Damn Ponies

Damn Ponies

Chapter 2: Rise of The Murderer

By Pascal

Author's Note:

This chapter is dedicated as a Big Birthday Bonus for my good buddy Charlie. Happy birthday, fucker!

This chapter contains segments based on My Little Dashie by Robcakeran53.

***

The Murderer held a baby girl in his right hand, and an apple in his left. The apple shriveled into dust in his grasp. He feared that his daughter would soon do the same.

"Please," he begged, reaching toward the tree with his bloody hand once again. "I swear I will not taste a bite. Just allow me feed her."

The tree died in an instant, withering and turning brown.

"To hell with thee!" The Murderer snarled. With a thought, the blood on his hand became fire. He torched the tree and then the orchard until there was nothing but ash and dust.

He had planted the orchard himself long ago when the world had loved him, but now his talents were useless, and the very ground beneath his feet died to spite him.

He held the girl in his arms, and let her lick the blood from his hands. The blood was the mark of his sin, and it would never dry or be cleaned. He carried her away from that ruined land, stroking her curly hair and leaving a smear of red across the white lock that marked her with his curse.

The Murderer wandered for an age through places where time had no meaning and space had no reason. He stumbled through the Country of the Blind, nearly losing himself in the everlasting dark. He waded across the River of Tears, ignoring the pleas of the mourners who sought to drag him down to share in their grief forever. He crept through the Red Room without succumbing to the pain of starvation, for even a single bite of the fleshy walls would have made him empty for eternity; one more starving soul stalking those bloody halls in search of prey.

"Just a little longer, Adan" he would whisper to his child as he trudged onward through his weariness, crossing plains of burning coal and mountains of rusty knives. "Maybe we will be able to rest in the next place. Just a few more steps…"

After an unmeasurable time, he came to a land of light which knew no grief, and where none were without food in plenty. There, the grass did not scorn his alien feet, and the fruit consented to be picked. He rested in that mild country, and Adan was fed with sweet nectar.

When night fell, The Murderer saw the Black Angel guide her flock of stars through the heavens, and was smitten with her beauty.

For seven days he labored, raising flowers from the ground as he had done in his homeland so long ago, and for six nights he watched for the Black Angel on her voyage across the sky.

On the seventh night, the garden was large enough to attract her attention, and she drifted down on a ray of starlight.

"Does my garden please thee, Black Angel?" The Murderer asked. "I made it for thee. I have wandered from the towers of Heaven to the dungeons of Hell, and I have never seen a sight to match thy beauty. Come, walk with me in my garden."

"Nay, wicked Murderer. Thy crude pickup line does not fool Us," She replied. "We can see clearly the blood on thy hands. This land is a land of peace, and its inhabitants are gentle and kind. We have no want of thy madness here."

"Wait! I am not a monster! I am a lover of beauty, and I only wish to find a place where my daughter and I can be at peace."

The Murderer gathered up a clump of dust, and in an instant it became a dazzling bouquet of roses.

"Wilt thou not love me?" he begged, offering it to her.

The Black Angel slapped his hands away.

"Thou wouldst bring naught but darkness, tears, and blood! Begone, wicked Murderer, and do not return!"

The Murderer's heart was broken, for if she would not abide him, then there was truly no place for him to call home. In his despair, he began to love wickedness instead of beauty, and spread misery wherever he went, breaking minds and poisoning hearts for his amusement, and his garden became a twisted maze of horrors.

Then came the White Angel, and The Murderer was sealed away to be forgotten.

***

I used to think the that best thing about any fantasy is that you only have to think about the good parts. You can be Luke Skywalker without having to mourn for the loss of your aunt and uncle. You can be Frodo without having to be cold and hungry every night.

You can be friends with a magic pony without having to think about all the complications.

It had been hard being alone. I had only a few friends, and was afraid to become too close or confiding in them for fear that they would think I was a pathetic loser for spending all my time fantasizing about being inside a children's cartoon and saving up several hundred dollars for a pony plushy so I could pretend it was a real talking horse and cuddle it to ease my loneliness and self-loathing. At one point, I had even physically touched pictures of ponies on my monitor, hoping that it would teleport me to Equestria like one of those magical books from Myst.

