Equestrylvania: Cradle of Ruin

by Brony_Fife

Rating: mature
Tags: Dark, Adventure, Crossover
Length: 33179

After Dracula's forces kidnap Princess Cadance, it's up to Rainbow Dash to rescue her from the ruins of Canterlot. Can she rescue her in time, or will she be too late?

Canterlot is lost.

The moment Celestia's castle was whisked away and replaced with Dracula's own, much of Equestria went with it. Deep within the twisted remains of Equestria's capital, the Princess Cadance is held captive.

Rainbow Dash's mission? To get in, rescue Princess Cadance, and get out.

Easier said than done.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-10-10 04:08:23 UTC

Piercing Silence

Piercing Silence

A lonely wind meanders through Canterlot’s once-proud streets, indolently batting about small debris and garbage, a sickening chill cloaking its shoulders. The buildings all stand in mournful silence, their lusters lost, their innocence traded for an emptiness that grows like kudzu. Celestia’s star is nowhere to be seen; although it is still daylight, the matrimony of the ashen clouds above and the fog crawling along the streets below produce their own fearsome atmosphere.

Overlooking Lost Canterlot is the ominous Castle that began all this madness, tall and dark, clawing forever upward. Between the heaving fog and the whispering wind, the Castle is merely a vague black shape—but it watches them. Rainbow Dash can feel it. No eyes. Yet it stares. It knows they are here, and mockingly, it welcomes them to its new residence.

She can’t say she likes what it’s done with the place.

“Okay,” she says quietly, her breath coming out in cold clouds. “We’re here.”

Shatterstorm observes the new surroundings, this ghost city, in all its emptiness and eerie serenity. “This close to the Castle, there’s bound to be some powerful monsters. Stay alert.”

“Hey, thanks for the protip, Captain Obvious,” Rainbow Dash says glibly. “What would I do without you?”

Shatterstorm scowls. Harrumphs.

“So, anyway,” she continues, “the plan’s to get to the Hospital first. I dunno why you wanted for us to land; we could probably just fly there from here.”

Shatterstorm looks upward, head tilted at an analytical angle. There’s a storm gathering above; he can feel its presence. Despite the lack of any telltale signs—rainfall, lightning, the booming of thunder—something deep inside him prickles at his senses. It’s a feeling not unlike the gradual awareness that you are becoming sick. He looks to his partner and shakes his head.

“Not even two steps into Canterlot and you’re already set on killing yourself,” he sighs.

Rainbow Dash smirks. “Shatters. I have wings. You have wings. I say we use ’em.”

“It isn’t about if we can fly, it’s about whether or not we should.” He waves a hoof as if to present their surroundings. “We’d be more visible to the enemy in the air. We need to play it safe.”

She rolls her eyes. Sighs. Shakes her head. “So? I’m a fast flyer; this’ll only take like a second.”

“And what about the monsters I apparently didn’t need to tell you about?” Shatterstorm asks, his voice more solid and biting. “Did you already forget what Actrise was capable of? We don’t need more nasty surprises.”

Rainbow Dash waves a hoof. “Dracula’s out of surprises! We’re prepared this time.” She scoffs. “At least, I know I am.”

A pause. “…You think you’re so tough,” Shatterstorm grunts, scowling. “Dracula and his minions aren’t a joke.” He turns, his hooves clopping against Canterlot’s cobblestone road. “Be serious about this mission. It’s pretty sad I have to tell you that.”

“Don’t lecture me!” Rainbow Dash says irritably, shaking her head and following Shatterstorm. “I’m just naming some good ideas. Heck, why don’t we just raid the Castle now and put an end to this? It’d be easier, right?”

“That’s not what we’re here to do,” Shatterstorm says impatiently as they pass by some ruined buildings. He recognizes one as the coffee shop he and some of his squadmates would visit while off duty. “We’re here to investigate where they’ve taken the Princess.”

Rainbow Dash groans. “Am I the only one who thinks that Princess Cadance is being held in the Castle itself? Like, big castle? Kidnapped princess? It’s so obvious! Dracula might as well put neon signs all over the windows: ‘KIDNAPPED PRINCESSES: TWO FOR ONE DEAL.’”

She catches a smirk dancing across Shatterstorm’s lips before he puts it away. “You’ve been watching too many action movies. That’s too obvious a solution—or were you asleep during Miss Sparkle’s briefing?”

“I just think you guys are over-thinking this,” Rainbow Dash sniffs, stepping over some debris. “Dracula’s overconfident at this point. He won’t be expecting just two pegasi to sneak into his castle.”

“‘The most obvious solution to a situation set up by your enemies is always a trap’,” Shatterstorm quotes. “General Winter.”

“General who?”

“General Winter,” Shatterstorm repeats, taking a left at the corner. “He was a general and philosopher. Wrote a lot about strategy and warfare.” He pauses, taking the moment to look around. “Of course,” he adds snidely, “if you actually read books, you’d know that.”

“Hey, I read books!”

The mental image of Rainbow Dash actually sitting down and reading a book pops into Shatterstorm’s mind, twisting his lips into a smirk that threatens to burst into a laugh. “Oh, really? Which ones?” He rolls his eyes, expecting her to name some silly comic book or trashy “young adult” novel.

I read Daring Do!” she announces with a proud smile. “I’ve read each book in the series cover-to-cover three times!”

Shatterstorm turns to her suddenly, his eyes sparkling in admiration as a boyish smile lights up his whole face. “I loved Daring Do!” he says in an uncharacteristic squeal.

“Really?!” Rainbow Dash says, sharing Shatterstorm’s starry-eyed fangasm.

He blows a huff of hot air. “Yeah... when I was ten.” He turns around, a mean smirk on his lips and a mischievous look in his eyes, as he continues down the street. “Lemme know when you’re ready to read books meant for us grown-ups.”

Rainbow Dash’s face distorts into a puckered glare. She growls, but elects to leave this fight where it lies and follows him until they’re once again next to each other. The fog only thickens, as does the unsettling silence. Cautiously, they walk along as Canterlot closes its mouth around them.

Empty, quiet hooffalls echo in the empty, quiet city. They pass by a couple buildings before Shatterstorm notices that Rainbow Dash has fallen silent. An aside glance reveals she is no longer beside him. He quickly turns his head, catching the only colors amidst this now-dreary, fog-stained street. She’s turned to look at something—frozen in place, face pale, eyes wide, and lips thin. Immediately, Shatterstorm rushes to her side and whispers, “What’s wrong?”

Rainbow Dash points. Shatterstorm follows her hoof.

His breath is stolen.

A wall is scribbled with mad warnings and feverish images. Black chalk barks at anypony whose fool eyes fall upon it. Warnings. Repeating. Spiraling. Screaming.

You Too Shall Be My Puppet, warns the wall.

YOU TOO SHALL BE MY PUPPET, shrieks the wall.

yOu ToO shA LL bE M y PuPPE t, sobs the wall.

The warnings on the wall become more hastened, less controlled, more jumbled, less coherent. Scribbled eyes accompany the warnings, gazing deeply into their two witnesses. It all forms almost a mass near the bottom, finally descending into a single black line that drags from one end of the wall to the other, the chalk that was used to write this madness now rattling on the cold ground as the slow wind bats at it in boredom.

There, nestled in a heap below the warning and not even a few inches away from the chalk, is a puppet the size of a full-grown pony. Its four wooden legs are splayed recklessly, as if it were simply dropped without a care. The detail to its face is stunning and eerie, frozen in a crumpled expression of terror—eyes wide, lips red and twisted.

Rainbow Dash bites her bottom lip and exhales slowly. She looks aside at Shatterstorm. “Y-You sure that hoofin’ it’s gonna be easier than flying to the Hospital?”

“Never said it was gonna be easier,” Shatterstorm says quietly. “I just said it’d be safer.”

Rainbow Dash cocks her head to this morbid scene before them. “By how much?”

Shatterstorm looks up at the ashen sky. Despite the horrible thing they’ve found on the ground, he still feels that there’s something even worse up there. Something that refuses to makes its presence known yet. It watches. It watches, and it waits.

“Enough to make a difference,” he says quickly.

Rainbow Dash opens her mouth to argue, but Shatterstorm is quick to shoot her down. “Just trust me on this one, OK? Do you trust me?”

Silence. Rainbow Dash nods solemnly. “…Let’s just go.”

They leave, stealing down another street. The stick of black chalk is stroked by the wind, rolling further into the indecipherable fog.

“You sure this is the way?” Rainbow Dash asks.

“I’m absolutely sure,” Shatterstorm replies.

The fog is thickening—so thick that Shatterstorm can barely make out the many colors of Rainbow Dash’s namesake mane, despite that she’s at most three feet away from him. The buildings have become the same unrecognizable walls of gravy on either side, with any bushes, trees, benches, and other street occupants becoming nothing more than vague grey blotches.

The two stop. Shatterstorm reaches into his saddlebags and takes out his map, looking it over in frustration. It’s too foggy to even read it.

“…We’re lost, aren’t we?” Rainbow Dash says flatly.

Shatterstorm scowls at her—not that she can see it.

“It’s because of the fog,” he says, putting the map away.

“I’ll take that as an invitation,” Rainbow Dash says. She flaps her wings.

Before Shatterstorm can demand she stay grounded, the fog around them is pushed away. Every flap of her wings swats the fog away for a few good feet. Shatterstorm catches onto her idea and unfurls his own wings. Within a few flaps, visibility is restored—for twelve feet ahead, anyway.

“Why didn’t we think to do this before?” asks Shatterstorm quietly.

“Sorry,” Rainbow Dash smirks. “Got too busy getting creeped out by an eerily empty city.”

Shatterstorm ignores Rainbow Dash’s retort, and takes in their immediate surroundings. “Okay,” he says. “We’re gonna walk down this street and reach the plaza. We’ll know we’re there when we see the fountain with a statue of the royal sisters. From there, we’ll go down Bodeley Avenue, which takes us west.”

Along they go, occasionally flapping their wings to dust away the filth of fog. Not another word is exchanged between the two, both now much more alert thanks to the puppet’s warning.

Of all the weirdness that’s happened so far, it’s the emptiness of the town that unnerves Rainbow Dash most. Most other times she’d been here, the place was just alive, with ponies bustling, the sounds of conversations all merging into one oceanlike sound, the sun shining overhead. She recognizes this street. Some months ago—maybe even just a week and a half ago—there’d been foals playing around on the cobblestone, while their parents sat nearby, reading newspapers and shooting the breeze. It all feels so surreal.

Breaking the silence like an explosion comes an ominous howl from far away. It’s a piercing wolf howl, slightly distorted, warbling as the light and visibility of Canterlot slowly ebbs away.

“…Scared?” asks Shatterstorm, a bit shaken himself.

Rainbow Dash only realizes the moment Shatterstorm speaks that she’s holding onto him like he’s a comfort blanket. She pushes him away. “A-As if!” she lies.

Shatterstorm dusts himself off in a way he hopes doesn’t look nervous. Off in the distance, a door claps shut, causing them both to flinch. They stare wide-eyed in the direction of the sound.

Slow creaking above. They look up sharply and are met by a pub’s sign pushed by the cold wind.

Leaves rustle, blown across the street by the wind picking up.

Something small drops to the cobblestone with a muted plink.

Every sound seems intensely magnified by the silence they periodically break.

Gingerly, the two ponies walk forth to the plaza. They take as careful steps as they can, their rhythmic clip-clop-clip-clop barely audible. Finally, the fountain depicting the royal sisters comes into view. As if it’s an oasis in a desert, Shatterstorm and Rainbow Dash rush to the fountain, gliding slightly over the ground and landing quietly beneath the effigy of the sisters.

Rainbow Dash takes note of her fast breathing. Shatterstorm’s as well. His face is caked with beads of cold sweat. A wipe of her hoof on her own brow reveals the same for her.   She gulps, only now noticing how quickly her heart is racing, how hard it pounds against her chest. Part of her honestly wishes something would just jump out at them already; the terror building inside her is too much.

Shatterstorm takes out his map as he sits on the park bench in front of the statue. He sits up suddenly. “What’s wrong?” Rainbow Dash asks in near-panic.

He looks aside at her. Then he smiles sheepishly as he reaches underneath himself and pulls out a piece of paper. “I just sat on something,” he whispers. “False alarm.”

On the paper, there is noticeable writing, but with the fog and the waning daylight, it’s difficult to read.  Rainbow Dash reaches into her saddlebags and brings out an oil lamp. Shatterstorm raises an eyebrow as she lights it and brings it over his shoulder, spreading visibility over the paper.

He reads it aloud in a whisper:

To whoever finds this:

I’m sorry I had to return to this place… its not like I wanted too. But there’s somepony in trouble—life and death. We all evacuated but she didn’t get out with us before all communication stopped with Canterlot. I can’t call myself her best friend if I was to scared to look for her. So I’m back in here doing just that.

I wish I could say something cool, like I hid weapons somewhere or something, but this is’nt that kind of message. Sorry for not bing able to help you!!

If I never return from this place, I’m sorry.

Good bye.

Shatterstorm puts the letter in his saddlebag, but says nothing. He sighs and resumes looking at his map.

Rainbow Dash looks at him curiously. “…Shatterstorm?”

“What?”

“…You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he replies, a little too quickly, his voice cracking at fine. He traces a hoof down the map. “We go down Bodeley until we see the Wonderhorse Theatre. From there, we go north. Can’t miss it.”

He looks up to see Rainbow Dash biting her lower lip in thought. “What?”

She looks to him, her eyes expectant. “…That note.”

“Don’t even suggest it,” Shatterstorm warns. “We have enough on our plate as it is. We can’t just… go play hero in a place... where…” His voice trails off as his ear perks.

Rainbow Dash is about to ask him what’s wrong… until she hears what he does.

A small whine. Like static from a radio.

Both pegasi turn their heads to the sound. There, amidst some rubbish, is a small battery-powered radio, likely dropped by looters. The static it produces grows in volume, going from a slight whine to crackling screams.

The hairs on the back of Rainbow Dash’s neck stand on end. Her eyes dart around, terrified of what they might land on. Surprisingly, she finds nothing.

The radio static cuts out abruptly.

For nearly a minute, all the two pegasi can hear are their own heartbeats. “…You think the batteries died?” Rainbow Dash asks, hoping her statement comes off as a wry joke.

She gets no response from Shatterstorm. Rainbow Dash turns her head

and finds Shatterstorm staring, his mind kidnapped by terror, at a large figure looming right next to them. Thanks to the light cast from the oil lamp, Rainbow Dash can make out its face: lupine and hoary, with long black wisps of hair protruding into every direction. A pair of beady eyes glisten wetly like a pair of silver coins at the bottom of a well. Its massive maw—easily big enough to envelop a pony’s head—opens slowly to reveal rows of teeth sharp as needles and breath as hot and toxic as a dragon’s.

The moment the beast realizes it had its preys’ attention, its mouth springs open and lets loose the same loud howl they’d heard only a few minutes ago. The beast makes an announcement: its hunt is now on.

In response, the only thing the two pegasi could do was run for their lives, Rainbow Dash dropping the oil lamp as they flee, the oil lamp breaking with a loud pop and setting the ground it fell upon in flames. As they both run, Rainbow Dash steals a look behind her, and sees the giant wolf stepping through those flames, its mouth twisted into a fanged grin, its eyes steeled, the tongues of flame whipping and flailing around its legs.

Then it bounds.

The Wolf Revealed ~Part I~

The Wolf Revealed, Part I

Their plan to head down Bodeley gone from their minds (as well as Shatterstorm’s warning about not flying), the two pegasi bolt from the wolf, pumping their wings with all their might to get above Lost Canterlot’s streets, away where it can’t reach them.

As he follows Rainbow Dash’s lead, Shatterstorm’s heart shakes his chest with every beat of his wings. His teeth clench of their own accord. Tears of terror mass around his eyes.

Then he sees it.

It’s still too foggy to see, and the dying light distorts everything further. But Shatterstorm swears up and down that he sees it. There’s something sitting on a nearby spire—a spire from the nearby church—something black and scrawny, with a creamy-white face and dark, wet eyes. The sounds of crow-cackles echo as little black things gather around this creature.

Its creamy-white face is turned in Shatterstorm’s and Rainbow Dash’s direction.

Don’t look.

The dark, wet eyes narrow.

Don’t look!

It watches them. Has been since they arrived.

She feels a hoof wrap around her back—then forced descent onto a building—then landing—then being rushed behind a rising roof—then being thrust ahead—then being pulled down—then  Shatterstorm harshly whispering in her ear, “Siddown and shuddup!”

Even from up here, Rainbow Dash can hear its growling, feel its heavy footsteps. How in Tartarus a beast like this could have been quiet enough to sneak up on them is beyond her.

The beast grows quiet.

Then they hear—no, feel—the entire building shake.

Shatterstorm lets go of Rainbow Dash and whispers, “RUN.”

The wolf shoots up over the side of the building, its huge mouth open and hungry. Rainbow Dash unfurls her wings to fly away again, only for Shatterstorm to bite her tail and take off running, yanking her along with him. “I said run, not fly!” he yelled.

Rainbow Dash thinks to yell a retort, but her voice and thoughts are swallowed by the wolf’s piercing howl behind them. Her legs find the rooftop beneath her and immediately pound it, propelling her forward, the wind whipping her mane and tail with every step.

The giant wolf closes in on its prey, foaming drool and knife-like tongue spinning wildly in its cavernous mouth. It emits a hungry hiss, almost able to taste the oceanic-colored one in front of it. With a sound like two pieces of metal clamping shut, its mouth bites down on Shatterstorm’s tail, yanking him off his hooves.

With a slight hook of its neck, the wolf pulls Shatterstorm into the air, then slams him hard enough to leave an indention on the roof. It repeats a few times, jiggling Shatterstorm’s insides, using enough force to have broken the neck of most ponies, but the most it gets out of Shatterstorm is a few bruises.

Rainbow Dash leaps to the next building, but stops as she hears Shatterstorm cry out in pain. She turns her head, and through the fog sees the faded outline of the wolf, jerking its head to and fro with something pony-shaped in its mouth jerking about spastically.

Without so much as a blink’s hesitation, Rainbow Dash turns back and, with a flap of her wings, shoots straight for the wolf, speeding back over to the previous building. “Get your filthy paws OFF him!” she barks as she turns around. Her hind legs may be no Bucky McGillicuddy or Kicks McGee like Applejack’s, but they leave impressions on the wolf’s face either way.

Stunned, the wolf staggers back a few steps as Shatterstorm is dropped onto the rooftop. Rainbow Dash thrusts a hoof out to help him back up, only for Shatterstorm to smack it away and stand up himself. Shatterstorm only realizes he’d smacked her hoof away after she sneers at him.

“You’re welcome,” Rainbow Dash shoots snidely.

There’s not much time for Shatterstorm to work up a counter or apology; the wolf regains its bearings and growls, the rooftop shuddering from the sound.

“Get ready!” Shatterstorm says. “Here it comes!”

The wolf bounds for them, its mighty stride shaking the entire building, the rooftop beneath Rainbow Dash’s hooves rumbling perilously. She and Shatterstorm get ready to jump it as it lunges, ready to shoot down as it flies beneath them, ready to…

The two pegasi raise eyebrows as the giant wolf suddenly flops down on its side with a yelp and a thunderous crash, sliding to a stop just in front of them.

Rainbow Dash, unsure of what the heck just happened, finally gets a good look at the wolf’s face. Its terrifying, predatory grimace morphs into a vulnerable, weak look of shock, a small, puppylike whine escaping its lips. Its wide, frightened eyes slowly lose focus… roll upwards slowly… then close.

“What in…?” she asks. Then she notices the small, white dart in the wolf’s side.

“We got it!” cries a voice from some distance away. The accent sounds Trottish.

“Great shot!” says another.

“Well,” replies the first voice as they grow closer, “they don’t call me ‘Eagle Eye’ fer nothin’!”

“…Eagle Eye?” asks Shatterstorm, snapping to attention suddenly.

Just as Rainbow Dash is about to ask Shatterstorm who that is, two gray shapes form in the fog. Shatterstorm cranes his neck forward. “Eagle Eye!” he calls.

The two figures stop. “…Shatterstorm?”

Shatterstorm breathes a sigh of relief. “Eagle Eye, yes, it’s me! Good grief—I thought you guys were dead!”

The two shapes come further from the fog until Rainbow Dash can make out details. One has a dirty purple mane, off-white pelt, a horn; the other guy has a dark curly mane and tail, grey pelt, wings. Of course, the fog’s still wrecking her view, but at least she can tell they’re ponies.

“Shatterstorm!” cries the unicorn (Eagle Eye, by the sounds of his Trottish accent). He gallops over, wrapping a foreleg over Shatterstorm, who flinches at first, but returns the hug anyway. “Great to see you again, you ole’ tosser! We thought’cha bit it back when all this came down!”

The other guy pokes the giant wolf cautiously. It twitches. Then lies still. He turns his head. “Hey, Professor!” he calls. “It looks like your paralysis medicine worked!”

“Paralysis?” comes another voice, resonating like thunder rumbling ominously in the distance. Rainbow Dash hears hooves hitting hard rooftop, gradually becoming louder until a large shape begins to form in the fog. “You’re cleary mistaken. What’s in that dart was a strong sedative. It’s meant to put her to sleep.”

The grey guy kicks the wolf. “I don’t see why we can’t just kill this thing,” he says. “It’s already eaten Night Flight and Dead Air.”

Finally, the deep voice has a form to be attached to. The blue pelt, the gold mane, the long horn, the smart clothes, classic handsome features, piercing green eyes behind a set of spectacles. The size of this guy. Rainbow Dash recognizes him right away from the magazine Twilight had.

“To kill her would be wasteful,” opines Roaring Yawn, stopping just in front of the Royal Guard. “We need her alive if I am to conduct any further research on lycanthropy and how it affects ponies.”

