Chapter one: Shattered
"Midway this of life we're bound upon,
I woke to find myself in a dark wood,
Where the right road was wholly lost and gone."
– The opening lines of Trote's Inferno
"Dad? Dad! Mom! Please, don't leave me." The tiny blue colt pleaded, crying over his parents' bodies.
"I'm not gone yet darling." The alabaster unicorn coughed, blood dripping out the corner of her mouth. "Let me hold you one last time."
"Yes mom." he sobbed as she held him in her forelegs. "I'm scared!"
"Cider...p-promise me something." His mother asked.
"W-what mother?"
"Forgive. Promise me," She ordered, her sapphire eyes staring into her son's. "Fear limits you...anger destroys you. Do not fear, do not anger. Forgive, and live. Live as your father and I taught you."
"I promise."
"Good." She cooed, rubbing the colt's back. She looked over to the massive red stallion laying cold on the street. He didn't need to see this. She enveloped him in her forelegs and kissed the colt's forehead. "Shh, let me sing..." She squeezed the colt tightly.
"Hush now, quiet now, it's time to lay your sleepy head. Hush now, quiet now, it's time..."
"...to go to bed. Cadence'll be making me sleep on the couch tonight..." Shining Armor groaned, releasing the telekinetic hold on his quill, allowing it to drop unceremoniously onto the oak desk before him. He glanced at the headlines etched across the day's paper sitting on his desk.
"Memorial Ball to be held in honor of Captain Blueblood, benefitting the 'Widows of War' charity."
"A Memorial Ball is scheduled to be held next week in honor of Captain Blueblood and all fallen soldiers of the Battle of New Palomin. The event, as described the organizers is "a monument to those who gave everything so that strangers could live, and a chance to thank those they left behind for their loved one's sacrifice." No specific details were disclosed as to who would be in attendance, or where it would be held, but the head of the 'Widows of War' charity, the widow of Captain Blueblood, released a statement early Tuesday; "After I lost my husband in New Palomin, I felt empty and alone, so I created WoW so that others who have lost loved ones might carry on."
- Staff reporter Featherwieght
Shining set the paper down. That entire battle had been an absolute mess. He looked up at the clock hanging on the wall to his right. "11:15," He sighed. Rubbing his forehead with his hoof, he pulled out a small bottle of whiskey and a jigger, filling the small glass to the brim. Rolling out of his chair, Shining turned to the pane of glass that made up the outward wall of his office. Placing his hoof on the magically reinforced glass, Shining couldn't help but feel an ache in his chest. Ponyville had changed. It had changed a lot. The quaint little thatched roof homes had grown into towers of concrete and steel, the dirt paths giving way to paved walkways, the trees and plants now confined to small islands of green sporadically set about the city. The alcohol burned as it went down. It was a good bottle of whiskey.
His sister had introduced him to Ponyville almost twenty years prior, and it had been love at first sight. The simple beauty of the town enthralled him, wrapping it's tendrils around him and it had never let go. It also helped that he never wanted to leave. But the town had grown into a bustling city in no time, becoming a hub of trade and industry. If it existed, it had been shipped through Ponyville. But as with all things, the bigger something grows, so does the shadow it casts. Ponyville's criminal underbelly grew almost as fast as the skyscrapers. Smuggling, organized crime, the whole shebang. By necessity of the unsavory developments, a petition had been set up to form some form of guards for the city. Shining Armor had taken charge and formed the Ponyville Police department, the first of its kind in Equestria. While normally Royal Guards would keep the peace, or in the case of frontier towns where one stallion would be elected to act as a mayor and "sheriff" combo, there had never really been a need for centralized protection. Ponies just tended to be peaceful, non violent creatures. Simple as that. It hadn't been easy setting up a police force in Ponyville, but Shining did it, and more industrialized cities such as Stalliongrad and Fillydelphia followed suit soon thereafter.
The force did its job well, managing to keep the city together and maintain order. It wasn't easy, that's for sure. It had become especially hard since these new weapons, "fire arms," as they were called, had begun to spill out. Originally invented by Gryphon War Forges International. Fire arms employed a simple tube with a trigger mechanism at the end that would ignite some gunpowder, forcing a metal ball, also called a "bullet," out of the tube at a high velocity. Shining had seen a few tests of the weapons in the past few weeks, and had even fired a few of them himself. He hated them. They were too sleek, too seductive. Too effective, too easy to shoot. And easy to make. Already, Port Authority had intercepted two shipments, one for Ponyville, another intended for Hoofswell, both were missing port of origin tags. Clearly corruption is beginning to spread into Ponyville's administrative systems. Damnit. It'll only be a matter of time before it reaches the police and governmental structures...
