Undone by the Blood

Chapters

Prologue
Into the Nightmare
Hunters and Beasts
The First Dream
Blood Drunk
Hunter's Mercy
The Church of Harmony
The Second Dream
Old Ponyville

Prologue

Undone by the Blood

Prologue

Excerpt from the journal of Doctor Goodspell

Fired Nurse Last Hope today. I've told her several times that this clinic is a place of Science, but I've caught her for the third time this month telling my patients wild tales of Princess Twilight Sparkle of Equestria and her Magical Mystery Cure.

These three had incurable diseases in early to middle stages. The treatments from them would be enough to fund anypony's retirement. Instead, they're making pilgrimages to some far off land on a wild goose chase.

Must consult a lawyer later. I might be able to sue over lost profit.

Into the Nightmare

Author's Note

This has nothing to do with Upheaval.

Into the Nightmare

Undone by the Blood

Chapter 1: Into the Nightmare

'I'm dreaming.'

That's the first thing that I assume as I stare at the blackness before me. Floating in a void can't be anything else. My eyes watering as the acrid sting of alcohol and formaldehyde fills my sinuses tells me a different story. The hard surface against my side echoes the sentiment.

Not a dream, then. In that case, where am I? I don't recall going to sleep somewhere so foul-smelling. Indeed, I don't recall going to sleep at all.

Ah...

Huh? Is somepony speaking? Something brushes against my flank. It feels like a small twig, or a tiny hoof.

You've found yourselves a hunter...

A chorus of ragged little neighs answer that strange, feminine voice.

That's it, I struggle to my hooves, and nearly slide off whatever it is that I'm on. My eyes adjust at last. There's at least some light coming from a lone lamp by the far corner of this room. Dull orange light glints off the many many bottles, beakers, and test tubes scattered haphazardly across the various tables and shelves. The floor's littered with scattered papers and books, making it hard to see the hardwood floor. This thing I'm on must be an examination table. Am I a patient of sorts? A test subject? I need more details. I slide off the table, nearly tripping when I step on a loose bandage. Not a good sign. At least, I'm not bleeding. I hold a front hoof against the light; brown stains from old blood, and a few still-red splotches.

What was I doing here? The more I cast about my mind for answers, the more empty spots I discover. I don't recall going through any kind of procedure, I don't recall being brought here. I put a hoof to my face, feeling the cold sweat trickling past my brow. My name... I can't even recall my name. My hooves feel through my clothes. Perhaps, there was something in my pockets that might help. My shirt's breast pocket turns up nothing. Neither does the grey coat I have over it. I have a belt with a few pouches attached. They all come up empty.

I look to my flank. Of course, my cutie mark might jog my memory. Let's see... vertical line with a dot beneath it. Two more lines branch out downwards and diagonally from its bottom half only to bend at right angles to extend slightly towards the dot. The whole symbol is black, a sharp contrast to my light brown coat. Looks like some vague interpretation of a trident about to pierce a dot. I have no idea what it means. So much for that idea.

My heart starts to race as I turn to my surroundings for clues. There's a closed door just ahead. The glass panes on it are cracked, but the wood still appears sturdy. I take my first few steps. My legs are strong and steady, and my head's clear. Not missing blood then, despite the ominous bandages. No lingering effects from drugs apparently. My hooves leave imprints on the thin layer of dust on the floor, but no creaks from aging floor boards. The mess indicated abandonment, but this must be recent. Somepony must have lit that lamp too.

I turn my attention to the scattered papers. Somepony's a slob, or had to leave in a hurry. I pick one up with my mouth and set it on the table. Patient records as it turns out. The name doesn't ring a bell. Symptoms noted beneath. Something about increasingly dry skin, unnatural growth of limbs, and violent urges. That doesn't describe me in the slightest. Medication prescribed follows, along with results. I don't recognize all these drugs. This is a clinic then, but I'm no doctor. Nothing worked for this poor pony apparently.

The last part, though. That catches my attention for a moment. When the doctor ran out of options, he simply recommended "seek Magical Mystery Cure". Something familiar, at least, but I can't place it.

I go through a few more papers; different names, stallions and mares, different pony types, even a griffon and a mule. Symptoms are all the same, so's the final recommendation. Magical Mystery Cure...what is it? Is that why I'm here? Or was the doctor going to recommend the same thing to me?

Nothing more to be gained here. I push the door open with ease. Barely even a creak from the well-oiled hinges. Instead of a waiting room, however, I'm faced with a long flight of stairs. Well now, not enough for the doctor to put some space between his office and the waiting patients. It has to be a long climb up. There's something more disturbing, though.

I can smell blood.

The alcohol and formaldehyde are still clinging to me, but they can't hide that cloying, heavy, metallic stench. My throat constricts. There has to be a lot spilled to get such an overpowering smell. There's a single door at the bottom of the stairs, and it's ajar. Not taking any chances here. I crouch a bit, and walk down the stairs slowly, ears perked for danger. There's a larger, just as messy, room past the door. The smell's getting worse now. I'm about to gag, but I swallow the nausea when I catch the faint sound of crunching farther into the room.

Something's inside this room. I can hear a soft growl, the scrape of pointed things scratching at the floor, and the gristly, wet, rhythmic grind of jaws. I can't see a lamp, but there's a lot of light coming from the far side of the room. There's orange light streaming from an open door as well as some broken windows. Not the orange of a setting sun, though, too much flickering. Street lights. I don't like the idea of wandering anywhere at night, but staying in this wrecked, empty clinic wasn't much of an option. Maybe I can get my bearings once I see what this place was. Or I'll encounter somepony who can help.

One problem, though. Both the source of the horrible stench of blood, and the disgusting slurping noises, are coming from somewhere near the door I need to reach. Whatever the thing that's sharing this room with me, I don't want to meet.

Fortunately, this must be where patients were attended to before the doctor could deal with them. There's a lot of examination tables scattered around, many rusted with disuse. Old syringes and scalpels lie across a few of them. How odd, this room shows more signs of disuse than the room I was in. Still, I can use this to my advantage. I crouch even lower, making sure I'm hidden by these tables. Now, I just need to stay hidden, and skirt around whatever blood-soaked...thing in here.

I inch through slowly, keeping my breath shallow and steady both to avoid being heard by whatever's making those sounds and because the stink of blood's making my head spin. It's bound to hear me if I vomit. A drop of sweat trickles from my brow, and soaks into my collar. Damn, can't get some in my eyes right now! I lift a hoof to wipe off the still forming seat on my forelocks.

My hoof nudges the table I'm hiding behind, and a light, metallic bang of follows.

The slurping stops at once. So does my breathing, and any attempt to move onward. A faint, dry growl comes from that foul corner of the room, along with more scraping against the floor. I close my eyes, willing my myself desperately to have less presence. My heart's hammering in my ears. That's it, that thing's going to find me through the noise my infernal heart's making. Another growl, a less interested one I think. It takes me some effort not to sigh with relief when a gristly crunch signals the return to more slurping and chewing. I gather my courage, and inch forward again. Just a little more left. A nightly breeze from the open door ruffles my mane and coat; a promise of escape from this predicament.

My head's already out the door when something freezes me in place. I have to see. What is that thing behind me? Some kind of large animal? I grit my teeth and turn around. Just a quick look. I step behind another examination table. There's blood streaked all over the floor boards, crimson paw prints bigger than my hooves, and deep gouges made by large claws; all signs that I should really go. This thing not only ate flesh, it was enormous. Still, I peek over the table, just one glance, just one look at this thing...

I fight the urge to gasp. I expected a monster, true, but the twigs and leaves sticking out of this thing's back catch me by surprise. It is huge, probably three times the size of a stallion. It's hunched over its vile meal, resting on its gangly...woody--? I squint and wish that the street lights behind me were brighter. The thing had...bark instead of fur. Its limbs were disproportionately big for the rest of its body. Its front limbs were gouging out chunks of meat and stuffing its wolf-like muzzle. Blood and strips of gore drip to the floor with each snap of its jaws.

It was...some kind of plant-beast? Whatever it truly was, the danger's clearer than ever. Its meal, despite being more than half eaten is still recognizably a pony. I note the tattered remains of a long, white lab coat near the dead pony. If this is a clinic, here must be the doctor.

Time to go. The creature's almost finished, and I can't be sure if it will be satisfied with one pony. I sneak back to the exit, no mishaps this time, and hurry away.

I'm barely a few feet from that horror when a bigger dilemma looms before me. This...this city. Not an inch of it even rings familiar. Ominous, iron gates greet me with a slow screech of its rusty hinges as the nighly breeze keeps blowing. I was only partly right about the street lights providing the only illumination. Despite the lack of any moon in the night sky, this city glowed like a fire-lit dusk. Bonfires blazed at the distance, so many that I have to wonder if the city itself was on fire. Maybe I'm wrong about there being no moon around. The sky's so obscured by all the smoke, I can't see any stars.

I walk past the iron gate, still trying to be as silent as possible. There's an eerie grandeur to this city. It's all pointed rooftops, iron fencing with sharpened tops, and gray stonework. The enormous bridge at the distance holds my attention. It spans across a deep chasm, where more...city lay, and ended before a gigantic gate. I have to focus on the here and now, though. I appear to be on a narrow sidestreet flanked by imposing stone houses. Doors closed and reinforced by the looks of them, windows shut with iron bars over them. Not exactly a welcoming sight. Then again, that plant-beast I just left might be a common problem, no wonder ponies had secured their homes so tightly.

The shuffle of hooves heading towards my direction halts any further musing on my part. Finally, other ponies! A trio of lights, likely from torches, make their way towards me. I meet them halfway. Not to eager now, I might startle them into attacking.

"Hello?" I call out to them. "Can you help me? I've lost my way, and there's--"

The words catch in my throat when I get a better look at these three. I may have been too rash in assuming these were ponies, though they do resemble two stallions, and a mare. Their legs are unusually long, giving them this strange loping gait I wouldn't associate with ponies. Their manes are disheveled, and their clothes tattered. It's their faces though. Their eyes are wild with fear, almost feral by the way they glare and glance. More than that, it's the twigs and leaves sprouting from their muzzles and cheeks. At first glance, it just looks like they went through some shrubbery, and had some plants get stuck on them. But, no, I can see those things growing out of them. They stare at me for a while, like they have no idea what I am.

"B-b-beast!" the mare finally cries out. She's the least plant-like of the three, though her coat is a shade of light green. Only a few leaves mar her curly yellow mane. She makes up for it, however, by having the most deformed legs. She towers over her two companions through spindly, emaciated legs. It's a wonder that she could even carry her weight. As with the other two, her torch is attached to a special holder built into the harness she has over her coat.

The two stallions look at me as if to confirm, then snarl. One if them is so transformed that I can barely tell his face from the mass of woody growths that his beard had taken the form of. He's the bigger of the two, and has an old cleaver clamped between his elongated jaws.

The smaller stallion had his ears turned into leafy branches. He's armed with a pitchfork that's strapped to his side, so his mouth is free to talk. "Aye!" he says. "Die, you foul beast!"

I hold out my front hooves before me to show I mean no harm, backing away in the process. "Hold on," I say. "I'm not a beast. If you're looking for beasts, there's one hiding there!" I point to the clinic I just left.

The smaller stallion jabs me with his pitchfork for my troubles.

I barely have the time to turn aside. The rusty prongs catch my overcoat as they go past, ripping the worn cloth, and gashing my chest. The bigger stallion's lunging at me with his cleaver already. The mare reaches for something, but I don't stick around to find out.

My hooves clatter clumsily on the stone pavement as I swiftly spin around to run. The cleaver's tip whistles just past my tail, while blood trickles from my chest wound, and starts soaking my shirt. Wonderful, I might have been better of with the monster in the clinic.

"Hunt it down!" the mare screeches. "Cleanse Ponyville!"

At least I have a name to put to this place. A brick flies over my head, and crashes just a foot away. "I'm not a beast!" I yell. A trio of angry snarls answer me. They have weeds growing out of them, and they think I'm the beast?

The sidestreet splits into several paths. Fortunately, that means I have a multitude of ways to evade these madponies. Unfortunately, that also means this city is likely built like a maze. A few turns and I'm hopelessly lost. Then again, I'm lost to begin with. I pick a path that sort of looks like it wont lead to a dead end.

The shouts aren't particularly close behind me. I'm banking on my pursuers being hampered by their deformities. Those twisted, emaciated, far too long legs must be difficult to maneuver. I don't know how flexible part-wood flesh is, but it must be a hindrance.

I'm right as it turns out. A quick glance over my shoulder reveals them cursing and struggling to keep up. The pitchfork snags against a sharp corner I just took, forcing the stallion to the ground. The other stallion trips over him in a tumble of snarling, yelling ponies. The mare has enough presence of mind to leap over the mess.

I duck into another sharp corner, then kick a garbage bin over to its side as I pass. There's a coffin nearby, and, for a moment, I think about pushing it over as well. No, the thick chains wrapped around it would be heavy enough. The coffin itself looks metal, and big enough to accomodate even a hefty stallion. Trying to move it would take too much. I pass another coffin just like the first...then another. Hold on...am I passing through some kind of funeral parlor? And these chains...these ponies either really din't want something stealing their dead, or they're afraid that their dead might break out.

"Hssst!"

That sharp sound comes from one of the many barred windows I pass. I slow down briefly. I can't hear the three chasing me. Maybe I lost them already. "Who's there?" I ask.

A husky, gravelly voice answers me from a nearby window. "If you keep going that way, you'll run into the main street. They're gathered there right now." A series of hacking coughs follows. I cringe inwardly as it goes on for nearly a minute. It sounds like he's about to hack up a lung.

I walk over to the window. It looks like my pursuers had given up. Past the bars is a small room lit by a lone lamp. The air wafting from the place is thick with the heavy fragrance of some kind of incense. There's a bed by the window. The sheets are stained with blood and what looks like dried, yellowish-green phlegm.

"Hey," the bed's occupant says. He turns out to be a griffon, an emaciated one. I frown and tilt my head at his condition. Dark grey feathers lie scattered across his bed and the floor. There's blood around his beak, likely his after that fit. He puts on a wan smile before continuing. "Name's Gilbert. Glad to see a pony with some sense."

"I'm glad to find anything with sense," I reply. "Who...what are those creatures?" I ask. "They look like ponies, but--"

"They are," Gilbert says. "Well...in a way." He squints at me. "You're not from around here, I take it?"

I shake my head. I might be, but, without my memories, I may as well be not.

"You picked a bad time to visit Ponyville then," Gilbert says. "Not that there's an actual good time to visit. Ponyville's got a peculiar way of welcoming guests." His wan smile fades into a grim mien as he comes closer to the bars. He's got that sickly sweet smell of something dying of disease. Up close, the cracked skin around his bloodshot eyes is hard to miss, so is the orange tint around his flaking, cracked beak. "Whatever you're looking for here, stranger, it's not worth it. I'd plan a swift exit out of here if I were you."

"I would if that was an option," I answer. I barely have an idea where "here" is let alone an idea how to get out.

"I see," Gilbert says. He's interrupted by another fit of coughing. I step back instinctively while he reaches for a bloody handkerchief. "Good luck then. The Hunt is on tonight. Stay clear of the larger streets. Don't expect anyone to open their doors for you either."

"What can you tell me about the Magical Mystery Cure?" I blurt out. He's as surprised as I am by the sudden question. The Magical Mystery Cure is the only thing that resonates with my memory, I have to pursue it as my only lead.

"Magical Mystery Cure?" he asks. It's like he's tasting the word first. "I've heard some ponies mention it. Never went further than that. If you're looking for cures, you need to get to the Church of Harmony. They control all of Ponyville's remedies."

"Haven't you tried getting some of those remedies?" I ask.

"It's not for me," he says. "I was fortunate enough to get more time thanks to some of their cures, but my times up, I'm afraid. At least I'm not turning into a plant-beast. You might fare better. They won't say it, but I suspect that their best cures only work for ponies. Now, if really want to get at this cure, you have to cross the Great Bridge into the Harmony District."

Harmony District, now there's a fluffy name, certainly a sharp contrast to the dark atmosphere around here. The Great Bridge has to be that one in the distance. There certainly is no bridge greater. The problem now was getting to it. That leads me to the next thing.

"This city's pretty big for a place called "Ponyville"," I remark.

"It used to be a village, I'm told," Gilbert says. "But a village doesn't get to stay one when Equestria's greatest princess decides to live there. Ponies kept coming to see and stay around Princess Twilight Sparkle, so Ponyville kept growing. At some point it subsumed Canterlot, and became this land's capital."

Another familiar thing all of a sudden. Now, I had a thing and a pony to find. A princess too. "Thanks," I say. I want so much for him to accompany me. He's the only helpful anything in this haze of danger and questions. Of course, he can't. He looks so sickly, he might die just trying to leave his house. For his part, Gilbert merely nods and tries to settle back to his bed. "I should thank you," he says. "Now, I can be useful to someone before the end."

I'm about to say farewell when the hue and cry of ponies at a distance freezes me in place.

"Beast!" a mare yells. "Kill the foul beast!"

Gilbert nods me on. He doesn't seem too concerned about his own welfare. Being almost dead does that, I suppose. More cries come from the distance. Damn, it's not the three from earlier. This sounds like a larger group.

Two things concern me now: getting away from these crazed ponies, and making sure I'm running towards the Great Bridge. The mob is starting to howl in a frenzy now. How odd, they're still far enough not to be in my sight, but they already sound like they spotted prey. After a quick glance towards the Great Bridge, I start running.

"Away!" a stallion yells. "Away! Away!"

A scream comes from that direction, and I stop. That was a dying scream. Nopony's still showed up to chase me. A second scream follows. A third one starts, but something cuts it off.

I have to look. They were mobbing somepony else. If I can help this one out, I'd better my own chances. I pass by Gilbert's house again, and the noises grow louder; angry grunts, metal striking stone, cries of pain, and the sick crunch of metal crushing flesh and bone. Then an explosion. I stop again. That's a gunshot, the low boom of a blunderbuss discharging. If it's one of the crazed ponies who had that thing, I can't show myself.

The fighting sounds stop with one more gunshot.

My heart's racing again. One side's finished. I pray more than ever that it's the sane pony the mob was chasing. Morbid curiosity insists that I look. Was I always this recklessly curious? Somepony's panting just around the corner, there's also the gentle scrapes of lead pellets being poured into a gun's muzzle. The air stinks of blood and gunpowder. No turning back now, I peek past the corner and hope for the best.

The ground is littered with bodies. Leaves and branches mix with puddles of blood and strewn pony limbs. In the middle of it all is a lone, grizzled stallion. It's hard to make out his face as it's covered by the wide brim of a rounded, black hat. I check the white beard on his chin; all hair, good. His mouth is clamped down hard on the handle of a large axe, the blade still dripping with blood. Strapped to the side of his harness is the blunderbuss I heard earlier.

My hoof scrapes against the floor. The faint sound's enough to catch his attention.

"More of you mindless foals," he mutters. His deep tone is full of gravel, but not because of disease. "You should have left beast-hunting to the experts."

He cocks his blunderbuss at me. It's the loud click of the wheel holster locking in place that jolts me to action. "Wait," I say. I hold out my front hooves in front of me. The last time, it earned me a stabbing. Hopefully, it won't merit a blast of metal pellets as well. "I'm not like these ponies. I'm not even Ponyvillian!"

He tilts his head slightly at this, then replaces the bloody axe on the other side of his harness. "Outsider," he says. He walks closer, and looks me over. "New hunter at that," he says. He's looking at my flank. Does he recognize the cutie mark? "What's your business in Ponyville, outsider?"

"I...I'm not sure," I say. "I'm looking for the Magical Mystery Cure."

He lets out a soft growl of a sigh. "You all are." He extends a front hoof. "You don't look blooded at all, new hunter, but I'll take any ally I can find. My name's Ghast Coin. You?"

"I don't remember."

Ghast Coin frowns. For a moment, I'm actually scared that he'll shoot me for not introducing myself. "That why you're looking for the Magical Mystery Cure?" he asks.

I shrug in response. "I can't remember a thing. All I know is that why I'm here has to do with that cure, and Princess Twilight Sparkle."

"Church of Harmony," Ghast Coin grunts. He points towards the Great Bridge. "I'm heading there too."

"Are you also looking for the Magical Mystery Cure?" I ask.

"No," Ghast Coin replies. "The Church needs to open its gates for the rest of Ponyville. This Hunt's different. Too many beasts this time. The usual methods won't be enough." He lets out another growling sigh. "I know the gatekeeper. Maybe I can get him to open up." He glances behind him. "I can't hunt straight if my wife and daughters are still in Central Ponyville. I need them safe in the Harmony District."

Relief fills my chest. Here's a competent fighter who's going to the same place I am. "We should go together then," I say. I hold my breath until I see him nod.

"We'll go together," Ghast Coin says. He stares at the Great Bridge for a moment. "You should brace yourself. This looks to be a long night."

As if to answer that, a long, piercing howl from the bridge fills the air.

Hunters and Beasts

Undone by the Blood

Chapter 2: Hunters and Beasts

"This is a strange city."

That's hardly a witty conversation starter, but I say it anyway.

Partly, because its true. There's something unsettling about Ponyville. It's not just the crazed ponies, and its disrepair. The architecture just seems so sharp. Everywhere I look, there's pointed iron fencing, a lot of which is twisted, rusted, and broken in places. The buildings themselves are tall, thin, and capped with pointed rooves. The skyline, whenever I can catch a glimpse of it past the clouds of smoke, resembles a field of blackened daggers aimed at the dark purplish haze of the sky. And then, there were the statues. Every street corner and alley has a life-sized statue of a mare swaddled in thick robes, holding out a candle with a wizened front hoof. They must mean something given how they're everywhere, but I haven't a clue.

Mostly, however, it's because I need to talk to somepony. This city may not be bustling with citizens, but it is alive. Every other minute there's another distant howl. The smoky, night air carries dog barks to my ears. They may be a couple of corners away, or several dozen. These streets keep winding, and the buildings loom so high that the sounds could be distorting. For all I know, there's a pack of vicious mongrels coming for me, or they're chasing somepony else. A little conversation might help take the edge from my nervousness.

Next to me, Ghast Coin doesn't seem to hear. I don't blame him. His ears are constantly pricked, and swiveling. He has the look of somepony who's done this before. It's the grim calm in his light blue eyes, and the easy grace he carries himself for such a tall pony. His weapons look worn; the axe blade's pitted, and notched, while the haft's worn with bite marks. The blunderbuss looks freshly oiled, but the stock can't hide the wear nor the barrel all the old scorch marks.

Ghast Coin moves through the streets like he's walked them hundreds of times before, but I have to note that his clothes are quite different from the ones I've seen the ponies of this place wear. Those deranged ponyvillians wore tattered brown vests over crumpled white shirts. One of them had a beat up top hat. They may have been deranged, but those looked like clothes meant for day-to-day city drudgery. Ghast Coin's clothes looks...official, ceremonial even. A rather ominous black robe covers him from the neck down, and across. I can't even see his cutie mark. Combined with his hat, he looks like some sort of undertaker. It's the scarf that marks him for more than taking care of bodies, though. Around his neck is a long, rather tattered, white scarf. The warm evening breeze makes it clear that he doesn't wear it for warmth. There's writing on the thing. I don't recognize the letters.

"How can you tell, outsider?" Ghast Coin surprisingly asks. "Do you remember some other city to compare it to?" He doesn't look at me as he speaks given that he's busy glancing about for trouble, but he cracks a faint, toothy smile.

"No," I answer. "But this can't be normal."

We finally get out of the maze of smaller streets and into a large, suspiciously well-lit one. The smoke here's so much more thicker, enough to get me coughing. As if that's not bad enough, it's mixed with the horrendous stench of burned flesh and fur. I squint past the smoke, and the harshly glaring firelight, ignoring the smarting in my eyes.

The firelight is coming from the several bonfires that dominate this street. At center of each one is a cross made from crudely lashing together enormous poles. Vaguely wolf-like shapes hang from them like macabre scarecrows. As we approach, the lower half of one crumbles into ash, sending cinders and soot billowing outward.

"You're right, it's not," Ghast Coin growls. "On its best day, Ponyville's no paradise. You're not catching it on a good day."

A chorus of loud and frightened whinnies seem to answer him. Out of the smoke, several pony-like shapes stumble towards us. I only need a glance at the silhouette of one twig sticking out of one of them, and I know this is trouble.

Ghast Coin steps in front of me, his eyes hard. "Just passing through," he calls out to them. "No beasts here."

The ponies come closer. There's five of them this time. Torches to their sides and cleavers in their mouths, just like the ones I met earlier. The sight of Ghast Coin gives them a bit of pause. Strange enough, it's not his weapons that makes them hesitate. They sniff at his direction like starved dogs, and squint. The sight of me makes their minds up. One look, and their leader, a haggard, towering stallion snarls. "It's a beast!" He points at me, then looks at Ghast Coin. "Don't let that one fool--!"

Ghast Coin's axe blade cuts the leader's cry, and his muzzle, short. The blunderbuss discharges, shearing off half of another pony's face. The rest of them let out a hue and cry before closing in.

I wish I can wade in there and fight, really, but I''m more likely to block Ghast Coin's view, or catch his axe on my back. Besides, he doesn't seem to need help. He rips his axe out of the lead stallion's face, taking a sizeable chunk out in the process. The stallion that got shot's still screaming, and clutching his face, up until Ghast Coin takes his head off with a wide, horizontal swing.

