Ep1: Midnight Overdues

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It's dim: typical lighting fare for these bookish types. Speaking of, the one in question is cowering on the floor in front of me, hooves drawn to his chest. The orange cast by the room’s few candles only make him look more pitiable.

“Quit groveling; it makes you look pathetic,” I tell it to him straight.

“B-b-b-but groveling is all I know how to do!” he whimpers, shuddering all the while. “I’m something of a-a wallflower you s—”

“Can it.” He makes like a kipper and does so. Don’t know why I thought kippers. Maybe thinking about Opal (Damn odd, right?). Anyway, I scan the room, tilting my head as I counted the goods. Though wearing sunglasses indoors would normally be a dumb idea, my eyes are good enough to make it work. Plus, it’s a necessity whenever my black suit and white undershirt combo are involved.

Once I take stock of the wares, I look down at him and say, “You know why I’m here.”

He barely raises his chin before quivering out, “Y-yes, but I have a good r—”

“Not for having them this long.” I pat a small stack on the table to my right. “And especially not for these types.”

“Y-y-yeah, but—”

“You know how hard reference books are to come by, especially these ones? Other ponies need these, and we can’t very well leave them hangin’ just so you could hoard them for your—”

“I wasn’t hoarding!” he shouts, his head shooting up from the sudden growth of a backbone. “I needed them for my personal thesis! I had to make sure everything was accurate and well-cited, and it had grown more complex so I—”

“Don’t you play me,” I snap with a grizzled edge. “I know exactly the kinds of things you do, you sick puppy.” The drippy-nosed dog merely sneezes.

“As for you.” I refocus on the owner. “You were aware of your liberties, but decided to take advantage of them, thinking we wouldn’t notice. Heh, you seem to forget exactly what kind of pony I work for.”

The pony’s spine withers away as he resumes shaking. I turn around as he begs. “P-please, I can pay. I may not look it, but I can be a very motivated, unquestioning helper.”

“We both know the exact penalty for this.” My sword being unsheathed gives my sentence a sharp punctuation. “There’s no point in trying to kid yourself.” I lick my lips as my claws caress and take hold of the hilt, and turning around I raise the blade over my head. Despite what physics had to say, the guy manages to make himself smaller. Except for the eyes; they only get larger.

“N-no, stop! I have a family!”

“No you don’t.”

He glances back with a blush. “Yeah, that was bit of a stretch. But I’m sure I have some distant cousin; if you’ll just let me—”

“Not gonna happen.”

He gulps. “S-surely you wouldn’t do something this cruel, would you?”

Towering over the poor guy, arms raised, sword primed, in a position of unmitigated cruelty, I pause and reflect on his earnest plea. Then I raise my sword higher, baring my pearly whites.

“Obviously you don’t know my work ethic, either.” I let it drop.

“NOOOOOOOO—”

A flash of steel. A streak of crimson. Another day at the office.

Ep1

MIDNIGHT OVERDUES

My name is Spike. I’m a dragon, and also the main character of this story. It’s not a glamorous one, but since you bothered to pick it up, I may as well regale you. I could say this is a story of Love & Late Fees, but then I’d be unoriginal and a liar. No, this is a tale of Bloodshed & Order with a side of Intense and a sprinkling of Strange, because that’s how it goes. It’s also a Serious story, so it can get heavy at times. Just saying.

Some key details: I have a job. A rather important one, unfortunately. The official title is Royal Vanguard to the Literary Preservation of Her Most Majestic Majesty’s Academical Interests. However, most everyone (especially me) just calls it Fetcher, which is essentially what I do. Not the most eloquent of names, but it’s sure better than Gopher.

My job boils down to getting back books from ponies who have been delinquent with their returns. Now, most of the time, a nicely-written letter is sent to remind them of their overdue status, sometimes delivered via an arrow to the door. Most of the time they make their returns, pay their dues and we leave them be. But sometimes they don’t do as the letter says. Or the ones after that. Sometimes they also like to keep many books, never paying the fine. That’s where I come in.

I not only get those books back, but I do so with extreme prejudice.

To the present: having just performed my duties with a disappointing lack of opposition, I find myself standing in Her Majesty’s Librarium (don’t ask me where she got that name) giving my report. All my life I’ve been around books, sorting and handling them, but I can never get used to the massive yet painstakingly organized pile that took up the center floor space, from which she conducts her important royal decrees and whatever. I swear, even with my shades on the whole thing is practically glaring. I’d say it’s magical touch-up, but honestly I think they naturally glow whenever she’s nearby, which is always.

“I got the items in question, Your Highness,” I begin. “All accounted for and in good condition.”

“Well done, Spike. Once more you bring me and these grand tomes good tidings!” she decrees while spreading her magnificent wings for effect. You’d think after eight years she’d get tired of doing that. “I take it the hoarder has been dealt with just as verily?”

“Verily in—HMMN, yes. He was no trouble at all. Though there is a newly-orphaned puppy to consider.”

“Most excellent, dear Spike,” she says with that radiant, though official smile of hers. “One less hoarder for these fair books to be worried about. The wayward pet shall be handled by the Royal Animal Wrangler, as per usual.”

That’s what she calls them: hoarders. Basically she has it in her mind that ponies who have been very late with their books are actually keeping them for themselves with no intent of returning them, and for the most part she’s right. Admittedly, someone who wasn’t familiar with Her Ladyship’s habits and had little to no regard for their own life might point out that she herself is hoarding. However, the difference is she lends them to everyone, and outright encourages said lending. Granted they’re brought back on time, otherwise... yeah. A bit ironic, though: having a dragon take out book hoarders. It would be amusing if that was her sole reason for employing me.

Having nodded her approval, she looks back up at the observatory built into the ceiling and gets back to floating different royal science stuff in front of her. “You can take the rest of the night off. You earned the break most deservedly.”

I shrug. “Maybe not too deservedly, but I still appreciate it, Twi.” I take up my sword (had to put it down, decorum and all) and turn for the door without pause, keeping posture as I do so.

As I reach for the doorknob I hear from behind, “Um, Spike? You didn’t refer to me as 'Your Highness' that time.”

I hold still and think about it. “I didn’t?” Shrug. “Hmm, my mistake.” I can feel that understanding smile form on her face.

“That’s okay, Spike. Same time tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” I open the door and step out into the cool Ponyville night. Funny, after all these years and the tree still looks unchanged from the outside. Then again, look who’s running the place.

Twilight. Silly over-serious Twilight. A bookworm like the rest of ‘em, and then one day she becomes a princess. Takes on greater responsibilities, becomes Protector of the Weak and Inspired. Barely a year after her change she begins the campaign to restore balance to the written word by any means necessary, and being her faithful assistant, she entrusted me to do the dirty work wherever it was needed, anywhere in the whole of Equestria. At first there was a lot of it, but things began quieting down about two years ago. A good if messy outlet for a growing pubescent dragon’s excess energies, I have to say. Keeps the stress down and maintains the peace (though usually costing the peace of mind of others).

Ponies say Twi became more overbearing over the years, and a bit power-mad. To an extent, yeah. The whole crusade against book hoarders pretty much proves that, among other things. But crazy enough, things still work because of it, so she’s doing a good job as far as anyone’s concerned. Besides, the rest of Equestria's gotten pretty twisted over the years as well, so pots calling kettles something or whatever.

Sometimes I’m asked why I put up with her, why I do this. For one, being the only creature with opposable thumbs around makes me a dead ringer for a job that requires frequent swordplay. And for another... I suppose I owe her. Getting my ass out of fires, usually ones I started. And the whole upbringing thing.

Fuzzy reflections turn over to other needs. Specifically, a certain kind of itch that needs scratching.

Claws in my suit pockets, my feet carry me toward the business section of town, and soon the lights of the Boutique appear on my shades. It’s busy tonight: a line of gentlecolt callers have taken up most of the yard, hoping for selection. Figure I can pay a visit.

I walk up to the door beside the line of stallions, their eyes, necks and nerves twisting as they inevitably notice me. I shoulder by the stallion at the door (barely an inch taller than me) and head inside. Usual Thursday night set-up: hanging crystals, deep pink lighting, all kinds of drapes. Like the daytime business, the first floor is mostly for show. The real magic happens on the second floor, and only a select few make it to the stairs.

The line of stallions end at a table, where sits the hostess of the evening, making her judgments: Rarity. Coat like finest porcelain gossamer, covered in the scantiness of silk wear and, to my actual surprise, a familiar heart-shaped keepsake. Good to know I’m still in her thoughts. Better mosey on over and say hello.

I wait for the stallion at the table to scram, and then I warm into the chair across from her, the guy at the front of the line not objecting. “Hello, beautiful,” I open.

“Hello, Spike. What brings you here?”

That curt breath before speaking; the way she barely bats an eye at me sitting down before her; her even, casual tone bordering on professionalism in its delivery. This is the rapport borne from years of familiarity and nothing more. Despite her plain greeting, I smoothly remove my shades and put them on the table. Looks as lasting as hers, you gotta take it all in.

“Her Highness gave me the night off, so I thought I’d drop in.” Gotta say it low, smooth. Have to maintain appearances; it’s the least you can do for a proper lady.

“That’s nice, dear, but can’t you see I’m rather busy at the moment?”

“I see.” Subtle nod. “Still, never hurts to see an old friend for a while.”

“Well, actually—”

“How bout you close up shop early and have a drink with me, just the two of us. Whaddya say?”

Her sigh signals the beginning of a dance that is also all-too familiar.

“Do you really have to do this, Spike? Now of all times?”

“I don’t think it’s that bad a time,” I say with sincerity. “It’s late, I’m feeling bushed, and clearly,” I raise a claw. “You’ve been thinking of me.” I aim it at her heart. Both of them. She just gives a glance and looks back to me, unfazed. Ever the model of the modern hostess.

“Oh, that. Well, I couldn’t find my usual jewelry and I was in a bit of a rush to get ready. Don’t put any thought into it.”

“Still, you keep it around, and that says something.” I plant my arm and elbow on the table and lean in, easing into my counter word sabat.

“Spike, isn’t there an... eight year difference between us?” she two-steps a rebuttal, but I’m on the uptake with a recovery verbal sweep.

“So? There are couples out there with far bigger age gaps. It don’t mean a thing.” Now for the twirl. “Besides, how hard is it to come by someone who is alright with your ‘other’ line of work?” I nod to the awaiting callers, who I imagine smile back nervously. “I understand that times can be tough and a mare has to do whatever is necessary, and I completely respect that. A working lady has a right to handle her business however she wants, no matter what business it is.”

A moment of hesitation as she looks to the side. One of two outcomes: she’s feeling vulnerable and I finally got her. Or, more likely...

“Oh dear. Um, how do I put this delicately?” She takes a breath and looks me square in the eyes. “The fact is, Spike, I... well, I don’t want no scrub—No no, Dr. Suture, I said scrub. Singular. You can stay—What I mean is, your line of work isn’t really... befitting of a lady such as myself.” A cough from one of the waiting John Ponies interrupts her, but quickly she adds, “Besides, aren’t you and Sweetie Belle still together?”

I shrug. “Don’t really see how that’s a problem.”

“I LOVE YOU, SPIKE!!”

“Shut up baby, I know it.” I look from the stairs back to Rarity. “It’s nothing serious. And we know that affections can drift about without taking root. I mean, look at you and tonight. Or you and all those other nights.” I lean in closer. “Why not give it a chance, Rarity? You know I’ve come a long way from being just ‘Spikey-Wikey’. Heh, you might even be amazed.”

“I’m afraid I’m in no position to even consider that now, Spike.” She flicks her curly mane with that aloof mystique of hers. “I ask that you politely leave. My clients have been kept waiting for far too long.”

She’s clearly brought an end to this dance. Again. “Fair enough.” I take up my shades and make a point to put them back on slowly, which goes well with my reserved image, among other things. “I’ll be catchin’ ya around, doll.” I get up and head for the door.

“Do it during the day if you really must, Spike,” she calls as I nudge past the stallions and back into the welcoming dark of the outside. All that mood lighting just about gave me a headache.

Once clear of the Boutique, I take a deep breath and sigh. Another strike-out, possibly making it just a little worse. Really comes as no surprise: years of barking up the same porcelain tree with little change hardly expects different results, and it’s been one-sided Friend Zone pretty much since the day we met. And though I like barking up this particular tree, problem is, there’s some things that a job of wanton violence and execution can’t satisfy in a growing dragon. Even sadder, there’s hardly anything in this town at all to fulfill those particular needs period.

I look up to the stars briefly before walking off toward the edge of town. Maybe I’ll just stroll by the stream, take a long cold dip and then head home. It’s been awhile since I got some decent sleep when I think about it. Not too long, though, but I wouldn’t want to go back to being an insomniac. Things aren’t nearly busy enough for that.

A soft flutter precedes the settling of added weight on my shoulder. I turn my head and immediately recognize the ball of well-preened feathers and soul-piercing eyes.

“Hey there, Owli.”

A scroll with Her Highness’ seal is held snugly in his beak. I take it out to give him some breathing room, and he takes the opportunity to greet me with a “Hoo?”

“I’m doing okay. Yourself?”

“Hoo.”

“Ah, really? All the better then.”

There was a time I wouldn’t have known what the hell he said other than “hoo”. But there are advantages to being Vanguard to a princess, including access to all manner of books on communication, and even complimentary tutoring from the foremost expert in animal communications (Fluttershy). Though we started off jagged at best, after a few lessons in Owl (subtly complex language, whodda known?) we came to be fast friends. Pretty amazing how far a little understanding can take you.

“Hoo?” he pries, to which I shrug.

“That obvious, huh?” I ask, rather unnecessarily. “Yeah, but a guy’s gotta try. Kinda ruins my night, though.”

He nods. “Hoo.”

“I appreciate that, man. Anyway, let’s see what Twi has to say.” I hold up the scroll and break the seal. I have a good feeling what it’s about, and unrolling it and seeing that very neat, official handwriting, turns out I'm right.

Most Loyal and Dutiful Spike,

A matter of some concern has come to light as of recent. In my cataloging of the Librarium's inventory I noticed a number of missing books, and a short investigation has brought my attention to one Mrs. Belljar, widow. The books in question have been gone no fewer than three weeks past return, and there is record of repeated notices sent to the individual in question. Such prolonged delinquency cannot be tolerated. Therefore, you are tasked with retrieving the articles of interest and ensuring that Mrs. Belljar, widow, won’t commit such a transgression again.

Though I am aware I relieved you of duty for this evening, you will be delighted to know that the suspect in question resides outside of Ponyville town limit, near the outskirts of the Everfree Forest. Included in this scroll are pinpoint directions and a list of the books in need of retrieval.

Proceed unerringly and with adequate caution. I have, and always shall have, the utmost faith in your abilities.

Sincerely,
Princess Twilight Sparkle

Just like that, it’s back to work. I take a breath and roll up the scroll before looking to Owlowiscious. “Duty calls, it seems.”

“Hoo,” he says in understanding.

“Guess you should head back. I’ll catch you around, bud. And take it easy.”

Only a silent nod this time before spreading his wings and flying off into the night toward the library, or Librarium rather. I grip the hilt of my sword to get my mind into gear, and begin my walk out of town. This sudden imposition isn’t a bad thing. Though the job doesn’t satisfy certain needs, it definitely helps me forget them. And I needed the distraction quite badly.

It takes ten minutes before I spot the residence of Mrs. Belljar, widow: a very nondescript brown cottage, practically blending in with the forest behind it. I’d swear if it wasn’t for the moonlight I may have overlooked it. As I got closer, I begin to smell the decay. I could taste the rotting wood before I saw the mold. Not a very good homeowner, or perhaps she’s one of those old bags that stay indoors all the time, ignoring everything outside the front door. Even her own house.

I stand before the shabby door and shift my shoulders into a more firm position, ready to play the part. Normally this kind of thing wouldn’t be carried out at midnight, but the instructions were very insistent about getting this done. It wouldn’t be the first time I made a house call in the dead of night, either. Duty tends to outweigh courtesy in these circumstances.

I raise a fist and rap it on the door. The thuds reveal surprising thickness despite its condition, and they’re followed by an unsurprising silence. After some seconds I knock again, and still no answer. I grab the rusted doorknob (my royal position allows jurisdiction for breaking and entering). The door opens with ease. Somewhat odd.

I step in and look around. Fairly dark, even if I wasn't wearing shades. No candles to speak of: just a modest fireplace, burning enough light to show a dusty easy chair and ancient throw rug, both of them more shadow than substance in the bad lighting. Apart from those, there were the usual senior citizen accoutrements: humble coffee table with a bowl of knitting wares, sewing machine, at least three glass cabinets loaded with assorted collectible chinas and porcelain bobbles. The place reeks of old age, top to bottom on every surface. Certainly not the home of a hardened criminal at first glance.

Letting the door close behind me, I walk over to the middle of the living room and try to find some sign of the dear widow.

“Mrs. Belljar? Are you here?”

My nose picks up a waft of cookware, burnt metal, recent. I stride to the other end of the room and get to a door by a bookshelf filled with figurines. I softly plant my shoulder to the door and open it, leaning inward as it swung. I peek in, then assume an upright stance before walking into the very ordinary kitchen. It also smells of old pony, but it’s not as heavy, subdued by the homely scents of cooking and afternoon tea. In the middle of the floor is a table with two rickety-looking chairs and a bowl of fruit in the center, as well as a chandelier of four candles hanging above it, providing the room’s lightsource. As I step toward it, I look over to find an antiquated white stove by the wall, where the crone of the house stood.

Her coat’s a faded vermillion, and an old green shawl is draped over her shoulders and upper back. Can’t make out the cutie mark. Her mane’s a typical old-pony white, except there’s a lot of it, done up in a bundle best described as a cross between whipped cream and a miniature snowman. She hums to herself, though loud enough for anyone to hear. She’s minding a kettle, which I can tell is about to steam.

“Mrs. Belljar?” I say to get her attention.

“Yes, dearie. I heard you come in.”

She turns her head and I see her face: fairly smooth for an oldie, and has that mixture of kindness and misery you see in the elderly. Something that makes you happy and sad at the same time when you get down to it. She addresses me with a weak smile, then speaks again in that oaken soft voice.

“My, aren’t you quite the strapping young lad.” She shakes with every other word uttered. The kind of infirmity that can make a heart melt, but mine has no time for shaky old ladies. It’s in it for business.

“There is something we need to discuss, Mrs. Belljar,” I cut to the chase. She gives a half-shake of her spindly head.

“In a moment, dearie. I’m about finished making tea.” She nods to the table. “Please, have a seat. I can’t have you waiting around uncomfortable.”

I hesitate, then pull out the chair closest to me and plant myself down. I could tell from her voice the request was genuinely sincere, the sort that’d be rude to balk. In a moment the kettle begins its piercing shriek, but Belljar’s on it like a pro, grabbing the handle with rag in mouth and taking it from the heat. She pours the boiling water delicately into two cups, and just as delicately she puts down the kettle and bites the dainty metal tray, also delicately (wonder if they're dentures). She trots slowly over to the table and puts the tray down expertly by the bowl of fruit, close to me. She looks to me.

“I say, don’t those sunglasses make it hard to see? You don’t have to worry about impressing me any if they make things inconvenient for you.”

“I’m not trying to impress. They’re part of the uniform, you understand.” Not really, but they help me focus on the job, and they definitely sell the professionalism angle. My little discourse seems to work, as Belljar turns around and heads for the cupboards.

“Suit yourself, dearie. I’m not one to judge.” I keep my eyes on her as she rummages around the cupboards. There’ve been too many runners in my day that I’d let my eyes wander for a moment. She doesn’t take long in coming back, now only carrying a plate with some blue, swirly-frosted treats. It takes a split-second for my nose to register what they are, and even less time for my mind (and mouth) to salivate.

“Sapphire cupcakes? Oh man, those are my favorite! It’s been soooo long...” I recompose myself with a cough, but it’s far too late from the looks in her eyes. Smooth one, genius. “Yes, this is something of a surprise.”

“I made them just the other day,” she replies. “The ingredients allow them to stay fresher for much longer, so it will be like I baked them only yesterday.” She gives a smile, both of kindness and pride. Smug old bat. I pick up one of the cupcakes.

“So you were expecting me, then.” I sniff the cupcake, then give the frosting a taste with my tongue. No trace of poison, or even sedatives. If I didn’t know any better, I say this was a normal jewel-encrusted confection.

“But of course, dearie,” she continues. “I have a sixth sense when it comes to expecting company. It’s always nice to have someone around, especially after my darling husband passed away. And of course, it wouldn’t do for someone of your position to not have a proper welcome.”

I munch away at the cupcakes while she talks, burying the shame as discreetly as possible. There aren’t many of them, and they’re relatively small. If there wasn’t enough poison for me to taste, then there isn’t nearly enough to put me down. Maybe if I had been a pipsqueak it’d work, but as far as I can tell they are plain, ordinary, ungodly delicious cupcakes. And still she’s gabbing away. What’s with the old needing to flap their gums any chance they get? It just makes the whole thing sadder. Now she’s taking the other chair to cozy up to one of the cups of tea, taking it between her hooves. A mild sip shuts her up, finally. After a moment she looks me dead in the eye, just as I finish the last cupcake.

“Now, what I really wanted to do was to discuss the matter of your visit in a civil manner.” Yup, here we go. “Though I’m well aware of the seriousness of your visit, I admit that I’m prone to forgetfulness. Mind’s not as sharp as it used to be, sad to say, and as a result I lose track of things. That being said, I’ll willingly give back what you have come for. All that I ask is that you let this old mare enjoy her last few years quietly. Not very many of them left, I should say. And I’d certainly do no harm to anypony.”

She smiles pleadingly. Granted, she’s being more cordial and reasonable than most others. But, even so...

I grab the other cup of tea. It practically disappears into my claws (keep forgetting how big they are). I take a sip, not taking my eyes off her. Nothing fishy in the tea, either. A real sweetheart.

“Though I believe you wouldn’t hurt anyone, there can be no exceptions,” I lay it down to her. “Notices have been sent to this address, frequently. Weeks of reminders, Mrs. Belljar, and you chose to ignore them. I’m sure you’re a nice pony at heart, but some confections and kind words aren’t going to make this go away.” I stand up. “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to get down to business. It’s late enough as it is”

She gives the slightest mournful shudder. “I understand. Just let me get my glasses. I’d like to be able to see my maker when I go see her, heehee.” Belljar turns back to the cupboards, where I spot the dainty pair of glasses on a countertop. This is going by surprisingly smoothly. No crying, desperate begging, screaming. Been a long time since I dealt with someone who took to their own impending demise with such grace and dignity.

I decide to let my eyes wander slightly, take in the quaint ambiance of the kitchen. “Nice place you have. Don’t suppose you have anyone to give it to wh—”

I hear the dispersal of air in time to shift my head to the side, letting the knife shoot by and plant itself into the wall behind me rather than my skull. I immediately look to Belljar, who’s hunched in the typical stance of someone who had thrown something with the intent to kill. She straightens up and sighs, light gleaming off her newly-placed glasses. No harm to anypony, my ass!

“Oh, fiddlesticks. You are a quick one, aren’t you?”

It’s a bit excessive, but I respond by picking up my chair and tossing it at her. I watch it clear the distance over the table... only to halt midair before her face in a silvery glow. I then notice the little glowing bump nestled within her mountain of hair, and I swear under my breath.

Unicorn. She just had to be a unicorn.

“Now that’s an incredibly mean thing to do,” she remarks, her face showing no reaction to the chair dangling in front of her. “I thought you’d be well-mannered enough not to throw around another pony’s furniture all willy-nilly.”

Without batting an eye she shoots the chair back at me, which I narrowly duck. It smashes into a dozen chunks on the wall behind me, and before they all hit the floor I already have my sword drawn and am halfway across the tabletop. Again the old bat is on the uptake and I feel the other end of the table lift up sharply, making me stumble before it flings me back the other way. I land in a crouch and slide back a few feet, and as I stand back up the hag launches the entire table at me, fruit and plates included.

I raise and bring down my sword in a slash that cleaves the table in two, both halves going past me without touching. Barely after I catch a breath I hear the rending of bolts, and just as I turn to the side I’m side-winded by the stove and knocked across the room.

The door into the kitchen explodes as I tumble out into the living room. Little birds are spinning over me as I pull myself back onto my feet. As I shake my sight back into focus, there is the pull of some chords and a whir. I turn around and lo and behold it’s Mrs. Belljar, only now with two gleaming chainsaws revving and beside her. Are you freakin' kidding me?

“I wanted this to peaceful, but now I must take matters into my own hooves.” Her voice is as even and calm as an executioner’s, overcoming the roar of her weapons. “You just wouldn’t leave an old mare alone, even after I asked you kindly. Now I’m telling you to get out, otherwise I’ll—YAAH! Gracious, I went and pulled my back.”

While she crumples from her ill-timed affliction I dash across the room to split her head in two. As I bring down my sword, she glares at me and crosses the chainsaws to block my attack and push me away.

“Attacking an old woman while she’s injured? Disgraceful!”

From the hole leading into the kitchen, several knives float out and line up around the crone before firing at me. I avoid and deflect them as they zing by, and once the barrage is over I spot a rocking chair gliding over to the incumbent hag, who raises her flank slightly to take a seat. Rump firmly planted, the chair lifts her a few feet off the ground and hovers in place (albeit rocking).

“Ahhh, that’s better.” She looks at me. “Now, I believe there’s something called ‘respecting one’s elders’ I should teach you before getting you out of my house.”

“You’re a real class act, lady.” I sneer. “But I think it’s well past your bedtime.”

“First lesson, dearie: minding your tongue!”

The chainsaws rev up before Belljar throws herself at me, weapons trained. I hold up my sword and catch the intercepting deathdealers, and after a flurry of sparks and grinding metal I shove them aside. Belljar glides slowly to the other end of the room and turns around, siccing the two chainsaws on me from different angles. I dodge like crazy and parry them back, but their rotary teeth remain sharp and hungry for dragon bits. I get backed into the recliner, but I flip back over it and kick it off the ground mid-flip, and it knocks back the two chainsaws hard. The recliner falls into tatters as the heavy equipment run back to their mamma, who's making ready for a follow-up.

An aura of gray rises up around her stupidly large hairdo, and from the table several yarn balls float up and start orbiting her. I manage to crook my head curiously before the felt-layered spheres shoot my way, one by one. I’m still kinda dumbfounded, so two of the balls smack me on the face before I get my head back in the game and slice up the other ones. Then out of the bowl comes two knitting needles, which line up with the spot between my eyes before firing.

I duck low to let them fly over me, but standing back up I find them hovering just a short distance behind me before coming in for a second sweep. I hold my sword to the side then cleave the air, slicing both needles in half. The metal bits bounce on the floor, but it’s when they float back up into the air that I realize I gave the fogy four stabby things instead of two.

The needle parts circle round me then halt before shooting at me at once. I deflect two of them and duck under another, but one from the side manages to tear my coat sleeve and leave a bloody gash on my arm. First blood in this fight and it goes to the geriatric. This really isn’t my night.

The fresh rush of pain makes me more focused, and concentrating, I aim and slice repeatedly at the needles until they’re indiscernible bits. Before I let them rise up in more numbers, I turn and face Belljar and make a run for her. Stupid old bag has been watching her little needlework and let her guard down. I leap and stab my sword forward, ready to end this nonsense. A line of decorative china appears and takes the full force of my attack, bringing me to a dead halt in the air before I find myself flung back onto the ground. I crouch land yet again, and immediately the cabinets around the room burst open and dozens of figurines shoot out and swarm around Belljar, practically buzzing like pissed-off porcelain bees.

Before I could say how ludicrous this has become, the figurine swarm disperses and flies right at me. Next thing I know I’m getting pelted by cheap collectibles and trying to bat the stupid things, getting bruises all the while. Amidst the tempest I spy a shimmer and leap to the side, a chainsaw embedding itself into the floor and tearing it to hell. The other chainsaw follows right after, and along with figurines trying to bust my skull, I’m losing standing room and getting wood chips on my shades.

This has to end. Using my arms for cover, I look around and spot one of the empty cabinets. I roll over to it and knock it onto me, making for some protection and giving me a chance to catch my breath while the figurine swarm beats on it. I feel the wood caving in and chipping, and I also hear one of the chainsaws revving up. Time to get unconventional.

I scramble on the floor, keeping the cabinet on me as I make for Belljar’s direction. Just as the first holes appear I shove my back hard and fling the cabinet up at Belljar, who promptly destroys it with a swing of a chainsaw. While she’s distracted I roll sideways, and planting my feet into the floor I spring up for a rising slash. She looks down at me just as the tip of my sword connects with her cheek and tears upward, cutting off her glasses and a chunk of her stupid mane in a splash of blood.

I flip and land back onto the floor, and the figurines follow in clattering fashion. In the refreshing silence afterward, I look back and see Belljar still floating in her chair, looking exhausted and none too pretty. A bit of her horn is sticking out from her ruined mane like a sore thumb. I point my sword at her.

“Ready for bed, granny?”

That seems to strike a nerve, because her eyes flash pure silver before she lets out a hellish, ear-splitting screech. Magic energy blasts me off my feet and across the length of the living room, through a wall and onto something soft and comfy. I’ve landed in the crone’s bedroom, and after getting a nice look of the ceiling I sit up and see tonight’s next shocker: other than the floor space before the bed, the room is covered in piles of books. Most I recognize, but there have to be books from libraries from other towns, districts even. Seems this really is the home of a hardened criminal.

Speaking of which, the witch comes floating in through the hole that used to be a wall, eyes aflame and her mane floating about like it was possessed (and it most likely is). She has her chainsaws at the ready, along with bits of living room acting as under-side shielding. There wasn’t a molecule of sweet old lady left in her twisted, snarling face.

“You stay away from my darlings, you wretched meddler!” Nothing but shrieks in that one. “I won’t let you lay one filthy claw on them. They are as dear to me as grandchildren; no one is taking them while I breathe!”

“You’re delusional,” I state the obvious. “And so you know, playing the insanity card won’t make your sentence any easier.”

“It doesn’t matter you little miscreant. You’ve gotten me far too riled up. You’re not leaving here alive!”

A haze forms around her, and everything in the room starts rumbling. The mattress shoots up and tosses me onto the floor, which creaks and groans from incredible strain as I get on my feet. Right as I get my balanced, rows of nails shoot up from the floorboards and hang in the air around me like a sharp, rusty aerial minefield. The nails quiver and shake, while Belljar slowly lifts a hoof, her face nothing more than vicious eyes and a crooked smile of malice. Only one thing to say in this situation.

“You’ve got to be kidding...”

A drop of the hoof and here comes the pain. I raise my sword to deflect maybe three of the nails from the get-go, but all the rest just swarm in to stab everything not guarded by my blade. Seconds pass of nails zipping by and coming at me, piercing and tearing through my suit and cutting up whatever’s underneath. My sight’s all blurry from so many freakin’ nails, and I’m steadily getting soaked with blood. I keep batting away, chopping up whatever I can, but there’s too damn many of them.

My focus wears down and I feel myself stumbling from the injuries and the swirling nails. Some kind of roar makes me spin around half-confused, and I take a chainsaw to my side. Everything slows down, strips of my suit and drops of blood soaring gracefully as I stumble to my right. I feel myself collapsing, but I plant my sword into the floor so that I manage to kneel sloppily.

I’m breathing heavily. The pain in my side and thudding in my head drowns out all noise, except for the cackle of that demented crone. I look up and see that the nails have lined up by her sides, giving her a set of rusty wings. She must be really full of herself, or I’m hallucinating. Has to be the former; no way I could’ve lost that much blood. Right?

“Looks like the whipper-snapper’s had enough,” she gloats (they always have to gloat). “Maybe if you ask kindly I’ll end your miserable life quickly. I’m always open to a little courtesy, keheeheehee.”

I start to feel woozy. Stupid hag has had her fun long enough. And given the chance, she’ll keep having more of it. Gotta end it now; the suit’s had enough as it is.

As I breath, I begin to feel the familiar warmth growing in my core. Getting a hard grip on the sword hilt, I push myself back into standing position, the left lens of my shades clattering to the ground as I straighten up. Oh yeah, it’s personal now.

With my free claw I pat the wound on my side, and once it’s nice and drenched I bring it up and smear it over my blade, giving it a dark sheen. I hold the blade up, just as wisps of flame start rising from the corners of my mouth. In one long breath a trail of flame goes down to my sword, and I concentrate on making it circle around and stoke the blood on it. Belljar just watches curiously, doing nothing as the fire grows and begins to rise up to drape over my shoulders. Big mistake, granny. Ever heard about the cat?

As the rite continues, my limbs start burning with power. Things take on a sharp green tint, and I can feel my mouth take on a cruel smile. Poor bat doesn’t know what’s gonna happen, judging from the way she’s gawking.

A primer: dragon fire is magic. Dragon blood is also magic. Put the two together, throw a weapon in the mix, and there’s only one outcome: sweet carnage.

“Chartreuse Phoenix.”

I blast off after uttering those words, the room getting bathed in searing flames as I soar straight across the room. Belljar manages to raise a hoof and drop a jaw before I rip through her in a burst of fire and steel. The world stops for a second, just before the ensuing blast demolishes everything around us.

When the green dies down, I find myself standing in what’s left of the crone’s bedroom. Hell, what’s left of her house. No ceiling or roof to speak of: just piles of scorched wood that had once been walls. Feeling the familiar chill of the night, I look around the former bedroom. All the books are gone, vaporized just as the last flickerings of green fire snuff out. I hear a whimper, and looking down I find Belljar lying on the floor, a hole where the right side of her chest should be.

She’s reaching out to where the books had been, her breath raspy and blood-stained but overcome with despair.

“What... what have you... done to them?” She says it condemningly. Sad waste of last words, but I figure I ought to oblige her.

“Put them someplace far from you.”

She strains to look back at me, opens her mouth as though to cry, and falls silent and still. Crazy old pony finally at rest. Very likely another case of finding comfort and company in the written word and losing touch with reality, something like that. No family, no friends. Just loneliness and the escape into literature. Miserable bat.

In any case, it seems I managed to get all the books with that blast. I bet the princess will squee a bit once they pile up in the Librarium in a few minutes. Always nice having something as convenient as enchanted fire to handle bulk work.

Unfortunately, the adrenaline wears off and I falter. This job took way too much outta me; I don’t think I can stumble back home before conking out. Luckily, I happen to know a certain Royal Healer who lives nearby. I lift up my sword, sheath it, and trudge from the ruins of the house and into the light of the full moon (since when is it never a full moon?).

There was a time when I’d tell myself that all that I do, all of it was a dream. That I’d wake up in the little basket at the foot of Twilight’s bed, and she wasn’t a princess. Simpler times. Carefree, innocent.

But this is no dream. It’s cold hard reality.

This is life under Her Majesty’s New World Order.

And I’m hell on Equestria.

DEATH by DRAGON

MIDNIGHT OVERDUES
end

*Unashamedly inspired by the artful madness of Suda51

Interim 1

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Interim 1

Gentle rays of Celestia’s sun light up the room like some cheerful blaze. By which I mean it's too freakin’ bright for this time of the morning. Luckily, I’ve been awake for almost half an hour and ate my fill of scones, so my mind and body are adjusted to the misery of wakefulness. Plus, it certainly helps the mood when you have an expert tending to your wounds with all the keen tenderness of a teddy bear surgeon.

“There, that should do it,” she says after patting down the last bandage on my leg. I swear she must’ve been debating whether or not to kiss it for good measure. “You’ve healed up plenty as is, but these should hurry it along. I say you can take them off in an hour or so.”

I nod to her. “Thanks, Flutters. I could’ve done without, but Twi would have a fit if I came in all cut up, so I appreciate it.”

“Oh, don’t mention it.” She blushes out of habit. “It’s my sworn duty, after all. And of course, what are friends for?”

Fluttershy: Her Majesty’s Royal Healer-slash-Animal Wrangler. Perhaps the only one of the group who’s stayed the same all these years. Soft-spoken, kind, caring, and doesn’t object when a blood-soaked dragon stumbles in and crashes for the night. There might be a scream and some tossed pots involved, but she’s never been one to turn away an injured creature. Her cottage hasn’t changed, either: still the very embodiment of “cozy,” with throw rugs, pillows and doilies all over. Can’t recall the last time I slept as hard and as well as last night under this thatched roof (even without the blood loss to help).

“Well, I won’t bother you any longer.” I hop out of the chair. “Gotta find some clothes and get to work.” Before I take a step she mumbles something.

“W-wait, before you go!” She trots off somewhere, and in a second she comes back with my tattered, blood-stained suit balanced on her wing. No, correction: my freshly sewn, mostly cleaned-up suit.

“I decided to repair your clothes as best I could,” she says meekly as I take them. “It’s not entirely restored, but you shouldn’t have to go home to change. I hope.”

I unfurl the suit and give it a look over. Every hole and tear is gone, replaced by barely-visible stitching. Much of the blood is gone too, and what’s left blends in with the black of the suit. Some would call this restoration a miracle given what little time she had to work with. I swear, this girl could give Rarity a run for her money.

“...You didn’t have to,” I state my added appreciation while slipping on the duds.

“It’s no trouble, really. As I said, what are friends for?”

A true angel she is. Not like that hell bunny she had (Celestia rest his soul). Once the suit is on, I pat down any lingering wrinkles and feel a lump on the left breast. I reach inside and pull out my shades, sans one lens. I make a faux look of dejection to get an awkward smile out of her. It works.

“Um, I’m sorry. I don’t really keep around things for sunglasses repair, but I still shined it. Hope that’s okay.” Why does she always have to make that look of unwarranted guilt? It’s too damn adorable, I can’t help but grin to provide assurance.

“That’s okay. I’ll just do without them for now.” I put the shades back into my suit, and turning around I head for the door.

“Oh, don’t forget about your, um... sword.”

Oh yeah, darn it. I look to my left and spot it lying in its sheath on a coffee table. I reach down and pick it up, and grabbing the hilt I pull it out enough until the morning light gleams off metal. A nice blade, one that's been very reliable over the years. Some would call it beautiful. I thought it was meant to be symbolic when it was first given to me... until the neck of my first offender was presented to me ten minutes later. Then I learned exactly what it meant.

The sword clacks back into the sheath as I turn back to the door. A shame leaving this place so soon, but duty calls and I’ve slept long enough. Opening the door, I glance back at my generous hostess.

“See you around, Flutters. And sorry again for the scare.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I sense her polite nod. “Come back and visit soon.”

Under better circumstances hopefully, I think as I step out into the waning mists of morning. Despite the insane brightness of the sun, the air is cool and there’s still dew on the grass as I cross the stream near the cottage. I feel a bit exposed without my shades, but there shouldn’t be any ponies out this early on a Friday. By my reckoning I have fifteen minutes to report in, so I increase my pace slightly.

The stroll, silent save for the occasional bird chirp and tree rustle, allows me time for some Reflection. I think back to Fluttershy, and the overall nature of the town. From the outside, everything appears unchanged from nearly a decade ago. Pastel houses, clean air, citizens moving to and fro on the ebb and flow of life. But at its core, it’s completely different. Simple lives dictated by one thing: Order. That changes things deep within, unseen, but nevertheless critical. Fluttershy managed to stay the same, but most everyone else? Not so lucky.

I’m a minute early when I get to the door of the Librarium. I put my claw on the handle and think a few moments if I should’ve gone home and got another pair of shades instead. Maybe put on what I got? Nah, that would be goofy. I suck it up my doubts before going inside.

The place is aglow with royal busywork, even at this hour (I instantly regret not stopping by the house first). Approaching the room’s center, I put down my sword and stand in place as Her Highness floats down, regal wear flowing, from on high onto the Grand Collection (the friggin’ big book pile I mentioned). She spreads her wings with some added glitter before turning her gaze down on me with a blank royal look... that quickly softens into a welcoming smile.

“Spike,” she speaks. “First, I wish to express how very pleased I am with the success of last night’s assignment. Mrs. Belljar appeared to have hoarded more books than originally believed, and for returning them unharmed you have my humble gratitude and that of all Equestrian literature. And I trust the offender has been dealt with just as masterfully?”

“Affirmative, Your Highness,” I respond. “She put up more of a fight than I had anticipated, but justice was dealt.”

“I trust you didn’t sustain any grave injuries in carrying out your duty, Spike?” That authoritative yet concerned tone. Guess she noticed the stitching, the bandage on my leg, or the painfully obvious lack of shades. Well, one thing I learned in my service to Twi: honesty is the best policy.

“Some injuries, but none were grave, and I sought the Royal Healer afterward, who graciously took me in for the night. Rest assure, I’ve been treated extensively and had considerable rest.”

She gives an approving nod. “I’m happy to hear that. It’s never wise to push past one’s limits, and it would pain me if you had overexerted yourself, even for the sake of duty.”

The fact she still cares for me in her own way is why she still gets the (most) truth from me. Even if that weren’t the case, lying to the princess is ill-advised. The ascension gave her a keen eye for body language and deception, so anypony these days would be hard-pressed to slip anything past her. And if they tried, it’d be especially detrimental to their health.

“Before we begin today’s work, there is yet one other task I request of you to perform.” Already? “Worry not, it’s merely an errand. A simple one at that.”

Heh, almost had me going there. “Very well. What am I to do, Your Highness?” She turns in a flourish to make her decree.

“You, Most Loyal Vanguard, are to go to the home of the Royal Confectioner and bring me a specially-prepared strudel.”

“...I’m sorry?”

“I made the order yesterday, so it should be ready at the time of opening, which was five minutes ago. Therefore, it is ready for pickup.”

I pause, trying to think up the right words. I stumble instead (though in a professional fashion). “Are you sure? It does seem a little late for breakfast, and I’d imagine you would have had it much sooner.”

She chuckles. “But of course I have, dear Spike. However, it’s important to give patronage to our most loyal subjects, not to mention our dear friends. Since it has been some time since you yourself paid them a visit, I thought it would be fitting for you to say hello in my favor.”

From the upper reaches of the Librarium, a jingling pouch floats down to me and nestles into one of my suit pockets.

“Take a moment to share a few words, but make sure not to dawdle too long. We have to maintain a schedule for the good of the citizens, after all.”

The money sack weighs heavily, but I only sigh mentally and bow. “As you wish, Your Highness.” I straighten back up, and just as I ready to turn,

“One other thing, Spike.” She turns her gaze up to the rafters, and brings down a pair of magic-encased sunglasses, which she places gently onto my snout. I see her make another smile through the tint. “Have to look your finest, right?”

I nod curtly. “Right. Thank you.” I turn around, take up my sword, reach the door, and step out to embrace the day once more. Shame I’m feeling rather bothered at the moment.

It’s weird, the way she can still dote on me even after all these years. Occasionally treating me like I’m still a kid. Granted, becoming a princess makes her Mother to Us All, but she’s essentially been like that to me since the day I was born. Even when the blood of ponies is spilled to preserve the balance of society, she finds time to play big sister. It demeans at times, and most sickening of all, it always comes off as adorable. Which further worsens the demeaning factor.

However, that stint of insecurity pales in the face of the dread I feel as I turn into view of my destination: Sugarcube Corner. The gingerbread and cupcake decor remains as bright and sweet-looking as ever, as though taunting me, knowing I’d go out of my way to stay out of that house of sugary delights. I curl my lip at its inviting visage, then resume my pace. Why drag this out further than need be?

The place looks dead as I approach. So does most of the town for that matter, save for two or three earlybirds setting up shop. I ascend the steps and stop before the door, which is as closed up as everything else. Funny, how’d you expect a business that’s open to have a door to match. I lift a palm and push it, and shocker of all shockers, it isn’t locked. With an extra push the door gives way into the interior, the outside light dispersing the darkness within. I look around, and then I make my first big mistake of the day: I take a step inside.

“Anyone home?”

A “shring” of metal raises my spines and I immediately leap into a roll, narrowly avoiding the guillotine set into the doorframe. The thunk of several knives hitting wood follow as I roll past the counter, and getting back on my feet I make a quick hop over the hole that just opened in the floor. I bend back to stop myself from running into the bladed pendulum, and straighten myself to avoid having the anvil crush my head. I pause a moment and decide things have stopped trying to kill me. For the moment.

A laugh reverberates through the bakery, followed by, “Good to see you’re staying on your toes, Spikey-boy!”

“How bout showing yourself instead of throwing lame death traps at me?”

I immediately bring up my sheath to deflect the knife flung from across the room. It has pink streamers on the grip.

“Watch your tone, lizard boy: you’re in MY house now.”

A pink blur comes at me next and I bat it away, but I turn to bat away another blur. Two more blur-tacks come at me fast, and the last one zips off to the stairs. Looking toward them, I spot my assailant, the bane of my existence, my immortal tormentor: Pinkie Pie.

Coat as blindingly pink as ever, mane as poofy as ever, and same gleeful, sadistic smile as ever. Her eyepatch is black as ever, though, which you’d think was odd for a pink-obsessed demon to have. Then again, I stand in my reasoning that she does it solely to feel like a pirate, all the time. In any event, she’s the most pirate-looking nonpirate imaginable, and has the attitude to match (though none of the jargon).

“Ask and you shall receive. It’s been a while, Spike!” Even deranged she sounds bubbly peppy.

“Isn’t it a bit early for this, Pinkie? I’ve got work to do.”

“Cheh! Going soft on me already? Inexcusable! Apparently my little warm-up just wasn’t INVIGORATING enough.” It’s actually kind of freaky how she can sound intimidating and friendly at the same time. But having been around her a good chunk of my adolescence, that effect of uncertainty has long worn off.

I hold up a warding claw. “Look, I’m good, ‘kay? Your sagely guidance hasn’t faded from me or anything. You don’t need to go flying all over the place for my sake.”

“Your sake? HA! This isn’t just your warm-up.” She hops onto her hindlegs and punches the air. Oh Celestia please no. “Have to show that this old mare’s still got it.”

In a blink she launches right at me, and I barely draw my blade in time to catch her in midair, foreleg outstretched and her hooves now covered in metal clawed gauntlets. She flips off and slides across the floor, crouching like some pink tiger and an equally pink spitting cobra hybrid.

“Now come at me, you PUNK-ASS!”

She pounces like grease lightning, and I connect with my steel. Sparks fly as she strikes thrice in rapid succession before swinging around a hindleg, looking to disembowel me. I throw down an arm and shove the leg away, but not without being pushed back from sheer hyper kinetic energy. Pinkie takes that for an opening and launches at me like a grinning comet.

My sword goes up to connect, and after a harsh clang I bring it around to connect again. Three more of these mad rushes I deflect before Pinkie shoots up in front of my face and swings around her leg. I duck before she manages to slice my head off and I quickly spring back up with a swirling slash. In a blink the pink assailant is back-flipping all the way back to the stairs, and with one hefty spring she somersaults and lands back in her previous spot on her hindlegs.

Not a speck of sweat on her and she's still smiling like a madmare. The smile drops instantly when she brings up her tail and notices a missing amount of fluff (that happens to be lying close to my feet). She looks to me with a rare stern look, but I don't waver in the slightest.

“It’s too early for this, Pinkie.” My even tone speaks volumes, and gives an added edge to the blade held before me. We just stand there, staring down each other (like so many other pointless times). Then Pinkie relaxes and plants her legs on her hips and bellows out in laughter like some crusty old fishmonger. And still managing to sound bubbly.

“WAHAHAHAHA! There’s hope for you yet, slacker!” She gets back down on all fours. “Now that that's outta the way, we can finally get down to business.” She looks to the counter. “The storm has past; you can come out now.”

From behind the protection of the counter, the familiar heads of the Cakes peep up. They regard me warmly, if somewhat nervously.

“Top of the morning to you, Spike,” Mr. Cake greets me, ever stocky and yellow.

“Hey Mr. Cake, Mrs. Cake.”

“Sorry about the hassle, Spike,” the plump Mrs. Cake apologizes as she goes to take down the knives sticking from the nearby wall. “Pinkie insisted that we set these up for your arrival. Please don’t hold us against it.”

I shake my head before saying, “The thought never crossed my mind.”

“Hey! Have you come here for something, or did you stop by just to yap it up?” Ugh, I really hate having to put up with this. Especially at the start of the day.

“You very well know why I’m here, Pinkie. It’s in your job description.” I let the tone of annoyance seep into my words. That just seems to entice her.

“Then ya shoulda said something sooner, instead of wasting our time. Still the inconsiderate jack-off it seems.”

“Oh, about that, Spike: the order is in back. I’ll go get it.” Mr. Cake slips off into the back of the store.

“I see you had something of a rough night, or are you slacking in proper clothes as well?” Pinkie resumes.

“It was a job,” I explain. “Crazy old bird, unconventional fight style. You two might’ve gotten along.”

“Unconventional, eh? Heh, you’re practically drawn to those types, aintcha?”

I tilt my head at her. “Guess it’s a curse. Passed on by you.”

“Be whatever it may be, you got to stay wary of your surroundings at all times. Cuz in your scales, danger lurks around every corner.” She taps a hoof and I spread my feet apart as a trap door opens beneath me. I furrow my brows to convey my contempt.

“Really, Pinkie? After a set-up that obvious?” She only smiles.

“You think that’s all?”

“Huh?” I feel a rush of air before my lower half is entrapped in some soft, sticky embrace. I fall to the floor and I see the massive muscular form of the vicious, toothless alligator that’s trying to swallow me whole. I plant my claws on both its jaws and pry them off my legs, but then it rears back and lunges atop me, trying to suck at my head as I beat its face with the hilt of my sword.

“Oh my,” Mrs. Cake remarks while I’m grappling for my life. “I didn’t know you had put Gummy in the basement, Pinkie.”

“Did it last night, Mrs. Cake. It’s been a long time since he’s seen Spike, so I thought I’d bring him over to say hello to his fellow reptile. Heeheeheeheh.”

Some intense gator wrestling and several saliva-soaked towels later, I’m back on my feet enjoying a few biscottis, compliments of the house. The one-eyed scourge had wandered off with her pet, so I can relax. Can’t hold it against Gummy. He’s gotten more friendly toward ponies over the years, but having stubby legs makes it hard to give out hugs, so a mouth free of teeth would be the next best thing. Started off cute at first, but sadly, through the passage of time, that kind of thing goes from cute to the stuff of nightmares. Which is precisely the sort of thing Pinkie can make use of in her twisted day-to-day endeavors.

It’s just me and Mr. Cake for the moment with the package resting on the counter, a simple blue affair with a bow. The missus rejoins us after wiping up the last of Gummy’s drool (couldn’t even bother to clean up her own pet’s mess).

“Okay, I think we can finally open shop,” she says in relief before looking to her husband. “Carrot, can you get the kids?”

“Sure thing, honey bun.” He goes over to the door that leads to the back room. “Kids, it’s time for school!”

The clopping of little hooves and in comes the Cake youngsters: Pound and Pumpkin. Despite sharing the same house with a bonafide psychopath, they turned out alright. Good kids, get into their share of trouble like anyone else their age (Pumpkin especially, odd enough). They’re wearing their saddlebags, ready to unleash their excess energy onto the world at large. Pumpkin gets waylaid by her mom, who wipes her cheek with a cloth.

“Mooom, quit it!” she whines. That combined with her baby blue ribbons makes for a cutesy image (to her dismay, from the looks of it).

“Don’t get too dirty today, dear,” Mrs. Cake dotes as her daughter breaks away to rejoin her brother, who’s come over to me.

“Hey Spike!”

“Hey Spike!” Her sister repeats. They come sit before me like attention-starved pups. Guess someone with a look and job like mine would have that effect on kids.

“Hey guys,” I nod to them. “Staying out of trouble? Or at least making some effort?”

“Oh I’m not a troublemaker,” Pound denies. “It’s Pumpkin who gets into trouble.”

“Do not!” Pumpkin punches her brother in the shoulder, and after a wince he returns the favor.

“Kids, don’t fight while there’s company,” Mr. Cake says to reign them in.

“It’s fine, Mr. Cake,” I say. “It doesn’t bother me.”

“Been doing any work, Spike?” Pound asks, forgetting her sister’s offense. “Going places, fighting bad guys?”

“Actually, I did some work last night.”

“Oh really??” Pound's face lights up.

“Did you kill anyone?” his sister's face lights up as brilliantly.

“Now really, kids, that’s not something you ask somebody.”

“Actually I did,” I say without hesitation. Their smiles widen like they just saw the ice cream cart.

“Cool!”

“Way cool!”

“How did you do it? Was it all messy?”

“Honestly, Pumpkin Cake.” Heh, best wrap this up (I feel for ya, Mrs. Cake).

“I’ll give you the details when you’re older.”

“Awww, but how long will that be?” Pound asks glumly, joining his sister for a combined look of double disappointment.

“Long enough. Now scram you two.” They nod and gallop out to the door. I look to their vexed parents. “Still the affectionate little scamps I see.”

“Yes, and they behave themselves for the most part.” Mr. Cake answers. “We’d just prefer if they didn’t ask so much about violence, like it was something cool.”

“That’s how it seems to them at that age.” (And for several more years after). “Look at it this way: if they haven’t become hell-raisers by now, then you’ve done a good job.”

“Glad you think so,” he says, a bit unsure. There’s a stomp at the other end of the shop.

“Sticking around creating public unrest, are ya?” Pinkie asks with an insulting eye. “Aren’t you on royal assignment or just goofing around?”

“I was about to leave, now that you mention it,” I say stiffly as I snatch the package off the counter.

“Here.” A brown bag slaps me on the chest, and I catch it before it falls to the floor. “Have some coffee for your trouble. You’ll have to brew it yourself, though.” Where’d she even get it?

“I don’t really do coffee...”

“Ohh, don’t be a pussy.” She snort-scoffs. “Your line of work requires being tough, HARDY. And what’s more hardy than Pinkie Pie’s special ultra-tough blend? It will certainly grow hair on that slick chest of yours.”

“I can’t grow hair...”

“It’s called being figurative, wise-ass.” She turns around sharply, acting fed up. “Better run along now. Can’t keep the princess waiting.” Finally you say something sensible.

“I’ll get to it then.” I nod at the Cakes. “Nice seeing you.”

“Be sure to stop by again,” Mrs. Cake waves. “I’ll make sure there aren’t any surprises the next time.” A side glance. “Well, I’ll make an effort.”

“Much obliged by that, ma’am.” I turn around, and with coffee and package in claw, I head for the door.

“Yo, Spike?”

I stop to look back, and my feet leave the floor as half my face folds before a high-velocity hoof punch. I keep the two carry-ons to my chest in a death grip, but my shades fall and clatter over the floor as I bounce clear across the store, out the door, and onto my back in the middle of the street. My shades bounce out of the shop and land neatly on my stomach while I lay there (they tend to do that whenever she knocks me down).

“I can’t believe you fell for that! ALWAYS stay on the alert, numbnuts! When are you gonna make up your mind whether or not to be a disappointment already? HAhahahahaha!!”

My exit, combined with Pinkie’s loud-as-all-hell laughter, draws the attention of the morning commuters onto my sorry self. Not the first time since I’ve been thrown out of someplace violently (especially this place), so I brush myself off, put my shades back on, and get back on my feet. The ponies go back to minding their own businesses, a few giving wary looks at me before turning away. I look over the two packages, and seeing them unscathed, I turn in the direction of the Librarium and go on my way. I stop a moment and look back at Sugarcube Corner, and give it my hardest death glare before turning forward.

To think, there was a time I liked going there.

Interim 1.2

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Got yourself a nice break, or you just want to read on? The last part went on longer than I thought and there’s gonna be more background info, and eye strain can be a bitch. But since you’re still here, let’s continue.

Interim 1.2

As you might have gathered, Pinkie Pie is something of a mentor figure in my life. More than that, she was my former master. Those sicknasty aerobatics I pulled off against Belljar? Drilled into my head at an early age by none other than Ponyville’s premier party pony (at least, that’s what she originally was).

Shortly after being inducted as Her Majesty’s Vanguard, I was assigned a Royal Combat Expert to train me in the ways of upholding my office. Imagine my surprise when instead of some big, grizzled stallion with a buzz cut and covered in scars, I see a familiar bright, cheery face that said “welcome to my hell” in a perky voice. Next thing, there’s random objects being thrown at me while I’m balancing over cactus pits and other grossly-absurd training obstacles. To think, I had pegged her as an ordinary happy-go-lucky girl, when deep down she was actually a psycho bitch sadist who treats life like a party... of violence and torture.

Pinkie’s training regiment was built around the mantra, “Expect the Unexpected,” which was essentially an excuse to do whatever the hell she wanted to me while still calling it training. And horrifyingly enough, it worked. She took me, a scared and confused baby dragon, and molded me into a stone-cold, no-nonsense, deadly efficient executioner with a sword. And the training made one thing clear, aside from experiencing gratuitous emotional scarring and an aversion to jack-in-the-boxes: my duty would bring about plenty of the unexpected... in the form of book-obsessed weirdoes.

I break from my thoughts to look around at the citizens that fill the streets. Many of them I know from when I had first moved here. Barely a face I don’t recognize. That’s what helps in reinforcing this town’s facade: though the citizens change inside, rarely do any of them leave. And that’s especially the case with the Elements... well, for the most part.

Out of the whole group, Rarity seemed the most likely to move out. Get to Canterlot, hit the big-time, never look back, so on. But fashion hadn’t panned out so well, and the honor went to Rainbow Dash. Heh, some loyalty. Then again, it’s hard to run the Wonderbolts when you’re cooped up in the sticks. Socio-politically important sticks mind you, but even still. Incredibly beneficial, being best pals with a princess. Certainly helps with pesky things like promotions and chain of command.

Never see much of her; busy with new recruits and keeping pegasi in fighting order. She mainly turns up during one of the major holidays whenever they’re hosted in Ponyville. Kinda a back and forth between it and Canterlot in that regard.

Getting off track. As for the rest? Well, that just leaves AJ. She stuck to the farm, and hardly ever leaves. As part of Her Majesty’s campaign for the betterment of reading, apples were made a mandatory part of every educational institution’s dietary plan (even home schools). That meant higher demand for the things, and guess who wound up getting more work because of it.

Sweet Apple Acres expanded, and went from humble family farm to large-scale enterprise when an outside workforce was needed. Nowadays it’s the single largest grower of apples in Equestria, and the sole supplier for the Equestrian Department of Education (and steadily becoming one for the Department of Health). Don’t get the wrong idea: AJ remains the grassroots farmer she’s always been. She’s just one behind a desk. Last I heard, her sister’s being groomed to run the business when the time comes. Considering how handy (eh, hoofy?) she has been these few years, I believe she’ll do fine.

I make it back to the Librarium without any more diversions (good thing Pinkie is still true to her word on “no more hunting”, miraculously enough). I stuff the coffee packet into my suit before stepping inside, and back within the glow of Her Majesty’s radiance I put my sword to the side and stand before her with package present.

“I bring the item of interest, Your Highness,” I report, assuming my blank look.

“You took longer than I expected,” she remarks. “Had time to catch up with our friends?”

“That’s an affirmative. They are doing well... some a bit more lively than others, I will add.”

“Good to know,” she says with a nod. “The Cakes have been excellent caterers well before my Ascension, and such Ascension would not have occurred without the companionship of the likes of Pinkie Pie.” (Sheesh, lay it easy, will ya?) “I shall relieve you of the strudel.” She does so, as the box is whisked from my claw and taken up to her. The package unwraps and opens, and the baked good floats out of it and hovers before the royal muzzle, which takes a modest bite and chews tenderly.

“Wonderful, as usual.” The strudel goes back into the box and floats off to somewhere behind the Collection. Ever since becoming a princess, Twilight’s adopted a lot of mannerisms, and among the annoying ones is saving food to eat for later after just one bite. “Now then, let us begin today’s order of business.”

Goody. And it only took a punch to the face and considerable alligator slobber. She straightens up to look more imposing and addresses me.

“There is a disturbance in the south, Spike. Appleloosa, to be precise.” A stack of binders and paperwork swoops down and spreads before her gaze. “Reports in the past two weeks have shown an alarming increase in missing books, though none of them are overdues. Investigations show that the books were registered in local depositories and book wagons rather than libraries in the area, making this a widespread incident of theft.”

Uh-oh. If there’s one thing Twilight hates more than ponies not returning their books, it’s ponies who outright steal them (and without the decency of checking them out first).

“A search of local residents have turned up nothing, and officials have just posed the possibility of a book-smuggling ring.” A scroll floats down to me, and I grab it. List of the items, mostly folios and references, a few novels. “Whatever the case may be, it cannot be allowed to continue any further. Spike, you are to go to Appleloosa, find the books, and punish those responsible before more treachery can be done.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.” I bow. “I will proceed to the train station post-haste.”

“There will be no need for that, Spike. Tickets have already been procured; you’ll be leaving on the eleven-fifteen. When you arrive in Appleloosa, you will meet with the contact for this assignment, who will give you further details and perhaps a list of suspects or newly uncovered information. In the meantime, make preparations and get to the station on time. Are there any questions?”

“None, ma’am.”

“Excellent.” She rears back to give her parting words of encouragement. “Go forth, my most valiant Vanguard. May my blessing protect you from danger, and may justice be delivered swiftly in the name of Equestria.”

I make another bow, turn, pick up my sword, and leave. (How readily I accept the task. Funny that there was a time I would’ve begged not to go, even go so far as cling to the nearest piece of bolted-down furniture. Silly, more innocent times)

Back outside, preparations begin with me heading back home. Still a few hours, so I take it slow getting back, mull over some things. Plenty of time to waste.

Normally for royal assignments like this, it’s usually expected for agents of royalty to ride by airship or pegasus-drawn chariot at least. But I always preferred taking the train. Gave me ample time just to kick back with my thoughts, surrounded by the common citizenry. Pretend I’m one of them. Plus I’ve always found trains to be more relaxing. Certainly less chilly.

It’s five minutes later that I get to my pad: a simple one-story abode near the edge of town, away from other houses. It was about four years ago that I had grown too big to live in some meager basket, so it was decided that the time for independence and personal lodgings had finally come. The first few nights were lonely at first, but training and executions (and budding dragon angst) made it easy to distance myself.

I stop before the mat, reach down and pull out the key (I’m old-fashion, what can I say?). Unlocking the door, I step inside and am greeted by the bareness of the living room. No shelves, no coffee stands, no carpets, no pictures. Just a couch. I used to have a thing for decorating, but that was mostly gone by the time I got this place. Having lots of things can be problematic when you’re a dragon. And besides, not like I was expecting company.

I stride straight ahead into the kitchen, which aside from the bedroom is the most furnished room in the house. I pull out Pinkie’s coffee packet and toss it onto the counter by the sink, where it lands squarely in the middle (clutch!). I spin around and angle in the direction of my bedroom door, which opens into—what else?—the bedroom. Not much to see: plain wardrobe, sword case (mainly for show), nightstand (also for show), and simple yet roomy bed. I go over to the wardrobe and open it, revealing an array of black suits. May as well put on some fresh duds for the trip.

I pick a suit at random (they’re all the same) and throw it on the bed. My current wear gets taken off, the shades put onto the bed along with my sword. Once in the buff (that draft), I make for the bathroom (really nothing to say about that). In the mirror I look over Fluttershy’s patchwork and start to peel them off. Into the trash they go, and I see that there aren’t any scarrings. Hmph, weaksauce granny couldn’t leave a mark.

Following the spirit of preparedness, I hop into the tub and take a quick shower, extra hot. Been awhile since I had one of these, I admit. Not too long, but long enough that I allow the heat to muddle my senses. I forget how many minutes pass, but I eventually turn off the water and get toweled off. Back in the bedroom, I put on the fresh suit and then flop my back onto the bed.

Still about an hour before I need to be at the station. Nothing comes to mind to pass the time. Maybe brew up Pinkie’s coffee? Nope. It’s liable to be packed with enough caffeine to be lethal to ponies, and I’d like to have the ability to sleep while I’m on the train. Guess I can stare at the ceiling for half an hour. Count the chips in the paint. Haven’t done that in awhile, either.

Before it gets too boring, let’s say I find four new marks from last time and get ready to leave. With shades on and sword nestled in my suit, I leave my pad and lock the door, putting the key back under the mat. I head into town toward the train station. The marketplace is now up and running with the sounds of supply and demand, with ponies going from stall to stall to get their latest batch of sundries and gossip. Most of them go about their ways, some tip their hats or nod in my direction, and others back away. Even though I’ve walked these streets for years some of them still regard me as something to fear. At least it makes midday traffic easier to manage, heheh.

When the crowds thin out and disappear I spot the train station. The guy at the ticket window is unfamiliar. Probably a trainee (heh).

“I’m here for my tickets,” I tell him.

“Uh, y-yes. They’re right here, Mr. Spike.” He slides them to me carefully, shifting his eyes from them to me and back, like I was gonna bite him. It’s like he’s never seen a dragon wearing sunglasses before.

I take the tickets, nod, and walk out onto the platform. It’s pretty much empty: just me and a couple of stragglers milling about. Normally there’d be more at this time of the day for the weekend. Or maybe it starts tomorrow? Never can decide whether to start Friday or Saturday. And then there are those who think the week starts with Sunday. Just... why?

The whistle of the approaching train saves me from my pointless thoughts. Ponies start picking up their bags and trot to the edge to meet it. I’m about to do the same, when...

“Spike! Spiiiike!”

The hoof-falls hitting the platform and that high-pitched voice alert me to one thing. Sure enough, looking around it’s Sweetie Belle.

“Hey babe,” I say as she stops next to me. Wearing her usual clash of black fishnet stockings and hot pink mini-skirt with navy blue top. Atrocities to fashion attributed to the rebellious phase of ponies her age. It’s a wonder Rarity didn’t clamp down on this the moment it left the bedroom. Goes to show how she cares about her little sister these days. I also notice a covered dish hovering beside her.

“Spiiike, you didn’t tell me you were leaving town on assignment!” she pouts. “And what happened to your face?”

I lightly touch my cheek. Figures she’d be able to spot a bruise amid all this purple, so I just tell her as a reward. “Pinkie.”

“Oh. Okay. But what’s this about leaving without letting me know?”

“I was kinda in a rush. Sorry about that.”

She gives a little huff and scrunches her face in irritation. Thing is, it makes her look more cute than irritated (and she knows it). “It’s a good thing I had to make a drop-off at the library, otherwise I’d have missed you. I wanted to give you this before you go.”

The dish floats over to me, and I let it fall onto an open palm. Removing the cover, I see six cupcakes covered in orange-powdered frosting. From the smell, they’re definitely amber-flavored.

“I was going to bring them over to your place later today,” she continues. “But I guess they’ll have to make do for a travel snack.”

Though I’ve had plenty of sweets today, I can’t say no to decent gem frosting. “That’s very thoughtful. Thanks.”

“You’re very welcome, silly.”

Sweetie and I have been going out for nearly a year now. Came about mainly due to lack of options on my part, to be honest. Aside from the hopeless cause called Rarity, there weren’t many ponies close my age to choose from (I would have tried other dragons... if there actually were other dragons. Specifically, dragons raised by ponies and not dangerous creatures of the wild who’d rather eat ponies than be “civilized” by them).

Some years ago I tried to start something with Apple Bloom, but barely two weeks into it her sister caught wind of it, and country families tend to be overly protective of their young ones. In my case, it meant a busted jaw, two fractured ribs and a ripped suit jacket. I could only imagine what could have happened if I actually touched her.

Scootaloo skipped town to train under her idol, or rather play secretary in hopes of getting trained. And let’s see... The Bitch Duo of Tiara and Spoon moved out before they hit puberty, and Peppermint Twist... yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeah. Still in something of a transition, if you get what I mean.

Which leaves Sweetie Belle. Never really had an eye for her, but sometime last year she came up to me while off-duty and asked me out on a date. Initially I was surprised, but then I thought “why not?” A little something to keep me preoccupied during off-time, which Her Highness is fine with so long as it didn’t get in the way of work (I still think she’s something of a romantic under that crown). Sweetie’s certainly been happy about it. She has this hero worship thing going for me, though I’m not sure why (girls love a bad boy I guess). Other than that she’s alright. Dotes over me with snacks and gifts, gives me space (though she gets a bit clingy some days), and sings pretty well (I’d imagine you’d have to if your talent is singing). Then there are those other benefits of a casual relationship...

Another whistle draws both our attentions to the train’s arrival to the platform. Ponies begin boarding the moment the doors open, and Sweetie is first to react.

“There’s your ride. Take care while you’re out there.”

“I always do.” She hops up and lands a peck on my cheek before I can take a step.

“Let me know when you get back, alright?” She beams at me for the inevitable answer.

“Sure, babe. Catch you later.” I head over to the train cars, no doubt Sweetie waving goodbye while my back’s turned. In seconds I’m onboard, and soon take a seat in the middle car. The whistle sounds and the train jolts into motion. As the platform begins to crawl slowly by I see Sweetie still standing where she was, watching us go by with those hopeful, concerned eyes. Guess this was gonna be one of those clingy days (phew). I remove the dish cover and munch on one of the cupcakes. Fluffy, just her style.

With Ponyville well outta sight, I cozy up to look at the deep blue of the sky as Duty and the call for Order takes me southward. Should make for a decent vacation.

Ep2: Southbound Dust Jacket

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The lull created from train rattling over rail made for a restful slumber, but I finally notice the light of a new day. Rolling on my side, I look out the window. Miles upon miles of featureless desert and mountains all around, and it’s been that way since last night. However, an announcement from the conductor breaks the dismal feel of the scenery.

“Appleloosa, ladies and gentlecolts. Last Stop: Appleloosa. All passengers must disembark, so have your luggage ready.”

I pull myself out of the cramped sleeping compartment and stretch my legs, yawning and putting on my shades as I head for the next car over. Most of the passengers are already up and about getting ready, so I grab a window seat and let the last vestiges of sleep evaporate. My head is completely clear by the time I see the first buildings, and the feel of the train slowing down gets me back on my feet. It’s another minute before it stops completely.

The doors open, and an arid gust immediately hits me. I pat my concealed sword. Assured of its presence, I adjust my shades and step out to greet the last great frontier.

Ep2

SOUTHBOUND DUST JACKET

Rather, I would have greeted it, if it wasn’t so ridiculously hot. The shade of the platform awning didn’t do much in staving off the heat, but I opted to just stand and look around regardless as the other passengers went their ways (walking around would just make it worst). From here it looks the same: tall shacks for buildings, and nothing but dust, tumbleweeds and ten-gallon hats. Speaking of which, I spot a local trotting up to me. A very familiar one.

Mussy dirt-blonde mane, smooth rugged looks, plain fedora and stylin’ leather (pleather?) vest. He’s also got one of the biggest idiot grins I’ve ever seen: a mix of humble courtesy, country bumpkin and childish excitement. Typical Braeburn, alright.

He comes up to me and shouts, “Howdy there, Spike!” Just then I realize oh crap, it’s Braeburn. “And welcome, to AAAAAAAAAAHHH-P—”

I plant a firm claw on his lips to silence him. “Shhhh. Save the schtick.” I wonder how many shippers will purposefully misinterpret that gesture. Answer: all of them. Better make them work for it, then. “So how’s the missus?”

“Right dandy she is, Spike,” he replies after I withdraw my claw. “Things have been fine at home, so can’t complain any.”

“Uh-huh. How long until the new arrival?” He makes that excited smile again, lifting his chin for emphasis.

“Shouldn’t be more than a few weeks now. Smooth goin’ for a first pregnancy, I have to say.”

“Really? That soon?” I shrug. “Huh, guess it’s been awhile since I last checked.”

“Well, with your work and all I can understand.” He glances to the sides before looking at me with a more serious look. “Speaking of, you’ll be wantin’ the details, I reckon.”

“You reckon correctly.”

“Alright, but I best think it should be discussed someplace more cozy, and especially private. If yer okay with that.”

