Chapter 1: With Nothing but Blood on my Hooves
Alongside the seldom-traveled road between Hollow Shades and Fillydelphia, a pony could see any number of unusual sights. Most of these, one mightn’t even see unless their head was on a swivel. Abandoned homes, long infested by bramble and rot were some of the most common sights, but as the road meandered nearer to the mountain pass, the odd diamond-dog mine would crop up as a series of potholes in a clearing.
As I said, though, those aren’t the sort of thing you’d notice unless you’re purposely looking for these things. To others, they’re the sort of things that fill the space between mile markers, road signs, and lantern posts. Potential shelter or attack vectors... That’s what you saw them as if you’ve been on the road as long as I have.
Before me sat a road sign that had probably served as a mile marker before being defaced by bandits at some point. It had since been plastered over with a wanted poster, but then, I could still make out the words blood toll in red paint. Was it only a few months ago that the bat pony colony up in Hollow Shades was rid of their banditry problem by the guardsponies from Filly?
Pffft, blood toll, I scoffed, eyeing up the poster. Those bandits ever ran into a pony like this fellow, they’d probably go crawling to the guards that ousted them.
On the slightly faded parchment tacked over the gang markings, there was an artist’s rendition of a very attractive, albeit intimidating looking unicorn. The subject of the wanted poster was very well-muscled and square of jawline. His disheveled looking mane contributed to a wild, dangerous look accentuated by a very cold stare. Then of course there was the wicked, blade-like horn just to frame it all out: this stallion was a dangerous dark mage.
“Wanted on several counts of unlicensed practice of dark magic, five counts of non-consensual spellcasting, public menacing, one hundred and seventeen counts of assault, and acts most profane,” I read aloud, casting the odd glance over my shoulder. “Last seen fleeing north from Fillydelphia. This stallion is incredibly dangerous and should not be approached for any reason. If spotted, contact your nearest guard detachment. If approached, pray.”
Yikes, he certainly sounds like somepony I wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley, or even on a lonely road near sundown. With more than one hundred counts of assault under his saddle, he must have had one hell of a temper. Like, how did one even get that kind of rap sheet, and what kind of dark magic was he using? The poster didn’t really tell anypony anything useful at all.
I’m not what you’d call an expert on the matter, never having had any formal education in magic like Equestria’s latest princess. In spite of this, even I know enough to say that, just like the non-dark arts, dark magic had plenty of different schools with varying levels of danger. On the lower end of things you had mind magic, which, while not inherently dark, was misused enough to require regulation. Then there was the realm of necromancy, easily one of the more profane and dangerous arts, where one could literally rip out a pony’s soul or raise armies of the undead. Similarly, conjuring was strictly forbidden, because no good has ever come from conjuring a demon to impress the mare working the till at that doughnut shop around the corner. Those were just the well-known schools, too.
Come to think of it, the stallion on the poster could even have been based in appearance off of history’s most infamous dark mage, King Sombra. If one added in the aura around his eyes and a jagged smile like he has in the books, the pony on the poster could have been the dark lord’s brother. That either said a lot, or very little, about what the authorities had to go on about this guy. They don’t even tell whoever might read this warning what color his coat is.
“Eh, whatever,” I mumbled, turning away from the signpost to continue north; I’d seen plenty of variants of this poster and I doubted it would be the last I saw of that handsome mug. Luna’s night was quickly approaching, and regardless of how likely I actually was to meet this dreaded dark mage, I didn’t fancy having a stay in one of these spooky old homesteads built around the roots of the massive, ancient forest. “There’s a cushy inn bed with my name on it, even if it doesn’t yet know.”
So off I was, trotting along the well-beaten dirt path as fast as my dainty little hooves would carry me. The thought of what bandits would do to little ol’ me certainly didn’t leave me with a whole lot of confidence. Never mind the fact that the dark absolutely bucking terrified me. Shameful, I know, but have you seen what may lurk in old forests like this? You’d be scared too!
My quick pace got me a fair distance over the next half hour. In fact, I was now only half a league outside the Hollow Shades outer fringes. Any time now, I’d start seeing the infamous ground-level brothels and taverns where, in both cases, you were just as likely to find a fight as you were a friend or a fuck. It’s why so many flocked to the town in the spring and fall. Not too hot to get drunk and fornicate.
