Collars

Collars

“Collars do not make slaves anymore than crowns will make kings. You can free them all you like, but that will never change who they are.”

Hawker was an odd name for a pony born in the Wasteland. Partially because neither he nor his mother had any idea of what a hawk was, much less what to do with one. More confusion entered his life at a young age when his Cutie Mark appeared, a pair of wings bisected by an arrow. That didn’t matter much as, with all Cutie Marks, its appearance was more tied to a personal understanding of ability than to the image itself. Thus, for Hawker, the image itself was unimportant compared to his natural abilities: throwing.

Unfortunately, this did not save him or his little brother, Trip, from being captured by slavers. What the slavers didn’t know, and Hawker knew only in his heart, was that some birds weren’t meant for cages. A few years passed by before he found his chance.

The sharpened stick hit with enough force to pierce the slaver’s skull. His brain, unprepared for the sudden inclusion of wood within its confines, shut down. A dull thump was accompanied by a light clatter as his muscles went slack and his head meet the ground.

Brown spotted white hooves pulled the fallen slaver into the shadows.

“Nice shot.”

“Shush, and watch that cloth. The last thing we need is for one of them to see that damnable glow.” The sound of rustling followed, only for Hawker to curse. “Damn, he doesn’t have one. Come on, Trip, we need to find one of those controls or none of this will matter a whit.”

Stuffing the body into the dumpster’s shadow, the brothers slunk away from the slave pits. Other than the slight difference in height, Hawker being the larger, most ponies had a hard time telling them apart. Both carried the pinto coloration, and that’s all most ponies ever bothered to notice. Neither really understood why this was, Trip displayed a rather prominent brown spot on his muzzle and Hawker’s ears were both brown.

Poking his head around the first building, Hawker held up a hoof to stop his brother. Well trained eyes scanned the wide road. That it was free of slavers didn’t mean much. He still needed to figure out which way to go.

Escaping at this point wasn’t enough. Bomb collars were standard equipment for slaves captured by Razor’s gang. At the very least they needed to find a controller, a device that would allow them to flee the compound without losing their heads. A key, on the other hoof, would provide a far more permanent solution.

Hawker figured they had something like a half hour before anypony noticed their absence from the pits. As much time as that seemed, it wasn’t enough to search the entire compound. What he needed was a vantage point, somewhere to get his bearings. From there he’d hopefully be able to find where they kept the controls and keys.

Trip tapped his shoulder. “What’s up bro?”

“Just thinking,” he whispered back without turning.

Directly ahead of them was a wide open, four storey building. Only the second level showed signs of life, the flickering of campfires and moving shadows. Hawker guessed it was a barracks of sort, more likely a recreation area due to its lack walls taller than a pony. It was still the tallest building he could see, and if they could make it to the top then he could finally get a look at the compound as a whole.

All they needed was a single secluded stairwell that bypassed the second floor. It was worth a look.

Motioning his brother to wait, Hawker darted quickly across the open road.

Trip counted to ten before following. His hooves clipped softly over the paved ground as he crossed the street. He crossed into the safety of the shadows only to skid to a halt. The entire left side of the building was a ramp leading up to the second storey, and from it came a bright light and the clip clop of hooves heading to the first floor.

Panicking, Trip didn’t move. Just as the light reached the bottom with a clip of hooves, a pair of legs snapped around his neck and muzzle to drag him behind an ancient, rusted auto-wagon. Trip almost screamed, only stopping when he realized it was his brother’s hooves.

Hawker glared over the hoof stuffed into his brother’s mouth. Once he was sure of his brother’s silence, he peeked over the top of the wagon.

The slaver, a unicorn, was highlighted by the glow of his lantern. His gait was awkward, moving in fits and starts, but it wasn’t until he took five steps left for no reason at all that Hawker realized what was going on. He relaxed, between the night blindness from the lantern and his obvious drunkenness, the slaver wouldn’t be noticing much of anything.

To Hawker’s chagrin, the entire building appeared to be open air with only five other auto-wagons to provide cover. The entire structure was concrete with only barely intact ministry posters to break up the monotony. Muffled sounds from slavers could be heard through the holes dotting the ceiling. He only spotted his target when the drunk slaver wandered past it. A single door that he hoped would lead to a stairwell.

The slaver stumbled once before losing his balance completely and crashing to the floor. With his magic to hold it, the lantern followed him and rolled until it hit the wall.

Hawker stared in disbelief. Closing his eyes, he counted to ten before opening them again. It did no good. The slaver had indeed fallen directly in front of the door, blocking their path and bathing the area in his lantern’s light.

He had to bite back a curse. His luck couldn’t possibly be that bad. Nopony’s luck could be that bad! A drunk pony taking an impromptu nap right in the middle of their path. It was absurd to the point of being unthinkable. Yet, there it was.

Perfect. Just perfect.

There was nothing for it. Motioning for his brother to wait, Hawker crept around the wagon. It was a painfully slow going as he moved out of the protective shadows and into the open half-light. Careful steps carried him over bits of concrete, old bottles, metal scrap, and other random detritus that covered the ground and threatened to trip him up and expose him. Slowly and steadily, with one eye on the twitching unicorn and the other pointed toward the path up, he closed the distance.

The slaver wore a common enough patchwork uniform, likely something left over from before the war. Hawker nearly coughed at the stink of alcohol and cigarettes wafting from the prone form. To his dismay, the slaver wasn’t carrying any obvious weapons, and Hawker wasn’t keen on digging through his cloths.

An errant snort caught Hawker’s breath in his throat. He froze in fear, his eyes like dinner plates. The slaver scratched at his barrel with a hoof and sighed in release. Hawker bit his tongue to keep from retching as the bitter smell of urine burnt his nostrils. Rolling over to his other side, the slaver curled up into a tighter ball, soft snores following quickly.

Hawker’s head drooped in relief. Letting himself breathe again, he scowled at the passed out pony. Even the worst of the slaves had more sense than to piss on themselves. His scowl turned into a smile when he spotted the knife sheathed at his side.

Dropping all pretense of sneaking, Hawker grabbed for the knife. His teeth found the grip, and in two swift movements he drew the blade only to deposit it lovingly into the slavers neck. Hot blood spurted from the severed artery to cover half of Hawker’s face. The slaver barely managed to gurgle as his own blood flooded into his lungs through his open windpipe.

Wiping the blood off as best he could, he flicked his tail to call for his brother. Together they dragged the corpse into the stairwell and stuffed it into the darkest corner they could find.

O-O-O-O-O-O

Hawker held his breath as a patrolling slaver passed barely a length from their concealing shadows.

He whistled, the slaver, a discordant tune that came halfway to a song before he lost it. Unlike the others, this one wore armour and carried a shotgun. The only thing keeping him alive was the magic playing across the trigger. One shot and every slaver would be on them.

From the parking structure's vantage point the brothers were able to identify the perimeter. It wasn't nearly as large as they'd feared. As a bonus, they also neared down their search to just two buildings. The first one, just across the way, was a small brick structure they'd witnessed being locked as a slaver left it. Nearer the entrance was another that had two armed ponies guarding. The latter may have been more likely, but the brick was closer, and the idea of backtracking was too much to stomach.

The brothers wasted no time once the last slaver disappeared around a corner.

Slipping from the inky shadows to the dull grey of open night, they crossed the road and pressed against the rough wall.

A minute passed. When no alarm sounded they let out a collective breath.

Hawker glanced at his brother. "You got this?"

"Yeah, I got this."

The knife passed easily, but when Trip reached for the bobby pin Hawker pulled back. "Are you sure? We only get one shot at this."

Trip began to respond, but bit it back. Giving Hawker a look that warned of a future conversation, Trip snatched up the pin and turned to the lock.

Hawker forced himself to look away as his brother worked the lock. Every click of the pin and scrape of the knife ticked in his ear and made his tail twitch. It didn’t help that they seemed to be surrounded by an eerie, unnatural silence.

Trip cursed.

“What did you do?!” Hawker whisper furiously, his eyes still scanning for trouble.

“The goddess damned pin broke.”

“What do you mean ‘the pin broke’?” Hawker’s head whipped around. “That was our last one!”

“It was a piece of crap! What did you expect to happen?!”

“I expected you to open the damned door! What are we supposed to do now?”

“Oh, so I’m the leader now?”

“No, I–”

Trip growled, his hoof twisting the knife in its grip. A muffled pop preceded another round of curses as Trip fell through the opening door.

Hawker didn't waste any time following his brother into the darkness.

O-O-O-O-O-O

Though her eyes were closed and breathing steady, Cross did not sleep. Her mind wandered through the small collection of books she’d managed to read over the years. Many were sorely incomplete, but that only meant that she could finish them anyway she saw fit. Selecting Hamlet, she began to read.

Boredom was her enemy, the lingering aches of her situation having lost all enticement. The strain of her limbs against the manacles meant nothing without her lover. All the many cuts and bruises that marred her vibrant red coat lacked the viciousness with which they’d been crafted. Even the cum stained blood still dripping onto the mattress between her splayed hindlegs held all the appeal of a Radroach sandwich.

