O.i.E.

by MAGO5

Rating: teen
Tags: Crossover, DJ P0N-3, Main 6, Gore, Apple Bloom, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Octavia, Comedy, Adventure
Length: 22011

Ork in Equestria

He was always considered an outcast, a black sheep. When his peers find his secret, that he likes to watch My Little Pony, they taunt and ridicule him for it. But, after a freak accident, he is taken away to the land of Equestria. Has he truly found his place? Oh, and he's an ork. That might be an important little detail. Warhammer 40k crossover.

Published 2012-06-01 23:34:01 UTC
Last updated 2013-04-29 05:29:21 UTC

'Ere We Go!

A deafening explosion sounded from the other end of the hallway, carrying the piercing shrieks of the dying with them. Animalistic roars of twisted jubilation follow shortly thereafter. Governor Patrick Gerald broke into a sweat. With his PDF escort, he waddled down the corridor as fast as his chubby, underworked legs could manage. He feared for his life as much as the time some diplomat fired off a confetti popper at a dinner party. He had his bodyguards kill him immediately, thinking it was a weapon. Gerald didn’t know what a bolter sounded like, so that whole messy incident was brushed under a rug.

This, however, was entirely different. This could not be brushed under anything, because he didn’t make any sort of controversial blunder. This planet was under attack. All the other manufactorum cities have been conquered. Only Kaldesia, his city that he governed, remained. It wasn’t insurrectionists, nor any neighboring tau. No, it was an enemy that no one could even hope to reason with. Fighting was the very nature of their existence.

Greenskins.

A lanky, shaky PDF caught up with the rest of the group. He did a fumbly salute and addressed the leading officer.

“S-sergeant! Orks have broken through the gates!”

It could be said that Sergeant Kippins was a shining beacon of leadership in these harrowing times, but that was simply not true. In fact, that would be so much of a lie that it’s probably some kind of heresy. I’m surprised that the Inquisition hasn’t made a hole in my roof and shot me yet. Please, if you guys are reading this, don’t shoot me just yet. I have to finish this story first, then we can do that whole “fear and surprise” thing.

And from the heavens rained down a voice, so angelic and god-like that the continuity of the story ceased, and gave way to the mastery of ThePartyCannon’s words.

“Nope.” he said, cracking thunder across the sky to underline his point. As arcs of lightning split the horizon, ThePartyCannon withdrew a massive rifle, too powerful to be described in mortal words. Aiming down the sights, he targeted the heretical insurrectionist known as MAGO5.

But then MAGO5 used his ultimate powers, being the author of this story, and turned ThePartyCannon into a pony. He cursed with rage, for he could not manipulate his gun with hooves. MAGO5 ignored his relentless swearing and casually tossed him into the Webway, where he was doomed to do nothing but play Diablo 3 for all eternity, which was marginally better than being dead.

Anyhow, back to the story. The Sergeant faltered for a second, listening to the cacophonous war cries of the orks. They were getting closer.

“It doesn’t matter!” He shouted back with as much courage as he could muster. “Our top priority is to evacuate the Governor and get him to the emergency vehicles! Man the barricades and buy time so we can secure a way out of here!”

“Y-yes Sir!”

Kippins didn’t really give a flying Throne about the Governor, nor the lives of his subordinates. Inside the emergency Thunderhawk was a comfy seat and some high-quality rations waiting just for him. His lavish ticket out of this hell-hole was tied to the life of a fatass aristocrat.

“Follow me, Governor Gerald! This way!” With three other troops flanking him, he lead Gerald’s entourage down the right passageway. All the while, sirens and klaxons wailed, signaling a breach in the perimeter. The PDF, hopelessly under-trained and under-experienced for any kind of invasion, held fast to their lasguns with white-knuckled grips. Sergeant Kippins clutched his sidearm as if he hoped it would do any damage to an alien if he saw one. He was a realist, and he knew the city was lost. The greenskins rushed at them from all sides and tore through their defenses like a chainsword slicing through flesh. With their vociferous cries for blood, they drove their ramshackle vehicles and looted tanks into the city, killing civilians left and right, spitting out lead and boisterous laughter. Like every other planetary attack in the history of the Imperium of Man, the Planetary Defence Force could do nothing to stop it. Their impotency originated from a crude political decision a few decades back. The leadership of the planet thought themselves safe nestled in the heart of a calm and well-defended sector. The spending was cut from military treasury, a majority of the equipment was dismantled for spare parts, and the money was embezzled by the head of defense, who took every cent of it and flew off to some agri-planet a few thousand light-years away. He was spending his days sitting on a beach in front of his mansion, sipping margaritas while an overpriced prostitute worked his junk.

An explosion ripped from one of the barricades. A visceral spray of body parts and gore flew from its epicenter. The Governor and the Sergeant were clutching their skulls in their hands, trying to stop the pain pounding against their ears. Recovering from the blurry disorientation, Kippins looked up at the fading smoke. A massive, hulking form emerged from the wreckage, his heavy bootsteps ringing out the sound of death with every strides. In one of his giant, calloused hands was a boxy-looking thing. A crude, but powerful firearm. Kippins saw a single shot from it vaporize some unlucky bloke’s torso, leaving only his dismembered arms, legs, and head. In the other hand was a gruesome spiked flail, caked in fresh blood and bits of human meat. The creature grinned, displaying rows of inhumanly large, sharp teeth. Fetid air spewed from between those ivory spikes as he looked upon the Sergeant and The Governor with his beady eyes, not unlike how a vicious predator would look upon his delectable prey.

“Well lookie ‘ere, boyz!” The Nob bellowed. “Anuvah tasty lil’ fat morsel wez can cook over da spit!” Governor Gerald seized with fear. The leader ork addressed his smaller followers. “First one tah bring me da fatty’s ‘ead gets a round a’ beers from me!”

“WAAAAAAAAGGHHHH!!!!!” They shouted in unison and tumbled over each other to get to the Governor. Expelling hot lead sporadically from their shootas and swinging their choppas around above their heads, they ran towards the entourage like a howling sea of violence.

“Run!” Kippins dragged the Governor to his feet. A quick sniff of the surrounding air told him that at least one of them had soiled himself. The Sergeant just hoped it wasn’t him. He ran to the doorway while firing wild shots for his laspistol behind him. The hot bolts of light only pittered off the orks’ thick, green hides. Completely blind to any sort of pain, they charged on, wailing and hollering for the sensation of flesh and bone cleaved by their blades. The three PDF troopers stood there mindlessly, stricken with terror. One man’s lasgun clattered to the ground as orkish buckshot annihilated his cranium, leaving nothing but scarlet mist and a blood-gushing neck-stump. Another jumped straight out of his paralysis and set his gun to full auto. He blazed away at the incoming horde, felling one or two in the process, but his weapon soon clicked dry and he was overrun in a mess of flashing cleavers and hungry teeth. The last man shoved the barrel of his gun in his mouth and squeezed the trigger.

With the Governor in tow, Kippins reached the door and slammed a big, red button on the console. The hydraulics hissed and the steel door came sliding down, separating them and the xenos with a foot of metal. They ran on, Patrick Gerald blubbering senselessly.

The orks ran head-first into the door, making a ringing clank with every impact. After an additional couple dozen or so of these clanks, the mob finally realized there was something in the way.

“Boss!” One of them cried with despair. “Deyz gettin’ away!”

“Stand back!” The Nob roared as he aimed his shoota at the door. With the special second trigger, he activated the Kombo Rokkit Launcha attached to his shoota and fired it. With a trail of smoke, the Rokkit soared to the metal door and impacted dead-center with a echoing explosion. A few of the slower, unluckier Boyz were caught in the blast and killed by the shrapnel, but none of them really cared. The tar-colored fog dispersed to reveal that the Nob had only made a small dent in the plating. In a fit of rage, he punted the nearest grot. The green orkling squealed as he flailed through the air and landed on the cold, concrete floor with a comical splat.

“ZOG IT ALL!!!”

+++++

“I d-don’t want t-to die...” Gerald muttered.

“It’s ok, Governor! We’re almost to the hanger!” The Sergeant reassured. What he really wanted to say was “Shut the frak up you idiotic waste of space.” But if he successfully got the politician out alive and acted like a hero as he did so, then he will more than likely be awarded with a medal or two. Then, he would retire from service and never have to fight ever again. With the ork horde cut off behind them, they would get a clear shot to the emergency hanger, where salvation awaited them. Nothing could possibly stop them. By the time the orks somehow broke through that blast door, they would be off the planet and on their way to the system’s capital.

They took a sharp turn down the corner, where the lighting abruptly cut off. Kippins dismissed it as faulty maintenance. Funding for these underground bases was cinched off for a while, leaving the establishment to decay over time. Even the robust, long-lasting glow-globes could short out given the right condition. It didn’t matter, for the hanger was just directly down the hall. Nudging the Governor forward, he ran on. A tear came to his eye. He could almost taste freedom.

Something stopped them. In the blinding darkness, they saw the orange glow floating in the air, accompanied by the stink of cigar smoke. Their hearts froze. As their eyes adjusted to the darkness, they could make out a shape that blocked their path. A pair of green, pointy ears adorned his green, hairless head. Goggles were firmly fastened onto his eyes. The stub of a victory cigar rested in the crook between the yellowish pikes that were his teeth, laden inside his massive jaw. His left arm was mechanical; its motors whirred with the small movements it made. He was adorned with a patchwork of thick leather and metal, several pockets and containers carrying the crude tools of his trade. He was unarmed this time, save the metallic box propped in the middle of the hallway that he leaned on with his synthetic arm. With a smooth movement of his natural hand, he took one last inhale of the cigar and deftly flicked it away. It hit the ground in a small splash of embers. The lone ork turned to the flabbergasted humans and grinned wickedly. He uttered only two words:

“‘Ello, Gov’na.”

He elbowed the box he was leaning to and it came to life with the roar of a motor and the clack of moving parts. The top opened up and the machinery shifted, revealing four scorched gun barrels and scads of ammo belts. A blood-red laser pinpointed the humans’ location. It sounded a dreadful beep of target recognition.

Sergeant Kippins and Governor Gerald screamed as they were cut down into sinew and vapor. Even as the clatter of the guns died down, Mekboy Grundy’s chuckle could be heard echoing down the hallway.

“‘Ello, Gov’na. Hehe... das a gud one...” He put another cigar in his teeth and lit it with the lighter concealed in his mechanical thumb.

+++++

Amidst the blazing fires that took place in the war-torn streets lay the burnt-out husk of a PDF tank. The blackened metal was crusted with carbon residue and dried gore. A gigantic ork in mega armor, complete with a power klaw, big shoota, and a clan banner on his back, strode up the metal shell. The dead tank creaked with his immense weight. Warboss Krumpface looked upon his subjects, the Boyz of his horde, and smiled behind his great metal jaw.

“Dis planet belong to da ORKS!!!”

With one big cry of WAAAGH, the orkish army cheered. They cheered from the rooftops. They cheered on the dead bodies of their enemies. They fired shots into the air, drank fungus beer, got into fights for the pure sake of fighting, etc...

All in all, it was your standard ork victory party. Biker Boyz raced through the streets on their slapdash motorcycles with ork banners and human heads upon their pikes. Their roaring machines vomited thick smoke into the atmosphere. Even louder than their engines was the sound of the phat beats that were laid out by MC Beatstick while two Killa Kans schooled each other in a breakdancing competition. Of course, it always ended up with them killing everyone in sight out of spite.

While the party raged in the streets of the broken city, it should be noted that not all the orks were taking part in it. Within the quieter recesses of Kaldesia, a lone Mek sat on a chair with his eyes fixed on a glowing screen. This was Mekboy Grundy. He was just as orky as any other greenskin in the galaxy, and if anyone said otherwise, their next gun would have an... “explosive malfunction”, but Grundy’s interests led him elsewhere. He looked past the senseless violence and saw greater potential in his inborn ability to make things that go vroom or go boom. It’s what an ork would call “proffeshunal pride”. Grundy strove to know more things than the average ork, and even the average Mek for that matter. He was scouring the digital databases for whatever could be useful to him. The last planet the Waaagh had left in ruins proved to be fruitful in a way. That was when Grundy had lost his arm, but the data from the humies’ computers gave him the knowledge to make better and stronger replacements. He even grafted it all by himself. To be honest, that could have gone better...

But in the great cathedral of the Cult Mechanicus of Kaldesia, there lay a treasure trove of knowledge that Grundy could repurpose for his own needs. From what he had found so far, the database seemed to hold some of the most vast and esoteric subjects from the farthest reaches of human history. He was not as big as other orks (hardly taller than the average Boy), but he had his intellect to make up for it. Boss Krumpface may be able to crush three human skulls with one gigantic hand, but the Mek could obliterate a hundred humans with only his button-pressing finger.

Grundy leaned back in his seat and tapped off the ashes of his cigar to the side, not wanting to dirty the equipment. He had all the time in the world to search the computers for weapons-related schematics, so he was merely savoring the moment by going through the miscellaneous stuff first rather than greedily diving right into it. What he was currently looking at was media archives. Holos and videos from times so incredibly ancient that it was truly a miracle that they still existed. Such things, if it were known to the rest of the galaxy, would merit the attention of both the Mechanicus and the Inquisition. Too bad the orks found it first. Har har har...

It was mostly porn, anyway.

But something there made him raise an eyebrow. A strange file. Yes, he knew how to read. That was rare, too. It was a file, titled:

mlpfims1+s2

This struck Grundy differently than the plethora of other files. Leaning forward in his seat, he moved his mouse and clicked on the virtual folder. It expanded to show several video files. Fifty-two to be exact. He clicked a random one. A window popped up with a blast of the brightest colors and the sickliest music.

