> (This Chicken Is Dead Now)
>  by shortskirtsandexplosions
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Zaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaap
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Are... uh..."  Scootaloo shook.  Scootaloo wobbled.  "Uhhhh..."  Her four petite hooves struggled to hold the filly's balance atop the narrow, outstretched branch of a tall tree outside Ponyville town limits.  "Are you s-sure about this, Sweetie Belle?"

"Absolutely!"  Far down below, a marshmallowy speck of a crusader waved back.  "If we really want to expand our reach as Cutie Mark Counselors, then we've gotta make ourselves more marketable!"  Her teeth glinted with a long-distance grin.  "An awesome picture should do wonders in motivating young foals to come to us, seeking help!  And what could be more awesome than a majestic pegasus poised at the top of a towering tree?!?"

"But... like..."  Scootaloo panted and sweated, scoot-scoot-scooting slowly towards the end of the branch.  Her ears folded back as a brisk wind blew at her orange mane and tail-hairs.  "...you all remember that I'm not quite like other pegasi, right?"

"Yeah, so?  You're the lightest one of us three!  It only makes sense that you make the climb!"

Scootaloo clenched her teeth.  "I'm pretty sure you're the lightest of us, Sweetie Belle."

"No!  I'm the sassiest!  There's a difference!"

Hoofsteps clopped up over the nearest hillside.  "I gone and fetched him, Sweetie Belle!  Is Scootaloo up the tree yet?"

"Sure is, Apple Bloom!  She made good time!"

"Why—howdy up there, Scoots!  You doin' okay?"

Scootaloo's teeth chattered as she hugged the tree branch beneath her.  "Y-You two h-haven't felt a warm stream of liquid falling d-down on your heads, have you?"

"... ... ...can't say that we have, why?"

"Oh... uh..."  Scootaloo cleared her throat, blushing into the wind.  "No reason."

"Apple Bloom, is he coming or not?" Sweetie Belle's voice cracked.

"There he is!  Our photographer of the hour!"

Featherweight buzzed over the hill, lugging a camera hanging off his narrow frame.

"Get in there nice and tight, Featherweight!"  Sweetie Belle hollered from below.  "We wanna see the veins in her ears!"

"Hey!"  Scootaloo frowned, nostrils flaring.  "How come he's not the one perched in a tree?"

"Do you own a camera?"

Scootaloo's tail drooped.  "Well..."

"Better take yer shot soon, Featherweight!" Apple Bloom exclaimed.  "I feel a windgust comin' on!"

Featherweight simply nodded.  With a bucktoothed smile, the quiet colt hovered across the branch, keeping level with Scootaloo.  He adjusted the lens of his camera and lined up for a perfect shot.

"Now strike a pose, Scoots!" Sweetie Belle yelped from below.

Scootaloo gnashed her teeth, feeling the entire tree sway from the accelerating winds.  "How in the hay do I stroke a pose?!  There's nothing to pose on!"

"Sure there is!  Be nimble!"

"Like a cat, Scoots!"

"Yeah!  Like a cat!"

Scootaloo took a shuddering breath.  "Like a cat... like a cat..."  She gulped, inhaled, and slowly inched forward across the branch.  "...like a cat... like a cat... like a cat..."

Her tail curled left and right with acrobatic grace.  Soon, her fetlocks were sliding forward with paw-like grace.  It didn't take long for her to be standing halfway down the length of the wooden structure.

"Meow..."  Scootaloo breathed to herself.  "...meow meow meow meow—"  A tiny smile crossed her fuzzy features.  "Hey, I got this!"

"Whatever you do, don't look down!"

"Heh..."  Scootaloo smiled at the bent horizon of the world stretching around her.  "As if I would fall for such a stereotypical invitation to karmic doom—"  A heavy wall of wind slammed into the tree, swaying it and shaking the branch violently up and down.  "Awwwwwwww—!"  She slipped off completely and fell.

The other two crusaders below caught their breaths.

"Httt!"  Scootaloo caught the branch with her two forelimbs.  "Grnnnkt... hmmmnghh!"

Featherweight's eyes blinked wide.

"Guhhhhh—haaauuccktt!!!"  Scootaloo sound effected in distress, struggling to pull herself up onto the branch from which she dangled.

Sweetie Belle's jaw dropped more and more as her already-alabaster coat paled.  "Oh.  My.  Gosh.  Scootaloo!  That's PERFECT!"  Sweetie Belle cupped her yelling muzzle with two fetlocks.  "Featherweight!  Take the shot!"

"Sweetie Belle—" Apple Bloom growled.