The two close in on Ghast Coin while the third tries to cut past him to get to me. I glance at the jagged cleaver my pursuer has clamped in her jaws, then behind me. There's no running from this fight. I'll just get lost in this labyrinth of a city, and lose an ally.

A loud, metallic, sliding sound comes from Ghast Coin, punctuated by a pained cry from my pursuer. She drops her cleaver, and tumbles into a heap a few feet away from Ghast Coin. Her left hind leg's missing a hoof.

That was an axe strike, but how did he sweep that low and far? He'd have to duck low and sweep unless...I stare at the axe. It's blade's almost touching the ground, and dripping with blood. The haft looks like it just doubled in length. No mere wood after all. From the sound, it must have a telescoping metal center cleverly disguised as wood. I wonder how many opponents Ghast Coin had decapitated because they misjudged his reach.

Seeing three of their companions dispatched so quickly doesn't faze the remaining two. They don't even seem concerned about defending themselves. Fire and metal erupt from the blunderbuss' muzzle again. Ghast Coin aims it between his attackers this time. The blast rattles them enough to stop their charge, and they catch enough of the wide spread of fragments to wince. That's hardly a killing shot, though.

The next hit proves to be.

The muscles around Ghast Coin's neck bulge as he winds up a wide sweep. He's curled to the point that he's looking behind him before he finally strikes. The pole-axe's blade grazes the stone pavement with a loud whine, and a brief spray of sparks. With both ponies still wincing from the gun blast, the blow finds its mark. The top half of the stallion's head flies off, and skitters across the pavement while his body crumples. The pole-axe keeps going, and slams into the remaining mare's left shoulder so hard that it rips the limb off its socket, and bowls the mare over.

The surviving mare crashes to the ground with a whimper, trying to re-attach her dangling foreleg. "This town's finished," she sobs. For a moment, Ghast Coin stares at her, and I'm almost convinced he's going spare her life. The wild look in her eyes and the woody growths that had all but consumed her ears makes me doubt how wise that decision will be.

"You sick creature," Ghast Coin growls softly. "Be at peace in death, umbasa." He shortens his axe's haft again, then brings it down on the mare's head. Blood splatters on his black vestments and the body falls still.

I walk over, unsure of whether I should thank him, question the need to be so brutal, or just keep going. Sick creatures he called them. They have to be sick somehow. They're in the verge of transforming into hideous creatures, and they think we're the ones that are beasts.

I have to look away from the gore. A worn axe does not kill cleanly after all. The smell doesn't help either. I sigh to clear my lungs and thoughts. We should just go. I'm an unarmed stranger to this place without even a memory to my name. If I had more means, I'd worry about ways to stop these sick ponies without cutting them apart. Right now, I'm barely able to take care of myself.

It seems looking away's a lucky move. There's another pony in area; a stallion with a top hat standing on top of a partly burned and dismantled carriage. He's standing on his hind legs, a rifle pointing at Ghast Coin.

"Look out!" I yell as I run forward. My cry startles the would-be shooter. Ghast Coin hears, and starts to gallop forward as well, but there's no way we're going to reach the stallion in time unless...I drop low, and grab a loose bit of pavement. It's not much; just a chunk of rock good for a throw. It's better than nothing. I let it fly while the shooter tries to get his aim back, and it strikes true with a meaty smack.

Well, that's quite thrilling.

The shooter staggers forward, and loses his footing. The rifle clatters to the pavement while the stallion falls flat on his face nearby. He tries to get back on his hooves desperately. These ponies might be sick, but they still have a good sense of danger.

Ghast Coin's axe finds the stallion's spine before he can find his gun. He gets a brief, strangled cry before his muzzle bursts with blood when it smacks the pavement. Ghast Coin rips the axe out, and strikes again, nearly cleaving the now-dead stallion in two.

I look around wildly, afraid that there might be more shooters hiding in the burning wreckage. If there are, they'd be fleeing at the sight of this carnage. Ghast Coin must not be taking that brief monent of being off-guard well. He lets out an angry grunt, and chops again. This one parts the stallion's forelimbs in a copious spray of blood. Ghast Coin's vestments are soaked, even his hat is dripping crimson.

"Ghast Coin..." I say tentatively. I'm already picturing that axe coming my way. "Ghast Coin, It's over."

He doesn't hear me. Another strike sends a head flying.

"That one's dead enough, Ghast Coin," says a voice from a distance.

We both freeze at that soft, low-pitched voice. Ghast Coin's eyes grow wide, and he looks at himself as if he barely has a clue how he got that way. The moment passes, and he's already putting away the axe. He's got that grim, familiar look to him. He must recognize the voice. "Just the heat of the moment," he says.

"I asked you to retire," the voice replies. I follow it towards another burning carriage farther down the street. There's a faint silhouette of someone sleek atop the carriage, just past the smoke. I catch a glimpse of a pointed hat, a fluttering twin-tailed cape, and...is that a long beak?

Ghast Coin tries to wipe his blood-stained muzzle on his robes, but he can't find a single dry spot. With a shake of his head, he gives up on the notion. "This needs to be done," he growls. He reaches for a nearby discarded rag, then wipes his axe blade clean.

"Don't wait until I'm the one saying that," the voice says. I catch the sound of powerful wing beats, and the silhouette disappears. Something flutters towards me from the smoke, then lands gently on my muzzle. It's a small, black feather.

"Who was that?" I ask. I walk over to the fallen rifle. I have to arm myself, and I'd rather be shooting from afar than getting anywhere near Ghast Coin and his axe.

Unfortunately, the gun was in a bad condition to begin with; barrel covered with rust, stock partly rotted. The fall was the final blow, and had snapped the thing in half. That leaves a rusty, pitted cleaver, or a pitchfork that's missing a tine. I take the cleaver eventually. It still looks and feels sturdy, while a large crack on the pitchfork's haft suggests that it might break on the next stab.

With his axe clean, Ghast Coin starts moving again. "Hunter of Hunters," he replies. "We don't have to worry about her." He gives a wry smile. "If you're smart, you'll keep it that way, outsider."

Hunter of Hunters...no, the name doesn't ring a bell, except for the fact that he called me a hunter earlier. An un-blooded new hunter, if I recall. That makes "Hunter of Hunters" sound ominous.

A few hoofsteps reminds me that we're supposed to be going somewhere. I'm about to break into a gallop just to catch up, only to find Ghast Coin only a few feet away. He's moving slower. I hope he's not hurt. We're not going to get far if he starts relying on me to do more fighting. I glance over to himonce I catch up, but he's so covered in blood, I can't tell which is his. He's not clutching any wound, but he's breathing heavily. Amidst all the crimson trickles running down his cheeks and beard, are several large beads of sweat.

"Are you alright?" I ask.

"I can still fight if that's what you're worried about, outsider," he replies. "Don't have to sound like my wife."

I muster a smile. I suppose that's a better topic than "this is a strange city". "So, what's her name?" I ask.

Ghast Coin smiles as well. He opens his mouth to answer...then stops before uttering a word. The smile fades, replaced by a tight-lipped grimace, and a frown of exertion. We walk silently past a small plaza, where several barren trees stretch their dried limbs upwards like skeletal hands. We've climbed a few more stairs when I realize that we're about to get on the street connecting to the Great Bridge.

"It's Viola," Ghast Coin suddenly says. He looks like he just defeated a worthy foe the way he's smiling. "Stupid me, must be senility." He starts mumbling. "Viola...Viola...pretty dark mane, like spilling ink...silky white fur...sleek...graceful..."

"Ghast Coin..." I say. He doesn't look like he hears "Ghast Coin!"

He stops mumbling, eyes wide like he's been startled awake. He looks at me guiltily for a second, before putting on his usual grim stare. "Let's just keep going," he growls. "We're almost there."

The street leading to the bridge is littered with corpses and abandoned carriages. I stop to look over one of the fallen mares, expecting her to have been mauled by an actual beast. No hideous scratches or bites, though. No signs of feeding. Her legs are twisted and leafy, but whole. Maybe this mob ran into another hunter. Even then, this one must be remarkably clean. Ghast Coin all but rips his enemies apart with his axe. The only wound I notice on this one is a small stab wound beneath the jaw; an upward stab pierced this pony's palate, and likely found her brain.

"Playing doctor, outsider?" Ghast Coin asks.

"These are clean kills," I reply. "Only one stab killed this mare."

"The Hunter of Hunters." Ghast Coin lets out a snort. "Could be just passing by. Could be doing me a 'favor'."

"She's helping us then?" I ask.

"Helping herself. Fewer kills to make, one less blood-addled hunter. A worrier, that one."

We step past several more neatly slain ponies, and even an enormous woody beast like the one I encountered in that clinic. This one had not died as cleanly. Where it's neck meets its jaw is a hole far too large for a stab wound. The edges are also splintered and frayed, the pieces facing outward from the hole. Something burst from this hole. Or was ripped out.

As we come ever closer to the actual bridge, however, the trail of bodies simply disappears. More spiked iron fencing lines the sides of the bridge, with large pointed posts spread out evenly among them. More of those strange, candle-holding statues. It ends with a massive, circular wall of gray stone. The pointed spires of what I assume is a cathedral from the circular stained glass windows, peek above it.

I expected a massive gate; an iron monstrosity topped with spikes to intimidate anypony who dares to approach the place. Instead, there's a reinforced metal door, large enough to fit a pony at a time, to the side of a short tunnel into the wall.

Ghast Coin stares up at the impressive structure, then snorts. "Cowardly scholars," he mutters. "They need to open up."

I squint at the massive spires. A bridge to separate itself from the rest of Ponyville, and a massive wall to keep ponies out, with a small door to allow a very select few to enter. I don't think "Church of Harmony" fits the builder of this place to any degree.

Ghast Coin breaks into a trot, and I follow suit. I can't help but find the neatness of this bridge disturbing. Sure, there are abandoned carriages and a large wagon full of clay pots, but no ponyvillians, alive or dead.

"High Crest!" Ghast Coin calls out as he nears the door. "Are you in there?"

The pitiless gray wall answers as I expect it to. It's Ghast Coin's condition that worries me. He's still breathing heavily, and the gruff demeanor he had earlier has turned to a near-desperate urgency. He pounds on the door, and calls out again. "Crest, answer me. I know it's still your shift." He pounds the door so hard, his aged hoof starts to crack. The door, unfortunately, refuses to budge. "Damn the Vicar's orders! If the Church has any worth at all, open up!"

Still no reply. Ghast Coin clenches his jaw, and keeps pounding for a few more minutes. "Crest!" he roars. "At least have the guts to refuse!"

And something does answer.

An ear-splitting shriek erupts, not from the other side of the door, but atop the wall. We hurriedly back out, and look above in time to see a furry, leafy, black mass of fangs and claws drop on us. How I am not crushed is a miracle of instinct and reflex. Perhaps, I've given myself too little credit in fighting ability.

Speaking of instinct, my first one after rolling to safety is to look for Ghast Coin. When my view is blocked by the bulk of this thing that just fell, My thoughts fly from his survival to my own.

I can only gape at this monstrous...amalgamation of tree and beast before me. It's shaped vaguely like a gigantic, gaunt and shaggy wolf, twenty feet from its deformed, bloody snout to its ragged tail's tip. Its matted, patchy, black fur is thick with leaves and branches. The patches of exposed skin are dull gray and gnarled like tree bark. It's chest, in particular, is bare of fur, exposing its emaciated torso. I can pick out every rib with a look.

Two things catch my attention, though; first is its horrifically mismatched forelimbs. The right foreleg is bare of fur or leaves, making it resemble a twisted tree branch tipped with far too large, black claws. The left foreleg is massive, nearly three times as big as the right, thick with fur and leaves, and also tipped by powerful claws. Its deformed asymmetry gives it an odd loping gait as it strides forward. It'd be comical if I can stop imagining myself crushed under that giant claw.

The second thing is the pair of antlers atop its wolfish head. They're twisted, disproportioned things, looking more like diseased growths than proper body parts. What are these beasts? The smaller ones and the partly transformed ponies are bad enough, but this thing...it does't even seem to be just one thing. It's like an explosion of ferality, a demented artist's abstract for beasthood.

A growling cry from Ghast Coin rouses me from my terrified musings. I'm lucky this monster noticed him first, otherwise, I'd truly be crushed under that huge claw. As if to answer Ghast Coin, it lets out another high-pitched shriek. I cry out along with it, though more from pain than rage. My ears may well be bleeding. It slams its massive foreleg into the ground, then vaults towards Ghast Coin with its smaller foreleg raised for a slash. All it hits with that strike, however, is more pavement. Ghast Coin had nimbly sidestepped, dodging so close that the draft from the monster's swing causes his robes to flutter.

Another loud squeal erupts from the monster, this tine after the distinct crunch of Ghast Coin's axe biting into woody flesh. Its head snaps back as the blunderbuss erupts, spraying its face with metal.

I doubt even those smaller wolf creatures would have survived that combination, but the monster simply raises its left claw, revealing a bleeding gouge near the elbow, then brings it down on Ghast Coin. He jumps aside at the last moment, and claw pounds the ground so hard that fragments fly up on impact. Again, the creature shrieks. This time, I run to a safe distance. I can't stand any more of that shrieking so close. I hear Ghast Coin's blunderbuss again, then the sliding sound of his axe extending.

There must be something I can do to help. This pathetic cleaver might carve up a pony, but it's probably not enough to scratch an itch on that thing's hide. The bridge is mostly empty, not even any loose rubble to toss. At least for now. The way that thing is wrecking the place, I expect to find a few in a while. Ghast Coin yells again, the monster shrieks in response. It's flailing both forelimbs now. The left claw, it's swinging like a grotesque club. It smashes a small crater with an errant swing, then follows it up by bowling a carriage over. The wood splinters and breaks in several places, and a wheel pops loose. Its right claw, it uses for shorter, more precise strikes. Ghast Coin avoids all the big swings, but a swift jabbing motion of its right claw sends him staggering back.

The monster wastes no time in swooping its left claw forward. It wraps its fingers around Ghast Coin, and lifts him like a rag doll. He grunts as the fingers tighten, and it looks like the monster is about to smash him into the pavement.

The cleaver leaves my hoof so fast, the sight of it spinning through the air catches me off guard. The blade buries itself into one of the monster's eyes. Another shriek, but this time I've braced for it. Ghast Coin slips through its fingers. Instead of falling back to recover, however, he raises his pole-axe high, and brings a vertical slash across the monster's surviving eye.

"Get back!" Ghast Coin shouts. He takes his own advice, all the more reason for me to do the same. It takes only a moment to see why. The monster flails wildly with both forelegs, battering the nearby posts, and carving great gashes across the pavement. A stone fragment flies out of the clouds of powdered stone, and slices past my cheek. I keep backing up until I bump against something wooden. It's the wagon of clay pots. One of them is cracked, and a thick black liquid's leaking out. A shipment of lamp oil for the Church of Harmony, perhaps? Likely about to be delivered before this madness happened.

Even Ghast Coin is on the defensive. He raises a foreleg to shield his eyes, and stays circling at a distance while the monster continues thrashing. The monster's chest is soaked with blood running from its eyes, and its blind, frantic swings flings the foul, viscous liquid all around it. I press my lips together tightly, and endure another agonizing shriek from it. It can't keep this attack up forever. It will tire, and we'll have our opening.

As I hope, the monster slows its attacks. It wheezes with ragged breath, and thick gobs of saliva drips from its lolling tongue. It drops its head low, its mismatched ears swiveling as it tries to find us by sound.

That turns out to be a mistake. Ghast Coin instantly leaps in front of it. He winds his pole-axe back so far, he's almost made a full turn. When he swings it, the blade turns into a silvery blur of motion, and bites into the monster's skull.

Something crashes a few feet away from me. I look out of instinct even as the monster bursts into a cacophony of pained cries. A bloody trail ends in what looks like a huge, twisted, tree branch propped against the bridge's side. A closer inspection reveals a shard of bone attached to the base. I look back to the monster again, and, as I expect, one of its antlers is missing...and a small chunk of its skull.

A veritable stream of blood pours down on Ghast Coin, drenching him in fetid crimson. The monster clutches its horrific wound with its smaller claw, and swings widely with the bigger one. It's a slow, labored swing, however. There's no way it's going to hit Ghast Coin.

If he's bothering to dodge, that is.

Ghast Coin's rears up, and stands there dumbfounded, lips spread into a wide grin, forelegs outstretched. His mouth starts to move in laughter, but I can't hear a thing besides the monster's ear-splitting shrieks. The claw slams into him, sending his axe spinning across the bridge, and him flying towards the sides. I don't hear the thud, but I wince when he strikes the stone, then falls on his face. I stand there, desperately wishing he'd get up to finish things, but he remains motionless, and now the monster's feeling around for him. It runs its huge claw across the ground as it wheezes and makes futile attempts to stanch its bleeding.

I have to do something. I glance back to the jars of oil behind me, then to one of the many candle-holding statues nearby. I may be weaponless again, but there is still something I can do. If I can gather the courage for it, that is.

When the claw brushes even closer to Ghast Coin's still form, I finally let out a loud yell. The monster's ears perk, then it swivels its head towards me. "Over here, beast!" I shout. I plant myself in front of the wagon, then fling one of the many chunks of pavement this monster created. It bounces off the thing's hide, eliciting an angry growl. I shout again. This time, the monster decides that it knows exactly where I am.

The ground trembles as it starts running. Its claws scrape loudly with each step. With another deafening shriek, it threatens to simply plow over me. I stand my ground, my heart hammering loudly enough in my ears to be heard over the shrieks. A few drops of spittle land on my muzzle, and its hot, foul breath blows against my face before I finally will my legs to move. A claw whistles past me, but I crash on my side unharmed.

The monster doesn't fare as well. It runs right through the wagon, shattering pots and splintering wood. Thick, black rivulets mix with the streams of blood.

My head's spinning from the combined smell of blood and oil. What was the next step? I whirl around. Candles...yes, that's right. I run -well, I try to run, but all I get is a hurried stumble- towards one of the statues. The monster starts flailing around again, and sends the shredded remains of the wagon flying off the bridge. I finally make my way towards one of the statues, and rip off one of the candles. "Hey!" I yell again. The monster quickly finds my voice, and swivels its head towards me.

The candles flies true, and I can only hope that the flame doesn't blow out before it hits its mark. That hope is answered by an explosion of flame, and an agonized scream from the beast. The bridge lights up like it's day for a while, thanks to our makeshift bonfire. The horrid stench of burned flesh swiftly washes across me, while thick clouds of black smoke billow upward. I choke and cough, but I can't not smile at my hoof-work. The flames spread all across the monster's chest and forelegs, and it staggers close to the bridge's sides.

"Outsider!"

The sound of Ghast Coin's voice lifts an enormous burden off my shoulders. It looks like we're both walking away from this fight. It's only when the heat from the flames becomes uncomfortably close, and a shadow appears beneath me, do I realize that something can still go terribly wrong.

It all happens so fast. A moment of staring at the growing shadow beneath me proves a moment too long. In the next instant, all I see is pavement. There's a crack. Maybe its the stone. Maybe its my ribs. I draw a breath and utterly fail. The claw leaves my back, and I desperately will my legs to get up. No good. Breath again. It hurts every step of the way, and all I get is a gurgle followed by a trickle of blood coming out of my lip.

Ghast Coin yells again. I can't turn my head, but the monster's shadow leaves my vision, and I hear the stone sides cracking. The shrieks fade to the distance, and I doubt the monster's running away.

Breathe. I need to breathe. My sides are killing me, my legs won't do anything, and I can't breathe. I hear the very distant crash of the monster finding the bottom of this bridge.

"Outsider..."

Ghast Coin rolls me over. Pain stabs at me from all angles. I can't even moan. Only more blood from the mouth. Need to breathe... He looks me over, every inch of him drenched in blood. That's not sympathy I see in his eyes.

"Rest easy, outsider," Ghast Coin says. "You still have plenty of dreams." My vision's fading. Slipping...

"I'll see you around."

Then everything fades to nothing.

The First Dream

Undone by the Blood

Chapter 3: The First Dream

It's not a bad feeling; dying. The pain of my broken insides subside, and everything's a warm, soft sensation, like being on the verge of falling asleep. I'm floating in a void, cradled by oblivion. The rush of terror, and the sight of that beast, all seems like a distant, bad dream...

The sudden rush of air into my lungs jerks me out of that sensation. My mind, briefly content with not having to worry about living, roars into a flurry of renewed thoughts. I can't be dead if I'm breathing. I can't be dead if I can feel hard, unyielding ground against my belly, and warmth against my skin, while the gentle rustle of a breeze through the leaves reaches my ears. There's more, something...several things are touching me. They feel like tiny hooves brushing against my coat curiously, some trying to push me up. Through it all, I'm surrounded by faint gurglings.

I open my eyes, and try to get up. All I can see are fuzzy blobs of light, and a faint wash of colors. Whatever these things touching me are, however, give startled gurgles before backing off. I blink several times, as if that's going to help my eyes adjust to this brightness. Memories of my final moments start coming back; the smell of burning flesh and fur, Ghast Coin's shout, and the crushing agony of my ribs caving. I wince, and take several deep breaths, thankful even for the air.

My vision starts to clear as the memories recede. Maybe I'm not dead, but I'm certainly not on the Great Bridge anymore. It's too bright; not quite daylight, but certainly a step above the harshly lit nightscape of Ponyville. Not even a whiff of smoke or blood either. Finally, the last blob of light focuses. Immediately, my attention turns towards the things swarming me earlier. This isn't the first time I've encountered them. I'm sure of it. Around six grayish shapes move about my hooves, not quite menacingly, but with rather disconcerting ease. Eventually, they stop milling about so I can look at them.

I nearly recoil from the sight. They resemble ponies, at least in basic form. They trot about on four legs, the shape of their muzzles is all too familiar, and their very tiny ears swivel towards my direction. That's as far as similarities go, however. They're tiny things, barely reaching my knees should they rear up. They don't have a single strand of fur or mane on them, exposing dry, stretched out, gray skin. It's the faces though. They don't have any lips, the skin is simply drawn back to reveal yellowed, uneven teeth. At least, that's for some of them. The others have vertical slits for mouths, without a tooth in sight. Their eyes are beady, yellow,and sunken into their skulls, and their legs are hideously elongated and emaciated, to the point of resembling twigs.

These creatures don't seem bothered by my revulsion, or my staring. Rather, seeing me up seems to excite them further. They gurgle even louder. Two of them nip at the ends of my sleeves, and try to pull me forward. The rest trot on ahead, and wordlessly signal to follow. "Wait," I say to the ones tugging at me. "Where--" The words catch in my throat when I finally take in the sight of where I am.

This can't be Ponyville. Not even close. I'm starting to doubt my first assumptions of being alive. Perhaps, I did die, and this is some kind of paradise. I'm standing on a rough, stone path leading to a nearby white-trimmed, red house on top of a small hill. No ominous stonework here, no sharp, iron fencing, or strange statues. For the first time in a while, I'm greeted by a warm, welcoming sight. On either side of the path is a vast field full of apple trees. Their branches seem to perpetually sway from the soft breeze blowing through, mimicking the soft roar of an incoming tide.

Despite the brightness, I don't see any sun anywhere in the palely lit sky above me. A closer look at the orchard also dampens the welcoming sight with the presence of headstones among the trees. An orchard of apples nourished by dead ponies...the fruit hanging from those branches suddenly seem especially red.

The creatures tug at my sleeves more urgently. Lost yet again, I let them lead me on to that building. The front doors are wide open, and the creatures crowd around, gesticulating wildly at me. The interior enhances the light streaming in from the windows with several lit lanterns. This can't be an abandoned place then, somepony's bothered keeping those lanterns lit.

One look at the interior tells me another thing. This is a barn...or was a barn. The wide open space and general structure is a giveaway. There's also the repurposed stalls, now containing rather haphazardly stacked books.

My gaze focuses on the pony standing near one of those book piles.

It's a mare with a grayish coat, and a short mane and tail that came out in dark and light gray bands. She's wearing, oddly enough, a pair of blue shorts with white polka dots. She's leaning over a topped pile of books, daintily restacking them until one of the creatures trots over to her side and pulls at her foreleg. She stares at the creature for a second, then turns to face me with a pair of lavender eyes.

"Uh...hello?" I say tentatively. As a stranger having barged into somepony's property, I should be introducing myself. Unfortunately, I don't have a name to offer. The mare answers with a blank stare and a slight tilt of her head. "I'm a stranger to this place." That's hardly an adequate introduction, but it's the best I can offer without lying. "Could you tell me where I am?"

The mare doesn't reply. She keeps on staring with those unblinking eyes, that I'm reduced to fidgeting. The creatures mill around us excitedly. One of them appears to be getting smaller, until I notice that its legs have actually gone through the floor. This doesn't seem to stop it from still running about. The others are doing the same thing. They sink and rise through the wooden floor as easily as if they're moving through water.

A minute passes by, I guess. The mare never says a thing. How she can keep those eyes open without a single blink for so long is outright baffling. I take a step back, and bow slightly. "My apologies," I say. "I must be keeping you from your work." Still no reply. I'm better off exploring then. The the faint squeaks of wheels turning on their axles brings me up short.

"Howdy."

Finally, somepony to speak to. I turn around, barely able to hide my relief. "Pardon me for intruding," I say. "I've lost my way, and I'd just like to know where I am. "

It's immediately obvious where the tiny squeak came from. The pony that had arrived behind me is sitting on a wheelchair. The mare sitting on the chair though.