Those had been some bad times, sure, but eventually all my years of making no effort to improve my life paid off.

I had been overjoyed when I found the little filly in the box. The real thing is always better than fantasy.

I leave for work every morning, not knowing if she'll be there when I come back. Not knowing if she'll get hurt without anyone to help her. I come home dead tired, but unable to sleep because that's when play time starts. You're not allowed to be tired when you're a dad. And yet, despite how simple and easy life had been before, I would never go back. I'm tired, but there's no more insomnia. I have a reason to get up in the morning beyond the soullessly repeating a routine. My life has purpose.

So I leave in the morning, worrying about her while I work. I come home tired, but seeing her smile makes it all worth it.

At this particular moment, it was story time.

"… and so, everything King Midas touched turned into solid gold. The king was overjoyed, and soon he became the wealthiest man in all of Greece. However, he soon realized his mistake. When his servants brought out his dinner that evening, he found that he could not eat it! Each bite became metal as soon as it touched his tongue. Worse still, when his beloved daughter gave him a hug to comfort him in his distress, she turned to gold as well! Dionysus took pity on the poor king, and reversed his blessing, turning everything back to the way it was. Midas was not nearly as rich, but he became much wiser."

I closed the book with a snap.

"And that, Dashie, is why you should always think before you speak."

Dashie giggled, rolling back and forth on the bed, still full of energy despite the late hour.

"Now, you have a good night's rest," I said, kissing her on the forehead.

"Oh come on! It's not even that late yet!" Dashie protested. "That story was too short! Tell me another one."

"Dashie, it's almost nine."

"How 'bout just a short one? Pleeeeeaaaaase?"

I sighed heavily as she gave me the dreaded puppy-dog eyes.

"I suppose there is another story I could tell you," I said. "But it's pretty dark. Only big girls are allowed to hear this one."

"I am a big girl!" she said indignantly.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I use the big potty."

"Well, alright then," I chuckled. "Do you remember last week when I told you the story of the Fall of Man?"

She nodded her head vigorously.

"Well, this is what happened after that," I said, opening up my large illustrated bible and flipping through Genesis. "This is called the story of Cain and Abel."

Dashie squirmed closer to see the pictures. The first scene showed two men in tunics and sandals standing together in a field. To the left there were orchards of trees bearing fruit of all kinds, while to the right there were a multitude of animals.

"Once upon a time in the rugged land of Earth, there were two mighty brothers who ruled together and created harmony for all mankind," I began. "Cain, the elder brother, tended to the plants of the earth, and created lush gardens all across the land, while Abel, the younger brother, watched over all beasts of the field, and spread life throughout the world. Thus, the two brothers maintained balance and peace on Earth."

I turned the page, revealing the next scene. Cain wore a fine coat with gold trim, and stood in the midst of tables laden with fine food, while Abel, still covered in mud from the day's labor, held a single lamb in his arms.

"One day, they chose to make an offering to God. Abel brought a humble offering from his flock, but Cain was prideful. 'I am the elder brother, so I should be honored above Abel,' He thought. He arranged an extravagant feast, bringing fine wine and sweet fruit to impress God and prove that he was the better brother, but God refused his vain offering, giving his favor to meek Abel."

The next page showed Cain raising a gnarled club above his head, his eyes wide with anger, while Abel knelt on the ground, begging for mercy.

"Cain was furious, and murdered Abel in a fit of rage."

The page after that showed Cain surrounded by angry townsfolk, holding a small child in his arms. The beautiful orchards had become withered and dry, and the animals were thin and sickly.

"When God saw what Cain had done, he cast a terrible curse over him. Cain's gardens died, and all his friends turned their backs on him. The only living thing that would not rebuke him was his baby daughter, Adan, and so she was cursed with him."

The last page showed Cain departing from the dying land.

"In the end, Cain was sent away to wander in loneliness far from human lands, taking only Adan with him," I finished.

"But why did Cain kill his brother over some stupid offering?" asked Dashie.

"Because sometimes good people forget who they are when they see something that they want badly enough," I answered. "It's easy to forget that having good friends is more important that having things or holding on to petty grudges. Be careful not to let that happen to you."

"Don't worry, Daddy. I don't have a brother to kill."