Shining silently prayed he could maintain the peace in the city as he slid back into his (faux) leather chair, and began shifting the papers scattered across his desk, going over everything from the latest crime rates to the current stock market reports. Fortunately, the latter had been rising, unfortunately, the former had been too. Finally, after an eternity, the form he had been dreading all week rose to the top, rearing it's ugly head. The form that would make room in the city budget for arming the police force with guns. "What do you think madam brandy?" Shining asked the bottle floating before him. "Yeah, only a crazy pony would ask a bottle for advice."
Shining pulled the crime rate sheet out of the now organized stack of papers on his desk. Crimes involving fire arms were at seven percent, but no fatalities, with murders (not involving fire arms) staying about the same, zero home invasions, and only petty thievery was beginning to rise. "Today is a good day Miss Brandy. Care for a drink?" He chuckled to himself.
Shining's ears perked up at the clacking of hooves emanating from the hallway outside his office. His secretary, Peppermint Twist, must be bringing him something. A rap on the door confirmed his suspicions. She always knocked that way. "Come in Twist." He grumbled.
"Are you alright thir?" She said around the folder she had in her mouth. She quickly transferred the file to her hooves, "You know you're not supposed to drink on duty?"
"I'm fully aware what the rules say I shouldn't do." He quipped. "After all...I wrote them..."
"Is it the budget form?" She blurted out.
The look on his face sufficed for an answer, "Oh...I see sir. I-I-I'll give this to you later." The commissioner had been under a lot of stress, and the form had not been helping at all. The last thing he needed was this folder.
"Give it Twist." He ordered. "Now." If Twist was bringing it to him personally, it was important.
"H-here sir." She held the folder out as Shining levitated it towards him. He remembered he still had a glass of whiskey on his desk, so he floated that to him too. The folder opened, and several pages floated in front Shining as he lazily sipped on the glass held in his telekinetic aura. All police reports were organized by date, location, time, and type of crime, then given a case number. After that, the responding officer, any suspects in custody at the time of the report, and any victims involved were listed.
"What is it this time, another noblepony's brat got busted, so now his daddy wants to have a pissing match?" Shining muttered angrily to himself.
This report was similar to all the others Shining had seen in his tenure. Occurred tonight at about 11:10 PM, double murder, case number 11875. Responding officer was lieutenant Archer. No... Shining's blood turned to ice in his veins, sending a shiver up his spine and turning his breath ragged. "Twist, send out messages alerting the appropriate ponies. You know who they are, and tell them to meet at Apple Manor."
"Your sister too sir?" She asked, nervously playing with her glasses.
"Especially her." This situation needed to be handled delicately. One misstep, and there could be even more bloodshed. Shining knew she should be the first to know, but once she got involved, the situation could go downhill faster than somepony making a "Your momma joke," at a Zebra banquet. Shining had been to one where that happened. He still wondered if they ever got those stains out. "Send her's last." This wasn't going to help anything, and, but he wondered how he would ever get rid of these stains.
Shining gently swirled the contents of his glass whilst he looked upon the Ponyville night sky. Long gone were the days when a pony could look up at the stars hanging in the night sky and admire Luna's handiwork. The city lights now shone in place of the celestial bodies, turning night into day for Ponyville.
Turning his back to the enormous window, Shining refilled his glass. Four mares sit on the same couch, almost in some sort of collective group hug as they all cry. Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie, and Applejack, the new CEO of Apple Enterprises. The yellow pegasus was holding Applejack as she cried into the pegasus pony's mane, their tears mixing as they fell to the ground. Rainbow sat silently, stroking the orange mare's mane, and somehow Ms. Pie had stretched her arms to the point of enveloping the others in an enormous bear hug.
Suddenly, rays of light shone from under the door of the study they were in, and the aforementioned door was pulled open in the purple glow of telekinesis. An equally purple mare stepped into the room, accompanied by the tang of ozone, a look of surprise upon her face, and the temperature dropping several degrees. Her eyes locked on Shining's, and if anything had come between them, it would have burst into flames. "Sparkle." He nodded his head.
"Armor." She huffed. "What happened?"