She presents a rather plain sight; an orange coat, a long mane tied off at end. Age has clearly whitened most of the strands, as the heavy lines around her green eyes would suggest, but there's still a few locks of blond hair among them. A beat up, brown hat rests on her head, its brim notched in several places. Her left hind leg had been replaced by a long, wooden peg, likely the reason she's on the chair. The warm smile on her partly cracked lips puts me at ease. I may be assuming too much, but it feels good to be welcome after Ponyville's reception.

"Ya ain't lost if you're here," she says. She glances at my cutie mark. "You must be the new hunter. Name's Applejack, and welcome to Sweet Apple Acres. Course, you'll better know it as the Hunter's Workshop."

I look around again. The warm breeze blows through the open doors and windows, causing a lot of metallic rattling above me. A look up reveals dozens of blades hanging by the rafters; wickedly jagged saw blades, axe blades, even the curving edge of what I'd guess is the head of a scythe. Various wooden handles also hang among them.

"Oh, those ones ain't ready," Applejack says.

I give a start, suddenly aware that I'm being rude. "I'm sorry," I say. "I can't remember my name so..."

Applejack shakes her head. "Don't worry about it," she says. She looks to her side just as some of the creatures trot past her. "Oh, they've got the stuff already! Go on, and try them out."

A veritable crowd of these strange grey creatures gather around me, gurgling excitedly, and working together to hold out various objects. The nearest is a set of folded clothes, along with a hat. Several belts extend from the folds, propped up by more of those spindly forelegs. I look to my own clothes. Sure, they worn, disheveled, bloody, and torn in various places, but they're still serviceable. I look to Applejack. "Why are you offering me clothes?" I ask.

"'Cause you'll need them," Applejack replies. "A hunter needs to be dressed all proper." She clicks her tongue at my outfit. "Those rags won't stand against the beasts. Now, go on." She gestures at me with a foreleg, and I pick up the outfit. I have more questions, but, for all her gentle prodding and warmth, there's a sense of sternness underneath. It's in her physique too. She's worn, and obviously old, not to mention missing a hind leg, but those forelegs, and neck, look wiry and tough, and those eyes are bright and alert. I don't think I'll be leaving this place without doing what she asks.

The outfit is mostly thick, but surprisingly flexible, gray-green leather. There's a long coat that covers my back and sides, but splits at the bottom end to let my tail through, its high collar covers my neck, but flexes enough to let me turn my head from side to side, the whole thing is secured by tying a Belt running diagonally across my chest. Underneath is a leather chest piece secured by a trio of belts. Over it is a short cape that covers my shoulders and secured by a silver chain. Thick leather bindings protect my fetlocks and most of my hooves. Of course, there's the pants, also sturdy and easy to move around. In fact, this is getting suspicious. The whole outfit is perfectly sized for me, down to the last inch. I stare suspiciously at the little creatures, then at Applejack. Had they been expecting me? Does she know my name?

Applejack is still all smiles. "Now, you're looking the part," she says. She taps her hat to get me to put mine on. It's a simple, triangular thing, angled slightly downward to protect the eyes, I suppose. Several withered feathers stick out on top of it. What they're for escapes me. That still leaves me with a long piece of cloth. I hold it up to Applejack with a quizzical look. "For your muzzle." She pantomimes wrapping something across her face, so I do as she asks. I expected to have trouble breathing, but the cloth allows my breath through without even a slight resistance. "Catch that scent?" she asks. I nod. There's a faint smell of apple blossoms on the cloth. "Helps with the stink of blood."

"Now, I'm dressed up," I say. "Can you explain now?"

She turns her nose up proudly. "You bet," she says. "I designed that myself. I ain't no trend-setting fashionista." Her voice softens at that, but quickly perks up again. "But I can do practical. That outfit won't save you from eight-inch fangs, but it'll help with the scratches, and the smaller beasts, and fire, and lightning. Blood'll stick, but never soak, and you can move around like you're wearing nothing!"

"That's not what I meant," I say. "Why did you make me wear this?"

Applejack tilts her head at that. "You still on that?" she asks. "You're a hunter, that's what hunters wear."

"How do you know I'm a hunter?" I ask. "I don't even know who I am! Do you know something? And why am I here? I died!"

All I get from my outburst is a rather patronizing look, as if I'm the only pony in the world without a clue. Of course, that could well be true. "You still on that?" Applejack asks. "I dunno who you were, but that don't matter one lick now." She points at my flank. "That's not your cutie mark. Whatever it was, it's gone now. Along with whoever you were. That mark means you're a hunter. So go on, and kill a few beasts. It's just what hunters do!"

"What if I don't want to kill beasts?" I ask.

"Then, they'll kill you." Applejack gestures to the building around her. "There ain't any answers for you here, new hunter. If you can't let those questions go, you'll have to go back to Ponyville. There, you have to kill beasts."

Ponyville...just the thought of its ominous architecture saps the warmth of this place. "The Church of Harmony," I say. "Will they have answers?"

The smile completely fades from Applejack. "They should. Having answers is what they're good at...least, that's what they say. Honestly, I think they've done more to muck things up than find answers, but they're more likely to help you than sitting here."

"And what do I get from sitting around here?" I ask. "This seems like a nice place; warm, comfortable, no horrible beasts out to kill me."

A dark shadow falls over Applejack. Her eyebrows furrow, and her eyes narrow. "You have no idea what you'll get if you decide just to stay here," she whispers. "Be happy you don't."

After a moment to get the sudden chill out of me, I let out a long sigh. "Alright, I will go to Ponyville if the Church if Harmony's still my best bet."

The smile comes back in an instant. Applejack claps her front hooves together. "Great," she says. She looks back to the other items that the creatures were carrying, and I follow her gaze. I had almost forgotten that they had other things. "'Course, looking like a hunter's just one thing. You need to fight like one too. The Workshop's got you covered there. Go on, pick one. It's our traditional tools."

The creatures are holding up an all too familiar axe, what appears to be a hacksaw with an oddly positioned handle, and a metallic walking cane. Behind these three, they hold a pistol, and a blunderbuss. I remember Ghast Coin again. One for close quarters, and a gun then. I pick up the axe with my mouth. If this is the same design, the handle should extend. A few practice swings make it clear how heavy it is.

"Good for chopping off some beastly heads, right?" Applejack asks. "Or chopping down trees." She looks wistfully at the orchard outside. "Execution's an ugly job, but necessary. Some hunters carry that to show they're willing to get their hooves dirty."

A flick of my neck extends the handle so I'm holding a pole-axe. Wait...how did I know how to do that? Before I can ponder, the heavy head quickly drags on the ground. "Heavy," I say. "I'll swing slow with this thing. Power's good, until something rips my guts out while I'm winding up." I offer the axe back to the creatures, who take it with a gurgle of disappointment. Next, I hold the cane in my mouth. Up close, it's easy to see the sharp edges of the shaft. This thing is easily a medium-length sword.

"How's that?" Applejack asks. "A lot lighter, right?"

"A cane is an odd design," I reply.

"It's elegant and formal," Applejack says. "An old friend of mine came up with the idea." She suddenly takes on this exaggerated, rather pompous tone, something like a noblemare's speech. "'Applejack, hunters should fight with elegance and grace, so they always remind themselves that they will never become like the beasts they're fighting."

The sight of those deformed ponies, with the twigs sticking out of their bodies, and their manes infested with leaves, flashes in my mind. Then, there's also the axe-swinging Ghast Coin, laughing while drenched in blood. "That does sound like something to consider," I say.

Applejack nods. "I agreed. That cane is one of her better ideas."

"What were the bad ones?" I ask. Stupid question, but there's that curiosity again. When Applejack wrinkles her nose, I fear for a moment that I've upset her.

"Top hats," she says.

I slash and stab with the cane. It's definitely more maneuverable, though I worry how well it can punch through the hide of something like that huge beast that...well...that killed me. My tongue brushes against a small switch on the handle. When I flick it, the bladed shaft suddenly separates into bladed segments connected by a flexible metal wire.

"Clever, huh?" Applejack says. "It takes some skill to use it, but it sure does keep beasts at a distance."

The bladed whip lashes out in a graceful arc, easily covering several feet in front of me. I don't know what to marvel at first; the ingenious construction, or the fact that I didn't slice my ear off with such a daring strike with an unfamiliar weapon. Maybe I'm a natural, but my thoughts turn darkly towards what Applejack said earlier. The hunter's mark has replaced my cutie mark. Maybe it replaced what natural talents I had with familiarity with these traditional tools. Or added to them. I hope for the latter. As for the whip, I can imagine that even a beast will hesitate to close in on me for fear of getting its face sliced up. Provided we're in a wide open space, though. Having these links snag on something will pose a big problem.

The creatures gurgle again when I return the cane to them. A pull on the same switch retracts the wire, to bring the segments back together. That leaves the hack saw with the wooden handle parallel with the curved saw edge. The wooden grip fits snugly in my mouth. I can rip through woody flesh by swinging my neck with this. The range is pretty short, but the blade is lighter. There's an obvious folding joint by one side if this weapon. A simple flick, and a light touch of a release catch on the handle folds the saw edge over, exposing the straight edge on the other side, and extending the weapon's reach as much as the pole-axe. Unlike the pole-axe, the bladed end doesn't cause the weapon to dip. I swing the extended blade a few times, pleased with both the reach and the weight.

"Like it?" Applejack asks. "It's one of my favorite designs. The saw teeth's great for cutting through wood and opening nasty wounds. The straight edge slices smoothly through the air so you can swing faster. The extension gives it more punch too."

"I like it," I reply. "I'll pick this one." The creatures throw their front hooves up in the air to celebrate, then carry away the other two weapons. That leaves the guns. They come with special harnesses, and wheel holsters to allow me to fire them without gripping.

"Pistol's lighter, quicker on the draw, punches deeper, and is more accurate," Applejack says. "Blunderbuss stops beasts in their tracks better, and has a wider spread. Your choice."

I've seen the blunderbuss in action. I know the gruesome wounds a spray of fragments can cause. I also know that it took Ghast Coin time to adjust, aim, and fire. I remember the damage a flung cleaver can do to the right spot as well. Accuracy seems the better choice for me so the choice is easy.

"Now, you're ready," Applejack says as I fiddle with the harness. A dozen bullets line one strap of the thing. They're quite strange for bullets, though. They're silvery, and have these deep grooves carved into them. Applejack notices my curious inspection. "Normal bullets aren't enough. You let some of your blood collect in those grooves to really give your shots some punch." She gestures towards one of the workbenches in the building. "Feel free to use the stuff in the workshop." With that, she turns her wheelchair around, and starts to leave. "Even the doll," she adds.

"Wait," I call out to her. "How do I even get back to Ponyville?"

"The doll can tell you," Applejack says with a yawn. "I need a nap."

Even most of the creatures disperse, by running off or just sinking into the ground.

First things first. I sit by the workbench Applejack pointed out. The scattered tools look vaguely familiar. At the same time, I get the sense that they're incomplete. Let my blood collect in those grooves, she says. How does blood help hurt these beasts? I shrug, then take up one of the many bladed instruments on the bench. A small cut later, and I'm watching the silvery bullets take on a crimson hue. Once, all of them are treated, I take a look around.

I don't see any dolls in this workshop. Even if I did, how can a doll tell me anything? The only thing here that can do that is...

Once more, I focus on the gray mare with the polka dotted shorts. She had stopped fiddling with the boots, instead just standing by one corner, and staring. She suddenly bows low when I approach, startling me in the process. So she does react after all.

"Hello, good hunter," the mare says. She has a soft voice, nice on the ears though a little flat with how she speaks. "I am a doll, here to serve you."

"Serve me?" I ask. "What do you mean?"

"Whenever you are drenched with blood, the lives of your prey shroud you with their strength. I can turn that strength into yours."

Suddenly, the doll kneels before me, and takes one of my front hooves upon hers. Before I can react, a swirl of red mist surrounds us both, before coaelscing upon me. I draw a sharp breath, as an invigorating flood of warmth fills me. My body feels lighter, and my senses renewed.

"You are still new to the Hunt, and have not brought down much prey," the doll says. "Good hunter, come back to me as you slaughter more beasts, I shall be here for you, to embolden your sickly spirit."

It takes a while for me to answer between my panting. The sensation goes as quickly as it came, replaced now by the dull ache of wanting more. Turning their strength into mine...I'm not sure what that truly means. Instinct simply tells me that I'm better off now than before she did that. The doll continues to stare at me blankly. "What's your name?"

The doll tilts her head slightly. "I am a doll, here to serve you."

I glance back, towards the direction Applejack had wheeled off. Is this what she meant by "using" the doll? And how can this be a doll? She looks like a normal, living pony putting on a show about being a doll. I shake my head. "There are no answers here," as Applejack had said. Dolls, mysterious barns, strange powers only add more mysteries. I need to find some answers or be buried in all this. "Do you know the way to Ponyville?" I ask.

The doll points a hoof towards the orchard. "One of the grave stones," she says. "Touch them, and you will awaken in Ponyville."

The strangeness just keeps piling. Even questioning it seems more and more futile. I'll just give it a try then. I can only hope that my next visit to Ponyville proves more fruitful.

Blood Drunk

Undone by the Blood

Chapter 4: Blood Drunk

I'm waking up.

Again, it's without a memory of having gone to sleep. Again, it's to the pungent smell of alcohol and formaldehyde. This time, however, it's mixing with the rotten stench of old blood. As before, it's to the hard sensation of metal to my belly. I'm not as much in the dark this time. I had touched a gravestone, just like that doll told me to. The warm surroundings of Sweet Apple Acres started falling away after that. Then, those little, bizzare creatures grabbed a hold of me, and started to drag me somewhere dark. Now...I'm waking up here.

No delays this time. I don't know why I was sent here, of all places, but if this is the same clinic as before, I might have to deal with that beast again. A quick look around confirms both a familiar sight and a distinct change. This does look like the clinic I first woke up in, but this isn't the exact spot. I'm already in the waiting room below the flight of stairs that led to the room I started in.

The dull thunk of my leather boots hitting the wooden floor brings a brief smile to my lips. My clothes. They're not the flimsy, bloody, easily ripped through clothes I was wearing when I first woke up here. Applejack's tough, leather outfit covers me fully, and the tools she bid me to take from the Hunter's Workshop hung from my sides. I find myself almost...eager to deal with the creature that had sent me running so frantically from this place. Yet, I don't hear any faint crunching or slurping nearby. Some time must have passed after all. The beast must have moved on. I doublecheck my pistol, making sure that it's loaded and secure in its wheel holster. The gears give a satisfying click when I set it in place.

"H-hello?"

I whirl swiftly, my saw cleaver already in my mouth. The voice just came from the room upstairs. This place should be abandoned. Now, I'm starting to doubt myself. Maybe this is a different building, and Ponyville just had uniform designs for its clinics. The door to that room was now closed, but there's a faint orange glow coming from a cracked portion of its glass window.

"Who's there?" I ask. It's hard to talk with a weapon in my mouth, but manageable. I force a slight rumble in my throat to seem gruffer. I hope I sound at least a bit menacing. If it's one of these crazed Ponyvillians, they might back off if I don't seem like easy prey.

"I knew it," the voice replies in a soft, excited tone; a mare's voice by the sound of it. "And you're not one of those wandering ponies afflicted by the beastly scourge!"

I walk slowly up the stairs, replacing my saw cleaver as I did so. Everything looks exactly as I remember it. "Is this your clinic?" I ask. "I thought it was abandoned."

"Yes, it's my clinic," the voice replies. "My name is Red Heart. What about you? Who are you, and why are you in my waiting room?"

She must be lying. This place was empty, and had been broken into by a beast. I may have left in a hurry, but I'm quite sure that nopony was in here. But...did that really happen? Looking back to it feels like trying to remember a bad dream; a bad dream where I'm crushed to death by a giant plant-beast. Maybe it was, or that I'm misremembering details, blending in truth with bits of imagined things. I shake my head. For now, I'm certain that I'm talking to somepony. One who had just asked me for a name.

"I'm..." I falter at this. "I don't know. I'm a hunter, if that helps."

She's silent at first, then Red Heart's tone takes on an even more excited pitch. "A hunter?" she asks. At this point, I'm aleady in front of the door. I try to look past the door, but the glass panel is barely transluscent, and the small crack only affords a glimpse of what looks like a white bit of cloth from Red Heart's cloak. "Then, I am truly fortunate. Brave hunter, I cannot open this door for you. Your moon-lit scent will drive my patients wild. But, please, grant me this small favor. If you find ponies who have not lost their minds to this plague, send them to Red Heart's Clinic. I will provide them with shelter and medical treatment."

I lift a foreleg, and take a sniff. Moon-lit scent? What does that even mean? Do I smell like moon? I fail to catch any particular odor, likely because my nose is still stinging from the pungent smells of this place. "So you won't let me in, but you want me to send ponies here?" I ask.

"Yes," Red Heart replies. "I'm very sorry if it sounds presumptuous. Here, I can offer you this much aid."

The sound of something small and hard rolling on the wooden floor draws my gaze downwards. A couple of vials had rolled from beneath the door and stopped at my hooves. The weak orange light from a nearby lantern reveals that they're filled with a dark red liquid, and capped with a hollow needle attached to a simple pump for injecting. Several more follow them until I have half a dozen. A seventh vial follows; this one is full of transluscent, golden fluid. "What are these?" I ask.

"You don't know?" There's no trace of mockery in Red Heart's voice. "Those are blood vials," she says. "Common tools for hunters such as yourself. If your strength is failing, inject them into yourself. That golden one is a specialty of mine. It's nearly three times as potent as the others. I hope they help you with the Hunt."

If my strength is failing...my brows furrow a bit. "You want me to inject myself with blood whenever I'm hurt?" I ask. That hardly seems a safe way to recover from injuries. For all I know, I'd be trading present relief for future diseases. It's not only that. Red Heart refers to them as common tools for hunters, but Applejack didn't mention them at all.

"You must truly be a new hunter," Red Heart says. "Blood vials are among the most valued tools that the Church of Harmony has created for its hunters. They are nowhere as potent as the Magical Mystery Cure, but they are far easier to produce, and they do the job of healing a hunter in trouble."

Church of Harmony again. I suppose I should expect their influence to reach all sorts of places in Ponyville. Apparently, not even Applejack's Hunter's Workshop is safe. I recall that rather dour look on her face when the subject of the Church of Harmony came up. I stash the vials in one of my coat's many pockets regardless. I'm still not sure about them, but I won't turn down potential help. "Thank you," I say. "I'll see what I can do about bringing others here."

Red Heart lets out a long sigh. Curiously, my heart flutters briefly at the soft exhalation, and the happy reply that follows. "Thank you, kind hunter, be safe in the Hunt."

As I leave the clinic this time, I make sure to familiarize myself with my surroundings. It's much easier now without a beast chasing me. But an extra goal and knowing how to get back to Red Heart's clinic doesn't change my current dilemma. I'm back on square one. I still have to get to the Church of Harmony, but my one method of getting there is gone. For a while, I can only stand there, trying to ponder options that I don't have. I can wander. Eventually, I might get lucky and find some path to take me past that locked door. Or I might die, lost in some backalley in the bowels of this massive city.

I have no choice, then. Like some castaway adrift in a sea, I can only grab a hold of the only available aid. I'll have to see Gilbert.

That's easier said than done. I was being chased by crazed Ponyvillians when I stumbled near his house. I have to retrace my frantic steps. I still remember this starting point, from the direction those three ponies came from, to what direction I ran. I hope to catch some faint trail of my own blood, but no such luck. But, perhaps, I don't even need that luck. The details come surprisingly easy to me as I follow the street.

I turn another corner, quite sure that this was where I stumbled a bit, and I was starting to get breathless. Good. I just have to keep this up. Provided that I'm actually right, that is. Another turn confirms my thoughts these are the right spots, I just...

Another turn brings me just a few feet away from a group of Ponyvillians. Oh, I know the signs. Twigs and leaves where they shouldn't be growing, freakishly elongated legs, and a variety of piecemeal, improvised weapons to rip apart a percieved beast.

I skid to a halt, cursing at my overenthusiasm. I got so elated at encountering a surprisingly easy task that I forgot to proceed cautiously. I shouldn't be surprised that Ponyville is still crawling with these madponies.

They look as surprised as I am. They hastily point their cleavers and pitchforks at me. One of them even fumbles, then drops his knife. I should rush in. Every instinct tells me to rip that Ponyvillian stallion's throat open with my saw before he picks up his weapon again. "Hold on," I say instead. "I'm not a beast."

"Look out!" a mare from their group screams. "It's coming right at us!" She clearly has the fastest reflexes in the group. Unfortunately, she's also the most deformed among them. Half her face had lost its fur, exposing bark-like skin. Those things she's biting down on her nail-covered board with look more like thorns than teeth.

The rest of the group, three stallions and another mare, answer with frenzied snarls before advancing on me. That's it. That's the last time I'm going to talk to these madponies. The lead stallion closes in on me, his pitchfork drawn back for a deep stab. An idiotic move. He'd have been more effective hanging back, and using his reach while his fellows rushed in. I leap in as a response. His weapon's haft is less dangerous than the iron tines on its tip. Up close, he has nothing but a bit of firewood to match against a hunter's weapon. A practiced swing from my saw runs down his neck, from left ear to right collar bone. The serrated teeth easily rip even his woody hide, and a torrent of blood quickly gushes out of the wound.

The sickly, metallic stench stops me briefly. Hold on...that was pretty impressive, if I do say so myself. Practiced swing? How's that possible? Have I done this before? Had I always been capable of this? The image of my "cutie mark" flashes in my mind. This could all just be the Hunter's Mark, but I might be giving myself too little credit. What was I before all this? A military veteran? Did I have a violent past?

The others close in already, forcing me to abandon any more introspection. The mare who had yelled earlier rears up to pound the nails on her board into my skull. My saw finds her exposed belly much faster. The horizontal swing would have sprayed her blood, and some of her entrails, across my eyes, but my newly-acquired tri-corner hat shields them well. Well enough to let me notice that the second stallion was rushing in from her side.

I easily flick my saw to its cleaver form, lengthening my reach while still in the middle of my slash. The teeth bite into the stallion's face, ripping out half an ear, and most of an eyeball. He screams in agony, dropping his cleaver to clutch at his maimed face. That's plenty of time for me to wind up an upward swing with the straight edge. My cleaver catches the stallion's throat, slicing through so cleanly that I barely feel any resistance. The cut is so deep that his head lolls back, attached only by a few sinews, as he crashes to the ground.

That leaves just two: a leafy mare with a notched kitchen knife, and a twig-eared stallion wielding a lit torch in his mouth while brandishing a make-shift wooden shield strapped to his left foreleg. The mare hesitates at the sight of my long weapon. So, they do retain some thinking ability. They should have used it better. This time, the reach advantage is mine. Just as she finally decides to lunge, I had already taken a step back for an overhead slash. The bladed tip of my cleaver splits her muzzle, from the top of her nose to her chin. Her body carries onward, only to collapse in a bloody heap a foot before me.

A look of fear replaces the frenzy on the surviving stallion's face. He backs away slowly, wildly swinging his torch as he did so. "Away!" he yells at me. "Back, foul beast!"

I should let this one go. He clearly has no heart for the fight. I had defended myself, so I should just move on, and leave this madpony to scuttle off somewhere. If I'm lucky, he'll run into more of his fellows, and tell them not to attack me.

A look into his eyes tells me something different. There's no lesson-learning in those maddened, bulging, blood-shot eyes. Once the initial fear goes away, he'll be looking for more "beasts" to slay. There's only instinct. Leave him for now and I'll just encounter him later, probably with another mob. Dealing with him now will reduce the number of potential attackers as I wander this city.

I take a step forward. This is enough to convince him that there is no running away, apparently. He charges at me, hoping to use the same move I used on his pitchfork-wielding friend. I hold my ground, and put a hoof to my wheel holster.

He gets a bullet between his eyes for his trouble.

To my surprise, the quicksilver bullet bites into his skull, but doesn't quite penetrate. The impact sends him reeling several steps, before bringing him to his knees. He looks up in a daze, blood streaming from his forehead. It's over. I have plenty of time for a strike at his exposed neck to end this. But, at the sight of this helplessness, my heart suddenly lurches. I've got him in a good spot, and I can take some leisure in striking in deep. No, not with something impersonal like the unfeeling metal of a long weapon. My front hooves twitch in anticipation. My eyes linger on a spot just below his rib cage, where a hoof driven with enough...intensity can punch through and upwards, reaching into those soft, pulsing, visce...

What?

I shake my head. That's disgusting. Why am I even wasting time on this? My cleaver swiftly cuts him down, neatly separating the head from his body this time. The crimson fountain that spurts out leaves me disgustingly elated. I turn my back without another thought for the incident, and focus on finding Gilbert. It shouldn't be too far now. I hope I don't run into any more of these ponies.

To my relief, I've been on the right track all along. The pointed fences and rooves may all blend into a pony-made forest of darkened spikes, but I recognize this particular twisting alleyway, and the chained coffins. "Gilbert!" I call out. I hope he's still by his window. Then again, he looked like he was confined to that spot.

A long series of hacking coughs answers my call. They sound worse than before. Or had I just imagined that? I follow the sound to the right window,and peer in. It's a bloody-beaked, disheveled griffin that peeks back at me. It's Gilbert alright. "You," he rasps. "Why are you back here? Weren't you off to the Church of Harmony?"