"It's the perfect pose!"  Sweetie Belle chirped.  "It'll inspire millions for dog years!"

"But Scootaloo needs—"

"Featherweight!"

Up above, the colt was already operating the shutter with an obedient hoof-press.

Scootaloo struggled and sweated and strained.  For the briefest of seconds, she looked straight at Featherweight's camera lens with the mother of all melancholic expressions.

-SNAP-

"Yes!"  Somepony cheered down below.  "That's perfect!"

Scootaloo's lips quivered at this moment.  Part of her thought she would embrace a situation like this with anger... fear... and maybe even a little bit of defecation.  Instead, all the filly felt was this pitiful sadness rolling through her heart... the heart-freezing realization that she had lived for very few years and there would now be no more left for her to enjoy.  The sheer degree of acceptance impressed her, and it was simply depressing to know she wouldn't have the time to examine it closer.

For sure enough, her grip gave out...

...and Scootaloo fell like the anvil that she was always born to be.  Only when the force of gravity took hold did she give into animalistic panic, hyperventilating as more and more branches zipped by.  Her skin stretched taut from the centripetal force overtaking her, and soon her peripheral vision was devoured by ground.  "Gnnnnnnngh—RAINBOWDAS—"


CRUNCH!!!


Silence.

"... ... ... ... ... ... ...so did we get the shot?"





Scootaloo's eyes were open... and yet they weren't.

She rose up out of herself, drifting a few meters off the fresh crater in the ground.  She looked down and saw that the grass had been replaced with an endless sea of broken eggshells and naked quills.  The air was drab, gray, overcast—filled to the brim with suffocating clouds of drifting down feathers, pale and mottled with unfathomable age.

Silent and calm, Scootaloo looked up at the tree that had killed her.

Much of the bark had been stripped off by an unnameable plague.  The structure stood like a leafless bone shard against a broiling, overcast sky.  Things dangled off every branch and twig—and Scootaloo soon realized they were the dried-up husks of countless dead songbirds, dangling against each other like leathery windchimes in the calcified air.

Scootaloo gazed.  She didn't blink.  She didn't breathe.

Something parted the meager light of that realm.

She gazed to her right.

Where Ponyville was supposed to be—there instead resided a mountain range of loose turkey bones and crow's feet.  Scraggily, frail things drifted in the air like meteorites in slow motion.  They turned out to be ravens, frozen in their death throes, all drifting skyward in a reverse rain of necrotic limpness.

Scootaloo said nothing.  An unseen wind blew at her mane, and soon she too was drifting forward—further away from her body—and joining the avian corpses in their slowly spiraling ascent towards the blackest of black focal points in the heavens.





"Uhm... Sweetie Belle?  I dun think Scootaloo's movin' much since she fell..."

"Have you tried poking her?"

"I have!  Several times!"

"Did you poke her enough?"

"Well, I reckon there're some places still left to poke... but best I leave that to a doctor.  Or—y'know—one of her Aunties."

"Wow... I can't believe Featherweight got that shot!"

"Pokin' is... quite natural between family members..."

"It's the greatest picture of the year!"

"Am... a-am I right, Sweetie Belle?"

"Huh?  Oh!  Sure!  Pokey the Penguin!  That's cool!  Featherweight!  Go and get that picture developed!  Woohoo!  We're gonna be known all throughout Equestria for SURE with that as our advertisement!"

"You dun... uh... reckon that she's dead, do ya?"

"Huh?  Who?"

"Scootaloo—"

"No!  Nooooo... she's fiiiiiiiiine..."

"But she ain't movin'!  Even with all the pokin'!"

"Pffft.  Oh please.  Has she ever been dead before?"

"... ... ...I reckon not."

"Then how would she know anything about being dead now?!"

"Errr..."

"Here.  Help me get her back to the clubhouse before she makes a mess."

"How and why would she make a mess?"

"She's a pegasus.  Their wings drool oil all over the place if they're not preened right away.  And then it becomes flammable.  I read this in a book somewhere."

"What kind of book were you re—?"

"Quick!  We gotta get there in time to receive the photos that Featherweight develops!"





The noise grew increasingly cacophonous.

Scootaloo's glazed eyes stared ahead, reflecting a quadruple helix of swirling forms all around her, cycling into a maelstrom of chaos.

Above her, confused mother cardinals with the tell-tale signs of wolf scratches and snake bites clasped at fractured eggshells and warbled in distress.

To her left and right, geese whimpered in zero gravity, struggling to pluck sharp arrows out from their fleshy torsos.