She paused in her reading and opened an eye at the turning of the door’s lock. The stallion who entered did not interest her and she returned to her reading.

Silver Link let his eyes linger on over the slave’s body as he stepped into the shack. When Razor asked for somepony to clean her up, Link was the only one to volunteer. The others didn’t like being around her, made them nervous or some shit. Like she was anything more than another pathetic slave.

He knew the truth, Silver did. She was Razor’s pet pussy when he was horny and his punching bag when he was pissed– usually he was both.

Dropping the butterfly marked box on the dresser, Silver stepped onto the bed. His eyes traced her every curve, from the top of her blonde maned head, over her leather sheathed legs, and down to her bleeding and cum glazed clit.

Razor’s most recent visit hadn’t been nearly as violent as Silver had expected. He counted a mere five gashes that would need sewing, only one on her pussy. The rest of her injuries would only need a light bandaging.

Cross kept her eyes closed, continuing to ignore him as he sat back with his knees between her hindlegs and let his cock drop onto her clit. She didn’t so much as flinch at what should have been, at the very least, a painful prodding.

It was infuriating! She could have at least fought back a little. Any sort of reaction at all. A squeak, a twitch, anything. No, she just lay there like a doll as he slid between her blood slicked lips.

It was insulting in a way he couldn’t quite put a hoof on and he was starting to get angry. He knew she didn’t act that way with Razor. The psychopathic leader didn’t come away from his ‘anger managment’ sessions unscaythed. He’d sported a limp once or twice and always showed fresh cuts and bruises afterwards. But for Silver she was as lively as a log.

He thrust forward as hard as he could, growling as his hips slammed into her’s and shook the bed. For a moment he thought he’d finally gotten something, her head rolling to the other side and her body shifting beneath him. Then nothing. Again, Nothing! It was like he wasn’t even there!

Biting back the angry threats dancing on the tip of his tongue, Silver Link threw himself into his task. His forelegs dropped to either side of her barrel to support himself while his hips pistoned violently against her. The gash on her clit split wider and blood splattered with each impact. Still, she didn’t give him the slimmest of acknowledgments.

His hooves itched to strike out at the mare. To beat her and break her and hurt her. To make her flinch and scream and cry and beg him to stop. Each sound she made would only draw laughter, every twitch would only serve to drive him further until she was nothing but a bloody pulpy mess of broken bones and rent flesh. Then he would finish all over what remained of her face before spitting on her and stalking out.

His eyes clenched and his body quaked as he came, as much to the summoned up images as anything else.

Cross moved then, craning her neck to look at him through the fall of blonde mane. Her unimpressed expression said far more than any words ever could.

Having spent himself, Silver Link rolled off the bed and retrieved the first-aid box. He treated her no more kindly, muttering angrily to himself as he cleaned her up. A wet cloths wiped away the blood and cum from her coat. Needle and thread followed, sewing up the larger wounds where bandages alone wouldn’t suffice.

Finished, he left, locking the door behind him.

It was some time later, halfway through act three of the play, when Cross’ eye was drawn up once again. Hushed voices argued outside the door. She felt she should have been more surprised when a brown spotted white stallion tumbled inside.

O-O-O-O-O-O

Hawker snagged the knife before shutting the door behind himself. He almost turned to reprimand Trip on being more careful, but found his attention drawn to the room they’d just stumbled into.

“Goddesses…” His nose wrinkled against the heavy musk pervading the small building.

What light was to be had came from a myriad of tiny bulbs that hung from the ceiling in drooping cords. Barely large enough for the bed at its center, the room contained only two other pieces of furniture; a wooden chest against one wall and a chest of draws against the other. Blood stained every surface, ranging from ancient splotches of dark browns to splatters of bright red: fresh and wet.

Leather stockings covered her legs just past her knees and a saddle that could not have been comfortable was strapped along her back and hid all but a single golden loop of her Cutie Mark.

Gorge rose to the back of his throat, and it took everything he had to keep it down. Alarm bells screamed in the back of his mind, warning him that something wasn’t right. Not that it took a sixth sense to figure that out.

Hawker met his brother’s gaze and without either saying a word the decision was made. It had been a hard choice to leave the other slaves behind. Leaving her, however, was not an option.

“Are you alright?” Hawker asked, taking a step forward.

The mare studied him as though she wasn’t sure what he meant.

“That’s the stupidest question you’ve ever asked,” Trip said, turning to the mare. “Do you know where the keys are?”

She nodded slowly. “Yes. It’s in the top left drawer.”

“Great, just give me a minute and I’ll have you out in the shake of a tale.”

While his brother went to work freeing her, Hawker asked, “Can you tell me your name?”

She looked lost for a second, her eyes moving between the two brown spotted stallions before answering. “Cross.”

“Well, Cross,” Hawker said, his confidence in their situation returning, “I’m Hawker, and that’s my brother Trip–”

“Yo.”

“-- and we’re here to rescue you.”

Cross looked up at her saviors as the last manacle fell away. Slowly and stiffly, she rose to stand atop the bed. She arched her back and twisted her neck in the same careful manner, eliciting loud pops as her joints realigned. Her gaze remained fixed on the brothers. The smiles that had started out wide and welcoming began to falter as the seconds ticked by without a response.

The warning bells that Hawker had ignored wailed for his attention and drew his eyes to her forehead and the horn poking through her mane. A weight dropped into the pit of his stomach.

It was all the warning he got before magic flooded her spire. Hawker dove into a roll, narrowly dodging her magic.

Hawker came to his hooves and jumped as a second burst of magic shot behind him. Twisting in mid-air, three of his hooves hit the wall. He pushed off, throwing his momentum back at the mare he’d just finished helping to free.

Cross grunted as he barreled into her with the knife aimed at her throat. The blade would have hit home were it not for the metal collar that adorned her neck the same as his. Still he pressed it down. It would only take a slight twitch to send it sliding off and into the soft flesh of her neck.

He glared down at her, their heavy breaths mingling between their muzzles.

“What is wrong with you? We were trying to help you!”

Cold blue eyes returned his angry glare with hot passion. Slowly, Cross shifted beneath him and brought a knee between his legs, coaxing his member. He froze, uncertainty washing over him as she purred.

A hoof touched his, patiently urging him to take pressure off the knife. Lightly, she guided the cold metal to her own cheek and adding her own weight until blood began to pool around the blade.

She finally broke their shared gaze, craning her neck until her breath danced in his ear. A soft pounding against the wall drew Hawker’s eyes up the wall until they found his brother. Trip’s face was already turning purple as he fought for breath against the blue band of magic pinning him to the wall.

“You and I are going to have so much fun together.”

O-O-O-O-O-O

Cross remembered their arrival at the camp. It was hard to forget such a unique pair of ponies. Like many new initiates, they had a hard time accepting their place. It was almost pitiable. It wasn’t their fault, after all. Everypony had lied to them, assuring them that the illusions of their life were real and that the realities were illusions. Letting go was hard, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be enjoyable.

Cross pressed her lips to Hawker’s ear and purred. “You and I are going to have so much fun together.”

She could feel his muscles tense beneath his coat, readying for action. Oh yes, this lesson would be most enjoyable.

Hawker pulled back, pressing his free hoof into her sternum and forcing her back down. She resisted a little, but gave him the lead. A beautiful scream of rage poured between his clenched teeth as the knife swung in a vicious arc aimed at her horn.

That wouldn’t do. Her head tilted back, exposing the underside of her jaw to protect her horn. The blade skipped across her jaw, leaving a shallow cut in its wake. Cross’ pulse quickened at the sharp shock of pain.

Her turn.

With both forelimbs unhindered, she caught the knife on the backswing with one and threw her weight into a punch with the other. Teeth loosened under the blow. The hit compounded with his already precarious stance and made it a simple matter to throw him completely off balance.

Cross rolled with him and came out on top with a knee grinding between his legs. Dropping a foreknee on his fetlock flung the knife from his grip and brought them snout to snout.

Blood dripped from her cut under her muzzle, splashing on his nose and dribbling between his eyes. Her loins warmed at the sight. He struggled beneath her, straining to find an ounce of leverage to free himself. Ever so slowly, she leaned down, extending her tongue to lick at the crimson streaks from his face.

Hawker saw the opening and took it, slamming his forehead into her muzzle.

The pain was exquisite and Cross roared in excitement as she fell to her side, gripping her bloody gushing snout. Oh, the pain: sharp and crisp, like the scent of lilacs on a warm spring morning. Viscera poured into her mouth and she savored the hot metallic flavor of life. Writhing in sweet agony, a moist warmth seeped from the torn stitches between her legs.

She’d only just opened her eyes when Hawker’s hoof came down. His iron shoe struck her horn, snapping her head back. Backlash from her disrupted magic ripped through her body. Searing pain wracked her from head to dock, every muscle contracting, trying to tear themselves apart. A cry tore itself from her throat as juices far too slick to be blood matted the fur of her bucking hindlegs.

When the convulsions stopped and she could open her eyes, she was greeted by the sight of Hawker sitting on his haunches, rocking back and forth. Trip’s head held tightly to his chest. Her hearing returned to the sound of Hawker sobbing between unintelligible mutterings. Legs quivering beneath her, she stood and watched silently until her voice was strong enough.