The grey Royal Guard looks at Roaring Yawn disbelievingly. Then he kicks the wolf. “She’s giant, hairy, and extremely violent. I’d say it affects ponies the same way it affects those weird apelike creatures from the Castle. Case closed.”

Roaring Yawn waves a hoof. “I’m not here to argue, Lieutenant Shakey. I’m here to bring in this specimen for study.”

“Yeah, yeah, study, study, study,” grumbles Shakey. “It’s always books and potions with you, Yawn.

“So. She must weigh, like, four times any of us. Not to mention she already destroyed our cage-carrier we were gonna put her in. How we gonna lug this bitch around?”

Almost at his words, the wolf begins to shrink. Her hair segues back into a normal, slate grey pelt, the deep black stripe that crowns her back becoming a wave of long, black mane, her even-longer, silkier tail spilling like ink all around her. Her body trades its lupine shape for an equine one, the paws closing into hooves, the snout shortening into a muzzle, the fangs curling into blunt teeth. The dark hair on her flanks reveals a treble clef for a cutie mark.

“...Does that answer your question?” asks Roaring Yawn.

Rainbow Dash gets a closer look at the thing that had been chasing them for the past twenty minutes. Her chest rises and falls slowly, rhythmically. A soft snore escapes her nostrils. She smacks her full lips in her sleep. It’s surreal that so pretty a mare could become so terrifying a monster.

“Here, let me carry her,” Shatterstorm volunteers.

“Whoa there, loverboy,” jokes Eagle Eye, “now’s no time to go crushin’ on dark beauties with terrible curses.”

Shatterstorm shoots Eagle Eye a smirk. “No, I mean, it’s been forever since I saw you guys. It’s great that the Royal Guard at least still exists.”

A pause. Eagle Eye smiles. Laughs. “What’s that got to do with her?” he asks, cocking his head to the once-was-a-wolf.

“I… just… wanna be useful,” Shatterstorm says with a shrug. He looks to Rainbow Dash. “Hey Dash, gimme a hoof here.”

Rainbow Dash is broken from her stupor; she nervously rubs a hoof against her temple while releasing a shaky sigh. Too much is happening at once, too much to take in. “Y-Yeah, just gimme a second.”

“Oh, what? Going too fast for you?” Shatterstorm snarks.

“Any slower and you’d be going backwards, Shatterdork,” Rainbow Dash shoots back as she gets on the other side of the unconscious mare. “You want my help or not?”

Shakey laughs, his eyes twinkling. “Ooh, she’s a fireball, this one! Where’d you get a catch like her, Shatterstorm?”

Rainbow Dash blushes as she sets the once-was-a-wolf on Shatterstorm’s back, his wings cupping the mystery mare’s body carefully. Shakey and Eagle Eye look at her with wide smiles, their eyes twinkling with expectation… and maybe something else.

“Catch?!” she snorts angrily. “H-He’s—”

“We met shortly after arriving in Ponyville,” Shatterstorm interrupts with a charming smile.

Rainbow Dash’s eyes widen, recoiling as Shatterstorm continues. “She and I ended up having a lot in common, so I asked her, y’know—”

Roaring Yawn groans and waves a hoof impatiently. “I’m sure your love story is quite compelling, but we must get going before the sun sets.”

Roaring Yawn and Eagle Eye ready their ropes to descend the building and head for the nearest edge. When she’s sure they’re far enough away, Rainbow Dash turns and gives Shatterstorm the mother of all death glares. “What. Was. That?” she growls.

“I’m just trying to protect you,” Shatterstorm whispers harshly.

“Protect me? By pretending to be my boyfriend?!”

“Not so loud, stupid!” he says, leaning in. “Didn’t you see the looks on their faces when they saw you?”

Rainbow Dash shrugs. “So they think I’m awesome. I have that effect on everypony.”

Cue facehoof. “That wasn’t awe!”

“Really? What else did you see?” Rainbow Dash asks earnestly.

Shatterstorm grinds his teeth, his blood boiling at Rainbow Dash’s complete genre blindness. “Awe!” he grumbles. “Not ‘all’, awe! A-W-E, awe! That was not awe in their eyes! I gotta spell this out on a chalkboard for ya?!”

“Hey, quit making out back there!” Shakey shouts with a laugh. “This is a G-rated mission! Let’s go!”

Rainbow Dash starts toward the group, then stops. She turns her head aside to Shatterstorm and whispers, “Just so you know, you’ll never be my boyfriend.”

“Lucky me,” Shatterstorm retorts as Rainbow Dash walks away. She stops when she doesn’t hear his hoofsteps behind her. Slowly, she cranes her neck behind her, catching Shatterstorm looking about the fog cautiously.

“What’s the holdup?” Rainbow Dash asks.

With a startled breath, Shatterstorm snaps to attention. In a way somehow both sheepish and arrogant, he trots along to catch up with everypony, not so much as offering any explanation as he walks by Rainbow Dash.

Rainbow Dash shrugs. “Fine,” she snorts as she trots along. “Be all mysterious.”

The fog grows thicker, the fast-fading sunlight coloring everything in dark dust. The visibility vanishes, and a milky darkness takes its place. Their trek back to base takes them through murky streets and past colorless, formless buildings.

“First things first,” Shatterstorm opens. “We need to know where Princess Cadance is.”

“Don’t worry,” Eagle Eye says. “She’s okay.”

Rainbow Dash pops an eyebrow. “Then what were those freaks doing with her crown?”

“It was a close one, for sure,” Eagle Eye replies, turning his head to look at Rainbow Dash. “We almost didn’t get away in time when they attacked the hospital! She lost her crown on our way out, and I guess those clowns must’ve found it.”

Rainbow Dash facehoofs. “Are you kidding me?! They punked us?!”

“Sounds like something they’d do,” Shatterstorm grumbles. “This was a trap, after all.”

“A trap?” Roaring Yawn asks. His sharp green eyes dart about as he puts two and two together. “For Twilight Sparkle, I take it?”

“You guessed it,” Rainbow Dash says as she carefully hovers over the street, her wings beating silently. “She went and pissed off one of Dracula’s minions—Actress, I think—”

“Actrise,” Shatterstorm corrects.

“Yeah, whatever,” Rainbow Dash says, rolling her eyes. “But anyway, Actrise’s henchponies… hench-apes…?”

Shatterstorm stifles a groan. “Try ‘lackeys’.”

Rainbow Dash shoots him a glare. “Her lackeys gave Fluttershy—she’s a friend of ours—Princess Cadance’s crown to try luring Twilight here.”

Roaring Yawn nods. “I see. It’s good to hear Twilight is doing all right.” He walks around a fallen chariot. “I certainly hope whatever she’s doing in sending you two here in her stead will work. Actrise is one of Dracula’s most dangerous minions, if not the most.”

“She been giving you guys trouble too?” Rainbow Dash asks.

Eagle Eye shakes his head. “Like ya wouldn’t believe! We managed to get ’er off our backs, but I still get nightmares about her. If I were you, I’d steer clear of her as much as possible.”

“Too late for that,” Shatterstorm grumbles, shuffling his wings, readjusting the once-was-a-wolf on his back.

Eagle Eye raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean? You two ran into her already?”

Rainbow Dash nods. “Pretty much. She possessed some mare, and…”

Silence. Everyone looks aside to find Rainbow Dash sullen and hesitant. There’s this look of discomfort on her face that Shatterstorm can see even through the thick fog and dimming light. “What she did,” he says, breaking the silence, “she’ll pay for. She’s on our list, don’t worry about it. Right now, we’re just here to retrieve the Princess.”

Shakey snorts. “Retrieve? Hate to break it to you like this, but there’s this little problem we’ve been having.”

“W-What do you mean?” Rainbow Dash asks.

“Getting into Canterlot’s the easy part,” Eagle Eye explains. “Getting out is another issue entirely. Dracula’s lieutenants have eyes everywhere—in the sky, in buildings, on the streets. They’ll welcome you in, but don’t expect a goin’-away party that doesn’t involve a casket your size.”

“Especially since your aim is to rescue the Princess,” Roaring Yawn says. “I doubt very much Dracula’s minions would simply let you slip past them.”

“It’s worked out for us so far,” Rainbow Dash says with a smile.

Eagle Eye snickers. “Don’t git cocky, aye? ’Fore y’know it, you’ll find yerself surrounded by shamblers ’n willy-beasts.”

“Aw, I’d like to see ’em just try it!” Rainbow Dash says, mock-punching the air before her. “They’re the ones that don’t know what they’re getting into!”

Eagle Eye’s snicker breaks into an outright laugh. “I like this chick. She’s got spunk. You’re a very lucky stallion, Shatters.”

Shatterstorm chuckles nervously as Rainbow Dash gives him an uneasy aside glance. “Darn straight he’s lucky!” she crows, hoping she sounds convincing.

Shakey laughs. “You shoulda seen ’im before you met him, Dashie. Every time we caught him makin’ eyes at mares—’specially this one cutie of a barista—he’d just, y’know, deny, deny, deny.”

“Yeah,” Eagle Eye agrees, putting one foreleg around Shatterstorm’s neck facetiously. “Made us kinda wonder about you.”

Shatterstorm rolls his eyes and blows a huff of air. “Not this again…”

“Hey, it’s all right to like guys, too,” Shakey says. “We’re not, y’know, judging you or anything.”

Rainbow Dash presses a hoof to her turned-up lips as a snort chuckles its way out of her nostrils. Shatterstorm frowns. “I-It’s not that,” he says flatly, “I just… don’t like using my military status to—”

Eagle Eye shoulders Shatterstorm. “Oy! Enough with the fake modesty. We know how much time you spend with Tiger Cross.” He shrugs. “Though honestly I never thought he’d be the type. You’re not just datin’ this fine mare here to make ’im jealous or anything, are ya?”

Rainbow Dash can barely hold her laughter at Shatterstorm’s flat frown and furrowed brow. The death glare he shoots at Eagle Eye could probably count as a laser beam.

“How is that old blighter, anyway?” Eagle Eye asks. “He was with you last, right?”

Silence. The group stops and looks behind them, to where Shatterstorm stands, struck silent. He’s frozen in place, his hilarious frown now much more somber, the hard look in his eyes answering Eagle Eye’s question. A heavy sigh billows from Shatterstorm’s nostrils as he trots ahead to rejoin the group, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular.

“…Oh,” says Eagle Eye silently. “I-I’m sorry.”

The group walks along in a damp and uncomfortable silence, the news of Tiger Cross’s death crushing the Royal Guards’ good humor. From the grief on their faces and the loss in their eyes, Rainbow Dash can hazard a guess as to how precious and admired Tiger Cross was to the Royal Guards.

“How’s the Captain?” Shatterstorm asks suddenly, apparently wanting to change the subject. “You were studying him, right?”

Roaring Yawn looks to Shatterstorm as Eagle Eye and Shakey glance away morosely. For the first time since they’ve met him, Roaring Yawn struggles for what to say. “Captain Rose Blade is fine,” he says.

Shatterstorm shakes his head. “No, not—not Captain Rose Blade,” he says, “The Captain. Shining Armor.”

“Shining Armor,” Roaring Yawn says, his voice struggling, “is… beyond my help. There was… an incident.” He sighs as they turn another corner. “He has succumbed fully to the madness of his infection.”

Roaring Yawn stops, as well as the rest of the group. Without turning to look at them, he rolls up one of his sleeves. Rainbow Dash takes in a sharp breath as she sees the bandages wrapped all around his foreleg. “…After only a few days’ study, he suddenly attacked my team, and I… was the only survivor.”

Ice strokes Rainbow Dash’s spine at the sight of Roaring Yawn’s leg. A taste of cold that courses through her suddenly, grabbing her, squeezing her, its claws digging deeper and deeper. She swallows a lump in her throat. Shit. What is she going to tell Twilight?

“D-Does,” Rainbow Dash stutters, “uh… Does Princess Cadance know?”

Roaring Yawn sighs uncomfortably, looking straight ahead, avoiding Rainbow Dash’s eyes. “Not yet. She has no idea her husband has…”

He is interrupted by a hideous silence.

“I did my best,” Roaring Yawn concludes in a quiet and small voice. “…But I have failed.”

Shakey pats Roaring Yawn’s back. “Hey,” he says. “Hey. Stop. We know you did your best, it’s not your fault. It’s okay.”

Silence. Shatterstorm shifts his weight from one side to other uncomfortably as he looks aside at Rainbow Dash. She clears her throat. “Hey, guys, I hate to be the one to say this—”

“No,” Roaring Yawn says suddenly. “No, no, you’re absolutely right. There is no time for this.” He sighs, recollecting his previous rigidity, and leads the group ahead once again. “Absolutely no time. We must reach the base. The daylight is waning.”

It relieves Shatterstorm that the base looks about the same as when he’d left. The Academy where he’d been chiseled into a Royal Guard sits as a sentinel at one end, a squat and square creature, while the two other buildings—the Headquarters—stand erect at the other. The remaining sunlight has drained away, leaving only the black shapes of the base standing in a dark and milky fog, lights in their windows like yellow eyes twinkling in the night. The tall stone and iron wall separates the base from the rest of Canterlot, the last bastion of resistance against Dracula’s near-complete dominance.

But Shatterstorm doesn’t remember the barbed wire. He also doesn’t remember the bodies hanging just outside, or the bodies on pikes around the main gate, or the piked bodies lining the road here.

“Don’t like the new decorations?” Shakey asks. “Good, neither do we.”

Shatterstorm can see Shakey’s bright purple eyes even in the fog. Closer to Shatterstorm is Rainbow Dash, her cyan face fallen and pale and beaded with uncomfortable sweat. “What’s with the…?” she asks, her voice trembling, her words dissolving.

“We got some traitors,” Eagle Eye responds, his voice uncharacteristically glum. “When we found out they weren’t with us, drastic measures were taken.”

“Ya think?!” Rainbow Dash glowers.

“Considering who we’re up against,” Roaring Yawn interrupts, his voice even and strong, “it’s absolutely the most necessary precaution to take. Hanging the bodies of Dracula’s inside-ponies sends a message that needs to be said. Impaling the bodies of his fallen minions sends a message that needs to be said. So far, no further attacks have been made on our base.” He pauses. Blinks. “It seems the message is understood.”

Suddenly, a shaft of light falls on the group. The moment their searchlights pierce the dark fog, the Royal Guards recognize Eagle Eye, Shakey, Roaring Yawn—and cheer when they see Shatterstorm, followed by giving him the usual good-natured shit.

Shyly, Shatterstorm readjusts the once-was-a-wolf on his back just as he feels her weight begin to slip. He doesn’t take his eyes off Rainbow Dash’s face as they draw nearer to the base’s gates.

The color in her face is nearly gone.

As Shatterstorm and his squadmates converse a bit, their words fail to reach Rainbow Dash’s ears, instead settling into barely-audible white noise. As she stares at eyes that stare back.

Don’t look.

Their blank eyes watch her, their gray gazes settling on every detail. Their slack, open mouths scream soundlessly. Their legs… all broken. Twisted. The pegasi all lack wings. The unicorns have no horns. A crow descends, lands on one of the impaled. It cackles as it reaches its beak into the eyesocket and pulls out a meal. As more crows descend, the first crow turns its head, eyeball in its beak, as if giving the dead Guard a good view of Rainbow Dash.

Don’t look!

Was… any of this worth it? Considering how Shakey and Eagle Eye reacted to hearing of the loss of their comrade, it makes Rainbow Dash wonder how hard it must have been for them, and the other Royal Guards, to fight, much less kill, their own. And what would cause these Royal Guards to turn on their own kind...?

The gate’s main doors squeal maliciously as they open, the sound loud enough to jerk Rainbow Dash back into the present. As the gate opens, a sharp wind rockets by the group, surprising Rainbow Dash enough that she finds herself up off the ground, her wings keeping her aloft.

She expects Shatterstorm to snicker at her, crack a joke about her tension. But one look at his discomforted eyes, their wide whites, their shrunken pupils, and she can see it in him as well.

As they are ushered through the base’s gates, the Royal Guards’ eyes press against her. She’s the center of attention again, but this time it’s different.

“Hey, who let this pretty little thing in?” said one with an Appaloosian drawl.

“Think she wandered in by mistake?” asks another. “She’s too pretty a mare to be around lugs like us!” He laughs.

She smiles weakly at the Guards as they become increasingly close. There’s an uncomfortable feeling inside Rainbow Dash, growing with every compliment given to her. Finally, Shatterstorm steps in.

“Hey guys, come on, leave my girlfriend alone,” he says in a way that sounds authoritative. “She’s got enough on her plate.”

“I bet she does!” grumbles a deep-voiced Guard. “She’s dating you after all!”

Everypony laughs, and suddenly everything feels okay. Shatterstorm had taken a pin and deflated the situation before it could balloon out of control. Rainbow Dash finds it immensely relieving, but at the same time surreal.

A set of Royal Guards approach, pulling behind them a large cage on wheels—like the kind the circus would use to house tigers and elephants. They take from Shatterstorm the once-was-a-wolf, delicately loading her unconscious body inside the cage. A thin frown and pitying eyes from Rainbow Dash accompany the poor mare on her way in.

Shackles are applied to the mare, snapping around her fetlocks with loud chomps. A muzzle hides her mouth, leather straps attaching it to her head like some monstrous parasite. After fastening everything, the Guards then exit the cage, closing the door behind them, and locking it tightly with several locks. Their animal is caged.

Roaring Yawn looks in at the mare with a look that’s half-curiosity, half-sympathy. He scratches at the foreleg with the bandages. Rainbow Dash wonders if he’s trying, deep down, to make up for his failure to cure Shining Armor. Trying to avoid repeating his mistakes. Trying to help somepony.

As the Royal Guards pull the cage-wagon towards the holding cells under Roaring Yawn’s direction, more Royal Guards appear. Shatterstorm and Rainbow Dash are showered with praise and attention—two of Rainbow Dash’s favorite food groups. As Rainbow soaks up the adoration, Shatterstorm rolls his eyes in exasperation. Afterward, Shakey and Eagle Eye lead them into the base.

The gates are closed behind them with the same ominous squeal as when they opened.

“Captain Rose Blade, sir?”

Rose Blade sniffs dispassionately, the scent of his namesake flowers wafting into his nostrils and piano music from his record player tickling his ear drums. He sweeps his icy turquoise hoof through his long, firetruck-red mane, admiring the way it drifts as it falls, admiring how well it matches the stains on his hoof. Even fast-approaching forty, he looks not a day past twenty. He turns a deep green eye to his subordinate.

“Yes, my Vice Captain,” he says, a snakelike baritone slithering from his mouth. “Report.”

Vice Captain Whisper White has always been the demure type—how in Equestria he became Vice-Captain under Rose Blade is a topic of frequent debate amongst the troops—but at the sound of Rose Blade’s voice, he suddenly stands rigid, his wavy electric yellow mane bobbing cutely while his equally yellow eyes stare ahead, his clown-white crystal pony body but an image in Rose Blade’s ornate round mirror. “The collection team has returned, their mission successful,” he says in his soft tenor. “The escaped Wharg is in our possession again.”

Rose Blade’s horn—long and sharp as a spearhead—glows the same deep green as his eyes as he turns on the faucet. He washes his hooves in the sink before him, scrubbing vicariously under clear water turning reddish pink under his hooves, not taking his eyes off his own reflection in the mirror. The hot water sparkles as steam rises to his face. “Good,” he mumbles, not terribly interested in the outcome of that little mission that rambling fool Roaring Yawn begged him for.

“They returned with a pair of survivors,” Whisper White adds suddenly.

Rose Blade turns his head slightly, his long tail flicking irritably. “Survivors?”

“Corporal Shatterstorm was recovered along with the Wharg… as well as one of the Bearers of the Elements of Harmony.”

At this news, Rose Blade cocks an eyebrow. For the first time this conversation, he turns around to face Whisper White. “A Bearer? Intriguing.” His thin lips crook into a grin. “It wouldn’t happen to be the former Captain’s equally-irritating sister, would it?”

“No, sir,” Whisper White replies. “It would appear the Bearer in question is a pegasus. Her name Rainbow Dash.”

Rose Blade takes a deep breath, as if inhaling the memory behind the name. “Ah, yes. The winner of the Best Young Flyer Competition some two years ago. The one responsible for that colorful sonic boom.” His smile broadens. “I must meet with our Corporal… and our new prize.”

He steps down from his mirror, descending a small dais, the piano music filling the silence in their conversation. He stops in front of his subordinate. “Whisper White, I may have checked myself over in the mirror, but do me a favor and tell me if my cutie mark remains unmarred?”

Whisper White smiles boyishly as his attractive eyes, the same electric yellow as his mane and tail, analyze the sword surrounded by roses on his Captain’s flanks. There’s a look of admonishment in his eyes that Rose Blade quite enjoys seeing. “I see not one scar, not one smear, not one smudge, my Captain,” he coos.

Rose Blade’s smile becomes more pleasant. He nods approvingly, and leads Whisper White out of the room, leaving the record to finish its song as the traitor he’d spent the last half-hour bludgeoning lies broken and shackled on the floor, surrounded by the heads of plucked red roses soaking in his spilled blood.

The Wolf Revealed ~Part II~

The Wolf Revealed, Part II

She swims forever upward, her black mane and tail trailing behind her like a cloud of ink. Her grey legs pump as hard as she can muster to break the surface above, to burst from unconsciousness into consciousness, but the crushing green ocean of her mind is against her: it rises and rocks and tumbles and slaps and pushes and pulls and refuses to let her escape from its avaricious grip.

Hopeless questions swim by like schools of fish. Why bother escaping? What is the use? Why put so much effort into this when you know you’ll only become that beast again? When it will overtake you to slake its bloodlust?

Her ascension to consciousness is paused. Useless, senseless tears gather in her eyes. A sob escapes her somehow, turning into a mumbled moan as she tastes bile and iron in her mouth. A prisoner when awake, now a prisoner when asleep.

There’s a voice just above the surface of her unconsciousness, a deep baritone—a voice like thunder rumbling ominously in the distance—ringing from a million miles away...