The entrance on the Great Bridge is locked tight," I say. "Gilbert, I still need to get to the Church of Harmony. Do you know of any other way"

Gilbert falls silent, blood-shot eyes staring into space. "Another way..." he mumbles. His silence stretches on into several minutes. In that time, I inspect my outfit. As Applejack boasted, all the blood that had splashed on to me simply ran down my cloak in thin rivulets. Standing in place brought the heady stink of blood to the fore. It's making me dizzy. It's a small miracle that I can even stand straight. I have the swallow again as the drool pools along the sides of my mouth. I don't like this feeling. It's disgust and elation all at once, but rather than fighting, they're melding into some sick amalgamation of sensations.

Then, the light scent of apple blossoms slips through the heavy cloud of gory stench. It brings my mind back to that grove in Sweet Apple Acres; warmth, light, and a welcoming building nearby. That's going to be my anchor. Without any memories that go back before this place, I have to rely on Sweet Apple Acres. That was likely Applejack's plan all along when she came up with this outfit.

Another series of wild coughing draws me back to the present situation. "I..." Gilbert tries to fight past the coughing and fails. I'm tempted to rub a hoof on his back to steady him, but he might recoil, and I don't quite trust my hooves at the moment. "I think I may know another way," Gilbert finally says.

I let out a sigh of relief.

"There's..." Gilbert pauses, his eyes watery from all the coughing. I fear he might get another fit, but he steadies himself. "There's another way...through the aqueducts. It's an old, hidden path that goes into the Ponyville Graveyard, which should connect to the tombs that the Church of Harmony uses."

"Aqueducts," I mutter. "How's sanitation in Ponyville, Gilbert?"

Despite himself, Gilbert cracks a smile. "Hope you're good at holding your breath, outsider," he says. "Then again, not much of a choice you have there. And you'll be doing worse things than wading a river of pony shit before this night's over."

I let out another sigh. Not relief this time. "So tell me the way."

Gilbert explains as best he can. He coughs up a lung and a half before he finishes. At least he sounded like he did. The shortest way to get into the aqueduct meant passing through a local shop that sold hounds, and an enormous boat factory. Once I'm in, it should be easy to follow it to the graveyard.

"This layout is insane," I say after hearing his instructions. "Why design a city so convoluted?"

"Well," Gilbert mutters. "'Design' might be stretching it."

"What do you mean?"

"I've told you before, Ponyville started small; a humble village that fit the name."

I nod at this while Gilbert clears his throat, and wipes off his beak. His blood-stained handkerchief is more crimson now than whatever color it was. "There was no plan, I'm told," he went on. "It was just...a building mania. New structures here and there, piled on top of each other with no sense. Giving directions is a nightmare. Beast plague or not."

"I see," I tell him. I check my gear, then dust off my coat. "Thank you. I'll see you around, Gilbert."

He gives on more wan smile before lying back down. "Doubt it," he mumbles.

With that, I pick the side alley from his house he mentioned, and make my way to the Church of Harmony yet again.

I've been lucky so far in finding Gilbert again. If my luck holds, perhaps I'll run into Ghast Coin again. This time, I won't be hiding behind him . There were also things I wanted to ask. Those things he said as I "died". He knew about Sweet Apple Acres. He's probably a hunter too. He'd know things that Applejack didn't quite explain. And...

I remember his blood-soaked form and his frenzied grin. That moment when he stood in a stupor while the massive beast on the bridge flailed about. I understand that now, in a small way so far, but I know what captivated him until he became heedless of nearby danger. Maybe he has ways to cope that I could learn, or we could help each other out. It's clear that he has it so much worse than me. It must be the years of hunting. The Hunter of Hunters did tell him to retire.

It's exactly as Gilbert described it. I'm moving closer to the source of all the incessant barking. I duck into another sidestreet, descend a brief flight of stone steps, always paying attention to the growing cacophony of barks. Finally, I run into the so-called hound shop.

I don't know what these hounds were supposed to be bred for, but that purpose was clearly gone. The creatures locked up in the many, scattered, metal cages of this area were gaunt, shaggy monstrosities. Each bark opens their jaws at a nearly hundred and eighty degree angle, revealing frightfully sharp, yellowed canines. Their nails are long and jagged, their eyes bloodshot and livid. These hounds are good for nothing but savagely mauling things now. I'm lucky they're in their cages. I can just move past them and get to the boat factory.

Execution's an ugly job, but necessary.

I sigh, and stop, before turning around to face these caged beasts. If they don't get out, they'll starve to death; a lingering, horrible death. If they do, they'll be menaces to be put down. Probably by me if they catch my scent. In any case, there's an ugly job to be done, even if I'm not using a hunter's axe. One of the dogs seems to notice my staring. It falls silent, eyes locked on to mine, thick gobs of bloody drool dripping near its feet. There's a sense of familiarity in its gaze that I can't stand. It's like one blood-soaked savage acknowledging another. If so, it's wrong. My cleaver easily slips through the bars of its cage. There's no escape for the creature, but, to my surprise, it lunges at my strike. The blade cuts deep into its throat, all but flooding its cramped metal cage with its blood. With a snort, I turn to the others. In a short while, there's no more barking.

At least, my ears can have a break, and it should be easier to be alert. Now, if only my nose could be just as lucky. The aqueduct isn't even in sight, but the horrendous stench of raw sewage is already doing its work on me. A river of pony shit sounds about right. And it smells like an old river too. Years upon years of diseased ordure swimming in urine, oozing along an unwashed passage. There's probably clouds of flies, and a carpet of maggots.

An enormous wooden structure looms ahead. The wooden planks of its floor creak with telltale steps of whatever creatures lurking inside. Not good. I'm still sick over all the blood. I don't know what will happen if I keep slaughtering these beasts, even in self-defense. The image of that dead dog, still foaming at the mouth, eyes still livid in death, and Ghast Coin, stupefied by his own carnage, flashes in my mind. I don't want that.

Maybe I can just avoid fighting too much. That factory has a lot of shadows, as does most of Ponyville. I can sneak past these creatures. No more wild running like earlier.

Making my way inside proves harder than expected. It's like penetrating a thick, cloying, almost liquid cloud of hot gas. The stench is viler than even I imagined. I have to hold back a cough and a gag while trying to clear my eyes of tears. I stick to the walls, pressing against them to be sure. The steps are getting louder, but they don't sound much like a pony's. They're heavier, slower, and accompanied by the scrape of claws against wood and some definitely unponylike growls. To make things worse, the dim, orange glow of a torch is following those sounds.

Fortunately, this factory has more than just shadows. I duck behind a jumble of wooden barrels and crates thrown in haphazardly with piles of planks. It's either there was some kind of fight here or these Ponyvillians are the most disorganized workers around. The growls grow even louder, and I catch the stink of sweaty, unwashed fur matted with blood amidst the scents of urine and excrement. I should keep my head low and wait for the torch light to pass by, but there's that damned curiosity again. A quick peep, that's all I need. The steps don't sound like a pony's, the rhythm's from only two legs hitting the ground, and it's all alone. This is something else, and I need to take note.

The thing passes by my hiding spot without even a sidealong glance. I stifle a sharp gasp at the sight. It is a pony. Or was. It's torso is badly deformed, but still recognizable. Its hind legs have become so elongated that they resemble tree branches than anything else. Its "claws" look like hooves caught in mid-transformation. The edges had started splitting into pointed fingers, but the middle is still a hoof. One hoof-claw has a torch, as I assumed, while the other carries what looks like a two-pony saw, the sort meant for felling huge trees. I doubt my torso will prove a tougher challenge. Not that I'm planning to come even close to being hit. The creature's face is a mass of leaves and twigs, worse than any other Ponyvillian I had seen so far. I can barely see the blood-shot eyes or the thorny muzzle. It wears the same clothes as the other Ponyvillians, but its leafy fur and much larger body had torn the outfit into barely clinging shreds.

The creature stops briefly to look around, and I hold my breath. Is it patrolling? It's still smart enough to use a torch. There might be others somewhere waiting for it to come back. I let my breath out when it moves on. The stink is getting worse. This place truly must have been built on a mania. Farther into the factory, I come upon the deeply dug aqueduct. There's wrecked boats along the sides. The greenish brown sludge looks far from inviting. Worse still is the chorus of splashes and squeaks coming from below.

Time to survey my options. "Follow the aqueduct," Gilbert said. I can wade in there. Given what I've seen of Ponyville, I should assume that the rats I just heard are as big as I am. The aqueduct itself goes straight on towards the exit of this factory before turning sharply. I can follow from the elevated sides, which will likely include the nearby streets. That's probably the better idea. I can always jump in there if I run out of street, or if the way to this graveyard really needs me to get down there.

It's settled then. I stick to the walls, and move on. Good move as it turns out. There's a second one of these gangly, two-legged pony-beasts. This one's content just to stand around. It's likely waiting for the other one. We'll, I'm not interested in fighting one of them, let alone two.

I slip out of the factory without further trouble. Good. So far, I am avoiding any more combat. Maybe I can get out of this nightmarish city without too much blood on me.

The muffled cries of what sounds like a foal stops me in my tracks.

Oh no. I look around, desperately hoping that it's actually a trap. Loud grunts follow those cries, then the crack of stone smashing into stone. No...I'm sure to run into a beast if I investigate. It must be a trap. I have to--

Of course I gallop towards the sound. I even have to briefly move away from the aqueduct, and climb a short ladder into a higher level street before I stumble towards its source.

"Somepony...please help!"

There's no mistaking that filly's cry. It's coming from a metal-barred window on the second floor of a house. Unfortunately, beneath that window lies the problem.

It's not a pony this time, deformed or otherwise. It's hard to misplace those long, curving horns, the enormous size, or the bulging shoulder muscles. Minotaur bull. Its coat is shaggy with twigs and leaves, just like the others. So this beastly plague isn't limited to ponies. A mess of bloody bandages cover nearly three quarters of its face, including an eye. What flesh is visible appears mangled, raw, and hairless. It's as if this minotaur's head had already shattered, and somepony had done a crude job of bandaging it back together. Its jaw slings lopsidedly open on one side, revealing broken yellow molars, and a swollen, reddish-purple tongue dripping with drool. I scuff the pavement slightly as I skid to a stop. That's enough to catch its attention.

It seems I also caught the filly's attention as well. The cries stop, and I catch a brief silhouette of somepony small by the window. That's all the attention I can spare for her for now, however. The minotaur lets out something that's between a pained moan and a grunt, then hefts its weapon with both hands. It's one of those life-sized cloaked mare statues all around the city. This minotaur is planning to smash me with a stone pony of my size.

Big mistake.

Despite its horrific injuries, the minotaur displays the incredible strength one would expect of its race. It takes only a couple of seconds for it to wind up its peculiar weapon, and bring it down with bone-smashing force. It takes me half that time to be out of the way. My mane flies up as the statue whiffs just above my head. I duck under the minotaur's left arm as it makes another overhead swing, positioning myself behind it, and running my saw across its side for its trouble.

The jagged, profusely bleeding wound only seems to anger the minotaur. It lets out a bellow and raises the statue high above its head. My heart's beating wildly, instincts screaming that I focus all my efforts into getting away. I fight them back, and wait a few precious seconds. The minotaurs head starts descending along with its swing when I fire my pistol.

The bullet hits the brow of its remaing eye, dragging a deep gouge across its forehead before biting into its right horn. There's a loud, dull crack of thick bone shattering as its horn flies off. The minotaur's eyes widen, and its weapon slips from its fingers.

My heart beats even wilder, and it's not out of trepidation. There's that moment of vulnerability again. The wound to its side beckons me with crimson rivulets. So easy...

My hoof finds its way to that wound before I can--

Ah...I can't help but shudder and gasp as my hoof plunges into the jagged wound, slips past the rib cage, and settles in with the minotaur's innards. They're so soft and so warm. How can any of us be so hard and brutal on the outside, yet so soft and delicate within? The viscera writhe and twitch against my slowly soaking fur. The sickly stench is heady, intoxicating. My lips split into a wide grin on instinct. This fight's mine. Every panicked beat from the minotaur's chest is a loud confirmation. It tries to push me away weakly, but I drive my foreleg even deeper, relishing every squelch, every spurt of thick, warm blood on my coat. Finally, I rip it away in a rush of exultation, dragging out dark red strips of gore and gobs of blood. Blood, warm, sweet-smelling blood splatters across my face and chest.

The minotaur flies backward and onto its back. It groans weakly, hand raised towards me, as if I can hand it back its guts so it can fix itself. A second more, and its dead eyes are staring vacantly at Ponyville's smoky night sky. One more prey for this hunter.

"Hello?" a filly's voice calls out. The silhouette by the window draws the curtains back just slightly, revealing a lone, lavender eye and a quarter of a pink-furred muzzle. "Mister? Are you alright?"

The crimson haze and the intoxicating rush fades from my mind.

I...what have I done?

Hunter's Mercy

Undone by the Blood

Chapter 5: Hunter's Mercy

"H-hello?"

The filly had merely called out a tentative greeting, but, as far as I'm concerned, she might as well be shouting accusations at me. Psychopath, monster...they all fit in a way. I'm almost too ashamed to respond. I kick the dead, eviscerated minotaur away from me, thankful that I don't catch its eyes in the process. I have to answer anyway, or this filly might think that it's another beast waiting by her window. "Hey," I say. "You alright?"

"I don't know who you are," the filly responds. "But you smell kind of familiar."

Familiar? I must smell of blood, sweat, and raw sewage. How can this filly be so familiar with those things?

"Are you a hunter?" she asks. "My daddy's also a hunter. You smell a lot like him when he's been working hard."

"Yes," I say. It almost sounds like an admission of guilt. "I'm a hunter."

The filly's voice brightens considerably. "Oh, goody! Do you know where the other hunters are? A lot of them usually pass by. I was hoping Grandpa Hen Reek would. Daddy really needs his help."

I shake my head, only to remember that she probably can't see me. I'm standing under her barred window, which I doubt she can even reach, let alone look through properly. "I haven't," I say. "Sorry."

"Aww..." the filly says. She manages to keep up the hopeful tone, easily making her the brightest spot in this entire benighted city. "But...but...you're a hunter too right? Maybe you can find my daddy? Mum went out to look for him, but she's so silly she forgot his favorite music box. We play it whenever he gets a little forgetful. He might not even know it's her if she doesn't play it."

I have to help this filly. Not sure why. Maybe it's just because she's not so bleak like the rest of this city, and I want to keep her that way. Maybe because I want to make this hunter business more than the hideous thing I just did earlier. "Sure," I say. "I'll try to find your father."

"Oh, thank you so much, mister!" the filly practically squeals. There's a bit of scrabbling from inside the window, then a lone pink hoof barely sticks out with a small box at the end of it. "Here," came a struggling grunt. "If you play it, daddy will know that we're looking for him. He's a big strong hunter with a fancy scarf. My mum's wearing a big red brooch, you can't miss it!" She lets out a gasp when the box tumbles out of her grasp. I'm able to snatch it from the air though. This filly's a little too trusting, but that only makes me glad I got to her first, and determined to help her out.

"Fancy scarf on a hunter, and a big red brooch," I say. "Got it."

"Thank you so much, mister! I'm sure they'll be really happy to get it."

I walk away from the house after that. No need to stink up the front of that filly's house. I'd probably attract more creatures in the process. That means it's back to wading--

It's only when I repeat the description in my mind that I freeze for a moment. Fancy scarf? I know something about fancy scarves on a hunter, one that he insists on wearing even though it's not particularly cold, one that has these strange markings all over it. It's a tenuous connection though. It can be part of a uniform. Ghast Coin seems pretty involved with the Church of Harmony, it might be standard for them.

The music box's outside is nothing special; simple wooden cube with brass filigrees and trimmings. There's a lot of wear around the hinges, signifying frequent use. There's also bloodstains around one corner, but that's not surprising if it belongs to a hunter. The lid opens easily. It should be interesting to hear what kind of music can affect a hunter's memory so much. Of course, I have to give it a listen.

It's a slow, rather clinky tune. Sounds more like something one would play to get an infant to sleep. I don't know if age and wear has damaged the device, or if it's supposed to be this slow. The tune lurches to a stop, and my gaze focuses on the inner portion of the lid. There's a scrap of old parchment that appeared carefully stuck on. The elegantly cursive script is faded with age, but still legible.

Viola and Ghast Coin

Well, that's a welcome coincidence. I am hoping to meet Ghast Coin again anyway. I also owe him quite a bit. Helping his daughter out's a nice start. Still, there's something ominous about all of this. The way he struggled to recall his wife's name. The mere need for this music box to jog his memory...I hurry my steps a bit. It's a lingering feeling I can't put a hoof on, but I suspect that he needs help, or he's going to. The renewed urgency helps with the stink even more than my apple-scented mouth covering. The splashes caused by my hoof-falls remind me of caution again, however, especially when they're followed by larger and heavier splashes from a distance.

There's a tunnel ahead. The enclosed space all the more amplifies the splashing in there as well as the very loud grunting. There may be nothing to light the way through that tunnel, but it's hard to miss the looming shape at its far end. My hooves go to my saw cleaver. This is not a good place to fight in; my footing is slick with grime, and I'm in a narrow aqueduct. The shape and sounds indicate some kind of massive pig. I don't know how an animal can get so big. Perhaps, the beast plague going around has a different effect on pigs. This one must have spent its life wandering this aqueduct, living on sewage. I won't be surprised if these Ponyvillians threw dead bodies down here too. Maybe that's why the place is free of corpses, and why that pig is so massive. I have to look for an alternative. A ladder by the side of the tunnel rescues me from the prospect of having to deal with this behemoth. I'm already climbing before I even check where it goes. Anything has to be better than wading that filth, just as long as I'm making my way to this graveyard Gilbert was talking about.

Thankfully, I climb my way onto solid stone pavement. Given how this street stretches onward, it has to follow the same route as that tunnel below, only aboveground. This is a surprisingly deserted--

Oh, wait. My initial judgment proves too hasty. It's surpringly deserted now because the Ponyvillians patrolling here are dead. Several bodies line the sides of the street, all of them showing signs of the plague, all of them showing gruesome wounds. Despite the obvious carnage, my spirits rise a bit. These are axe wounds on the bodies. Cloven limbs, and what looks like superficial wounds to the face caused by bullet fragments all point to Ghast Coin's work. If I'm lucky enough to be on his trail, and he's trying to get to the Church of Harmony, I might hit all my birds with a single stone at this rate.

One curious detail about this street, though. There are bits of charred twine scattered everywhere, and what look like scorch marks on the pavement. Some of the bodies farther ahead also display burns. One mare lying on the middle of the street isn't sporting Ghast Coin's trademarks. Instead, she's badly scorched, and utterly flattened into the pavement. Half her wood-fleshed face had burned to cinders, exposing her teeth and cheek bones. If there's anything worse than the smell of blood-soaked, dismembered bodies, it's singed fur, and burned flesh.

I keep going, trying to piece how Ghast Coin came through here. Maybe he had taken the same route as I did, and had to confront these Ponyvillians. The ones closest to the ladder had to be dispatched, but, before he could advance something heavy, and on fire, rolled through. Fortunately, I don't see his body anywhere. Looks like he made it through.

How did Viola fare, I wonder. Was she traveling with Ghast Coin at this point? Doesn't make much sense for them to leave their daughter in the house if that was the case. Maybe she's tracking him like I am.

I walk past the bodies, and up yet another flight of stairs. There's couple more dead Ponyvillians, this time the more transformed ones, like that freakishly tall, torch-wielding one I saw earlier. Their legs have been hacked off with an axe. I'm getting impressed again. He's cutting through a bunch of these monsters with a heavy axe. He has to tire at some point, but it hasn't shown yet. The admiration dwindles when I spot a thin trail of blood leaving the scene. The blood's still wet, and a brief touch reveals that it's thinner that the typical, sap-like, crimson that spurts from these Ponyvillians.

"Ghast Coin..." I mutter. "Getting sloppy again." Did they catch him staring off because he was covered with too much blood? If the blood's still wet, he has to be close by. I pick up the pace. It's clear now that he needs help.

I get only a few steps forward before a deep-voiced, bloodcurdling scream stops me dead in my tracks.

Damn! Too late already?

I take off in a gallop, saw cleaver already in my mouth. The blood trail leads past an increasing number of chain-wrapped coffins, and iron fencing. I smell fresh blood ahead, but more importantly, I smell a great deal of soil. I'm either heading into a garden, or a graveyard. Another scream from the same voice, this time more ragged. That's no dying cry or scream of terror, it's rage, and it's definitely Ghast Coin's.

I may not know too much about the stallion's personal details, but there's little else to consider over what can make him scream like that. The pavement gradually turns to unworked, grayish soil, and a veritable forest of tombstones greets me. So, I've managed to make it to the graveyard after all.

Whatever building mania that afflicts Ponyville clearly holds sway over the graveyard as well. There's no sense of order here. The tombstones, rather than being lined up in simple rows, are scattered across the uneven terrain as if the bodies they marked had been simply hurled into an open space, then buried where they landed. There's no uniformity in the stones either, with some being simple headstones while others meticulously carved to resemble various symbols. I'm guessing that they represent the cutie marks of those buried there. A few twisted trees dot the whole place, their dried leaves form a haphazard carpet of browns and dark greens across the ground, and their bare branches looking like the crooked claws of deformed birds.

The dull, grisly thumps of an axe hitting something over and over tear my attention from the scenery. I follow the sounds, which happen to be coming from the same location as that scent of fresh corpses. There are dead Ponyvillians everywhere, probably as many on the ground now as in it. Their blood-shot eyes are wild with terror, their thorny mouths open in unfinished screams. There isn't a single body here that's in one piece. Limbs lie slung over gravestones, across the ground, and even flung onto the tree branches.

At the center of this jumbled mass of gravestones, and corpses, stands the pony I had been looking for. Ghast Coin, his left side to me, blood-splattered from snout to tail, is hacking away at...something. The bits of gore are beyond recognition, and covered large patches of the gray soil. The faint lights from the sky, and the few bent street lamps nearby color these patches black. Ghast Coin looks even more haggard than I remember. He's standing on his hind legs while holding his hunter axe with a foreleg. That he's sacrificed his mobility for more momentum in his strikes shows that even he knows this had long devolved from a fight to a slaughter. I take a step forward. Maybe he just needs somepony to snap him out of it, just like that time by the Great Bridge.

"Ghast Coin," I say tentatively as I take a few steps closer. The ground is uneven here, with lots of natural inclines and rocks jutting out. I hesitate from shouting, fearing he might mistake it for some beasts roar. He keeps on hacking away anyway. He's panting heavily, each ragged breath leaving his mouth as a cloud of white, even though it's not particularly cold. A few more steps, then I realize why he had screamed.

I was wrong earlier when I thought that all the bodies have been hacked apart. Just a few feet behind Ghast Coin is the unbrutalized body of what looks like a mare. Mane like spilling ink, and a silky white coat. Her eyes are closed, and she looks like she's merely sleeping, but there is no rise and fall to her chest, and the bloody wound close to her heart says it all. The opening is small and deep, most likely a gunshot wound. I swallow an enormous slump in my throat, and look on. Still hanging off this mare's neck is a large, bright red brooch.

"Ghast..." I try again. "Ghast Coin, I'm..." My mouth shuts before I can finish the halting apology. What am I supposed to say to this stallion in his haze of rage? Sorry? Get a hold of yourself? It's tempting to just leave him alone to his grief. Let him take it out on these wretches, one of whom was probably responsible. When he's spent, and had taken care of his wife's remains, maybe--

My next step causes a dry leaf to skid slightly on the ground. Ghast Coin stops hacking at the sound of it, before turning towards me slowly. "Beasts..." he growls. His voice is ragged, and strained. After that screaming, it's no surprise. Spittle escapes his mouth with each word. Something's going on with his teeth. Some of them appear to be pointed. His eyes are wide and bloodshot, as bad as the eyes of the wretches he just slaughtered. The iris in his left eye looks like it's collapsed into mush. "Beasts all over the shop." He lowers his forelegs to the ground, the axe slightly scraping on a rock as he does so.

"You'll be one of them sooner or later."

"G--" That's as far as I get before a thunderous explosion drowns my voice. My legs move on pure instinct, jumping to the side before the flash of fire and puff of smoke from the blunderbuss's muzzle register in my vision. A couple of fragments slice shallow furrows across my cheeks, enough to draw a slight trickle of blood. I don't even have time to feel any pain. The sound's still ringing in my ears when Ghast Coin is already lunging at me. He shifts his axe from his hoof to his mouth with practiced ease and speed, axeblade towards his right, then ducks his head low. I know that motion. I swivel my head right just enough to feel the draft from the axe's passage when Ghast Coin swings it up in a diagonal strike.

I still have my cleaver at the ready. The weight of his weapon alone makes missing already particularly risky, and his wild strikes only make things worse for his defense. I can see the line my saw cleaver has to take. In its unextended form, I can slice upwards to catch his chest or neck. He attacked first, defending myself with deadly force is only proper.

But should I? The filly's pleading voice resounds in my ears. My one task so far as a hunter that's not so gristly, and my first impulse is to fail it for my sake. I can't do this. I can give it my all to take down this more experienced, blood-crazed hunter...then what? That filly's already lost her mother. Am I going to cut down her father as well? Leaving her alone in this beast-infested city...I might as well cut her down while I'm at it. I can at least make it swift and as painless as possible.

