A Fledgling's Struggle

"So what happened next?" Grover stopped in his tracks, visibly shaking in anxiousness. The griffon's little friend looked up for a moment, scratching the bottom of his beak, trying to come up with an ending. In reality, Benedict had only been at the public square to witness a couple of minutes of the crazed griffons' rants of how Griffinstone would be weak if they didn't adopt the ponies' way. Griffons of high authority started to escort everypony away from the griffons giving speeches, so Benedict had just scrambled away. The last thing he wanted was for his mom to find out he got in trouble with the law enforcing griffons.

The two fledglings were not old enough to see the bigger part of this whole scene, and rather just thought of it as some thing 'cool' and 'awesome,' similar to many other childish griffon's ideas. After all, how were they to know better?

Benedict looked around at his surroundings, trying to find something that could give him an idea of what to tell his best friend. They were currently in an alleyway, suggested by Grover because it was a shortcut to his house. The sun had started to dip, making the sky a deep red, as well as the rising walls around them, made of hard brick and wood gathered from the forests around the grand city of Griffinstone. The bricks had started to crack, proof to the fact that the city was focusing more on muffling the other-minded griffons' crazed cries rather than fixing up the city.

Grover was a griffon with light blue feathers that ended in tips of snowy white, with a normal brown coat. His feathers looked like they had been splashed in blood in the eerie lighting of the sun. He, of course, was the first thing Benedict saw in his attempts of fabricating an ending to his story. Let's see here, Benedict thought, looking around. There was the blood red sky, the looming walls to either side of the two, a trash bag who's contents had burst out, and other pieces of garbage strewn throughout the ground.

Unable to find something, Benedict decided to just tell his good friend what really happened.

"Well, the police griffons started making everypony leave, so I went away. I don't know what happened to the griffons on the stage, though," he said, shrugging. Grover visibly slumped, hoping for a more amazing ending. Benedict guessed that his father wouldn't tell him either when they got to his house. He was some high ranking official who always knew everything about everything. They continued walking in silence for a couple minutes until Grover struck up a conversation to his friend.

"So, tomorrow, do you wanna go and fly around that place near Bunny's or something?" he asked, referencing to a large park with multiple obstacles for any daring griffons taking flight. Bunny's was a popular restaurant that served a multitude of foods, but it was no interest to either of the boys. Benedict paused, his black beak reflecting the red light from above.

"Sure, if my mom will let me," he replied, silently hoping that she would. She was a stern griffon, always worried about her little baby's safety. They lived in Griffinstone though, and that's the safest place in the world, right? "She's crazy."

"I know, remember when she actually tried to wrap you in that thick stuff to prevent you from getting 'hurt by the rough ground?'" Benedict giggled at this, remembering it all too easily. Benedict had white feathers and a brown coat similar to Grover, but with purple spots splattering his neck and the ends of his feathers.

"Yeah, I do," he said, crossing the street into another alleyway, even messier than the last. There was a small gap of poorly-run buildings between Grover's fancy house and Benedict's house near the public square where the griffons were talking. Benedict's mother warned him about this part especially because it was 'dangerous,' but when were things not dangerous to his mom? All she did was sell scones.

Broken glass littered the ground, which Benedict made sure to hover over. He and Grover could barely fly, but they could at least float a couple feet off the ground. He looked up and saw that there was a shattered window, the tips of each jutting shard coated in red. He assumed that it was just reflecting the skylight.

Benedict was starting to wonder if her mother was right. In the silence of their walk, he had seen more scenes of dishevel. They both passed an old griffon in tattered rags who was sleeping on a dirty mattress, an empty bottle clutched in his hand. Further ahead, Benedict saw a group of older griffons walking past the road, each of them in strange apparel that was similar to those at the public square. The garments were a deep red, with black outlines and a strange symbol embedded into the chests that shared similarities to a gear with a sword running through it. Benedict made sure to not make eye contact, looking down as he crossed the road to another alley.

Grover stayed silent, looking at the griffons as they walked. Benedict poked him on the shoulder, resulting on him turning around and opening his mouth.

"What are those things on their sides?" Grover asked, pointing a claw. Benedict followed it to strange pieces of gear that were strapped to them. They held the shape of an 'L', with a steel tip. Benedict merely shrugged.

"We should probably stay away from them though," Benedict said, unable to keep the quiver from his voice as they continued through the alley. "They look... dangerous." They really did, with scars running through their beaks and eyes, making a menacing appearance. Grover nodded, moving a little quicker than before.

