Fallout Equestria: Second Wind

by TinkerChromewire

Chapter 9: Immaculate Deception

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"Immaculate Deception"

Something, something betrayal. Something, something completed.

It was all a lie. A ruse, meant to control through fear and direct ponies to their undoing. I was unsure why or how, but what I did know was that there was no raider named Cradle Robber here, there was no beast slaughtering captive civilians, and there was no one alive to save. The bodies were so mutilated; they could not even be identified in the pureed mush in the fountain, the half coagulated mess had looked like sorbet.

The misdirection was to keep ponies from venturing near the plaza, and flee from it entirely, at least until the pods were all woken up, a trick that worked against me, drawing me here like a moth to a flame.

All the raiders that had cleared out the plaza had probably safe guarded the pods before being slaughtered by these creatures; their bodies filled the fountain’s basin alongside their own victims. The Baker Barbarians weren’t working with them, they were sacrificing themselves to them, and the fountain had been used to awaken the pods after they landed. Blood for fuel, powering bladed constructs that would in turn collect more blood to fuel more killing machines, it was a perpetual self immolation, a fire that would not burn out until there was no fuel left.

I knew it, not in a way that someone would know something from reading it in a book, but in the same way a child would recognize the face of a parent. It was instinctual knowledge, and these hissing creatures followed their instincts alone.

“Why struggle, just embrace the end and join us. Become part of something bigger!” The voice of the stallion on the intercom boomed, tempting us to our death. “Join us, there is no pain in the eternal sleep. We only want to save you!”

Neither of us bought into it, we were trying to get away. The flighty bladed bastards were quick on their sickles, dancing on their blade tips. Vaulting at us, they brandished their blades, swinging at us between quick acrobatic maneuvers, though every strike missed intentionally, their feints were telegraphed and every strike came close, but was pulled back with feline grace.

Ghostly, wicked creatures danced on the borders of my vision, hardly seen. Even the light cast off by the burning wreckage knocked up by the hollow vessels that once bore these abominations did not help to reveal many of them; while cloaked, they created not a single shadow.

They darted off as quickly as they appeared, leaving us spinning to follow them. Fine cuts along the ground appeared in the wake of their movements, thin lines of burning heat that smelled of crisp ozone, the fumes left an acrid, sour taste that clung to my palate. Misdirection, games of tag without a touch, they would uncloak and leap to a new vantage point and slip into nothingness, hiding their numbers in confusion. They could be few, there could be many, not knowing which was a chalice of fear forced down our dry throats, lips stained with the taste of copper.

"What thah fuck're they doin?!" Gangrene growled, craning her neck as she tried to keep her eyes locked onto the one that had revealed itself. The slender creature had re-engaged its cloak, vanishing in a spider's web of fracturing light and slipping into the ether of bent light. The mare growled, slapped the side of her fractured helmet, recoiling and backing away. She cursed, complaining about her faulty helmet unable to pick them up. She was trembling, every free moving plate of her armor clattering like teeth in the cold.

“We’re so fucked, so damn fucked.” She chanted, it became her phrase for the next dozen seconds of intense fear. “Game over, man, game over! There’s so fuckin’ many!” She began to back away, towards the open mouth of a star-shaped pod, swallowing at her frantic sobs.

I sensed it before I saw it, the glittering blades igniting deep inside the chassis of the vessel. It leapt out, revealed itself, and attacked Gangrene. She ducked down, the beast’s back legs coming to rest on the haunches of her armor, piercing deep. She let out a pained grunt, yelping at the blades of the creature’s forelegs closed like scissors just over her head, barely missing her head by fractions of an inch.

It was fast, far faster than I could react. After missing it’s chance for a quick end to its target, it leapt off, avoiding a swing from my magical chainsaw, which instead took a small sliver out of the mane ridge on Gangrene’s helm.

The creature flipped end over end, like a buzz saw along the ground and repositioned itself on one of the many pillars surrounding the hexagon shaped mall square, leering at us with vacant eyes. It once again slipped into the ether, invisible to detection.

“F-fuck!” Gangrene let out a stream of curses, which I was accustomed to, but the voracity by which she let the words fly held deep contempt for these bladed monsters. She winced, forcing herself up, giving short, ragged pants. She felt the still sizzling apex of her helmet and cast an angry glare at me from the broken gash in her helmet, speaking in an angry snarl. “You almost took my head off, you git!” She scanned the area for the monster, lifting the Cornhusker revolver and fired several shots, missing every time.

"Sorry!” I mouthed in near silence, the rattling tap of blades along surfaces all over unnerving me. I’d have to be more careful, I wanted to protect Gangrene, not kill her!

“What’s the matter, Captain?” The voice over the intercom spoke snidely, “Getting slow in your old age? My, oh my, you might not make it with that canned meat slowing you down. She’ll die painfully.”

“I’ll gladly show you how fast I could kick your ass!” I spoke defiantly at the voice. “Come down here and face me!” I wanted to kill this bastard, more than anything. I wanted to beat myself senseless for stupidly leading my closest friend into the grinder. I wanted to keep her safe and save everypony I could. So many wants, so little chance of making it come true. The odds were against me, just like they had always been.

“I won’t have to do anything come the next six minutes.” The voice spoke crisply, laughing. “Once this place locks down, there will be no escape. Not for you or for anyone for that matter. A baptism of blood—An offering of blood for power. No safety, only hunger.”

“Why?” I asked, scooting closer to Gangrene in efforts to protect her from any incoming attacks. The injured mare leaned on me, panting.

“It’s regional dominance, Steelgraft.” The mare answered. “The Baker Barbarians, too stupid tah do this shit alone. They made a deal with the devil himself tah get the power to starve the nearby settlements into submission! Fucking c-cowards.”

“That’s right, I prefer the term ‘calculated investment’ to coward, though.” The voice cheerfully chimed. “We are going to spread in this region like a plague. The warlord has graciously offered Lord Hades this region as tribute. His blood for our power. An equivalent exchange.” The crackle over the speakers hissed into a rattle of gentle laughter.

He was threatening everyone, the already impoverished and struggling town of Greenvale Heights was going to crumble. This place was just the first to fall if they had their way, with a strong foothold in this region, disrupting trade and attacking a weakened resistance would prove fruitful. It was total war.

“I’m not going to let that happen! I swear, Cradle Robber, I will kill you and that fat slug working with you.” I promised.

“Bold words from a traitor,” The speakers rattled. “It’s so amusing, seeing you play hero. You’re no hero, you’re a monster, and unlike us you were a monster before your second life. Captain—You made victims of us all. But yes, try, try to be the hero you never were in life. Try to be the stallion you should have been. It’s too late to make a difference. It’s too late to change. You’re a monster. A monster with only four minutes left.”

That cheeky bastard! He was just wasting our time with that conversation. Stringing me along by mentioning his knowledge of me, leaving me guessing and grasping at incorporeal straws.

“Damnit!” I cursed at myself for being that stupid. “We’re almost out of time.”

“Now you see why I shot the monologuing guy,” Gangrene deadpanned. “Dialog is a waste of time in dire situations like this. Not that it matters at this point. I’m fucked.” She struggled to keep standing, her back legs were badly hurt. “It’s game over, we’re fuckin’ ended.” She said with stone-cold certainty.