Below her, Scootaloo caught sight of a screaming ostrich on fire.

The further the filly drifted, the denser the sea of undead birds became.  Soon, this cloud turned a brownish white—as the vortex crowded with thousands upon millions upon billions of plucked chickens, most of them with their heads cut off.  The decapitated crowns twirled past Scootaloo, clucking and crowing with lungless horror.  Red combs billowed red and ripe in the deathly haze.

Scootaloo cocked her head to the side.  By now, she was threading her way down a purgatorial tunnel of feathers and beaks and claws.

In the center... she swore she saw... large stone surfaces brimming with lightning.





"Yes!  It's a miracle!"

"What?  What?!  Did Scootaloo start breathin'—?!"

"Just look at the first print that Featherweight brought us!  The lighting is perfect!  And there's enough room at the top left and bottom right for text!  Quick!  Think of something motivational!"

"Uhhhhhhhh... apples?"

"Eugh!  You gotta try harder than that, Apple Bloom!"

"Is... is it just me, or is the clubhouse startin' to smell awful funky?"

"If we want to attract fresh new cutie mark-bearers from all over Equestria, then we gotta come up with a motto that's both concise and universally appealing!"

"I... I'm startin' to think that it's Scoots that's causing the smell.  Like, how long has it been?  Three days?"

"Hmmm... hmmmmm... what can we dream up?  Something that... that... complements that expression on her face!"

"Mrmmfff... I reckon I dunno what to do anymore.  Hang in there, Scootaloo—"

"Duaaaaaah!  'HANG IN THERE!'  Apple Bloom, you're a genius!  That's PERFECT!"





A squeaking voice echoed across the hellscape.

Scootaloo's left ear twitched, but otherwise she continued her glacial glide into Birdlimbo.

The feathers and bones and bodies came to a circling orbit around a sphere of cold blue stone.  The curved surface was scratched in a trillion places, leading to a strange otherworldly polish that looked both shiny and rusted.  If that wasn't enough, every few spaces there opened a wide hole brimming with steam and vapor.  Boiling water rippled along the lip of each opening, and—if Scootaloo squinted hard enough—she thought she could see limbs thrashing about in agony deep within.

It would certainly explain the sheer bedlam echoing all around her.  Between the flashes of lightning and ensuing thunder, Scootaloo made out a neverending chorus of pained chirps, horrified hoots, and panicked screeches.  It was a banshee soup of sonic proportions, comprising of the frightened screams of every bird that has ever lived or died in the totality of existence.

And through this nightmare, they marched.  Hulking, hunched, bipedal Tyrannosauridae, bound in chains with gigantic cages on their backs and rusted spikes stapled over their eyes.  Their saurian scales were blotted over with the ash of innumerable avian corpses collected, judged, and sentenced to eternity.

On thudding trifold claws, one specimen in particular rumbled closer to Scootaloo.  She watched as the beast lashed its tail upwards—and outwards—into the cloud of spiraling bodies.  It scooped the undead birds into an enormous pile before splaying them out—limp and helpless—across the dead blue stone.  Leaning over it, the beast's nostrils inhaled the scent of the damned.

"H̷̡̝̘̣̻̖̪̘̓͋̅̍̉͝r̴̡͖̟͉̟͖̟̰͋̀̊ͪ͝m̧̰͚͍̬̗͎̞͈̩̾̄ͥͭ̀ͤ̄́̕͢m̢̱̰̼̯̻̬͍̬̿̐̆̂̃̃̀̚m͊ͤ̿̓̅̇͒̉͋͏̱͇̦̤͢m̞͓͇ͮ͐ͨ̀m̸̳̼ͫ͌..."

Ancient teeth, pierced with runed ringlets, glinted from the lightning as its mouth opened.  The blind judge exhaled vaporously over the shrieking gaggles.

"...ţͥ̎ͯ҉̯̗̭͙̟o͚̫̬͉̤͆ ̓ͮ͂ͣ̔̏ͥ҉̲̜͕͟ț͙̺͕̹̓ͫ̒ͨͅh̬͔͖̖͑ͧͧ͒̋͝e͔̞͊̋̒̃̂̇̋͋͝  ̴̧̮̦̅͌̋̈́c͖͕̝̻̰̘͇ͧ̓͂̐ͥ̓ͥ̚l̞͈͖̙̯̟͔̯͌̔̎̀̌̓͛ỏ̯̳͚̲̻̝̗́̑̏̔̀̕͝ų͎̖̪̫͕͖̋̄́ḍ̢̧̫̬̝̰͖̞̦̽ͦ͐̾ͤs̐҉̸͉̦͍̗̱̰̗̕."

