Chapter two

Now you can see the visible signs of stress on the farm pony’s features as she removes her hat after a long day. With dark bags under her eyes, Applejack manages to let a groan of exhaustion escape her mouth, if barely.

The sheer tedium and fatigue in this one is almost tangible.

Not too unlike yourself back when you began your initial work as a Hunter back in Aragon, always short on time and a ludicrous number of jobs to be done by week’s end. The memories make a pang of empathy shoot through you before your gaze stops on the beautiful sight that is Sweet Apple Acres.

The late day’s sun casts a shower of orange light over the myriad of healthy apple trees that lie before you, scattered about in clean cut rows that run as far as your eyes can see. A gentle breeze rocks the treetops back and forth in a carefree manner, dangling their fruits precariously with each individual swing. Each tree is healthy and lush with life as you blink once at the sight that you had previously never admired.

“Don’t you worry, miss Applejack,” you say while giving her shoulder an encouraging smack with the back of your hand, “I’ll have this bastard bagged by nightfall, or your money back.”

The mare in question turned to you with wide eyes that soon turned skeptical as she processed at that last bit. A knowing smile soon formed its way onto your mug as you shoot her a knowing glance from your peripherals.

“Heh,” Applejack chuckled for a moment, an honest smile finally forming on her face before she shoves you playfully. The mare looks as if she wants to say something else, with a hoof raised and mouth half open, before she shakes it off and turns back towards the fields of carefully tended trees.

Following her gaze, you spot one red stallion filled to the brim with muscle as he lead a number of plump pigs down the yard towards a sizable pen next to the barn that shared a color with his coat of fur. You can see the look of unease plastered on the young stallion’s familiar face as he glances about, his lime green eyes always lingering on the distant treeline that surrounded him.

Perhaps the beast that was stalking the family is after an easy meal, you think. Regardless of its intent, you eyes are just able to make out the dim, orange glow of the sun slowly beginning to set behind the blurry end of the distant treetops.

“I’ll be back,” you announce while moving off of the porch railing, “gotta’ go grab my gear and get Baron before nightfall.” You pass her and make your way down the stairs without much trouble, only turning back to Applejack when you remember that she might not know of the horrible miscreation that is Baron.

“Don’t worry,” you say aloud with a mischievous smile without meeting the eyes of Applejack, “you’ll know Baron when you see him.”

And with that, you leave towards the familiar forest which holds no stone or crevice unfamiliar to you. As your long strides give you a hasty retreat from the premises, you can just make out the sound of Applejack’s voice behind you.

You can only guess what she says in those mumbled words, their hopeful tone gone with the wind.

The scent of the apple farm, usually one so fresh and quaint that you can’t help but smirk as you walk by it, is now tainted with a stomach-churning stench. A smell so foul that you’re reminded of worse times and sights, long before you even thought about coming back to Equestria.

That one telltale smell of raptor dung and dried blood was no other than your loyal hunting companion, Baron. The beast has never done you wrong once you’d taught him to fear you, but also follow, as he was a natural student of the hunt. The crafty bastard has served you well on the game trail ever since you first sortie way back when.

He stands about four feet tall and usually scares the living daylights out of any locals that haven’t already seen him. His sickly green scales and sharpened claws shine a glistening white in the rays of moonlight that drip down through the treetops.

You are soon to return your attention back to the hunt, but Baron suddenly snaps his head upwards to the night sky and begins to greedily sniff in the air. Not a moment later, Baron’s beady black eyes snap back onto you with an unspoken message clear on his dirty face.

Baron has found his prey.

Nodding, you slowly stand from your kneeling position and give a quick hand signal to the eager pet. And, with that, you two skulk into the dark confines of the apple orchard without so much as a rustle or audible footstep to see you off.

The two of you move as one through the night. The moon’s cover and that of the treetops mask your two conspicuous forms perfectly as your eyes constantly scan about, finger just above the trigger.

No chirping of happy birds or distant echoes of apple bucking were present to help ease your fears, but, rather, the only sounds to meet your ears were the two sets of footsteps that you’ve grown so accustomed to.

This time is different, though.