Doooowwwwaaannnnn wurreeeeeee...

Isss willll heeerrr forrr onlyyyy a seconnn…

Something penetrates her. While she feels a sting, it, like the voice, rings from a million miles away. Upon its touch comes pain, then a sense of impregnation. The sting nestles itself deep within her. She sinks, she plummets, screaming soundlessly, into the darkest depths below as the tide rises above her, swallowing her whole, drowning her in her subconscious.

Then the sting touches the Beast. It aches with desire. It burns with anger.

And it grows and grows…

Honestly, this part of the base more closely resembles a mansion: red carpeting, ornate wooden architecture, armor worn by Royal Guards past lining the hall. Candles on the walls vomit whatever light they can manage, their eerie flickers dancing intimately with the shadows on the walls. These hallways are long and winding, closed and silent doors on either side of their small group.

The Guards flanking them don’t so much as peep. Shakey and Eagle Eye—both of whom walk in front of Rainbow Dash and Shatterstorm—have mysteriously fallen silent as well. Somewhat hesitantly, Rainbow Dash takes it upon herself to initiate conversation.

“So, uh…” Rainbow Dash runs a hoof through her mane. “Princess Cadance. We’re gonna meet with her, right?”

“Once you get settled in, yeah,” Shakey says quietly, after a pause. “But for now, you’ll be meeting with Captain Rose Blade.”

“Hey, I don’t get something,” Rainbow Dash says thoughtfully. “You guys are always calling Shining Armor ‘the Captain,’ even when he’s not really the Captain of the Guard anymore…”

“He still is,” says Shakey. “Or rather, was. Sorta. He was stationed in the Crystal Empire, since he was their relatively new Prince. He still called the shots over here though, even after Rose Blade was appointed Captain.”

“Huh,” Rainbow Dash huffs contemplatively. “Shining Armor must have been pretty awesome if he could do that.”

“Of course he was,” Shatterstorm says, his voice its usual curt impatience. “He was the youngest Captain of the Canterlot Royal Guard in Equestrian history! A stallion doesn’t earn that title any more easily than a mare could earn the title of Princess. He was just a…” He pauses. Clicks his tongue quietly. “He really was that talented a soldier, one worth looking up to, one worth being inspired by.”

He looks aside at Rainbow Dash. There’s a smile on his face, small but marvelous, as he reverently whispers, “We’ll have more Captains as the years roll by. We’ll always have a Captain, but they’ll never quite be the Captain.”

Eagle Eye cranes his head to give Shatterstorm an approving smile. “Couldn’a said that any better m’self,” he says quietly as they arrive at a heavy set of double doors guarded by a pair of Royal Guards.

Shakey sighs. “I agree, but try not to...”

The double doors open before Shakey can finish his sentence, the initial crack loud enough to make Rainbow Dash jump. The long and ominous creak afterward starts her heart into a horse race.

Behind the doors comes a Crystal Pony, a darling little smile on his shiny, clown-white face. His build and shape are noticeably coltish and cute. He waves a hoof theatrically and bows low, his electric-yellow sausage curls bobbing adorably. Rainbow Dash can’t help but smile girlishly at his mannerisms and appearance.

“Welcome back, Corporal Shatterstorm,” he says in a syrupy tenor. He extends a hoof to Rainbow Dash. “And I bid you welcome, Miss Rainbow Dash. Captain Rose Blade will be pleased to see the both of you. I am Vice-Captain Whisper White. I will see you inside. Please, follow me.”

As he turns to lead them into the chamber, Shakey and Eagle Eye take their positions at the entrance, suddenly standing resolute. Rainbow Dash and Shatterstorm are ushered in by the two Guards behind them, four sets of hooves—five, counting Whisper White’s—lightly trotting on thick carpet. Rainbow Dash notices the controlled calmness in Whisper White’s stride: disciplined like Shatterstorm’s, but demure like Fluttershy’s.

A crystal-studded chandelier big enough to count as a boat hangs from the ceiling chases away the shadows that clung to the group in the previous hall, hanging from a ceiling of various collected paintings depicting the rise of Princess Celestia. The tiled floor is blanketed by some of the richest-looking carpet Rainbow Dash has ever seen (not that she’s some connoisseur for carpets, but still). There’s a door on the far right side, small and red and studded with metal pins, with a gold emblem depicting the Royal Guard insignia fastened on its face. Rainbow Dash wonders where the door leads.

The paintings lining the walls of this circular chamber depict various Royal Guard Captains from over the years. She looks about, but can’t seem to find any painting of Shining Armor, finding it odd that such a beloved figure would be overlooked in this collection. Then her eyes fall on a square-shaped discoloring on the wall, indicating a painting was once hung there. Rainbow Dash pops an eyebrow curiously.

“Captain,” Whisper White says softly, gaining Rainbow Dash’s attention. “Corporal Shatterstorm and Miss Rainbow Dash are here.” He is answered by a quiet crunch of teeth against apple.

On a raised dais sits a regal-looking desk, papers and files strewn all about its top, a basket of bright red apples resting on one end. The filing cabinets are as messy as the desk. The whole thing contradicts the clean and majestic image of the rest of the chamber. The tall, elaborately woven windows behind the desk would probably have given them a perfect view over Canterlot, had it been daytime and before the coming of the Castle.

Looking out that window now is the current Captain, Rose Blade. He turns his head slightly, his long scarlet mane drifting about his neck and shoulders. His eyes, deep green, remind Rainbow Dash of Applejack’s—the only difference in them is the measure of command Rose Blade’s hold. In his upturned hoof is a bright red apple, a bite already taken out.

Rose Blade smiles upon seeing the duo. “Ah! Corporal Shatterstorm! So good to have you back with us.”

Rainbow Dash looks aside at Shatterstorm, who doesn’t exactly return Rose Blade’s welcome. Then again, it’s rare for his mouth to be anything but a frown. “Captain,” he replies, with a halfway-polite nod.

“I imagine your journey back to us has been very difficult,” Rose Blade says as he walks around his desk, his movements slinky and alluring. “It has been some time since we shared any kind of contact, and I do apologize. Communications have all but been stopped completely, thanks to outside interference.” He takes another bite from his apple, chews it thoughtfully, and swallows.

Shatterstorm stands rigid, unblinking, unwavering, respectful in the presence of a superior officer. Finally, Rose Blade smirks. “At ease, Corporal!” he laughs. “You aren’t guarding a door or something.” He sweeps his apple-holding foreleg. “You’re in the company of fellow ponies! Breathe, relax.”

Rainbow Dash looks aside at Shatterstorm again, not exactly expecting him to just melt. He instead looks away shyly.

When she looks back at Rose Blade, his smile is ear to ear as he sighs and shakes his head. “Same old Shatterstorm, always so morose,” he chuckles. “Has anypony seen to feeding you two?”

“Well… no,” Rainbow Dash answers honestly.

Two apples in the basket on the desk glow deep green, are lifted into the air, then brought over to Rainbow Dash and Shatterstorm, who looks at his apple suspiciously. “This, uh, th-this isn’t all that necessary, Captain Rose Blade, sir,” he stammers. “We already... had rations packed for this mission, and…”

Rose Blade interrupts him with a laugh, biting into his apple, chewing it. Then he swallows. “What’s wrong, Shatterstorm? Afraid they’re poisonous?”

There’s a pause. Rose Blade rolls his eyes—a lively movement that stirs some strange fluttering in Rainbow Dash’s lungs—and gives an apple from the basket to Whisper White. Obediently, Whisper White bites it. Chews it. Swallows it. He doesn’t appear to be harmed in any way...

Rainbow Dash looks at Shatterstorm disapprovingly. Never thought she’d be the one to be mindful of manners, but there it is. With a reassuring glance his way, Rainbow Dash bites into her apple audaciously, savoring its taste. Definitely a Sweet Apple Acres apple—she can tell from its juiciness and texture. The taste itself is nearly intoxicating.

“At least one of you knows how to respond to hospitality!” Rose Blade chuckles.

As Rainbow Dash gorges on her own apple, Shatterstorm looks again to the apple in his upturned hoof. Carefully, he bites into it, chews decorously, then quietly swallows it. No sudden chills. No sudden heat flashes. No paralysis. No drowsiness. Just apple.

Rose Blade walks around the two pegasi, chewing his apple, his eyes not leaving Rainbow Dash. “We will be having a more formal dinner later. I hope the two of you are hungry for something Neightalian.”

Rainbow Dash licks her lips at the thought of an actual meal. It feels like forever since she’d had anything to eat besides that shitty hospital food. Her thoughts of delicious pastas and cannoli are broken by a sudden question from Shatterstorm.

“Why are you being so relaxed, Captain?”

Rose Blade looks at Shatterstorm inquisitively. “What do you mean?”

“Considering our situation, I mean. You’re pretty much next-door neighbors to a wellspring of never-ending threats. There are dead bodies on pikes right outside the base. And frankly, I’m more interested in where Princess Cadance is right now.”

A pause. Rose Blade laughs. “Always so sharp. The Castle’s forces slowly whittled away at our morale, to the extent that out of despair and frenzy, many attempted to betray us in order to save their own lives. I’m sure you both saw the unfortunate results outside.”

Rainbow Dash blinks, and the crow holding the eye looks at her. Don’t look.

“Y-Yeah, we did,” she says uneasily, no longer interested in her apple.

“But you’re serving fancy dinners,” Shatterstorm says suspiciously. “That implies you still have a good amount of food. Mutinies and betrayals like that tend to occur most often when supplies run low.”

“They do,” Rose Blade says with a nod. “And for a while, that was true. The Castle’s forces had found our supply stashes and set to destroying each one. Fortunately, I was able to barter with them.”

Ice forms in Rainbow Dash’s stomach at his statement, a look of unease burrowing into her face. “Wait, what?”

Rose Blade shrugs nonchalantly, finishing his apple. “You heard me. We bartered with them.”

Shatterstorm shakes his head, his own concerns rising. “Captain. With all due respect, you’re dodging certain questions. Where is Princess Cadance?”

Whisper White analyzes the two more carefully, his little smile unwavering. Rose Blade’s apple core finds its way into a wastebasket nearby. He looks at Shatterstorm and Rainbow Dash, his grin thin and menacing, as the Guards flanking them both bristle as if ready to fight.

“What I mean is, Shatterstorm, dearest,” Rose Blade coos facetiously, “is that, in exchange for the continued well-being of myself and my troops, we made a trade.” His smile doubles. “The Princess… For supplies and safety.”

There’s a burst of electricity inside Rainbow Dash as anger conquers her senses. Whatever fear had been placed inside her was ejected at Rose Blade’s admittance to Cadance’s endangerment. She finds herself in the air, on her way over to Rose Blade’s smug face, both hooves ready to dig into flesh.

With a loud crash, pain swells up in Rainbow Dash’s right side, flattening her right wing onto her body, twisting it painfully. She lands on the ground with a thud. Through the ringing in her ears swims laughter. Rose Blade’s laughter.

She looks up, her eyes widening as she sees Shatterstorm jerking around like a clumsy marionette. At first, she thinks Rose Blade is manipulating his body through unicorn telekinesis, but Shatterstorm doesn’t glow the way the apples did.

Then Whisper White stops moving, wisping into visibility suddenly. Shatterstorm drops to his knees. Whisper White disappears again, no flash of light, no loud pop—appearing behind Shatterstorm with a thin smile on his lips. He pounds Shatterstorm in the back with an elbow drop, knocking Shatterstorm into a bow.

Rainbow Dash realizes Whisper White isn’t using any kind of magic… he’s just moving unbelievably fast, his sudden movements deadly silent.

She drags herself up to her hooves, only to be grabbed by the Royal Guards that flanked them before, their burly forelegs hooking around her middle. With a squeeze in just the right spot, they give her a painful reminder of her sprained wing; and with a wrenching of her foreleg, she is brought down and kept down.

Both pegasi are brought before Rose Blade, humbled before him. He laughs. “I expected you may disagree,” he says, his snakelike baritone much more condescending than before. “But it was necessary.”

“Necessary?!” Rainbow Dash growls. “You just forked over Cadance to save your own hide!”

“I had almost nothing to do with it,” Rose Blade shrugs, brushing another apple against his chest. “The Princess had given herself up.”

“Likely story!” Shatterstorm spits.

Rose Blade shrugs. “I don’t know why she did it. Really, I don’t, but I didn’t argue.” Taking a bite of his apple, he leans in close to Rainbow Dash’s face, blowing a breath of air over her mane. “But… I can’t help but think.”

He swallows his bite of apple. His smile widens as he extends his free hoof, and with a gentle movement, strokes Rainbow Dash’s face. “What if we were to give them something they’ve been searching for? A prize that could grant us amnesty in their eyes?”

Rainbow Dash bites at his hoof just as he yanks it away, giggling. “Bastard!” she spits. “You’re gonna trade me because you think Dracula’s forces are gonna cut you some slack?! What do you even think you’re doing?!”

Rose Blade shrugs. “Isn’t it obvious? We’ve already lost this war. It’s better to preserve what we have left under Dracula’s rule than to risk losing everything trying to regain what’s been hopelessly lost.”

“So, what? You’re trying to build an empire under Dracula?” Rainbow Dash growls. “You’re crazy.”

“Say what you wish,” Rose Blade says nonchalantly, stuffing an apple into Rainbow Dash’s mouth to silence her. “I’m only doing what it takes to preserve my men.”

“To preserve yourself, you mean,” Shatterstorm grumbles. “You were always selfish. I can’t believe I didn’t think you’d stoop this low.”

“It doesn’t surprise me you’d take your little girlfriend’s side on this,” Rose Blade says. “Even when you were at your best, you never really fit in with the rest of us. Always so mopey and contrary.” He chuckles slowly, leaning into Shatterstorm’s face, forcing him to turn his head sideways. “As far as I’m concerned, you were never a Royal Guard. You weren’t good enough to be one of us.”

Rainbow Dash glances aside to see Shakey and Eagle Eye watching this scene uneasily. Shatterstorm looks at them sadly, only for them to give him reluctant nods.

Shatterstorm turns his eyes back to Rose Blade, his face suddenly steeled. “That’s funny,” he says spitefully. “You weren’t good enough to be Captain.”

Cold silence. Rose Blade’s smile drops.

“That’s why Princess Celestia kept Shining Armor in charge of the Guard even when he became Prince of the Crystal Empire, right?” Shatterstorm smiles meanly. “Because no matter how hard you tried to earn your promotion, your selfishness would always prevent you from ever achieving it. Celestia saw it. She knew. You’ll never be even a tenth the Captain Shining Armor is. Never.”

With a jarring pop, Shatterstorm’s head is rocked to the left by a flash of deep green light. “Oh, what’s wrong?” Shatterstorm growls, his smile unbroken. “Can’t dirty those dainty little hooves of yours, girly-boy?”

Rose Blade’s eyes grew wide as dinner plates, his irises shrunken to pinpoints, his hoof raised, then brought down. The sound of hoof connecting with meat was surprisingly loud, causing Rainbow Dash to recoil.

“Now I know why you don't use hooves,” Shatterstorm shouts. “You hit like a bitch!”

Another pound of hoof against flesh.

“That all you got?!”

Another.

“Captain!” Whisper White says, his boyish tenor not raising high enough to count as a yell.

The anger in Rose Blade’s eyes dissipates as he raises his hoof for another punch. He looks up at Whisper White, and they share a moment or so in silence. Finally, he regains his composure, sneering down at Shatterstorm. “You’re not worth it.” Rose Blade spits, a phlegmy wad smacking Shatterstorm right on the small bruise he left over his right eye.

Rose Blade cocks his head to Rainbow Dash. “Take her to my dungeon. We’ll exchange her to Dracula later.” He looks at Shatterstorm, who still sits defiantly, scowling the Tartarus out of him. “As for this one?”

He looks to Eagle Eye and Shakey. “Prove your loyalty to me. Kill him. I don’t care how.”

Rainbow Dash spits out her apple. “Don’t you fu—!” But before she can finish, a hard hoof connects with the back of her head, and everything falls to black.

Shatterstorm’s mouth opens in horror as he watches Rainbow Dash’s unconscious form flop down. He tries to call her name, but Whisper White wraps his foreleg around Shatterstorm’s neck, reducing his voice to a gasp. Rainbow Dash is carried away by the two Royal Guards, past the red door, into a dark hallway. As the darkness swallows her, the red door is closed with a foreboding shout of steel against steel. Shatterstorm chokes, his eyes filling with tears.

Eagle Eye and Shakey look to Rose Blade, then to Shatterstorm. All they’d been through—the skirmishes, the Changeling invasion, Discord running rampant—it had to be worth something to them. Shatterstorm has to be worth something to them, doesn’t he?

He looks at them with pleading eyes. Don’t I?

Eagle Eye swallows hard, Shakey releasing a sigh as they walk forward. “Sorry, mate,” Eagle Eye says as his horn glows amber. “I like you, but I like bein’ alive more.”

“Wait!” a deep voice shouts suddenly, freezing everypony in the room.

Roaring Yawn enters the chamber gracelessly, as though finishing a day-long running marathon, coughing, sputtering, wiping his brow, regaining his breath and his composure. Rose Blade glares him down. “…Yes?”

Roaring Yawn fixes his glasses and kneels before Rose Blade, a mountain kneeling before a snake. “If it pleases you, let this one become one of my test subjects.”

Deep green eyes scan Roaring Yawn carefully, then drift to Shatterstorm. “What for?”

“When we approached the Wharg, she’d attacked this one using enough force to kill any other pony.” Roaring Yawn looks at Shatterstorm with curiosity, bordering on admiration. “Yet, this one got away with only minor scrapes and bruises.”

Rose Blade purses his lips in thought. It’s true that Shatterstorm seems able to survive anything—in fact, that’s the biggest reason he was selected as a Guard—but after all those demeaning things he’d said, Rose Blade is in the mood to see this punk’s blood staining the floor.

“I wish to study his physiology,” Roaring Yawn continues, “and see if there’s a way I can replicate such an ability for your troops.”

“...You can do that?” Rose Blade asks, eyebrow cocked in interest.

“A similar formula was concocted by Red Haze many centuries ago,” Roaring Yawn says.

"Red Haze?" Rose Blade echoes. "That one suicidal druggist?"

"Yes, her," Roaring Yawn confirms. "I was working on alternatives to producing the results she was going for before all this madness happened. Just give me some time, maybe a few weeks, and I’ll have it all ready.”

A slow pause. Rose Blade’s smile slithers up his face as he prances to Roaring Yawn, wraps a foreleg around him, and laughs in his ear. “Well, since it was your bumbling that helped me achieve my recent promotion, I suppose I can do something for you in return.”

Shatterstorm snorts. Would it kill this guy to at least pretend to compliment others? He used to be so good at it before. He wonders how hard it must be for Roaring Yawn to keep his hoof from giving Rose Blade a fat lip.

“He’s all yours,” Rose Blade sing-songs with a sweep of his foreleg. “But first? Promise me you’ll make this process as horrible as possible for him. I want you to record... every... scream.” His smile is small, but full of teeth.

Roaring Yawn, slowly and cautiously, raises an eyebrow at the odd request. Rose Blade lets go of Roaring Yawn and slithers behind Shatterstorm.

Shatterstorm shivers at the touch of Rose Blade’s hot breath on his shoulders. He leans close to Shatterstorm’s ear, as if with the intention of nibbling it tenderly. “I’m going to keep that recording on my desk,” he whispers airily. “And every time I feel lonely, I’m going to play it. Over and over.”

“Go to Tartarus,” Shatterstorm growls.

Rose Blade backs off, giggling. “Look around you. We’re already there.”

With a wave of his hoof, Rose Blade commands Whisper White to force Shatterstorm to his hooves. Shakey and Eagle Eye flank him as he takes Shatterstorm away. Roaring Yawn follows them demurely as a Neighponese geisha following her samurai.

Darkness.

An eye.

don’t look

devouring

DON’T LOOK

Rainbow Dash lifts her head with a gasp, her eyes wide and awake. There’s an immense cold in this room, a cold of darkness and silence.

Then there’s the stench. She’d taken a whiff of it upon her reawakening, an invasion of odors that strangles her nostrils. Piping hot liquid gets caught in her throat, threatening to be ejected out her mouth.

It succeeds.

As the warmth and stench of her vomit drifts into her face, Rainbow Dash shivers. Her hoof moves by accident, of its own accord—and the sudden yank against her fetlocks and sound of metal links scraping against tile tells her, before she even looks at it, that she’s been chained to the floor.

Rainbow Dash’s eyes travel the length of the chain, adjusting gradually to the all-swallowing darkness. There’s a vague shape nearby. Another pony?

“Hey?” she calls.

She tries to make a move toward the vague shape, but to no avail—the chains do not allow her to move more than a few inches in any direction. She tries to open her wings, but a brace applied around her middle constricts them. She curses.

“Hey!” she calls again. “Hey, guy. Where are we?”

The shape on the floor is definitely another pony, but there’s no sound of his breathing. Only hers, and it begins to escape her in cold rasps.

As she shuffles on her hooves, Rainbow Dash feels something warm and thick and sticky cling to them. Little by little, light or no light, she begins fitting the pieces together as to where she is, who is with her, and what may happen next.

No time to panic. Can’t panic. You’re a brave mare, Rainbow Dash—fearless. You’ve been beaten before, but you’ve always bounced back. You can do this.

Her internal pep talk gives her strength of some kind, though not very much. As she swallows the bitter taste in her mouth, Rainbow Dash attempts to piece together some kind of plan. Strategy was never her forte, nor was foresight or guile. No amount of thrashing or smashing would get her out of this one.

Rainbow Dash pauses. How would her hero, Daring Do, escape? She’d been imprisoned by various villains at least once a book—even set in death traps that would have spelled a gory end for lesser ponies. How would she get out of this one?