It then snatched one half of the writhing pile in its jaws and gobbled the yelping figures down its throat.  Lifting up, the saurian entity gave its leprotic body a shake.  Steam and blood billowed out a million tiny orifices, eventually loosing a fan of feathers in the osmotic release.  The downy dust faded as the judge than marched over towards another pile.  One tiny sniff, and the guardian sneered through its ringlet'd jaws.

"Ţ̛̛͚͈͉̞͔͖͇̅̂ͥ̃ͫõ̸͉̩̤̝̇̓̿̉͌͡͡  ̨͇̙͍̩̘̱̃̄̂ͩ̋ͥ̓̕ť̷̤̙͈̣ͪ̓h̸̟͙̔͌e̓̋ͨ̓̃̇ͪ̒͏̜͈̖  ̶̗̜̱͈̲͎̦͔͗͌ͤ̔̋ͤ̎ͩ̍͘H̫̫̻̱ͫ̃u̥̲̱̳͚̤̱̩͑̐̍̀͑͒ͪ̓ͯ́ṅ̺̖̘̱̯͇͍͎̇̏̾̾g̘̻̬̻̮͙̔̓́̕r̄ͭͦ̿̈́̓̔̈́ͯ͏̗̜͕͙y̰͇̥̥̑."

Chirps and hoots and cries echoed from the bodies in desperate protest, but it was no use.  With a swing of its tail, the monster hoisted one of the large rusted cages off its back and slammed it down.  It then scooped the writhing avians into the chickenwire container.  Then, without any hesitation, it heaved the thing into one of the many-many openings in the sphere, dipping it deep into the bubbling broth below.  The hundreds of helpless undead bodies trapped within could only scream as the unbearably hot water boiled their remaining flesh to goo... and once the execution was finished, the saurian pulled the cage back out and jettisoned the remaining brittle bone ash to the heavens with a single swing.

Thunder resumed.

The judged was marching its way across the stone sphere...

...and growing closer and closer to Scootaloo.





"Finally!  Miss Hooves delivered!  Momentoftruth!Momentoftruth!  WOOHOO!  Score!  Feast your eyes, Apple Bloom!  Now is that motivational or what?!"

"Uhhhh..."

"First thing I'm gonna do is send a tall batch of these to the School of Friendship..."

"...do you think we should... y'know... tell Scoots' Aunts about what happened to her?"

"...then send another bunch to Seaddle.  You know how their school system is over there.  Heh..."

"I mean... considerin' that they've already done dug up a grave and... uhm... the funeral is this Saturday..."

"Today Ponyville!  Tomorrow—Equestria!  We'll be the Counselors of the Century!"

"...and I for one know how... snfff... how plum sad it is to hold a wake for somepony when t'ain't no body left..."

"Wow, I wonder what kind of business cards we should get?  Eggshell white or bone marrow?"

"There... th-there was just nothin' left of Ma and Pa after what the Timberwolves did to—"

"Apple Bloom, will you please get your head in the game?!  Do I have to be the only one keeping us afloat here?  And—gah!  Oh great... now her tail is falling off!  Dang it... where's the broom???"





THUDDD!!!

The beast slammed a pile of writhing feathers and beaks onto the surface of the stone sphere.

It leaned over, sniffing at the shrieking songbirds and penguins and eagles.

"M̹̞̠̤͉͗̆̋̊ͬ̋ͅr̛̊̓ͯ͗̊͏̸͇̝̻̜̣̝m̊ͯ̿̎ͪͤ͛̽́҉̞̼̻͖m̢̩̯͛̋̓̊̑ͥ͆ͮ̀m̸̸̳̝̙̹̖̫͓͖̊̀ͅm͈̣͔̼̣̠ͪ̂͂̋̾͌̀̏͡... t̛̹̻̤ͬͦ̽͐ͬͩ̍̓̈o̬͎̻̹͉̲̱͎ͪͩ̌̃ͬͬ̏͢ ̡̪̞͎̬̊ͅt̝̮̜̃͌͒̆ͬ͞h̘̤͎̑͊͂̏͝è̿ͮ̔͋҉͚̱͚̭̞  ̨̢͖̞͎͕̰͉̭̗ͤͯ̾͜Hͮͥ̇҉̮̪u̴ͦ̽̇҉̛̳͉̖̳̦n̨̦̮̲̫̮̰̖͖ͪͯ̅ͦ́́͘g͉̬̝͑͆ͪ̌̒ͭ̾̉̀͠—"

Just then, the beast froze.  Mist billowed in and out of its yawning jaw.