“I didn’t peg you as a quitter.” I taunted, bracing against her side. Even if I managed to get out of this trap, with only three minutes or so left before curfew, I’d never make it to the exit on time anyway. “We’re going, together. Live or die. We’ll have to give it our best shot.”

The mare seemed to appreciate such a sentiment, but muttered something unkind about my intelligence under her breath. I ignored it, and pressed on, igniting my energy chain blade as we made our way to the fountain in the center. The higher platform would give me a vantage point, and no walls flanking around it would keep those things from surprising me from any direction save for ‘up’.

“How adorable!” The speakers chimed with wistful glee, ”You’re not abandoning her to save yourself? We have a textbook case of wanna-be hero! Kill the mare first.”

Those words chilled me to my core, despite the numbness of my body. It was fear, fear of losing a friend that drove me to press forward quickly, half dragging the wounded mare with me.

“Me first? What the fuck I ever do to this cock gobbler?!” Gangrene growled, taking a pot shot at one of the Striders that appeared over a pile of rubble. Small calibre weapons didn’t phase the creatures, not even annoy them--It was just a waste of ammo.

The Striders broke into charge, the tapping of blades sang out along the walls, across the floor, and even up in the wired netting above. Scaling any hard surface was easy for these ghostly specters, I imagined they thrived in urban environments. Soft hisses, almost like purrs echoed through the chamber, reverberating off the walls with a jarring melody, like a hymn sung with death rattles. They came out of cloak just as they came close enough to strike.

I brandished my energy chainblade with one hand while availing myself to support Gangrene with the other, trying to keep them at bay. One was struck along its side, forcing it to retreat with a cracked hull. They shared the same aversion I had for energy weapons.

Wounding one or two of them was not enough to give them pause or make them relent; the rest dove in with increased ferocity and tenacity. They ignored Gangrene’s errant shots, her accuracy suffering from the jerking, quick motion of us moving forward. Not like they’d do much if they hit anyway. They were on all sides, shifting into focus and closing in like the jaws of a steel trap, pincering us in the center.

My reactionary reflex was split second, I grabbed my companion and threw her with all the force I could muster in the direction of the fountain. She sailed over the swing of the blades, her flailing body rattling in the air as she wailed out a series of derogatory expletives at my expense.

I suffered several strikes against my body, blades dug into my side, sizzling the flesh and sending searing pain along my flank. They had magical energy blades, of course they’d have magical energy blades. I squeezed the lever on my Clan Cleaver and tore it across the chest of one that leapt over head from behind towards Gangrene. It screeched loudly as the magical blade left a huge fracture along the underside of its body. When the beast landed, it took a few shallow wheezes and a single step before the fracture slit its body along the center causing it to fall in two crystallized chunks.

My other hand was free, but now I was burdened with several of these wretched things hanging off me, their blades digging deep into my crackling flesh. My skin swelled, expanding, capturing the blades and trapping them a few inches in. The magical edges bit in, but the blades themselves were simply metal, they were trapped and I was stuck.

The pain filling my body from so many sources turned to anger, that anger inspired me to do horrible things. With one hand I seized one unwilling beast by it’s skull-like faceplate and tore it free from my side, losing a chunk of crystallized flesh that crumbled to dust. I used this flailing monstrosity and beat two other Striders with it, the blades cleaving the weak flesh into shattered glass. The others lodged in me were severed from me by my Can Cleaver, leaving their active blades stuck. Six down and a horde to go.

The thrashing remains writhed, even the bodies without heads continued to amble about on their remaining limbs, the odd devices built into their backs gleaming with power. The still struggling creature I held in my grasp jerked, twisted, then used it’s own forelegs to cleave it’s head off in my hand. To my surprise, this apparent suicide did not cripple it, it lunged at me, a headless pony bent on making me in its likeness.

Sequential strikes with the severed skull pummeled the crystallized stump of it’s neck, each violent kiss rending spiral fractures along its body until it shattered. The severed head fell to the ground with a dull thud and rolled away, the blade protruding from its forehead flickering a final time before dying out with a soft hiss.

“You fucking dense fucktard!” Gangrene groaned, rolling up on her side, “You fuckin’ chucked me!” Her anger faded as soon as she saw the state I was in and what I’d managed to save her from. “Celestia’s solarflarin’ orgasms, Steelgraft...” She stuttered, pushing herself up on the edge of the fountain’s basin.

The short reprieve ended within seconds, no time for words, Gangrene was tackled from behind by a cloaked creature that crackled into existence only after it had overtaken her, pinning her in place. The mare pushed up against it’s head with both hooves, trying to keep the beast from impaling her skull with it’s bladed horn. “Fuck fuck fuck!” She raised the Cornhusker revolver and swiveled it around, trying to shoot the beast in the dome-shaped pack on its back. The bullets didn’t penetrate the armor, and after three shots, the gun spat dry clicks.

I rushed to intercept the monster, dragging my energy blade along the ground in preparation to strike at the vulnerable underbelly. I didn’t get that chance, blindsided by a Strider flipping end over end, striking me countless times and flinging me against one of the black iron drop pods. It stuck it’s blades into the smooth metal, trapping me. It reeled it’s head back and lashed out, bladed ‘horn’ kissing the steel next to my left cheek.

Left, right, left, leaning my head to dodge the strikes that would end me swiftly. I had dropped my Can Cleaver, it rested, shut off, a few feet from my reach. There wasn’t enough room to wind up a punch, and I lacked the strength to just push the beast from its anchor in the metal wall. Instead, I grabbed it just above the mountings for the blades on its forelegs and squeezed as hard as I could, thrusting my head into it’s faceplate with as much force as I could muster as it reeled back to try stabbing me again.

Crack, crack, crunch.

On the third headbutt, the ceramic faceplate shattered, the mountings for it’s forelegs broke and the Strider lost balance, landing on it’s back with a shrill hiss. It’s rear legs were trapped, its tail blade came up between it’s legs, narrowly missing my ‘apple pouch’.

I tore the discarded blades from the pod’s walls and fed them into the disabled creature’s chest, silencing it instantly.

“Get this sun sucking dick bladed cherub offa me!” Gangrene howled, urging me to hurry. She couldn’t hold the creature off for much longer.

Rearmed with my Can Cleaver, I engaged the blade and advanced on the Strider, trailing the blade through the air and cutting it free of it’s bladed limbs. A swift boot to its ass sent it sailing off into the distance like a dart. It’s head mounted blade stung into a distant pillar and dangled it where it hung, twitching and thrashing with angry hissing.

“ ‘Bout fuckin’ time.” The mare chided, giving a soft groan as she sat up. “You look fucked up.”

“I am fucked up...” I added humorlessly while offering her a hand up.

“Two minutes until the fun starts.” The speakers announced with such enthusiasm I thought I might be at a Wonderbolt Race. “Oh, did you know we’re going to be having a party over here? You know, to celebrate the first step in our victory over the Northern Sector? If you survive, I will save you a spot at the table. I’ll even let you bring that little whore with you as a guest. She’s spunky. Just like your wife was, Captain.”

