A band known as Underlord performs a series of black magic rituals in the form of rock concerts in an attempt to summon a primordial deity. Pink Scorch will stop them for $6.50.
Second entry into the Pink Scorch series. Reading the first story isn't required.
After being confronted by the ancient demon lord Rakasha, Pink Scorch embarks on a quest to acquire demon souls for $6.50 (no take-backs).
As an aside, there's also this really cool band called Underlord trying to summon a primordial god through ritualistic rock concerts. Sounds spicy.
No sleep. None. Not a wink, not a moment to stand still.
Work. Stressful, hate-yourself-so-much-you-want-to-die work during the day, and sometimes fun work during the night. And no sleep.
Zapp wanted to scream.
She tried not to.
She screamed anyway.
“Have the gods any mercy? Even a powerful princess such as myself needs her slumber!”
The sky grumbled overhead as if agreeing to her statement.
Three days. Three. Days. First, it was a normal day of work. Then, Mane-iac unleashed a new hair tonic to the world. After, three bank robberies. The rest could be compiled into a list of sorts:
Mane-iac escapes prison.
Mane-iac goes back to prison.
Back to work.
Get off work.
Go to therapy appointment.
Mane-iac escapes prison, along with every villain they have ever faced (turns out going back to prison was part of her plan).
Wait, how can she go back to work after getting captured? Oh, that’s right, SHE WAS UP FOR THREE FUCKING DAYS.
She sighed and used this moment of breath to meditate. Great warriors are cautious with their language.
THREE WHOLE FUCKING DAYS SHE WAS GOING INSANE AHHHHH!!!!
Humdrum shows up and the Power Ponies escape
Climatic battle
Villains are defeated
More work
Craftwork escapes prison
Great warriors don’t use crass language.
FUCKING FUCK FUCK FUCK
She inhaled. She exhaled. She inhaled. Exhaled. Inhaled…
Something hard slammed into her stomach, and gravity pulled her toward the earth. She didn’t fall for long before splaying her wings out, looping, and facing the clouds above.
She was still in a fight.
Grunting, she held out her hooves toward the billowing, swirling mass of cotton and thought of lightning. A blue streak tore downward, and she caught it with her hoof. Rather than take on a plasmic appearance, it was crystalized and vibrating with chaotic energy.
She dashed upward, the air croaking. The scent of rain was fresh on her nose. Soon it’d start, and if Craftwork was already having trouble against her now, then she’d be no match for her in the next few minutes. Still… she wanted to sleep.
Zapp would have to make quick work of it. Burn her wings, toss her in prison, and be done.
Just as she tore through the cloud coverage, a pony with mechanical wings made of cloth and wood framing zoomed overhead, leaving a pink mist in her wake.
Craftwork swerved and headed directly toward her. Zapp readied the crystalline lightning spear for a javelin throw. Just as the putrid soul was a few meters away, Craftwork pulled up and released an entourage of ornaments. Shiny, colorful Hearth’s Warming ornaments that sparked.
Zapp pulled back just as they exploded. She heard a pop, followed by another, followed by another, followed by another. It was enough to send her spinning, albeit unhurt, but still dizzy.
Enough!
She uprighted and hovered, sticking a hoof out toward the neighsayer. The sky roared with fury, thunder sounding like a hundred lion roars. It was enough to make Clockwork hover in place and turn to Zapp with hesitance.
“I,” she began, “have not slept for three days. Three. Days. Because thou cannot stop acting like a filly for even a moment! If thou continues to act childish, then I feel I am not in the mental state to control myself.”
As if to compliment her statement, she gathered her energy to make the sky flash, followed by an ear-splitting burst of thunder.
Clockwork, who previously had no qualms with facing a powerful being such as herself, now looked at Zapp with terrified eyes. The simple earth pony was reduced to a coward in seconds, no longer brave in the face of the invincible. Pathetic.
Back in her homeland, Zapp would kill her just for being a blemish in her sight. But time in Maretropolis has taught her mercy, and even at this moment, where the temptation to cut a lifespan short was overwhelming, she controlled herself.
She lowered the crystalline lighting bolt, and bellowed, “Thou shalt accompany me back to thy holding cell.”
Clockwork fluttered forward at a slow pace, her mechanical wings creaking. She had closed the distance between them before stopping.
The wind rustled her mane.
The lightning spear in Zapp’s hoof twitched.
Clockwork sneered and dove forward, tackling her out of the sky.
The world spun. Zapp tried to shout but Clockwork headbutted her, sending stars across her vision. Frustration flared.
Three days. Three. And now she had to put up with this on top of everything.
Hugging her forehooves around Clockwork’s midriff, Zapp allowed her weight to carry the two of them down. Clockwork screamed, which only further added to Zapp’s evergrowing headache.
They fell through a dark cloud. Zapp splayed her wings out so that they gradually slowed down until they were suspended amidst swirls of gray cotton. The talisman around her neck buzzed, as she called upon its power.
“Simpleton! I told thee to stop at once, but thou did not listen.”
Thunder roared once more, this time sounding like a cacophony of the most disorganized noise.
Clockwork headbutted her chest, forcing Zapp to let go, then socked her in the cheek. “Stuff it, weather mare! You don’t have the backbone for it.”
Her eyes sparked. When she blinked, the scleras were no longer visible, replaced by pure, ionized energy. “Dare to tempt fate?”
“I dare to kick your ass! If you’re so upset about it, then go sop in the rain.”
Zapp slammed into her. Rage filled her soul. Rationalization was far from her mind. All there was was now, and right now she wanted the problem to go away so that she could go home and sleep. She was so tempted. So, so tempted…
She swung the lightning spear, missing Clockwork by the nape of the neck as the fiend fluttered back. An electric charge surged through Zapp’s body, sparks tingling across her coat.
Clockwork looked surprised for a moment, but she quickly composed herself and dove forth, punching Zapp in the stomach. Saliva sprayed from her mouth as the wind was knocked out of her. Without losing a moment, she arced the lightning spear in the other direction. Clockwork also dodged this attack with ease, but it gave Zapp the opening to zoom forth and kick her hind hooves out, hitting her in the face.
Clockwork backflipped in the air a few times before splaying her mechanical wings out and coming to a stop, facing her.
Zapp pointed the crystalline lighting bolt in her direction. “Stop this instant and come quietly.”
Thunderclouds groaned around them, and after a few seconds, all went quiet—the only noise to accompany them was the wind whistling in her ears.
Clockwork hovered.
Zapp transferred energy from her body into the lightning spear.
Clockwork bolted forward.
Zapp spun around and released the lightning spear.
It was a perfect shot. As soon as the crystalline spear made contact with Clockwork’s head, the cloud lit up with a brilliant blue light. If Zapp hadn’t been in her goddess form, it would have blinded her, but looking upon it gave her a moment of satisfaction, and when the roarous thunder reverberated across the sky, she knew the job was done.
Then, the ions cleared. Clockwork was nowhere in sight.
For a second, for just a second, and in her tired state of mind, Zapp failed to recognize the severity of the situation. Then, her heart pounded in her chest, the beating more ferocious than any thunder she could produce.
She dove downward, breaking through the cloud cover. She spotted Clockwork falling toward the cityscape, her mechanical wings and mane fried.
Zapp didn’t stop. No, no, no… please don’t be dead… please don’t be dead…
She threw her hooves around Clockwork’s body and changed course toward the nearest skyscraper. Zapp laid her body down gently and patted out the small flame on her head.
Clockwork was so unrecognizable, to the point that even Zapp, the most educated of her people, was at a loss for words. She stared down at the charred face of the fiend, the hopeful tumor of doubt growing in her brain.
She placed her ear against her chest and checked for a heartbeat. There was none. Zapp’s breath lurched in her throat, and she choked back a sob.
“Okay, okay…” she muttered to herself. “We can fix this… we can fix this…”
She opened her eyes and looked back down at the corpse.
She screamed to the heavens above, tendrils of lightning painting the sky.