It sniffed again.

"S̡̧̱͙̜ͨ̿ͧ̓͘o͆ͫ̀̇̿̉͘҉͔m̷͓̣ͪͯ̈ͤͧ̇̎ͤ͡͠e̼̦̘͚̮̪̝͉̿͆ͯ̑̕͠t̽ͤ̌͒̃ͫ҉̖̣͓̬̹hͮͬ͏̫̻̙̩͈̱̞i͕̻͉̺̞̠͉ͧͨ͒̀̚ͅņ̧̘̰̼̥̗̂͂g͖̪͔̬̰͓̤ͧ̔̉̐ͫ̇͂͢͝  ̤̰̺̼̻̋̑̍͊̚i̒̈͒҉͉̼͔̠s̝̪͍̻͚̬̫͙̎  ͆̌̊͋ͥ̾̇̚҉̳͚̗̜̥̪͢ͅͅn̶̛̥̞̂̓o̼͇̭̲̱ͥ̎̉̆ͨ̑̚̕t̸̬̞͍͉͎ͯ͐̓̀͐̆͂̒͝ͅ  ̶̧̩ͦ̃̉̂̋̒̒r̢̥̺͙͔̠̼͙̻̲͂ͩ̽͋̆̿i̗͕̮̥̯̠͂̓̀g̴͎̬ͧͯ͡h̲̹̝̘̠̯̭̯̉͛ͥ̽͊ͥ͆͐̚ṭ̛̺̱̣̭̺̣ͦ̍͗̌ͦ̍͟͟..."

It swung its tail around and parted the necrotic pile down the center.

In so doing, it exposed Scootaloo.  The tiny filly stared up at the monster's maw.  There were no blinks, no sounds, no nothing.

"H̞̬̗̪̃ͤͯ̌̒͝r̷̡̺̍̊́͡m͈͔̪̓̉ͧ̀͜͝m̶͙̫͕̤̪̳͒ͅm̨̛̱̣͍̩ͯͩ̊̆̂ͬ̈̏̄ͅm̆͆̇̇͐̑̌͜͏̜̬̜̖̰͍m̷̱̣̓ͯ͘ͅm̖̟̫̠̝͓̓̈̈ͩ̑̍͜..."  The saurian tilted its stapled head left and right, as if it could somehow "see" through its crown of spikes.  "A̧̢̛̘͚̜̳͓̙̜̹͋̐͆̿ͥ͒̑̈́ņ̻̳̇̀  ͖̖͚͓̹̠͚͔̭ͣ̏ͮͬͣͧä͙͙̓b̷̡͈̱̬̪̞̳͂̾̽ͭ̀e̸͖̤͓͈͙ͭͮ̀r̬̘̣̣̳̩͉̻͆ͥ̏͂ͨͥ̅̄r̶̡̹̲̖̺͎̺̘̙ͤă̅ͯ̄̄͊͂ͪ͏͇͙̝t̴͎̫̖͉͖̤͖̝͕̒̔͂ͨ̈̊i̴̴̢̤̮̪̗̻̳͗͑̐͑̐o̵͍̝͇̯͇̰̫̱ͯ̀̿͂̃̍̓̀́n͚̭͐ͣ̅."

Scootaloo said nothing... even as the beast raised her up in a stubby clawed hand.  Her body jolted slightly... as the judge pierced her chest.  A claw reached in, dug around, and pulled out the filly's heart.  Turning the pulsating thing over, the suarian revealed a rune that was out of place.  In black etching, the design illustrated a flightless bird with a pronounced comb.

The beast opened its maw wide and licccccked both Scootaloo and the rune with an enormous, slimy tongue.  The wet limb in question lingered on the indentations of the tiny medallion, and at last the beast exhaled with understanding.