That smug, bastard son of a whore was more than getting on my nerves, it was a near salacious expression of lewd pleasure to consider ending him in the most humiliating of ways. The idea currently consuming the darkest reaches of my mind was to strip the skin off his flanks and stuff his wrappings so far up his aft he could taste his own poop deck. Creative methods of dismemberment was not one of the skill sets I attributed to my previous occupations, curious how such thoughts flickered through my mind like lightning bolts, inspired by some grim scheme of grand revenge.

“Get up, come on! We don’t have time to lay around!” My urging words had some profound effect on my companion, mostly in the expression of disdain I could read on the half of her face that was exposed through her helmet.

“I get it, give me a fuckin’ break!” She protested, rolling to her hooves and taking my offered hand. Once she was on her hooves she took two of the disembodied blade limbs the Strider had left behind, the powered blades still had some bite in them and they would make for good improvised weaponry in a pinch. Oh, and we definitely were in a pinch.

I felt like an adventurer, almost like that one storybook mare in the ruins of some old civilization trying valiantly to escape a death trap. The trap in question was akin to spiked walls closing in to the center, except in this situation the walls were hissing, angry, undead cyborgs that had once been fetishists for BDSM and scissoring. No, not the lesbian scissoring, but the violent cutting to bits scissoring that ended with a bloody, unrecognizable mess.

The hero from the books always escaped, someway, somehow. They thought of something to get away, to surprise the villain. Why think about something like that now? I’m flowing from abstract thought to abstract thought and I do not know why. Is it the stress, the pressure? I kind of like the pressure, the thrill of this situation is making my mind race at a thousand miles and I’m loving it.

“We got to the fountain, now what?” Gangrene asked, putting her rear to it while she raised her improvised blades. It was impressive, seeing her hand three weapons at once. I still couldn’t handle picking up a piece of paper with my mind, though my addition of opposable thumbs was useful for most activities--Like leaving knuckle imprints in a raider’s face.

“Earth tah Steelgraft, fuckin’ think! You got us into this fucking mess!” The mare was impatient, so were our assailants who came out from the dark corners of the area and charged from our sides, attempting to flank us.

“Onto the guillotine platform!” I decided, to give us elevation and some added distance between us and those shrieking freaks. It was me that climbed the ledge first, stepping one hoof into the coagulated soup filling the basin, breaking the jellied surface. My leg was eaten up by the congealed mess of mutilated body parts. “Damnit...”

Gangrene did not wait for me to cross to the other side, no, she used me as a stepping stone! A heavy iron hoof pushed between my shoulders, then another between my ears to carry herself across, careless as she ended up kicking me in the head to complete her accidental assault.

My face met the pool of fluid, breaking the scabbed surface, pressed into the bloody mess by the fleeing mare. Just my luck, I’m always getting covered in something. Pureed pony was just another gross thing to add to the list of ‘gross shit I have been covered in’.

“Hey, watch it!” I growled.

“You deserved it!” She countered belligerently.

The reason for Gangrene’s quick retreat to the fountain’s platform closed in behind me now. The air was saturated with shrieks and hisses, blades tapping along the ground in rapid rhythm. The dire circumstance was second in my mind to another inner turmoil, with the unconscious lick of my lips the coppery taste of blood danced on my tongue, sweet nectar of life. I felt hunger deep and wide, all encompassing, overwhelming. The threat of dismemberment was a chore of thought.

“Feed. You have to feed.” The little voice spoke to me in a hushed tone. “Feel better. Just a few bites. Yes, just a few. Nothing else matters but the taste of flesh.”

“Steelgraft, move your ass!”

My train of thought wavered at the voice, my eyes refocusing as I cast a glance upwards to the mare. She fired a few shots at the approaching wall of blades. I stole a single glance and swung my Can Cleaver during a hasty retreat, bringing a thin coating of blood pudding on my limbs. “You could always lick that off later!” My mind mentioned casually. “You know, scrape it off with a spoon while it’s still wet?” Shut up, me! My internal voice listened.

“What’s the deal? Going off to la-la land in the middle of this?” The mare berated me while keeping the Striders at bay with limited success.

“I don’t know, I’m hungry!” I shouted while keeping the bladed freaks from clearing the gap of the blood moat to get at us. Clearing the six foot gap was easy for the creatures, but getting at us on the platform elevated several feet above was beyond them when we knocked them down into the mud-like ooze below. Their blades got stuck, sizzling hotly and binding them in place like fast curing cement.

“Food at a time like this? Typical. Male. Did you stare at my metal covered ass too?” She huffed. Seriously, was this a time to talk about male tendencies in a formally female dominated society?

“No!” I countered. Why the hell would I be thinking about ass and food at a time like this? Well, in her defense she was right about me thinking about food. Well, cannibalism. I was just going to leave mentioning that out of any and all future conversations.

“Oh, how cute! A lover’s quarrel.” The voice over the Public Announcement System made more observant commentary. “You only have one minute left before the real fun starts.” He hinted ominously. “Sixty seconds. That’s all that’s left of your short, miserable lives.”

“Lovers?! Us?! I’ll fucking rape your dick with a corkscrew for even suggestin’ that!” Gangrene threatened while peeling a Strider’s bladed legs from the lip of the executioner platform. The beast fell back and got stuck, sealing itself under the quickly hardening blood pool. Magical energy and blood really didn’t do the mixing too well, and it was to our favor.

“Yeah, like she’d ever have a chance with me.” I affirmed grimly. “I don’t want to dip my wick in crazy.”

Gangrene grunted, turning to smack me upside the head with the flat of one of her improvised blades. “Fuck you, jerk!” She growled, “Get a bright idea or die quick, the real fun’s prolly where we both get really dead!”

Fifty seconds. Time was flying by. The curfew would hit, we’d be locked inside all night long with these things, and we had no idea how many of them had ridden in on those drop capsules.

“Think, Steelgraft! There is always a way.” I thought, flicking my eyes about the platform. This was our last stand, there was no other place free of the Striders. The body of the strange stallion lay nearby, wrapped in that ugly brown cloak. I wondered briefly if he was playing ‘dead’ or if he really had died. He could be a Cyberghoul, so it was best to keep my distance. The platform wasn’t very big, maybe ten feet wide and it had that massive guillotine in the center with the tall metal bars holding the blade up high, the table it was attached to looked like an old spa massage lounge chair with crudely made restraints. A chain dangled overhead, it was what allowed the blade to travel up along the two poles.

Tradewinds deliver us! That was it!

“The guillotine!” I shouted with joy. “That’s our way out!”

“I ain’t in the mood to joke ‘bout suicide.” The steel wrapped nightmare chuckled humorously. It was getting harder to keep the Deadmare off the central platform, they were attacking from multiple sides now. Gangrene moved faster, shifting her attention between multiple packs of Striders and making sure they didn’t make the jump.

Thirty Seconds. No time to talk, just enough time to do. I cut the guillotine from it’s base and leaned it back against the lounge chair like a ladder. It was just long enough to bridge the gap between the fountain platform and the second floor walkway just behind us, but only just barely. With a heavy ‘thunk’ the blade dropped down and rested on the bloody wooden nook at the base, waiting to be raised again by the chain.