My little pony, my little pony! Aaahhhhh!~

Grundy immediately shielded his eyes.

“WHAT DA ZOG IS DIS?!?!?”

The colors, the music, the four-legged animals, the smiling! It was too much for any ork to bear. Grundy tried to find some way to cover both his eyes and his ears at the same time. He was not successful.

After a while, he peeked over the safety of his clawed fingers and looked back at the screen. The annoying music had died down, but the video was still going. Two of those... things looked like they were watching something fly through the air. Was it a Deffkopta? A purple one came up next to them.

“Hey Rarity and Pinkie Pie. What are you watching?” She said.

“Rainbow Dash!” The pink one replied in the most annoying voice he had ever heard, and he had been around grots. Lots of annoying grots.

Grundy was confused. He put his arms down while the animals on the screen continued to talk. Was this what humans watched? Considering just how easy it was to take this planet, that seemed to be the case. Why would any fighting-loving race want to watch this? He knew that the humans loved to fight--not as much as the orks, though. Nothing loves fighting as much as orks do--and this didn’t look like it had anything to do with fighting.

The pink one on the screen craned her neck up to watch whatever this “Rainbow Dash” was. Her neck twisted in a cartoonish fashion. Grundy noted that if any other thing twisted its neck like that, they’d be dead. Maybe these things were tougher than they looked. She then made a funny face and her body comically unwound behind her.

“Hur hur...” The ork snickered. “Dats kinda funny...”

Flicking the stub of his last cigar away and lighting another one in his teeth, he continued to watch. Why he did so, he didn’t quite know that himself. He just found this stupid humie show interesting. He justified that, if he continued watching it, he would find out exactly why any human would want to watch this, without actually getting into the show himself.

If only he knew the sheer number of people that thought that exact same thing before him.

+++++

He did it. Grundy couldn’t quite believe it himself. He had just watched all 52 episodes in one sitting, including the season two finale. He removed his goggles and picked the crust out of his fatigued eyes. Those red pupils had absorbed every second of every minute of those colorful ponies. His orky constitution allowed him to stay up a lot longer than most things and sleep a lot less... but that was nearly nineteen hours of nothing but pony.

And the worst part was that he enjoyed every minute of it.

Those colorful horses... It was almost hypnosis. He was at war with himself. Part of him embraces this cartoon into his likeness, part of him is angry at himself for falling for this human trap, part of him is ashamed at the sullied state of his orkiness, and part of him feared that he might revert into a grot for it. He could justify it. Some orks like driving fast, some orks like flying fast, some orks like shooting thing, some orks like chopping things... What’s wrong with an ork who likes ponies? He was still the best Mek around. No other interests would make that untrue.

But orks weren’t known as the most reasonable race. Nobody could find out about it. If they did, his reputation would be ruined. Not that he had much of a reputation. Grundy mostly kept to himself. He worked better alone, but if this gets out, it would gain the attention of some bigger, stronger ork looking to bully an oddball just to make him look bigger. He didn’t want any of that. He kinda wanted to hang on to life a little longer to enjoy it fully.

Grundy sighed a deep, orkish sigh. Flicking away yet another cigar stub (and adding to the pile of cigar stubs on the floor), he withdrew another and put it in his teeth.

His head jerked up before he had a chance to light it. A sound came from behind him. A scrape, maybe a clatter. Whatever the exact sound, it didn’t matter. What mattered is that he wasn’t alone. Grundy drew his shoota from its holster and turned around. In the hallway that lead from the room there was only a single glow-globe active. The Mek had turned around just in time to see a large shadow dash across the wall, paired with an echoing snicker that was all too familiar to him.

“Kommando Rusty...” Grundy muttered to himself. “Gork dammit.”

He had seen him, and now that sneaky, no-good ork was going to use it against him. Rusty had been trying to get back at Grundy since the start of the Waaagh. The Mek couldn’t remember exactly when their rivalry began, but the latest exchange between them had been when Grundy rigged the Kommando’s kit to billow out smoke, revealing his position to everyone. It was the perfect ploy, to make a sneaky fellow un-sneakafied. As he had last heard, the smoke went off while he was creeping into a Bad Moons camp to get a piece of their shiny loot. There was a lot of yelling and shooting, Rusty didn’t get so much as a tooth, and Grundy had a good laugh. If this was his plan for payback, it was a damned simple one, but effective nonetheless. He didn’t even bother to go after him. He was already gone, and within an hour’s time, he’ll have spread the news to just about every ork in the city. They’ll all know his secret soon enough.

He didn’t feel tired anymore. He felt particularly angry. He felt like he needed to go out and put some orks into place to remind them who’s the best Mekboy around, and he was going to need his patented “Thunda Stik” to do it.

+++++

Grundy stomped into the bar, a building that had been remodeled almost as soon as the greenskins stepped inside of the city. Here, with the torn floorboards and the bullet-riddled walls, was a place for the orks to get a drink and start fights. Everything an ork ever needs, really. The half-broken door swayed on its hinges and every head turned to the entering figure’s direction. Grundy stood there a moment, gaging the crowd for its worth. His eyes shifted from side to side, looking at the bar patrons, who had begun to mutter things to each other under their breath. Some snickering was heard. The term “pony-lubbah” made itself audible. The Mek’s eye twitched. He flexed his shoulder, the weight of his Thunda Stik slung over his back reassuring him. The force-charged maul could send them flying and break every bone in their body at the same time if his fists weren’t enough to send his message. All eyes on him, Grundy marched across the room and sat down at the counter. He saw no signs of Rusty, but he wasn’t the type to make himself visible. Especially now.

Rusty’s gone too far this time. All the jabs at each other had been indirect. A stolen tool, a loose bolt, a crossed wire... they were all just inconveniences to him. Yes, sometimes they almost got him killed, but they were orks. Literally everything orks did involved the possibility of death. But this... this was a direct assault on Grundy’s orkiness. That was the lowest thing any ork could do to another. An insult like this would have made any other ork go on a mindless killing spree, but the Mek kept a cool head. It should be noted that “keeping a cool head” for an ork may seem a bit different from how a human would do it.

The apron-wearing barkeep lumbered up to him. He was carrying a metal keg of beer under his arm. Grundy reached into his pocket, pulled out a small handful of teeth, and slammed them on the counter, loud enough for everybody to hear it.

“Squig-meat. Raw. An’ sum beer. Make it snappy.”

The barkeeper sneered. “Wez don’t serve tah pony-lubbahs loik yew-”

The Mek yanked him close with his mechanical arm and shove a gun in his mouth.

“Youz ain’t servin’ to a ‘pony-lubbah’. Youz servin’ to Grundy. Now get me some squig-meat or I blow your brains outta yer skull an’ eat dos instead.”

“Oh!” A voice sounded from a table behind him, accompanied by the thunk of a rusty knife embedding itself into the table. “Dere goes da high an’ moighty Grundy, finkin’ ‘e’s big’ah dan all da uvva orks.”

Grundy released the barkeep, who scurried away, and turned to the table, teeth grinding together in rage. There sat Kommando Rusty, sitting on a chair that he wasn’t sitting on when the Mek came in. He made no sound when he moved, yet his voice was the loudest, most grating sound you’ll ever hear coming out of an ork’s mouth, and that’s saying something.

“Oi saw dat Mek in a ‘umie techno-ploice, starin’ at a screen dat had all dem p’noys awn it, singin’ an’ dancin’. Boyz, Grundy ‘ere watches a show made fer ‘umie snotlings! ‘Ar ‘ar ‘ar!” The rest of the bar joined him in laughter. “Dat Mek’s gon’ soft. Next ting ‘e’ll do is start makin’ peace wiff da ‘u-”

*BLAM*

Grundy held the smoking pistol in his hand. The Kommando’s body, with a fresh, leaking hole in his head, lifelessly slumped on the table. Blood started trickling to the floor.

That word that he said. Peace. It was the highest form of orky sacrilege. Rusty should have known he would have gone past the threshold saying that word, for as he said it, the bar went completely silent. A crowd gathered around.

“COULDA SOFTIE ‘AVE SHOT YER DEAD, ARSEHOLE?!” He holstered his gun and turned to the crowd, spitting out his cigar. “Lissen up yew lot! I’m Grundy, da Mekboy, da same Mekboy who made or fixed jus’ about ‘arf a’ yer guns an’ bikes an’ stuff! Wiffout me, yew guys wouldn’t be nearly as killy! Who cares wot I watch! Oi’m still an ork!”

“No youz ain’t!” Came a shout from from a lone ork. The crowd separated to reveal a Boy about the same height as Grundy. Filled with plentiful, orky confidence, he strode up and met the Mek face-to-face.

“Youz got somefink tah say?” He growled.

“Nobody ‘oh watches dat p’noy zog can be an ork! Dat’s da stuff dat ‘umies watch!” He said, grinning at his own flawless logic.

Grundy snorted. “Tell me somefink, den. Are orks big an’ green?”

The other ork scratched his chin and thought with the greatest capacity of cognition he could muster. It took him about five seconds.

“Uhh... yeah?”

The Mek sized up to him. “And am I big an’ green?”

“Yeah.”

“Dan I’m still an ork!”

The ork knew his plan failed, so he fell back on a verbal riposte so clever, so foolproof that it was the single smartest thing he would say for the rest of his life.

“Dauhhh... Yew mad?”

And then he died due to his face suddenly being replaced by Grundy’s steel fist.

His body flew backwards across the room and landed on some ork’s table. The impact spilled his precious fungus beer. Begrudged, the ork socked the guy next to him who, in turn, punched him back. The bar exploded into wanton violence like a spark in a room filled with Promethium vapor. Orkish instinct and the need for bloodshed commandeered the exchange of jabs and kicks. Guns were yanked out and fired wildly into the air. Grots and snotlings were tossed around squealing amidst the fray. Furniture was smashed and the parts were used as impromptu weapons to beat each other senseless. Howling and jeering deafened their ears until they bled.

Grundy waded through the sea of fighting orks, punching left and right, trying to get to the door and live another day. He was sure he made his message, a message nobody would forget for a long time. If they did, he’d take care of them like he did with Rusty and that other ork. He was still top-Mek of his clan, and the fact that he liked ponies wouldn’t change it. As he made his way, the sheer noise of the room blotted out the ominous sound of clanging bells and jingling chains of the approaching Wierdboy, who was oblivious of what was amiss. Grundy saw him walk into the bar. There weren’t a lot of things that could instill fear into Grundy. He had faced all kinds of enemies in his life. He’s fought the insanity of Chaos, the mighty, holy force of the Space Marines, the endless tide of chitin that was the Tyranids, and the deathly, unstoppable, zombie-like Necrons. None of them were as deadly as a Wierdboy who gets caught in the high of the residual psychic aura that radiates like a star whenever there’s orkiness to be had.

“‘Ey guys! Wot’s goin’ o- BLLEEEARRRRHHHGGG!!!!!!!” The power of the Waaagh was absorbed by his eldritch mind and forced out of his entire face in the form of a beam of pure, randomized energy. Grundy couldn’t move in time. He was caught in the blast. His insides went aflame. His eyes dripped with the power of the Warp. He hovered in the air for a bit before his body convulsed and imploded with a blast of light. Everyone in the room stopped fighting at once and looked at the Wierdboy, who burped out a cloud of smoke.

“Sorry. My bad.”

+++++

The first thing he felt was a pounding headache throbbing against his thick skull. He flitted his goggle-covered eyes open and immediately shielded himself from the blinding sunlight. He groaned and remembered that the sun wasn’t this intense on their recently-conquered planet. The great manufactorums spewed so much pollution into the air that it generated a thick layer of smog that dimmed the sunlight across the entire planet. The last thing he remembered was being hit by the Warp-beam. He wondered how he was still alive. Last time he checked, if you got hit by a glowing beam, there would be nothing left of you to account for. It could be possible that he wasn’t on the same planet anymore.

As soon as his eyes adjusted, Grundy looked around for a better view of where he landed. He was in some forest, that was for sure. It was dark and humid. He’d kill something if it turns out he landed on a Death World. The jungles there are just plain unpleasant. He remembered the last deathworld he stormed. Bugs everywhere. Not feeling the bite of flying parasites, he got on his feet. Scorched earth surrounded him where he lay. A quick look around gave him sight of a nearby hill past the edge of the treeline. Marching that way, he strode up the grassy mound and look into the far horizon. His jaw dropped.

“Gork... be... Morked...”

A pastel castle, embedded on the side of an impossibly steep mountain, dominated the far distance. It shone with a glorious radiance of beauty. The sight would have put a human in tears, but come on, this is an ork. Has that bit not gotten across to you?

Grundy recognized that very castle, he just couldn’t believe it. Was it possible? Was this real and not just his mind playing tricks on him? The sensation of glee poured through his veins. His face split into a big, toothy grin. He raised his arms into the air and shouted at the top of his lungs at the fortune that had come his way.

“I’Z IN EQUESTRIA!!!”

He hopped up and down, whooping and cheering, happier than a Squiggoth in a field of Imperial Guardsmen. But something niggled the back of his mind. Something felt missing. He finally realized what it was, stopped his jubilation, and looked to his left. His mechanical arm was gone. He looked back at the forest.

“Oh zog me.”

+++++

“~I’m going to Zecora’s to go talking to a zebra!~ Ugh... I’m such a dork...”

Twilight Sparkle trotted down her usual path to go see the striped witch-doctor once again. She had this event scrawled down in her meticulously crafted schedule, even though it was an informal visit. She was a very busy mare, after all. She was annoyed because she couldn’t help the habit of talking to herself or breaking out into stupid songs. Twilight sighed. She needed to improve on her sociability and break her idiosyncrasies. Maybe there was a book that could help!