"W̳̦̏̊ͧ̿̉̓͒̽ͨě͉͍̩͔ͬͥ̃͗̀͘l͔̳̇̐̔̌́l̦͔̺̬͑ͮͤ͡,̷̺͚̻͓͇͓̥͉̑͆ͤ̔ͬͪ̚  ̝̪͉͖͖̯͉ͪͨ͛̊̍̑̕͞ͅt̪͖̘̂͒ͫ̎̓̌̈̐͡ḣ̪͇͓̥̙̑͒̈͋ͣa̟̤̦̙̲̯̱ͮͭ́̃ͯ̀t͈̜͎̫̟̘̾ͫ̾͜  ̽͌ͪ̏̌̑ͯ͘҉̬͠w̢̙̳͎̩̱̻̝̹ͩ̐͞o̐̑ͩ҉̗̱̝̖̪̼̪͖u̵̬̇̆̆̽̓́͜l̙̳͋͆ͮͤ̃̆ͭd̵̦͓̭̅̈́̎͗̊ͧͩͮ͡  ̨̡̪̰̋̏ͫè̛͇̳̰̙̠̩ͨ̈ͬ͢ͅx̏ͨ̐̚͏̰̘̬̟͇̳ͅṕ̛̹̀̎ͯ́͘l̨̖̩̭̹͚̭̹͙ͨ̏͡á̸̖͍͎̗̖̦͇͆͑̓ͪi̛͉̘̣̱̳͐̋̾̓͌̍ͯ͒͠ǹ̢̳̯͇̯̞̟̱͉̟͑͐͝͝  ͚̩̭̅͑̓̽t̗̰͙̼̯̋̎́̕͡h̷̘̖̣̲͚̻͖̮͆̀́ḛ̞̻̠̟̹ͯͬ̑̽  ̾͑ͣ̾̔͒̇͌҉̷̼͔̞̼ṕ̡̡̘͌̓́r̩̙̹̤̘̯̼̍̐̉ͯ́̇̓͢o̖͔̥̯̲̞̓ͥ̇͞͝b̛̹͖̯̠̯̮͙̰̅̓͐ͅl̯̺͎̟̟̿ͭͫ̌͋e̟͎̘̖͙̟̻͇͛̇̍̐̿̔͒͜m͎̩̹̤̝͇ͨ͋ͩ̋ͯ̄̚͜."

He plucked the thing loose from Scootaloo's heart and tossed it to the wind.

"N̸̖̭͚̆̍̇̔̓̿͟o̢̅ͯ͏̧̼w̧̓̒̈́͑́ͭ͏̙̤͍̹̳̗̱ͅ..."

The beast reached its own tail up and fished around the runes piercing its teeth.

"Ḷ̿̓ͣ͛͂è̵̪͇̲͔̳̙́͗ͫ͑ͬ̚͡t̙̣̩̠̩͑̔̾́̿̾͢ ̥͈͙̖͂ͭͬͫ̐̓̄͘u̸̧̺̩̐͂̄͊̑ͪ͆̇s͈̺̿ͤ̏̓̽ͫ͜  ̢̖̦̈́͆ͤ̔ͮͣ̍̾͟s̷̠͉ͪͧ͂͆̒̀̄ͅȩ̢͎͓͇̱͛͑͂ͅͅe̛͓̝͇͇ͫͯ̑ͤ̈́̉̒̚͘͜  ̡̢̤̞̱͖͔̹̹̞̎̓ͧͤ̈̄̈́w̡̘̹͉͍̝͍̼ͥͬͬͦͣ́͢hͭ̈́̃ͭͩ҉̳̜͟ͅa͕̖̾ͯ͢͠ţ͚͉̭̝́̓̍́͐̌̚  ̠͓͔̑̔w̄͒̍͏̡͔̦̙̻̬̦o̷͕̹̙͌̽̔̉̉͗͋̋̀u͈̖̳̰͆͟ͅl͉͚͔̙͂̍ͮ̿̂͋̃͑d̜̞̓͊̎̈̐̀  ̜́ͥ͐̕͡f̴̗̲ͩ̈͡i̸̜̠̻͎̬̰͙̳͑̄ͯ̐ͅṱ̳̩͈̝ͦ̂̇ͤ̅̋ͪ͒ͤ́͘͘ͅ  ̢͓͓͎̝͑ͭ̊b͍̟̘̱̓̽̃ͫͫ̽͟͟e̴̴̙̳̝͚͋͆̿t͇̩ͭ̾̉̑t̵͛ͬͮͣ҉͖̻e̩̦͈͙͒͊̾ͧͣr̢̰̺͇͆ͮ̐̌͊̀͜ͅ..."

At last, it found the medallion it was looking for.  Raising it to the strobes of lightning, the judge revealed a rune that depicted a frightened black cat with its hair rising.  Two dark etchings emanated from its eyes, creating a rigid blaze along the outer rim of the round rune.

"H̴̤̥̹̠͔̬̜̬͗̽̏ͧ͜͝r̗̹̼̦͙̣͚̄̂͞ṃ̨̘͙̮̘̠̖̃̆̓͊ͅm̴̠̭̜̪̠̬̦͒̆͆̾́m̧͕̖ͩ͂ͩ̓ͭ̊̐m̪͍̗̙̮̜͂̉̎ͣͨ̑̆ͩ̈͠..."  The beast licked Scootaloo... then the rune... then Scotaloo again.