There was no bitterness in her tone. It was a completely innocent remark. I held my head in my hands and wondered, not for the first time, what the hell I was going to do with her. What kind of a life could I provide her here, locked away, unable to touch the world just beyond the walls? There were no goals to achieve in the house, no friends to make, no ambitions to realize. Would she die, withered away after years of confinement, with nothing to look back on but a meaningless existence that had accomplished nothing?

Dads are always supposed to know what to do, but I just felt like Atlas carrying the world on his shoulders.

A crash from downstairs interrupted my melancholy.

My parents had belonged to a white-nationalist terror cell, and had trained me in the art of combat at a young age.

"The Jews are gonna come for you someday, boy, and when they do, you'd better be ready," my father had said during one of our many marksmanship lessons before he and my mother had died in a fiery shootout with FBI agents. "You have to be able to rely on yourself. Anyone could be a Jew in disguise. The only thing in this world you can trust is your gun."

That's why when I heard the noise from downstairs, I wasted no time.

The racist ideology had never stuck with me, especially after Bridle Gossip, but I still retained the habit of keeping a gun in the house. I lived in a bad neighborhood, after all.

I reached under my bed and pulled out an AK-47 and two magazines full of armor-piercing tungsten carbide rounds. It had been my father's gun, purchased from a one-eyed Palestinian arms dealer back in the 80's.

"I need you to listen to me, Dashie," I said, loading a magazine of the so-called "cop killers" and unlocking the rifle's safety. "I have to go do something very noisy downstairs. Whatever happens, promise me that you'll stay quiet and hide under the bed, okay?"

"Kay," she replied, staring back at me with a blank look of complete non-comprehension. I wrapped her in my coat before kissing her on the forehead and sliding her under the bed.

I slipped out the open door, and started to creep downstairs. I kept a steady grip on my AK as I descended. If some crackhead had broken in to steal my Xbox, he was in for a nasty surprise.

Whoever it was wasn't being very subtle. I heard the noise of their commotion drifting up the stairs.

"I told you not to bring Chad!" a voice hissed. "It's hard enough to keep a low profile without that fat piece of shit breaking everything!"

"We need protection!" another voice retorted. "We're not the only ones looking for her, and if the horse shows up, then we'll need as much muscle as we can spare."

They came into view as I peered into the kitchen. There were five of them. They looked like hardcore Marilyn Manson fans who had wandered into a renaissance fair after seeing too many Clive Barker movies. They had pale skin covered in bizarre piercings and sinister tattoos, and they were dressed in black robes.

"You LARPers have got ten seconds to drop whatever you've stolen and get the fuck out of my house," I growled.

They laughed, and their eyes began to flicker with a sickly yellow light.

"We've come for the Element of Loyalty," said their leader. "Be a good little loving and tolerant brony and hand her over or we shall inflict such unspeakable tortures upon you that even the damned souls of Hell will weep in pity of your suffering!"

"I'll love and tolerate your deaths!" I yelled, squeezing the trigger.

I caught three of them in my line of fire as the other two dove for cover. Blood gushed everywhere as I mowed them down. The bullets ripped through them with such force that intestines and pieces of shredded organs spilled out onto the linoleum tiles. They slumped to the floor, bleeding and riddled with bullet holes.

An deep, guttural roar sounded from the living room, accompanied by thunderous footsteps. I whipped my head around and saw an eight foot tall, 400 pound zombie storm into the kitchen, its giant, rotting man-breasts jiggling with fury. It had been sent to guard the front door, and had returned when it felt its masters depart from the mortal plain.

"Get him, Chad!" the remaining wizards yelled.

I pissed myself in terror as Chad bore down on me.

I fired wildly, obliterating the corpse-man's titties in a spray of red-brown muck, but it carried on through my attack like a charging bull. The AK slipped from my hands as the obese zombie drove its meaty fist into my chest, sending me flying backward into the counter with a painful thud. I coughed, feeling like I'd just been hit by a sledgehammer.