Something caught her eye. A shimmer off the side of the road. She stopped and peered around for any dangerous wildlife. Then, she tip-toed to the edge of the path and inspected the object of interest.

It was the strangest thing she had ever seen. It looked like some kind of... metal thingy. For all her knowledge and her expansive vocabulary, that was the only word she could find to describe what it was. She picked it up with her lavender magic to scrutinize it further. It was chocked full of moving metal parts and it stank of oil and... some other smells she couldn’t place. The bulky thing seemed to bend at the middle, too, and at one end of it there were five smaller hinged parts that reminded her of Spike’s claws. Twilight sat on her haunches and held out her forelegs. She levitated the object to her hooves and let it drop. She grunted and immediately picked it back up with her magic. It was heavy. She stood up and carefully rested it on her back, the hinged part nestled against her spine. It was burdensome, but she had to study it further to find its origins. She could show all her friends what she found. For once, they might think something of hers interesting.

Humming to herself, she resumed her stroll towards her zebra-friend’s hut.

Wot Jus' 'Appened?

This isn't much, but I'd just like to let you guys know that this ain't anywhere close to dying. I've been writing non-stop to churn this out because one, I enjoy writing this very much, and two, you guys seem to enjoy reading it even more. Savor your orky goodness, my readers, because we ain't done yet!

Over the centuries of its existence, a great deal of wild misconceptions of Everfree Forest have festered. Mostly, what everypony can agree on is that it is dark. This is true. The thick canopy of multifarious, tangling ebony branches ensnare Celestia’s boon and shelter the creatures that reside there. The darkness was one of the main reasons the forest itself was enshrouded with superstition and fear. Ponies, especially the older generations of Celestia’s reign, have always avoided the dark. The dark obscures the truth. The dark stifles the mysteries of the unknown. Therefore, equines have always been deterred from exploring and cataloging the fantastical wonders within the boundaries of Everfree. It’s not surprising, considering that ponies are the pansiest sentient beings on the face of the planet. Seriously, 90% of the population would break the land-speed record just to escape the “malevolent” clutches of a common flippin’ house spider. It’s sad, really. How they ever prospered in the first place is a mystery even they don’t understand.

Anyway, besides the obvious truths of this thick, vegetated landscape, many have come to agree that it is filled with some of the deadliest, scariest animals in all of Equestria, not counting dragons, because they tend to not reside in one particular province of the world. Some would even go as far as to label the entirety of the area as evil.

This is simply not true.

While, yes, the creatures that make their home among the dank trees of the forest are strange and unquestionably lethal, it is rather an incarnation of the untamed aspect of nature. Back when Equestria was first discovered by the three pony races in search of warmer climates, first thing they did was make it their own. The unicorns used their arcane arts to force the land to their submission, making everything manipulatable. Instilling order from chaos and molding their kingdom to their desire. How Everfree came about was a series of fateful events that have forever been lost in the annals of history, but somehow, the land had wrested itself from the grip of order and reverted back to its natural state. There, no one rules. It is a vicious ballad of life and death. It is an eternal cycle of struggle that has persisted over the inevitable march of time. But evil? Not so. The beings of Everfree have all accepted their way of life. They thrive on conflict. They love to survive. It is within that battle for prosperity that they have found their own sort of “chaotic equilibrium”. What the forest truly means to them is freedom. In many ways, it is paradise.

That is, until... you know... Grundy showed up.

“ZOG OFF, YA WOOD WUFFS!!!”

The one-armed ork fended off the seemingly unwarranted onslaught of Timber Wolves. The loss of his mechanical limb threw his balance off considerably, but he kept his legs spread and his feet planted firmly on the ground. His Thunda Stik whooshed through the air before it connected with the wooden torso of one pouncing beast. The wolf landed with a roll, either dead or too wounded to move. Its body was casually dismissed by the rest of the pack as they continued to pace a predatory circle around the bulky, green intruder. Grundy took note of their collective growling. The sound itself had a strange, resonating quality to it, but now was not that time to dwell on such idle pondering. He merely growled back. A low, ominous rumble surfaced from the ork’s throat. He bared the full set of his spear-like teeth. His beady, red eyes were obscured by his battle goggles, which gave him sharper vision during combat. Another wolf was slowing its pace slightly, which, Grundy had learned, meant it was about to turn and pounce. The grip on his heavy mace tightened. The solid cords of his muscles flexed in anticipation. He spat out the stub of his cigar, blowing out a plume of smoke from his nostrils.

“Bring it, arse’ole. Oi don’t gots all day.”

The Timber Wolf accepted his challenge and leapt at the ork. With a bestial warcry, Grundy raised his crudely fashioned weapon high above his head, arcing a streak of finality as it came down right on top of the quadruped's skull. A nauseating crunch was heard as the wolf’s head was flattened between the dense earth and the ork’s mace. He yanked the mace from its twitching corpse. It was covered in sticky, sap-like blood and chips of bark.

The Mek couldn’t quite remember when he had seen these animals before, but they were mentioned in the show. He... sorta spaced out sometimes. Orks weren’t well known for their attention span, but he did have a vague recollection of this particular beastie. Wolves made of wood. It struck him as illogical. They shouldn't have been possible, yet here they are. Of course, in retrospect, the apocalyptic hellions of the Warp could chalk up to illogical as well, but that was the farthest thing from his mind at the moment. He may be an ork, one of the strongest creatures in his galaxy, but he was at a clear disadvantage. Without his other arm, he could only use one weapon at a time. He opted for his Thunda Stik as opposed to his Shoota, so if he got swarmed by these ligneous predators, he could break them apart with the force of the charged weapon. For now, the weapon was not active. Not that he wanted to conserve power; orks had no grasp of the concept of sensible resource management.

He just didn’t want to make it too easy.

“So...” He began, embellishing his statement with the flip-toss of his mace. “Which one’a yew zoggers wants tah take a shot at me next, eh!?”

They all did.

All at once.

The next half-minute became a blur of bark, steel, and the color green. While the wolves dogged on with mindless animal instinct, Grundy descended into a good old-fashioned blood rage. Screaming out the signature warcry of WAAAGH!, he swung his heavy instrument of carnage side to side, weeding the attackers and tossing them aside like yesterday’s trash. Amidst the chaotic battle, one of them had the gall to chomp on the end of the mace, trying to tug it from his grip. The Mek sneered and, with his massive hand, felt his way to a button above the hilt. One quick press later, the spiked head of the bludgeon spun to life with a whir of a motor. The wolf’s maw was processed into wood chips, followed by the rest of his head.

“Chew on dat, why don’ ya!” He quipped and deactivated the mace.

Meanwhile, some of them managed to cling onto his back, clawing and biting his clothing and thick, green skin. This merely annoyed the ork. With a heave of his massive body, the wolves were detached from their purchase. Grundy turned around and clipped one across the jaw with his steel-toed boot, drawing a satisfying yip of pain. Judging by the number of mangled bodies on the ground, the pack was certainly thinning. They were starting to attack with more hesitation. Grundy savored the familiar rush of adrenaline, the euphoric sensation of inflicting violence. Every skull he cracked, every spine he broke, every limb he snapped, it all reverberated up his arm and made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. This was an ork in his natural state. While he now considered himself to be different from other orks, he could not deny his instinctive love of fighting.

Now, only a handful of wolves remain. The rest were either dead, crippled, or running scared with their twiggy tails between their legs. Grundy reversed the grip on his weapon and brought it down on the ribs of a wounded Timber Wolf, bringing about one last painful yelp of finality. Without breaking his stride, or even looking in a different direction, he held out his hand and snatched up the throat of a pouncing wolf in mid-air. It struggled in his iron grip, kicking out its hind legs and gasping for air. He then brought the wolf down and impaled it on the sharpened pommel of his beating stick. A gargled scream tried to force its way out of its mouth as it slid halfway down the shaft. The ork gripped the handle, swung it around the metal-coated stub of his left shoulder, and swung it overhead, putting as much gravitational force on his victim as he could. At the high-point of the arc, the wolf snapped in two. Splinters and blood-sap rained down on Grundy as he stood there breathing heavily. No more attacks came. He had fought and won, like orks always do.

Well, not quite, spoke a menacing growl that came from behind him. The Mekboy turned to find one last Timber Wolf, standing defiantly among his fallen brethren. It narrowed its glowing eyes and gritted its thorn-like teeth. It was much bigger than the other wolves that he wasted. Grundy shifted to face it, smirking to himself.

“Yer sum kinda stupid...” He said. The wolf only growled more intensely in response.

Finally faced with a semi-worthy challenge, it was time to kick off the ol’ training wheels. Pressing a button on the hilt of his sap-covered weapon, the mace came to life in a blaze of electricity and spinning parts. The sharp stench of ozone filled the air. The bludgeon vibrated in his hand as if it was eager for blood.

“C’mere so I kin pretty-up dat face’a yers.”

The wolf charged at him head-on, frothing spittle dripping from his mouth. Grundy readied his mace.

+++++

Twilight was starting to regret picking up the strange object. The weight on her back was too much for her bookwormish physique. Panting audibly, her pace petered out to a crawl. The metal thing was balanced on her back well enough, but the metallic surface was making the transit extremely uncomfortable. Finally coming to a halt along the trail, the lavender librarian dropped to her belly to catch her breath. She certainly couldn’t leave it here. That was out of the question! This thing was too interesting to discard. He had to endure so she could bring it back for study. But first, she still had a ways to go before she reached Zecora’s hut. Twilight decided to expend some of her mental energy instead. Picking up the thingy with her magic, she trotted on.

The reclusive witch doctor arranged this meeting personally. Twilight thought it was extremely uncharacteristic of her. She never particularly cared for the company of others, let alone sought it, and when she asked Zecora what this meeting was for, the zebra didn’t give much of an answer. She just left it at “informal”. Very strange indeed.

Speaking of such, the librarian wasn’t ignorant of Zecora’s most recent behavior, which was out of the ordinary, to say the least. When Twilight was with her, she would be a bit more talkative than usual. She would start asking her personal questions like her favorite color, or what kinds of books she liked the most. She didn’t know the zebra was interested in books beyond volumes about herbalism and brewing. To add to that, every time Twilight would suddenly look at her, she would suddenly turn her head away, as if she had spent most of the time staring at her instead of concentrating on the potion she was dictating to her. Well, on the upside, she seemed to be a lot more friendly. She seemed to smile and laugh a lot more. Twilight had read books about this. These were sure signs of happiness. She must just be in a really good mood lately.

Humming that dorky tune she invented, she blissfully trotted along the path, the strange doohickey still in tow. She was sure that Zecora would also be interested in seeing it, too. The only bad thing about it was the smell. It reeked. Twilight took care to keep it away from her face. Even so, she could still sniff it from here. She was starting to suspect that it didn’t even come from Equestria! If that was true, then just where did it come from?

Her ear twitched and the thought was interrupted. In the distance, she could hear a commotion rising above the constant noise of the forest. It almost sounded like... a roar. But it wasn’t a Manticore roar, no, this was different. She was no expert on zoology, but since the day that she met her five true friends, she had not forgotten what a Manticore sounded like. It almost sound like something, or somepony, was in trouble!

Before recklessly charging into the forest to offer her assistance, she hesitated. She was all alone. The last time she was alone in Everfree, she was turned to stone by a Cockatrice. That was not a pleasant experience. Even if she were to help, she was putting herself in danger, and her friends may not be able to save her this time. She broke from the path anyway, taking care to watch her step. The forest itself seemed to tighten its coil around this nervous traveler. She could feel the trees beaming at her with hunger. Her heart pounded in her ribcage and the magical grip on the object wavered. Suddenly, she came to a small clearing, nearly gasping for air after being submerged in that dank grove. To her despair, she forgot where the sound came from. She paced around, straining her ears for anything she could use. She heard what sounded like a whump! Like a big pocket of air was suddenly decompressed. It was very distinct, and it echoed neatly throughout the woods. Maybe that’s where she needed to go-

*THUD!*

“GAAAHHH!!!!”

Startled by the sudden noise, Twilight darted under the nearest patch of tangling foliage for cover. She lay there, trembling, hooves over her head and eyes clenched shut for what seemed like minutes before the more logical part of her mind snapped her out of it.

“Wait... I’m not Fluttershy! What the hay am I doing?!”

Cautiously, she peered towards the center of the clearing for the source of the abrupt disturbance, and almost dive back into her bush. It was a Timber Wolf! But she noted that it wasn’t moving. Not in the slightest. Was... was it dead? A more scrutinous inspection told her that the limbs were twisted in ways that shouldn’t be, and its mouth and eyes were leaking sap. In all likelihood, it was dead. But where did it come from? A glance at the glimmering object next to the corpse told her of another problem. In her haste, she had broken the levitation spell and left the metal thing behind. Twilight mentally berated herself for being so careless.

“Oh well.” She thought. It was only a simple matter of picking it back up and returning to the path. There was nothing to be done here, so it was high time she got back on schedule... Wait... What was that?

Just as the librarian was about to leave the safety of her vantage, she heard heavy rustling coming from the obscured tree-line. It was getting closer. She tried to make herself as unseen as possible, all while the commotion got louder. Something was coming this way, and it might not be friendly.

It came into view. Her eyes widened. Twilight almost had to hold her throat with her hooves to stifle a gasp.

She, with all of her knowledge and vocabulary, could describe what it looked like to another pony, but she no idea where to start. There were too many horrific details about this... creature to tell of. She had never seen anything like it before, from experience or book. To start off, it was huge. Tremendous. As if the scale of its largeness was more than just a simple measurement of height and width. And it was green. Almost a natural, plant-colored green, but not quite there. Most of its head was made up teeth, making a Manticore look like a harmless house cat. A pair of pointy ears and glowing orange eyes made up the rest of the head. And it wore clothes. Clothes! A combination of metal, straps, pouches, and dense material adorned most of its body. It stood on two giant feet, stomping its way to the dead wolf, which wouldn’t be too far-fetched at the moment to assume it was the one that killed it. Its back was hunched over, and had some bulky, metal, club-like object slung over it. The thing that stuck out the most was in the case of bilateral symmetry. On one side of its bulging body was an arm, complete with thick muscles and fingers that ended in talon-like fingernails. On the other side, however, there was nothing. Just a shiny stub where she assumed the limb should be. The creature only had one arm. How peculiar...