This was the second time I would throw Gangrene today, much to her deep chagrin. She wailed, swinging madly as I dropped her right onto the blade’s mooring chain. “Wha the--Fuuuu aaaah!” She was forced to hook her forehooves around the top to keep herself from falling off as I gave the chain a mighty tug. Fist over fist I pulled, the chain rattled in my grip, to get the blade to its apex with its sole passenger. This was the first time in history where raising a guillotine's blade would actually save a life, maybe even two if I was lucky.

It was like raising a sail, something my muscles remembered and I did the motions with nary a thought. Gangrene was clinging on, letting loose expletives so vile that if they were weaponized somehow everything in a five block radius would be razed to the ground.

“Just hold on!” I roared, giving another tug. She was almost there! Over my shoulder I saw the Striders closing in. One hand raised my Can Cleaver from the floor and I spun, winding the chain around my body and striking at the same time. One went down in one clean strike, skull and torso split and fractured like brittle glass. The second nicked the chain and broke it, making the blade and my stomach both drop. I heard a short scream from Gangrene as the blade sped down. Nothing else mattered, except capturing the chain skittering across the floor. I dove for the chain and snatched at it twice before I pinned it to the ground.

My friend’s legs hung in the air, she was barely holding on. Below her was a sea of blades, swinging at her, making sparks dance off her armor and producing pained screams. I could smell burning fabric and hear a gentle purr in my ear as a Strider dug those magical energy edged blades into my armor. So, this was it--That’s how my story ends. I get to watch my friend get dropped into a blender and I lose my head to a BDSM amputee zombie robot. Wednesdays. I really hated Wednesdays.

“Any last words?” The stallion behind the voice asked cruelly.

No words, just violence; that was my response, it was to struggle to the last second, to the last breath. I rolled hard and slammed the Strider into the ground and broke free, quickly fastened the chain around it’s neck and kicked it off the platform. Gangrene was launched from the top of the guillotine and landed on the railing, slumping over it with a groan.

The mare shot a glance to me before she tipped over to ‘safety’. It probably wasn’t safe, but it wasn’t the blender I was currently standing in. If I was lucky, I could scale to the upper floor before another Strider interfered.

“Steelgraft, behind you!” Gangrene cried hoarsely.

I’m not a very lucky pony.

The ‘corpse’ was no longer at rest in a tangled heap of legs and cloak, it was at my throat with it’s hooves, a manic grin over it’s lipless face.

Violence, as far as I believed, is an expression of will against the world, a negative reaction to stimuli imagined or real. This foul beast expressed its will all over the space my head occupied, claiming territory between me and the guillotine, mashing me into it like a tidal wave breaking against a rocky shore.

A thousand disembodied voices that sounded like everyone I knew and would ever know came out in hollow, muted whispers. “Hello Captain.” The cloaked figure said without moving his mouth, “I’m afraid you’re out of time.” The voice echoed from inside my head. He parted his jaws, inhaling the air around me until I felt a chill.

3...2....1--The last grains of sand in the timer fell through, my time was up and the curfew was in effect. Strands of lights ignited all over, flickering to life with an audible electric humm. Colourful baubles strung along the front of stores and along the railings ignited the darkness and signaled that the curfew was in effect. The locking of the heavy gates at the main entrances was so loud that the echoing clang made the garlands strung from lamp post to lamp post sway. Soft, light Hearths Warming music began to play as the backdrop to this event.

The mad stallion behind this ‘cleverly laid’ plan let loose with cheerful laughter, announcing the official start of the celebration. “Oh, so the real fun does involve me dying in some overly complex improbable trap.” I thought bitterly, congratulating myself on seeing that coming. Maybe he was methodically stroking a cat and twirling a mustache as well.

Shnk, shnk, shnk; that in maddening multiplicatives was the sound of retreating Striders en masse, all together, just like clockwork. just as the star-shaped drop pods began detonating one after the other, sending rockets off into the air.

“Fireworks. He was going to kill me with a firework display. Flashy. Cunt.” My mind echoed. For once we agree, brain, for once we agree. What was up with that new, second voice though? “Get. Us. Out.” Simple, barbaric, and direct--I had to survive.

“The lights that come herald you, Captain. Those waiting on your words shall be saved from your foolish struggling.” The creature said through his teeth breathlessly, leering at me with his cold blue eyes that glowed with fire. The subtle tearing at the air became harsher, and even though I did not need to breathe, I found myself gasping and a sense of exhaustion setting into my already numb limbs.

That stare was mesmerizing, wrapping me in suffocating and absolute fear. Looking into those eyes, all I could see was every failure up to that point and how all I had done only made things worse.

“Hey, snap out of it! There’s only room for one self-deprecating voice of pessimistic reason in your head, and that’s me! Your ego! Screw this guy! Eat. His. Face.” Nothing says ‘problems’ like psychotic inner-commentary during a moment of extreme stress and tension!

The lipless face leaned in, his face inches from mine, black smoke curling from his nostrils. I could see why Gangrene had wanted me to leave without looking at him. I was staring into a reflection, a lipless, soulless reflection. The hair, eye color, and pelt all matched my own, like we were cut from the same cloth. It had taken my likeness, or perhaps, it had always looked like me somehow. I had too much to think about, too much noise, too much static.

“Do not look away. Don’t you see, we are made to finish what began with you.” The figure let the hoof fall back, all the wounds marring his skin grew black tendrils that wagged like tongues, parroting every word like an echo. “No matter what path you choose, those that rely on you will suffer needlessly.” His jaws were parted, even while he spoke, his sucking breath tearing at the air, the colours in his eyes became less vibrant, more muted, gray.

He laughed sickeningly. A cheerful, mirthful laugh of unbridled joy that increased in pitch every time he struck me or slammed me back, grinding the magical blades sticking out of me further into my flesh. His black tendril of a tongue lapped along my neck and up to my ear. “You should have kept dreaming.”

“I should have never went to sleep.” My body put words in my mouth, acting on its own, putting up a hopeless resistance.

THUNK! Salvation was a sheet metal guillotine blade biting between the cyber-ghoul’s shoulders. The cyber-ghoul went rigid then fell slack, eyes flickering like dying embers.

“Get up!” my mind roared. Now. There was no arguing with my instincts, I was up and ready to flee. The loosened bandages around my face fell, granting my sensitive eye a full blast of blaring red light, stunning me. Coupled with the remaining numbness I suffered, and the injuries I had sustained, blindness now topped the list of issues on my plate.

With one hand clasped over the left side of my face, I made out a blurry shape on the second floor above. A metal covered hoof was outstretched for me.

The thunderous roar of explosions raged, rockets exploded high over the net canopy, and the star shaped pods entered the grand finale of their display--which involved exploding one after the other. Flashy. Cunt.

Wings would really come in handy right about now, lacking those I would have to jump. Vaulting myself over the top of the overturned guillotine, I caught air and landed halfway up, clutching to the beveled pipes that once housed the slide of the blade, which sagged and folded in on themselves. I was not a lucky pony.

The red ooze of the fountain’s basin washed over me as I sunk several feet below the surface, the fire above searing the blood and bodies into a thick, charred mess. A concussive boom blew through the jellied mess of goo and I caught a mouthful. A wonderful, sweet mouthful of coppery, thick blood. Tasty.