“Why are you mourning?” When he didn’t respond she repeated herself, louder and with a hint of command.

Hawker froze, his head slowly turning until their eyes met. Tears carved rivulets down his muzzle, dripping into his brother’s mane. His voice faltered twice before he managed to whisper, “He’s dead.”

“That is not what I asked. Why are you mourning?”

“He’s my brother.” The muscles in his face grew taut and his jaw clenched tight. “You killed him.”

“I gave him what he desired.”

“You murdered him!”

“I freed him.”

Hawker stared at her in disbelief. “You… freed him?”

“That is what you both desired. To be freed from the chains that bind. He walks now in the fields of Elysium, where–”

“You murdered my brother!” Hawker screamed, letting go of Trip and launching himself at Cross.

His charge was sloppy and awkward, leaving Cross plenty of time to react. She didn’t even flinch at the stabbing pain from her horn as it lit up. The wide band of magic caught Hawker’s barral and slammed his back against the wall. His head cracked the drywall, sending a spray of white powder into the air.

Cross sat back on her haunches and waited while his futile efforts to escape slowly came to an close. His screams of rage faded into nothing and left him panting for breath. Only once she was sure she had his full attention did she speak up again– though the murder in his eyes remained.

“You have not answered my question. Do I need to repeat it?”

“You took my brother from me!”

Cross was quiet as she mulled over his words, her eyes lingering on the corpse in question. Finally turning back, her eyes lit up with understanding. “You are selfish.”

“I’m what?” Hawker shouted, renewing his futile struggles for freedom.

“You claim to want freedom, but when your brother has been freed your only thoughts are of yourself. Instead of rejoicing, you mourn the loss the leash you carried and he wore. You are selfish… and a liar.” Four new bands affixed themselves to Hawker’s legs as her aura grew brighter, pinning them in place. Cross stepped closer, her eyes softening. “I am not selfish. You have given me a gift, and I would be ramiss to not return the favor.”

Hawker tensed as her nose pressed tenderly into his exposed stomach, leaving a vibrant streak of red across his white and brown coat. She licked the soft hairs and sensitive skin, relishing the mixture of his sweat and her blood. Her breath played across his sheath as she brought her muzzle down, tenderly nipping and kissing as she went. He moaned, bit his lip, and utterly failed to repress his bodies response.

The tip emerged only for Cross to cover it with her lips. Softly, tenderly, she teased it out. Loose blonde mane danced along his groin as her head slowly bobbed up and down along his shaft. Her tongue stroked its length, flicking the head when she briefly pulled back before diving back in.

Helplessly, his body responded to her every touch. He cried out, tears streaming down his sobbing and gasping muzzle when he came.

Cross did not retreat, instead lapping at the slowly receding member.

Looking up at him, she smiled. “Now the real fun begins.”

O-O-O-O-O-O

Razor slid his key into the door’s lock. His already annoyed expression darkened when the key stopped at a half-turn. The foal had left the door unlocked. Considering himself a reasonable boss, Razor didn’t demand too much from his ponies. Respect, loyalty, and locking the Goddess damned doors! If Silver Link couldn’t remember something so imbecilicly simple, then he had no business being on the outside of a collar.

Kicking the door in with far more force than he’d intended, Razor went from severely annoyed to teetering on the edge of anger as his eyes zeroed in on the bed.

Cross lay curled up, asleep with her nose buried beneath her forehooves and her messy blonde mane covering her face. The manacles attached to the bedposts were cast aside, open and very much not secured to her hooves where he’d left them. That meant one of two things, either she’d freed herself– something she’d never done before– or Silver Link was a dead pony walking.

Three long strides brought Razor to the edge of the bed. Snapping his teeth into her golden locks, he yanked Cross from the bed, throwing her bodily to the floor. Her surprised shriek was cut short by a grunt as she hit. Her head bouncing against the wood..

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Cross grinned up at the raging stallion standing over her, his mane falling about his head nothing so much like a fountain of blood. “Hello, master.”

Razor stepped on her collarbone, the tip of his hoof pressing into her throat. “I asked you a question.”

Cross reached with a forehoof, petting the thick muscles under his silver chest. “Waiting for you, of course, master.”

He snorted, adding more weight to his hoof. “Why aren’t you in your chains?”

She shivered, her eyes dilating in pain. Pointing to the far wall, she whispered, “I had visitors, master.”

Razor whipped his head around, taking in the entire room for the first time. The weight upon her collar receded, much to her chagrin, as he spotted the other ponies. Stepping away from Cross, he approached the bodies. The first was obviously dead, an unmoving lump of flesh and bone. He ignored it.

It was the second that interested him. Long iron nails pierced the pony’s fetlocks, pinning him to the wall. Unconscious, his breath came in irregular, wheezing gasps. Large patches of his coat were missing, carefully cut away without damaging the muscle beneath. A quick glance at the floor found the cast off pieces of brown hair. Two ears were pinned to the wall, outlining where his head would have been had it not hung listlessly against his chest.

Razor sighed, his anger and annoyance slipping away like a ghost on the wind. When he spoke his voice contained all the patience of a weary parent. “Wake him up.”

Cross smiled, rising to her hooves and sauntering up to the wall mounted pony. She ground a hoof into some of the exposed muscle.

Hawker moaned softly as he came awake, his eyes blinking in pain and confusion, too tired to muster anything more.

“Hello… whatever your name was.”

Hawker responded with weak sobs and pathetic whimpers.

Razor tsked lightly. “Why do you make these things so difficult? Why? None of this wo–”

Trying to speak, Hawker fell into a bloody fit of coughing. Razor waited patiently for him to finish before continuing.

“Is it really so terrible? I feed you, I cloth you, I shelter you–”

“Beat–” Hawker managed to spit out.

“Shh, shh, shh. Don’t strain yourself. The beatings? Yes, but only when you misbehave. Was it really so different before?”

“–reedom.”

“Freedom from what? From oppression? From rules and laws? I have not added one ounce of either to your life. Perhaps, then, it is, ‘Freedom to’ that you desire? Freedom to choose? To decide when to eat and sleep? To do what you will with your life? Those are not freedoms, my colt, they are burdens. Burdens that have been dressed up by those who use you so that you accept them without question. What do you gain by making these choices for yourself? Hmmm? Certainly not happiness.”

Hawker tried to speak again, but without success.

“Don’t you see? I am showing you the truth. Stripping away the illusions to reveal the invisible chains that others have used to bind you to their will. Theirs may be a little less… physical, but no less real. The only thing I have taken from you are the lies.

“Save your energy,” Razor sighed again, shaking his head. “I do not blame you for this, it is a hard thing to swallow the truth. We will speak more once you are healed. For now… well, for now you’ve cost me, and there must be a penance.” Turning to Cross, he said, “I believe the saying goes, ‘An eye for an eye’.”

Cross nodded and, rearing up, planted her forehooves on either side of Hawker’s head. He whimpered and tried to pull away, but there was no where for him to go. She nuzzled him, kissing his cheek and whispered tender, comforting words. Working her way up his muzzle, she stopped at his eye. Her lips parted ever so slightly, urging his eyelid to open.

She inhaled.

Winter's Heart

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Fallout: Equestria - Rolling Bones
Winter’s Heart

“When I left my fellow unicorns I told myself it was because of their self-centric views, convinced that I was better. Each time I found another group, each time I sat with their leaders and we exchanged our knowledge, my convictions were reinforced. I have spent decades learning of magicks my kin could never fathom, from teachers they would disdain. But in my hubris I cherry picked my lessons, eagerly taking to heart those I believed while silently scoffing at what I deemed ‘superstitions’. I ignored their warnings and laughed privately at their supposed ‘nightmares’ and ‘daemons’; immortals who feed off the life essence of mortals. 'If such things were real,' I asked myself, 'why had they never plagued us ponies?' I was a fool, and if they find their way to our lands, I fear we will be the fuel of our own destruction.”

-Excerpt from The Memoirs of Starswirl Bearded

Rancor struggled to breathe past his caved in chest and punctured lungs. Pain wasn't something to which he was accustomed, and it clouded his thoughts, demanding his attention. He’d suffered through it before, but nothing like this. Never had he endured the indignity of broken bones, much less internal injuries. Every thought scattered as it formed.

His body convulsed, coughing and hacking and spraying red across the pristine white ground. It took a conscious effort to stop his magic from attempting to heal the wounds. Rancor realized he was dying and it would have been a waste to try holding it off. That didn't make it a pleasant experience, and the dark chuckle that followed didn't help.

His body clung desperately to life as his lungs slowly filled with blood, unwilling to simply let go. Finally, after an agonizing hour, his heart gave out.

The ancient horse died.

Rancor rose from the broken corpse, identical to the corpse, save his lack of opacity. With each step he lost definition until his form was little more than an indistinct shadow. He watched dispassionately as the ice white fur of his former body lost its glossy sheen and faded back to its natural auburn. The horse had not been his choice, but triplets were such a rare occurrence that they could not be passed up.