For all their cowardice and pacifistic tendencies, the Equestrians keep very good track of the beasts that seldom plague their lands. You’d read nearly every book concerning the monsters that inhabited these lands, for both fun and necessity's sake, and you’ve never come across anything that fit the description of this night’s game.

Rolling your shoulders, you shoulder the rifle instinctively as your eyes flicker to something just in your peripherals.

You stare hard at it for a moment before shaking your head and continuing on the trail of Baron.

You really need more sleep.

Before ten minutes have passed, you and Baron stop before something that you didn’t expect in the least.

Glancing about with your rifle at the ready, you keep your eyes trained for any blurs of movement in your peripherals. A familiar calm begins to seep its way into your system after a minute of deathly silence from the ominous rows of apple trees.

Baron too finds this scene suspicious—either that or he’s caught onto your apprehension—as he adopts a low posture and silently chugs in as much of the local scent as he can through his nose, desperate for a trail on the prey.

After a few more minutes of tense searching, the search in the night soon passes as you are unable to spot any potential threats.

Ever so slowly, you lower your rigid shoulders into a more relaxed state as you feel the previous hot flash from your body begin to subside into nothingness. You blink once, twice, before shaking your head slowly and muttering a small curse at the situation that has been put onto your lap.

Waiting another minute for any sort of movement, you finally let your guard down as Baron seems to calm down before standing in a more comfortable stance. Acknowledging that any possible threat has passed, you give out a flat, unimpressed look down towards the Equestrian that lie dead at your feet.

There is a soft crunch of the dirt as you take a knee on it just before the corpse, which, much to your dismay, is the loudest noise within the orchard. Though after waiting a moment to await any newcomer, you eventually return your attention back to the heap of flesh and bone in front of you.

You give a tired and aggravated sigh at the whole situation before you remove your rightmost glove with the assistance of your teeth.

Time to tell if its fresh or not.

Reaching over with two callused fingers, you gently dab your fingers around on of the puncture wounds adorning the Equestrian’s midsection.

Your fingertips feel a familiar warmth of freshly spilt blood upon them, which forces you to scrunch up your face in response. You begin to idly wonder more about this beast while rubbing the blood between your thumb and index finger.

Is it nocturnal? What exactly inflicted these wounds? Does it focus on smell or visual cues while hunting? Your mind is churning like mad with possibilities and conjecture about the beast.

Eyes refocusing a moment later as the blood began to dry and thin between your fingers, you inspect the bloody mess that lies before you.

Surely it has some unspoken tale to tell.

The eyes of the Equestrian are plastered with clear cut horror, the pinprick pupils telling you all you needed to know on how he died. Sure, you could look behind the body for a set of tracks, but, chase or not, it’s a fact that this was not an ambush.

The Equestrian’s dark brown coat is stained with a crimson red, one which shifts and drips occasionally, and is littered with several puncture wounds across the rib cage. The wounds still bleeds what little life fluid the body holds, the red serving as a nice contrast to the light brown coat of that cheery colt you once knew as Caramel.

“Useless,” you spit at the corpse before reaching down into one of your many pockets, all thoughts except one including a very particular object being silenced. Your free hand pokes and prod around in the slightly cluttered compartment for a moment before a very familiar object is cupped in the palm of your hand.

It’s been nearly five months since you’ve needed to last use this, but it still feels too soon.

Your reddening eyes flicker towards the purple, crystalline gem in the palm of your hand as it reflects a few idle bits of moonlight back in a bright manner. The object itself has never done you wrong, it’s just the circumstances warranting the thing’s use often brings you less than pleasant memories.

You give the thing a hard squeeze, one so tight that you begin to lose feeling in your fingers, before you momentarily lift the shaking thing to your lips and utter a few key words.

If the enchanted gem was mad and shaking with rage before, then it’s absolutely livid now.

Taking a step back and angling your body backwards, you suck in a breath before hurling the quaking gem high above the treeline and into the air where it bursts through the foliage and red fruit above. There is a moment of uncertainty as the bright stone reaches the apex of its flight, which sends an apprehensive pang through you at the thought of the thing malfunctioning, before your eyes shut close in pain as a blinding flash—bright enough to be seen from miles away—sends you reeling.

The thing had went off, alright.