“Fine by me.” I walk down off the platform, following Braeburn to the opening of Main Street. There isn’t time to continue the chat, as a posse of surly broncos round a building corner and block our way in. It’s only four of ‘em, but they’re well-built for their relatively average sizes, and decked out in typical lame pioneer gear. They’re giving us mean looks, though they’re mostly aimed at me. I remain stalwart in the face department, but Braeburn is looking pretty uncertain.

“Uh, howdy there y’all.”

“Looks like the kid wasn’t lying,” the stallion at front says, ignoring Braeburn completely. “Why’re you here, Fetcher?”

“Business. Whaddya think?” The guy’s face hardens, and those of his companions do so in suit. Braeburn (bless his bumpkin heart) moves into the middle between us and speaks up again.

“N-now now, Spur. This ain’t the time nor place to be makin’ trouble”

“Then you done messed up by lettin’ this punk off the train.” Big guy spits to the side. “I’ll make this clear, Fetcher: you might be cozy with princesses, but some folks won’t be buyin’ it. Make any trouble for us and there’s gonna be heck to pay.”

“Funny you should say that: I don’t like putting up with trouble either.” I throw open my suit jacket and place a claw on my sword, making sure it’s visible for all to see. “However, if trouble were to come my way, then it would be understandable for me to deal with it as I see fit.” I push up the hilt to show a gleam of silver. “Just so we’re clear, ‘pilgrim’.”

He grumbles with closed lips, and after a few seconds of disgruntled staring he turns around and says “Let’s go, boys,” and like that our path is clear again. Just gotta show some authority with these strong-headed types. That isn’t to say they’re cowards when it comes to a fight. Far from it. In the field of explosives and pie-throwing they’re top-grade. But when it comes to close-quarters with a deadly weapon, they’re all thumbs (well, hooves).

Braeburn moves slowly back over to me, eyeing the departing would-be aggressors. “Uh, yeah... That’s sorta why I wanted us to be someplace private before we could talk some more.”

“I totally understand. And before you say, I’m not the least bit offended at this point.”

“Uh-huh, alright.” He eases up a bit. “Saloon’ll do no good, so we'll go to my house. It’s down at the other end of town, in case you forgot.”

“Right, right. Hey, I need to do something real quick. Just go on ahead and I’ll catch up.”

“Umm, you sure?”

“I won’t go anywhere, and it’ll only take a sec.”

“Okay, Spike.” He rubs the back of his neck and turns around, but just as quickly looks back. “Oh, and I just wanna say welcome to town, Spike. It’s real nice seeing you again.”

“Same here, Braeburn.” He finally trots away toward town, and as he approaches the nearest building, I pull out a blank sheet and quill from my suit and write. “Arrived... no delay... met contact... proceeding with mission...” I roll up the scroll, wrap an official ribbon around it and set it on fire with my breath. As the smoke and ash whisk away, I start walking after Braeburn.

Back with him, we take a stroll through town. There are a few new buildings from last time, but they’re as old-fashion looking as the rest. You wouldn’t think this place was transitioning into the modern age just from its looks, but it is. More ponies are moving in, different kinds of businesses are springing up (like actual dental clinics), and last I heard there was talk of installing electric lamps (don’t ask me where they’ll get the power). And of course, the appearance of the library as an institution.

It was only a few years ago when Her Majesty’s campaign finally spread to the furthest edges of the kingdom. The first library was a big hit, and literacy and interest in the written word increased. There were a lot of delinquencies too, mostly because the locals didn’t quite understand the importance of returning books on the exact due date. Came out here a few times to spell it out for them. Tried not to be too hard on them, and there had only been a few fatalities. Even so, they were quick to take it the wrong way, henceforth made a point to show me how unwelcome I was every time I came by. Perhaps if they stay in line another year they’ll start warming up to me.

We pass by the saloon, and before the porch a tiny crowd was gathered. Apparently somepony’s blocking the entrance. Somepony powder-blue, with a shimmering wavy name, and yelling atop a (literal) soapbox.

“Hear me now, simple-minded rustlers and farmers of dust, for I bring you the GREAT and POWERFUL word of your benevolent ruler, Her Majesty Princess Twilight Sparkle! Give praise for her will and vision which makes this forsaken corner of the world bearable to look at, and of course for allowing the ever-immaculate Trixie to grace you with her awe-inducing presence. So shudder with gratitude for this most searing and wondrous of days out here in your simple hamlet of Appleloosa!”

Trixie. A name and face I had thought I forgot, but hearing that self-indulgent voice brought it all flowing back like a bucket of ice water and glitter. Not long after Twi became a princess, Trixie came running to make the most use of the goodwill she barely forged after her brief Ponyville takeover (long story you probably already heard). Twilight, being the forgiving type, found a seemingly harmless use for her. In ancient times, criers were employed to spread the word of the rulers far across the land, and Twilight saw one in Equestria’s greatest showpony. In fact, Trixie turned out to be so qualified that no others were hired. Meaning she got to work her stuff in cities and towns far from Ponyville. Lucky girl.

But after an incident in Whinnypeg involving a disagreement and creative use of a baguette, Her Highness thought it best to have her faithful crier spread the good word to the more neglected outreaches of the empire. And seems like fate had brought her here to Appleloosa... while I’m around. Joy.

“You there, in the shoddy hat. Have you given thanks to the princess that enlightens your mind?” Even without the hat and cape, her grandstanding still retains a presence. A big, overbearing one.

“Urr, I reckon I haven’t, miss,” says the poor sod she’s picking on.

“Such selfishness says I, Trixie! Trotting about, enjoying the beautiful hot weather, and not once thinking of the one who makes such glorious days possible. Have you no shame, sir?”

“Actually, ain’t that Celestia’s job?”

“It is, but Twilight Sparkle imparts the intelligence you need to fully appreciate something as grand and sublime as the day! What are you, some kind of ignorant ass?”

“...I more prefer the term 'burro',” replies the ass.

“Are you about done here? I needs me saltlick,” says one ornery customer, to which a theatrical gasp arose.

“Saltlicks are the nectar of the unenlightened commoner! You must partake of apples; it is by the will of the princess and you will please her!”

“I’ve been eatin’ apples, and nows I gots cavities cuz of it! And I knows not what those were till two weeks ago!” Now they’re starting to sound angry.

“Hmph. Then you can take that as a lesson in maintaining proper dental care, you silly dirt farmer.” An apple flies out from the crowd, but it gets wrapped in blue magic within three inches of Trixie’s head. “See? It’s utter wastefulness such as this that Her Majesty never comes to visit. You blight yourselves into justified obscurity!”

She takes a hard bite out of the apple and looks around, but her head stops once it lines up in my direction, and her eyes widen. Dammit, she’s spotted me. Why did I have to stop in the middle of the road? (Hoping to see her get a concussion)

“HOLD IT!” Trixie flicks the bitten apple away before throwing down a smoke bomb, and a second later she’s leaping through the smoke, over coughing attendees, and hits the ground running. The yards between us are covered like nothing, and she skids right up to me. “What a surprise! It has been too long.”

“Hey Trix. You’re looking well.” Said it cool as a cucumber, and not like I’m talking to what could be perceived as an axe-wielding maniac from the outset.

“Indeed I am. This dry air and heat makes for hardy conditioning, and the warm sand is quite rejuvenating to Trixie’s hooves.” After she admires one of said hooves, she looks back to me. “So what brings you out here, if Trixie may be permitted to ask Her Majesty’s most faithful vanguard.”

“A job. Royal orders and such, no biggie.”

“Ah, yes, well Trixie is out here under royal orders as well. Somepony needs to bring enlightenment to these simple masses, and Her Highness only trusts moi to make it happen.”

“Impressive,” I say flatly. “You staying out of trouble at least?”

“Trixie can handle herself, thank you very much.” She whips back her mane. “The reception has been cold despite the desert heat, but I will get to them. Trixie always wins out eventually.”

“Good to know. Certainly wouldn’t want me to have to bail you out like in Whinnypeg. It’d cut in on precious royal duty time.”

She raises a hoof to her chest, ever so dramatically. “Perish the thought, for me to do anything to hinder the progress of a fellow royal servant. Why, more than anything, Trixie would go out of her way to help further your assignment, whatever it may be... granted that it’s in the same general area as Trixie.”

“It warms me up just to hear that, Trix.”

“Hmph. Trixie is immune to your jests, Spike. Now if you’ll excuse me, there is important work that needs to be done.” She begins to trot away, but after three steps she looks back to me. “Oh, and if it isn’t too much to ask, perhaps next time you see Her Majesty, could you ask her about the possibility for reassignment? Not that there’s anything wrong here, not at all. But I feel that the word of Her Majesty should be shared in other places. Perhaps someplace tropical, but not too balmy.”

“I’ll be sure to bring it up. Royal servants gotta look out for each other and all.”

“Be sure that you do. I have been especially loyal in my duties these past four months. (certainly worth some reward)”

“What was that?”

“Trixie said nothing. And now I must go!” With that she gallops away to who knows where. Braeburn creeps over into my field of vision with a look of worried exasperation.

“She only been here for three days,” he says. “Hasn’t done anything wrong, but she sure kicks up a fuss without really tryin’.”

“Yeah, that’s kinda her thing,” I say with a sigh. “Sorry that you have to deal with her.” Braeburn nods solemnly before talking.

“Welp, let’s get to the homestead before something else weird happens.” Amen to that.

I still can’t pinpoint what happened with Trixie. She’s shown genuine service over the years toward Her Majesty (in her own way), and does make an effort to not come off as a completely contemptible bitch, but I suspect that deep down she still despises Twilight and all her success, and in some way is trying to subvert it by being the biggest show-off around. As they say: old habits die hard.

We only get wary stares from some of the townies by the time we make it to the house. Pretty nice, solidly built townhouse with its very own water spigot out front (ritzy). He leads me up to the door and we both step inside out of the sun. It’s very homey to say the least: rocking chair, dining table with all the trimmings, stitch-work picture frames, and the soothing smell of home cooking. Braeburn takes off his hat and puts it on the rack by the door as he announces us.

“Oh darlin’, guess who I brought back from the train station!” The soft patter of cloven hooves comes from around the corner as the lady of the house makes her appearance.

“Spike! So good to see you!” she says with delight.

“Been a while, LS. Hope you’re keeping off your hooves like you ought too.”

Heh, Little Strongheart: ain’t so little anymore. Grown enough feet to almost match her husband, not to mention that subtle bulge under that brown dress. From the looks of it, she’s taken to domesticated living quite nicely.

“I do,” she replies. “It hasn’t really been uncomfortable, though it’s supposed to be bad at this point.”

“It’s really no surprise when you think about it,” I reason. “Honest workhorse and pure buffalo genes? That’s just good stock.”

She giggles. “I guess so. Hopefully it will have at least half its father’s good looks and sweetness.”

“And I hope it has half their mother’s common sense to make up for all the thick-headedness that goes with it.” Braeburn makes a wink.

“Oh, you kidder. At least you’ll always be a stud, heehee.” Blegh.

“Anyway darlin’, can you bring out some cold cider? Me and Spike’s got some talkin’ to do.”

“Sure thing, Braeburn.” She turns back into what I can assuredly say is the kitchen.

Cute story about how these two came to be: around the time the local tribes started getting tired of pie offerings, some other means of fostering peace between ponies and buffalo was needed. The easiest (ie quickest) solution, turns out, was hooking up Appleloosa’s most strapping bachelor and the fairest buffalo maiden as a display of unity between the two species. Admittedly archaic by today’s standards, but it worked: the two hit it off as a darling couple, and eventually buffalo began moving in, acquainting themselves with pony society. I personally attended their wedding as a representative for the princess’ blessing for their shared happiness (yep, totally a romantic). Kind of surprising it took them this long to finally start a family.

And before you start on the whole pregnancy thing, don’t. Otherwise we’ll be stuck here all day explaining things with flow charts and vegetables of questionable shape. If that won’t satisfy you, then save it for the comments. Maybe if you ask real nicely, then you might get an explanation from someone who actually gives a damn. Anyway, back to what’s happening.

“Have a seat, Spike.” Braeburn gestures to the table, and we both go over and pull up a chair. That’s when it occurs to me: I left Sweetie’s cupcake dish on the train. Damn. Eh, I’ll just buy her a new one if she asks about it.

Strongheart comes back a moment later with a small tray and two cups, which she places on the table. I take a cup and give a nod, as does Braeburn.

“Thanks, honey darlin’.” Strongheart beams at us before heading back to the kitchen. Braeburn takes a swig of the cider, and I just take a sip. Nice and cold, rich in flavor.

“Fresh off the orchard,” he says. “I woulda offered coffee, but it’s a bit late in the day for that. Heh, I tell ya, our icebox is mighty useful. Say, you ever try napoles? It’s specially-made cactus, and it has an interestin’ taste. And real refreshin’ when it’s served cold.”

“As much as I’d like to discuss food, Braeburn, I don’t think we really have the time.”

“Oh, of course not. Then we’ll just start.” He looks glum as he gets up and trots over to a nearby dresser. He picks up a folder there and brings it over to the table. Placing it down, he flips it open to reveal some photos and papers, undoubtedly reports. That’s the benefit of building an information out of your closest friends and acquaintances: no rigid protocol to slow things down, and more hospitable than dealing with officials.

“It started when Dusty Trail, the town’s book stocker, noticed a textbook was missin’,” he began. “He went to double-check and found some more missing books, and decided to bring it up at the next town meetin’. That’s when we learned bout the others.” He pushes out some of the photos and papers. “We got word from places like Dodge Junction and others with similar reports. Dictionaries, history books, population census', just all kinds of literature, gone. No rhyme or reason as to why, neither.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty strange,” I comment. “How about leads? Suspects?”

“Actually, we just got a break last night.” He slides around some more sheets before planting a hoof on one at the bottom, which he slides to me. “Up to now, we couldn’t pick up any trace of who done it. No prints of any sort, and there was always some hot sauce mix that got in the way of the dogs. But then they got sloppy. That there’s what we found outside the depository.”

I pick up the photo and give it a look. A deep impression set into red earth. Four large circles around a bigger one, and what looks like claw marks. Diamond Dog.

“Seemed he went to get the remaining part of an encyclopedia collection that was stolen the other week, but the dang mutt forgot to cover his tracks. Shoulda figured it had to be them. They’re not exactly upstandin’ citizens. Well, apart from being able to stand upright, that is.”

It’s funny what a new regime can bring: new laws, wealth, and expansion of property and citizenry. It still came as a surprise when an emissary group of Diamond Dogs came to Canterlot, pleading that their numbers had gotten too large and their plot of dirt didn’t have enough room, food or gems to sustain them. After a council between the four princesses, it was decided to throw the guys a bone and welcome them into pony society, under certain conditions.

It was uneasy at first, but they were eventually accepted as a reliable (albeit mangy) working class. Heavy-lifters and strong arms that make for good construction workers and bodyguards when the need calls for it. What’s more, some water and gem treats were all that was needed to keep them happy. Of course, that doesn’t mean they stopped reminding us why we had them underground to begin with.

Don’t get me wrong: despite past experiences, I have nothing against Diamond Dogs, so long as they stay in line. It’s when they get into things like gangs and mafia circles that things get a bit sketchy. (They’re not eloquent, but the mess they leave behind is a loud enough message to disagreeable parties)

“Our dogs were able to track this one. No hot sauce; like I said, sloppy,” Braeburn continues. “It started gettin’ dark when the trail brought us to the railyard outside of town. Right now, only one train is using it, belonging to Stampede Incorporated.” He pulls in the other reports. “We checked train registries at other stations on a hunch. Funny enough, a Stampede train was around whenever these robberies were happin’.”

Stampede Incorporated: buffalo-owned and operated. With buffaloes integrating with ponies, it was only a matter of time before they started their own businesses to match their less bulkier counterparts. Started with small things, like cooking and all-natural quilt outlets, but it wasn’t long before they got ambitious. Produce markets, post offices, farms, and the big daddy of ol’ pioneer cash cows: the railroad. Stampede is relatively new, but has been gaining enough business to get mention in the Canterlot financial pages (and gaining notice with its catchy slogan: “Swift delivery without mercy”). Yep, just the right front for a book smuggling ring.

“We were goin’ to investigate the railyard today, but figured we’d let you do it first, since I reckon this falls into yer jurisdiction.”

“And you’d reckon correctly.”

“Still, it kinda bothers me. Don’t know why Stampede would be stealin’ books. Haven’t been that big a demand for those kinds anyway ‘round these parts, at least that I’m aware of.”

“The ‘why’ doesn’t matter. It’s finding the ‘who’ and putting a stop to them that is.”

“And I understand. Heck, that’s how ol’ Silverstar would view it.” He sighs. “Keepin’ the peace hasn’t been the same since he retired. The new sheriff does alright, but he’s still a little wet behind the ears. Proceedins take longer than they should at times. Gotta go through evidence and witness reports and such. With Silverstar, there’d be no fuss or muss. Straight to the hoosegow, by golly. Law quickly administered and everypony’s happy.”

“I can respect that, granted it doesn’t go overboard.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, and to be honest, Silverstar would jump the gun from time to time. Course, now it’s all about proper procedures and criminal rights and such. All part of modernization I suppose. Only a matter of time till everything in town operates exactly like Canterlot. Meanin’ new office-holders, like the mayor. A fine mess that’ll be.”

I take another sip of cider, now somewhat warm. “You wouldn’t make too bad a mayor, Braeburn.”

“Me? Naw, I’m just a simple farmer, always have and always will. Only good with maintainin’ crops than maintainin’ a town.”

“Actually, some would say that’s the same thing.” Strongheart comes back from the kitchen and snuggles up with her husband.

“Hey there, darlin’. Stew lookin’ alright?”

“Yes. I made extra sure.” She and Braeburn share a kiss. Very tender (aka, more “Blegh”). “I think you’d make a good mayor too, Braeburn. Or at the very least a very handsome one.”

“Ya think so?” He rubs his neck. “Well if it be you sayin’ it, guess I could give it a try when the time comes. Just don’t go hasslin’ folks for votes, okay? You can be pretty pushy at times.”

“Oh you.” She punches him in the shoulder, half-knocking him off the chair before he rights himself back. Right, I think that’s about enough.

“It’s been swell seeing you two doing well.” I down the rest of the cider in one gulp and stand up. “But I better be going.” I start to turn around.

“Where you headin’?” Braeburn asks.

“Railyard. Got some Diamond Dogs to sniff out.” I begin walking toward the door.

“So soon? Don’t you want to wait a while?”

“I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

“It’s no worry having you here, Spike,” joins Strongheart. “Would you care to try some napoles?”

“I told him about ‘em earlier, hun. I bet it’d do him good before he left.”

“Sorry, but duty comes first. It’d be bad to let criminals get away.” I pull open the door. “Thanks for the intel. I’ll make sure to stop by once the work is done.” I step out into the arid afternoon and shut the door softly behind. A bit cold, but a capital offense is in progress and it needs clamping down. Fast.

Last I recall, the railyard’s northwest of here, almost a ten minute walk. Just enough time to ponder. Though getting the books back is top priority, Braeburn did raise a good question. Why would a transit company steal books? Ultimately it doesn’t matter; individuals and groups both large and small steal for just about every reason imaginable. Sell them? Add to a personal collection? Hell, Stampede could be innocent in all of this, and is being used as cover that’s none-the-wiser (though really, how often is that the case?)

Soon I’m at the railyard. I creep up behind the nearest pile of railroad ties and scope the area. Just one cargo train, several cars. And of course, the place is crawling with Diamond Dogs. They’re all in uniform, though, and are moving boxes and crates into the cars. There’s even a few buffalo helping (though mostly “supervising”). Seems they’re about ready to split; lucky I left when I did. Now there’s the matter of getting on.

This being a legitimate business, royal etiquette expects me to introduce myself and request permission to search the cars. But given my luck with royal etiquette lately, I could be neck deep in Diamond Dogs before they finish saying “Wait while I get the conductor.” So that just leaves one other investigative method that can save me the hassle of getting dog-piled on the spot (heh).

Of course, as I was running all that through my head, the sound of padded feet on dirt reaches my ears, and looking around I see two Diamond Dogs palming their fists in my direction. Both have on the red and blue Stampede uniforms, including the hats that come off as way-too-small for their heads. One is a foot shorter than the other (for these kinds of thugs, there’s always a short guy). The taller one is sizing me up through a half-closed eye.

“Whatsss you doing sssnooping around here?” he hisses (still don’t know why they hiss. They’re dogs... sorta).

“Official royal business. Just surveying the premises, making sure things are up to specs.” They must be new to the job, or at least unaware of my actual person. Can’t go waving the Vanguard title in that case. Even the most uneducated idiot here knows that’s code for Fetcher, and we know how well-loved that name is around these parts. No need to worry much, though: I don’t think he bought the alternative.

“You looksss more like a ssspiffy-dressssed punk to me. Aintchu think ssssso too, Reg?”

“Ralp,” the other dog agrees. (I’m surprised they know the word “spiffy.” More so that he used it properly!)

“Rightsss, so you bessst clear out of here before we makesss thingsss ugly for you.”

“Oh, is that how it is?” I scratch my chin. “Hmm, then maybe these official documents will prove my identity.” I reach into my suit while keeping an eye on the thugs through my shades. Dumbasses are actually leaning in. Immediately I shoot out my elbow into the chin of the tall one, knocking him off his feet with an explosive “crack.” Just as the other one’s jaw starts to drop I slam a fist onto his noggin, sending him onto the dirt. Quick, but kinda disappointing.

Shuffling sounds from behind makes me turn, but halfway through the motion there is a heavy “toft” and the sound of groaning coupled with that of something hitting the ground. Spun around, I see that another Diamond Dog had snuck up on me and was going to lay me flat with a wooden beam. I say “was” because now he’s knocked out on the ground, probably from the powder blue bulk that’s on top of him. For a split second, I’m at a loss for words. But that's it.

“Trixie? What the hell are you doing here?”

“I believe I just saved your life, thank you very much.” She stands up and hops off the fallen mutt.

“No, I seriously want to know why you’re here.”

“Hah! Trixie saw you running out of town and took it upon herself to follow you. Undoubtedly you were off to something important.”

“Yeah, important Vanguard work. Not something to do with Royal Criers.”

“I had done enough spreading of the princess’ good name for today.” She says this with a raised, dismissive hoof. “I thought you’d be more grateful at my intervention. Just imagine how terrible things would be should one of Her Majesty’s most valued servant fell.”

I try to quell my annoyance, then take a glance up at the pile of railroad ties. It’s a good fifteen feet high. I look back at Trixie with a different expression. “How did you even get up there?”

“I’ve taken time to improve my magic over the years you know. Scaling something like this is mere foal’s play to Trixie’s enhanced ability!”

“Yet you couldn’t have thought of something more creative then dropping yourself on someone to knock them out?”

An agonized pause as Trixie looks around. “Well, um, uh, that is... It’s impressively quick decision-making. That’s what really matters!”

“Sure.” I then remember why I’m here in the first place, and go back over to my earlier spot. The crew is about done loading cargo. Need to think of something quick.

“I take it you’re in the midst of some intense surveillance.”

“Not at all; I’m just trying to catch a train.” I briefly glance back at her then back to the train. “Listen, this doesn’t concern you. Head back to town before more of them find us.”

“Head back? But I just saved you! Isn’t Trixie obligated to provide further assistance?”

“I appreciate what you did, but you’d just get in the way. Doubt they’d let you get the ‘drop’ on them a second time.”

“Trixie refuses to believe that! Were it not for me you’d very much be dead, so take me along with you so I can provide more protection.”

Dammit, I don’t have time for this. “Seriously Trixie, get your flank back to town or I’ll—” I stop, straightening up as an idea comes to me. And as it turns out, it can support two. I turn back to Trixie calmly. “Actually, I just thought of a way you can help me.”

STARING AT A COMPUTER SCREEN FOR EXTENDED LENGTHS OF TIME CAN BE HAZARDOUS TO YOUR HEALTH. MAKE SURE TO TAKE BREAKS REGULARLY FOR MAXIMUM SAFE ENJOYMENT OF JOYFULNESS.

Some minutes later, the train is well on its way. The back car shakes and jolts with every little bump in the track. From where I am, a Diamond Dog and buffalo are milling about, playing security and making a bad effort at looking the part (try being discreet all you want, I still see you picking your nose, bud). There is a shuddering sound that snaps them to attention. My heart races as they make their move. Soon they’re over the crate. The two look to each other, nod with sinister understanding, and the Diamond Dog grabs and pulls off the wooden lid. Audible gasps fill the air as something else joins in.

“Why, hello there, rail workers. I assure you, there’s a perfectly good explanation for this. Though I have to point out, it’s not polite to gawk in a lady’s direction, especially a Great and Powerful one.”

The distraction worked beautifully; time to move. The top of my crate blows off and I stand up to look down at the guards, who turn back and give me a look more confused than the one they had before (I imagine. They had their backs to me, after all). I admit, the sombrero and poncho are a bit much, but hell, it’s a vacation.

“Hola.” I give a two-finger salute, and just as they get up to speed with the situation at hand, I throw off my poncho onto the Diamond Dog. While he’s flailing to get it off, I drop down before his startled companion, take the horns and drive his forehead into my knee (damn thing smarts). He stumbles back, but shakes it off and tries to ram me. I hop back, and as he’s readying another go I punch the side of his face (head’s too thick for a straight), and I deliver a hook with my other fist. A leaping roundhouse puts him down for good, and jumping off his large back I ram my foot down onto the Diamond Dogs head, just as he gets the poncho off.

I dust off my claws as I look over the handiwork, and taking a moment, I remove the sombrero and toss it onto the buffalo (stylin’). It’s at this point that Trixie decides to leave her crate.

“Good work there, Trix.”

“But of course. Would you expect anything less from one as marvelously capable as Trixie?”

“Uhh, kinda?” She turns up her head with a huff, but I just shrug and make for the door leading to the next car. Trixie trots a few steps behind.

“What next?” she asks.

“I go ahead and take care of things. You head back to town.” I open up the door and step through.

“What? Then what was the point of bringing me along?”

“Because you wouldn’t shut up and there wasn’t time to argue.”

“The nerve! Well, in case you forgotten, we’re on a moving train. Which means I’m not going anywhere.”

A downward plunge of my sword severs the coupling, and the car behind detaches and begins slowing down. “Oh yes you are.” I can imagine her looking wide-eyed over the increasing gap. Brings a slight smile to my face.

“W-w-w-wait! You can’t do this to Trixie! I’m too invaluable an ally to abandon! Hey, get back here! Are you listen—”

The rushing wind drowns out her words just as I close the door, bringing satisfying silence. Everyone else will definitely have felt that, meaning there’ll be company. I flex my neck and stride down center aisle between the cargo crates, but before I get halfway down, the door across from me busts open and in come the muscle. Mostly Diamond Dogs, but I spot a buffalo or two. And they’re eager to introduce me to their pals Lefty and Righty (also Horny. Uhh...).

I stop and look from one to another, then spin my sword around holding it rigid. What little light in the car gleams off the blade, though none of the muscle look daunted. Too late to do this diplomatically, and this being a vacation, I may as well cut loose.

The first Diamond Dog to charge me gets an arm sliced off before I slash his chest open. The next one charges all the same, but I sidestep and twirl, cutting out his legs as he passes by. Crouching, I swing my blade up to sever the neck of the third dog, then I kick him into the remaining dogs and buffalos. I have time to flick blood off the blade before the remainers decide to come at me in pairs (very smart).

I bob away from a Diamond Dog hook and leapfrog over his buffalo partner, and once over I bring a back kick to his ass, knocking him down (flanks of steel. Yeesh). Back-flipping onto his prone form, I use my added elevation to slice downward and behead the Diamond Dog before shoving my blade down through the buffalo’s spine. Only two more.

I hop off the gurgling corpse, and run up to the buffalo that’s in mid-charge. I jump and land on his head, bouncing off to bring a sidekick to the face of the Diamond Dog, which smashes him into the side of the car, breaking some boards. Back down on the floor, I lower and bring up my sword to tear open the stunned buffalo’s guts, who collapses over with a shocked groan. As he’s helplessly trying to put his bits back into place, I look around and go for one of the crates. Nothing but grain sacks, top to bottom. I look into a few more, but it’s more or less the same. The goods should be further ahead, and with that thought, I step over the whimpering buffalo and enter the next car.

Seems there’s a lot more of them than I thought, cuz now they’re pouring in from the other end. Some of them even have weapons, axes and the like. Time to get messy. I dash forward and cut through two of them, placing me in the middle of the crowd. Without pause, I start swinging and chopping up doggy bits and buffalo jerky. One of them gets the idea to grab me from behind, but I bend to sweep out his legs with my tail, and while he’s airborne I spin around and split him in two. (very useful appendage the tail. Not used often by those who have it, strangely enough)

It really is a vacation: I haven’t exacted this much gore in a confined space in over a year. A bit macabre, but the death cries can be a bit hilarious. At one point someone screams “My SPLEEEEEN!!” That never gets old. (though I didn’t hit him anywhere near the spleen. Did buffalo anatomy change since last I was here?)

I kick a Diamond Dog through the door into the next car, and stepping through there’s yet another crowd waiting at the other end. I place my thumb on the edge of the sword and slide it down, letting blood trickle over the metal. Once a thin layer forms, I bring it up to my face and breathe some fire onto it.

“Jade Slider.”

I swing my sword down and over the ground, unleashing a streak of green fire that burns up the car floor and blasts the opposition on the other side. Once things quiet down, I check some more crates. Assorted furniture, some throw rugs. Those damn mutts better not have buried them at the railyard or something like that, otherwise I’d look like a complete idiot, not to mention there’d be one hell of public relations nightmare. Then again, a train carrying this much muscle is rather suspicious. And as the old law adage goes: everyone is guilty of something.

Stepping through the next door, I do something different and climb up to the top of the car. The wind’s a bit strong, but I stay low until I reach the wooden hatch in the middle. Opening the catch, I throw it open and look down into the dim car below, and picking my target I leap down and drive my sword through the neck of an unsuspecting buffalo. His buddies are understandably freaked out, and finishing them off proves effortless because of it.

I take a moment to take in the musk of the boxcar mingled with the metallic scent of blood sprayed over wooden surfaces. I’ve gotten so used to the smell of blood I never notice it unless I stop and let it sink in. It soothes my soul when I do smell it, so I make a point to stop and sniff it on occasion for a shot of aromatherapy.

My gaze turns down to a pile of dark objects by the front of the car. A woodpile, extra fuel for the engine. An awful lot of it, considering how much must be stored near the engine itself. And wouldn’t they be using coal?

I then notice one of the logs had fallen off during the scuffle. It had split in half, revealing itself to be mostly hollow. I say mostly because one half of it had a book stuffed into it, specifically something encyclopedic in nature. I go over and grab another log, and pull it until it too splits open. Same result; paydirt. Now to bring this criminal express to a stop.

I stride over into the next car. Cubby holes in the walls suggest this is the sleeper car, but no one’s here. Must’ve slaughtered them all. Through the next door, I find myself standing in the compartment of the engine’s boiler, where two buffalo are shoveling coal and logs in the sweltering heat (looks like I missed some).

“Hey, mind giving me directions? I appear to be lost.”

They manage to hear me over the noise of the engine and turn, and after a brief pause to look at me wave at them, they approach with shovels in hoof. Three seconds later, their fat hides are flung out tumbling into the vast desert. Finally having the place to myself, I look around for the brakes. My knowledge of trains is sparse, but I’ve got plenty of time.

Looking over the boiler, I see a stack of wood beside the coal pile. They look exactly like the ones from two cars back. Then my gaze turns to the open hatch into the boiler. Through the flames I see fuel burning, dry, thin. Among them I catch sight of something just as it erupts into ash. It becomes painfully clear. This isn’t a book smuggling ring... it’s a book burning.

“So you’re the one they call Fetcher.”

I stiffen slightly before turning around in the direction of the thunderous voice. Blocking the entirety of the door frame is a buffalo. A proper buffalo, not one of those scrawny variety I’ve been slicing through. The kind who’d make chieftain in the old tribes. Thick bushy hair of dark brown, even thicker horns, and a scar beneath eyes as dark and fierce as the prairie night. He’s also dressed up like a train conductor, coveralls and everything. Kinda weird. How’d I miss him? (where was he for that matter?)

“Your arrival has been expected for some time,” he booms. “Even still, your presence on my train is most unwelcome.”

“Well as it should be, considering what you got going on here.” I’ve been in enough stand-offs to know where this will lead. Still, I’ll be as civil as possible. Maybe get some fun out of it. “Stealing books is one thing, but this?” I spread out my arms for emphasis. “This is worth a public execution in Canterlot Square.”

“Hmff,” he snorts through powerful nostrils. “Not that it will matter, seeing as you will not leave here alive.” (Oh, amazingly original threat there)

“Really? And who is it that will be seeing to that, chief? Seeing what I did with the rest of the staff and all.”

“Me, of course.” He straightens up and makes himself look bigger. Here we go. “I am Boulderstorm, CEO of Stampede Incorporated.” I just give him a plain look and a shrug.

“Makes sense. Does the boss often ride with his cargo?”

“Only when the occasion calls for it.” He shrinks down slightly. “And your intrusion on this train was foreseen well in advance.”

“Foreseen, eh? Checked the stars or some other new age mumbo-jumbo?” Waving my claws over my head may come off as culturally insensitive, but let’s be real: this guy’s the head of a respectable business?

“No, not new age. Tradition. Something that your masters wish to erase from the world.” He starts trotting to the left, and so do I. Typical motion shared between villain and hero. “My kind is in danger. Pony gentrification is steadily killing our heritage, removing our identity to make us more ‘civilized’ like our weaker counterparts.”

“March of progress, man. Gotta get with the times.”

“We lived by the law of nature. It taught and molded us into hardened warriors of the plains, rulers of the desert. We took only what we needed from the land, respected it. But ponies merely take and waste whatever they come across, be it resources or those who oppose their views.”

“The other buffalos seem okay with that.”

“Blinded by trinkets and shallow ideals. Partaking of those wretched pies was the first mistake, and as time passes, more and more wish to become ponies. Why? They’re offered pleasures without effort, a life ‘superior’ to that of nature. How quickly they forget all the good the wilderness has done to them. We knew our place, but like a disease, ponykind weakens their resolve and are steadily breaking down our livelihood through insidious means. Baked goods, women, riches, and of course, literacy.”

“Now we get to the meat of the matter.”

“Our history is passed solely through words, spoken from the old to the young. But books, these pointless articles, contain the lies and treachery of a frivolous, despicable species. ‘To become something in pony society you need an education,’ is what my brethren were told. And right away they enlist themselves for indoctrination, and pony supremacy grows ever more.”

“Sounds like your heritage isn’t all that chocked up if they come running like that.” We’ve circled the compartment a few times. I get the sense things are winding down.

“They’ll realize the error of their ways once the pony race is gone, beginning with their records. And when those are dealt with, their gilded infrastructure will soon follow, along with those who inhabit it. Afterwards, only buffalo will remain: as it once was, and as it should always be.”

“Lofty goals, but the empire is spread out far and wide, and there’s a kind of romantic appeal to the south. Even if you pull this off, I doubt you can keep them from coming back for long.”

“We will at least make such enterprise a deathwish. Besides, there are others who despise ponies. Should the call for blood arise, we will come in force.”

“Yeah, but can we switch focus to your current stage of plans? As in, the one I’m about to stop right now, whether you want it to or not.”

We stop circling each other, and end up back where we had started. Rather pointless when you think about it...

“The noble dragon, made subservient to ponies,” he continues with a smirk. “Evidence to their sheer disregard of Nature’s order. This crime against your species shall end with you, and soon, all crimes committed by pony will be avenged.”

“Ends with me, eh? Guess that counts as a threat to a royal agent of the empire. That being the case...” I spin around my sword before assuming a battle stance. “Let’s see what you got, big guy.”

“Hmff. Arrogance will help you none here. And neither will brute strength alone.” And with that, he vanishes.

“What the—?” I barely have time to turn around before a back kick hits my side and launches me out the engine room door. I bounce off the floor of the sleeping car, go through another door, and go bowling through the corpses in the next car down, which bring me to a stop. A groan escapes me as I get up and reorient myself. Before I can start piecing together how that happened, the wall holding the door I came from explodes into smoke and sawdust. From the windy, gaping hole came the buffalo, except now with some fierce green aura radiating from him like heat. I don’t want to believe what I’m thinking this is.

“Before my tribe disbanded, I served an important role as Head Shaman.” He holds up a massive, glowing hoof. “The fury of the buffalo courses through my veins, and the full brunt of it shall rain down upon you!” His eyes become solid white as the car starts to shake with his groan of increasing power. Loose fixtures start rising up, and random things like crate lids and severed limbs begin floating up in the air, encased in that same dark green light.

Before I can object to this, a wooden wedge comes flying at me, which I narrowly duck. A crate lid comes at me next, but I slice it in two. Some crates open up around me and assorted cargo come rising up and fly at me. I dodge and slice up this barrage of deja vu until the floorboards and parts of the ceiling start to come at me. I’m battling two persistent boards when I get smacked by a chunk of Diamond Dog torso, and before I know it I’m fighting floating dead bits (lovely). Despite these random distractions, I do take notice of the two hundred pound crate flying my way. I crouch flat to avoid it, but the air drag it creates pulls me in the direction of the large hole it makes on the way out. I tumble and fall outside, but I hold to the inside with both arms and heft back onto solid footing. I take a moment to catch my breath. Dumb move as it turns out, because when I look up, I see the crate outside coming right at my face.

I black out briefly, but my senses come back jarringly as I vacate the train in an aerial, horizontal fashion (though my shades help deal with the sudden return of light). The hot desert ground isn’t much of a cushion, but it helps jolt my senses back into place as I eventually tumble to a stop. I push myself up, wiping off the dirt while watching the retreating train. What follows next might be the result of a concussion.

Rather than proceed down the tracks, the engine derails sharply to the right, taking along the other cars into the desert at high speed. It starts heading for me before turning in on itself, circling around faster and faster before collapsing into some giant wooden and metal tornado that starts taking shape. Two thick “arms” and the torso of some wooden hell-beast with a train engine for a head and green energy glowing at the seams arises like a sign of the apocalypse. The freakin’ abomination of wood, steel and fire rears back and lets out something that’s both a sweltering roar and a steam whistle that rends the air. The feel of its “breath” proves, sadly, that this is no hallucination. Well, time to say something witty.

“You don’t see that everyday...”

“THIS IS THE POTENTIAL THAT YOUR MASTERS WANT TO DEPRIVE MY BRETHREN!” Impressive: his voice is barely louder than what it had been originally. Though more echo-y. “THE WILL OF NATURE IS IN MY GRASP. WITH IT, I SHALL BURY YOU BENEATH THESE BURNING SANDS, AND PONYKIND WILL SOON FOLLOW!”

The loco-monster raises a massive fist and drops it with what I’m assuming would be the force of a mountain. I won’t be checking that, since I decide to run and leap off to the side before it hits. The ground shudders violently from the impact, and I’m back on my feet before it winds up for another slam. I crouch and push off the ground into a backflip that gets me yards away from the impact site, and failing to hit me twice, the train golem twists around to deliver a fast, low arm sweep. I spring up but don’t clear it completely, getting caught by the top of the arm and left falling to the ground ungracefully. Coughing up dirt the second time today, I look up to see the guy raising both arms over its head. I push off the ground and backroll before a two-fisted slam pulverizes me.

I leap out of the roll and run over to the grounded fists, hopping onto them before they start moving. I run up the length of the right arm, sword drawn and thinking how I’m going to dig out Boulderstorm. The “head” turns and eyes me as I near the shoulder, and it opens a jagged metal mouth to belch out a fireball that sets flame to the wood I’m standing on. I dance about the flames a bit, but then the shoulder starts shaking and wood panels spring up, knocking me off the beast while at the same time snuffing the flames (convenient).

I hit the ground and roll on my side a few yards (starting to get tired of this. Even more dirt to go with the tears and singe marks), sliding to a stop eventually in a cloud of dust. I get back on my feet again to stare down my foe... well, stare up. Strongheart told me once about buffalo mysticism, but I thought it had to do more with spirituality and that sort of junk, nothing practical. But here it was, big bold and kicking my ass. Gotta whittle it down, but it’s making it difficult. Certainly can’t go for the war-of-attrition approach, that’s for sure.

The monstrosity makes a more restrained demonic roar and pulls back for another attack, but suddenly a railcar out of nowhere flies up and smashes into its face. It bends back and wails more in surprise than pain, and as it flouts about a pony lands off to my side. Are you for real?

“HA! Enjoy the taste of your own medicine, courtesy of the Great and Powerful Trixie!”

I only had one thing to say in light of this fortuitous back-up. “I told you to get your ass back to town, Trixie!”

“And miss out on some much-deserved heroics? Trixie may be humble, but she is far from boring.”

I look to the staggering train beast, than back to Trix. “How’d you manage that?”

“I told you that I’ve been improving my magic. And as a wise pony once said: ‘Give me a fulcrum and I can move the world.’ Or train car, in this case.” Boning up on philosophy as well. Gee, how fascinating.

The train beast has stopped recovering and gives the two of us a rightfully pissed look. Instantly I hop over onto Trixie’s back.

“Hey, what are you—”

“Just shut up and ride!”

“And why should I?” The incoming megafist tells her. She complies with a girlish yelp and gallops off, putting about ten yards between us and the impact site by the time the fist hits.

“Hey, you’re going the wrong way!”

“Trixie didn’t sign up for experiencing a potentially violent death on her part!”

Oh jeez. “By order of Her Majesty’s Vanguard, turn back and circle that thing!”

“Ugggh! For the sake of carrying out Her Majesty’s will, then.” She does a one-eighty back toward the monstrosity. Trixie has always been a good runner when the need calls for it, and she’s making good speed as we begin to circle the train beast. It raises a fist and brings it down to smash us, but it’s too slow as my “trusty” steed outruns it easily. The golem’s a quick learner, though, cuz it swivels around for a pre-emptive smash.

“Turn back around, NOW!” Trixie skids and instantaneously we’re going the other direction, moments before the fist comes down. The beast swivels around for another go, but I have an idea. Immediately I hop up to stand atop Trixie’s back.

“Oof!” (She actually verbalized an “oof”) “What are you doing?!”

“Just hold steady.” I bring up my sword.

“Easy for you to say!”

I put a thumb to the blade and split it as the train golem brings down a fist. However, I’m quicker by a breath.

“Jade Slicer!” Sword wrapped in a small flame, I swing it upward, loosing a flaming crescent at the incoming fist (an aerial variant of the Slider, as you might have guessed). There is a deafening crack of wood and metal being torn asunder as the monster’s arm is split down the middle, halting its attack as it lets off another roar/whistle. Heh, not so tough-looking now. A few more should do it, or maybe one really good one.

“Good work, Trix! Now get me closer!”

“What?!”

“Not right up to it, but closer than where we are. Now giddyup!” There is an exaggerated groan of compliance and something about indignities as Trixie begins turning inward toward the rail behemoth (huh, that’s a good one). I prepare to coat the sword for another go, but a rumble emanates from the target.

“ENOUGH. THE EARTH COMETH TO DESTROY YOU!” The big guy holds up both its fists and starts shaking, as both its mitts begin glowing with an intensifying green energy. Then it slams them into the ground at its sides, and that’s when the world moved for me and Trixie. Specifically, it moved vertically, and at a breakneck pace. I’m shot upward as a literal mountain peak rises up beneath us. I manage to catch sight of Trixie flying off somewhere before I land flat on the newly-risen mountaintop.

I pull myself up again (how many times does that make this?) and look over the desert below, before looking down at the behemoth, who gives a roar before punching through the mountain. Level ground slopes sharply as I flail my arms to maintain balance, but the rock beneath drops a foot and I’m falling off the edge. I right myself mid-air and see that other little peaks had risen up from whatever-the-hell-it-just-pulled. It pulls back to punch me as I plummet, but I flap myself back into some of the falling rubble to an especially thick boulder. Planting feet onto it, I push off in the direction of one of the other peaks just as the bits of mountain get punched into dust.

I roll and get up into a sprint once I land on the nearest peak. The other peaks appear to form a circle, like a barrier around their creator. Too little too late for that, I think as I leap over to the next mountain. I grab fistfuls of rock and begin climbing with both claws and feet, just as big guy turns over to knock me down a peg. I’m almost at the top when he punches out the base. As the slope topples over I just run the rest of the way up, and at the top I jump over to the next mountain.

I crouch into a landing as dust fills the air, but a pair of fiery red flares up right before a split fist flies through. I hop up onto the arm just as it demolishes my resting spot, and I run for the head. The arm flashes green before it starts waving around furiously, no doubt trying to get me off. My sword gets planted into the wood and I hold fast like no tomorrow, but the lug brings the arm in and pulls back for a mighty upward swing that dislodges me and my sword skyward.

I gain altitude for about five seconds before slowing down to a stop, and flipping over I watch as the desert and the rail behemoth come up to meet me. The monstrosity gets the bright idea to tear off a chunk of mountain and throw it straight at me, but I’m ready for it (freefalls tend to hone my focus). I hold up my sword, wait, and bring it down just as the rock is about to connect. It splits perfectly, with nary a pebble or sparkle (wait, sparkle?) dislodged. However, once through I’m greeted by a stream of fire from Mr. Engine Head. I pull off some wild aerial maneuvers to roll out of harm’s way (still singed my suit some more, the bastard), and do it some more as more bursts of fire fly up to cook me. The behemoth getting nearer, I move into position and take aim with the sword. Take center, dead center. Then in a blink, half the blade is driven down into the thing’s “forehead”, letting out clouds of pressurized steam and heat.

It’s over.

...Or so I thought, until the head starts shuddering and that green aura comes up. It makes a shriek and flicks its head back hard, launching me right into the broad side of the mountain behind it. For a few moments I feel nothing, hanging there embedded into some solid-quality rock. The aches start easing in just as my body detaches from the comfort of the crater, leading to a graceless fall of twenty feet onto, you guessed it, desert floor. I hear the clangs of my sword bouncing off somewhere amid the various rocks falling around from above. Pushing myself back up this time takes considerably more effort, but I manage to do it anyway (barely, and only in a sitting position).

The cantankerous wooden fiery son of a bitch turns around to me, still glowing that oh so pleasant shade of green, looking at me as though gloating. Hell, I think I can spot a smile out of those jagged strips of boiler.

“THE LAW OF YOUR MASTERS FAILS YOU. SEE HOW EASILY YOUR FORSAKEN INDUSTRY CAN TURN AGAINST YOU? TIS THE WILL OF NATURE AT WORK, AND THOSE WHO OPPOSE HER WILL BE DESTROYED WITHOUT MERCY.”

Miraculously, my shades are still intact (magically enhanced, most likely). Which is a shame, because now they’re feeling pretty heavy. I can barely look the thing in the gaping fire holes that are its eyes, so standing up is gonna be a pain. Have to get my sword back. Then I have a chance. Maybe split it width-wise, get it to topple over.

Then I spot something amid the debris. Something embedded in the chunks of rock. It occurs to me why things were all glittery when I had split that boulder, and strength from deep down starts filling me. Something... primal.

“You know...” Catch my breath. “You mentioning this stuff about nature. I think I can see your point.”

“WHAT WAS THAT?”

I use some of the growing energy to get back up. My mind starts firing off with a million thoughts, but I manage to keep focus for just a bit longer. I start walking slowly toward the behemoth, pulling off my suit jacket as I do so. “You referred to me as a noble dragon. You see, by nature’s law, dragons only aspire to do three things: eat, mate, and hoard things.” My undershirt comes next. “And lucky for them, nature provides one thing that can satisfy all three.” I fold up the two articles and put them on the ground, along with my shades. “And two of those can be satisfied at the same time.”

“STALLING? I NEVER IMAGINED YOU WERE ONE TO CLING TO LIFE IN SO PITIFUL A MANNER.”

“No, not stalling. Observing.” I stop beside one of the rocks, bend down, and pick it up, making sure the sun gleams off it. Make it more tantalizing. “Quartz. Pure, and straight from nature’s bosom. I’m willing to bet these mountains you made are loaded with 'em.” I lick the glossy mineral, then take a good bite of it. That’s all it takes for It to awaken. My thoughts give way to raw emotions.

“It’s been a good long time since I had desert gems, especially of such pure quality. After such a long time, it’s a taste to kill for.” My tone of voice deepens. My mouth salivates as I lick my teeth. My chest is burning, my muscles twitch. “Given what I had to put up with today, this sort of delight I would most definitely WANT.” It’s time. “And whatever Spike WANTS, Spike GETS.”

It becomes a blur at that point, but suddenly I felt very, very large and feeling very, very mean. I also remember seeing a massive look of surprise on trainhead’s stupid face, but after that it’s nothing but yellow-tinted motion and mayhem. A few punches here, a mountain smash there (probably ate a few mountains too). How it ended, I believe it involved two wooden arms being ripped off and a headbutt finisher. Probably a roar too (there’s a ringing left behind that’s usually associated with a roar). And also an explosion, that’s very important. The rest I’ll leave up to your imagination.

As you all undoubtedly know, dragon maturity and growth is dictated not just by age, but also by how much stuff they can hoard. When I learned of that last bit firsthand, I wound up creating a localized natural disaster. But Her Highness saw a use for it, a good while into my tenure as her Vanguard. It was a bitch to do, but I eventually learned how to invoke a massive growth spurt at will. All it took was thinking up some really, really greedy thoughts (and being the restless youth I am, that’s plenty easy to do). There’s even a failsafe installed through an extensive ritual that puts a time limit on this inexplicable hormone storm (took hours for it to stick. Many long, boring hours. Painful, too). In short, if something needed serious smashing in a wide open area, there’s nothing quite as effective or convenient as a true dragon’s rage. The magical tampering made it so that I would no longer develop as a natural dragon anymore, but that’s mainly been the case my entire life, so nothing to cry about.

When I’m back down to size, there’s considerably less mountain than before (ie, none at all). There’s also a massive pile of smoking wood and bent steel ahead of me. I walk casually toward it, bending down to pick up my sword as I pass it without losing step (miraculous it didn’t get crushed). At the base of the pile is Boulderstorm, kneeled over and coughing blood. His uniform is gone, and so are good chunks of hair and skin (not to mention one of his horns). I lay my sword over my shoulders as I stand before him. He gives a good hack of crimson before looking up at me.

“You... are a traitor to your species, Fetcher. Cwoff!”

I grin. “Not the first time someone told me that.”

“It is obvious... Hyuhk! That there is no convincing you. But understand, Fetcher... Your masters... Their way, is wrong.”

“Well, I tend to believe that the last one standing is right.” (Thank you, Pinkie). I lower the sword down to my side as he grimaces at me.

“Arrogant. Seemingly immune to remorse or sympathy. I sincerely pray that when sorrow strikes, you are bereft of all feeling. Otherwise, you will suffer a thousandfold more than those you have slain.” His head drops as he coughs more violently, shuddering through rattled breath. I take the hilt with both hands as he does this, and level my blade over the back of his neck before raising it. “Heed me... Unless... there is drastic change... Nature... in all her forms... and designs... will always seek... unending retribution...”

I give him a warrior’s death before he can choke. Blood pours strongly onto the sand, refreshing the desert as another life ends upon its harsh surface. Not often I fight those with really strong convictions, who die to their fullest as a result. Always guaranteed a place in my memory, somewhat our of respect, but mostly because they turn out to be the more interesting fights. They’re also a reminder of the deep-seated flaws of this world.

Despite every act of goodwill and progresses in peace, racial tension has always hung over ponies and buffalo like some thick, invisible cloud. As with just about any other species that aren’t pony. With the spread of the empire, clash of cultures will always arise. Most end quietly, others with some resistance, but inevitably one remains dominant, and a stigma forms in the aftermath. That sort of thing can brew and ferment over time, lead to mistrust, paranoia, prejudice, hate. And then you end up with buffalos jacked up on desert mojo looking to cleanse the earth in the blood of their enemy. Typical pains of a modernizing world.

I leave the corpse to decompose silently as I go looking for my suit. It’s about fifty yards away, covered in a thin layer of dust, but a good patting and it’s back on no worse for wear (aside from what happened to it earlier). Shades back in place, I look at the pile of the former train behemoth and spot some familiar wood blocks among the wreckage, untouched as luck would have it. No telling how many, though. With a sigh I put my sword back into its sheath and head back toward the pile. Time to fulfill the other half of my duty (oh lucky me).

It takes nearly an hour for me to scrounge out the surviving books from the wreckage, a good several dozen of them. The sun has begun to set as I finish up the blood circle around the decently large pile. As I’m about the close the circle, a familiar face hobbles over to me, looking grimy and a bit moody.

“Ah, see you survived,” I greet her, turning back to making the final drops.

“Not ONE hint of concern for my well-being? To think Trixie not only had to put up with danger and near death from a great fall today, but apathy as well!” Guess that fall wasn’t so great, seeing that she's complaining in top form.

“Comes with the job. Speaking of, you should’ve hurried up. Really could have used some help with this.”

“Well you should count yourself lucky that Trixie even bothered coming back here instead of back to town.”

“Uh-huh, real lucky.” The circle’s complete. I draw my sword and run a thin red line down the edge.

“But since I’m here, Trixie might as well accompany you back. So are you coming or what?”

“Just gimme a sec here.” I breath fire over the blade, and after a quick chant I slam it into the blood-stained dirt, the fire spreading out along the edge. Once the two ends meet, the fire shoots up and envelops the book pile, consuming it in a brilliant green bonfire before burning out. Not a trace but some scorched sand. A bit lazy sending them to the Librarium, but no way I’m hauling those things to where they actually belong. What’s important is they’re safe, and the princess sees that all things are in their proper place eventually.

I look to Trixie. “You ready?”

“Yes. Let’s get out of this horrid wasteland to someplace slightly less horrid, with a nice hot bath.” I nod, and we begin the long walk back to Appleloosa, the sinking sun setting the landscape ablaze with red orange. Nature’s warmth, bidding goodnight to all those who live and die by her each day. And a silent farewell to one very much devoted to her...

“You must agree, Trixie outdid herself this day. You would have been crushed early on had Trixie not intervened, but not under Trixie’s watch would you die so easily!”

“Hey, if you’re gonna be talking in third person the whole way, I’m riding you back.”

“...Fine. Then you can make do with complete silence instead.”

Hallelujah. (now if only it would last)

SOUTHBOUND DUST JACKET
end

*With credit to Sleeper Brakeman

(If you know who that is, you’re my kind of fellow)

Interim 2

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Interim 2

Why... Why are you doing this?

You have to take on the responsibilities of your office.

But I don’t want to do this! Any of it!

Stop making this difficult. You’re only making it more frustrating for all of us.

You heard her! Suck it up and take it like an adult, you panty-waste!

Puh-puh-please... Don’t make me... Please...

Blubbering already? Sheesh you’re pathetic!

Do it, Spike. He must pay for his crime.

Make it quick you freakin’ wimp!

No... Please, no.

Man up already!

Twilight... Don’t make me do this. No, no... Please...

I snap awake at the distant sound of parting flesh. It takes a moment for me to find myself sitting on the train, resting my head on my palm beside the window. Looking outside, I see the sun is nearly down.

Weird having that dream. Hadn’t had one of those for awhile. Brought on by bad posture? Guess I should head back and lie down.

I look over the darkening plains as my eyelids steadily lower while the lull of the train makes me comfy again. At some point, I fall asleep again.

Interim 2.2

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Interim 2.2

It’s late evening when the train pulls up to Ponyville station, two days later. Decided to stay at Braeburn’s for the night after getting back to Appleloosa. Slept in the guest room (soon to be the baby room), caught the first afternoon train out. Luckily Trixie didn’t come over (had the decency to take a bath at her own place), so that allowed me to spend some good quality catching-up time with old friends.

Got to try those napoles. Felt weird on the tongue, but it was definitely refreshing, like a kind of aloe paste. I even got to learn what they would name their kid.

“If it’s a boy, I’d want to name him Jonagold, after my great-grandfather,” Braeburn had said. “If it’s a girl... well, I thought it’d be fair if Strongheart had a say in that.”

“Red Dawn would be a fitting name,” Strongheart said. “Warm, beautiful, and with promises of a bright future. Buffaloes believe that a name should tell of a newborn’s potential, and how they will shape the land and all those around them. To us, names are about as important as cutie marks are to ponies.”

“Gosh, hun. If that’s the case, I’d better reconsider my pick.”

“Hm hm hm. Oh you.”

A nice break from my usual days of work and solitude, but like any break, it inevitably ended. And here in the present, I step off onto a mostly empty platform. The evening lights are on, and all around the blanket of night has started setting in. My feet take me off the platform and onto cool, familiar ground. I start walking toward town in the direction of the Librarium. Always have to report in-person after every mission, even if it’s been days afterward. But these follow-ups are generally quick, so the sooner I’m there, the better.

Barely a pony on the streets, and the ones that are are heading for home or closing shop. I stick more to the outer part of town, where there are fewer houses, more open space, room to think. I don’t get that chance though, as a familiar flapping reaches my ears and a round tuft of feathers lands on my shoulders.

“Hoo,” he greets.

“Yo, Owlowiscious,” I greet back, still walking along. “I’m a bit surprised.”

“Hoo?”

“You usually don’t come see me once I get back. Been feeling lonely without me?”

“...Hoo,” he hoots with furrowed brows. “Hoo.”

“Yeah, I know there doesn’t need to be a reason to be polite. I’m just joshin’ ya.”

“Hoo,” he nods firmly.

“Got any plans for tonight?”

“Hoo.”

“Heh, really? Sounds like a hot night. Just don’t wear yourself out, alright?”

“...Hoo.”

“Heheh. You know I kid. Hey, I’ll catch ya at the library in a bit, okay?”

“Hoo.”

“I know that’s not what it’s called, but it’s still the same thing. Just more... glowy.”

He shakes his head and signs off with “Hoo” before flapping off into the deepening dusk. Nice avian fellow, Owlowiscious. Can take things a bit too seriously, but you couldn’t ask for a better listener. Not that I have anything major to unload on him (or anyone), but he’s great to just shoot the breeze with during off-time.

I bet Rarity’s will be busy tonight as usual. Won’t pay a visit, though. Mind’s focused on finishing things up and being able to relax. What that pertains to, we’ll see.

The ethereal lights of the Librarium reach out to the night sky, giving it a beacon-like quality to the confused and wayward. Least I figure that was the impression she was going for in making it all glowy as hell on the outside as well. In any case, I get up to the door and enter into Her Majesty’s realm.

Sword down, at attention, procedure as usual. Her Highness regards me atop the Collection.

“Hail, Spike. It comforts me in seeing you back safe from your excursion to Appleloosa.”

“Nice to be back, Your Majesty.”

She nods. “A rather unexpected turn of events, as gathered from your report. To think a heinous operation like that could be done on such a large, organized scale. It baffles me why anyone would do this, and to such a degree.”

Yeah, I happened to leave out some of the finer details of Boulderstorm’s motive. Just summed it up as him being “upset with overabundance of pony literature compared to buffalo works.” No need to complicate the ends.

“It’s puzzling, milady.” (thought I’d throw that one in)

“But it is with great fortune that so many books could still be saved, and that no others would have to suffer.” She bows with a flourish of her hoof. “I impart my sincerest gratitude further unto you, most wondrous Vanguard.”

I shrug. “Tis nothing.”

She stands back up. “As to the matter of Stampede Incorporated, in light of its owner’s horrid crimes, it shall be dissolved immediately. Its assets will be sold off in a timely manner, and all its workers shall be found employment in other companies and fields that befit their skills.”

Meaning several weeks of employment in the meantime. Maybe months. Poor dogs.

“Now, is there anything you personally wish to discuss?” She tilts her head slightly at me, encouragingly. Gotta be honest.

“Nothing, ma’am.” A nagging at the back of my head. “Actually, in regards to my report, concerning the involvement of the Royal Crier...”

“Yes, I’m well aware of Trixie’s actions, and for that, I’ll see to it that she be assigned somewhere a little closer to the center of the empire. I would be remiss as a princess if I didn’t recognize a royal subject’s valor.”

Trix is gonna owe me big next time we meet. (like “display proper etiquette” or “speak only when spoken to”)

“If there is nothing further,” she resumes. “You may take the rest of the night off. Report back here at twelve o’clock. You earned the rest.” I give a bow, one hand over the chest.

“By your leave, Your Highness.” I straighten up, grab sword, and head out. Just as I grab the door handle, I look up to my upper left and see Owlowiscious perched on a window sill. I nod at him, and walk out.

The night all to myself, I already have something in mind: home. Suit still looks a mess, and there’s a slight smell of blood and earth still lingering about. Gotta freshen up some if I’m gonna relax proper.

Home sweet home arrives when there’s barely a smudge of orange left in the sky. Key up, door unlocked, inside without a sound. I don’t bother turning on any lights in the living room, instead opting for the one in the bedroom. I open up wardrobe, move through the selection, and pull out a suit jacket (the shirt’s still fine). The worn-out jacket gets tossed to the hamper in the corner (not the nicest house, but I keep things tidy), and before putting on the fresh one, I take a moment to hold up my sword and sheath.

Been awhile since I last sharpened it, it occurs to me. I pull out the blade and look it over. No nicks or stains, surprising given what it’s been through (and what it’s literally been through). Expertly crafted, low maintenance, stays sharp far longer than most others of its type. An excellent medium for fire attacks. I pause to reflect on that thought (I think that’s been over twenty. Anyone been keeping count?).

Handy move set, my fire attacks. Devastating and versatile. Can take on a wide range of forms, given the right amount of imagination... and blood. Certainly a game-changer when the chips are down, and even a means to stopping the game from starting if I’m not in the mood for a proper fight.

It was three, maybe four years ago when I first learned how to use it. I wasn’t so wet behind the ears, and I had gotten pretty used to killing. Her Majesty tasked me with getting back a book on exotic remedies that was long overdue, and in possession of a certain local zebra. Since she was a good friend of the princess, I only had orders to maim her. Granted, Twi said it more eloquently and official-like, but that’s the extent of mercy she’d show in the face of her law.

I headed out into Everfree Forest, walking a path I hadn’t taken in years but still remembered. Made it to the hut without hassle (the animals knew who I was), but before I could touch the door, I end up getting snared. Then there was a quick skirmish between us (she’s surprisingly swift with all that jewelry), but in the end I couldn’t touch her. Amid my missing and taking hoofstomps to the head, she told me that though I was a good enough fighter, there could be something more (all in rhyme, of course). Potential that lay untouched, part of my natural heritage, that could make me even more fearsome in battle. Surprisingly, she offered to show me how to tap into this potential before submitting herself to be taken into custody.

I then had a choice: take her in, or do as I was told and acquaint her with the practicality of a cane. I wound up going with the former (she had me intrigued, what can I say?). Not quite as wet behind the ears, but still prone to hesitation. It turned out alright, though. A deal was worked out with the princess: Zecora would keep her body wholly intact, and in exchange she would provide mystical training to me, seeing how Pinkie had taken care of the physical part a long way back. That’s when I learned of the multiple uses of my fire, the power stored within my blood. How the two combined makes for a complete, monstrous package of might and magic. Zecora was also a more likable teacher. Patient, wise, considerably more sane. I learned very quickly under her, and I finally found a practical use for my “noble heritage.” Practical for my new job, anyway. Definitely proved useful a few months later when I had to take on two forest-dwelling enchantresses (I may tell you about that one another time). Shame she vanished shortly after my “graduation.” And having done a service to the kingdom, Twilight let it be. Awfully gracious of her, to say the least.

All that thinking done, I give my blade one last look before sheathing it. Sharpening can wait another week; all that reflecting kinda killed the mood for it, anyway. Sword to my side (never leave home without it, off-duty or not), I throw on the jacket, switch off the light, and head back outside (locking up, of course).

The stars are beginning to appear, bringing pinpoints of white to the dark blue of the sky. Along with the moon (full again), they’re the only light source for most of the area. Just about every house is pitch black as I walk by them, with the occasional lit window and street lamp to break it up. This town of simple values makes for some really peaceful, lonesome walks, but as you can imagine, its nightlife leaves something to be desired. Really no place to go when the sun goes down, except home, or Rarity’s (but that’s for a select crowd). One other establishment comes to mind, and I decide to head over there.

It can be hard to make out among the darkened buildings, aside from the small neon sign in the front window. Definitely a hole-in-the-wall kind of escape for the restless and insomnia-ridden, and especially those with a particular thirst. Besides, every town’s gotta have one in some form or other.

I step inside to a moderately warmer setting, with dim lighting and music playing so low it seems to intensify the sheer deadness the place is experiencing at the moment. Just a few patrons lounging about, most of them regulars, playing pool, cards, or to their addiction. I greet some of them as I cross the floor.

“Hey Berry. Pokey.” I get up to the bar and plant myself on a stool. The barkeep (keep forgetting her name) comes up to me. “Pinto Colada. Extra fruity.” She gives the slightest nod and gets to work.

Most tough guys go for a stiff drink on their down time, but I’ve never been into drinking anything bitter. And if I’m gonna drown away my woes and fatigue, I’m doing it with something I actually enjoy. Barkeep places a tall glass in front of me, sweating coolness and adorned with a tiny bright umbrella (I always liked those; I don’t care what anyone thinks). I pull it over and sip from the straw. Sweet, and very fruity indeed.

I nod, and she goes about her business. The minutes slip by as my drink gets emptier and sweats less. It’s that intermezzo in reality where time has no relevance, where it’s only me and whatever’s in my personal space. The sounds of the bar (what little of it) I can still hear, but it’s merely background. My mind wanders, drifting to the other day, the words spoken by Boulderstorm.

Noble dragon made subservient. Traitor to my species. Doesn’t exactly open any old wounds, given that they’ve scarred over a long time ago. Sure, when I was a kid I had questions about my identity, but that didn’t go over so well. Just stupid jocks and attempted cruelty toward protected wildlife was all I found. That might have sounded appealing if I hadn’t spent all my life with a race that had mastered agriculture and permanent housing, but that’s not how it turned out to be. Fate, destiny, accident, whatever the reason, I was raised pony. And having things like scales, the ability to breath fire and opposable digits doesn’t take away from that.

A fusion of heritages, Twilight once imparted on me during my last stints of doubt on the subject. A link between pony and dragon, combining the best of both worlds. The perfect excuse to enlist me as part-time diplomat whenever the matter of dragon relocation became an issue. Which inevitably led me to meeting with my “father” for the first time. Heh, swell reunion that was.

Drink’s about done. I contemplate getting another, or just sit here and dwell some more. That’s when my eyes get covered with something thick, yet soft.

“Guess who?” Oh boy...

“Hey, Sweetie.” She unwraps her legs from my head, and I look over to see her beaming up at me.

“I see that you’re back. How come you’re avoiding me?” she says in that playful, faux hurt tone of hers.

“Just got back in tonight. I’m only relaxing is all. Nothing to worry about, babe.”

“It still would’ve been nice if you came by to say hello, at least.” Now the lower lip quiver. Come on, girl.

“It was a long train ride.” I pause to sip whatever’s left of my drink. “How’d you know I was back, anyway? Did another check-out at the Librarium?”

“Nooo.” Shake of the head. “I did some shopping earlier and went to drop some food off at your place, and I found some messy clothes in the hamper. Afterward I only had to look around your usual hangouts, and wouldn’t you know it, my suspicions were right!”

“Wait, how’d you get into my house? Break a window or something?”

“No, silly, I used the key. I mean, for such a tough guy, you can be pretty obvious about some things. Besides, what kind of fillyfriend would I be if I didn’t know little things like that?” A wink.

“Yeah, you’re certainly something.” The barkeep comes over as I sip the last of the drink.

“Isn’t she a bit young to be in here?” she asks, in a casual-sense tone rather than a typical gruff bartender one.

“She’s cool. Nothing to worry about,” is all I have to say to get a nod and return-to-other-things from her. Sweetie, on the other hand, seems oblivious to what just happened.

“How was Appleloosa?” she asks.

“Alright,” I reply. “Scenery was the same, caught up with acquaintances, upheld justice, the usual stuff when I’m traveling.”

“Uh-huh. How’s Little Strongheart coming along?” Given the ties our local princess has with Appleloosian ventures, these things are made publicly aware in little time.

“She’s doing good. Should be a couple more weeks. Even told me names for it.”

“Awww, that’s so sweet. I bet they will look so precious.” Yeugh. That baby-talk’s disagreeing with me. Then I remember.

“Hey, before I forget, um, I left your cupcake dish on the train.”

“You did?” And there goes the lovey-tones (mostly). “On the way back?” I pause a moment.

“Actually... sometime before I got there. But I’ll buy you a new one.”

“Spiiiike, I liked that dish! It had a nice cover and everything.” Afraid that would be the case.

“...Maybe we could try the lost and found?”

She makes a sigh and leans her head on my arm. “What am I going to do with you? But I understand if other things had you preoccupied, so you’re forgiven.” She snuggles a bit, warming my arm. Very sentimental kind of warmth. She looks up at me. “Hey, since you’re off of work, how about we hang out? Not here, but maybe back at your place?”

“Don’t you have school tomorrow?” I say before sipping at dry air from the cup.

“It’s not important. My grades are so good that skipping a class won’t do anything.”

“Not a good attitude there, Sweetie...”

She pulls at my arm. “Come on. I packed your fridge with all kinds of goodies. We’ll just sit around, have a snack and talk. I could give you a backrub and even sing to you while I do it. I’ve been practicing!”

Really not in the mood for having company, but there’s give and take in a relationship, right? Of course I could tell her no, but then she’d be hurt and moody the next day. She’s not bad company, anyway. And a backrub would be nice. The singing even more so.

“Sure.”

A giggle of victory (sly girl). “Great! Let’s get out of this musty old bar. Umm, no offense.”

“Meh,” says the barkeep as I toss my bits onto the bar top. They’re still rolling about by the time Sweetie pulls me to the front door, and I imagine one of them was still spinning when we get outside. She’s smiling up at me all the while.

“It’s going to be so much fun! I can cook up some popcorn, I could tell you about school, you could tell me more about Appleloosa and other things, and maybe do some cuddling or, hmm, something more intimate if you want—”

And on she goes. Guess fillies get overly talkative and excited over small things at this age, and they can severely wear down a lesser individual. But I handle it with the same stoicism I use for anything else. Still, I’m not indifferent to the enthusiasm she puts into her every word, her every genuine, bubbly smile of manipulative innocence. No doubt some of her sister’s charms rubbed off on her. And the look in her eyes, showing a joy at being around me. From being around me. Well, it makes it a bit more enjoyable.

She gabs on with the endless list of possible activities as we stroll through the silent town, flaunting our couple status as worldly possible to the night. Certainly worse ways to spend one’s free time.

Ep3: Trap the Keeper

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“...And you are absolutely certain of this?”

“Most positive, Your Highness.”

A week has passed since my return from Appleloosa. No book thefts or late returns to speak of, resulting in complete uneventfulness. When things get slow like this, my work switches from hunting book hoarders to standing around looking imposing in the Librarium. As a princess of Equestria, Twilight took on nearly all the royal responsibilities that comes with the title, including the Day Court. During peacetime (ie downtime), it’s customary for the princess to have an audience with the common citizen, to provide aid and learn of the state of the empire from the viewpoint of the little guy.

Ponyville being as small and (seemingly) content as it is, there aren’t that many folks clamoring to have a word with their great protector. Sometimes a short schedule is arranged, but Twilight mainly has an open-door policy: if you got something to say, just walk in and spill it. Of course, this means lots of time where nothing happens at all, which leaves me standing around, bored out of my mind without breaking posture. On the bright side, I get off work earlier than usual during these times, meaning more time to partake in worthwhile hobbies, such as laying around, taking lonesome walks, jumping in the stream (finally got to do that sometime ago. Refreshing in a primal sense), spending time with Sweetie Belle, and reinforcing the armor on my mailbox (Pinkie had gone back to old methods of keeping my awareness sharp, so I have to be ready for a fifty percent chance of getting one of her “surprises” in the morning).