She took her mind off of meaningless ponderings and tried not to breath loudly. The hulking thing was close enough that she could hear it respiring. It looked over the corpse and seemed to smile, showing more of the wide rows of its pearly whites. It then kicked the corpse and watched in satisfaction as the limp body rolled away.

“Dats wot ya get, zog-fer-brainz.”

It... He spoke?!?!

The beast suddenly caught the strange metal object Twilight found on the path in his gaze.

“Lefty!” He shouted in a perpetual, guttural tone. “Where ya been?! Oi’ve been lookin’ errawhere fer ya!”

The green creature reached down and effortlessly picked up the heavy object. He manipulated it in his hand until the five smaller hinged parts were held in the pit of his arm. Then, he took the other end, lined it up with his stub, and shoved it into the socket. He gave an intense grunt of pain. The metal thing seemed to twitch. He released a sigh and let go. The new metal part whirred with motion as the previously inert hinges moved to their own accord. He rolled his shoulder, as if getting used to the weight, but the hand part kept jerking sporadically. Groaning in frustration, he withdrew a handheld rod from his belt and stabbed it into the machine, twisting it firmly. When he took it out, the hand was moving smoothly, clenching and unclenching without any unwanted movements.

Twilight was slack-jawed. She was in absolute bafflement. Her mind was reeling with this sudden overload of fantastical information. This large, brutish creature had taken an inanimate object and made it part of his body. It should have been impossible, yet here she was, witnessing this miracle as it was performed. She could have recognized it as an arm when she found it, but the thought had never even come close. The arm moved as if it was wholly organic, but she could clearly hear the now animate inner mechanisms of the device!

The creature produced a... cigar from his pouch and put it in his mouth. A flame sparked to life from his mechanical thumb and lit the coffin nail. Twilight wished she could get closer, but that would risk too much. This thing was obviously no friend. Anything that could launch an alpha Timber Wolf into the air was nothing to be trifled with either. Whatever this creature was, it was too dangerous to be around. The lavender librarian began her retreat, taking care to make absolutely no sound-

“*RIBBIT!*”

Well... at least it wasn’t something as cliche as stepping on a dry twig.

A loud boom nearly shattered her eardrums and a patch of dirt exploded to her immediate left. The unicorn froze in place, heart throbbing and wheezing in and out. The injured and frightened frog she stepped on hopped back into the forest. In the monster’s biological hand was a boxy, metal object with a smoking hole facing towards her.

“Oi know yer there, ya stinkin’ mutt. Cm’out so I kin gives ya a propah greetin’!”

“Oh no, oh gosh, oh no, oh gosh, oh gosh...” Twilight’s mind raced. Her eye burned with tears.

“Do it, er I’ll jus’ fill yer hidey-’ole wiff lead!” He fired another warning shot next to his first. Twilight gave a high-pitched yelp. She had no other choice. Trembling uncontrollably, she inched out of her hiding spot and into view. What happened next was yet another instance to add to the list of unusual occurrences. A look of jaw-dropping surprise crossed the beast’s face. The box slipped from his grip and he pointed a wordless finger at the unicorn.

“Youz... youz Twilight Sporkle!” He said in his bestial accent.

“W-w-what...?” Was all that she could manage to say.

The green hulk threw his arms open. “OI’M YER BIGGEST FAN!!!!”

+++++

It the realm of twisted evil and warped reality, only rage and death existed. The scarlet skies ran on horizonless. Thick blood filled every square inch of air. There was a constant atmosphere of the death screams of untold trillions ringing constantly. Here was a place of unspeakable horror. Here was a grand monument to the eons of bloodshed that scoured the galaxy since its birth; the same bloodshed that will continue until the end of time. Mountains of ravaged bones covered the landscape, as abundant as grains of sand on a beach. Their soulless sockets gaze out into nothingness, their sacrifice as unnoticed and meaningless as one taking a breath of air.

On his great throne of black and brass, in his mighty fortress which sat on the very foundations of conflict and terror, surrounded by a mote of the boiling blood of the fallen, he shifted slightly. The grand pile of skulls which held aloft his throne shifted with him, sending down an avalanche of clattering bones into eternity. A roaring, red fire raged in the center of his chamber, fueled by the souls of cowards and unworthy warriors and exuding primordial anger. The gloomy light flickered off of his gleaming brass armor. He gripped his mighty sword, Warmaker, while he envisioned the ungodly, obscene amount of conflict and murder that existed throughout the galaxy. He took no pleasure in any of it. That was a sacrilege performed by his nemesis. The very thought of it fills his mind with hatred. He only required more. More blood. More death. More carnage, dismemberment, disembowelment, bone-breaking, skull-crushing, and beheading. He dreamed of endless tides of blood sweeping over the masses of weaklings. He dreamed of the fires of war scorching the surface of every planet in the universe. He dreamed of the day when he would reign as the supreme lord of all existence, his subjects constantly spilling blood in his name.

As he dreamt, thought, a peculiarity came up in the fabric of reality. The Warp was an overlapping universe that did not share the same laws of physics or distance as its counterpart, but still resonated with the events of reality proper. Couple that with the fact that he was omnipotent, he could sense a single drop of blood being shed anywhere in the galaxy at any given time. However, this was no sensation of the triumph of his champions, nor the feeling of a planet being cracked asunder. This was a tear. No, not a tear...

A gateway to another realm.

A realm completely untouched by his influence, so pure it nearly caused him pain. This was an affront to every fiber of his being. No world within his reach will remain unscathed. In the end, all things would belong to him. This world would be conquered, it was only a matter of finding purchase.

He took in a breath of the blood-soaked air, inflating his monstrous lungs, preparing to bellow out his order, his decree, his law, and nothing would stand in defiance.

“It shall belong to Khorne.”

Ready Fer Stompin'!

Twilight’s seen some shit.

She’s seen flamboyant sea serpents, she’s seen Pinkie’s enigmous sense of future-telling, she’s seen a vicious dragon break down into tears, she’s seen her little dragon assistant become a vicious dragon, she’s seen the three-headed guard dog of Tartarus act like a playful puppy in the presence of a bouncing ball, she’s seen everything that Discord could do, she’s seen, first-hoof, the workings and effects of time travel, and she’s seen her longtime foalhood friend in the form of a maniacal, overgrown bug with swiss cheese for legs.

But a hulking, green, bipedal alien dancing on his toes and squealing like a fan-mare? That could also be added to the list. The top of the list.

“OhmiGork ohmiGork ohmiGork!” The extraterrestrial visitor gushed. “It’s really yew! Youz Twilight Sporkle!”

“W-what?” The lavender librarian was still confused beyond belief. This kind of thing tended to catch her off-guard.

He made wild gestures with his arms, both metal and biological. “Youz da oonicorn dat... daauhh... did stuff...” He scratched his bare head before his face contorted into an expression of revelation. “Yew krumped dat Dishcord guy good dat one time.”

Twilight blinked. How could he possibly know that?

“Aaaand dem giant bugs. I’ve kilt me sum giant bugs, too. My bugs’r scarier.”

“Now, hold on...” Despite his still-imposing height, she began working up the courage to speak.

“‘Course, dere was Noightmare Moon, but yew didn’t really krump ‘er. Yew don’ really do a lotta krumpin’ lookin’ at it.”

“Just stop!” Twilight finally built the nerve to confront this strange beast. “I... I don’t... how did...” She stopped to gather her thoughts. “Who, and what, are you?”

The creature smiled. It was a big grin, one that was full of teeth. It unnerved her.

“Me? Name’s Grundy!” He beat his chest with his natural arm. The miscellany of things attached to his person clattered and clanked. “Mekboy Grundy! Iz an ork, and we orks’r made fer foightin’ an’ winnin’!”

His thick, brutish speech grinded harshly against her ears like coarse sandpaper, but it was understandable. That would be another thing she’d have to explore. Her mind was exploding with questions, and, as far as she could tell, she was currently out of danger, so she could pursue those questions. But, first thing’s first:

“How do you know my name?”

“Not jus’ yers!” He counted off with his mechanical fingers. “Dere’s Applejack an’ Rainbow Dash an’ Fluttershoy an’ Rarity, an’ Pinkay Poie, an’... uhh... I fink dat’s it.”

The unicorn was becoming even more addled. “Yeah, how do you know those names?”

“Dem techno-boxes da ‘umies have told me.”

She looked like a grot in a headlight.

“Uhh...” Grundy attempted to elaborate. “Yew know? ‘Umies. Hu-mans.” He struggled with the proper pronunciation. It didn’t feel natural to him.

Twilight shook her head slowly, then faster as her frustration increased. “No! That doesn’t make any sense! How do you know our names and what we’ve done when I’ve never seen anything like you?”

Something occurred to Grundy, something that would have never occurred in the mind of a regular ork, besides seeing something like Twilight and not instantly wanting to kill it. Orks never really had to worry about existential matters, because their lives were simple. They lived to fight, whether it was each other, the humies, the Chaos Boyz, the blue guys, or whatever. They never questioned anything beyond how to kill things faster, make things go fast, make things ‘splodier, or how to live longer so they could kill more things. It occurred to him that this pony may not want to know that she was the product of the minds of the humies given form through a cartoon show for humie grots. Instead of telling her outright, he used his usual method of evasion when it came to explaining things.

“...Ferget wot I said before... uh... I knew ya...” He smiled and proudly placed his fists on his hips. “‘Cause oi’m brainy like dat!”

There was silence between the two of them. Twilight would never in the right mind accept that answer, but looking at the ork, she knew that was the only answer she was getting.

“Ok, so... Grundy, is it? Uh... where do you come from?”

Grundy removed his goggles as he pondered this, displaying is natural red, beady eyes instead of glowing orange. “Well, zog... last planert I waz on waz... uhh... mefinks da ‘umies called it...” He itched his bald cranium. “I fergot. Dey weren’t too keen on screamin’ dat out when we kilt ‘em. ‘Ar ‘ar ‘ar...” He chuckled.

As one would expect, Twilight was mortified. “You... killed them?”

“Yeah!” He stated matter-of-factly.

“But... how could you...!”

“We orks jus’ go to a planert, kill all da fings dere, an’ den it’s our planert.” He explained. “Dat lash one was real ‘asy, though. None of dem tough ‘umies tah kill us back.”

“But what about their friends!? Their families!?”

“Das ‘kay ‘cause we kilt ‘em too.” He lit another cigar.

“NO! THAT’S NOT OKAY!” She shouted. Grundy raised a brow.

“But... we’z orks’r made fer foightin’ an’ winnin’...”

“It’s not right!”

The Mek didn’t particularly like being shouted at, so he started to shout back. “Well maybe I don’t wants tah be roight! Didja fink a’ dat?!”

“But that planet belonged to them! Why couldn’t you let them have it?!”

“‘Cause... da orks wanted it!”

“You didn’t have to kill them!”

“Maybe we’z wanted tah kill ‘em!”

“That’s also not good!”

“I ain’t kilt yew yet, ya gonna fank me fer dat?”

“And why not?!”

The argument came to a full stop.

“Well... uh... ‘cause yer... ya know... a p’noy... an’...” Twilight swore she saw his face turn a darker green.

“And...?” She coaxed on.

“An’... I LOIK P’NOYS, KAY?” He huffed in clear frustration. “All dem uvvah orks’r loik, ‘oh Grundy likes dem p’noys, he un-orky’, ya know? Gork, it PISSERS ME OFF!” He jabbed a thumb at his chest. “Iz still an ork! A Mek! One’a da best dere iz! I made dis arm fer meself!” He pointed to the mechanical limb Twilight usually found herself staring at for the majority of the time talking with Grundy. “Dem uvvah Meks would shat dere brainz out jus’ finkin’ about makin’ somefin’ loik dis! Oh... but dey don’ care! Dey jus’ want a new Shoota, or a Rokkit launcher, or dere bikes fixed. None a’ dem go tah Grundy fer a new arm, dey jus’ go tah Painboy Sawbones, ‘er somefink, an’ when dey finds out I loik p’noys, dey ferget all about wot I did fer ‘em! Gork an’ Mork, wots wrong wiff ‘em, eh?!”

“Grundy!” The unicorn managed to stop the ork’s hysterical rantings. She warily glanced around at the dark, unknown forest around them. “You think we can continue this somewhere else?”

Grundy blinked his tiny, predatory eyes. “Shore.”

“Ok, just... follow me...” She started to clop off in one direction, then did a double-take and remembered the true direction to the path. “This way.”

They exited the clearing, the ork noisily stomping along after the purple unicorn.

“So, can you tell me about your kind?”

+++++

In the time it took for them to reach the path, Twilight had sorted all the jumbled information in her head. From what she had discovered so far, Grundy was part of a race of savage, war-like beings whose motivation, reasoning, and thought-process consisted purely of violence. They traveled in droves from planet to planet, organized into loose bands or tribes, for the sake of fighting, killing, maiming, or otherwise destroying whatever is on that certain planet. Their hierarchy was determined solely by physical strength and individuality was practically non-existent. They ate anything they could get their hands on, even if it was other orks, and drank alcohol in the form of a beer fermented from mushrooms or something. They were capable of making some pretty advanced technology that was somehow encoded into some of their genes. Grundy tried to explain how he could build all that complex stuff. He said it “just popped up in his brain” when he went to work. Instinct. This puzzled Twilight further.