It was an accident… it was an accident… an accident… I hadn’t slept, and I warned her. She had plenty of opportunities to stop but didn’t…
Aurora felt heavy, waiting in the elevator at Power Ponies HQ. Heavy in both thoughts and hooves. She’d dropped Clockwork off at the hospital. After quickly changing into her everyday persona, she ran to the nearest pay phone and let them know that a severely injured pony was outside, hanging up before questions could be asked.
It felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her windpipe was constricted, every blow of air from her nostrils forced. Her body was covered in sweat, the smell of adrenaline palpable to even herself.
She kept on trying to calm herself down. It’s okay, it’s okay. You were up for three days, and she was a terrorist. You did the world a favor by ridding it of her.
Her heart sank. How could she think of something like that? Clockwork used to be a wonderful pony whose contribution to Equestria’s economic growth in the aviation industry was more than substantial. She was the very reason why, in just about five years from now, earth ponies and unicorns would be flying through the air just as well as pegasi. The only reason why she became a villain was because the CEO of Above All Industries stole her patent. She was a good pony wronged by the higher echelons of society, and all she needed was help.
I gave it to her.
No, she didn’t. Not by killing her.
But I took down the pony that stole her patent.
It was a coincidence. The Maretropolis Department of Public Health was investigating the company on the basis of air pollution and accidentally uncovered a massive drug empire. The Power Ponies were there to stop it before the police could even issue a warrant. Clockwork helped, risking her own life in the process. Zapp was the one to vouch for her.
Yet she still chose to take the wrong path.
Clockwork went back to prison, despite everything. It was a decision on the city’s part. She was already labeled a terrorist, and the city council feared that letting her roam free would be a mistake. She blamed the Power Ponies for this.
I stood up for her!
No, she didn’t. There’s a difference between standing up for someone and standing by their side at their hearing.
Her heart thudded.
Her nostrils flared.
Her mouth was dry.
The elevator door opened, and she walked out into the living area at a brisk pace. She turned the corner to the kitchen, which connected to the hallway that led to her bedroom, and halted when she saw a familiar face sitting at the table.
Trot Summers blinked up at her with tired eyes, a steaming mug of hot cocoa with more marshmallows than cocoa sitting in front of her. “Oh, hey Aurora,” she said, sounding like she was the one up for three days.
“Hello,” Aurora said, trying to act casual. She could feel the sweat sticking to her forehead. “How are you?”
Summers squinted at her, nostrils twitching. “Why are you all sweaty?”
“I was working out,” Aurora replied quickly.
Summers managed a tired smile. “Huh. That’s pretty impressive. You’ve had much less sleep than I’ve had this past week, and yet you’re still going strong. Your willpower is much better than mine.”
“It’s a matter of where I was born. I was raised upon a brick throne built by my own hooves. My resilience is a birthright.” She stared ahead into the dark hallway and was about to allude to her desire to go to bed when Summers responded.
“Heh, and yet I whine about only getting three hours of sleep a night.”
“That is different. The body needs rest. Three days is nothing to a warrior, but a lifetime of restlessness makes the soul fragile.”
She walked up to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down across from Summers. “You push yourself hard. We all see it. Do yourself a kindness and take a break.”
For my own sake, she thought. So that something like tonight doesn’t happen again…
Summers sighed. She picked the mug up with her magic, hovered it below her muzzle so that steam wafted into her face, and took a sip. “You know I can’t.”
“No. You say you can’t because otherwise you’d feel guilty for leaving the city behind while you relax. The five of us can take care of things while you’re away.”
Summers set her mug down. “You read me better than anyone else. Guess I’m that superficial. I’ll think about it.”
A long moment of silence passed between them.
Dread hung in the air. Aurora wanted to tell her everything that transpired less than an hour ago. Her mouth hung agape, words ready to come hurling out, but every time she’d attempt a start, she’d shut it.
Somehow, something came out. “I think we all need a break. Doesn’t have to be all at once. We can take turns. Start a new routine. The city doesn’t need all of us at once.”
Summers smiled. “I like that plan.”
The conversation ended without a climax. Aurora went to her room and crashed into bed face-first. Her blanket bound her to the mattress, like the moment she pulled it over herself, getting up would be impossible.
The room was dark, which made her drowsy. The only light to accompany her was whatever filtered through the window next to her and the digital alarm clock on her nightstand. She thought she’d have trouble sleeping, but heaviness swept over her immediately.
Winter Heat awoke to the blaring of her alarm clock.
She didn’t recognize the sound right away. Still caught in the throes of a wonderful dream where she was eating seven tacos, she shuffled onto her side and folded the pillow around her head in an attempt to block out the noise. After a few seconds, her brain finally caught up, and she slammed her hoof down on the snooze button.
Five more minutes won’t hurt anything.
Five minutes later, the alarm rang again.
Right when she was getting hooked.
The tacos were communicating to her about the upcoming invasion when one of them started to beep nonsensically. Her eyes broke open, sunlight stinging her corneas. She groaned and labouriously lifted her head off the pillow and picked up the clock to examine the time. It was 7:30 AM. She didn’t have to be in until 10 AM.
Five more minutes won’t hurt anything.
Five minutes later, Winter was dreaming about giant tacos floating through the sky and shooting bright green lasers at buildings when the intuitive feeling to wake up came over her.
Lurching upright in bed, her eyes tore to the alarm clock. 9:30 AM. Apparently, in her sleep-addled state, she had hit the alarm so many times that it reset for the next day.
She slept in again.
“Fuck!” she shouted before scrambling out of bed.
She frantically searched around the room for her work shirt before she found it on the floor in the corner. She tried to pull it over her head, having to undo the buttons with her hooves already fed through the sleeves while green polyester covered her eyes.
It smelled weird and had a few stains that were only noticeable to anyone who cared, but she managed to get it on. She ran to the bathroom to make sure her mane wasn’t in a frenzy, and after quickly brushing it, she was out the door in a jiffy.
It was only when she was outside and exposed to the muggy morning air that she realized that she had forgotten to brush her teeth. She forgot last night, too. Her teeth could whistle in the wind with the amount of cavities she probably had.
Whatever. It didn’t matter. She could work her shift and (hopefully) remember to brush them when she got off so her gums didn’t feel like they were disintegrating.
She was waiting for the crosswalk signal to change when a familiar voice called for her.
“Woke up late again?”
She craned her head around and spotted a floating pink wisp-like creature that appeared to be made of fire. The demon Winter had come to know as a Parasite snaked through the air and hovered beside her.
“Sorry, Claire. I was in a hurry. Geronimo is starting to get annoyed by my tardiness.”
“You could just not show up for work.”
“Then I won’t have a home.”
“You could just eat your boss.”
“What does eating him have to do with anything?”
“It’s a very common practice in Tartarus. You don’t like someone, you eat them.”
“Claire! I don’t, like, not like my boss it’s just—” she groaned. “He’s annoying, yeah, but I’d rather put up with him than panhandle on Skid Row.”
An automated voice telling her to walk came from the crosswalk, and she pressed forward, Claire following closely beside her. “Yes, but after you eat him, you could run the business yourself. After all, his territory will be yours.”
“That’s not how that works!”
“It doesn’t matter how it works, all that matters is it could work.”
A stallion was sitting against a building with a tin can in front of him, covered in grime. He was either homeless or cosplaying—there was a lot of that in Maretropolis. He shot her an odd look. A couple of mares walking by did the same thing. So did a griffon. So did an officer, who eyed her with peculiarity while her magic focused on her baton.
Winter noticed these stares and got them often because she was an idiot and forgot that she was the only one who could see Claire. “Crap, people are looking at us! Just shut up for now, we’ll argue more about this when I get to work and Geronimo leaves for the day.”
When she got to the store and the overhead bell chimed, she was greeted by an angry giraffe with a shitty comb-over behind the register.
“You’re late,” Geronimo said in a stern voice.
Winter walked up to the time clock, which displayed the time as 10:05 AM, and swiped her name tag in front so that it beeped.
