Berry Punch Adventutes

"What a fitting end for Berry Punch; dying alone in a pool of cheap gutrot."

Berry said nothing. She stared blankly into her empty shot glass as the four Changelings slowly made their way through the deserted barroom to surrounded her. Their black cloaks marked them as assassins of the Umbral Eyes, the most secret order of Changeling spies.

Their leader gestured for one to stand by the door, while his remaining two lackeys took up the stools on either side of Berry, black blades drawn.

The leader

Berry sat slumped, weakly out of half-lidded, bloodshot eyes. A bent cigarette hung limply from her lips.

"Aww, it seems my little runaway , but no matter.

"You've had your fun, Pony, but no one escapes from the dungeons of Shamballa," the lead Changelings said, leaning in and holding a gleaming, black dagger to her throat.

"Do you have any last words before I gut you, pony?" the changeling hissed.

"Can I have one last drink?" Berry said without looking up.

A maniacal grin split the lead assassin's face.

"Ha! Hahaha! Yes, yes! Drink up, Berry Punch! It's all you were ever good at!"

Berry refilled her glass with an unsteady hoof, and knocked back a last shot of Wild Turkey. She was too far gone to even feel the foul drink burning her throat anymore.

"You know what my second-favorite thing about alcohol is?" she rasped.

"What?" the changeling asked, leaning in close with a smile.

"It get's you pissing drunk."

There was a pause.

"What's your first-favorite thing about alcohol, then?"

"It's flammable."

Berry spun around on her stool and slammed both hooves into her gut with all her might. She puked half-digested alcohol through her cigarette, which ignited into a spray of white-hot, fiery, liquid vomit which splattered all over the changeling's face.

"EEEEAAAAAUGH!"

His face began to boil and melt off of his skull into a bloody slurry on the floor, and his eyeballs swelled from the heat and burst like bloody water balloons, spraying gory jelly into Berry's face and open mouth. He screamed in such unspeakable pain that his vocal cords shredded, and he gurgled to death on his own blood.

With one hoof, she shoved him to the left, knocking the assassin sitting there off of his stool. With the other, she snatched the half-empty bottle of Wild Turkey off of the bar as the changeling to her right swung his sword. Berry leaned inside the swing and brought the bottle of down on his head with a deafening crash. His elbow thudded uselessly against her shoulder as glass shards rained down around them, and he fell into a coma and never recovered. Berry twisted around in her seat as the third changeling pushed his burning companion away, and shanked him in the gut seven times with the jagged point of her broken bottle.

As he collapsed on the floor, Berry plunged her hooves into the gaping, bloody hole she had carved in his stomach, and pulled out his heart. She held the still-beating heart in her hoof for a moment, staring down at her assailant.

"You die a faggot," she said, and shoved the assassin's heart elbow-deep up his own ass. He died a horrible, slow death, jizzing uncontrollably in a pool of his own blood.

The assassin standing by the door stood frozen in shock for a moment, then ran for it.