On this particular day, however, we’re graced with one interesting visitor: a royal agent.

“I have been keeping close watch over this for the past three weeks,” he says. “It’s all right there. Proof undeniable of a solo smuggling operation.”

While I’m the signature badass when it comes to carrying out the law of the princess, Equestria is still a big place. Plenty of offenses happening at any given time in every corner of the empire, so to keep in touch with the vein of criminal activity, Her Majesty employs dozens of lesser agents to serve as her eyes and ears amidst the populace. Keep tabs on book tracking records, survey circulation routes, investigate possible leads (most of them are bogus, or a miscalculation in rental period. Many an unwarranted head-bashing came as a result of such errors). Oftentimes, they’re the ones that alert the princess of wrongdoings that I would need to take care of. Mostly, though, the knowledge of their presence helps keep law-abiding citizens leery of any unlawful ventures.

Cross Track is a local surveyor, and one of the area’s most reliable. Intuitive, well-educated, a bit on the anxious side, but just about every one of his reports is dead-on. A good number of assignments around these parts came courtesy of him. Quite the achiever for a fairly average-looking earth pony.

“Are you sure it’s a solo operation?” Twilight asks with the expected uncertainty of a proper ruler, shifting the papers floating before her at the same time.

“Absolutely sure,” he says promptly. “If there were others, there would be more missing items. As it stands, each instance of a book disappearing happens in one place at a time, making this the work of one careful, cunning individual.”

Her Highness gives another look through the papers before lowering them. “And you located him just recently?”

“Yes, Your Highness. It took longer than I would have preferred, but considering where they are located, it’s not too surprising. About three miles down the road to the next town over there is a house on some old fairgrounds. I’ve been over to investigate and found it to be derelict, seemingly abandoned, and with the door locked. But witness reports and my own searching points to that one spot.”

He has a tendency to tap his hoof for emphasis at just the right parts. Can come off as obnoxious, but he knows how to space it out. The princess rubs her chin with a thoughtful hoof.

“Unusual choice for a hideaway, out in the open like that.”

“Result of desperation? I cannot say, Your Majesty,” Cross replies. “For all my experience out in the field, I know very little of how the criminal mind works, particularly for this type of crime. I wish I could provide more insight on where the sense is in it all.”

“That’s perfectly alright, Cross Track. You have put admirable effort in making this discovery. And since your opinion is deeply trusted within these walls, I shall see to arranging a more in-depth investigation of the premises this very day.”

“You humble me greatly, Your Highness.” Kneel, and back up again. “If I may be so bold, I would suggest having it done sometime after the sun has set. Provide the element of surprise, as it were.”

“Yes, that would be a very savvy approach. Swift, silent as the night.” Cross raises a hoof. “Hm?”

“If it is alright with Your Majesty, I wish to provide assistance as well. Specifically, perform reconnaissance around the area until the investigation party arrives.”

“Oh? You have done enough as is. There is no need to do anything further, or put yourself into unnecessary danger.”

“I insist. I familiarized myself with the area, so I can make sure that no traps have been placed, and see if my presence has given cause for suspicion to any unseen eyes.”

The princess nods. “Very well. The investigation shall commence at eight o’clock. Proceed with caution.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” A bow. “I shall be off, then.” He gets up, turns, and leaves quietly. Part of me sighs in relief that the stiff talk (sucking up) is over, but then that part straightens up for what’s next.

“Spike, you are to meet with Cross Track tonight and investigate this supposed smuggler hideout.”

“Of course, milady.” I’ve become so good at doing things solo, the princess learned early on that instead of sending out groups of ponies, operations such as this could be done more cheaply and with a higher success rate if left in the claws of a trained dragon. Of course it means I have to do the work of five, but I’ve managed so far (effortlessly, really. A pony on their own can’t do much on their own compared to something bred to literally move mountains [if need be]).

“It befuddles me why criminals continue to hide in such odd places,” she admits. “Or continue to break the law, for that matter. It’s not as though they’re difficult to uphold. The stipulations are outlined very clearly.” (upon pain of death otherwise)

“Desperation, as Cross Track mentioned? One can grow very attached to a good book, and putting a tight restriction on how long it can be lended can affect one’s judgment.” Which makes you wonder...

“Perhaps. Though they can always purchase them, granted they’re not rare. But at present, I’m entrusting you with determining if criminal activity is indeed ahoof, and take whatever action is necessary.”

“Understood,” I respond. “I will ensure that justice remains intact, and if it’s not, I’ll repair it swiftly.”

“As always, Spike?”

“Absolutely.”

Ep3

TRAP THE KEEPER

It made for a relaxing night-time stroll. The roads going in and out of Ponyville have never been busy even in the daytime, so they’re completely empty after the sun goes down. Full moon lights up everything like a bright fever dream, intense and at the same time surreal. There’s no wind, no sound of animals, or anything else other than my feet treading soil. Trees and grass on either side of me like some outdoor corridor, but they’re not tall so it’s a pleasant kind of enclosure.

Seeing the wide space of a plain some yards ahead approaching, I begin wondering who exactly would live in some old abandoned house. Maybe another old kook like Belljar. If it’s a crazy cat lady, I can only imagine the sort of hassle that would entail (please don’t let it be another crazy old pony. One a month is more than enough).

The open field is undoubtedly the fairgrounds; looks large enough to house a fair, at any rate. Wide space of emptiness all around, except to the far left, which is occupied by some large misshapen tumor of a structure, more blackened than the actual night. Naturally I start heading in that direction, but a fluttering at the tree line makes me pause. I look over, and amid the dark foliage stood out a vibrant lump of brown with large all-seeing eyes.

“What are you doing here?”

“Hoo,” he answers.

“The princess is doubting me this time?”

He shakes his head, then replies, “Hoo.”

“Personal hunch? I see. Well, it’s a free country, so whatever. Hey, this is probably going to be a small job, but if you stick around, you might get to see some fireworks. Places like this seem to go up whenever I stop by.” I look back to the structure and get back to walking. Owlowiscious does get around when he wants (but usually not in the same direction I’m heading...).

Eventually I get close enough to see the building for what it is. Looks like a dilapidated house alright, but it still seems a bit off (aside from the dilapidated part). Roof is tilted in weird places, window frames appear warped and different from one another (including colors), and I swear it was smiling at me through broken shingle teeth. A large sign hangs over the entrance, missing some letters, though the “F” is prominent in the low light. Cross did say this was a fairgrounds, after all.

At my right I spot the stallion, track shirt and all. He’s keeping low to the ground, and may come off as hard to see to anyone without night-vision like me. His head swivels in my direction, and spotting me, he ditches the stealth and trots over to me.

“Ah, Spike, a surprise to see you here,” he says. “I didn’t think you would be part of the investigation team.”

“I’m it.”

“Oh... very well. Then you’ll want some new details?”

“You got it.”

“Well, there are none. Nothing has gone in or come out for the past several hours. I might have missed it while I was making my way here. For all I know, they’re long gone without my noticing.”

“Don’t beat yourself up. I’ll be the one to decide if it’s a lost cause.”

“Very good, then. I’ll remain out here and watch the perimeter. If something’s amiss, I’ll come to your aid... or seek the princess’s aid, depending on just how amiss it is.”

“Thanks. I’ll see ya in a bit, Cross.” I head to the house, leaving Cross behind. Soon I reach the front of the house, and three steps up onto a rickety porch I find a large metal door best fit for a restaurant’s freezer. I look at the bits of rust around the corners, then look at the handle on the side. A grasp and jiggle show it’s firmly locked (more for decoration than actual use).

“Hrm, didn’t know what else to expect. Eh, no biggie.”

I place my claws over the side of the door with the handle, feeling for a crevice near the lock bolt before pulling out my sword. The blade goes into the space, and once packed in tight, I step back and stomp the hilt with my foot. Heavy metal grinds mournfully as the door opens inward. I take my sword (not even a nick. Count myself lucky), sheath it, then push my way inside.

Utterly dark. Even with my eyes I can’t make out anything aside from the space of flooring lit up by the moonlight (which is a little weird). I could go looking for a light switch, but instead I hold up a thumb and breath fire onto it. It catches, making an impromptu mini-torch (the little tricks I can do with dragon fire. You may think silly, or plain badass). The extra lighting does nothing, though; everything is as dark as when I first stepped inside.

“Something’s not right,” I mutter beneath my breath, looking at the dark corners. Figuring that standing here won’t get anything done, I step forward into the darkness. Once my foot falls into the black outside the moonlight, there is an immediate heavy slam behind me. I turn to find more darkness instead of the moonlight, and before I have time to mutter “Terrific...” there is the low rumbling of things coming to life. Suddenly lights flash up around the sides of the room, showing walls of black in a sickly greenish-white shade.

“Greetings, Vanguard.”

More lights flare up until an industrial light in the ceiling blinks on, showing me exactly what I’m standing in. Most of the walls are covered in some black metal, pretty thick-looking, and no signs of any doors around me. I see that the entrance is blocked by a particularly large slab of the stuff. In front of me is a raised structure, similar to the stairway in a mansion, minus the stairs. At the top “landing” is a high wall of glass.

“Welcome to your night of Judgment.”

Through the glare of the lights I make out a figure appearing through the glass, gazing down on me. Something short, equine-like.

“I take it you’re the owner of this place?” I shake out my lit thumb. “Not too pleasant a welcoming.”

“Why should it be, given the predicament you walked into?” the gravelly voice asks. “To think, the mighty Vanguard to Her Majesty, so blinded by duty, could fall into a trap so easily. It’s a bit disappointing, actually.” (damn it all...)

“Trap, huh? What about book smuggling?”

“A ruse I knew neither you nor your princess could pass up. A dabble of misinformation and some stolen articles to grab your attention. The articles have been sent away, so there’s no need to worry of them. However, rather than books, what I seek is you, Vanguard.”

“Heh, I’m touched. So what’s the occasion?” Gotta play it calm and cool. Always important from the get-go of entrapments to never give the captor cause for satisfaction.

“You should know very well the reason. Years of destruction and suffering created as you uphold your precious duties. It was only a matter of time before they would catch up to you.”

“Revenge. That’s all you had to say: revenge.”

“Your life will cease by night’s end, Vanguard. But before it does, you shall see the weight of your sins. Come, let me show your accommodations.”

The silhouette backs away, leaving nothing but glass. To my left, a section of wall slides up to reveal an open doorway. I have two choices: stay here, work my way up to the landing and break the glass, or tear my way back out (that metal doesn’t look too thick). Or, possible third choice... I could play along. I stand around for a moment, then shrug before heading in the direction of the doorway.

It’s been a long time since I got into this kind of situation. Everyone wised up after the first few failed attempts at a vendetta, so having this happen makes me curious as to this guy’s beef, and hence what swayed my decision (stupid though it may be). It has to be pretty personal if he's referring to me as Vanguard instead of Fetcher, and it’s not often someone shows the most lethal warrior in the land his sins. Hopefully it’s a well put-together display.

Through the doorway I step into a much smaller room, lit up only by a fake fireplace. From the furnishings it looks like one of those old-timey sitting rooms with the antiquated carpeting and portraits, though only frames hang on the walls, with tatters in their corners of what had occupied them. That glass from the last room is set in-wall over the fireplace. The center of the room has a table with three chairs, all of them taken up by pony corpses dressed in period piece outfits (including tophats and bonnets). The door behind me slams back into featureless wall (I’m in for it now). There’s a crackle from the upper corners of the room before the gravelly voice of my “host” comes on.

“I know how fond you are of walking, Vanguard. I would offer you a seat, but none appear to be available.”

I walk up to one of the stiffs, look over the vacant holes of its eyes, and give it a tap. It shakes with the dull rattle of plastic.

“Real cute,” I comment, just when I spot one of the badly-hidden speakers. “Some cheap scare is gonna show me the weight of my sins?”

“In due time you will see. But it’s important to remain patient, and not lose one’s head.”

Oh Crap is what I think when I hear the clanging. Immediately I roll backward and a split second later there is metallic snap. From my crouched position I see the closed bear trap on a cable dangling over where I had been. The thing is rusty as hell, and big enough that it chopped the head off the fake skeleton.

“An unpleasant surprise, wouldn’t you say? I’m sure many a quiet, peaceful dinner were disrupted by your ‘fetch quests’. Loved ones dragged away, or cut down before their families, regardless of there being children present or not. Do any of their eyes haunt you to this day, Vanguard?”

I have time to stand up and dust off before he resumes.

“Of course not, otherwise you would have abandoned your position long ago. No, it would take far more to upset you. Or, is there even anything remotely decent to upset?”

A doorway by the fireplace opens up as the ‘host’ goes silent. Does this guy think he’s clever? Trying to get under my scales and wear me down from the inside, fill me with doubt and paranoia and all those wondrous emotions that precede insanity. Pinkie and years of duty helped kill and rebuild that vulnerable part of my psyche into something fit for a proper Vanguard, Fetcher, whatever. Like I’m gonna crack from destroying a family or two, or a dozen. But that bear trap shows he’s more than just mind games. I raise my alertness accordingly as I go into Door #2.

A long black hallway is what I face. Utterly featureless, but lit enough from some glass sidings to enhance the blackness. I scan the walls. A nagging arises in my mind as I fail to find anything. I withdraw my sword and hold it to my side before proceeding at a cautious pace (dammit, he’s getting to me).

A yard goes by with nothing happening. Then another. Uneasiness sets in, scales hone to register every particle that brushes by. Can’t make out the end of the hall, way too much black on black. Without me realizing it, the place goes dead quiet. No breath, hardly a heartbeat. Walls closing in. A waft of air from my right, and suddenly a grey blur comes at me.

My blade swings up on impulse, severing the blur. Sound rushes back into the hall, the walls back off, and I regain my focus. I realize that I was accosted by another of those fake skeletons, popped out of the wall and carrying one of those novelty axes like you see in comics. On the ground before me is the thing’s head, grinning madly and giving an ancient artificial cackle, the sort that terrifies and delights the kids. As its lifeless gaze taunts me, that familiar crackle comes up.

“On edge already? How disappointing, but also fairly amusing.” (so much for not giving him satisfaction)

I bring my sword back to the side and ease up as he continues. Of course he’d have a front row seat through that glass. Adds to the paranoia factor (if I were actually paranoid).

“That deep-seated dread, that uncertainty to what’s around you, that fear of a sudden end. You imposed such feelings unto the masses when you took up that sword. Peace through intimidation and fear, yet fear realized through murder, sanctioned by royalty. Tell me: what kind of kingdom would enforce that kind of peace?”

The kind you don’t mess with.

“More cheap scares? I’m the one who should be disappointed,” I say before resuming my walk.

“Don’t be quick to judge, Vanguard. For like the poorly-veiled tyranny held sway over this land, the fear I bring is not without validation.”

Another of those wall skeletons shoots out ahead of me, driving a pike across the hall into the opposite wall. Immediately there’s a grinding noise above, and I throw myself at the embedded pike and vault it before something heavy smashes down behind me. I land in a crouch, claw pressed to the floor. A shifting feel alerts me to spring up before an array of spikes pop up beneath (seriously??). Mid-air, I catch a glint of something far ahead, and angle myself to avoid whatever sharp object’s (knife? Arrow? Spear?) headed my way.

I slam my claw into a wall and push myself further up the hall and away from the spike floor. I roll and spring up into a run, which gets me past two more of those wall skeletons that bring down two very large, very sharp, and very authentic axes. A wall of spikes drops down in front of me, and before I run myself into some extreme frontal acupuncture, my sword slashes up and gives me an opening. Past the wall I stop a moment, only for the floor to drop out under me.

In a split second there’s a sharp thunk as my sword sticks into the side of the pit (lucky it’s not metal-plated like the rest of the house). Dangling about two feet below the opening, I look down and see (surprise surprise) more spikes, except larger and more bunched together. One of those tiger traps I read about once, converted into a dragon trap (har). The spikes are still a good five feet down; idiot made this thing too damn deep is what I tell myself as I pull myself onto the edge of the hole. Not even two seconds of finishing that thought that I look up, then claw the floor in front of me and throw myself and my sword out onto level floor, just before a metal weight crashes down onto the pit.

Yeah, playing along had been a really stupid idea. I get enough of this crap from Pinkie, but to have someone else make me evade twitch-reflex deathtraps? Sure, the payoff means getting to live, but so far this guy hasn’t done a thing to wow me; only stating things I already know. I bet his motives are just as unimaginative. Can’t believe I let this stupid fun house make me nervous back there.

Things appear settled down as I climb over the weight (even has “1 TON” written on it. Like hell it’s that heavy). On the other side of the obstruction, the crackle comes back.

“Still alive; just what I’d expect from so seasoned an executioner. Proceed, for there is much more to show.”

I see a section of wall further down the hall slide up. With the way I came blocked off, I “proceed” into what will undoubtedly be more surprises.

And surprises indeed, because the first thing I notice in the next area is that it’s lit entirely by candlelight. Over a dozen of them. The next thing I notice is that nearly every inch of the walls and ceiling are covered in paper. Walking down the lengthy room, my eyes adjust and see the various sheets are covered with words, and just about every one of them has a picture, some of them in color. Stallions, mares, old and young. A good number of them are even familiar. And every one of them ripped straight from a newspaper. Obituaries to no end.

“Look upon the depth of your sins, Vanguard,” the gravelly voice reappears. “Every face a weight on your immortal soul. Constant reminders of the terror you bring to the public. Have you ever considered the lives they had led? The ponies that relied on them for companionship, for survival? Did the consequences of your fatal actions ever cross your mind before you cut them down, even as they begged you for their lives?”

Once. A very long time ago.

“So which of these belong to you?” I ask. I’m still miffed by the Hallway of Death, but may as well pump this guy for his backstory. See how seriously I should act when I have him under my foot.

“None. What you did to me is far, far worse than what you have wrought on everyone you see around you. Many of them were given a swift death, never having to face a life of misery and hopelessness, without a future or reason to go on living. The very life you imparted on me, Vanguard.”

The hidden speakers cut off as I start to think; what he said came off rather harsh. What exactly did I do to make his life so bad, supposedly? Let’s see: there were some destroyed families, some orphans, ruined businesses, the fear thing. I think there might have been a suicide or two way back, but only when they were on the run (I think). In any case, this makes my predicament a bit worse. If what he says is true, that he has nothing to live for, then he’s not gonna play around for long. These hopeless types (or at least think they’re hopeless types) will go all out for what they want. And it’s never pretty.

At the other end of the room is another wall opening. Stepping through, the wall slides down shut behind me, just as I take in my new surroundings. Turns out it’s only me. Dozens of me. A freakin’ damn mirror maze (terrific).

Never was good at these back when I went to carnivals. Always find myself moving slowly, bumping into glass unless I have my arms outstretched like a dork, which is precisely what I’m doing now. Feeling my way forward, I touch upon a corner, followed up by another turn. As I maneuver around my many selves, ol’ crackly comes up.

“You go by many titles. Royal servant; fierce warrior; heartless murderer; monster. But underneath all your years of regal tutelage, slaughter and pony upbringing, what is the real you? Which of these are but mere masks to your true self? Maybe you are so corrupted that they all represent you. Each one a part of your whole identity.”

Sheesh this guy loves the sound of his own voice (though it’s nothing to be impressed over). I make it to a straightway as he resumes.

“If one were to fracture or vanish, the whole would be in jeopardy. And you should know just how devastating a shattered identity can be.”

A deafening crash fills the air as the mirrors to my left shatter before a large, sharpened wooden battering ram. I sprint forward to get out of its way amid a hail of broken glass, but just ahead another battering ram smashes through more mirrors. Shards of glass start falling from the ceiling, and luckily I prevent myself from looking up and instead put my arms over my head. Through the cracked mirrors still standing I spot another battering ram swinging my way, and, to my chagrin, I roll away onto a floor covered in sharp glass fragments.

I feel the tips and edges pierce the back of my suit and prick my scales, but I’ve no time to gauge how deep since I’m too busy covering my face from the noisy hail of evisceration coming my way. As I’m steadily getting buried in glass, some of the shards manage to hit my shades before everything goes dark. Everything is completely still for a moment after silence returns to the room. I push away the glass over me and sit up to view the destruction. Not a mirror left standing, and three battering rams hanging around (don’t know if it’s me or Mr. Host who’s getting the bad luck). Certain that there’s no more glass coming down, I take a moment to remove my shades and look them over. Not a single scratch (damn fine magical reinforcement there, Twi). Suit didn’t fair as well, though: cuts and tears here and there. A few trickles of blood from the occasional nick, but not really worth noticing.

Gotta hand it to the guy. Murder by mirror maze? I’ll give him that, though he made that lame heads-up beforehand. Annoyingly Pinkie-like. Shades go back on as a section of wall at the other end of the room slides up.

“It is nearly done. Step through for your final judgment.”

Thank Celestia. I carefully stand up, keeping my feet below the shards, and drag them through the field of broken glass and through the doorway, to what’s supposedly the end of this “ordeal”.

Another small surprise, for I step through into the single largest room yet. Big enough to be a ballroom, but from the decor and furniture, it’s more a dining hall. Long table with tablecloth and silverware in place, adorned with a candelabra in the center next to one of those silver trays with a cover. A massive chandelier hangs from high above, crystals dangling and embedded in nearly every inch of it. There’s about sixteen chairs, and four of them at the head of the table are occupied. The food before them is fairly rotten, and judging by the extra heavy scent of decay, so are they. And they don’t look like props.

Each one is in some contorted pose of death: hunched over, stiffened straight, open mouths and blank gray eyes. To my left, the brown one at the head of the table I quickly recognize as Cross, even without his trademark track shirt. Doesn’t look recently deceased though, what with the sunken eyes, withered skin and the bones showing through. Actually, apart from the obvious stab wounds or strangulation marks, they all seem to have sucked dry. Not even a speck of blood on them. Come to think of it, they all look kinda familiar apart from Cross...

Far behind the former Cross is a high wall, at the top of which is another sheet of thick glass through which I see that silhouette from so long ago.

“And so the feast of carnage comes to an end,” he says, unaided by crappy speakers. “Death is all your life has become. You exact death, on both lives and livelihoods. And those foolish enough to ally with you are also subject to the death you bring. But every reaper must be reaped themselves at some point. Years into the future, or instantaneously, it’s the same no matter who or what you are. This is your crypt, Vanguard. I say it’s rather suiting for you.”

“It’s okay,” I shrug nonchalantly. “So will you be showing yourself before I take the big nap, or you gonna at least tell me precisely what I did to deserve such gracious treatment?”

“Bravado will not save you from this,” he answers in a tone more grave than gravelly. “No, you will receive no explanation. This will be your final torment in the little time you have left: not knowing what wrong, of the countless many you’ve committed, brought this on you. Just know that this was a long time coming, and you deserve every agonizing moment of its culmination.”

Noise begins to fill the room, unseen gears tumbling about, locking into place and getting primed. Something massive in motion, but every surface in the dining hall is completely still. Not for long.

“Farewell, Vanguard.”

Instantly the section of floor to my left explodes as something with metallic teeth erupts and snaps shut. The nightmare bear trap retracts back into the floor, and feeling the slight rumble through my feet, I turn and sprint to the right just before it springs up, devouring more floor. I keep running, but as I near the other end of the table, I notice the wooden shrapnel flying up from the other side and look to see the teeth of another one trap. Theoretically, from the way these things are moving, I could just run for the very end of the table and let them pass, but given this guy’s penchant for pitfalls and spikes, that thought left my mind. I leap onto the table instead.

For the moment it seems I escaped becoming lunchmeat, right when a wooden pike shoots up through the table, about an inch from my crotch (CELESTIA BEJIMMINY DAMN!). I hop over to my left, but hop again as another pike bursts upward from the table. I’m hopping from one foot to the other as more sharpened wood seeks to make a kebab outta me, and passing by the tray and lid, a pike shoots up under it, knocking it aside and sending a severed stallion head flying (real classy). On either side of the table the industrial-sized bear traps are following along with me, snapping up remainders of floor, hungry for dragon meat.

I’m down to the last square foot of table in front of Cross’ corpse, and the last pike smashes up the table, sending me to the floor and knocking Cross and his chair back. There’s a shrrink sound, and I look over to see a bed of spikes have pierced through Cross’ head (seriously, that’s plain distasteful). Spikes on one side, a row of pikes blocking the other, and two bear traps in front in back. There isn’t a moment to formulate an escape strategy when the sound of a catch releasing silences everything else in the room. Regrettably, I look up and see, coming straight at me, about ten feet of sharpened steel pendulum, looking to make a point with the new “head” of the table.

The sound of another catch releasing mutes the roar of impending death, just before the pendulum stops midswing and plummets onto the gnashing bear trap in front of me, crushing it into pieces in the loudest, most ludicrously destructive way possible.

“What?!” Mr. Gravelthroat yells, right when a heavy fluttering fills the air. I catch the ball of brown circling overhead before it settles on the chandelier, a metal bolt of some kind clasped in his beak as he looks down at me. That’s one other thing about Owlowiscious: he’s as good a tinkerer as he is a listener. Rather than question exactly how he got into this fortified deathtrap, I just laugh.

“Some hell of a hunch, huh Owli?”

He spits out the bolt to reply with a casual “Hoo.” The hidden sounds from earlier begin filling up the sides of the room again.

“Enough distraction. Prepare to die!”

A displacement of air above tips me to jump forward before a massive iron ball squashes me. I land on all fours amid torn metal, cutting a claw on a sharp bit. Quickly I make time to swear under my breath and suck at it before leaping back into action. Panels along the walls flip open, and I head toward the center of the room to draw my sword. From a panel in front of me, a line of arrows are let loose, which are swiftly cut from the air. Two more lines of arrows come at me and they’re dispatched just as swiftly, but my focus snaps when two arrows pass by my sides and plunk into the wall before me. Owlowiscious swoops by my gaze a moment later, a single arrow held firm in his talons as he gives me a wink. Cheeky owl.

Heavier rumbling emanates from the upper seams of the room before flipping open to reveal several freakin’ massive ballistas stuffed into the woodwork, each locked and loaded (bringing out the big guns I see). One fires off a loud bolt, which hits and tears up the floor to my left. I start hopping back as more bolts are fired, bringing myself back toward the middle of the ruined table as floorspace and pikes get destroyed by the onslaught. I’m at center table when the rounds are spent, but a rattling turns my gaze upward toward the chandelier, and I leap and roll onto splintered flooring just as the ceiling-piece drops down in a nasty crash.

I add wood bits and moldy hair to my growing list of suit ruiners (one of the stiffs cushioned my fall) as I get back up, and looking over I see the chandelier shake before moving around a few inches in a small circle. It picks up speed, but I’m heading for the far edge of the room before its circle widens by a few feet, smashing pikes and whatever’s left of the table. A burst of speed in the midst of a revolution sends the chandelier right at me, forcing me to duck and leap just before it smashes into the wall behind me. Bastard went and installed a damn wrecking ball (a very crude one at that).

The collision halts the chandelier, but the extended chain holding it pulls away, swinging the chandelier back for another go. I run from its second impact, slide to avoid the third, and double-back when I remember that the other side of the room still has a bear trap going for me. Dust and mold fill the air from the chandelier’s failed strikes, and the ornament of mass destruction retracts upward and starts spinning around again. More heavy rattling as its chain releases and sends it plummeting right at me, but its slow enough to allow me to pull a sweet backflip (might’ve gotten another splinter on the way. Starting to hate this hardwood flooring).

The chandelier starts dragging across the floor as the chain retracts, but I run and hop onto it before it gets airborne. Apparently my host isn’t pleased about that, because immediately the chandelier starts swinging wildly. Figured the safest place at this point would be the wrecking ball itself, and he looks to be correcting that.

“Submit to judgment and Die already!”

Every smash into a wall knocks more dust and wood around, and I shake violently each time. My grip stays firm throughout, though. Just need to think of something before this thing angles properly to smear me across the walls. Inspiration strikes when I see Owlowiscious resting at the spot where the chain meets with the frame of the chandelier. With everything coming down around us, we nod to each other and get to work.

In the moment between swings, I draw my sword and run my palm along the edge, wrapping it to make sure there’s an even coating just before the chandelier hits another wall. I lose my balance but grab hold of some metal before I fall off. I’m now looking in the direction of the back wall, and the chandelier swings around to line me up. I look up quickly at Owli, who’s got a talon down on something.

“At the ready,” I say over groaning metal, to which he acknowledges with a “Hoo Hoo!”. As the chandelier begins to swing, I bring up my sword and start letting out flame, muttering the incantation as much as I can through the heat. Thing’s picking up speed, wall’s getting closer, gotta hurry. Midway over the room and the length of the sword is radiant with fire. I prime it as the wall speeds toward me. Better time this right.

“Malachite Piston!”

A yard before point of contact, my sword is driven into the wall and creates a green kinetic blast that sends us going the other way, high velocity. A split second after, I push off from the chandelier and fall to the ground in a crouch. Everything seems to have worked out, because there is the sound of crushing metal, breaking wall and shattering glass, all rolled into one calamitous din. A few bits of metal bounce past me, and when the ringing in my ears stop and the world stops spinning, I slowly stand back up. Looking around, I see that the chandelier is nothing but scrap metal, having blasted a jagged hole through the observing glass and getting embedded into the wall beneath.

The bear trap on the other side of the room has stopped, so that’s added relief. Owlowiscious flutters down onto a chair that miraculously survived the mayhem intact (unlike just about everything else), dropping the bolt he took from the chandelier.

“Great work up there,” I tell him.

“Hoo.”

“Credit where credit is due, man. Sorry there weren’t any fireworks.”

“Hoo.”

“Yeah, I bet. So what told you things were sour? Your hunch couldn’t have been that good.”

“Hoo. Hoo.” Well, there’s a shocker.

“Snuck in through the back, you say?” He nods. “I suppose that would seem suspicious. Yet I don’t think it’s as cut-and-dry as that.”

Owli shrugs before giving a neutral “Hoo”. I look over to the smashed observation window, letting a pause settle between us. Then I say, “Go inform Her Majesty we got some agents KIA.” I hold my sword out to the side. “I’m gonna finish things up here.”

He nods, then flies off to wherever it was he came from (should ask him about that later). Alone, I hurry over, hop up, and climb the wreckage through the jagged hole in the window. A crushed console gives off some random sparks beneath the scrap pile within; that would explain the bear trap not moving around. Hopping down onto the floor of the observation room, I take two steps and immediately come upon my oh so generous host, lying against a wall.

It’s Cross Track, track shirt and all, just like Owlowiscious said. But something’s off: parts of his fur flicker from brown to black, and his eyes, full of pain and unfathomable hate, switch from atypical to dull, pupil-less blue. He’s clutching a gash on his chest, no doubt caused by some shrapnel. My head might still be reeling from the chandelier ride (or maybe I don’t want to believe it), but all I’m seeing is green.

“Thwarted by an owl. And just when I had you,” he says in a raspy, insect-like voice (voice modifier, or...).

Instead of making a snappy remark, I point my sword down at him and give his chest a light poke, which he barely flinches at (too weak to). Some of the green collects on the tip, and I bring it up and give take a whiff. There’s no question. A scent like this you can’t forget, especially after being covered in seeming gallons of it.

“This night really is full of surprises,” I mutter aloud, and in a flicker of green “Cross” reveals his true self. Beneath the blood-stained shirt it’s nothing but black chitin, perforated horn and fangs. Pure Changeling, alright.

“At last, the criminal sees the damning evidence,” he/she/it says, trying to sneer through its pain. “No point in answering your earlier questions as to ‘why’, just by looking at me. Heh, a nightmare you thought you had gotten over, wouldn’t you say, Vanguard?”

“Not really,” I put it bluntly. “So how many more are there waiting to ambush me?”

“None. I’m all that’s left.” He/she/it spits out some blood. “There were only a few of us at first. Some like myself were elsewhere during the attack, but a few managed to escape with some eggs. None were queens, though. And they died shortly after hatching. Those who were left, most had allowed themselves to be hunted down. A few even took their own lives to avoid an existence without guidance. Only I had the strongest desire for revenge to stay alive. Years of surviving, observing, planning. Scavenging from the shadows to keep my body functional, in the hope that the destroyer of my kind meets his end by the hoof of one of his victims. It was to finally come to fruition this night...”

“But it didn’t work out quite that way, huh?” The Changeling hisses in some breaths as he shoots an extra vicious glare at me.

“Blessed by a vile goddess is what you are. Possessed with damned wretched demonic luck! You needed to die, after all you did to me! To everyone I ever knew in my life! Gone because of your murderous steel!”

“...You brought it upon yourselves.”

“Siiiiiish, but that’s how it works, doesn’t it? Violence begets violence; an eye for an eye. For every revenge, another follows that is far worse. We did as our queen wished; her will was our life. But you took that away, and subsequently denied me the ability to bring about the full despair you deserve. I could only take satisfaction in simply killing you, when I should be destroying all you’ve built your life around... Which is exactly what you had done. Or was it just merely a pest problem to you and your miserable ponies?”

Memories beg to spring to the forefront of my thoughts, but I hold them back. Doesn’t prevent a glimmer from slipping through, though. Things like that you can’t suppress completely, even if it’s something that was wholly justified. The Changeling props itself up the wall more for a straighter sitting position, its breath becoming more haggard.

“So, what will you do now? Deliver me to your princess? The last Changeling alive: oh what secrets I hold. I’ve seen what your masters do with creatures different from themselves. There’ll be no trial, no sanctioned prison sentence. You’ll cut and stab and shock me like all the other wildlife that’s a nuisance to you. Manticores, cockatrices, parasprites. Hydras are extinct because of your ‘scientific endeavor’. But you do it out of fear.” A smile starts to form on his none-lips. “You’re all lousy with it. I’ve seen it, smelled it, every day I’ve been in your society. No one ever feels truly safe until the ‘monsters’ of the world are gone. Which is what will happen after your researchers have had their way with me.”

Its strained breathing is the only sound between us, as we look each other eye to eye. I shift my eyes over to my sword, then bring my other claw to the hilt. The Changeling’s smile becomes a smug sneer.

“Ohhh, I see. That’s the reason you came out here to begin with: not to capture, but to kill.” It points to me with a shaky limb. “Doing precisely what your precious princess told you. Just like the eternally loyal dog that you are.”

Sword raised over my head. I stare extra hard this time.

“I’m no dog. I’m a dragon.”

One slice and it’s just a twitching carapace and a streak of blood on the wall. The sparks from the destroyed console had stopped; just me, silence, and recent death. My nostrils take in that unique but familiar smell, all of it, for the very last time. This moment’s far heavier than most, and I let it sink in.

There’s no denying what it said. Certain creatures had been dealt with as society expanded. Some suffered more than others as their numbers dwindled to nothing.

But that’s how you make a civilized world safe: keep the wild element in check. At whatever cost.

TRAP THE KEEPER
end

*Funhouse of Penance belongs to all respective parties.

Interim 3

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Interim 3

Everything is still, save for the two of us. The day’s warmth complements ours as I keep hold of her, working my tongue slowly over hers. Sweetie’s still a bit inexperienced, but she’s able to keep up with the motions in her mouth. One claw goes down alongside her dress as I press her into the wall, which elicits a soft moan from her throat. I remove my mouth to give her a chance to breath.

“Don’t stop,” she begs quietly, reeling from the kiss.

“Not gonna,” I tell her quietly before planting my mouth back on hers. She continues moaning over our tongues; that bodily shudder from each one just makes it more arousing. My other claw reaches up and starts weaving through her fluffy mane. Soft and firm as cotton. I withdraw my mouth from hers and give her mane a sniff. Smells so much like her sister. My mouth waters a little.

“Please, Spike...”

“You like it, you slut?”

“Yes, yes...”

I sniff down her head before I begin nibbling at her neck. She moans louder. So easy to please.

“Getting loud there. You want to get caught?”

“I-it’s fine, I don’t care. I just want you.” Certainly the wild child: gives a lot and asks for little. May as well give her what she wants.

I bring my mouth back up to hers, as the claw on her dress begins working its way down. Down along her subtle curves, over the ruffles of her skirt. I begin to feel her upper thigh through those fishnet stockings. She gasps, trying to keep it together as I kiss her cheek and breath down her neck. Slowly, very slowly it moves to the front. Very close to that sweet spot. She’s about to lose it. Flex my claws, get them limber for what’s ahead. Almost there...

“All aboard for Canterlot! Last boarding call for Caaaanterlot!!”

I stop everything, then pull back my head and look over my shoulder. Guess I took it a bit too slow. Ah well. I look back to Sweetie, who’s opened her eyes with a dazed, semi-enraptured look.

“Seems time’s up, babe.” I pull back my arms and let her drop back onto all fours. Now her look is that of a whimpering puppy that’s been denied a treat inches from its mouth.

“Ohhhh, right now? But I was nearly there.” I simply smile at that begging tone of hers.

“I’d love to finish up, but I wouldn’t want to miss my train.”

She gives a pouty sigh. “Okay. But we’re picking up where we stopped as a ‘welcome back’ present.”

“Back here?”

“Nooo, you silly!” I shrug, now with a sly grin on my face.

“Heh, you seemed alright with it.” I turn around (missing whatever silly cute face she’s making) and leave the shadow of the shed. Stepping out back into noon sunlight, I look ahead to my left and see the train at the platform, taking on passengers amid baggage and small talk. I quicken my pace and get up to the platform, and soon I’m onboard with no one the wiser of where I’ve been (like they have any reason to care).

It’s been three days since the matter of the Changeling. A sweep of the rest of its lair didn’t turn up any books, but I did find two more dead agents. No doubt used their identities to move around in broad daylight, maybe even used as sustenance. Easy thing to do when you’re a shapeshifter these days. Being years since the last Changeling sighting, there wasn’t any point in keeping up detector spells anywhere.

Her Highness took the report well enough, though a bit disappointed that I couldn’t bring in the last living Changeling... well, alive. But she lived with it on the grounds of “better safe than sorry”, and like that, it’s back to routine. No fuss, no hooplah. Just another assignment well done. Though Owlowiscious did get himself a fancy new inkwell and set of quills for his assistance, along with a new journal. He was rather pleased with the reward (didn’t think his eyes could get bigger than they already are).

Currently I’m enroute to Canterlot for more royal business, with an emphasis on the “royal” part. Every few months, the Ruling Princesses get together to discuss matters of national concern (or chat and have tea when there isn’t any). Twilight’s busy finding new agents to replace Cross and the others, so she entrusted me to meet the Ruling Sisters in her stead. Bet it’ll just be a quick meet-and-greet, say that all is well and so on. Probably be back in Ponyville by nightfall; it’s not exactly far away.

Sweetie tagged along with me to the station, dropping hints about how it’s been awhile since we got intimate, how it’d be a good way to kill the time. I was bored, figured it had been long enough for both of us, took her near the maintenance shed and... well, you know the rest. Invigorating to do that sort of thing every now and then, and the good thing about small communities like Ponyville is that everyone minds their own damn business (even to the point of blind denial). And Sweetie just loves it.

An uneventful hour goes by before we reach Canterlot: capital city to Equestria and its seat of power. The crowning achievement of tradition and modernization, set high into the side of one of this great land’s magnificent mountains in view of all it commands (if that isn’t an apt metaphor, I don’t know what is). In a few minutes the train pulls up into the station, and some jostling through the crowd on the platform afterward gets me into the mayhem of the city proper. If anything’s changed about Canterlot the past eight years, it’s that there are a lot more things walking around: ponies, griffons, Diamond Dogs, even buffalo and some cows. Rise in population gave cause for more safety precautions, namely the appearance of more city patrols and the posting of guards at certain intersections to uphold order. It didn’t take long for the citizens to get used to having a city guard on every street corner as time went by. Funny how alright, even blase, they are with that creeping authoritarian presence. But then again, most of them are well-off with big city money, so what’s the worry?

The market stalls near the station are as lively as I remember: merchants hocking gifts to tourists and little amenities to the locals. Peddlers both local and foreign advertising wares and gourmet goods from around the world. I could wax on about how this small portion of the city is the very living definition of life in a truly upscale, civilized world made possible through Order, but you didn’t come here for social commentary. Also, that interruption with Sweetie and the boring train ride has made me a bit cranky. With that said, I leave that microcosm of the modern world with claws in pockets, stepping onto the sidewalk of one of the streets leading to the palace. Given the abundance of ponies going about and the occasional cart passing by to halt pedestrian flow, getting there is going to take a while. More crankiness to ensue.

I take a moment to look up as the multicolored hues of the populace pass around me. Everything a dull white and purple scheme, gilded corners, and of course banners. Banners hanging from just about everything. I suppose it’s a show of patriotism and Canterlot culture, but I can never understand the need for so many freakin’ banners unless there’s a parade... or a coronation. Should count myself lucky that isn’t the case for today.

There’s a lapse in crowd density as I get toward the middle of the city. I take a turn toward the outer edge of the city to keep things light. Here the blue brilliance of the sky goes mostly unobstructed, with more open ground. Some of the quainter shops I go by on this route, the ones selling quality quills and antiques and baked goods (because everywhere in Equestria there’s a bakery. Its inclusion in town ordinances is practically mandated). Even see some griffons going by, and Diamond Dog laborers. If you got the money or the labor skills, then you’re more than welcome to hop into this wonderful little melting pot that’s the city (seems I’m doing social commentary on the subconscious level. My apologies, everyone).

I’m past a furniture store when I detect something out of place, very close. I eye upwards, then notice something popping in and out of my peripheral. I turn my head down and see a griffon the size of a small dog hopping and keeping pace alongside me. He’s wearing an orange ball cap, with eyes full of some immense excitement. I just look at him as he jumps up and down, not slowing down.

“Uh, hey there?” I greet cautiously.

“Are you Spike? Like, the Fetcher Spike, works-for-the-princess Spike, THE Spike?” His speech is about as jumpy as the rest of his body.

“Yeah, I’m Spike.” Eyes widen and beak makes an even more rapturous gape. Getting a bad feeling about this.

“Oh man, I knew it was you! I could spot you a mile away, though really it was across the street, but I got it right still!”

“Great work, kid. Exactly what tipped you off?” Clearly sarcasm is unknown to this bundle of feathers and claws. Also grumpiness.

“Someone as cool as you is hard to miss! I mean, I can’t believe it, finding you while I’m just walking around, I mean, it’s awesome, amazing awesome!”

“Hey kid, could you tone it down? I get the enthusiasm.” Seems yappy half-pints are commonplace, because hardly anyone looks at this scene of odd-assery.

“Yeah, okay. But I also knew it was you cuz I saw you live in person.”

“Is that a fact?” Crap, I’m engaging in conversation with him. The worst possible thing you could do with yourself in the company of a hyped-up child, no matter what species.

“Yeah! You came and saved our school last year, all by yourself. Me and just about everyone there got to see you, but I’m the one talking to you right now. My friends are gonna be soooo jealous when I tell them. They might not even believe me.”

There was only one school job last year. A pencil-pusher in Manehatten with a deep obsession for crime dramas took some Molotov Cocktails and held an elementary school hostage, demanding renewal of his library card. A fairly impressive feat, considering he was a rather scrawny, twitchy earth pony. Since I was tasked with slapping a restraining order on him at the time, I was naturally in pursuit. “Oh yeah, I think I remember seeing you. Kinda.”

“It was crazy, and all the teachers were scared, but you swung in and saved the day. It was so awesome how fast you did it!”

“I wouldn’t say awesome, only necessary.” Well, maybe not entirely necessary. Basically the matter was resolved through some precise dismemberment and good ol’ poetic justice. Smart thing it got taken care of on the roof; saved those kids some extra crispy nightmares (except for the smell...).

Kid is still hopping by me. What did he eat today?

“Are you gonna stop anytime soon? I’m getting nauseous looking at you.” Finally a look of humility on his eager face.

“Sorry,” he says after settling on all fours. He looks back up at me a slight bit more humble. “I’m George by the way, but I like being called Georgie. It’s more neat, and funny too. At least I think so.”

Don’t see why. Yeah, there’s something wrong with this kid. Better be civil anyway; no faster way to quell childlike wonderment than with mundane discussion. “What brings you to Canterlot?”

“Shopping for my mom. She owns a rug store and she’s getting fabric and stuff to make them with. Dad is a manager at a shipping company, just fills out paperwork, pretty boring stuff. At least with rugs there’s a lot of nice colors instead of moldy walls and desks.”

Holy crap kid, breath! Although, what he says piques my interest. “Your mom’s name wouldn’t happen to be Gilda, would it?”

The impassable look of the confused. “...Noooooo.”

I only know a bit about Gilda, and it’s been years since her name was mentioned around town. The kid seems the right age, though (sorry for trying to find something interesting to share with the squirt).

“Don’t suppose you have a sister with that name either?” I press on, against better judgment.

“I’m getting a baby sister in a few weeks, or maybe a baby brother. I don’t know if their name would be Gilda if it’s a girl. Maybe Gloria, that’s a pretty name. Or Ginger, cuz it’s silly like Georgie is. Actually, to be honest, I’m a bit nervous about it. It’s a long way away, but mom’s talking about responsibilities and behaving myself while dad—”

The front outer wall of the palace comes into sight while the kid blathers on. Doesn’t look like he’ll be done soon, whatever it is he’s talking about.

“Sorry kid, but I really need to go,” I cut him off. His face goes from moderately concerned back to somewhat quelled excitement.

“Go? Go where?”

“Where royal duties call.”

“Oh. Can I come along?” Oh give me a break here.

“Royal personnel only, kid. Also, wouldn’t want your mom getting worried would you?”

“It’s okay. She takes forever looking for the best stuff, that’s how I got away to begin with. Real sneaky, right?” Yeah, and also getting to be a real pain. Idea strikes.

“Tell you what: when I’m done with my duties and if you find me afterward, we can continue our chat.”

“Really?” Those glistening eyes of hope and joy, I’m getting flashbacks to what Sweetie used to pull around Rarity. It’s despicable.

“Sure. Don’t know how long it’ll be, though.”

“Okay, I’ll just wait around for you to get back.” With that, he turns and skips away back into the crowd. Aside from the Cake twins, I don’t really spend much time around kids, and generally I can tolerate them. And I have nothing against griffons as a whole. After my first tenure of Vanguard training, my sword was given an upgrade by a griffon smithy. They make good steel.

As for the kid, he ain’t bad, but he talks waaaay too much. The sort of quality that promotes the practice of safe sex. Mind drifts to me and Sweetie Belle’s safe practices, then it drifts further to how she would handle being preg—GAAAAAH back to work back to work!

Pedestrians practically vanish when I get within a hundred yards of the palace gate, which is as big and glaring white as ever. I’m stopped at the gilded wooden door by the gold-plated guardponies. Helmets have those blue hair-like tufts I keep forgetting what they’re called (at least they’re not plume feathers).

“State your name and business,” says the big palooka of an earth pony. No fooling with these guys; that tone means serious business.

“Spike, here to see the Princesses.” A unicorn by the gatehouse flips through a clipboard before looking up and giving his partner a nod.

“Entry granted.” The big guy steps aside as the gate parts way inward. The royal lawn looks fresh cut and blindingly green, only scathed by the occasional squad of soldiers running laps. Making my way up the stairs into the palace proper, I pass some posted guards, two of them giving me a salute. Fresh meat. I nod in passing. Over the plush flooring of the entry hall, up some more stairs, pass by endless high windows, and after three lengthy hallways I make it to outside the throne room. Some guards perform a security check, confiscate my sword (decorum), and I’m finally let in to meet the Ruling Sisters of Equestria.

Actually, I still have the full length of the throne room to cross before I get to them. It’s ever grandiose and expansive, with that mix of white and purple and high-vaulted ceiling. The sides of the room are shaded in different colors by the sunlight coming through the various stained glass windows featuring some of Equestria’s finest moments. I allow myself to look in the direction of the one starring me with the Crystal Heart. Yeesh, I look like a dope, holding up something about the same size as me. My first big spectacular hero moment right there (except for that invasion of cockatrices a few months before that. Funny how no one ever brings that up).

Finally I make it up to the dual thrones, and there, seated in her tall golden seat of power, is Princess of the Sun, Celestia. Doesn’t look to have aged a day since I started working (what’s eight years to a goddess anyway?), regal and grand and glowing ivory white, with that glorious sun emblazoned on her wide flank for all to see. And of course, her sparkly mint-flavored mane (I assume that’s its flavor) in perpetual breeziness. The glow of her pristine fur is all I can see, because I noticed there’s nothing darker to contrast with it next to her (that’s a fancy way of saying the other throne’s empty).

Her godly gaze turns to me. “Greetings, Spike. It has been a while.” Voice as soft and warm as a silken sweater. And just as mildly stiff. I kneel before her, head bowed (she’s my boss’ superior, after all).

“Salutations, Princess Celestia.” Gotta play the humble card, even if I’ve known her about as long as Twilight.

“Ahhh, the Infamous Fetcher graces us with his presence, haha.”

Oh brother, him? I look up, and materializing in the air over Celestia is the mismatch of animal parts and chaos that is Discord. It’s been years since Fluttershy reformed him, and to everyone’s surprise he stuck to it, being good and non-destructive. Which essentially amounted to him just bopping around the castle, making random mischief and generally being bored (I assume). On rare occasions he visits Flutters, but it's generally brief (good to know Celestia's got a leash on him). I don’t have the fondest memories of him from the old days, but our relations aren’t exactly hostile. It’s just I find him annoying most of the time and he likes to rub it in every chance he gets (hence my earlier assumption). Really don’t want to put up with his nonsense today.

“How has your day fared so far, Spike?” Celestia asks, just as Discord wraps his whole body around her like a constrictor. Guess eight years is enough time to grow indifferent to his antics.

“Yes, committed any random acts of violence to get yourself awake?” Discord adds, resting his lion and bird arms on Celestia’s mane. “As I recall, you’ve never been much of an early bird, even at midday. Or was that when you were still teeny tiny? Eh, I forget little details like that.”

Be calm, Spike; get this over with. Celestia nods, giving me the signal to get back on my feet.

“My day has been fair, Your Highness.”

“That is good to know,” Her Majesty replies. “Please forgive the absence of my sister. Luna has been under the weather as of recent.”

“Mm-yes, quite under the weather I would suspect,” Discord says while wearing a top hat and monocle, sipping from a dainty teacup with a forced accent. “Specifically, your weather, dear Celestia. Too much sunshine this past week. I’ve always told you the sun isn’t very good for the girl, what with her being the embodiment of night and everything. But you already knew that.”

Celestia takes that bit of chiding with a firm “hmph”. The Princess of the Moon has always been the more serious of the two, so it’s understandable she’d wear herself out and be in need of a rest (or maybe she doesn’t want to have anything to do with Princess Twilight today. That’s also probable).

“How fares Twilight Sparkle?”

“She is well, Your Highness, as is the rest of Ponyville. Everything is operating smoothly, and she is in the midst of finding new agents to replace the ones recently lost.”

“The control freak she is, I bet things would be operating smoothly, or ELSE, hahahaha,” quips Discord, who’s become a furry hat on Celestia’s head.

“I understand that was due to a Changeling, if I am correct.”

“Indeed it was, Your Highness. The last of its kind.”

“You are certain of this?” Celestia asks, now sporting a thick Discord-for-a-beard.

“Definitely. Changelings only work in groups, or at least never alone. The one in question was solely out for revenge toward me.”

“Well it’s about time somepony got around to giving you your comeuppance,” slithers Discord as he circles around my legs. “Someone as bad as yourself needs to be punished at some point.” He pops down from the air next. “Oh you know I kid, don’t try pretending to be all stoic-like.” Now he’s looming over my shoulder, a paw on my suit (don’t react, don’t react). “Changelings are simply the worst kinds of fighters around, deadly in numbers and when it comes to sneaking, sure, but they’re frail like plywood in a real scuffle.”

Discord blinks up to the top of a newly-formed diving platform, covered in all kinds of swimwear and gear. “I do feel sorry for that Chrysalis: she really had no other strategy other than infiltrate and invade from within, which has been proven to never work out so well. Just shows she wouldn’t have cut it as a good overlord.” He springs off the board and dives into the space before the vacant throne, which lets off a watery splash before Discord rises back up in a smug sitting position. Celestia finally gives him a firm look for his actions, and he takes notice.

“Oh, this reserved? My mistake.” He springs up from the throne and goes to stand by Celestia’s side. Ugh, I beg that he finally settled down.

“In any case,” Celestia resumes, not missing a beat. “The matter was handled expertly, as Twilight put it in her report. She is lucky to have one as capable as yourself serving her. Or rather, fated to be lucky to have someone like yourself.”

I give a slight bow. “You’re too kind, Your Highness.” I glance up through my shades to catch Discord making gagging motions, which he quickly hides to act innocent. Celestia lifts a hoof, and I straighten myself.

“As for things in Canterlot, they are going by just as smoothly, for the most part.” She rubs her chin. “Things are slowly but surely becoming busy with the Summer Sun Celebration only two months away. Getting everything organized will be exhausting as the day draws nearer, even with the help of Twilight. Luna plans to make the night especially brilliant for this year as well.”

“While I get the honor of making sure nothing chaotic happens during the ceremony. Well, anything that isn’t my doing, haha.” The old goat slaps his scaly knee.

“Otherwise, all is well,” Celestia continues. “And since all seems to be alright, I say we can end this meeting early.” Celestia tilts her head. “I would offer you some tea, but I suspect you would like to return to Ponyville right away.”

“Indeed, Your Highness.” I make another short bow. “I’ll deliver your best wishes to Twilight, and pray that Luna feels better soon.”

“That’s most considerate of you, Spike. You may go now.” As I turn around to leave Her Majesty’s presence, I notice Discord looking sickened by the proceedings (yeah, it’s kinda droll, but it’s routine). I get back out in the hall, the guards give back my sword, I nod them a “good work”, make my way back through winding halls and stairs, and soon enough I’m back into the bustle of the castle town.

Things around here had grown more political over the years, seemingly in-synch with Twilight’s adjustment to royal duty. Sure, Canterlot appears like a glimmering gem befitting any fairy tale, but the ones who make it run are anything but whimsical nowadays. With her student all grown up and an equal, doing her own thing in her own town, Celestia has made herself more reserved, focused on making the city operate like clockwork rather than staying in touch with her subjects on a personal level. This transition has gone over fine with Twilight, though, given how she’s spent her early years of immortality making herself into a just and fair ruler (air quote if necessary). Get-togethers between them are more or less sucked of the warmth they used to have, becoming as pleasant as a breakfast shared between two groggy roommates before going to their separate jobs.

Then there’s Luna. Never been a big fan of Twilight ascending to godhood, and she’s been showing more and more contempt with each passing year. Started off with mildly stern tones, then actual sternness, and at times actual scoffiness with a pinch of scorn. She managed to hide it under a cool attitude, but the last few meet-ups I’ve been to, she’s let her dissatisfaction slip through. There’s also the little acts of defiance, namely in the infrequency of her Night Courts, and making it full moon all the time. From what I've heard on the Canterlot grapevine, she's seen little and speaks even less. The result of jealousy over a younger princess taking attention from her? Moody about playing second fiddle for the umptenth time? Or maybe the years of being the more serious of the two sisters is finally wearing on her. Celestia might be right: she may need some rest.

Speaking of, there’s still an hour or so before my train arrives, meaning there’s time to kill. And in the happenin’ capital of the most prosperous nation in the world (or so the propaganda wants us to believe), the only question is what means shall time be killed? I walk in the direction of my answer.

Back into the enclosed recesses of the inner city, rife with ponies and the lifeblood of bits. Glancing over the architecture, its many curves and imperfections, I thought of comparing them to that of a lady of the night, then immediately chided myself for thinking of something as lame ass as that. I mean, Canterlot isn’t all glamor, but for someone to think like that must have a really crappy outlook on life, all cigarettes and alcohol and misogyny (besides, it’s daytime).

Just a short walk from the castle is a quaint shop that’s home to the best donuts around: Donut Joe’s. A nice retreat at any hour, for any occasion, to get lost in celebration or misery. Whatever’s on your mind, there’s a donut for whatever excites or ails you. Another rare fixture that has remained unchanged over the years, and a welcome sight whenever I come around. Since me and Joe go way back, I could say hello while helping myself to a snack.

Bell over the door jangles as I step through. Cursory glance shows the place is totally empty: seats, booths and counter are all for the taking. Another great thing about Joe’s: hardly ever a crowd, and guaranteed quiet at all hours of operation. I plant myself on a stool before the counter, settling myself into the realm of sugary delights and candy-stripe overload. The frame of the owner makes his way over.

“Hit me, Joe.”

The blow sends me flying clear across the shop, smashing through tables and chairs before I hit the ground flat on my back (still keep my head up, though). I slide until the back of my skull hits a booth and brings me to a stop. Shades are still in place (punch was strong, but not Pinkie strong). From the rather uncomfortable position at the back of the shop, I see the offending hoof being shook around by the paper-hatted donut peddler himself.

“You still owe your tab, ya cheapskate!” Friendly as always; how I love this place. I pull myself back up and brush myself off.

“Nice to see you too, Joe.” I step over the wreckage back to the counter. “You realize I won’t be cleaning this, right?”

“That’s fine, it’s my doing after all. I’ll just exercise my right to refuse service until you pay me in the meantime.”

“Yeah yeah, I get it.” I reach into my suit and pull out my personal bag of bits. I count them up while retaking my earlier seat, and after a pause I dump about half of it onto the countertop, close to Joe’s impatiently tapping hoof. Some twenty or so bits spread out, and he pokes at them (donuts aren’t that expensive, but I sure love them).

“Alright,” he grumbles, pulling the bits out of sight. “What’ll it be?”

“The usual, as usual.” He grunts before going over to the glass display case. Chocolate glaze, extra sprinkles (a childhood favorite), and a piping hot paper cup of cocoa (I’m usually on the go). Just the thing I need to get out of this doldrum of a day.

“Is the kid getting anything?”

“...What kid?” I follow Joe’s gaze to the seat to my left, and sure enough, there’s a white-feathered ball-capped face looking at me, agleam with joyful patience and anticipation. Celestia dammit...

“Found me, huh?” I don’t let on my displeasure except for the rough tone in my voice. The griffon simply nods.

“Yup!” And back to that gaping beak-faced smile. Right when the day was picking up for me, too.

“Isn’t your mother looking for you?”

“She’s still shopping. I told you she takes forever. And you weren’t gone for too long, so I just waited outside the castle and waited and waited and just when I felt like taking a nap you came back out, then I followed you into here and that’s how I got here! Was this place such a mess when you came in?”

Nails on a chalkboard. Seriously, what’s parenting come to when an unescorted child is left to wander the streets of a big unfamiliar city? Then again, I’m no expert in the field of griffon child-rearing, so this kind of thing might be the norm.

“Get him an eclair,” I tell Joe.

“What flavor?”

“Whatever’s fresh.” Joe glares before getting the goods. I toss two bits onto the counter as he hands the treat to the kid, which he takes happily. Too late I think it a bad idea to be giving this kid sugar, but oh well.

“Thanks.” Kid gobbles it up, and keeps talking to me despite the glaze and cream filling sputtering out from his beak. “So yeah, you said if I found you we could keep talking about stuff. I’ve been thinking about something I’d really like to talk about that only you could answer, cuz it’s sorta private and I don’t want to bring it up with my parents or any of my friends.”

“That’s swell. Hey, I need to step outside and get some fresh air first.”

“Okay, I’ll come along,” he says as he swallows the last piece of eclair. Do I have to smack this kid to make him get the message? But I can’t go doing that. Would paint a bad picture for me and Twilight to perform child abuse in public, and like I said, I’m usually fine with them. I get up, taking my goods along, and exit out into the mildly warm afternoon with the kid following along like a chipper terrier.

We’re not half a block from the donut shop when he speaks up again. “Had enough fresh air?”

“Not just yet.” Some more silence, mixed with the background of city streets.

“How about now?”

“Hugghhhh.” Have to face the music: if I want this to end, I have to give him what he wants. “Yeah, but let me find a place to sit and eat.”

“Oh. Couldn’t you have done that back at the shop?” Sharp as a whip. Reminds me of my younger, slightly less snarky self. How much I hate that earlier version of me right now. I ignore the kid, and he doesn’t seem to object. Some more walking and we’re at the edge of the city that overlooks the plains far below. Sun is high overhead, and there are ponies standing around on the glass by the road, or laying down for picnics on checkered blankets. Idyllic dribble for masses ignorant of corruption or despair. Lucky them.

There’s an empty bench close by, and I head for that and take a seat. Shades make the sunlight tolerable, and I start to bite into my donut as the kid sits on the ground. Damn fine sprinkles, Joe.

“So, what’d you want to talk about?” Time to get this over with.

“Oh, well, first I wanna say that you’re really cool and stuff, but you probably know that from before.”

“That I do.” I take a sip of the cocoa as he talks. Still warm.

“I also mentioned that I was going to get another brother or sister soon, if you remember, and that I had to take on more responsibilities. I said how I was a little nervous about it too, right?”

“Yeah. New siblings can do that to ya.” If anything, I had been the brat of the “family”. Vaguely recall having a baby phoenix for about a week before giving it back, but not really a life-shaping experience.

“Anyways, um...” Uh-oh, hesitation. This might be a big deal. “I started thinking of how I could be more responsible, and I thought more and more about it lately. Does that mean doing more chores? Finding a job over the summer? I asked dad about it awhile ago, and he told me that it means I’ll be responsible for looking after my brother or sister. Thing is, I don’t know how to do that. I’ve never had to look after someone before, except my goldfish Goldie, but he died way back when I forgot to feed him. And that makes me worry more when I think about it—”

“Is there a point somewhere in there?” Donut is long done, and there’s still half a cup of cocoa, getting colder.

“Oh, yeah! Umm, what I wanted to talk to you about is... can you teach me how to be a Fetcher?”

“...Huh?” Bout spilled my cocoa as I look him square in the face. “What’d you say?”

“Well, not yet, I’m not old enough I think.” If only that had been the case... “The thing is, looking after someone means being able to protect them, to be strong and brave. The strongest and bravest person I know is you, Spike. Dad looks strong, but he’s big and a griffon so he’s supposed to be. But I’m small and don’t have any muscles, but others talk about how you take down tough guys way taller than you. You’re taller than most ponies, but you don’t really have muscles, and still you do all those awesome things.” Gee thanks, kid. “So maybe you could show me how to do that kind of stuff, learn to fight, that kind of thing? Dad’s too busy to teach me, and mom isn’t really a fighter. Well, she can claw pretty good if she’s mad, but I think that’s different than regular fighting. Anyway, I just wanted you to show me to be strong and brave like you are. If you’re okay with that?”

I should say I feel honored, but this needs to be addressed seriously. I wait a moment to make sure that he has said the entirety of everything that’s on his mind, and then I open my reply with a sigh. “Listen, kid, I’m gonna level with ya. First of all, my job isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Few jobs ever are, but mine especially so. I make it look easy, but it’s tough-goings from the start, and you see things, do things you wouldn’t think of ever doing. It’s a steep price to pay to be as tough and brave as me.”

Kid’s all ears, hanging on every word, eyes not leaving my shades. I bend forward to get more on his level. “Besides, those are lousy reasons to get into my line of work. There are other ways to get strong and brave, even ones manageable for a runt like you.”

“Such as?” Cut through the crap on this one, huh? I shrug.

“I dunno. Karate lessons? Go to a gym?”

“Maybe, but I don’t know if my parents will let me...”

“Wouldn’t hurt to try.” I look back out over the verdant plains below. Can’t feel the warmth of the cocoa through the paper anymore. “Though what’s really important is that the idea of being brave is in you to begin with. Being strong helps, but if you got it in your head that you’ll protect someone no matter what, bravery comes natural. Certainly was the case for me a few times when I was your age, and way smaller.”

“You protected someone even then?”

“Yeah, I did.” Back when I thought she truly mattered. “So really, kid, it’s in the heart (blugh). Also, it’s the thought that counts.”

He’s silent a moment. “Huh... Never thought it like that.”

“You could get some practice done before the big day.” I down the rest of my drink. Nothing but icy sludge. “Don’t worry yourself, you’ll do alright. Your heart’s in the right place from what you told me. Though you could work on being more succinct in the future.”

“Oh, okay (don't know what "succinct" is). Thanks Spike!” He hops up with a beaming grin. “That made me feel a little better. But, since mom’s still shopping around, maybe you could show me a fighting move or two?”

“Not today.” I crush the paper cup and toss it overhead to the trash can over to my left. Bounces off the edge and falls onto the grass. Nuts. “Hey, could you get that for me? Littering’s bad, y’know.”

“Sure!” He moves around the back of the bench, and the sound of rumpled paper on metal says he did his job well. He walks back over and comments, “Hey, there are ponies running around.”

“So? Ponies are always running around in the city.”

“They look upset about something.”

“City life can be pretty upsetting. You’ll learn that someday as well.” The daylight dims a little, probably from a passing cloud, or an airship.

“I don’t think it’s that. Actually, they’re looking up at something in... the... Whoa...” The kid stares off into the sky, as I pick up growing chatter from behind me. Concerned murmurings, exclamations. Looking left and right I see citizens gathering on the grass, looking in the same direction skyward, pointing and looking frightened. The daylight has dimmed even further, darkened even, with a bit of red tinge added. That’s when I decide to look up... Well, that’s worth being concerned about. I merely huff; this really hasn’t been my day.

“Hey, lemme ask you something, kid: do you know what it’s called when the moon blocks out the sun?”

Ep4: Seleneicide

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Ep4

SELENEICIDE

It’s two minutes later and I’m running up the entrance hall of Canterlot castle. Of all the times for a solar eclipse to happen. A lousy day made astronomically worse by an astronomical event, and an unscheduled one at that. This kind of stunt rips the facade of peace and harmony among the populace quicker than wet tissue paper. Sure, things are quiet for the first ten or twenty minutes, but then it breaks down into utter anarchy if there isn’t some bad guys making demands to quell the masses. And Canterlot is the last place you want to be when order breaks down.

It didn’t take long before the whole attention of the city turned to the red-rimmed mass in the sky. The kid was included among the skygazers, which gave me a chance to end our heart-to-heart and skedaddle to the castle. You can call me cold for leaving a child alone during a crisis, but if he can hold his own in a major city for half an hour, I say he can handle things just fine. Besides, Twilight would expect me to get with Celestia to find out just what the hell is going on. No doubt her hooves are full calming the folks back in Ponyville. Dammit all, why today (or ever)?

The guards were as stunned by the eclipse as everyone else, so I had no trouble running past them into the castle. Everything inside is darker than outside (real shocker), shadows covering the marble of the entrance hall as I ascend the stairs. It’s in the first hallway of the second floor that I finally notice something’s amiss: there’s nopony here. I stop myself and look around, listening. It’s even darker up here, and more disconcerting, it’s also dead silent. In a crisis like this, there should be all kinds of shouting and movement of bodies in this place, not to mention actual bodies. Something’s not right.

As though on cue to that last thought, Discord drops in on some puppet strings to my right. He’s wearing some kind of red bondage get-up, keeping still and having one claw up to his lips as though shh-ing me.

“Master Spike, we're in a tight spot. I mean, REALLY tight! Tighter than tight! Far tighter than royal unmentionables on certain royal flanks.”

“I have no time for games, Discord. There’s something of a situation if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Oh, I’m quite aware of it, Mr. Fussy.” He flips out of the strings, ditches the get-up and lands. “And before you start insinuating as you’re prone to do, this isn’t my doing. Far too quiet for one, and were it me, I’d just make the sun disappear completely. But that’s just me.”

No time for pointless arguing. “Where is everyone?” Discord twists himself to look around, then rubs his beard.

“A really good question. I would say they fled, but I’d imagine they’d use the front door, which I believe is how you came in. So I have to say they’re running about somewhere else in the castle.”

Perhaps, but something still isn’t right. “What’s going on? Do you know?”

He swings his body upward so that he’s lying on thin air. “To put it frankly, some dark evil force just appeared out of nowhere here in the castle. Creating mayhem, havoc and destruction, that sort of thing. Might also have something to do with that beautiful solar eclipse we’re having.” He whisks over to a window, where he stares out with some binoculars. “I dare say there hasn’t been an eclipse this menacing in ages. Certainly has that angry afterglow about it.” He drops the binoculars, revealing eyes that have shriveled into sizzling gooey globs.

“What about Celestia, Luna: where are they?” Can’t get distracted now.

“Celestia’s probably off overseeing an evacuation or rallying defensive measures or some nonsense. As for Luna... can’t quite say. Aaaanyway, ol’ fire flanks tasked me with investigating this dark presence that’s been floating around the place, but since I’ve bumped into you of all non-ponies, I think I’ll tag along as back-up.” I walk briskly past him.

“I’ve no time for jokes, either.” Discord floats alongside me and talks in a faux hurt tone, which irks me more. I get enough of that from Sweetie Belle, and he’s nowhere as sexy.

“You’d balk my genuine offer of assistance?” he pouts. “Me, the one individual who can make literally anything happen, who can provide the most invaluable help imaginable?”

“How bout using that literalness in finding out what this thing is, like you’re supposed to.”

“Oh, I can do that as well. Being Lord of Chaos gives me immeasurable multi-tasking skills. Also major ADD, but I’ve had centuries of practice to keep it in check. Besides, exactly what are you in such a hurry to get to? Your darling princess is about sixty miles that way.” Points off to behind me, but I keep walking.

“Gonna find Celestia. Help out.” He still doesn’t take the hint as he floats to my right.

“How noble and courageous of you. Say, you could look into this evil presence yourself while she’s preoccupied with protecting her subjects, get to the bottom of this nefarious attack, route the criminals and save the day. You know, the sort of thing you tell yourself you do all the time.”

I break focus to look at him. “You said investigating was your job.”

“And I also said that I can multi-task. I can watch your back while keeping an eye out for anything suspicious or sinister. Like that thing over there.”

I stop in my tracks and look off slightly right, and sure enough, something sinister is there. Well, more wispy-looking than sinister, like a thin shadowy tendril, just lingering around a pillar. After I see it, the thing withdraws in a whsss, disappearing down the hall. Definitely suspicious, and a bit weird.

“What was that?”

“The evil presence, I’d imagine,” says Discord with head down, rubbing his chin in smarmy thought. “Though just the fringe from the look and feel of it. Can’t even be classified as a proper spook, though I’m sure the rest of it is running about somewhere further in.” His elbow rests on my head as he leans over. “See, I’m doing my work. And with your curiosity unquestionable enticed, don’t you just want to join me in hunting it down?”

I’d tell him to shove off, but that thing (whatever it is) slinked off in the direction Celestia might be. The alternative is report back to Twilight. Who knows what that thing is, or exactly what it’s doing in here that it hasn’t already done outside. Although I can tell this darkness isn’t entirely natural, and it’s everywhere... Well, seems I don’t have a choice, then.

I push off Discord’s bird elbow as I break into a run, calling back, “Until I find Celestia.”

“That’s more like it!” he yells from way back. After some running I see something slip off down a side corridor, and against my better judgment, I follow. Discord’s elongated neck brings his face right up to mine.

“You really shouldn’t be running so fast, Spike. Never know when you could run into something unpleasant.”

“Nice tip, but I know precisely where I’m—” And I get immediately cut off by a halberd that nearly slices my snout off. I hop back and look at my assailant, only to find a surprise. The attacker is gold-plated, with a blue tuft thingy in the helmet. A castle guardpony. Two actually. Before I say something, I immediately notice what’s wrong. Their limbs, twisted about, are scarred with markings that glow pure blackness. Mouths are hanging open to let out unintelligible moans, all while looking at me with pale, vacant eyes.