“Five minutes isn’t a big deal,” she replied while clipping the nametag to her shirt. “I was a minute late last week and you didn’t make a fuss about that.”
The giraffe huffed. “There’s a difference between being five minutes late every day and a minute late one day. The difference is you came in earlier that day, giving me the impression that you’re trying to be on time, but you showed up later the next day, and the day after that.”
Winter rolled her eyes. “Dish Water was twenty minutes late the other day, you didn’t scold her about it.”
“That’s because it was one time, and she had a good excuse. What’s yours?”
“I slept through my alarm.”
“You say that every day! If you have trouble waking up, get a better fucking alarm or, better yet, go to bed earlier.” He sighed. “When I schedule you for ten, I expect you to be here at ten. If I schedule you for eleven, you better be here at eleven. You can show up earlier, but not five minutes later. You want to keep this job, you need to be punctual. That’s the least I expect from you.”
The least Winter wanted to do was to punctuate him in the face. She hated his smarmy attitude. Every day it was, “You forgot to label this,” and “Why did you do that?” While it was infuriating to hear it every day, she at least didn’t have to put up with it after twelve, when he left. It was better to pretend he was right and promise to get better.
She sighed. “Fine, I’ll try to do better.”
“No, no, you will do better. Enough of this ‘trying’ BS, get here at 10 AM on the dot, every day. It’s not hard. You work the same schedule— every day. Figure something out.”
Winter didn’t have anything to say. She just waited in awkward silence until he gave her a task to do.
He sighed, bending his neck down and rubbing his face with a forehoof. “Listen, the work you do here is good, just, stop fucking… just stop fucking showing up late. Go stock the cooler or whatever, I don’t know. I just need to blow off some steam.”
Winter smirked. “Rude customer?”
“Some guy came in here with a lottery ticket and argued with me for over an hour because we don’t cash out tickets higher than two hundred. Just—listen, sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. Just work on coming in on time more. If you can't, we're going to have a more serious talk. Go stock the cooler now, please.”
“Sure you don’t want me to stay up here unless our lottery winner returns?”
He chuckled. “No, please go away.”
“He yelled at you, that’s plenty of excuse to eat him!”
Winter examined the best-by date on a half-gallon of milk before sliding it onto the shelf. “No Claire, I’m not going to eat him.”
“Aren’t you at least a little upset?”
“Meh,” Winter said. “I was angry at first, but I got over it fast.”
“What?”
“Yeah, I did try to find a reason to be angry, but it’s like I deal with so much bullshit here that it’s beginning to slide off me. That or all of the bullshit isn’t sliding off of me, and I’m keeping my emotions in reserve. It’s that, or my ennui has become so severe that it envelopes every moment of my waking life so that I am incapable of feeling proper emotion and…” Her words trailed off, and her face turned cold. “Oh shit, I just gave myself a mini existential crisis.”
She stood up and kicked the empty milk crate into the corner. She took a box from the shelf behind her and tore the top open, filling a row with apple juice.
“We could beat someone up when you get off.”
“If by ‘beat someone up’ you mean some bad guy, then maybe. I don’t know. There haven't been any exciting villains as of late. Most of the good ones are taken care of by the Power Ponies, and as much as I’d love to have another one-on-one with Juice Mare, I doubt we’ll be seeing her again any time soon.”
Done with the apple juice, she raised her forehooves over her head and stretched. “Okay, I think we’re done here.”
When they came out of the cooler, Geronimo was counting the drawer. There weren’t any customers in the store, so Winter busied herself with facing products on shelves. Occasionally she’d glance up at the flatscreen TV that hung from the ceiling over the register to see if something interesting was on.
Most of it was boring dribble about inflation and stocks. She tuned most of it out, thinking it better to just look busy until Geronimo left for the day. Eventually, her attention was broken when a breaking news segment played.
“The terrorist known as Clockwork was found dead last night in front of Prometheus Hospital around 12:35 AM. At first, hospital staff were unable to identify the body because it had severe burns that completely obscured its face, but upon further examination, staff were able to identify it as the infamous supervillain. It is unknown what the cause of death was. Theories are already sprouting online about how it could have happened, the main one being that she was struck by lightning during last night’s storm. However, there are many things about her death that some find peculiar, such as the anonymous caller that…”
Well. Now that was something. Winter hadn’t had any run-ins with Clockwork herself, but she was familiar with her misdeeds. While she didn’t gush over anything that had to do with the Power Ponies, she knew their villains all too well. Knowing everything about them was practically inescapable after living in Maretropolis for long enough.
Clockwork, let’s see… earth pony… wasn’t her gimmick the thing with the wings? Some generic backstory about the company she worked for stealing her patent. Blew up several buildings belonging to said company. Helped Power Ponies take down the company during a major drug bust, went back to jail because she still blew up several buildings (she must have really liked blowing up buildings). Simple, villain-of-the-week stuff.
While her death was wild to hear about, Winter didn’t concern herself with it for long. After a few minutes of meandering through the store in search of something to do, her ADHD-addled mind moved on to a new topic. Like, what the heck is the correct portion size to use in a burrito? Seriously, she goes to Chick-Fill-Y all the time where they make the burritos right in front of her, yet somehow when she makes them at home they turn out a globtuous mess! Every time she watches the employees at Chick-Fill-Y make one, they take a dapple, and only a dapple (like, a quarter of the tortilla’s actual size) of whatever product she wants on it, and it somehow turns out perfect. Yet when she throws a quarter-pot of refried beans on a tortilla, she can barely wrap it. So, it’s more of a taco than a burrito, and even then some of the beans spill onto the plate so that she has to finish it all off with a fork. A fork!
And it didn’t help that she uses corn tortillas, either.
Winter dwelled on the ethics of burrito-making for well over an hour, and before long, it was finally time for Geronimo to clock out.
He replaced the drawer in the register with a new one and inspected the store to ensure that it was in tip-top shape. When all was in place, he punched his time card. After reminding her of what they talked about, he left for the day.
The first thing Winter did when she was all alone was throw on her headphones and scroll through her phone for about five minutes before putting on a video titled “5 True Hotel Horror Stories,” not listening to it, but more so using it to fill her need for stimulation.
A monotonous voice told the story of a mare checking into a hotel where the receptionist was a tall, gangly creep and blah blah blah—she heard it before. She goes to her room, takes a shower, finds the door unlocked, and goes to bed. After a while, she hears a weird noise that sounds like someone breathing, and she pretends to call her boyfriend and acts like he’s in the lobby. She calmly leaves the room, goes to the police, and they find the receptionist under the bed.
Boring shlock that was only interesting because of the true implications. She missed most of the tiny details and didn’t comprehend most of the stories that followed. Five years ago, she would have been engrossed in each story. Now, however, her content addiction was so severe that most anything quote-unquote “scary” slid right off of her. Oh, how she longed for the days when she was younger and could feel proper emotion!
It wasn’t just horror videos. It was everything that brought her joy. One of Winter’s favorite things to do was go to the movies. Last week she went to go see an arthouse film, and most of the dialogue went over her head. Her younger self would have hung onto every word, absorbed into the atmosphere. It would have felt like a new experience. Now it was like drinking coffee. It feels great in the first hour, but after it’s over, all that lingers has expired.
It felt like she was filling in gaps. Gaps she was still too young to comprehend. Like every time she sat down to binge a new series, it was just to waste time throughout the seamless transition of days. There was also the matter of her porn habits, but TMI.
Before long, she faintly heard the chime of the overhead bell. Looking up from her phone, she saw a stallion stumble in. Or, drunkenly stagger about and run into the nearest shelf was a more apt description. He was tall and gangly. His dark mane was long and hung over his eyes as if he were the lead singer of an emo band.
Winter stared at him with a curious, albeit calm patience. It wouldn’t be the first time that a drunk wandered into the store. In fact, it was the reason why she carried pepper spray on her during all hours of the day. She normally didn’t pay them any mind, unless they paid her mind, then they would learn that pepper isn’t just a spice...