Your ears are filled with the sound the thing cutting through the air at a breakneck speed towards Ponyville proper. You aren’t able to see its blinding red trail of light as it moves to retell your discoveries, but the moment of the thing powering up fully has left a clear image burnt into your retina.

Rubbing your eyelids furiously, you let out an annoyed growl. The blasted thing’s roar is still ringing in your ears as your bleary sight is just barely able to discern the surroundings yet again.

“Useless morons,” you growl at the corpse before striking it hard with the toe of your boot, "can't do a single goddamned thing on your own without fucking it up, can you?"

Your anger grows with every word as you soon find yourself panting above after several more powerful blows to the corpse. Thoughts flicker back and forth of insolent Equestrians and their pathetic excuse for a modern society as they try to look down on you with condescending eyes.

Though before you can do anything you regret, a familiar motto comes to your mind.

You can kill them.

The thought brings your eyes forward as your muscles relax, as if you’ve pressed an imaginary fail-safe.

You are still in control.

And you always will be in control.

These subhumans would sooner run than face you, eye to eye and man to beast. You are merely just giving them a false sense of security, letting them think that you’re under their thumb.

There will come a day when you would have no more, but today is not that day.

You’re no monster, you never were, and you don’t intend to give them the opportunity to label you as one.

No, they will start the war and you’ll be the one to finish it. You will wait, ever dormant, until you are struck a blow that you cannot help but to return.

And return it you shall, with every fiber of your body acting as a host for the wrath of God and all his righteous fury.

A small breath escapes your lips as you shake your head lightly to try and cleanse it of all of the different emotions that are fighting within for dominance: Rage, indignance, desperation, all claimed right to the hot seat that is your brain.

You stand for a moment longer, palm to your forehead, before you cough out a few curses in your native tongue before reaching for something much more bulky than a simple gem. With trained movements, you quickly bring up the bulky box to your face and begin to chew fat as your mind races with other ideas.

“October fifth, eleven thirty-seven p.m., Sweet Apple Acres, Equestria,” you begin aloud while trying to forget your little outburst and eyeing the surroundings.

You’re not entirely sure where to begin, so you merely begin to ramble off whatever comes to mind as your eyes begin to idly scan for movement.

"Got hired by miss Applejack earlier this day—I think she hates me—to come check out some sort of beast that's been stalking her and her family come night time." You take a moment to shake your head and sigh at the memory before continuing on, "Now, believe you me, I've hunted an innumerable amount of scum and animals during my time in Equestria, I've read every book on the subject of the monsters within the realm, and, yet, I somehow now nothing of this beast I'm after besides what little Applejack as told me.

“But, anyway, I found a corpse here, a colt that I’ve seen around the town from time to time. The body has several puncture wounds in the ribs that resemble some sort of gunshot or entry wound from large canines, claws, or something of the sort…” Your voice is laced with mild disinterest before it turns into one of curiosity as you turn to the body, a slight raise to one of your eyebrows as you squat low and squint hard.

“Not sure, but whatever did the damage had some sort of effect on the body to make the wounds continue to bleed,” you mutter out while absentmindedly tilting your head in confusion. “Strange. You’d think that I would've heard this one if he was screaming for his life, as you’d expect, but it’s been deathly quiet for the past couple of hours…

“I’m curious about this one in particular, what was this one doing out here in the outskirts of Sweet Apple Acres come midnight? A chase from the neighboring farm dragged out here, perhaps? Maybe I’m mistaken and this one is a vagabond who sought an easy meal from the orchard and ended up for more than he bargained for? Now wouldn’t that be a funny story, I'll sa-”

You stop dead in your tracks, your hazy eyes rapidly dilating as your breath catches in your throat. All thoughts are given a summary execution except for the one which forces all sirens within your head to blast at full force.

Why is the body untouched?

There is a long moment of silence that lasts a good minute or so as your eyes dart back and forth while your brain scrambles for something close to resembling a logical reason. There are only a select few ethereal spirits that kill and don’t dare touch the body, and all of them use a form of attack other than… whatever caused those puncture in the body.