"Lieutenant Archer responded to reports of gunshots outside of the downtown theater. When she arrived..." He downed his glass of wine in one swig and swiftly refilled the glass. "Mister and Missus Apple were dead at the scene."
Suddenly, the entire house shook, and the glass in Shining's magic grasp turned to dust, the wine inside staying in the shape of the glass oddly enough.
For a brief second, Twilight looked as though she was about to destroy anything and everything that came within her field of vision. She felt as though she might. She knew she could do it too, but violence would never bring Rarity back. It's not what she would have wanted. She bit back her tears and forced the lump in her throat down. Things like this don't happen in Ponyville... At least they're not supposed to. "Where's Cider?" She asked, tears beginning to form around her eyes.
"He's sleeping upstairs. He's medically okay, but mentally... Only Celestia knows how screwed up the poor foal will be..." Shining attempted to drink from his glass, but then realized it was naught but dust and wine being held together by his magic. Dropping it in a near by trash can, he returned his attention to the assembled mares. "Which brings me to another matter. Who will be taking custody of young Apple Cider? Will it be you Applejack, or Applebloom?"
"Applebloom don't know how ta take care of a foal properly," She wiped the tears away, "and neither do Ah."
Shining stood there bewildered. Leave it to the pony descended from generations of farmers to get cryptic when you least need it. "What?"
"Ah said Ah won't take care of the foal."
"Why not?" Shining Armor sputtered. "He was your brother, why won't you take care of his foal?"
"Ah have mah reasons. Ah won't take care of the foal." She gave him a look similar to Twilight's, except this look would cause a plant to wither.
"I don't have time for this. Will anypony in this room take custody of the foal?" Shining pleaded, levitating the wine bottle towards him.
"I will. I've been helping keep Apple Manor clean for the Apples for quite some time now."
The voice seemed familiar, although Shining wasn't sure. He looked to the bottle floating next to him. There was enough gone that could allow for the chance that he was drunk, and he was sure he was, considering the voice that spoke did not belong to a mare. "Name please." He shrugged, swigging the bottle.
"Spike." A particularly large shadow announced, causing Shining to jump. How the dragon had managed to enter the room without his knowing, he had no idea.
Eeyup. I'm drunk.
Shining floated the bottle away.His horn briefly lit up, bathing him in a warm glow, and the world cleared. Shining took in the six foot tall dragon standing before him, hands held together in nervous anxiety. Nothing like the sober-up spell
"Spike, you don't need to do that, we can find somepony else-" Twilight tried to say.
"Yes I do Twilight." Spike interrupted her. "I didn't have a lot of male figures in my life. As great as Shining Armor was, he was still gone quite a bit, being in the royal guard and all," he looked at Shining, a smile built from years of happy memories stretched across his face, "Macintosh was the one of the only males to actually pay attention to me... And, that meant a lot. Rarity taught me how a lady acts...even though she treated me like an equal...she was like family, and I can never thank her enough. And besides, I've spent the most time with him out of everyone here." He looked at Applejack. "Mac was like a father, Rarity was like a sister, and the least I can do is be a father to one thing left of them."
"Okay Spike..." Twilight was saddened that she was losing her number one assistant, but Big Mac must have meant something to him if he was willing to do this. Twilight had never really put much thought into the male influences in Spike's life. Her brother had played with Spike when he was a baby, but beyond that it had become more and more sporadic as both parties grew older and older. After she'd gone to Ponyville, Twilight hadn't even thought much of how often Spike spent time at Sweet Apple Acres back then. Big Mac must have really meant something to him...the reason for spending time at Carousel Boutique had been all too obvious. "Take care of that foal like you've taken care of me all these years." She pulled the dragon in for a hug.
"I will Twilight."
Shining drew his hoof across his chest, directly over a long white scar, obscured by both his clothes and fur. He couldn't stay here any longer. "I have business to attend to. Spike, come by the mayor's office later this week, before the funeral. I'll have all the paper work in order." Shining's horn lit up, a flash and a pop later, and he was gone.
Obsidian levitated the bottle to his lips and took a long swig, the cold liquid flowing down his throat like a river. "Ahh...sarsaparilla. Nothing like it." the massive midnight colored unicorn set the now empty bottle on his cherrywood desk, the proceeded to gaze up at the stars. He glanced to the small clock sitting upon his desk. "11:45." He rubbed his face absentminded with a hoof. "I need to go to bed."