Daring Do usually used something in her surroundings. There was always some kind of flaw with the trap that she could exploit. But Rainbow Dash has difficulty seeing so much as a few inches from her face; what could she possibly find to break her chains if—

That line of thought is derailed with a slow squeal. The door is drawn open, allowing a modicum of light inside, flowing from behind a slim, serpentine shadow. Suddenly, lights turn on, forcing Rainbow Dash to recoil, eyes crushed shut, as if the light had punched her eyes. The chains around her fetlocks rattle as she reflexively tries to draw her hoof to shield her face, keeping them bound and grounded.

“Come now,” slithers the voice of Rose Blade calmly. “You haven’t been in the dark for more than fifteen minutes.”

Rainbow Dash slowly opens one eye, allowing the light to color in what once was blank. She finds Rose Blade, leaning smugly in the doorway, a smirk crooking his lips. Her eyes flick to where the pony-shaped thing is, and as she half-suspected, it is a corpse.

The corpse—a cyan pegasus stallion, judging by the bloody stumps on his sides—lies in a puddle of blood littered with rose heads and rose petals, juxtaposing the macabre with the romantic. The blood seeps across the floor, tile by tile, pooling under the corpse. Much of the blood had wandered to Rainbow Dash, staining her hooves, forelegs, side, and belly where she’d lied before.

She swallows a scream as hard as she can, bringing her eyes back up to the door. Rose Blade is no longer there—instead, he is over by an object she hadn’t seen before, a gramophone. His horn glows as he turns the crank, the sound of hooves gliding dexterously across piano keys, slowly, then surely, billowing from the horn and filling the room with jarringly peaceful music.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” Rose Blade says, walking from the music player to the mirror on the wall. “I didn’t have time to clean my mess from earlier.” He fixes his mane proudly, his eyes going from his own reflection to Rainbow Dash’s behind him.

“Your boyfriend gave me an awful lot of trouble back there.”

Rainbow Dash has a million things she could say to that, none of them nice. Instead, she remains silent.

Rose Blade turns around, slowly, meeting Rainbow Dash’s glare. His smirk births a smile. “Instead of killing him right on the spot like I initially wanted, I put him in one of my cages. I haven’t quite decided what to do with him, yet.”

“You hurt him, and I swear you’ll—”

“Regret it?” Rose Blade says playfully.

“You won't live long enough to,” Rainbow Dash growls.

A pause. Rose Blade trots forward as the piano continues to sing over the gramophone. “You’re in no position to make threats.” He stops just in front of Rainbow Dash, leaning in close enough he could kiss her.

“But if I have your permission, we can…” His eyes press themselves against her forelegs, up to her chest, settling on her face. “…Perhaps, make a deal.”

His breath, hot and sweet, strokes Rainbow Dash’s face, his lips almost on hers. She turns away her face, grunting in disgust as she shuts her eyes. “N-No.”

“No?” Rose Blade laughs, backing away. He saunters around her, and she can feel his eyes picking clean every detail of her anatomy with a perverted smile. “You don’t even want to hear my deal?”

“Why should I trust you?”

“Simple, my dear—because you’ve no choice.”

Both ponies fall silent as Rose Blade stops just behind her. The piano picks up.

“Here’s my deal,” Rose Blade says, his snakelike baritone coming more slowly. “I leave Shatterstorm alone. He lives. For now. And in return…”

Rainbow Dash clenches her teeth and takes a sharp breath as she feels Rose Blade stroke her back, on the spot where her spine meets her flanks. Her heart slams against her chest. Cold sweat climbs down her face.

“You give me… yourself.”

“You already have me chained up,” Rainbow Dash notes. “Why are you making a deal at all?”

Rainbow Dash can’t see it, but she knows he’s smiling. “I like giving you the option. It makes you more willing.” A pause. Then his whispering voice and hot breath tickle the inside of her ear. “You’ll invariably say yes to make sure your boyfriend lives, and in return I’ll show you and do to you everything he cannot.”

Something inside Rainbow Dash breaks. Sacrifice her dignity, or sacrifice her friend. Her options swell into something heavy, crushing her with its obvious outcome. She can’t let Rose Blade hurt Shatterstorm… but at the same time, she can’t be sure Shatterstorm is even alive anymore. She could very well be agreeing to a bum deal.

But is that a chance she can take?

Her vision swims. Rainbow Dash doesn’t realize it until it’s too late, but tears are rolling down her face. A lump forms in her throat, heat building up in her nostrils and lips. She feels Rose Blade’s hoof—cold, condescending, and strangely comforting—slide up her back, stopping at the nape of her neck, Rose Blade himself standing beside her with his damned smirk.

He has her. He knows he does.

This is too much. Rainbow Dash is unsure of what’s hurting her more: Rose Blade’s offer, that Shatterstorm might already be dead, or that this situation makes her realize she’s not nearly as tough as she thought.

She’s just giving him what he wants. With a hard swallow, Rainbow Dash lifts her head away and closes her eyes, not honoring Rose Blade with eye contact.

“Well,” Rose Blade says coolly, “at least think about it. I have other business to attend to at the moment.” His hoof cascades up her neck, cupping her chin as he walks around her, trying to get a good look in her shut eyes.

Suddenly, the hoof disconnects from her face. Rainbow Dash opens her eyes as Rose Blade makes his way to the door. He makes one last pause, looking at his reflection again (Jeez, why don’t you just marry the stupid mirror, you sick freak! Rainbow Dash thinks), fixing his firetruck-red mane, then finally reaches the door as the piano begins to slow its crescendo. He turns to look at Rainbow Dash one more time.

“You’ll have to make your decision by tomorrow morning,” he says with his pretty-boy smile. “Get plenty of rest. You’ll need it.”

The door slams shut, leaving Rainbow Dash alone with a corpse and gentle piano music.

The Wolf Revealed ~Part III~

The Wolf Revealed, Part III

Shakey shivers. The air around here is too damn cold, like a freezer. Small bits of ice have already formed on his armor and are beginning to crop up on his legs. But nonetheless, he and Eagle Eye are to stand guard, resolute and without complaint.

Again, a slam rocks the walls around the door. Then another.

The door is four feet of heavy steel, magically reinforced to survive any kind of penetration. Its design seems superfluous for a small holding cell, but then again, Shakey has learned to stop asking too many questions when Rose Blade or Roaring Yawn are involved.

The next slam shakes some dust from from the ceiling—and is then followed by more slams, short and quick ones. More shouts. Demands to let him out.

Shatterstorm has been battering the door for the better part of the past six hours. Eagle Eye had yelled at him over the noise, telling him about the door, about how he could never in a million years break it. Shatterstorm didn’t listen—never does—and continued his assault.

What bothers Shakey the most about his new assignment is what Shatterstorm does between slamming the door. When there is pause between each slam, Shakey can hear his old comrade. Even from behind the brick and the metal, he can hear Shatterstorm sob quietly.

There was one such pause. Then another a few minutes later. The third one, happening right now, stabs Shakey right in the heart—for it’s that pause in which he hears Shatterstorm mumble, gasp, sob; mewling a tiny “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry for this.”

It’s that pause, that sob, that apology that tempts Shakey to open the door—to release Shatterstorm—to help him—to help Rainbow Dash. He glances aside to Eagle Eye, and sees the same thoughts racing across his comrade’s eyes.

But there’s no going against Rose Blade. He holds the keys to the supplies and to the other Guards. They would be rent in half by Rose Blade’s pasty little loverboy before they could make good their escape, and then placed outside as a decoration. Shakey knows, as well as any other Guard, that those bodies on pikes aren’t meant for scaring off Dracula’s personal zoo of freakshows. They’re there to intimidate would-be dissenters into compliance. Many of Shakey’s own squadmates and friends hang from those pikes now.

His mind wanders again. That mare. Shatterstorm’s mare. The way Rose Blade looked her over…

Shakey wants to help. Celestia’s white wings, he wants to help.

But he can’t. He can’t because of the pikes.

Shakey shivers.

Again, a slam rocks the walls around the door. A few seconds of silence. Then another.

Dammit, when’s Roaring Yawn coming back? Shakey wonders. He and Eagle Eye both release a sigh from their nostrils as Shatterstorm’s assault continues, in short and quick bursts, on the door.

It might have been only hours. Or it could have been a month, or even a year. Wherever time is right now, it crawls along, its legs broken, out of breath, in search of safety.

After dazing in and out of consciousness, Rainbow Dash’s eyes have looked over everything in this bathroom-turned-torture-chamber: the mirror over the sink, the gramophone on the stand, the toilet just beside her (and cruelly just out of her reach), the corpse nearby, the flies that eat away at him, the blood and roses on the floor, the vacant shackles across from her. There are enough for at least two other ponies to be tied down.

Most haunting are the utensils she sees sitting just behind the tub. A long metal pole with a leash at the end. Jugs of suspicious chemicals, a few of them only half-full. A gas mask. A small basin filled with sharp implements, scissors and pins and knives. The reddish-brown stains on the tub’s interior…

Don’t look!

Rainbow Dash closes her eyes and shivers, not wanting to follow that train of thought any further.

Her mind then floats back to the shackles at her fetlocks. It takes Rainbow Dash another minute before she realizes something. If the chains were added only recently, wouldn’t that mean…?

What would that mean?

Probably nothing.

Yet…

Rainbow Dash sits on her haunches—shuddering at the sticky feeling of the coagulating blood gathering around her resting flanks and tail—and draws her forelegs up sharply. For the next twenty minutes, Rainbow Dash tugs at her chains, stretching their five-inch lengths taut. Even with the huge disadvantage of her constricted wings, with some effort the five inches of chain become five and one tenth.

She grins suddenly, her lips parting to reveal teeth, her eyes widening, her nostrils flaring.

Eureka, bitch.

There it is. There’s one link in the chain that’s beginning to warp.

She yanks harder and harder, drawing the chains as far back as she can pull them. The shackles squeeze her fetlocks like mustard bottles, her legs turning slightly purple at the lack of blood flow. Pain, slow and ebbing, crawl up and down her legs before Rainbow Dash finally stops for a moment to recuperate, sweating and panting from useless effort.

The door opens.

Rainbow Dash snaps up, expecting to see Rose Blade and preparing her best scowl. Instead, standing there with a disarmingly pleasant smile is Whisper White, his clown-white Crystal Pony body shimmering as light hits it in just the right ways. He enters the room with that disciplined-yet-demure stride of his, his electric yellow tail brushing at the floor behind him.

His hooves clip-clop against the tiled floor, his armor clanking with each quiet step. He stops in front of the corpse. With movements too fast for Rainbow Dash’s eyes to follow, the chains on the corpse’s fetlocks are undone.

As Whisper White flips the body over, Rainbow Dash sees the remains of a face: pins sticking out of a ruinous pulp of pinks and reds and a little greenish yellow, a mouth of missing teeth, a single, dead eye peering out from a dark cave.

Don’t look!

Whisper White dunks his head under the corpse, lifts it up onto his back, turns, and then leaves the room, humming a merry tune, shutting the door quietly behind him. The sound it makes closes this surreal scene with loud finality.

All the while, Whisper White does not so much as bat an eyelash at Rainbow Dash throughout any of this. It’s almost as if he refuses to accept she exists. And all the while, he continues to smile as if nothing is wrong—as if the pony on his back is just taking a nap—a spring in his step and a song in his heart.

As much as Rainbow Dash hates Rose Blade, she finds Whisper White the truly scary one.

He’d seen the way his friend had ogled the mare as she was brought in. He’d seen the way his friend had longed for her as she was put into the holding cell they were meant to guard. He’d seen the way his friend’s eyes tasted the mare as Roaring Yawn injected her with more of his strange medicines. And he catches the wanting glance his friend gives the holding cell where she sleeps.

“Don’t even think about it,” says the first Guard to the other. “Not worth it, dude.”

“Look,” the second says curtly, “I know she killed a few of our guys, but… but come on, it’s been a while.”

The first Guard shakes his head and sighs. “Dude, you just came back from visiting your girlfriend. It’s only been a week and a half. Maybe a little more than that.”

“And in that week and a half, we’ve seen more death than we ever expected in our lives,” the second Guard counters. “I don’t even know if Rocket Fire’s still alive. I know for sure we’re not gonna last a whole month in this place. If I’m going out, I’ll be going out after I get me some action one last time.”

The first Guard mulls it over, stroking his chin as he observes the holding cell door a little more closely. He looks in through the view-slot and catches her sleeping figure: her attractive shape, those full lips, that black mane and tail that continue and continue and continue… that enchanting, round little ass of hers. The dark lighting of the holding cell, all adds alluring mystery to her.

“…It’s tempting,” he says at last.

“See? I mean, we’re the ones guarding her for the next few hours, and that knockout medicine or whatever is gonna keep her out of it for days, no matter how hard we ride her. We’ll be the only ones who know. Why not?”

There’s another thoughtful pause. The first Guard looks at her again, wondering exactly how much longer he—or any Guard for that matter—have left to live under Dracula’s grip, or under Rose Blade’s reckless whims.

“Fuck it,” he says with a shrug. He removes his keyring, the jingle of metals singing as he inserts it into the holding cell’’s door.

Inside the cell, the once-was-a-wolf rests on her side, her legs in shackles. Unconscious. Beautiful. The two Guards hover over her, their horns glowing as they remove their helmets. The purple of their combined lights wash over her face, making her look even more appealing. There’s a silence that drifts through this scene for well over a minute.

“Well?”

“…Uh…”

“C-Come on,” the second Guard mutters, “what’s stopping you?”

“Me? You’re the one who thought this was a great idea!”

The second Guard pauses. Fidgets. Growls. He takes one hoof and moves the once-was-a-wolf over onto her back. He’d always had a kink for positions where he could see the mare’s face while he rutted her: that look of surprise and terror and delight. Not that he’d see it on an unconscious mare, but it’s difficult breaking habits.

He goes in low, crawling on top of the mare. He hooks his forelegs around her, breathing heavily as he draws himself closer, his body heat increasing just by contact with a mare, hardening at the sight of her gorgeous facial features.

Just as he readies himself to enter her, the mare’s eyes snap open, beads of purple sitting in oceans of white. The color drains out of the first Guard’s face.

“Whuh—What are you—?!” is all the mare can sputter, her voice a weak, vomiting croak.

Suddenly, the second Guard shoves a foreleg over her mouth. “You scream and I’ll make it hurt,” he threatens.

Tears shimmer in her purple eyes as the intoxicating feeling of power bubbles within the second Guard. His lips split into a toothed grin as he snorts a breath of hot air over her face. The first Guard looks on uncomfortably as his partner begins to grind on top of the mare, dropping his foreleg from her mouth so that he can move in on her full lips.

“Wh-Why am I awake?!” she mumbles under his mouth. “I, I can’t be awake!”

“I said quiet!” the second Guard hisses. He lifts his face off hers, and his hoof is drawn across her cheek with a jarring pop.

The first Guard sweats and shakes his head, his heart clawing its way out of his chest. Before he can step in and do some damage control, the mare’s face snaps back to her tormentor, her purple eyes melting into an almond shape. Her pelt and mane grow thicker, becoming tangled like hay in a haystack.

Her teeth reach forward like eager claws, hooking into jagged fangs.

The second Guard lifts himself off the mare, coiling backwards in stunned terror as she pulls at her shackles with an absurd strength she didn’t have before, breaking the chains and climbing to her hooves—now breaking into giant paws—as she grows larger and hairier. Her beady purple eyes glare at her tormentors, sparkling darkly with thirst for vengeance.

It is awake.

Rainbow Dash waits a minute to make sure she’s totally alone. Then she returns to attempting to break her chains.

After a few more minutes of depriving her fetlocks of blood circulation, Rainbow Dash flattens onto her flanks, gasping for breath. She throws her head back, looking blankly at the ceiling, sweat flinging from her forehead as she stifles a groan.

She clenches her teeth, snarling as she looks back down to the obstinate chains. While some links have warped, it is only slightly. Rainbow Dash lowers her head and growls a curse. At this rate, she’d be here all night.

Suddenly, her thoughts bring up Shatterstorm. The look on his face just before her lights went out. Such terror. Betrayal. Heartbreak. When they were coming into this place, everypony acted like they at least knew him. She can’t imagine what it must feel like to wake up one day and find out all your friends are evil.

Again, an uncertain (and unwelcome) part of her wonders if he’s even alive right now. The more she thinks about him, the more she worries. Slowly, a lump forms in her throat. She swallows it. It goes down like lead.

Her eyes fall on her right foreleg, and how its purple glaze begins to recede like the tide. Lazily and without hope, she looks aside at all the blood and all the rose petals. Suddenly, she finds something she didn’t see before.

There, in the thickening, cool blood, is a long, slim piece of metal. A pin.

Obviously, her hooves can’t reach it from here. Rainbow Dash gets down on all fours, leaning forward to grab the pin between her teeth. Too far away. She snorts in frustration.

There’s not much time. Rose Blade could be walking down that hall any moment. Rainbow Dash’s breath becomes shallower. Harder. Finally, dunking down to her knees atop the thick, browning blood, Rainbow Dash leans forward as far as she can.

Her chin on the bloodied ground does no good, instead bouncing her jaws too far away from the pin. She pauses. Reluctantly, Rainbow Dash turns her head, resting her right side—hoof, fetlock, elbow, shoulder, neck, cheek, temple, ear, and mane—on the bloodied tile. The ambience of the room becomes a distorted silence on that side.

She is struck by an invasive pang of nostalgia. Rainbow Dash remembers, as a little filly, the strange, quiet distortion she heard when she pressed her hoof against her ear. When she’d asked her dad about it, he convinced her in the way any wise father would that she’d been listening to her hoof as it spoke to her in a mystical and silent language.

What she’d give to see Dad again. If she lived to see the end of this mission, she’d search the entirety of Equestria to see if he’s all right.

Maybe it’s the nostalgic thoughts of her father. Maybe it’s that she’s worried for Shatterstorm. Or maybe it’s that she’s smearing another pony’s blood all over herself. Everything crashes down around Rainbow Dash, pulling tears out of her eyes as she once again cranes her neck, jaws wide, biting for that pin.

She chomps. Still too short.

Sniffling, Rainbow Dash recollects herself, piece by piece, not taking her eyes off the pin just an inch away. Just another inch.

She takes a few deep breaths. Then she opens her mouth, and extends her tongue.

The iron of blood lathers against her tongue before she finds the iron of the pin. Rainbow Dash gags, her tongue shooting back into her mouth and spreading that awful taste around. The taste is joined by gaseous vomit. After some coughing and dry heaving, she sniffles again, damning herself for being such a crybaby all of a sudden.

Pink tongue against the browning blood, Rainbow Dash finally touches the pin, their tastes mingling. With a careful, flicking curl, her tongue rolls the pin into her mouth; her mission now complete, she immediately stands back up, out of the horrendous blood, holding the pin between her teeth.

Pin firmly between her teeth now, Rainbow Dash gets to work on undoing the inner machinery of the shackles. At first she’s too hasty—trying too hard to find the right angles—but after taking a deep breath and going a little more slowly, she finds the weak spot and the shackle lets go of her fetlock with a loud click.

Off go the other shackles, falling listlessly to the floor. Relieved, she rubs her purpled fetlocks, getting more feeling back into them.

Her eyes glance at her reflection in the mirror. She’s a thing out of nightmares: blood smeared all over one side of her body, with more on her hinds and a desperate look in her eyes. But more importantly, she has a fantastic view of the clamp’s lock and with some desperation, gets to work on it, the ticking of metal against mechanisms the only sound in this prison.

One wrong turn and the pin is rendered bent and useless. The wing-clamp must have a complicated lock. Rainbow Dash spits it out in frustration and looks for an alternative.

That’s when the sirens blare.

They’re like screams, bouncing off every wall as red lights flicker.

Shakey and Eagle Eye look all about in surprise the moment they hear it, Shatterstorm falling quiet for now. There’s shouting and other Guards running about on the upper floors.

“Are we under attack?” Shakey asks.

“Why you askin’ me for?” Eagle Eye says with a confused frown.

Hastened hoofsteps clip-clop down the hall, drawing closer, until finally Roaring Yawn rounds the corner. There’s this look of teeth-clenched terror and sweat on his face.

“What’s going on out there?” Shakey asks.

“The beast has escaped,” Roaring Yawn says. “She’s already killed four Guards.”

“She’s loose?!” Eagle Eye gasps in panic. “In the laboratories?! Here?!”

“Yes,” Roaring Yawn confirms with a nod. “But she’s working her way around our failsafes. It won’t be long before she tears her way through the entire base.”

As the two Royal Guards stand there stunned, Roaring Yawn waves a hoof. “Listen, there’s an exit that way,” he says, pointing the waved hoof further down the hallway. “I don’t know about you two, but I’m getting out of here!”

Shakey scoffs as Roaring Yawn turns to go down the hall. “What? What do you mean, getting outta here?”

“As in, leaving. Going away. Escaping this awful place.”

Eagle Eye shakes his head. “Roary, y’know as well as we do what Rose Blade would do to deserters!”

Roaring Yawn turns his head and scoffs. “Do I care? I could die here in the jaws of a beast, or I could die trying to get the Tartarus out of here and heading to safety—and quite frankly, I’d take my chances out there than in here.” With that, he disappears around the corner, his hooves pounding against the bricks growing quieter and quieter as the alarm continues to blare.

A pause. Both Royal Guards are suddenly jostled by a loud slam. At first, they think it’s Shatterstorm in his cell—but another slam confirms that it’s coming from the other end of the hall Roaring Yawn had just disappeared to. The color drains from their faces as they hear the Wharg’s piercing howl from the other side of that gilded door, followed by more eager slams.

Without any further hesitation, they bolt. Damn the situation. Damn Shatterstorm’s bad luck. Damn the Wharg that is now on the hunt for flesh. Their hooves beat against the floor, carrying them to what they hope is safety.

In the shadows, Roaring Yawn waits for those two clowns to run all the way to the holding cell’s exit. Teleporting quietly back to the door he’d entered through was easy enough. The recordings he’d made of the Wharg’s snarling also helped in scaring away the Guards, as well as simply bucking the door with his hind legs. The fact he’d layered the sound of door-kicking with an “Increase Volume” spell completed his hoax.