Removed from the physical body, and the inconvenience of pain, Rancor was finally able to think clearly. Memories hidden by pain poured forth. The cave. Those last six ponies. Final victory a hair’s breadth away. A flash of magic. Pain…

Rancor snorted. It had happened too fast. His sisters…

Looking around for the first time, he took in his surroundings. Snow and ice coated the world in white. That was good. A line of broken trees and a furrow dug into the dirt showed the direction of his deadly flight. The trees themselves he didn't recognize. In his experience they had broad flat leaves, not long thick needles. His sisters absence worried him; they’d never been apart before. He would need to find them.

First though, a new body. Perhaps something with a horn this time.

++WWWW++

Siblings were easiest, the closer in age the better. Firsts were good if their siblings surpassed them, otherwise the second was ripe for the picking. Hatred grew in every heart, though; all it required was a little coaxing to blossom in full.

The elk had been a second, his older sister chosen to lead the herd. It had been an entertaining three years.

Rancor walked through the village's smoldering remains, savoring the elk’s powerful form and admiring the destruction. The sobbing voice in the back of his mind redoubled at the sight of his parents. It wouldn't last long, a decade or so at most.

It was time to find his sisters.

++WWWW++

Discord. That overgrown foal.

In Her absence the daemon had followed him and his, turning the land of ponies into his own personal playground. The only constant was Chaos. Still, the ponies preserved, scrounging out what life they could. That life was lived in a perpetual state of fear. Discord never pushed them too far, however. Though there were times when food was scarce, he would never allow them to starve.

The ponies fear was so complete that it drowned out what hatred they could muster. He was forced to single out his prey and devour them part and parcel to sustain himself. It had required… changes and the first few had not been pleasant. Now, though, an appreciation had been developed.

None could challenge the daemon; without his sisters, Rancor would be as a fly against a spider. So he hid, masking himself as best he could, and if Discord knew of his presence he showed no interest.

His sisters had yet to surface. He’d never been apart from them for so long. It was troubling. But leaving was not an option while Discord reigned. Any attempt would find him back where he’d started.

As such, their arrival was a blessing. He recognized them immediately. Her magic burned brightly from within them. Rancor watched eagerly as they confronted Discord.

They did not fight, much to Rancor’s surprise. Instead, the white one got him talking and, while he was distracted, they played their trump card. A single blast of Her magic and the great and powerful Discord was locked away in a stone prison.

Rancor fled, then, the bitter taste of fear curdling his tongue.

++WWWW++

They were gone. Of them he could find no trace.

Alone.

He hid in the only land which the others avoided.

++WWWW++

They’d had no idea! How long had he skulked in the shadows, certain that a single step into the light would be his end? Then she comes along and corrupts the younger in a mere decade! Aemula.

The ponies had proven themselves beyond ignorant, paving the way for their own subjugation. And yet, Rancor watched as another kindred was laid low. First, his sisters and himself, then Discord, now Aemula. All defeated at the very height of their power. Each losing in a single stroke once the ponies set against them.

Thought was required.

++WWWW++

Rancor released a breath. It fell as ice blue shards to the white coated ground. He stood still amid the swirling snow, hazel brown fur shifting with the wind. Twelve branching spires of tanned bone crowned his head in a grand display between spade shaped ears. Every rib and bone stood out in stark relief against his thick hide. His thin muzzle stretched far longer than any pony’s. Eyes the color of ice stared east as a wolf’s grin tugged at his lips.

The sun in the blue sky burned brightly. Waves of heat rolling over all of Equis. It could do nothing to warm the mountain’s summit where he stood. All its cascading rays of light were rebuffed, reflected and refracted off the drifting snow. Winds blew in from the south, heated by the great Palomino Desert. They rushed over the range in a dry heat that parched the throat and burned the eye, only to become as winter’s cool breath against Rancor’s side.

The snow, so plentiful about the summit, stretched no further beyond. The mountain range stretched for miles, many spires reaching far higher to touch the cloud stuff, but no other held a single flake of the cold white fluff.

The elk waited, it would not be long now.

Crunching snow announced the arrival of another. The elk didn’t bother turning his gaze from the distant spire and the barely visible white city hanging from its side. He recognized the feel of the other’s magic even after so many millennium. It could only be described as the flavor of death, black and full of a universal malice.

“It is almost disheartening isn’t it, Rancor?” asked the new arrival, white puffs of air rising from his over-long mouth as he spoke.

Rancor’s ear twitched toward the oddly accented voice. Even with its millions of ponies, zebras, and other races spread across Equis, even with the millenniums that have passed since the beginning, there had never been another creature with that voice.

Eyes naturally followed ears. He lacked a muzzle, though his elongated skull and lower jaw nearly equaled his body in length. Yellow eyes and a pink nose, both small, were mounted at the very front of his skull. Red tassels dangled from gold earrings that pierced the long conical ears at the back of his head. A small tuft of black hair that could barely be called a mane sprouted from between the same. Dark blue, nearly purple, fur over a cyan underbelly failed to hide the thick bulges of muscle just beneath it. He wore a golden choker with hoof length tabs that flared about his shoulders, chest, and back. Similar gold bands wrapped about his upper arms just above his elbows.

Though his forelimbs ended in powerful fingers that sunk into the white snow, his hind legs were tipped with short nailed paws. His most distinguishing feature was the tail tipped with a black taloned hand that grasped idly at the empty air as it jerked and swung.

At length, Rancor shook his head, saying, “You are a foal, Iago.”

“Watch your tongue, or I will remove you of its burden.”

Long canines flashed as Rancor’s smile widened, and a shiver ran through his coat– though not from the cold. “Mmmm. Perhaps my perspective is unique, but all of this,” his hoof swung wide to encompass the world on display, “and all that is about to come to pass, all of it, was inevitable. Had the griffins not been beaten into submission things would have been different. These ponies, however, and the zebras as well, they are ruled by their fear, and fear turns so easily into hatred. Yes, Iago, this was written in Kismet’s tomes long ago, sparse though the details may have been.”

Iago chuckled. “That does not make you any less of a frightened foal.”

“You believe my scarcity these last few centuries found its root in fear, trepidation of my families past defeat? Hardly, though there maybe some truth there, in that I learned a valuable lesson. Our mistake was in our greed, pushing and gorging ourselves when we should have simply allowed nature to take its course. We gave them an enemy to unite against. Now, there are none save themselves. Oh, I nudged them here and there, I’m sure you did as well, but I did not exert myself, instead simply reveling in the potential of it all: glorious.”

“Reveling in the potential.” Iago sneered. “You may wrap it up in all the fancy words you like, that won’t change the meaning. You are a whipped dog, Rancor. Even now, mere minutes away, and you claim a single mountain top. You could coat the whole of this region in ice and there would be nothing to stop you, yet you cower in fear of being taken to task. And what then will you do after? All your hoarded potential will be wiped away, and you will be left with nothing.”

“You believe this is the end? It is not. Oh, I will loose much, for a time. What follows, dear Iago, what follows you could not begin to imagine. You wish to know the truth of these creatures? You wish to see just how far they can fall? Dear Iago, if that is what you wish I would pay close attention for the next few centuries. These creatures who stand tall and proud will fall far indeed. They will fall, but they will survive. They will survive amid the ash and blood of their sins, and even the purest will leave an ocean of corpses in their wake.

“No, Iago, this is not the end, it is nothing more than a new beginning.”

The snow continued to swirl in the silence that fell.

“I have been search for you.”

“I know.”

“Your sisters made entertaining playthings.”

Rancor shrugged.

Iago frowned at the others apathy, his clawed tail reaching to scratch at his long chin. Slowly, a smile crept along his lips, pulling back to reveal rows of sharp, dagger like teeth. “I was growing bored of this repetitious war. They spent their ingenuity ages ago. A few more centuries can’t hurt,” the last was said mostly to himself. Iago’s eyes brightened when white streaks began to fill the sky. “Ah, I see the fireworks are beginning.”

Both watched as the first blinding flash of green light burned away the clouds that once formed the pegasus metropolis of Cloudsdayle. Jade flames reflected in their eyes as the initial explosion stopped, pausing for breath before the balefire, burning hotter than Sun, pulled itself back to become a pillar of fire, smoke, and ash. Another emerald blossom followed from the ground, Manehattan, ‘the city of lights and legends’, little more than a candle burning away at sight’s edge.

A pink bubble burst to life around the white zit of Canterlot. Scant seconds later a legion of missiles streaked for its tall, alabaster towers. The explosions looked nothing so much as moths flying too close to a fire. Mere moments after the first missile detonated against the shield Iago’s mouth parted in a hungry smile. A single word fell from his open maw before tendrils of black magic wrapped around his body, and he vanished.

“Derreter.”

Rancor ignored the departure. Iago mattered little to him. Far more important were the obelisks that dotted Equestria. In the seconds following Cloudsdayle’s utter destruction an energy unlike anything ever seen before poured from those spires. Tsunamis of white raged to block out Sun and sky. A half darkness coated the world as far as he could see, and his smile grew.