“Oh goodness, Spike! These fine guardponies seem to have been overtaken by the evil presence, and they’re out for your head!” Discord whimsically points out the obvious from over my shoulder. The possessed ponies shamble closer to me, and the one with the halberd, a pegasus, awkwardly pulls back to make another swing. “But what a conundrum: these fine upstanding ponies were just performing their duties, only to be corrupted for vile intent. They must be dealt with, surely, but can you really put them down? They would be your allies otherwise, yet they’re being made to see harm done unto you by another’s will. Would you dare slay these poor manipulated souls? Souls who have families, significant others that they love and support. Can you so willingly cut them down in the prime of their lives? To leave sweet children fatherless?”

One swipe and two heads hit the floor, followed by two bodies.

“You forget: I was the number one cause of orphans one year,” I say while twirling my blade to the side.

“I didn’t forget, actually, but I’m glad you hadn’t either, haha! A very slow year for disease and famine that one was.” A pause. “Although, you could’ve asked me to restrain them.”

“I’m more than capable of handling this.”

Discord raises his “hands” defensively. “As you will.”

I step over the corpses and resume my run. Can’t have sympathy for those that get in my way, especially given all the ponies I’ve down in. If it’s ponies I know or with whom I work with then it stings mildly, and that’s the extent of it. And really, pony blood spills the same as anything else’s.

My footfalls are thunderous. The corners and alcoves by the windows grow darker with each yard covered, but nothing’s jumping out from them. Only silence that makes my running louder. Two turns later I’m at the hall that leads to the next set of stairs, and I bring myself to a stop. The darkness is thickest here; I can’t even make out the other side. Spines are picking up some kind of low humming. Not good.

Cautiously I walk down the hall, sword raised. Very much doubt there’ll be spookhouse scares this time around, though you’d think there’d be a zombie hoard on the heels of the first two. But it’s mostly nothing. Nothing mixed with darkness.

“A most eerie corridor if I do say,” Discord says from somewhere behind me. “It’s not so much of a fringe presence this time around.”

“Yeah, I get that impression as well.”

“I can move you over to those stairs if would like. Help ease your nerves a bit.”

“Nerves are perfectly fine, so can it.”

“Really, Spike, you just don’t know how good of a partner you have here, and you’re just tossing it out like yesterday’s tomatoes.”

“I told you to shut—” Again I’m abruptly cut off, not by zombie guards, but the freakin’ architecture. A pillar swipes me up and wraps around me, polished marble tightening like sinewy muscle. It’s covered in the same dark markings that were on the guards, only now they’re seething black smoke. My left arm is free, but the stupid thing has my sword arm pressed against my body. The grip is too tight for me to bash with my claw (and it’s freakin’ stone, duh!).

As I’m being moved through the air like a mouse in the snake’s hold, I take this moment to swallow my pride by calmly saying, “Hey, Discord, I could use some of that help you’re so keen on offering.”

“What, for this? Come now, Spike, you totally got this. I’ll just be over there ‘canning’ it, as you instructed,” he says as he floats over to the side of the hall, his head popping into a can of nuts (oh, real clever). I’m a tad miffed by this, needless to say.

“Well screw you then!”

The pillar tightens more, making me wince from having my arm shoved into my ribs. The discomfort doesn’t last long, because it twists around and snaps back, unraveling to send me flying across the hall. Another pillar, the bottom half forming a spike, is ready to greet me. Normally, getting crushed and then flung wildly through the air would mean insta-kebab, but as Discord said: I got this.

In a flash I twist midair and bring my sword through the pillar’s spike, making it flail about as I hit the ground untouched. The wounded pillar sets itself back into the ground, but another one next to it, plus two from across the hall, stretch out to impale me with their own sharpened bases. I hop back as the three of them punch into the floor, and quickly duck as one from behind swings around to knock my head off. I sprint forward, sidling through the embedded pillars and straight for the stairs. Don’t know how long their reach is, but I should get to the exit before it’s cut off. I sidestep one pillar’s strike, than another, and when one swings down at me from the front, I lop off part of it to show it better.

Pausing after the attack isn’t such a hot idea, because the other pillars slam down in a tight circle around me, forming a cage of shadow-seared stone. I get to slicing an opening through the ones before me, but then a pillar seemingly from above snatches me and pulls up. Stupid me wasn’t paying attention, and now both my arms are caught in the marble snare. It’s steadily tightening its grip, looking to crush my ribs while squeezing the air from my lungs (guess it learned not to let go).

Pressure increasing to the point I can’t keep my mouth shut, and I’m pretty sure I’m getting purple in the face (more so than usual). Obvious that things are getting desperate, and my options are practically zilch with Discord being the ass he normally is. An idea occurs; it’s a long shot, but it’s all I can think of. I start digging into one of my palms with my claws, get some punctures. I start flicking my palm up at the underside of the pillar once I feel some dampness, then I start building some internal flames with whatever air I got left. Should be able to make a spark, but I’m gonna need enough to get over the pillar, and gotta aim it right, too. With enough heat built up, I force my head down and let out green fire onto the pillar. However, the moment the flames make contact, a deep shriek emits and next thing I know the pillar has let go.

I hit the stone flooring on my knees (freakin’ ouch), hunching over in a breathless daze as my shades fall off and clatter on the ground. There’s some more of that dry whisping noise, and when I look up, I find the stairs right in front of me, and everything being significantly less dark. Drawing some much needed air, I look around and see that the pillars are back in their usual, inanimate positions. Some of them are missing chunks, but the black markings are gone. Whatever attacked me just up and fled, just from getting a bit scorched? Lame, I’d have to say, especially after scratching up my palm for nothing. It could’ve had me, too.

Once I get my lungs and ribs to stop aching, I reach over to pick up my shades (normally never fall off. An omen?), then get myself back on my feet.

“Ah, see? You took care of that all on your own. You honestly didn’t need my help whatsoever,” Discord says from some corner as I put my shades back on.

“Yeah, no sweat. Though, feel free to intervene next time.” I begin walking toward the stairs, and he hovers alongside.

“Okay, I’ll keep that in mind. But isn’t this more exciting than helping out with a boring evacuation or running home to dear Princess Twilight?”

“Yeah, it’s a real blast.” At the foot of the staircase I start running up, two steps at a time. Dark magic or energy or whatever that can control architecture, living things, and very likely can take over furniture as well. Just a whole heap of trouble, but at least I got something I can exploit if it gets too hairy.

Up the first set, turn around and get to running up the next. More darkness on the third floor, but it’s the natural kind. Where could that poltergeist have run off to?

“Vanguard!”

I stop shortly past the landing, and look ahead to see three guardponies standing before a large set of double doors, the entrance to one of the upper meeting rooms. They aren’t bearing markings from what I can make out, and they don’t seem to be shambling around. One of them, probably the one who called, is waving at me. Fairly lean, well-toned pegasus mare.

“Over here!”

Good to see not everything has gone to the dark side (heh). Seems Discord buggered off somewhere as well, so that’s also something of a relief. I resume walking and call back, “What’s the situation?”

“We’re searching for any staff that haven’t been evacuated. We could use some extra help.”

“Hey, have any idea what this attacker is?” asks a unicorn with a spear.

“I only know it’s dark, nasty, and unidentifiable,” I reply.

“So a demonic ghost, right? I knew it,” Mr. Surly Unicorn mutters. His companion seems in more hopeful, though cautious, spirits.

“I don’t think there’s much more to round up,” she says. “We should be alright if we move fast and—”

Her voice breaks into a yell as a thick cloud of howling darkness slams onto the three, pulling them into the air and shaking them about as black vapor enwraps them. The other two try to yell but the vapor shoves its way into their throats and pulls them into the indiscernible mass. It’s prey consumed, the cloud blows a hole through the double doors and flies on through. Wreck up the place only to give me the slip, eh? Not for long, you bastard (agh, Discord! Now I’m riled up).

I dash ahead, through the broken door and into the meeting hall. Complete disaster zone, with papers and furniture strewn all other the place. Walls and tapestry scratched and torn. There are a few bodies included in the mess, bent in unnatural shapes, stricken by horror everlasting on their faces. None are reanimating, at least.

A scream from nearby turns my head to one of the side doors, and I hoof it over there. Past the unhinged door I enter a side sitting room, with maps and folios all over the place, and I’m in time to catch the shadowy mass make a getaway through another door, this time with a passenger. Hopping over an overturned table I race out in pursuit and run into another hall, all checker-tiled this time around. Snapping my gaze left I see the menace blocking out the rest of the hall with its seething, shapeless bulk. Not completely shapeless, because held within its tendrils is a screaming dark-lemon yellow maid, waving her limbs in my direction.

“Help Me! HELP MEEEE!!”

The shadow blob shifts as though spotting me, then pulls back and glides in the opposite direction. I break into a run, holding my sword out to the side. It takes a sharp right into an adjacent hall, and I claw the ground to make my turn extra sharp and quick. Windows to the left, wall of paintings to the right, all blur past at breakneck speed. The shadow blob seems to take notice of my pursuit and lifts up the terrified maid before flinging her down at me. I sidestep as the screaming maid hits the ground with a sickening crunch that cuts off the screams. Brutal way to go, poor dame. Can’t be slowed down by somber thoughts, though. Can’t shake me that easily!

Having failed to smash me with the pony, the blob flattens then shoots up into the ceiling, only for it to blast through the windows to my side in a thunderous roar. My arms go up to deflect the glass shards, but I don’t lose speed. The shadow reforms into its previous bulky shape and gains speed, turning left further ahead. I follow, and just as quickly turn right as I catch the blob having done the same, entering another pillar-lined inner corridor. The blob shoots out some tendrils to knock over pillars to block my path, but I hop, slide, and cut my way through these lazy obstacles. Turning down another corridor I find the entire place crumbling in mid-collapse (stepping up your game I see!). I dip into the sinking floor, but hop off the falling tile, bounce off a pillar, swing off a chandelier, and roundhouse kick a flower stand away before landing in a crouch on the other side. I get up and look back, seeing the wide view of the eclipsed landscape and the long mountainside drop where the corridor used to be. Heh, that’s more like it.

I get back to running, and just as I turn into another hall, the wind is choked out of me as a shadow tendril gets my neck and pulls me over dozens of yards in seconds. At the end of the ride I’m held dangling over the fat shadow mass, which makes a low, otherworldly growl. I don’t give it time to growl further as I cut its tendril off, making its bulk writhe as I get back on the ground. While it’s quivering from getting a taste of sword asskickery, I deliver the main course by leaping up and slamming my blade into its puffy, velvety center.

“Not so menacing with a sword stuck in ya, huh?” In response, the blob starts shaking rapidly before exploding, throwing me back a good ten yards onto my back. I push myself back up with a slight backache (Joe just had to go and soften me up earlier), but what I see in front of me doesn’t really help ease my discomfort. Ponies, about two dozen of them, all shambling, groaning husks scarred by the shadow’s mark. You wanted a zombie hoard, and here it is. Giddy gumdrops all-around, genius.

“About time I caught up with you,” comes the voice of Discord to my stalwart side. “Did you see the mess left back there? This guy means business, I’m pretty sure of it.” A pause as he looks at the hoard (not sure if he does. I just can’t stop staring at this bull crap). “Oh, it sure got crowded in here in a hurry. The rest of the evacuees I presume?”

Maybe. A bunch of guards, but also maids, cooks, assorted servants, all with blank eyes and hanging tongues. At the other side of this mindless assembly is the somewhat slimmer shadow mass, which slips off down the hall. I grit my teeth and twirl my sword around before assuming a charge stance.

“Just more crap to deal with.” I run ahead and get to work. Shove aside about as much of them as I can, then start kicking and cutting out the legs of those in front of me. The commotion causes them to close in, but I use my tail to smack the ones behind me to get some breathing room. A unicorn dressed as a waiter manages to fall onto me, looking to stab me in the face with his horn. I deny him that by falling back and throwing him to his friends behind. Bit of a mistake there, as four of them surround me and try to pony-pile me while I’m getting up.

They manage to succeed, but what’s four average servant ponies to a pair of tight, honed, naturally superior dragon legs? They go flying, and I spring back on my feet before anyone else gets the same idea. Now it’s three guardponies, and they look a bit more sturdy than the others, but luckily they’re just as dumb. Grab the head of the center one, smash it into the one on the left, and I have an opening that I leap through to escape the crowd.

I run a ways to the other end of the hall, leaving those unfortunate and annoying souls behind. Seems I can catch my breath, but such desire is made for naught upon rounding the next corner and stumbling upon another hoard. Actually, not so much a hoard as a shuffling, groaning carpet (fancy way of saying there’s far more than two dozen this time around).

“Really?”

“Hey, Spike!” I immediately look up to see a cage inexplicably hanging from a rope. Or rather, a cage that seems to be made of various animal parts for bars, with two big yellow eyes gawking down at me. “Cut me loose!”

I mentally shrug before dashing into the hoard. Hop over the first line of possessed, land on the back of one further in and spring up to the side of the fleshy cage. I grab on and pull myself up, severing the rope in one motion and bringing the two of us down. The cage clatters in the midst of the hoard, trapping a good number of them and giving me a resting place among the shambling legion. What a mess...

“I could have teleported you back there,” says Discord, his mouth making up the bar next to my foot. “But you just had to charge in like the battle maniac that you are. Also, it’s rather odd for me of all ponies to tell you that there are nonlethal ways of handling this.”

“Then you handle them.” I back up to the other end of the cage. “I’ve got bigger fish to fry.” I use the extra running space and leap off the edge, clear the rest of the hoard and roll onto empty floor space.

“Give it one-for in that case!” Nice to know he can be moderately helpful. I resume the chase before he has a chance to make me regret thinking that, and I reach a set of double doors set into the side of the hall, slightly ajar. I smell its dark scent; getting sloppy there, bud. I hurry over to the doors, but stop and press along them to the crack leading inward, then quickly duck inside.

Thick, unnatural darkness everywhere; can barely make out the pillars to the sides of the room, and the ceiling is an endless void of black. So consuming, not even the paltry light from the hall registers. Dead silent as well. Guess it’s hide and seek, now.

My feet move cautiously forward as I hold my sword before me. Barely a sound with each footfall, though I feel the intense cold of the floor. Don’t see anything, but I can sense something’s moving about. Very slightly, but can’t pinpoint where. Then it occurs to me that the darkness itself feels alive, and that I've walked through something similar many years ago, in a wholly different landscape. Only this stuff isn't being very social. Hate this sort of inconsistency: be loud and destructive one minute, than eerily invisible the next. Like the thing’s bipolar.

Several more silent steps, still nothing. Seemingly no end to this particular room (no clue where I am in the castle, for that matter). Suddenly there’s a tap from behind, and I swing around with sword raised. Nothing. Before I can lower my sword, something hits my shoulder. I glance over, then reach a claw to it and feel something moist. Some black slimy substance are between my claws when I look it over. Kinda like...

I immediately look up, and find something looking right down at me from the void. Piercing white eyes, and a massive set of razor jaws, salivating and letting out a hungry hiss.

“Ah hell no.”

Leap and roll out before the face falls down as a ton of shadowy sludge, and getting back on my feet, I turn to see the oily puddle arise into the shape of a cloudy, serpentine-like shadow beast. Pointed ears jut out as the piercing eyes and teeth reappear in the “head”, which allow it to make a screeching roar as its base spreads out into several tentacles (hoo boy). I only grin and straighten up while twirling my sword.

“Okay tall, dark and vicious.” Battle Stance assumed. “Let’s rumble.” I don’t give it the chance to whip out those tentacles, charging straight for its heart. My blade swings to split it open, but the beastie sinks into the floor and reforms several feet to the right in a blink, making me slice empty air. The beast takes its turn by sending all its razor-tipped tentacles to stab me, but a hop back and they only stab solid ground. Swipe of the sword cuts through the line of them, making them evaporate and suck back into their host, only to reappear intact.

Instead of having another go with the tentacles, the thing opts to bite me in half. I step around three attempts of razor-sharp snapping and try to cut the back of its neck, but a groove forms to let my blade pass before closing up again. It pulls back and I take the opportunity to hack away at it while it settles, but I get the same result of it splitting in places to avoid damage (what the freak?). Something like a broken cackle comes out of its throat, seemingly in amusement over its self-preservation tactics, and before I try a plain stab it shoots off to the side of the room.

The creature zips and darts around the various pillars at high-speed, making it hard for me to follow. I manage to catch sight of its face screaming right at me, giving me cause to leap away from its full body(?) charge. I immediately backstep as it does the same charge in front of me. Stumble about a bit, and that seems to be its intent because it comes right at me again. I have other plans though, specifically a midair cartwheel that gets me over the shadow snake and lets me split its ugly face at the same time. The beast ditches the pillars and rushes to the other end of the room, coiling back into its previous shape and eyeing me menacing with an unscratched look (did I miss?). The tentacles pierce through the floor before it, and there’s a shaking and rumbling as cracks appear in the masonry before a whole section of the floor is pulled up.The flooring is raised over its demented, smiling head, but my eyes turn from the chunk of marble to the red scaly tail dangling over me. I look back at the shadow beast as it pulls back its tentacles, then jump up and grab onto the hooked tail.

The tail pulls up as the section of floor goes flying underneath a second later, inches from my toes. I’m pulled higher until I’m brought face to face with Discord, who’s detached his tail to make a scaly fishing pole and reel. He’s even wearing a fishing vest and hat, touched up with different lures (really gets the details down with his randomness).

“Oooh, not quite the whopper I had expected,” he comments, leaning against thin air. “Hey, guess what: I took care of those bothersome ponies from earlier! I was conflicted over how to deal with them: lock them up; tie them to balloons; make gerbils out of ‘em. Finally decided on making them dance in the courtyard while this calamity gets resolved. Oh man, you really should see how they shuffle! Barely any choreography required; it’s as though they’re predisposed to bust a groove by nature. Zombie-esque groove, sure, but nevertheless impressive.”

I eye the shadow beast, who in turn is eyeing me with an dark, impatient look. I look back to my angler. “Real nice, but mind giving me a lift back down?”

“Catch and release, then? Alrighty.” He pulls back his tail pole. “And away you GO!” Flings it forward, the momentum hurling me right down at the shadow beast’s face. I prime my sword for impalement, but a foot from impact two tentacles collide into me in a halting embrace. Finding myself incapacitated by evil forces a third time, the shadow beast lowers me close to check me out with a single enlarged eye. Afterwards, it moves back with a look of sinister content, then opens up its jaws like a dumpster for some delectable spiffy-ass dragon. Remember how I mentioned a weakness earlier? Time to get exploitin’.

I suck in a mouthful of air and let out a fierce stream of fire down the would-be glutton’s throat. Can’t make out its face from this angle, but it’s screaming and shaking and quivering violently, letting out a mixture of hateful yell and debilitating cough as though choking (too hot for ya, ugly?). It controls itself and slams its mouth shut into a toothy grimace, eyeing me with hate so concentrated I might’ve caught fire if I weren’t naturally retardant (insert laugh here). I only grin in the face of its raw malice.

“Lost your appetite already?”

It lets off a screeching roar before tossing me across the length of the room. Through the air on a collision course with pain, only I collide with something soft and lumpy rather than hard and stony. Hitting the floor, I get up and find that some worn-down brown bean bag had been placed where my sorry back was to smash against the wall. A look to the side reveals the perpetrator, leaning out from behind a pillar and giving me a goofy thumbs up with his lion paw.

“Told you I got your back.” Discord throws in a wink, but I just turn back to the enraged shadow beast and charge to make up lost ground. The beast fires out its tentacles like a wave of arrows as I rush forward. I sidestep the first four, but as they get closer I spit hot flame and send them reeling back to their master. Rather than send out more tentacles, Sir Shadow Beastie pulls out some columns and throws them my way. Hop over one and powerslide beneath the one after, and I’m right up to the nightmare serpent. I swing my blade upward and let out a long stream of fire, hopefully leave the brute with a scar for its trouble.

Predictably it relocates as a puddle in a screaming fit (don’t know if I left a mark), and in its place a dozen tentacles shoot up to slam down on me. I slice them apart, but as my swing finishes I catch a chunk of pillar careening toward me. No moment to spare, I breath in and spit a fireball to blow it apart. Turns out not to be entirely wise as I cough a bit from the stinging in my throat.

“-Kufg- -kwuh-, ah damn, -kuh Kuh!-”

Though I usually do bursts or streams with my fire, I can make fireballs. But there’s a higher degree of heat whenever it’s done, so it can hurt if my throat hasn’t done it much for a while. A bit sloppy getting out of practice on that sort of thing, yeah, but as you have undoubtedly noticed, I don’t use my dragon fire when I fight... unless my sword’s involved. It’s just not sophisticated enough for my tastes. Plus, would be a detriment if the place I was fighting in was on fire as well.

Once I finish hacking like an idiot, I look forward to see shadow beast glaring at me (oh hey, I did manage to leave a mark). It gnashes its teeth at me in some sort of fidgety annoyance, then stops to stretch out its tentacles before plunging them into the scar I made. It shudders while gritting its teeth to the point of screeching, then bends back as its tentacles yank out ten shadow-marked ponies from its core. The beast brings its head back to deliver a mad demonic snicker before flinging the possessed servants at me.

They all tumble over the floor toward me. Some of them stay prone, but most slowly get up on their hooves to shamble over. As I’m about to make a remark to belittle its unoriginality, it shoves its tentacles back in and pulls out more ponies, tossing them while going back for more. There’s a deranged shrieking as it showers zombie ponies all over the floor. I duck and knock aside the few that make it over to me, but now a swarm of them are within awkward groping distance. I instantly cut down the first row, but in a surprise burst of shuffling, the row behind leaps over to knock me to the floor.

I spout out a gush of flame in frustration, backing them up enough so I can start kicking and punching whatever jaw is slow enough to still be over me. I spring back onto my feet, clock the first caretaker in my way, and grabbing his foreleg I swing his sorry flank around, knocking down maids, cooks, and guards alike before throwing him through the hoard toward the room entrance. I hop over the fallen minions, and once back on empty floor I spin around and behold the dense herd of the damned. Yeah, screw this; I’ve wasted enough time fighting them on a level playing field. Time to make an opening.

I bring up my sword and cut open my left palm (still a bit tender from earlier). As I finish up coating the blade,

“Hmm, quite the clutter. Let me get that for you.”

A boulder-sized lion paw pops in from the side and flicks the hoard with enough force to bust out the other side of the room, launching ponies outside (into a long drop). The lion paw gives a massive okay sign before retracting.

“Alright, take the shot!”

Only a few zombie stragglers, and the shadow beast looking around trying to figure out what the hell happened. I take its moment of confusion to finish up the coating, spin, fire, chant, and let off a Jade Slider once I’m back around. The attack shreds through two ponies in its path before hitting the shadow beast, whereupon the left side gets blown off in a loud blast made louder by an ear-splitting shriek of pain and rage. I plug my ears as any untouched glass blows out, and the remaining possessed servants hit the ground, unconscious (or dead). Now half the monstrosity it was, the beastie swaggers and pants out a growl while giving me a death glare, then immediately turns tail and flies out the back. Another chase? So be it!

I rush toward the back, through a set of previously blocked double doors and into another hallway. I brake long enough to spot the wounded shadow to my left and kick it into overdrive. Columns and windows whizz past me as I keep my eyes solely on my fleeing prize. No pillars or furniture are coming my way; guess I really did a number on it. It slips down a side path, and getting there I find it leads to a set of stairs. I’m able to leap up over fifteen steps, hit the wall with my feet, run and then spring over the next set and onto the next floor without losing momentum. Jeez this son of a bitch actually has me pumped to kill it.

The head of the beast glances back, then puts on the turbo and gains a few dozen yards before whipping around a corner. Closing in on the corner, Discord pops into existence in the form of a shabby springboard.

“All aboard for the finisher,” he says while waving me over with his talon. Hells to the yeah. I leap the remaining ten yards and crouch land onto the board.

“Bon voyage!” Discord gives off a sproing and I’m soaring down the hall at tear-whipping speed. It’s seconds by the time I get up to the beast, and holding out my sword, I plunge the tip at the tail end and let momentum tear it along through its backside. Another screech goes off as I flip and land hard in a sliding crouch, leaving a smoke and dust trail as I twirl myself around to a stop. We’re at the end of the hall in what I suppose is an external gallery. There’s paintings on the wall, a fancy crystal chandelier and a set of glass doors that lead out to a darkened balcony.

My quarry, I assume, had tumbled over itself from my attack and is pulling itself together. Has more of a serpentine look to it, being slimmer, longer, and more vicious and desperate looking. Its elongated body seems more hunched, and its doing a lazy job keeping its snarling face looking at me straight. I twirl my sword and beckon him with my claw. It raises itself up slightly and hisses. That seemed to have done the trick.

I bring up my sword and brace for his attack, but then something catches my eye that breaks my focus entirely: a blotch wandering around by the hall exit, behind the beastie. Something small, brown with white feathers, with an orange cap and looking very scared and out of place. Gravely out of place.

“Kid, what the hell are you doing here?!”

He turns and spots me, panic and relief shaking his beak as he spoke. “I-I-I don’t know! I was looking for mom then things got really dark and I—”

The beast’s head swings back to gaze upon the blubbering griffon. Celestia dammit!

“Run!” Too late. There’s a screech before the beast shoots back, wrapping around the now-screaming kid and shooting off to the balcony. Glass doors shatter as it launches out, growing leathery wings and taking flight into the dark sky beyond. I only stand there, breathe in and sigh. I can lose myself in the thrill of battle at times, but I can’t go losing my head when a shadowy hell beast flies off with an innocent twerp I just met earlier. It won’t stay that way for long, anyway.

I bring my palm up to my blade as I give myself a running start. Half the room’s length is covered by the time I start my chant and get a good fire going. A yard from the balcony opening I slam a Malachite Piston into the ground and blast off through the opening and out of the castle. High altitude cold whips at me as I fly through the air in an arch. I angle myself as I begin to drop. Amid the darknened green of the ground far below I pinpoint my target and adjust accordingly. It’s just flying in a straight line; idiot won’t see this coming.

Blade outstretched, trained, and with a thrust I stick it hard into the “bone” of the wing as I land on the beast’s back. It cries in pain and surprise, rocking from its sudden loss of wing control. The sword serves as an anchor for this ride, and with altitude rapidly dropping I lean over the side and dig into the beast’s side with my free claw. A few scrapes of shadow substance and a white-feathered head pops out gasping for breath, to which I stick my claw into his face.

“Hurry and climb up already!” I yell over the wind. The kid pulls his talons out from the murk and grabs onto my arm. I pull back hard until he’s free of the monster’s grasp, and he climbs up onto my shoulders for good measure. At this time I’m keeping steady on our wounded flyer, who has entered a careening nose dive toward the plains below. I bend my knees in preparation, get the timing right. Once the moment arrives I pull out my blade and hop off the shadow beast with kid in tow. Just a comfortable (if fast) ten foot drop gets us back on solid ground, though the sound of a rough, hard impact close by indicates the beast’s landing was anything but.

Kid’s talons are digging into my shoulders (eased up slightly since landing, though), and I feel him shifting around, no doubt getting used to escaping being a living nightmare’s lunch. There’s miles of flat plains around us. Canterlot and its mountain are far in the distance, and the edge of Everfree can be seen in the opposite direction. The color of the grass is muddled dark and tinged red, courtesy of the solar eclipse that’s hanging high above like a flaming tumor.

I lower my gaze on the dark heap lying at the end of a trench ten yards long. A clawed limb appears and hits the ground, followed by another that pushes up the fallen beast. It rises up into a four-legged form, a thick build with only the head retaining some semblance of its earlier serpentine look. It turns, flicking a smokey tail, and faces me with those two piercing eyes again. This slimmer fiend just looks at me and the kid as a light breeze blows around us. It then lifts up the wing I had stabbed, revealing a gaping tear.

“Guess it’s back to being grounded for the both of us, huh?”

The fiend glares at me, then looking to its ruined wing, dark particles lift off its body and spread over the tear, melding until its whole and unscathed. It gives the restored wing a flap before looking at me.

“Well that’s fair.”

It retracts its wing, then plants its limbs apart and lowers its head. I hold out my arm and shake it; the kid takes the hint and climbs down onto the ground silently. “Stay here.” Free of my passenger, I flex my shoulders and neck and start walking toward my waiting opponent. “Right, let’s pick up where we le—”

A tendril shoots out from the fiend and pierces through my left shoulder, forcing me to end that sentence with a “Hurk!” The speed and force of the blow knocks me off my feet and bouncing over the ground. Bounce past the kid and flop to a halt, coughing to get some air back in me. Shoulder’s a mix of numb and stiff.

“Spike!” the kid yells.

“I’m alright.” Not. “Just had the wind—” I’m interrupted when something wraps around my leg, then pulls me along the ground and into the air upside down. There’s just enough time to discern it’s another tendril that’s got me before I’m slammed into the dirt. Repeatedly.

I lose the grip on my sword after the first few slams, and the sheath flies off shortly after as I'm continually acquainted with the ground like a ragdoll in a construction zone. Lose count after ten slams, but at some point the grip on my leg loosens and I’m going through the air again. Another jarring tumble and I’m flat on my face. Manage to get my head up before it spins to reorient itself with the horizontal plane. I’m blinking out the stars in my vision when the kid comes over.

“Kid, get outta here, now,” I sputter weakly through the dirt and blood in my mouth.

“B-but your back, it’s all bloody.” From a million miles away comes a grand whinny screech, along with the sound of expelling gas. I force my right arm up to push the kid away.

“I said go!” He hesitates; I can see the fear, concern and indecision toppling over each other in his eyes. Things start getting darker before he looks up and flees. I start rolling myself onto my back as a black misty veil flows overhead. Things go completely dark except for the eclipse, which burns a fierce white ring in the black canvas above. My eyes can’t even see the ground; I can barely see myself. The same living darkness from earlier. Trapped in the belly of the beast, and not in the best shape for it either.

I will myself back onto my feet, and after sorely standing up, I notice the noise. Low but heavy, like breathing. The breath of some omnipotent observer. Bad juju a-brewing. I have to get out of this place.

I stumble forward with my right arm outstretched, but the darkness is so thick my claw disappears just three feet from me. Amidst my confusion and agitation, I recall my earlier strategy and take in a deep breath. Green flame fills the air before me, revealing my wayward arm, as well as the look of the shadow fiend charging at me. I’m too slow to react and I take a wing to the face, knocking me onto my back. Once more I pull myself up, but I manage to get into kneeling position when an unseen blow smacks my back and sends me onto my face. My left shoulder hits the ground as well, bringing a sharp stab of pain which, for what it’s worth, puts some feeling back into my left arm.

Push myself up, a bit more weary this time. As I hold my arm out to steady myself, I touch something thin and cold. Grasping it further upward, I eventually fill the hilt of my sword sticking up in front of me. Some relief there, but then I see hovering ahead of me those piercing white peepers. There’s a low growling, but nothing more. It’s toying with me. Getting harassed these past ten, fifteen minutes and now it has its tormentor blind and bloodied. Powerful, fast, but just a creature of spite. Well, I’m done playing too. This is where it gets serious, pal. But first, attack the darkness.

I use my sword as support to get back up, and once erect, I calmly take off my shades, put them in my suit jacket, and then undress. I do a lousy fold of the jacket before I put it on the ground by my feet, then I pull out my sword with my good arm. I force my left arm to roll up the sleeve of my shirt, and once done, I flex a claw and dig it into the underside of my arm until I feel it give. Down the length it goes, stinging all the way to the wrist. I tighten my grip to get a good flow going, then bring my sword up to my snout. I whisper a chant and give off some flame.

“Emerald Lancer.”

Flick out my arm and the sword ignites. The flaming steel’s brightness pushes back the darkness until the shadow fiend is revealed in its entirety. We simply look at one another, the fiend mindlessly scraping one of its limbs into the ground. My sword might have a wicked awesome look now, but it has to have a steady flow to keep going, and it burns blood pretty fast. This must end fast.

The fiend charges, and I shamble myself into a run as well. As we approach, I swing my flaming blade upward, catching my foe in the side as it veers to dodge. It goes from dodging to attacking by swinging its head at me, but I whip my sword around and smack it back while burning a part of its face. It cries and retreats, but turns back around and scrapes its limb again in preparation for another charge. It bears down on me, but as I swing to strike, it leaps over me in a single bound, and I manage to turn my gaze back to see it land and charge at my exposed backside.

I have no choice but the take the full brunt of it. Feel the tear of my shirt as I lose touch with the ground, but slam my feet back down and keep myself from falling over. Turn back to see it growling, and I do a charge of my own. It fires a tendril at me, but I duck and rise up to sever it in a green slice. The fiend flinches, and I use that opening to rush in further and cut off the tendril at its base. The fiend cries again and leaps back with a flap of its wings, then flaps up into the air before flying at me in a dive tackle. I swing my sword around, which freaks it out into a last second wing flap and adjustment. As it’s flying low I swing again and catch one of its back legs, causing another cry. The creature lands but stumbles on its cut leg. It quickly regains its stance and gives a low roar.

More tendrils are launched, and more still get chopped down. I got caught off-guard earlier, but I’ve adjusted my movements and swipes to match their speed. The fiend growls and shudders angrily from the burns before firing a whole wall of tendrils. They all go down in a swipe, but the fiend pounces from behind them and plants its limbs on me, forcing me onto the ground (third or fourth time this happened?). Pinning me down, the fiend opens its pearly fangs to eat my face off. A reflex fireburst scorches the inside of its mouth, making it leap back and stumble in wailing agony.

I push myself up and charge at my stricken foe. It silences as I’m within a yard of it, then spreads a wing in front of it as I slice. The wing splits in two and the fiend screeches before leaping back. From its new spot, the fiend merely stands and takes some heavy breaths. Its mouth is a jagged burnt tear, and I don’t see it nor the wing reforming. Seems I’ve got it worn down. My vision blurs and head tilts as a bout of dizziness blindsides me. Time’s nearly out. Gotta see to it that it’s his.

I charge at it and get to swinging. It ducks and weaves, bringing up a warding tendril when my blade gets too close to its devastated face. It doesn’t dodge too well, though, as I manage to score a few cuts on its face and chest, just adding to its new raggedy look. It brings up a wing and tries to bat me away, and as I step back to avoid getting smacked in the face, the fiend lunges. I only have enough time to bring my claws down on its head to hold it back from going for my jugular. We hold this stance, waiting for one of us to slip up. Then in an instant, I spot something wooshing from behind the fiend and a tendril slaps my sword from my claw. The fire it carried extinguishes instantly, and in that brief confusing moment the fiend headbutts my chin and sends me back on the ground.

Pure supernatural darkness again. I have no idea where the fiend is, but doubtless I’ll find it soon enough when it tears my neck out. No choice but to stumble around and find my sword. The steady blood loss is making my footsteps heavy, and a bit disoriented. I start to hear breathing from the fabric of the shroud, but then my left foot steps on something solid, rounded. The sword sheath that flew off earlier. The breathing gets closer, and I have one last ditch thought. Galloping sounds join the breathing as I slide my toes under and kick up the sheath. My left claw snatches midair, and quickly I rub my other palm along the wood and metal casing. As something roars by my ear I whip around and set fire to the sheath.

The impromptu torch hits the charging shadow fiend in the cheek, and before it can look at me I give it another flaming smack, and then another and another. In the low light I see it stagger around in a daze. Immediately I bring up my still-bloody palm, spit fire into it, and deliver a flaming claw over its chest. Shadowy flesh flies freely as the beast hollars extra loud and hurt. It falls back a ways, but stops and groans. At the edge of the light field I see the fiend shake before erupting into a cloud of dark mist.

The darkness eases up significantly, to the point where I can see the ground. As the fiend continues letting off gas, I spot my sword some ways from the left of it and run for it. I pick it up upon arrival (waving out the sheath so it doesn’t disintegrate), but as I’m readying a Jade Slider, I turn and notice the gas cloud dissipating and something stepping out of it. A frame tall and elegant. A coat so richly black it’s practically blue. It only makes sense that something like this would have her involved somehow.

“Your Highness,” I say in an even tone.

“What? Who is thou? Where... Whom...”

The princess is a total mess: haggard, bedraggled, any adjective for being wrecked. Her breaths are ragged, and her wings have feathers sticking out of place. Her alicorn stature is reduced by how low she’s keeping her head, yet she keeps looking at me with dim eyes that have some minute spark lingering within. The worst aspect of her appearance are the patches of shadow mist flowing off of her like steam. It seeps out of the corners of her muzzle like smoke. I lower my weapons.

“Are you alright, Your Highness?” She shifts her head about confusedly, the pupils in her eyes zipping around her sockets.

“Alright? No, nothing alright. Giving way, endless treachery. No trust, trust none. Leave, all.” She just rambles on in mumbling, broken speech laced with fear.

“What’s wrong?”

“It hurts... The rays, it hurts so much—Darkness! Darkness is the natural order. Light is a wandering dream—why do they abandon me? All liars, two-faced sycophants. Still take for granted! Who loves me, cares for me?”

The speed of her delivery shifts wildly, a mix of seething and sobbing and distress and mania. Screw rest: this girl needs help. I reach out an arm slowly.

“Luna, it’s Spike. Just calm down. We can go back to Canterlot so you can rest. There are ponies missing you, including your sis—”

“DIE FOUL USURPER SPAWN!!!”

Several bolts of lightning strike around me, two of them nearly hitting my legs. Her own legs are now spread and she’s breathing in a rage.

“FOOL NOT ME LIKE OTHERS! THERE’S JUST... too much already. So much noise, so many things breaking. Far too much light, I can’t see. It’s too blinding, too painful. Nopony notices that I cannot see. Why do you ignore it? Won’t anypony shut it off PLEASE! Have to block it out, seal it away. No, no no no it’s burning me! Searing my flesh, I-I feel it scorching my mind no please make it stop!”

“You need to calm down!” I say with a raised voice, still firm and steady. “Whatever’s wrong, we can help. Just, get a hold of yourself.”

She stops moving around, but that wild look is still in her eyes. “It all has to stop. It’s the only way to make it whole, silent. The only way! Madness reigns in light, but in darkness it’s all still, peaceful. Must save all... Save me, save all. No end but by making end.”

Rather painful to watch, this symbol of grace and wisdom raving in a literal cage of her own design. The more I listen, the more I fear she may actually be too broken. And that’s something you never want to happen with a god.

“Your Highness, I urge you to settle down. Otherwise, I’ll have to resort to using force.” Oh crap, did I really just say that?

Hearing that, Luna goes stiff, then looks up to me with a deranged smile. Another bolt of lightning goes past her and I barely manage to sidestep it. The smile is gone when I look back.

“The night... shall go on...” She stomps and scrapes at the ground, breathes through her nostrils, horn lowered and aimed. Eyes far, far gone.

“...Then know that I’m sorry.” I lean forward, holding sheath and sword to my sides. Knee bends, focus. Watch her every move. Only the hum of the hidden sun. Then, she kicks off, and so do I.

Yards turn into miles. We’re both bearing down each other as fast as we can. Static leaps from her horn as a blade of crackling electricity forms. Over a thousand years of magical and combat training running right at me. The will to move a celestial body ponified, looking to skewer me. The passing air and the approaching princess wipe those doubts away as soon as they form. The distance grows shorter. Our eyes are locked. I can feel the heat of that sparking lance. Finally...

There’s a flash like quicksilver as we pass each other, then everything stops. No breath, no movement. I keep my sword and arm level and outstretched, never shifting from my kneeling position. Feeling soreness in my knee, but that means I’m alive. I let out a silent breath, noting the lack of any from behind. I spin my blade and slide it into its sheath at my side solemnly. When the hilt clacks in place, the moon shatters.

There are vast green fields all around when I open my eyes. Standing up, I take in the azure of the sky visible amidst heavy clouds, the warmth of the sun through them, and the vista of the distant mountains and shaded forests. It’s like awaking from a dream. But turning around, I find the morbid evidence that says otherwise.

Luna, once majestic and steadfast, is a lump of bloodied fur on the ground across from me. I cross the overcast field to investigate. Coming up to her, I spot the opening in her chest, still seeping crimson. Apart from that, everything looks normal. A light breeze blows at her mane, now bereft of her magic and reverting to a light, solid blue. Her face no longer looks haggard, as though she’s sleeping for the first time in weeks. Close by, I see the griffon kid staring at me (guess he wanted to see how it ends). His beak is a agape, soundless either out of amazement, shock, both, I cannot say (I give him a wave, anyway).

Can’t say exactly how this came about, either. There had been signs, maybe, but for it to get this out of hand? You’d think after Nightmare Moon they’d keep tabs on this. Perhaps it was abrupt, too sudden for anyone to notice. Or maybe she hid it due to some major trust issues. Maybe something else. At present, none of that matters. I should count myself hella lucky. A goddess would have no trouble making a smear outta me, but madness and fatigue made her sluggish. And now, lying on grass soaked in royal blood, the Princess of the Moon is finally at peace. Not the exit she deserved, but quick and clean nevertheless. She may have been cold toward us near the end, but there was no ill will on my behalf. Sleep well, Luna. I suppose it’s the least I could’ve done for you.

It occurs to me that a storm might be brewing when there’s a familiar purple flash. Then I realize the worst may not yet be over. The next words I hear practically confirm it.

“Spike... What have you done?”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=atNhKDGO7A8

DEATH by DRAGON

End of ADJUDICATOR Arc

SELENEICIDE
end

*The Lunatic is on the grass...

Interim 4

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Interim 4

It’s been two years since a princess died. After what’s happened, I say this is as good a time as any to stop for a (somewhat) brief history lesson.

As you already know, or ought to be aware, there were originally four princesses that ruled the land: the Royal Sisters, Luna and Celestia; newcomer Twilight; and Mi Amore Cadenza, aka Cadance, Princess of Love. Formerly the foalsitter of Twilight’s mortal filly years, Cadance managed to get her own stretch of land in the form of the Crystal Empire shortly after marrying Shining Armor: Twilight’s brother and Head of the Royal Guard (could make up some messed-up speculations on how all that happened, to be honest). After some unwanted guests tried to disrupt their wedding and overthrow the kingdom, the land to the north reappeared shortly thereafter for the taking. Sure, they still had to oust the spirit of the empire’s former tyrant beforehand, but that proved easy enough that a baby dragon could do it (as you all undoubtedly know with complete certainty as having actually happened).

Twilight and Cadance got along nicely, as they always had, but time slowly pulled them apart as duty in their respective territories required more and more of their attention. Cadance still managed to attend every royal meet-up, and she and Twi were more warm to each other than with Celestia, and definitely more so than with Luna. Twi’s brother also came along for some of them, and I got to talk with him a few times when we both happened to be there. Eventually the meet-ups were the only times they met in person, but they still kept in touch with the occasional letter. Thinking about it, I say Cadance and Shining remained mostly themselves over the years. Her the model of love and compassion, and him ever honorable and good-natured.

Which makes what happened all the more tragic.

Two years ago in late winter, a freak blizzard blew through the north, cutting off the Crystal Empire from contact with the rest of Equestria for almost a week. No trains, no pegasi could reach them. Experts labeled it a once in a century occurrence, so nobody had cause to be alarmed for the safety of those happy, peace-loving Crystal Ponies and their benevolent ruler. The cause for alarm came, though, when no word came from them a week after the blizzard left.

Trains and air mail resumed their regular schedules, but they never came back. More strange was that some of the couriers and train engineers sent letters mentioning some vague delay in exiting the kingdom. Wasn’t long before the stink couldn't be ignored any longer.

A royal envoy of soldiers under Celestia’s orders were sent to the Crystal Empire to investigate. Initial reports stated that the streets, normally packed and filled with the sounds of any healthy city, were uncomfortably quiet and barely populated. Contact with locals showed them hesitant to answer questions about the “delay”, and were insistent that things were normal despite the eeriness hanging over the city or the supposed illness of the prince and princess that kept them from coming street level. None of them seemed all that inviting, as they wouldn’t offer any of them drink or snacks or even to step inside any of their homes. Suspicions further raised, a scout was sent to break into one of the homes to see what they were hiding. Turns out it was bodies. Lots of glimmering, bloodless bodies. The scout barely had time to regroup and report his discovery when the “citizens” realized the jig was up and revealed the truth themselves: the kingdom had been taken over by Changelings.

Just a few of the soldiers barely managed to escape the city with their lives, limping to the nearest outpost for help. Reinforcements were sent shortly after, and they quickly routed the invaders. Just a skeleton crew it turned out, no more than a few dozen, enough to put on the facade of a living city to any passing traveler. A sweep of every residence showed each of them loaded with corpses: stallions, mares, fillies, colts, bachelors, entire families, and even the one orphanage and hospital. Among their numbers were the waylaid couriers and train engineers. Not one storage pod in sight; it had been a mission to massacre. But it wasn’t quite as grisly as what was found in the palace.

At first it seemed completely abandoned. No bodies, pony or otherwise, though there was evidence of a drawn out battle: scorched walls, furniture turned over for cover, blood stains on various surfaces. The search of the premises ended in the throne room, where the fate of the royalty was finally discovered. Cadance had been strung up over the center of the room with banners, wings torn apart (eaten), her heart ripped right out of her body. The body of Shining Armor was sprawled unceremoniously on the floor beneath his beloved, covered in blood long dried out, completely sucked of all life (wild guess as to who did the honors). Both their bodies, maimed and defiled, spelled one clear, gory message: Love was Over.

Word of the Crystal Empire’s demise eventually slipped out, and Equestria grew scared of a threat long forgotten. Growing paranoia threatened to undo the Order established in the kingdom (namely the Order me and Twilight established), and who could blame them? Changelings hadn’t been seen in over five years, and none of their recorded attacks were ever that bloody or merciless. Seemed the thought of revenge had simmered long enough for them to leave their comfort zone and go into all-out slaughter mode.

I was there when Twilight received the news of Cadance and her brother’s deaths. She stood a moment, completely still, then without uttering a word she went to her private study in the Librarium and locked the door. The wait wasn’t long, though, because not three hours passed before she came out, face serene yet hard, and made the call to arms. It was off to war for us.

Celestia backed her former student’s decision without question, and lending the support of Canterlot’s standing army, the hunt was on. Weeks of searching, interrogations and destruction of Changeling “strongholds” eventually led to an abandoned castle in the far western wastes. The Changeling Hive found, a moment wasn’t wasted to draw up the attack plan. Every military unit was to partake in the assault, including Rainbow Dash and the entirety of the Wonderbolts, trainees included. The reserves of both the army and Wonderbolts were to form a wide perimeter around the castle to keep any Changelings from escaping by land or air. The main assault would be a full-blown charge on the Hive, with airships providing cannon fire from above and pegasus forces, including the remaining Wonderbolts, providing further air support by way of warding off Changeling anti-air strikes and making sure none slipped through. Then there was the key objective: the elimination of Chrysalis. That was mine and Pinkie’s job.

The assault began on a late evening of early spring. An airship was taking me and Pinkie as close to the frontlines as possible, where we were would drop into the thick of the mayhem and make a drive toward the castle on foot. I still remember the low roar of the battle below, a mixture of yells and screeches and clanging metal, punctuated by aerial cannon fire from the circling airships. Dozens of Changelings taking to the skies to meet with pegasi and cannonballs; no doubt Rainbow was having the time of her life. On the ground, I couldn’t even imagine how many of the buggers there were. An all-devouring sea of hardened black taking up a nearly half mile radius outside the castle.

Pinkie and I were standing by the edge of the ship as we neared the drop-off point. The whole time she had a gleeful smile on her face, both her eyes gleaming with the promise of ludicrous combat. Not an ounce of uncertainty or nervousness in her look or stance. She might as well have been waiting to dive into the world’s largest chocolate fountain.

“You ready, Spikey?” she asked me with that gruff, condescending tone (still bubbly). I was a pretty seasoned fighter by that point, hardened against whatever pain I received or dealt. Equestria on the whole had learned to fear the Fetcher. Was an inch or two shorter then, and also a smidge more brash. Otherwise I stayed all shades, all suit, all business.

“Born ready,” I replied, looking to the mesh of gray and green in the center of the swarming mass that was our target.

“Don’t get cocky on me. I’ll kick your scrawny, scaly ass if I see you making an easy target of yourself.”

“Worry more about yourself, Pinkie. Pony skin is a lot squishier than dragon hide.”

“Heh, right. Let’s see them try to touch me!” An airship ahead of the bow exploded from a Changeling suicide charge, green smoke mixed with fire and shrapnel. Our ship rocked from the blast, and I felt some bits of stern fall on me like hot drizzle. Maybe a good forty ponies lost in that blast. Pinkie looks back to me with a more firm look, but otherwise unfazed. “Remember: no retreat, no mercy.”

I nodded in equal firmness. “Right.” The airship got into hovering position five yards above the frontline. The chittering was deafening.

“Okay, runt: let’s do this.”

We leapt, separated midair, and wasted no time once groundside. It was the most I had put my sword through up to that point as I cut a bloody, chitin-laden path through the angry swarm. They came in closer when they noticed me, trying to bite or tackle me, but I tore through them regardless. Ten minutes of endless cut-and-running, slicing my palm raw in making Jade Sliders, limbs falling all around me. Saw my fair share of severed Changeling heads flying through the air like slick sputtering beach balls, joined by bodies blown about by aerial bombardment. So much noise and movement, but I always kept my sights on the hideous edifice in the near distance. I looked over occasionally to see Pinkie making a fine mess of things herself, often with a bang courtesy of her tricked-out Party Cannon. As we drew nearer to the castle entrance and there was a thinning of Changelings, the two of us regrouped momentarily and charged ahead together.

“What’s your kill count, boy?” she asked while kicking down passing soldiers.

“Lost count after forty, maybe forty-five. Don’t think keeping tally is really of importance right now.”

“Like hell it isn’t!” she chastised while slitting passing throats with some leg-strapped knives (that came outta nowhere apparently). “That’s how I’ll know if you need further training from me. I’m past a hundred and fifty myself, so clearly you’re getting soft on me.”

“Would I be this far in if that were true?” I asked right before splitting a leaping Changeling in two, getting some blood on the shoulder of my suit (to my disappointment). “How bout we race to see who gets Chrysalis first? Let the army do their job and get this done with.”

“Hmf, you’re on! See ya on the other side.” And with that we spread out and carved solo once more. Fewer Changelings further in, but they were bigger, fiercer, and wearing the thickest armor. Had to whip out the kicks and punches to get some of them low enough for a beheading. After getting through a few of the elites I eventually made it to the front door. Most of the castle was covered in black and green secretions, webbing and such, as though black and green licorice had been melted haphazardly over the place. The main door was shut, unsurprisingly; a combination of thick wood and hardened stone and metal. I had left most of the Changelings in the dust, but it'd be seconds before they got on top of me. Luckily, I caught sight of Pinkie blasting her way toward me. The millisecond our eyes met, we had a plan.

I had learned my Malachite Piston move not too long ago, and decided to put it to use by blasting myself twenty feet into the air. On the way up I made two slashes, vertical and horizontal, into the wood of the door, and on the way down I flicked some blood into the grooves I made. I belched some flame onto the lowest part of the “cross” upon landing, igniting the blood set in it. That’s the moment Pinkie flew in and delivered a rock-shattering kick into the center of the burning mark, blowing the door in four massive, mostly-square pieces inward. She’d probably have managed without my help, but my spot of decorating made things quicker, and less splintery.

In through the breach Pinkie and I charged, straight to the inner courtyard... only to get immediately surrounded. All of them tall, all of them decked out in purple armor, and none of them looking too happy about seeing us. They just stood in a wide circle, snarling and hissing, waiting for us to make the first move, or something else.

“Shoulda figured this would happen,” I remarked, to which Pinkie laughed harshly.

“I was wondering where the rest of the good fighters were. Buncha spineless cowards.”

“That’s rich, considering the circumstances.”

An airy, insectoid voice drew our attention to an upper banister. Standing there, in all her parasitic glory, was our target: Queen Chrysalis. Taller than her soldiers, chitin supremely dark and glossy, hair like damp lichen, sharp and crooked horn, and legs still looking holey as all hell. A regular cesspool alicorn. Her look was that of a cat that has a mouse under its paw, baring her thin sharp fangs in a sort of smug, sinister smile.

“If it isn’t the pink one,” she continued. “It has been ages. Keeping in good spirits and health with all your bothersome friends, I trust?”

“Yeah, it has been a while alright, Succu-bitch,” Pinkie said with her own devious grin.

“My, what language from such a carefree spirit.”

“Exactly: carefree enough not to give a damn what comes out of my mouth.” That’s for sure. Chrysalis didn’t reply as she turned her green gaze to me.

“The Vanguard is here as well. Or should I say, the Fetcher?”

“Either works.” The queen did one of those short chuckles.

“Come to do Her Majesty’s dirty work, as usual. Word of your deeds is scarcely hard to come by, even all the way out here. You were even talked about in the Crystal Empire, before that awful storm came around.” A more heinous chuckle. “Come to think of it, I vaguely recall there being a dragon all those years ago in Canterlot. To think he would grow into such a strapping, deadly warrior. Although I would’ve imagined dear princess Twilight Sparkle being alongside you for this encounter. No doubt she planned this little siege, but it seems killing her family isn’t enough to motivate her to lead the charge. I have to say, for such a headstrong pony who’s always keen on doing things herself, her absence comes off as bitterly disappointing. How I would have delighted in discussing the final moments of her brother in vivid, painstaking detail.” She chortled mockingly, and a few of her troops throw in their own.

“She’s no coward if that’s what you’re getting at,” Pinkie snapped back, a bit more serious that time. “A slippery slug like you just isn’t worth getting stepped on by her. But take heart, if you had one, that you’re well within my standards for an ass-whoopin’.”

“Hmph, I would think the situation would override her standards. Or, perhaps, she’s taken after her loving teacher in the practice of being completely useless in a fight. Now that I think about it, I say that’s definitely the case.”

“Okay, you yapped long enough ya egg-fartin’ soul-sucker,” came the ever eloquent rapport. “This is where we kill you and take down your shape-shifting hellspawn, fast and with total satisfaction.”

“What? No capture or banishment this time?” She said in mock surprise, even bringing a hoof up to her chest for a dramatic gasp, the rotted ham. “I guess this is a serious matter after all. Though I suspect you’ll carry out this grave task with that... cannon, of yours.”

“Nah, nothing that predictable.” Pinkie placed a party blower on her lips. “It ain’t a party without variety, y’know.” She gave a blow, and from the unfurling party favor a kunai (I think that’s what they’re called) shot out and stabbed an unsuspecting Changeling square between the eyes. I took that as my cue to run forward and get swinging. A much tougher crowd this time around, actually using their wings along with their armor to keep us on our toes (hooves). Certainly made it hard to get anywhere close to Chrysalis, or the stairs for that matter.

More kept coming every time we evened the odds. My blade kept cutting through and bouncing off armor, but I kept at it, and so did Pinkie with her array of random-ass weapons. Eventually we made it onto the next floor, but Chrysalis had gone, with only a dozen more soldiers waiting for us. As we took to the latest wave of snarling insects, a heavy buzzing made us aware that ol’ queeny was still around. In the middle of fighting I managed to spot her hovering in the courtyard on those paper-thin wings of hers, no doubt enjoying the show.

“It truly is a sight watching your combat prowess in person,” she goaded. “However, you’ve outclassed my subjects for long enough, and the queen expects fair play when you're with her darling children.”

Her crooked horn lit up before a beam fired straight at me. It came too fast and I was too preoccupied to dodge, resulting in a hit of magic. It was probably a binding spell, or something to trip me up or knock me out. Whatever it was, it knocked the wind out of me and gave me a pounding headache, but it did something else.

“Raaaagh!” My claw went to my head while I did my best to keep back the Changelings, but the headache became piercing as the rest of my body started to ache. Images of greed rapidly flooded my mind.

“Hey, shake it off and get back in the game!” Pinkie berated me, her voice mostly muted by the pounding in my ears.

“Something’s, something’s not—GURH! WANT!” Both claws went to my head. Vision darkened and I felt on fire. I knew what was going on, but my mind was too clouded with avarice, of destruction, power, to do anything about it.

“What’s wrong? Quit messing around and pull yourself together!” She might as well have been a million miles away at that point. There was no stopping it.

“C-can’t, stop. No... con-TROL! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWRR!!!”

Chrysalis’ magic had done something to my growth inhibitor. Made it go haywire, because that’s exactly what followed. A mindless blur of destruction and rage, no semblance of restraint or recollection of the devastation as it happened. If my subconscious hadn’t been smothered by dragon instinct, I would have thought that would have been the end for me. My remaining days, or perhaps hours, as a giant fire-breathing lizard ravaging the land before being put down by magic or the military, with no idea of how many villages I would’ve destroyed before that happened. Maybe would have made it to Canterlot before I got taken down by Celestia or Twilight. I suppose I was being a tad pessimistic thinking that, especially considering that things turned out alright. Kinda.

After who knows how long (reports said I’d been at it for only three minutes, but it felt like hours) I regained my mind, and it was a wreck. First thing I noticed was a ringing silence, and that my head was on its side and the rest of me was flat. My eyes struggled to open enough to reveal a blur of grey flagstone mixed with a dark blue and orange palette, probably the sky. I tested movement in one of my arms, but just as I prepared the arduous task of getting a literal grip on the world, something heavy slammed into the side of my head and kept me down. It pushed harder down on my skull, building pressure for a few seconds as I tried to flail my way out with no luck. Feeling like the first sentient coconut in the middle of a luau, I could hear a sadistic laugh through the pain in my head.

“Such ferocious power to go with your swordsmanship. You truly are a foe to be reckoned with. A pity all that strength and ferocity is wasted on so unimaginative a princess.” She pressed down harder, and I made a stifled groan as my sight flashed with red spots. The pressure eased up slightly as she paused a moment before resuming. “This place is done for, but we can rebuild. It’s in our very nature to survive in the wake of disaster. Though one thing is certain: we can’t have you following us. I may not be so lucky a second time.” A sound of her magic filled my pressed ears. “Now I could splatter your brains over this floor like a worthless pony commoner, as you had done with so many of my offspring, but you deserve better than that.” Something hovered over my head as she talked more slowly. “Your executions had an air of poetic justice to them from time to time. A more befitting end if there ever was.”

Her self-indulgence ended with a whoosh, a smack, and the clattering of a rock somewhere ahead of me, followed by an equally clamorous voice. “Hey! How bout picking on somepony smaller than you, like you usually do!”

“Meddlesome baker!” The silvery width of my sword fell to the ground in front of my face with a clang.

“Catch me, ya fat ass!” Another stone tossed, hitting a wall, and then a fwish of magic and a distant gag. Something large floated over, and it was shifting around wildly. “H-hey, no fair, spider wannabe slut!”

“Expect me to give chase like some moronic mammal? Pleeeease, give me some credit.” Another pause, announced by a harsher gag. “Such beautiful blue eyes, made further radiant by all the pink. A travesty if something were to happen to them.” At the corner of my eyes, a small pointy rock was lifted in a green aura. “How you became so vulgar I will never know, but at the very least I can leave my mark before departing. Something to remember me by, mmheheheheh.”

What came next went beyond blood-curdling. A scream of such intense pain it tore at the soul as much as the ears, a high-pitch cry that would forever haunt my deepest memories. It couldn’t have been more than ten seconds, but you could feel every sensation of agony just by hearing it. The only thing that could drown it out was the abrupt silence brought on by a thunk and a shocked cough.

My head was up, and I saw Chrysalis as she slowly, very slowly, looked down to see the two feet of tempered steel driven into her chest. The widening of her eyes and the twitching of her mouth as realization dawned on her, Pinkie hitting the floor and forgotten by her. I switched focus to getting out of my kneeling position, keeping both my arms firmly gripped on the sword hilt.

“Still early for your victory lap, queeny,” I said in a low tone, dropping my head to oversee the movement of my other foot. “Really need to get your priorities in order.” I managed to get both feet locked in place and began my rise upward. Standing upright, I gave her highness another hard look. What I find is Twilight looking down at me, unclothed, eyes full of tears and betrayal, my weapon stuck in her heart.

“How could you—?”

“Big Mistake.” One fast hard jerk and my blade split her up the middle. The illusion burned away as sickly green blood showered from the queen’s two halves during their fall. Even when it hit the ground with an unceremonious plop a few more ounces of the stuff poured out. The strongest scent out of them all; I felt the ebbing warmth of the blotches that had fallen on me. Utterly disgusting, I thought bitterly.

I briefly looked from the split royal carapace and took in the surroundings. The castle was completely demolished: no ceiling to speak of and only a few crumbled walls. Suit and shades were gone, obviously, but no scratch on me (physically). I then looked over to the pink bundle sitting on the floor, hunched over and clutching her face with both hooves.

“Are you okay Pinkie?” I went over and bent down to get a closer look to make up for my stupid question. Thick red blood on her hooves and trickling down her right cheek. She breathed harshly, but she seemed to be coming out of her shock. Granted, I was no medical expert, so cut me some slack in making assumptions.

“...Yeah... I’m fine,” she managed to say after some breaths. I placed my claws over her shoulders, and surprisingly she let me help her up, though she wouldn’t let me move her from her spot. After a minute she managed to get onto three legs, though one still covered the right side of her face. After a few more breaths she let that drop, showing a blood-caked eyelid firmly shut. She looked to me with exhaustion, then forced a smile. “Like shit, huh?”

I only nodded, and she gave a half-hearted chuckle. Then she asked, “She done with?”

I looked to the barely twitching corpse. “Yeah.”

“Good. Bleeding shame I couldn’t do it myself. Heh.”

Though I shouldn’t be, I’m still bothered by how quickly she recouped herself after that ordeal. There are just some things you don’t bounce back from at all, much less in the span of two minutes. But she did. Madness, otherworldly-possession, or Laughter really is the strongest Element around. I never found out, and the mystery still frightens me to some deep, subconscious extent.

After her jest, Pinkie began trotting toward the corpse, in the direction of the inner area. “Come on, runt. There’s still work to do.”

“Copy,” I said before following. With the main target disposed of, we moved on to our follow-up objective: making sure none of this repeats. Pinkie made a point that the military would handle the stragglers “outside”, leaving us to clean out whatever was left of the hive. It was then I got a full look at the extent of my rampage. Changelings flattened, incinerated, splattered over everything. We eventually made it to a portion of castle that remained miraculously intact, though it was only a few ground level rooms. In one of them were a couple of dazed soldiers that were dispatched quickly, as well as an unhinged door they must’ve been guarding.

Turned out to be the entrance to the cellar, and a moldy set of stairs later, said cellar turned out to be the hatchery. Dank and glowy and filled with an unearthly smell. Nestled within were the eggs, as well as the newly hatched. Looking like big-eyed worms, barely able to keep themselves upright, mainly tumbling around and making little screeches that combined into an unsettling chorus. No doubt rattled by the noise, confused by the yells of their elder siblings above, wanting the company of their mother.

We wasted no time. From front to back, Pinkie and I covered every inch of that room, and the room past that. Dozens, maybe a hundred eggs. And all those grubs in between. Most tried to crawl away, some tried to bite back. A few even gave inquisitive looks as I turned my sword on them. Hungry, blind, completely defenseless. Nothing could be spared, otherwise we’d risk another queen arising. The two of us, together, wiped it clean. We killed them. All of them.

That was about the time my job lost much of its remaining enjoyment for me. Pinkie remained the same, though. If anything, the eye-gouging made her livelier, more intent on beating me into shape whenever I come around. And she got an eye-patch in the deal as well.

With Cadance and the Crystal Empire avenged, Equestria was able to sleep peacefully again. Twilight hailed it as a moment for further prosperity to those who fall under the banner of Harmony and Order, and Celestia was more than content to let her former student bask in the praise of the populace. Luna, on the other hand, really started to distance herself afterward. She particularly liked Cadance, thought of her more as a niece than her actual aunt did, but her loss left only one young and impressionable alicorn, and she had already been taken.

Changelings were eventually forgotten by the collective consciousness, and peace was restored to the land of ponies with one less menace to worry about. But that bit of assurance came off as bitter for a number of reasons. Saw things I never thought I’d ever, and would never want, to see. But like any good professional, I moved on to my next assignment without qualm or complaint. Order must be preserved, and Her Highness has no time for conflicting interests. As the saying goes: doing the right thing is hardly easy.

Just have to be certain that what you do is the right thing to begin with.

Interim 4.2

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Interim 4.2

Which brings us back to the present.

Two weeks have passed since the event several underground journalists have dubbed “Moonfall”. Due to her madness overcharging her powers (or something), the moon disappeared the moment Luna died. Turned out to be an easy enough fix for Celestia, as only a week of moonless nights and screwy tides went by before a replacement was put together (doesn’t shine as brightly as the old one). The dark presence in the castle had also disappeared, and all the possessed ponies were returned to normal as well, which unfortunately meant them discovering the ones cut down by me. Really not the kind of thing you’d want to see after waking up from having your body used like a demonic puppet.

The population at large was told that a sudden and fatal illness had taken Luna, explaining why the moon had been screwing up their afternoon sky. Godly death thralls, that sort of thing. My true involvement in the matter became need-to-know, with my injuries explained away as being the result of my participation in the palace evacuation. Very neat, no questions.

A grand cremation was held two days after, attended by thousands, the two remaining princesses included. I managed to be there, beat up as I was, and so was Discord, who behaved himself during the proceedings. Though it went smoothly enough, an uncomfortable air seemed to hang over those gathered as the pyre burned. As to why, I can't really say.

I suffered no permanent damage from the fight on the plains, but Twilight had placed me under mandatory bed rest for a couple of days, the funeral being the exception. Afterwards I just had to put my arm in a sling, and now it’s just down to bandages. Might wind up with a scar, but it shouldn’t be too noticeable.

My recovery-slash-break allowed for some time with Sweetie Belle whenever she came by for visits. Some snacks, some music, hugs and kisses for the road (she’s really sappy when she’s concerned for my health, even if it’s just a cold). The break wasn’t long, though, and I found myself put back to work. Simple stuff at first: small errands and retrievals from non-violent citizens. Once the sling was off, I got back to jobs that required full use of my sword (mainly involving non-violent but very desperate citizens).

Shockingly, there were no repercussions for my actions, neither from Twilight nor Celestia, even. It was agreed that, though tragic, there was little else I could’ve done at the time. If allowed to flee, Luna could have spread her craze-fueled horrors in surrounding towns, or possibly made the moon fall on us. The two also accepted unspokenly that Luna was too far gone for any other option. Save imprisonment, which might’ve been worst depending on how you viewed it.

While it’s well and good for ponykind at large, the past month has left my mind restless. Boulderstorm, the Changeling, memories of Chrysalis, and now Luna’s death has further rustled my mental jimmies. Things suddenly feel uncertain, like everything is building up to something unknown. A nagging that something worse will go down, if it hasn’t already. In times like this I need to refrain, clear my head and ease tension. Find my center, give in to the ebb and flow of creation, let my agitated mind have time just to take a load off.

“I say that did the trick,” I address the blue-maned head rising up from between my legs.

“You did wonderful, Master Spike,” she replies, wiping her mouth delicately.

“Being formal, Aloe.”

“Oh, my apologies, Spike.” She giggles softly. “Care for another session?”

“No thanks. I think this’ll do for now.”

“Very well.” She gets up and backs away to allow me out of my seat. A quick trip to the changing room and I’m cleaned up and back in my suit (had kept the shades on throughout. Never gets in the way of their work). I head back to the waiting room, my masseuse waiting by the register, and I place a good ten bits on the counter.

“Excellent service as always. Give my regards to Lotus when you see her.”

She bows. “Your continued patronage is deeply appreciated. Be sure to come back soon.”

“Sure thing.” I wave back as I make for the door of Ponyville spa. Nothing loosens the body and mind quite like time spent in the sauna, a full body massage, and a good old-fashion Happy Ending. I’ve come to this place during particularly tense moments ever since Pinkie introduced me to the extra secret VIP treatment as a birthday present, one of the few things I’m grateful to her for. Happy Fifteenth, indeed.

Stepping outside, I take in the day's warmth and draw a breath of satisfaction (guess I really needed that). The first thing my gaze falls on among the few street-goers is a familiar stylized mane that led down to a coat of flawless white made more radiant by the sun above, and made the three gems of her cutie mark more prominent on that flawless flank. Three shopping bags hovered in place in that baby blue magic of hers as she trots down the street. Opportunity a-callin’, I decide to follow after (really good mood now).

I step up behind, slightly to the left, and snatch one of the bags. She looks back at my grinning face after noticing the lightened load.

“Mind if I help?” I ask.

“Oh, it’s you.” She looks forward. “If you wish. But shouldn’t you be heading to work?”

“Day off. Felt like walking about town, the weather being so nice and all.” I take a gander into my carry-on. “Fabric shopping, I see.”

“It’s not polite to rummage through a lady’s belongings, Spike. But yes, I received an order that's due this weekend and I was running low on the necessary materials.”

“Uh-huh, that’s nice. Good to hear your dress-making is going well.” She gives me a sharp look.

“What’s that supposed to imply?”

“Nothing. It’s just that you always make the best dresses, and you still do.”

She snaps her head back and focuses on looking straight again, and after a brief pause she asks, “Why are you bothering me?”

“Just wanted to catch up with a good friend, is that so wrong? It should be perfectly fine by you, being daytime and all.”

“I know exactly where this will go: inquire about my availability, followed by an invitation to ‘hang out’. It’s always the same ‘chat’, every time. A chat that became old ages ago.”

“You forgot to mention that I always say it wouldn’t hurt to give it a shot as well.”

“Don’t think I didn’t see you walk out of the spa. I know exactly what you want.”

“That’s just for stress relief. It’s not like I go there all the time, more like every couple of months. Certainly not a nighttime enterprise of mine.”

“I beg your pardon?” That raised eyebrow, sharp enough to open a can. Gotta smooth it down, smart-Alec.

“Only saying that you’re a bit judgmental, all things considered. I always tell you I’m fine with how you run your business. Why can’t you be the same with mine?”

A dainty huff and back to sticking her nose up away from me. “As I always tell you, your profession, though respectable by the graces of the kingdom, is unbecoming for a lady like myself.”

“Rarity, wait up!” That voice with the pleasant ring of optimism and youth precedes the arrival of Sweetie Belle, who trots up to the spot between me and Rare. Still in that rebellious outfit; guess this kills it for this chance (perhaps mercifully). “Oh, Spike, hey there!” She hops up and peck-nuzzles my cheek. “How’s your day been going? Talking to sis, I see.”

“Yeah, and helping out too.” I hold up the bag.

“Ohh, so sweet of you.” Practically swoons in saying that, though her older sister gives an indignant “Hmph!”, to which Sweetie gives a modest chuckle. I think I told her about my spa trips, but even if I hadn’t, it’s a subject never brought up by her. Quite frankly, I say it’s something she’s okay with. Clingy though she may be, she knows that hard workers need time alone, to unwind however they please, without any questions. It certainly saves me from considerable drama and complications.

“I’ve been thinking that I cook some dinner for us tonight,” she continues, eyes fixated on me. “Some simple salad, charred turquoise, things like that. Ooh! You should come over to the boutique tonight, that way I can cook for Rarity too. Dinner for the three of us!” The way she blinks she might as well have been shouting “yay” throughout. I'm pretty sure Flutters gives cute lessons on the side (would explain how she keeps the cottage).

“I don’t think that would work too well for me, Sweetie Belle,” the elder sister says in a non-so-subtle warning tone.

“Why not? You have the boutique closed down for tonight so it’s just that dress you’re working on, and I know you’ll have it done in a snap. So it’ll just be us, like I said.”

“Sweetie Belle...”

“Boutique’s closed tonight?” I ask with raised interest, ignoring the half-hiss that Rarity made. “That’s news to me. When did this happen?”

Rarity sighs, defeated, but recomposes herself like the pro she is. “Just something of a respite for myself. Since I’ve been working hard for some time, I felt a break was in order. And the clientele of recent... have been a tad vexing.”

“She’s talking about Blueblood. He came over the other night.”

“Sweetie, please don’t—”

“Get out! Really?” I interrupt, switching to gossip mode (the things Ponyville Spa can do to a dragon).