Wait, is it?
She looked up, Can pepper soray be used as a spuce.
An autocorrect prompt appeared.
Showing results for can pepper spray be used as a spice Search instead for can pepper soray be used as a spuce
The answer was yes, although it would taste very chemically. She’d have to try it.
Suddenly, the stallion slammed both forehooves against the counter. Winter lurched back, prepared to grab the bottle of pepper spray she kept beneath the counter. He opened his mouth, exhaling a long breath that smelled like sulfur.
“C-can I help you sir?” she stuttered.
Claire dove behind the counter and wrapped a tendril around the bottle, waiting.
“It’s here…” he whispered. His voice was harsh, like gargling glass particles was part of his morning routine.
Winter tilted her head, lowering an ear and raising the other. “What is?”
“The Parasite… it’s here… I need it…”
Winter frowned. “A parasite? You mean, like a bug?”
“No…”
She took a moment to think about his words. She searched every crevice of her mind, running into empty thought after empty thought. Then, as if she ran into a brick wall, the answer became obvious.
She slapped him. “Ew, gross, get off the counter, shoo!”
He didn’t react. He stayed propped against the counter, head stuck sideways as if her slap had frozen it in time. Without another word, he got down and looked at her.
“I am… not good with horses…”
“Do I need to call the police? Cuz you appear to be on something.”
Breathing. Not normal in-and-out breathing. It was suck in air through gritted teeth so that it sounded like a deflating tire breathing.
Winter scrunched up her eyebrow. He smelled, he was dangerously skinny, his mane and coat were unkempt, and he was stumbling around spouting nonsense. Also, he was carrying a parasite, the whole place could get infested!
Feeling the need to fulfill her duty as an employee by selectively doing her job when it’s most convenient for her, she said, “Sir, you need to leave.”
“Give me the Parasite… and I will go…”
“Sir, I showered this morning.” She didn’t.
“No… no… NOOO!”
The weird guy exploded. Only, it wasn’t a messy watermelon spontaneously combusting with innards flying everywhere explosion, it was more like Holy shit, he’s spaghettifying before her very eyes! explosion.
Thick auburn tendrils spout out all around him. His face split through the middle and opened up, icky clear goo breaking apart. In the center, where his face should have been, was a single, yellow eyeball that glowed vibrantly. It was reminiscent of a cat’s, with the iris appearing as a simple slit. However, the sclera was far more monstrous, and far more out of this world than anything she had ever seen. It was bloodshot to the point that it perfectly conveyed the only thing the monster probably knew: depravity.
The ground shook, and a voice echoed in her head.
GIVE ME!
Without further hesitation, Claire pepper sprayed it in the eye.
Its noodly appendages flailed widely, knocking merchandise off shelves. It was like an isolated hurricane where everything in its vicinity was met with chaos. Winter scooched back, pulling her head away with an “Eww!” when the tip of a tendril swiped across her nose, leaving behind a trail of goo.
Claire flew up to her face. “We have to transform!”
“Not here, it’s my source of income!”
“You don’t understand, that’s—”
A tendril slapped the register off the counter and hit the floor with a loud crash, golden bits spilling out across the linoleum. The weird guy—or monster or whatever, it was really hard to tell in this part of the city—walked toward the door, tripped, and broke through the glass.
Winter turned back to Claire. “Yeah, out there is better.”
They followed it as it walked out into the middle of the street, cars swerving around it. Ponies walking by saw the monster and ran in different directions. The thing knelt, more tendrils protruding from its back and wrapping around each other. He grew in size like an inflating balloon.
Winter nodded at Claire. “Ready.”
Without another word, the Parasite pivoted into her chest. A cold chill sprawled down Winter’s back. After… warmth. Warm became hot, and hot became burning. She reared her head back, smoke escaping her mouth as her coat shifted from gray to charcoal. Both her mane and tail exploded into flowing pink flames. As her physical form changed, so did her mind seep into subconsciousness.
On the sidewalk, standing before the monster, was a new pony. It was no longer Winter Heat. It wasn’t Claire, either. It was a demon hybrid with a mind to itself.
Pink Scorch stepped forth just as the beast, much like herself, took on a new form. Its body had a weird egg shape with stout legs. When it turned to face her, six iridescent eyes glowered at her. It opened a ring-shaped mouth, revealing rows upon rows of teeth, and its tongue shot out.
She dodged it with a simple sidestep. “Whoa,” she said in a voice of two. “I’ve seen enough hentai to know where this is going.”
She zoomed up to it in a flash of bright pink and put her hoof to her chin. “So you a demon or something? Huh, not the first time I’ve fought one, but you’re a bit strange.”
It reeled its tongue in, and the ground shook.
GIVE ME PARASITE
“Hey, I wash my clothes at least once a month and shower when I remember to. If you want a parasite, then hire a hooker!”
FOOOL
She only had a split second to notice it. A tendril shot out from its chin and slapped her in the face, throwing her into a streetlight and denting it inward. The moment she hit the ground, it wrapped its tongue around her midriff.
It dragged her across the ground. Dazed, she looked into its mouth, slick with saliva. At that moment, there was only one thing on her mind.
Ahhh crap… I’m gonna get vored again, aren’t I?
It closed its mouth around her and chomped down. The moment its teeth made contact with her, her body dissipated into smoke and filtered out between its lips. Pink reformed in front of the monster, giving it her best tsundere stare.
“Ayy, lemme tell you something, we don’t fetish-eat people around here. Maybe in whatever hell pit you were born in it was okay, but people aren’t keen to that sort of depravity ‘ound these parts, ya hear? You got a fetish, it’s whatever. Do whatever weird shit you like in the sanctity of your own home, but shit like that is what gets you on the registry.”
The ground grumbled some more.
SILENCE
Another tendril arced downward. Pink leaped out of the way in time to avoid being crushed. The force was strong enough to leave a channel in the concrete.
“Oh right, we’re fighting. Guess I better join in.”
She dashed backward in a pink blur to put some distance between it and sprinted toward the thing at full speed. Just as she neared it, she slid between its legs to avoid the gaping sci-fi mouth. When she was beneath it, she slammed her forehoof into its stomach, launching the creature into the air.
She gave it no time to hit the ground. She zoomed upward in a diagonal direction and hit it again. She zoomed in another diagonal direction and hit it again. This went on in a zigzag, like the most dangerous game of keep-up she’d ever played. It was kind of fun.
Dashing upward one last time, she wrapped her hooves around its belly in a tight bear hug and threw it toward the ground full-force. The impact cracked the concrete beneath, and a few cars in the vicinity jumped, alarms going off.
Pink landed on top of it. She walked along its back, over its head, and hopped onto the ground. She turned back to it with a smirk. “Done with your tantrum?”
The ground rumbled again.
Before she could react, a tendril shot out from its body and slapped her across the street. She crashed through the windows of the convenience store, knocked down several shelves—merchandise flying everywhere—mashed through the glass door of the drink cooler, and finally slammed into a wall.
Pink raised her head, the world dancing in two dimensions. She wasn’t hurt. She was dizzy, but she was fine. Only, there was milk pouring on her head, and now Winter would be out of work until repairs were done. She wasn’t hurt. She was frustrated.
The demon hybrid rose to her hooves. Glass crunched as she stepped out of the cooler and over the rubble. She was about to exit through the door when something on the floor in front of the counter caught her eye.
Looking down, she saw the bottle of pepper spray. Pink wasn’t keen on ideas. She wasn’t the strategic type, more like the “punch something until it can’t punch back” type. However, she wanted all this to end as soon as possible, and as she stared down at the bottle the first inkling of something resembling an idea fermented.
She swiped it up and moved for the exit. The window was already broken, so she just walked through it. The monster was already prepared for her by the time she returned.