Benedict saw that there was a curve in the alley, a semicircle of sorts, cut into the brick wall. It was lined by overflowing trashcans, with garbage thrown behind them by griffons who had been too lazy to put it in a bag. A pack of rats had swarmed the smelly heap, chewing away at rotting food. He winced at the putrid smell of it all. It was rank.

Ahead was another break in the alley that turned into another dirt road, and he saw that Grover had quickened his pace too much for Benedict, leaving him behind to look at the rats as he neared the road. Another one of the red-clad griffons were passing through the road, but he paused at the sight of the fledgling. Benedict immediately wanted to move ahead and pull Grover back, but he couldn't. For some reason, he was paralyzed in fear. Instead of trying to pull his friend back from the approaching adult griffon, he merely stood there, rooted to the ground, watching the scene unfold.

"Hey, kid," the griffon said in a gruff voice, "you look familiar..." The griffon had stormy grey feathers with a blackish coat, and he looked directly down at Grover with squinted eyes.

"W-w-what?" Grover stuttered, stepping backwards slowly. Benedict heard a commotion behind, so he looked behind himself to see the same group of griffons which they had just passed returning, about to turn into the alley. Scared, Benedict hesitantly jumped into the disgusting pile of rats and filth.

"Yeah... I think I do know you," he said, putting a claw to his side, letting it rest on the holster of the 'L' shaped tool. The three griffons were now approaching from behind, each one staring at Grover, not even noticing Benedict as he hid.

"Hey, who's the kid," the leading griffon of the trio said, smirking with a scarred beak. Grover whipped his head backwards and shrunk back, stepping back towards the single grey griffon.

"I've seen him before," the second griffon of the trio said in a nasally voice, "he's that politician's son." Grover's head bumped into something with a thud. He slowly turned upwards to see the twisted grin of a mad man. Yelping, he jumped backwards onto the ground on his back, supporting himself with his two hands.

"Heh, how's your life, kiddo?" he asked, pulling his claw away and picking up an item on the ground that Benedict realized was a steel pipe. He rose and smacked the his palm with it, chuckling. "I bet it's great, huh? Living in some posh mansion, having every one of your commands being answered swiftly, hm?" Grover only whimpered in response, turning his head further up as he came closer. The trio stood behind him, the leading griffon now sliding out the 'L' to reveal a strangely carved piece of wood, silver lining creating a delicate design. One of his claws rested on a small stick that had a foreign purpose to Benedict.

In a blur of movement, the single griffon slammed the steel pipe down onto Grover's chest. There was a sharp crack! sound as multiple ribs were snapped and broken. Grover cried out in agony.

"AAAAAAAHHH!"

Benedict gasped, quickly clasping his claws over his mouth as the third griffon who had remained quiet this whole time looked back at the trash heap, eyes slightly widening at the sight of a filth ridden fledgling watching.

Once again, the rooting sensation of paralyzation overtook Benedict as he flew over and grabbed him by the neck, carrying him back to the gruesome scene.

"This your friend?" he spoke up, his voice higher than what Benedict assumed it to be. Rather than speaking up, he simply remained quiet, unable to speak.

Unsatisfied with the quiet child, he nodded to the leading griffon. Grinning, he pointed it directly at Grover's head, who was currently clutching his chest in pain. His claw tightened on the trigger. Tighter, tighter...

Crack!

In an instant, Grover's head became the consistency of jelly, red mush splattering Benedict's eyes. Blood stained the decapitated griffon's feathers, making them an unnatural pink.

With a thud, the third griffon dropped Benedict to the ground. He splashed into the spreading puddle of his friend's blood, simply staring up at the monsters.

"Think of it as a message," he said, smiling. "I'm sure his daddy will figure it out later."

And, just like that, the four slowly rose into the sky before zooming off. In the distance, Benedict could hear the approach of cart on wheels, the shouts of police griffons mingling with the noise. He paid them no heed, however, as the tears slowly strolled down his face. He slumped down just started at his friend. He wasn't bawling, he wasn't angry, he was just... dead... He felt emotionless, like a robot. He felt that way even as the police griffons came, gasping at the scene of a fledgling sitting next to his dead friend. Benedict's world was mute as he stared down at his friend, even as griffons started pulling him away. A single tear rolled through his beak, hanging from the very edge.

The sun was slowly falling from the horizon. Griffins were shouting all around him, but he didn't hear it. All he saw was an image of Grover, lying dead in a dark alleyway. And then, three simple words.

They will pay.