Pleasured Viscera: Whispers Beneath The Boards

Equestria's heroes were a popular sort. But, those were the heroes of today. Nopony remembered the ones steeped in napalm or shell-shock. Not soldiers once wading in muggy swamps or tense jungles. Those were heroes. Mares and stallions serving their country despite it's risks. So, why did nopony remember the great stalemate or trenches vast like Hades itself. They were all pups. Ungrateful, little whelps.

A tower of grey met her gaze and Lily watched somepony jump. Another druggie. Another LSD and free bird among the trees. 'Fly free, little moondancer', said the sky's whispering. She watched him speed down, not opposed by mercy or fate. It was his, after all. The choice to jump was anyone's and gods above the aether watched little ants colonize. A warm, piercing crash rung her ears and bombs fell. Another mortar. Grandpa'd be proud, Lily thought, trotting closer to just... study his face. See his eyes before they'd waste. His soul to pay and life to keep, Lily watched her friend sleep. Vivid amethyst met her gaze. Optic twinkling started from fresh, physical tears from undead nerves. An equine body could feel more than pain six minutes postmortem. Much more. It could think and fade.

His eyes were milky, messy things- one split open like tomato soup and whipped-cream jelly. His socket was red and dark, ringed by tears diluting crimson discharge. Rich, wine-soaked mess stained his coat while bits of jagged steel flayed his ribs open. A barbecue, she thought absentmindedly, loving his tender expression. Fear. Finality. Swinging guitar solos all around as they boarded the shores. Another strike of orange, she smelled in that concrete jungle. Lily tapped his split cranium, only probing his squishy, oozing grey matter. Fresh and pink.

Today was a good day.

Choppers overhead, she listened to nice, beating drums and found it calming. The mare, dressed in usual, plastic-ceramic composites, trotted to whistling tunes. Later, she’d eat at Butcher Pete’s. His store wasn’t far from where they’d rendezvoused, at least, not a block or so from a shitty apartment downtown. There, somepony familiar waited- her hair was long as they third-met. Fleur Dis Lees held her umbrella up, unsure of why anypony’d be happy to get a face full of petrichor, bombarding suicide noise and red. Under a strangely convenient streetlight, she’d wave her Lily over.

“Lily…? Why’re you whistling in the rain? And why’re you covered in blood…?” Fleur inquired, mostly just concerned because a moment ago, she thought they were sane.

A smile. Crooked. Delighted.

“I feel happy. Also, I dunno how he got blood on me. I was standing ten feet away.” The incubus hushed, letting her lashes mingle.

Night was tense. Everypony stayed their haunches inside the later hours of Mini Gladius. Some were cowards, but all were wise in staying away. Seedy, sociopathic types were getting more and more common those days. Through sugar canes and all sorts of rice paddies, the sane waded- only to find sniper calibers from deranged nonsense. Killers. Thugs. Even loonies from the G-Mare estates up in mountain test sites. Lily’s boots jingled and jangled, spurred because great assassins were apparently noisy. They kicked dust and paper clutter along the concrete. Each one carried a tip or sort of metallic, pointy shape. Another reason to be an old-fashioned gunslinger in that shithole ponies called Equestria. Ponies didn’t expect a kick to pop their throats open.

“I… saw you, though. I didn’t know it was you, but, I guess it was. You were watching him. Didn’t you see how close you were…?” She inquired, greeting with a soft, reluctant hug.

Yes. Late-night rain would do that to somepony. Faint silhouettes danced across the city. Concrete jungle. Child’s mumble. Grenade filly. Lily’s filthy city.

“How close?” Asked her friend, mumbling after with a pistol in her mouth.

They bucked a door down, smashing boards and oak. Wooden splinters washed her coat again like the rain hot and sweaty. Equines didn’t sweat, but they needed to. Nothing felt better than moist, icky skin against mosquito bites. It was dark and though Fleur had her box-like spectacles on, she switched them for night-vision goggles. They were dressed in flak and denim shorts with elbow pads.

“About a yard or so. Surprised the shock didn’t ring your ears. Anypony else might’ve gone deaf. But, you had your mouth open.” Answered her compadre, trotting double-time to meet the charlies.

They clicked and thudded all over dusty, little floorboards. Some squeaked and others shrieked. A fine poker game met their gaze and Fleur started cackling. Laughing. It felt amazing. She aimed her barrel, of some 5.56 make to see the glasses shatter. To see the crowded shelter fill with messy cherry and deep, hungry machine gun rumbling.

“Hahaha~! Hahaha~! Is this what I’ve been missing~?!” Fleur boomed, maw wide and gaping like teddy bears stuffed with pineapples.

They were scattering, little ants and savages to the end. Drug cartels. Crime lords. Fellow assassins, even. Did they know Filthy Rich was a two-timing scumbag. A wild, feral mess of cursing and panicked hoof falls met the hideout and six, maybe eight ponies hid behind thick, wooden clutter. Behind those boards were rubber and such, but more, ballistic armour and heavy variants of shock-resistant compositions. Two crawled right of little Fleur, watching her muzzle flare like fireworks. Grand, sweeping fireworks. They tried flanking her.

Boom. Scatter shot. Little trot against the crooked rot of gangster’s lot and caliber.

“That all you got, sons of bitches~?” Her pipe rasped, eyes pin-prick and vile with pleasure’s seed.