What really irked her was the fact that their entire race was obsessed with fighting. Fighting “humies”, fighting “space elfs”, or even fighting each other. They needed violence as much as they needed to breathe. Such a thing in the mind of a peace-loving equine was abhorrent, to say the least. But that understatement did no justice. It was appalling, disgusting, just plain horrific! Ponies worked hard to keep peace when they were surrounded by less agreeable races of their world, such as the gryphons. They offered trade, compromised, avoided confrontation at all costs. Orks, however, sought conflict. They sparked anger and they ignited wars. They loved breaking, smashing, and crushing like ponies loved to pursue their quiet lives excelling in their special talent. They were like the polar opposite of ponies. Such a thing would not bode well for Equestria. That brought up another urgent question: what was she going to do with him?

When they arrived at the open path, Grundy was explaining the ork sub-races.

“If ya wanna get speshific ‘bout it, ya call ‘em gretchin, but erraone jus’ calls ‘em grots. We kick ‘em around an dey do stuff fer us. We got plenty a’ dem, so Runtherds send ‘em in packs to foight. Dey don’ do much, but least dere ain’t so many a’ dem no more. Dere annoying. Smalla still, ya got da snotlings. Dey puny-brained little fings that get kicked ‘round by da grots like da grots get kicked ‘round by da orks. We jus’ use ‘em as ammo.”

“We’re here.” Twilight spoke. She wasn’t sure she could take any more talk of wanton abuse. They came to the clear path that wasn’t so choked by growth. Here, a pony could find his or her way through the forest without getting lost in the tangled vegetation.

“Soo...” Grundy drawled. “Where’r we?”

“We’re on a path somewhere in Everfree forest.”

“Ah, yeah, Evarfree. Dat place. Wiff all da wood-wuffs. Dat I krumped. Hur hur hur...”

Twilight put a hoof to her forehead. She suddenly had a very bad headache. What to do, what to do?

“When do I get tah see all yer... ya know... friends?”

She almost choked. “What?!”

He counted off using his fingers. Again. “Dere’s Applejack an’ Rainbow Dash-”

“No! NO! You can’t see them!”

Grundy looked hurt. “Why not?”

“Because... you...” She tried to find the right words. There weren’t a variety of nice adjectives she could use to describe him. “You’re a big, scary... thing... and they’d all just run away, or try to fight you!”

The ork cocked a wicked grin. “Got no problem wiff dat.”

“No, wait! Let me reword that...” Celestia, it was like talking to a small colt. A colt who’s been playing too many video games. “You can’t just solve everything with violence...”

She might as well have told him that fire isn’t hot, or water isn't wet.

“Just bear with me for a sec! Think for a moment about things from the point of view of... a pony like me.”

He put a clawed hand to his huge, square chin. Even though, as far as he knew, he was the only ork expert on the world of ponies, he wasn’t familiar with their mindset. It was hard for him to imagine himself as a pony, or anything smaller than himself. He liked having hands and walking on two legs. Bipedalism rules. So, he settled on the next best thing: a grot. Grots usually cower when a big ork stomps along. Afraid they’d get stepped on. Yeah, he could imagine some problem presenting themselves when he would try to introduce himself to the other ponies. But would that have stopped the stubbornness of an ork? Not by a longshot.

“I’m shore we can fink’a somefin’. Youz got da smartiest ork yer evah gonna get!”

“You can’t, Grundy, you just... can’t.” Twilight took a deep breath in, a deep breath out, and went into full lecture mode. She closed her eyes to shut out all distractions, she firmly planted her haunches on the ground, and she raised her good hoof for visual gestures. “Our... cultures... our societies... they don’t match up. You have an entirely different line of thinking from a pony, not to mention you look like you’d eat them. Also, in all respects and accordences to Equestrian law, you are technically classified as a monster, albeit an intelligent one, so you being in Ponyville would present a danger to society itself! And another thing, ponies don’t tend to solve all their problems with violence-”

Grundy stopped her for moment. “Uh... wish way is Ponyville?”

She pointed down the path. “It’s that way.”

“Fanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” She said off-hoofedly as she continued her lecture. “As I was saying, violence of any kind is abhorred in Equestria. We solved our problems with careful, thoughtful words and diplomacy. We worked hard to build the peace we all know today, and your mere presence may unravel all that work-”

Twilight opened her eyes the instant her brain caught up with her. Nothing stood in front of her, just cold, empty space. She twisted her head in the direction of Ponyville to see a shrinking streak of green bounding its way towards the town.

“OI’M COMIN’ P’NOYS!!!!!!”

“Wait! No! Come back!” She raced after the ork as fast as her librarian legs would carry her.

+++++

Somewhere in the Ponyville park, two mares sat on a bench in swirling emotional turmoil. One of them, with her curly, two-toned, pink-and-dark-blue mane, tried to comfort her seafoam green friend-turned-lover. They were at the breaking point. The crossroads. It was at this point when they would either heal their tenuous relationship, or they would separate and never see one another ever again.

“Lyra, please, just look at me.” Bon-Bon pleaded as she nudged the unicorn’s thigh. Lyra refused to look in her direction. In her peculiar slumped sitting position, she kept her neck turned the other way. She couldn’t stand the hurt look on her face. Those big, quivering eyes would do nothing to help her. She was so confused on where to go, what to say. She wasn’t sure she could face Bon-Bon ever again after what she had said.

“At least talk to me! It me, Bon-Bon, remember? We agreed that you can talk to me about anything.”

“I’m not so sure I can talk to you about this.” Lyra finally replied.

“You can tell me anything. Anything! I would listen because... I love you.”

Lyra turned in her direction slightly. Tears ran down her cheeks. “I don’t think I can say the same anymore.”

With a sharp gasp, Bon-Bon withdrew. Pain filled her eyes. But, with some extra thought, she knew why. Her face contorted into a visage of anger.

“It because I’m not human, isn’t it?”

The seafoam green musician turned away again. “That’s not it...”

“That is it! That’s all you ever talk about! All you ever think about!” She lowered her voice. “Why do you have to obsess over something that’s not real?”

Lyra turn towards her. “They are real, I know it! Why would those book have information so detailed if they weren’t?”

“Anypony could make that up with a vivid enough imagination! You said it yourself, you don’t even know where those books came from!”

“It’s not just the books!” She cast her eyes downward. “It also... the dreams. One night, I dreamed of them. They were a bit out-of-focus, but I knew it was them! With their hands and their legs and their faces... it felt so real... they felt so close... I didn’t know how I would live with myself after I found out it was just a dream.”

“That’s all it was. That’s all it ever was, Lyra.” She placed her hoof over her companion’s. “A dream.”

Lyra pulled away once more, but Bon-Bon continued.

“Put your faith in something that is real, like me. I’m real. I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you. Through thick and thin, I’ll always be there to believe in you, just as I always have. I just need you to believe in me.”

The unicorn stared into her big, sky-blue eyes and thought. Should she give up her foalish obsession with humans? Or should she continue to hope that here was some soul-mate out there, waiting for her?

“Bon-Bon... I... I...”

Lyra yelped as she was suddenly yanked away from her marefriend and subjected to a violent, two-fisted handshake by a bipedal creature with hands and legs and a face.

“Moi name’s Grundy, nice tah meet ya, I’m a big fan a’ yer work.” He breathed on her. It was the most horrific stench in the galaxy laced with a burning tobacco farm. No words could possibly describe the festering rot that rose from his throat. It was enough to make Cthulhu himself reach for his lucky bucket. Celestia, she could taste it. He kept shaking her hoof. His metallic hand was cold enough to be felt through her fur. It stung her skin.

“I noticed dat yew two seem tah hang out a lot. Yew guys mus’ be best buds ‘er somefink.” His words reverberated painfully in her ear canals. His speech was almost too ramshackle to understand. When he stopped throttling her entire body with his massive arms, Lyra finally got a good look at him. His ugly, green, greasy, leather-like face was chocked full of creases and huge, pointy, yellowed teeth that jutted from his jaw like the spines of a dragon. His beady, red eyes frothed with an aura of brutality. He loomed over her like a mountain of meat. Her mouth hung open. Bon-Bon’s mouth hung open. Both said nothing.

“Well, gotta go. More fings tah see an’ all dat guff.” He bounded off further into town, pumping his arms in the air and hollering in jubilation. Galloping desperately after him a ways away was Twilight Sparkle, who was screaming obscenities, red-faced, in an attempt to catch up with the green beast, who was evidently very good at running.

Lyra sat agape on the ground. She was trying to recover her cognition after having all five of her senses raped simultaneously. After a minute or so, she whirled around to Bon-Bon with a shaky smirk on her lips and said:

“Ya know what? Buck humans.”

Lyra mashed her mouth to Bon-Bon’s in a deep, loving embrace. When she got home that night, she would burn all those books and humans would never enter her mind ever again.

+++++

Rarity pried her weary face from her desk. In front of her was a blank piece of parchment, taunting her with its emptiness. The fashionista sighed loudly. Her hair was a mess, her eyes drooped with fatigue, and her head was overheating from the frustration. Her neck-muscles ached with soreness. She knew this feeling all too well.

She was in a creative slump. She couldn’t, for the life of her, come up with any new ideas. She sat there, and sat there, and sat there, but nothing would present itself in her head. She tried scribbling on her parchment to see if she could spontaneously ignite some form of inspiration, but she ended up crumpling that up and tossing it aside. She tried that several more times with the same outcome. Her floor was dotted with balls of wadded up paper. Her room was quite dim, as she drew all the shades to keep the light from bothering her eyes. From what light was seeping through the blinds, and the emptiness of her stomach, she could tell that too much time had passed since she started. She’s had enough.

In a final, heaving gesture of defeat, Rarity hopped off her stool. She drew the blind-string and let the afternoon sun come cascading in. She winced hard. When her pupils adjusted to the brightness, she peered outside. It was a perfect day by all standards. The weather was comfortable, the air was quiet, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

“It would be a shame to let this good day go to waste cooped up in here.” She said to herself. “I think I’ll take a walk and try again tomorrow.”

Her mind set, she went to her bathroom to make herself presentable. “Just a quick primp,” she told herself, “No special occasion, just a walk around town.”

-45 minutes later-

“Expedient!” She congratulated herself as she exited the bathroom. Trotting down the stairs, she headed to her kitchen for a quick snack. Then, she chose a modest, wide-brimmed hat to keep the sun out of her eyes. Rarity exited her boutique with a pleasant smile and closed the door behind her. She began heading for the street when a commotion perked her ears. It appeared that some ponies were... running. Either towards something or away from something. Their screaming suggested the latter.

“RUN! MONSTER!!”

“RUN AWAY!!!”

“THE HORROR, THE HORROR!!!”

Rarity raised an eyebrow. This was all very peculiar. What could they possibly be running away from-?

As that thought crossed her head, she turned around. Right in her face was green skin, teeth, and red, beady eyes.

“Hi dere.”

She froze. Her joints locked up. Her breathing halted. She stood stock still, her face on the precipice of a scream, suspended in time. Grundy became puzzled. He waved a meaty hand in front of her unblinking eyes. No response or reaction whatsoever.

“Huh...” On a silly whim, and seeing that Rarity clearly wouldn’t mind, he plucked the hat from her head and tried it on. Too big. It covered his eyes. He tossed it aside. Looking behind him, he saw that the purple unicorn was catching up. He’d better get his run on, if you know what I mean. I mean he’d better start running again.

Twilight slowed down in front of her friend, panting madly. She looked over the extent of the damage Grundy had caused to the fashionista's psyche.

“Rarity! RARITY!!!” Still no response from the traumatised mare. “Rarity! Oh, for Celestia’s sake...”

Sprinting after the ork, she left her to stare blankly into the distance.

+++++

Mr. Cake hummed quietly as he wiped the bakery counter clean again. It was another busy day at Sugarcube Corner. The usual patrons were gathered for a late lunch. Mr. Cake’s wife, Mrs. Cake, was in the kitchen, finishing up a delicious batch of tiramisu for their anniversary party tonight, a party that Pinkie Pie wouldn’t be attending. Speaking of which, the exuberant pink pony was out playing with the children at the playground, so everything was relatively quiet.

There was a bang at the door as a steel-toed boot kicked it open. The muscled, green behemoth that was Grundy turned to get his broad frame through the narrow frame. Everypony on the bakery immediately stopped eating and gazed, wide-eyed, at the the ork as he stomped towards the counter. Without another second’s hesitation, all of them dropped their food, leapt out of their chairs, and ran out the door, screaming. Mr. Cake ducked under the counter, trembling. Grundy’s figure blotted out the light and cast a shadow over the slender, orange earth pony. He peeked over the edge to see the monster looking down upon him with his menacing eyes.

“H-honey...?” Carrot Cake called out to his wife. There was a click from the kitchen door as the deadbolt latched into place. Cupcake had heard the commotion, checked it out, and promptly barricaded herself with everything she could muster between her and the green beast, including her husband. Mr. Cake would enjoy that tiramisu a lot less that night.

The grotesque creature then reached into his pouch, withdrew a great fistful of something, and hovered it over the counter. The fist loosened and pointed, ivory teeth clattered and bounced onto the freshly-wiped surface.

“Oi’d loik sum cupcakes.” Grundy spoke. “Wiff pink frostin’.”

+++++

Twilight huffed hard as she stumbled to catch her breath. Spending most of her time reading books in her library does not give her any reserves of physical endurance, not by a long-shot. Not to mention she hadn’t really been doing a lot of outside time recently. She wouldn’t dare admit it to anypony else, but she was getting a bit chubby... Her legs felt like they were on fire, but she had to keep running. She could probably give them a reason to keep running. Surely, her legs knew the importance of her catching up to that vehement beast. Mister Legs?