Born and raised in the northern mining town of Hoofswell, Obsidian had worked in the mines there for most of his life, pulling the ore cart, or rather, carts, out of the mine. His record on a good day had been twenty fully laden carts. When he was impressing a mare, he pulled no less than fifty. Most of the ponies found it odd that a unicorn preferred to work in the mine, and while the management had tried to get Obsidian to take an overseer position numerous times, he turned them down everytime. His father had been an earth pony, and he believed the only way to work was with your own strength. Eventually, he'd moved to Ponyville, and found work in the local rail yard. After several years of doing that, his parents both died in a mining incident. His father had been killed evacuating ponies, his mother had been poisoned by toxic fumes. The entire mess had lead to strike by worker ponies demanding better conditions. It had crippled Equestria, and nearly obliterated the economy. In some of the larger cities, riots had erupted alongside the protests. The cause of the cave in had never been determined, but the government just removed most of the company heads to quell all the unrest. For the most part, it succeeded, but it left power vacuums in nearly all the major companies across Equestria.
Obsidian himself had ended up receiving settlements from the Hoofswell mine incident, and had found a lost bank account containing several million bits. Turns out an old descendant had deposited money in there a few centuries ago, and then somehow forgot about it. Using the combined money, he had managed to buy the rail road company in Ponyville, and start an air ship shipping corporation. By that point, Ponyville had become more urbanized, and having only two ways of getting anywhere, there was a golden opprotunity. So Obsidian started the first air shipping company in Equestria, and he rest is history. He married, had foals, still has them, and became one of the richest ponies in the world.
"Heya, uh, boss?"
That was the voice of Streetwise, his right hoof pony. "What is it Streetwise?" he sighed, turning away from the beautiful night.
"Our contact in the PPD sent us somethin." The skittish grey pony answered.
On top of controlling Ponyville's shipping industry, Obsidian also controlled half the east side of Ponyville with his gang, the Tempestas. Having come from Hoofswell, where crime factored into a lot of business decisions, Obsidian had made it a priority to have control of the crime in his area. He made sure his ponies acted with dignity though. No murder, no rape, no stealing. The only reason the would commit violence at all would be if another gang tried something in their territory. The only reason he maintained the gang at all was because as long as he controlled them, they were under the control of a pony with a conscience. Sort of a, "Better to reign it in than let it run free." type of thing.
He opened the folder and began to sort through its contents.
"Wonder what it is this time..."
Chapter Two: Dust
"Ay me! how hard to speak of it – that rude
And rough and stubborn forest! the mere breath
Of memory stirs the old fear in the blood;"
- Tronte's Inferno
Streetwise looked about the room nervously. Well, he always looked about rooms nervously. He just looked about this one more nervously than usual. The room was enormous, located in a hidden location, and painted entirely in black, for a few reasons; it served to remind the assembled ponies where they were and who had called them there. It also served to hide the one way windows hidden sporadically throughout the room. In the middle of the room sat a huge white marble conference table rimmed with cherry wood, with gold trim around the edges, and platinum inlay in the marble itself. Seated at said table were a veritable bric-a-brac of ponies. On one side sat the Istalian mafia, clad in suits and fedoras, their leader, Full Deck sitting still as stone. He was bereft of a hat, and a red rose stood out against the black coat he wore. "Can you say cliche..." Streetwise muttered from his seat near the head of the table.
The Rushian mob sat alongside them, their leader, Raffle Ticket locked in a staring contest with the head of the Bloodwings, Redclaw. To their right sat the leader of the Stripes, S'haruz the chief zebra gang in Equestria and beside them sat the Minotaur drug cartel, the Diabolos of Mexicolt. Even one of the local Diamond Dog gangs sat at the table. Each one was dressed differently, creating an odd collage of criminality. The Istalians all had a sense of style and dignity about them coming from their aforementioned suits, while the Rushians wore...well, whatever wasn't moving that cost a lot of money and they could slap on themselves. The Stripes all sported suits, with gold rings around their necks and forelegs, the Bloodwings wore leather jackets with tick marks cut into them, and the Diamond Dogs all wore vests inlaid with jewels. The Minotaurs wore nothing, save for a golden nose ring that each of them sported.
Up and down the table sat every prominent crime boss within a hundred miles, each one with their own retinue of guards, each one daring the other to do something stupid. Thankfully, none of them were stupid, and understood messing with the Tempestas in their territory was suicide. "Fear of force rather than force itself." Streetwise rambled under his breath as he looked to the watch on his foreleg. Boss should be entering anytime now.
