” Sweetie screamed. “Then bring back my friends!”
A swing that would have taken Fleur’s head was ducked as casually as going under a branch. Thrusts aimed at Fleur’s heart were danced around as if she were on a ballroom floor. Cleaving blows found only hard packed earth as they entered the fog pooling at the base of the cliff where Apple Bloom and Scootaloo had fallen.
Somewhere in the muck and filth and blood would be their unmoving bodies.
The image of them lying broken drove Sweetie into a greater frenzy. Her swings became stronger, but sloppier. Every blow made the disc quake and cut deep gorges into Kiligriffjaro’s side.
“Why did they die!?” Sweetie demanded, panting as she brought Durandel up to her side in a high guard. “Why must everypony I love leave me!?”
“Sweetie!” Somepony yelled, their voice distant and almost lost in the din of the battle.
Caught off guard, Sweetie twisted about and Durandel was brought down with all her infernal might. A heavy clang boomed across the savannah as Pallas intercepted the blade and diverted it into the ground next Scootaloo and Apple Bloom.
Shock rocked Sweetie onto the back of her hooves as her dead friends emerged from the smoke of the battle. Warm, living legs wrapped themselves around her neck, and faces buried themselves into her shoulders.
Durandel clattered to the ground.
“B-but, you’re dead!” Sweetie protested, sinking to her knees so she could wrap her hooves around her most precious friends. “I thought you dead!”
“She saved us,” Apple Bloom said softly as Gilda limped out of the smoke, leaning heavily against Rainbow Dash. “She saved us.”
Sweetie blinked through the tears streaming down her cheeks and from her chin. A single, unending howl of grief wracked her body. Into it she poured the last of her rage. The flames of Wrath blazed higher and then guttered. Spent.
Sobbing, Sweetie buried her face between her friends.
Fleur smiled, and lifted Talona from her back. Tiny, black hooves reached for her. “Mommy!” Talona joyously whimpered. Crystalline tears rimmed Fleur’s brilliant eyes as she brought Talona into a hug of her own.
“Mommy?” Fleur half-laughed and half-sobbed, emotion welling in her throat. “Are you okay, little one?”
So young, so little, Talona nodded and clutched Fleur tighter as if afraid that if she let go Fleur would disappear. Fleur clung to her just as tightly, her whole body shaking
“This is why Authea sent me east. It was never about freeing me from Athena. Jusqu'où pouvait-elle voir?”
The Battle of the Summer Sun came to a close, and everypony breathed sighs of relief at being reunited at long last. Sister held sister. A new mother held the foal of a goddess with whom she’d shared her body, and even her soul.
Stats
Page generated in 0.053 seconds
Total duration
932 users online
1,418,553 hits today, 2,280,440 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
"she had become the Avatar of Wrath. And it felt… Justified." This felt so true, how many can say they have been brought to the brink and this low without being broken. I don't fault her at all for falling this low to wanting everything to burn.
Holy hell...
9893831
I'd hoped that I'd set up enough that Sweetie's actions and choices were understandable. I wasn't so sure and sat on the chapter the past few weeks mulling it over.
9893920
Is that a good 'Holy Hell', or a bad 'Holy Hell'?
9893935
More like a 'Welp, shit just went down' holy hell
A little filly was able to turn an avatar of wrath, I mean sure took the kid suffering a living hell to get that far but wow. The Belle family just can't catch a break, first Rarity and now Sweetie getting turned like this. Yeesh.
It's good that Fleur managed to stop Sweetie. An Avatar of Wrath can't fix wrongs of course in contrast to what she thought Sweetie's actions would have resulted in more wrongs. I wonder how Rarity is going to react when she finally returns to Equestria. I also doubt that Sweetie Belle's interpretation of how she would be treated by others is correct but she's in such a state that she can't see any good in the world.
9893989
Both fell in their own ways.
And now we just hope that Twi does not end up as something worse than the thing she's trying to stop...
9895031
To be fair to sweetie like I said in another comment, the girl been through living hell. I mean just what happened to Rarity alone would reallyyyy mess up a kid, that was her dearly beloved big sister and...Rarity had anything but a kind death. Pretty sure the mare would of rather burned to death than what she was put through before she died. Little girl getting even an inkling of how badly her big sister suffered before dying, would do some real damage to the child's mind. Add all the other stuff dumped on her head, and I doubt even an adjusted Adult would of handled that mental beating too well. Well that and the cursed items and stuff.
9895262
We'll see if it is worse or not soon. Hopefully. >.<;; My writing speed has been rather poor of late.
9895031
Sweetie's taking a very bleak view of everything at the moment. Poor filly.
9895576
I really put Sweetie and Rarity through the wringer. More so than any other characters. Gilda is the next closest, along with Apple Bloom and Scootaloo due to them being with Sweetie through most of her trials.
I'm not a huge fan of this chapter, specifically. Sweetie Belle full Avatar of Wrath, BRILLIANT!!! Her caving 2,000 or fewer words later, not so much. I get that this has been a LONG journey, but Sweetie's final battle felt rushed, and I don't buy Fleur's transformation into Super-fighter Mark ll. Again I get it, and it's probably been planned for a long time, it's just not as believable as most of this story.