“...The fuck?” you mutter clearly enough into the recorder before turning around with eyes scouting for Baron. “Maybe… No, no, no, impossible, they’re only active during winte-”

Your words die in your throat as your eyes focus on a certain something twitching furiously on the ground just before your feet.

It has a rather slimy body, its scales run a deep green, and something about it is extremely familiar.

Snapping to attention as soon as the severity of the situation dawns on you, you drop the recorder and level out your rifle while you begin to feel your skin crawl. Looking all around at the suddenly menacing trees that surround you on all sides, you cannot help but give a slight tremble as your body goes hypersensitive.

The taste of the air, the smell of that sweet carcass within, the chilling feel of that familiar rifle in your hands, it’s almost all too familiar as you begin to flicker your rifle at every bit of peripheral movement that you’re able to catch.

Your fight or flight instincts taking over, you push back the base instinct to flee away from the unknown as fast as your legs can carry you.

No, you’ve been in this situation many a times before.

If you are to die, you’re going to make damn sure that it’s going to be to someone worthy and not some braindead beast.

“Yea, even though I walk through the valley of death, I shall fear no evil,” you mumble to yourself as a familiar calm overtakes you. No more goosebumps, no fear, just a comforting certainty that you’ll come out alive if you keep your head on a swivel and think on your feet.

As you open your mouth to whisper a few more familiar words to yourself, you hear something… off.

That something is a low growl emanating somewhere behind you.

Turning on a dime, you’re only able to see a short burst of movement that’s too fast to react to. As quickly as it appeared, it was gone within a split second; it has retreated deeper into the darkness.

Your finger quivering upon the trigger as you find your breath, albeit far too shallow for your liking.

It’s fast, faster than you can ever hope to outrun. You stand with eyes widened for a moment too long, though you shake yourself clear of any thoughts of doubt that dared to remain.

Taking a few steps backwards, you grimace at the sound of fallen leaves crunching beneath your boots. It was that sound that decided to echo throughout your mind as goosebumps racked your body, the several protective layers of clothing doing nothing to dissipate the chill moving down your spine.

Keeping your eyes on the last direction the blur was seen, you let your eyes stare over the area at large for them to detect any bit of movement.

Just as you think you see something move, however, another noise forces you to jerk to your left. It’s a growl, higher pitched than the first, and you catch a glimpse of the beast just before it makes for a thicket of trees that is too close for comfort; you guess no less than ten feet away.

Having not been especially experienced at night combat, you’re naturally panicked at the close proximity to the thing. Moving on reflex, you pull the trigger while desperately trying to level the sights onto the disgusting body that make your heart go wild in unmolested fear.

The shot rings throughout the countryside, echoing several times throughout the rolling hills surrounding Ponyville and beyond, striking like a hot knife through butter in the previously dead silent night. Every echo of the shot reverberates through your head over a dozen times as you hurry to load the next round into the chamber.

You’re not sure if you hit it or not, but you’re not going to stop to-

Rapid movement to your right. You turn on a dime and fire off another round at whatever’s moving towards you, your mind not even processing the movements as you move purely on muscle memory and gut instinct.

Just as before, you think you missed the shot as the thing dove behind cover at just the right moment.

You can’t afford to think at a moment like this about what’s going on, all you’ve got to worry about is staying alive.

Your breathing turns heavy as you slam the bolt back home and begin to switch back to the second target, all the while you’re trying hard to resist the urge to let your hands shake with the shock of the situation.

As you level the sights onto the last known position of the second beast, you’re met with the blinding sight of pure, terrifying stillness within the trees.

Seeing nothing, which is leagues more horrifying than something in this situation, you flicker back towards the other beast and half-expect to find it half a second from digging into your ribcage. Though, thankfully enough, you’re met with no such sight, as it too is silent. In fact, you can’t see even a bit of movement nor hear a smidgen of sound.

Before? You were shocked and slightly panicked.

Now? Now you’re absolutely terrified as the only sound within the orchard is one of your panicked breathing, bordering on hyperventilating.

“No,” you mumble to yourself while beginning to look all about the claustrophobia inducing trees, “c’mon, show yourselves, you sons a bitches, I dare you…”

That’s when you smelt it.

The unmistakable smell of decay and rotting flesh. And it was close.