“Yeah! He came in with what he claimed to be ‘hard-earned bits’, but Rarity just threw him out without saying another word. Closed the place up right then and there and told everypony to scram.”

“Sweetie, sharing that information with others is rather inconsiderate to my personal privacy,” Rarity pleas, doing a bad job hiding her shame and growing anger.

“Well you shouldn’t have told me about it, sis. Besides, you also said that you wouldn’t be putting up with that if all those years ago you didn’t give in to him that one—”

“Sweetie Belle!!”

The screech is punctuated by the sound of a hindleg slamming full-force into the side of my face (shades and bag flying off) as my feet give way and I’m launched sideways into the side of a house.

“What the hell ya doin’ harassing the public, dickless!”

“Yo, Pinkie,” I say to override the soreness on my head and shoulders. I extricate myself from the dent I’ve made, and look to the startled and confused green head looking through one of the bigger cracks. “Deepest apologies. Carpenters will be sent, fully paid.” That blow sobered most of my good mood, but not entirely. I walk casually over to the group (now with one fuming pink poofy addition).

“He wasn’t harassing us, Pinkie. We were just talking,” Sweetie says in my defense as I bend down to pick up my unscratched shades. Bag of fabric seemed to have made a perfect landing, I think as I pick it back up.

“Yeah, what she said.” Back on they go. “Rarity can attest.”

“They’re both right, though it’s been rather intrusive.”

“Which by my book means harassment, so quit hiding behind your fillyfriend and own up, lizard boy.” Further haranguing from Pinkie is thwarted by the arrival of two giddy sets of galloping hooves. Correction: one set of galloping hooves and a pair of flapping wings, both equally giddy.

“Whoa, did you see how much distance he got?”

“It wasn’t much, Pumpkin.”

“And how would you know?” Hooves touching down.

“Because I could actually see it.” A stick of the tongue, a swing and miss of a sisterly hoof. More sibling squabbles for our troupe.

“Hey little guys.” Instantly they drop their spat and switch focus on me. I really have that effect on kids (in case you didn’t know already).

“Hey Spike!” Pound says with coltish, mildly timid enthusiasm. His sister, more brazen and ribboned than him, really isn’t so timid.

“Why do you keep letting Pinkie Pie pick on you?” Oi, right to the gut.

“She’s not picking on me. It’s just little scraps that adults get into, like the kind between you and your brother.”

She tilts her head, ribbons bobbing everywhere. “You don’t seem to fight back much, though.”

“That’s cuz I got him pegged like a little bitch, WA-HA!” Pinkie throws herself into a two-hoof stand for optimal goading. Manages to catch a gleam off her eye-patch in the process (somehow).

“You’re not supposed to talk like that around us, Pinkie,” says Pound as his sister turns to face down the pink fiend.

“Yeah, and don’t go picking on Spike when he’s not doing anything!”

“Or what, are you gonna fight for him like his squeeze?” Pinkie gets back onto all fours, casting a steely one-eyed glare at her two charges. “I won’t hesitate in knocking both of you into the dirt. I saw you come into this world, and I sure as sugar can bust you right out of it! Heh, how’s that for watching my language?”

“So what have you been up to?” Sweetie steps in, seemingly oblivious to the potential child abuse that’s underway (or I’m just over-thinking things).

“Watching the squirts as you can see,” Pinkie switches to Sweetie, doing a one-eighty with her demeanor (somewhat). Scary how she still pulls it off so fast. “Parents are gone for the week, so I have to keep ‘em from destroying the bakery.”

“We wouldn’t destroy our own house, Pinkie!” Pumpkin complains. “It’s you who winds up breaking things when nothing’s happening!”

“Hey! What’d I tell you about the dirt, little sister? You’re starting to dig that hole.” The threat manages to silence the truant unicorn, but doesn’t prevent an I’m-totally-right-and-you-got-nothing huff.

“Oh, is it their wedding anniversary or something?” Sweetie asks further.

“A research trip, if ya can believe it. For the Summer Sun Celebration,” Pinkie replies. “Going out to get supplies and recipes from some of the more northern provinces, and decided to make a vacation out of it as well.”

“Without taking us...” Pumpkin glumly mutters. Oh the disappointments of youth. How the nostalgia won’t stop.

“Sorry to hear that, guys,” Sweetie coos sympathetically. Despite rebellious and naughty tendencies, she’s quite proactive around kids: gets down to their level, treating them like dolls that can talk and make your life a complete hell if handled improperly. Probably because she’s still young enough to relate to them (if that’s true, then I’m just about young enough to be that kiddy as well. Such scandal to my reputation were it so!). Sweetie brightens like a bulb before saying, “Say, want to hang out with us? Go to the park or something like that?”

“You mean with Spike?” Pound’s ears perk up, as do the wings (don’t you dare).

“As in hang out with Spike?” his sister joins, her unkempt mane perking up in unison.

“Definitely!” Heh, funny for her to answer so promptly. I don’t recall getting a say.

“Can we go Pinkie can we go?” the two Cakes bombard their guardian, faces pressed together in combined youthful anticipation and desperation. There’s no wait for the grizzled response.

“Fine by me, so long as Spikey the Emotionally Fragile Dragon doesn’t feel uncomfortable about it.” Well let’s see: good mood spa followed by run-in with Rarity, spoiled slightly by Sweetie Belle, and worsened by being around my deranged former master and the prospect of spending further time around her. But those looks of joy in the kids’ faces, I really have no proper reason to shatter them.

“Sure. Got nothing else going on,” I shrug out a response.

“Cool!” the twins cheer, face-pressed for combined glee. A sigh from the forgotten elder sister draws our attention.

“Sweetie Belle, it’s rude to get me entangled in some out-of-the-blue outing without asking beforehoof.”

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, sis. The boutique is on the way to the park, so you can get off there. Plus you’ll be getting some help out of it.” I hold up and flex my free digits at her cue.

“Got an extra claw.” A pause for baffled consideration, and in she gives.

“Well, I suppose there really is no choice.” Another hefty bag floats into my grasp. “Let’s hurry this along.” She kicks up her spotless hooves, and our odd group gets into motion. As do the mouths of the kids.

“Can you teach us some fight moves this time, Spike?”

“Will you tell us about bad guys you killed, in extra bloody detail?”

“At least very violent detail?”

“Ummm, hey, we could give the swings a go when we get to the park. That’s fun for all ages.”

“Except for fatties, hahahaha!”

“None of us are fat, Pinkie (except maybe Rarity).”

“Did somepony say my name?”

“Could you push me when we get there, Sweetie Belle?”

“No she gets to push me first!”

“I asked first.”

“You don’t need anypony to push you: you have wings!”

“I still asked first.”

“H-hey, guys, don’t fight. I’ll push the both of you, and even Spike can help.”

“Uhhh...”

“Don’t hesitate to smack them if they’re being a bother. You have my permission.”

“I don’t think the Cakes would appreciate such action, Pinkie Pie.”

“Get kids of your own, Rare, and I’ll pay you more mind in the department of foal-rearing.”

“Wouldn’t foal-sitting me count?”

“No. And don’t you dare give me that look; I’m not your jello-spined boy toy over there.”

This is about the closest I can get to a having a “normal” life, at least according to the standards of the average Ponyville dweller. Closest to what my life had once been, long ago. It’s actually better than usual, in fact. Rarely do Sweetie and Rarity occupy the same street at any given time of day, so it’s something seeing them together getting under each others’ skins like normal sisters do. Then there’s the added company of my two youngest fans, and Pinkie keeping herself in check (somewhat). Almost too good to be true; a bit too perfect of a good day.

But amid the stress and hardship and uncertainties of a violent lifestyle, these moments help soften the sting, offers a place to get your footing within the chaos of life. Perhaps have the chance to see that what I do hasn’t really done that much harm to anyone else. That I may have done some good. That in some twisted way, I am doing the right thing, and this is my reward.

Meh, getting too melodramatic and over-analytical. Day is much too bright, and these ponies that actually want my company (for the most part) want to live it to the fullest. Brooding and reflections can hold until I’m back alone. For now, there’s a certain park that’s long overdue for a visit from the neighborhood Fetcher.

I might visit the spa sooner next time, after all.

Ep5: Death by Duty

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The warm scent of chamomile wafts upward in caressing my nostrils. Not too fond of tea, myself, but I dabble when the occasion calls for it, and years of etiquette instilled since I could handle tea cups ensure that I don’t make a fool of myself when it does. Very important to know, especially in the presence of high royalty.

Only a month remains before the Summer Sun Celebration, and everypony in every locale far and wide has switched to full-scale preparation mode. Even places as far as Appleloosa are getting into it (combined with Braeburn’s kid due in the next week or so, last I heard). Goods and labor being moved across the land, decorations being planned and assembled behind closed doors, and of course the mad scramble for travel arrangements to this year’s hosting city, Hoofington. Ponyville and Canterlot have had their share of the celebration between them, and in the spirit of neighborly recognition, lesser-renowned cities have been getting their time in the national spotlight. Things remain far from quiet in Ponyville, however.

The peace of the town has given way to a fever pitch of preparation and anticipation that grows with each passing day. The Cakes have been hard at work in their kitchen after returning from their trip, focused solely on making a superb representative dish, and it’s generally the same with everyone else. And of course, Her Majesty has her own share of royal duties she has to tend to as the big day approaches. A task of organizing so big it would’ve driven her up the wall and into the stratosphere back before the Ascension, but has been reduced to being tedious and time-consuming with her godly enhancements. Hardly any time to issue assignments (like there are any. The biggest celebration in the country, who’s gonna waste time snatching books?), so I’m given odd jobs to help out with the planning. It’s the only time of year I get to work extensively with Owlowiscious. A somewhat relaxing chance to catch up with the old bird. But this year is different.

A communique (scroll) from Canterlot has requested my presence for a special assignment from Princess Celestia herself concerning the celebration. Twilight relayed this to me officially, while doing a bad job hiding the excitement in her voice. Celestia has never needed me for anything in past Summer Sun Celebrations, so undoubtedly this had to be something extra special and ultra secret, right? So with Her Majesty’s graces, I was given a few days leave and boarded the first train out to Canterlot. Didn’t know how to feel about this “special assignment,” until I settled on treating it like any other assignment by getting it done and over with as quickly and efficiently as possible. Can’t say I myself wasn’t a bit curious, though. Probably escort an ice sculpture or something. That in mind, I keep my expectations relatively low.

Thus I am sitting here in the middle of one of Celestia’s private tea rooms (more like a big glass gazebo), sipping noontime chamomile with the Sun Goddess herself: alone (save for the guards outside) and thankfully no Discord in sight. The crumpets are a tad dry, but the tea and gentle sunlight more than makes up for it. I help myself to another sniff and sip, letting the warming fluid linger in my mouth before swallowing. The flavor doesn’t do it for me, but you can’t deny the aftereffects of comfort.

“The tea is to your liking, I take it?” my host asks lightly.

“Very much so, Your Highness. Rich and soothing, perfect for a relaxing occasion.” I lean forward to put my cup on the glass table, turning my gaze to her through my shades. Even sitting down she’s taller than me.

“I’m glad to hear that.” A regal nod. “I make an effort to please guests however I can, regardless of title or rank. So, are you excited for the upcoming Summer Sun Celebration?”

“A bit excited, Your Highness.”

“You haven’t been to Hoofington in a while I understand.” Guess we have to speak freely awhile before we get to the crux of things. Typical princess meeting fare.

“Not for some time, yes. It’s not too bad a city.”

“I’m sure you’re looking forward to visiting there under pleasant circumstances. By the way, how is your shoulder?”

“Back to full functionality for some time, ma’am. Bandages came off a week ago. Only interrupted my duties slightly, but that was only for a short while.”

“Excellent. I always find that Ponyville is in good standing when its Vanguard is up and about. Would I be correct in presuming that?”

“Indeed you would, Your Highness. The town continues running like clockwork, thanks to the guidance of their princess.” Wonder how much longer this is gonna take.

“No doubt getting ready for the celebration, as is the entirety of Canterlot.” Even longer, it seems. “It is a good sign, especially so soon after Luna’s passing. Testament to the pony spirit to shoulder tragedy and march toward better, joy-filled tomorrows.” I’d gag mentally at that, but it’s still a bit too soon. “This city remains strong, as do its citizens. And because of that, so too must its leaders be. I will note, though, that everypony seems a bit more grounded, focused on doing a better day’s work. Discord certainly seems inclined to be more cooperative and helpful, at least.”

I nod. “That’s very good to hear.” Doubt it’ll last, but who knows. It can be humbling when you lose a plaything (also the matter of smashing a dozen servants over a cliff could have a hoof in it).

“Which brings me to the purpose of your presence here today.” Ah, here we go. “No doubt you are wondering what need I have of you in regards to the Summer Sun Celebration.”

“I’m fairly curious, yes.”

“Admittedly, it does seem rather odd for me to request your assistance on any matter, with you being Twilight Sparkle’s most trusted agent.” Nope, false alarm; there’s still more gabbing to do. I just nod politely. “All of my affairs up to now I have been able to handle on my own, or through the diligence of my staff and advisors. However, events of recent have changed that arrangement.” I nod automatically. Mind’s going dull from the tea. “As I said before, everypony is putting forth their best effort to overcome the air of uncertainty that had befallen the city just a mere month ago.” Yada-yada-yada. “Though it is mostly cleared up, everypony still has to do their part to make sure that not only will this year’s Summer Sun Celebration occur in good spirits, but that that same goodwill carries on in the months to follow, and beyond.” Blah-blah-blah point somewhere blah-blah. “Which, Spike, is why I must ask for you not to be alive by the time of the celebration.”

Bluh-bluh... huh? “E-excuse me?”

“Your attendance won’t be needed in Hoofington, or anywhere. Ever again.” Still talking in that pleasant, official tone. I had to have missed something.

“I don’t believe I heard you right, Your Highness. You said I’m to be—”

“Executed. You are correct, Spike. Glad to know I don’t have to repeat myself.” Tone’s gotten firmer, more deadly. This is some joke, right? “I may have misled you in saying that was a request, and for that I apologize. In truth, that is an order, to be carried out immediately. I hope that clarified things a bit more.” Only one thing to say to that.

“Are you serious?” A soft, though impatient sigh from those celestial lips. She lowers her head to deliver an inescapable, unwavering gaze.

“I am gravely serious. It’s a subject I’m intimately familiar with and do not speak flagrantly of. Especially not in this case.”

There’s a tap of her hoof, and the door to the hallway bursts open to let five gilded guardponies file in, taking up position in a semi-circle around me. Each one’s a unicorn, with five polished and sharpened polearms pointed right at me. They all have the looks of a firing squad.

Yeah, I say she’s serious.

Ep 5

DEATH BY DUTY

“I don’t understand.”

“I believe you understand plenty, Spike. It shouldn’t come as a surprise.” The guards take a step closer, extending their weapons. “The least you could do is to accept it quietly and with grace.”

I can’t recall the last time I had to plead my way out of something. Which makes this even more painful.

“Can we talk about this some more? I mean, I’m a little unclear on the full pi—”

“I’m afraid talking is done, Vanguard. Other things need my attention and this has gone on for long enough.” A yellow-encased tea cup rises up to her lips, and daintily she sips from it before making a warm, fatal smile. “It’s been such a lovely visit.”

No dice. There isn’t time to laugh at my bad luck as a polearm lunges for my head. I press myself back into the chair as much as possible to let it pass my snout, then pull a high kick to knock it up. With that guard distracted I shoot up and back kick my seat away, rather clumsily, into the others. There’s a flash of light as Celestia vanishes, but I’m busy grabbing the polearm before me, and yanking it from its owner’s magical grasp I slam it onto his helmet with enough force to floor him. I spin around to confront the other four.

This is definitely not my usual forte: going against military-trained Canterlot guards, who I know are capable fighters. Even worse is that I gave my sword to one of the guards outside, so I don’t have my weapon of choice. Better than going unarmed, though.

A guard charges, and fighter instinct kicks in. I parry and sidestep to let him by, but one of his pals tries to catch me with their own charge. I slam my polearm into the ground to stop his, and as his and mine are deadlocked the guy behind me tries to get the upper hoof. I back-kick upward into a flip with the polearm as leverage, busting the back guard’s jaw with my heel before bringing it down onto the head of the front one. Guard number three spots an opening and charges a headbutt into my abdomen as I get back on the ground. His horn doesn’t pierce me, but I’m knocked back and through the table, sending tea and china everywhere in a racket.

The guard brings up his weapon to impale me, and I hold out mine for defense, but he switches up and brings it into a horizontal sweep that knocks my polearm from my grasp. It soars through one of the windows in a smash, leaving me to stare up at the guard as he readies his weapon to stab my defenseless self. Not quite so defenseless, as I quickly slam my claws into the ground around my head and shove myself into a slide. Out go the guard’s legs, and an instant after, I get my feet onto his chest and throw his startled self over me, through the air and out the window with my legs. An even bigger smash that time.

Back on my feet, the last standing guard eyes me with polearm trained... then turns around and runs for the hall. Out the door he yells, “The Vanguard tried to assassinate the princess! Come quickly!” I shut him up with my chair before he can get any further. Standing over an unconscious guard amid broken furniture, I start switching gears. That’s when it finally sinks in just how friggin’ screwed I am. There was no restraint or hesitation in their movement: they really were trying to kill me. No doubt the rest of the palace is gonna be gunning for me if Celestia’s look and tone were any indication (which is a pretty damn absolute certainty). Getting a little ahead of myself, though. Need to calm down, think rationally. Place isn’t swarming with guards, so it’s not full alert just yet. Only one thing to do: get the hell out of here as fast as possible.

I break into a run down the corridor, my mind calculating what to do once I’m outside the main gates. Get aboard the next train, chariot or courier out of here, get back to Ponyville, and explain myself to Twilight. Wussy plan given my combat prowess, but more fighting will only make my case harder to defend back home (and of all days not to bring a paper and pen). No time to get back my sword, either. A sad loss, but things are too dire to worry about getting back a trusty keepsake.

After a good twenty meters I make a turn down a hall into the direction of the main hall, but I skid to a stop before the six or so guards standing just a few yards away.

“It’s the assassin, get him!” Two unicorns whip out swords and gallop toward me. Guess the alert’s been raised.

“Wait, I didn’t—!” But no such luck in explaining myself as I step back from some determined swipes. Like the idiot I am I didn’t bother picking up a polearm back in the tea room, leaving me with just my bare claws. I duck under one swipe and sweep kick out the legs of one guard before rising up to forcefully palm the other in the face and onto on his rump. Lucky for me a good chunk of Pinkie Pie’s combat curriculum was an emphasis on unarmed combat.

Two pegasi come flying toward me with swords in mouth, leaving me to duck and bat them back with my arms. I spot the remainder of the group running to get in on the action, and double back and flee down another hallway. Clatter of hooves and flapping of wings bearing down on me close behind. Gotta go the long way around, but there’s really no say in the matter (save through fisticuffs). Unfortunately, another four guards with polearms and swords run in from a passing hall. Two of them manage to trip me up in an attempt to tackle me, but I twirl and stumble back into my run. Can’t stop to fight, but things are getting too crowded for comfort.

I make it to another hallway and turn left, avoiding the squad of guards charging in from the right. I pick up speed, but they’re steadily gaining. Far ahead, through the sunlight streaming in from the hall windows, I spot another guard, turned away and trotting along with something in his mouth. Something long and black and with a very familiar hilt. I bend forward to increase speed while shouting, “Hey Asshole!”

The guard turns around in time to take a flying dropkick to the face. Sword and sheath go spinning up into the air, and in one fluid motion I stand my ground, grab the descending sheath, turn, and withdraw my sword to cut down the lead pursuer. Everything goes still, me holding out my blood-stained sword in a warding stance, and the guards looking between me and their fallen comrade as his chest bleeds all over the floor. I take stock of this moment, then realize that I screwed up. Losing myself in an instant as though this were another job. Idiot.

Still might be able to fix this. Now that I got their full, undivided, glaring attention, they might actually listen. I ease out of my stance and hold up both my arms, not dropping either sword or sheath. Need to do this delicately, calmly. Never hurts to give peace a chance.

“I’ll come quietly.”

“Like hell you will!” Guess not. Two of the guards draw their swords and charge in retaliation. Just had to draw first blood, didn’t I? I bring down my claws as they approach, bopping one on the head with the sword hilt and warding off the other’s sword with the sheath. The rest of them rush at me, above and below. My arms become a flurry of motion as I clock out a pegasus and an earth stallion with the sheath before kicking back another guard. Two of them manage to get behind me, and I have no choice but to use my blade and strike them down, severing a throat and chopping off a wing. Despite my efforts to go nonlethal, their ganging up results in blood intermingling with displaced armor and cries of pain. For all their earlier fury they fall relatively fast, and eventually they’re all laid out either unconscious or dead.

I look to the blood dripping from my sword a moment before flicking it off and running back the way I came. There had been a (slim) chance to talk my way out, but I’ve officially made this kill-or-be-killed. The way to the entrance hall is clear for now, but they’ll likely have it packed. Currently on the second floor, so I could look for a balcony over the back gardens. Skip the main corridors, drop down, slip out, and Celestia be damned why is this happening? Admittedly it was naive to think there’d be no repercussions for what I had done, but this just doesn’t make sense. Not after what’s been agreed on, not after this long. No use in panicking about it, though. Just need to make myself scarce before I wind up in a far worse mess than the one I left behind.

I need to zip down one of the central galleries before I can duck into of the side corridors. At the next intersection I go right, paintings and pottery replacing windows, and at the next intersection I turn left into one of the galleries. One of those elaborate Saddle Arabian carpets beneath my feet, large self-portraits complemented by flowers in vases, and ornate miniature chandeliers overhead for evening time. I’m about a third of the way down when a line of seven or so guards run in to take position at the other end. And each one is carrying a crossbow.

“Fire!” shouts the middle one, signaling a slew of arrows to come my way. I stop and pull over a side table, pottery smashing as I drop behind it for cover. Not a second too early as my well-varnished protection gives off a few thunks. Didn’t take them long to play it smart and attack from a distance. Can’t expect anything less from the best-trained fighting force in the kingdom. But those were single shot, and I can move pretty fast.

Immediately I hop over the overturned table and make it two steps before stopping to duck under the sizzling balls of energy that blast the table into woody bits. Spellcasters, of course. They really aren’t taking any chances this time. I see two unicorns winding up for another toss, and I get back to running forward. I yank one of the portraits off the wall, and upon hearing the release of a spell I throw the artwork ahead of me. It disintegrates as I nab another painting without slowing down. Utterly disrespectful to art, but honestly, those obnoxious poses beg for this type of treatment. The second painting turns to ash, and by this time there’s only a third of the gallery left to cover and the other guards have reloaded and are taking aim.

I take another painting, but redirect myself and hop onto a side table, using it to leap over the arrow bolts and cover the remaining distance. One of the spellcasters is looking up to redirect his attack as I slam the canvas down on his head, and using his neck and the frame as a makeshift turnstile I swing around to kick down the three guards close by. When I finish my round trip, I notice an earth stallion leaping at me with an axe, but in a flash I bring up my sword to split him and his axe up the middle (no you moron, guh!). His blood falls all around as I kick and punch out the remaining guards. Before I let myself reflect on this latest slip-up I kick back into escape mode and head down a side hall.

Further inward I go. A few more hallways and I should be close to the back gardens and an exit. About time, too: I hear the distant clopping of back-up fast approaching. The first small side corridor comes into view, and I veer toward it... but stop upon finding the other end clogged with guards. This time they don’t even bother giving a signal.

There’s no tables or wall trappings, so I head to the other side of the hall. I bob and duck past the crossbow bolts, standard arrows, spears, throwing axes, trident (the hell?) that hit the wall, and dive through a door before a spell hits. I’m met with a field of polished steel counters, cutlery and assorted foodstuffs. One of the myriad of kitchens this place has (the sisters sure loved their fine dining). I run through the space between the rows of ovens and prep tables, but in short order the door behind me bangs open.

“Halt, brigand!” A short spear clangs into a hanging pot nearby, and I look back briefly to see several guards galloping and hurtling over the counters. I get back to running, trying to find the other exit. I spot some double doors across the kitchen, but at that point a sword sticks into the counter beside me. I spin around and bash the attacker’s head with my sword sheath, but in doing so I catch something glimmer and bring up the sheath to my face. A flying meat cleaver hits and gets deflected, but the sheath is cut in half as a result. I look it over, somewhat melancholic, then I toss it across the kitchen where it makes a comforting whap on somepony’s face.

A guard runs up to me with his sword, and I use mine to block it. He keeps swinging and I keep blocking, pushing me back along a side aisle and chopping up any fruit or vegetable unfortunate enough to get in the way. Amidst the shower of juices I grab a soup pan and slam it on the guard’s head, but as he collapses a unicorn leaps over him to fire a spell at point blank. I duck sideways in time so that only the right shoulder of my suit gets fried, and immediately I grab the shoulders of his uniform and swing toss him several yards into a four-layer cake (a pitiable loss). Having screwed around enough, I dash for the double doors as spears start falling around me.

I shoulder my way through the doors and into one of the castle’s periphery dining halls (yeah, it’s so swanky it has “periphery” dining halls). And of course it’s packed with guards, over a dozen of them. I escape the approaching flood of gold and steel by leaping onto the long table before me, three pegasi taking flight in response. In a second bound I hop up and grab the centerpiece chandelier, using my sword to deflect the attacks of the pegasi. With the deflections creating momentum, I find myself swinging midair, battling the pegasi while avoiding arrows and magic bolts for some daring swashbuckling action. My life can be very strange, sometimes...

After parrying the three pegasi simultaneously, I swing in the direction of the larger set of double doors before letting go. Over the guards I go, and a kick gets the doors open and me out into the hall. I roundhouse the doors back closed, and with a swipe of my sword a pillar topples down to keep them that way. Been a long time since I had to fight all three pony races at once, and I’m beginning to feel the sweat. Good thing griffons and minotaurs are still being kept out of the main guard, or this could’ve been more hazardous. I turn in the direction of the back area and book it. Nearly got swarmed back there; can’t afford to get completely surrounded.

Nearly a minute goes by as I rush down an inner passageway. Seems I gave them the slip. A clattering of armor and hooffalls ahead prove me wrong, and before I know it there’s a group of hardened stallions with halberds blocking the path. I backpedal and try turning back, but more guards with halberds and polearms close in and take position. It’s a few seconds before I’m encircled by a thick gleaming crowd. I bring up my sword to eye level in a battle stance, putting us in a standoff. My gaze moves from side to side as I measure up the opposition. The exact circumstance I didn’t want to end up in. Going nonlethal with this many is going to be hell. But since I’m in it this deep already, that’s no longer top priority. Survival is.

I move as one of the guards breaks rank to strike, and so the timeless act of combat begins anew. I cut through one halberd and follow it up with a fatal slash, then whip around to cut down two others. The next halberd I catch on the blade, but I push it up and cut down the guard before shoving the butt of my sword into the nose of the guy behind me. Part of me is protesting my recklessness, but it’s well too late for me to listen, and if they want me that bad then screw it.

Something bumps me from behind and I whirl around to split them open, but stop when I see that it’s me that had shoved me: a taller me with no shades to speak of. Everything comes to a standstill; noise ceases, even breaths stop completely. Undoubtedly the guards, stunned, look from Spike to Spike, then from Spike to Spike, and from Spike to Spike again, unable to tell us two dragons apart.

...Until some blue weirdo slides in and shouts “TIME PARADOX!” before grabbing the doppelganger’s shoulders and tossing him out a window, and then following after. Once that awkward moment of “da fuq” passes, it’s back to more killing. —>

I cut a gash into one guard’s face, cut the leg off another, split the heads of two guards back to back, plunge my sword into another’s chest... and it gets stuck. A wave of confusion goes over me as I get a better look at who my sword is in. A very broad-chested earth stallion, about as tall as me, making a grimace through blood-stained teeth. I tug at the hilt, and tug it again with no success. Unbelieveable.

I back kick another guard’s jaw with my foot as I work on pulling the sword out, but it doesn’t budge. I duck under two halberd swings in succession, and still no progress. The palooka’s muscles are holding it in place! A halberd falls onto the exposed blade, making me loosen my grip slightly just as a guard shoves into my side. I lose my grip and get knocked into the crowd, my legs getting trampled and my scales getting nicked near my head. A breath of fire and a wide swing of the arm wards them back. Unarmed yet again. I take the short break to raise my dukes. Okay boys and girls: time to Test Your Might.

I launch a fist into the face of the nearest guard, and the other into the one beside him, drop to the ground to sweep out the legs of several behind me, and uppercut a smaller guard nearly to the ceiling. Not a breath is wasted as I take on all comers. My barrage is interrupted by their response of polearms and halberds, but I simply use those as balancing beams to do some acrobatics on their heads. When a sword cuts through my makeshift supports, I just hop from back to back (or head), kicking away weapons and stopping atop the occasional guard to punch out some pegasi. Nothing but movement and a swirl of fists and feet on my part, but if I continue they’re just gonna keep coming for more. Victory through numbers, and my limbs are starting to get a bit tired for those odds.

That in mind, I leap off one guard back to the one that’s been “holding” my sword, and with both feet on the ground I grab the hilt and rip it out through the stallion’s side. As he falls over in a shower of his own blood I use his body as a stepping stone to get to the other side of the reduced crowd (well, reduced in standing members. Quite a number of dead bodies around). Finally out of the burly brawl, I run along my original course without looking back. Blood is pumping hard from the activity and the relief that I still have blood in me. This adrenaline isn’t going to last long, though.

I get to a stairwell leading up to the third floor. No other exits in sight; must’ve passed the hall I needed to go down (damn this battle rush). I look back to see the crowd I left behind galloping to resume the dance. Time to head up.

I get up four of the steps by the time they catch up, and I parry halberds and swords the rest of the way up. Without knowing it I stumble onto the landing and get back to running. Windows ahead let in the light of day, but they shatter as several pegasi swoop in. The Royal Guard has a definite bead on me now: they can trace me from the outside. Meaning if I continue, there’ll likely be an ambush waiting by the back garden balconies. The floodwaters are closing in.

I run at and slide beneath the newly-arrived pegasi as they try to shear my head off with razor gauntlets (that’s new. Ain’t that a Night Guard weapon?). Jumping back up, I see the winged warriors have flipped around and are readying for another pass. I focus solely on running into the hallway to the right, which, annoyingly, is practically nothing but windows. Like some overhyped action scene they all erupt into glass shards as reinforcements fly in. Far ahead is a worn flaky door set into gray stone, the base of one of the castle’s outer watch towers. When the flood rises, seek higher ground.

With no time to slow down, I break into a slide for the remaining ten yards and bust open the door from its lower half. It’s one of those narrow, claustrophobic spiral staircase deals with a stone shaft in the center. I get to climbing. Several dozen steps later I pick up the sound of the Royal Guard below and quicken my pace. After however many stories I make it to the top, and once through the door I recall the importance of waylaying one’s pursuers, and with a quick cut of my palm and some fire, a small Jade Slicer obliterates the door, clogging the stairs with heavy debris.

Looking around, I see a large window in front of me, completely intact and no pegasi. Further glance shows this is an enclosed walkway rather than a watchtower, one that connects the back edge of the castle to the front. If I hurry across, I can work my way down toward one of the front walls, get myself street level, get lost in the crowd, make for the station. All kinds of possibilities for escape fill my head, replacing the desperation and growing exhaustion.

I barely step into the walkway before there’s a yellow flash, and I look over to see three sparkling unicorns in custom scout armor. Short-range teleportation. That serious, huh?

“Can’t I have just a lit—” A kinetic energy ball blasts at my feet, throwing me back with a ker-SMASH right through the window.

Freefall through castle airspace. Not the turn of events I had expected, though anything is possible at this point. Amid the glass shards around me I see the multicolored, inverted turrets and roofs of the palace quickly approaching, as well as numerous pegasi flapping about, maybe looking for more windows to break. Perhaps they can be put to better use.

I flap myself over to the tower from which I had so unceremoniously been ejected from, and near its flat surface I flip my feet onto it and start running downward. Wind howling by me as I get closer to terminal velocity, and just as my shades start forming an indent into my face I kick off and go horizontal. A good fifty yards go by when I reach the first pegasus, and with an aerial flip most precise I flip around and plant my legs hard on his back. With his body providing equal but opposite force I’m able to skip off in the direction of another pegasus ten yards and several feet above. Off of him I go, down to the next one and repeat with the others. They make a wobbly chain of feathered stepping stones (fairly solid ones, thank goodness), and I use them to get me closer to the front towers before they have time to realize what the hell is going on. At my seventh pegasus I add some more heft to my leap, lining up with the bay window of a building along the front wall.

A flawless execution of aerial acrobatics gets ruined by a pegasus who flies by and smacks my legs. The collision sends me spinning and raises me a few feet off mark, resulting in me hitting the slanted roof and tumbling upward before rolling up and over the edge and outside the castle limits.

A massive drop down to the plains below this time around, and the castle walls are too far for me to make some use of them. Before I can ponder my options and work on keeping bugs out of my mouth, I see three pegasi plummeting and swirling around me to get to my level. Guess they really got a bone to pick with me, or they’re just making sure the job gets done with certainty. The slim figure of a pegasus mare swoops in to skewer me with a spear, but I turn and grab it in time. We have a bit of midair tug-o-war, but I pull my end hard, pulling her in close enough for me to kick her away and disarm her. I look to find myself on a course with a pegasus keeping his distance, but unluckily for him he gets a full-on tackle from me.

In a split second I choose to hang on rather than push off, and the two of us begin a confusing flight through the mountain air, me trying to steer him back upward and him bashing my chest and chin with his forelegs while doing some death-defying rolls to throw me off.

“Get off me!”

“Get us back up there and I will!”

“Like I’ll help you!”

“We’re gonna crash if you don’t keep steady!”

“Not while you’re on me!”

“Just pay attention and quit jerking so much!”

“Up yours!”

“Could you be a little more civil while we’re on the verge of death?”

Our manic tussle brings us back over the walls of the castle and flying wildly around structures and past confused pegasi. Despite the growing bruise count I hang on, but he soon enters a tumble and we go careening toward a large sheet of stained glass. We smash through it and I finally let go, hitting and bouncing along hard, solid, carpeted flooring. I look up in time to see my copilot go straight toward another window, only to smash flat against it in a squelch of blood and broken bones. The poor sod leaves a smear as his corpse slips down the flickering glass like an overgrown pigeon, the victim of a hastily erected magic barrier. Slivers of crimson and feathers covering the picture beneath, staining the image of... the Bearers of Harmony dispelling Nightmare Moon?

I turn my head and see more windows depicting other grand feats, as well as the entirety of the vaulted room that housed them. A very long, royal vaulted room. Oh crap...

“Not content with dying by the Guard, I see. Hmm, I can understand.”

I look to the far end of the room to see my long-absent hostess, Princess Celestia. Nestled in her throne as though she’s been on it all day. Looking like nothing whatsoever had come to ruin her day.

“You’ve made quite the commotion this past half hour,” she speaks in her ever lofty voice. “It would have been a lot tidier if you had submitted like I suggested, but oh well.” A mild sigh. Like this is all some minor inconvenience.

“Why are you doing this?” Kinda weak question, but she’s still royalty, and I gotta keep myself in check. Even if she wants me dead.

“Still feigning ignorance? I would feel insulted, but there has always been a simpleness to your thinking.” Her well-endowed rump lifts from its cushion as she stands. “And since you made the effort to survive and come here, I suppose I could make it perfectly clear.” She takes a few steps down her fancy carpeted ramp. Though she’s a third of a throne room away from me, I don’t let myself loosen up too much.

“First, let me inform you that this is nothing personal,” she resumes. “The truth, Spike, is that it’s for the sake of balance. The restoration of balance.” She pauses to flick her shimmering mane. “The kingdom has undergone great changes these past several years. New territories, expanded industry, rise in population, the acceptance of other races into every strata of society. It has given rise to prosperity, but also to strife, and in turn, crimes. Real crimes, unlike the ones you have been keeping in check. A kingdom cannot function and survive properly if its citizens suffer, and thus, precautions have to be made. The first approach is increased protection, a wider exercise of city law. That is easily enough accomplished. But it’s not enough just protecting ponies from criminals and threats from outside. There are also... internal affairs.”

“What’s all that have to do with me?”

“I’m getting to that, please don’t interrupt.” She draws a breath for another round of exposition. “I refer to the matter of rulership. For a thousand years this land was reigned over by one princess, and it grew and prospered well enough. When Luna returned, it continued to do so without much deviation. But, in a span of two years, there appeared two more princesses. A single ruler can be overburdened with running a kingdom, but having too many can complicate matters further. It creates an imbalance, one that could potentially give way to conflicting ambitions and infighting. Destruction and suffering would befall the populace. Separation of power had to be done, specifically concerning the newer breed.

“Cadance was easy enough to handle, at first. Though young, she showed the promise of being a competent and successful ruler, given her unique talent. The quickest way to quell her as a concern was to give her a small kingdom for herself, far to the north. There she could exercise and practice her rulership without upsetting the balance in Canterlot. Of course, it would only be a matter of time before dreams of expansion would fill her. Purity giving way to a thirst for power, one which would inevitably come to odds with the rest of Equestria. How fortuitous, then, that Chrysalis decided to appear and wipe it all away.”

“Did... did you really just say that?” Celestia just makes one small, but malevolent, grin.

“Quite gruesome and unfortunate, but it saved us from a potentially violent large-scale conflict. And you and Pinkie Pie did the country a great service in removing a heinous threat afterward.” No hint of remorse. I can’t be hearing this. “Which left only one other variable: my faithful student, Twilight Sparkle. A mare of unfathomable magical talent, great intelligence. And of course, complete and utter devotion to her mentor.” I seriously can’t be hearing this. I had to have died. I’m probably lying in a heap over there with that pegasus. But her constant talking either means this is one messed-up death experience, or this is all very much real.

“She had shown inexperience and naivety through the years, but I have always been a source of guidance and comfort in her times of greatest uncertainty. Ability such as hers shouldn’t be wasted in the mortal realm, and more importantly, left unchecked. Watching her ascend was tantamount to a mother witnessing her child finally enter adulthood, but it also meant I had a variable under my control. Of course, I allowed her to do her own thing. Protect Ponyville, see to maintaining her books. Such simple goals for somepony of near-boundless power, but they were innocent enough. They kept her busy, and kept her in one place. I’ll admit, watching you go around exacting her idea of justice was rather cute, as though any of it actually mattered. But I played along and supported her whenever she asked, much in the same way you have.”

She’s sounding more and more like a villain of the week. I’m... at a loss. I brought up authoritarianism, sure, but this goes way beyond that. Is this really Celestia? After having to fend for my life, my head doesn’t have room for this sort of thing.

“However, over time you faced tougher tasks, tougher opponents, overcoming each one.” A graver tone. “Before I knew it, another variable had appeared. One that I couldn’t control.” Celestia steps the rest of the way down the ramp, getting to my level. “Still, you were only simple muscle. Strong, yes, but not strong enough to do anything significantly harmful. That was, until a month ago.

“Don’t get me wrong, Spike. Luna, in her fit of insanity, had to be dealt with. Though she had been my only sister, there was a growing defiance in her that would have surely risen to overtake me, as had been done a millennia ago. However, the fact that you had killed her has made you just as equal a threat. Both to me, and to balance itself.”

“But... why would I—”

“Simple. Say Twilight starts having ideas of doing things differently, on how Equestria as a whole should be maintained. Her power is still unrefined compared to mine, but why would she need to resort to that, when she has a very apt and very capable subject to cut down any objectionable parties? This is the frightful reality you have placed me and Equestria in, Spike. None can maintain the balance of Equestria as I have, and thus any threat to my very well-being has to be eliminated, for everypony’s sake.”

And there we have it. Most of me is reeling, but the part of me still paying attention has some words to say.

“Alright, I get the idea, but I think you’re forgetting one other ‘variable’. Discord’s still floating around. Wouldn’t he have sway in your picture of balance?”

“Him? Hah hah ha.” One of those bawdy villain laughs. “Discord is of no concern. He hasn’t been one for years, in fact. Aside from his minor trickeries, he’s essentially domesticated rather than godlike. The Element of Kindness had done too good a job in that regard.” A devious chuckle next. “And even if he weren’t, he would only cause a temporary upset. Though powerful, he’s short-sighted, impulsive, and easily done in by hubris. And Discord never plans long term: as soon as he achieves his vision of chaos, he just wanders aimlessly in it. He won’t even make it that far, though. I’ve formulated plenty of quick contingencies should he make an attempt at wide-scale chaos, none of them requiring use of the Elements of Harmony. In other words, worry more about yourself than about him.”

She begins trotting toward me, and I take a step back. She huffs. “Originally, I had planned on telling Twilight you were involved in a tragic accident on your way out of the city. Something about a runaway cart or falling masonry, which admittedly is rather flimsy. But now I can tell her with utmost sincerity how you had gone berserk and attempted to kill me, thus making your death an act of self-defense. You were considerate enough to provide substantial evidence toward that claim.” She eyes my sword, and my own eyes follow. Still a faint shading of red over the silver. “You’ve developed quite the bloodlust over the years. About five guards would’ve been acceptable for a misunderstanding, but that’s nowhere enough for you. Even now, you grow impatient for the chance to fight me. I can see it through those sunglasses. That desire for battle, shared by bloodthirsty savages through the ages. Another factor that makes you a danger to Equestria.”

Only because you made me draw my claw, you uppity know-it-all.

“Well, you’ll get your wish.” She comes to a stop. “I sealed all the exits, so there won’t be anypony to disrupt us. And I’ve given Discord leave to go elsewhere for the day, so there won’t be any interruption from him. Just a private audience with me and me alone. Only royal treatment for the most loyal of servants, wouldn’t you agree?”

Still can’t fully believe this is all happening, and that she’d make light of it. That gets fixed quickly, however, when her face casts a glare and I get wrapped in glorious yellow light. My limbs are forcibly pulled at angles and my body is yanked into the air and brought before Her Highness. Bones and muscles ache profusely as she looks me up and down.

“I could tear you asunder like a cockroach, but that wouldn’t be satisfying for either of us. And I always believe in giving everypony a fighting chance.” The magic field vanishes and I fall to the ground ungraciously. As I get my feet back under me, I look up to see an ornate short sword hovering before me. At the other end of the platinum and gem-studded hilt is the stern, deadly look of the princess. “Now draw your weapon.”

“Celestia, this is crazy! You can’t be serious about this.”

“Taking me for a fool, or still playing ignorant? I believe I’ve made the seriousness of the matter unquestionable by drawing my own sword. Now be a sport and do the same.”

“...No.”

“Well, suit yourself. Don’t say that I never gave you the chance.” The sword shoots downward, and I quickly roll-slash-throw myself before it plunges into the stone floor with a twang. Her sword is back in the air when I get back on my feet, and she’s sporting a smug look. “Thought so. You never give up so easily, so why start now?” She swishes her sword around before pointing it at me again. “Now then: en garde, Vanguard.”

So it’s come to this. I’ve faced a wide range of opponents over the years. Ponies, griffons, minotaurs, buffalo, Diamond Dogs, Changelings, sorceresses, hydras, timber wolves, a were-mare, sky pirates, an opera singer, and even a freakin’ magical girl (a crap one, though). Only recently have I taken on a god and lived, and here I am facing another one. To survive this challenge of regally divine swordsmanship, I’ll have to employ cunning of my own. Beginning with me ducking behind this pillar.

Once out of her royal sight, I make for the next pillar, but not two steps later she pops in front of me to drive her blade into the spot over my head.

“It’s hardly a fight if you run away at the start,” she chastises as I turn around and run back into the open space of the throne room. I go around the pillar and make a line for the doors, but the alicorn just pops in front of me, looking annoyed. A spark from her horn and magic energy throws me onto my back. “I will rip you apart if you continue this charade!”

I leap back onto my feet. Celestia is standing between me and the door, and her teleportation will make any other escape attempts pointless. She’s made a game out of this, and I have to play by her rules. She’s always been pushy back when she was only passive-aggressive. But what are my chances of succeeding in a one-on-one sword fight with her? I defeated Luna only because she was too crazy to fight properly, but right here I’m fighting controlled crazy.

I take a few breaths, then bring up my sword. Not like she’s giving me favorable choices, so I may as well hold my own. She gives a snidely smile. “That’s a good boy.” She lowers herself without taking her eyes off me, then with a thrust of her mighty wings she launches straight at me with her sword spear-heading the charge. I bring up my own in time to catch it, the impact causing sparks to shoot off screamingly as I slide back over the floor. My feet lose contact and I’m flung back through the air and into the upper part of the throne, but I spring myself away as it topples over.

I land where I had been before and bring up my sword to deflect Celestia’s swipe, then bring it down to deflect another and another. She doesn’t shift an inch during the exchange, having her magic do all the work, but I have to move my body around for almost every blow. I change strategy by darting around to her side, swinging my sword low to cut out one of her hind legs. But of course she’s too quick for that, leaping high into the air and turning around to drive her sword downward. My blade goes to my chest to hold it back, and I’m pinned to the ground as broad side of my own weapon is pushed into my chest. There’s an amused, deranged look on her face as I struggle, but I press my feet into the floor hard enough to push me away in a clumsy ground-level backflip.

Catching my breath, I give in to frustration and go running back. Her sword deflects mine, allowing her to flap into the air and land behind me. I turn in response, but again that levitating sword thwarts me. I grit my teeth before pulling off a flurry of swings ending in a strong swipe that knocks away the sword, then I pull back and thrust my sword arm at Celestia. She flaps out of harms way in a split second, so that I only penetrate air. Her sword is willing to keep me company, though, so I’m back to fighting a weapon on autopilot looking to wear me down.

A short distance away, Celestia lands gracefully and watches the one-sided duel. “You’re very swift with the sword. It’s been centuries since I went against agility such as yours. But let us see how swift you are to magic.” Her wings start flapping as she rises vertically, her forelimbs held out as golden energy forms and grows over her hooves. A swing of the legs and both energy spheres are fired at me. I knock away the floating sword and leap up onto a pillar, grabbing on just as the ground I was standing on gets blasted to smoke. A third sphere blows out the base of the pillar, toppling it over and forcing me to leap off in a haphazard angle. On the way down Celestia flies in to eagerly cut me in twain with her sword, but I bring mine around with barely a moment to spare. There’s a clang and a sound of tearing as I’m knocked aside and hit the ground in a tumble. I get myself back up, and looking down I see her sword managed to cut a line through my shirt. It also happens to be dripping.

“Mmm, first blood,” she says while eyeing the thin red sliver on her blade, then with a flick she focuses it and herself back on me. I charge at her before she has time to make the first move, and we’re back to slamming swords and hopping around one another, though she does it in a more playful manner. Still all a game to her. I hate it when I fight those types. For one they’re not taking it seriously, mainly because they’re skilled enough to afford not to. I’ve danced around this long enough. Time to make things even.

I connect with Celestia’s sword a few more times, then knock it away with another strong blow. This time around, though, I breath in and let out a stream of fire at her before she can fly up. Doubt dragon fire would do much to a bonafide Sun Goddess, but it can work as a searing hot smoke screen to cover the quick draw back slash I aim at her head. I feel the slightest contact before a whoosh of air disperses my fire and Celestia has gone back a few yards. Not an inch of her is singed, but there’s a red line across her left cheek. She brings a wingtip forward and dabs the wounds with a feather, and upon seeing it, she makes a big smile.

“Touche.” Celestia throws open both her wings, then launches herself back at me with sword swinging. Her weapon is nothing but a fast, furious blur this time, each blow I barely manage to knock away as it pushes me back.

“Exhilarating, isn’t it? I haven’t put this much effort into a fight in generations!” My back goes against a pillar as she rears back with her sword. I duck and run away as the blade cleaves out a chunk of marble where my head had been. “Come, dragon: impress me more!”

She launches at me again and I’m toe-tapping from her relentless steel. Arms are getting sore from holding my own against the barrage, which can’t be said for her since she isn’t using any of her limbs (the cheater). Hardly the first time since I got into a sword fight with a unicorn, but never one this powerful and, you know, a freakin’ alicorn. A war of attrition would be suicide, and she’s bound to start flinging more magic if I keep blocking. Not unless I beat her to it, though.

The first break I get in the assault, I leap high up and bring down my sword for a falling stab. Celestia’s blade bats me away all the way back to the throne room doors, but during my trip I’m able to split open my palm, light a flame, give a chant, and twist to unleash a horizontal Jade Slicer. A good section of floor and two pillars get wrecked, but Celestia had long vanished to rejoin me in the air. Her swinging sword connecting with mine sends me plummeting down the rest of the way into a hard landing. I look up to see her hovering overhead with that look of sly certainty.

I draw out another coat of blood onto my sword to fire off another Slicer, followed by a second. Celestia flies over one and uses her barrier-enhanced sword to cleave the other, the ceiling blowing out into gravel. With debris falling around Her Highness, I redirect my next shot into the ground behind me.

The Piston launches me to Celestia in a second, who gets a screaming chestful of dragon dropkick. The alicorn slams into the ceiling in a booming spread eagle, and after a second she comes loose and falls. I’m at the ready when she gets to my level, executing a spin to deliver a devastating sword strike against her battered chest plate necklace thingy. The Sun Goddess hits the ground at high velocity, tearing up an already scarred and ruined floor in a thunderous impact.

I land gently on the stretch of carpet that’s still intact, and looking through the dust I spot the ivory princess already getting back up. Still in one piece, but she looks winded at least. The chest ornament is gone, her crown’s skewed, and some of her well-preened feathers are sticking out. Her celestial mane is flowing about more unevenly as well. The throne room is a complete mess. A combination of earthquake, tornado and volcano. Doesn’t seem to bother her one bit, neither by her tarnished look or the ghastly decor.

“Yes. This is more like it,” she says, pausing between breaths with a smile on her face. “You’ve just made your death at my hooves all the more worthwhile. And I was right: beneath that cool exterior there burns a fighter that lives for battle. Whether by your blood or the training given to you by my student, you have surpassed my expectations wondrously. Have to wonder why you haven’t employed those attacks earlier if you were so keen on escape.”

“I’m not going through with this any further, Celestia. Let’s stop before this place comes down around us.”

“Stop already? We’ve only just started.” That sword of hers comes floating in and swishing the air about her. “Although, you have always been one to end things quickly. Never a battle to hold your interest for long. And I suppose you’ve staved off your ‘departure’ long enough.” The sword is driven into the floor and carves out a curved line before Celestia’s hooves. “Well then, the very least I can do as a hostess is to keep your interest for as long as possible until the end. The very best opposition for a warrior of your fortitude.” The sword pulls out from the ground and rises over its owner’s head. “All ending in the greatest pyre imaginable. Let us go forth: Philomena!”

A majestic screech fills the room as a fiery streak flies out from behind the toppled throne. Her Highness’s pet phoenix swoops down to its master, leaving a trail of embers as it begins to circle overhead. Its radiant plumage gives off a wave of heat every time it completes a revolution, growing hotter as flames begin to spread down from its wings. Celestia is also starting to sprout golden flames from the edges of her wings and from the scar she made in the ground, which spreads into a circle. The temperature of the room rises steadily as the fires of phoenix and alicorn intermingle until they’re both suddenly enveloped in a cylinder of flame. It causes a flash bright enough that I have to raise my arm to cover my eyes, as well as fend off the strong burst of heat. Around my arm I see the orange and yellow of the fire swirl and merge into searing white, then disperse to reveal Celestia in a new look.

Her coat has become tinted orange with streaks of red around her body. Her wings have grown yellowish orange extensions that make it look like they’re shooting fire constantly. Her minty mane and tail have become flame incarnate, the very essence of solar fury kept in place by divine will. The crown has become some kind of flaming helmet headdress mix, and there’s a big sun symbol emblazoned on her chest: a larger, more brilliant variation of her cutie mark. Finally her eyes, essentially liquid flame, glare at me as she makes a deadly smile, two swords akin to talons falling in place at each side of her head. Bugger all, she’s gone Nova mode.

Or maybe Solar Flare. Point is she’s looking meaner and way, waaay hotter. Corners of my suit are beginning to curl up, and so is the carpet beneath me. She wouldn’t be putting on this much a show if she doesn’t intend to go all out. I bring up my sword as a sign of control on my end.

“The full glory of the Sun bears down upon you.” The two talon swords rise, then drop into the ground, creating two flame pillars that rush forward and around me. The stone flooring has melted into bubbling grooves where they passed. “I suggest you move.”

I hesitate before following her advice, just as another flame pillar is sent my way. It burns through a chunk of the stone pillar close by, and I run back the way I came. The talon blades switch position, taking spots above and below in front of Celestia before spinning to create some fire crescents (look awfully familiar) at different levels. I hop over the low one and hit the ground flat to get away from the high one, and roll under the next two low ones. They burn hot enough to singe my suit slightly. When they stop coming I hop back up and face down the raging goddess.

“Is the temperature to your liking? No? Then allow my Celestial Inferno to consume you!”

The talon blades withdraw as air rushes toward Celestia, the room temperature rising at the same time. Her eyes go white as her body flashes in increasingly short, rapid intervals. Knowing a prep sequence when I see one, I turn and run for the door, but stop and dive behind one of the few standing pillars. A few seconds later there is a roar of escaping heat as a powerful flare goes off. The carpet burns up in an instant, but the pillar manages to block out the flare, so long as I stay in its shadow. After a few seconds the heat burst ends and things quiet down, so I look out to see Celestia standing there with both her swords out.

“Clever. But it will only get more difficult for you.”

Her swords twirl to form two crackling fireballs, which fly off in my direction. I leap away from the pillar before it gets blown to charred rubble, but I don’t stop running as a string of fireballs go after me. Each blast rings in my ears, bits of molten marble hitting my back. There is a pause in the attack, but looking around I see the talon swords flying at me. Once more I’m dueling floating swords, only it’s two very sharp, hot ones this time. I feel the blistering heat with each block, with embers flying off that could set my suit aflame at the first misstep.

“How you continue to fight as cleansing flame surrounds you. Admirable, but futile.”

Her Highness shoots up in a plume of flame before entering a fiery dive right at me. I leap away from the impact and ensuing fire wave that spreads out from her landing. She starts flashing again as air rushes toward her, meaning it’s my cue to get my ass behind a pillar. I barely get behind one before the blast goes off, the end of my tail actually getting burned before I could get my entire self into safety. When the temperature drops,

“This is growing irksome.” Her eyes flash, and a booming fills the room as all the standing pillars explode and fall to the ground in smoking chunks. Through the fire flowing around her, I spot a smirk. “Much better.”

Her self-generating flame flares up before she launches at me. I barely sidestep the fireball charge, but she shoots back and catches me on the side. She keeps tearing around the room randomly, so bright that I find myself tripping over the bubbling grooves she creates. At some point she halts in front of me and brings down those talon swords, and it’s another hot exchange. It doesn’t remain swords for long as she conjures up whips of flame to lash at me, burning off more parts of my suit and leaving marks on my scales. The temperature around us grows to the point where I’m actually sweating. My arms grow heavier. Her radiance makes it hard to make things out this close, and she’s moving too fast to get a bead on her. And all the while she’s talking down to me.

“You were born merely as a means to discover my protege; what followed was all superfluous in the rearing of my student. All you do, or have ever done, was keep things tidy in her miniscule world of ‘order’. Loyalty to one who remains so short-sighted even after everything I had her experience. A lowly messenger is all you are, and I will not allow a librarian’s bloodthirsty assistant destroy all I have worked for. There's nopony who can keep Equestria as safe and alive as I have. NOPONY!”

Celestia’s fire tail whips around and wraps around me, searing my scales as I’m lifted and tossed across the throne room. I hit the ground, roll and slam to a stop against the doors, a ting going off as I bounce off the magical barrier. She resumes talking as I get up.

“Now dragon, rejoin your ancestors as cinder. By mine glory and will, Equestria shall prosper forevermore!”

Air rushes in and she flashes more intensely this time. No pillars left standing, but I see a chunk of one lying several yards ahead of me. I book it and drop into a slide just as she lets off a screaming flare. I get the back of my head and shoulders against the broken masonry while keeping the rest of me flat. The stone against me grows hotter and hotter like iron, and the sound of sizzling and bubbling indicates that my cover is melting. I feel the top portion of the pillar chunk lowering down to my head, exposing my toes to the intense heat, which I curl up before they get fried.

Lava I can handle just fine, but I don’t think it’s nearly as hot as the freakin’ sun. And given all the air being used up to keep this flare running, I’m gonna run out of oxygen if my cover doesn’t give way first. No more games: Celestia will have me dead one way or the other. Given the number of verge-of-death situations I’ve been in, my mind naturally draws up a slew of plans, mostly a jumble of desperate and pointless. A few feasible ones line up, so it’s just a matter of choosing, with no do-overs. Look at it this way: stay here and become a scorch mark, or become a scorch mark while trying to do something.

I pick a plan, and put it in motion. I get the rest of my body flat on the floor and spin around on my back, pulling back my legs and angling them before kicking them at my cover. The moment it goes airborne I hop up and get to running behind it as close as possible. Celestia’s inferno burns away at my legs and much of my arms as I move, but I keep my head in line with the pillar chunk. I start to feel blisters forming under my scales while my clothes erupt into flame. In seconds that seem to stretch for minutes, me and the chunk cover the distance leading up to the source of the endless blaze. I keep my sword up with my head and hold it steady, and right when the pillar chunk gets cleaved by a talon sword I thrust forward blindly.

There’s a gasp as my sword hits something solid, immediately followed by the heat flare shutting off. The whole throne room is scorched black: hardly anything recognizable except for the stained glass murals. Celestia’s brightness is toned down considerably, her fiery mane brought down to a simmer. No doubt the result of my weapon being stuck deep into her chest.

Pained shock fills her face as she looks at the embedded sword and the one holding it. She shudders and a knee buckles. “N... No... You fool. Is Equestria’s well-being unworthy of your sacrifice?” I keep silent, trying to ignore the growing pain from my newly-formed burns without buckling myself. Celestia lowers her head and speaks more quietly. “All of it, undone. Everything will crumble because of what you did this day.” Suddenly she forces a step forward, driving several more inches of steel into her heart in bringing her head within an inch of mine. A dry, crazed chuckle leaves her mouth as she looks me square in the eyes.

“I hope you’re prepared for the consequences.”

Celestia’s eyes flicker, then her whole body gives off a growing whine as it starts glowing. The glow intensifies steadily, whitening every inch of her with concentrated energy. Sword’s in her too deep for me to pull out, and I don’t think my arms are strong enough to even try. I can only stand and watch as the familiar heat comes back and rays of light shoot off of her.

It becomes deafening white as she goes Supernova.

DEATH BY DUTY
end

*Caught in the Jetstream

*Dead Sun over Paradise

*But what’s in The Void?

Interim 6

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Interim 6

The ringing in my head subsides as consciousness returns. I awake sore, dazed, and with a bad taste in my mouth, either from my nap or the dirt rolling around my tongue. Judging from the taste of iron and soil, I say it’s more the latter.

My eyes struggle to open and focus, revealing a bright, unfiltered world. I test my limbs. Legs feel in place, as does the tail. Left arm intact. So is the right, and it’s got a death grip on something. I force my head to turn over, rubbing my snout through the dirt, and I see the glint off my sword. From what I see it's in one piece. Good: it’ll make a damn useful support.

Using arm, legs, and sword, I arduously pull myself up. With dirt falling out my snout, I start smelling slightly-cooked flesh. I look over my limbs briefly. Not a scrap of my suit remains. Limbs are a bit pink, but that just means a numb pain (all over). As I get to standing straight, I notice the distant, persistent wail. It takes some effort to turn my whole body around to see where it was coming from.

In the far distance is the mountain that holds Canterlot, with thick smoke rising up from where the castle (might) have been. The bulky frames of military airships hover about the peak, and even from this far off I can make out several pegasus sorties flying between them. The sky being blue and the fact I’m able to see all this means the sun hasn’t exploded, so small comfort in that. The sound’s a city-wide alert siren, no doubt. Towns for miles will hear it, and will shortly learn what it’s about. Then the real damage begins.

They’re sifting around for survivors, making sure one in particular doesn’t get out. Subconsciously, my body forces itself to turn and limp to the cover of the nearby forest. They’ll either think I disintegrated when a body doesn't turn up, or they'll widen the search. My survival instinct isn’t banking on the former. Somepony might’ve caught sight of a flaming object flying in this direction. Plenty of curious skyward eyes in those little towns.

Only two things are clear in my head: the grip on my sword, and the need to put further distance between me and that mountain. Seems I landed by a lightly-forested edge of the Everfree, not as much trees. Walking through it is a chore, nevertheless. The greenery has a summer crisp to it, and I begin hearing birds as the siren grows more distant. Can’t say how long I’ve been stumbling like this. Nothing’s moving amid the trees and the day doesn’t seem to be moving. Like everything but me has come to a standstill.

At some point I hear an approaching roar above, and get myself to fall against a tree. My legs, worn out from burns and the walk, half-buckle from the relief of something to rest on. I take some breaths, keeping my free claw firmly on the bark to keep myself standing. I finally notice how dry my mouth is, and even worse, the burning thirst. I turn my focus upward through the leaves in defiance of it.

A V-formation of pegasi soar by overhead, each one the familiar blue blur of the Wonderbolts, with a flawless multicolor streak taking center. Of course Rainbow would be on the search. Always the one to get a job done quick, especially if it’s a national crisis. Would tear off the forest canopy if she had to. Gotta move deeper in before it comes to that.

I shove off my rest stop and resume my aimless stumble into the woods. Body is set to automatic. Mind is too muddled and wracked from the landing, or the explosion, or that... dream, whatever it was. Don’t have the capacity to deem it as a massive hallucination or something else. Head’s too busy jumbling over itself with each uneven step I take to think coherently. Only need to move further, that's important.

Eventually the thirst overrides my other pains and makes my sight waver. Body keeps going forward, though. Trees are getting thicker, more bunched together. Legs begin bumping against trunks and tripping over stuff, but onward they go. Deeper and deeper. Light begins to fade, either by the increased trees or time passing, I really don’t know. Just keep on the path. The path... what path?

Where am I going? I have no idea how far I’m in, what direction I’m heading, or even when to stop. Where is there for me to go, after what I’ve done? Is there any point to keep running? To keep moving at all? The thirst has made my mouth so dry every breath hurts, and my eyes burn from lack of moisture. Why can’t I just lie down? Not get up until... until when? Does it even matter?

Minutes, hours (I don’t know), I make it to the edge of a ravine and my body finally stops. Steady trickling sound from below, only my eyes are focused the darkening woods beyond, a blurry mesh of tangled and impenetrable foliage. Dry hot breaths fill the air, limbs a distant memory. Haze that’s been floating about in my mind sets in completely. Allow myself to drift. Drift, drift away. So tired. Can’t think. Can’t see. Nowhere, no place. Lost. Utterly lost. What good is this? Any of this? Twilight. What now, Twilight? Anyone? No answer. No point. Must stop. Stop and... shut... off...

A wobble and I'm falling head first into the chasm, cool wind against my face. Last thing I recall is a sudden cold shock, followed by weightlessness.

Soothing darkness overtakes me at last.

Interim 6.2

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Interim 6.2

T-Twilight...

Spike? It’s late; why are you still awake? What’s wrong?

I can’t sleep, Twilight.

The storm too loud?

The lightning, i-it’s scary. I can’t sleep.

Spike, they’re only massive electrical discharges in the sky. Why would you be scared of that?

I d-don’t like it.

Awww, there there now. Shhhhhh. It’s perfectly safe. It’s a scheduled storm, overseen by the Weather Pegasi, and there are enchanted lightning rods all over to catch any stray bolts.

Y-yeah, but—

And if all else fails, Princess Celestia will protect us. It’s nothing but light and noise while we’re tucked away in here. And what’s a little lightning to a big mean dragon like you, huh?

I don’t wanna be mean...

I know, Spike. You’re a very sweet, brave little dragon. And I'll still love you, no matter what kind of dragon you choose to be. Okay?

...Yeah.

Good. Feeling any better now?

A little.

Think you can sleep?

Maybe not...

Hmmmm. Say, back when I was a little filly, there was a song Cadance would sing to me whenever I felt scared to make me feel better. Would you want me to sing for you?

...Yes, Twilight.

Singing always helps when you’re worried, that’s what Cadance told me. I’m not as good a singer as her, and I don’t remember all the words, so I’ll sing just a little. Is that alright with you?

Yeah.

Okay, I think it goes like this:

First thing I notice is an angelic lullaby filling my ears. Must mean I'm finally dead, but I'd never thought I’d be here of all places (guess I stockpiled enough karma as a kid, I dunno). Mind’s nothing but a black wavy texture, a spotty covering of faded memories past and present. Then I realize my eyelids are in the way, so I open them. Everything's blurry. Not nearly as bright or glorious as I've been told. Pretty drab, quite frankly. All dull browns and greens and... is that a wooden ceiling?

It occurs to me that instead of clouds I’m in a room, and as my eyes focus I make out the different loaded shelves along the walls, the painted faces looking down on me. To my disappointment, rather than it being heaven or hell, I’m in a distinctly gosch zebra domicile (only been in one zebra home, but this looks exactly like it). My thirst is gone, but there’s an emptiness in my gut replacing it. I’m lying on some hard bed, with a coarse but solid blanket covering me. I roll my head right, and immediately I’m struck by the visage of my curly-maned angel, the source of that otherworldly lullaby.

“Sweetie Belle?”

Her singing stops at hearing my half-groan of a question. It’s half a moment before she registers my consciousness, and for her face to cave into a great smile.

“Spike!” She throws her whole body onto mine for a hug, producing some dull cries of agony from my limbs. “You’re awake!”

“Y-yeah, I am.” I bring up my right arm to hold her side in reciprocation. I’ve forgotten how soft she is, even with the dress on. Manage to eye the rings of bandages that take up the entirety of my arm, save for the claw. Sweetie gives an extra-tight snuggle before letting go. Unfortunately, the release on my muscles makes me woozy, so I bring a claw up to hold my head steady.

“Oh, I’m sorry! Did I hurt you?”

“No, it’s fine. Just a reminder that I’m alive and kicking... so to speak.” After a quick rub on the temple, I look at the al naturale surroundings briefly before asking, “Where am I? Did you patch me up?”

She hesitates a moment. “I didn’t do that much. She did most of it.” Her head tilts over to the center of the room, and looking there I see, standing by a large bubbling pot, the familiar stripes and mohawk of my former trainer in the mystical arts: Zecora. At her mentioning, she looks at me directly.

“It is good to see you awake. I was starting to wonder how much longer it would take.”

And of course her rhyme is in top form. The rest of her appears the same as well. Still lean of build, still wearing those thick gold rings. Doesn’t even appear to have aged a day since I last saw her... four years ago.

“You’re back? Since when?” I ask while getting into a sitting position. Get a good look at the bandages on my other arm and chest in the process.

“There appeared signs of great trials this day, and so I made my return without further delay. Seems those signs were true, considering how I found you.”

Zebra mystics for ya: just chalk it up to sixth sense or something. Taking in another look of the room, I see it’s furnished exactly as I last remembered (as best as I can remember with this haze), even down to the same leaning books and pottery arrangement. When Zecora upped and vanished, everything that wasn’t bolted down (which was everything) had been taken, gone overnight. No one’s been to check on the place ever since. Some kind of unspoken quarantine, minus the quarantine. No surprise she’d move right back in at any time without anyone noticing (Ponyville is quite experienced in the field of ignoring zebras, after all).

But this isn’t the time or place to ponder that mystery. I still have my own scales to worry about.

“When did I get here?” I ask.

“Zecora found you six, maybe seven hours ago washed up by a stream, half-drowned,” Sweetie answers. “When she brought me here, you were already bandaged and asleep.” Explains the lack of thirst. But hold on...

“She brought you here?” Sweetie nods.

“I was on my way home when she came to me, said it was urgent and that it was about you.” I look to our zebra host.

“Why did you bring her here, Zecora?” There’s a grave pause before I get a reply.

“A troubling state of affairs you have landed yourself into. Now, more than ever, the support of friends can help see you through.”

That wasn’t really a rhyme... Or was it?

“It was shocking when I saw you lying there,” Sweetie butts in, halting my pondering. “Almost entirely covered in bandages, but Zecora says you’ll make a full recovery from the burns. I tried to help a little, but all I did was help change the bandages and sing to you a little. Didn’t know if you got to hear any of that.” That modest tone of sincerity and care in her voice. I feel rotten hearing that.

“Close to your bedside she stayed near. You are quite fortunate to have a loved one so dear,” Zecora quips. There was a time when I’d ask how she’d know, but Sweetie has this passive ability of making our relationship sickeningly obvious. Thinking that makes me feel more rotten about myself. There isn’t time to mull over these negativities as Sweetie leans down and gives me a serious, trembling look.

“Spike, I want to know: is it true? Is what they said about Celestia true?”

The question calls forth recollections that up to now have been floating in my skull like half-dissolved sugar lumps. I recall the adrenaline, the running, the intense heat, the explosion... and its cause. A long, painful silence as it all sinks in again. I keep my gaze away from hers.

“...Yeah. I killed her.” Sweetie falls back in a stark sitting position, her face crestfallen.

“You... you actually killed her?” So low it could barely be heard, fear growing with each word.

“It was self-defense. She left me no choice.” That response sounded weak, practically pleading. Maybe a side-effect of my lingering fatigue, or my mind still being scrambled from my walk in the woods. Whatever the cause, Sweetie just looks down at her dress with a look of growing helplessness. It’s become full bloom when she looks at me again.

“It was becoming bad in town before I left. First we heard the explosion, and then we saw the smoke coming from Canterlot. Everypony started to panic, and Twilight tried calming them down, but when the Royal Guards came with the news, it only got worse. They said you were still alive and wanted to have soldiers brought in to protect her. We were told to stay in our houses afterward, and that got everypony complaining, getting themselves more worried. I haven’t been back in hours, but Zecora says there’s a magical barrier over the town now. Nopony can go in or out. I can only imagine how everypony is feeling about that. Mom and dad must be worried sick”

No kidding (then why’d you have to come here, stupid girl?). But it sounds like Twilight has gone into protector mode. When in doubt, use magic.

“And, that’s not all,” Sweetie continues more quietly. “It’s about nine o’clock, but the sun is still setting. I don’t think it’s moved in two hours.”

Yeah, every right to be worried there. Twilight’s the only princess, the only one capable of moving both sun and moon. The sun was still at afternoon height when I was last awake, so for it to not be moving now... means Twi has something on her mind. And I’m pretty sure what that something is.

Sweetie softly plants her hooves on my shoulders, lining her face squarely with mine. “Spike, they’ll be looking for you. There are probably soldiers patrolling outside town. You need to get away from here. Far far away from Ponyville!”

“Sweetie—”

“They might execute you on the spot!” Why are you caring about me (what worth am I)? “What you did... I don’t think they’ll let you explain yourself. Some of those guards looked very upset, and so is most of the town. I don’t want anything to happen to you. Just get over to the next city, head to Appleloosa, someplace west or anywhere but here.”

“Sweetie Belle, are you listening to yourself? Where am I supposed to go in Equestria? If they think I’m alive, they’ll look for me everywhere.” Maybe not everywhere just yet, but soon. Why can’t you see that?

“Then-then you can have Zecora help you!” comes the flustered response. Her legs shaking against my shoulders. Scared, desperate. She snaps her attention to the zebra in the room. “You could help him, right Zecora? Get him out of the country?”

“Escape I can provide, Spike, if you so choose. But there lingers the question: what do you stand to lose?”