But I love your world, and I'm emotionally invested in your characters. Onward to Twilight!!!
Sweetie's descent to Wrath and her fall felt justified, and I do like how quite a significant physical transformation followed. A part of me hopes that she keeps her new appearance, even if she is redeemed in the last minute.
I do feel that her redemption came a little bit too quick. In some ways it's fitting that it happened quickly, because her rage was sort of... fragile, since what tipped her over the edge was the fear that her friends had been killed. On the other hand, I would have liked to see a little bit more of an internal struggle. She had been tainted by Wrath, after all, made her Avatar (if however briefly), and so I'd have thought it would take a bit more than a good ol' hug to bring her back.
That aside, I very much enjoyed Fleur and Sweetie's fight. Very shounen-esque, but it also did something else, I think. We see Sweetie just wiping the floor with everyone and everything, but then Fleur shows up and the tables are immediately turned, and now Sweetie is the one being played with. The fight is not even a challenge to Fleur, once the first few moments have passed. Not only does this give us an idea of how Strong an Avatar is, both compared to Mortals but also the more Divine (or Demonic).
I guess a lot of me is just a fan of Alicorn Fleur. She's a bit of a reluctant Hero (reluctant Goddess), but decided to embrace it for the benefit of others, even if it changed her forever.
As for your concern regarding the order of the chapters, I think this one is the best possible one. I personally felt like we started in the beginning and finished at the, well, end. I don't think it would have felt right if we saw Sweetie Fall in the first chapter of the PoV's, and then only saw what happened to her in this final one.
9897541 9896666
There were a couple reasons why I rushed through the fall-redemption for Sweetie the way I did. The first is that there needs to be some concessions made towards the show and how it handles these sorts of things. From a perspective of 'If this were an episode of the show', having her fall and then saved by something as simple as a hug felt appropriate. The other reason was concessions needed to be made for the other arcs in the story, namely Twilight. Being blunt, I needed to tie off a whole slew of dangling threads to keep things clean for the final few chapters. IF I were going to continue on into a third book of Myths, going into the Red Sun, Yol-Distoph, the awakening of the Quus, and so-on, then I'd have had Sweetie become horrified and turn her anger inward as well as out, and disappear rather than be redeemed.
And that is not to say that she is fully redeemed or no longer an Avatar of Wrath, only that her present anger guttered out and was spent. It was a short, violent, intense burn, and as such it could not last long. Either it would have consumed her, literally as well as figuratively, or she'd have to enter a lower simmer before another intense flare-up of anger. Sweetie is by no-means 'fixed'. There was no description of her appearance reverting, only the 'flames' guttering out. Sweetie made a deal with a devil, and that will have repercussions.
As for Fleur, it has been a long, slow build towards this moment, with some deviations in the narrative where she just didn't do a whole lot. Fleur was originally intended to be the primary character along with Twilight. I felt I had a lot more room with her to do what I wanted with fewer constraints on her character as at the time she'd only been in one (perhaps two?) episodes of the show, only been given a name, and I don't think she'd even had a line of dialogue. That could have changed, but I've not followed the show much since the start of Season 4. The duel with Algol was intended to foreshadow that with 'wisdom's eyes' she could see and anticipate her opponent's movements and actions. It was intended partially as a nod to the Sharingen from Naruto, mostly as I was having trouble figuring out how to /show/ wisdom in a fighting context. I didn't trust myself at all to put Fleur into a political one, where her character would arguable be better suited given she's supposed to be an accomplished ambassador/politician. I knew that me, personally, didn't have the skill set or knowledge to write something in that arena and have it make sense or turn out good. Write what you know, and I don't know political intrigue. Athena is one of the more martial Olympians, so it seemed appropriate to put Fleur into a fight.
I didn't want to draw out a fight for 3, 4, or more thousand words of adjective spamming 'and then she swung and she dodged' to a bunch of flowery words. It wouldn't have meant anything for the characters.
9929380
Hehe, now I am picturing Fleur wearing the Spy's mask. XD
9897541 9896666
You want "realism" in this situation? Try summery execution, beheading, having her heart carved out, all three segments of body cremated separately, and then sprinkled over different bodies of running water. ...oh, and her soul being raped and tortured for all eternity.
This is one of those times where we should just be glad that this is loosely based on a TV show for little girls.
9982710
Well, I think that is a bit extreme on the other end...
I'm working on having a bit on more fallout to Sweetie and her transformation, tying it into Twilight, her mind-set, and the cluster fudge that is the meeting of all these story threads. It's been very slow going, however. Not just due to the complexity of the number of characters involved, their own stories, and everything, but just self-motivation and real-life hammering me on all sides. I'm hoping the next chapter is a bit more satisfying.
10008596
Yep! Mountain is Twilight's dad.
Is this a typo, or a pony pun that I'm just not getting? You've shown yourself capable of subtle and terrible puns, so...
Well, she will be now.
As long as somepony can temper that battle lust, anyway! 