Very, very close.

You practically taste it as you turn once again in a state of panic. You dare only to fire off a single round at the thing closest resembling its horrid shape before giving into your base instincts and bolting in the opposite direction.

Your boots slam loudly against the cold earth with each rushed step that propels you further into dark confines the orchard. A plethora of low hanging branches and leaves serve as a constant threat, whipping about and slicing into your forehead when they go unnoticed until the last moment.

Trees whip by your vision at a blinding speed, the whole world before you seems to transform into one giant blur of darkened color and primal fear as you can hear your blood rushing to your head. Hot faced and breathing in trained bursts, you’re just able to make out the trees from the darkness from above you as the sweet night begins to recede its benevolent light.

During this mad dash, you’re barely able to keep proper hold of your rifle within your main hand. The other hand merely fumbles with keeping you balanced when you would trip on a piece of root protruding from the ground or when you, in your panic, happen to slam into a tree.

You’d graciously stop at any moment for a good breather, but the constant sound of footfalls behind you doesn’t provide much incentive to stop for a moment’s respite. Their pants of effort meet your ears as they come ever closer, though always just outside of arm’s reach.

Sweat gushes from every pour in your body as the chase continues on, your neck beginning to hurt from constantly flicking back to catch glimpses of two familiar entities from the darkness giving chase.

Turning back from one of said glances, you notice all too late the large oak tree that lay dead in front of your path. You’re going too fast, unable to change direction, so you opt to break with heels digging into the earth.

You crash into the hard bark of the tree trunk with an audible smack, your vision going black for just a fraction of a moment before you regain control of your now battered body and make to stand straight. You blink once, twice, before your vision clears somewhat.

Though you have no time to think clearly as you spot one body rushing in towards you at an alarming speed.

Ignoring the black spots in your peripherals, you nearly drop your rifle before hastily slamming it against your shoulder and lining up the iron sights.

Finding center mass, you fire.

There is an audible hit of the large caliber rifle round hitting home, but the creature’s momentum falters for only a moment. Before you can even process the moment, you are caught within the full brunt of the thing’s blind rush before you can even finish pulling back the bolt.

Your last minute dodge proves only somewhat effective as you see a large chunk of bark, which just so happened to be where your head was before you swerved to the side, fly off several feet to the side. You’ve dodged a swipe, if by an inch.

Though, for all your good luck, you are unable to evade flinch away from the entirety of its body. You two clash bodies in a violent crash, of which you receive the worst of. You feel a sharp pain in the back of your skull as you hit the hard trunk of the tree, but the daze doesn’t last more than a moment.

Giving out a guttural growl, you heave with all your might, which sends the beast stumbling backwards. It nearly loses its footing while being sent backwards, but quickly regains its balance before locking its milky white eyes with yours.

Standing a full head taller than you, it stands slightly slouched with mouth slightly agape. It’s form is one slightly concealed by the night’s darkness, but you’re able to make out the bloodied claws and jaw easily enough, the elongated and emaciated limbs of it emanating a sense of dread as it eyes you down. The thing is caked in several layers of dirt and blood, giving its pale skin a darker shade that matches its greasy and knotted head of hair that dangles just above its eyes.

Though that isn’t the scariest part, oh no.

That title is saved for how similar it looks to a human.

You both seem to snap out of the odd standoff at the same time. You opt to reach down for your rifle, of which you dropped in the violent collision just moments before, while the beast rushes forward with gleaming claws at the ready.

Your muscle memory working hard, you notice the charge and grip the rifle like a spear, with one hand at the base and one in the middle.

Moving as you had been taught, you parry the large and predictable blow coming from your left—your arms now feel like they’ve been beaten with iron rods—and move to riposte. Though, without a bayonet, you have to substitute with the butt of the rifle.

It dodges the strike directed at its head, but not entirely. There’s an audible crack as you feel just a bit of resistance while in the apex of the swing before regaining your footing and balance.

The thing lets off an angry growl at you as you two lock eyes again, just before you notice its slightly off center jaw.

Moving fast, you shuffle the rifle in your hands and move to chamber the next round into place. Though, just as you pull your arm back to slam the bolt back into place, it moves.