The necromancers laughed and cheered as the zombie proceeded to kick my ass all over the kitchen. It slammed me against the stove and grabbed me roughly by the neck, raising me up to its mouth. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as the zombie opened it's maw, exposing crooked black teeth that promised an agonizing death. I felt lightheaded, and black spots flickered at the edge of my vision as I struggled to draw a breath through the zombie's grip. I could feel its rancid breath on my face, and I smelled the stench of rot and methane. My aching body was too weak to pull out of the zombie's grasp. I prayed to whatever gods might be listening that I would pass out from oxygen depravation before Chad could eat my face.

"I'm sorry, Dashie," I thought. "I'm just not strong enough."

There would be no more story time for Dashie. In my mind's eye I saw Chad eating her, crushing her bones between its rotten teeth as she screamed in agony, calling for a father who would never come.

"No!"

"You can't have her!" I croaked.

A rush of adrenaline shot through my body, and I flailed my hands around, searching desperately for anything that could help me. A spark of hope ignited in my chest as my hand closed around a hard, shapeless lump. It was a potato, and I shoved it in Chad's mouth. The zombie's jaw worked furiously, but it couldn't bite through the spud quickly enough. It let go of me, its one-track mind now focussed solely on freeing its maw. I took a ragged breath of not-so-fresh air and grabbed a frying pan off the stove, smashing the zombie's jaw clean off in a shower of bloody, broken teeth with a single swing, exposing its gurgling neck hole.

I dropped the frying pan and grabbed a large wooden spoon from a drawer, lighting it on the stove.

"You hungry, fatass?" I asked, shoving the burning spoon into Chad's neck hole. "Eat this!"

The noxious gasses inside the zombie's bloated body ignited, and its belly burst with a wet splash. A geyser of putrid cadaver sludge erupted at me as corpse-man was sent flying backward, landing with massive thud that shook the whole house. I had thought that Chad's breath had smelled utterly disgusting, but that had been like the sweet scent of an embracing lover compared to the onslaught of nose-rape that was released in that instant. It was half-burnt grave rot bacteria juices and sick plague-corpse maggot lumps wallowing in the festered ichor of a stagnant digestive tract which had long since shuffled off this mortal coil.

I fell to my knees and began heaving up a thick fountain of chunky vomit, splattering the stove with flying jets of juicy, brown puke-slime as I struggled to pull myself up.

"That was the… " began one of the magicians before he was overcome with his own puking spree. "HUUAARK ... that was The Murderer's best zombie, you horsefucker!" he finally managed.

The two magi snarled with fury as the light in their eyes burned brighter. I managed to throw myself to the side as they unleashed bolts of killing magic from their eyes, which burst into flames against the wall. I grabbed a meat cleaver from my knife rack and threw it overhand. It spun through the air before embedding itself in the nearest sorcerer's crotch. The magician pitched forward, clutching at the bloody ruins of his wizard staff and philosopher's stones while screaming so violently that cocaine shot out of his nose. He face planted on the floor so hard that he knocked himself out and broke his nose with a sickening, wet crunch. He swiftly drowned in a pool of his own nose blood.

The last wizard fired another bolt of sorcery at me, but I reflected it back at his head with a shiny pot. It melted his face and sent him stumbling backward into the sink. One of his hands became stuck in the garbage disposal. He hit the faucet with his free hand as flailed about, and the water turned on.

"Who sent you?!" I demanded, gasping for breath.

"My master will throw your soul to the Hell Rapists, brony!" he shrieked, splashing water all over himself as he struggled to free his hand. "Your ass will never know peace again!"

I grabbed a toaster, plugged it into the wall socket, and set it to "dark."

"You're toast, motherfucker!" I yelled as slid the toaster across the counter into the sink.

"AAAAAAAAAAHHHH!" he screamed as electricity crackled through his body.

The electricity reacted violently with the evil magic coursing through his veins, and his entire body exploded into a cloud of burning gore, showering the kitchen in bloody chunks of sticky meat and brain matter. The smoke alarm went off.

I retrieved my AK from the muck, breathing heavily as I popped out the spent magazine and slid in the spare one. I stood still for several seconds, not sure what to do next. Should I call the police? My entire kitchen was covered in blood, vomit, liquified brains, and mutilated corpses. What would I say had happened here? That a bunch of evil wizards broke into my house and tried to steal my magic pony?