A dull, thunderous pause.

"Ǵ̵̙̥̜͇͖̍̄͗̋̌̚h̵̛̦̝̤͕̠͇̼̥͋̾ͩͮh̷͖̲̺̬̜̪̟̊̃ͩ̾̌̚h̡̦̭͖͈̦̬̜̭̊ḧ̵̴͉̮̟͕̄̄ͬ̈h̶̝͇̱̳̱͈̻̅́͟k̢̥͉̘̯͖̟͙̻̈́ͫ͂͢k̢̡̠̜͖͕̤ͦ̈͗̉͆̀t̸̺͈̀͋͆̆̎ͤ..."  The blind creature shrugged.  "C̴̻̮̫̮̞ͧ̅̀l͓̰̼̺͎̄͘͡o̢͕̟̪̻͚̙̠ͪ̿̔̔̇ṣ͔̥̩̦͓͗̾̂̔̃ͧ̐̌̏͝͠e̷̟̬̻͕̭͚͖͂̾ͨ͋ͥ̃̓ͪ͠ͅ  ̟̘̰̯̻̘ͩ͒̉̇ͧ͌̄̍e͋͋͂͋̉ͧͤ̚͏̷̮̮̱͉̯̣̕n̖̟̜͓̯̪̙͋̀̂͛͊̕͟ȏ̤ͅự̜͇̣̼̖ͥͬ̿͗͆̚ǧ̵̬̾͐̑ͤͨ́ḣͪ̐͏҉̩̠̩̖̣̭̦ͅ."

With a wet splat, it pinned the medallion to Scootaloo's heart, shoved the organ back into her chest...

...and tossed the limp filly back down the avian tunnel from which she came.

"Ę̖̞̤͔͓͉̟͎ͥ́̈͂̕͜ǹ̶̞̤͈͔̩̻̭͙͊ͬͦj͙̭͐̽̄̌̇̐ͭͨ̓͟oͭ̅̍̋̕͡͏͖̺͍̠͈̯̳y̖̘̪̤͈̘͎͎͂ͬͪͬ̀   ̶̴̙͚͕̰̪̰̥ͧ̈́͛͟ē̴̸͍͎̜̤̞̋̂̌̈́̈̿ĩ͉͇̻̻̟͙͆ͮ̅͂ͧͭ͠g̬̠̗̠̟̬̙͎̉̋hͤ̓̍̇̑̓ͫ͂͏̖̞̬̰͔ͅt̳͔̰͍ͨ̿͛̌͠  ̺̪͔̞̦̓̂ͣ̒̎͗͂̀m͙̬̩̹̩͉̼̱̓̀̍ͯ͊͐ͭ̔͡͞ó͋̅҉̵͚̳̳̖͢r̸̴̳ͮ̒̓ͮe̱̟̬̼͎̬̋̓̋̽ͫ̕͟  ̋̌̃҉̦͈͖̟c̪̰̞͎̺͗̽ͧ͗̅̽́͢ḫ̸̹̈̄͂ä̛̙̝̦̣̣̝́ͪͅṅ̟̞̜̠̓̿̓ͅͅc̛̱͇̗̺̈́̓͞e͎̖ͧ̂̑̀̚ş͕̫̩̉̽̈̈͒̀ͧ͒͞ͅ  ̢̗̹̬̙̹̖̞ͦ͑t̵͇̳͙̥̰͕͚͈̳͛̂̂͜͡o̳͈̯̠̥̣̭ͮ̍̿͘͡  ̶̴̦̹̥̤̯͔̤ͮ̊͝ţ̶̵͓̤̲̪͓̭̔̅ͪ̿ͪͧͯͪr̨͙̯̤̼̀́̾y̡̨̩̘̋̊  ̙͎͇̤̇͆̐ͨ͝ͅa̛̼̞̯̲̲̦̔ͫ̊͘͟g̞̪̎̅͊́ͅạͫ̈́̓͢͝ͅī̶̛̜̞̪̝͖͕̰̱͒͂ͪ̅̊̄ͩ̚͜n̟̣̩͙̙͎͈̉̋̈͟." it cackled, then returned to the rest of the damned pigeons.  "T̹̫̠̬͈̥̒̊̅ͣ̏o̧̦̝̲̲̲̦̺̻̥ͭ͛ͥͭ̽̈́͠  ̟͇͍̹̣̥͇́̓́̚͜͞t͔͍̣̣̺ͫ͋̇͢ͅh̡̹̤́͆̄̓̾͌̋͘ě̦̝͔̀̍̎̽ͩ̕  ̫͎̬̯͙̜̿͆͑̔̄͜h͛̏͏̻̩̯͢ͅủ̄ͭͫ͏̛͍̜̰̝̩̥̼͚n̷̻̰̘͉͓̉ͣ̾ͮ̓̽̄͋̏g̷̦̗͕̘̘͉͇̝͂̓̆͂ͧ̕r̷͉̖̰̯ͧ̌̈͌̍̎ͨ͠y̴̴̯͇͖̹ͧ͋ͦͦ̋ͣͬ."  And it thrust them into the boiling holes.