As Roaring Yawn makes his way to Shatterstorm’s cell to unlock it, the cell’s occupant begins frantically beating against the door, shaking dust and tiny bits of brick out from around it. How long had he been at this? Roaring Yawn has read Shatterstorm’s file (though granted it was very quick as he had not much time to roll this plan into motion), and knows of his fierce dedication and tenacity, but this is just silly.

With a telekinetic glow, Roaring Yawn reaches into his shirt pocket and readies a spare key for the cell. Just before he can put it into the lock, one more good slam against the door forces it off its hinges with an alarming creak. Roaring Yawn gasps in shock as the door—heavier than an elephant—begins to descend like a curtain upon him with a shuddering sound. Had he not backed up with a jump just as the door crashed to the floor, he’d have fit nicely into a sandwich.

Dust from destroyed brick lifts into the air like fog, an angry figure stumbling out of the tiny cell the door guarded. Before Roaring Yawn can do much of anything, that angry figure is on him—a pair of hooves hard as diamonds push into his chest, forcing him first onto his hinds and then onto his back as a body’s weight is forced onto his stomach, squeezing the air out of his lungs. One of those hooves hard as diamonds suddenly cracks down onto the brick right next to Roaring Yawn’s face, destroying both the brick and its neighbors.

Shatterstorm blows hot air across Roaring Yawn’s panicking face. “Rainbow Dash,” he demands, his voice a menacing growl. “Where is she?!”

She’s in the air vents, crawling quietly as the sirens scream and the Guards below scramble to... fix whatever had gone wrong, she surmises. Part of her hopes Shatterstorm suddenly broke loose, and she hopes he's giving them as much Tartarus as they deserve, and she hopes she can find him in time, and she clings to this hope with a burning fervor.

Many times, Rainbow Dash stops and waits for Guards to run by in case they hear her. She crawls—then stops at the sound of hoofsteps—then crawls again, this process proceeding for an indefinite period. It’s more annoying than it should be: the clamp around her wings holds fast to her body, making it more difficult to change directions.

The siren had jabbed a needle of panic into Rainbow Dash’s heart, and in a blind panic to escape before Rose Blade or some other Guard would check on his… “playmate”, Rainbow Dash jumped up to the air vent above the tub (ignoring the bloodstains was even more difficult this time), yanked off the vent, and climbed up.

Her first instinct is to find Shatterstorm—but unlike Shatterstorm, she has no mental map of the base, instead merely making estimated guesses. Needless to say, within only a few minutes’ time she is lost. Bet Daring Do never has days like this, she muses. Suddenly, a chilling and familiar howl rips through the metal of the vent.

She stops, this time over a grating, small shafts of light reaching up into Rainbow Dash’s face as she looks down. She finds herself over an auditorium of some sort (perhaps a movie theater for the Guards’ recreation?) and running rampant down there is the Wharg from earlier.

It’s a wild blur of fur and fang, a circle of Royal Guards badgering it with kicks and magic bolts. One Guard suddenly finds himself between its jaws… then finding his back legs in its mouth while he flops pathetically onto the auditorium floor, crawling away while babbling a prayer.

Rainbow Dash can only watch.

Ever since he was jolted from his meditations by the siren wailing in his office, Rose Blade had been struggling to maintain control. Many Guards still loyal to him—out of respect or out of fear, he cares not—attempted to find and neutralize Roaring Yawn’s pet, and by the time they’d found the damned thing, Rose Blade was sure at least a few of his Guards had deserted or been eaten.

Fortunately, through the clever use of baiting, his Guards were able to herd the Wharg into the auditorium. Many of them stood at the exits, awaiting his signal.

He locks eyes with that damnable beast, his lips drawn into a tight scowl. It chews the hind legs of one of his troops almost thoughtfully, as if savoring the taste. The unfortunate Guard whose legs were taken soon finds the rest of him in its mouth, pulled up off the floor and flung into the air. His screams reach a timbre that makes Rose Blade smile as he arcs, then descends, the Wharg catching him in its mouth, cutting his scream short.

The Wharg sets its catch down, placing one paw over the Guard’s head to keep him grounded. Then it pulls upward, the meat coming right off the bone. Red coats the beast’s fur, the floor, the auditorium chairs.

He watches. At the other exits, the Royal Guards look from the grisly scene to Rose Blade uncomfortably.

He nods.

At the signal, the Guards at each exit pull a switch that causes thick iron bars to descend, trapping the Wharg in the auditorium. The Guards still trapped in the auditorium notice the descending panic doors, and rush toward them, hoping to make it in time before they find themselves next on the Wharg’s menu. Some, in fact, do make it.

The iron shafts clang loudly as they touch the floor. A Guard beats his hoof against the one that separates Rose Blade from the auditorium. “Open up!” he pleads. “Please, for the love of Celestia, open up!”

Rose Blade’s lips turn up in a smirk as the Guard begs for his life. It’s as if the fool has no idea that making a ruckus will only draw the Wharg’s attention to him—and sure enough, the begging becomes a scream wrapped in the Wharg’s howl. Rose Blade watches through the bars as it digs into its second course.

One of the Royal Guards looks to Rose Blade as the Wharg devours his comrade. “Um, Captain? Are we really just gonna keep it here?”

“Certainly not,” Rose Blade says evenly. “We’ll wait until she falls asleep. Then we’ll kill her.”

He snorts, having grown tired of humoring Roaring Yawn’s pet-keeping. Despite its entertainment value, he’s losing valuable pony-power. Rose Blade swears the next time he sees that idiot, he’ll tear off his face and mount it on his wall.

Rose Blade lies down on the floor, watching the Wharg chase the other trapped Royal guards with keen interest. “Until then,” he says in a way so icy it makes his subordinates shiver, “let’s just enjoy the show.”

Part of Rainbow Dash wants to swoop in and help the Guards. But another part of her freezes her conscience. Getting involved now bears the possibility of disastrous results—considerably fatal. Is the idea of rescuing her enemies really worth the risk? And since when did Rainbow Dash ever hesitate to do anything?

As she ponders, a pegasus Guard flies up to grab onto the air vent, coming much too close to Rainbow Dash for her comfort. It seems this guy has the same idea Rainbow Dash had in Rose Blade’s bathroom.

She panics. If this guy catches her, he’d bring her back to Rose Blade. But on the other hoof, Rose Blade was obviously off his nut—that should be obvious to this Guard at this point. That doesn’t mean he himself is a good pony anyway. What if he tries to… what if he tries…

Panic seizes Rainbow Dash, its jaws closing around her, its jagged teeth sinking into her brain and taking over completely. As the Guard pulls off the air vent, Rainbow Dash reaches down to punch him—to keep him the Tartarus away from her—to not touch her—Don’t look!—Don’t look!

Rainbow Dash doesn’t realize she has fallen out of the air vent until she lands on the auditorium floor. The fall isn’t enough to cause any real damage to her (as huge falls have been plentiful in her training), but there’s a flash of white—and sound is reduced to a thin whine—and a frozen feeling overtakes her.

The whine evens out eventually, becoming growls and screams. The white fades away, becoming a sideways image of the Wharg shaking its victim—the pegasus Guard—around in its mouth like a toy. The freeze in her legs melts as she pulls herself up onto her hooves, the clamp around her middle weighing heavily.

There’s cheering. Rainbow Dash glances around when she hears it. The Guards at each exit—safe behind their iron doors—are watching, cheering, betting, whistling, hollering, and chanting like a packed stadium for a hoofball game.

She looks up at the Wharg, who finishes up its latest meal. Behind the Wharg, Rainbow Dash can make out Rose Blade, whose deep green eyes are initially wide with surprise, then gradually narrow as his snakelike grin slithers further up on his face than should be equinely possible.

Looks like Rose Blade has had a change of heart. Instead of forking her over to Dracula’s forces, he’d feed her to an out-of-control lycanthrope. Rainbow Dash harrumphs, making a rude gesture at him, to which he returns with a snicker.

There’s really no place for Rainbow Dash to hide. So when the Wharg sees her, it greets her with this look of realization. The huntress has found The One That Got Away.

It cricks its neck, left, then right, as if remembering how hard Rainbow Dash had kicked it earlier. The twinkle in its purple eyes begets an eagerness to rend and decimate, the rolling tongue projecting its agonizing, insatiable hunger.

The Wharg takes a few steps forward, slowly, as if challenging her worthy prey.

Rainbow Dash sneers. Grunts a hot breath. Paws a hoof at the ground, accepting the challenge. “I hope you know what you’re getting into,” she growls, turning her head to spit. “You caught me on a really bad day.”

The cheering becomes more intense, the audience growing more excited by Rainbow Dash’s unintentional showboating. The game is on. They gather at their coliseum to watch a gladiator slay a beast, their mad emperor watching on with appalling merriment.

Then the game begins: both gladiator and beast lunge with a roar and a howl.

The Wolf Revealed ~Part IV~

The Wolf Revealed, Part IV

The look in Roaring Yawn’s eyes as he babbled Please don’t kill me! and I’ll talk! had been submission and terror, but to Shatterstorm his words sounded strangely practiced. Still, he has no reason to doubt that Roaring Yawn was telling the truth—especially not after he’d given him some scars on his left foreleg to match his right.

His familiarity with the base’s layout aids Shatterstorm (and it doesn’t hurt to be able to fly and crawl up walls to keep out of sight, either) as he makes his way to Rose Blade’s personal chambers. He’s around the corner and hiding and down the hallway and in every shadow. He haunts the base’s anatomy, an invasive and unfamiliar virus infecting her, poisoning her, killing her on his way to her heart.

Some Guards run through the hall beneath him as the sirens continue to wail. From his perch, clutching fast to the ceiling, Shatterstorm watches and waits for them to turn the corner, his breath held until they disappear from his sight.

Down he goes, landing on the ground as gently and quietly as a feather. He dashes down this hallway—down that hallway—down the next hallway—past the empty suits of armor and the rows of doors—ghosting by windows where once upon a time a younger pegasus would stare out and question why the fuck he was even here—where he and Tiger Cross first became friends—where his mind falls to pieces for one second because Tiger Cross is dead and Rainbow Dash is about to join him—where Shatterstorm failed to save them—where Shatterstorm’s chest heaves with grief—but for only one second—only one—then he jolts under shadows, to the chamber where he and Rainbow Dash had been before. The deep bass of his heartbeat ravages his chest as he throws the doors open.

He looks to the right, where the big red door lies in wait like the mouth of some giant predator. A second later, he pulls the door, only to find it locked. His hind legs make a much more effective key.

Shatterstorm shoots through the doorway before it even hits the floor, his wings open and lending him speed, his hooves pounding against hard floor before coming to a screaming halt. He’s met with awful smells and low lighting. Rose Blade’s quarters has the appearance of an apartment: a small kitchen on the right, a darkened sitting room on the left stocked with bookshelves and all the comforts of home…

His heart withers the moment he claps eyes onto Rose Blade’s houseguests.

Blank eyes set in destroyed faces stare out at nothing. Their broken forms lean where they sit on the bloodstained chairs and couch, a tea tray on the coffee table between them. The whispering blue glow from the nearby fish tank—along with the red and orange lights here and there reflected by Rose Blade’s pet fish—paints this nightmare with exotic colors.

Shatterstorm is frozen to the spot. He doesn’t realize he isn’t breathing until he feels his face begin to burn, and inhales deeply—only to regret it. Hot vomit crawls up his esophagus, its acrid bitterness already staining the back of his teeth by the time he forces it back down.

His heartbeat didn’t slow down before, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to yield. Breathing heavily through his mouth, Shatterstorm begins to look away—

—only to notice the steam rising from the tea on the table. How long ago had that been put out?

He knew Shatterstorm would be here. The moment the sirens blared, Whisper White knew why they’d cried out. He’d put the tea set down, hid, and waited. Whisper White is good at waiting.

The moment his target burst into the Captain’s quarters—because Whisper White is smart and knew he would come here—he tenses, his pelt prickling with the excitement of his incoming battle.

When Shatterstorm is close enough, close enough that Whisper White can smell his pretty, pretty smell, Whisper White glides out from his hiding place. A falling leaf would have made more noise.

He doesn’t know Whisper White is here yet. Whisper White remembers his training—the years of grueling training he’d endured—the years of his childhood spent in King Sombra’s regimen—the years he spent killing and killing and killing. He remembers the first few years where he would kill just as silently and as quickly as he moved.

But he eventually entered his teens and discovered it was much more satisfying when his prey would look at him—look him in the eyes—see his cute little smile—just as he brought his hooves down on them and ended them and watched every moment of their lives glimmer and broil in their panicked eyes before the lights went out. Much, much more satisfying.

He stands just behind Shatterstorm, totally unnoticed. He waits. Again, Whisper White waits, waits for the moment he can make some noise.

Shatterstorm shudders the moment he sees the Captain’s guests. No surprise. The Captain was too rough and took too long with those anyway. The Captain loves brutality even more than Whisper White does.

Then Shatterstorm’s ear twitches. Danger.

Whisper White takes that as his cue. He glides, again soundlessly, using his small, coltish body to get underneath Shatterstorm, shivering with delight slightly as he feels his beautiful prey against his Crystal Pony flesh. Shatterstorm is up and flailing and slamming into a wall and falling down and landing on his forelegs before he can even yelp.

And Whisper White is on him, clown-white, glittering hooves battering against Shatterstorm’s pretty face. There’s grunting. There’s heavy breathing. There’s sweat and spittle and shouts and blood and everything everything everything Whisper White lives for. He smiles, his lips curving without mischief or maliciousness, as he beats Shatterstorm—and beats him—and beats him—and throws him into the living room. Shatterstorm falls against the coffee table, spilling the tea set all over the guests.

There’s a look in Shatterstorm’s eyes that go well with his perfect bruises. Determination. Good. Whisper White has only ever seen determination on this level in the eyes of a hooffull of ponies—King Sombra, the Captain, Princess Luna, the lovely Rainbow Dash…

Her magenta eyes. Like a valkyrie’s. Whisper White didn’t even need to look at her in the bathroom to know how powerful her eyes are. How strong she is. He can see it in her eyes. Eyes like a valkyrie’s.

“I knew you’d come for her,” Whisper White says coolly.

Standing back up is a battle between Shatterstorm and his own legs, but whatever force of gravity that still holds him together lends him the power. He snorts. Whisper White looks in his eyes. Beautiful eyes. Beautiful determination. Beautiful, beautiful.

“You’re both beautiful, you know,” he continues. The way Shatterstorm lifts an eyebrow is comical, and gets a chuckle or two out of Whisper White as he—for once, slowly—saunters around him. “Yes, beautiful. Both of you. Your determination. Your strength. It’s a shame you use it against the Captain.”

Whisper White already has a plan in his head—and just by closing his eyes, it happens. Shatterstorm is lifted and thrown down to the couch, knocking it over, sending the guests spiraling to the floor. The glorious noises the guests make as they land remind Whisper White of his early days as part of King Sombra’s elite: that sound was the only thing that noted his existence, and by the time anypony heard it, it was too late: the prey was dead and Whisper White was gone.

The excitement Whisper White felt before is swelling, aching. It grows and builds and begs for release. His smile, still small, still boyish, hides a giggle that bubbles in his throat.

“But you’ll never see her again,” he says. “You’ll die before that happens. It’s a shame, too—so beautiful. Both of you.”

There’s something that ghosts by Shatterstorm’s eyes, dancing with his determination. “You really think Rose Blade feels about you the way you feel for him?” he asks salaciously. “The only reason you’re his number two is because he’s fragile.”

Whisper White’s eyes shoot open, his smile unmoving, unflinching. Impossible. That’s impossible. The Captain? Fragile? Such a powerful creature, with his smile and his mane and his green eyes and his strength, his beautiful, beautiful strength? Impossible.

“He needs somepony there to stroke his ego,” Shatterstorm continues as he struggles back up to his hooves. “He needs you… because he’s weak and he knows it. He’s weak and he’s afraid.”

There’s a pause. It’s heavy and growing heavier by the second. Impossible.

Whisper White’s hooves wrap around Shatterstorm’s neck, yanking him forward. Their muzzles touch. All the while, Whisper White smiles as their hot breaths mingle. “Was that supposed to make me angry?” he asks, still smiling, his eyes merely slits.

His breath becomes hotter and his eyes snap awake and his pupils become microscopic black islands in oceans of electric yellow. “Because it did,” he says, still smiling, always smiling.

The fish tank. Whisper White introduces Shatterstorm to the Captain’s pets, holding his head underwater, patiently, waiting, waiting, waiting—waiting for the inevitable, coming limpness of body, slacking of form, one tiny, final gasp before everything Shatterstorm was and is falls silent.

Whisper White’s excitement mixes with his anger. His breathing becomes more hoarse, more shaky, more airy as his ears are kissed by Shatterstorm’s drowning gasps.

Then there’s a clap. Shatterstorm brings up both wings—both of them shooting upwards and into Whisper White’s ears, clapping them, quick, sudden pain chased by ringing and dizziness. The single moment of slack that follows allows Shatterstorm to suddenly bring up his head—bringing it up just as fast as his wings, colliding with Whisper White’s muzzle, putting fireworks in his mouth and setting them all off at once.

Whisper White, stunned, staggers backward. Then Shatterstorm’s hind legs are lifted and they fire like rockets.

This brief connection launches Whisper White into outer space. There’s stars that pop and suns that burn brightly and galaxies that swirl and dark colors that swim and no gravity or up or down. The wall greets Whisper White with a slap to his back, the impact leaving a huge crack and shaking the paintings off the Captain’s wall.

Sounds come back and the darkness fades and the colors stop swimming, but they take their time. And just as Whisper White opens his eyes, the fish tank flies at him and pushes his head back into the wall for a split, intimate second. There’s pain like no other, lights popping against darkness, water splashing, fish flopping all around him as he falls forward.

Then Shatterstorm shouts. Anger. Anger born of determination. Yes. Beautiful.

Then Shatterstorm is on him. And Whisper White feels it: the hooves that trample and stomp and punch and kick and dig deeply into every inch of Whisper White’s body. The way his hooves kiss and smother into Crystal Pony flesh as he screams a warrior’s song as Whisper White grunts under every fierce blow. There’s blood in the air, and on the wall, and all over Shatterstorm’s beautiful, beautiful face.

Whisper White’s lips fly back and his voice whimpers out of his lungs, shaky and warbling, growing into passionate screams as Shatterstorm pounds and pounds and pounds.

Beautiful.

The auditorium quakes beneath the Wharg’s padded feet as it catapults itself to its prey. The howl that whips from its open maw dances with the sound of cheering Royal Guards. Its eyes—beady purple little fireballs in dark, hairy caves—burn furiously as its prey, unfettered, runs towards it.

Rainbow Dash, even on hoof, even bound by the wing-clamp, lives up to her name—all moving colors and blurry image and mesmerizing speed. Her magenta eyes don’t burn the same way as the Wharg’s and her howl doesn’t shake the world the way its does and her hooves don’t pound the way its paws do. But her eyes are like a valkyrie’s. Her roar is like a tiger’s. Her hooves are like a locomotive. She’s dangerous. Unstoppable.

The clash that explodes the auditorium’s building tension is a colossal thing, a perfect painting, a godlike moment frozen in time. The Guards all cheer the moment it happens: the giant Wharg bearing down its glistening, bloodied fangs on a leaping, whooping mare one-third its size.

The explosive clash is followed by a deafening silence. The Wharg is taken aback, staggering stupidly on reluctant legs. Rainbow Dash steps backwards, unsure if the blood on her hoof is from her enemy, her previous cellmate, or herself. The dazed look in the Wharg’s eyes and the snarling wobble of its lips implies an opening—and, like everything else she’s ever wanted in her life, Rainbow Dash reaches out and takes it.

The Royal Guards cheer for the blow that lands—and for the blood that spills—and for the howls of pain and for the teeth that bite and for the hooves that stomp and for the claws that swipe. All the while, as his subordinates cheer, Rose Blade smiles slowly, coyly, reveling in the sight of a beautiful mare battling a beautiful beast.

Finally, the bear-trap jaws of the Wharg come down on Rainbow Dash, teeth digging into either side and lifting her up off the floor. A sound erupts out of Rainbow Dash’s mouth—not a scream, not a shout, but a sound like cracking thunder. The Wharg has drawn out her anger, and as it shakes Rainbow Dash around like a rag doll, its jaws closing more and more on the clamp, bending it, breaking it little by little, that anger festers—and broils—and electrifies—and the moment that clamp breaks with a bang, Rainbow Dash escapes like a cannonball fired from its barrel.

Cheers and whoops from the audience. An approving smile from Rose Blade. Were Rainbow Dash not pissed off to her current extent, she might have opened her pride’s mouth wide and gorged upon the praise. Her ego might have been nourished by their adoration.

But not today.

Her audience and their cheering fade away like somepony slowly turning the volume down on a radio. They quiet, quiet, quiet until the world is only Rainbow Dash and the Wharg. The dead bodies, torn with their insides and their blood painting the floor, sink into darkness. The world is only Rainbow Dash and the Wharg.

As Rainbow Dash flies above the Wharg, it looks up with those purple, feral eyes burning brightly. She drops like a hammer, hooves out. It opens its mouth, teeth bared. Again, a clash. Again, blood. Again howls and roars and cheers.

A hoof extends, a nose it bends, and the Wharg lets out a roar. A paw is whipped, and flesh is ripped: blood flutters to the floor. Cheers and jeers all abound as there comes a second round of hooves of steel and claws so long. Their shadows dance in death’s advance—their battle rings like a song. Thumping applause at punches and claws, every voyeur in the audience grins.

And all the while, Rose Blade smiles—because whoever falls, he’s the one who wins.

Shatterstorm snaps out of it. His breathing is even worse now than when he came in, his heartbeat an incessant clamor in his ears. All around him, darkness and the stench of death. In front of him, a wall colored by the lights dancing in front of his eyes—the things you see when you close your eyes so hard you see shapes.