Cryptic, but still right down to the point. Staying this close to town, or pretty much anywhere in Equestria, is a bad idea right now. I’d imagine you wouldn’t last very long after killing a ruling alicorn seemingly unprovoked. Any assassin who values their hide would skip town or make for the border and be done with it. But that doesn’t sit with me. Not on the grounds of it being cowardly, or a definite affirmation of my guilt, but that there’s... more going on here.

Fact of the matter is, I should’ve been incinerated in that blast. But to be blown miles away from danger, relatively in one piece? And it was a miracle I didn’t drown during my dip. The devil’s luck, you could say, but there may be considerable truth to that phrase. The blanks in my memory following the blast have been filling in these past couple of minutes. Images of uncertainty, despair, deceit... Discord. All vague like a fading dream, but the gist of it is clear. Specifically, that in all this madness, there’s to be a resolution.

“I can’t go. Not yet,” came my answer. Sweetie, understandably, doesn’t find that agreeable.

“But why?”

“There’s something I need to take care of first. I want to clear some things up, particularly with Twilight. Maybe cool things down before they get messier.”

“B-but you’ll be killed!” Hooves back on my shoulders. Still concerned for my ass. That rotten feeling again, which I’m fairly certain is guilt. I bring up a claw to her cheek.

“Hey, you know me,” I say softly, with an ounce of confidence. “I’ve been through a lot. I’ll be able to take care of myself. And don’t forget, me and Twilight go way back.”

“B-but—”

“She’ll listen to me, so don’t worry. You can relax; I’ve got this handled.” I pat her on the shoulder, and that signals her to go back down on her rump, looking a little less dubious but still worried.

“Okay...” she says somewhat unconvincingly, though the next words are unflappably genuine. “I’ll believe in you.” Don’t see why you should. Just another lie to add to the list, but one that might be truly necessary. Our talk gets interrupted when a steaming clay bowl is placed on my blanket-covered lap. I look over to see my striped caregiver backing away with a look unconcerned with our drama.

“Regain your strength if that is your choice, but take your time. You’d be wise in heeding this rhyme.”

Thanks a bunch, Zecora, I keep myself from blurting out. I look down at the contents of the bowl, the various discolored chunks floating around an otherwise green muck that might be considered “stew”, as well as the end of the stone spoon sticking out from it. The sound of clopping hooves brings my attention back to Zecora, who has made it to the door of her hut.

“I’ll leave you two to talk together. An emotional respite, before the storm you’re about to weather.”

That cheery foreboding said, she steps out. I look back down to my bowl, and after a moment I grab the spoon and raise up a mouthful. I let it slosh around my cheeks, reluctantly biting at the chunky bits to delay the inevitable swallow. Zecora’s cooking is more of an herbal gruel, packed with nutrients and low on the calories (though I’d be hard-pressed to say what those nutrients were). An all-natural energy booster, regularly given to me while I was under her tutelage. The taste and texture is exactly as I remembered, which unfortunately is a memory I wouldn’t mind forgetting entirely.

As I’m living down the rejuvenating slop, Sweetie makes a sound.

“Oh, before I forget.” Her horn lights up. “Here.” From the ruffles of her dress, two familiar black discs float over to me. I take the shades with my free claw and look them over, thankful for a break from my dinner.

“I found it sticking out of the ground near the school,” she continues. “They were your style, so I thought you might’ve dropped it. Although that’s never happened before as far as I can tell.”

Not bent in the slightest, and still no scratches. If anything they got polished. Gods be damned, Twi’s enchantments are fiercer than the sun. Sweetie continues to talk as I turn them over between my claws.

“Spike... I’m sorry for sounding so doubtful. I know how determined you can get about things, which is why you always do such a good job. And Twilight will surely listen to you if you go to her directly, especially after all you’ve done for her. I just can’t help worrying, you know? I don’t want you to get hurt more than you already have, given what’s happened. I know your mind is made up: I’ve been with you long enough to tell. But it’s only natural for a filly to worry about her coltfriend, especially when she cares a lot for him. And, I know we don’t really say it much, but you’re very important to me, because of how much I love you—”

“That’s a huge mistake.”

“Huh??”

Both arms go down. It was abrupt, harsh, and her confused reaction is totally justified. But my brain’s had more time to clear up, raising another major topic “discussed” during my mindtrip. The cause of my guilt, and something that seriously needed venting. I feel this is my only chance, so I’m laying it on the table. Or bed, rather.

“For your sake, you’re better off forgetting me and finding somepony more fit for you.”

“W-why would you say that? Why would you bring up something so ridiculous now of all times?” Already she’s trying to wave it off, get back to level footing. From her look and shaky smile I see she’s ready to latch onto whatever blame she can take. Go for broke before she has the chance.

“It’s because I’m trouble, Sweetie, and not for the obvious reasons. I’ll be frank: I’m no good for you. I’m inconsiderate toward your feelings most of the time, I keep you at arms length emotionally when we’re together like a dick, degrade you when we’re intimate, and I take advantage of your trust. You give me love but I go out getting love from others. I’ve told you about my spa trips, right? And truthfully,” Take a breath for the whammy. “I only started going out with you so that, in some twisted way, I could get closer to your sister. Part of the reason I’m still with you is because you still resemble her somewhat, and the rest is that you’re someone I can go to for a quickie and some snacks.” The smile is gone, replaced by silence and a blank look. “The bottom line is, I’m an asshole unfit for anyone, who takes and takes without a hint of gratitude. Just like a proper dragon...”

There, it’s said. Now for the broken spirit, the tears, the words of hurt and hate and disgust and the storming out. Nothing but the most deserving in cold, desolate loneliness for me. Instead, what I get is a soft touch of a hoof on my cheek and a look of consoling comfort.

“Spike, I know you still have feelings for Rarity, and that’s okay. The two of you have a history, and I know I can never be as beautiful as her. But if I can resemble her just a little, then at least I can make you happy in some small way.” The hell?!

“That is NOT okay!” I smack her leg away. “Are you really that stupid; didn’t you hear anything I said? Why are you so damn accepting? So deadset on overlooking or outright defending everything that makes me a self-centered ass? Huh?!”

“...It’s... because I love you. Like I said.”

“Why?” That barely audible tone of innocence and sincerity when she said it. Fresh insanity thrown on the bat shit pile!

“Because of who you are.”

“Which is what? Please elaborate!” Now she’s shuffling around for an answer. This is ridiculous. What will it take to get it into your head, Sweetie? You don’t need this!

“I, I know how you’re not very open with your feelings, but that’s understandable considering what you... do. In fact, that’s sort of what got me to ask you out in the first place. Seeing you coming back from assignments, all exhausted, alone, with no one to talk to or show you appreciation for what you go through. Everypony needs that bit of warmth and comfort in their lives, and so I thought I’d give it to you.”

“So you did it out of pity, then.” Unbelievable.

“No No that’s... not entirely it.” Voice full of fluster and face scrunching up trying to be serious, hints of some deep childlike fear. Still doesn’t take her eyes off me. “I didn’t come to you just because you needed somepony close. The thing is... when you and Twilight first moved here, Ponyville suddenly became exciting. All kinds of weird and awesome things started happening, and you were usually next to the center of it all. I’ve seen you wait on Rarity selflessly... for questionable reasons, I suppose. But you also helped others, showed bravery against things ten times your size long before you got that sword, and you certainly helped me and Apple Bloom and Scootaloo a few times over (and helped back just as much).

“Then when Twilight became a princess and made you her Vanguard, you became taller and stronger and braver. But the way I saw it, your outside was becoming what you always were on the inside. It’s something I truly admire, and found attractive, and it’s a shame more ponies don’t see that. Sounds naive, yeah, but that’s how I feel about you. And besides, what girl wouldn’t want to hook up with a tough guy in shades?”

How she just smiles like that, keen on making me feel better about myself. A far cry from being the most cautious member of the Crusaders. Either there is meddling from a deranged god, or she has always been the rebel that’s waited for marehood to let it loose.

“But that’s only attraction. It’s far too early to commit yourself to love, especially since you don’t know what actual love is. You’re too young, and I’m too old for you.”

“By what? Two years?”

“...You know what I mean.” This is seriously messing with the gravitas of the moment. The way she just wants to perk things up and make light of it all, so damn frustrating. Now she leans back toward me, hesitates in bringing her hoof up, but when I don’t budge she places it back on my shoulder, closer to my cheek.

“Spike... I can’t pretend to know what you’ve faced. And I probably won’t be able to fully understand the things you think about all the time. But because you decided to tell me those things, hurtful as they were, it shows that there’s a part of you that cares enough about me to keep me from getting hurt even further. And that’s just the thing the Spike from my Crusading days would do.” A closing wink (gah).

At this point, the only way I can get her to listen is to shake her a bit and toss her around the room, but my anger has subsided and I’m feeling too well-rested. So annoying when you have the most accommodating fillyfriend around when you try telling her how much a bastard you really are. Rather than continue this farce of a discussion, I pick up the neglected bowl and start spooning in heaps of the cold “broth”. I’m declaring this a draw.

“You’re crazy, just like your sister,” I mutter through mouthfuls of gruel.

“Only Rarity doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

I pause everything to think that over, only to shake it off with a grumble before it develops any further. Can never have a plain, melancholic meal whenever you’re around, can I?

The rest of my supper goes by in silence, with Sweetie keeping to herself and making the occasional darting, smiling glance. Zecora returns a few minutes after I finish my serving, and she wastes no time in pouring me another. With seconds done, I feel ready to stand. Limbs are responsive though a tad stiff, probably from lying down for so long. The mystic’s brew does the job in getting rid of my remaining fatigue.

I’m a mess of bandages, so I ask if there’s anything I could wear. Turns out yes, as Zecora happens to have what I can best describe as a tribal shirt (or retiree wear). One of those hemp affairs with a diamond pattern down the middle. It’s a bit small and scratchy, but the latter could be due to all the bandages. Once suited up, it’s high time to leave. I instruct Sweetie to stay put at Zecora’s until things settle down. She asks how she’ll know, and I tell her she’ll know it when it happens. She accepts without another word. A hug, a kiss for luck, a verbal reminder of her love, and I give a pat of assurance on her shoulder in response. Affectionate as ever (ya putz).

Standing outside the hut, I see evening light through the openings in the leaves, giving everything an orange tinge. Zecora is by the door, and the two of us stand in silence, staring at the woods ahead.

“The path from here to town is clear, so drawing the attention of soldiers you need not fear,” she speaks.

“Thanks for the recon. Doesn’t say what there’ll be when I get into town. If I can, that is.” She nods.

“Before you go, there is one other item I wish to bestow.” She reaches over, and when she turns back there’s a familiar length of steel with a hilt held in her mouth. I take it from her and look it over. Still clean, still sharp. “It washed up next to you on the bank. I believe now is the time to find some higher being to thank.”

Lucky lucky me. “A shame there wasn’t time for us to catch up. Would’ve been nice to know how you’ve been doing the past couple of years, how the folks are doin’ and such. Maybe find out why you left in such a hurry.” A heavy silence from her, then,

“This land of ponies was beset by darkness, thick as night. It was only today that I finally saw the prospect for light.”

I chuckle at that. “Hell of a day for change, that’s for sure. Mystical or misguided, glad you have a positive outlook on this.” I scratch my chin. “Hmm, I had thought you’d be asking if I was using your training properly.”

“There’s no doubt your dragon fire has served you well. Use for destruction most grand, that I can also tell. But in my visions, I beheld the shadow of the land set ablaze. As to the fire that causes it, or who brings it, you might find at the end of this long and winding maze.”

“Kinda pushing it with the sentence length there, Zecora.” It occurs to me to reach into the recesses of my shirt and pull out my shades, left clinging to some loose weaves up to now. I take a moment to fully observe them, view their meaning in regards to my own existence, how they represent my position in society and life itself, and as a prompt to induce my own heavy silence. “You look after Sweetie. Whatever happens, see that she gets home safe when the dust clears.”

A more solemn nod from her. “You have my word, good friend. I shall see her protected to the end.”

What end exactly remains to be seen, I think as I put my shades back on. “Well, if fortune willing, I’ll talk to you later. And in case it’s not... I’ll say thanks. You were a great teacher.” She smiles, and I smile back before I begin my walk into the forest.

For the first time in years, I go forward without assignment. Moving ahead by my own volition, for my own reasons. Unable to say if this is the right way to go, or if I’ll make more trouble for everyone in the end. Can’t tell if the worse is behind me, or there’s still more to come. If leaving it all behind is the better option.

Brain is still fuzzy; still unsure if there was a message or my head going wonky. But I know something is telling me to at least get to her. Get back to Twilight. For what exactly... I don’t entirely have my claw put on it. I just know that it’ll come together once I get there.

And there’s still a long walk ahead of me.

Ep7: Desperate Struggle

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Ep 7

DESPERATE STRUGGLE

It’s a path I haven’t walked in years, but it came to me fresh enough. The gnarled trees kept their distance, leaving grooved sloping dirt untouched by roots, though there’s the occasional leaf. Unless Zecora cleared this up beforehand, I’m pretty sure the path would’ve been packed with layers of undergrowth. Not that I’m complaining, since it saves me one thing to be bothered by. The sounds of the wilderness gradually recede as I near town, though it’s unusually quiet to begin with. Seems nature itself is aware of the upcoming storm and is gonna sit this one out.

They’ll be watching the main entrance to the forest, so I alter course halfway and go in the direction of Sweet Apple Acres, adding another ten or so minutes to the walking time. The light through the canopy remains unchanged despite the added time. Not too bright, but not getting any darker. Night appears to be waiting for the storm to pass as well. Glad they’re patient enough.

Eventually the space between the trees start widening and looking less wild, and soon I spot the edge of the forest. Getting closer, I see the vestiges of civilization in the form of cultured apple trees through the sparse brambles. The easy part just about done.

It’s only a couple of yards to the border when a familiar flapping stops me short. I remain still, then turn my gaze up. Sure enough, roosting on the one prominently discolored branch overhead, great eyes see me from within feathers seasoned by life.

“Hey Owli."

"Hoo. Hoo," he hoots.

“Glad you are at least. It’s been rough, as you can imagine.” He nods sympathetically.

“Hoo.”

"Yeah, I bet they are."

"Hoo?" Right to the point, then.

"I need to talk to Twilight. Clear some things up."

"Hoo?" He asks, tilting his head. I look to my sword, protruding off from my side. A pause before I reply.

“I'm just gonna talk to her. Are you gonna have a problem with that?"

"Hoo." He straightens his head just to shake it. "Hoo, hoo."

"I’m grateful for your understanding. And yeah, I say that's a good idea. At least until things settle down, which should be tonight if it goes like I think it will."

"Hoo?"

"No, I’ll see that it’s done today. The question is how much messier it'll get. Although to my credit, I'll make an effort to keep it as clean as possible."

"Hoo," he hoots solemnly.

“I know. But my mind’s set.”

Owlowiscious nods, and solemnly turns around on his perch. "Hoo, hoo."

"Much appreciated. See you around."

His thick wings spread out, and in a downward thrust he’s off into the twilit sky. Such commitment to the idea of wisdom and reasoning, you’d have to wonder how this world might’ve turned out if he were born a pony (or any talking four-legged animal). A pitiable loss for this realm of existence.

Onward I trudge and break from the treeline. There before me is a length of nostalgia-inducing whitewashed picket fencing, stretching along the outermost perimeter of Sweet Apple Acres. Past that, rows and rows of bountiful apple trees, enough to feed the learning minds of Equestria’s youth. Once this had been a fairly large but modestly prosperous family farm, at only the fraction of its current size. A place where family was key, and good-living was in the labor rather than the profits. Now... it’s all about the apples.

I resume moving, keeping close to the tree line while following the fence in the direction of town. I don’t see the tell-tale shimmer of a magic barrier, so it doesn’t seem this area’s covered. Technically it’s outside town limits, but Twilight isn’t one to leave such valuable property exposed. Guess she expects AJ to take care of herself, but I don’t intend on bumping into anyone this soon.

I’m halted by a jarring growl in my stomach. Zecora’s cooking may energize, it doesn’t do much in the way of filling one up. I groan quietly, glaring down at my traitorous gut. Then my eyes turn back toward the fields. Fields of trees loaded with ripe, juicy, succulent, all-natural sweet apples. Enough to feed a nation, and far more than enough to feed an adolescent dragon... Don’t really have time to deliberate and berate my needs, instead opting to walk over toward the farm and hopping the fence. It’ll just be a quick snack. I’m a ways from the main buildings, so they shouldn’t spot me. And what’s three or four apples out of a ton anyway?

I pick a tree at random and walk up to it. Those red beauties shimmer in the waning sun, begging to be picked. No doubt the summer harvest cycle is gonna start relatively soon, so may as well help myself and help the workers as well. I reach up and pluck down four apples, one at a time, and munch them down, one at a time. Only a few bites to eat each one (I’m still on a schedule). My stomach practically murmurs in delight, settling down from its tirade rather fast. Should hold me over till I get home at least.

It’s back toward the field edge once my hunger is subdued. I reach the fence, hop it and resume my walk to town. Nice that there are no soldiers running patrols out here, but it does beg some questions. If no dome, then surely Twilight would have sent extra security at least. Given what I had done today, the farm could use a bit more protection than what it’s got with its work—and right then I see them in front of me.

Lined up over the entire width of road are over two dozen hardened, burly earth stallions (maybe a mare or three) giving me hard looks. Each one is wearing some kind of farming outfit, be it hat, shirt, coveralls, flannel, sleeveless (ripped or not), and most are holding some type of farming object. Good honest hard workers, each a pony with a good head on their shoulders. I know this for a fact, considering their boss’ strict hiring standards. A few of them I recognize as members of the Apple clan, distant cousins and such, though with the increase in demand, most of the workers are out-of-towners from similar “country” backgrounds. Though there still hasn’t been a need to diversify among the other two pony races... or anything nonpony for that matter.

I stop about four yards from them. We look at each other in silence, me before a wall of sheer horsepower.

“Hello there, Spike.”

The ponies in the center step aside to let the foremare through. Her hooves move evenly, slow, with no-nonsense purpose. The gait of a hardened businessmare in the midst of her workforce.

“Hey there, AJ. It’s been a while.”

“Indeed it has. Still wearing those sunglasses?”

“It’s my thing.” A cursory glance from her.

“I like the shirt.”

“Thought I’d wear something more cool this summer.”

It’s Applejack alright. Far gone is her warm tone and country slang, though the accent remains (some things you can’t beat out with a mountain of paperwork). Over the years of Sweet Apple Acres’ growth, she developed into the manager to fit its needs. Carefree and honesty became efficiency and extensive planning. It took little time for her mind to switch to the matter of bits and the longevity of her estate, and her look and demeanor changed to match (you’d think that was only natural, especially for her, right?). Her thick golden mane is wrapped in a tight bun, unopposed by any headwear. She’s wearing a prim blazer of deep purple, plum-like (suppose that’s a very studious fruit), a considerable clash against her orange coat. She’s also wearing a pair of those dainty spectacles hooked to beaded chains. Past the lens are the steely eyes of a pony raised to survive on and ultimately tame the earth. Behind that fancy felt desk at her headquarters-slash-home, she still retains the soul of a tried and true farmer.

Having shared introductions, she raises a hoof to pull off her glasses. “Although we know each other, it’s still wrong to come in and take royally-owned property.” Quick firm tone, straightforward. I suppose Granny Smith would’ve been proud with how her granddaughter turned out. A voice like that instills unshakable confidence in workers, as well as no hesitation in letting the hammer drop. Yeah, old AJ never sounded this scary...

“I’m surprised you found me.” She looks over her glasses absently as she replies.

“Back before this farm got royal funding, we occasionally had problems with apple thieves. Nowadays we can afford spotters which, as you can imagine, is immensely convenient.” She lets her glasses hang over her chest as she looks at me. “You’ve been making a mighty stir of things ‘round here. A stir everywhere, for that matter.”

“I’d imagine.” She shakes her head like a closer in deliberation.

“I don’t want to know the particulars or the reasoning, but you’re plain dangerous. Having you walk around like you own the place will only bring trouble, for business or otherwise.” She crooks her neck, making a pop. “Mind me asking why you’re back here, if I may so pry.”

“I just wanna speak with Twilight. About ‘this’ and other things.”

“Hmm, I’m sure you do,” she says, eyeing my sword briefly. “Now, the way I see it, there is one suitable way of handling that. Since we’re such good friends and have known each other for a long time, you can come with me back to the office and have some cider and pie while we have somepony pick you up. The fact you didn’t rush me with that sword shows you’re not stark-raving mad, so I’m sure you’d want the more civilized option. One where you go untouched, by me and my staff at least. I say that’s neighborly enough.”

Neighborly indeed. But,

“Thanks, but I’ll have to decline. Not that I don’t trust you, but I don’t think I’ll be able to talk to Twilight when I’m taken to a prison cell. If they even let me get that far.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not possible at this point, Spike. No one’s to speak or even go near her until you’re confirmed captured or killed. And I’d much rather not put you down while you’re on my premises.”

“Then let me through.” There’s a heavy pause as we just look at each other. Her workers have their eyes trained on me like a ballista. Finally,

“Still the stubborn kid I remember.” She sighs before lifting up her spectacles, saying with sharp finality, “We’re done here.” Once the spectacles are back on, she turns and re-enters the crowd. “Knock him out. Try not to rough him up too much.”

Three of the stallions break from the line and charge when she finishes. One comes swinging at me with a hoe, which I duck under quickly. The next guy comes at me with his hooves, trying to deck me with a right hook. I dodge that as well, and step away from the large beam of lumber brought down by the third. I look for a way to break through them when I catch the hoe coming at my head. Immediately I cock my sword arm and strike. The farm tool is severed, its two parts still in motion, splinters dancing in the air like blood. Thinking comes to a halt; how easy it was that it gave way to my blade. About as easy as slicing a pony’s head off... their heads. All of them. All of them would go down like that hoe. But they’re alive. How could they go down so easy like that? How could any of the ones before have died so easily??

A hard straight from the second stallion bashes my senses back into me while sending me a ways onto my ass. I shake my head while I hurry back up. I actually hesitated, felt doubt for my actions. This isn’t good; I never lost focus that badly in battle since I was knee high. Something really messed with my head after that explosion, and I might know who. In any case, I’m looking down three muscles with another two running to join in. Gotta get back in the game.

I rush at the two closest stallions, swinging fists and landing a hit on both their faces. The one with the lumber drops his weapon again, but I grab it mid-swing and wrest it from his grip, only to slam it down hard on his noggin. Laid out cold: one down. I turn to face the other two, looking to pay me back. I make to brandish my blade, but I feel the uncertainty from before tugging at a corner of my mind. Teeth grit slightly at freezing up over another moral dilemma, so I make a concession. Midway through my motion, I spin the hilt over so that both their mugs gets a hard smack from the broad side of my sword.

They’re made dazed, perhaps confused, but they shake it off just as the two newcomers arrive, with more on the way. Battering them is both silly and needlessly ineffective, but they’re only doing their jobs, what they’re told. Just like all those guards—No just got to take them out one by one. Tough ponies they may be, but they’re still only farmers.

The stallion coming at me with a rake I back kick hard in the face, knocking him back into one of those sleeveless enthusiasts, then I throw a punch into the jaw of the newcomer to my left as I spin around. One stallion swings down a shovel (watch those sharp edges!) and I step back to avoid it, and when he swings again I catch it with the flat edge of my sword. Another stallion tries to tackle me while I’m preoccupied, but I leap up and side kick his schnoz, and using the airtime I push away the other guy’s shovel, and on the way down I grab the sides of his head and slam it into my knee.

I got a thing going, but more of them are running at me. I pick up the pace of delivering punches, and even pulling off a leaping roundhouse to make some room. However, a stallion in a work vest gets in a lucky hit with a rake, smacking my side hard enough knock me away from the group (and taking bits of my shirt as well). I get back onto my feet a second time, but seeing the mounting opposition before me, I turn around for the (relative) openness of the fields.

I slam my palm onto the fence and leap without losing momentum, and looking back I see two others hop it before a third gets the right idea and simply breaks through it. My feet eventually touch ground that’s slanted slightly upward, and shortly up this slope I turn around to deal with my pursuers. As I work on kicking, punching, and sword-smacking them back I suddenly hear over the commotion:

“You’re paying for that fence, I hope you know that!”

Ah yes, even with a violent criminal around, a proper foremare remains closeby to make sure the job gets done. I grin slightly at this, but that goes away as the thwapping reminds me of where I am exactly. Which happens to be upward, since the encroaching farmworkers are pushing me further up the slope. I do my best to knock them back, but they’re built thick, and they just go at it again as more join.

We near the first of the trees when I manage to kick one olive-green stallion off his balance, resulting in him falling back into several others into an ungraceful landslide of grunting muscle. A claw mini-shovel gardening thing comes spinning through the air at my head, which I tilt to avoid (that can put an eye out!). It serves enough of a distraction for one flannel-wearing heavy-build stallion to leap over his fallen coworkers and grab me in a forceful shove (no doubt a lineman from Redneck U). My back is slammed into a tree hard enough to make me grit my teeth as leafy rustling fills the air. We’re both grunting as I try to shove and squirm my way out, but he’s got me pinned like a tree staple. Suddenly, fortune drops an apple on his head, and he absently looks around for the cause of the bonk sound. I hold out my free claw as another apple falls into it, and wasting no time I shove it right into his gaping mouth, then grip both sides of his head and drive his chin into my knee (fairly soft from the feel). His apple crunches into juice as I kick him away down the slope, freeing myself.

My victory is short-lived as I see his buddies back on their hooves and galloping. I turn and run further up to the crest of the slope before turning back to stem the burly tide. The stallion that hit me with the rake earlier has managed to get to the front and swings his tool for a second hit. Second time’s not the charm for him as I hop up and plant both feet onto the rake head, snapping it and some of the wooden shaft off. His eyes widen in a mix of surprise and grief before I backfist him to the ground, but a stallion leaps over him to bring down a thick hoof onto my head. My sword goes up to deflect it, causing me to slide back, but a scrawnier fieldworker leapfrogs from his buddy and collides his entire body against me.

Feet and legs fly out from under me, and the two of us go tumbling down the other side of the hill crest. Grass and wind going by my ears, blocking out any comprehensible sounds as my sense of vertical orientation gives way. I do manage to hear a harsh thud from close by, a certain mass hitting a tree no doubt. No early stops for me, though, as I keep rolling and rolling. At some point I sense things are beginning to level out shortly before I crash into something wooden that collapses around me.

When everything stops falling and quiets down I try pushing myself up. My arms seem stuck to my sides, and I realize that I somehow got myself entangled in a ladder. Unsteadily I use my feet and legs to get back up, though it takes a few tries. Planks of wood and a few wheels scattered about; guess that had been a cart. Probably for the coming harvest, and you can’t have a cart without a ladder as well, can you? As I work on standing straight, a yell comes from above.

“You’re gonna pay for that as well!”

I look up in the direction of the voice and Applejack standing at the peak of the slope I had tumbled down, with more of her posse running past. I’m back to standing straight (though still stuck) when the first of the workers get close. I twist myself and my newly-acquired ladder to the side, then twist harder in the opposite direction to smack him with a yard of wood. I twist back and heft up to bring ladder rungs down onto the back of the neck of the next guy. The third one to come down decides to leap off the slope and body slam me from above, but quickly I push back, planting the back end of the ladder into the ground. I kick off to angle the front of the ladder upward and it manages to catch the fly boy mid-air. The angle of the catch and his momentum causes the ladder to tilt backward full vertical before falling over and catapulting the stallion into a nearby tree.

The added exertion allows me to wiggle out of the rungs as that happened, and with all limbs fully moveable I look to the next musclehead. This one has a hammer, and the one behind him has a wrench (where there’s fighting in the country, there’s gotta be a wrench thrown in somewhere). My sword deflects the hammer, allowing me to hop back from the crushing blow of the wrench. Seeing the others running down towards us, I decide not to waste any more time with these two. I high kick the hammer out of the first stallion’s mouth and one-two punch him to the ground, and turning to the next one I swing my blade as he raises up his forelegs to bring his wrench down. Small part of me cringes at the pained yelp and trickles of blood coming from his limbs, but then I tell myself to suck it up; he’ll live ya wuss. Before my conscience can argue I turn tail, step over my would-be attackers and head further into the orchard.

A lot more trees down here, each with their branches loaded down with apples, set aglow by the low sun (good thing I had that snack). I hear the stallions stamping the ground in hot pursuit not too far behind. Arms are getting tired from hitting so much thick skull; best bet now would be to lose them and make it outside the fields, back on the road and high tail for town before they find me again. Considering there’s still more than a dozen left, I’ll need to get them lost somewhere further in.

Unfortunately they seemed to have anticipated that strategy because galloping out from behind the trees ahead are six stallions, two of them holding a net between them. With my arms aching and trees all around, it’s time I got environmental.

When the distance between me and the forward six closes to five or so yards, I leap up and grab onto a low-hanging branch. I swing forward and let go, flying the remaining distance and slamming both feet onto the respective heads of the net wranglers. I backflip off them and land on the back of a lanky colt wearing a grease-spotted wife beater. I do a little dance on his spine and plant my heel on his skull to get us both onto the ground. As I turn to find the other two, the loop of a lasso falls around my blade and snags the upper half of my arm. A hard tug makes me stumble forward, but I get traction and pull back. A stallion with a backwards cap is the one holding the rope, and his buddy runs forward to take me down. He gets a spin kick to the face, but then I feel more rope fall onto my shoulders before it snaps around my neck.

Choking and being pulled in two different directions, I’m left open for four workers to take shots with shovels and their legs. Bruises start to pulsate on my sides and my shirt’s ripping up from the beating. With a quick harsh breath, I breath out a stream of fire in front of me. The guys in front of me back off before they get singed, but my desperate ploy burns out the rope holding my arm. My freed elbow goes into the snout of one of my attackers, and turning around I grab the rope holding my neck and heave back with my entire body. The unlucky fellow holding the other end loses his footing and goes through the air, barreling through the backs of three of the attackers. I cut off and remove the ropes from my arm and neck while I have the chance, but none too soon as Mr. Backwards Cap comes at me in revenge for his destroyed lasso. He gets a sword swipe to the shoulder.

The pain and frustration of having my ass handed to me by farmhands overrides my hesitations, but doesn’t shut them up. I turn to face the ponies that have gotten back up or are coming in fresh. Hoes, hedge trimmers, shirts, hats, limbs, they all feel the sting of my sword. A lot of yells and groaning, but considerably less blood is spilt compared to my usual forays (doesn’t stop part of me from wincing at their cries, the families that would mourn—NO NO STOP they’re okay!). I throw in a punch or kick if I’m able to, but as before, the sword is the quickest way. I’m done wasting time here.

With about a dozen bodies either knocked out or cursing and nursing wounds on the ground, I finally have room to breath and calm down. Got lucky, all of you (and me). Still, more are on the way. I book it the way I had been going.

Running further into the orchard, I look back to see a group of six or so and counting. I look around me at the passing trees and suddenly think up a plan. My sword is held out before I twirl it and jump up, lopping off a branch weighed down with apples. I don’t stop running when I hit the ground, but I take a moment to jump and kick off another tree with both legs. I get to another tree and kick off that one, this time causing several apples to fall off. I do this with two more passing trees, and looking back I see some of the pursuers are tripping over the impromptu obstacles. But the truly seasoned farmers used to these kinds of conditions (most of them) run through without pause, and are nearly on me. Figured that wouldn’t have worked, but still worth a shot.

New tactic: I jump up and grab another overhanging branch, only this time I hang on and cut it off from the tree. I turn mid-air and once on the ground I use the newly-liberated branch to thwap the lead pursuer with a faceful of leaves. I keep thwapping away as well as belting the workers back with the flat of my sword. The apples on my new secondary weapon add extra heft to the blows, and I kick the apples that have fallen off like small hard red soccer balls for added versatility. Everything seems to be going well, confounding the stallions while keeping them at bay. But then there’s a rumble, followed by another, then another. We all pause as the rumbles get closer.

“HALT INTRUDER.”

The monotone, warbled announcement precedes a thunderous tremor that’s violent enough to make all of us rise two inches off the ground. Once my feet get back down and I’ve steadied myself, I look up at the latest arrival to this melee. Standing between me and the workers is a menacing giant of wood and metal, about ten feet tall. Atop two tree trunk-thick legs is a bulky torso lined with rivets set into the wooden frame as well as a mesh grating in the center. Two arms hung from its sides, bearing fists as thick as wrecking balls. An industrial funnel sticking out the back lets out a fierce release of steam, and the sounds of whirring gears and hydraulics as it moved added an artificial roar to its terrifying presence. And there, sitting at the controls of the giant, came the most unsettling thing of all: a peppy greeting.

“Howdy, Spike!”

Sitting within the torso of the machine is a young mare with pale yellow fur wearing a blue, oil-stained jumpsuit. Atop her grinning face is a long, unkempt mane of soft red, and above that is a well-aged Stetson. A cherished family keepsake, passed down from old to young. Must say her sister’s hat does look fitting on her.

“Whatcha doin’ making a fuss ‘round here?” she asks in that sweet chummy tone of hers. Unlike her sister, Apple Bloom has retained all her warm mannerisms from fillyhood, making her the ideal public face of Sweet Apple Acres. Or she would’ve been, if she wasn’t already in charge of another department.

“It wasn’t my intent to make any. Well, here at least,” I answer. “I was just passing by.”

“Were you now? Well shucks, trouble just can’t keep away from ya for long, can it?” she says while leaning forward in the seat of her creation.

Back when the two of us were still on good terms (ie her sister’s) she had told me about a new kind of farm machinery. Said she got the idea from seeing some monkeys at Fluttershy’s one time, how they could grab and pick up all kinds of things with ease. She went on saying that with the right size, that kind of design could be incredibly useful in moving heavy equipment or clearing out landslides, even help during especially large harvests. Perhaps steam-powered; no magic required. She concluded by saying she might build a prototype if she ever got bored. Less than two months later, the first fully functional “Apple Golem” strode out of her workshop.

Having spent an entire fillyhood tirelessly searching for that one special talent, she certainly wasted no time in embracing it to the fullest.

“Still, it ain’t nice cutting up the workers,” she continues. “Whatcha say we bury the hatchet before more ponies get hurt?”

“Don’t you mean before I get hurt?”

“Well that goes without sayin’.” She crosses her legs matter-of-factly. Gained a bit of smugness to go with her skill over the years. “Besides, do you really want to go hoof-to-hoof with this bad boy?”

“I’ll take my chances.” Smug against smug. Nice to know there’s some friendliness still alive from the old days, but the payoff is a smile on Apple Bloom’s face as her hooves reach for the controls to get her machine moving again.

“I’m sorta glad you said that, Spike. To tell ya the truth, I’ve been hopin’ for a chance to try this baby out on you. For combat testing purposes, of course. This here’s a Mark V, like ‘five’, and you’ll be the first to tangle with it.”

“Heh, I’m honored. But be careful WHAT YOU WISH FOR!” I hoped my shout would distract her as I fling my branch-club at her, but in a blink betraying their heft, one of the Golem’s hands appears before her and catches it. It extends to the side and closes shut into a fist, letting out a crunch and spilling of juices.

“Oh come on, did ya really think I wouldn’t catch that?” To this I shrug.

“Figured it wouldn’t work.” And with that, I turn and run.

I make it a couple of yards before there’s a great whoosh followed by another uplifting tremor. I look up to find Apple Bloom and her Golem blocking my escape.

“Come on, why ya turnin’ chicken now?”

The Golem pulls back its right arm and makes a fist before firing off a powerful right hook. I jump back, feeling much of the air rending from the arm’s ferocious passing, and look over in time to see the left arm preparing for a follow-up. That one I barely manage to duck under, and as it pulls away I force myself to spin while crouched and spring into a run in the opposite direction. The ground shudders and shakes as the farming behemoth stomps after me. It’s distracting enough that I barely have time to look ahead and realize oh yeah, there were others besides her.

The farm helpers run at me to make up for lost time. I come to a stop just before they meet me and I start swinging. A whack to the face there and a punch here, and it’s more or less where we left off, except now everything is shaking. I can only move inches with them ganging up and crowding me, and they even start getting hooves on my arms. Some violent twisting and my trusty sharp edge backs them off, and right when we have ourselves another nice standoff, the spines on my neck prick up. My head turns back slightly, and I throw myself out of the way of the running swing of the Golem’s arm. I hit the ground rough, but judging from the sounds of battered muscle and yells, I say I’m damn fortunate.

“Oops, sorry y’all.”

Getting back up, I see that dear AB has swept her co-workers several yards around, some into the trees. You can practically see the stars in orbit, though I’ll be sharing them if I don’t act fast. Apple Bloom always has been the determined headstrong type, so she won’t let me simply run away. That just leaves what I (regrettably) do best: offense.

I run up to the Golem as it turns to face me and I get to slicing at its massive mitts. My sword barely chips the hardened wood; must have metal reinforcement underneath. Even so, I keep hacking and forcing her on the defensive. She brings her creation’s arms up to guard the torso. Good sign: means I can switch to knocking out the legs (after I figure out how to). Before I have the chance, though, the arms spread forward in a burst, catching my sword and sending it and me flying back.

I hit the ground on my rump some yards away, but as I’m pushing myself back up, the Golem slams down before me, causing another of its signature tremors. My arms lose balance and my ass hits grass again, but luckily Apple Bloom lends a literal hand and has her behemoth pick me up in a secure fist. Makes for a comfortable squeeze, though she grips and releases as though expecting me to squeak. Since she’s getting none of that, Apple Bloom tosses me onto the ground and into a tree trunk. Think I felt a few bandages break. And the stars have stopped by.

I crawl up onto my claws and knees, shaking my head back into focus. I switch to a kneeling position when I hear the heavy groans. Looking ahead, I see the fist that had tossed me gripped around a tree and steadily uprooting it. There’s a shudder and a hard tearing before the tree is freed from its earthly bindings, with hardly a leaf falling in the process. The golem turns and stomps toward me, raising up its new thick club for one monstrous whallop.

“Apple Bloom!!” Both our attentions pivot to the smartly-dressed mare that’s magically appeared close by and went unnoticed somehow until now. “What do you think you’re doing with that?”

The question creates a painfully awkward pause, the Apple Golem shifting uncomfortably before Apple Bloom replies, “Uhh, I’m tryin’ to subdue the intruder... like ya wanted me to?”

“Who told you that you could go tearing up trees, huh?” Applejack adds some harsh business scorn to that one.

“Well, he has to be stopped by any means necessary, right? And he’s been cuttin’ trees so—”

“So you think that gives you the right to tear them out of the ground and go swinging them all recklessly in that robot of yours?”

“It’s nothin’ like that! Besides, I’m only pullin’ out an unhealthy one.” The golem holds out the tree and points out some areas on it. “See? There’s spots startin’ to form on the bark, and there are bare patches in the leaves. This thing’s diseased and you were gonna have it taken down anyway. I’m just puttin’ it to good use, that’s all.”

“Diseased or not, you don’t go uprooting crops without direct instructions from me first! That’s inventory you’re messing with, not your own little toys!”

“Dang it Applejack, stop treating me like a little filly! I’m the Head Engineer of your company for Celestia’s sake, so talk to me like an adult!”

“So long as I’m your older sister and your boss I’ll talk to you however I want, so put that tree back where it was and quit fooling around!”

“I’m not foolin’ around! I was just about to catch Spike until you came along and made a fuss over nothin’. Like ya normally do, at the worst times!”

“That’s sounding like sass. You watch that tone or I’ll downgrade you to foal!”

Always count on the time-honored Apple Family quarrel to arise at the most opportune moment. Before Apple Bloom takes another shot at her sister’s patience, I spring into a sprint and jump at the golem. Hit the wrist, vault over the tree and crouch onto the lip of the cockpit. AB and I lock eyes a moment.

“Heya.” I plunge my sword into the control console as a closing remark, and leap away as the sparks start flying. The wooden behemoth begins staggering around, dropping the tree to the sound of whistling steam.

“MALFUNCTION! MALFUNCTION! OVERLOAD!”

“It’s overheating. Doggonit, I can’t lower the pressure!”

The Apple Golem wobbles from the rivets shooting off from parts of its body, releasing spouts of searing steam before exploding into a shower of wood chunks and gears. Amid the clattering debris, AB lands hard on the ground and stays there, a dazed look on her unconscious face (she’s a tough girl, she’ll get over it... won’t she? What if I killed her? Oh no, please please not her STOP THAT). Nice tool there, but that’s one major fatal flaw. Wanna look into that when you wake up.

No time to marvel at my latest scene of destruction, because guess what there’s more of: reinforcements. With the golem out of the way, six or so workers canter at me undeterred. Getting knocked into a tree has worn me out some, but I have to remind these mooks how much trouble I am on my own.

I let them come to me and take them on one by one. A downward bap with the sword’s side on the first’s head, a kick to the jaw of the second, the butt of the sword hilt to the side of the head of the first, a haymaker into the face of the third (extra thick skull on that one, ouch), but the other three get wise and encircle me. I switch briefly to dodging, though they manage to land some punches to my arms and graze the side of my face. I punch one, elbow the one behind me, and grab the third to yank him into the one I elbowed. That just leaves one standing, and I give a side kick to the chest that sends him into a large crate, against which he slumps down into submission. However, what he hit isn’t a crate. In fact it’s very much alive... and woefully familiar.

He’s only a few inches taller than me, but he’s more than three times my muscle mass. Legs that only tree trunks wish they could be as thick as, a flaring red coat stained with the sweat of a hard day’s labor, short but rich sandy mane, unshorn fetlocks, and of course that heavy-looking yoke. Another rare individual who’s gone unchanged in looks all these years... except for the blue coveralls put upon him by the farm’s dress code. His deep, green eyes shine with the depth of a simple wisdom, that didn’t look very far but looked very deep, that wasn’t concerned with the happenings of the world except the one he walked everyday. A true workhorse. I’m pretty sure if pioneer writers throughout history met him up close, they’d orgasm on the spot both in rapture and impotency.

“Hey Big Mac.”

“Spike.”

A pony of few words; that along with his work ethic I’ve always had high respect for. Certainly not the kind of guy I’d want to fight, but that’s the cards life deals ya.

“Don’t suppose we can talk this out?” Right when I finish the question I twist my body and bring up my sword. There’s a clang, and to my shock and dismay I see that it’s been stopped by a raised hoof. More worrying is the fact that it’s the sword edge that it caught.

“Ee-nope,” he says with that same laid-back look, seemingly oblivious to the weapon being held inches away from his head. I only wanted to cut his nose, but I’m pretty damn certain that a hoof, no matter how hardened, can't withstand sharp tempered metal going at several miles an hour. I stuff away my shock and put more energy into moving the sword, but neither it nor the hoof budges. I’m straining to the point of breaking down in laughter, but then the hoof belts away the sword in another clang, and before I can even blink Big Mac’s forehead slams into mine, flooring me like a grand piano.

Despite my brain feeling like a china shop after an earthquake, I’m still conscious (oh gods why?). I hear his even drawl.

“It ain’t nothing personal, ya understand.” I feel hooves on my shoulders pull me up, and when I’m propped up into what could charitably be called “standing”, Big Mac pulls back a leg and punches me with the strength of a locomotive flung from a trebuchet.

Fortunately the hit knocks my brain back into one piece, but that allows me to register my flying backward at high velocity, as well as the subsequent painful collision against a tree that brings me to a jarring, teeth-rattling stop. Of course it makes sense: where brains fail, you send in the brawn. The Ol’ Apple Family One-Two I call it (at this moment in time).

I don’t dwell on this any further, because upon picking myself up I see nearly two hundred pounds of muscle charging headlong at me. I scramble out of the way, and shortly after there’s a thunderous crack as the tree I was against takes one for the team. Big Mac looks to me (completely unscathed), and breaks into a gallop. My sword is halfway up when he reaches me, and with one swift extension of a foreleg the sword is out of my claws and winds up embedded in a tree some distance behind. The disarming stuns me a moment, but I snap out of it in time to back away from another devastating headbutt. He tries another one, which grazes my side and puts me off balance. Big Mac uses that opening to rise and put his front legs under my arms and pull me off my feet. I get swung around in a twirl over his head before getting slam dunked into the ground. Barely any time to move a muscle before he’s turned around to deliver a buck into my overturned side.

The world goes speeding by again until I hit the ground rolling. I cough from the impact, but from what I can tell my ribs are still intact (guess he’s holding back. What a sweetheart). I struggle in getting up in a hurry, and that’s when I spot my sword sticking out of the tree in front of me. Looking over my shoulder, I see Big Mac trotting over to me in a purposefully slow manner. I stumble crawl over to my sword and take hold of the hilt, and after pulling myself up I yank it out and duck around the tree. I brace myself flat against the trunk and catch my breath, while simultaneously thinking up a strategy. For someone his size he’s insanely fast; always figured he’d be a beast to fight, but this is something else entirely. I’ll need something big to take him out, and sadly the Golem is out of commission. I look at the leaves and apples dangling overhead, and decide to improvise.

Mind goes into lockdown to negate the fatigue and injuries. I step forward and spin with blade drawn, producing a thin line through the base of the tree. Before it has time to topple over I turn the sword edge onto my palm, cut, and quickly put on a red coating. I breath out the necessary flames and incantation, and with sword alight, I pull it back and slam the Piston into the bark. The tree is blown horizontally from its trunk at ludicrous speed, but barely a second later there’s a thump from several yards away as the tree takes a ninety degree detour up. Standing at the turning point is Big Mac, a front leg raised, which he puts back down gently.

Lower jaw practically hits my collarbone, my eyes almost bugging out from behind my shades (almost). I’m rewarded for my gawking with a charging headbutt to the chest that knocks me on my ass. My palms find purchase on the grass and I push myself into a pitiful sitting position, but it’s enough to see Big Mac in his entirety slowly moving towards me. Pretty sure he won’t be holding back after my little stunt there.

He takes a few steps, and as I prepare to make like a crab in the other direction, there’s a whoosh followed by an air-rending bwoom. The tree that had so effortlessly been brushed away has come back down... on Big Mac’s head. There’s absolute stillness with barely a breeze going by, the tree teetering on its side atop Big Mac’s cranium. There’s a cracking sound, followed by a wooden tearing as the body of the tree splits in half and falls to either side of the stallion. When the noise settles, Big Mac remains standing like nothing’s happened.

My jaw drops again. “A-are you serious?”

He looks around to ponder this, then nods. “Eeyup.” Then he falls over onto the ground.

Mind’s finding it hard to grasp what just happened, but for now it seems the big guy’s finally down. The corners of my mouth crease into a grin of shaken relief as I carefully get back up. It was rough, but there’s finally some calm around here. Shame the barrel that’s blindsiding me wishes to object.

The stout container bursts into several bent planks as I skid to the side and nearly topple over. When the saw dust settles, I look over to see the big cheese herself going down a line of various crates, boxes and other accoutrements that had inexplicably gotten there. That’s when I remembered: Applejack’s Legendary Bucks.

“Chopping down perfectly healthy, fruitful trees. The sheer audacity!”

The cry of indignation hails the launch of a crate that zeroes in on me. Big Mac may be strong, but his bucking lacks the deadly precision of his younger sister’s. Many an apple tree were laid bare by those ferocious hooves, honed through endless repetition, trained to aim for the most optimal spot on a subconscious level. Around here, you’d have to be able to buck a full harvest single-handedly to become the boss, and that demands a lethal set of legs.

I juke from the crate as my focus shifts back to the present. AJ proceeds down her row of munitions, bucking in fiery succession. I sprint sideways to avoid most of them, then switch gears and charge toward her. No more running, not after what I had to put up with till now. I dodge left and right to bypass the flying containers until AJ kicks off two in a row. I don’t waver from my charge, and at the last moment I leap up, extending my right leg to catch the edge of the foremost box. I spring off upon contact and soar through the air. In seconds the remaining distance between me and AJ diminishes, and I come to a landing right before her startled form. Her eyes and mine lock and she makes to shout before I deliver a powerful backhand across her face. She flies off and tumbles along the ground before sprawling out to a stop, where she remains prone. From over here I see her fancy spectacles have shattered, and I can make out the subtle breathing motions (so no fretting this time!). She kept her bucking in prime form, but she seemed to have let her natural earth pony resilience waste away behind that desk of hers. Old girl can’t take a hit anymore; it’s somewhat of a letdown.

Foremare dispatched, I cautiously look over my surroundings. Trees toppled, destroyed equipment, and lots of bodies littered over a wide radius. But all of them still alive (keep telling myself), miraculously enough. It was far more tiring than if I went strictly lethal, and as a result the fatigue I left back at Zecora’s has come back. Luckily I don’t see anymore workers running in, so I must’ve taken down today’s available workforce (woo-hoo). I suck in and let out a deep breath, then turn in the general direction of where I first ran in from. Ditch this place before the staff do something else inconvenient, like regain consciousness and break out the pitchforks and torches for round two.

Two minutes time when I get back to the picket fence, and one vaulting later I’m back on the outer road that leads to town. Given my fresh bout of exhaustion I should go at a slow, easy pace, but I’ve wasted far too much time on this stupid farm. I enter a brisk walk, ignoring the aches thrumming through my body. Still a ways yet to town; ample time for the pain to dull. One less thing to worry about.

It’s six, maybe seven minutes before I reach the town limit proper. Seeing those saccharine houses made dark and radiant by the sun, makes it seem like I’m returning after a decade-long excursion. I allow myself to slow down to a normal walk. Pain has numbed down considerably. Fatigue’s caught up, though. Also beginning to feel hungry again. Preoccupied by these concerns, I’m slow to recall the matter involving the magic barrier. But by the time I do, I’m already past the first house.

Immediately I stop and look around. Felt no resistance whatsoever back there. No glimmerings in front of me either. While Sweet Apple Acres might’ve been left out due to its relatively isolated location, there definitely should be a barrier covering the entirety of the town. Perhaps it’s only covering central Ponyville, like the town hall. But that doesn’t make sense. The Librarium is some ways from the center of town, and that has been Twi’s ruling site since becoming a princess. Maybe she relocated, or maybe the barrier is just covering her? None of this bodes well.

I resumed walking when I started pondering this, and it now occurs to me that the streets are completely empty. Sweetie said everyone was told to stay in their homes, but what about the Royal Guard? The soldiers? There’s nothing moving at all, not even the obligatory tumbleweed. For a normally homely little town, this is all too eerie.

Still, should count my fortunes that there’s no one out here to bother me. I stroll down the deserted streets with that in mind, keeping close to the edge of town. Have to make one stop before I go see Twilight. Find it a bit odd no one has spotted me yet, or it may be that they don’t want to step out, which makes it odder.

Several minutes of uneventful walking and I arrive at my humble abode. Exactly as way I left it (on the outside), and totally free of guards. Not even a citizen patrol stationed. Very very suspicious... but I’ll test my luck.

I go up to the door, pause, and bend down to the welcome mat. Some fingering around and I hold up the key. Before I dwell on it having still been there, I stand up and put it into the lock. A turn later and I’m in. Yup, everything’s exactly as I left it inside as well. I suppose there was no point in searching the home of a fugitive since the crime’s been committed. That in of itself is damning enough evidence.

I lock the door behind me before heading to the bedroom. The perpetual sunset makes for slightly poor visibility when I enter, but I don’t bother with the lights. I give the room a quick scan, and seeing nothing out of place I rest my sword against the door frame. My right palm’s been gripped around that thing most of the time since leaving Zecora’s, so I give it several flexes. Oh, what to do now... Freshen up, first off. Can’t go seeing Twilight in this state. Not for the execu—What? I look around for the unspoken source. Seeing nothing, I huff and head into the bathroom. I swear, this day can go to hell (it already has).

I walk up to the sink basin and give the mug in the mirror a good look. I take off my shades to get a second opinion. Damn, talk about haggard, but at least everything is where it should be. Eyes are looking a bit bloodshot, though. I pull open the mirror, and I take out some painkillers from the medicine cabinet and down about five of them. Usually don’t need them unless I have a headache, and they’re pony prescription so the regular dosage won’t do. Supposed to be good for the heart, too, though that may only apply to ponies. Eh, no big deal.

Shutting the mirror door, I then turn my attention to my tattered shirt. Well, mildly tattered. For all the abuse it went through it’s held together remarkably well. Still tacky as all hell, so I pull it up and toss it to a corner. Now for a look at my bandages. A number of them are split or torn, there are some specks of dark red, a splotch along the side that’s long dried. I put my claws to work in cutting them away. Fairly delicate process, given how much I have to remove, but it gets done. They’re tossed in the overfilled trash can, and I step back to look my body over in the mirror. Pretty good shape overall. Still a bit tender around the chest and side, but the burns appear fully recovered.

Mostly satisfied with my physical condition, it’s time for that freshening up. I move over to the bathroom door and close it. A moment, perhaps my last, to truly relax. Breathe easy, have a nice long hot shower, and most important of all, take a well-deserved, much-needed Save.

SAVING...

SAVE OK

Fully cleansed after a half hour or so, I step out of the bathroom and walk over to the wardrobe. I don’t bother with the schtick of picking out suits and just pull one out. Shirt, jacket. Don’t have a spare sword sheath, so I’ll have to keep carrying it exposed. As I bring up my shades to complete the ensemble, I stop midway through the motion and stare at them. A moment of contemplation, then I open my coat and slide the shades into an inner pocket. No need for concealment, to uphold an image. This time around, I’ll speak to her truly face to face.

Steeled with this decision, I pick up my sword and exit the bedroom. Kitchen is the next stop, specifically the fridge. Put down the sword on the table first. Pull out some pasta from the cold confines (leftovers from last night) and chow down. Don’t even bother heating it up. I ate meat one time several years back (deer or goat. It was a griffon encampment), and with the day I’ve been having, I sure could go for a bite right now.

The cold lump of carbs in my gut, I make for the living when my eye catches something by the sink. A nondescript brown bag, crumpled and neglected. Suddenly my memory pulls a fast one and I realize that it’s the coffee Pinkie gave to me over a month ago. It hasn’t moved an inch since I tossed it there, utterly forgotten (man I’m losing it). Funny that I notice it now. Serendipitous, even? I tilt my head, then mentally I go oh, what the hell. I go over to the sink and pick up the bag. Just as good a time as any to make some coffee.

I take out a pot and fill it with water, about a cup’s worth, then put it on the stove and get it to boiling with help from my fire breath (always found it faster to do it that way). My early days as Twilight’s assistant had made me quite experienced in making coffee, as well as knowledgeable in what to do in the event of a busted coffee maker. I grab one of my mugs (three to my name) and put it on the counter, grab some paper towels to cover it, and put about a spoon's worth of grounds on top of that. Take the pot over and gently fill me up a cup. Pot emptied, towels and grounds trashed, and I’ve got some fresh steaming Joe. I give it a smell. Seems fairly safe. Probably no point in adding sugar or cream, this being Pinkie’s blend and all.

I hesitate before taking a sip, but go through with it. Immediately caffeine hits me like an anvil. All sense of fatigue disappears, leaving my mind and body feeling completely revived. Needless to say I’m more than pleasantly surprised. I would’ve thought I’d be running up the walls in a blind giddy fury, but this stuff is just a kick in the pants in the best possible way. There might be aftereffects if I drink it all, though, so I take just two more sips. That wonderful psycho; now I feel like I can take on the world (again).

The mug gets poured out and put in the sink with the pot, and with all my domestic affairs finally taken care of, I return to the living room with sword in claw and go to the front door. Back outside, I lock up and put the key under the mat (old habits, eh? Even in a crisis). I turn to the town, take a deep breath, and start walking. I make it a few yards before it happens.

“You have some major cojones coming back here, bato.”

That all-too familiar chill as I halt, but it can’t be, right? The caffeine’s playing tricks with my head, gotta be. But I know it’s all too real. I gulp and turn around. Sure enough, reclining on the roof edge of my house is Pinkie Pie, wearing her eyepatch and a delightfully malicious smile, with a sharp polearm leaning against her (with pink streamers). Most definitely the last pony I wanted to see. How the hell did she know I was here? Oh right, because it’s frickin’ Pinkie Pie.

“Interesting choice of words there. Trying to spice up your vocabulary today?” Can’t let her onto my fear and frustration.

“Still playing the smug punk act, even with all the shit you’re in,” she replies gruffly, not dropping that sneer of hers. “Though I see you ditched the sunglasses. Decided to finally man up? See the world for what it really is, am I right?”

In a firm tone, “More than you’ll know.”

“Czch! Then you ought to know how bad it looks, at least for you. Got ponies running scared, our one princess feeling nervous. You’re far from welcome in this town, boy. But even so.” She switches to a sitting position, kicking her legs over the edge in a carefree manner. “You just couldn’t stay away from your precious little crap shack, huh? I had a feeling you were on the way when the barrier went down, and boy was I right. As predictable as purple, heh!”

“It went down? When?”

“Nearly an hour ago.” Around the time I left Sweet Apple Acres. Then that would mean... Pinkie continues talking before I can ponder further. “Her Majesty’s compromise to keep the soldiers at bay. You know how stubborn Twi can be. This is her town, her citizens and friends, yadda yadda, and she’s gonna protect them her way. That and imposing martial law, which is why there isn’t anypony in sight.” She throws out her forelimbs in dramatic fashion. “Emptiness, peace and quiet. All the room we could ever want for our fight.”

Hold on. “F-fight?”

“Duh fight, lizard brain! Why else would I come out onto this lame rooftop? What, you thought I brought this along as a walking stick? Enjoy the sunset, wistfully recall my years of innocence and naivety?” She swings around her polearm as she talks. “Give your master some credit; I’m not that old, and I’ll be damned if I let my brain get mushy enough for any of that!” The polearm comes down to punctuate her statement.

“...A fight, just like that? Not gonna try capturing me?” I already know the answer, but I just wanna stall.

“Listen, kiddo: it’s tradition. A master and her student go through much training and tribulations, get on each other’s ass, bond, and inevitably have a duel to the death in what may or may not be an emotionally-stirring bit of high-octane drama and hoofticuffs. Though with me, we can skip the tears and heartache and just focus on the violence. And after what the audience has seen of me up to now, do you really want to deny them the chance to see me go all out on your brooding scaly ass?”

What she just said... Pinkie being Pinkie, saying random things, but the jumbled parts of my mind come into focus. This, all of this, isn’t what it is. Rather, it’s not what it should be. Everything and everyone. “It isn’t right.” Blurted that one out, but better keep going. “We don’t need to fight, Pinkie. I know it’s what we usually do, but don’t you remember when we could talk without going at each other’s throats with sharp weaponry? I’m curious as to why you changed all that.”

“HA!!” That’s practically a screech. “What’s this, dredging up your fond memories of being a pussy nobody? You bring that up now? Way too late for that, Spike. Sheesh, go changing your outlook and now you expect to change the world as well? Heh, you did a pretty good enough job today as is. But you say you want more? At the very least you should be aiming to make things considerably worse, but you want to talk it out and make peace and all that crap? You’ve gotten hypocritical and weak as hell!”

She adjusts herself, putting one hindleg back on the roof. “Forget the fact you’re Equestria’s Most Wanted, that you’re a walking death threat to every living princess both present and future. I’m doing this solely for myself! Sure the kingdom benefits, but that’s just icing.” A forelimb bends up, imitating a balled fist. The sound of compressing muscle fills the air as her face tightens. “I’ve waited too long for this, you have no idea! Like you, battle is all I’ve known since Twilight became a princess. Just one day I woke up and parties wouldn’t cut it for me anymore. I have to move to live, like a door to door salespony, and you don’t get more mobile than in the midst of combat. I lost my eye, my mane, and a fair bit of skin in that time, but even so I refuse to stand still!” She stops tightening her hoof-fist as her face softens. “Those days of jokes and kiddie games are no more. That was a party that ended too damn long ago.” Her eye closes as she lets her head and leg drop. Could swear her poofy mane deflated slightly.

A moment of silence, then she reopens her eye. “You know, part of me believed you went up in smoke along with Celestia. I actually began losing hope in having this awesome showdown. But seeing you here, alive and well despite what’s happened, fills me with hope that I will face a worthy opponent. One molded by not only my teachings but the harshness of the world, the wickedness of the damned and the badass. You shall give me this awesome moment, and this shall be our arena!”

“Uhhh, not to burst your bubble, but what about citizens who might poke their heads out in the name of curiosity?”

“No worries there. You know how cowed the average Ponyvillean is. They’ll just huddle closer when the noise starts. Besides, given all this open space around your place, there’s plenty of room right here where we can rumble without worrying about collateral.”

“How very thoughtful.”

“Always looking out for my number one town.” She pounds her forehooves together. “We’ve talked enough: Time to get down to business!” Snagging her polearm, Pinkie springs high from the roof and lands in an earth-shaking crouch, defying her small light build. She rises on her hindlegs and twirls the polearm in a whirlwind of impending doom before stopping it atop her leveled forelimbs, pointed square at me. The air crackles with the outpour of her adrenal rush and fury. Roped into her madness yet again, her one-eyed glare makes it clear this instance can only end in life or death.

“This is it, kid! There will be no holding back. I’m pulling no stops! Only one will walk away. Only one’s way of life is the right one. Kill or be killed. Which of us is truer to that glorious creed? Cocked locked and ready to blow. The end of all things. Time to get Doevarek UP IN THIS BIIIIIIIIITCH!!!!!”

Her yell signals a series of wild yelling flips, cartwheels and somersaults that brings her towards me (rather slowly, but very loudly). I bring up my sword, but in the middle of one flip Pinkie suddenly plants the pointed end of her polearm into the dirt and catapults it and herself at me. The polearm gets tossed and I knock it away, and a second later I swing my sword to deflect the flurry of kicks and stomps brought on by the pink pony deathdealer. In an instant it’s over, with Pinkie soaring a ways away and landing on her hindlegs. Her head snaps back with a look that could eviscerate (mainly because of that massive, sharp manic smile).

“Don’t get tripped up yet. This fight’s only started!”

She extends her right hoof offscreen, and I chance a glance upward before finding myself dancing beneath a shower of spiked metal balls. I manage to get out from the spiky downpour right before a chained iron weight crashes down, an angry face painted on it. A yell from the side and I turn in time to see Pinkie flying at me with her body bent back. My sword goes up and catches her hooves when they spring forward, revealing the clawed gauntlets attached. She strikes down again and again whilst midair, getting me stuck in defense mode deflecting her attacks. She springs back from one deflection, flips, and looses her gauntlets at me like knife-lined discs.

I step back to let them pierce the ground at my feet. Barely time to straighten myself before I’m bending from a throwing knife. Looking ahead, I see Pinkie back atop her hindlegs, winding up and throwing out another knife like a baseball. I bend from that, then from an actual baseball, a fishbone, I cut through a potted plant, get blinded by an exploding flashbang, then get bopped by a cackling sprite and hit in the gut with a bowling ball. As I’m reeling back, Pinkie throws her whole body against my torso and brings me down onto my back. I’m left flat and defenseless on the ground, and with Pinkie’s hindlegs straddling my chest, she starts wailing on my face with her forehooves. I take a few punches before I kick myself up and throw her off. I scramble back onto my feet and readjust myself, battling the taste of lead in my mouth when,

“Garbage Day!”

That conniving bitch slams a garbage can onto me (filled to the brim, too). The world goes dark and I feel (what could be) an aerial buck knock me over onto ground with a metallic banging. Legs work to get myself back up as I’m battling blindness and offending odors, and somehow I miraculously get vertical. As I try to come up with a way to loosen my arms, the answer is given to me when there’s a sharp grinding as the upper half of the can flies off. The light of evening blinds me momentarily, but once it clears I find Pinkie hovering before me, face contorted with sheer delightful mania and holding a massive axe.

She spins as I backstep, then quickly slams the axe down, cleaving the remaining half of the trash can and making a small tear down the lower part of my shirt. Pinkie lands on the ground and readies for a devastating overhead swing, but I bring up my sword and stop it halfway through its descent. The two of us are stuck firmly in this stance, both sword and axe refusing to budge. The earth shakes and sparks fly to sounds that could amount to a cargo freighter tipping over, but drawing on some extra strength I push back the axe and strike the handle. The handle isn’t cut, but the impact is enough to knock it from Pinkie’s grasp and send it several yards away, where its head sticks into the dirt.

I take a fast breath before readying to strike again. A bad move on my part, for Pinkie has produced two of butterfly knives and has time enough to pull off a fancy dual opening trick (how though?) before bringing them together to catch my falling slice. I keep cutting away, but those three inch buggers keep making consecutive knockbacks, and all the while Pinkie looks like a hopping lunatic. Abruptly she throws down her knives by my feet, only to reach to her sides and throw another two right past my head. I hold off the swordplay from the sudden attack, falling to the distraction that allows Pinkie to flip back from me as she throws two more knives. These manage to cut the sides of my knees, and I grimace as Pinkie lands.

“This is what we live for!” With that exclamation she launches at me, this time armed with brass ankle rings and shoes. Clang clang clang our colliding metals ring out as Pinkie continues to rant. “Individuals like us can only thrive in constant battle. Dragons always strife and decimate to find their place in their world, but I just enjoy the hell out of it!” She boxes my ears which puts me into a daze.

Shaking my head back into focus, I see Pinkie has landed herself several yards away again, her back turned and twirling around an elongated wooden tube with a hilt.

“Though I’ve had carnal knowledge of the sweetest cakes in Equestria and tasted the finest hot sauces, nothing excites me more than when I draw my blade!” In a grand exaggerated sweep, she unsheathes the sword and tosses its covering in my direction. I sidestep it, allowing it to pierce the ground in a theatrical boom. Thoughts of a proper sword fight are swiftly dashed as I dodge another flying sword sheath, followed by another, and then several more. A storm of sheaths come blowing all around me, each one twirling with enough force to split a stone wall. Dodging the empty carry-ons, I can see Pinkie repeating her earlier motion of drawing out a sword, casting aside the sheath and tossing the sword onto a growing pile of blades before repeating. Nearly ten seconds go by before the barrage stops, and I’m left standing in a field of upstanding sheaths that gives the impression of a petrified rice field, or a warrior graveyard.

No time to contemplate what this arrangement signifies. Pinkie is staring at me, and she’s holding something gray and square in one hoof.

“Time to light up your life.” Her other hoof taps the square, causing a beep. Suddenly a mass unified beeping arises around me, and I spot the red lights atop the sheaths blinking rapidly. I dash forward right as they detonate. Everything gets fiery and smoky, but I run through before it overtakes me, bursting out of the cloud and right toward Pinkie. My sword arm extends, bends and strikes at her. She hops back but I follow up with a kick that catches her square on her hindlegs.

Pinkie flows with the momentum of the kick, soaring upwards and doing an aerial corkscrew before diving into the pile of swords. There’s a clattering of steel as she disappears, and then silence… until the sword pile erupts. Jettisoning above the scattering arms is Pinkie, legs spread eagle, three swords attached to each hoof like some horrific twelve-legged screaming sword spider. Her battle cry rings in the air along with mine at seeing this terrifying atrocity to blade-handling falling toward me.

Next thing I know I’m toe-to-toe against a creature more blade than pony, a living sword dance, with Pinkie as the eye of this ridiculous hurricane of sharpness. With each deflection by my own sword there’s thrice the clang and considerably more sparks, and they keep coming fast from above and below. I don’t bother keeping count of the strikes I manage to stave off, but eventually my arm gives out and one three-pronged arm swipes and cuts out three parallel lines over the front of my suit.

“I say that looks good on ya! Yahaha!”

The fact I’m fighting for my life combined with her choosing now to assault my attire causes a break in focus, but that’s quickly filled by a flash of frustration. Heat growing inside, I rear back and cough out a fire burst to burn through the nonsense that’s trying to disembowel me. Pinkie gets the picture and disengages, dropping her dozen swords in the process. The pink menace executes a long string of backflips all the way toward one of the street openings before pirouetting to a stop. She’s still got that deranged smile, though the tip of her poofy mane is burning green. She blows it out quickly and looks back to me.

“Hmhm. I’ll let you in on a little secret: along with the adrenaline and bloodlust, I’m also feeling a bit of pride.” She rears back into a two-legged stand, with one hoof on her side. “When we first began as master and pupil, you were small, weak, scared, and a massive crybaby. The thought of blood just made you want to curl up into a sissy little ball, but just look at you now. See how far you’ve come? Even as I go all out to kill you, you aren’t fazed in the slightest. The sort of guy who really can kill the likes of Luna and Celestia: a bonafide God Killer. It downright makes me sappy how you obliterated my early expectations for you!” Her hoof is brought up and squeezed in fist fashion. “To think I could turn you into such a magnificent badass, it makes my heart soar! You complain about all the shit I do, but look what’s it’s done for you! You’re finally stepping up for yourself, taking the world by the balls and telling it where to go! Nopony, not even gods can say otherwise! At long last, you’ve tasted true freedom!”

“I want nothing to do with any of this, Pinkie! For once will you just cut it out and leave me alone!”

“NEVER! You can’t have your way unless you cut down all those who oppose you, and I’m the last mean bitch standing between you and doing whatever the hell you want. If you want this to end, then you’re gonna make it end. Otherwise, I’ll end you!”

“You’ve always been insane, y’know? Even before you started training me.”

“Good to know, boyo! But this battle intermission’s gone on enough. We have to keep the rhythm going, and what better way than to make some heavy-ass rattle and BOOM!”

Her last word heralds the abrupt appearance of her powder blue party cannon popping up underneath her, letting off a thunderous blast in my direction. Instead of the colorful streamers and confetti one might expect from such a device, I’m faced with a hail of axes, knives, shuriken and Molotov cocktails. The noise of their respective impacts is cacophonic to say the least, adding more distress to my zipping and dodging maneuvers before I finally hit the ground flat. Once the shattering of Molotovs and whizzing of sharp objects cease, I get back up and stare down my ever-maniacal foe. She’s standing atop her cannon like a ship’s prow.

“Don’t go slacking off just because of my long-ass speech.” She steps forward, making the cannon tilt forward into the ground. “Here comes Pinkie Pie’s Calamity Carnivale!”

A powerful roar mixed with scorching earth fills the air as a pillar of flame erupts from the mouth of the downed cannon and blasts it away. At breakneck speed Pinkie turns it around on its little flower-decorated wheels and fires in my direction, legs held out as though surfing. She whisks right by me, but a second later I jump back as she zips past from the opposite direction. For her next run I try to get my sword to meet them head-on, but instead Pinkie pulls back on the cannon and launches upward, barrel-rolling overhead before landed clear across the yard. The cannon and its rider zoom past some distance away, only Pinkie tosses out a line of round bombs at me that I narrowly avoid before they explode. Pinkie comes by again at the same distance, tossing out bombs high into the air that detonate into showers of kunai.

Getting my suit torn up from that attack, I look to see the speeding cannon dropping a row of what looked like Poman candles, except they shoot off flaming mortars aimed right at me. Blasts go off everywhere as I flee the explosives, and still the madness continues. The cannon’s tilted back up and fires off several bundles into the air that parachute down a ways before turning into fast-falling drills. Next the cannon fires off more into the air, this time unleashing spears by the triple my way. The cannon tilts forward again, but it fires off the jet of flame to resume its wild run all over my yard. At this point I’m running around trying not to get run over by the damn thing, and at some point Pinkie has gotten off, gotten hold of a massive drum and is pounding out some heavy rhythm with two thick sticks (she’s even got a bandana on!). She eventually ditches the drum (in my direction no less) and gets back on her ride. While I navigate around the wayward instrument,

“How about this from your tender past: cross my heart hope to fly, stick a cupcake in your EYE!”

It happens so fast it may as well have been a blink. Which is mighty inconvenient since Pinkie, in passing on her cannon jet, has shoved a pink-frosted (what else?) cupcake into my left eye. Stinging pain coupled with moist crumbs blind me and leave me stumbling around trying to get my eye clean, which is an open invitation to getting side-winded by the cannon. It’s a rough landing and messy tumble, but it manages to remove most of the sting in my eye. Also wakes me up to the fact this absurdity has gone on for long enough.