More blossoms of green fire struck, many flying wide and missing their targets by miles. Despite that saving grace, no pony was safe. Clouds burnt away only to return with bellies full to bursting. The dam broke. The rain that fell carried a far worse fate than the quick, painless death of those struck by the blasts.

Rancor turned west, facing the city not a league away by the shore below. He continued to smile as scorching water cascaded down his coat. He imagined the ponies below running in fear and terror. Many made it to the Stables before the first bomb fell. It mattered little, all would open in time and they would follow him into his glorious future.

++WWWW++

Rancor strode through the empty streets of Las Pegasus. The white falling from the sky was hot to the touch until it reached his coat. This would only last a short time, however. Soon enough the true white would come to blanket his city.

He felt them, cowering in herds and strings. Hatred mingled deliciously with the waves of fear and desperation.

Patience. Patience was the lesson he’d learned.

When the ash stopped, and the rain began to cool, the ponies finally left their makeshift shelters and stepped out into a world they hardly recognized.

Then the snows came.

As ready as they had been for the bombs, the cold caught them unprepared. Streets became impassable as buildings were buried beneath the frozen water. Their supplies began to wane, too cold to grow or scavenge.

It was then that Rancor came to them. In their desperation, they followed.

In their folly, they found a savior.

In their ignorance, he taught them hatred.

Ember

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Fallout: Equestria
Ember

“Fire is life. Life is fire. Fire is life.”

She watched her opponents as best she could, her parka’s hood hindering her peripheral vision, restricting her movement, protecting her from the cold. There were four of them, two mares and two stallions, two unicorns and two earth ponies, four combatants against her alone.

None of them wore the thick layers she did, most ponies only needed a decent jacket and knit cap unless they were spending all day outdoors, their coats protecting them, an effective barrier against the cold. The two earth ponies both wore heavy steel barding, thick wool liners protecting them from their armour, cumbersome things that slowed their movement as much as her parka. In lighter vests with ceramic plates sewn in, the unicorns seemed to flow and dance as they circled her, ignoring the gusts of frigid wind as though it were a warm spring day.

A deep breath of the glacial air braced her, chilled her, froze her lungs. Hate, pain, and rage boiled together and filled her. A single bead of sweat formed on her brow, rolling down her hairless muzzle, hanging from her chin before dripping off and freezing mid fall.

With no horn of her own, the soft brown parka had been designed to easy removal, velcro straps ripping away, screaming as they were torn apart. She cast the coat away.

All five shivered and clenched their teeth as the parka hit the dirt, though for vastly different reasons. Even after so long, she could not ignore the air’s gelid caress; for the others, however, disgust and nausea curled their noses and pushed them back.

With chattering teeth and uncontrollable tremors, she grinned.

==Ember==

No matter how brightly the sun shines on Las Pegasus, the heart of winter never leaves. Cold winds blow through the snow covered streets, pushing the white fluff into drifts three storeys tall. Teeth of ice hang from any overhang, be it eave or wire or metal pole, many almost as old as the few ghouls who would call the ancient city home, hoar frost clinging desperately to every surface.

At one corner of the city, near the frozen docks, a pillar of pitch black smoke billowed into the sky, drawing every waking eye, panicking some and enticing others. Where there was smoke, there was fire, and fire was life in the Winter City.

Hundreds of ponies gathered to fight against the flames that poured from what was once a small coffee shop and apartment. Ice and snow and magic battered the raging flames, for all the good it did. Despite their best efforts, the fire burned until the morning sun rose and there nothing was left but ash and char and bones.

As the sun crawled and the ashes cooled, ponies began to brave the wreckage. Charcoal was precious, the means to a fire, and there was always the chance to find something valuable. To no pony’s surprise, three burnt corpses were discovered in the charred remains of beds, the burnt wooden frames were a more immediate concern.

Hours passed before the first cry was heard. A foal’s call of distress that brought everypony to a stop. The second cry was louder, full of desperation and pain. Even in the Winter City, where food was almost as precious as fire, ponies were still ponies, and they began to search, digging through the ash and soot.

Half buried in a mound of ash, with a still glowing coal as large as herself gripped tightly in her legs, a tiny foal bawled, tears evaporating upon her cheek, and shivered, with nary a hair to protect her from the bitter cold.

==Ember==

The frost coating the dirt and sand at her hooves began to melt as waves of heat pulsed out of her. Her skin darkened, fresh pink flesh becoming tanned and leathery before it began to smoke and split and crack. An orange glow pulsed from between the fissures to the beat of her heart, her flesh continuing to darken until it was black as coal.

Heat radiated from her, the air about her wavering as the dirt at her hooves dried in an instant, the top layer cracking and curling; its moisture sapped away in a flash. She screamed, an inferno’s heat pouring out of her mouth, undulating waves of distorted air billowing from between her teeth.

Liquid fire spilled from her dock into a flaming tail, orange and red dancing and whipping idly behind her. Glowing embers spit from her fetlocks, swirling into a torrent of orange flames and white ash. A mane of fire poured from her scalp, flowing down her neck and muzzle, hiding her left eye behind a curtain of flames.

She stood tall, all ash and fire, coal and cinder, eyes of roilling magma bearing down on her frozen opponents.

Each step left scorched hoof prints in the soil as she sauntered toward the mesmerized earth pony stallion. Her tail curled and thrashed, spinning and slashing against the dirt behind her, scoring it black. Without warning it spiraled into a long cord and lashed out, a lasso of fire, promising a lesson in pain. The stallion’s instincts returned too late, his sloppy dodge putting him right where he least wanted to be.

The whip of flame caught his neck, coiling tightly between his helmet and torque, and filled the air with the stink of burning fur. Before he could so much as gasp, a sharp jerk pulled him forward. Years of training helped him maintain his footing; it would have been better to trip and fall.

Their lips locked, the mare’s eyes closed while his widened in panic and shock. He struggled to pull away from her, from the pain and fire, his lips blistering against hers. His cry of pain granted her access, parting his lips.

The others stepped back in confusion and uncertainty as the flaming mare and armored stallion remained motionless, their lips locked together. The false intimacy broke when the stallion’s legs gave out, eyes rolled back, showing only white. He slumped to the ground at her hooves, and she withdrew her tail.

The stink of brimstone poured from the unconscious stallion’s mouth before he sucked in a breath of ice cold air. Black, charred hair spiralled around his exposed throat where the mare’s tail had coiled, the skin underneath pink and unburnt.

Her tail resumed its thrashing, scorching the ground again and again as she faced the three remaining ponies.

The unicorn mare wielding a baseball bat in her teal magic charged, a battle cry pouring from her lips.

==Ember==

Black Waltz, cream of coat and black of mane, didn’t bother to knock as she pushed into her ‘daughter’s’ room. It was easy to find the filly, or at least to identify her hiding place. An igloo of blankets and comforters could cover her form, but not the abrasive sound of her cries.

Trotting softly toward the tiny hill, Black Waltz called for her ‘daughter’ with words she’d been told were soothing. Vague memories of her own mother speaking such words reaffirmed their use.

Laying on her belly, she set her head to rest at the small entrance and was rewarded with the smell of smoke and ash.

“Ember, dear, you mustn't burn the blankets.” A slight movement of the cloth might have been a nod, but it was the sudden drop in temperature that confirmed obedience. “That’s my girl. Now, tell mama what’s wrong.”

The hidden filly tried to sniff, but only managed a dry cough. “They- they’re making fun of me, mama!”

Waltz recoiled in genuine surprise. “What?”

Ember tried to sniff again, the sound more akin to rubbing sandpaper, as she crawled to the entrance and poked her hairless, wrinkled, flesh-pink muzzle into the apartments chilly air and shivered.

“They’re calling me ‘blank-flank’ and saying that I’ll never get my cutie mark!” The last was said with what should have been a tear filled wail, but true tears were a luxury that Ember had never known, a nearly invisible puff of steam fogging the air before her eyes briefly.

Waltz’s surprise quickly became annoyance, with only the smallest hint of concern. She’d been dreading this day. Colts and fillies were so… finicky about these things and it was such a bother to find the right words. Ember’s condition, and the reason she’d adopted her, made it all the more difficult. The truth was that she probably already had a cutie mark, but with no coat for it to appear on, they would never know.

Taking Ember in her forelegs, Waltz drew her out of the cloth cave and into what she believed to be a motherly hug. A steady heat far above an average pony’s radiated from Ember as she burrowed into Waltz’s own furry chest, her evaporating tears condensing in the black hairs.

An idea struck her, a solution to her ‘daughter’s’ current little problem. “Of course you will, my daughter, I already have my best artist working on it. Don’t worry, you will have a truly unique mark the likes of which no pony has ever seen.”

==Ember==

Ember leapt back to avoid the clumsily swung aluminium bat. The up-swing, however, caught under her jaw, and she stumbled back. The bat wielding mare pressed her advantage, striking a flurry of blows over the blackened pony’s shoulders and neck.

Ember screamed in pain and retreated with each blow. She lashed out at the mare with her liquid fire tail, attempting to snatch either the bat or the mare herself, but failing. The few hits she scored did little more than burn black streaks over the protective ceramic plates.