First blood. They had first blood and lead kissed her flank, but, a bullet didn’t stop when it grazed. Ponies were horrific shots. She worked her carbine against the walls, each clatter rumbling her hooves to kingdom come. Firing a large, turret-based weapon was maddening. Doing it without the tripod was more than fatigue. It was exhilarating. They only had minutes of staring into nothing when sweet, sweet music filled the air. An aria of sorts, devastation came in all sorts of symphonies harmonious in the night. Bullet spray. Knife’s slay. Hoof’s break. Pony steak and slit throats among the cluttered, bloody day Equestria invaded the bays

She watched them fall and, though it felt like sorrow from her eyes, Fleur Dis Lees felt happy. Was there any joy like taking a life. Being a god in coated skin, neigh, she’d say and proclaim till the day she died. There was no rush like shooting pregnant mares and watching lives tumble. A rumble in her chest and she knew herself crushing because it felt right. But why, then, did everyone look so still. Everypony, even the foals she missed inspecting the card game, were all very much cold.

“... I did it. I killed them…” Her friend whimpered, smiling in her shattered joy.

“Haha… Ha…” Fleur trembled, wobbling in her knees.

“Stop. Stop that shit right now-” Lily gruffed, trotting tensely over, even ending a crawler victim.

Click. Blam.

“You stop that shit right now, you fuckin’ panzy. You can break when Filthy Rich’s eating dirt. You know what we do. Don’t get soft on me, damn it.” The mare murmured, catching her mid-fall.

“No… You don’t understand. I killed them. I liked it. I liked it for fuck’s sake…!”

Her figure shook and cards of ace and joker fell about, spread by her three, but one-bloody fleur-de-lis marks silent among the fields. Another soul to feel the rush and shoot the brush. They lit cigarettes and held below the promise of a better Equestria. Though they were horrible, horrible ponies, wasn’t it all necessary. Those fucks that called them terrorists and baby killers- they didn’t know anything. Those shits dancing around their shrines of nature, passing needles and singing songs- they weren’t guns and sleepers. What did they know. Lily, shedding a tear for her sister-in-muzzles, nuzzled her neck. And, they kissed lips-warm and groins-rubbed. To make the pain less and de-stress the rest of reaper’s elated stress.

“... It’s okay. I cried, too. I cried my first kill. I loved it more and more, but, you have to… You don’t forget one, little thing. We’re doin’ this for the dream. No more sleepers. No more paranoia. All that web of intrigue shit is gone when we get somepony else in the cabinet. Remember that bitch Hoover…? That’s Rich. Okay?” We hushed, licking her space betwixt thighs, suckling her areolai beneath and little crotch-based pillows.

Fleur twitched and groaned, shutting her eyes. Why did Lily want it there. It was icky and trivial. A mare couldn’t be swollen without pregnancy, so…

“S-stop, you fuck… I just murdered a bunch of half-true sleepers. What if they’re innocent?” She grunted, clutching her mane every, little suckle of flat, equine tits.

God damn it. Not another reason to remember today. Not only was her cunt soaking wet, but, somepony else was licking and prodding. Spreading her hooves-firm and fondling her little crotch mounds. At first, she tried rolling over, but found it impossible pinned and stressed. Lily was crooked in her sultry, sleepy stare. Grinning. Grazing her tips ethereal and wet with spit.

“We’re on a pile of corpses, baby. Who gives a shit?” Lily hushed, positioning her nice, full hips.

“Wait, I-I didn’t say you could do that…!” Her friend panicked, struggling and wriggling like nothing else.

Though it perplexed her, she wasn’t… penetrating. Who would after all that. Lily Viscera, or maybe a human in disguise, slimed her flat, scrawny stomach. The girth of her shaft seemed very, very concerning. Almost whimper-worthy, even. How did anypony want that daemon mare. Fleur, taking a glance away, let her lashes fall. Something wrong took her core, but, being stomach-kissed felt amazing. Her hindlegs spread eagle as possible, watching her dominant stick and rub, throbbing her newest conquest. Drooling, sticky cream made her shudder.

“H-hey, I… I don’t like being on the floor…” Fleur whispered, glancing up in cute, squeaky admission.

“Ho~? Not the floor~? Well, we can find a bed… Then, you can give me head.” The incubus cooed, carrying her all over that wicked house.

The house of the rising sun, some might’ve claimed, it was an old, abandoned restaurant. For all the hungry masses straight from Iota looking for cultural cuisine, yes. Slight, little hoof-falls made her more and more tense. Fleur wasn’t a virgin, but, that was her first futanari encounter. She never anticipated, by any sort of biological study, they’d be so fucking hung. Or horny, for that matter. Anytime they passed a corner, she worried the shadows’d give Lily ample time to turn the tables. Essentially… she was unarmed, mentally drained and sleazy enough to take it after all that transpired. Because after a life of double-agent smoke and mirrors shit, nopony wanted to sit down and write a story. Or, read a book or watch the ponies bleeding beneath their hooves. Cracked skulls and gooey druggery above the boards. That’s what Fleur saw when she closed her eyes.

“Hurry-up, you faggot. I’m getting entirely unaroused by this long, stupid trot of your’s.” She sighed, fixing her glasses.

“Whaddyou mean ‘faggot’. Aren’t you the one getting with a mare. Also. How did you store your glasses away. I didn’t see any pouches…” Lily murmured, rolling her eyes before the stop.

Another mare shaking in their path. A tiny filly with a shrapnel carrier. She quaked, whimpering with her little hooves fumbling and pulling the sloppy pin job.

“Fuck-!” They cried in unison.

Someone shielded someone. Lily, being her carry mule, stowed little Fleur behind. Ripping shockwaves hit her stomach and Lily gagged, spewing rich, meat-littered bile. Her ears rung in constant, singular beeping. The world faded and all turned to black. Above her, an angel panicked and shed her tears. Another mane of pink, but kissed by sunlight. White and grey-washed pinks fell over her leaking muzzle. Fleur Dis Lees whisked her away, blaring her heavy, rushing hooves.