I slam my palms into the dirt and spring back up into a stand, training my eyes on Pinkie and her cannon as they go around the perimeter of the yard. The moment they veer toward me, I spin deftly to the left, and spin back the other way a moment later. Thwarted twice, Pinkie comes back around with a trident lowered for maximum skewering. I spring high into the air and back flip as she passes under, and once she’s past I hit the ground flat with a split. From my lowered position I see Pinkie barreling towards me. A corner of my mouth creases up.

A flash of steel as I shoot me up into a rising vertical slash just when Pinkie and her cannon reach me. In obscene slow-motion the cannon splits clean down the middle during my rise and flies apart into several hot pieces. Pinkie is thrown from her dismantled mount, cartwheeling through the air before hitting the ground with her face. She plows through the earth for several yards, building up a thick wall of soil by the time she finally comes to a stop. A silent twitch, and right back up she springs, spitting out dirt and rubbing the grime off her face.

Looking at me, her eyepatch looking a little tattered, she doesn’t look so jovial. Guess that got her attention.

“That was my life partner you just mangled, you bastard.” She wipes her face out of anger. “Okay, I you’re done with kid games. You’re ready to play with the BIG fillies. Well you got it, buster!” Pinkie slams her forehooves together and hunches her shoulders tight. “Ain’t NOBODY destroys my Party Cannon and gets away with it! One Ultimate Attack coming right up, and there will be BLOOD! HAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!”

Through her yelling a yellow radiance inexplicably grows out of her and the loose soil around her crumbles and blows away. The light in her one eye flashes with intensifying drive, the burning will to inflict only the most legendary of overkills. I raise both my guard and sword for defense. Just about anything can happen at this point (she might even breath fire... nah, too simple). After what felt like minutes needlessly stretched into days, Pinkie unleashes her attack… by rocketing up into the sky with a resounding boom.

I maintain my stance a moment, then cautiously let up as confusion sets in. Nothing’s coming down (certainly nothing pink), and the total silence of the empty town has returned. I walk forward to where Pinkie was, looking up to see if I can find her. Empty skies. Might’ve disintegrated midflight; doesn’t really have the build to withstand that kind of launch. Then again, Pinkie Pie: physics (or sense of any kind) rarely apply to her.

This break in frantic action is making me nervous, but then my left ear picks up something distant… from behind. I turn and see nothing. The sound gets slightly louder, and my gaze turns up. I blink; sadly what I see is still there. Taking up a good portion of the distant sky is a large, flaming mass of wood, covered in masts, sails and the colors of the Royal Army, with Pinkie hollering and waving a hoof on its bow like a rider of the apocalypse. Where the hell did she get an airship?!

I freak a moment but refocus and split open my palm with my sword. Waste no time in coating up the blade, and two seconds and some fire later I bring down my sword to unleash a Jade Slicer directly at the incoming wreck. The hit is dead-on, separating the ship in two in a deafening crack. It’s not separating enough, though. As the halves come down with only a few yards between them, I run in the opposite direction. When the roar of impact reaches me I dive, only to get swept up in a hellish maelstrom of destruction.

Takes about a minute for everything to clear. Once it does, I get up from under the burnt planks covering me and look around. Piles of burning wreckage, possibly a few unsuspecting crewponies underneath (the maniac), my house having nothing near it (freakishly lucky). But no Pinkie Pie. I bring up my sword; definitely no way she’d die from a devastating airship crash. Perhaps if I get to higher ground: climb atop one of the piles, or get onto the roof of my house. Spot her when she pops up, get the jump on her. Beat this hilt into her head and at long last bash some sense into h—

“Mole-Ryuken!!”

I manage to see Pinkie dressed in some stupid mole outfit shoot up from the ground before my chin shoots up to where my snout had been. My body goes limp as I lose the grip on my sword, and I the ground hard on my back. That’s followed by a wet schling as my sword plants itself through my left palm. Before I have time to properly writhe in agony, Pinkie throws herself onto me and begins an enthusiastic tap dance on my chest, all while wearing that stupid costume and bending down over me with that mocking smile.

“Having lots of FUN lizard boy? I say are you having FUN you Cannon Wrecker!!”

Pain from my palm and the hooffalls on my ribs mount, but so does something else. It’s also the thing making the claws on my right palm flex, grit my teeth, and make my rawest glare. Pain gives way to red. Rage Red.

In one motion my free claw swipes up across Pinkie’s face. She quits the dance and reels back covering her eye cursing, and the sword is pulled free as I spring back onto my feet in an instant.

“Fucking BIIIIIIIIITCH!!!!!!!!!!” My screech matches that of my sword as it tears a shower of crimson from Pinkie’s torso, and before the first drop hits the ground I’ve dropped the sword and balled my palm into a roaring fist. Hits her square on the cheek and launches her clear across the yard and into the side of my friggin’ house, leaving a trail of blood like a pink macabre bottle rocket.

I take several loud breaths, then immediately pick up my sword and go charging, yelling like wrath incarnate with every intent to drive my weapon straight through her cursed heart. However, the moment I catch sight of the pink and brown limb sticking out weakly from the dust, my unstoppable charge stops. The red in my vision fades, and the screaming in my head mutes out. Somehow, despite everything, I managed to recompose myself.

Pinkie is lying in the crater that had been the wall of my house and part of my living room. She looks utterly battered: the costume is practically gone, her face scratched up and her eyepatch missing, though the eye it had covered remains shut. Apart from the hoof raised up, the other one is clutched against the large seeping red gouge in her chest and upper stomach. Her raised hoof drops after seeing me stopped.

“I guess it’s safe to say… there’s nothing more for me to teach you,” she says in a more raspy tone. “I’d give you a medal, but I’ve seem to have run out, along with all of my damns.” She laughs harshly, spilling blood onto the few parts of her that were still pink (or brown). Even with the obvious pain she keeps talking. “You know, I had a feeling you’d be the one to do me in. Ever since Twilight had me train you, I felt that… special link, where one of us would have to die by the other’s hoof, claw, whatever. Now that it’s happened, I can say it was totally worth the wait. Heh, though you could’ve done it faster. Guess all you needed was that one, extra push.”

That word: push. How much difference a small push can make. Especially when no one suspects it’s being done. Fulcrums to move the world. Very, very, very tiny ones. And Pinkie and I wound up being on the very edge of the scales. Us, and just about everybody else.

“So listen,” Pinkie speaks up. “You’re nobody’s Fetcher anymore. You do whatever the hell you want now, and ain’t nopony around who can stop you anymore. Though, I know you’re gonna go to Twilight right after this.”

I stiffen in surprise, and Pinkie gives another harsh laugh at seeing this.

“Yeah. I could tell from your eyes, the tone in your voice when you were telling me to stop. You got to report to your superior, have a final word or whatever. Give your two weeks notice, even. That’s understandable. With me gone, she’s the closest thing to a threat to you… plus, she’s known you longer than she’s known any of us.” She takes a deep breath and shudders, but makes a sharp grin. “I know what it’s really about though, Spike. For all your smart-assery, I know what you really think of her. How you feel about her.” A pause, then in a more serious tone, “When you have your face-off, and believe me there will be a face-off, will you defend yourself, or lie down and take it? I won’t be there to pick for you. Though, honestly, you better not do something disappointing like kill yourself, otherwise I’ll scour through all of hell to haunt your ass.”

Her head drops to her chest, but with some more breaths she raises it back up. At the same time, her leg begins to lift. “Thanks for letting me get that out. Real honorable, but that’s just a weakness begging for trouble.” Pinkie’s leg is now up to her head, and in her shaking hoof is a small gray cylinder with a red top.

“It’s been fun. Sayonara... asswipe.” A chubby digit pops out from the hoof and presses the cylinder’s top. Light appears behind Pinkie’s closed eyelid, and I quickly turn and run. There’s a flash of light followed by a huge explosion.

Pinkamena Dianne Pie

死

DEAD

It takes a moment for the ringing in my ears to settle. When I’ve made certain nothing’s pierced me, I look back, and part of me weeps. There’s nothing remaining of my house but scattered wood, clothes, furniture and one standing wall. Leave it to Pinkie to go out with a bang. She’s always been the one for theatrics (albeit EXTREME theatrics). Suddenly I hear the sound of dragging leather, and looking over to my right I see the green scaly mass of Gummy coming toward me. Just great: I forgot to take vengeful pet into consideration. We’ve tangled and tussled before, but given how crazy this day has been, he might actually be more deadly than Pinkie was. He gets within a yard of me and opens his fleshy mouth.

“Hers was a soul whose brilliance shan’t ever be seen again.”

I could only stare, mouth agape, at the words of an elder sage having inexplicably come out of the maw of a full-grown alligator. My lower jaw struggles to work up a response.

“You can talk?” is all I can manage, to which Gummy nods.

“Indeed I can, though I very seldom do. I acknowledge such discourse has led to considerable miscommunication many times in the past. But that is no longer here nor there.” His purple gaze turns to the wreckage of my home. I feel like I should keep talking… but I don’t know if I want to (or can).

“Uhhh.” That’s a start. “Sooo... you’ve come by to—”

“Pay respects. There is an intimate connection shared between myself and her. Or I should say, was.” He looks to me. “Worry not for any retributions on my part. Things are the way they should be.” He looks back to the resting place of his former owner.

“Soooo... you’re okay with this?”

“Most definitely,” he says with certainty. “It is the way she would’ve wanted to go: doing what she enjoyed most. But it is still sad, regardless. She was a most kind and friendly caregiver. She gave me a chance at life that I would never have had had I been left in my natural habitat. A conviction and enjoyment of life so genuine it was inspiring.” He sighs. “It is uncertain what I will find in my travels, but so long as I honor her spirit and keep her memory alive in my heart, then I can face the world without fear.” He starts to walk off the way he came from, but stops. “Although, there was one thing I found objectionable in my time with her.”

“And what was that?”

“...I never liked the name ‘Gummy’. I always felt it insulting to my condition.” And without another word, he departs as slowly as he arrived. Well… that happened. Before I think further on that, I walk over to the ruins of my house.

Not one trace of Pinkie left (though I did find an ear from the mole costume). I dig around the debris and manage to find a mostly intact shirt. I tear a strip of cloth off and wrap it around my left palm. Not much bleeding, but I’m not feeling too machismo to just leave it as is (and gotta be presentable). Lucky for me the stab missed any major muscles or bones, though it’s beginning to feel stiff. True to her word, nobody has come over to investigate the rash of explosions that have been cropping up. Just perfect: I’ve had just about enough ponies for today (mortal ponies, anyway).

I stand back up and look back to the silent town. Way more fighting than I wanted. The battle had used up most of the coffee’s effect, but it’s nearly over. “Ain’t nopony can stop you now”, she said. At long last… I’m free to take care of this mess my way.

Not looking back at the remnants of my house, I start walking to the other end of town. No more delays this time.

Her Majesty awaits.

DESPERATE STRUGGLE
end

*I’m just a soul whose intentions are good.
Oh lord, please don’t let me be misunderstood.

Ep8: The Final Return

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A grand celebration was held in Ponyville the night after the destruction of the Changeling hive. Fireworks, music, dancing, the works. Even a ticker-tape parade for the returning heroes who single-handedly took out the treacherous Queen Chrysalis and her ilk. And of course, it was hosted by the local princess Twilight Sparkle and attended by the Royal Sisters. A big ceremony, some medals, airshow by the Wonderbolts and good times for all.

As the citizens celebrated the preservation of Equestrian peace and justice, I eventually found myself sitting alone on the observation deck atop the Librarium. A private party for the princess’ closest friends was being held inside, but I managed to slip away unnoticed. Aside from the fireworks, the sky was clear and full of stars. I remember thinking that it all seemed a bit insulting, considering what had transpired. Like none of it acknowledged the fact that full-scale genocide had been committed. Then again, maybe that was precisely the point: to overlook that grim detail.

A tapping of dainty slippered hooves broke my reverie, but hadn’t given me cause to turn. So much for having gone unnoticed.

“Spike? What are you doing up here?”

The owner of the voice was the reason I looked back. “Just taking in some air, Your Highness.”

“Is something the matter?”

I looked back out over the town. “No. Today’s been a little tiring, is all.” I heard her trotting toward me.

“I know there’s more to it than that, Spike. Tell me: what’s bothering you?” She sat down next to me, although I kept looking straight ahead. I sighed. Never wise to lie to the princess.

“It had been rough out there. Bloody, but necessary.”

“That it was, Spike.” A straightforward response. No pause, no real emotion. Very official.

“Even so, there were a lot of grubs. Many little eyes looking back. Plenty of them confused, scared.” I paused. “And there’s what happened to Pinkie’s eye.”

“Troubling, I’d have to agree.” Some hint of emotion with that one. “Odd she wouldn’t want anything done to it. Not even have a false eye put in.”

“Yeah, she’s weird like that.”

“Indeed.” I could detect a smile from that one. “She’s certainly not one to be easily discouraged, so this is a clear sign she’s still herself.”

“Yeah.” A silence fell between us, as we both looked out over the lights of the town and the lights borne from the distant fireworks. I felt her gaze upon me.

“It had to be done, Spike. Not just for the sake of Cadance, but for the safety of all Equestria.” Had she even mentioned her brother? I don’t entirely remember.

“I know.” I let my head sink a bit, but then I immediately felt the soft touch of gilded horseshoe on my shoulder.

“Please don’t be bothered too much by it. What you did ensured that no others would have to suffer as the Crystal Ponies had suffered. Words cannot portray the sheer gratitude this country has for your deeds, and words certainly cannot portray mine.”

It was oddly comforting, hearing that schlock from her. Added a touch of warmth to that cool balcony. I lifted my head a bit.

“Sorry to have worried you.”

“Don’t be. All ponies have their means of coping, and considering what had happened, you’re doing it most admirably.” She tugged gently. “I will tell you this, Spike: if you weren’t here, I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“...You sure about that?” A nod from her.

“Absolutely. Since my days as Princess Celestia’s student, there has always been someone reliable in my life. Someone who was both helper and companion. And well into my Ascension, that same individual has proven steadfast, ever the model of dependability. I can say, most definitively, that there’s nopony I know quite as well as you. And certainly nopony more deserving of my deepest trust.”

I looked over to her, and I see that she’s smiling. A warm, genuine smile. Brighter than the moon and stars combined; gentler than the rays of the sun; compassion pure and simple. Murdering Changelings must’ve made me more moody than I thought for thinking those kinds of things at the time. Regardless, I found myself giving a genuine smile of my own in return. A modest one, though.

“Glad not to have disappointed, Your Highness. And thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She pulled away her hoof. “And whenever you feel doubt, know that I not only see you as an excellent Vanguard, but also as my dear friend.”

The words linger and float around in my head as I stride up to the Librarium, sword drawn (no barrier here, either). Of all the times for that to come up. Certainly not the time or place to get all mushy. Perhaps the last cry of doubt trying to change what is about to transpire.

Whatever the reason, the warmth of memory is gone, replaced only by that of the sunset that’s lighting up the leaves like some fiery halo. Standing before the entrance of the Librarium, I tell myself that my mind is made up. This is getting settled, one way or another. Closure will be had.

With these thoughts weighing heavily, I step into what was once my institution. My sanctuary.

My home.

Ep8

THE FINAL RETURN

It’s both darker and brighter inside, a mixture of shadow and ebbing sunlight. It also seems more elongated, but that could just be from the contrast of the aforementioned lighting. Across from me is the Grand Collection, and atop of it is Her Highness. Back turned to me, wings spread, bathed in the piercing light of sunset offered by the observatory window (talk about overkill). The shadow cast by her makes it easier on my eyes, but even then it’s still uncomfortably bright for sundown without my shades.

I hear her head shift slightly against the neckline of her regal dress.

“You have returned.” Plain and simple. No hint of anger, sorrow, or anything: just utterly neutral, which makes it more harsh. Well if she’s gonna be mellow about it, so can I.

“I wanted to clear up some things.” The grip on the sword hilt tightens, slightly. We stand in silence, not moving an inch.

“You have your sword drawn.” I look at it, then back to her.

“It slipped my mind. I notice there’s no kind of barrier set up.”

“Because I took it down.”

“Expecting me, then?”

“Indeed I was.”

A pause between us, broken by, “How did you know I was even here, or that I was even alive?”

“The report from Canterlot stated that an object was seen flying in the direction of Everfree Forest. There was suspicion that it had been you in flight, but that’s all it was: suspicion. But then I sensed a disturbance with the Element of Honesty nearly an hour ago. And when the Element of Laughter was extinguished, the question of your presence became a certainty.” All very level, despite talking about her very friends getting hurt and dying.

“So why’d you let me get this close in that case?”

“For the same reason you came back: clarity.” She lifts up her hooves and turns around to face me, lowering her wings. The way she’s looking down... impassive, somber. As if looking at a total stranger.

“Why did you kill Celestia, Spike?”

Gotta come clean.

“She wanted me dead. I didn’t have a choice.”

Her eyes widen only slightly at that. That facade of hers softens a bit in concern.

“But, why?”

“For what I did to Luna. She got scared. Saw me as a threat, as well as you by extension. Told me you’d be easier to control if I were out of the picture.”

“That can’t be...” That even tone again as she turns back around with a bowed head. “How could she think that?”

Better lay it down for the hell of it. “Twi, I know what’s been going on. It was Discord. He’s the one who drove Luna insane, and he’s messed with other ponies’ minds as well. Changed their ways of thinking and behaving. Gave Chrysalis the idea to murder Cadance. Manipulated Celestia into being paranoid, got Pinkie to become a psychopath, and made you... what you are.”

She turns back to me, eyebrow raised. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I hold out my arms. “Should I go down the list? Putting strict regulations on book check-outs, issuing the death penalty to those who don’t follow, building a spy network to maintain those regulations, and being holed up here in the library while having someone eliminate ponies all day long. Sorry, Librarium.”

“Overdue books used to be acceptable, Spike. Depriving knowledge from others instead of sharing it. Regulations had to be put in place for the welfare of the populace, and making the punishments severe is the only way the citizens will understand the gravity of this abominable crime.”

“That’s another thing: everything you just said. You never referred to other ponies as ‘citizens’ or talked about killing them like it’s no big deal. Ever since you got those wings, you’ve steadily become a textbook monarch. A tyrant, even.”

“I’m sorry you see it that way, Spike. I had new and important responsibilities to fulfill in becoming a princess. I have only adjusted accordingly to befit the title bestowed upon me, and the duties that come with it. It would be naive to think there wouldn’t be changes.”

“Yeah, like with your friends?” My tone’s heating up. Composure’s slipping. “Don’t you think their ‘changes’ are more than a bit off? Rainbow Dash ditching Ponyville, not wanting to be around us when she stops by? Applejack focusing more on business than family? Rarity opening that ‘business’ without any objections from anyone? And Pinkie Pie... we both know she wasn’t really the violent type. Goofy and off-kilter, yeah, but she didn’t take joy in outright tormenting somebody, much less harm them physically.”

“And what of Fluttershy? She remains kind as always. She chose to stay as she always has been, as everyone else had a choice in keeping or altering their lifestyles.”

“No, not really. Fluttershy’s the same because she’s Discord’s only friend; he did nothing to her.”

No prompt reply this time, instead turning back around with a heavy swish of her dress.

“Were that the case, it doesn’t detract from what has happened today.” Now it’s that calm, authoritative voice of royalty. “Aside from the death of Princess Celestia, there’s also the more recent death of Pinkie Pie, as well as numerous royal guardponies mentioned in the earlier reports. In short, your actions indicate a violent, volatile element in this kingdom. One that’s proven highly dangerous.”

Are you for real? “...So I was supposed to have let myself get killed instead?”

She turns back to me again. “You could have fled and reported back to me, instead of engaging in reckless slaughter.” Like she’s one to talk.

“She made it rather difficult for me to do that. Besides, she would have come here at some point to get rid of me, even if it meant tearing this whole town apart.” Would she have, though? Getting carried away.

“If what you said about her intentions are true, then it would have been a matter that could have been peacefully resolved. If a sinister spell were involved, then we could have used the Elements of Harmony to dispel it—”

“It wouldn’t have worked. That’s the thing: Discord messed with your minds, to make you distance yourselves from each other, to not worry about maintaining the Elements. But honestly, if you really cared to have this fixed peacefully, you would have done it years ago.” A visible look of surprise on her that time. “With your oh so ‘keen’ sense of observation, you should’ve picked up that something wasn’t right. But you didn’t, or you chose not to. Too much bother in regards to your own agenda, right? Discord had twisted things so that everypony, especially you, showed indifference toward others. Toward your closest friends, your family, even your mentor. And especially toward your royal servant.”

I could feel the trembling weight of the gaze she now held affecting the room. Maybe lower the temperature a few degrees as well (it’s possible).

“That’s uncalled for,” she says with a twinge of disappointment. “After all I’ve done for you, how I raised you, tutored you, for all your life, and you accuse me of indifference toward yourself?” She shakes her head glumly. “I cannot be mad, however. You were trained under my guidance, and thus I share part of the blame for today’s transgressions. Therefore, it is only fitting that I, who served as your caretaker, should be the one to put a stop to you.” Her wings spread out, the sound reverberating intensely off everything. “I suggest you put down your sword and accept justice.” Back to soft-spoken neutral. “Or, are you willing to raise your sword against me, as you did with Celestia, for the sake of self-preservation?”

A brief pause. “Isn’t there a more peaceful route?”

“Justice must be done, Spike. Someone has to answer for those who have been slain today, or unrest will fill the hearts of everypony. Order must be maintained at all costs. You know this more than anyone.”

The grip on the sword tightens to the point of shaking. That talk of peace and justice again. She never saw their eyes, heard their cries, felt their blood on her precious fur. No, that was all me, having the time of my life but having to bear all those memories.

This is it. Years of having me do her dirty work, running her twisted errands and the hell she put me through in training me under Pinkie Pie. She screwed me out of a dull, normal life. Warped my heritage to fit her own needs. Subjecting me to enough trauma to drive any sane pony to suicide. This is where it stops, where I tell her how it really is. Not gonna pull any punches with my next words. No ounce of sympathy. I’m just gonna lay it to her straight, once and for all.

“...Don’t make me do this, Twi.”

...Wait, what?

“I’m sorry?”

“Why does it have to be like this?”

What the hell am I saying? Why am I mumbling?

“Am I hearing doubt from you?” No no no no no, I can’t be crumbling over this. Get it together!

“This is so fucked up. Why can’t you see that?” I can’t believe this is happening. “You did raise and teach me, Twilight. From the very day I was born you’ve been there. Looking after me, teaching me right from wrong. Just like a—no, you were a big sister to me! The fun we shared, the things you taught me, the times we held each other for comfort, cried together, made one another feel safe and secured. And here you are talking, acting like none of that love fucking matters! I know you better than anyone else, and I know that this isn’t you. I thought I accepted what you had become, but it all just bothers the hell outta me! It has for years! You were nice, sympathetic, hated any and all kinds of violence, and you’d never consider training a kid for the life of an executioner. You were just a bookworm who found friends she wanted to help, to protect, but then you go and become some uncaring, frigid monarch? It’s bullshit and you know it!” Shudder; take breath to calm myself. Tears going down my cheeks. Damn it all. “Under that dress and those wings and that crown I know the real Twilight Sparkle is still there, buried deep within. I see it whenever you dote, or... or those rare pouts. But it gets fewer and fewer… Almost gone. Like you’re slipping away…” Neck gives way. Force it back up. “Enough is enough, Twi. Be reasonable, like you used to be. Just... be yourself again...”

Eight years of stoicism and professional conduct, and it all breaks down. My big moment to tell her off and I go spilling my guts all over the place. Nice to know I have actual pent-up feelings, but this isn’t the best time to let them out. Especially not in the most pathetic display imaginable. And just as I feared, my moment proves to be an utterly embarrassing waste of time.

“Most unfortunate,” Twilight says in that flat tone. “The guilt of your actions has broken your mind. You have lost yourself; to allow you to live would leave both you and the kingdom in dire straits.” That miserable part of me gives a hushed cry of disbelief before flicking off. Twi bows her head. “As your friend, I’ll see to it that you won’t suffer for much longer.”

Her head rises and her eyes flare up pure white, the entire Librarium shaking as a wave of magic overtakes it.

“And as Equestria’s sole protector, I will ensure that it never experiences tragedy again.”

The building shakes more violently until there’s a very hefty rumble followed by a shift and tilt in the ground. I’m getting a sense of rising as the sunlight from outside moves around the surfaces of the library interior. Meantime, Twilight has reared back onto her hindlegs and is floating upwards with forelimbs outspread. She rises to the space between the top of the book stack and the ceiling, and with a strong flap of her wings the entire Librarium breaks apart. The floor beneath the Grand Collection spreads apart, but the books float in place and start drifting around their caretaker. Walls and ceiling and floor separate into large chunks that spread out, allowing me a good look of the outside. Specifically, the airspace hundreds of feet over Ponyville.

The sections of the Librarium stop moving and float around in place like platforms of some bizarre aerial arena (the tree canopy serving a leafy semi-cover high overhead). Some furniture and books are also floating about, but just everything remains in place. With everything in position, Twilight’s eyes let off a flash as a translucent barrier bubble materializes around her. The nearly-set sun shines more intensely from up here, making the dark of night across from it thicker. I can feel the pulse of her will; the radiance of her magic and mind sweep over everything. This really is it. Just as Pinkie said: Submit or Defy. I suck it up, flick my sword and focus solely on one thing: Survival.

There’s a blink off Twilight’s horn and suddenly my limbs are stretched out at angles by golden rings on my wrists and ankles. The bindings burn and overtake my thoughts, leaving me to struggle and groan as I’m pulled into the air. I’m brought before the barrier, utterly helpless, as Twilight stares at me with divine intensity. The bindings tighten and pull at my arms harder; no doubt she’s gonna end this here and now. So much for surviving, though it’d be more tolerable if not for the drilling pain at the top of my skull.

As I grit my teeth for the end, the pressure in my head releases right when there’s a flash of darkness. Suddenly I feel my restraints give way and find myself falling back down to the section of floor I had been on. I kneel into a landing and look up, catching a glint of surprise in Twilight’s gaze. What the heck was that? Then I hear something like a distant loud whisper:

One more final gift. Don’t squander it now, haha.

Of all the… Don’t just stand there. Move!

I sprint from my position and leap off the floor platform while she’s distracted. I land on the one over to my right and look over to Twilight. She’s moved her body in following my movement, and her horn blinks again. The golden rings appear and tug at my limbs, but as I start resisting they immediately disperse in a fizzle.

“Graced by Darkness. A danger to Harmony itself!”

From the sides of her bubble two purple spheres sprout out. They start drifting in my direction as I run to the other side of the platform. I leap from the flooring just as there’s a double blast behind me, and I keep running on the next section as I spot more purple orbs coming my way. I leap over to the top of a bookshelf, then from that onto the second floor landing, and then spring upward onto the edge of Twilight’s bedroom, blasts going off behind me.

I go for the bed, but my footing gets shaken as the platform plummets downward. I regain my balance and watch as the various platforms radically shift position on the vertical axis, bringing me well beneath Twilight. The platforms begin circling around her as well, bobbing and rising alternately. Not much time to take in this new shifting layout as another purple orb approaches.

I get to the bed, jump on it and spring up to a rising coffee table. Claw catches the table edge and I yank myself up, then immediately hop over to a bare section of floor. I’m right at Twilight’s level, and she looks to me and radiates more intensely before a yellow beam shoots off from her barrier. Floor beneath me explodes and I freefall several yards before landing hard in something white and solid. Just my luck to end up in the bathtub, but it beats hitting the ground far below.

Or so I thought before the tub rattles and shoots into the air. I notice the layer of sparkling purple covering the surface of the tub as it gives me a winding ride around the protected alicorn. Things start to get dizzying, but I manage to spot an exit and leap from the tub with arm extended. I catch the lowest step of the main stairs and sway there, watching the bathtub tumble through the air downward. Heft myself onto the lower steps and begin climbing.

At the top of the steps I stop to properly assess the situation at hand. All the Librarium continues to revolve around Twilight and her bubble and is gonna keep going until either I’m dead or I can k(ill)nock her out. Don’t know the exact fortitude of her barrier, and I certainly can’t do something idiotic like throw myself at it swinging. First gotta see what sort of tough it is.

I take a deep breath, and fighting the burning in my throat I spit out a fireball at her. The flames hit and disperse in a wide cloud, but from the green heat shroud something large and long fires out. I bob to the right, narrowly avoiding the length of wood and kitchenware(!?), and looking back to Twi I see the flames completely gone, as well as an oven and a cupboard hovering behind her. Silently the objects tilt forward, spin, and then launch. The oven I crouch under, but the cupboard’s gonna hit. Quickly I hold up my sword, and bracing the back edge with my other claw I let the cupboard cleave itself and separate past me, broken dishes spraying all around. Good thinking, but no chance to gloat when a hot beam scrapes past my side. I rise up to move but only stumble forward, and while I sway to avoid falling down the stairs, another of Twilight’s beams blows the staircase in half.

The shuddering does it for my balance and I tumble over a few steps before rolling off the blasted section. Collide with a wardrobe on the way down which rights me into facing a passing bookcase. I stab out my free claw and bust the lowest shelf, anchoring myself to the unfortunate bit of furniture. I don’t waste a second in getting my other claw up to the next shelf, then pulling the other one free to climb it like a ladder. Once I run out of shelves to climb I lift and press my feet into the case to tip it forward and get horizontal. Takes a moment to steady myself on the makeshift platform, and takes another moment to assess that I’m riding the current right by Twilight’s side. With a stomp of my foot I direct the bookcase down and hang ten right in Twilight’s direction. Moments before impact I jump off, and as exploding wood fills the air I bring up my arms and smash through the glass door of the (Just taking in some air) observation deck.

I roll and stop just before the banister, and getting up I look to the shattered door. Barrier is still glimmering, so furniture is out of the question. Flick my sword and step forward toward the breach for another go. Unfortunately the fridge slams down in front of me, splitting the balcony in two and catapulting me up up and smack into the leafy confines of the Librarium canopy.

Plenty of branches to rest on, but the sudden entry has messed up my sense of orientation. Some yanking and twisting and I manage to poke my head out of the greenery, and it just so happens to be right over Twilight. Excellent position for a drop attack, though I should strategize, decide how to go about this. But of course I don’t get the privilege because immediately my cozy hideaway starts shaking violently before pulling apart. No point trying to keep things together without winding up clinging to some little branch, so I let myself fall. Only this is my fall, and I’ll use it to clip the barrier, maybe one of Twilight’s (my dear friend) wings. Sword raised, primed, and I bring it down.

No real surprise that what the sword hits is completely solid, and that it deflects it and myself away in a flash of light. I spin helpless through the air until I collide with something and roll along it into a slide. Pushing myself back up, I find it’s the section of flooring I started on, and my sword luckily is lying just a few feet in front of me. I rush over to pick it up, and right then Her Majesty speaks.

“These ponies are mine alone to protect. The unjust terror you wrought on them cannot be allowed to proliferate by your continued existence. For Celestia and the kingdom she loved, my mistake shall be corrected.”

Frickin’ ouch, Twi. While I recover from the mild sting, several light orange balls rise out of the barrier, hang in air in a circle, then fly out to various platforms. They hit all at once, and from their points of contact a wide flame pillar rises. Cutting off my escape with searing walls of fire I see. Only other route is straight down, so I just hold my ground.

The wait is short as an array of furniture and appliances rise up around Twilight. It’s like with that one crazy bat from however long ago, only these aren’t little knickknacks, and their wielder is no crotchety hag. The whole godhood thing doesn’t help things for me, either.

With a wave of her mane the barrage commences. Small but fast things first: toaster, some chairs, that horsehead bust from way back (thought she tossed it out), other things like that. I strafe side to side to avoid, cutting through a chair and the bust (somewhat tragic). A flying door signals the attack of medium-sized wares as it’s quickly followed by a trunk. The trunk lands short of me, bounces off the floor and goes right at me. It happens so fast it catches me off-guard and knocks me on my back. I spot silver slivers hanging over me and quickly roll out of the way of falling kitchen utensils. As I’m getting up, I see something metallic and bulky careening my way and instantly I push off to the side as the kitchen sink passes and busts a hole through the platform.

Back on my feet, I watch a bookcase rife with books rise up alongside Twi’s barrier. Its contents fly out before getting flung at me. The backside’s gonna hit me, so I ball up a fist and punch through it. Creates a tiny pile of wood on me that I need to shrug off (not too smart), but I get it off as I see the arrival of the fridge and the bathtub from before. Both of them float over to my platform, and in unison they rise and then start pounding away. The double-team of metal and porcelain tear up the platform in their pursuit of me. I hop from underneath one to the other, but the tub plays it smart and changes direction, flying in from the side to knock me over. I tumble over the edge but quickly grab on with my free claw, only to catch sight of the fridge taking position over me. Right when it drops I pull both my body and sword arm up, and grasping the hilt with both claws I bend forward into a downward slice that catches the fridge before impact. Cheap steel, wire shelves and food shower around me as I push through the remnants of the fridge and roll back onto (sorta) firm ground.

I look back to Twilight, still surrounded by a number of household items. Don’t know why she doesn’t just fire magic at my cornered ass. Then again, she probably thinks I’ll just avoid it. This may all be her way of wearing me down for the coup de grace. She knows what I’m capable of; she won’t take any chances until she’s sure I’m less than fully enabled. Pinkie’s special brew still has me going, but still it’s just a matter of time before she does something else. Perhaps banish my ass if I get too tenacious. Really don’t want to spend a thousand years off-planet (or as a smoke monster).

Need to assess; break down her defenses first. Problem is I got nothing to break that barrier. Doubt my dragon magic’s gonna do anything. Focus on something else and work from there. Let’s see: apart from magic attacks she’s throwing everything at me, especially the kitchen sink. But not everything. She’s not pulling up anything from the ground below: no trees, buildings, earth or anything. Even in her princess-y wrath she still cares for her country, only making use of everything that’s in her own personal space. Everything except…

My eyes widen and lock onto the target. I break into a run for the edge and leap off over the twilit abyss, aiming for the nearest burning platform. Though most of it is occupied by fire, the edges are relatively clear. This flaw let’s me plant a foot down and allows me to spring off backward in the direction of Twilight. Sword drawn, hold back, distance closing. Within a yard of the barrier I strike, splitting two novels in half.

Twilight makes something like a gasp sound, and suddenly the flame pillars flicker out. I aim for one of the lower ones (breakfast nook) and flip into a landing by some charred throw pillows. Looking up, Twilight is slow to face me, seemingly distracted. Lucky that lapse in concentration got rid of the fires, or I’d either have gone for another edge grab or gone extra crispy.

I spot a tome of textbook size, and using the wall of the nook I leap off to the floating coffee table and slash through the passing book upon landing. Waste no time in leaping and cutting through two more books, grab onto Twilight’s bed, spring off, and cut through another book before landing on the remains of the stairway landing.

“N-no! What are you doing?”

Shock and confusion in her tone for once. Finally found the chink (just like old Twilight), but there’s an immediate retaliation in the form of a flash that encases all the books floating around in purple. The possessed literature swarm close to Twilight’s barrier, forming another barrier of bounded paper and ink. Or rather, keeping them nice and close to her where it’s safe. Also makes for shoddy visibility.

I spot the newly neglected bathtub lazily floating by, and with a running leap I get myself back into it once more. I take hold of the basin sides and sway us closer to the book sphere, and once in position I spring from my ride and bring about my sword for a stabbing plunge. Sword tip pierces a paperback upon landing, and instantaneously the books around it pull away to allow a glorious light pillar to shoot out. Manages to sear my frills as the Grand Collection falls away and disperses (not too smart an idea to begin with, eh Twi?).

I flail about before clumsily landing on what might have been part of the main room. Up above the swarm of books have formed a winding belt like some celestial ring, leaving enough room for Twilight to fire off another beam at me unobstructed. No use in household wares anymore? I run and leap up before the platform explodes, and with some creative angling I manage to land a foot onto one of the books and get running. The flat sides of the books make for an even narrow track; it’s just a matter of maintaining speed to stay on. As I sprint circles around Twilight along the book trail, I slam my sword behind me and tear through volumes I pass over.

“Stop this at once! I demand it!”

Doesn’t feel good does it? Never a good idea to become so maddeningly attached to something, otherwise it’s all the more painful to see them get torn apart. Eight years of saving your darlings, bringing them home unharmed at great risk to myself. Little else but verbal praise and time off in way of recognition. While other ponies are left shattered, you sit comfortably with the one thing that matters most to you. I may have fudged expressing my honest opinion verbally, but now I can just show you what I think!

She doesn’t take it lying (floating?) down and once more the books disperse, leaving me falling again. I manage to get a foot on a slow-moving dictionary and leap off before another of Twilight’s beams fire. Soar through the air in the direction of a free-floating window, and going through it I whip my tail around its upper pane and swing myself back in the opposite direction. Angled myself to fly over Twilight, and on the way I skewer three books unfortunate enough to be mostly lined up. A beam fires closely in my wake, but that doesn’t take my attention away from finding a landing spot. Only thing I find is a squat two-layer bookshelf, and once on it I get to hopping.

One fixture after another and another, a whole string of stepping stones in midair, each one getting blasted by a beam right when I get off. Along the way I reach out and grab a few stray books without dropping the pace. With about four collected, I spring off toward the central area of the “arena” just as Twilight readies another beam. As it fires I throw down the books directly into its path. Instant satisfying disintegration.

“NOOO!!!”

Come to a sliding stop on a bare patch of flooring as a low shrill fills the air. I look up in time to see several pillars of brilliant magic shoot out from Twilight’s barrier. Several platforms are instantly vaporized, and as quickly as they appeared the beams withdraw back into the barrier. The section in front of Twilight glows bright: my cue to get the hell away. Off from the platform before it bursts into holy flame. Get up onto whatever’s left of the bathroom only to leap away from another vicious magic burst. Air’s quivering with increasing rage.

“PAY FOR YOUR CRIME! YOUR EVIL HEINOUS WRETCHED CRIIIIIME!!!!”

During my flight I see a dozen or so dark purple orbs pop out from the barrier. They float out into different positions, but one second after they stop they go off into massive explosions of hot violet. One of them catches me on the side and sends me through the air into a messy crash with a corner closet space. I quickly push away the contents (was that… my old sleeping basket?) off me in time to witness Twilight utterly lose her shit. A scream surpassing any mortal’s rings through the air, and upon reaching its apex the beams start coming. Firing completely at random, mostly hitting empty air, but anything solid they hit disappears with hardly any time to burn.

Guess I got carried away. Now it’s a random countdown to there being nothing left to stand on. Gonna get vaporized, or suffer a really nasty fall, after which she’ll likely come down and pound me into the lower strata with a magical fist (it can happen). Jumping around and pissing her off won’t do it anymore. She made it clear she wanted me dealt with at the start, and this is where she stops being civil about it. Make or break time, Spike, but with what? Against such raw overwhelming power? Regardless I have to retaliate. Maybe her concentration on the barrier has switched more to putting on this laser show of death. Perhaps there’s enough time for one attack, and it might as well be the biggest I can think of.

I hold up my bandaged left claw and look at it. Too late to hesitate as I shove the pointed digits into the right side of my body. Clench teeth as they dig through scales and into the tender flesh beneath. Clench them harder when I retract with a sickening plok. Whole claw is crimson and covered in bits of me. Not really a pound of flesh per se, but it should do. I slap the gore onto my blade and manage to cover every inch of either side when the flash goes up. I look up, and Twilight’s looking down at me, both eyes lit up like nova stars.

Ignoring the agony in my side I scurry from the remnants of the closet and get to the edge. A desperate leap and I avoid the massive magic beam that obliterates the closet. Manage to land on a chunk of wood two feet square, but to my dismay the massive beam is following me. I keep on the move, hopping from scraps and along tilted walls, my side throbbing with each exertion. When I reach the half-stairs I stir up a flame in my mouth as the steps pass underneath. First flickers of green fire come out when I get to the upper landing. Jump forward, but something smacks me on the back and messes up my angle. I overshoot the targeted platform and land my foot through a floating window instead.

Leg falls through the opening and gets stuck, forcing me to bend back upside down by a knee. In a split second my leg comes free and I’m tumbling in freefall. Something catches my eye as I’m flipping over, and a second later my free claw reaches out and digs into the corner of the kitchen table.

The table cracks from the sudden weight and tilts while my side screams at me. Still got hold of my sword, but the blood on my left claw is causing me to slip. Making matters worse, the death beam’s nearly on me.

Focus returns to getting the fire going. Snuffed out in the fall but I get to lighting a new one. Start the incantation; need to hurry. Losing grip. Air’s getting warmer from the approaching beam. Keep chanting and breathing as the flickers turn to streams that enwrap the sword and spread out to my shoulders. With blazing heat surrounding me I snap my gaze to the barrier. Hold out the flaming sword, take aim. Beam almost on top of me. One (murder) shot.

“Chartreuse Phoenix.”

Final strong heft with my arm brings me up over the table, and at the same moment the spell kicks off. I rocket forward and upward right underneath the beam, sword held straight out with both claws on the hilt. Feel it burn away my upper spines. In two seconds the fifteen yard distance is cleared in a roar of acceleration. Through the wind in my eyes I see Twilight. Her face widening in surprise right before I hit.

Tip of my sword connects with the barrier, and immediately everything stops. Sound ceases completely. Everything flares green and white. Then the sound of explosion destroys the silence, combined with a glorious shatter.

Everything’s dark for some time, then my sight begins to clear. I see myself falling through open air with arms spread. Another absence of sound, yet the feeling of cool air blowing up around me makes it tranquil. Slowly the sound of rushing air returns to my ears, but before I can appreciate the sounds of my suit flapping in the wind there’s an impact. I instantly blackout to the tremendous noise of various sized objects crashing down all around me.

Stillness. Regaining of senses, realize that I’m lying flat. I lift my face from the ground. Shakily I push my body up, seeing cracked wood beneath me. Looking over to my right I see my sword lying amid some wood chunks and leaves. I grab it and use it to help me get the rest of the way up, and once standing I let my bleary eyes take in the surroundings. I’m back in the Librarium… a hellish nightmare version of it. The place is obscenely wrecked: walls uneven and punctured as though half-collapsed; floor mostly a mesh of splinters; the canopy bursting through the ceiling, with much of it covering the ruined floor. As though a tornado had sucked up the place and put it back together with the same amount of raw force used to destroy it. It’s nearly pitch black, with only the near-nonexistent light of outside showing through the different holes. Entire right side of body is numb, head is jumbled. Even so, I can still make out, lying just a few feet away from me... her.

My body starts to move, my gaze not leaving that small form ahead of me. Every step makes my body stagger and I can barely keep my head straight, but every step gets me closer to her. Ever forward, each step slow but determined. Four feet. Three feet. Two… None.

She’s lying on her side, her frilly dress in burnt tatters. Some of her shoes are off, and her little crown is lying bent close by. Mane disheveled and covering her face. Once supreme, brought down to (beneath) my level. I steady myself and just stand there, looking down at her. There’s a groan; her eyes flutter open. Her head rises. So does my sword.

Both claws on the hilt, my weapon rises slowly, ever slowly over my head. At last she looks up at me, and her eyes widen. Surprise, fear. Paralysis. (Open)

Shadows covering every surface. Standing over my retainer, my warden, my master. It’s an all-too familiar sight. The call to (end it) finish this. Draw the (demise) curtain. Cut (sever) all (life) ties at last.

Yet… Towering over her delicate form, arms raised, sword primed, in a position of unmitigated (vengeance) power, I see she’s shaking. I pause. But why? I’ve come this far. But seeing her lying there defenseless. Not for long, you realize. She will (deepest trust) hunt you down and (finish) you. There is nothing more. It is either you or (friend) Her. (Kill) or be killed. True (Freedom). Don’t hesitate: end it here. Those eyes. Will cracking, twisting. Mouth quivering. So frail (vile!). Air’s becoming heavy; everything’s turning red. Losing (do it do it!) focus. Must do this. Have to end this (NOW!!!).

I bring my sword down full force. I bring it down again for good measure. The red withdraws, the air lightens. Head finally clears. Silently I pull back my arms and let my gaze drop.

Twilight’s mouth is agape, frozen in shock and terror as the rest of her face. She’s looking to me with eyes of disbelief, that then look over to her backside. What they find are two spurting stumps and two detached wings. The feathers twitch briefly before going completely still, their regal sheen steadily being stained crimson by the spurts and growing pool of blood. My mouth goes sour and my stomach churns at the sight, especially at seeing Twilight’s purple coat grow noticeably pale. Her breath remains steady, but slightly ragged. Her gaze turns from the gruesome sight and focuses back on me, no change in her expression.

“Why… why did you…?”

“I just… wanted to go back. Before you got those stupid wings and became a princess. Back when we were… happy…” is all I can manage. Couldn’t even look at her as I said it. She sounds so minuscule now. So out of place.

“Spike… even without my wings, I’m still an alicorn. I can never go back to being a normal pony. There’s just no way.”

No way, no way… You’re still alive, though. Yet there’s pain, your blood spilled. Watch it spread, seep into the broken wood. Covering everything, staining it with your red. The stench is overpowering. Rich and heavy. It’s only blood, same as all the rest. But to do this to her… To all of them... That open-mouth look is still leveled at me, in search of understanding, possibly comfort. It gets a hard glare instead.

I step (practically stomp) around and past her, avoiding the blood pool.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m done.” Firm and unquestionable. No looking back. Need to get out before I vomit. Step on small debris, don’t care. Don’t care about anything in this freakin’ building. Halfway to the door I throw down my sword to the side, sticking it into the floor with barely a sound. Goddamn worthless scrap of metal. Goddamn everything.

The door collapses from one light push. Stepping through the jagged portal, I see all of Ponyville assembled on the Librarium’s front lawn. All their faces, darkened by the waning daylight, filled with worry and fear. Their collective eyes on me. I just keep walking.

They remain still, watching me go by for a few meters. They speak out.

“What happened?”

“What happened to the Princess?”

“Is she okay?”

“What did you do to her?”

They’re only seeking answers: guidance in a storm of uncertainty. They all go unanswered as I trudge my way through the crowd. They make a vain attempt at crowding around me, but none stand in my way. All the better for them.

“Spike?”

I halt immediately at that elegant tone, and over to my left I see Rarity among the crowd. The ponies around her back away; she’s dressed for the evening in her robe and purple slippers. I glare at her bitterly; she raises a hoof and gives a soundless gasp. Terror (maybe hurt) filling those deep, seductive eyes. Tarnished beauty, nothing more.

I look away and resume my walk, and soon I clear the crowd completely. No one’s following me, and there’s no one before me. No guards, no soldiers, no more ponies. Only empty town streets steadily growing colder as night finally takes over. Need to go further, far from this town, from anything like it. Let them bemoan, rant and writhe. It no longer matters. It can all end for all I care, however it wants.

Though, it’d probably just fade to darkness…

CAST

Vanguard.........................................................Spike

Princess..........................................Twilight Sparkle

Assistant..............................................Owlowiscious

Master.......................................................Pinkie Pie

Lover....................................................Sweetie Belle

Madame............................................................Rarity

Healer..........................................................Fluttershy

Informant........................................................Braeburn

Acquaintance......................................Little Strongheart

Crier....................................................Trixie Lulamoon

Fan....................................................Georgie Griffon

Ruler.............................................................Celestia

Madmare.............................................................Luna

Orchestrator....................................................Discord

Mystic..............................................................Zecora

Farm Manager...............................................Applejack

Engineer.................................................Apple Bloom

Head Worker.........................................Big Macintosh

Past Foe.......................................................Chrysalis

AGGRESSORS

Wild Widow.....................................................Mrs. Belljar

Railroad Muscle……………………….Stampede Inc Staff

Immovable Shaman........................................Boulderstorm

Vengeful Survivor...................False Cross Track/Changeling

Imperialist Deterrent…………...…...Canterlot Royal Guard

Doing Their Job…………………...Sweet Apple Acres Staff

INFLUENCES

Killer7 / No More Heroes / Killer Is Dead

Flower, Sun and Rain / Metal Gear Rising: Revengeance

Sin City / Discworld / Touhou Project / Ulysses

Asura’s Wrath / Bayonetta / Kill Bill

Homestuck / Nier / Spec Ops: The Line

Sengoku Basara / Cowboy Bebop / Demon’s Souls

My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

Special Thanks

Suda51

Lauren Faust

Terry Pratchett

Quentin Tarantino

Shigeru Miyamoto

Nintendo overall

Hideo Kojima

Masafumi Takada

Nobuo Uematsu

ZUN

Andrew Hussie

Barq’s Root Beer

Nicolas Cage

70’s George Lucas

90’s Capcom

Hiimdaisy

Solgryn

Kayin Nasaki

Kamilia

Influka

Hatsune Miku

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DEATH by DRAGON

End of FUGITIVE Arc

THE FINAL REPORT
end

*Fetcher No More...

Epilogue: What Remains

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Epilogue

WHAT REMAINS

A week or so has passed since leaving Ponyville. I managed to walk out of town scot-free; still surprised no one even bothered to follow me, much less send a retaliatory death squad for harming their dear princess. I’ve stayed away from towns and anywhere remotely populated, more just to be alone than out of concern for angry ponies who were out for my blood. Got the opportunity to slum it in the wilderness of the Everfree with nothing but my worn-down suit for comfort (half-stiff with blood, though), staying in whatever cave or large tree I could find whenever I needed sleep. It’s refreshing in a way, getting in touch with my wild roots. Scrounging for berries and fruit, washing up in the occasional stream, napping in the rare pristine glade. A little messy too, but peaceful (especially when most animals are too scared to even get in sight of me, especially the timberwolves). My right side’s healed up fairly nice. A good thing I remembered to swipe a hanging towel on the way out or it would’ve healed slower (wasn’t too deep a hole to begin with). First two days were more tiring because of it. Shoulda stopped by Zecora’s, but I really didn’t want to see anything remotely pony after that day. Left claw healed up completely without any further help, although there’s a slither of a scar on it. Something permanent to remember that crazy bitch by.

Right now I’m sitting on a ledge overlooking the jagged expanse of Ghastly Gorge, kicking my feet lazily and looking at the vast shadows cast by the setting sun. Day and night have been happening as usual since I left, so that means Twilight’s still able to run things. Don’t know if she can handle it for long, and I don’t really care either way. Haven’t really cared for anything but sleeping, eating and wandering around. A day as surreal, insane and tiring as that can do that to one’s sense of giving a damn.

I look over the depths of the gorge, counting the rocks below and thinking how long the fall would last (and feel like lasting). I’ve been coming here the past three days just to sit and let my mind wander. I contemplated jumping a few times, but didn’t want to put in the effort. Just takes a simple push I tell myself, but I guess even that’s too much a bother. And there’s a good chance of surviving with only several broken limbs, which really would not be worth the effort.

Having enough of rock-counting for the day, I get onto my feet and turn back the way I came. Figure I’ll go back to the cave and sleep in early, and tomorrow head out somewhere further east, or west, or just stick around another couple of days. Perhaps hunt some live game for once. Who can say? It’s a world of freakin’ opportunity.

It’s a few steps away from the rift when I see the familiar shade of lavender a few yards ahead and come to an immediate stop. If I had any notion of talking, I’d be speechless. There she stood, down to her bare essentials. No fancy dress, no gaudy crown, no divine aura of regal superiority. Just her plain regular fur, plus a few middling bandages. Two little gauze-wrapped stumps cling to her sides, as though ashamed (can’t blame them). Except for those stumps, she looks like any average pony. Almost like her old self. It’s a bit disorienting.

We just look at each other for about a minute, the wind hardly blowing between us. There’s uncertainty in her eyes, but also some kind humility. She breaks the silence with a simple opener.

“Hello there, Spike.” Her voice is timid, slightly nervous. Her tone is like that of any pony off the street. A memory twangs in the back of my skull, but I talk to get over it.

“Come to find me, huh?”

“You’re not exactly hard to find.” She smiles. “Not when there’s a tracker keeping an eye on you.”

Tracker? Who would... Oh no. Sweetie Belle? I knew something kept ducking away whenever I turned around, some grayish blur. It never came close so I never bothered to check, but could it have been her? Dammit, don’t tell me I made a stalker out of her. Wait, what the hell am I thinking? It’s obviously Zecora: she’s got "tracker" written all over those stripes. Hold on, that raises even more questions.

Twilight seems to notice my conundrum and speaks up. “A certain zebra had come back to town after several years, and a certain young mare didn’t seem too surprised to see her. It took some convincing to get them to help me. But don’t worry: I’ve gotten better at keeping secrets.”

Really no energy to think that out, so I just shrug. “Figures as much.”

“Yeah.” She looks to the ground and kicks a leg distractedly (pulling a Fluttershy all a sudden? Really?). “Sweetie Belle misses you...” A pause before she looks off to the nearby forest. “Pound and Pumpkin are asking a lot about you, too. Wondering when you’ll be back, that kind of thing. So are a few others, though not as vocally.”

I’m still not sure this is all really happening. Talking as though we were having afternoon tea, like no bad shit had gone down ever. Maybe I did jump after all. Disregarding that jolting possibility, I keep talking. “Well, they know where to find me, apparently.”

“Yeah, though there’s much of Everfree Forest in-between.” She taps her hoof a few times then says, “Oh, word came in that Braeburn and Little Strongheart’s foal had been born. It’s a colt; came out very healthy and strong. Doesn’t have a name yet. Braeburn is second guessing, it seems.”

“Huh. Well that’s nice to hear.”

“It is.”

Silence comes between us again. I look around a bit before saying, “I noticed that you came alone.”

“Yeah, I thought I’d slip out, save the fuss.” She rubs the back of her neck.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready to raise the moon?”

“Oh, it can wait another half hour. And if I wanted, I could raise it here. It makes no difference, really.”

Another silence. Twilight’s starting to look pained, like she’s beating around the proverbial bush (which is obvious to the point of agonizing). She takes a quick breath and looks at me.

“Spike, listen... I’m not exactly sure what to say.” That familiar trepidation, that concern for not hurting others’ feelings. I can feel something shuddering inside.

“Well, you’ve done okay so far.”

“Not that. It’s just... I’ve been doing a lot of thinking the past few days. Canterlot was still in an uproar, but seeing me alive and well helped simmer things down. I was left alone for the most part; gave me time to rest and recover.” Her stumps perk up as she looks to them, then looking back to me, “These healed nicely. Clean cuts, the medics said.”

I shrug again. “Wouldn’t be much of a professional if I were sloppy.”

“About that, Spike.” She bites her lip briefly, then lets it out. “After what happened, I thought back to when it all... started. The decisions I made, the laws enacted, the ‘Duty’. It’s all absurd compared to how things used to be."

(Say it with me, folks: OH, YA THINK?)

“I must admit, ponies suffered for my supposed ideal of order. If Discord really had been behind everything, then it would make sense. He would be capable of anything, even warping thoughts without anypony being the wiser.” She shudders a little. “Even so, I realized out of everyone, you suffered the most at my hooves.”

I remain a statue as regret erodes her.

“I deprived you of a normal life, Spike. I won’t deny that. For my own purposes, genuine or not, I subjected you to violence and malice, as well as the fear and mistrust of my own citizens. You killed in my name, ruthlessly, and did all the dirty work that I thought was beneath me, including avenging my own brother.” She pauses for breath. “When Shining died, I should’ve been out there, losing myself in destroying every last one of those Changelings. But instead I had you and my own friends do it.”

“You stuck to royal standards,” I speak up. “Can’t have a princess out on the frontlines for some bug-hunt.”

“That’s still no excuse.” She huffs. “You want to know something? I didn’t even shed a tear when I heard of their deaths, either of them. My mind was solely focused on taking out Chrysalis and getting back on schedule. Telling myself that maintaining order and appearances was the key to the kingdom’s prosperity and well-being and excuses and excuses excuses.”

Another pause. “The signs were there that something was wrong, but we accepted it like it was normal. That indifference effect you mentioned, leading us to where we are now. Now I don’t know what to feel.” She looks to me with softened eyes. “You killed Celestia, the pony who was like a second mother to me, who made me who I am. You also killed one of my dearest friends. But you did it only because I made a killer out of you. And the worst part is, I sincerely doubt any of it can go back to the way it once was.”

I can hear her choking up slightly. Never a good feeling, exposing your inner-self after it’s been packed in by years of royal pomp and circumstance, hoping that it wasn’t a wasted effort. That some of the damage can be fixed, if only a bit of it. Better give her a break.

“You’re right: there is no going back.” Nothing but hurt in her eyes, but understood hurt. I continue. “Not for me, at least. Not after everything I did. But you, you got nothing to worry about. Take my word for it: there’s still a good chunk of the old Twilight Sparkle in you. It occasionally poked out even as you floated about with those dumb wings, and you dumped it all over me just now.” An uncomfortable cough from her. “Just saying, Twi. If what I said had been wrong, you would’ve taken me down before I got out of town. I’d be executed before the sun would set, even if it took days. It’s obvious you’re not the average ego-maniacal princess.”

“Perhaps due to a massive lack of experience.” She laughs lightly, a smile filling her face. Eh, might as well bury this hatchet further.

“Listen, sorry about the wings. I was under a lot of stress, and… I had to vent. I just wish it hadn't involved hurting you.” Avert my gaze at that one, but from the corner of my eye I see her nod.

“I perfectly understand. I put you in that position, and you had every right to kill me. Though some might not see it as such, this is considerably more merciful. For that, I am deeply grateful.” Looking back at me, the smile sinks away. “It’s still a mess back there, in Canterlot. Two princesses dead, one maimed, the upper percentile of society scrambling to make sense of it all. I say you inadvertently brought about a new political shift, Spike.”

“Not by choice.” Her smile returns.

“With that said, changes will occur. Fairly soon at that, and before they do, I’ll need all the help I can get.” She closes her eyes and her horn lights up, then in a flash a sword pops into being between us. As it floats over to me I see that it’s wiped clean, even given a good polish. Seeing that familiar blade doesn’t make me feel any less uneasy. If I really am dead, this is a truly sick purgatory.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I look hard at the sword while it hovers expectantly. “I’m still a menace to ponykind, last I recall. Not the type of individual you’d want near a princess, at least.”

“Yes, that is something to work out.” She says it quietly, and then hardens her stance. “The politicians can duke it out for now, but I’ll eventually have to step back in to sort it out. At this point I can only make sure the sun rises. If I’m to become a proper leader, or at least a serviceable figurehead, I need to get myself together. Pick out what is me and what isn’t. Gain perspective, clarity. It was messy, but what you had done snapped me awake. Now it’s only a matter of putting things back together into something decent.”

“And you want me around while you’re doing that? Y’know, agent of destruction and all?”

“I don’t need a Vanguard to carry out my will, Spike. Not for this.” Those deep eyes again. “This is more of a task for an advisor, a protector. I need someone around who I can trust as I sort things out. I will try to get the others back together, try and restore what we once had. But I’ll need someone to keep me safe as well. From myself if need be. And you’ve proven to be more than capable for that role.” She grins. “Also, given what you last said to me and what happened after, I say there’s still plenty of the old you under that rugged hide as well.”

“...”

“So, would you be up for it?” Pause. “I’ll understand if you refuse. I’ve already taken so much without asking as it is. Just… be whoever you want to be. I won’t hold it against you.”

We look at each other in silence once again. I turn my gaze back down to the sword, and finally I reach out and take the hilt. The magic around it dissipates, and I’m left holding what had, for much of my life, been an instrument of justice and devastation. I look at it and think.

The world is still screwed up, let’s face it. No amount of kind words and goodwill and forgiveness is gonna fix it overnight. Hell, I might’ve wrecked it beyond fixing. Even so, there are plenty of idiots who throw themselves to a lost cause and manage to keep it afloat if just for a little while by sheer willpower alone. “Live life one day at a time” and junk like that. And something that former psycho pink hurricane used to say: every day is worth living when you can make your friends smile (bet that bitch is laughing at me for thinking that). No matter the atrocity, the deceit, the bitterness and the regret. So long as there’s some semblance of hope, of something to believe in and hold close, there will always be reason to face the new day.

“...Still sweating the small stuff.” To her confused look I add, “You know, having to deal with your little worries and freak-outs has pretty much been the definition of my life. Probably the one thing I'm truly an expert at, sad to say. So really,” pause to shrug. “What else is there for me to be?”

“Spike…” She closes it with a heartfelt smile, followed by, “Thank you.”

I nod. “Anytime.” Holding my sword to the side, I reach into my suit and withdraw a pair of neglected shades. Funny: it only now occurs to me that they’ve been there this whole time. Lenses remain smooth like new. Even the metal bridge is in good shape. I crack a smile as I put those bad boys on.

“Well, Your Highness: shall we get to work?”

HOPE for TOMORROW

“Just ‘Twilight’ is fine, Spike.”

“Heheh, okay.”

DEATH BY DRAGON
complete

*For no reason, until the very end,
The fire of Friendship still lives in our hearts.

...As long as it burns, we shall never drift apart

Elsewhere...

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“And that’s it?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

Within the confines of a somewhat smoky gaming parlor, two acquaintances are five minutes into a chess match. One is a fair lady in a silk dress of white and golden yellow, and the other is an old bloke in a patchwork tweed suit and wearing a weathered bowler derby. Piano jazz plays softly from somewhere in the back as the lady moves a white knight.

“Not really the ending I had anticipated,” the bloke says while absentmindedly moving a pawn. “Far too sappy given the circumstances. He really should’ve gone with my suggestion. It would’ve fit thematically, and there’s nothing like old-fashion tragedy to leave the readers shuddering to the core.”

“That’s true in most cases, but this ending conveys more of the ‘light in the darkness’ feel, the hope for redemption and so forth.” The lady overtakes a black bishop with the knight from before. “You really should be paying more attention.”

“But that hope-filled ending crap has been done to death!” he exclaims, completely ignoring his opponent’s advice by sending a rook straight at a pawn.

“And so has old-fashion tragedy. Basically the success of an ending lies in the execution and the build-up leading to it.” She moves a bishop into position, which the bloke takes out with his queen. “Besides, I think it’s kind of cute, having them re-establish an old familial dynamic under the promise of a brighter future.”

“Enough, you’re making me sick! And I suppose those two should have kissed as well. Now there’s something to draw in readers with minimal effort.” He moves his queen to take out his opponent’s. "HA!"

“Draw out their ire, perhaps. From what I recall, that’s not a very well-received pairing.”

“Still makes for controversy, and that my dear leads to publicity.”

“Say what you will. As it is, it’s a fairly good conclusion.” The lady’s faithful knight takes down the bloke’s queen, bringing it in range of the valuable and exposed black king. “Check.” Her opponent groans.

“You know I don’t like this game, Celestia.” He moves his king to the side. “I prefer bringing chess pieces to life rather than actually playing chess.”

“You don’t like it because you never think long-term, and there is considerable strategy involved with every move.” A deft placement of a pawn, left unnoticed to the far right of the board, tightens the noose. “Check.”

“Hmph, perhaps for anal-retentives there is. Besides, a game like this is too limited. It’s excluding our generous host.” It’s then that the two look over to the third individual at the table: an unassuming chap in a sharp white suit, with plain glasses and a large forehead made more pronounced by a massive bald spot. His fingers are interlocked during the proceedings.

“Oh, it’s perfectly fine,” he speaks. “I’m okay with only observing.”

“Yes, all whilst cheery ponies get butchered for the sake of ‘artistic endeavor’,” the bloke points out, taking the opportunity to lean back in his chair. “Now that it’s over I’m obligated to ask: was all the mayhem and butchering of established characterizations worth it?”

The host shrugs. “It served its purpose: gave me a reason to write, and I got a kick from it. Helped me develop new respect for characters I had never cared for before as well.”

“Unlike with the likes of Tia here. And Luna, and Cadance, and all the others you did grave injustice to. Either by killing them off too quickly or having them disappear after one or two scenes.”

“It may seem like favoritism in some minds,” adds the lady.

“I might explore them some more in side stuff. I just didn’t have the time to do it all; I was only able to finish this up about a week after the game it was inspired by got released. That’s over six months for a hundred K worth of words. I haven't written that much on a single story in years! I was beginning to burn out.”

“That was fairly apparent, I won’t lie,” the lady remarks.

“Because Heaven forbid that a story of novel-length should take a long time to write down, much less be properly organized and prepared for mass consumption," the bloke balks. "The latter of which, I’d like to point out, has been done poorly: dry exposition, a grossly limited array of speaking verbs, fragmented sentences and typos up the wazoo, that rush job at the end, and even now you’ve resorted to that most lazy of writing conventions, ‘floating heads’. Tsk tsk, author. And another thing, 'bloke'? Seriously? I know there's a certain whimsical quality to my voice, but I'm not Cockney if that's what you're going for.”

“This has all been a writing exercise at its core: just something to keep the cobwebs out of my head. I can still go back and fix it up whenever I want. That’s the beauty of the digital age,” the host defends, somewhat vexed.

“Sure, you tell yourself that.”

"You're damn right I ordered the Code Red!" The host slams down a fist for emphasis, but after a pause he awkwardly coughs and fiddles with his collar. "Uh, I meant, damn right I'll tell myself that..."

“The game that originally inspired all this, how did it turn out?” the lady in white asks.

“Ehhhh, it was different from what I expected,” the host answers. “Not as compelling as I hoped. Pretty average, to be honest. I still enjoyed it, don’t get me wrong.”

“Mm-hm,” the lady nods. “Certainly makes it easier to write in the spirit of something if you only have a vague understanding of what that something is.”

“I still believe I kept a Suda51 feel in places.”

“Rarely,” the bloke balks. “Some overly elaborate boss fights and quirks to the format. Honestly, this has been a bloated exercise in self-indulgence, like most of your other stories. Take my chapter for instance. You did it simply to make yourself come off as ‘post-modern’ by ripping off other post-modern works without giving a damn how the reader would feel having to navigate all that.”

“Well, you are the Embodiment of Chaos,” the host counters.

“And what do you call this meeting here?” The bloke waves his hand around the air. “Even MORE shameless self-wankery, your honor.”

“Least it’s better than the ending I originally planned. Basically, you and Celestia would just reform in space somewhere as the primordial forces of Good and Evil. You’d laugh like Kun Lan and that’d be it. It might have made things more Suda, but only because it would be a direct ripoff of Suda.”

“A valid point,” the lady agrees. “There’s nothing wrong with a tribute, but there is such as thing as restricting how much you’re borrowing before you’re outright copying.” She gazes over the untouched chess board. “It seems our game has been completely ignored this whole time.”

“Everyone stopped caring about that thing twenty paragraphs ago, Tia,” the bloke says before kicking his feet onto the chess board, scattering pieces while the lady merely shrugs.

“I suppose so.” A silence befalls the group, just as the host separates his fingers and puts them down to his sides.

“Still was a good run,” he half-mutters. “Though, on the matter of making things more Suda...”

The pause lasts two seconds before it’s ripped by the sounds of weapons being drawn and pointed at multiple targets. The trio remain sitting erect, with firm yet playful looks, each one having two guns aimed at their faces. Held among the three are a pair of Glocks, a pair of Barettas, and a pair of long-barreled revolvers, cocked and ready to go.

“Wouldn’t be a proper Suda tribute without some hard-boiled gunplay,” the host remarks.

“Wouldn’t be Killer7, you mean,” the lady quips.

“You people just have to be so dramatic,” the bloke comments, eyes darting from lady to host, never easing his dual aim. “Luckily, this kind of dramatic I can get a kick out of.”

“You know a good number of people are going to be confused by this,” the lady tells the host, remaining cool as ice despite the predicament.

“Further alienating what few fans you have.”

“Yeah, but at least we get to have some fun.”

“At the cost of author credibility.”

“Which one of you said that?”

“I don’t know. I’m not even sure who I am.”

“I believe you’re our host.”

“Yeah, that's right. And you’re Celestia.”

“Correct.”

“Not once has anyone said ‘Discord’, I now only realize.”

“Better late than never, old chap.”

“This is definitely the kind of nonsense Suda would pull.”

“Yes, quite Suda.”

“Definitely Suda.”

“Fo sho.”

"Still makes a lot more sense than 'Flower, Sun and Rain' I bet."

"Yep."

"No doubt."

A short break in the conversation before the bloke says, “I think it’s only fair to have our good host do the honors.”

“Yes, it’d be most fitting,” the lady agrees.

“I guess I can do it.”

“Don’t act like you don't want to.”

“I just don’t see why either of you two can’t.”

“False modesty isn’t the hallmark of good character.”

“I can still be gracious about it.”

“As if you ever cared.”

“Who?”

“GODDAMN these floating heads!”

“Fine, have it your way.”

“More like your way.”

“I’d have to agree.”

“Fine! Anyway, it’s Friday night.”

“...Let’s Schlacht!”

And the rest is bulletstorm.

Conceived, Written, and Infringed

COMPENDIUM OF STEVE

EpEX: Black White and Red

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EpEX

BLACK WHITE AND RED

*A Crime at large. In depths of Forest Everfree, sakura leaves blow in wake of uncanny mischief.*
What challenge will he face, when he goes to meet Her?

Most Loyal and Dutiful Spike,

As of recent, a large number of books have disappeared from circulation. Even more distressing, there have been numerous reports of book theft from private residences, often in broad daylight. Thievery of this bold callousness is unacceptable, and above all else, unforgivable!

Eyewitnesses have seen the culprit make haste into the Everfree Forest, however they have proven too quick for pursuit by local authorities. You are to track and find their lair, retrieve all stolen books, and ensure this most heinous thief receives the fullest extent of My Justice.

In other words, ensure that they never see another tomorrow.

Sincerely,
Princess Twilight Sparkle

Midday sun filters through the leaves hanging overhead. Such a serene day in the heart of one of Equestria’s most forsaken biomes: the Everfree Forest. Rife with wild animals straight from the wildest imagination and the most primordial of fears. It’s no issue with me, but it’s certainly not the place for a secure hideout. Then again, the savage mystique may be all the security one would need.

Been about an hour since I first stepped into these treacherous woods, and frankly it’s been an idyllic forest stroll. Some rumbles in the past has made the local wildlife wise to picking a fight with me (even some of the flora withdraw in my passing), meaning no one to bother me. The good vibes are dampened, however, by the constant reminder in my head that this is still a job, and I’m no closer to finding out where the hell my target is.

Not entirely true. The past several dozen yards I managed to pick up a faint scent, a vague fragrance akin to tea and, most importantly, faded ink. There’s also magic in the air, thicker than usual. Certainly narrows down what sort of perp’s behind all this. Whatever they are, Twilight wants them dead. Bad. Can’t recall her being this pissed off since becoming a princess. For once, the criminal is fortunate having only me to deal with.

Eventually, through the quiet clamor of nature, I hear humming. Fairly close, and fairly off-tune. I pick up the pace, forcing my way through whatever undergrowth is in my way. Strange: despite being this far in, the trees are actually looking… normal?

Past two closely-packed trees, I step into a clearing and there I find books. Lots of books, stacked high and wide like a wall for a large-scale book fort. Perhaps one of those solidly-built book military checkpoints, or at least a standard book barracks. Prancing before the literary wall is a pony with a book held in her mouth, the source of the humming.

It’s a short mare, with white fur and a full golden mane. She’s… interestingly dressed. Wearing black clothes and some whitish apron, and atop her head is a pointy black hat, like a witch’s. In fact, that’s the best way to describe her outfit: a witch’s. Like she’s set for Nightmare Night (about five months in advance). Most peculiar… and suspicious as all hell.

The mare trots over to one end of the lengthy book stack and sets her article atop a medium-sized (her height) pile. She steps back to observe the layout, nods heartily, turns around, and hops to a stop at seeing me.

“Whoa! Where’d you come from?”

I just look at her, eyeing back in the direction I came. Remembering I have sunglasses on, I simply say, “...From the woods.”