Over within seconds, the world ceased its trembling. I punctured the surface of my jelly corpse prison with my fist and tore out, like a corpse from a grave. A grave of corpses. The taste of death was heavy on my lips, it felt good, my body didn’t ache, and the blades stuck along my body were pushed out by regenerating necrotic tissue. Water fell all around me, the fountain in the center creating a geyser of dirty water, the explosion must have broken open the water pipe running under it. The still burning leftovers of the drop pods sizzled as they cooled in the falling water.

A crater was all that was left of the square, everything had been blackened or warped in the heat. Plumes of smoke floated up, curling like twisting serpents into the dark sky above. Desolation, destruction, and no survivors. A few charred remains twitched, Deadmare that had been exposed to the detonations were disfigured but not dead.

“Are you still alive?” The PA system crackled, giving a soft hiss with his words. “If you’re not dead, don’t say anything.” A brief pause. “Good! I feel we got off on the wrong hoof...So, how about we go to the movies together? We can go see my all-time favorite movie, ‘Watching You Fail’ starring you. That’s what I’ll be watching. As for the movie you’ll be watching? You’ll be watching ‘Everyone Die’.”

That. Cheeky. Bastard.

---

Intermission

Meanwhile...

Deep within the sprawling complexes of the industrial park, one facility belched new fire into the air. An old smelting facility once owned by Robronco had been repurposed into the home of the Baker Barbarians, run by the fabulous fat one himself.

The giant smelting pots made for great fryers, and the massive furnace made many fine roasts at once. The catwalks were great for seasoning captives in batches as their cages dangled over boiling pots of oil. Watching the cooking was almost as fun as eating, so the banquet table had been arranged between the two rows of boiling pots, a hundred foot long monster of a table able to sit over one-hundred forty ponies. They had even installed several old chandeliers, remodeling the warehouse into a twisted mockery of what could be considered a fine establishment. Candelabras every dozen feet on the table, and a fine red carpet, so heavily stained with blood that it was scabbed over in places, spanned the entire length of the warehouse complex, from the massive double doors to the giant smelter furnace at the far end.

It was garishly ornate, and thrown together with the haphazard hoof that had no real eye for interior decoration. The warehouse decor matched it’s owner, no one in their right mind would put a pig in a tuxedo, and no one with a lick of sense would decorate a massive warehouse like a five-star restaurant. Senseless excess in every sense of the phrase.

Depriving basic necessities can drive one to commit heinous acts just to survive, time and time again this has been proven true. Starvation, famine, and loss can rob a once kind heart of all it’s good nature and replace it with the sheer desire to carry on. The removal of inhibition for the sake of perpetuating oneself and to protect what they hold sacred, no matter the costs to others. Muffincake was not any of those things, not anymore. He was just greedy, and while not always kind he was always hungry.

In the wastes there are the starving and the hungry, and there are the givers and the takers. There was a great imbalance between each set, mostly towards the takers. Muffincake contributed to this heavy imbalance with every pound of his girth. The glutton of Nommage Valley, the king of cuisine, he ate his way to the top by devouring his crushed rivals, cementing himself as the Warlord of West Central in Detrot and a very indecent and cruel piggy equine.

No matter how many lives he consumed or spared, there was an emptiness in every action, there was no filling the void within him that grew and expanded with each passing day. There were things he could never have for all the want in the world. He wanted the ultimate power, to give and to take as he so pleased, to choose who went hungry and those who did not--And feed the weak to the strong.

Bloated and beastly, with rolls of sweaty fat encasing a heavy framed monster, he seemed out of place at the head of a grand banquet table. Even he felt lost there, sitting at the head of such a massive slab of wood decorated by the steaming plates of his conquests. Feast after feast, and party after party, for every pound he gained his heart shrank. There was only one thing that could bring the sultan of flab any joy.

He still loved to sing. He would serenade his guests with an angelic voice, a deep baritone as he sang opera on a stage built specially to handle his weight. One would expect a ghastly squeal to sound from his fat, greasy lips, this pig wrapped in a tuxedo broke logic with his notes.

Tonight was special, it was his turn to pay tribute to the King of Detrot, a tribute from a vassal to his king. He sought favor of Hades, and to gain that he offered a settlement that earned his spite. The same place he had called home many years ago was to become an example to all those that opposed him. It was revenge, a dish served steaming. The same community that had left him starving and hungry were about to satisfy a different kind of hunger.

His hunger for power.

The massive beast, his body barely contained by the straining fabric of his moldy tuxedo sang a deep baritone. His song was accompanied by a small orchestra of captured musicians, playing poorly maintained and tuned instruments. They somehow sounded half decent, carried by the talent of the Warlord’s beautiful song.

A note was missed, an instrument’s string broke, and in a fast cascade all other instruments were out of sync, ruining the entire song. Muffincake could no longer sing, the screeching disharmony shattering his delicate concentration. A loud bellow of his angry roar silenced all play, spittle and the sour stench of rotten teeth making the musicians gag.

“No, no, no! This must be perfect! Perfect!” He roared at them, making each one of them recoil in terror. The dozen ponies chained together at the foot of his stage sought comfort in one another, huddling close as they watched their tormentor enter another fit of jiggly rage.

“Who broke the rhythm?! Who?!” He demanding, spraying them all with spittle, his multiple chins wagging with slick wetness, like extra tongues under his chin. His beady eyes scoured the crowd of musicians, his nostrils flaring wide.

None of the musicians spoke as one of the musicians held up her violin, one of the strings were broken. “It’s not my fault, the string broke, sah!” The young mare chimed, her eyes brimming with tears. “I’m sorry, p-ple--”

“Shut up! Somepony, get that instrument restringed! Now!” The loud lord of lard snarled. There was a hustle by several ponies to fulfill that request, all of them were gaunt and lean, their eyes sunken and cheeks hollowed. They were slaves, ever fearful of becoming an entree, they nearly fell over one another to fulfill his demand.

With the instrument restrung, it was presented back to the captive musician, who accepted it with shaky hooves.

“Well?” He belched out expectantly.

“I...W-what do you want, sir?” The filly squeaked, shrinking away as he set his hungry eyes on her once again. The young mare hated this, hated him, and wished she was back home, playing her violin for the baby radscorpions on Rad-Ranch.

“Aren’t you going to thank me, you little bitch? Didn’t your parents teach you better manners?!” He groaned, shifting his weight to relieve some pressure on his sagging belly. This produced a noxious and rumbling fart to leave between his asscheeks. “Ah, better.” He sighed in relief. Everyone else gagged while the porky cannibal seemed pleased with himself.

Mentioning her parents was a sore spot in her heart, mostly because he had eaten her parents. She bit back the bile in her throat and swallowed any vile words she had for him and offered a whimpering and false gratitude to appease the murderous stallion. It was shameful, to bow and grovel to the thing that made your life hell, but it was either that or he’d eat her and make her into a new pound of fat.