The thoughts take me maybe a second or two, but that's all that's necessary for Ghast Coin to recover. He brings his axe down with such force that he gouges a deep channel into the hardened soil with a brutal crack. That would have been my head if I hadn't jumped back again.

The instant my rump touches the pitiless cold of a gravestone, I know I'm in trouble. Ghast Coin senses it too. His axe handle makes that familiar sliding sound, and I'm left with a second to decide between left or right. Half a second passes before I go for a third option. My knees buckle, and my hat flies off my head. I barely have the presence of mind to flatten my ears, even then the axe blade nicks their tops.

A vicious crunch from behind me, followed by bits of stone and dust pelting my back tells another story. Ghast Coin's stuck, at least for a second. I swing my saw cleaver, unfolding it mid-swing. I don't want to kill him, but I have to slow him down. A cut across his forelegs should accomplish that.

Despite his bloodlust, however, Ghast still retains a lot of his awareness. He lets out a loud grunt, and heaves. The gravestone behind me crumbles, freeing his weapon and letting him jump back. The tip of my saw cleaver drags across his chest instead. The resistance takes me aback. I had hoped to deal more damage than the gash I just inflicted, the cloth he's wearing proves incredibly hardy. With some distance between us, I stagger away from the ruined gravestone to regroup and rethink. First, I make sure I'm not backed against something. Second, I have to figure out how to settle this fight with both of us alive and well. The blood from Ghast Coin's chest wound starts trickling down, and dripping on the ground. Good, maybe he'll settle down when the blood loss starts making him woozy. He's also been breathing heavily before this even began. I'm the fresher hunter, I should be able to outwait this.

"What's that smell?" Ghast Coin asks after several inquisitive sniffs. He lets out a deep-throated chuckle, and licks the fresh wound. "Ah....the sweet blood...it sings to me!"

He's bluffing. He's trying to sound like he's just warming up, but his lungs and muscles must be burning by now. I just need to--

Ghast Coin's several feet above me for some reason, clearing a jump in his full gear that I probably can't naked. His head is drawn back, hunter axe ready for a massive vertical strike. Dodge, that's all that crosses my mind. I jump sideways just as he crashes. His axe smashes so hard that the impact pushes me back more than I anticipated. My hooves skid as I try to maintain balance. He should still be recovering. A move that big takes a lot of commitment, and would have splattered me into chunks if it hit. The dust cloud his blow created is still flying up when he lets out another roar. I catch a glint of metal moving through the cloud, and roll aside yet again. Too slow this time. The axe's very edge catches my shoulder, and tears a long, fortunately shallow, cut across my torso. Ghast Coin all but flies past me, and shatters another gravestone in his path before landing. My outfit absorbed the worst of the impact, but now we're both bleeding. The problem, however, is that all the blood loss is doing is exciting him, but it's going to be to my detriment.

He laughs again, louder this time, and very obviously unhinged. I'm sorry, filly, but I'm not going to survive this battle holding back. I probably won't even if I didn't. I lock my wheel holster in place, but Ghast Coin's blunderbuss fires first before I can even aim. How did he reload so fast? I shield my face with a foreleg, and my outfit takes the brunt from the hail of fragments. Several pieces do cut into the leather, gashing my chest, and forelegs. Fortunately, the distance between us scatters his shot too much, and robs it of the worst of its impact. Ghast Coin knows that too, which is why he's already on me before I can lower my foreleg. He whips his pole-axe wildly in a circle in an attempt to take my head off, but I duck under. As he's shifting the handle in his mouth for a second swing, I fire my pistol.

I had aimed for his face, just as I had when that minotaur came at me. Maybe it's just because I didn't want his clothes to soften the bullet's impact. It's that, of course, not so I can leave him helpless, then plunge my hoof into that pool of soft, warm, writhing flesh past his hide. The bullet strikes the haft of his axe, close to where it meets the blade. The thick wood splinters, but holds true. The impact, however, jars Ghast Coin's grip on his weapon. His strike wavers as he struggles to keep his grip. Those rather pronounced, thorny fangs now obvious in his mouth bite deep to stay secure.

At this distance, his pole-axe is at the disadvantage. I fold my saw cleaver in place, and run its cruel teeth against his chest in an upward slash. I had hoped to catch his throat, but he's already falling back before my weapon reaches it.

That's when I notice his foreleg fiddling with his blunderbuss even as he's recovering. It's a marvel to watch. He's not even looking as he picks a bullet from his pockets, and reloads. I try to close in, but his guard's not truly down, letting him hop away from my strikes as he readjusts his wheel holster. I wonder how many times he must have done this; reloading while facing against a savage, frantic beast without ever missing a beat. How practiced are those legs that they can perform so efficiently even though the mind controlling them is gripped with bloodlust? My thoughts go to my own gun. I need to reload too, but he's probably waiting on that.

Ghast Coin swings again, splattering his surroundings with blood. I dive in this time. The infight is to my advantage. He maybe practiced, but he seems to have fallen in love with the pole-axe form of his hunter axe. His quicker use of his gun will also whittle me down if I stay at a range. With my saw cleaver folded, and the fact that he's so much taller than me, I can stay low, and rely on short, economic swings. Frenzied with beasthood or not, he's going to lose in the long run. Sure enough, the axe whiffs above me again, and my saw cleaver opens two more jagged cuts across his sides. When he steps back, I step forward to keep close.

Ghast Coin answers with a sudden headbutt. Stars burst in my vision, and I stagger back. I know better than to stay still though Even through the momentary blur, I see the axehead thrusting towards my face. I dive in again, tilting my head to keep it from being skewered. Another cut across Ghast Coin's chest, a deep one this time. The spurt of thick blood takes me aback, again reminding me that stallion has a daughter waiting for him. Now that he's badly wounded, I might have a chance to take him out alive. Again, however, the pain only seems to drive him harder. I step back, and look around. There has to be something here to trap him.

I catch sight of something even better. A lone figure of a pony by the gates to this graveyard shows out of the corner of my eye. My first thought is to warn him away, but I recognize the flutter of the coat it's wearing, and the ominous silhouette of saw teeth on the weapon it's holding in his mouth. A fellow hunter. My luck looks like it's on the upswing.

"Hey!" I call out. My voice is hoarse, and forced out between ragged pants. I have to yell while keeping Ghast Coin in my sights. "Hunter! I need help!"

The figure turns, to my relief, then makes a dash towards me. Good, working together, we might be able to wrestle Ghast Coin to the ground. Ghast Coin comes at me again, but I'm on the defensive now. With help on the way, I calm down enough to be able to assess his moves better. He's been head-hunting so far, which is to my advantage. It's a lot harder to go after such a small target rather than center mass. I'm better off in terms of injuries, with only minor scratches to his multiple wounds. The figure's closing the distance quickly, and silently. It's a stallion, and his outfit resembles mine with a few alterations, the most obvious being how yellow it is. The dim lights do little to hide the fade from the obviously old attire, but that yellow must have stung the eyes when it was still new. A couple of long, curving, golden feathers differentiate his hat from my white-feathered tri-corner. That's a pistol attached to his wheel holster, making us identical as far as weaponry is concerned.

"He's mad with grief," I say as the other hunter comes closer. "Help me subdue him." I glance towards him, hoping to catch a nod.

Instead, I see an extended saw cleaver coming down on me.

I twist away at the last second, and that's the only reason my muzzle hasn't flown from my face. The straight edge instead runs down my side, ripping cloth, cutting hide, and drawing gouts of blood. I cry out, nearly dropping my cleaver in the process. I haven't forgotten Ghast Coin, though. He seizes the sudden opportunity with a crazed grin, leaping in for another powerful slash. I try to jump to the side, but all I manage is a rather pathetic roll. The blade comes down barely a foot away from my back, sending more dust up in the air.

That proves to be a boon. The other hunter would have followed up, I'm sure, but the clouds obscure any opening I might pose. I stagger away, and put several gravestones between me and the two. I need to recover somehow. I don't know why that other hunter is after me, but there's no way I can win against two of them. My gaze goes to my coat pockets. I'm pretty torn up, but I'm fortunate enough to keep my pockets secure. A quick ruffling as I keep backing away produces one of those blood vials Red Heart gave me. Future potential diseases for immediate healing, huh? There's little time to mull it over. The dust cloud is settling, and their silhouettes are advancing side-by-side.

That they're working together makes no sense at first, but I remember the Ponyvillians hunting in groups. The blood-crazed, or infected, or whatever their problem is, can somehow identify each other to cooperate. If it is a beast plague, perhaps it's some kind of twisted pack instinct.

Whatever the cause, I have no other option. It's amazing how quickly I spot a vein in my foreleg, and how accurately I jam the vial's needle into it. Perhaps another skill lent by my new cutie mark.

A warm, pleasant sensation courses through my veins so fast that I hearly gasp. This is no ordinary blood. My breathing becomes easier, strength returns to my limbs, and the burning, stinging pain to my side lessens. I inject a second one in time to see my enemies' faces. Ghast Coin goes first, and now I notice the leaves sprouting around his beard and the tips of his ears. His hunter axe is still lengthened, but he's not leaping into the fray this time. Instead, he dashes off towards my left, while other hunter, saw cleaver also extended, dashes to my right.

Oh, good. They may be blood-crazed, but they're still thinking tactics. This is where they differ from the other mindless Ponyvillians. That rigorous hunter discipline and experience still shines through. Instead of showing faint signs of equinity, all it does is make their blood craze worse.

When they do decide to attack, they come at the same time. The hunter axe comes at me in a high horizontal slash, again aiming for my head. The saw cleaver goes for my legs. This is no time to wait for inescapable attacks. My best option is to focus on one of them, and bring him down fast. I dash at Ghast Coin, moving well past his axe's blade, then catching the haft on my shoulder. There's a faint snap following the burst of pain. I pray to anything out there that it's the haft that snapped, and not my shoulder. My saw clear rips into his face, and sends his hat flying. Unfortunately, his blood spurts into my face. Without my hat, the foul liquid splashes onto my forelocks and my eyes. I wipe it off quickly with the back of a foreleg.

Big mistake.

Ghast Coin roars, dropping his axe in the process. Blood streams down his snout, soaks into his increasingly leafy beard, and drips down his chest. My vision may have cleared a bit, but not in time for me to avoid his lunge. His thorny teeth clamp down on my collar so hard, I swear I hear my collar bone crack. Instead of yelling, I bite down on my saw cleaver to take the pain while I try to shove him away. It's a futile effort. He was bigger than me when he was still lucid. Now, with his blood-craze, and worsening transformation, it's all I can do to keep him from ripping me apart with his bare hooves.

Behind me, the other hunter is still advancing. I heave as hard as I can, but Ghast Coin clearly knows he only has to maintain position. He lets out a throaty chuckle while my desperation mounts. In the next second, that saw cleaver is going to chop me in half. How convenient that I'm already in a graveyard.

No cold bite of metal comes. A loud flutter of enormous wings, followed by the clink of metal, comes from above us. Ghast Coin grunts in pain, his jaw loosens its grip, and his posture winces from surprise. That's enough for me to throw him off. I unfold my saw cleaver as he falls back, tearing another cut across his chest, and destroying most of his outfit's front.

Finally, it seems his rage isn't enough to push through his injuries. His hunter axe is nowhere near him. Now, the reach advantage is mine. He takes a moment to pant and glare at me, a moment I use to pump a third blood vial into my system.

The rush of pleasant warmth is so quick, it's frightening. Already, the gushing gouge on my collar hurts less. There has to be some horrific downside to something that works so well. For now, I look to what's going to let me survive long enough to find out what those downsides are.

Another hunter, as far as I can tell, has joined the fray, guarding my back by standing on hind legs.The faint lamp light shines on the black fur of a panther's hindquarters, the tail gently flicking back and forth. Then, there's the metallic glint on the pair of curved, distinctly hooked daggers held by dark-skinned bird claws. A short-brimmed, pointed hat completes the ensemble. It's the black feathers that hold my attention, though. For a moment, it looks like this hunter had four wings, two pointing up, while another pair point down. It turns out that the downward "wings" are actually the twin tails of an elegant cloak of black feathers. The other two are actual wings. Black feathers...

"What a mess you've found yourself in, hunter," the new arrival says. "And tonight of all nights."

I know that voice all too well. "Hunter of Hunters," I blurt out. I glance at the hunter in yellow. From whatever exchange they've had, he's now sporting a cut across his left cheek, and another from his right shoulder to left foreleg.

"Eileen is fine," the Hunter of Hunters says with a quick glance at me. She then focuses on the yellow-garbed hunter. "I told you to retire, Hen Reek. Now, I have to retire you."

Hen Reek replies with a flurry of movement with his forelegs, which Eileen takes as a sign to burst into action. Several small, glinting objects fly from Hen Reek, but Eileen gracefully swats them from the air. One of them twirls, then lands nearby, revealing a small, serrated, throwing knife. There's no time for Hen Reek to pull out more as Eileen jumps before him, and hovers. Amidst the frantic beating of wings comes the sounds of metal colliding. Hen Reek falls back, desperately swing his saw cleaver to deflect the brrage of quick stabs and slashes.

That's about as much attention I can spare those two. Ghast Coin's growl puts me on the defensive again. He lunges at me with a raised left foreleg, uncaring for the fact that my saw cleaver can reach him long before his kick can get to me. The sickening splinter of bones moving nearly makes me flinch. Ghast Coin's foreleg twists violently mid-air, the hoof splitting into four claw-tipped digits. I swing my saw cleaver, but, in my panic, I swat away his horribly mutated foreleg, then jump away. It's still spasming, the muscles bulge, and the fur falls off from the woody hide beneath. He can't stand straight now. He has to stand on his hind legs, and that freakish foreleg to maintain balance. That's not going to stay that way for long. His pants start to rip apart as his hind legs start bulging as well. His harness strains to its limits, then simply snaps, leaving his blunderbuss to clatter to the ground.

"Sorry, filly," I mutter under my breath. "Looks like they're both gone."

I lunge at Ghast Coin, banking on the fact that his transformation must be horribly painful, and pain serves as a good distraction. My saw cleaver arcs high vertically, swinging towards his head. Ghast Coin raises his forelegs, now both twisted, and extended, to match my reach. I twist my neck at the last moment, just as he's about to reach for my blade with a claw, but his other, equally malformed, foreleg closes in. I have to step back, or lose my weapon.

"Switch!" Eileen suddenly calls out from behind. I glance behind me in time to see her swooping in, Hen Reek's close by. There's no hesitation, I grip my saw cleaver tightly, and spin as Eileen flies close. She moves so fast that she swoops past Ghast Coin's elongated forelegs, her daggers out. That means...

Ah, the plan's suddenly obvious when I face Hen Reek. His saw cleaver's been folded to deal with Eileen's short-ranged speed, which is now poorly matched against mine. I swing at his muzzle before he has a chance to extend. The sudden change in opponents indeed throws him off. Hen Reek can only defend, and try to close in. I fight on defensively, keeping him out of reach, preventing him from adjusting his weapon, and, at the same time, fiddling with my pistol.

I don't have Ghast Coin's experience. Indeed, I curse under my breath when I drop a couple of bullets while fumbling with one. But necessity proves an excellent motivator. Now, for a simple ruse. I slow my pace a bit, and watch Hen Reek's mouth carefully. He sees his opportunity, and unfolds his weapon mid-swing.

My pistol's explosive blast flies up to the night sky, clear amidst all the fighting noises down here. The bullet plunges into Hen Reek's muzzle, barely grazing the handle of his saw cleaver, only to push on deep. It shatters a couple of teeth, then blows out of his cheek in a spray of red mist.

The saw cleaver drops out of Hen Reek's mangled mouth, the crimson flaps of his shredded cheek droop. My next move comes out with barely any thought. The next thing I know, I've pushed him up, forcing him to rear. My hoof finds that space below his ribs, where none of that pesky bone can get in the way, and drives through as if it had a life of its own.

Warmth; soft, incomparable warmth that the blood vials can only poorly mimic, envelops my foreleg. This time, I'm prepared though. The movement is swift, and final. I hook my hoof, and pull out as much gore as I can. Hen Reek goes limp in my grasp, and I push him away.

That's one down.

"Hunter, look out!"

Eileen's warning reaches me a mere second before a vicious roar comes from behind. I turn around, and swing my neck wildly. No luck this time. Something huge, far too huge to be Ghast Coin, barrels into me. It's like having a tree fall on me, right down to the taste of bark and leaves in my bloodied muzzle. My saw cleaver flies off somewhere. I move my forelegs to protect my midsection as this charging...thing carries me forward. I can smell its hot, foul breath, and feel the spittle flying at my face as I keep myself a few inches away from its snapping, wolf-like jaws.

I recognize the jagged cut I had caused, even some of the leafy beard, but this creature is so badly transformed now that I hesitate to even use Ghast Coin's name on it.

With a flutter of her wings, Eileen leaps on top of the monster, and plunges her daggers into the base of its neck. A lethal blow, but the beast merely roars in agony before slamming me into a tree. The breath wooshes out of my lungs, and I collapse on my rear. In front of me, the beast growls, and yelps, furiously trying to shake Eileen off. She holds on through her daggers, but finds little purchase for her hind claws.

With one more roar, the beast shakes Eileen off, hurling her into a nearby gravestone so hard that it cracks before she falls limp on the ground. Her daggers stay stuck on by the base of the beast's neck. With Eileen out for now, the beast turns toward me. There is no Ghast Coin left in there now. It's three times his size, and Ghast Coin was bigger than me to begin with. His clothes have been torn away, the tatters left to dangle from its neck and across its back like a ragged cape. It licks its bloodied, thorn-filled muzzle with an enormous, slobbering tongue, and stares at me with mindless, feral, red eyes.

Every bone in my body's hurting. I need another blood vial. I reach into my pocket, only to come up with a hoof-full of blood, and broken glass. So much for that. I can hear the crunches of soil as the beast comes ever closer. It's taking its time, growling softly in some sick anticipation. Blood vials or none, I have to get up. My legs shake with the effort, and my ribs creak with each breath. I can't find my saw cleaver, and my pistol must have come loose during the scuffle. Maybe, I can chop it down with my bare hooves. With a sigh that nearly makes me double over from the pain in my ribs, I resign myself to a mauling.

As I stand, however, something tumbles out of my torn up outfit. It's the music box. The wooden cube hits the ground, and flips open, playing that mechanical lullaby as if it's my dirge. The faint notes carry past the beasts soft growling and slobbering. For a moment, it stands there, as if listening the tune. Its woody ears flick back and forth as the last notes start lurch to a grinding, distorted stop. The box must have been damaged by the fall.

The beast reacts to this as if I had stabbed it several times in an instant. It clutches its mangled head with both claws, shaking and twisting, trying to shake off some invisible assailant that had wormed into its head. I take a step back for my own safety as it starts to thrash. Its hind claws rip up huge chunks of earth, its foreclaws smash into a nearby tree, then run deep gouges into the bark. Another bellow leaves its throat, showering everything nearby with spit and blood.

It's not ferocity I hear in those cries. No, it sounds like anguish. To confirm my suspicions, it suddenly whimpers, and covers its face with its claws. "Ghast..." I mutter. My next move's clear, even if I have no weapon. Past the beast, Eileen groggily gets to her claws. She's quick to notice what's going on.

The beast doesn't even notice my approach. I lunge towards its left, and plunge my hoof deep. It turns out that Eileen had the same idea. She had dashed from behind, and her claw was deep into the beast's right side by the time I notice. No roar comes from the beast, just a shuddering whimper before its knees buckle. "I'm sorry, Ghast Coin," I say softly. "I hope you find your peace in death."

We withdraw our strikes at the same time, and the beast crumples forward.

"Umbasa," I whisper.

For all the terror and panic of the fight, it's the cleanup that really weighs on me. The adrenaline rush goes out, and every single ache in my body decides that it's my most important concern. The fear of death stops distracting me from the horrible stench of blood and gore everywhere, the fact that I'm going to need some serious repairs on my gear, I'm out of blood vials, which have unknown side-effects that I'll have to deal with. Most of all, I just murdered a pony I might have called friend, and I have to tell his daughter.

I find my saw cleaver next to a nearby ruined gravestone, and my hat dangling off a tree branch. At least they're not too damaged. Neither is my pistol.

The chorus of caws and wing flaps brings to attention another thing.

After the fight, Eileen had done...something. Some sort of ritual that involved cutting herself, and bleeding on the stacked up bodies of our defeated foes. Maybe it's a crow griffon thing. Next thing I noticed, the graveyard is swarming with crows and ravens. They all converge solely on Ghast Coin and Hen Reek, ignoring all the dead bodies nearby, then start feasting.

"Farewell, dear comrades," Eileen says with her front claws clasped. "May their wings carry you from this nightmare of blood and beasts, to the peace of a hunter's dream."

She turns to face me, and it's only now I realize how alien she looks. Her face is completely covered by a wooden mask fit for griffons. The beak looks a little too long, though. I can't see past the eye holes, making it look like she had pits of blackness for eyes. There's no opening for her mouth so there's a distinct hollowing to her voice when she speaks. She had not escaped that fight unscathed either. Obviously, her back must be aching tremendously. She's bleeding from several stab wounds. There's no way those came from Hen Reek's saw cleaver, so he must have had more of those throwing knives.

"You're not bad, new hunter," Eileen says. "Pretty good, in fact." She jabs a blood vial into her arm, then tosses me one after a quick inspection of my wounds.

"I'm not exactly proud of my work," I mutter. I jab the vial into my foreleg. Well, if I'm infected with something, I might as well enjoy the benefits. I can't help but still marvel that this blood is actually helping my wounds close, not just providing relief. The rough edges of the bite mark near my collar twitch a bit from the effects.

Eileen sits next to a wizened tree. From the way she softly grunts from it, and the rasp in her tone, I'm guessing she's not quite as spry as she ought to be for her job. "I understand," she says. "A hunter should hunt beasts. The hunting of hunters should be left to me." She chuckles briefly. "That is not to chastise you for taking part in this task. I appreciate the help, but try to keep your hooves clean."

"My hooves are already filthy," I say while looking at the frenzy of feeding. "You don't like me cutting into your work?"

"My work pays nothing," Eileen replies. "Cut in if you insist, but remember; to hunt beasts is laudable, to hunt hunters is regretable."

"Then, why do it?" I ask. "You can't possibly like watching hunters slowly lose their equinity."

"Because this too is hunter's work. Ugly, but necessary."

"Maybe if you do your part hunting beasts, fewer hunters will lose themselves." I'm quibbling. It's not fair to Eileen certainly, but this twisting knot in my gut let's nothing but bitter resentment out of my mouth. She had been watching. Maybe she could have killed these Ponyvillians before they shot Viola. Ghast Coin wouldn't have turned, and that filly wouldn't have been orphaned.

"I told Ghast Coin to retire," Eileen said. "I understand that you want this to be my fault, colt, but I have many marks to watch, especially tonight with so many beasts out: the crazed one with the guns, the martyr's apprentice, the agent in the academy, you, even Vicar Belle, and she's not even formally a hunter." Her voice softens to a hiss. "And there's the bloody crow somewhere still out there. I cannot keep constant track of so many."

"Seems a bad idea that there's only one of you, then."

"There's a bad idea involved, colt, if you have the patience for history, I'd tell you."

I glance at two places; the entrance to the graveyard, to remind me that I have to do something about Ghast Coin's daughter, and that flight of stairs deeper into the graveyard, which seems to be a path to the Church of Harmony. "Go ahead," I say. "I'd appreciate being less in the dark here." Of course, I won't mind postponing my second meeting with that filly either.

Eileen settles in to a more comfortable position. "My predecessor was appointed by old Applejack herself," she says. "She was chosen because of her skill in fighting duels, and because she hailed from Griffonia. Applejack believed that a foreigner would have fewer personal bonds with Ponyville's hunters, and would be able to dispatch them with less trouble. It was a wise move. This was a time when Ponyville was small, and the only beasts that were a problem were the few that came out of the Everfree. The Hunter's Workshop at that time was a small side venture of Sweet Apple Acres, comprised of nothing more than Applejack, her siblings, and a few apprentices. They were all that were needed to keep the beasts at bay. They supported each other while the Hunter of Hunters watched from a distance."

Eileen let out a sigh, and flipped her weapon over, catching it by the blade. It 's a curious thing. Right now, it's shaped as short sword with a slight curving blade, but the two components that form it are obvious enough. The two curved daggers stuck together, their shapes resembling entwining snakes, to form the sword. A faint hum is coming from them, I think. The cawing and flying nearby makes it hard to hear right.

"Those arrangements changed eventually," Eileen continued. "A prying unicorn, who couldn't leave well enough alone, discovered the ruins beneath the old castle in the Everfree. She and her companions, including Applejack, delved into the place, and discovered some sacred treasure or another. When they brought pieces of it back, the troubles started. The beasts of the Everfree grew more bold, and the Hunter's Workshop had to take in a few more apprentices, and had to work harder. Old Applejack's beloved farm had to shrink as the workshop had to grow."

"That unicorn..." I murmur. "Princess Twilight?" My eyes narrow. So Applejack knows Princess Twilight. I'm going to get more information from her for sure. If only I have a way to get to the workshop without getting my ribs crushed.

"Yes," Eileen replies. "That came later. She established the Everfree Academy, and had the nerve to build it in Everfree so it's close to the ruins. Through that institution, she created her Magical Mystery Cure, and became a great princess."

"And Ponyville grew enormously as pilgrims came and settled because of the cure," I say. "But what is this Magical Mystery Cure?"