“Mister Legs don’t trouble himself with such queersome notions.” Her legs replied. “Go find us a nice-ol’ shady spot to take rest and reflect on the day’s doin’s.”

That wasn’t an option, so she mushed on. She had to keep going. Already, the townsfolk were panicking and word was spreading fast. She had to get Grundy out of Ponyville before anarchy took over and everything was out of her control. But, as she gradually picked up speed, she couldn’t help the feeling niggling in the back of her brain that she forgot something. Something important...

+++++

After nearly fifteen minutes of waiting diligently by the door, Zecora’s smile finally faded. She slumped down to the rough, wooden floor of her cozy hut. She wasn’t coming, that she knew. She knew that Twilight would never be this late unless she wasn’t coming at all. The zebra bit her lip, trying to suppress the tears that would inevitably come. She messed up. She failed. Her tenuously-built boldness got the better of her. She pressed too hard and alienated her good friend. She was a fool to try and make her friendship with the librarian something more. She didn’t even know if Twilight loved her back.

“Zecora, you stupid mare. You’ve severed your friendship beyond repair.”

She tossed aside the bouquet of beautiful, carefully picked wild flowers.

She doused the glowing candles and dumped the food off of their plates.

She put away all the books they would have discussed and all the good time they would have shared.

She went to her raggedy bed and collapsed into it, sobbing into the pillow until a somber slumber took her.

+++++

Whatever it was, it couldn’t have possibly been more important than this.

Twilight saw that Grundy had entered Sugarcube Corner, indicated by the herd of screaming ponies exiting the bakery. She dodged the crowd of mindless fear and ran for the door. Upon pushing it open, she found the room completely empty, save the discarded meals on the tables and her quarry, who was sitting in the middle of the bakery on a creaking, wooden chair that was way too small and flimsy to hold his immense weight, placidly munching on a big platter of pink cupcakes. Twilight, her appendages screaming for rest, dragged her hooves up to the table and plopped on the floor, belly up. She was hyperventilating, but that didn’t stop her from chiding the alien as he ate.

“Do you... have... any idea... what you’ve done...?” She said between pants.

“I’ll get back tah yer on dat soon as I give a zog.” He put another cupcake in his garbage compactor of a maw. It still had the wrapper on, though, but he didn’t seem to notice.

She managed to stand herself on wobbly hooves. “I have... been... working my flank... to catch up to you!”

“Ya didn’ ‘arf tah.”

“What?!”

“Ya didn’ ‘arf tah, ya know.” He threw another cupcake in and chomped. “Youz like a pony Weirdboy, roight? Wiff da magic an’ stuff? Ya coulda jus’ tellerported tah me er somefin’.”

Twilight opened her mouth, but no sound came out. He was right. She forgot she could teleport. Her cheeks puffed as her anger and frustration boiled over.

“Listen to me! Right now there’s a town out there that’s in total chaos because of you! Not only that, but you put my friend in a catatonic state! I thought you wanted to meet my friends, not scare them to death!!!”

He stopped eating, holding one of the spongy confections precariously between his fingers. “Rarity’s... loik... moi least favorite p’noy.” He resumed chomping.

A vein appeared on Twilight’s forehead. “You’re only causing more and more problems for us, you stupid oaf! Why don’t you just get out of Ponyville before you destroy it!”

“Yeah, an’ I fink I’ll take a jog tah Canterlot, ‘ow ‘bout dat? Sure da princess would lerve me dere.”

She was on the verge of an aneurysm. “No! How about you just go back to wherever you came from! We don’t want you here! Just look at all the mayhem you’ve caused!” She thrust her hoof towards the window, which viewed the town nearly barren, for all the ponies have gone somewhere to take shelter. A few hysterical townsfolk were still dodging their way for cover. “They’re all frightened and scared to tears because of you! Have you no shame?! What do you have to say for yourself?!?!”

Grundy picked up the last cupcake, almost lethargically, from his tray and looked at it long and hard. He then turned to the fuming mare and pointed to the food.

“Dis is good stuff.” He tossed it down his gullet, swallowed, and belched. “So what were ya sayin’? I kinda tuned ya out dere fer a sec.”

That was the last straw. Twilight’s blood boiled. Her eyes seared red and her coat became white-hot. Her mane burst into flames. Her entire body exuded pure, burning fury as she hovered inches from the ground, grinding her teeth together like tectonic plates in rage. Then, she sputtered out and deflated to the floor. Gentle wisps of smoke evaporated from her mane, doused like a candle.

“Oh... what’s the use.” She sighed and scooched herself closer to Grundy and gazed up at him with her big, wooby eyes. “Please, please, please, please, pleeease, just leave Ponyville for now. That’s all I ask of you. If you’re not going to do it for the well-being of this town, could you at least do it for me?”

Grundy groaned and stood up from his tiny, creaking chair. “Mmmm... fine.” He pulled out another cigar, lit it from a still-burning ember on the unicorn’s mane, and put it in his teeth.

Twilight breathed a sigh of relief. This situation was still salvageable. She could get the ork out of the town and calm the citizens before all order was lost. As what to do with him, that was something she was still trying to figure out. All that mattered was that, after Grundy was secured in a safe place, away from the town, she would have time to think.

Suddenly, the door burst open once more, followed by a blur of cyan and the fading wisp of a rainbow trail. A gust of turbulence filled the room, rattling papers and pushing thing off their tables, ruffling Twilight’s mane and begetting the attention of the green barbarian. Rainbow Dash fluttered heroically a few feet from the floor, eyes ablaze with passion and righteousness.

“I’m here to kick your flank, monster!” She shouted while thrusting a hoof in the ork’s direction.

“Oh no...” Twilight folded her ears over her head.

“ROIGHT THEN!” Grundy shouted, galvanized into animation. With one effortless motion, he tossed the heavy table aside. In crashed into another table with a crack of splintering wood and a splatter of food. Dash wasn’t fazed in the slightest, having complete conviction in her actions. In a show of bravado, the ork spun his mechanical joints so the servo-motors would give the greatest amount of noise, and then pounded both of his fists together with a clank of metal and a pop of dense bone. “LESSE ‘OW YA FOIGHT, DARSHIE!!”

“Grraaaaahh!!!” The pegasus cried and charged at the Mek, who did the same in his own fashion.

“WAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!!!”

+++++

In a secluded, quieter portion of Equestria sat a small pond. Its water was still, but as clear and clean as rain. The sinking sun shimmered in its rippling surface, giving the pond an orange color. Suddenly, one at a time, three filly head broke the surface of the water, gasping for air. Water clung to their fur, chilling them until they shivered.

“Alright. What’d you gals get?” Piped Apple Bloom. The three raised their hooves from the water, each displaying a tangled mess of soggy straw. They groaned in disappointment.

“Aww nuts.” Scootaloo lamented, splashing her petite wings in the water. “It didn’t work.”

“Heck, ah’m not even sure how that woulda worked.”

“Umm... girls?” Sweetie Belle squeaked. “You think Twilight was being sarcastic when she said we could get our cutie marks in underwater basket weaving?”

“Probably.” Scoots threw her ugly straw-mess to the water beyond. “She seemed like she was in a hurry to get to Zecora’s.”

The other two fillies disposed of their wads in return. “What would that cutie mark even look like?” Apple Bloom questioned rhetorically.

Without another word, the trio swam back to shore and trudged out of the pond, dripping wet. They shook off the wetness like dogs. Their moods were crestfallen. They cast their eyes to the ground from yet another failed attempt at finding their special talents.

Sweetie Belle remained ever-optimistic. “Well, we can try again tomorrow, right?”

Apple Bloom kicked a bit of brown soil and grass from the ground with her forehoof. “Ah don’ know, Sweetie. Ah’m startin’ tah think we’ll never get our cutie marks.” She sank even further. “We’re gonna end up like Ol’ Hayseed, shovelin’ muck th’ rest of our lives.”

“Don’t say that, Bloom!” Scootaloo snapped. “We’ve only been at it every day for... uh... well... about a year...” She started to slump as well, but bounced back. “But we still got our whole lives ahead of us! Plenty of time to get our cutie marks!” She glanced uneasily towards Sweetie Belle. “Right?”

The little unicorn didn’t have an answer. It was a terrible thing, to be without a place in the world. To not know your purpose, your destiny. For them, the crushing reality was becoming ever clearer and more depressing with each passing day. They’ve spent about every ounce of free time experimenting and delving into various trades and talents, but to no avail. They’ve turned their head to check their flanks more times than they could count, expecting to find something filling that empty space, but only felt disappointment. They all knew it was getting too much to bear. They were entering their final grade of school as the only blank-flanks of the class. They weren’t sure if they could suffer any more torment from Diamond Tiara and her friend. They certainly don’t want to be still conspiring in their treehouse by the time they were Ms. Cheerilee’s age.

With sunken hearts and downcast looks, the three of them said their somber goodbyes and their usual agreement to return tomorrow at the treehouse, same time, same goal. Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle headed for the scooter-wagon complex that served as their transportation, leaving Apple Bloom a minute to herself, sulking. She sighed a deep, fatigued sigh and picked herself up and began to hoofslog her way to the cart with the rest.

“Ah’d do anythin’ at this point tah get mah cutie mark.” She whispered to herself.

Suddenly, it felt as if a pair of jagged claws rose from the depths and took hold of her brain. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened to release a scream, but it was too late. The next thing she knew, she was encompassed by total darkness. Blinded, her other senses were overwhelmed by a plethora of obscenities. The smell of blood drilled into her nostrils as if the very air itself was made of it. Countless voices all around her screamed endlessly in pain. These sensations racked her mind so fast and ruthlessly. It was only a moment later that crushing fear took hold of her small pony form like the wet, stinking maw of a great beast. Her vision finally cleared. The nightmare was fully revealed.

Blood. She was surrounded by oceans of blood. The scarlet liquid lapped at her hooves like hungry, rabid rats. Mountains of bones jutted from the red waters, enduring the crashing waves of staining life-fluids. She herself was situated on an island of bones. They were fused and twisted together like some kind of sadistic metal to form a blackened, glossy surface. She looked down at the soulless sockets of what was once a skull. It had been warped into a visage of excruciating agony, as if it was moments before death and then sealed in time. She yelp as dark thunder cracked overhead in the red, cloudy sky. Then, it began to rain. It began to rain blood. It was warm, as if it was fresh from a seeping wound. It soaked her fur until her entire body was the same color as the bow on in her hair.

Apple Bloom’s mind was blank. She was confused and horrified beyond all cognition. She was trembling madly and on the verge of a mental breakdown, when a voice rang in her head. It was like the beat of a low drum, magnified a thousandfold, while retaining an overtone of a psychotic screech from some unnamable abomination. It came from everywhere at once, gurgling from the ocean itself.

“AAAANYYYYYTHIIIIIIING?”

“...Bloom! Apple Bloom!! APPLE BLOOM!!!!”

The filly gasped back to reality proper, shivering on the ground. Her two friend were standing over her. Scootaloo was shaking sense into her with her hoof. Sweetie Belle was in tears. Bloom could barely form words with her quivering lips. Her eyes were still as wide as dinner plates and she could still smell the blood.

“W-w-what... h-hap-p-” Was all she could manage to say.

“You... just started screaming... and thrashing around. You didn’t stop. Not for at least half a minute.” Her distress was clear by the sound of her voice. Scootaloo has always been the tough one of the bunch, but she had no idea what to make of this. The unknown never failed to frighten. “...Your nose is bleeding a lot.”

Apple Bloom wiped her nose with her foreleg. It came back slick. She panicked and swiped her hoof away as if it were on fire.

“What happened, Bloom?” Scoots asked, genuinely worried.

The red-and-yellow filly lay there, breathing heavily. Already the visions she saw were starting to fade away like a dream, but all the emotions, the smells, the sounds, that voice... they were all still there. Stuck like a tree stump. She didn’t want to try and explain what happened to her until she understood it herself.

“Ah... don’t know...”

“Are you gonna be okay?” Sweetie Belle was trembling just as hard as Bloom. Perhaps even more. She was as rattled about the whole thing as one could be.

“Ah’ll be alright. Let’s jus’ go home an’ ferget about it.”

Warily, they made their way back to their respective houses. All the while, though, Apple Bloom was uneasy. As she trotted towards her house for a hot meal and a warm bed, it felt as if a pair of eyes were watching her. Cruel, malevolent eyes that hungered like a wolf. She could sense a presence beating down on her back, as sure as the sun in the sky. But every time she turned around, there was nothing there. The feeling never went away, though, regardless of how often she told herself there was nothing there. There was nothing there. There was nothing there. There was nothing there.

Nothing there...

Nothing there...

Ehh... Wish Button Makes Dis Fing Go?

Within the dainty borders of a town called Ponyville, all was quiet. Well, perhaps more in comparison to how it usually is. Despite being not that much larger than a village, it thrives and throbs and revels in the world of business. There are countless opportunities for a pony of any trade to make his or her way in this small stead. It hosts regular markets and shows, events and celebrations. It may not be the clockwork hustle and bustle of Manehatten, nor the fast-flowing barter and gambling of Las Pegasus, but those who worked their craft here prospered.

But not all the inhabitants are strictly business-minded. Indeed, most of the life of Ponyville comes from its warm inhabitants. Their friendly smiles, their cheery hellos. Nopony is ever in too much of a hurry to stop and have a lovely conversation every now and then. Nearly everypony knew each other. The bonds of companionship are tight-knit and strong, making trade and progress all that much more simple. Though, if there ever happened to be eager newcomers to this propitious town, the population would greet and receive them with open minds and open hearts. Nopony has ever felt unwelcome.

There are, however, always exceptions to the rule.