I always figured that I'd have to deal with a burglar some day, but this was quite a bit more than I had been prepared for. My brain tried feebly to unravel the surreally of the situation before giving up.

The blare of the smoke alarm was beginning to annoy me, so I shot it.

I thought I'd be too vulnerable in the shower, so I decided to go upstairs and clean myself off with a towel, figuring that maybe I'd think of something once I had wiped off most of the wizard guts.

No sooner had I turned than the bodies of my victims suddenly began to thrash and convulse. Muscles tore themselves free from the bones and slithered across the floor in sticky strands. They gathered into a writhing mass, twisting together to form the figure of a gigantic man.

"No," I whimpered. A muscle under my left eye began twitching as I felt the last shreds of my sanity depart. "No, no, no, no…"

"Oh, you Americans are just too much fun!" he exclaimed. "You're always shooting or punching or arresting each other. I always forget how entertaining you all are whenever I'm away."

"Listen, Mr. meat-man, I'm having a really shitty night. Is there any possibility of you just going away?" I pleaded, slowly backing away.

"Oh, no, no, no!" he replied. "I know I make it look easy, but manifesting myself like this is very difficult, I assure you. I'm not leaving until my business is finished. They call me The Murderer here, and that little pony of yours has been a thorn in my side for a long time. Why lead a boring life in a dead city when you could march at the head of an army set conquer the universe? Hand her over and join me, and I will grant you incredible power! It'll be fun!"

"Join you? You're a psychopath!" I said, wiping a trickle of brains out of my eyes.

The Murderer frowned.

"You're made of sterner stuff than I imagined, brony. The way you dispatched my necromancers was quite impressive. I'd fire them if they weren't already burning in Hell."

He held out a bloody hand.

"You'd make a fine lieutenant in my army. I could teach you the secrets of death. You'd have power beyond your wildest dreams! Are you telling me that you would honestly rather spend your life changing a horse's diapers?"

"Dashie uses the big potty, and there's no greater power in the universe than friendship," I replied.

"Ugh! Spare me!" The Murderer grunted in frustration. "You bronies are always so dreadfully self-righteous." His fingers began stretching out at me, becoming barbed tentacles. "Oh well, time to die!"

I fired a short burst into the meat-man, but instantly saw that it was useless. He was already made of shreds. Putting a few more holes in him made no difference. I dashed out of the kitchen and hurried back up the stairs, diving at the last moment. I heard the tendrils whoosh over me, embedding themselves in the wall. I didn't waste time watching the fingers pull themselves out. I scrambled into the bedroom, slamming the door behind me. The wood splintered as The Murderer's fingers forced their way through, swaying in the air as they felt blindly for me.

"Change of plan, Dashie!"

I yanked her out from under the bed by her tail.

"We're going for a walk!"

I dropped the rifle and tucked the tiny pegasus, still wrapped in my coat, under my arm.

"Daddy, why is there a big pillow with a picture of me in socks on it under there? And why is it so stinky?" she asked.

"You're too young to know about that," I replied.

I charged at the window and jumped, smashing through it shoulder first and rolling on the shingled awning over my porch for a second or two before I plummeted to the muddy ground of my front yard. It hurt like hell when I landed, and it would hurt even worse if I lived to see morning, but nothing felt broken, so I staggered to my feet.

"There's nowhere you can hide!" The Murderer called from inside the house. "My spirit is strong in this world!"

I fled with no destination, the only thought in my mind was to put as much distance between me and the house as possible. I could already hear the slap of the meat-man's slimy feet following me.

I ran, carrying Dashie out into the dying city I had worked so hard to protect her from. Earth isn't like Equestria. It's not safe and bright and cheerful, and its monster's can't be stopped by a stern telling-off. It's filled with darkness and cruelty, and we all have a little bit of The Murderer in us.

A dead raccoon crawled out of a storm drain ahead of me and burst, unraveling a shower of stringy muscles at me.

I ducked the muscles, but it was the delay that the meat-man needed. I spared a quick glance over my shoulder, and saw his fingers stretching toward me once again. This time he didn't miss.

My heart exploded.

I looked down, and saw the five tendrils sticking out of my chest. I fell to the hard asphalt in front of a parked car, and Dashie tumbled from my arm.