Tendrils were everywhere. It was like walking into an eldritch entity’s sacred lair. They covered the streets and nearby cars, wrapped around streetlights, and filtered through windows. Before her, the beast took on a new form. Pink didn’t know why it took on this form, but she also didn’t know why boxed water existed. It took on the shape of a hexagram. It appeared to be made of nothing but tendons and flesh. In its center was a circular mouth with rows of teeth that stretched into a dark abyss.
The ground shook.
GIVE ME PARASITE
She stopped a few yards away from it. A tendril slithering by rose before her, its tip pointed at her face. More rose all around, the rest on the ground wriggling like squirming bramble. One slowly began to creep up her left foreleg. She held the other up high to keep the pepper spray safe.
“You mean Claire. Sorry, but she ain’t up for grabs.”
More crept up her body, entwining around her.
YOU WILL LISTEN
DO NOT UNDERESTIMATE
I AM BEYOND COMPREHENSION
“I can comprehend that you’re full of shit. You want her? Fine, try and take her from me.”
WITH PLEASURE
She lifted into the air and drew closer. Even from across the street, she could see the saliva dripping from its teeth. It was like staring into a pencil sharpener with poor dental hygiene. Her nose itched the nearer she got, the stench of sulfur more pungent than before.
Just when Pink was a yard away, she smirked and tossed the can of pepper spray inside. She spat a fireball from her mouth. The can exploded.
It didn’t react at first. She stopped drawing closer, and for a moment, all stood still. Then, the world shook. The tendrils on the ground wriggled, while the ones holding her in the air dropped her. She looked back up to see its body melting, or something similar to melting. The skin receded from its body in large, goopy trails that tripped onto the concrete in a thick sludge.
The tendrils melted away into auburn blobs, and those auburn blobs slithered away toward the writhing mound of flesh before her. Even in her demon form, it was hard for Pink to stay balanced with the ground shaking.
The blob shrunk down in size until it looked like a deflated beach ball. It rolled over, six red eyes blinking back at her. The ground stopped shaking.
A voice whispered in the air.
Please… no more…
“And there’s more where that came from!” Pink said while walking toward the thing. It was true. Winter always kept back-up pepper spray on hand, and back-up pepper spray for her back-up pepper spray. She also poured water into a spray bottle, mixed it with ground pepper, and labeled it “Pepper Spray.” She was itching to test it out.
She halted before it, observing it like the weird specimen that it was. “Now, what are you? Some kind of demon?”
The voice whispered in her ears.
Rakasha…
It was a single word followed by many whispers. It was as if the name itself could only be said through the chanting of a crowd.
Claire’s voice echoed inside her head. Winter! I was right, that’s no ordinary demon! That’s the Carver of Souls himself!”
The Carver of What? Winter replied.
Rakasha is responsible for deciding the forms of all demons born from the hellfire of Tartarus. Only, he’s not meant to be here. He is said to be chained in the center of a labyrinth beneath Tartaraus’s palace. He somehow escaped!
“So,” Pink continued. “Rakasha, huh? How’d you get out of Tartaraus, and how can I send you back?”
Come… Closer…
The flames on Pink’s head flickered as she considered it. Well, she’d just finished kicking his ass, so it wasn’t like he had any tricks up his tentacles. If he tried anything, he’d just get pepper sprayed some more. Yet other thoughts irked her mind. Like, if he was hyped up to be this legendary demon, then why was it so easy to beat him? Why did he want Claire so badly? Most importantly, did he have an answer to her burrito dilemma?
There was only one way to find out.
Pink stepped forth and knelt her head down so that it was eye-level with the blob. Staring into its eyes, she realized that it was kind of cute, and wondered how anyone could compare it to the raging beast it was mere moments ago.
Then, its flesh wriggled. Before Pink could pull back, he leaped through the air and latched onto her face. All she could do was let out a series of muffled obscenities before quickly losing consciousness.
She still didn’t have an answer to the burrito dilemma…
Winter gasped and opened her eyes. Only, that wasn’t helpful. Darkness and darkness all-encompassing, everything that could be seen. She searched her surroundings and nearly lurched out of her coat when she found Claire floating beside her.
“Ahh! Claire, where are we!?”
Claire snaked around Winter’s head and scanned the area. “It appears that Rakasha linked his subconscious with Pink Scorch’s to bring us into his mind.”
“Wait, so we’re trapped!?”
“I do not know. Rakasha is not known to be a trickster. If I am right, then he has brought us here for a reason. If I am wrong, then he may consume Pink Scorch.”
Winter blinked. “Holy fuck. Are we gonna die? I’m not even twenty-five yet, how am I going to finish my fanfiction backlog!?”
A voice echoed across the darkscape.
Be not afraid.
Winter searched, although she already figured that attempting to find the voice’s origins was impossible. “Yeah, it’s kinda hard to do that when you’re trapped in the mind of an evil demon hellbent on destroying us mere moments ago!”
Good, Evil, I am beyond simple adjectives. These concepts do not exist in my vernacular. I have been alive for eons, almost since the beginning of this land. I made up many of what mortals these days call ‘folklore.’
The darkness dispelled like clouds, and stars blinked across a night sky. They stood upon violent ocean waves, before a towering obelisk darker than vantablack itself. When Winter looked up, she realized that it wasn’t an obelisk, but a being.
It had two white holes for eyes, and when it looked down at her, it cast a light as if they were lighthouse beacons. Suddenly, both she and Claire were being lifted into the air by a giant hand that brought them to head level. Winter held a hoof over her eyes, the light devouring them.
I was the Umibōzu. A creature that ruled the ocean and caused ships to wreck. With one eye closed, I would give the impression of a lighthouse and lead ships to where I want them. From there, they would be my playthings. Toys of my desire. Sailors feared me, while the ocean merely existed around me.
Bright cracks ran through the giant, and piece by piece its shell deteriorated until it was replaced by a skeleton. Below, in place of the violent waves, were roaring fires taller than many mountains.
I was the Gashadokuro. A creature known for stalking people in the night and devouring them whole. I never appreciated the taste of flesh, but the terrified look on their faces amused me.
He shrunk down in size, although he did not put them down. They did not fall, they did not float. It was a feeling of high. As he became smaller, they followed his visage downward, the fire below receding back into the familiar darkscape. Winter was tempted to ask what sort of drugs could replicate this feeling, although she wasn’t so keen on making jokes when a Celestia-fucking demon of legend was sucking on her face IRL.
Eyes appeared all around. They took on many shapes and sizes along with colors. It felt… awkward, in a creepy sense. Like they could see her from every angle.
I am a being of creation, I am a being of destruction. Many legends about me are not about me. I choose what I am and carve my legacy. Only, that was a thousand years ago, before my imprisonment. Now, I am weaker. The King of Tartarus chained me beneath his palace and siphoned my power. I am a pathetic vessel of what I once was. I am a legend in your eyes, but in reality, I am on par with the lowest-caliber demon. I am, and now I was.
“Um, hey,” Winter budded hesitantly. She punched the air awkwardly, as one would punch the shoulder of a friend they’re trying to warm up to, or as one would punch a baby not too hard for the sake of practice. “I hate to break the sob story, but what’s with all the lore? You still haven’t explained why we’re here.”
The eyes faded into black, silence stinging for several agonizing seconds. Claire wrapped a tendril around a lock of her mane and tugged. “Winter, watch your words! He might be weaker but we are still in the presence of greatness.”
A dark chuckle ran across the scape.
Your ignorance in my presence proves my obscurity. A thousand years ago, I would have consumed your soul just for uttering my name wrong. But I am different now.
I have no means to kill you. Your mortal vessel is safe with me while we talk. To tell you the truth, I am hungry. It is not a normal hunger that can be satiated through typical means. My vessel is deteriorating, a byproduct of being summoned to the mortal realm. The power I sustain cannot hold it forever.
I require souls. Demon souls. The Parasite you call ‘Claire’ is as pure as they come. Although she is classified as a low-tier demon, she is ripe with power. However, I was desperate to think that power would be enough. I require a soul of the highest caliber, and you have proven yourselves more than worthy of this quest I intend to bestow.