Appeased, the pudgemeister stallion swayed, half dragging his belly as he strode over to the musicians. He roughly tousled the mane on trembling filly’s head. “Dat’s a good little flesh hole. I can forgive a lil rudeness.” He said with a doting cheerfulness, before he began to put an uncomfortable pressure on her small head, making her kneel to the ground. “But so help me, you ruin my performance tonight, I will eat you alive one leg at a time.” He promised her, licking over her ear and wetly suckling at it, his drool running down her face like syrup and pooling at the hooves of every musician around her.

He resumed his spot at the center of the stage, leaving the now soaked and terrified filly to mull over her fate if she fail in delivering anything but perfection. He stomped once, his body jiggling. The music started, shaky and stuttering. Muffincake patiently waited for them to get into sync with each other before he parting his jaws wide to begin singing, not a single note left his lips before he was interrupted.

“Your Lardship!”

Once again, the Warlord had been interrupted in song, bothered by one of his chefs about the proceedings of tonight’s grad banquet. It had to be perfect, so he would forgive interruptions for such matters, but his mood was still fouled when the music had to be stopped again.

“What is it?” Muffincake gurgled, his head was unable to turn in the tight neck of his suit so his entire mass moved with him.

“My apologies, monsieur.” The chef paused, trailing a hoof at the air to clear the gag-inducing odor he caught in the air. He continued after pressing his apron to his snout. “W-we have a problem with the veal. The ingredients are most unruly.” The head chef spoke, his chef’s hat crooked on his head. The cook was a respected member of the clan, and his demeanor had always been like that of a true high class chef. The rough, red stallion was covered in burn scars, most of his pelt had been burnt away. He wore a comical apron that said, ‘Cun’t stand dah heat? Fuk U whure!’

A sigh passed his thick lips, Muffincake rubbing one of his fat cheeks with a hoof. “Weren’t you going to just roast them with your flamer, Cooke Cooke?” He asked, his voice full of false kindness. The chef was quite sensitive, and it wasn’t beyond him to ruin the food if he was disrespected.

“It’s so hard to marinade them when they keep....” The chef rolled his eyes back and lowered his head, “Keep takin’ a shit in the marinating vat.”

“Just drown them in the marinade!” The fat beast bellowed angrily, stomping hard on the stage. It groaned under the weight of his blow, creaking as he took a single step towards his head chef.

“But it isn’t the same! If they’re not alive when cooked, it taints the meat! If they marinate in shit they taste like shit. Shit shit shit!” Cooke Cooke shrieked, at a complete loss. “I cannot find my basters, it would be so easy if I could find my basters!” The red splotched stallion began to pace, cursing fluently. He believed someone had stolen his basters, perhaps one of the bakers? Though they were unified under the banner of the warlord, the separate clans still held disdain for one another.

“You bothered me during rehearsal for such a thing? Just borrow a spare baster from one of the bakers!” Muffincake grumbled, shooting the buck a long, disapproving glare.

“It was that Cuppycake, I know it! She ran off with most of the knives in my kitchen when you sent her out to Big Top! That bitch, I gut her when she gets back!” He spat, thoroughly unhappy with this. He tore his hat from his head and spiked it into the ground. “I cannot cook under these conditions!”

Muffincake never could grasp why the cooks and bakers had grudges against one another, the leader of their merry band was breaking up more fights than he ever liked. It was preferable to take out frustrations on tenderizing the meat mules than on fellow clans-ponies.

The heavyset warlord lumbered to the edge of the stage, shouting at the chef at the top of his lungs, “It’s either you cook or you get cooked!” He sprayed, his breath labored, sweat like droplets of gravy beading on his forehead and rolling down into the folds of his neck. He took great gulps of air and spoke in a strained tone, “Tonight must be perfect. King Hades is sending a representative here. One of his enforcers. Do you know how important this is? He’s recognizing us for our tribute! This winter, only I’ll have food! I’ll be able to give and take away, just like Hades does! He’s seeing my greatness! I choose who lives or who dies! Don’t make me choose for you right now!”

Cooke Cooke shrunk away, the stench of his master’s breath making him gag, his eyes watering. “I...I understand.” He coughed, backing away. “I’ll just go borrow supplies from the... bakers.” Cooke Cooke visibly cringed as he said such a nasty word. Bakers! How he HATED them. Unrefined cultureless sugar fiends, the lot of them!

“Good! No more interruptions.” He waddled back to the center of the stage. “The next snack that interrupts my rehearsal is getting eaten alive!” He promised with a savage snarl.

The music resumed, once again starting with a shaky, fearful tremor until it gained momentum. The bloated beast drew in a deep breath and was about to let out his first note when an unwelcome guest came clamoring into the grand hall of the warehouse.

The unfortunate fool was Hashtag, known for baking controlled substances into brownies. The dreadlocked, beady eyed green stallion was out of breath, dried blood smeared over his snout which was broken. He was carrying a boot in his mouth, and he spat it out on the stage.

Muffincake growled, storming up to the stage’s edge for the third time in a row. He brandished a meathook in his hoof and hooked the sharp point through one of Hashtag’s ears, hailing the squealing, thrashing stallion up onto the stage. “This had better be good!” He roared.

“Augh, w-wait, no! What’d I do?!” He whinnied, following the pull on his ear. He thrashed, squirming, gritting his teeth. “C-chill out boss, come on!”

“You’re lucky I haven’t started eating you hooves first, now tell me what the meaning of this is!” Muffincake replied, giving another firm tug with the meathook.

“A-ah! I gots news, man! Good news! I killed him! I killed him!” Hashtag squealed, tears running down his cheeks.

The warlord eased up on the sharp tugs, contemplating whether or not just to eat him or let him finish. Hashtag’s value was rather low on Muffincake’s list, but some of the clan would probably miss the ugly git if he ate him. “Who did you kill?” He asked, giving one single sharp tug.

“A-ah! I killed that guy! The guy with them stitches! The one that offed Chunky!”

“Really? And you brought me a boot as proof?” Muffincake gave a fierce tug and pulled the squirming stallion in close, so that his lips were right next to his ear. “Are you sure he’s dead? If you’re lying to me, you know what I’ll do to you.”

“I’m sure! The fucking shop exploded! Chunks everywhere, game over man, game over!” Hashtag bawled, “The boot’s all that was left!” This of course was a lie. The buck had fled with the boot at the beginning of the fight, fearing for his life. He had gotten away, witnessing the explosion from afar. He assumed everyone had died, and did not risk sticking around. He was just so eager to be rewarded for killing the same stallion that had wiped out his old crew.

“You’re certain?”

Hashtag nodded quickly, wincing as it pulled taught on his ear. “Y-yuh! Dead, I got him!”

Withdrawing his meathook, Muffincake let Hashtag tumble off the stage. “Good.”

“Wait, what about my reward?” The stallion squeaked, a greedy glint in his eyes. He scrambled up and rest his forehooves on the edge of the stage, tail flicking like a begging mutt.

“Oh, yes. Your reward.” He said before clearing his throat. “Cooke Cooke!” Muffincake shouted, attracting the attention of his head chef.

“Yes, my lord?” The burly singed pony asked, trotting up from the prep table near the large furnace. The kitchen was open so that those seated at the table could see the food being prepared. The fresh stock for tonight were housed in their cages, the ponies trembling in fear as they huddled together.

“Make Hashtag the centerpiece for tonight’s banquet...Raw.”