Eileen merely shrugs. "All I know is that these blood vials we're using are a very weak imitation of it."

I furrow my brows at this. These powerful, invigorating things are merely bad fakes? How good is the real thing, then?

"Let me get to the bad idea then," Eileen says. "The Church of Harmony emerged around Princess Twilight, founded by her close friends. It controlled the ministration of the Magical Mystery Cure, and quickly gained a lot of power. With the beast incursions increasing due to the greater amount of prey nearby, and the disturbance that was the Academy, the Church of Harmony offered to subsume the Hunter's Workshop into its organization, and allow more hunters to join. Applejack rightly rubbished the idea. Though times were difficult, her small organization still stemmed the tide. Unfortunately, she had a reputation for insisting on doing things by herself. The Church of Harmony continuted its pressure, eventually converting Applejack's brother."

Eileen spoke that last part as if it was a curse. She flicked her weapon again, and continued to inspect it. "He had the knowledge of the Hunter's Workshop with him, and he used it to create the Church of Harmony's Workshop. Through it, the Church of Harmony made the hunt public, declaring that it was every pony's duty to fight beasts, because "harmony", or some such rubbish. Macintosh should have known better, and Applejack was adamantly against it, but he was that sold on 'harmony'" Eileen chuckled wryly. "Perfectly reasonable, right? After all, what would the First Hunter know about hunting? Their workshop mass produced gear for the idiot Ponyvillians who signed up, then sent these mobs to the slaughter. It worked for a while, until it was obvious that the beast's feral nature contaminated those that fought them. Hunters left and right fell to their bloodlust, creating more beasts. There was no way the Hunter of Hunters could possibly control them. By the time, the Church of Harmony sent out its medical squads to assist in dispatching the blood-drunk, it was too late. The beast plague had begun, and Ponyville began its descent to this."

Eileen gestured to her surroundings with a wing. "And there's your bad idea."

"Seems to me that your job was rendered useless before you even got it," I reply.

"I thought so once," Eileen said. "As far as preventing the the beastly scourge is concerned, the Hunter of Hunters has failed. Though my work may have lost its end goal," she grips her weapon tightly, and points it at me. I can definitely hear it humming now. "I will continue to give this mercy to the hunters that still remain as long as I can."

The cawing and flapping finally stop. I turn around, and see that the crows have gone, along with every inch of Ghast Coin and Hen Reek. "Well," I say "I have my own task to take care of, Eileen. Thank you for your help."

Eileen sheaths her blades, and rises. "Think nothing of it. See that I don't have to grant you my mercy as well, colt." With that, she takes wing, swiftly disappearing into the night sky. I sigh and face the long walk back to Ghast Coin's house. That filly shouldn't be alone in that house that nopony's going to return to. Perhaps, I can get her to Red Heart.

Yes, that would be for the best. That's the most mercy I can grant.

Author's Note

PREY SLAUGHTERED

Level points gained distributed to VIT and END because you're still in the Dark Souls mindset that if you put enough points in your defensive stats and find some heavy armor, you'll start tanking this bitch.

Perk acquired - Summoning Scrub
That's two bosses you downed with help, you chicken shit. From now on, you deal 20% less damage to enemies attacking someone else.

Perk acquired - Healing Scrub
Maybe if you dodged instead of face-tanking all the time, you wouldn't need so many blood vials, would you? If you consume 3 blood vials in a 10 second time period, your vial count is reduced to zero.

Actual note: I can't do Eileen's Northern England accent. If anyone can suggest how to make her dialogue sound more like that without resorting to Funetik Aksent, I'd appreciate it.

The Church of Harmony

Undone by the Blood

Chapter 6: The Church of Harmony

"You're back," Red Heart says softly. I don't think I'll ever get tired of hearing that voice. There's a small broken part on the glass pane of her door, and she's peeking through it. A light blue eye stares at me for a moment, then flits down and to the side where my current companion's standing. "And you've brought somepony."

I'm too ashamed to answer right away, not that Red Heart can tell. I don't have what it takes to tell Ghast Coin's daughter that her parents were dead. All I can do is the next best thing, which really just means the pathetic way out. It's not safe for Whisper Wind, as she introduced herself, to keep waiting by herself in that house. That's what I told her. She has to be with somepony who could watch out for danger. That's true, but I'm under no illusion that what I'm doing is merely passing the responsibility of watching this poor filly come to realize that her parents aren't coming back to Red Heart. Whisper Wind had readily agreed. She's so lucky to have met me first if she's this trusting. Anypony else with the slightest hint of bad intentions, and things might have gone so very wrong.

Not that I'm that much different. I'm trusting this nurse who won't even open her door for me. But she has been helpful, and there is just something in the sweetness of her voice that makes it clear that she's here to help. It's for the best, I suppose. Red Heart's a trained nurse, far more capable of dealing with those who lost loved ones. I'm just a hunter who can only kill beasts.

"This is Whisper Wind," I say. "I found her by herself in her family home waiting for her parents."

"That was a dangerous situation," Red Heart replies. "Before, it was enough to shut yourself indoors, but the beasts tonight are especially ravenous. It's good that you brought her here."

I have to fight from smiling. Instead, I look down to Whisper Wind. "This is Red Heart," I tell her. "She'll keep you safe while you wait for your parents"

"Are you sure they'll find me here?" she asks, eyes wide and doubtful. She's in her evening wear, a white dress fit for sleeping with a white ribbon on her yellow mane to match. She has a heavy red coat to protect herself from the elements and me to deal with the beasts, I suppose.

"We left a note remember?" I said. "Anypony looking for you can find you here."

The door to the clinic opens ever so slightly, just enough to allow Whisper Wind through if she squeezed in. A white-furred foreleg beckons her over. Whisper Wind looks to me for assurance. I put on my best smile in response, hopefully it looks better than the grimace it feels like. I nod her in, and she reluctantly goes. The door quickly shuts behind her.

"You'll be much safer here," I say. "I'll keep looking." What a liar I've turned out to be. Anything just to avoid making this filly cry.

"Thank you, mister!" Whisper Wind chirps. The sound of her light hoofsteps fade quickly.

"You are not a very good liar, Sir Hunter," Red Heart says once the hoofsteps are gone.

"Good enough for fillies," I mumble.

"Did you find only corpses, or were you forced to do your duty?"

"It got...messy. I did everything I could."

"I believe you," Red Heart replies. Just hearing that feels like a soothing balm over my aching chest. "You've been true to your duty as a hunter, and you went beyond that by saving her. Thank you for bringing her here. I'll take good care of her."

I pull up the collar of my hunter coat out of reflex. Not like she'd see or care if I'm blushing. "I'll see if I find others," I say.

"Please do so," Red Heart says. The crack allows another glimpse of her eyes, clearly liquid with concern. "You're making a difference. I hope you know that."

Something rolls from under the door. A couple more blood vials, including one with golden liquid instead of crimson.

"The least I can do," Red Heart says. "Stay safe."

I nod and move on, caught between relief that I can walk away from my cowardice, and annoyance over heading out again. I have to admit, I'm almost eager to find some survivors to send to her just to see her gladden a bit. At least, my hunting is having a positive effect on somepony.

The graveyard is just as Gilbert said. Past the broken gravestones, there's a small stone path leading to a staircase going up and into a building. The iron-barred gate is ajar, the lock still stuck in the keyhole. There's a blood trail leading to this spot to where Ghast Coin and Viola were. I see. So they made it this far before things became so wrong. The heavy gate whines on its hinges when I push it open. This looks like a sewer area for the Church of Harmony District. Makes sense. Foul water's pouring out of several stone pipes above me, only to flow through some deep runnels and into the sides of the graveyard. There's a lone ladder going into a narrow hatchway leading inside, probably an access point for maintenance ponies. I push on, expecting some kind of kitchen or a storage area, even a bathroom. The metal rungs are partly slick with some sort of liquid. I push open the trapdoor into...a study?

This is an odd place to find a study. Why connect to a graveyard of all places? I doubt I'd get any answers from the owner. The place is a mess. There's a thick layer of dust on the floor, along with dozens of books just scattered haphazardly. From the way some of them are leaning against the walls and the bookcases, these books were flung violently, perhaps by a frustrated scholar. These are well-used books as well, with badly wrinkled spines, obvious dog-ears, and torn covers. There are old bloodstains on the wooden floor; several droplets, a couple of hoofprints, and the skid marks of something heavy being dragged from the trapdoor.

The faint whiff of formaldehyde takes me to a shelf by the far wall from the trap door. There's a few books here as well, but it's the jars that hold my attention. One of them is half-full with eyeballs, fresh at the time of taking with the nerves still attached. Another one holds a well-preserved brain. I ponder for a moment, then stare at the trap door. I suppose it does make sense to connect to the graveyard.

The writing on the scattered notes all blur together like so much frantic scribbling. It would take a mad researcher to stay in this claustrophobic room next to a graveyard. One piece of paper does catch my attention, though. A page torn wildly from a book, with large, jagged letters savagely written on the page.

THEACADEMYDRAGONISGUARDINGTHEPRINCESSSECRETSJUSTTHINKINGABOUTITMAKESMYHEADSHUDDER

Academy dragon? Images of massive, scaly beasts surrounded by fire fill my mind. This beastly plague affects more than just ponies as I've seen. What if it affects dragons as well? I try to imagine myself dodging gigantic claws, a spiky tail, and a maw-ful of fangs, then vainly trying to saw through thick scales. I won't stand a chance. A dozen hunters probably won't. Whatever this "academy dragon" is, I hope it has nothing to do with me.

Another odor catches my attention as I move away from the preserved body parts: incense. I'm not quite sure of the smoky odor; it's burning pine mixed with spices I don't recognize. There's something calming about the smell. It's certainly not harsh on the sinuses nor mind numbing. The smell's wafting from a slightly ajar double doors by the far end of this small, cramped room. There's even telltale wisps of vapors seeping past the opening.

The doors turn out to be thick, oaken slabs, reinforced with iron and ornamented with curving brass vines. I'm lucky it's ajar, it would have taken me hours with a battering ram or several barrels of gunpowder to get these things open. Looks like the Church of Harmony has a thing for securing even minor back entrances. The thick, warm incense billows past me as I open the door further...

My jaw drops on reflex at the sheer size of this place. The ceiling is barely discernible thanks to the dim flickering lights of the dozens of candles and small lamps lighting the place and the smoky atmosphere, but it had to be, a least, a couple dozen feet above me. A few rays of moonlight stream through the circular, stained glass window that dominates the far wall. The massive chamber is littered with plain gray vases of various sizes as well as censers, all lit to maintain that pervasive odor of smoking pine and spices. There's also the statues...more of these weird statues of cloaked mares holding out their forelegs so candles can be placed on their hooves.

There's three exits leading out of this place, not including the one I came from. To my left looks like a staircase going down a passageway. Ahead is an open set of double doors leading to a stone-paved outside. Even from where I am, the difference between the Ponyvillian streets I've been walking and this outside is quite stark. The pavement here lacks the breaks and holes frequent in Ponyville's streets. From what I can tell, there are no huge bonfires, crucified beasts or overturned wagons either. The Church of Harmony's district has clearly been spared the worst of this beastly plague. I hope that means they can easily provide this Magical Mystery Cure. The third exit is another pair of double doors, only these are shut.

The sound of porcelain dragging on stone brings my saw cleaver to my mouth in a heartbeat. I whirl to my side, where the noise had come from. This isn't a good place to fight a beast. It's spacious as a whole, but cluttered with brittle objects and hazy with incense. As soon as I determine the threat, I'm probably better off luring it outside.

"Hi there," says a rather timid voice close to the floor. "Sorry if I startled you. I didn't expect anypony to show up here." I lower my gaze and find a pony...or at least it looks like something close to one. This pony's nearly bald, with grayish wrinkled skin peeking through a hooded, frayed cloak of red cloth. The cloak is so huge that it hides his lower body completely. From the way he's leaning on his forelegs, and his closeness to the ground, I suspect that he has no hind legs at all. Still, he doesn't look like an immediate danger. His long, spindly forelegs look too weak to strike any blows, and his ability to speak means he isn't a crazed beast yet.

"Who are you?" I ask warily nonetheless.

The pony throws his forelegs up, as if I was already about to strike a blow. "Oh, I'm nopony special, sir," he says. "Just a beggar trying to survive the night."

A beggar by himself in this huge chapel-like place. That's already suspicious on its own. "Is this the Church of Harmony's district?" I ask.

"Yes, sir," the beggar replies. "Don't you worry, the beasts won't come in here with all the incense and--" He tilts his head as he stares at my outfit. "Oh my, pardon me, sir, but are you a hunter?"

I nod while replacing my saw cleaver. "New to the job," I add.

"But already in the thick of things, eh?" he says with a single-toothed grin while staring at the blood on me. The grin vanishes quickly, though. "I-I'm sorry if I didn't recognize you right away, Sir Hunter. The incense must be hiding your scent. "This here's the old chapel to Princess Cadance. These days, the Church just uses it to store incense, but some of her presence still blesses this spot."

How odd. Red Heart also mentioned incense, but if it masks my odor, shouldn't that mean I can enter her office? I shake my head. Probably won't if she only has one censer lit at a time. As for the name...it doesn't really ring a bell for me. Then again, Princess Twilight Sparkle only carries a tiny sliver of familiarity with me, so I suppose I won't be familiar with Ponyville's princesses. "I don't suppose you know anything about the Magical Mystery Cure?" I ask.

To my surprise, the beggar nods eagerly. "Oh, you're looking for the purest and most powerful of the Church of Harmony's communions," he says. "Can't stop by any cleric for that, you need the Vicar. Vicar Sweetie Belle's her name. Been leading the Church since her sister disappeared."

"Do you know how to get to her?" I ask.

The beggar points a long, shaky foreleg at the central door "Well, if you talk to one of the clerics or Church hunters roaming the district, they might take you to her." His voice drops to a whisper. "I'd be careful, though. Lots of militant Church folk out there, but some beasts are still slipping into the Church of Harmony's district."

"Looks like I have a destination," I say with a sigh. "Thank you."

"S-sir Hunter!" the beggar calls after me as I near the door he pointed out. I turn around at this. "Since you came from that way," he points to the study I just walked out of, "you must have come from Central Ponyville. If...if you end up back there, maybe you can get some of those poor folk to come here? I have plenty of incense to keep the beasts away. We won't be getting int the Church's way too. This is much safer than cooping up in your house."

My eyes narrow at this. "Why would you offer that?" I ask.

The beggar puts his front hooves together. "Well...I just want to help." He gestures to his lower body. "Can't really do much. I-I just thought I'd share this hidey-hole I've found."

He puts up a lopsided smile that I suppose is meant to be reassuring. On his hairless, aging face, matching his red, almost glowing eyes, it only serves to look sinister. He's been helpful so far, but that might be because I'm an armed and wary hunter. What is he planning for any unarmed Ponyvillian survivor looking to this place for shelter? I imagine Whisper Wind in this place alone with this beggar...no. I'm definitely sticking to my original plan. "I'll see what I can do," I say. He breathes a sigh of relief behind me as I open the door.

The difference between the Church of Harmony's district and Central Ponyville, as the beggar called it, leaves me stunned for a moment. The sheer...cleanliness for starters. The stone pavement and high walls show age and a few cracks, but there isn't the slightest sign of loose rubble. The place looks recently swept for that matter. Instead of huge bonfires, the place relied on actual working street lamps to help dispel this night's darkness with steady purple glows. There's something else though, something that sapped the pleasantry of seeing such orderliness. The buildings of Central Ponyville were eclectic and sprawling, with varying layers of newer and newer construction evident in them. The Church of Harmony's buildings loomed from all sides, monolithic in their structure, and uniformly gray. I suppose that's one way to show harmony. I focus on the side of the chapel I just walked out of. Something's not right here. It's more smooth stone wall, but I'm getting this uneasy feeling of being lazily observed from that particular side. As if something can just reach out..I shake my head. The whole atmosphere is just making me paranoid.

Still, the Church of Harmony's district shares Central Ponyville's love for pointed iron fencing and cloaked mare statues. It does add, as far as I can see, a love for long stairs.

A long flight of said stone stairs rises to my right while, to my left is a balcony overlooking the sprawling mess that's Ponyville: a forest of pointed rooves sporadically lit by hundreds of fires, and enshrouded by smoke. I focus on the available path, though. The Church of Harmony's district appears to be designed like a single fortress likely to contain some main place of worship surrounded by the living areas of ponies meant to care for that place. Since this chapel connects to the outside, it must be in the outermost areas of the district.

In that case, I should be ascending and moving inwards. This staircase should be a good--

A pair of equine shapes walk past an iron gate, and start descending the stairs.

I'm inclined to assume they're sane ponies. They don't have the telltale twigs and leaves sprouting out of them. They're wearing enormous, high-collared, light gray cloaks and wide-brimmed hats that show little damage, and hide their faces. Both of them have long, pointed rods strapped to their right side, and small lamps of that same purple light attached to their left. This must be some kind of patrol to keep the district beast-free. One of them spots me and wordlessly points a foreleg in my direction. Their paces quicken, not enough to suggest a charge, but enough to make clear that they have business with me. As they get closer, it becomes clearer that these are very tall ponies, nearly a head taller than me.

And here I am, still covered in blood, sweat, and sewage. I hold my ground, but I keep my saw cleaver to my side. If I don't make any sudden moves, and show an interest in talking, they shouldn't see me as a threat, even though I obviously came from Central Ponyville. Hopefully.

They're on me in seconds. Fortunately, they haven't reached for their weapons. One of them does shine a lamp rather uncomfortably close to my face. I squint, and take the chance to look at them as well.

It's at that moment that I take a quick hop back and pull out my saw cleaver. These ponies...these things...they have no eyes! Not just that, but their entire faces are horribly malformed. They have no fur. Instead, the rubbery white skin around their faces folds onto itself then forms what passed for eye holes and a mouth. There are no eyes in those sockets, nor teeth in those mouths. It's as if their heads had been replaced by white masks that covered nothing at all.

Despite my hostile gesture, the two stand still. One of them lets out a low moan at me, then points at the stairs they had just come from.

"What are you?" I ask. Not the most polite of introductions, but I don't trust these things for a second. They stare blankly at me with their hollowed out eyes, moan again, then seem to be content to just move along. Looks like I've been judged non-threatening. "Hold on," I say. "Are you with the Church of Harmony? I need to speak with Vicar Sweetie Belle."

They stop again. I'm waiting for a reply when the snapping and crackling noises from behind me tell a different reason for their renewed attention. They start pulling out their pointed rods by the time I spin around just in time to see the first badly-deformed beast climb up the overlook.

These are no ravening Ponyvillians climbing up the wall here. The claw grasping the side of the wall is monstrous, with crooked, woody nails finding purchase even in stone. That first one's already made it up and haunches over on all four limbs. It's hard to determine if this started out a pony, but it's nearly all giant wolf at this point with a long muzzle of thorny teeth and bristling leaves for fur.

There's no time to hesitate further. I dash towards the first one then duck under its clawed swing. It snarls and swivels to get a bite, but I'm already moving past. My target's the second beast, still teetering on the ledge, trying to hoist its massive body over to join the fray. My saw cleaver rips through its muzzle, slicing its snout vertically in half. As it howls its pain out, my back hooves find its chin. The beast's howl, quickly fades into the distance as it drops back down to Central Ponyville, hopefully breaking every bone, or branch, in its body.

I'm too late to stop the third one from getting through, and the first just rounded on me. The snarls from beneath the stone railing indicates at least a couple more still climbing. These things aren't going to drop like still equine Ponyvillians. I jam my saw cleaver between the first's fingers when it reaches for me, and twist, snapping several off. While it withdraws in pain, I whirl to face the third.

Behind me, the two bizarre-looking things let out vaguely angry moans. A couple of thunks soon follow, then the splinter of wood being broken apart. The pained whimpers from the first worsen after that. At least, I can count on some help.

The third charges me only to get a blast of fire and smoke to the face and a bullet lodged between its eyes. I have to dispatch these quickly. A claw appears on the stone railing. I have to wonder how many of these things got this brilliant idea of just scaling the walls. Urgency proves my undoing this time. I rush in to capitalize on my target's moment of helplesness, but it throws up a wild claw to defend itself which rips through my coat's shoulder. No time to even pay attention to the sudden burst of pain. I punch my hoof into the beast's neck.

It's getting easier with each success, but the rush also isn't as thrilling. It's...to methodical. I have it down to technique, unlike that first primal time when it was all instinct. As disappointing as the feeling is, it does serve me well. I lift the weakened beast onto its hind legs, then shove it towards the fall. Now, it's two broken bodies at the base of this wall. Hopefully that will discourage any more attempts.

I look to the fight behind me. To my dismay, one of the bizzare pony-things is face-first on the ground with a puddle if white sludge spreading from it. The other one's sporting a gash across the chest, which is leakingthe same white substance, as it relentlessly pounds the first beast to a bloody heap.

Two more beasts make it up the wall while I'm reloading. My lone "ally" tries to move in gamely, but is clearly too injured to keep going. I'm halfway to yelling at it to go away when one of the beasts plows through its weakened swing and bites deep into its neck.

That just leaves me then. Here's to hoping that the Church of Harmony overlaps its patrols, and that the sounds of fighting have attracted others. I fire my pistol at yet another claw grasping the stone railing. The bullet smashes through wooden digits. The owner of that unfortunate claw must have been surprised by the pain as another fading howl briefly fills the air.

I'm still up against two of these things, and my legs are starting to shake. Damn, maybe I overestimated how much I got back from fighting Ghast Coin. My heart's pounding in my ears far too quickly. The cuts to my shoulder are starting to throb, and I'm contemplating taking a blood vial. First, I have to find an opening, though. The beasts eye me hungrily and circle. There's that animal cunning again. One of them's trying to get at my back. If I try something like use a blood vial now, they'll both pounce. Putting a wall behind me might help with the flanking, or just force me into a corner.

Defending's not much an option then. Killing one of them swiftly to even the odds is still on the table. A feint towards one followed by a charge towards the other should buy me a few seconds...

The all too familiar clop of hooves running swiftly down the stone flight of stairs lets me breathe a sigh of relief. Reinforcements!

Hold on, the two that were with me never made hoofsteps. They were eerily silent for creatures so big. This must be something different. I spare a quick glance sideways to see what's coming.

I swear, things in the Church of Harmony just keep getting stranger.

A pony in thick gray robes comes charging at the beasts. A pair of orange-feathered wings poking out of its elaborate outfit marks it as a pegasus. It's hard to tell, though, because, instead of a pony's head, a bright, golden cone sits on top of its shoulders. Just as I've resigned myself into thinking that the Church of Harmony only employs bizzare creatures for security, a very equine voice comes out of that golden cone.

"For the Church!"

That's when I notice the next strange thing about this new arrival. Over its shoulder is a massive, iron-reinforced, wooden wheel. It swings the thing like a weapon, using a handle attached to the wheel's side to allow a grip on the outer ring for a hoof. The strength to swing such a weapon though...

The wheel's outer edge smashes into the beast I had feinted towards. The force shatters half its head completely, sending splinters flying everywhere in a shower of thick blood. The beast falls over in a heap. The pony-like creature uses the momentum of its first swing to both carry it towards the second beast, and to complete a circular motion into a second swing.

"For the Executioners!"

The remaining beast has enough sense to fall back, but not enough reflexes to do so quickly enough. It avoids a killing headstrike, but the wheel catches it square on a foreleg, snapping the limb off like a twig. It lets out a yelp and falls on its chin. The pony-like creature completes half a revolution, then stops with the massive wheel raised above its head. It grips the opposite side of the wheel with its other foreleg, and yells.

"And for Rainbow Dash!"

Its forelegs do something with the grips of its weapon which causes the wheel to vertically split in two. Deep red wisps of...something pour out of the gap like noxious gas followed by faint, anguished cries. I swear a pony's face seems to form in the wisps, and screams at me. The roiling wisps suddenly pick up speed and start running up and down the wheel, spinning violently while the pony-thing held the weapon steady in the air. In one swift motion, the wheel crashes onto the head of the fallen beast. Its woody body twitches and convulses against the ground as the spinning wisps grind against its head mercilessly. Sparks fly when the wheel touched the stone pavement, even though the actual wheel itself isn't spinning.

I have to step back as the pony-thing presses on its attack, no, its execution. Splinters so fine that they teeter between splinter and sawdust fly out of the vicious killing, the blood that sprays out is so fine that it forms a mist in the air. The pony-thing keeps going until it mulches the top half of the beast, which had been dead since its head got crushed.

I keep my saw cleaver up as the pony-thing focuses on me. It rests the wheel against the ground, using it to maintain a two-legged stance. Its golden cone is dripping with red, and the colors seem to blur to a sunset-like orange. With its other foreleg, it grabs a hold of the cone's bottom edge, and lifts the whole thing up until it hangs behind like a hood. The orange-furred face of an actual pegasus mare greets me. At last, something equine in this insanity.

"Greetings," the pegasus says. Her strange headgear clearly mussed up her short, purple mane, causing a few strands to fall over her grayish purple eyes. She flashes a grin and extends a free hoof. "You must be from the Hunter's Workshop. This is the first time I'm meeting somepony from there. I'm Scootaloo, hunter of the Church of Harmony, member of the Executioners, and protege of the awesome Rainbow Dash!"