He suddenly feels cold. Spent. Heavy. Every inch of him is covered in sweat. Every inch of him hurts. Every inch of him heaves with every tired, ugly breath.

And there, lying beneath him, is Whisper White: unconscious, bruised, beaten, bleeding, one eye crumpled into unrecognizable jelly, and still

fucking

smiling.

He shudders. Shatterstorm never liked this bastard. But he has to admit, this scuffle was… enjoyable. Relieving, even. Haven’t been in a fight like that since the Changeling invasion.

He takes one last sigh of breath as he gets up off Whisper White and stumbles his way to the bathroom, where no doubt Rainbow Dash waits. On his way there, the kitchen nook—still lit, by the way—reveals a body bag. Evidently, this guest wasn’t invited to tea time with the others.

He opens the door.

He turns on the light.

The blood. The instruments lying behind the bathtub. The chains on the floor, tying into the walls and to the toilet. Shatterstorm has had to see some truly ugly things in this line of work, but this is…

He sees the feather. Cyan feathers.

Her feathers.

The body bag out in the kitchen nook. Shatterstorm turns to look at it, his jaw going slack, his ears drooping, his breathing once again becoming spastic.

“No,” he whispers meekly, his eyes growing wide and wet.

No. Not Rainbow Dash. There’s no way she’d have gone down without a fight. There’s no way she…

Just like there was no way Tiger Cross could have gone down without a fight. No way. But he still fell. He still was killed—because you are worthless and you weren’t there.

You were useless to Tiger Cross. You were useless to Rainbow Dash. You’re useless to everypony. You can't save them. You can’t save anyone. WORTHLESS.

Wait. Stop. Stop. Don’t fall apart.

He breathes deeply. His breath is still shaky, interspersed with tense half-sobs.

Shatterstorm walks to the body bag and, with some reluctance, draws the zipper down to reveal the cavernous remains of a face. He gags, hot bile begging to escape, forcing it all back down. The zipper goes further down, revealing the ravaged body of a complete stranger. No form of identification… just another nameless traitor, another bag of flesh Rose Blade had his way with—another sin he’ll be made to pay for.

While this poor soul met a gruesome end, Shatterstorm whispers a prayer of thanks to Celestia that Rainbow Dash may still be alive. But was Roaring Yawn lying about keeping her in the bathroom, or…?

Back into the bathroom, where all the blood and all the implements of horror lie. His eyes scan the room again, picking up detail after detail, looking for a clue. There’s a grill next to the tub, with all the other dangerous instruments. How had he missed that before?

And up above, an open air vent...

Shatterstorm snorts and shakes his head in irritation. “Dammit, Rainbow Dash,” he growls as he crawls up into the shaft. “Would it kill you to be feminine for once and let yourself be rescued?!”

The wall behind Rainbow Dash is nice enough to catch her, but rough enough to leave bruises and cruel enough to just toss her to the ground. For one tempting moment, unconsciousness dares dangle its carrot in front of Rainbow Dash’s nose, taking her legs’ will to stand and clouding her vision with spots and filling her ears with ringing silence.

Her body is this close to simply breaking. All the claw swipes and the bites and the bashing and the crashing have left Rainbow Dash in tatters. The Wharg charges her once more, its strides clumsy and tired.

Every muscle in her body, bleeding and battered, screams to simply lie down, give it time to rest, time to heal, to mend—to die, most likely. But that cutie mark on her flanks is a mark of destiny, a badge she earned by never going down easy, and never tiring, and never giving up.

Rainbow Dash forces herself to stand, pushes herself. She wishes she’d always been one who pushed herself, but there were years where she didn’t. Where she simply was a hot-headed loser, skipping lessons, falling asleep during class, not bothering to put any effort into becoming better...

The Wharg gets closer.

But that changed, didn’t it, Rainbow Dash? At some point, you realized how you were letting down everypony who believed in you. Dad never raised a loser, and he’d tell you. Every day. Maybe he’d compliment you on what you did right, or maybe he’d yell at you when you did something wrong, but he never gave you permission to lose.

Closer.

Dad didn’t raise a loser.

Closer…

Mom didn’t die for a loser.

The Wharg’s mouth opens.

A hoof covered in blood snaps it back shut.

Rainbow Dash’s wings carry her up—and around—and with a few mighty pumps, those same wings fire her like a laser beam—bouncing off the Wharg’s jaw—into its rib—through its hind legs—onto its back—across its face—across its face—across its face. Her hooves connect like electricity with every blow, frying the circuitry of the Wharg’s brain and body.

The Wharg, finally, lets out one last warbling howl before it falls forward, beaten bloody and senseless.

Rainbow Dash stands atop her fallen foe’s furry form, panting with exhaustion, sweat and blood caked to her body like war paint. She notices her audience has stopped cheering, instead just staring at the spectacle with wide eyes and gaping jaws. She flings her head back, sweat sparkling as it flies from her forehead, and gives out a throaty yell.

“WHO ELSE WANTS SOME?!”

The Guards all back down. Rose Blade rolls his eyes. “Fools,” he says, “she’s the one in the cage.”

“Sh-Should we go in and retrieve her, sir?” asks one Guard shyly.

Rose Blade looks once more at Rainbow Dash. Observing her. How beautiful she is, covered in blood and sweat. She’s a valkyrie, a warrior. All pegasi are, to some degree—but she’s a goddess among all of them, and the dangerous part is she knows it.

Still, even goddesses falter. Those two incompetent Princesses are proof enough.

He waves a hoof dismissively. “No,” he says. “Those iron bars should stay down. If she tries escaping, those wounds she has won’t let her get very far.” He looks up thoughtfully at the air vents she’d come in through. “Let’s see, now… She’s probably trying to escape, so she’s headed… yes, that ventilation system runs through the auditorium to the main hall, the kitchen, and the mess hall from here. Gather the best troops and place three or more of you at each vent.”

The Guard looks at his comrades. “You heard the Captain. Let’s move!”

As his troops get into position, Rose Blade looks back to Rainbow Dash as she half-struts, half-stumbles off the Wharg. Covered in sweat. Covered in blood. Good and roughed. A valkyrie. Goddess-like beauty.

Yes. Beautiful.

Rose Blade licks his lips. And smiles.

Her lungs feel as though they’ve swelled up bigger than her head. Her heart feels like it’s battling every artery, every vein, every capillary just to keep blood pumping. Her skin feels like it’s on fire. Her wings feel like every feather has been plucked off, every muscle twisted into something shapeless.

But Rainbow Dash staggers on. She regains her balance, finally, as she looks back up to the air vent. She sighs, and beats her wings, giving herself some lift, reaching up for the air vent. Her wings ache with every flutter.

She falls back down, landing on legs that have become jelly, falling to a belly dressed in blood and claw marks, panting heavily. Her body has become too heavy to lift. Her adrenaline subsides like a tide, leaving each wound to sparkle under a hot sun.

She opens her eyes and looks aside, catching Rose Blade smiling at her. Licking his lips like a pervert. Leering. Itching. Waiting for his chance at her. Her stomach lurches.

Sound becomes distortions. Sight becomes kaleidoscopes. Feeling becomes numbness. Everything begins swimming away from her. As her breathing becomes increasingly harsh, Rainbow Dash drifts into an ocean of a broken mind and broken body.

The first time she’d met Fluttershy at flight camp, the poor thing—so scrawny, so helpless—getting bullied—should rescue—and she did.

Her first race—against those three jock losers—broke the record—broke the sound barrier—did a Sonic Rainboom—Dad was so proud—first time she’d seen him shed tears of joy.

The first time she and Gilda tried witch weed—how they choked and sputtered—and got the giggles—and couldn’t stop—and they laughed and laughed.

The Wharg’s eyes snap open.

Pinkie Pie pulling pranks with her—the disappearing ink—the candy that tastes like boogers—classic stuff—lots and lots of laughs.

It grunts.

Read Mom’s letter—so beautiful—never met—never hugged—never kissed—never got the chance to truly love her—read Mom’s letter—her father cried.

It pulls itself back up on wobbly legs.

She challenged Applejack—so many contests—so many victories—so many losses—more than enough draws—best friends—best rivals—like sisters—sisters because you couldn’t have any—asked Dad once why not many years ago—first time she’d seen her father cry.

It stumbles and it staggers, but it comes closer.

Twilight Sparkle’s birthday—first time she’d celebrated her birthday with her friends—so much fun—Rarity kept leaving—so much fun—best friends.

Its lips draw back, revealing rows of teeth.

Met Shatterstorm just after all this insanity started—good guy—she can tell—too uptight—but good—she can tell—makes her angry—makes him angry—but feels good—good guy—she can tell—don’t leave

It growls, hungry.

don’t leave

The Wharg distorts into a blur. Rainbow Dash’s eyes are wet.

don’t leave

Rainbow Dash’s legs push her up, slowly, painfully.

don’t leave me here

The Wharg’s teeth look so much longer and sharper now that they’re only two feet away.

don’t look!

don’t look!

Yawning darkness. Crowned by yellowed fangs. A single, grotesque pink tentacle slithers out.

The wall said DON’T LOOK

The crow said DON’T LOOK

DON’T LOOK

But she ignores the warnings. Rainbow Dash looks anyway, staring deeply down into oblivion. She raises a hoof, ready to give one last punch. If I die, says the courage in the back of her mind, I’ll do it standing up, eyes wide!

The Wharg yelps. Falls.

Rainbow Dash blinks in stunned confusion, her hoof frozen in place.

Shatterstorm stands on top of the Wharg’s head. Its body has gone limp, its fangs stuck into its extended tongue, blood coming out of its mouth. Shatterstorm himself looks beat-up, tired, hurt: one side of his face beginning to bloat with bruises, blood from his lip, a black eye. He has his usual scowl, and his usual screwed-down eyebrows that always make him look constantly pissed off. But his eyes shimmer, just like hers, with relief.

“Dunno about you,” Shatterstorm says in forced coolness, “but I’m getting outta here.” He extends a hoof. “You coming or not?”

The Wolf Revealed ~Part V~

The Wolf Revealed, Part V

Suddenly, all the energy that escaped Rainbow Dash before refills. Too Tired to Fly blossoms into The Strength of God. Her lips turn up in a smirk as she reaches out to his hoof. “I was about to leave without you. Where’ve you been?”

“Just cleaning up,” Shatterstorm says with a smirk to match Rainbow Dash’s. He takes her hoof in his, loading her onto his back.

“I can still fly, you know!” she growls.

“You’re not doing anything in the shape you’re in,” he shoots back. “I’ll handle the escape, thank you very much.”

There’s an argument brewing inside her, but there isn’t time to act on it. Rainbow Dash eyes the air vent above. “If we get into the air vents, we can—”

“No air vents,” Shatterstorm says suddenly, his wings—almost larger than his own body—popping open. “We’re taking a faster route. Hang on!”

Shatterstorm had her at “faster.”

His wings pump, each beat unleashing a sound like a dragon’s roar as the two pegasi shoot towards one of the auditorium’s iron-barred exits. His hooves extend forward. “Brace yourself!” he barks.

The iron bars  bend, and die with a squeal of twisted metal, all in the same second. Spitfire had told Rainbow Dash how Shatterstorm could plow through obstacles as if they were—if Rainbow Dash recalls correctly—“wet toilet paper.” If Rainbow Dash didn’t believe her before, she does now.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow,” Shatterstorm murmurs as he flexes his fetlocks. Rainbow Dash hides a snicker.

The rest of the hall whips by them, each dragon-roar beat of Shatterstorm’s wings carrying them faster and faster. Rainbow Dash glances behind them and finds Royal Guard pegasi giving chase. She grins just before blowing a raspberry at them.

“Brace yourself!” Shatterstorm shouts again.

Rainbow Dash hears the window break before she even feels the impact. Glass flutters by her like snowflakes before she shuts her eyes, as if taking a photograph. In her mind, the glass snowflakes glitter against early morning sunlight. The wind whips by her. Shatterstorm’s wings roar like dragons. It’s a moment she’ll remember for a long time—that moment and the wild freedom it fills her with.

Shatterstorm cuts. And dives. And corkscrews. And ducks. And Rainbow Dash hangs on, her tired wings clinging to her battered body, as the Royal Guards giving chase clumsily crash into buildings behind them, into bridges and towers as Shatterstorm feints and rolls and swerves.

A flock of crows cackle by, their wings fluttering as they fly towards their pursuers. Suddenly, the Guards stop. Their faces become pale. Their eyes widen. They turn tail and fly away, the crows not even having so much as pecked at them. The crows then fly back down to earth, their cackling falling quiet.

Rainbow Dash raises an eyebrow. Just as she’s about to wonder aloud what all that was about, she’s answered by a loud, sudden shout from one of the rooftops below. Something tiny rockets by her ear, screaming into it, nibbling its edge for roughly one tenth of a second.

The sound of the shout is joined by other, similar shouts, and more of the tiny rockets fly by. Shatterstorm wavers as he curses, dropping altitude, heading straight for the ground. Rainbow Dash closes her eyes

(don’t look!)

and opens them, the fog all around them growing thicker as they descend. Even through these bothersome pillows of fallen clouds, she can make out tall, slender, almost lizardlike forms squatting on the rooftops, holding in their two hands a long, slim something: something that extends a red frog’s tongue of light before its end flashes and barks and spits the tiny rockets that threaten to rip them to shreds.

Down, down Shatterstorm goes—and the long red lights follow them—and the rockets still scream—and the rooftops still shout—and there’s a slight thud as Shatterstorm touches down—and there’s the uneven gait of a full gallop as Shatterstorm takes off—and the shouts from the rooftops are followed by the rockets bouncing everywhere—and there’s monstrous laughter all around them—and there’s burning balls of fire set in dark caves set in laughing, ruined faces—and skeleton things give chase with their ghostly strides and shimmering blades—and Shatterstorm’s hooves pound on—and the two pegasi keep a prayer in their hearts, hoping beyond hope that escape is near.

Another shout from the rooftops. One of the tiny rockets ricochets off the cobblestone, almost hitting Shatterstorm in the head.

The chasing skeleton things are closing in. Rainbow Dash can see their forms in the fog. Her mind races.

Another shout from the rooftops. A streetlight shatters with a pop.

Then Rainbow Dash gets an idea. She smiles meanly as she stands up on Shatterstorm’s back. “What are you doing?!” he shouts over the rockets that smack against ground and brick.

“Trust me on this!” she replies. “Just keep running!”

The closest skeleton thing raises its blade and runs what might have once been a tongue over its twisted teeth. Rainbow Dash unfurls her wings, and with a pained, mighty flap, throws a strong gust of wind at their pursuer. As it curls into a tornado, the wind grabs hold of the skeletal thing, launching it into the air, where it flails as clumsily as a ragdoll. The others run by their comrade as it crashes to the ground below, left broken and to rot.

Their chase continues for some ways for some time. Rainbow Dash alternates between throwing wind at their pursuers and holding onto Shatterstorm as more of the tiny rockets fly, bouncing off the ground with metal yelps. Shatterstorm unfurls his own wings, taking off but staying close to the foggy ground—zigging and zagging much more easily than on hoof, putting a greater amount of distance between their pursuers and themselves.

Finally, Shatterstorm turns down an alley and throws Rainbow Dash into a dumpster. He jumps in after her, warning her with only his body language to keep her head down and her mouth shut. With fast movements, he buries the both of them underneath heavy trash bags. Rainbow Dash’s nostrils are assaulted by the smell; to save her nose she breathes through her mouth, slowly, and through clenched teeth.

Just outside the dumpster come the pitter-patter of small feet. The skritch-scratch of claws. The pitter-patter and the skritch-scratch remind Rainbow Dash of the way Gilda walks when she’s on all fours—the quiet pads of her lion’s feet interspersing with the scratching of her talons. Then comes the clink-clunk of heavy, armored feet, entering the alley with slow, powerful strides.

A trash can is knocked over. Another. There’s a sound like cardboard being torn. Nearby, a door is kicked and many of the searching feet charge in.

Her heart jumps to her throat as she feels the garbage bags getting pulled at. Some are moved around. She hears something above them breathe heavily, pulling fetid air into what must be only a metaphor for lungs.

There comes a voice from some distance away, speaking hurriedly in a language that sounds oddly familiar to Rainbow Dash—but in words she doesn’t quite understand. A voice from above responds, in that same familiar-unfamiliar language. The first voice then barks at the second.

The second voice sighs in exasperation. Then the trash bag is put down. Footsteps receding, stopping by where the kicked-door sound erupted from.

A few seconds tick by, and it’s only now that Rainbow Dash realizes she hasn’t drawn any breath for some time. Just as she inhales a small lungful, there’s sounds of violence from inside the building the monsters invaded. Things getting knocked over. Warbling laughter. A scream for help, cut short by a wet, sharp, sudden sound.

She fidgets. A hoof reaches out and stops her before that fidget can become anything else.

Rainbow Dash looks aside and catches Shatterstorm, eyes wide open, his mouth a long, thin line. His nostrils flare with a released, terrified breath as he shakes his head.

There's more screaming, this time from a more feminine-sounding voice. More begging. More laughter. This keeps going, the screaming and begging becoming more frantic, more panicked, more in pain. All the while, Shatterstorm keeps Rainbow Dash grounded and silent.

Silence. Then, the door opens. Pitter-pattering footsteps. Clinking armor. Scratching talons. All exit the building, accompanied by a new sound: something being dragged along. There’s a few more comments in that familiar-unfamiliar language, coupled with sinister chuckling from its fellows. This ghastly parade marches by the dumpster, then out of the alley, gradually fading away.

They wait a few more minutes, until finally, all is quiet.

She sinks—is sinking. The green of her mental ocean clouds with darkness. The ringing in her ears buzzes until silent. Sinking. Down where it is blackest and quietest. Death?

She looks about, but there’s nothing here in the deep. No Pale Horse riding in through the darkness to come and whisk her away from the insanity that pulls her apart every time she wakes. She is alone.

It’s dark and cold and oppressive, but she is alone.

She barely even recalls how she got sent back down here. There was a warrior mare… a valkyrie. A valkyrie who screamed and destroyed and conquered. That’s all she can remember.

No, wait—there is something else. The valkyrie’s voice. Raspy. Cocky. Like Vinyl’s.

Vinyl, where are you?

She reaches out to the darkness. The darkness reaches back.

Vinyl, I… I need you.

She sinks further.

Vinyl… I-I’m cold…

Cold. Yes. Cold.

Suddenly, something reaches down. Something pulls her up. She thrashes and squirms in its too-strong grip, squealing as she’s brought back to the surface where it’s colder and greener and noisier, sobbing because she cannot die—she cannot escape—she cannot be without this monster.

She opens her eyes.

The Wharg opens its eyes.

The open mouth of the broken window howls quietly as the morning air wisps through it. Jagged ends like teeth, twinkling against the modest sunlight shining through. Rose Blade looks up to this mouth, taking in its splendor.

He runs a hoof through his firetruck-red mane in thought. An escape like this feels too… organized. Too orchestrated. The Wharg waking up precisely before Rainbow Dash escapes? And Shatterstorm somehow getting loose around the same time? He’d even had Shatterstorm put in the special-made cell, the one with the strongest door—and yet he still got out? The pieces don’t fit.

He runs his hoof through his mane again. An inside job. They had a pony on the inside. Yes.

…Roaring Yawn. The Wharg was his charge. And he even had Shatterstorm locked up in order to perform experiments on him. Yes. Rose Blade runs his hoof through his mane again and scowls almost thoughtfully.

“Sir?” comes a voice from behind him.

“Report.”

“Shatterstorm and Rainbow Dash outran our troops into Dracula’s territory,” the Royal Guard says as he comes nearer. “They withdrew the moment Malphas gave them a warning.”

Rose Blade nods begrudgingly and sighs. “There’s another plan gone up in smoke. Well, then, let’s leave them to it. What of the damages?”

“To the troops? It’s been profound, sir. Many are dead or unaccounted for. We found Whisper White in your… uh, quarters,” says the Royal Guard, no doubt shaken by what else they'd found. “He’s been badly wounded… sir.”

Rose Blade turns to look at him, one eyebrow raised. He’d sent Whisper White a while ago to clean up the body he’d forgotten to take care of…

“Somepony beat the Tartarus out of him,” the Guard continued. “We had our magic healers take care of him. They managed to fix his busted jaw, realign his ribs, and even grow back the teeth that had been knocked out, but they weren’t able to save his eye…”

Silence. Rose Blade’s smile has slunk away, leaving only a thin line to accompany the terrifying daggers of his stare. The Royal Guard swallows nervously. “Wh-Whisper White has regained consciousness; he, uh... he wishes to speak with you, sir.”

Another pause. “…Sir?”

“...Roaring Yawn.”

The Royal Guard gulps. “Uh…”

“Where is he? I suspect he has something to do with this.”

“With all due respect, sir, he’s also unaccounted for, along with several of the Guards. We assume they must have fled when the Wharg broke loose.”

Rose Blade’s nostrils flare. “How utterly convenient. The next time you see any of those deserters, I want them killed on sight.”

The Royal Guard—without any intention of following this insane order—stands upright and salutes. “Sir, yes, sir!”

“And what of our beloved beast, the Wharg?”

“It’s been detained. They’re awaiting your decision on what to—”

But before the Royal Guard can finish, there come shouts from down the hall. Shouts and howls and screams and the erratic, rampaging vibrations of something huge coming right this way.

Around the corner comes the Wharg, its fur matted and soaked with blood, its teeth dyed red, its tiny purple eyes twinkling madly in its cavernous skull. It stops momentarily the moment it sees Rose Blade. Then it bounds for him.

Rose Blade merely sneers. His horn glows, and with a quiet pop, he disappears, teleporting himself away to safety.

The Royal Guard giving him the report is not as fortunate, however. The Wharg’s grasping, groping jaws clench around his midsection as it launches itself forward, through the mouth of the broken window, breaking more of the glass, through to the morning sky outside, the broken pieces glittering as they fall with the Wharg and its victim to the ground far, far below.