Winter clenched her eyes shut, knowing that if she wasn’t a subconscious manifestation of herself at that very moment, she’d feel the brink of a headache coming on. “Wait, wait, hold up… You want us to… collect souls for you? Not, like, the easy kind of souls? The mega-hard souls that require punching?”
I know it is a task that seems impossible, but the reward is more than worth your while. You will have my respect, and be given the Mark of Rakasha. This ensures you with my protection wherever you—
“Nah, I’m good.”
Go—wait, what?
“Listen, dude, you kinda just came along and started bothering me. If you want to restore your power to what it once was, that’s fine by me. But I have my own things going on, like finding a new job because you trashed my workplace.”
No response.
“Hey, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go now. Rent is due at the end of the month, and I need to start looking.”
Rakasha waited a few seconds before responding.
I can… help.
“What? Are you gonna be my reference? While ‘Rakasha, Mega-Powerful Demon of Legend’ would look fancy on a resume and all, I don’t think hirers will be in on the gag.”
I can take on any shape. I can give the appearance that everything is in place so that you can still work.
Winter folded her ears and looked at the “ground” awkwardly. “Right, so, uh, can you show me?”
***
Everything simply melted into place.
Pink Scorch had awoken in the middle of the store, to the feeling of Rakasha’s goopy form trailing down her body. He absorbed into the linoleum, auburn flesh sprawling out, encroaching and enveloping the surrounding area until the place looked like a hellpit straight out of a video game about massacring demons, which she couldn’t remember the title of. She briefly wondered if he could turn into a device that could run it but felt it was the wrong time to ask.
The auburn color shifted, and he took on the appearance of the very environment that he enveloped. Both the door and windows were repaired. The shelves were now upright and merchandise no longer littered the floor. The entire layout of the store looked exactly how it did before the fight. Some part of her was a little astonished.
Did he somehow memorize the entirety of the store’s layout? she thought.
In a flash, Pink Scorch was gone. In her place was Winter Heat, with Claire hovering closely beside her head. Winter sped-walked around the store in an excited frenzy, only now realizing the sheer anxiety she was holding down about losing her job.
Everything looked perfect. A few of the canned goods were out of place, but everything looked to be identical, all the way down to the crack in the tile that extended outward from beneath one of the shelves. Only, now, it looked like a dickbutt. Kinda. To her it did.
Winter responded the only way she knew how. She stood before the register, took everything in, folded her ears, slumped her posture into what looked between shitting on the floor and being shocked into astonishment, and let out a simple, “Huh.”
She shivered when a tendril slithered up her leg and across her face, taking on the form of a small blob atop her head.
The repairs have been made. Will you carry out my request?
“I don’t know. How do we know you can be trusted?”
I was sucking on your face. You don’t think I could have swallowed you whole? I simply chose not to.
“Yeah, but you need us to help restore your power since you can’t fight a bunch of ultra-powerful demons yourself. How do we know you won’t try anything the moment you have your power back?”
Silly horse girl asking silly questions. I might be ruthless by history standards, but I am also generous. Generous to all who honor my name! You will be gifted righteously, become thane to my throne, and dareIsayit, you’ll be my ‘friend,’ for I am very lonely and don’t have many. I didn’t have many before my imprisonment, but time in reclusion has led me to be socially awkward and co-dependent, so you have my word that you will be safe.
Winter tried to think about it, but her mind was blanker than… fuck, she couldn’t find a good comparison. However, a thought still occurred to her. “Hey, how come you could only speak in broken sentences before?”
Social anxiety.
“Huh. Checks out—listen, dude, I’m not sure about any of this. While I appreciate you fixing up the place, I’ve got other things to worry about.”
Like what?
“Good point, but something you need to know about me is that I don’t just go out and punch things because a mega-powerful underlord told me to. I sorta just… walk into it. Like, I punch stuff when it’s convenient to me.”
What do you mean?
“Like, okay okay so—like… I’m trying to come up with the words. You know like, how, like, you have social anxiety, well, I have that too plus ten, and I’m already anxious that my life is, like, in shambles, and I’m on the spectrum plus ADHD brain, and, like, if I focus too much on doing Pink Scorch biz, I’m just gonna get overwhelmed, so I’m trying to liiiiiike, uhh… focus on not stressing the fuck out. Like, today I came into work because my boss was angry—”
She slapped herself on the noggin.
“Ahh! Fuck, you see, ADHD brain. I meant to say that I came in late for work and my boss was pissed, which made me pissed because in a way I knew he was right to be pissed, and while I want to come in on time more, it’s hard because I get the compulsion to use as much as my free time as possible, and I get antsy when I have to stay late.”
She cleared her throat and continued, her tail absentmindedly swaying. “Which I was honestly fretting over with that whole mess just now, but you fixed it, so I’m sorta calm, but now that I’m talking about these problems, everything I’ve been holding down is bubbling up. You know, like, how when you eat too much and need to vomit? It’s like that, yeah. I think these problems root all the way back to high school—”
WILL YOU SHUT UP!?
Winter stopped mid-sentence and realized that the blob on her head was wriggling with annoyance. “Alright, sheesh, I was just opening up!”
Listen, I am desperate! If you want my word that you will be okay, then there it is! I am not powerful enough to face this challenge alone. You, however, can face odds many cannot. Please, just tell me what you want!?
Winter scratched her head. “Uh… I could use some money.”
That’s it!? I’m capable of gifting you with such great powers, and you seek currency?
Her posture slacked, and her ears folded. “I just got money on my mind, bruh! So... how much you got?”
A sigh.
Six-fifty.
A delighted feeling washed over Winter. Her ears straightened and her tail flicked. “Aight, I’m in!”
R-really? That’s all it takes? Well, alright. Just let me know when you want to begin.
“Sure, but first…” She turned, walked around the counter, and sat before the register. “I need to finish my shift, and after, we can talk while I’m eating my value meal.”
***
“Making my way downtown, going fast,” Winter drummed her hooves against the table. “Making autistic noises with my mouth because I can’t remember the lyrics!”
After clocking out for work two minutes early—because Celestia forbid she could survive those extra two minutes with nothing to do—the three went down the street to Taco Bros’. She was just going to order two Mijo Chalupas with a side of Cinnamon Twists, but then she saw that their world-famous Pizzaco was back on the menu for a limited time, and Winter knew she’d only have a limited time to get it before it went away for a limited time. And while their Pizzaco was underwhelming, she had enough menstrual cravings to devour a child, but that’s TMI.
So, she ordered the Pizzaco with a side of Cinnamon Twists for Rakasha and Claire. Nopony but Winter could see Claire, who was floating in wait above the seat in front of Winter. Rakasha, however, took on the form of the same homeless stallion that barged in on her not that long ago. She told the mare behind the counter that he was a Neighgerian refugee.
And he was selling it! Unkempt dreadlocks, slouching in his seat, and he smelled like fart to top it all off! And not, like, a regular fart either. Like, if someone could capture their fart in a jar full of garlic and other pungent odors and let it sit for several months like an aged wine.
Winter was drumming and shaking her head side-to-side while kicking her hindlegs out like an antsy filly when Rakasha spoke up.
“So, I think we should discuss the details.”
“Yeah, sure, whateve.” Winter continued doing autistic shit.
“The problem is, I do not know where to start.”
Winter stopped doing autistic shit and turned to the demon. “Wait, so you went through all of this trouble just to drop no deets? I need DEETS, bro!”
Claire raised a tendril to Rakasha. “I think you should start by telling us how you were summoned.”
“It happened… suddenly. I was in my workshop when I was pulled into a vortex. There was a crowd. I stood upon a great dais, surrounded by creatures with intriguing instruments. It looked to be a summoning ritual, but an uncommon one. The crowd was dark and therefore could not be seen, but the dais had lights shining down from the ceiling. From there, I could make out a hippogriff, a griffon, two ponies, and a thestral.”