Rearing up, she aimed a kick at the mare’s horn, only to catch a nasty blow to her temple. The world tilted and she crumpled to the ground in a heap. With sputtering sparks, Ember’s mane and tail fizzled and died.

The unicorn panted heavily from her exertion as she edged closer, keeping the bat between them as she eyed the downed mare. She still breathed, the fissures in Ember’s black hide glowing bright with each inhalation. Her gaze drifted down Ember’s sides to her flank. There, where a cutie mark should have been, was a symbol, a brand, a crescent moon surrounded by stylized flames.

Another step closer and the mare poked at Ember’s shoulder. She didn’t move. Using the bat, she tilted her head.

Ember struck like a viper, her teeth snapping over the bat’s rounded tip. An orange light glowed around the hoof wide metal as she smiled.

The unicorn jumped back, wrenching the weapon back with her. It warped, stretching like a rope of taffy as Ember retained her bite over on the tip. Ember reared up, spitting the glob of melting aluminum into the air before kicking it, sending it flying toward the unicorn. She dodged, leaning her head to the side and let the ball pass, not noticing the length still connecting it to the handle in her magic. The viscous metal cord caught her neck, searing her even as it tethered around her, the ball tip arcing back, speeding up with each coiling pass, until it struck her horn, cracking the bone and sending her to the ground.

Ember didn’t watch. She turned to the last two ponies, a predatory gleam in her eye as her mane and tail flared back to life.

The unicorn stallion and earth pony mare shared a glance before dashing to the sides, hoping to flank their prey.

==Ember==

Ember trotted at her mother’s side. Although she was still an ear shorter than the old mare, she was finally of age. Today, on the fifth anniversary of finding her cutie mark, she would finally get to witness her destiny, to see her purpose in action.

Four of the Legends’ starting line followed at a respectful distance. Stillo, called Asp, in a form fitting dress that, by all rights, should have made movement nearly impossible. Laurel Braid, called T’Ourea, could not be seen behind his full body suit of granite armor. The unicorn known only as ‘Dynamo’ covered herself piecemeal Steal Ranger armor. Lastly, Leon, called Sphinx, whose thick fur was all the protection he needed.

For Ember and Waltz they provided a sense of comfort. Neither left their home in the company of less than two, and neither feared walking the Winter City’s streets at night.

Black Waltz wore a light, shimmering, black cloak over her cream coat to ward off the chill. Her long black mane done up in a series of curls that bounced with every step. A pair of small, circle framed, sunglasses sat on her muzzle but did little to hide her violet eyes.

Compared to the others, Ember was a puffed up fur ball. Her light brown parka was easily half a hoof thick and covered her from head to dock and wither to hoof with a hood pulled up to protect her face. Only the nail of her toe and the tip of her snout could be seen poking out of the thick coat, a white fur lining puffing out at the edges. The bulk of the whole thing made walking a chore and removal a pain, but it was either that or never step outside.

Despite the thick parka, she shivered and slid closer to her mother. Waltz glanced at her for a moment, but otherwise said nothing.

Exiting the stairwell, the group stepped once more into the sunlight and Ember’s gasp of delight became a cough.

Before them, easily more than one hundred meters long and fifty meters wide, the frost coated, bloodstained, dirt covered arena came into view. From their vantage point the ponies on the field looked no bigger than dolls as they moved the day’s terrain into place. The scarred steel walls were bolted together and anchored to the ground creating the look of a ruined city thoroughfare running to opposite corners with all the building cut down to the only the first floor to allow the spectators an unobstructed view.

A four panel projector, suspended over the center of the arena by eight massive cables, hung black and lifeless as the audience filed in, taking their seats.

Ember could barely contain her excitement as she and her mother sat down on heated cushions in their private box. It wasn’t long before the bundled up mare’s hooves were tapping in anticipation of the coming spectacle.

Soon, though far too long by Ember’s count, the masses were all seated and the projector blinked to life. Conversations quickly petered out as every eye turned to the face staring down at them.

Rancor smiled down at his subjects with a muzzle much longer and thinner than a pony’s. Though his small, red eyes and black tipped nose were off putting to most, the two long seven pointed antlers that crowned his head were what drew the most attention. The elk, whose physical form could be made out standing in his own private box, began to speak.

“Welcome, my little ponies, to the one hundred fifty-ninth Winter City Games!”

==Ember==

None of the still standing ponies carried a weapon, they didn’t need to.

The earth pony mare, her mark a broken stone, struck first. Stomping both forehooves, she sent tiny tremors through the ground. Ember moved, barely avoiding the pillars of rock and earth that exploded from the ground she’d been standing over moments before. Unfortunately, the unicorn was ready for her. A blast of pure kinetic force shot from his horn, punching Ember’s side and sending her tumbling and skidding along the ground.

Rolling with the hit, Ember ended on her hooves and juked to the side, narrowly avoiding the earth pony’s attack as two more pillars erupted from where she’d landed.

Ember galloped to the edge of the field, the open arena offered nothing in the way of cover or concealment, there would be no hiding. Banking right, she dodged another blast from the unicorn and brought both her opponents into her side view.

The earth pony turned to follow her, but remained rooted in her spot at the arena’s center. The unicorn, however, was slowly trotting in a small circle, keeping pace with Ember, waiting for her to turn to meet them and saving his energy.

Ember smiled even as the cracks in her hide expanded. Lengthening her strides, she barreled onward, kicking up clouds of charred dirt and ash with every step. All around her the ground trembled and shuddered as the earth pony sent pillars and sink holes to trip her up. The unicorn, however, waited. His horn wreathed in a cyan glow as he held back his magic to watch the galloping mare.

Bringing her opponents into a line, Ember jucked right, bearing a one pony stampede down on the unicorn.

The unicorn, his mark a pair of crossed thick red gloves, focused his magic into a single blast to put Ember down for good. He didn’t notice the black cloud that had been following Ember shrink and disappear behind her.

Boxer’s magic fired in the same moment Ember leapt into the air, wings of fire unfolding from her back to carry her over his head. The magical blast careened through the cloud, doing nothing to hinder its progress. Ash and char filled the air, stung his eyes and burned his lungs. Hammer’s warning call went unheard as Ember, landing behind the coughing and sputtering unicorn, gave her tail a single flick. The roaring inferno lasted only a moment, but left the unicorn laying on his side, sucking in lungfuls of carbon dioxide.

The two earth ponies glared at each other across the distance that separated them. Once again, it was Hamer who struck first. Repeating the same motion as before, Ember dodge left, only for the pillars of stone to fail to appear. Instead, a group of hoof sized rocks and sod jumped high into the air around Hammer.

Leaping straight up, she spun, hooves and tail sending the stones sailing toward Ember. Even as the flaming mare dodged most of the rocks, Hammer crashed to the ground and sent another salvo’s worth of stones into the air around her.

Ember growled as she fought to avoid barrage after barrage, her hooves scrambling and tail thrashing to keep the largest from reaching her. Her best efforts proved ineffective as stones made it past her guard, beating against her hide.

Screaming in pain and anger, Ember’s mane expanded, engulfing her flames from head to hoof.

Hamer barely had time to land before a hot, dry voice whispered in her ear.

“Boo.”

It was already too late to move, but she tried. A pair of back forelegs latched around her neck and held her fast. The metal plates designed to withstand almost any blunt force were useless against the heat radiating from the mare grappling with her. Both mare’s fell to the ground and rolled as Hammer fought to escape Ember’s death grip. In seconds sweat began to soak Hammer’s coat.

Caught in an oven, her skin beginning to bake beneath the conductive armour plates and every breath burning her throat, she finally stopped struggling and tapped Ember’s side twice with a hoof.

Ember released her and rolled to her hooves. Hammer remained prone as she tore off the over-heated plates of armor, desperate to escape the smoldering, glowing plates.

Ember’s victorious grin only lasted for a fraction of a second. The flames surrounding her, mane, fetlocks, and tail, winking out as she collapsed to her side. Her black, charred skin reverted to the warped pink of flesh, the cracks sealing up and her mark returning to its natural black state.

With no heat to keep it at bay, the cold air rushed over Ember, and she began to shiver uncontrollably.

A unicorn mare, who’d watched from the sidelines, galloped across the small arena of broken dirt, picking up the discarded parka as she did so. With practiced speed, she wrapped the shivering earth pony in both the parka and a hug, nearly crying as she worked what warmth she could back into Ember’s shivering form.

“C-c-c-co– c-c-c-co–”

The smaller mare squeaked and nodded violently at Ember’s chittering. Pulling a soot black rock from her saddlebags, she pressed it to Ember’s lips. The earth pony snapped it from the air, black flakes falling from her mouth as she crunched her way through the coal. A second and third were summarily consumed before her shivering finally began to abate.

Once Ember was coaxed to her hooves, she looked up into the stands. Only empty seats greeted her.

An aged unicorn mare, her face and sides pocked with old scars stepped forward, stone wore more expression. “You’ll do.” Ember nodded without looking away from the empty stadium seats, her mother still not appearing out of thin air. “Have you decided on a name, or am I going to have to pick one for you?”