One such exception has made his merry and tumultuous way to the candy-coated abode of Sugarcube Corner, much to the, shall we say... disquiet of the general populace. And, despite the fact that the rest of the neighborhood remained silent, a hoof-full of distinct sounds have made themselves known amongst the deafening calm. A constant thunk, thunk, thunk beat like the steady rhythm of a drum. Underneath that was the flapping of feathers, grunts and squeals of vain effort, and the almost inaudible whine of electrical motors.

“C’mon! Put’cher dukes up! Show me whatcha got!!!” Clamored Rainbow Dash as she pumped her wings with all her might and swung her forelegs wildly, hoping to catch something and cause considerable damage or pain. It was no use. A steel hand held her head in place with seemingly no effort whatsoever. Grundy was busy digging the crud from under his talon-like fingernails of his biological hand while he casually leaned on the tryhard pegasus. The thunking continued in the background. The ork plucked a gob of pungent orange wax from his pointed ear, squished it between his fingers for a moment, and flicked it away.

“Bloody ‘ell, yer awful.”

The flamboyant mare growled. “Come over here and say that to my FACE!”

“Naw, mefinks we’re done ‘ere.” He reared his head toward the lavender unicorn. “Wot’s da plan, Twi?”

The thunking stopped. Twilight Sparkle raised her head from the table, stars fluttering around the edges of her wall-eyed vision. “Consultation hourzzz are froms free to five... If you’d like to make an appointment...” She swayed and planted her face on the table once more.

Grundy blinked, befuddled. He thought that the purple one was as smart as they come. For ponies, that is. Guess his orkyness was a bit too much for her equine mind. Nonetheless, the brazen cyan pegasus was still trying to overpower him. Somehow. The decisive battle had hardly lasted a few minutes. In likeness to her namesake, Dash was incredibly fast and agile, but as soon as her hooves began to impact his body, Grundy knew that there was no point in fighting her. Well, it was more to the accordance of when he realized it was her hooves hitting his thick hide as hard as she could and not her attempt to tickle him or something. She even put every ounce of her strength into one blow, striking him square in the chest, but reeled back, wincing in pain and commenting that it was like punching a tree. The Mek had a feeling that she really didn’t think that through. What a git. Then again, “Glass and stone houses”, as the humies say. Or maybe it was the other way around... Eh. Zog it.

The mechanical hand suddenly released the pony’s head, causing all the potential energy to be released and sending her rocketing painfully into a wall. A crack resounded as everything above her neck was forcefully embedded into the painted surface. She hung limply before she began to struggle out of the crumbling vice, mostly to no avail. Grundy paid no attention to the mare’s condition and stomped over to where Twilight was abusing herself. A large, green paw halted her head. The ork effortlessly kicked the table away and grabbed the tiny pony with both hands, bringing himself down to her level.

“C’mon! Get yer brainz tahgevva, ya git!” He shook her in his grip. The unicorn wavered a moment before shaking her head like a dog and coming to her senses.

“W-Wha...?” She murmured. Catching the sight of both Grundy and the lower half of her friend (still struggling), she drew a natural conclusion. Her expression deadpanned. “...Oh.”

The ork rose and jabbed a thumb backwards. “Squig-fer-brainz ‘ere can’t foight fer shite.”

Twilight sighed in relief. Dash was still kicking, so that meant she couldn’t be worse for wear. She thanked Celestia that neither of them were hurt too badly, though in all honesty, she could have handled it better on her part. Oh, her head smarted something fierce.

“Well, she isn’t any better than me at that, or anypony for that matter.” Suddenly, a brilliant thought hit her. “In fact, nopony is really any good at fighting, so it would be rather pointless for you to fight them! Ya know, since they aren’t any good at it... hehe...”

The hulking Mek crossed his arms and grumbled. “Ehh... Oi fot as much...”

Hopefully, that thought would stick for a while. In the meantime, she had to extract her friend from the wall. Using her magic, she enveloped Dash’s body and yanked her out, drawing a yip of discomfort. The pegasus spat and sputtered, purging foul dust and insulation from her face. The first thing she saw when she regained her vision was the ork and her librarian friend. She, once more, galvanized herself into action, striking a heroic pose like some sort of comic book superheroine.

“Get behind me, Twi!” She raised her front hooves, prepared to lash out with everything she had. Again. “I’ll take care of this monster!”

“No! No more fighting!” She scolded, causing the pegasus to falter in confusion. “I have enough to worry about as it is!”

“‘Sides, ya hit loik a grot. ‘Ar ‘ar ‘ar...” He drew another cigar from his pocket and put it in his teeth.

“But... but...” She stammered, gradually sinking to the floor. She turned to Twilight. “He’s... he’s a monster! He’s big and ugly and smelly and scary looking!”

“Awww... yer makin’ me blush.” Grundy rumbled.

“And... he talks? How can he talk? Monsters don’t talk!”

“Seems ya nevah met an ork before.” His thumb-lighter flipped open and lit, sizzling the glowing cigar as he drew in a breath. A cloud of smog billowed from between his teeth, accompanied by the metallic clink of his closing lighter. “Moight be a good fing. If it weren’t me, yew’d be pretty zoggin’ ded.”

“So why aren’t you doing anything about him, Twi?! The whole town’s locked themselves inside, and you’re just sitting here, what, having lunch?!?”

“I was doing something about it until you showed up!” She retorted. “He doesn’t mean us any... well... he’s trying not to mean us any harm, but you’re making that awfully hard!”

“No, I was kicking his flank for you!”

Grundy barked in rancid laughter. Black fog exuded from his maw like a smokestack. “Don’ kid yerself, Darshie.”

The pegasus’ face grew hot. “You shut up!”

The atmosphere became electrified with tension once again as the ork scowled, baring his teeth. He tramped closer to Rainbow Dash. “Yew wanna say dat again?”

“W-wait! Just hold on on a sec...” Twilight urged, sensing his shift in attitude. She attempted to step between them, but couldn’t maneuver past the ork’s immense bulk.

“I’d be glad to say it again!”

“Dat so?!”

“Yeah! Four more times, buster!” She tensed her muscles and raised her hooves once more. “One for each hoof that’s gonna BREAK YOUR FACE!”

Before anything could take place, though, another pony entered the bakery. And by “entered”, I mean exploded through the front doors in an unreadable blur of pink and screams. Zooming past chairs and weaving through tables, Pinkie Pie halted stiff right in front of Twilight Sparkle, panting heavily. Her eyes like white saucers, she inflated herself with enough oxygen for ten ponies and began to speak.

“Ohmigosh Twilight there’s a monster loose in the town I tried to find you at the library but you weren’t there so I looked for you some more there were so many ponies running away and screaming “Ahh! Ahh! Ahh!” and it was so loud but then I came here and I found you so now-!!!”

She was silenced as a huge hand enveloped her entire torso and squeezed tightly. Her face bloated comically and she released a cartoonish squeak. Grundy raised the motormouth to his face, scrutinizing her carefully. Pinkie couldn’t speak. She started to whimper sweat with fear. She hadn’t noticed the large beast when she entered, a wonder considering how glaringly conspicuous he was. After observing every inch of her equine body, the ork began to squash and stretch her with both hands. The helpless party pony could do nothing as her form was manipulated like soft taffy.

“Put... put her down now!” Twilight demanded. Grundy didn’t seem affected in the least by her tone of voice. He just continued to knead the unfortunate mare some more.

“‘Ow does she zoggin’ work?” The Mek began twisting her head around. The unfortunate earth-pony rattled with each crank like a wind-up toy.

“JUST PUT HER DOWN!”

“Fine! Gork ‘n Mork...” He set the wound-up Pinkie on her hooves. As soon as she was set down, her mouth hinged opened and chimed out a nimble rendition of “Pop Goes The Weasel” as her head slowly turned back to a normal position. Grundy shot a raised eyebrow at the lavender librarian.

“I... I really... I don’t even know anymore...” Was all she could say as she held her head in a agonizing migraine. After a moment of excruciating mental pain, she peered around the room. Somepony was missing.

“Where’s Dash?”

The ork crossed his arms. “Oi fink Oi ‘ave an idear...”

As if on cue, a whoosh and a battle cry came from the other room as Rainbow Dash gathered momentum and charged at the green behemoth.

“EAT HOOF, MONSTER!!!”

Grundy casually sidestepped the streak of cyan. He didn’t even flinch as she blazed past him, the turbulence causing his cigar to glow a bit brighter. Having no means of slowing down, she cried out as her head, once again, buried itself into the wall, scant inches away from the first hole. The whole building shook. The ork blew another puff of smoke and smiled to himself.

“Heh... dat’s a larf.”

Twilight looked upon the struggling pegasus with disdain. “You know what? She earned that one. I’ll let her get out of it herself.” She turned to Grundy. “As for you, you need to come with me. We’re getting you out of town.”

He sighed. “All roight. Yew ‘da boss’.” He threw his hands up in a frivolous gesture. The unicorn ignored his sarcasm and motioned for him to follow. At that time, however, Pinkie Pie had finished emulating a music box. With a click, her head was back into place, and her facial expression transitioned instantly from completely blank to wide-eyed alarm.

“OHMYGOSHTHEMONSTERISRIGHTTHEREEVERYPONYRUN!!!” Her whirling legs began to grind along the floor like screeching tires when a lavender magical mist surrounded her and pulled her backwards. A hoof was then thrust into her mouth, silencing her once again as Twilight glared into her eyes.

“No! No screaming! No yelling! No. Running. Away! Got it?!”

“Hfoh kay...” Pinkie whimpered through her hoof.

Taking the response as satisfactory, the unicorn released her. The pink one collected her thought, or, at least, did whatever she does within her brain when she wasn’t talking, singing, dancing, or eating sweets. Her gaze drifted to the ork, who was standing by the door, idly smoking his stinky cigar. Their eyes met, her large light blue ovals to his beady red orbs. Grundy gave a toothy smile, eliciting a terrified quiver from the pony.

Twilight cleared her throat. “Pinkie, this is Grundy. He’s an ork. Grundy, this is Pinkie Pie. She’s... Pinkie Pie.”

“Well, Mekboy Grundy if wa’re gonna get intah propah names an’ such.” He unabashedly tapped the ash from his coffin-nail onto the floor. “But Grundy’ll do.”

Pinkie trembled in place before the overwhelming presence of the green barbarian. She attempted to process all the clashing, erratic information she was being exposed to. It was like trying to fit a square block through a round hole. His craggy face. His predator-like teeth. His big, green, muscled body and his weird metal arm that whirred and buzzed. Everything about him screamed “Run away really fast from this.” She couldn’t place why she needed to do so, she just did. But now, the why was pretty important, because she needed a reason not to run away really fast. Not that she’s ever been the least bit concerned with why, but Twilight knew what was best a lot of the time. She was really smart and stuff. If she was introducing her to him as if he was just another pony, then he must not be all that bad. But, then again, not-so-bad things can turn out to be really bad things sometimes, like the Princess Cadence who turned out to be that evil Queen... Cheeselegs. But really bad things could also turn out to be good things sometimes, too! And then there are the slightly-good-but-not-as-good-as-really-good things, and the not-as-bad-as-really-bad-but-still-worse-than-sort-of-bad things... All this thinking was starting to make her head hurt. Her mouth hung open in speechlessness as she waged a mental war with herself.

Grundy watched as the pink mare stood silent. That struck him with something that could have possibly amounted to worry, which wasn’t a very well-known concept amongst the fearless and bloodshed-fueled orkish race. Though he was a bit detached from said collective, he was still just as clueless as the next ork about how to console himself with such a sensation. Pinkie Pie, the silly pink pony that was crazier than a Madboy in the middle of a Waaagh! and always flapping her gums non-stop was now motionless before him, saying not a word. For the first time in the history of his life, Grundy began to truly feel self-conscience about his cumbersome presence and how it affected these other beings he had grown so fond of. On top of that, he considered Pinkie to be one of his favorite ponies.

“Dauh...” He scratched behind his ear with his metal hand and shifted uncomfortably. “Well... Uh... Noice tah meet ya... Oi guess... Uhh...” He felt around his many pockets for something to divulge. His hand dived into one of them and withdrew a cigar, being the only gift he could think of giving at the moment. He flicked it in her direction “Here ya go! Somfink tah remembah me by!”

The stogie bounced off her expressionless face and anticlimactically fell to the floor. Grundy frowned. Twilight watched the whole exchange with hopefulness, seeing that maybe, just maybe, this newcomer might cause less trouble than she thought he would. But, her disposition didn’t improve by much. After a short beat, Pinkie snapped herself out of her mind-boggling stupor and looked at the cigar in front of her hooves. She picked it up and beamed a half-hearted smile at the plant-colored barbarian.

“Uh... thanks...?” She surmised not to tell the creature that she didn’t smoke.

The ork wagged his wisping roll of tobacco at her. “Oi don’ give dose out willay-nillay, see?”

Twilight blinked as she recalled something. “Pinkie, aren’t you supposed to be watching Mr. and Mrs. Cake’s kids at the park?”

The party pony’s pupils shrank. Her hair sagged. Her entire body went several shades paler as her blood froze to a near standstill.

“OHHH NOOOO!!!!” She screamed and darted out the door, leaving a vast cloud of dust behind her as she sped back to the park with reckless abandon. Grundy, emerging halfway out the front door of the bakery, peered after her in stupefaction.

“Gork, she moves farst, an’ she ain’t even dat red!”

The librarian didn’t even bother asking him to elaborate what that was supposed to mean. She squeezed past his tremendous girth and out the door, looking around at the empty town and suddenly feeling very, very tired. “Come on, Grundy, lets just go already.”

“Shore fing, boss.” He exhaled a draft of tar and sauntered after the lavender unicorn.