A unicorn mare wearing a visor with the Taco Bros’ loco walked up to their table, a tray of food hovering in front of her. “Here’s your food!” she said, placing it on the table in front of Winter. “Enjoy!”
“Thanks!” Winter said.
After the mare walked away, Claire wrapped a tendril around the bag of Cinnamon Twists and held it out toward Rakasha. “Try one.”
“A being such as I does not partake in the petty morsels of mortal food.”
“Suit yourself.”
She unhinged her jaw and sucked the Cinnamon Twists through a swirling vortex, greasy paper and all.
Winter picked up her Pizzaco and forgot how much of a challenge it was to eat. The Pizzaco was essentially a quesadilla, evident by the artery-clogging amount of mozzarella cheese. However, the overabundant marinara sauce made it droopy, so that every time she picked it up, cheese and tomato sauce drooped out.
She took a bite anyway because first-world problems require first-world solutions. Cuz Celestia bless Equestria, dammit.
“So…” she took a moment to chew her food, then swallowed. “The way you’re describing it, it sounds like you’re talking about a stage. What else can you tell me?”
“The hippogriff played a lyre with handles. When she strummed it, a red aura came bursting out. I could sense a demonic presence resonating within it. I believe it to be another Parasite.”
Winter’s ears flicked, and she wiped her greasy mouth with the back of her hoof. “Another Parasite, huh? Guess I shouldn’t be shocked. Claire is the only Parasite I know, but… I guess it isn’t too uncommon for people to make soul pacts.”
“More common than you think. Based on the power this one holds, it will be a formidable opponent.”
“So, what else?”
“The thestral. When I was making my escape, they binded me in place so that she could draw my blood with her fangs. There were…”
He stopped suddenly as Winter gave a muffled scream as she burned the inside of her mouth, then continued slurping up cheese because she had yet to learn her lesson.
“There were two ponies whom shared a soul. Another, a griffon. This one I could not get a good reading of, only that he’d bang on an arrangement of cylindrical ritual instruments with sticks.”
Winter swallowed another mouthful of Pizzaco and belched. “Yeah, you’re describing a band, dude.”
“They were indeed a group.”
“Okay, I get it, you’re really old and not with the times, but things have changed. So, like, a ‘band…’ it’s still the same thing, only in a more modern sense it’s kindaaaa like, y’know, a group of people that play instruments and sing.”
“Like a band of bards?”
“Yeah, like that! Only louder and a lot less gay, unless it’s a boy band then gay stuff is bound to happen.”
“What does being gay have to do with it?”
Winter thought about it for a moment. “Ah shit, are you thinking about gay in the happy sense?” She put her half-eaten Pizzaco down and shifted her body so that it was facing the demon. “Okay, so, there’s the good kind of gay and bad kind of gay. The joke I made about boy bands was a double-entendre, so there’s a good example. The good gay is uhh… fuck how do I explain it to someone like you?”
She rubbed her chin. “How do you feel about same-gender relationships?”
“I do not care for relationships of any variety?”
“So, you’re asexual.”
Rakasha’s red eyes bore into hers, the very concept of life absent from them. “A sexual what?”
“All you need to know is that’s the good gay. The kind where two creatures of the same gender do the hankey-pankey—maybe some kissing is involved, I don’t know. The bad gay is what you’d say to describe something lame. Like, a remake of your favorite movie. ‘That’s gay!’ Or to use it in a sentence, ‘Bro, take that headband off, it looks gay on you!’ Get me?”
“No…”
“Fucking hell, this entire conversation is gay.” She turned back to her Pizzaco to resume its devouring. “What else can you tell me?”
“There was a word. It was all-encompassing. It surrounded the very room.” He paused for dramatic effect, which Winter respected. “That word was Underlord.”
***
The air vibrated with the intensity of the music, reverberating throughout Babble’s body. She was used to nightclubs, only tonight, it was particularly irksome due to her dramatically-increasing migraine. Every thrum hammered a nail into her head, and every time someone bumped into her she’d say something along the lines of, “Move your fat ass, cunt!”
Which, to her credit, was the nicest thing she could say.
Three days. Three. Fucking. Days. One day of prepping this, another day of prepping that, and another day of prepping because OH YEAH HER CLIENT CAN’T GET OFF HER ASS AND HELP HER WITH ANY OF THE WORK. Yeah, yeah, it’s not like she had superpony abilities and could magically cobble together black magic rituals/rock concerts out of thin air. And yeah, yeah it was her job to do it, but everything that was being asked of her was well beyond her pay grade. She’s had the privilege of working with Death Metal Bands, Emo Bands, and weird, obscure bands with strange names like Kumquats, or Anal Clenchers.
But this? This was top-of-the-line I WANT TO SCREAM work. For example: client wants dead chickens? She can manage dead chickens! Heck, she’d cut their heads off herself. But trying to rent out the entirety of Prometheus Plaza to summon a demon lord straight from Tataraus? How the fuck was she supposed to cobble an eight-foot by eight-foot pentagram out of the period blood of virgins? YOU FUCKING ORDER IT. WHO IN THEIR RIGHT MIND IS SELLING THEIR PERIOD BLOOD ONLINE!?
Also, Mistress Marvelous’s bath water was available at a discount.
Babbles arrived in front of a bouncer, who was a griffon of the stereotypical kick-your-ass variety, complete with the black T and indoor sunglasses. The first thing that came out of his mouth was, “Are you a VIP?”
She slapped him in the face and, having to stand at the tip of her hooves to do so, pressed her nose against his beak. “My client owns this fucking place, so are you new or are you braindead?”
He cleared his throat and stepped back. “Sorry, Miss… Babbles, is that right?” He moved aside. “You can go right in.”
She marched through without babbling another word.
The VIP area was the closest the nightclub could get to “comfy.” The music was still loud and obnoxious, but at least she didn’t have that epileptic strobe light to deal with. She still found it irksome how occasionally the light would shift between colors, although only when they were bright.
She actually kind of liked the purple light.
She walked down a hallway and into an open area with a bar with much fewer ponies than there were on the main floor. Upon approaching the bartender, Babbles immediately understood how low the hiring standards were. It was a thestral with large, spikey hair, pierced ears, choke collar, and a deadpan stare that read, “Can’t get fucked, how can I help you?”
Babbles made it her duty to say as few words to her as possible.
“Ay, where’s that tall, feathered-Phoenix borne from the assflakes of Celestia’s acne at? I want to have a few words with her!”
She didn’t move. Nor did she budge. Her eyes simply shifted so that Babbles understood there was still a modicum of life left within her. “She’s at booth six. Teaching one of the strippers Rock, Paper, Scissors.”
Babbles stomped off without another word. She scanned the numbers above the alcoves on the other side of the room before her eyes landed on “6.” In the alcove sat a hippogriff with her hindlegs propped against the table, a double-neck guitar leaning next to her. A pony wearing a tight leather corset and stockings to match was staring at her hoof in confusion.
The hippogriff noticed her coming up almost immediately. Tyranny waved. “Babs! Welcome love, take a seat and smoke a fag with me! I was just teaching the strippers how to play Quartz, Parchment, Shears.”
Babbles stood her ground, feeling like a stern mother with the stare she was giving her. The stripper looked at her hoof in confusion as it bobbed in synchronization with Tyranny’s.
“Alright,” Tyranny said. “Say it with me…”
The pony and the hippogriff spoke in unison. “Quartz, Parchment, Shears!”
Tyranny extended her fingers out and covered the pony’s hoof with her talon. “Oh, look at that! I win again.”
“If you’re done…” Babbles muttered. “I need to speak with you.”
Tyranny raised her talon and flicked her fingers at the pony. “Alright, bug off will ya? I need to talk to me mum.”
Babble’s tail flicked in frustration upon being called “mum,” and she had to refrain from yelling out then and there. She just remembered what her therapist told her.
“It’s okay to let it all out, just don’t traumatize the strippers.”
Before the pony could go, Tyranny tapped her on the flank and said, “Grab us a bottle o’ rum, alright love? I don’t care what type, just something that will lubricate the stick up ol’ Bab’s arse.”