Ember nodded again and finally broke off her search, two orbs of roiling magma staring into the coach’s eyes. “Yes,” she said, gritting her teeth to keep them from clicking, ”I have.”

The Ire of Furies 1

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Fallout: Equestria - The Ire of Furies

Part 1

“His spear he thrust into the skies, it pierced the heavens and drew their eyes.”

Muffled slug throwers echoed from the surrounding alleys and windows. Thousands of rounds screeched through the air only to crumple against the magenta dome. It did not last long, the racket of gunfire soon replaced by pounding hooves as the barbarians gave up on their cowardly and futile tactics, rushing to meet their death like true warriors.

A rainbow of earth ponies stormed through the magic barrier to crash against the wall of purest gold and white. Ponies screamed in rage and pain as metal rang, flesh rent, and bone broke.

Prince Tempest stood a full head taller than any of the unicorns surrounding him. Burnished gold armour encased his entire form in overlapping plates, with mesh protecting covering vulnerable joints. A blue crest topped the helm sitting upon his brow, two bladed tines running the length of his long, spiraled horn. The violet half-cape hanging off his right shoulder was already stained with fresh blood from an earlier engagement. His grin showed far too many teeth.

A spray of red caught his eye and he spun and his raised shield, barely deflecting a knife aimed for his throat.

Her coat was blue, or would have been if not for the dirt matting her fur. A single line of spikes comprised her dirty blonde mane, her tail an unkempt mess of knots and tangles. Sewn together plates of tin and green copper covered a fair portion of her torso, likely the remnants of ancient pots and pans. The ritual scars above her eyes only served to highlight the yellowing of her irises.

Tempest thrust his magic held spear at the mare’s exposed throat. She ducked low, the bladed spearhead shearing the first spike off her mane. Air whistled across her knife as she lunged forward. Though his shield intercepted the blade once again, Tempest was unprepared for the left hook that followed. He reeled backward, bashing her muzzle with the shield’s edge.

She rolled with the strike, using the momentum to round on Tempest and lunge again.

The flat bladed spear slipped easily between the barbarian’s third and fourth rib, catching her in mid air. Blood poured around the shaft sliding deeper into her chest. She coughed, droplets of crimson spraying from her lips. Tempest tilted the spear down and slammed her back to the ground, the exposed tip cutting into the street. Her legs kicked at the open air as she fought for breath that would not come.

With the last of her strength, the barbarian hurled her rusted knife at the looming stallion. The throw was weak and unaimed, and Tempest snatched it easily from the air. He had to work the dull blade under the mare’s armour before it would slide between her ribs and up into her heart.

The giant of a unicorn ignored his training to watch as life left his opponent's yellowed eyes. He had every faith in his companions abilities to keep him safe for the short duration, and he felt he owed it to her, few of the barbarians ever managed to strike him.

His tongue tasted iron; the lip would need attention.

The barbarian had fought with skill befitting a warrior, making it past his guards proved her mettle. It was unseemly to begrudge an opponent their rightful kill, and he felt no anger toward her for her’s. Her death, preordained perhaps, had been a warrior’s death and her life no less violent or brutal. That she was an earth pony only made it so much more admirable.

Lord Tempest, the Prince of New Spring, removed his golden helmet and wiped the blood from his lip. The stiff, blue hairs of his new beard scrapped at his hoof.

Vision no longer confined, Lord Tempest surveyed the most recent field of battle. Fuchsia stained light bathed the area, filtered through the magic dome protecting his forty-five companions from the barbarians’ slug throwers. A two pony deep wall of gold and steel death surrounded him, holding back all but the single barbarian dead at his hoofs. Only two other ponies held back from the front lines, their fields responsible for holding the shield steady.

The street was wide but cluttered. Burnt out husks of ancient vehicles and the bodies of the dead, both old and new, littered the area. Glass and steel buildings created traversable walls that stretched to touch the clouds overhead. Rusted and broken poles holding long dead lamps lined the raised sidewalks.

The last barbarian perished quickly, her screams of pain silenced by a quick thrust of spear and sword.

“Captain Gorgon,” Tempest bellowed, “how fair our adversaries?”

The unicorn mare directly before him turned as she withdrew her own spear from a still twitching corpse. Jagged scars marred her white muzzle, running in streaks from the ruined horn tip to disappear beneath her own gold plated armor. “Not well, my Lord Tempest. Their bodies litter these streets, filling them with blood and shit.”

All around them spears were beat upon shields as the voices of his companions called out in cries joyous victory.

Lord Tempest smiled at his companions as he licked the small split in his lip. Stomping the butt of his spear on the ground, he asked, “How fair my companions?”

Captain Gorgon turned her white head, surveying the soldiers under her command and counting them quickly. “We have lost but five this day, a pity, but a pittance for how far we have come.”

“Then we push on.” Replacing his helmet, the son of Chronis roared, “Your Lord wishes to see this Temple of the Seraphim with his own eyes!”

“Aye, my Lord!” The Captain shouted, matching his fervor. “Forward the spears!”

The phalanx of gold armored unicorns compressed. With shields touching and spears readied, they began marching south toward the center of the city. Their voices rose in a cacophony chant, daring any to test their mettle.

“Forward the spears! Steady your shield! The swords of Sol never yield! Push on, push on, til the break of dawn! Forward the spears! Steady your shield! The swords of Sol never yield...”

++Fo:E-TIoF++

The fifth wave broke against golden shields, battering them by sheer weight of numbers and forcing the shining warriors back a single step.

The line held.

“BrooHA!” the line of warriors cheered in chorus, stepping forward as one to send the scrap armored barbarians reeling back into their fellows. Their spears followed next, piercing leather and hide, tin and steel.

Blood flowed.

Tempest stepped forward, ignoring the call of his retainer. The line parted like a curtain, allowing him to the fore. Spear and shield at the ready, he surveyed the chaotic mess of barbarians rushing to their deaths. Viciously, he smiled.

With half a thought, and less attention, his spear skewered a stallion whose lips had been carved from his face. Blood poured from the stallion’s ruined neck. Even as Lord Tempest’s hoof kicked the corpse from his spear, his eyes were already searching out his next opponent.

He found her, an orange-hued mare with an old iron pipe between her teeth. The blue aura coating his horn began to crackle, pure energy arcing the short distance between white horn and gold tine. She spotted him as well, screaming as she charged.

His spell fired. Thunder shattered the air, everypony, save himself, cringing away from the deafening crack. It took her in the chest, a jagged gash in the very air, and sent her sailing through the air and into a building’s pane glass window to disappear amid the darkness beyond.

The nearby explosion of a slug thrower gave him no warning; lead bullets striking his armored hide and pushing him off balance before he could raise his shield and brace his legs. Lord Tempest’s teeth ground as bullets pounded against his magic held shield. He weathered the barrage, letting the thick metal circle take the punishment for him, waiting for the opening that he knew would come.

Click.

Swinging the shield into another barbarians face—bone and teeth-shattering from the blow—Lord Tempest’s eyes found their prey. His magic flared, and his spear sailed through the air. The tip and half the heft disappeared into the gunner’s barrel.

Lord Tempest didn’t spare her a second glance. Drawing the short blade at his side, he swung it low, taking the still dazed barbarian’s fore knee. The back swing hit the crippled pony’s open mouth, only to become stuck in the bone of his jaw.

He left the blade, another barbarina already on him, swinging at him with a rusted pipe. Lord Tempest leaned right, letting the metal bar pass by before stepping forward and goring the stallion with his blade sheathed horn. Life blood spilled from the wound, running down the Prince’s nose guard to splatter on the ground. Screaming in rage himself, Lord Tempest poured magic from his horn until smoke billowed from his foe’s ears, the stink of burnt meat and fur assaulting his nose.

The barbarian didn’t collapse until he tore his horn from the charred neck.

With a moment’s reprieve, he Gripped the sword handle in his teeth and worked the blade free of the corpse’s jawbone before scanning for another kill only to find none. The sounds of battle had died, the last of the not quite dead barbarians being put down quickly.

“My lord Tempest! We have arrived.”

Lord Tempest’s head snapped to his left. His eyes finding the pony who’d spoken only to quickly follow the outstretched hoof.

The base alone was massive, wider than any of the other buildings still standing nearby. Graffiti and vandalism stained every inch within hoof’s reach, though there were still plenty stretching up to the limits of most unicorns’ magic. The Prince’s eyes drifted up and up and up, only stopping once they met the cloud ceiling.

His first venture into the city had shown him the skill and determination of the ancients; the buildings more than three storeys in height had seemed like little more than illusions until that day. The how was still a question to which he had no answer, but knowing that it was possible was enough for him. This however... this...

He’d seen it in the distance, it was impossible not to, but such sights belied the truth. Until he stood in the Temple’s shadow he had not truly believed his own eyes. Such a thing had been mere fantasy, lies told to foals to keep them entertained. Now he knew the truth... and it was marvelous.

“Eros!” he bellowed, his eyes still firmly attached to the highest reaches of the Temple.

A unicorn stallion identical to all the others, save for his lithe frame, stepped forward. Eros bowed. “Yes, my Lord Tempest?”

