It was 20:30 military time and I was trodding through murky swamp gunk. And it felt like the muggiest, naggingest slop I'd ever had to kick through. The world was a Zion razed to the ground and no Celestia was here to carry my sorry ass out the methane-heavy swamp slush. But I had faith because you always had to have faith. Even Father Pepperjack told me that was the case. And he wasn't a soldier or a mercenary, he was an educator, a light bringer. And somewhere along the line, among the Fillystines rushing into Caviar Mansion, I forgot that. Beneath the sheets of paper and bottlecaps, I forgot who I was.

I was Tequila's. I was Celestia's. I was their last hope. And I had a nation to speak to.

The murky stain of rain weighed my coat everywhere. I wasn't safe outside. Not even from dirt. I waltzed along an unknown tree cluster only to find droves and droves of feral swamp ghouls. Some were rotting and missing limbs. Others were still in-tact and, at most, like leathery cosplayers searching for free pizza. But they were present in the vast Edom and Sodom of Point Lookin's swamps. I couldn't step past them. So I crouched, my belly to the grass in prayer.

I heard them snarling and sniffing, frothing at the mouth to lick their chops. I closed my eyes and put my hooves together. Because why not. Celestia was my shepard. And I was safe.

"Madré nuestro que estás en los cielos, santificado sea tu nombre,
venga tu reyno, hagase tu voluntad," I recited, only to feel my hindlegs twitching.

I realized why and leapt up, keeping my forelegs off the ground. A ghoul clawed my scar open. He touched my face. He made me ugly. He made me dirty. I stomped him down by the shoulder blades and rushed him into a tree. He groaned and hissed, flailing his limbs about. But I saw him. And he was filthy. I bucked him stomach-first into a branch. And it impaled him, affixing him to the tree husk.

The others swarmed me. I dodged them through the forest. There were easily more then twenty, I knew. Our hooves were loud, comical sloshes through the marsh. And each of us knew someone was dying tonight.

I fought them as they gained on me. Only then, when one would bite at me or chomp at my flank, did I stop to buck them. Bucking a moving target, especially in a tangent toward you, was called a counterbuck. Counterbucking was using the enemy's momentum against them by meeting with force from the opposite direction. Less work from you and more impact on their end.

They were gaining. What I could only describe as a hive-like swarm of uniform malice was chasing me. They snapped their sharp, gator-like teeth in synchronized noise and panted against me. Those horrid filfth were galloping harder and harder just to taste me. They were animals hunting the civlized and I was a numberless supper.

So I repeated my hit and run for countless measures of time. Every moment was a struggle. Combat, done right, was a constant game of luck and muscle memory. I strained to breathe and I found a campfire... inhabited by gun-toting swampfolk. I rolled my eyes and started my prayers again.

"Asi en la tierra como en el cielo. Danos hoy nuestro pan cotidiano,
Y perdónanos nuestras deudas,"

There were four... oddly happy, dancing swampfolk doing the hoedown. Because they didn't stop dancing till I was loud enough to hear over the snarling and decrepit ghoul gabbers, apparently. I couldn't, for a moment in time, believe my steps were audibly more prominent than a pack of ghouls. It got worse when I grazed a tree with my pipbuck and it turned one of the dials.

Mezzopiano banjo music spewed forth from my foreleg. I managed to chuckle with a straight face. I struck a flame on the most impressive ghoul specimen: a young feral ghoul reaver. At least, that's what the pipbuck told me. I never got the hang of AIM, as all it did was highlight anatomical regions, and I had to focus on the screen instead of the people in front of me. So it was totally useless because it did absolutely nothing. I didn't need to look at a giant smartphone. All I did was put my belly to the grass, turn the banjo music off and watch them war.

The swampfolk were far more intelligent. They flanked an circled their enemies when all the ghouls did was charge forward. It was near-suicide really. I wondered how they did it, those mutated swamp ponies. How did they, of seemingly lower intelligence, handle such a tasking numerical setback. They were four to one, minus a well-done leader. Once the leader cooked alive, his subordinates became disjointed and hectic. They had no order. I snuck about by one of the corpses and looted it.