Babbles turned red behind the ears.
She gritted her teeth.
Just do it for the strippers…
She waited until the pony got far away. She waited until the pony was further away. She waited until the pony was even further away. A little bit further… further… fur—
“What the FUCKare you doing on your ass while I’m moving the Earth getting your show together!? First, it’s, ‘Oi Babs ya grimy bloke, can ya whip up a show at Prometheus Plaza? Ain’t like it’s booked this time o’ year, alright? Thanks, love.’ Then, you want a pentagram drawn out of period blood. PERIOD BLOOD. And then after putting questionable things into my search history, you ask me to arrange the show for this Friday. Friday. While Countess Colortoura of all ponies is making her new tour debut right FUCKING there.”
Tyranny wasn’t listening. Or she was. Babbles had since learned that the hippogriff was a master of selective hearing. She was plucking away at the cords of her guitar, looking like nothing in the world mattered.
“Are you even listening?”
“Hey, uh, Tyr…” Babbles turned to see the pony hugging a bottle of rum to her chest, a hesitant look on her face. “I got the rum. You want me to just…”
Without another word, she placed the bottle on the table and scurried off.
Babbles swiped it up, popped the lid off, and drank from it as if it were a faucet that needed clogging. It tasted like shit and burned her throat like holy shit, but her muscles relaxed.
Slamming it back down on the table with a sigh, she slid into the booth across from Tyranny, undid her tie, and pulled the bottle close. Her cheeks were warm, and she was sure that they were covered in a harsh red blush, but she didn’t care so long as she had her medication (alcohol) nearby.
Tyranny leaned forward and reached across the table for the rum, but Babbles hugged it to her chest, giving the hippogriff a thousand-yard stare mixed with sky-grumbling ferocity.
“I think it’s time I told you about limits,” Babbles began. “Not that you know anything about them. You’re so lazy, you haven’t even found ‘em yet. Not that you’d care as you have the response time of a tortoise.”
She slammed the bottle back against her lips and took a few more swigs. When she pulled back, she let out a series of coughs and her chest burned, although she was intent on diving back in if need be.
“Now, I’ve slept a total of twelve hours out of the last seventy-two. That’s about eighteen coke lines for you. You can count, right? Nod so I know you’re with me.”
Tyranny shook her head.
“Smart ass. Now, I don’t need to explain to you why that isn’t enough sleep. You know why that isn’t enough sleep, and you know that the reason why I haven’t gotten enough sleep is because your requests have become increasingly impossible to meet. Find the period blood of virgins? I’ll piss it if I could! Get an entire stage crew together in preparation for the next show? I’m your mare! Hey, I’ll run the lights myself!”
She placed the bottle back on the table and leaned forward. “Listen baby, when you hired me, I promised I’d move the Earth to make sure your every demand is met. Put on a show in Prometheus Plaza? A near fortuitous feat, but I'll gladly accept your challenge! But now I’m convinced you think I’ll actually move the Earth if asked. Heh, and get this, if it was within my range of abilities, I would! I would slap Celestia’s ass until it was a red giant if it meant getting her to do the job for me.”
She cleared her throat and took a moment to calm herself. “But Celestia’s ass is nowhere within reach of my hooves, so I can’t move the Earth. In fact, I just barely managed to squeeze you into Prometheus Plaza. Do you know how tight that squeeze is? It’s a crevice. I managed to find the one crevice in a stone wall to fit you through, because I went through the effort of moving the Earth in your honor! So, after I went to Tartarus and back trying to schedule a show, what does my little feathered princess clad in denim come at me with?”
She went quiet for a moment so that the next sentence would punctuate better.
“A FUCKING HYDRA HEART. YOU CAN’T EVEN ORDER THAT. DO YOU SERIOUSLY EXPECT ME TO SLAY A HYDRA!?”
She was now leaning over the table, practically standing on it. She waited for a response, the hippogriff strumming her guitar in the meantime.
After a few seconds, Tyranny gave one. “Is it within your range of abilities?”
Babbles instantly pictured steam rising from her head so harshly that she could make an omelet on it.
She sat back down. “Yes. It is. Provided that you get off your ass and help.”
Tyranny ran her talon across the strings, the guitar making a distorted noise. “Say no more, love!”
Well. Alright. That was easier than I thought it’d be.
Babbles sat upright and cleared her throat. Placed the bottle back on the table and pushed it towards the hippogriff, who swiped it up and took several gracious swigs.
“Aright,” Babbles went on. “So, onto business. Hyrdas are primarily tropical creatures but are known for making forests their domicile on occasion. After popping three Adderall and conducting four hours of research, I’ve found that their most populated region is the Shimmering Islands. Now, I can purchase us some flight tickets so that the both of us can fly out there and—”
“No need, love,” Tyranny interrupted, earning a frown from Babbles. “There’s already one in the Maretropilis Aquarium.”
Babbles was almost in shock at the fact that she wasn’t bald from the amount of hair lost upon hearing that statement. “The Mare… tropilis… arium… FUCKING HYRDA!? ARE YOU SAYING YOU’D RATHER WE KILL A HYDRA IN CAPTIVITY!?”
Tyranny set the guitar down beside her. Reaching into the breast pocket of her denim jacket, she produced a silver cigarette pouch. Flicking it open, she held it out toward Babbles. “Care for a fag, love? You look like ya need one.”
Babbles inhaled through her nostrils and blew out steam. She took one, placed it in her mouth, and allowed Tyranny to light it for her with a matchstick. After Babbles was taken care of, she placed one in her beak and lit it as well.
She took out a long drag, reducing a quarter of it to ash. Smoke escaped her mouth when she spoke like a dragon prepping a fireball. “Listen, love, ol’ Tyr hears your complaints and takes ‘em to heart, but methinks Bab’s is overthinking the lot of it. She’s thinking ‘how can I meet all of these ludicrous requests?’ when she should be thinking ‘What is the easiest way to achieve my goal?’ If Countess Colortoura is performing in Prometheus Plaza on Friday night, then simply give her a reason to not perform in Prometheus Plaza on Friday night.”
“What are you getting at?”
“Well, if you’re not one for the good ol’ mailing anthrax prank, then you could try other tactics like releasing all of the city’s rats all into one place so that a pop culture figure as tour de force as Countess Colortoura wouldn’t dare step hoof there.”
She took an even bigger drag from her cigarette, reducing it by half. “Now, if you require the period blood of virgins, I don’t expect you to start pissing it on the spot. You don’t even need to go forth with the effort of finding it yourself. You have the contacts, and I own a nightclub.”
The tip of her cigarette glowed a bright red-orange, and it was reduced to its last quarter. “Lastly, if you need to slay a hydra, then be smart about it. Are you going to go for the one in the wild with plenty of survival instinct to fight, or are you going for the one nearby that is tamed, which will save you the money, the time, and the energy?”
She finished off the cigarette and snubbed it out on the table. “Babs, your problem is that when you’re presented with a dilemma, you’re willing to put in twice the amount of work that is needed of you. Nay, you should only have to put in the modicum amount. If you do not know what the modicum amount is, then I will show you myself. We will go to the Maretropolis Aquarium after hours, and we will slay the hydra. You will be through the lot of it, and you will learn that life isn’t all about deadlines. Alright, love?”
Babbles considered her words carefully. Coming from Tyranny, they were infuriating. But, staring at the hippogriff and the colorful lights glaring off her sunglasses, the realization that she was tired overwhelmed her.
Three days.
She wanted to sleep. The alcohol was making her tired. They had until Friday, and it was Tuesday. There was still more work to be done.
“Fine.” It was a simple word, but it was a bite. With that ‘fine,’ she communicated all that she needed to. ‘I will follow along with your stupid plan because you’re paying me, and I just want this to all be over with.’
Babbles took her half-finished cigarette and snubbed it out as well.
“But just to make sure you don’t do anything idiotic, we’re bringing Stella.”