“What? No! I did whatcha asked! Please, no!” Hashtag begged to no avail, the scrawny pony was seized up by several chefs and dragged off towards the preparation tables. He was to suffer one of the most horrible methods of execution known to the Baker Barbarians, even worse than death by cupcake, which was a rather morbid execution that involved vivisection and baking.

When all was said and done, the boot was tossed off the side of the stage and the warlord began his practice anew. It went much better this time, in his opinion. Fear was a great motivator.

Of course, the cries of the captive ponies in their cages swinging over certain doom threatened to interrupt practice. The mournful cries of the warlord’s captive audience were silenced with violence, raider-ponies trotting along the catwalks continuously prodded their future meals with tesla tipped cattle prods if they so much as made a peep. Any reason was reason enough to play with the food while it was still alive, really. For many of the clans-ponies, it was just good fun.

\

The party was to occur at midnight, dinner was to be served at ten P.M. They all told time using the old factory clock that still worked, set into the wall over the foremare’s office. The foremare’s office was the heart of the smelting facility, where all the levers, knobs, and buttons that ran the place were located. Everything ran like a well-greased artery full of hot gravy. The heat stayed up, things got done. Not even the cold Detrot winters bothered them as long as they had something to burn in the giant furnace.

The clock dials read that it was five minutes til eight O'clock, which was when their part in the plan to destroy the trade center was through and the place was to be left for the Deadmare, a wounded animal ready for the slaughter. Within the hour the surviving raiders would return as heroes and enjoy a great feast to celebrate the successful tribute to Hades.

A massive set of double doors at the entrance rattled and slide open with a rusted squeal, silencing all other sound. An early special guest was about to give the warlord a heart attack, which was not a long shot at any means.

All attention moved to the door. It typically took at least six ponies to open it, but the massive beast did it all on his own. They stared in bewilderment as the cybernetically enhanced abomination peeled the door open. Muffincake was livid, at first growling as he stormed down the stage and up to the unwanted distraction, but with every wiggly step he became less angry and far more frightened, keeping a generous distance between himself and the creature.

It was a minotaur--a Deadmare minotaur. The large, imposing purple fleshed beast was nearly as wide at the shoulders as he was tall, hunched over and top heavy, like an upside down triangle. The forearms of the beast were grafted around a grotesque piston housing with several feet of tubing connecting to a tank of pressurized fluid jutting from his back. The pistons were topped with his large, meaty hands, mounted to the bulbous end with a set of massive bolts. Its glowing red eyes sat under a heavy brow, dark smoke curling from his nostrils. A barcode was emblazoned on its forehead, marking it as PP-011.

Riding on its back was another Deadmare, a much smaller one, hardly bigger than any other pony. This one was sleek, covered in a layer of shiny latex stitched together to form a second skin, a single tone white mohawk and white tail stuck from his stitched skin, a pair of glowing yellow eyes set into a ceramic skull-plate peered down curiously at the Warlord, one hoof pressing up against his cheek while the other rested on its companions head. A barcode on its chest denoted it as PP-012.

It was not one, but two enforcers of Hades. The Gravelords Tauros and Cradle Robber, two of the most socially active Deadmare known to any of the warlords active in Detrot. They were the talent scouts and social manipulators, Tauros being the intimidation and muscle while Cradle Robber used terror, intimidation, and creative planning to meet his ends. The inseparable duo was always seen together, mostly because Cradle Robber was grafted to Tauros, having lost his lower body at some point in the last century.

Muffincake stared for a long, silent moment, a short little fart broke that awkward silence and replaced it with a new off-brand of awkward silence. All weapons in the room trained on the two in the threshold of the doorway. No one fired, less they inspire the deadmare to enact a type of carnage they themselves wouldn’t wish even on their victims.

“Well isn’t this fancy?” Cradle Robber said in regards to the poorly over decorated factory. He tapped the top of the minotaur’s head and clicked his tongue. Tauros obeyed this non-verbal command and snorted, walking into the factory with a grisly slow pace. The passenger of the large beast was glancing at the windows on the right side, counting loudly to himself as he passed each one.

All of the cooks, guards, and even the captives stared. It was the giant purple minotaur in the room. It was there, it was an issue, but nopony wanted to talk about it. A few looked to Muffincake, expecting him to do something about it, giving a few less than subtle gestures to the massive thing in their base.

“Y-you’re early! Very early!” Muffincake finally managed to say, swallowing the large lump that now rose in his throat. “The party doesn’t start for another two hours!”

“Whenever I arrive it is the right time,” Cradle Robber paused his counting to address the warlord. He ducked his head over a hanging chain and resumed his counting once again.

Muffincake followed him, still keeping a generous distance. The Deadmare always made him nervous, mostly because they were so unpredictable. The mindless ones would attack just about anything, but the smart ones? Those were the ones you had to be wary of.

“I uh, I guess you’re right. It’s just ah don’t wantcha seeing everything before it’s ready at ten. T-that’s all!” He blathered on, trying and failing to keep a completely calm composure. He tried to make small talk, mostly by talking about the food they were preparing. “And we’re gonna make flash-fried ponies with powdered sugar. It’s ironic, too, since we’re frying them in giant pots where yah used to smelt iron!”

The raider leader had been told irony was supposed to be funny, but did not understand the word or its application. Cradle Robber found stupidity of this caliber charming, mostly because it typically meant that the person was easy to manipulate or trick. For the fat moron, this was completely true. If only all idiots were so easy to control.

“14...13...” The sleek Deadmare muttered. “Stop here...12...11...”

“I, uh, what’re you doing?” Muffincake asked, looking to where the minotaur was standing, then to the covered window. He licked his dry lips and shifted nervously.

“Oh, just trying to help with the festivities.” Cradle Robber replied. “Tauros, open the window, would you?”

Steam hissed and gurgled along the thick, segmented tubing going to Tauros’s massive forearms, priming the piston and cocking back the counter weight on the end of his elbow. The punch was so fast, no eye could follow it. In less than a fraction of a second, the fist had reached its final destination and created a burst of light that leveled a large portion of the wall and atomized the lead-line drapes. Tauros had a punch so fast the air would ignite around his fist, causing the air to expand and rush out--His built-in weapon was the lovechild of a battering ram and high powered cannon. He had two of them.

Most were floored by the shock wave while the daze duke of dough jiggled obscentely and almost toppled over.

“What’re yah doing?! You ruined the wall!” Muffincake shouted, his temper getting the better of him. “How dare you, showing up early is fine, but this?! The heat’ll pour out come winter time! This is an outrage!”

“Oh, you won’t have to worry about winter if you keep speaking to me like that.” Cradle Robber chuckled lightly. This shut the warlord up and reminded him his place in the food chain. “Now, calm down and enjoy the little show I’ve prepared.” A sleek hoof aimed to the horion, several miles away, the silhouette of The Blok and its tent-like dome could be seen. “It should be starting very soon.”

“You coulda just opened the curtain, ya-know.” Muffincake suggested, tugging at the tight neck of his ugly old too-small-for-him tuxedo.

“It wouldn’t have gotten my point across nor would it have been big enough for everyone to see through.” Cradle Robber replied boredly, as if he was explaining something a small foal should know by common sense.