Scootaloo, in the meantime, flew and twirled and flailed until—FLASSSH!—a bright light randomly enveloped her.





SCHIIIING!

The entire clubhouse lit up from an unearthly strobe of otherwordly energy.

Sweetie Belle spun about with a gasp, dropping a box and spilling freshly-inked business cards all over the wooden floor.

"Scootaloo!"  Apple Bloom yodeled, happily hopping out of her little tear-stained corner of the place.

A very living pegasus shook and squirmed atop a pile of cushions.

Apple Bloom rushed to her, yanked the sheet off her body, and smiled even more.  "Well... just look at you!  You've even got all yer fur and skin back and everythang!"

"You mean she doesn't smell anymore, either?!"  Sweetie Belle leaned in, grinning.  "About time!  I knew you'd come around!  Had a nice sleep?"

"... ... ..."  Scootaloo sat up.  She blinked.  She turned to look at Sweetie Belle.  "... ... ..."

"Well?"  Sweetie Belle folded her forelimbs with a sassy smirk.  "Anythang ya got to say for yourself?"

Apple Bloom whispered:  "Your Aunts moved to separate cities after the funeral—"

"Shhh.  Apple Bloom, please.  The pretty ones are talking."

"... ... ..."  Scootaloo sat still with a five hundred mile stair.  "... ... ...meow."

The other two crusaders bilnked.

"Huh?"  Sweetie Belle grimaced.  "Why are you making cat sounds?"

"Meow," Scootaloo only repeated, this time more ardent and pronounced.  A tiny pinprick of crimson light formed in the middle of each of her pupils.

"Uhhhhh..."  Sweetie Belle leaned back, sweating.

"Say, take a gander..."  Apple Bloom pointed.  "...is it just me, or are her eyes glowin' somethin' fierce—?"

ZAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!  Two optic blast beams fired straight into Sweetie Belle, blasting her screaming body out a fresh hole in the clubhouse ceiling and into the wild blue yonder above.

Apple Bloom looked up, her muzzle agape.

The eye lasers dissipated.  With a purring noise, Scootaloo began licking the back of her fetlock.

"Wow..."  Apple Bloom blinked, then turned to smile at Scootaloo.  "Reckon you could do that to Timberwolves?"





Meanwhile...

...in a guidance counselor's office across town.

"Now, Yona..."  Starlight Glimmer leaned over her table with a soft, mentorly smile.  "...think reasonably for a second.  There's no possible way you would actually want to murder Gallus and his entire face."

"But Yona mean it, though!"  The young yak frowned from where she sat above the shattered, splintery remains of a stool.  "Yona truly... literally want to smash Gallus and rest of Gallus clan into blood and feathers and other Gallus clan parts!"

"Nnngh..." Starlight Glimmer ran a hoof over her head, sighing.  "Twilight, you do NOT pay me enough for this."

"In fact..."  Yona's jaws tightened into an iron frown.  "...Yona's only regret is that Gallus does not have family for Yona to smash into blood and feathers!  Yona smash into pony nursery and raise family so that Yona can smash in front of Gallus later—"

"Hold up..."  Starlight raised a hoof.  She sniffed the air.  "Do you smell something?"

"Yes!  Yona smell sulfur!  And methane!  Like high mountain goat boom!"

"But... where...?"  Starlight slowly peered around.  "...is it coming from...?"

Soon, both Yona and the guidance counselor were staring at the motivational poster on their wall.  An orange filly dangled from a tree... and her printed eyes were glowing a hot, crimson red.

"What in the f—?!"

ZAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!

The poster fired its optic salvo at Starlight, sending her sailing like a cannonball out the window.  CRASSSH!  As the glass shattered, one could see the skies of Equestria lighting up for miles and miles with sporadic pairs of hot red lasers scraping the heavens.

"HAH HAH HAH HAH!"  Yona pounded the floor, grinning from ear to ear.  "Yona like in school therapy!"