As if on cue, the doors leading into the conference room opened up and in walked the massive black unicorn himself, flanked by two guards. All the assembled riffraff silently rose from their seats in a show of respect. They may consider Obsidian cowardly for not engaging in the same practices as them, but they still feared him. Ever heard of the High Flyers gang? Exactly. The massive black unicorn took his seat and all the assembled ponies followed suit.
"The reason I've called you all here tonight," Obsidian eyed everyone in the room, "is I want to know who's responsible for the death of the Apples."
"And what proof do you have it was any of us?" Full Deck said, running his hoof through his mane. "We do not touch your territory."
All hell hadn't broken loose. Maybe this was going to go well.
No one in the room was going to admit to the murder of the two most important ponies in all of Ponyville. Streetwise knew that as well as Obsidian. The only reason he'd called them here was... Streetwise didn't know. Nor did it matter. He was the boss. He knew what he was doing.
"We have been too involved in our own gang wars in Stalliongrad pony. You should ask the animals sitting across from us." The Bloodwing leader interjected, the barbs of his words bouncing off a particularly gaudy purple coat the Rushian leader was wearing.
"These feather brains always love kill ponies. It would surprise me not in least if they order hit!" The Raffle Ticket responded, his over sized green sunglasses falling off his snout.
And that's when all hell broke loose.
From there, the room devolved into a playground filled with foals insulting each other, and the Diamond Dogs pulling their ears down past their chins, looks of pain splayed across their faces
Spike held the tray in his claws as he ascended the stairs up to the upper levels. Even though he had been living in Apple Manor since roughly around Apple Cider's birth, the stairs never got easier. They weren't hard to go up, there were just so many of them. Oh well, every job has its hazards. At least stairs couldn't have psychotic breakdowns. It had only been two weeks since Macintosh and Rarity had died. Cider had been taking it fairly well, if sitting in his room and only coming out use the bathroom and eat, then he was taking it extremely well.
Spike gently knocked on the door, pausing, waiting to hear a sound of life from within. No such sound came. Pushing open the door, Spike entered into the room. Apple Manor had been built after a large fire consumed the old Apple family homestead. Using new found money from the success Apple Enterprises, Big Mac had built a new home, far grander than the old homestead,
"Why are do ponies do bad things?" He asked, his eyes begging for an answer.
In all honesty, Spike didn't know. He remembered reading a book that covered the subject once, but it was really confusing. And old. And smelled like dust and paper. But this colt needed some form of solace. "Well, I don't think it's a matter of them being bad...I think it's more an issue of that they don't know any better."
The colt fixed him with a questioning gaze. "But how could somepony not know that killing ponies is bad?"
"Well," Spike did his best to remember the book. He remembered the book had been as big as him at the time. Twilight had kept it in a special place, given that it was a first edition copy. The book had been the... the... the... Summa Theohorsica? No matter. "I once read that we all have something called a conscience, and our conscience is the sum of everything we've learned, and it tells us what's right by our own standard."
The questioning look had left his eyes, only to be replaced curiosity. "But then why have laws and police officers?"
"Because not everyone's conscience is formed enough to know properly, what is right and what is wrong. That's why." The dragon answered, gently stroking Cider's mane. His hair had the exact same feel as his father's, and he wore it the same way too. He said, "For example; a pony with a bad conscience might think stealing is good, but say he betters his conscience, and learns stealing is bad. Then he should make recompense for his past offense."
"B-but the p-pony who..." His ears splayed back, his face turned an unpleasant shade of white, and he look as though he might collapse then and there. Something happens. His posture straightens, the color returns, and his ears move to the sides. "He looked afraid."
"Well sometimes," Spike dove head first into his memories, "sometimes we lose hope, and become afraid that we'll lose what we love, and we do things we're ashamed of. Things that only hurt other ponies."
"I'll never be afraid." Cider said, lifting his head a little bit higher.
Not exactly what I meant... "You should be afraid. Just never so afraid that you lose hope and fall into despair." Spike answered. "I've seen it happen to the best of ponies..."
Both parties sat there silently, the forgotten soup steadily losing heat. An idea finally struck Spike. "Hey Apple Cider, want to hear a story or two?"
"What kind of story?"
"A lot of them." The dragon smiled.