Though, this time you’re not quick enough to dodge or grip your rifle in a defensive hold. You fumble with the weapon and only manage to hold it up in front of the next predictable swing.

You never guessed that the thing would feint.

You flinch backwards and give out a loud, pained growl at the sharp and warm feel that occupied your right side for a split second. Though, upon the fourth step backwards, you feel a burning sensation run through your spine that forces you to stop and hiss in pain.

You’re not sure what just happened, but you can only focus on killing this beast.

Ignoring the odd pain in your side, you grip the rifle properly as you feel something hard and round hit your back. Comforted by at least one flank being secure, you slam the bolt back home as the beast moves in for another attack.

You line up the shot.

All is peaceful as you reach his collarbone with your own heart racing faster than anytime in the past several years.

You can’t be bothered to worry about that, though.

You pull the trigger…

Click.

You don’t even have time to show visible surprise as the force of the beast’s strike sends you reeling in pain and shock. The agony hits home immediately as you’re unable to breathe from the weight behind the blow as it completely knocks the wind out of you.

The force against your chest is immense, so much so that you’re unable to even breathe as your body slams against the massive trunk for a second time.

You struggle, somewhat surprised that you weren’t immediately knocked out of action by that direct blow, with a retaliatory swing. Your rifle was launched somewhere in the fury of the impact, and you’re left with only what’s on your body.

Your head hurts immensely as you miss the retaliatory strike, but you can’t make to stand to take a defensive stance as the beast dodges backwards with a small hop. There’s something about your side—you don’t know what—that burns immensely and trickles some sticky, wet substance.

And that burning sensation is getting worse by the second.

Leaning back against the tree, you feel your legs quiver and buckle beneath you. Your breathing, although already hampered by exhaustion and panic, is now shallow and pained.

You try to shake away the nauseating feeling coming from deep within your stomach and suddenly remember that the rifle isn’t your only means of defense.

Scrambling for a familiar hilt, you can only watch as the beast slowly grows in stature above you… no, wait, you’re falling.

You crash down onto the cold ground below with a dry smack, your aching body finally receiving the release it called for so vehemently before.

Why can’t you feel your legs?

Never mind that, you can’t be bothered with the thought.

A familiar piece of hardened mahogany grazes your fingertips, and so you desperately clutch it and pull, eager to have at least some form of defense at the ready against the beast which is currently towering over you.

You hold the small, sharpened and broad blade in front of you so tight that you’re pretty sure that your knuckles have turned white. You can’t be bothered to actually check, though, as you’ve locked eye contact with the beast. Its eyes hold your own in an iron vice that you have no possible chance of breaking in fear that it will pounce.

Your skin crawls as it merely stares at you with those milky eyes—nauseating pinpricks devoid of any emotion or thought—dig into your own eyes and seem to feast off of your fears.

You’ve seen this situation a great many times before, with someone on the verge of death and another standing tall as the decider of their fate.

Though, this was only the second—and most terrifying—time that you were on the receiving end of the spear.

Silence reigns king above all as both of your pained breaths are the only sound about the orchard, your eyes never leaving the beast’s as you begin to feel your stomach churn with the need to hurl as your body hasn’t nearly been through worse in the last few years, and never so violently in the span of half an hour.

It’s only when it stops its breathing to let out a smile that shows his yellowed teeth do you feel your blood run cold.

It lunges forward, and you instinctively move—

You can’t move…

You can’t fucking move!

All you can do is watch as it comes forward, down towards the earth at an odd angle. It’s as if it’s falling…

The beast hits the ground with a thud and remains there, ominously still. You think that you saw some hole in its chest as it fell, but you’re not sure.

Why is it still...?

Is it dead?

...

……

Are you dead?

Author's Note

I'm tired out of my mind—I get exhausted at random points while writing for no apparent reason—and I hope that I didn't mess up too badly with this chapter.

The next chapter might be a little bit delayed—my sincerest apologies—as I've much to do in the coming days thanks to my senior year in high school. And don't worry, this sort of thing won't be the norm for the rest of the story, as things will mellow down somewhat after this and live up to that Slice of Life tag I have on this bad boy.

Until next time, friends, don't do school and stay in drugs.