“Well, obviously. Sheesh, you shouldn’t sneak up on people like that. That’s a good way to get blasted.” She tilts her head and raises a hoof to her chin in examining me. “You’re pretty weird-looking, if I may say.” (You’re one to talk) “All purple-skinned and wearing a suit out in the middle of the forest. Also, that snout and that green thing on your head makes you look like a dragon. Definitely not human, though I’ve never seen a yokai like you. What are you exactly?”

Yo… kai? Hu-man? Whatever; can’t get bogged down by crazy talk. I mentally shrug into focus and give my answer.

“I suppose you’ve never actually met a dragon before.”

“Hmmm… can’t say I have. You do look sorta dragon-ish, but dragons don’t walk on two legs. And they’re certainly not as short.”

Okay, let’s see how you like this answer then.

“I’m also Her Majesty’s Vanguard, sent here to retrieve some recently stolen articles.”

She tilts her head in that feign oblivious way those cocky types like to do. “Oh? And what would those be?”

I unsheathe my sword and point the tip straight at the offending pile, which her head follows promptly. That oughta wipe the smirk out of her. Yet, she looks back at me with that same obnoxious look.

“Oh, those? I just found them.” She beams me a smile. Really?

“You… found them? Where exactly?”

“Oh, here and there, you know.” (I honestly can’t say I do) “It’s amazing the kind of things you find just lying around on the ground. A terrible waste I say.”

“So you found several dozen well-kept books just lying around ‘here and there’?”

“Yeah! Isn’t it the craziest thing? And a devout supporter of literature like myself couldn’t bear to leave them exposed to nature, so being the good Samaritan I am, I’m taking it upon myself to round up these poor ‘articles’ and take them to my home, safe and sound and protected from the elements.”

Right, this game’s gone on enough. “I know for a fact you didn’t just stumble across these books, as do you, ma’am. And I, as well as you, know there’s been a string of book thefts going on around here, and that whoever’s responsible has been running into this very forest. Doesn’t sound like good Samaritan behavior to me.”

To this, she kicks at the ground with a forehoof and lets out a light huff. “Shucks, guess they finally came around to catching me. Took you a while, though. I mean sure, they’re dumb animals, but I’d have expected them to come looking after the first dozen stolen. Back home, I can’t even swipe a simple storybook without Patchy bearing down on me like a guillotine. Either her or Sakuya.”

What the hell kind of game is this girl playing?

“Then you are aware of the gravity of this crime?” I ask to get back my bearings in the realm of sanity.

“Yes, and it’s just about as bad as with them. Though from what I heard, you actually get the death penalty in this place for it. Talk about overkill.”

That tone, that attitude, the way she shakes her hair around while she talks really pisses me off. Seems this will be one of the few times where I find Twilight’s kill order completely justifiable. I twirl my blade and ready for the job at hand.

“Then you know what’s going to happen next. I’d let you have some final words, but you’ve already said enough.”

Not the least bit fazed. In fact, her smile seems to have gotten cheekier. “No, that’s fine. I’m never one for drawn-out talk anyway. Not when only a few words WILL DO!”

A flash and an explosion happen right when she finishes her shout, and getting up off the ground I see the tree behind me has most of its trunk blown away. I look back to the crazy mare and see her with her legs braced, eyes gleaming and a holding a way-too enthusiastic smile. Figured there’d be a horn under that gosche hat.

“Wow, you’re really quick. Guess I’ll have to be serious!”

I leap at her with sword raised, but she’s hopped three feet to the side by the time my swipe is down. She leaps back further, a star-shaped (whuh?) orb of energy materializing and shooting out from the vicinity of her hat. I jump back just as a chunk of the ground below erupts, and upon landing I spot the mare shooting off two more of those projectiles. I sidestep them and rush at her, swinging my sword before she gets another chance to fire anything else off. She ducks low from the first swing, then flattens and rolls off to the side to avoid the rest. Very spry filly, this one.

“Pretty fast for a spell-caster,” I remark aloud as I give chase again.

“Speed is my specialty,” she replies, still holding that obnoxious smile as she backs away. “Can’t get hurt if no one can touch ya!”

She leaps back yet again as I try to silence her (gotta get her down somehow). She springs high up with all four legs right after landing, and spreads them out in midair to unleash a swirling barrage of those star shots. They don’t make as much a bang as the last ones, but they tear up dirt and leaves and almost my toe all the same. One of them collides with my raised sword, which causes me to stumble while getting a helping of smoke to the face. Sizzling aftertaste, with a hint of… rosemary? Weird.

“Awfully plentiful with the explosives as well,” I say as I wave away the flavorful smokescreen. She just laughs.

“Can’t be too conservative with magic. That’s my policy: shoot first, get a proper explanation later.” She flicks out a hoof and sends a stream of those star things at me. They don’t always come from her head, I notice. They seem to generate mainly whenever she waves her legs around. No telltale magic aura around them, either. Now that I think about it, I’ve never seen magic quite like this before.

These thoughts come while impending explody devastation heads my way, and they’re blown aside as I zip forward and weave through the star stream. As I get closer, the mare rears back and two circular runes appear, both of them yellow and with a pentagram pattern within. They float up, taking places over both the mare’s shoulders, then with a sharp whine they shoot off two concentrated beams of light.

Quickly I spin to avoid losing my arms (and worse, damaging the suit), but upon reorienting, the crazy mare’s got two more of those runes out, only firing from ground level. A hop saves my feet, and using the extra air I lunge at my quarry, but again she gets away, this time by jumping over my head. She lands deftly atop the book pile, and immediately bounds up into the overhanging canopy. She drops lightly upon a branch, her dress unruffled (how is she doing all this? I don’t even see a bead of sweat on her!).

“Hey, that’s pretty good: dodging my attacks without using any magic! You’re really something for a lizard yokai, heehee.”

“I’m not a yokai, I’m a dragon.”

“Well, try slithering out of this!” She points a hoof downward and two star runes descend. They speed down to either side of me and plant themselves beneath the ground by my feet, and after a second, faint trails of light appear. I dive forward before two lasers sprout from below, but more of those runes are planting themselves as I’m getting back up.

Barely on my feet I sprint forward, outrunning the pillars of energy shooting up after me like killer spotlights. Leaves and broken branches are falling all around, getting onto my suit and into my shades as I keep running. I manage to wipe one stuck in the lenses and refocus on my target: the tree holding the resisting perp. I spring up off a foot, then with the other I bounce off the trunk and spin around to cut out the branch from under the mare’s magic-spewing hooves.

I land in a crouch and momentarily let the world settle down, and hearing no more of those pillars I stand back up to find my prone opponent on the ground. Only I don’t see my opponent, prone or otherwise. I whip around, but she’s nowhere to be seen. As I’m about to curse, a snicker brings my gaze up to a needlessly peculiar sight: the mare sitting side-saddle on a freakin’ broom, that’s hovering twelve feet above the ground. Can’t believe I’m admitting this, but yeah: definitely a witch.

“Quick thinking there, champ. But are you quicker than this?” With that, she maneuvers herself around so she’s lying along the top of the broom, then instantly both her and the broom blast off into the deep forest. I lose composure at the bullshit I just witnessed, and with a grimace I go after her, only to be blown back by the witch pony’s sudden return and re-exit.

I get back up, a bit wobbly, and barely have time to look in the direction of her flight when she comes back again. I hold my ground this time, and do so again when she comes back around for another pass. However, those star things from earlier are now drifting down in the wake of her passing, so I find myself dodging around them while looking out for that crazy mare.

For half a minute this goes on: her flying by, dropping off her little sparkly bombshells, and me with my pants down (if I actually wore them) trying to deal with this. Quickly rethink things and hold my ground amid the falling stars. Look into the shadows of the surrounding woods. A glint. I hold back my sword and slightly bend my knees, and one breath later I spring and swing up my arm. A tidy splintering of wood, promptly followed by an untidy spill, and finally I have my foe’s dress and hat ruffled.

“Damn, that was my favorite broom!” She glares daggers at me before reaching into a pocket of her apron and tossing several over-sized marbles of assorted colors at me. My pause over this latest “WTF” leads to them actually hitting me: in the chest, against my shades, and one nearly gets lodged in my nostril. I wipe my face of the blows, and looking ahead I see the little witch standing on her hind legs as she reaches into her apron and whips out some kind of card, which she holds high over her pointy-hatted head.

"Avoidance Sign: Silver Fluch!"

She drops her foreleg before springing high up into the canopy, and suddenly—

Yo-zora ni oyugu, naga re boshi,
Ichido kiri no, kaga yaki de.
Umaku deki tara, dakiii shimete,
Anata demo ii ka-raaa,
Watashi wo koro shi-te

After that random-ass attack, the jumpy mare drops from the canopy back onto her hindlegs, except with her forelimbs held straight out and holding some octagonal doodad adorned with some fancy etchings on it. I notice a sudden heaviness in the air, as well as the mare’s clothes and mane fluttering a bit. Uh oh.

“Masterrrrrrrrrrr SPAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARK!!!!!!”

A column of rainbow-colored magic erupts from the doodad, silencing and blinding everything in one massive searing roar. Several seconds later, the death beam ceases and the world stops shaking. The mare looks in the direction of her handiwork, marveling at the half-mile of scorched, smoking, leveled terrain, and the occasional limping (or crawling) animal. She glances down at her device with amazement.

“Wow, that’s way more kick than normal. This place must be giving it a boost or something.”

I take that moment to drop from my leafy perch and deliver a downward slice through the doodad, shattering it in half. The surprise makes the mare reel and fall onto her back, and not wasting this chance I step over to her and raise my sword high. Time to finally end—

“MAREISA!! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”

The two of us freeze, and the mare’s playful look switches to complete worry.

“Oh no, it’s Neighmu.”

We both look to the side, and stepping through some bushes it’s another weirdo mare. Earth pony, coat of absolute red, with a flowing black mane tied up with some fancy hairbands and a large decorative red white-lined bow. She’s wearing some frilly white lace collar, and on her forelegs are two large sleeves that stop three quarters of the way up, leaving her shoulders exposed. There’s a stick with some paper attached beneath her right hoof, and from my angle I see that her Cutie Mark is one of those eastern black-and-white balls, except it’s red-and-white. And her face… eyow, a glare that sharp could cut through boulders. I can see anyone could get nervous over that.

“H-hey there,” the mare beneath me weakly says. “Enjoying the scenery?”

“Maybe if a good portion of it wasn’t blown away I could be,” was the stern answer. “We’re walking in unknown territory. There’s no telling how things here would react to your magic.”

“They seem to be reacting all the same, honestly.” Gotta hand it to the poor girl: still trying to keep things light despite the death stare she’s getting.

“And what did I tell you about thievery? You can’t possibly tell me you found all these books just lying around to pick up.”

“Well, you did say we should do research on this place, and whaddya know: there’s research already printed and bound and ready for use. I’m just doing my part, you know.”

“If you’re doing research, then you could’ve gone to the locals and asked them, politely. You’re already going into their houses, so maybe if you talked to them they would invite you in for tea. Have you considered that?”

“Oh… I guess I could’ve done that. But it’s so weird: everyone here is a horse!”

“Well you are one as well, so enough stealing and blowing things up. Unbelievable. And as for You!”

I step away from the fallen mare and lower my arms in a snap. Ye gods, I did that solely on instinct! Only Twilight’s ever been able to scold me into compliance like that. Just what kind of pony is this who holds such fearsome sway?

“Waving around a sword like that, just how irresponsible can you be? I’ve seen enough swordsman yokai to know there’s always trouble involved unless it’s handled immediately.”

“I’m, I’m not yokai,” I mutter out of nerves. Dammit, Spike, you’re an adult, and a professional! Suck it up and act like it!

“Well you’re not normal, that much I can tell. I saw the way you moved around with that wild intent. Someone could’ve been killed by such recklessness.”

“I was only carrying out my duty.” Good, voice and stance is under control again. No problem.

“A rather sloppy job of it. Have you considered arresting her instead? Perhaps if you hadn’t provoked her, then there wouldn’t have been so much needless destruction to wildlife.”

“Oooookay, I’ll just let you two have it out.” The mare on the ground tactfully rolls off to the side and let’s us “have it out”, as the red mare continues.

“I mean, she has stolen a lot of books, but this is a major overreaction. Trying to execute someone over a matter of books is absurd. If they had been forbidden magical tomes, perhaps, but these look like regular books to me.”

Hold up, hold up! Right, not gonna let that slide.

“Book theft of any kind is a heinous crime as dictated by Her Majesty,” I say in a level, firm tone. “And mass theft such as this is punishable by death. No exception, no quarter.”

“Hmph, how silly.” She gives an exasperated shrug. “That kind of law makes no sense. I may need to have a talk with your boss and have this straightened out.” Ah hell no.

“That’s not going to happen.” I twirl my sword and assume the usual battle stance. No further doubts this time.

“Ah, of course. The typical right arm of the devil that has to be faced before taking on the one in charge. Always the case with just about every incident.” She straightens up and assumes a steadier stance. “If you’re going to get in my way and continue causing trouble, then I have no choice but to teach you a lesson and restore peace.”

“Yeah! Go Neighmu!” The witch mare cheers from a relatively safe distance.

“You’re more than welcome to help out, Mareisa.”

“Eh, heheh. I’d like to, but that guy broke my Hakkero, and I’ll need some time to rethink my strategy and get some rest. You know, heheh.”

Neither of us are too convinced. But the red mare sighs and shrugs before continuing.

“Very well. Then I’ll make do with the power bestowed upon me by the Hakurei bloodline, as well as the power of the battle theme rock arrange.”

♪Dichromatic Lotus Butterfly ~ Red and White (AoCF Ver.)

“Ready yourself for punishment.”

Instantly the mare vanishes, but half a second later pops right in front of me and delivers a spinning upward kick. I take it below the chin and trip back on my heels, hitting the ground hard. Scrambling back up onto my feet, a stream of thoughts run through my head: Did she just teleport? Impossible; she’s not even a unicorn! Freakishly fast in that case then.

I charge at her and retaliate. She leaps back from the swipe, but immediately hops back in to try and bap me with that stick of hers. My blade deflects and pushes it aside, and I deliver my own counter strike. That stick comes up to intercept and… holds it in place? The hell!? My momentary surprise allows her to push away my sword, but I quickly bring down a flurry of swings. She pulls out a flurry of her own, meeting each of my strikes with that freakish stick of hers. What is that thing made of, unobtanium? Also, how is she able to hold and move it around so well without fingers? There are only a few ponies I know who can pull that off (and by that, I mean just Pinkie Pie).

The mare manages to slip past my sword and bring down a slew of slaps and blows to my face and chest. I’m more surprised and flustered than hurt when I manage to get away, but I recover fast and leap at her with a downward spinning slash. She vanishes yet again, only to reappear in midair in the middle of a speeding dive kick. I’m ready this time and bring up my sword, catching her hoof with the blunt of my steel and letting her push off into a several-yards leap.

Okay, that was definitely teleportation, and the force put into those stick swings makes her a definite earth pony. But how can this be? I don’t remember there being any book or spell or record of earth ponies doing unicorn-only magic. Disturbing thoughts like that are gonna make this fight hell unless I end it fast, or accept said thoughts quick.

“Troublesome, just like I said,” the fussy mare says, breaking me out of my mental and spiritual quandary. “Dangerous types like you have to be eradicated without question, for everyone’s sake!” She raises up a hoof, revealing several thin and really sharp needles. A flick of the hoof and a line of metal pointiness comes at me. I duck and let them pass into some unlucky tree (or unluckier animal), but I catch the mare firing a whole stream of the needles at me (is her hoof hollow or something?)!

I sidestep the first few, then step forward as she redirects her needle stream. I bring up my sword and whirl it around, catching every needle and dropping them like so many pins. The mare stops after catching on, and brings up another hoofful of the damn things. I make ready, but unexpectedly she flings the needles over her shoulder, which then promptly disappear. Before I can act, pinpricks erupt from my back and I stumble forward, my breath getting caught in surprise.

“Woo! You trip him up!” cheers the witch mare on the sidelines as I reach behind me and yank out the five or so needles that were sticking out. Sharp enough to get deep past my scales, yikes. As I let them drop, the needle-happy acrobat holds up another salvo.

“With enough of these sealing needles, this fight is as good as done,” she announces. Heh, not if I end it first. Not giving her the chance to pull more tricks, I whip around the blade over my empty palm and get the heat going.

“Jade Slider!”

An upward spin of my sword and a wave of green fire screams at the long-sleeved damsel. She forgets her bravado, opting instead to ditch the needles and leap to the side to avoid fiery death. With her distracted, I run right at her, sword primed. She manages to catch me, but it’s too late. With the distance closing, all she has time to do is reach into one of her sleeves, pull out a slip of paper and slam it into the ground… leading me to inexplicably run into something hot and very solid.

Again I find myself on my rump, only now rubbing at the mild burn on my snout. I look up to see a glimmering golden wall inlaid with some weird runes, which quickly vanishes, revealing a very untouched mare.

“Flame magic I see, but nothing can outmatch my Hakurei Barrier.” To this, she raises up a hoof full of more paper slips (goddammit). “Let the purification commence!”

She tosses the paper slips up, which float in place for a second before zipping around into a square formation, developing red auras while spinning in place before all at once shooting at a singular focal point (being me!). I backflip and leap off an extended palm as the paper trail leaves a scorch mark in the ground, and of course I’m barely on my feet when the mare sends more mystical slips my way. This batch is coming at different angles, so plenty of bobbing, weaving and aerial flips up in this piece to keep my scales intact (still manage to singe parts of my suit. The bitch!).

Once through the volley, I take two steps before she throws up two orange slips that triple in size and come roaring at me like papery buzzsaws dipped in magic orange sorbet (been a while since breakfast). I halt right there and sidle by, letting those death squares pass by my front and clip the buttons off my suit (double bitch!). I get back into running at her, but stop again at the very sight of her floating ten feet in the air. Her forelimbs are held out and there’s a floaty breeze ruffling up her mane and outlandish sleeves, though there’s no breeze (showoff).

I make to run up under her, but three paper slips fly out and shoot down at me. They get deflected by my sword, but the fantastical flying mare vanishes, just to pop up a ways behind me to fire off more of those slips. It’s some deranged reverse whack-a-hole, with the me the player getting assaulted from multiple places as she keeps popping in and out to hit me with deadly stationary.

Eventually she comes to a stop a few yards in front of me, but then the air grows heavy and there’s that hair-waviness that signals oncoming pain.

“Sealing Sign! Yokai Entrapment Ward!”

Everything becomes a papery storm as streams of the slips burst out from seemingly nowhere and come right at me. Flat on the ground I go as the rustling death-dealers swoop and spiral all around me. It’s a tight fit, practically a whirling death cage of fancy ink drawings and… are those needles stuck in the middle? Holy crap they are! As though smothering me to death wasn’t enough, she’ll at least see that I get my proper iron intake (the hell, Spike? Jokes now?).

The occasional leaf falls through the paper trails, unscathed. That’s when I realize that all this time fighting her, there hasn’t been much in the way of wanton destruction. Has to take some incredible control and discipline to focus all these attacks on a single point while causing little collateral damage. Maybe some kind of deep meditation technique, like zebra magic? That’s more for potions though. Maybe there are other lands, other practices that Her Majesty in all her boundless knowledge has let slip. Perhaps there are powers that even she—Oh what the hell have I been thinking? I’ve been fighting against paper this whole time!

I take in a very deep breath, and blast out a heavy wave of flame before me. Instantaneously the paper cage erupts and crisps away into a wide sheet of ash, and just like that I’m free and the target is left exposed. Criminy, when this is over I’ll spare some time to kick myself mentally (and perhaps physically as well).

“Whoa, did you see that?” the sideline mare cries out. “He breathed fire, just like a dragon!”

“That’s because I am a dragon!”

“Heh, no you’re not. You’re more like a salamander, and what kind of dragon wears a suit and sunglasses anyway?”

“Are you just going to keep making commentary, Mareisa, or have you come up with a strategy to help me out here?” the red mare nags, to which the blonde one only grinned.

“Nah, I say you got this pretty covered as it is. Show him what’s for!”

The red one makes an annoyed growl while landing softly on the ground, before casting a piercing glare straight at me (oh gods, my heart!). “If that’s how it is, then I’ll simply finish this now.”

She reared up on her hindlegs, holding both forelegs before her with that stick of hers held in front. That heaviness comes back, only now there’s a distinct rumbling to it. Oh crap, there are even bits of dirt rising up; never a good sign. Just as I start running to interrupt her—

“Hakurei Orb!”

She twirls around, tossing her stick into the air.

“Fantasy Heaven!”

She braces her forelimbs to either side of her, issuing a concussive wave that pushes me back slightly. From behind her, a thick red ball of energy pops out, bobs around a bit, then shoots off right for me. I raise my left foot in time to let the ground develop a yard-wide crater, and I see, you guessed it, another ball has popped out. But this time it’s blue! (Freakin’ yay for me)

It launches and blasts out a crater right in front of me, and I turn and hoof it just as a third ball blasts the spot I was just on. I look back to see an orange ball pop out, followed shortly by a green one. I begin strafing to get around, but they list to the side and home in on me. I quicken my pace as they quicken theirs, forcing me into a sidelong leap to avoid two successive blasts. The force of the blasts provide an extra (unnecessary) boost to my leap, leading me to skid along the ground on my side.

No time to worry about the dirt stains, cuz another three colorful balls have appeared, with a fourth coming out as the mystic mare floats about in that cross pose of hers. I push myself off and break into a side sprint to try to out-strafe the orbs, but it’s the same result as before, except more of them and they’re coming at me faster! With dirt and explosions going up all around, I notice that they’re coming in twos and threes rather than one at a time. Ducking, sidestepping, rolling and spinning is all that keeps me from getting blasted by those pesky balls. It’s little time before the only sound filling the air is magic blowing things up.

After one evasive spin, I decide to take a chance and raise my sword. Can’t be that hard to deflect, right? Well, about as hard as a locomotive dropped from orbit, cuz that’s exactly what I feel when my blade takes the full blunt of one fast-going orb. There’s a flash and burning in the air as I’m tossed back and lose the grip on my sword. Onto my back I go bouncing, feeling my shades slip down half across my face. I adjust them the moment I come to a stop, and quickly notice the lack of explosions. Raising myself on my elbows, I see the reason: about a dozen of those multicolored balls have begun circling behind the floating mare like some kaleidoscopic halo.

She lets them swirl around long enough to allow me to grasp the sheer boned-ness of my position, then with a flash of her eyes, they all loose at once. They shoot off away from each other, then redirect and come right at me. A wall of colorful fatality heading my way, and little more for me to do but just lie there, or crawl back, or maybe breath fire at them (worked last time). This conflict of choice allows them to get within three feet of me, at which point some black oblong hole appears before me midair and sucks all of them in without fuss.

As quickly as it appeared it vanished, leaving me completely safe. Before any of us can say anything about whatever the hell that was,

“Fufufufu. Making quite the ruckus, I see.”

All of us look around, then immediately look up at the source of the lofty voice. Descending ever slowly is another oblong hole shadow thing, horizontal, and with… well at this point it’s not too surprising. It’s another damn pony in another damn weird outfit sticking halfway out of top of the hole. This one is also white with a thick blonde mane, but her dress is purple to the point of violet, and wearing some dumb white silk shower cap thing, I dunno. On the forehooves hanging off the side of the hole are a pair of white silk gloves (or what goes for gloves when it comes to stumps. Coverings?). However, she looks pretty large and a bit more… streamlined, than regular ponies. Like those high-class supermodel unicorn types.

She brings up a gloved hoof close to her muzzle before saying, “Having some fun at least?”

The red mare comes back to the ground (with stick in hoof, dunno how) and gives an annoyed look at the newcomer. “Come to meddle at the most inopportune time. Again.”

“You should speak for yourself,” the large mare retorts softly. “By my understanding, this was supposed to be a quiet research excursion.”

“It was, until I learned of the corrupt nature of this place’s ruling government.”

“Oh really, Neighmu, since when has it been your business to dabble in politics?”

“Since whenever bullies need to be taught a lesson,” the red one firmly states. “There’s severe punishment for the most trivial things here, and it’s accepted without question. That’s utterly despicable!”

The one on high tut-tuts. “Your good nature is nothing to be scoffed at, but it’s not our place to criticize or change another’s culture by force. That sort of thing has led to trouble many times before in the past.”

“It’s still not right. At the very least I should tell their ‘great’ ruler that this sort of thing is morally unacceptable.”

“In due time they will come to realize. Call it the invisible threads of fate, if you will.”

“Hmph. Doesn’t mean they shouldn’t at least make an effort to take hold of things with their own hands.”

“Hmhm, you never know. But I believe we should be returning now. Our presence has caused enough of a stir, and I know someone has been having a bit too much enjoyment from all of this.” She casts a playful glance at the witch pony, who immediately gets up on from her seat.

“H-hey! It’s like I said: just helping out with the research.” She trots nonchalantly over to the red mare and takes up the spot to her left. “I’ll have you know, despite being given every opportunity, I resisted tucking any books into my apron.”

“How very commendable of you.” The large mare laughs lightly. The red one only grumbles.

“Let’s just get back home. At least there will be tea waiting, not to mention being able to say our actual names.”

“Yeah,” agrees the witch. “These puns are a real drag.”

In two successive “fhwoomphs” the ground mares are engulfed by two additional shadow holes, which vanish in the same split second they appeared. The one above, presumably the head honcho, looks down at me, as though kindly acknowledging my me being ignored for the past five minutes.

“My apologies for the hassle; they do mean well, in their own headstrong way. I’ll leave you to your work without further ado. Oh, and be sure to give Celestia my regards next time you see her. Fufufu.” She pulls in her hooves and drops into her portable hole, which then shrinks and vanishes with a “whoosh”.

So here I am, alone, still on my back, with no inkling of an explanation for whatever the hell just happened. But I’m alive, no major injuries. And all the books are still around, safe and untouched. Mission well done, then? The thought doesn’t get rid of that nagging “hollow victory” feel, though.

...Well, at least this day can’t possibly get any weirder.

STAGE ALL CLEAR!!!

NAME ENTRY

1. SJW

2. AAA

3. SPK_

4. POO

5. ASS

Oh what the fuck!

BLACK WHITE AND RED
end

*Congraturations for Being Super Reader! ^w^

ProEX: Dreaded Reference Material

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Lost Prologue

DREADED REFERENCE MATERIAL

A few months before the tragedy, the Crystal Empire was a living, bustling model of modern living. Despite having been hidden away for a millennium, the kingdom took to the national stage of political involvement in just a few short years. As a result, the social norms of the day were quickly adopted, and before you knew it, the Crystal Ponies walked and talked and went about their lives like anyone else in Equestria (except for the inherent shininess). They even followed the same laws and, consequently, they also enjoyed the same unspoken freedom to break said laws.

Which was what brought me to those crystalline streets for a very unexpected, yet noteworthy, encounter.

It was a far different place than most anywhere in Equestria proper. The buildings were rather simplistic for a city (aside from the obvious crystal tower ones), there wasn’t much in the way of overbearing authoritarianism, and the citizens were actually warm and friendly despite the frigid tundra that surrounded their land’s borders. Yeah, I’ve never been too comfortable being there after becoming Her Majesty’s Vanguard. But a job’s a job, and one of these kindly citizens just had to step on the wrong princess’ hoof (figuratively, of course).

I was a bit different back then, as well. A little more cocksure, but steeled enough to do my work without being sloppy. And I was tasked with apprehending a one-time book hoarder. Simple guy: assistant decorator, very quiet and non-confrontational. Just had to grow a little too attached to one particular tome of historical fiction. Also real skittish, given how he bolted after I stopped by his place for a little chat. Not like I was gonna do anything to him if he complied, but of course the guilty always have to run. I just wish this one hadn’t ran so fast.

The sky was clear and the buildings gleamed, which made things hell if I turned or looked at them the wrong angle. Luckily the ponies on the street were courteous and swift enough to give me and my pursuee a wide berth (though I wished they at least tried to stop him). It was nearly ten minutes of running through market stalls, down alleyways and through two houses before the guy led me straight to the Crystal Palace. Instead of cornering himself beside the Crystal Heart like any regular fleeing pony, he managed to find a side entrance into the basement. Faint unpleasantness filled me when bustling through those cold, shimmering corridors, but it was quickly replaced by annoyance at how squirrelly the guy was. Guess fear is a great mental boost in the art of escape.

Five minutes of stumbling around, listening for echoing hoofsteps, and I finally caught up to him. In some hollow space amidst the crystalline foundations he just sat there on his haunches, back straight and looking ahead as though he conked himself against the wall. I couldn’t believe the guy: gave me a running that I hadn’t had in weeks, only to plop down without a fuss. I was a tad disappointed, as you can imagine.

Still I thought, it could be a trap. Easing my way to him, I checked my surroundings, but seeing no wires or springs or magic timebombs, I proceeded to yank his sorry ass and take him in for questioning. As I got closer, I saw the incriminating object nestled beneath a forehoof. Guess he had the urge to read one last paragraph before it was curtains.

“Alright,” I grumbled when I got within three feet of him. “You ran enough. You’re coming with—”

I paused the moment I got a better look at him. Although the lighting was rather poor, I could tell that his coat wasn’t shimmering like all the other Crystal Ponies. His lower jaw was open and trembling, too, as though struggling to say something, letting out choked breaths. Then there were his eyes: wide, distant-looking, pupils shrunk to pinpricks, and almost entirely green. A dull glowing green. That’s when I looked in the direction of his stare, and saw he hadn’t been staring at nothing. He may have very well been staring at a lot of things.

Across from him, set into a blank spot of wall, was a great old door. Rusted metal linings, and thick moldy wooden cover pulled open completely. Inset at the top of the door was a flawless crystal. Flawless as in shape and surface, but its core was cloudy with some dark, seething blotch. There was only blank wall on the other side of the door, but I knew all too well that the poor sod had opened a gateway into his very mind, and his innermost fears.

I had thought Twilight and Cadance got rid of all of Sombra’s Fear Doors, as I called them (well, I only saw one get destroyed, and that had been enough of an assurance to me). Pesky bits of arcane magic: can effectively trap anyone stupid enough to open them. Undoubtedly fatal if the victim were alone and went unfound for days. Seems my perp had stumbled onto the last one, and would have very well met that sad fate. But luckily, good ol’ Spike just happened to be around to help.

Twi was gonna hear about it, but first things first: lugging that sorry dull sack out of there for his proper comeuppance. I got right next to him and looked down, not softening my gaze despite his predicament.

“Serves you right, dumbass.” I reached down to pick him up. “Okay, up you—” The moment I touched him, my claw tips ignited and my mind was flung screaming down a long, howling tunnel of smoke and savagery until everything whited out.

When everything came to a stop, I looked around and saw I was still in one piece. However, I also saw I was no longer in some grubby cellar. A vast, jagged expanse of rock and ice surrounded me, dipping and rising off into horizons filled with smoking mountains enveloped in darkness, contrasted by the harsh purple and orange of a dying twilit sky. The air above was a swirling mixture of thunder and snow, which cast a shadow over just about everything. Despite the crap visibility, my dragon eyes could still make out the objects that filled the landscape: bent towers of iron and chains, spike-laden stocks, great wooden turnstiles, and the moaning figures of the damned that preoccupied all of them. Gaping mouths, dead-white eyes, flesh either emaciated or outright missing. And all of them Crystal Ponies.

My first thought was that there was definitely something different about that door, and my second was where my perpetrator went. A short glance around found him only a few yards away, trotting around timidly and looking scared out of his mind. I could tell he was whimpering, but at least he still had skin on. I made to call to him, but got interrupted by a heavy rumbling. The tremor made the stumbling pony fall flat on his rump with a cry, but I managed to remain standing with some graceless arm waving. The rumbling eventually stopped, and I looked around for incoming trouble. I didn’t wait long.

Off on a distant ridge, a mass of billowing smoke arose and grew, spreading out into writhing tendrils. The center of the mass took shape: curved teeth, a grand muzzle, wavy mane of jet black, eyes of cruelest green leaking purple mist, and all topped with one great malicious crimson horn. The Scourge of the Tundra himself: King Sombra.

The ol’ phantom certainly pulled all the stops on the fright factor, as attested by the trembling paralysis of his one living pony guest. He lowered then pulled back his massive head to let off what could be described as a combo bellow and deep-chested laugh. The great shadow beast rose up some of its thick tendrils, and I withdrew my sword in response. And so came my third thought: It is so on.

The great tendrils shot forth, forming spiked tips as they lanced at the helpless pony. A kick off of the feet sent me flying over to the side, and in the nick of time I swung up my sword and slashed away those pointy tips.

“Back off my perp, ya smokey bastard!”

The smokey behemoth let out a roar of annoyance, followed by a bone-shaking “SLAAAAAAAAAAAAVES!” I only grinned.

“Not today.” Holding my sword to the side, I sprinted off straight at the ridge holding the lard-ass. Tendrils the size of peaks arose by his colossal head, before dropping to slam at me. I was too quick, side-hopping from each thundering impact and giving them a good passing slash. He caught on, and retracted those smoky limbs as he pulled back, dark matter gathering in his mouth. I made for a wide strafe by the time he unleashed a massive fiery blast of darkness. The earth rumbled as it ripped asunder, the blast being so massive that it managed to glance my arm despite my maneuver.

For shadow magic it burned like a mother, but I didn’t stop moving. I could feel moisture along with the burns and tattered clothing, and grinned at the fresh opportunity Mr. Big Bad and Nasty just gave me. As he reared back for another charge-up, I whipped my blade around and slid it across my bleeding arm, all the while working up the needed words and fire. By the time he finished his charge so had I, and I slammed a good ol’ Malachite Piston into the ground at an angle. The second shadow blast wave came down while I was launching clear across the field to my left, avoiding the attack by a very wide margin.

Touched down and I got back to running, the hype really pumping. Miles blurred past as the mountain drew closer, and Sombra was looking to stop me. Another shadow blast, and another Piston launch to the side, followed by one forward to cover even more ground. Once in spitting distance, the smokey brute mixed things up and slammed down a line of thick tendrils at me. All avoided pretty nicely; they made handy chunky steps to get me up the side of the mountain. Some hops, sweet-ass flips, Piston slams and slashings had me soaring skyward up to the tyrant’s colossal schnoz. I passed by and caught serious air time, and looking down, I saw his fat head look up to snarl at me with those tree-sized teeth.

I flashed my own pearly whites as I fell, spinning and bringing my sword forward to plunge into that massive target of a forehead. It’s only a hundred yards away when he finally made an effort to stop me, in the form of an especially pudgy tentacle moving fast over his face. My steel plunged deep into it and I slammed my feet in as well for added impact. Shadowy ichor spewed all around but I kept pushing down, wearing down the resistance. Once it caved in, there’s an infuriated roar as the tentacle exploded and I found myself being blown clear over the field, back in the direction I came from.

Miraculously I aligned my feet and hit the ground upright, sliding backward half a mile in a crouch. When I stopped, I stood and noticed the blast had blown a good chunk of my jacket and the shoulders of my shirt, as well as leave a tingling sensation on the parts of me that made contact with the tentacle. There wasn’t time to mourn for my clothes, for the landscape had started rumbling again. Shadows McFatty was shaking with growing rage, and from his seething mass even more tendrils sprouted, only they went skyward and spread out just below the cloud cover, pulsing red and black like roots outta Hell. When they stopped spreading, columns of spiny tendrils burst from underneath to strike the tundra. Unsurprisingly they were aimed in my general direction, so I took the necessary course of hopping back from each impacting column.

After dodging the first wave, I noticed that the sod that brought me here had been sitting paralyzed in that same spot the whole time, eyes blank with fear and not even budging from the tremors. There wasn’t time to cuss him out as the next wave of columns dropped, so instead I went over, yanked him up by the scruff of his neck and flung him well out of danger. Once his useless ass was well away, I turned with sword raised at said danger.

I sidestepped past the first two to make landfall, then dashed forward in the direction of Lord Somber. More columns came down, but I avoided them all the same and, getting tired of going defensive for that long, I cut through each one I passed by. I got back to my previous speed, yet still they kept dropping, getting more in my way. Five of them formed a freakin’ wall, but that went down to my blade and blurred away as the rest of the scenery.

The speed made my ruined jacket tatter more, until it blew off completely by the halfway point to Mountain Mane. Speaking of which, Sombra undoubtedly caught sight of me coming right back at him, because he lowered his massive head and his gargantuan horn started glowing a brighter shade of red.

“CRYSTAAAALS.”

He threw back his head, pointing his horn straight up. It flared with intense magic, and then the whole world started to shake, bad enough to the point I couldn’t keep moving unless I wanted to trip over myself. I stopped just as a tremendous cracking filled the air, and from beneath Sombra’s earthen perch there burst forth several towering pink—you guessed it—crystal formations. They shot outward like lances to the heavens, and more of them grew out from the surrounding landscape in a wave. In seconds I had spiky crystals jutting up around my feet, almost making me fall back.

I kept my balance until a very large one broke through the surface and I found myself getting lifted into the air. I retained my posture, and eventually the crystal stopped growing, leaving me some forty meters above the wasteland amid a sea of other towering crystals. The wind and snow were just as strong, but I still had a clear line of sight to Shadow Matterhorn, who was looking and growling back at me. I hopped forward and resumed my run, jumping and running along crystals instead of cold flat ground.

Now there had to have been a reason for the expansive redecorating, and he made it clear when I spotted his inky tendrils twisting around the outlying crystals toward me. Some toward the back began pulling and breaking apart the crystals, then hefted them at me like glimmering, poorly-aimed javelins. I stepped over the tendrils that were reaching me while also batting away whatever projectiles managed to reach me. Nearing the base of the mountain, Sombra pulled off one more surprise by firing off his shadow blasts at me through his crystalline field. Shards went everywhere, much of it tearing at my shirt and limbs all while my footing got torn up with each passing blast.

I got to about fifty yards of the mountain, when two massive crystal spires burst out and cross before their creator, blocking off his face as pillars of smoke blast up around me, forming into thick swirling tendrils. They circled and went down at me, forcing me to cut at them while trying to keep my balance. They’re much thicker than the others and my blade doesn’t really do much, and with them closing in around me, I had an idea. Leaping back onto a stable crystal surface, I tore a slit down my right arm and got to incanting.

“Emerald Lancer!”

A flick of flame and steel and I had myself a bitchin’ flaming sword ready for all comers. And come they did, but against the enchanted flame they withered and separated like parchment. I pressed my attack once more, tearing through the tentacles with flaming gashes and twirling my way passed shadow and crystal alike. I get beneath the the crossing spires and have a good look right up at the tyrant’s grand chin, before one of his main tentacles rose up and swept down, tearing one of his crystal barriers asunder. There’s several tons of shiny rock falling toward me, but I turned around and ran up one of the withering tendrils I left behind.

Contact on my feet stung a bit, but I’m only on there briefly before flipping off it and leaving a parting slash. My leap got me over to another tentacle, which I also cut up and bounced off to another and then another. Those acrobatics got me up to the falling crystal, which I landed on and ran the whole length as its tilted upward. From the torn edge I leapt at the tentacle that cut it down, and before it could withdraw to strike, I struck it first. My flaming blade’s planted into it deep, and I ran up along it while dragging my sword right behind. It provided traction as I ran along the meandering appendage, well high up before reaching a crest where another large tentacle awaited. That’s my cue to leap off, executing a spin flip as the other tentacle slammed down.

The speed and exertion of my flip made my shades come off, but it allowed me to see the massive look of surprise on Sombra’s face only twenty yards below. Sword still afire, I reoriented myself and spun around, unleashing a Jade Slicer right square at the bridge of his muzzle. It hit and burrowed into his mountainous skull before his entire body erupted in an explosion of black smoke and green fire, obliterating the mountain and crystal field as well in a cataclysmic blast.

The smoke and noise cleared by the time I land onto the ground in a kneel, bits of crystal evaporating away into dust around me. Standing up I see, far across a now-empty field, Sombra doing the same, only he’s back down to pony-size. He wore the same red cape and armor as I remembered from our last encounter, and even the same metal crown band thing around his luxurious locks. He appeared dazed, but once he lifted his head in my direction, his brows and teeth took on a look of sheer malice as he snorted and started hoofing at the ground. I smiled at his challenge while standing tall, ripping off what remained of my scorched shirt.

“Come on!”

The caped tyrant broke into a charge, and I held out my sword before doing the same. We sprinted the distance in no time and clashed. My sword met with his horn, and we bounded off each other before dashing to clash again. Sparks flew up to join the falling snow as steel met bone repeatedly. For a fossil he was damn fine a fighter, but he must’ve seen that approach as going nowhere, for he leapt back several dozen yards. Upon landing, red and dark energy zapped up and burst from his horn, forming a pulsating lance of magic which he quickly slammed into the ground before him. The impact created a blastwave that tore through earth in trying to tear through me, but I sidestepped it and ran at him. He slammed down three more in different spots, and I dodged them just the same without losing pace. I reached him and slashed, but he backflipped deftly. A mound of earth rose up to meet his landing, and from atop his little hill he lit up his horn and started firing off a chaotic stream of shadow-imbued orbs.

Their dispersal was random, and whatever they touched went up in a violent blast. Made things a practical death maze as I juked, ducked and hopped through the scattering deathmakers. I eventually got close enough to his lordship’s mound to attack, but as I swung upwards he leapt back in a flip, aiming and firing a beam of concentrated black magic at me. I hopped back, but the concussion of the blast threw me off-balance and onto my back. As I struggled back onto my feet, I spotted Sombra conjuring up another crystal from the earth, which he landed upon and rode rode forth in my direction. He lowered his horn, and I barely managed to sidestep to avoid getting my heart pierced. Didn’t step aside enough to avoid the crystal, which bashed my knees and sent me to the ground yet again.

The duel had gone on long enough, so I sprang back up and readied my fire once more.

“Chartreuse Phoenix.”

As Sombra flipped around and brought up another crystal, he got to have a good look at the new flaming green wings I was sporting. He rode his hardened mount at me regardless of my additions, and I responded in kind by kicking off with sword trained. The fiery blast of the incantation brought me to him in a second, but he managed to spot my approach quick enough to make a whole chunk of crystal rise up to meet my blade. I blasted through and shattered it as Sombra leapt away to somewhere behind. I spun around to meet him as he landed, looking to get me in the back with another horn-emitted lance. Pity for him that I was quicker with the sword, for I ran it deep through his side before he could bring his head down.

I stepped a ways from him, hearing him stumble and sputter. Looking back, I saw instead of the usual blood or dark matter, a white glow poured from his wound, which began to spread out in cracks along his side and even through his clothing. He just snarled and groaned at the light overtaking him, then managed to utter one last word of vehemence:

“Dra…. gon….”

“And don’t you forget it.”

A cracking noise filled the air as the fissures of light took up more and more of his body, before finally reaching his head. He reared back to roar just as his eyes gave way to blinding light, and then he—along with everything else—exploded in a burst of white and the deafening sound of shattering glass.

When my vision cleared, I found myself standing back in the hollow space beneath the Crystal Palace. Took me a moment to readjust to the sheer silence of my surroundings after what I faced, but it didn’t take me long to notice that my shades and clothes were still intact, and that my sword was still sheathed. In fact, my right claw was still on the culprit’s back. Pulling it back, I looked in the direction of the Fear Door. Still looming and decrepit, save for the crystal up top, which had shattered where only its lower third remained embedded. Pieces of it were scattered around the floor, bereft of the sinister luster they once held.

The pony was still seated and mumbling incoherencies, but his eyes were no longer dilated or green (still bugged out, but at least he wasn’t comatose). Guess coming face to face with your life-long oppressor would leave one trembling, and even more so when it was more than some overhyped illusion. There had been more than some of Sombra’s residual magic left in that door; as though a very part of him was kept there for safekeeping, maybe recouping or waiting for a host or something. Would explain how I got sucked into it just by touch, and also the mild numbing in my arms and chest. It was a hell of a tussle regardless of whatever he/that was, but leave it to a dragon to clean up a thousand year old mess (again).

With all that said, though, the poor guy before me would undoubtedly be scarred from that head-trip, perhaps for the rest of his life. Given what he’d been through, he had suffered enough; to put him through Her Majesty’s brand of justice along with that would just be excessively cruel (although he was the one who brought me there and was dead weight during the fight, but whatever). That thought in mind, I shrugged and hefted the sorry lug onto my shoulder.

“Come on. We’re outta here.”

Figured Cadance could take care of this one citizen this time. As I headed back out the way I came, I halted and cursed myself before turning back around. I bent down and with my free hand picked up the novella I about nearly left behind, and then went back to getting the hell out of there. Can’t let a rare show of mercy make me forgetful of the core foundation for my duties, nor the individual who put it there to begin with. That’s one royal authority figure I don’t want to trifle with anytime.

To The Beginning...

EpEX2: The One Who Executes

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EpEX2

THE ONE WHO EXECUTES

A calm, steady rain fills the air. At least, I think it’s rain. Kinda hard to tell given my surroundings.

Nothing but wide open space before and all around me, pretty much dark except for a few red lights. They’re hung up like streetlamps, but I can’t make out the lamp part from where I am. No surprise, as the light deepens whatever darkness it doesn’t cover. There’s enough of it to make out the slick wet ground at my feet, though, as well as the droplets of precipitation coming down. Can’t tell whether it’s actual rain or some indoor shower, hence my uncertainty in what to call it. But for simplicity’s sake, let’s stick with rain.

I walk forward in this soggy place, listening to the gentle patter of water droplets making landfall. An otherworldly and calming allure, but I maintain focus. Can’t let my mind drift when danger could be waiting amidst the murk.

“You appear to be lost.”

And wouldn’t you know, here’s some rearing its ugly head (albeit in a nonchalant fashion). Out from the edges of darkness strolls in this upstanding figure. As it enters the light I see it (or rather “him”) more clearly. Two legs, two arms, moderate build, ape-like in appearance (can’t see a tail). He’s wearing a suit much like my own… only with pants. All black, including the tie covering the middle of his white undershirt. Rather nice in the face department, bearing a look of someone who can handle themselves in any tight spot, hardened by constant struggle or facing some pretty weird shit (sorta ruined by the glasses, though). Not to mention that slick hairdo.

Come to think of it, his whole being seems rather… slick, in general. Probably because of the piss-poor lighting, but it’s like his body is glazed in some unnatural sheen, like he was dipped in skin cream or butter. Makes him shine in a weird way, and the shadows on his body more stark.

That’s not the only thing odd about him. My gaze shifts to his side, and I find his left arm isn’t like the other. It appears segmented, covered in metal and too bulky to conceal in a shirt sleeve. I also can’t help notice little bumps around where it connects to the shoulder, kinda like growths. Not the first time I’ve seen freaky plant fusions, but never with metal. The kooky sheath dangling on the side of his belt is an all too familiar sight, though.

The whole time I’ve been eyeing him up and making descriptions for our benefit, the stranger has stopped a few yards from me, with legs apart, hands of flesh and metal on his elbows. As though waiting for a respon—oh, right…

“Are you merely lost for direction, or is it your thoughts you’re wandering around in?” he asks before I get a chance to reply. His tone is somewhat gravelly, straightforward, but with a bit of smug to his words. Figure I may as well respond in kind (like I always do, sans gravel).

“Just having a pleasant stroll, enjoying the scenery.” I hold out my arms, gathering more rain before dropping them and looking at my inquisitor. “Is there a problem with that?”

He huffs and cocks his head to the side. “A stroll without direction is an invitation for danger. You’re clearly seeking trouble.”

“I often make that sort of impression.” I raise my chin a bit. “What about you? Are you looking for trouble?”

“In a way.” He drops his arms, assuming a more serious stance. “I’m looking for a very dangerous individual. Someone with a penchant for violence, who’s carved a legacy in blood and fear for the sake of their superior.”

“That does sound like trouble.” Tensing up, I start pacing to the side without averting my eyes. “And what would be the motivation for hunting down such an individual?”

“Nothing personal, I assure you.” He starts pacing in the direction opposite mine, keeping his eyes locked on me as well. “There are clients who seek help in handling the cruelties and chaos imparted by the world. It’s my job to bring them peace of mind and restore a bit of order, while also making commission, of course.”

“Lucky you. Most I get with my occupation could be generously considered an allowance.”

“Though money matters little when you spend it right away. Cost of living, as it where. Among other expenses.”

“True that.” We have nearly walked a full circle around each other, unmindful of the rain. “This may be a dumb thing to ask, but what exactly do you do when you find these unsavory fellows?”

A hint of a smile. “Simple: I ensure they don’t cause further trouble for the client.” He stops walking. “All with deadly precision.”

There’s a pause between us that’s filled with the pattering of constant rain. I’ve come to a stop, too, looking squarely at him. I crack a smile.

“Sounds an awful lot like my line of work.” I tilt my head. “Don’t suppose you know what your target looks like.”

“Hmph. Wouldn’t be much of a professional if I didn’t have some clue.” He brought up his metal hand to adjust his glasses. “Barely an adult, well-dressed, a bit on the short side, bears an imposing if unusual appearance. Pretty blunt in speech, but prone to making a snarky remark or two.” He tilts his eyewear down, allowing his striking red pupils to show over the lenses. “And also goes by the name of Spike.”

Figures as much.

“Funny. That just so happens to be my name.” A twist and a few flicks of the wrist and my sword’s unsheathed and at my side, with hardly a raindrop hitting the blade. “Guess you found what you were looking for.”

“Indeed.” He calmly removes and puts away his glasses. “Though I gotta hand it to ya: most of my past marks would have gone into some long-winded tangent about darkness or some nonsense.”

“I’m not real big on speeches.”

“An attitude we share, which makes it ironic that I’ve been doing most of the talking. Almost makes me wonder...” Slowly he reaches down to the hilt at his hip with his right hand, then unsheathes it and brings it to his side with the same slowness. It’s a pretty wicked-looking katana (and just as “slick”). “With that said, I say we best cut to the chase.”

“Fine by me.” I space out my legs. “Just so you know, you’re not the first assassin I’ve tangled with.”

He shrugs. “That’s of no concern. I’m no ordinary killer, and I’m pretty certain you’ve never faced someone like me before.”

“Yeah, you got that right.” Bend my knees a bit. “Ready when you are, pal.”

“Very well. The job…” He pauses to slick back his hair with those metal fingers. “KILLER IS DEAD.”

Dead silence falls between us, with the rain filling in the gaps. I’m at a loss for words. But only momentarily.

“Dude… what the fuck was that?”

Just closes his eyes and grins, then launches himself forward. That speed burst actually surprises me, but I shake it off and get my ass in gear. We rush headlong at each other, and it’s seconds before we raise our arms and bring our blades to cross. The connection brings both of us to a dead halt, filling the air with a sharp clang. This guy’s got a hell of a grip; it’s like pressing against a steel wall. His arm’s shaking as much as mine, though. No more time to gauge further weaknesses as we simultaneously pull back and get into proper swordplay.

Shuffle a few steps left with my sword up, then make a first strike before he gets a chance. Manages to block it, as well as the split-second follow-up swipe. He’s damn quick. A few more blocked swipes, then I decide to sidestep and get him from a different angle. He manages to raise up his sword to block my overhead, but I decide to follow-up with another one, break his guard.

Right as my blade edge is about to touch his, I feel my body freeze up and the sense that time’s slowing down. Suddenly the guy vanishes as a red tinge fills my sight, then a split second later there’s the sound of grunting and swords swipes as I’m bombarded from the side. I feel close to a dozen slashes land before I manage to bring around my sword and push away from the assaulting blade.

I stumble as all kinds of pinpricks flare up on my body. My right arm, leg, and half my chest are covered in nicks and cuts, ranging from small to moderate (pretty sure he nicked one of my frills as well). I feel a new dampness arise from those spots, no doubt blood. First blood of the battle and it’s mine; real sloppy, Spike.

“You need to focus on where you swing,” he taunts. “Being reckless with your attacks will get you nowhere.”

Bloody hell, getting a sword fighting lecture during a sword fight. Really can’t stand for that crap, even when it’s from Pinkie or Zecora (though the lack of rhyming is a mercy). Much as it irks me, though, I take a deep breath and get back into the fray.

Not sure what the hell happened there or what he pulled off exactly, but I best hold back and go on the defensive until I figure him out. He makes a few steps to the side, and seeing no reaction from me, he picks up the slack and rushes me. I keep loose and meet each of his blows from every angle. His swipes are quick, precise, and seemingly tireless as they hit with the same exact force each time.

For a skinny guy he’s relentless, and it’s annoying. Luckily I have something to give me some breathing space. All this blocking has shaken me up, got the blood flowing. With the next successive hits I let myself vibrate more, getting some of my essence to spray up to join the rain. Intermingled with the precipitation, I belch out a green flame that ignites the droplets. Pretty sizable fire burst erupts between us, breaking our line of contact and stopping the attacks.

When the fire and smoke clears, he’s backed away with arms held out to the sides, the fringes of his suit smoking slightly. He eases up and pats his suit with his free hand.

“Pretty neat trick there. That actually surprised me.”

I shrug. “I’m just full of ‘em.”

A scoff. “Don’t expect it to happen again.”

With that he comes at me again, going into the same routine of repeating sword blows. I can’t risk doing the old smoke trick again; may as well give some of my own hits for the hell of it. Soon we’re back to where we started, trading blows and blocks without giving an inch, only I hone more of my senses, see if he’s gonna pull that one trick. Sure enough, near the end of an upward swing the same slowing sensation and flare of red occurs. Only I’m ready. I sense movement, to the left.

I twist around with sword raised, immediately catching his own as color and time return to normal. His face tenses up from this response, but it doesn’t last as I deliver a mean left hook right at his mug. I catch his shiny cheek square on, and he stumbles back while flailing out his arms. It doesn’t take long for him to recover and resume his hardened pose, the only difference being the metal hand nursing his sore cheek. I grin.

“Expecting the same result?”

He grins as well, and then we’re right back to it. As we’re exchanging blocks and parries, he starts talking.

“You’re holding up well now. Guess you took my advice to heart.” All calm, like this wasn’t some duel to the death.

“Just needed to warm up, is all. This rain is pretty soothing.” Certainly not the first time I’ve had a mid-battle chit-chat.

“You shouldn’t be so callous in the heat of battle. Even if you are a skilled killer, overconfidence can easily undo you.” Clang clang clang.

“I’m confident because I can afford to be.” Clang. “I’ve faced a lot, and I’m pretty good at protecting myself.”

“Is that a fact?”

Right after he says that, I feel my blade come to a halt against his metal palm. He grips it tight, keeping me in place as he rears back and slams his head into mine. Holy frickin’ crap it’s like granite! My teeth chatter as I stumble back on wobbly legs, seeing spots. I manage to snap through the daze quick enough to bring up my sword to block the impending deathblow, resulting in me taking another rough step back. He resumes the chat as we resume the swordplay.

“None too keen on the unconventionals, it seems.”

As the sparks fly, I can’t help but sneer. “I’ll give ya unconventional.”

I pound my blade onto his, seizing him in place. Then I twist my body and whip my tail around at his shimmery head. His metal hand snags it lightning quick, but before I give him a chance to do something with it I twist back around, taking him along for the ride. He slams with a heavy splash into the the ground on his side, and I don’t give him a break as I bring my sword to bear. That crazy quickness saves him yet again, though, as he rolls sideways from my blade, only to spring into a rising crescent slash that nearly catches my snout.

He lands in a crouch, but instantly stands back up and flicks out his sword, which is now radiating some kind of blue aura (WTF?).

“I deal with all kinds of weirdos,” I tell him, paying no mind to his new piece of flair. “Gotta think on my toes and get creative.”

“Hmph, I can relate. Though you’re a good deal more normal than my usual targets.”

“And you’re certainly no chainsaw-wielding granny.”

He twirls around his glowing katana and brings it up next to his head. “No more holding back, then?”

I nod as I raise my own weapon. “No more holding back.”

We let the rain fall undisturbed a moment, then we charge. We run at each other like earlier, only we make a passing slash instead of stopping. Our respective metals clang as we pass each other, followed by two sprays of water as we turn around for another pass. Our swords collide again, but we both run side by side in the same direction, slashing away at each other. After a few yards I make a cut for his legs, but he leaps and flips high up and over me, landing to my left with his back turned and both hands gripping his katana hilt. His arms rise then thrust backwards, and I’m barely quick enough to bend my body to avoid getting skewered.

I swing and knock aside his sword, and lay on him with some more slashes. Each one of them get blocked, so I try to sweep out his legs with my tail. He hops up, but during my spin I grip my sword and throw up a nasty upward diagonal slash. It catches the guy’s fleshy arm as he’s coming down, knocking him onto his back. He springs back onto his feet and comes at me with barely a pause.

I raise my sword in defense, blocking two overhead blows. Instead of a third hit, he pulls back his metal fist and launches a punch at my blade. There’s a metallic bang as I reel from the insanely strong blow, my arms spreading wide to steady myself. Big mistake, as the guy takes it upon himself to deliver a slash right at my exposed chest. I grimace from feeling both suit and scales give way in a neat line, making me collapse onto a knee. I get in one deep breath then look up, spotting Mr. Slickback dropping in from above with katana primed to plunge into my skull.

I muster enough sense to throw myself back before he lands, yet the resulting shockwave is ridiculous, tossing me back even further on my ass while also sending a deluge all over me. On my back, I’m completely drenched. Mostly in water, but there’s a bit of blood mixed in. I scramble so that I’m elevated, though only on one foot. He’s just standing there all high and mighty, hardly a scratch on him. About time to change that; time to cut loose.

With my free palm I rub my fresh chest wound, then slather the red goodness onto my blade. Quick enchantment, a light flame and I swipe out a Jade Slicer. He brings his sword vertical to take the brunt of the blast, which dissipates and sends him sliding back through the water. Quickly I get up on my feet and swing out some more Slicers and even a few Sliders that sizzle through the shallows, never giving him a chance to act or even breathe. He dodges the flames or blocks the ones he can’t sidestep, but seeing how much he’s being pushed back each time, I know he can’t last long. After three successive Sliders I whip around my sword and do a Malachite Piston from behind, launching me ahead. The Sliders are dispersed in time for him to get a good look of me flying at him with sword held forward, aimed right at him. Quickness won’t be getting him out of this one, as the blade tip and several inches go right into the fleshy part of his left shoulder.

We go forward about a dozen yards stuck like that before momentum releases him from my metal and has him tumbling ungracefully along the ground. The tables are turned now: me standing and looking smug, and him getting up on a knee and totally soaked. I hear a heavy breath; I’m wearing him down. Probably a mistake that I let him stand back up.

“That was a neat set of tricks. But two can play at that game.” (Oh boy…)

Definitely a mistake, seeing how he’s bringing his metal arm to bear as a clacking and whirring fills the air. Next thing I know he’s got some misshapen barrel pointed at me, which immediately starts firing some crackling orange shots. My sword goes up to catch the rounds, making them ping off harmlessly, but at the rate they’re coming they’ll eventually push through. I break into a side run to outrun the barrage, bringing up my sword to deflect whatever shots get close to me. There’s a break in the fire, only to be replaced by a growing whir that could only mean energy build-up. Sure enough, a glance shows his arm cannon bulging with yellow light, which gets blasted right at me.

I manage to outpace the energy ball, but it hits the ground behind me hard enough that I end up tripping, getting another faceful of water. Sputter out the liquids as I get back up, yet turning my head my jaw drops as I see that suit-wearing swordsman flash-stepping up to within two yards of me, whereupon he jumps up and—I kid you not—pulls back and levels a massive frickin’ drill down at me. The sheer absurdity of what he’s got whirring on his arm seems to freeze things for a moment, which works for me as it lets me push my sorry self away from being eviscerated in the messiest way possible.

This is all getting way out of hand, I think as I scramble up off the moist surfacing. I’ve let things get weird too quickly; gotta end this now. I run a claw down my sword arm and shake it to get the flow going, and set it ablaze with an Emerald Lancer. I don’t give him time to react as I dash ahead and lay on him with flaming swipes and cuts. He blocks them but I don’t relent. See how he likes a taste of his own medicine.

Put in a dozen more strikes; his coat sleeve is starting to burn, and I can see sweat on his face (or more rain, whatever). With a sidelong swipe I set off a Slicer at point-blank, which gives a nasty bit of hot recoil on my part, not to mention splash damage (heh). But he has it worse from the looks of it, judging by the strips of burning fabric flitting about in the wake of his pushback. Time for the killing blow.

I grip my right arm and give it a squeeze, feeding more of my life essence into the fire. It grows and grows until it’s practically bonfire level. With some chanting I redirect it backward up my arm and toward my shoulder, drawing more blood from the various wounds along the way. At the shoulder, it spreads past my neck to the other side, and in a second I’ve got a nice set of fiery plumage coming from my back. The guy illuminates from the extra light, but he’s looking impassive, like he’s not impressed. Meh, your funeral, bub. Probably overkill, but I’m done taking chances.

Just to be on the safe side I launch out a few more Slicers and Sliders to keep him occupied and unwary of the disaster I’m about to bring. With him getting hit by swathes of curved flames, I fire up the Chartreuse Phoenix and take aim with my sword. Leveled, locked on, launch.

I tear over the water as a comet of death, and inevitably I make sweet destructive impact with that sorry stylin’ sod. There’s a massive blast and kinetic wave that blows away all the rain, leaving me standing in dryness for a few seconds. Yet… I’m not alone. In fact, I appear to have come to a complete standstill against something solid. Like a… oh holy crap.

Before me is some messed up amalgamation of machinery and white light, almost like a nightmare rendition of those pretentious modern art statues. My jaw drops at seeing half the guy’s face on this abomination—looking as dead focused as always—past the upraised katana that’s the cause for my sudden stop. I grit my teeth and try to get past him, but I barely start when he flings up his sword arm and tosses me back effortlessly.

Splash I go once again, feeling even more weary than before. I still force myself up and brace my sword before me, as tiring as it’s become. Me and the metal man facing off, not budging an inch, though in my case I’m huffing up a storm. That god-awful red lighting looks to be fading. Maybe the first sign of wavering vision; definitely not good.

He raises his arm and brings down his sword, but instead of an attack, there’s a flash of white and he’s back to his sharp-dressed, fleshy attire (save for that arm). Same stoic stance, only his eyes seem to appraising me. Seeing my sorry condition, probably listing up things to mock me during my death throes. After some moments, the silence breaks.

“The way you fight when you’re backed into a corner: that drive and focus, that determination to stay alive.”

“Yeah? What about it?”

“There’s more than just duty at stake when you do battle. It’s more than mere obligation, or even enjoyment whenever you wield that blade.” He lowers his guard and looks straight dead at me with those blazing red eyes. “You’re protecting someone, with all that you have.”

A pause, made more intense by the soft rain that’s gradually lessening for some reason. Feeling very tired, but I have to keep it together. Need to get out of here.

“...Yeah. That’s the way it is.”

He looks to the emptiness above. “A beacon that shines in the darkness, guiding you from complete annihilation.” A look to the side. “She really means that much to you.” (Whuh..?)

“Absolutely.” (Why’d I answer?)

“You’ve faced a lot, I can tell. Overcame things that no one in your position has a right to. I’ve been there. Yet for all your killing, all the misery you’ve imparted, you think you’re capable of defending someone you care for? More than that, that you can save them from the very same darkness that consumes the likes of us?”

No change in his tone, but the gravity in his words are undeniable. Straight from the heart; that moment where the toughest of fighters bare their inner wisdom. So many times I’ve been on the receiving end of these things. Some with valid points, most of them utter bull. But these particular words, now of all times, they’re coming by as especially personal. Must really be the blood loss.

“An executioner such as you,” he continues. “Will you forsake yourself even further, if need be, just to keep her safe?”

“...More than anything.”

A huff. “Then you might wanna pray it doesn’t come to that.” With that, he sheathes his katana with a clack, seemingly putting a stop to the shower. This raises some confusion, as you’d imagine.

“Uhhh, what?”

“I say she’s in good hands. You continue protecting her.”

“But, what about the whole tracking down and target thing?”

“That? Well to be honest with you, my agency has no jurisdiction in this place. Meaning there’d be no government approval, even if someone actually put a hit on you with us. Basically, I’m out here on a leisure trip.”

“Come again?” No way…

“Just curious to see the guy that’s been flaunting my style. And I gotta say, you’re fairly good.”

Oh goddammit, don’t tell me this was one of those bullshit “tests” sprung up at random by total strangers. Complete and utter wastes of time; one of the sorts of patronizing bull that piss me off the most. Maybe when I was more wet behind the ears (not literally) that’d be fine and expected, but at this point? Give me a flippin’ break!

“Now don’t feel too bad about all this,” he blabbers on. “Any struggle is worthwhile if it’s to uphold the sanctity of a beautiful woman.”

Huh? “What are you going on about?”

He just chuckles while slicking his hair with that metal hand. “You’ll come to understand what it means to fight with all your passion in battle. For now, though, take comfort in the fact that you’re doing alright for yourself. But remember that you can still go astray on this darkened path. Should you lose yourself then, destruction will shortly follow. Guaranteed.”

As he says this, I spot some weird mirages or shadows or something appearing behind him. One’s dressed up the same as the guy, only with average looks and carrying a silver attache case. Another is also carrying a case, only it’s dark along with his skin, a contrast to his glaring white suit. The other one’s… interestingly dressed to say the least, and having orange-tinted shades and some spiked-up hairdo. Kinda foreboding, but I don’t know what to make of it. The guy doesn’t seem to notice and keeps speaking (suppose it’s a bit late to ask for his name).

“Just keep your skills honed, tone down the recklessness, and you should be good. For the both of you. Just keep in mind that danger has a way of popping up, even in the best of times.”

He starts to turn, but stops and looks back at me.

“One more piece of advice: make sure to embrace your past, because there’s no way to truly kill it.” He raises up his left arm, made whole again, wrapped in a simmering purple flame. “You may succeed in forgetting, but it always finds a way back in. Usually at the worst possible time.”

“Spike? Spiiike?”

Eyes slowly open, my entire being feeling incredibly relaxed and rested. A curved ceiling overhead, and sunlight streaming from the window to my left, as well as the chirps of birds outside. I’m all stretched out on the somewhat undersized bed in nothing but my dress shirt, with my claws linked behind my head and being damn comfy.

I see the familiar purple horn and head peeking in through the door opposite the end of the bed. Seeing me laid out like I am, she makes an adorable look of judgment.

“Spike, are you seriously sleeping?”

That lack of stuffiness in her words makes for a comforting reassurance that the past few days haven’t been a dream. I give a satisfying yawn to her query before giving a proper answer.

“Just resting my eyes, Twi.” She giggles at that. I smile; her laughs these days are always refreshing. “Can you really blame me? Such a peaceful morning, and you taking your time getting ready.”

“Well I’m finished up, smart guy. Get your things so we can go; we have a train to catch.”

“There’s no real hurry. You’re still a princess, right? Not like they can leave you.”

A casual sigh. “Come on. We can take our time walking to the station.”

“Sure thing. I’ll be up in a sec.”

She ducks her head and I’m left alone. It’s been a surreal few days. At first I’m on the run for regicide, and here I am, relaxing under the somewhat broken roof of the library, my second home. Granted it’s in a storage room converted into a spare bedroom, but I can’t be too picky with accommodations seeing how my own house got blown to smithereens (damn you again, Pinkie). Not that I’m complaining, far from it. Gave me an excuse to spend time closer to Twilight, catch up on things, help clean up some of the mess I made, and uphold my duties as bodyguard, of course. It’s strange: all that turmoil, yet things are like what they used to be. Speaking of, that’s part of the reason I need to get up.

I heft myself up and turn around, planting my feet on the floor to stand. I grab my coat from the little chair, slip it on, take up my sword and strap it to my waist as I head for the door. My shades go on last as I step out onto the second floor landing, and not seeing Twilight around, I make my way downstairs. The library interior looks pretty close to what it had been all those years ago. Restoration for this place has been top notch overall, though there’s still the occasional splinter and plank sticking out, and a few patches of canopy popping through the ceiling. Still far better than how I left it over a week ago.

I’m out the front door and am instantly hit with the fresh breeze of late spring. My senses more rejuvenated, I look and immediately spot the diminutive pony princess a few feet before me. Her saddlebags are on, and she’s looking back at me.

“All ready, Your Majesty?” I ask, in mock formality, which gets me a smile and a roll of the eyes.

“Of course. Let’s be on our way.”

She nods and looks forward, and we start moving. I can’t help but see those bandaged nubs on her sides as we walk, and I wince. Part of me’s still sickened and regretful for doing that to her, although I’ve done that sort of thing and much worse to so many others without any real remorse. Yet I remind myself of what I was going through at that moment, and count myself grateful that it was only one count of regicide that day instead of two. Plus it meant getting the old Twilight back (in a screwed up way, admittedly).

Not that things were immediately hunky dory afterwards for everything else. I still had that sign over my head labeling me as a murderer and a terror to ponykind. While things have been cool around Ponyville, it’s gonna take some doing to fix up my public image to the rest of the country. In due time, hopefully. These things take time to heal, or straighten out in the best way realistically possible. Certainly helps with Sweetie Belle showing some appreciation with that luvin’ of hers.

And the same goes for Twilight (minus the Sweetie luvin’). Though Canterlot is shaping into a constitutional monarchy to make up for the changes I brought about, there’s still some more work and fence-mending to be done by the land’s sole ruling authority. But Twi’s always been a smart girl, with plenty of organizational and political handling picked up over the years. And with a good friend at her side (as well as the extra muscle), things have progressed rather smoothly for both her and the various other parties involved.

Bringing us to the occasion for today’s latest outing to Canterlot. As expected of her office, all meetings of political and economic importance are to take place in the capital, meaning a lot of commutes for her this past week. At some point she may just move up there for convenience sake, maybe once a good chunk of the castle is rebuilt. For today, it’s just a quick meeting with some economists and public security, loose ends mostly in those sectors. But afterward is when another set of loose ends will finally be dealt with, that she’s been meaning to do sooner. One of the first things that fell victim to Discord’s twisted social experiment: the Elements.

While she hasn’t fully cut ties with any of them, needless to say relations haven’t been all that peachy like in the old days. Except for Fluttershy, the others have been too busy with their careers or caught up in their own personal webs to bother staying in touch, made especially worse by Twilight’s tenure as Ms. Hardened Princess of Officialness. But with luck, we can start changing that today.

Not expecting an outright turnaround for the best. Dash will be a stubborn one to coax, for sure. But even she can’t ignore a royal summons given her position, and neither could an important produce manufacturer like Applejack. And walking down these sunny streets beside the biggest egghead on the matters of camaraderie, I’m feeling confident that at least some major bridge repair can be done (for the ones that are still alive, anyway).

“Spike? You seem to be thinking about something.”

“Huh? Oh, just random thoughts. Nothing in particular.”

“Hmm, okay. Just don’t go walking into a building.”

“Can do, princess.” That refreshing giggle again. A modest smile on my face.

That’s right. It’s like all those years ago: just the two of us heading for another uncertain future, but filled with just as much promise (though without the impending doomsday to get in the way). Just need that bit of hope between us to see it through. So let’s give it a shot, Twi.

Let’s get the gang back together.

THE ONE WHO EXECUTES
end

*Love, not Execute ;3

Death by Dragon

by Compendium of Steve

Ep1: Midnight Overdues

Interim 1

Interim 1.2

Ep2: Southbound Dust Jacket

Interim 2

Interim 2.2

Ep3: Trap the Keeper

Interim 3

Ep4: Seleneicide

Interim 4

Interim 4.2

Ep5: Death by Duty

Interim 6

Interim 6.2

Ep7: Desperate Struggle

Ep8: The Final Return

Epilogue: What Remains

Elsewhere...

EpEX: Black White and Red

ProEX: Dreaded Reference Material

EpEX2: The One Who Executes