Streetwise rubbed the swiftly darkening spot on his eye where he'd been decked by one of the Rushians. Not surprisingly, the meeting had gone over as well as someone trying to get away with a crime at a detective convention. Surprisingly, neither the Stripes nor the Istalians had done anything. The Minotaurs just shared a couple smokes with the other non-combatants. The Bloodwings and Rushians had been too busy trying to kill each other, and the D-dogs had tried to literally dig their way out of the conference room. It was rather unfortunate about what happened to the conference table...although, the noise that griffin made had been quite funny... It had been a custom made three million bit table, hoof crafted in Zebrabwe. Street remembered picking it up some years ago for the boss, right after he'd started working with the Tempestas.
"So what was the point of that boss?" the grey unicorn asked as he did his best to keep up with the larger unicorns stride. "Seems ta me like all that that accomplished was proving how many ways a D-dog can squeal in pain." He added sarcastically. "Oh, and what a two hundred pound slab of marble sounds like when it breaks."
The midnight unicorn snorted, "It was actually quite productive."
Streetwise just looked at his boss, shook his head, and resumed his attempts at keeping up with the pony. "Lemme drive tonight boss. For you to think that was productive, you must be on somethin strong." He said the two ponies exited the building and into the rain. Instantaneously, two bodyguards stepped forward with open umbrellas, shielding both of the unicorns from the rain pelting the earth. It was a quick trot to the waiting steam car. Marvelous inventions really. An entrepreneur by the name of Fancy Pants had invented the first one some ten years ago, and they had caught on like wildfire. Street hopped into his seat, started up the vehicle, and in a minute they were off.
"That really was a productive meeting." Obsidian said from the opposite seat. "Didn't you see the sleep deprivation in the Minotaur leader, Longhorn's eyes? They've been dealing with tightened pressure on their operations. And the Stripes. Several of them were injured. The Bloodwings as you saw, are aggressive. They even said that they've been fighting other gangs. Also," The unicorn said, a small smile forming on his lips, "the Istalians are going to try something."
"Ok, so chaos is still reigning. This is new how?"
"None of them are capable of ordering a hit on any big official. Except for the Istalians. But they would never kill any members of the Apple family."
"Uh, why not boss?" The grey unicorn asked as the vehicle stopped at one of the many street corners. "They have 'Frequent hit pony cards,' for Celestia's sake!"
"Because their leader is indebted to the Apples. How, I won't say. They just are. And don't bother asking about the dogs. The D-dogs have been scared to death of Rarity Apple for years, and there's no way they'd try anything as ballsy as that." Obsidian replied. "And since it can only be assumed that the city is slipping through our hooves, we're going to step up Tempestas activity throughout our territory."
"But, uh, boss... won't that just provoke the Istalians even more? I mean, things have been peaceful...well, it's like the 'peaceful' you find at a family reunion. One person gets drunk, and the whole thing turns into the punchline of a bad joke. "
"No matter. If the ponies who made Ponyville what it is can't walk with their son, then no one can. This city is corrupt, and it's up to us to instill order."
"If'n you say so boss."
"And the power of love defeated all of them?" Cider asked, his mind trying to understand.
"Yup." Spike answered.
"C-can you tell me the one about the Mare-Do-Well again?"
It was raining. It had been raining almost non stop for two weeks. Some had said the sky was crying over the loss of the Apples. It didn't matter. The rain didn't matter. It didn't matter to the dragon crawling into his bed. It didn't matter that he could smell the colt standing just outside his doorway, wearing his raincoat, patiently waiting for the gentledrake to join the world of dreams. Spike knew exactly what he was up to. He'd feign sleep, and when Cider had reached the door, he would follow him. The colt needed to heal... but Spike knew he never would. Three ponies died in that alleyway. Not two. He sniffed the air once more. He'd taken the bait and was now gone. Slinking out from under his sheets, Spike padded his way towards the door, taking care to open it slowly, so as to keep it from making a horrible creaking noise. Slipping into the hallway, Spike snaked his way through the inky blackness of the home until he reached the dual front doors. They were unlocked and slightly ajar. Spike spied a small figure making its way towards the small cemetery kept on the property for the deceased members of the Apple family. He swiftly returned to his room.
A few minute later, the sound of tiny hooves echoed through the house, the sound of silent tears following them.
Three ponies died that night in the alleyway. Not two.
Wrote this during finals week, so please excuse any issues in the chapter. Anyway, the action is about to begin, and I'm trying out a new writing style for the next few chapters. Enjoy.