Other Royal Guards run to the window, looking outside cautiously and murmuring. A flash of green light accompanied with a second pop alerts them to their leader’s reappearance. They look his way and part as he walks through their crowd, joining them in looking outside.

Outside the window, on the courtyard below, lies the Wharg. Its body is crumpled and in pieces. Blood stains the stone. The Royal Guard it took with it isn’t in much better shape. Rose Blade sneers. “Such a waste,” he growls as he turns away.

The other Guards continue to look out the window as Rose Blade walks down the hall. Suddenly, one of the Guards pipes up. “Uh, Captain Rose Blade, sir?”

He stops. “Yes?”

The Royal Guard waves a hoof, beckoning Rose Blade to come back. “We think you should probably see this…”

He looks back out the window. The blood still stains the stones… but the Wharg’s crumpled body… uncrumples. The legs that broke twist and snap and jolt back into place. The cockeyed position of its head resets with a hard crunch Rose Blade can hear even from this distance.

The Wharg gets back up as if it hadn’t just fallen three stories down. It shakes the body of the Guard like a chew toy, throws it down, and dashes across the courtyard, its four blurring legs carrying it past the pikes and the victims they hoist, scaring the crows off them as it runs—then bounds—then leaps—then scales the wall. It escapes back into Lost Canterlot, evanescing back into the thick fog and faint, murky buildings of its stomping grounds.

Rose Blade drums a hoof on the floor nervously, stunned by what he just saw. The world around him goes dead for a few seconds, his mind devoured by the image of what madness this place has become. What madness.

Madness.

What am I doing? asks a tiny voice.

“…Sir?”

Rose Blade waves his hoof, dismissing the invasive doubt before it can take root. “Yes?”

“Your orders, sir?”

He thinks for a second. “Regroup. Take a census. See who’s still here.”

As the Royal Guards leave the Captain, he stands there. Staring out the window. Out at the courtyard where the traitors all sit on pikes. At the wall that was penetrated so easily.

His defenses. Penetrated. So easily.

Easily. So easily.

“...Shit,” he says hauntedly, shaking his head.

Shatterstorm slowly parts the trash bags above them, shyly lifting his head up enough to look about. His heart sinks. There’s a big trail of blood, fresh from the looks of it, forming a carpet from the broken-down door to his left to the end of the alley at his right. Poor ponies never stood a chance…

He lifts one ear to the wind. Nothing.

“I think we’re safe for now,” he whispers. “We’re gonna need to be really quiet from here on in.”

He crawls out of the dumpster and helps Rainbow Dash out from under the trash bags. Her eyes widen sorrowfully at the blood trail. She looks from it, to Shatterstorm.

“We should have done something,” she whispers.

“Like what?” Shatterstorm says, waving a hoof. “We’re tired, we’re hungry, you’re badly wounded, and we were outnumbered. It’s not like we even knew anypony was hiding nearby. It was just… bad luck.”

“But all we did was just…” Rainbow Dash struggles for words. “…Was just… hide.”

Shatterstorm scoffs in disbelief. She must see the anger bubbling in his eyes, because she scowls at him in disgust. Before this can erupt into an argument neither of them need, Shatterstorm closes his eyes, exhales, and places a foreleg on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Rainbow Dash. I know you wanna help ponies in need… but there are just some situations where we can’t give that help.”

He looks her over once more—drinking in the claw slashes and the teeth marks and the bruises and all the blood—and bites his lower lip in worry. “Here we are, having a morality debate while you’re bleeding to death,” he says, hurrying to change the subject. “We need to patch you up.”

Rainbow Dash just stands there, looking tired and dizzy, but says nothing.

Shatterstorm looks around the end of the alley. Just across the street is a general store. The fog is too dense to really look around. His ears perk. No sounds. Just a lonely wind. He turns to Rainbow Dash, who stumbles forth behind him.

“There’s a general store across the street,” Shatterstorm says. “We can see if there’s any supplies left there so we can restock what we lost at the base. They likely have bandages and first aid kits. Get on my back, OK? I can carry you there.” He gets down on his knees.

“I can walk,” she croaks. Rainbow Dash takes a few staggering, stubborn hoofsteps forward.

Shatterstorm grunts in vexation, moving forward quickly, dunking his head under Rainbow Dash’s side. Before she can protest, she’s up and on his back as he quietly flutters forth, quickly hovering over the street. It’s amazing how quiet he is now, compared to the dragon-roar beats of his wings from before.

He stops, setting her back down. Rainbow Dash makes sure to give him her biggest scowl. “Yeah, you’re welcome,” Shatterstorm says snidely as he tries the door. It’s locked.

“Can’t you just break in?”

“And draw attention?”

Rainbow Dash waves him out of the way and looks at the doorknob, screwing one eye shut while analyzing it closely with the other like it’s the most difficult math equation in the world. Before a befuddled Shatterstorm can ask what she’s doing, Rainbow Dash unfurls a wing, the tips of her feathers extending like claws.

Carefully, she inserts one of those feathers into the door’s lock. Rainbow Dash gazes at it with her comical scrutiny again, slowly turning it this way... that way... over and around... until finally, the door pops open with a quiet click. She pulls the door open slowly, hoping it won’t creak too loudly.

She walks into the general store a few steps before looking back at Shatterstorm. She cocks her head, telling him to follow. Shatterstorm shrugs and does as he’s told, closing and locking the door behind him.

The general store houses many of the things they’d missed—food, medicine, and saddlebags for them to carry their new possessions. Much of the place had already been looted, but there’s at least enough left over for them to grab. The entire place is covered in dust, grime building on woodwork that must have been polished to a fine luster once upon a time. Racks and rows of merchandise stand like forgotten islands. Boarded-up windows spit only little pools of modest light here and there.

Even though the back door they’d gone through was locked, the front door was not. And in the foyer in front of said door was more signs of struggle. Bloodstains and feathers. Shatterstorm observes one. Pegasus feather. He bites his lower lip and shakes his head.

With some effort, Shatterstorm manages to block the foyer entrance with some of the heavier furnishings. Then he goes to the back door—where he had and Rainbow Dash had stolen through—and locks it back up, leaving a heavy chair in front of it. Might not be enough to stop whatever monsters are patrolling this end of Canterlot, but at least it would slow them down, buying them time to find an escape. After finding a lamp they can work under, Shatterstorm sets it on the cashier counter, lighting it. Rainbow Dash seats herself on the counter, groaning with the effort.

Now comes the tricky part.

The moment the isopropyl kisses her wounds, Rainbow Dash grits her teeth and holds a scream. Shatterstorm presses the soaked cloth deeply against the claw and bite marks, and she can feel her flesh bubble under its touch. “Don’t scream,” Shatterstorm warns.

Rainbow Dash grunts.

He goes through several cloths before he’s sure he’s cleaned the wounds. One gash went particularly deep—and upon seeing it, Shatterstorm looks around the general store until he spots what he needs.

“Where are you going?” asks Rainbow Dash as he gets up and walks towards an aisle.

“Just hang on for a sec,” Shatterstorm says back.

He rounds an aisle and picks something up where Rainbow Dash can’t see him. When he rounds the aisle again, he comes back to her carrying a needle and thread.

Rainbow Dash gulps. “Sorry I gotta do this,” Shatterstorm says earnestly as he cleans the needle.

The needle bites through her skin. It pulls the thread into and out of her. She jerks and whimpers with every stroke. “Hold still,” Shatterstorm warns sternly.

“Kinda hard to do that.”

A few more. Shatterstorm reaches his head over, takes the thread between his teeth and breaks it. “OK, we’re done with that.” Then he breaks out the gauze and gets to work.

She feels the way Shatterstorm’s hooves glide over her body. His touch isn’t anything like Rose Blade’s—no carnal intent behind his hooves, no threat behind his quiet movements. It’s careful. Thoughtful. Even a bit gentle.

“…So, uh… since when did you become a doctor?” Rainbow Dash asks, awkwardly trying to start conversations.

“You get yourself hurt enough times and you eventually learn how to put yourself back together,” he says with a sad smirk. He puts some gauze around her leg. “What about you? When did you become such a master of unlocking, anyway?”

Rainbow Dash chuckles nostalgically. “Used to hang out with this one griffon,” she starts. “I wanna say she was a bad influence—and Dad sure seemed to think so—but looking back now, I think we were friends because we were both losers, and we knew it.” She smiles and shakes her head.

“She taught you how to pick locks?”

“Sorta,” Rainbow Dash continues. “She used her talons. But she knew how to use her wings to do it, too, so she showed me how. We broke into a couple places that way.”

Shatterstorm laughs. “So you were thieves?”

Rainbow Dash shakes her head. “Yeah, the Great Candy Store Robbery made headlines, didn’t you see it?” She elbows Shatterstorm playfully. “We made off with a candy bar here or a six-pack of beer there, but most of the time, we just broke in so we could say we did. But yeah, that was… that was just, forever ago. Y’know?”

Shatterstorm looks at her quietly, then smiles, snorts in laughter, and shakes his head. He backs away, putting his medical kit back into his saddlebag. “I wish I could recommend rest, but that’s not something we’re gonna have a lot of. I just feel I ought to warn you: be careful if you find yourself in another combat situation.”

Rainbow Dash raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“The first thing the enemy is going to see is that you’re wounded,” he explains, pointing to the patches of gauze here and there. “And because they know where the wounds are, they’re gonna aim for them. It’s dirty, but nopony ever won a fight by playing fair.”

After an awkward length of quiet, Rainbow Dash shyly looks away. It occurs to Shatterstorm, just as she looks away, that they were sharing eye contact for far longer than they usually do. Finally, Rainbow Dash exhales. “Shatterstorm?”

“Yeah?”

“...Thanks.”

“You act like it hurts to thank me, Rainbow Dash,” Shatterstorm says with a playful smirk.

She returns it. “You could have just said ‘You’re welcome,’ like everypony else.”

“Everypony Else? Who’s Everypony Else? Never met him.”

She pauses. Then her smirk breaks into a smile as she looks away with a tired, amused look in her eyes. A chuckle climbs its way out of her throat as she shakes her head. The joke wasn’t particularly funny—but heck, it was relieving, after everything that’s happened.

Shatterstorm exhales. “Okay,” he says, “I give them two hours before they start really cracking down on their search for us. I’ll keep watch the first hour, and you can keep watch the second hour.”

“What am I supposed to do while you’re keeping watch?”

Shatterstorm stares at Rainbow Dash awkwardly. “…Sleep?” he offers, finally.

Rainbow Dash snickers. “Sleep is for the weak!”

“Then do me a favor and be weak,” he says flatly as he walks toward the front door. Shatterstorm stops on the foyer, suddenly standing rigid like he’d been trained to do.

Rainbow Dash rolls her eyes and sits down on the floor, readying her saddlebags as a pillow to rest her head. Sleep. What a laugh. She doesn’t even feel tired—not that she needs to, for as soon as her head hits the saddlebags, she’s out like a light.

Reincarnated Soul

Reincarnated Soul

He sits up with a sharp gasp, cold sweat clinging to his forehead.

His mind races in every direction, each distorted memory scrambling over the others, desperately trying to reform. One by one, his memories come back: the disappearance of the Princesses… the twisting, clawing spires of the Castle… the giant bat… the Captain…

…bulging, red eyes…

…fangs.

The rest is darkness.

He lifts a leg, but something constricts it. Quickly, he panics—but a voice from deep inside tells him to stop. He isn’t tied down, those are just devices meant to monitor him… though strangely, the monitors they are hooked to are off. His breathing remains hoarse and shaky as he undoes the wires and plugs dotting his body, sitting up as he does so.

Taking a moment, he curls up in the hospital bed, looking around. The room he’s in—perhaps once meticulously clean—is now covered in dust. Some of the hospital equipment lies neglected in a corner. How long has he been out?

It’s too quiet, and too dirty, and too lonely, and too much to take in at once. It’s the silence that unnerves him most. A hospital is normally a quiet place, but there’s an ugliness that lurks just beneath that quiet—an ugliness that grins to itself as it whets its teeth eagerly.

Gathering what shriveled courage he has, he crawls off the bed, cringing slightly as the sheets and mattress crackle and slur beneath his movement. He can’t quite figure out why he feels as though he’s attracting unwanted attention, but the atmosphere itself is thick and oppressive enough that he feels right to be paranoid.

His hooves make quiet sounds that are still too damn loud. He makes his way to the door, passing by the sink. His eyes latch onto the sink’s faucet as he does so, subliminally reminding him how dry his throat is. How achey and parched and limp and fatigued he is as a whole.

He stops. Turns. As an earth pony, he has no telekinesis or wings to work the faucet’s knobs, so instead carefully places the frog of his hoof onto one—the cold switch—and twists.

No water.

Of course.

There’s a mirror on the wall above the sink. The stallion in the reflection stares back at him with haggard, worn-out silver eyes. His snow-white mane is a mess, forming unwashed knots on his head. His face, even though riddled with stubble, is pretty—nearly feminine—but set on hulking shoulders that fan out into a large, sturdy body. His orange pelt is just as unwashed as the rest of him. There’s a patch on his shoulder, covering a spot that throbs and bites.

A name returns to him—Baldwin. Friends had given him the ironic nickname Tiny. From the name, everything else flows: his family, his parents’ divorce, moving away, his time in the Royal Guard, the return of Nightmare Moon, the return of Discord, the Captain’s wedding…

Everything swirls. He crushes his eyes, shutting out a swimming world of color and memories, and sighs.

Then he suddenly sobs, lifting a hoof up to his face to hide himself from his own reflection.

It takes him some time to regain control, but he manages. Tiny looks out the window. And he sees the Castle.

And he remembers the bulging red eyes.

The door refuses to go gently. With a sharply delivered buck of his hind legs, Tiny breaks the doors down with a crack that rocks the entire building. The silence afterward chases the sound away, leaving Tiny by himself once again.

The air here is cold and somehow crusty, like breathing in dust. It tickles his nostrils, drawing a sneeze out of him as he enters the hallway itself. He shivers.

Then Tiny sees something that stops his heart.

The bed that had been blocking his door had been kicked into the wall, fallen onto its side. Right above it sits an abstract shape of blood that has browned since its birth. It stretches and travels from an impact point down to the ground, where it becomes a long, tattered trail on the linoleum floor. The trail turns down one hall, disappearing out of sight.

Tiny’s heavy hooves carry him across the floor, following the trail almost against his will. He’d seen horror movies before—and almost always, the heroes would do something stupid, like… well, like following a blood trail down a portentous hallway. But now that he’s apparently in the middle of a similar scenario, he comes to an understanding of why the characters in those movies do such dumb things: part curiosity, part helplessness.

His breathing becomes sharper as he nears the corner. He slows to a stop. Clenches his teeth. Just a peek. That’s all, he promises himself. Only a peek down the hallway, and that’s it.

But he’s a Royal Guard, interjects one side of himself. It’s his job to protect the innocent. To investigate acts of violence. To bring justice and keep the peace. Why only a peek?

Because he’s never experienced anything like this before, another part of him argues. No eerie Castles replacing your Princess’ own. No strange creatures with bulging red eyes or fangs. No smears of blood on the wall trailing down to the floor and around the corner. Only a peek is necessary.

He shivers. Then, with a quick motion of his head, Tiny looks down the hallway

bulging red eyes

expecting to see a body

fangs

or pieces of one. Instead, he sees spider webs that hang like bedsheets, blocking his view of where the victim had been dragged off to. He reaches a hoof out to the screen of web and touches it. It’s soft, sticky, and sturdy enough to be a wall. He gives it a punch, sending shivers across its ghost-white network.

He’d heard stories about giant spiders that live in mountains. If one—or, more worryingly, a group—had moved into Canterlot and taken residence in a hospital that has since been shut down, then that means it’s time to leave.

Tiny glances down the rest of the hall. Milky daylight drips through the dirty windows, the hall dressed in alternating shafts of yellowed light and olive shadows. Wheelchairs and other hospital accents litter this place, knocked over and abandoned.

He walks quietly, alertly, his eyes darting everywhere, the oppressive atmosphere nearly caving in on him. Tiny only realizes he has no idea of where to go or any indication of what he’s doing when he approaches a door on his right that’s been left ajar.

A second quietly fades. Then another. And another. Finally, Tiny reaches for the door and gives it a slight push, revealing more of the

CREATURE SITTING RIGHT THERE ITS RED EYES BULGING ITS WHITE FANGS BARED JUST SITTING THERE WAITING FOR YOU

but no such creature exists. There is only a bed without an occupant, a single window staring into the room. A small doll sits on the bed, its empty glass eyes facing him, its little lips curved into an eerie smile. The contrast its red dress makes against the monochrome colors is striking.

Tiny brings a hoof up to his right shoulder, where the bandage holds him together. The trauma that brought him here. The creature with the red eyes and the fangs. What was it?

He pulls himself away from the room, his silver eyes falling onto a set of double doors ahead. Taking a deep breath, he trots away from the room, the clip-clop of his heavy hooves echoing, becoming quieter.

Had he hesitated in leaving, he might have seen the doll’s eyes follow him as he left.

Tiny stops in front of the double doors, noticing the windows on them are emitting light, however small. Peering into one, Tiny wonders what could be creating that light. If there’s no water, no power, then…?

He attempts to push the doors open, but something on the other side is blocking it. He purses his lips, asking himself why it’s blocked—

His question is suddenly answered as a face jumps into view. It pales suddenly, the eyes widening.

Tiny thinks to scream, but the face merely stares for a second. “...Who are you?” asks the pony on the other side of the door.

Tiny collects himself, going soldier-rigid in his stance. “Private Baldwin,” he answers. His voice is too young-sounding and high-pitched for a guy his size, cracking from lack of hydration.

“Private?” asks the pony, his face becoming more relaxed. “You’re a Royal Guard?” Before Tiny can confirm it, he turns away from the window. “Guys!” he calls. “Hey, guys! I was right! The Royal Guards are here! We’re saved!”

Tiny clears his throat. “I-I’m sorry, there must be some misunderstanding.” The face turns back to meet him. “I only… just woke up.”

Another face looked in through the second window, this one analyzing him sharply. “Only just…? Wait.” He looks to the other face. “Wait a minute; Squeaky, I thought you said the patient in Room 8 got eaten.”

The first face—Squeaky, apparently—pales. “It, er… it appears I was mistaken.” Before the other face argues, he changes the subject. “A-Anyway, did you see any of those spider-creatures?”

“…No,” Tiny answers uneasily.

“That doesn’t mean they’ve left,” comes a third voice from inside the room—a mare, by the sounds of it. “That just means they’re hiding.”

“Are you guys,” Tiny asks before his boyish voice stumbles. He tries again. “H-have you seriously just been holed up in there since all this… started?”

The sharp eyes answer. “A day or so after the Castle appeared, these giant half-spider, half… something else—these things attacked the hospital. The power went out shortly afterward. We’ve tried escaping a few times now, but…”

“…But?”

“There used to be eight of us,” says Squeaky. “We would run from one room to the next, hide, and repeat until we got out, but that turned out to be… costly. So we’re camping out here until help arrives.”

“Yeah, great plan,” snarks the sharp eyes. “Let’s just camp out here in the ER with a failed surgery patient. Great plan.”

“How many others are in this hospital?” Tiny says suddenly, electing to change the subject before a fight breaks out.

“We only had a few doctors, nurses, surgeons, and patients here,” Squeaky replies. “The others all got moved to other hospitals in other towns thanks to the evac. There were those of you from the Guard who sustained some injuries from that expedition into the Castle. You and a few other guys.”

“I remember the Captain was hurt during that expedition,” Tiny says. “What happened to him?”

“Don’t you remember?” returns Sharp Eyes. “He attacked you.”

Tiny stops.

“You are the guy from Room 2C, right?” asks the sharp eyes.

“I-I don’t—I mean, I never actually saw the number…”

“You woke up only further on down this same hallway, right? I mean, if that’s true…”

Tiny looks down at his bandage. Where the Captain had bit him. The memory struggling in his mind suggests that the bite was savage. He dreads looking under the bandage to see what exactly the damage looks like, feeling an ache creep around just beneath the white square.

“But none of that answers my original question,” Tiny says, returning his attention to the doctors. “Why haven’t you guys tried to escape?”

“Have you seen what’s been going on out there?” asks Squeaky. “We were waiting for the Royal Guard—”

The sharp eyed face turns aside to look at Squeaky. “No, we weren’t! Your idea was stupid. Sitting around, waiting for help that won’t come? We’re waiting for a chance to escape, and it looks like now might be a good time.”

“But those monsters,” argues the third voice. “They’re just hiding. Don’t you get it? They remain quiet enough to lure us out—”

Sharp Eyes cocks his head towards Tiny. “If they were out there, do you think this guy would even be alive right now?”

The mare has nothing to say.

“We can’t just stay here, waiting forever!” argues Sharp Eyes.

“Didn’t you see what happened to Check Up and those two other nurses?!” Squeaky growls. “We need to wait for the Royal Guard!”

“Oh, would you—just—SHUT UP about the Royal Guards!” returns Sharp Eyes. Tiny hears sounds of struggle from inside the room as Squeaky is knocked aside from the windows.

“Knock it off!” yells the mare. “All I know is, we’ve been stuck in this room for the past two days with a dead body, with no food or water!” Her voice catches before she sobs, “I just wanna go home!”

Silence. Tiny shifts his weight from one side to the other awkwardly, apparently forgotten by the doctors in the blocked room.

“Prissy’s right,” says the mare after some silence. “We need to get out of here. Even if we get killed by those things, it’s better than starving to death in here.”

“Uh, guys?” asks Squeaky.

“Shut up, Squeaky!” yells Sharp Eyes (presumably Prissy). “I’m sick of your shit!”

“I said stop arguing!” says the mare.

“If you’d just stop being such a stupid baby—”

“Don’t call him names!”

“Guys?”

“You’re all a bunch of whiners! Why don’t you just go and—”

“Leave him alone!”

“Shut up! I said SHUT UP!”