"Daddy!"

She grabbed my sleeve in her teeth, and tugged weekly at it as if trying to drag me back up.

"Go!" I choked, waving her away. The coat slid off her as she scrambled off into the night.

The slap of the meat-man's footsteps came closer, stopping just in front of me.

"Oh no. And you were doing so well," he mocked. Strips of flesh slithered away from his feet, slicing and pulling the muscles of my legs. Soon, I would join Chad and the five necromancers as part of his horrible body.

"You cannot save her from me! Once I send the Elements of Harmony to Hell, I will be able to take my revenge, and neither man, nor pony, nor God himself will be able to stop me!"

I felt through the coat's pockets as the world grew cold, withdrawing a lighter and a serrated combat knife in a hard leather sheath.

"Look at you!" he sneered. "Even in your last moments, you still think you can defy me. What a shame that you would chose to use your strength to fight for such a worthless cause as friendship."

"You're wrong!" I grunted.

I pulled the knife out of its sheath and, with the last of my strength, drove the blade into the car's fuel tank. Gasoline gushed out, splashing on the ground and mixing with my pooling blood.

I flicked the lighter and closed my eyes.

"Friendship is magic!"

The gasoline ignited instantly, and the car exploded, erupting into a gigantic fireball with an echoing boom. The Murderer howled with fury as we were engulfed in a cloud of flames and burning shrapnel.

A single flaming wheel rolled slowly away from the blazing wreckage.

***

"Vake up soldier!"

Someone was barking at me in a cheesy, over-the-top German accent.

I pushed myself upright and opened my eyes.

I was standing in a gloomy tent, lit only by a single flickering lamp. The speaker was wearing an old-fashioned German military uniform, complete with a swastika armband. I easily recognized it from the many photographs of my Nazi ancestors that my parents had kept in our safe. A quick glance at myself told me I was wearing the same, albeit of lower rank.

"Vot is your name?" he demanded.

"Konrad . . . Konrad Deeter."

"Vell, Deeter, you had better get out zere!" he said, pointing to the tent flap. "Ze Russians vill be here any minute!"

"Wait!" I protested. "I'm not a soldier! The war ended decades ago!"

"Zis is Hell, Deeter!" he shouted. "Everyvone is a soldier here, and ze var von't end unless ve save Berlin! Now move, you dog!"

I followed him out into the battlefield, hoping that I'd managed to save my little Dashie from a similar fate.

***

Author's Note:

I'm trying something a little different with this chapter. I'm worried that it wasn't violent or silly enough, but I felt it was necessary to do it in this way to kick off the new storyline. Also, switching from 3rd to 1st person is not a very correct thing to do, but hopefully that won't cause too many problems.

The reason for my big delay was partially college work load, and partially hideous eye infection. Chapters will hopefully be coming out at a more reasonable rate now that Summer is here.

I actually did have a chapter two written quite awhile ago, but I decided not to post it because it sucked. The villain was just an OC pony, the story was going to have nothing more to do with Hell and the Judeo-Christian mythos, and all the violence was against either non-living creatures or Lyra and Bon Bon. After writing chapter two, I decided that it wasn't good enough. Better to take longer and make it good than to quickly churn out a bunch of poop, right? The direction of the story needed to be changed, and more, better villains had to come. That gave me the freedom to have even more flavors of hideously awful violence, wether involving Lyra and Bon Bon or otherwise.

I read through the bible to find a new villain (yes, I actually did research to write this piece of shit), but there wasn't much in the way of selection. It's pretty much just Satan, and only because God lets him get away with stuff. Everyone else is God's punching bag. Luckily, I've played Vampire: The Masquerade: Bloodlines (somewhere, somebody just started re-installing that game), so I was able to get a bit of inspiration.

My favorite bible verse is Ezekiel 23:19-21:

"Yet she became more and more promiscuous as she recalled the days of her youth, when she was a prostitute in Egypt. There she lusted after her lovers, whose genitals were like those of donkeys and whose emission was like that of horses. So you longed for the lewdness of your youth, when in Egypt your bosom was caressed and your young breasts fondled."

I don't have anything to say about it. I just wanted to share it with you.

Stay tuned, more grimderp pony action is on the way!