She says the last two with an upward tilt of her muzzle. The names don't ring a bell to me, though. "I'm...uh..." That's it, I can't just keep not giving anything because I can't recall my name. "Good Hunter," I say. That sounded a lot better in my head.

Scootaloo doesn't even blink at the name. "Very fitting," she said. "What brings you to the Church of Harmony, Good Hunter?"

"I'd like to speak to Vicar Sweetie Belle," I reply. "I heard she's the one to talk to for the Magical Mystery Cure."

"That's true," Scootaloo said. "If you like, I'd be happy to take you to her."

The straightforwardness leaves me dumbfounded for a few seconds. "Really?" I ask. "No catches?"

Scootaloo shrugs, then gestures for me to follow. "You helped protect the Church. You hunt beasts for Ponyville. I think that's enough to let you talk to her." Her smile lessens slightly. "As for whether she can give you the Magical Mystery Cure is a different story." She lifts her enormous wheel to her shoulder, and attaches it to what I assume is a harness tucked away in her outfit. How it stays on is a mystery. She must attach it with a chain, and the harness itself must be incredibly strong. As for her outfit, I recognize the writings on Ghast Coin's scarf written all over the cape-like cloth draped across her back. She's clad from the neck down in gray cloth, ornate with gold thread. I don't see how cloth can stand up to the claws and fangs of beasts, but there must be more to the outfit than what I'm seeing. Her legs are wrapped in bands of leather with large brass studs scattered across them. It's only now that I notice the enormous rifle she's also carrying by her side. The thing is so long that it appears to be folded. That's not a gun meant for close quarters. I wonder what exactly Scootaloo hunts.

So this is a hunter of the Church of Harmony. From Eileen's story, Applejack hated the idea, but Scootaloo doesn't seem so bad despite the oddities of her outfit and weaponry. We walk up two flight of stairs, which turn out to be a side entrance that accesses an even longer, more massive flight of stairs. I have to tilt my head up just to look at the enormous gray building we're walking towards.

If I thought before that the Church of Harmony loved stairs, it's clear now that they're obssessed with them. We pass by several patrols of those white-faced creatures I encounter earlier. A few have hats with brims so wide that they must function as umbrellas as well. These ones carry pistols and what looks like a paint sprayer. There are also the shadowy silhouettes of what have to be gaunt, giant ponies below us where this main set of stairs met a round plaza. The dull clanks of great bells attached to their throats accompany each step they make. What is the Church if Harmony up to?

Finally, we get to what has to be their main cathedral, if only because they can't possibly build a bigger building than this. Circular pillars rise to towering heights before us supporting dozens of smaller, pointed towers. The stairs lead on to a pair of solid oak doors, each big and thick enough to have taken several trees to build. Surprisingly enough, they're open. I suspected that an organization unwilling to let Ponyvillians in would keep this place closed tight. There is a pair of those white-faced creatures guarding the doors. Instead of pointed rods, they have enormous tri-pointed poles strapped to their backs that strongly resemble the trident part of the Hunter's Mark. To the sides of these doors proves a more interesting sight.

Six statues line the stairs to the cathedral's entrance; three on each side. The surviving ones rise over twelve feet. The doors are flanked by a grim-looking, freckled, earth pony stallion in, curiously enough, the same garb as I am, and a unicorn mare with a long, coiffured mane, wearing elaborate robes marked by the same writings on Scootaloo's cape. She has her head held up high in solemn pride. On the lower tier is a pegasus mare with a short mane, wearing the same outfit as Scootaloo without the golden cone, and carrying a long pick over her shoulder. A flame-like sword sticks out by her right side. Oddly enough, this statue looks like it's been recently cleaned and polished, the only one in the set. The statue opposite is nothing more than a pile of rubble. There are feather-shaped pieces on the remains to indicate a pegasus as well. On the lowest tier is an earth pony with a poofy mane and an enormous grin. Out of the grim statues, this one is the only one smiling. I don't recognize the outfit she's wearing. It looks like some kind of scholarly ensemble. Opposing this one is also a destroyed statue. This one, however, has no wreckage. It looks like it was cut cleanly in half, leaving only the legs and a small part of the belly.

"Scootaloo, may I ask you some questions?" I ask.

"Of course," Scootaloo chirped. "We must have oodles to share! What would you like to know?"

"Who are these ponies?" I ask.

"These are the six saints of the Church of Harmony," Scootaloo replies. She points her hoof at the stallion first. "That's Big Macintosh, the First Church Hunter. Without him, the Church of Harmony would have no workshop. Next is Rarity, the founder of the Church of Harmony."

"Hold on," I say. "Wouldn't the Church's cornerstone be Princess Twilight Sparkle?"

"Oh no," Scootaloo replies. "Princess Twilight Sparkle bestowed the Magical Mystery Cure to us all and ascended to princesshood, but it was Rarity who built the organization around her to ease the burden of ministering this blessing to the masses."

So why does the Princess have no statue?" I ask.

"Depicting a Princess in a statue is outright blasphemy!" Scootaloo says with a gasp. "Surely, even Hunter's Workshop hunters know this."

I shrug, and Scootaloo continues.

"That one is the awesome Rainbow Dash!" she says excitedly. "Founder of the Executioners, who police the Church of Harmony's members and deal with non-beast enemies. And below is Pinkie Pie, known for her various contributions in making lesser versions of the Magical Mystery Cure."

"What of the broken statues?" I ask. The mood visibly darkens around Scootaloo when I ask that.

"The one that's cut neatly is Applejack, the First Hunter," Scootaloo says. "When she left the Church of Harmony, she cut the statue down with her Burial Blade. We keep it as it is out of respect for her wishes."

"You mean she cut this solid stone statue with a blade?" I ask.

"They say the blade didn't even touch the stone," Scootaloo adds.

Now, that's just mythologizing. I imagine that peg-legged old mare striking so hard as to neatly slash stone. Even in her prime, I doubt it. "And the broken one?"

"That one has no more name," Scootaloo whispers harshly. "During its time, it couldn't control its vampiric nature, and stole forbidden fruit from the Tree of Harmony, becoming the first of the inequine Vilebloods. We Executioners are dedicated to hunting it and its disgusting progeny down."

"Sorry for asking," I say.

Scootaloo suddenly looks to the distance wistfully. "Rainbow Dash led most of the Executioners in a final attack to crush these Vilebloods, but something horrible happened, and she became a blessed anchor. It's wrong to keep this evil mare alive, and it's wrong to leave Rainbow Dash as she is. That's why I have to search for that place as the last Executioner."

"What place?"

"Kindhurst Castle."

The smile springs back to Scootaloo's face. "But I'm just a humble Church hunter," she says. "I don't know all the details about the Church of Harmony. Maybe the Vicar can tell you more."

She leads the way past the double doors and into a single, massive, rectangular chamber. The arched ceiling's at least a hundred feet above me with balconies by the sides to show a second level. The sides have stained glass windows featuring trees and flowers, though red curtains drape by their sides, obscuring them slightly. Dominating the center of the far end is the altar...I think. A huge, rectangular slab of marble holds the statue of a white, crystalline tree. A second, smaller slab functions as some kind of backdrop for the tree while smaller ones flank it. There's something odd with the way these slabs arranged. The backdrop is clearly crooked, and its diagonal leaning makes the whole thing look like a fainting couch.

Before this image is a much smaller altar covered in red cloth. On it looks like a large, glowing skull that vaguely resembles a unicorns, only this has to belong to a giant, deformed unicorn if that is the case. A few strands of purple hair remain attached to the skull. And before this thing is the kneeling, hooded, white-robed figure of the pony I've been searching for.

"Please, dear sister, I need your strength more than ever," the pony intones. She's clutching something tightly to her chest. It looks like a gold brooch from where I'm standing, with a diamond-shaped socket at the center. Scootaloo clears her throat, which prompts this mare to stop.

"Sweetie Belle, this is Good Hunter. He's from the Hunter's Workshop, and he defended the district from beasts. He says he's looking for the Magical Mystery Cure."

Sweetie Belle tucks away the brooch, then pulls down her hood, revealing a two-tone pink and purple mane, a white coat, and green eyes. She looks pretty young to be the head of a massive organization, but the lines around her eyes speak of well-weathered stress. "Greetings, Good Hunter," she says. "I am Sweetie Belle, Vicar of the Church of Harmony. Thank you for helping us. I thought hunters from the original workshop despise working with the Church hunters."

"Beasts are beasts," I say with a shrug. "But I'm new to the job. I don't know all the details between our workshops."

"We're lucky then," Sweetie Belle replies. "As for the Magical Mystery Cure...I'm sorry, but we can't minister it to you."

It figures that things have been too easy. "Why not?" I ask. I try to keep my tone as reasonable as possible.

Sweetie Belle looks away in contemplation for a while before answering. "The Magical Mystery Cure refers to both the substance and the rite of ministering it. We can't do the rite because three of the four special chalices we need for it have been taken away. The Church Hunter's Workshop is doing everything it can to get them back."

I try to suppress a sigh. There's the catch. "I'll do what I can to help," I say. "What leads does the Church have?"

Both Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo smile.

"One was taken away by a strangely intelligent beasts to Old Ponyville," Sweetie Belle says. "Our hunters report that it's in the old town hall being worshipped by dozens upon dozens of them."

"Another was stolen by the Vilebloods," Scootaloo adds. "Getting it back was, and still is, an Executioner mission."

"As for the third..." Sweetie Belle continues. "It was with Pinkie Pie, but she and her entire school of followers have disappeared. Our only consolation is that the fourth is still with Princess Twilight Sparkle."

"Wait," I say, my eyes wide. "Princess Twilight Sparkle is here?"

"Yes," Sweetie Belle replies sternly. "But an audience is out of the question."

"What if I bring back these chalices?" I ask.

The harsh expression softens. "Maybe," Sweetie Belle says. "First, I think you should rest. You're wounded and shaky. We have a room you can use, and blood vials if you need them."

I'm happy to accept the offer. I'm barely standing at this point, and there's so much to process. Scootaloo shows me a small room I can use, and it doesn't take long until my hunter gear is off and I'm on the bed.

The Second Dream

Undone by the Blood

Chapter 7: The Second Dream

The scent of apple blossoms carried by a warm breeze is all it takes to tell me that I'm in Sweet Apple Acres. The pale light gently pressing against my eyelids and the hard feel of packed earth against my hide confirms it. I'm inclined to question how I've gone from sleeping in a room in the cathedral to being here, but my last trip here had been more dramatic.

I open my eyes once I feel the brush of tiny hooves against my sides and shoo away the bizarre, tiny, equine creatures that had gathered around me. True enough, I'm lying in front of a gravestone near the apple grove; the same gravestone the doll told me to lie down next to when I asked how to get back to Ponyville.

"Welcome back, Good Hunter."

The doll's standing no more than a few feet away from me, eyes blank and staring as usual, while her head tilted slightly.

"Doll, why am I here?" I ask. "I didn't die."

"Hunters who still belong to the First Workshop are always drawn here whenever they slip into unconsciousness," the Doll replies. "If they have a strong need to be here, or if they are burdened with the echoes of blood."

The Doll walks closer to me as I dust myself off. How odd. My outfit should be quite damaged after all my fights and, while Scootaloo helped me patch my wounds up, I should still be in bandages. Instead, I look as good as when I first left this place. The Doll kneels in front of me, then lifts my left front hoof close to her face.

"You are laden with echoes now," she says. Her front hooves suddenly glow with pale, golden light. I gasp and tense when a great flood of vigor washes across my body. This time's a lot more powerful than the last. When the glow from the Doll's hooves fades, my body feels light and strong, and my thoughts come swiftly and clearly. The Doll tilts her head and stares at me. "Good Hunter, how odd. You have slaughtered much prey, but the most precious echoes you carry comes from other hunters."

"I'm not proud of it," I mutter. The sight of Ghast Coin's daughter flashes in my mind.

"He was glad, though," the Doll says. "He was sorry for his daughter and for hurting you, but he was glad that he did not stay a beast for long."

My brows furrow. On instinct, I grasp the Doll by the shoulder. "How do you know that?" I ask. "You weren't there. You didn't know the stallion."

I might be gripping her shoulder a little too tightly, but the Doll looks at me with the same blank stare. "The echoes," she says flatly. "They carry the last thoughts of the fallen. Good Hunter, appreciate your prey. You carry their strength now."

I let her go, an apology reaches the tip of my tongue, but I stop. Does it even matter to her? "Tell me, Doll," I say instead. "What about those other beasts I killed? What were they thinking?"

"Kill," the Doll says. "Kill, kill, kill. Need more blood. More blood."

Charming.

"Look who's back!" There's a show of steel under that friendly greeting of Applejack's. I turn around, and find her wheeling herself along toward me. Her smile's warm enough and her wave seems genuine, but why is it that I find the Doll's flat welcoming of me safer? "You've been up to a bunch of stuff, have you?" she asks.

I nod. That's how far I'm willing to go for some reason. There's a shake in my voice I can't get rid of even with this third swallow. It's clear why. The more I learn of Ponyville, the more unsettling Applejack becomes. The wheels on Applejack's chair squeak a bit as she rolls the device next to me. I can feel her just looking up at me expectantly and I can't meet her gaze. We stay like that in total silence with the Doll just standing there as well. Finally, Applejack lets out a sigh.

"Okay, partner," Applejack says. "Just come out with it. You've been talking to ponies out there, now you want me to tell you something."

I finally take the courage to look at her. She's the very picture of a kindly old mare with the warm, wrinkly smile, the haggard cheeks, and the wispy white streaks on her blond mane. There are bags under her eyes that speak of a lifetime of worry, though, and those green pupils look around too sharply. "You didn't tell me you were a member of the Church of Harmony," I say.

"I also didn't tell you I was a strapping young stallion," Applejack replies. "That's 'cause neither's true, and I ain't given to lying."

"But...you were one of the founding members!"

The smile slowly fades from Applejack's face as she wheels herself back to the barn. I follow closely behind her, keeping what I think is a respectful distance. "You found them, then," Applejack says. "I helped them start. I thought it was a stupid idea from the beginning, but little miss fancy-schmancy really wanted to be called Vicar." She opened the barn doors and stopped to stare at all the blades hanging from the ceiling. "I pitched in with my Hunter's Workshop because they needed the help, not 'cause I believed that 'divine Twilight' nonsense. Guess that was enough to make me a 'founding member'. Wouldn't have minded so much if Miss First Vicar didn't stab me in the back."

"But what was it for?" I asked. "Can you start at the beginning? What is this Magical Mystery Cure, what does it have to do with Church of Harmony, and why is Ponyville such a wretched place?"

Applejack answers that outburst of mine with a stifling, frustrating silence. "I'll give you a short version, partner," she says eventually. "Listen, I ain't talking in circles 'cause I like confusing you. It's 'cause too much of this stuff will kill you. I'm serious." She grabs a hold of my foreleg. For an old mare she has an iron grip. I think she just bruised me there. "You get in deep, and not even the Magical Mystery Cure will break you free from this nightmare. Trust me, I'm trying to help you here!"

I nod. "Tell me as much as you can then," I say. "It'll be better than nothing."

Applejack frowns at this. "Don't be so sure, partner," she says. "You might regret having so much insight." She pauses again, then lets out an exhale. "Princess Twilight Sparkle created the Magical Mystery Cure," she finally says. "The process made her into one of the Great Ones like Princess Cadance, Princess Luna, and Princess Celestia."

"But what did the Magical Mystery Cure do?" I ask.

"What didn't it do?" Applejack replies. "It fixed you up, made you stronger, faster, tougher, smarter, live longer...everything. Everypony wanted it. The Church of Harmony--" Applejack spits the name out in a harsh mocking tone "--was founded to do two things; help Twilight keep making the Magical Mystery Cure, which I thought was dumb, and make sure everypony appreciated who made it through fancier and fancier means, which I also thought was dumb."

The biting tone in Applejack's voice softens along with her gaze. "Twilight was our friend," she says. "The higher the Church built her up, the harder it was for her to be that way."

I don't think she's looking at the inside of the barn at the moment. That distant gaze is looking at something from long ago. I have to clear my throat. I want more information and Applejack looks like she's going to go off into her own reverie then fall asleep. Sure enough, she snaps alert, then looks at me sheepishly.

"Sorry," Applejack says. "Anyway, I wanted no part of the whole Church of Harmony thing, but I stuck around because they were my friends. The Church of Harmony was really popular, but it didn't have any muscle. My Hunter's Workshop filled out that role." Her voice dropped again. "When the beasts showed up more and more, it was obvious that the Church of Harmony needed us more than ever. When the beast plague hit..."

The pieces fall into place easily enough. Why would a city with a cure-all substance be ravaged by a plague? "This plague," I say. "The Magical Mystery Cure couldn't fix it, could it? In fact, the cure probably caused the whole thing!"

"You're mighty sharp, partner," Applejack says. "Might even give your cleaver a run for its money."

"Then, why would I want it?" I ask. "I don't want to turn into a beast!"

"Too late for that now," Applejack says. She rolls towards one of the tables, where a blunderbuss, complete with its wheel holster, was. Ith practiced ease, she takes the thing apart, deftly wiping off each part, then applying some oil from a nearby canister. "You wouldn't even be here if you didn't have some Ponyville blood in you already. Obviously the cheap, bootleg stuff if you lost your memory." She lifts a piece of metal to her face and squints before going back to cleaning. "You must have had some other disease when you came here. Must have been terminal. Nopony would risk it if they could just live with their sickness."

"You could have told me this the first time I came here," I say.

Applejack stops to look at me shrewdly. "And what do I get for doing that?" she asks. "I ain't running a charity here. An old mare like me has no use for money anyhow, but there's always beasts that need hunting."

I have to sigh at that. "So what now?" I ask. "I don't feel any sickness so that bootleg blood must have worked somewhat. Do I really need to get some actual Magical Mystery Cure?"

"If you want to get back your past," Applejack replies. "The real deal will also make you stronger. Hey, might as well get the good stuff if you're going to turn into a beast, right?"

"And if I don't want to turn into a beast?"

Applejack snorts and snaps a piece back into the blunderbuss. "Then you have to complete this hunt," she says softly. "A terrible crime was committed. If you right it, then, I promise you, I'll get you out of this nightmare beasthood-free."

I roll my shoulders a bit and stretch out my neck. "Alright, how do I do that?" It's not confidence that makes me say that. I have no other options anyway.

Applejack smiles and puts the newly-cleaned gun aside. "You just keep looking for the Magical Mystery Cure for now. Let me guess, that vicar of theirs has you doing errands, hasn't she?"

I nod.

"And she used to be such a sweet filly," Applejack sighs. "Gonna be just like her sister...anyway, just go along with their jobs. They'll lead you to the problem that needs fixin'."

"That's it?" I ask. "Sounds too simple."

"There is more..." Applejack says. "Try to get to the Church of Harmony's Workshop. They'll have weapons there that's different from ours."

"What's this?" I ask with a snort. "You want me to steal blueprints from your rival workshop?"

"You'll need it," Applejack said, her tone suddenly melancholic. "My brother designed many of their weapons. I thought they were ugly first; too big and straight-edged, not suited at all for fighting beasts, but I understand them now. Big Mac, he...he was thinking of hunting other things when he made them. You might run into...those things. It'll be good to have one of his weapons for that. Oh, and feel free to stock up on bullets while you're here."

"Alright," I say. She was quiet again. I suppose she's said enough. At least, for now. Already, half a dozen of those freakish, wrinkled equines glide across the ground towards me. One of the has a pouch of bullets hanging from its mouth, while the others fought over who got to give it to me. I take the bag and nod my appreciation. The lot of them gurgle happily before scurrying off.

I turn towards the gravestone I had been lying in front of earlier. Something else niggles the back of my mind though...so Applejack and Big Macintosh were siblings. Big Macintosh, the First Hunter of the Church of Harmony...

I stop and turn around.

"Applejack," I say. "What made you leave the Church of Harmony in the end?"

Applejack was already working on a saw cleaver when I asked that. Without taking her eyes off the weapon, she replies. "When the beast plague broke out, my Hunter's Workshop had its hooves full keeping the beasts down. The Church of Harmony dedicated itself to finding a cure and studying the plague. Rarity wanted the Workshop to become part of the Church." Her voice hardened. "I refused. Twilight was my friend, consarn it. She will never, ever, be my boss no matter how many hymns they sing about her! So she went around me. She got Big Mac to sign up for the Church of Harmony. Since he knew all the techniques and blueprints, he started up the Church Workshop." Her voice lowered to almost a whisper. "Never could forgive Rarity for that. Not that it matters. I see the nightmare that traps her, where she burns just like Old Ponyville burned. I couldn't stand the sight of the Church after that so I left."

"And your brother?" I ask.

"He stayed on. I heard stories of how great and noble he was, and how he was showing signs of the plague. My sister joined up with him soon after. Then, they both disappeared."

"I see..." I whisper. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"I'm sorry too..." Applejack says softly. "Wish I told him that."

I have to leave after that. I think I pushed her too much. She sounded so old during that last story. So old and tired. The gravestone back to Ponyville awaits. I hope I wake up where I was sleeping in the Church. Next to the gravestone, the Doll hadn't moved from her spot. "Hey," I tell her. She answers eith a slight tilt of her head. "Take care of Applejack."

"Of course, Good Hunter, as I always do."

With that, I lie down and close my eyes.

Old Ponyville

Undone by the Blood

Chapter 8: Old Ponyville

Fortunately, it's my room in the cathedral that greets me when I wake up. Not a moment too soon as well. I've barely opened my eyes when there's knock on my door.

"Good evening!"

Scootaloo lets the greeting out as soon as she flings the door open. She's still in her Church outfit, with the gold, conical helmet thing slung behind her.

"Evening?" I ask. "Are you telling me I slept from evening to evening?"

"No, silly," Scootaloo replies. "It's the same evening. The Night of the Hunt goes on and on until all our duties are fulfilled."

I was about to ask if I had only slept an hour or something, but the realization sinks in swiftly. "How long has it been the Night of the Hunt?" I ask.

Scootaloo shrugs her shoulders. "We haven't been counting. It doesn't matter. We just need to do our duties. Come on! The passage to Old Ponyville is not that far."

For such a massive cathedral, this place is eerily empty. The stone hallways echo with our hoofsteps, no matter how lightly we step. Then again, Scootaloo can't really step that lightly despite being a pegasus thanks to that enormous wheel-weapon slung across her shoulders. Not even those white-faced creatures patrol the inside of the cathedral and I haven't seen any of the Church's pony members. What was this place like at its height? I picture throngs of ponies trotting through the hallways, filling the main chamber to attend whatever ceremonies the Church of Harmony got up to.

It seems that a lack of participants didn't deter those ceremonies, though. As we approach the main chamber, the stale, heavy air carries the same murmurs I heard the last time. Vicar Sweetie Bell's prayers went at an earnest, fevered pitch. We avoid getting too close to the altar as we head out the door, but I catch sight of the vicar. She's still kneeling in front of the altar, her forelegs pressed together, and her horn nearly touching the cold, stone floor.

"Does she ever stop?" I ask once we get past the doors. The cool evening breeze, even with the faint whiff of blood and smoke, feels good after staying inside the cathedral.

"Sometimes for meals," Scootaloo replies. "Sweetie Belle needs a lot of strength and guidance for these trying times."

"I guess so," I say. I'm not sure what kind of guidance she expects from that deformed skull.

We move through a series of small side-streets. Harmony District isn't just the place for the cathedral, it seems. I see a lot of residential homes. These ones are bigger than the ones in Central Ponyville. Better built too, with thick, oaken doors and large, iron-barred windows. There's a light in many of them, but I doubt anypony will deign to answer if I knocked. These must belong to ponies involved with the Church of Harmony itself. Clergy, probably, and people involved in the day to day services. I catch a faint scent of incense from the windows. Clearly, they're better prepared for the beast plague ravaging Central Ponyville.

"Oh, you're a new face."

The sound of a mare speaking from one of the windows brings me up short. I look to the source, only to find a curtain barely lifted to show a slight hint of a white-furred snout. "Pardon?" I ask. A whiff of heavy perfume hits my nostrils, mixing with the incense to create an overpowering pungency. I keep a straight face regardless.

"We normally only get Church hunters here," the mare says. "And occasionally a noble executioner."

Scootaloo gives a short bow at this.

"This is the first time somepony from the Hunter's Workshop has walked this street. Tell me, Sir Hunter, did you come from Central Ponyville? How is the situation there?"

"Dire," I reply. "The ponies there need help."

"I see...I'm sorry to hear that. I hope the hunters resolve this night soon."

"Do you need something, Miss De Lis?" Scootaloo asks. "We're on a mission for the Church of Harmony."

"Ah...yes...I'm afraid I'm running low on incense. My home won't be safe for long. I was hoping that a brave and noble hunter might know of a place to go."

"The Cathe--" I start to say when Scootaloo cuts me off.

"The Cathedral is no place for a mare of her...profession," Scootaloo says. "There's plenty of incense in the old chapel to Cadance."

"That might not be so safe," I snap, recalling that hideous beggar there waiting for refugees. I tell Miss De Lis of Red Heart's clinic.

"Hmm..." Miss De Lis replies. "That's a bit far, but I'm confident that I can get there. Thank you, brave hunter."

I nod and muster a small smile. Already, I'm thinking of stopping by the clinic later. We move on, passing more houses in this maze of a district. "So, do you know that mare?" I ask Scootaloo. "And why isn't she allowed in the Cathedral?"