“GUYS!” Squeaky finally shouts.

Silence.

“…Where’s the body that was on the table?”

Tiny thinks to calm them down, draw them out of the surgery room, only for his thoughts to be cut short by a moan from inside. It’s followed by a yelp of terror that causes Tiny to take a step back, his eyes pried open with fear. Sharp Eyes shouts directions to the others, but to no avail—the moan from before warps into a shriek as everypony screams.

The screams intermingle with sounds of struggle, the shriek shivering and warbling angrily. The blocked door shakes as if struck. Tiny takes a few more steps back, checking behind him in case this was drawing the attention of the spider-things the doctors mentioned. He only looks back when the sounds of struggle and the helpless screams end abruptly. The shriek slowly warps into gurgling.

Tiny stands there for what feels like eternity, at the very mouth of what he imagines Tartarus must be like. Suddenly, a new face appears in the window: something ruined, its lips puffy, a gash on its head leaking something silky red over its mouth. Its empty eyes don’t appear to be looking at anything, yet Tiny can feel it looking him.

It moans.

The door begins to shake.

Tiny gasps and turns and flees in the other direction. What happens next flies by Tiny, a series of photographs rapidly riffled one after the other.

The hallway with the smear of blood on the wall.

A hallway where spiderwebs are plenty.

Descending down a staircase.

A dark room.

Something crawls along the walls. Something big.

Another hallway. Tiny doesn’t remember how he got here.

More darkness.

The feeling of falling.

Staircase. Broken.

Bulging red eyes.

Fangs.

Sounds of the river near his childhood house in the woods. He thinks he hears his mother calling.

Then, sounds of hissing.

Hallway. Low visibility. Something with many legs.

Hissing.

Spiderwebs.

A crack on the floor.

His teenage bedroom. The window offers a beautiful view of downtown Manehatten outside.

Windows to his left. Something looks in at him.

Webbing.

Hissing.

A thing of many legs.

Bulging red eyes.

Fangs.

Darkness.

Darkness.

As wide as he opens his eyes, all Tiny sees is a dark, ghostly blue mesh. As quiet as he tries to remain, Tiny can only hear muffled sounds. As much as he struggles, Tiny remains tightly bound, suspended from the floor and stuck to the wall behind him. He breathes, and struggles, and gasps, and moans. After a few minutes of these inconsequential actions, Tiny returns to stillness.

All is quiet.

Suddenly, he hears something. It’s muffled, but it’s definitely a hiss—a shuddering, slow sound that denotes the presence of predators. The thudding of many legs against a cold, hard ground, carrying a heavy body. The hissing and thudding outside his skintight prison stop only a few feet away from him, turning into silence, then a low growl.

Tiny’s breathing clenches, catches, twists, and twirls. His lungs squeeze desperately as panic overtakes him. Divine Sisters, he pleads, oh, Divine Sisters, please don’t—don’t let me die; not like this! Oh, Sisters, Sweet Celestia, no, don’t abandon me, NO!!!

A sudden, thick sound from his right, coupled with a scream cut short. Then the predator—whatever it is—pounces. Despite the muffle provided by the webbing (and it’s definitely webbing, Tiny realizes; it could be nothing else at this point), the sucking and chewing and gnashing and rending is loud enough to shake his eardrums and messy enough to turn his stomach.

Panic overtakes Tiny; clasping its hooves around him mischievously, enclosing him in the dark respite of unconsciousness.

The darkness slides away as gracefully as a tide from the beach. Tiny takes a deep breath and attempts to raise his head from its uncomfortable position, but to no avail. The webbing is too constricting.

Strangely, he can still breathe. The blue around him has small stars—tiny pokes where the webbing is not, letting in air. He can feel the tiny whistling of cold air from these spots; there are precious few of them, as if only enough to keep the prey alive until… needed.

He remembers his early childhood back in the woods, and the spiders that would take residence in his father’s shed. How they’d catch flies and other insects in their web, kneading them into a tight cocoon as they thrashed helplessly. Tiny was always enraptured by the spider’s performance, how easily and expertly it caught and wrapped up its prey as nonchalantly as his mother would roll dough.

Tiny now understands what it’s like to be the fly in these situations. How helpless. How afraid. What he’d just heard…

Oh. Oh, dear Divine Sisters…

This is it.

Tiny whimpers. Sobs. Weeps.

He waits for the spider to come back.

How much time has passed? It must at least have been a few hours.

Biding his time the way a prisoner awaiting a hanging might, Tiny hums a small tune his mother used to sing while working in her kitchen. He can even smell the eggs and hay in the frying pan, and for a single, lonely second, longs for home and safety and sweet, lost childhood.

He stops when he hears a small sound outside his cocoon. It might be a gasp, but the webbing in his ears muffles it too well. He waits a few seconds. Then a clatter, chased by a harsh, quiet, “Shit!”

Hope peeks through the window of Tiny’s mind that moment. He finds his mouth open already. “I-Is somepony there?”

He hears a gasp, then for a few seconds, nothing. Tiny wiggles as much as his constricted body can muster, shaking his cocoon. “Over here!” he says at a volume he hopes is both loud enough for his potential rescuer to hear, but quiet enough to not draw attention from anything else.

He hears clopping of hooves drawing nearer. A vague shape appears before his bluish screen of darkness—definitely a pony. “You OK?” the voice says quietly. “Hang on, I’mma get’chu outta there.”

The voice is raspy. Feminine, but tomboyish. Accent is inner-city Canterlot. Somewhat familiar, as well.

Tiny follows her directions and remains still. Suddenly, a knife’s point pokes into the cocoon, slowly inserting, stopping just under his chin, glowing a cool blue.

“Hey!” Tiny gasps. “B-Be careful!”

“Fuck you,” his rescuer spits. “This is careful. Now hold still or you’ll end up losin’ something real important.” Slowly, the knife descends. When she feels she’s cut a long enough vertical line, she reaches a hoof over to part it into a hole.

Cold air rushes in, splashing his sweat-soaked pelt, as light reduces his vision to wet shapes. He feels a warm hooftip poke him on the chin. No longer within such a crushing constraint, Tiny’s lungs grab greedy gulps of air as he leans forward and out of the cocoon. The first pearl-white hoof is joined by a second, searching his body for something they can grab onto, settling onto one shoulder. He yelps as the hooves close around the patch covering his wound.

“C’mon,” she commands. “Push yourself out! Push!”

Every muscle in Tiny’s body screams as he forces himself out of his cocoon. He flops onto the stone cold floor, gasping for air as he works his way onto his back, staring upwards, his eyes struggling to focus.

There’s no visible ceiling, concealed completely by a labyrinth of pipes and air ducts, all seemingly held together with thick spider-webs. Tiny turns his head and sees that they must be in the basement level of the hospital—and holds a gasp as he notices cocoons on the walls, all broken and empty, soaked and slicked with various shades of red and brown.

“Not a pretty sight, is it?”

A head pops into his view. It’s as pearl-white as the hooves that helped him out of the cocoon, with magenta eyes that remind him of his drill sergeant’s: hard and demanding. Her unicorn horn is lost in an electric-blue mane that hangs from her head like a palm shade, a set of purple-tinted glasses resting just underneath it. “Y’arright?” she asks after a pause.

Tiny gulps again. “Yeah,” he says wearily. “…Yeah, I’m okay. Just a bit surprised, that’s all.”

The mare sits down next to him gently, her full-looking saddlebags settling on either side of her noisily. Tiny only realizes now how small she is compared to him: it’s almost like a kitten sitting down next to a St. Bernard. She lets him catch his breath.

“Name’s Vinyl Scratch,” she says suddenly.

“…Private Baldwin of the Canterlot Royal Guard,” Tiny responds. “Friends call me Tiny.”

Vinyl’s little lips turn up in an amused smirk. She stands up and offers him a hoof—which he takes. With some effort, he’s able to hoist himself back up on all four hooves. “We shouldn’t stay here,” he says quickly.

“No shit?” Vinyl asks dryly. “I was kinda hopin’ to rent this place out.”

Tiny looks at her quietly. Then quirks an eyebrow.

“Oh, fuck you,” she says bitterly as she walks by him. “Get onto me for makin’ a joke…”

She takes a few steps away from him before stopping and turning her head around. “Ya gonna follow me outta here, or did you jus’ want a nice view of my ass?” she asks with a saucy wiggle of her flanks.

Tiny shakes his head as he follows the foul-mouthed mare into a small tunnel. What has he gotten himself into this time?

The silver padlock on the basement level’s door sparkles as Vinyl’s glowing horn casts light on it. Legions of chains sparkle as well, hugging the door tightly. “Oh, fer—! What kinda stupid motherfucker locks a fuckin’ door when—” is about as far as Vinyl gets before her voice becomes a frustrated gurgle of curse words.

“I got this,” Tiny says. “Stand back, please.”

Vinyl takes a few steps back as Tiny approaches the door and turns around. He takes a deep breath just before he brings up his hind legs. They rocket behind him, breaking the doors open. The padlock and its army of chains clatter helplessly to the ground. The sound is loud enough to make Vinyl Scratch’s ears ring.

“Hey—! The fuck, guy?!” she whispers harshly.

“You wanted an open door,” Tiny says. “You got an open door.”

“I coulda just unlocked it myself!” Vinyl Scratch argues. “It’s how I got around here inna first place! Bet every fuckin’ spider-bitch in this hospital heard us!”

“All the more reason for us to get outta here now,” Tiny says evenly.

Vinyl Scratch’s answering sigh dissolves into a groan as she pokes her head out the door, glancing left, then right, then up. She holds her head up for a time longer than Tiny is comfortable with.

“Something wrong?” he asks.

“Not yet,” she says over her shoulder, looking this way and that around the ceiling. Her lit horn blinks out, giving back the shadows it stole from the darkness around them. Tiny gasps.

“Sorry there, big guy,” she says quietly. “Don’t wanna attract more ’ttention than we already have.”

Tiny debates whether or not Vinyl Scratch is punishing him for opening the door. It ends prematurely as he hears the quiet clip-clop of Vinyl’s tiny hooves traveling down the hall. He follows. “You sure this is the way out?” he asks.

“Maybe,” she sniffs.

Tiny grunts. “This hallway’s too dark. There isn’t any more light coming in from the windows.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“It’s not gonna do us any good to just stumble around lost when it’s dark, you know.”

“Yeah.”

“So don’t you think you should be using your light?”

“Whatever.”

Tiny growls. “Hey, what’s your problem?” he asks.

He hears nothing. Suddenly, Vinyl cusses softly as she stumbles over something, falling over completely. Tiny fights the urge to laugh, simply reaching forward where he heard her fall, intent on helping her back up, his large hoof finding Vinyl in the dark.

Tiny hears Vinyl gasp again. Warmth builds in Tiny’s face as he realizes exactly where his hoof had landed. There’s a cool blue glow that illuminates the hallway suddenly—and the glow slaps Tiny hard across the face before fading out.

“I know I got a reputation in th’ clubs, OK?!” Vinyl Scratch growls. “But we don’t got time for that shit right now!”

“Sorry,” Tiny apologizes, blushing. “I didn’t see where you fell. Maybe if we had a light or something…”

Vinyl stands up in the dark, her small form chest-to-chest with Tiny. He feels a hot snort rake his stubbled chin as she growls through clenched teeth, “Maybe if some ponies weren’t so fuckin’ noisy—”

Tiny inhales sharply, the inflation of his chest pushing Vinyl Scratch back. “With all due respect, Vinyl Scratch, I was unaware of what you wanted. You saw a lock and started complaining about it; I just assumed you saw it as a bother, so I went and broke it.”

Silence.

“…I’m sorry,” Tiny says.

Another pause. “Me too,” Vinyl Scratch says. She sighs. “I-I’m sorry, it’s…”

Cautiously, Tiny puts a hoof forward, finding what he hopes is Vinyl Scratch’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, it’s just this situation wearing on us. We gotta keep cool heads if we wanna get outta this alive.”

He hears her sigh, and maybe it’s his eyes adjusting to the dark, but he sees a shape just below his chin—her head—bob with a nod. “OK,” she breathes. “We need a light if we’re gonna get outta here. So…”

Vinyl’s horn glows, casting its cool blue light all over the room.

All along the walls and ceiling crawl black spiders giant enough to dwarf Tiny, their long, hairy legs heaving heavy bodies. Where their heads should be instead begin new bodies: slim and pale and hairless and apelike upper torsos with long arms with small tangles of claws at the ends, their heads crowned with long scraggly hair—

—and fangs in their mouths—

—and bulging

red

eyes.

The spiders hiss.

Tiny finds himself kidnapped by the spider-things’ stares, their clenching, jagged teeth curving into menacing smiles as they ominously skitter down the walls, their impossibly long and twisting legs thumping with every step. His breathing catches. Cold sweat dots his whole body as he freezes on the spot in pure, abject terror.

Something deep inside him broils amidst his panic. A sense of duty? Anger? Self-preservation?

Whatever it is manifests without any time for introductions. Tiny grabs Vinyl and bounds across the hallway, barreling towards the door at the other end, moving like a rocket as the spider-things descend.

Something thick and hard hits his hind leg, sticking to him and pulling taut, stopping Tiny cold and causing him to fall forward. Vinyl launches off his back at the sudden stop, spiraling forward and crashing onto the linoleum floor. The knife she’d used to free Tiny before falls out of her saddlebag and clatters onto the linoleum.

Vinyl Scratch mumbles something as her form crumples and the light from her horn goes out.

Tiny cusses under his breath as he hears the spider-things’ hissing grow louder—more numerous—closer. He crawls forward, hoping beyond hope that he might escape, his frivolous action coupled with nervous grunts and gasps. The darkness around his eyes grows wet with terrified tears.

His hoof brushes against something suddenly.

The knife.

Acting faster than he can think, Tiny picks the knife up in his mouth and with some dexterity he folds himself over, bringing his legs up to his mouth. He slides across the floor, the spider-thing on the other end of the web drawing him nearer to the awful hissing—what Tiny assumes oblivion must sound like.

With great effort, Tiny cuts the webline, disconnecting himself from impending doom—for now. Without hesitation, he gets back up, knife between his teeth and vigor in his limbs, and darts forth, ducking his head down in search of Vinyl Scratch. The moment his snout touches her, he thrusts his head beneath her belly, picking her up and settling her unconscious body onto his back. This all happens in the timespan of a blink—Tiny is barreling forth through the dark as his eyes adjust to shadows, leaping over fallen beds and wheelchairs and other debris, shooting straight for the exit as the hissing behind him resumes their chase. Thick webbing smacks against the floor behind him, the walls next to him, each shot expected and countered with a well-timed dodge.

Through this hall, and the next, and the next, the chase continues.

Suddenly, Vinyl’s weight is torn from Tiny’s back. A gasp caught in his throat, Tiny turns his head to witness Vinyl fall onto the floor, dragged into a hissing darkness. There is moonlight, however faint, stealing inside from a nearby window, painting Vinyl’s unconscious body in ghostly colors as she is pulled across the floor.

Tiny’s mind makes a calculation. There’s a pair of bulging red eyes directly in front of the webline pulling Vinyl Scratch.

With a flick of his neck, Tiny launches the knife. The moonlight glints off its form as it sails, becoming a single line of silver before he hears the thick, muted sound of steel meeting flesh amidst the hissing, followed by a choked yelp that warbles and falls silent.

Vinyl’s ghostly form ceases to drag across the floor. That’s all the indication Tiny needs.

Tiny doesn’t recall going back to retrieve Vinyl Scratch, but her weight is definitely on his back again, his hooves are definitely pounding the floor beneath him as he propels forward, and the hissing is still definitely behind him.

He feels a pair of hooves wrap around his neck, Vinyl Scratch apparently waking from her spell. She grumbles something Tiny cannot hear over all the hisses and shrieks.

His hooves tired, his heart pounding against his chest, the flesh beneath his bandage screaming at him, Tiny nearly lets out a yelp once he finds himself in a dead-end hallway with a single large window at the end, casting a carpet of moonlight onto the floor. The hissing gathers once more. He turns—

—and the bulging red eyes gather in the darkness. The moonlight coming in from the window behind him stops just before the spider-things, their blackened forms becoming more solid and real as they draw near. Their hissing is released in bursts, coming out sounding like sinister chuckles as their pale upper bodies clench and unclench their claws in excitement. The thudding of many legs against floors and walls as those many legs become visible. They gather.

Tiny clenches his teeth, steeling himself for what might come next. Suddenly, Vinyl Scratch’s weight disappears from his back again. “Cover your ears,” she warns.

“What?”

“I said cover your ears, ya fuckin’ idiot!” Vinyl bellows as her horn glows. She brings down her purple shades, the blue of her light shimmering across their lenses.

Tiny clamps his hooves over his ears, his large body settling onto the floor.

Even through his hooves, he can hear and feel it. Vinyl Scratch emits a sound so deep, it shakes the hallway—perhaps even the whole building. The sound turns into a series of beats that pound the hall, perhaps even the entire hospital, with monstrous force, crumbling the walls and crushing the floor. The spider-things raise their strange claws to their pointed ears and open their wide mouths in screams that get covetously devoured by the destructive bass of Vinyl’s magic.

Tiny can feel his teeth rattling in his mouth, his brain jiggling in his skull. The sound is nearly unbearable to him, but the howling spider-things steadily back away from the little pearl-white pony before them, their ears covered by pale claws, trails of blood running down between each finger.

The window shatters with a howl, each piece glittering with moonlight reflected as they are swept outside. The ceiling above begins to loosen. Small bits of debris and dust flutter downward.

Vinyl shouts something unheard (likely a foul taunt, if Tiny’s recent experiences can attest) as she briefly increases the volume of the bass, cranking it until the ceiling begins to warp. With a crash hidden by the bass, the ceiling caves in at the entrance to the hallway, burying any spider-thing unlucky enough to be caught beneath it.

After the entrance to the hall is sufficiently filled with debris, Vinyl’s horn ceases to glow, casting all back to both silence and darkness.

There’s pause, a lengthy allowance of quiet that fills the hall. Tiny lowers his hooves, an invasive ringing taking all that he hears. He looks, bewildered, at Vinyl Scratch, her head hung low, hoarsely heaving breath after tired breath as sweat rolls down her petite form. As sound slowly ebbs back into his ears, Tiny can make out her heavy panting. She swallows.

Then Vinyl Scratch turns her head, giving him an aside glance. A smile pulls at her lips. “Enjoying the view back there, soldier?” she asks. Before Tiny can ask what she means, Vinyl Scratch gives him another suggestive shake of her rump. She laughs at his stunned reaction, then sits down to rest.

Her horn glows as a bottle of water is lifted out of her saddle bags. The cap is unscrewed, then the bottle is brought to Vinyl’s lips where she gulps down some much-needed hydration.

“Where’d you—what was that?” Tiny asks, only realizing when he opens his mouth that he’s still very much out of breath, and that the patch on his shoulder aches, and that he still has had no water. Vinyl Scratch takes the bottle away from her own mouth and offers it to Tiny. He pulls the bottle to his own mouth and drinks.

“I only use that for the clubs I perform at,” Vinyl says. “I usually use it to underline the rest’a my music. Never had it that loud before.” She breathes wistfully. “I had it any louder’n I could’a burst their heads like grapes.”

Tiny chokes on the water a bit before swallowing. “You mean that spell’s lethal?!” he barks, his eyes wide as saucer plates. “Why would you use it at clubs? Around other ponies?”

Vinyl Scratch shrugs. “It’s every bit as lethal as devil sugar,” she says nonchalantly. “It’s pleasant when you use only a little. It’s only deadly when ya use too much.”

Tiny puts the water bottle down. Quiet. “Knew there was a reason I don’t really care for dubstep,” he says quietly.

“That’s cool,” Vinyl Scratch says with a smile, “neither do I.”

A pause.

“…Thanks,” Vinyl Scratch says, scratching the back of her head. “For the, uh… for the rescue.”

Tiny waves a hoof. “Nah, you were the real star of the show here. That bass is what drove them off.”

“If you didn’t save me, there’da been no bass. We’d both be all twenty-one flavors of dead right about now.”

The two share a smile. Tiny offers the water bottle back, only a little liquid in it now. It glows blue, then is brought back to Vinyl Scratch’s saddlebags as she clears her throat. “So what now?” Tiny asks.

“Dunno ’bout you, Tiny, but I’m lookin’ for a friend’a mine. Long dark mane ’n tail, purple eyes, the kinda mare you’d prob’ly wanna date. Don’t suppose you seen her?”

Tiny shrugs. “Unless she’s a doctor here at the hospital, no. And if she is a doctor here, then I’m afraid she’s already dead.”

“Thank Celestia she got her Master’s in music then,” Vinyl Scratch snarks as she settles her saddlebags back onto her flanks. “I’mma keep lookin’ for her.”

Tiny stands up. “I’m going with.”

Vinyl chuckles. “Yeah, I know. I’m irresistible.”

A wry smirk tugs at Tiny’s lips before he turns around to face the window. Just outside, broken glass litters a foggy parking lot. “We’re on the first floor,” he remarks. “Cool.”

     He takes a step back, making a dramatic motion with his foreleg. “After you,” he says playfully.

The two survivors then steal into the foggy night, no directions, no clues. All they have is a single fighting chance.

Prologue

The day the Castle appeared, Canterlot as we knew it died.

In its place stands a gnarled and winding shell of a city, its buildings dressed in fog and its streets empty and barren. Dracula's forces have imprisoned the Princess of Love, Mi Amore Cadenza, within the clenched jaw of Equestria's former capitol, awaiting for Twilight Sparkle to come to her rescue.

Already realizing it's a trap, Twilight sent out two of her most trustworthy friends to Princess Cadenza's rescue.

Rainbow Dash, the headstrong and ultimately loyal, heads this mission while Shatterstorm, the soldier with the dark past, is her support. Together, these two pegasi spread their wings and soar to what very well may be the end of their world...

MY LITTLE CASTLEVANIA II:

CRADLE OF RUIN