“You are to return home and summon my brother. I wish to enter this Temple of the Seraphim, and I think he may desire to join me.”

“Aye, my Lord. I shall make all haste.”

“Hold!” the unicorn stopped, turning back. “Ensure that he brings his own guard, we may have cleared the way, but these barbarians seem to infest this place, crawling out of the shadows like so many roaches.”

“It will be done as you say.” Eros bowed once more and turned. In a flash of green magic he disappeared, only to blink back into existence thirty yards away moving at a gallop. With the second flash he was lost from sight altogether.

Dismissing the now absent pony, Tempest returned his attention to the Temple. His eyes focused intently upon the clouds gathered around its upper heights. It was time to see just how tall this Temple was, he decided.

He closed his eyes as magic began to coalesce around his horn in a light blue aura. A sympathetic glow appeared within the clouds overhead, and he pushed. The insubstantial forms shifted at his whim, spreading away from the Temple to open up the sky.

He could feel the warmth of the unfiltered sun caressing his coat as the hole widened, the increase in light visible through his closed eyes. Eagerly, he gazed up.

The clouds had not changed. No light flooded down from the sky, no warmth touched his coat. Only the darkened, blue-tinged ring of clouds spreading from the tower showed evidence that his spell had worked at all.

Tempest’s smile, the one he’d been wearing since he set out that morning, died. A frown of determination replaced it and his horn ignited once again. His magic flooded the cloud cover, directing it, forcing it, demanding that it obey his will. The clouds responded in kind, rolling away from the Temple like a wave of foam.

It accomplished nothing. As quickly as the clouds fled, they were replaced with more just as thick. His frown became a grimace , and he poured more magic into the ceiling of fluff, a secondary corona flaring over his horn. Rearing up, he braced his forelegs against the Temple’s wall, teeth clenched in frustration.

The concerned voice of Gorgon washed by him unheard, and the other unicorns’ eyes were locked upon the roiling sky.

The clouds only thickened, diving the area into a premature night. Errant flashes of lightning illuminated the clouds as the weight of water built, causing the clouds to sag lower and lower in the sky.

Lord Tempest’s frustrations grew with the darkening sky until he screamed, bellowing and pounding the side of the Temple with his hooves. A third corona flared, and the storm broke. Rain pounded the city, cascading down the magic dome as thunder and lightning raged in time with his beating hooves.

++Fo:E-TIoF++

Tempest’s rage only lasted a few minutes before he wore himself out and collapsed from exhaustion.

The storm, however, continued on for half an hour. Torrents of rain washed the blood from the streets as lightning lit the sky and filled the world with thunder. Unease coursed through the ranks of unicorn warriors as they huddled near the center of the dome, crowding around those responsible for maintaining its protective cover. What few barbarians had remained alive fled, abandoning their prey in favor of a safe haven from the storm.

As the storm began to peter out the confidence of the soldiers returned and so too did they return to their duties. Despite the barbarians departure, five were posted at the edge of the shield wall to keep watch for any foalish enough to attempt an assault. With their prince resting and no opponents to occupy their attentions, other activities were quickly found to pass the time.

Breaking into groups, they engaged in a variety of favored pastimes. Two of the largest groups set their weapons aside to compete in one-on-one wrestling matches with golden bits riding on which would come out the winner. Other groups ranged from telling exaggerated tales of exploits over rations to gambling on games of chance.

Lord Tempest spent most of that time resting and regaining his strength. The frustration of failure ate at him. Never before had the clouds denied him so. Was it possible that the Seraphim truly held dominion over the sky, more so even then himself? He did not like the possible implications.

When he finally did regain his hooves he turned his attention to the Temple’s base. There was but one entrance he could find; locked by one of the Ancient’s terminals. The computers were common enough in the Stable, it was the first he’d seen in the city though. That raised questions, but none he cared to ponder.

“My lord Tempest, your brother approaches!”

Looking up, Tempest could just make out the approaching group, distorted as they were by the shield walls. Even so, the taller earth pony standing in the midst of the twenty unicorn guards was clearly visible.

Everypony stood and retrieved their discarded weapons before moving to the edge of the shield. A moment of tension followed as the new arrivals approached. A collective breath was taken, muscles tensing, all eyes focusing on the darkened windows and alleys of the surrounding streets. Two shield spells could not be mixed and one would have to be brought down before the ponies could join under the one that would remain intact. A dangerous proposition when surrounded by towering buildings filled with windows and shadows.

The shield dropped and the twenty one ponies rushed to regain their lost sanctuary.

The moment of danger passed with only the sound of hooves clattering against asphalt.

The apprehension fled, everypony relaxing once again. With nothing else to do the warriors returned to their groups, joined by their newly arrived fellows.

The earth pony alone did not join them. Standing just shorter than Tempest, still taller than any other pony present, a pale ashen coat of fur covered him from nose to dock. His mane as black as pitch. Wrapped as he was in a purple toga, his mark could not be seen. A calm pace brought him to stand before the Lord Tempest. “My brother, foal! Do you seek only to enrage our father further with your disobedience, to say nothing of dragging me to the depths with you.”

Tempest’s grin split his face. “Foal, brother? Your words are blunted by the glory your eyes do miss! Look, gaze up and see, for we stand in the shadow of splendor!”

The earth pony’s expression remained stoic. “Glory and splendor are fleeting things, father’s rage burns long and slow.”

“To the pits with father’s rage! We shall bring back such wonders to dowse his anger til his final breaths. Dispense with your remonstrations, Disapater, you art no less aroused than I, or did you come not but to grouse and depart?”

His control finally flagging, Disapater’s eyes broke contact with his brother’s and traveled up the Temple’s height. A smile found his muzzle. “Tis truly magnificent is it not?”

Smug with victory, Tempest saddle up beside him and draped a foreleg across the other’s withers. “That it is. What treasures it must hold.”

“What little remains within. The barbarians are not ones to leave such a place unmolested.”

“Aye, were they to gain entrance.” Disapater allowed himself to be lead closer to the Temple. “Brainless animals that they are, they gained no such passage. The door is locked and sealed, unbroken by their weak hooves.”

Tempest brought the pair to stand before the Temple’s sole entrance. A great steel door two pony widths across barred access to the interior. Scrapes and dent’s marred its surface as much as the colors from paint and other less pleasant sources, but none had managed to pry it open even the most miniscule of measurements. The computer poking from the wall beside it, though its screen was shattered, hummed with life. Fixed above the entrance, a single red glass lamp sat dead and lifeless.

“Tell me, my beloved brother, have you the skills to gain us admittance, or has the day’s slaughter been for naught but glory?”

Disapater did not respond, stepping forward to examine the computer. Taking the ancient machine in his fore hooves, he studied it. A few moments later he reached a decision. Without looking away he shouted, “Lionheart! My satchel!”

“Aye, my lord Disapater!”

With the assistance of Lionheart, Disapater’s personal guard, the machine was broken down. Metal plates protecting its innards removed, exposing boards, wires, and tiny gems still glowing with faint magicks. More wires were quickly attached between key places within the computer and the Pipbuck attached to the earth pony’s foreleg.

Tempest left them to their work, confident in his brother’s skill. His patience, however, only stretched so far and the hours passed by slowly as the two worked quietly. The sun was halfway past its zenith when Tempest found himself pacing behind them.

“You take too long brother! Were not you the one to claim mastery over these devices?”

Disapater made his reply with the press of a button below the terminal’s screen.

The lamp above the door spun to life as an horn began to blow, red light dowsing the gathered ponies. Air hissed out from the edges of the door.

Tempest grinned, placing a hoof on his brother’s shoulder.

++Fo:E-TIoF++

Tempest and Disapater galloped out of the Temple to the sound of blaring alarms. Their warriors quickly followed suit, forming a protective circle around the young princes.

“Thou art a blithering nitwit!”

“How was I to know it would react so?”

“I told thee not to touch anything, but noooo, don’t listen to the pony who knows what he is talking about!”

The first explosion urged the already galloping herd to pick up their pace. The second shook the ground under their hooves. Screaming metal brought them to a skidding halt, everypony turning to face the Temple.

The tower canted to the side, metal bending and breaking as metric tons of steel shifted. Fire blossomed from its side as another explosion shattered what windows had survived the last two hundred years.

It was too late to run. The first four storeys gave out completely, dropping the tower thirty feet straight down. Metal screamed as it was subjected to forces it couldn’t hope to withstand, twisting and bending as it failed. The long shadow shrank. Another explosion halfway up the Temple rained debris down upon the scrambling ponies.

Magic shields flickered into existence around the able unicorns, deflecting much of the falling shrapnel.

The top of the tower fell first, ripping away from the base. Like a javelin, the pointed spire hit the ground. Shockwaves tore the street apart and sent broken down carriages flying into buildings whose foundations were already giving way. A cloud of dirt, mortar, and grit filled the air, rolling through the city like a tidal wave.

The screams of pain were lost amid the chaos of destruction.

Fo:E - Palomino Tales

by Honey Mead

Collars

Winter's Heart

Ember

The Ire of Furies 1