"She's a whore," Scootaloo replies. "Her blood is tainted. Having her in the Cathedral is an offense."

"But it's perfectly fine for her to be in Harmony District," I say.

"Some of the clergy make use of her," Scootaloo replies with a wrinkle of her snout. "Rainbow Dash always wanted to do away with the practice, but both Vicars have been lenient." Her smile returns after a while. "Still, it was very kind of you to find her a place to stay."

It sounds all too ridiculous to me, but the Church's practices aren't my main concern right now. I need them for their cure. That's it.

Scootaloo's cheery mien dampens a bit as she makes a sharp turn. The street ends in a small, squarish building. It must be a chapel or tomb from the statuary and the dour, grand pillars. The air here's musty and there are no lamps nearby. This isn't a place the Church of Harmony wants ponies to pay attention to. As we move past the entrance, the sight of the massive sarcophagus confirms that we're in a tomb.

"Who lies in here?" I ask.

"Old Ponyville lies here," Scootaloo replies. She flaps her wings rapidly, surprisingly lifting even her burdened body up into the air so she could land on a raised ledge. From there, she fiddles with a nearby wall, then pulls something.

I'm about to ask what's going on when the clank of gears turning followed by the loud scrape of stone against stone answers my question. The sarcophagus slides to the side, revealing a set of stairs descending into a darkened passage. I peer into the passage. No torches this time. Damn, maybe I should have prepared more in the workshop.

Scootaloo lands next to me with a smile, then gestures towards her belt. A small lantern hangs from it, and, with a flick from her hoof, ignites into a faint light. Not much, but light's light, and she gets to keep her hooves free. Is that a Church hunter device? I should ask Applejack for one of those when I come back.

"So why the hidden entrance, Scootaloo?" I ask in a whisper. I doubt we can rely on the Church's patrols keeping anything past this entrance safe. "I would have thought Old Ponyville would still be part of the city."

"It used to be," Scootaloo replies wistfully. "Old Ponyville is the root of this great city. There's a lot of history to it. I was born there. So was Vicar Belle, and the Church of Harmony's founders."

I frown and recall Applejack's words. "There was a fire?" I ask.

Scootaloo nods. "The beast plague also started there. The First Vicar ordered the whole place burned to contain the spread."

"A futile effort," I say.

"Maybe," Scootaloo replies with a small snap. "But it was better than watching the plague ravage our home. The First Vicar did the right thing. The right thing just wasn't enough..."

I stay silent for a while. Maybe it was at that time. I wasn't there. I strongly suspect, though, that the fire took more than just those infected.

We reach the end of the very long flight of stairs. The edges of Scootaloo's light reveals a lot of broken pottery and wooden furniture. Past them, through several great pillars likely supporting the tomb high above, are a pair of enormous doors. We move closer. I can smell the stink of old ash and filth past the door. The ground before it is thick with a layer of old soot, marred by the passage of hooves...and claws.

Scootaloo frowns and moves farther ahead. I follow where she's staring at and notice the large piece of parchment posted between the doors.

"This wasn't here when I last came here," Scootaloo says. She brings her light closer to read. I lean in to check as well.

Beyond these doors is Old Ponyville.

Trespassers will face the wrath of the Hunt.

"Ridiculous!" Scootaloo says. She plants her hooves against the double doors, and pushes them open, tearing the paper in half as she does so.

Past the doors, the sight of Old Ponyville greets us like a wave of ash.

I've been starting to understand just how big Ponyville is from my long treks in its Central and Harmony Districts. It occurs to me now that I've yet to step on natural soil or discover the actual ground level of this massive city. The sight of Old Ponyville confirms the scale that I had been fearing: that Ponyville isn't just a city, but several mashed together.

Old Ponyville stretches out before us like a burned out forest of concrete. There are small fires everywhere, looking like lurid, red-orange underbrush while the shells of large buildings loomed around them. The fires provide some degree of visibility, but the smoke is thick and oppressive. The air carries the stink of burned bodies and cinders. Indeed, just a few feet away, several makeshift crosses line one part of the roof. Leaf-covered, pony-shaped figures hang from them, the circling flies revealing their state. Fortunately, my mouth covering offers some protection. We're clearly standing on a high point; the stone roof of a large building or an elevated section of the district. Or both given the insane layout of this city. The ledge is but a few feet away, and past it is a sheer drop leading to the rest of Old Ponyville. To our side, the street slopes down, twisting as it descended into the jumble of buildings and streets below. My first few steps into the district scrapes thick, clinging, layers of ash against the stone. More claw marks criss-cross the ground.

"Scootaloo," I say. "Who or what still lives here?"

"The Church of Harmony closed this place away," Scootaloo replies. "There should be nopony around here."

The glow from the various red eyes lurking among the shadows tell a different story. Scootaloo's rump touches mine as we cover each other. One of our welcoming committee snarls, and steps into view.

These things are not like the previous Ponyvillians I've encountered. Those were in the earlier stages of their transformations: mostly pony with portions of hideous plant beast. They still talked too. The one before us looks...complete. Every inch of its hide is bark. Every strand of mane and tail has turned into leaves. Hooves have split into bestial, woody claws. Its jaws are unnaturally huge, oversized for its skull, and filled with thorny fangs. The eyes though. Those are still pony eyes glancing around wildly. The irises look crushed, but I doubt this thing is going to have a problem finding us.

"Old beasts..." Scootaloo whispers. I expected her to go into that frenzy she did the last time, but her tone's wistful, sentimental even. As several more of the beasts follow the first one, her voice turns to steel, and she pulls down the gold, conical headgear over her face. "Let's cleanse these streets, Good Hunter!"

I don't bother replying. I'm not one for battle cries, it seems. I flick my saw cleaver open, slicing one overeager beast across both eyes as it tries to leap at me. It howls and panics at its sudden blindness while I sidestep its clumsy jump. A second one follows suit, but my pistol answers with a flash, a bang, and a bullet to its snout. The impact snaps its head back, nearly flipping it in midair.

At the brief flash of fire from my pistol's muzzle, the other beasts flinch and growl. Hmm...

Behind me comes the whistle of a massive object swinging swiftly, followed by a surprised yelp and a crunch like a hundred twigs splintering. "Dash Wheel!" Scootaloo yells. Another brutal thud followed by a beast crashing at a distance. It's both admirable and frightening how swiftly she swings that bizzare weapon.

I have my own concerns to deal with. My front hoof busies itself reloading, a skill I'm obviously still in need of practice with, while I hold my extended saw cleaver to keep two more beasts at bay. The blade does little to intimidate them, however. I just finish loading the bullet when a beast lunges at me. I lunge in return, to its surprise apparently, sidestepping its jaws while flicking my saw cleaver shut. With the saw edge out, I run it across the beast's exposed side. It's like sawing through a log with these things, except the log spurts thick gouts of blood when you saw deep enough. Crimson splashes onto my hunter coat, and runs down to mix with the ash. Even with the deep gash, the beast's not done. It snaps at me wildly while two more circle me for an opening. As soon as I finish reloading, I fire my pistol again, this time hitting its snout dead on. I make sure to glance at the other two as I fire. Sure enough, the muzzle flash makes them flinch.

Splinters and blood fly as the beast falls back, exposing its underbelly. My hoof finds the gash by its side and plunges right in. For all their woody hardness outside, they're still fleshy and warm inside. The beast's entrails splatter onto the ash as I toss it aside.

The sight of such carnage spur the two into a frenzy. They snarl and snap, attacking from the front and back. I've got a working theory to test, however. I roll to my side, towards a nearby fire; this one roasting a crucified beast. As I had hoped, there's some burning bits of wood in there. Before the beasts can close in, I roll to my hooves with a burning piece of wood grasped in one foreleg.

I get the effect I had been hoping for. The sight of an open flame in my grasp sends both beasts reeling. They clasp their faces with their forelegs and back away whimpering.

"Not too fond of fire, are you?" I mutter. I wave the makeshift torch about to force them back.

"Good Hunter!" Scootaloo says as she trots over to me. Her robes and helmet are covered in blood. There's bits of entrails hanging from and dripping down that wheel of hers. All around her are the torn up, smashed, gory remains of the beasts unfortunate enough to go after her. She looks at the beasts cowering away from me. At least, I think she's looking at them. Her bizzare headgear makes it impossible to tell where her gaze is at. "Of course...they remember the blaze. They still fear fire."

"Remember?" I ask. "You mean to say these are the same beasts from when the Church set this place ablaze?"

Scootaloo nods. "They must be."

With one more lunge from me, the beasts fall back, then run off into the shadows. I consider chasing them, but decide against it. Who knows how fierce they might become if I corner them, or what ambushes they had among the buildings? "I thought that the fire was a long time ago," I say.

"It was..." Scootaloo replies. "I was still a filly when the First Vicar ordered this place burned. The last time I was here, the fires were all out, and most of the beasts were dead."

"Not all of them," I say. "Someone had to light these fires and crucify those beasts. Vicar Belle mentioned 'strangely intelligent beasts'."

"And they worship in their town hall," Scootaloo growls. "They still remember the ways of the Church too. Come on, I know how to get to the old town hall!"

Luckily, I find some pieces of cloth nearby. It's pretty easy to put together a more reliable torch.

We skirt the edges of this street, following its gentle slope rather than jumping down the ledge and into the jumble of buildings below. Like Central Ponyville, the street is littered with statues: cloaked ponies reaching skyward, chains wrapped around them, candles on their outstretched hooves. We've barely gotten a few dozen feet of walking done when a loud shout comes at us from the distance.

"You two! What's the matter? Can't read? No trespassers!"

I perk my ears immediately. The shout sounds like it came from far away, yet still managed to come to us with clarity. It must be an incredibly loud shout, or one modified by equipment or magic. It has to be the latter. The voice sounds ragged and aged, the voice of an old mare.

Scootaloo trots over to the direction of the shout. I squint into the hazy, smoke-covered distance, towards the silhouettes of the tallest building here in Old Ponyville. It looks like some kind of clocktower with a flat roof that...

I can't be sure, but there's something huge mounted on the side of that tower. From the glint, it's something big with plenty of metal.

"We're hunters in search of a valuable artifact!" Scootaloo shouts back. No response. Not surprising. The tower's too far.

"No use explaining yourselves!" the voice replies. "I can't hear you! Just get out! There's nothing left in Old Ponyville! Nothing that hasn't burned by the Church of Harmony's orders!"

"We're not leaving!" Scootaloo shouts back despite the futility of it. "Our mission is too important!"

With that, she looks at me and gestures onward. With a shrug, I reload one more time, and walk beside her. There are still beasts lurking around us, red eyes waching intently. My torch keeps them wary, though. That they lost several to my saw cleaver and Scootaloo's wheel also helps.

This is an interesting development. If I assume they're also transformed Ponyvillians, only older, they seem to have recovered some of the faculties lost on the ones I fought in Central Ponyville. They understand fear, a deep-seated fear from their past, apparently. Did they light these fires and crucify those beasts? No, that made little sense. Maybe another group's involved here. We keep heading down, and it looks like we have to enter one of the ruined buildings to proceed.

"I see the Church robes and that gold ardeo, Executioner!" the voice shouts. It's definitely coming from the tower, and we are approaching it. "You're a dangerous pair! This is your last warning!"

"I remember that voice now!" Scootaloo shouts back. "The Mayor! You're the Mayor, aren't you?"

We stand there for a while, waiting for a reply even though Scootaloo was still too far away.

Then, I hear it: a very faint, metallic whine coming from the tower. It's so faint that, for a moment, I'm unsure that it's real. The first bang comes, like a sudden crack of distant thunder, and the wall behind me suddenly bursts into a cloud of shards and dust. "Scootaloo!" I shout. I fall to my belly and scrabble madly while more stone chips fall on my body. There's more coming. That's what that whine was about: the wind up of a gun.

A barrage of explosions follow that initial bang, followed by a stream of bullets from the top of the tower. Fortunately, my example inspires Scootaloo to fall down as well. We scramble behind a wall, which quickly explodes into a hundred broken pieces while the rubble to our other side shatters from the impact of bullets. I can only watch as my torch clatters to the ground next to me with the flame guttering, choking at all the dust.

Then, just as the hail quickly started, it stopped.

"Pink-haired heretic!" Scootaloo growls. She pulls out that folded rifle slung behind her, and gets it ready. It's incredibly long, probably half as much longer than a blunderbuss. A shot from it might reach the tower. As Scootaloo loads her first bullet, though, I put a hoof to her shoulder.

"Not yet!" I hiss.

Sure enough, another hail of bullets swarms our location. One strikes the ground just inches from my hindleg while another shatters a piece of lumber hanging above me, dropping chunks of wood and splinters on my head. I squint and raise my gaze as high as I can. Past the clouds of dust, I can still see the continuous flash of that machine gun firing.

"You're both skilled hunters!" the Mayor yells. "I can tell from your last fight! That only makes it clear that I should kill you both!"

The barrage stops quickly, and I move closer to Scootaloo.

"Listen," I whisper harshly. "From the muzzle flash, that gun she's using is huge and bulky. She's not going to swivel it quickly if she's all alone. She's probably got eight seconds of continuous fire on it before the heat melts its barrels, and its mounting won't let her fire directly beneath her tower. I doubt she's got the best resources in this ruined place to have a lot of spare parts, or even get the best maintenance."

Scootaloo's eyes widen. "You know a lot," she says. "Have you dealt with this situation before?"

"I don't know," I reply. How do I know all this? Maybe from some past experience in my foggy past. "We can beat this mare. Let's split up and make her fire uselessly."

Scootaloo nods. "Leave it to me," she says.

She flies out of her cover, her rifle aimed at the tower. As soon as I hear that faint whine, I make a dash for it.

"Do your worst, Mayor!" Scootaloo shouts. "For Rainbow Dash!" The crack of her rifle firing fills the air, swiftly echoed by a barrage of gunfire from the tower. She quickly runs for it, towards another group of ruined walls. Several enormous, black birds fly out as she moves through the rubble, squawking and screeching before the bullets tear them apart.

As for me, I'm taking a dangerous route. I dive down to a large space in front of the tower, where there's an empty fountain in the middle of a crowd of statues. From the tower, a series of loud clicks suggests that the gun is rotating on some gears. The Mayor's going for me.

Scootaloo fires again. She must have heard those clicks, because she flails her hooves to buy me time. "The Church was right to burn this place down!" she shouts. "Vicar Rarity did nothing wrong!"

The clicks speed up furiously. "You're asking for death, Church Hunter!" the Mayor shouts. Oh, she heard that one. Another hail of bullets, and they all fly towards Scootaloo. Good. I gallop hard, doing my best to pick out an actual route to that gun nest. The stink of beast surrounds me, and I catch several large shadows lurking out of the corners of my eyes. No torch to stave them off too. I hope the noise of gunfire is enough to keep them at bay.

The stone plaza is clearly the roof of a big building, connected to a other street through a makeshift wooden path with stairs. There's my path to the tower. As I cross the distance, the silhouette of a long ladder ascending the side of the tower nearly makes me smile. At a distance, Scootaloo fires another round from her rifle while the Mayor replies with a cascade of lead. Good, still in the clear.

The crack of a gun ahead of me quickly erases any relief. A bullet whistles past my ear, close enough to tickle the tuft with the draft of its passage. That's no shot from the Mayor's machine gun. The flutter of a cloak moving swiftly towards me, and the distinct slide of a metal blade adjusting confirms it: another hunter is dashing across the wooden planks to come at me. Who's this supposed to be? The Vice Mayor?

"Damn!" I mutter under my breath. I can't engage now. The Mayor's going to find the time to adjust her weapon bury me in bullets!

"Rainbow Crash!"

How Scootaloo is able to reach me so quickly boggles the mind. All I see is her flying through the air, having jumped from the upper ledges. Her wings flap furiously, a good enough effort to let her glide despite her weight. Behind her, bullets whistle past her tail as the Mayor adjusts the machine gun. In an instant, Scootaloo crashes into the wooden bridge, splintering the railings with a smash of her wheel weapon. Her sudden attack nearly knocks the other hunter off the bridge, but he recovers and redirects his weapon: a long pole with a serrated spearhead.

"Keep going, Good Hunter!" Scootaloo shouts. She raises her wheel and advances on the othe hunter. "Quickly!"

I make my own leap, ducking under the other hunter as he makes a clumsy swing at me, then continue galloping for the tower. Behind me, the wooden bridge splinters some more as Scootaloo brings her weapon down on it in a massive swing.

Finally, the ladder! I look up and let myself smile briefly. I'm correct. The machine gun mounted to the tower's side can't angle down to fire at me. It can't even fire at Scootaloo. This is our chance. My hooves navigate the thin, metal rungs swiftly. I've got my saw cleaver in my mouth, and my pistol's loaded.

The climb takes a while, and I'm quite sure the Mayor should be looking down from the top by now. Perhaps even firing at me with a smaller firearm. Guns are firing, however, beneath me. At such close ranges, Scootaloo's long rifle is at a disadvantage. I can only hope that she, at least, survives the fight. Once I deal with this crazed gunmare, I can drop down to assist.

I finally reach the top, my eyes dart wildly as I expect an ambush as soon as I climb there. None whatsoever. Instead, I find the Mayor standing next to her machine gun.

Her age is unmistakable: long wisps of white and gray hair poke out of her tricorner hat, her face is a mass of wrinkles with bandages covering one eye. That might explain some of our luck in dodging her gunfire. She's wearing a hunter's attire, albeit hers is utterly covered in ash and dried blood, making it look nearly uniformly gray with streaks of brown. She seems to be missing her right foreleg. In its place is a bulky, monstrous...device. All I know is that at the end of those cogs, screws, and pistons, is a bladed metal point. She focuses her one good eye on me. No crushed iris or frenzied glare. She's not succumbing to the beast plague.

"Your clothes..." the Mayor says. Her tone's soft and raspy, nothing like the loud threats earlier. A glance to her side reveals what looks like some kind of loud speaker as well as a telescope. "You're from the Hunter's Workshop. Why are you working with the Church of Harmony?"

I hold my saw cleaver in one hoof.

"I need the Magical Mystery Cure," I reply. "The Church can only provide it if they get their chalices back. One of them is somewhere in this district."

"The Cure?" The Mayor sweeps a foreleg over the vista of this ruined place. From her vantage point, Old Ponyville looks more and more like a massive, smoking graveyard of buildings. "Here's what you get with the Magical Mystery Cure!" she snarls. "The home you've built up all your life turned to cinders, by the ponies you were so happy to call heroes!"

"I'm sorry for your loss," I say. "I just want to pass through and retrieve the chalice."

"You won't," the Mayor says. "The beasts of this place are under my protection. You're going to cut them down to get to your chalice."

"Why do you protect them?" I ask incredulously. "You're a hunter!"

"I'm still their mayor!" the Mayor snaps. "They're still the citizens of the Ponyville I always served!"

"Is that how you protect your citizens?" I point to some distant figures close to where we entered this place. "Set fires and crucify them?"

The Mayor's scowl only deepens at this. "How dare you suggest that," she replies. "A large number of Church Hunters, led by the great Pinkie Pie of all ponies, came by here. I fought them, but they left me beaten while they did as they pleased with my citizens. That's how the Church has always done things. Now, I've set up my perch, the Church won't harm my ponies anymore!"

"The Church has sent parties here before?" I muse. "And one of the founders..."

"Don't trouble yourself with details," the Mayor says. "You're off to consult Applejack anyway! Off to your dreams!"

She moves fast for such an old mare. She's on me in a heartbeat, her foreleg device raised for a stabbing strike. I back off, only to remember that we're in a small space on top of a very tall tower. My back hooves tap the metal ladder before I can right myself. I lock my pistol in place and aim, enough to get the Mayor to hop sideways to avoid the bullet. I don't fire though. I just needed to buy some time.

The initial strike tells me much about her choice of hunter weapon, if that is what that device is. The striking part looks like a metal stake: a cyclindrical shaft topped with a thick, sharp spike. It looks capable of penetrating solid stone if driven with enough force. A useless advantage to me. I'm not wearing heavy armor. It looks heavier than the axe, but it has the reach of a slightly longer dagger. Its bulk keeps its motions down to simple slashes and stabs, and its design prevents it from being wielded by mouth. Every time the Mayor has to strike, she has to raise her body, exposing her underbelly. I wait for such a strike and come in low, my folded weapon's saw edge ready to cut her open.

The click of a wheel holster locking forces me to change direction. I dive diagonally through the Mayor's blind side as she fires a blunderbuss where I was standing. Fragments of metal shred the edges of my coat and ricochet against the roof. I catch myself again, but not before my hip bumps the telescope off the roof. With the machine gun behind me, I bite hard on my saw cleaver and prepare to attack again.

Like Ghast Coin's, the Mayor's hooves move with practiced precision as she reloads her gun. I rush in swiftly, unfolding my saw cleaver to catch her before she finishes. She raises her foreleg device and catches the blade on its machinery. I pull back and slash low. This time, the blade's tip finds flesh. With a grunt, the Mayor staggers back. Blood drips from my saw cleaver, and trickles down her ragged coat in thin rivulets.

No time for celebrating. She finishes her reload and opens fire. Still recovering from my swing, I can only cover my face with my forelegs and fall backward. Several shards of metal bite into my forelegs, but the main blast goes above me. The sharp pain is like getting stung by hornets and the heat from the metal feels like venom. It nearly makes me drop my saw cleaver, but I bite harder instead. The Mayor's hooffalls clatter against the stone roof. She's moving forward, likely to punch her staking device down on me. I roll instinctively to the side. The loud ping where my head just was tells me I just moved correctly. The dragging whine of metal scraping stone tells me to get up or lose my head anyway. I roll to my hooves in time to catch the sparks flying from the Mayor's weapon. She overcommited with that one, and she realizes it. Her forelegs come up too slow, however. I fire my pistol, and watch with some satisfaction as the bullet punches into her gut.

"You've lost," I say. "You're not a beast to put down, Mayor. Let us through, and tend to your wounds."

The Mayor's breathing heavily as she speaks. Blood's pouring from her bullet wound and the gash from earlier. Still, she doesn't even relent. She cocks something on her foreleg device with her free hoof, causing the metal stake to retract into the device. Now, she's left with an extremely heavy knife. Her leg is wounded, and that stomach wound will all but take her movement away. I take a few steps back to get some distance going. What is she planning?

"I'm out of dreams, hunter," the Mayor says as she cocks her foreleg device back. "And I'm out of time. If this is the last thing I do for this dead city, fine."

A click comes from the foreleg device, a small click like a gun's trigger being pulled. My body must assume it's an actual gun then. The sound alone spurs me to evasion.

A loud bang follows that click, along with a flash of fire and smoke. The Mayor's foreleg explodes, propelling her towards me better than her own legs can. She turns that blast into a downward strike at me. The stake tears through the edges of my cloak, nearly dragging me back if the fabric didn't rip. It strikes the roof behind me intead, shattering a portion of the gun nest. A direct hit from that is sure to blow a hole in my body, or even the thick, woody hide of a massive beast.

The blast is impressive, but I see that cost of it plain enough. The Mayor's foreleg is shaking badly now. I'm surprised that blast didn't just tear her leg off. Perhaps I was too hasty in thinking she wasn't a beast. She's certainly as crazed as one. As if to prove my point, she retracts the stake in her weapon again.

"That next attack is going to kill you," I say. "Whether you get me or not."

The Mayor doesn't reply. There's nothing more to say, I suppose. She's fully committed to her course. I don't think dodging's going to help much this time. She must have my movements pegged at this point. I hold my stance low and wait as she cocks her foreleg back. The few seconds between the trigger and the blast stretches on. My taut nerves turnes them into minutes.

A massive, deafening bang fills the air like thunder. My nerves snap, and I throw my body towards the Mayor as hard as I can, ducking as low as possible without falling down. As I expected, well...desperately hoped for, she's overextended her thrust. I'm below her and past her weapon before she can adjust her aim, and the blast is propelling her forward beyond her control. I push my forelegs into her midriff, then myself slightly, a move enough lift her off her hooves. Something clinks against the roof. She flips through the air...

...and past the ledge.

There isn't even a scream, just a silent fall followed by a distant crash. So the Mayor of Old Ponyville retires.

I look to the source of that weird clink earlier. Some kind of badge...it's old, gray iron shaped like a tiny keg, lay on the roof. It must have fallen from the Mayor when she flipped. There's nothing much to do here now. I rush to the ladder. I can't hear Scootaloo's fighting anymore, and her battle cries are hard to miss. I slide down, my saw cleaver at my mouth and ready.

The sight of a crimson-splattered, gold-cone headed pony in robes greets me. The ruined, wooden walkway is covered in blood and guts, and the battered coat of a dead hunter. I don't see any intact body. No legs, no torso, no head. Just a smear of gore. Scootaloo doesn't even bother wiping her forelegs, or that disgusting gore-covered wheel slung across her back.

"You're safe!" Scootaloo says cheerily. "And we're not getting shot at. You must have won!"

I look to the distant spot where the Mayor must have fallen. Already, there's several equine-shapes gathered there. The hideous snaps and crunches show their gratitude for the Mayor's protection. Clearly, the Mayor's sense of responsibility for these transformed citizens were not reciprocated.

"Heretic," Scootaloo mutters. "She wasn't even a good mayor. Alway in the red with money."

I have to tell her about Pinkie Pie. For the moment, though, I'm just anxious to move on. The Mayor did confirm that the chalice was in their city hall. "Lead the way," I tell Scootaloo.

She nods and takes point.