“What’re we looking for?” Muffincake was looking out into the dark night, seeing nothing. He was growing tired of it within a mere two seconds, impatient creases forming on his forehead.

“Quiet. I’m giving him another few seconds. I need to transmit orders.” Cradle Robber hissed.

“W-what?” Muffincake dumbly asked, but was ignored this time. He took this moment to turn around and glare at those standing around uselessly, not working. The kitchen went back to production, and the bakers continued to mix and pour treats into pans for baking.

Then the fireworks began to go off over The Blok. Brilliant flashes of swirling light captivated all attention. Even Muffincake forgot to be angry or confused and simply soaked up the sight with his beady little eyes.

“This is for the party?” Muffin cake asked, drool sliding down his chin.

“Oh, no, it’s for a very special guest. I just figured you might enjoy seeing a once in a lifetime event.” Cradle said with surprising pleasantness.

The entire display lasted less than a minute and a half, but it was the most lovely thing any of them had ever seen. It gave the caged ponies, fearing for their very lives fleeting hope to fly. It gave the raiders tripping on drugs a near spastic breakdown of sanity. It also gave one epileptic raider a fatal seizure.

“That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen!” Muffincake spoke, still staring out into the darkness, long after the last rocket exploded. He was disappointed to see the show end, and the glutton grunted. “I must have more of these soon. Yes. More pretty lights!”

“I’m afraid that was a once in a lifetime event. Literally.” Cradel Robber sighed, resting his hoof against his cheek. “For you and your clan.”

Muffincake growled, backing up from the deadmare creature. “That sounds like a threat!” He spat. The other raiders lost their calm demeanor and trained their weapons on the Deadmare. While they had no guns that would harm a creature like this, their Can Cleavers and Bolters were particularly effective at taking down a Deadmare.

That was why Hades wanted them all killed and converted.

“That’s because it is.” Cradle Robber chimed. With a silent smile, he ordered all the Strider and other assorted Deadmare units to stream in through the gaping hole he just made in the wall moments ago. The surprised raiders were overtaken quickly. With their best fighters having left to assault The Blok, there were few with the skills to handle an assault of this magnitude.

Tauros watched the assault with a sense of pride, the plan had come together so well! He saw the fat warlord fleeing out of the corner of his eye and ordered Tauros to snatch him up. “Oh no-no-no, school’s in session I’m afraid!” Cradle Robber spoke playfully as Tauros’s large hand wrapped around the fat, squealing pig of a pony. “I want to teach you the true meaning of irony!”

The fate of Muffincake is sad, fast, and painful--The fat pony was dunked into one of the iron smelting vats filled with boiling oil. His fat protected him from cooking alive quickly, creating a crackling buffer of cooked, gooey fat and skin around his vitals. This was poetic justice, a death slow and painful. The warlord, still alive, became the centerpiece on the table for the next part in Cradle Robber’s plan.

By the end, not a single raider was spared. The helpless ponies in the cages were ignored for now, under order, and the captive musicians trembled, huddled together. They were left unharmed as well, also under order.

The imposing Gravelord came before the stage and sat on the edge, chuckling lightly. “Oh, that was fun. I suppose it’s time for clean-up.”

The bodies and remains we collected by tall, lumbering draft-stallions on stilted legs, with empty chests meant to house remains for transport back to the Dead Zone. Deadmare never left bodies behind, ever. It was a foolish thing to do, wasting resources, and it was also an effective calling card.

“Well, aren’t you a quiet, sad looking lot.” Cradle Robber purred gravely, placing a hoof on one of the minotaur’s horns and tugging it. He spotted a boot on the stage. What was it even doing here? He perked one of his chewed ears and let out a dismissive snort. He had Tauros snatch up the boot and hurl it out the gaping hole in the warehouse--The boot would sail a good mile away. He liked to imagine it would collide with someone’s head or ass, with comical yet fatal results.

“Please...don’t hurt us.” The first to speak was that little filly with the violin.

“Oh, no, child! I won’t harm a single one of you--Not yet. I still need you alive.” He reassured her with a sharp-toothed smile. “At least for the next two hours.”

“Erph!” Tauros grunted, letting out a soft, rattling moo.

“What is it?” Cradle Robber demanded, giving a little frown. He followed the minotaur’s gaze to the scared, sobbing little filly and swiftly figured out what Tauros wanted. “Fine! We’ll use her as the messenger!” Cradle Robber agreed.

With a heavy hand, the bull reached into the group and pinched the shackle chain, his beveled fingernails clipping the filly’s legs free. He scooped her up and looked her over. “Hrmph...” He gave a pleased grunt and set her down facing the hole in the wall.

“Remember where you saw those fireworks?” Cradle chuckled, “You’re going to walk that way--Halfway there you’ll run into a stallion with skin stitched like mine. give him this.” The sleek creature tossed a small envelope to the shaken mare. “It’s his invitation. Do this and you live.”

The shaken filly scooped up the invitation and held it between her trembling lips. She stared at the monster, then to her discarded violin.

“EB-259, provide motivation.” Cradle ordered. One of the bladed Striders leapt down from the catwalks and shrieked, chasing the mare off.

Everything was going according to plan. The villain had no mustache to twirl or cat to stroke. No, instead, he sat at the head of the table, demanded music to be played, and Tauros ate a large leg of roast pony while they waited. Watching Muffincake’s half-cooked body wheeze was almost therapeutic.

---

Character Progress Review

Oh wonderful, it looks like you might be going insane. Not only are you intellectually subnormal, but now you talk to yourself in bold as well as italic. Fine, here’s some exp. You reached level seven! Gangrene leveled up too.

Author's Note:

Sorry it took so long! I've been struggling with motivation to write. Expect the next chapter in the next week.

Comments

[2biscuitspp]

ha ha! yes! it updated! (also first...)
ya know, i kinda expected a bigger reaction to him falling in the blood filled fountain. does he have to eat/drink flesh/blood or just, swim around in it?
also, mustache *twirls it*

[TinkerChromewire]

2744642

The blood had been used to wake up the Strider pods, which is why it was congealed so soon after being spilled. It wasn't 'good enough' anymore--but he did get a taste, and he did recover from some damage.

You'll see the effects of such things next chapter.

[2biscuitspp]

2744789

ohhh, goody! Im also wondering if that boot will hit him. in a comedic fashion........

[The Good Brony]

i also a good comically placed boot to the head.

[StormbadgerXIII]

Well. That certainly took a slightly different twist than what I was expecting. Guess that's what ya get for stepping out of pseudo-editing conversations for the better part of several months

Not that it's not bad, mind you. Still awesome.

[TinkerChromewire]

3153140

I hope you continue to enjoy~

[Turtledude]

This chapter seemed a little more fucked up than usual, mainly with the cannibalism. ilikeit.jpg

[erictheblue]

He still loved to sing. He would serenade his guests with an angelic voice, a deep baritone as he sang opera on a stage built specially to handle his weight. One would expect a ghastly squeal to sound from his fat, greasy lips, this pig wrapped in a tuxedo broke logic with his notes.

reminds me of "professor pyg", a villain in "arkham knight", who sings during the fight...