It was a... tracker swampony? I found one, double barrel shotgun and six shotgun shells. They were buckshot, by the sound of the shaking. One thing I learned better than hoof-fighting and knife combat, was shotguns. I was supposed to get one eventually. But those pricks- no, those sodomites Apple and Cleave turned father away from me. It set a spark inside just thinking about them. How could they. I was there for three years and I was his only student.

I was his and he selled me short, the bastard; wasn't he supposed to be my God. Instead of soothing me, prayer started to burn. It wasn't working. I lost everyone close to me. My mother. My father. My angel. My Tequila was sitting right at home. Someone was taking her. I just knew it.

They were taking her the Roming way and I was out here, I was out here shooting at swampfolk and stepping on their chests as they begged for mercy. But I knew they were liars. They shot me first. I felt it on my chest. Fifty scars wide open with red and red stripes bleeding down. I stuck it against his muzzle and I asked him if he was proud of me.

"Yes! Yes I'm done proud, I'm done proud, lady! Please, lemme go!"

"Are you proud of me, daddy?!" I screamed, firing round after round of buckshot.

"Are you proud that I'm jealous!?" Are you proud of me for tearing my wing off?! Are you- proud!?"

I stepped away shaking. I was bloody. Father's blood was on my hooves and so were Cleave's. I was unworthy. Celestia witnessed and I fell to my stomach exhausted, laying on sixteen corpses, three shotguns and eight shells out their boxes. Out their homes.

"C-Celestia forgive me..."

I stumbled away and felt the sky rumble.

"Celestia, I'm sorry...!"

A vein of white pierced the sky. And it struck all around me. Nearby tree husks split in half. The earth burned gold and the swamp lit the night up. I screamed back at Celestia, aching as my missing wing burned and bled. I was bleeding everywhere. I was ugly. And I... was dirty.

"I'm sorry-! I don't know how to handle this torture...! Everyone I love is- is gone. Everyone..."

I saw the error of my ways. I saw it in the puddle right in front of me. I was burning. There was fire behind me and the puddle said I would burn for all the sin I carried.

"And the child said unto her, Mother, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy daughter." I sobbed, laying in the mud, shaking with my hooves stuck together.

"And the child said unto her, Mother, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy daughter-" I gasped, coughing on warm, flowing crimson.

My blood touched the flames not inches away. And I froze, I closed my eyes and accepted my fate. It lit my wine effluvium and bathed me in flame. I felt it. Every burn. Every scar. Every ember flaking off my skin. I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I didn't deserve to.

How could I love Tequila when I hurt my own Father.

I opened my eyes... and my coat was fine.

My hair was long. And I sobbed in awe. In awe of Celestia's forgiveness. I would do everything just to see her smile again. I choked my sobs back and ran. I sprinted and sprinted till I saw it. The belltower was lit with Sodom's smoke. The immense stature it boasted was a symbol of her glory. A temple to the one, true creator. It was tarnished by time, but never in beauty. There were many floraes withered away over it's vast structure. And the walled barrier surrounding it boasted stone angels. I approached the gates and prayed...

"Asì como nosotros perdonamos á nuestros deudores. Y no nos metas en tentación, mas líbranos de mal..."

I crossed my chest and crouched low, to investigate a glint between the grass. I found a Celestian cross with the figure herself crucified to the symbol. It attached to many, minuscule spheres of gold. I hesitated, but, as I held it... I felt the many contours of the beads and realized they were wood hued like gold. They were sacred like nature itself. It smelled like roses. Fresh roses and cherries. I kept it close and realized... I was there.

I finally reached the Ark and Dove Cathedral.

Author's Note

Level Up! New Perk Gained!

Raze it:

Your pyrokinesis is oddly practiced.

You can now start fire with your blood and do an additional 6% damage while set aflame. You are also resistant to crippling from fire damage, but the damage still applies. It is only halved.

Practiced hands make for short work. Razing another Sodom or, Celestia forbid, Zion, is a chore like any other when done righteously.