Meanwhile, in the bakery, Rainbow Dash still struggled, her thick head practically adhered to the inside of the wall. Her voice was muffled and barely audible.

“Hello? Somepony? Anypony?! GET ME OUTTA HERE!!!”

+++++

Twilight and Grundy were well out of town by now, the pastel homesteads of Ponyville were in the distant scenery. Their backs to civilization, they trudged over green, rolling hills and past the trees, gently rattling in the afternoon breeze. From here, the ork could see the distinct umbra of Everfree Forest, its tangling darkness was like solid shadow in the wake of the blue, cloud-speckled sky. Such a dark place, filled with all manner of hazardous, tangling vegetation and dangerous, violent beasts, of which would not hesitate to reduce any who came close to bloody shreds of flesh and broken bone.

He’d have to go back some time. For a picnic, perhaps.

While they silently promenaded into the gradually thickening outskirts of the forest, Grundy’s mind drifted elsewhere. He thought of Krumpface’s warband and how they were doing. Still reveling in their victory, he knew. That’ll probably last a month at the most. Then, they’ll naturally start killing each other again. He would have joined them, too, if that Weirdboy hadn’t transtellaportled him to Equestria. The thought of crushing ork skulls with his Thunda Stik and filling their rib cages with hot lead started to make his hand itch. He clenched and unclenched. Not now, he thought, there were plenty of other things to fight besides ponies, like dragons, manticores, maybe even those lion-bird things. What did they call them? Guffins? Yeah, Guffins. Barring that, an itchy hand could also be cured with a bit of tinkering. That sounded like an enjoyable endeavor to the Mek. The only problem was that he didn’t have the abundant piles of humie scrap he usually worked with. Well, he’d just have to improvise.

“Well, here we are.” Twilight suddenly said, eliciting Grundy from his thoughts. The ork took a look around. They were in a slightly damp clearing, with a few tall trees here and there. They provided a pleasantly cool shade. The grass on the ground was a bit taller and greener than the sort found on the aforementioned hills. It rippled in the breeze like a green, whispering ocean. Finches and thrushes chirped a cheerful ditty, unseen in the background. It was the sort of beauty and grace that made the Mek want to puke his guts all over it.

Though, one detail in particular stood out. There was a tall, time-crumbled pillar standing before them, silent and imposing. It went up about four meters before coming to a bust of a pony with wings and a horn, staring blankly into the distance. It looked meticulously carven, wrought by hoof, though it was terribly weathered. So much so that the details of the fine craft were unseen and, perhaps, lost forever. Thin vines and lichen clung to the pale stone like dust. Such a strangely delicate hold, as if the plants were wary to embrace it.

“Wot’s dis den?” Grundy queried and scratched his boxy jaw.

“This? I’m not sure.” She went up to the base of the column and brushed the loose plant-matter off the flat stone. There was writing there, but it became apparent that Twilight could not read it, despite her fervent squinting. “I came across it while picking flowers- I mean... looking for... uh... special herbs... for a magical potion. There aren’t any records of this in the Canterlot library nor Ponyville’s. It appears to be some sort of... alicorn burial. For some prince or king. All I know is that it was definitely a stallion. It’s probably hundreds, maybe even thousands of years old!”

“Alley-corn?” He glanced at the bust at the top. “Huh. Weren't shore wot tah call ‘em.”

“Alright.” She began, shifting her attention to the ork. “Here’s how it’s going to go. You’re going to stay here for now while I help get the town under control. I’ll come back tomorrow at this spot to talk to you about what to do next. As far as I know, nopony comes by here, so you should remain unseen. Do not go anywhere near other ponies until I get back! Understand?!”

Grundy was taken aback. Something clicked in his mind. What was he doing taking guff from a pony? He’s bigger and greener than her! He should be the one to tell her what’s what! After a moment of gritting his teeth, he suppressed his orkish nature. He knew he didn’t want to krump her. A bit of a jarring concept, since nothing is beyond krumpability. Even the death of the strongest and most respected warbosses isn’t beyond the average ork’s fancy. Nothing was really sacred to them. But the Mek wanted Twilight and all those other ponies to not be harmed, by him or anything else. Gork and Mork, thought Grundy, there was something wrong with him! It took him another moment to realize that Twilight was still waiting for an answer.

“Uh... okay.”

The unicorn blinked. She thought it would take a lot more arguing than that. “Well... alright.” Her head turned left and right, scrutinizing the landscape for anything else she could have missed. “Do you... need anything else?”

He quickly checked the wide array of tools on his person before turning back to Twilight. “Naw, O’m good.”

“You sure? You... don’t need any food or something?”

“Oi kin foind me own.”

“You want me to bring a bedroll?”

“Ground’s foine.”

“Um... alright.” She faltered, disoriented. The librarian hesitantly turned away. “This spot. Tomorrow.”

He waved her off with his mechanized arm. “Yeah... yeah...”

She stopped for a moment and considered asking him for more information about his artificial limb, but knew she had to get back as soon as possible, so she settled on asking him the next day. After saying goodbye, she hoofslogged her way back to Ponyville, leaving the ork standing next to the alicorn column. Total silence reigned. He was alone. With nothing to do for an entire day. Grundy looked at the unicorn, shrinking in the distance, then back at the bust at the top of the pillar. It was still there, staring at nothing. The Mek found himself wondering about the late fellow. What was his name? What was he like? Was he killy? Mayhaps he liked krumping more than these pansy-ass little ponies. She said he was some sort of boss a real long time ago. Bigger than all the others, therefore in charge of everything. Well, until he got krumped. Grundy began to ponder upon that subject. But first, he needed a name for him. Something to call his silent friend by.

“Imma call yew Jerry. Dat 'kay?”

Jerry offered no protest.

“Roight then.” He spat out his smoldering cigar stub and fished into his pocket for another. Suddenly, a smell hit his nose, causing him to tense. He stood frozen, not breathing, making no sound. His nostrils dilated as they collected the air. There. That scent. It was unmistakable. Even as it wafted along with the faint breeze, carrying various stenches of many things like pollen and other plant smells, it was as obvious as an ork among grots.

Grundy coated his finger in discolored spittle and raised it above his head, discerning the direction of the wind. He found it and promptly stomped towards a denser part of the forest, taking care to remember where Jerry sat. Thankfully, he wasn’t going anywhere. The trees kept huddling closer and closer as he went on, taking on some qualities of the timber of Everfree. But, as he moved, the smell he was seeking got stronger. He took a long draft of the air through his orkish schnoz and broke into a run. The tools on his chest and belt clattered with each bootfall. His synthetic arm whined and whizzed as he pumped it in tandem with his legs. The scent was powerful now. The ork found himself in a full-on sprint, leaping over tangling roots and ducking under low branches. He followed the alluring smell like a hungry predator, practically gliding over the forest floor, not stopping nor breaking his stride. He was almost on top of it-

The Mek stopped himself. His feet ground into the dirt, halting his momentum and churning up a fair amount of debris. He caught himself on what looked like a vine, nearly falling right into his pungent quarry. No longer in motion, Grundy looked into the fetid pit, where no plants grew, where animals tended to avoid at all costs. These landmarks, these natural occurrences, were rare on most planets. If there were some to be had, they were usually incredibly small and not very useful. All the right conditions have to be present for this phenomena to gestate and thrive. The tectonic drift, the area’s history, many things that the ork couldn’t name, but it appeared that all those prerequisites were there, and there in abundance. Grundy grinned, ear to pointy ear, flashing his gratuitous array of teeth in an expression of absolute joy.

The humies had a name for it. Promethium, the lifeblood of their civilization. They drank in oceans’ worth of this flammable liquid and used it to fuel their trucks, their tanks, their grand factory-worlds. Orks had a name for it too; humble, less grandiose. The common rabble would just call it “burny crud”. Burna Boyz would call it “da gud stuff”, it being their most precious and revered commodity. As Grundy gazed at the bubbling lake of thick blackness, he found a proper name for it as well:

“All moine. Harharhar...”

An angry hiss emanated from the “vine” he was holding. He turned a raised brow at the large cobra, hanging from the overhead tree, baring its venomous, dripping fangs at the Mek. It coiled and lashed out, as fast as a whip, in several warning strikes. The ork barely flinched. Growing tired of its impotent attempts to scare him, Grundy opened his maw and bit the snake’s head clean off, leaving it to twitch in post-mortem muscle spasms before it went limp. He crunched the skull between his teeth, blood and cranial fluid leaking from between the gaps. Finally, he swallowed, forcing the entire mouthful down his gullet, then smacked his lips.

“Hmm. Needs salt.” He brought the rest of the dead snake down and set to action, digging out his tools and using them to determine the quality of the tar. With the discovery of this vast energy-source, the Mek had his work cut out for him. He supposed this pony-less day wouldn’t be as boring as he thought it would. Thoughts of metal contraptions all bolted together, belching out smoke, and purring like a content squiggoth made him all giddy and euphoric. Oh, would he have something to show them!

“Lesse... we needs metal an’ some gubbins...” Grundy stood up with a rusty spoonful of viscous, dribbling petroleum in one hand and his thumb-lighter flickering on his other. He scanned his surroundings. “Where’m Oi gonna get dat?”

+++++

Twilight released a haggard sigh as she entered the refreshingly cool interior of the library, her mane frazzled and her fur wet with perspiration. She needed a shower. No, make that two showers. For the last few hours of the afternoon, she had been frantically assuring, re-assuring, and re-re-assuring the population of Ponyville of their safety. She had to make up all sorts of faux-facts on the spot, blunder through mass addresses, and face the heated breath of angry and fearful citizens. Mayor Mare, unsurprisingly, was no help. The scatterbrained, middle-aged mare was really only good for arranging events and giving flourished speeches. Twilight was grateful that this wasn’t as bad as the parasprite incident. That was a week’s worth of headaches she didn’t want to relive anytime soon.

With all the weight on her mind, she barely noticed the cherub-like, green-and-purple dragon waddle up to meet her.

“Twilight! You’re okay!” He threw his stubby arms around her foreleg in an embrace, but recoiled as he inhaled her body odor. The librarian couldn’t help but smile. If there was one living being she was glad to see, it was her faithful number-one assistant.

“Yeah, Spike, I’m alright. Everything should be fine now.”

“No thanks to that monster, right?”

Twilight paused and considered explaining the whole incident to the baby dragon. It was a long and complicated tale that he probably wouldn’t understand, given his naivety, and her throat was already hoarse from speaking and construing the whole affair to the townsfolk. In addition, they didn’t even get a full explanation. She merely told them that, in essence, the monster was no longer a problem or anything to be afraid of. Nothing more. The unicorn mare was already bone-tired, so she settled on divulging the rest of the story tomorrow morning.

“Yes, no thanks to him- I mean, it.” She did her best to plaster a convincing smile on her face. “Lets just have some supper, okay?”

“Way ahead of ya! I already got some cauliflower pasta made in the kitchen!”

At the mention of food, her stomach involuntarily growled. She was looking forward to a warm meal.

“Sounds delicious!” She ruffled the spines on his head with her hoof. “You’re the best little chef a pony could ask for!”

He blushed fiercely. “Heh. Thanks. Also, no need to worry about writing to the princess, either. I already got that covered.”

Twilight’s heart stopped dead. “...W-what?”

“Yeah! I sent a letter to Celestia about the monster and how it was attacking the town. She could probably help take care of this problem! Maybe she could send some guards!”

“Spike!” She grabbed the little dragon by his shoulders and shook him violently. “Why would you do that?! Why?!?”

“W-well I thought the p-princess ought to... ya know... know about this.” He struggled in her grip. “Twilight... you’re hurting me...”

She ignored him, going into full panic-mode. “This is more complicated than you think! We can’t get the princess or the Royal Guard involved at all!!” Thankfully, she let go of her assistant and began pacing around in tight circles. Spike winced and landed on his rump. “They’ll... they’ll just cause more worry! Ponies are going to see guards marching up and down the streets and think that there’s a whole slew of monsters clawing at our borders! They’ll think the whole town is in danger! They’ll... they’ll...”

“Twilight!” The dragon shouted over the din of her hysterics. “Get a hold of yourself! Come on!”

“No, Spike! You don’t understand! I took care of it! He’s gone! Grundy’s not a problem anymore!”

“...Grundy?”

The lavender unicorn wished Applejack was there to give her a good kick in the head for her lapse. “Um... Yes. That’s his name. And, from what I can tell, he really doesn’t want to... well, he tries not to... he hasn’t done anything that bad. Yet.” Celestia, somepony shove a hoof in her mouth right now. May the hoof of all creation descend from the heavens and ram itself straight into her oral cavity. Anything to stop her from blundering on. “Nor will he do so on my watch! I can... assure you...”

She trailed off when she realized that her assistant was gawking at her.

“Spike?” She checked the front of her body for any unusual blemishes. Muck, stains, paint, anything that would merit such a thousand-mile gaze. She found none and turned back to the little reptile. “What are you looking at? Is there something on my face?”

He kept on gawking. Only now, Twilight realized he wasn’t staring at her, but past her. A chill fizzled down her spine as she somehow sensed a new presence in the room.

“There’s... there’s somepony behind me, isn’t there...”

Without even giving her the courtesy of turning around, a bold and vociferous voice reverberated throughout the library, rattling the very books on the shelves and sending papers flying off desks. A voice that could only belong to one mare in all of Equestria.

“WHAT BEDLAM SHATTERS OURE FAIR VILLAGE’S PEACE?! AND WHO IS THIS ‘GRUNDY’ CHARACTER YOU SPEAK OF?!? ANSWER AT ONCE, SO DEMANDS THE PRINCESS OF THE NIGHT!!!”

Author's Note

I'm the best at publishing these chapters at the worst possible time of the day.

Wew! Go me!