A piercing shriek split the night, and a cold vise closed around my heart. That was too close, I decided as I froze in my tracks. Was that a mare being attacked? Or was it some sort of bird mimicking the sound? Okay, so it was kind of stupid to imagine a bird parroting that specific sort of cry when a pony goes by, but come on. If that wasn’t alarming as all get-out, I don’t know what was.
I glanced around, dancing nervously on the spot as I sought any possible source of the sound. How long did I stand there? A minute? An hour? Fear really messes with your sense of time and reality. Every sound was like that of thunder to my fear-heightened senses, every caress of wind like some pervert at the bar copping a feel.
A rustle in the bushes ahead snapped my attention forward. My breath hitching in my chest, I narrowed my eyes, daring some sort of woodland baddie to come galloping out of the bushes. I didn’t fancy my chances against a pack of wolves, timber or dire, but I was far from defenseless; just to reassure myself that nothing would get the drop on me, I began channeling an area-of-effect stunning spell.
From the bushes strode a rather large fox, her bottle brush tail held proud and high. The vixen looked straight at me, almost appraisingly, and then let out that same piercing cry. With that, the fox scampered off into the underbrush, eager to find something much more worthwhile than a nervous unicorn on a hair-trigger.
Letting out a shuddering breath, I afforded myself a chuckle. “You had me right scared, my cheeky little blighter,” I whispered, taking another step forward. “Good luck on your hunt.”
Shaking my head, I cantered off along the road once more. Imagine that, me scared by a fox of all things. What would my mentor have said? “Red Wrap, you coward!” a facsimile of the mare’s voice whispered in my mind’s eye. “When are you going to grow a spine and use your talents for greater things?”
Bleh, for all her skill in the arts, her idea of ‘greater things’ did not mesh well with my own. It’s why I left, after all. She had nothing more to teach me—at least, nothing more I wanted to learn. I went to her to lean how to help ponies, not how best to hurt them. That’s just how it goes, though, isn’t it? Anything that can help a pony can hurt them? Still...
As I approached the Hollow Shades outskirts, a keening shriek unlike anything I’d ever heard before pierced my ears before I even saw the first tavern. This was followed by a number of less piercing shrieks, and finally, a mare’s shout of “Somepony do something! Somepony help her!”
Despite it clearly being none of my business, there was the possibility that somepony was in need of help... and help was what I did, even if they didn’t want it. Call it foolish bravado, or white knight syndrome, or whatever, but I liked to help ponies. At the very least, I could always help until real ‘wanted’ help arrived.
Spurred forward, I came upon a crowd of provocatively dressed bat pony mares outside of a brothel. They were staring and shrieking at something on the opposite side of the lane. Lying on the ground was a similarly dressed mare, whimpering and crying as her webbed wing twitched spastically against her side. Even from this distance, I could practically see the broken bone moving beneath her skin.
Fortunately, it seemed that somepony had already rushed to her aid. Three earth ponies ponies, dressed in padded leathers and another shrouded in a traveling cloak stood over her, prodding and talking to her. One even looked to be trying to help her to her hooves with his walking stick. Why did the brothel mares not seem reassured by this?
I slowed down as I drew closer, and a few things clicked as I got a better view of the scene. The ponies in leathers all had rather wicked-looking knives strapped to their bodies. What I’d initially assumed to be a walking stick—I’ll never know why; only bipeds like minotaurs ever bothered with them—was in fact a spear, and the stallion wielding it only seemed interested in getting her to raise her rump.
Oh... I groaned internally, bringing my hoof to my face. Oh hell no!
“Oi! What’s all this?” I bellowed, stomping my way forward and interposing myself . “Don’t you brutes know that’s no way to treat a lady?”
The pony in the cloak turned to me, and, jutting out from beneath his hood, I could see something curved and blade-like. The scruffy-looking stallion sneered at me. “Whassit to you, toots?” My ear twitched at that. “Don’t you know who I am? You’re way out of your league, babe.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know who you are, nor do I care.” I spat, locking eyes with him. I’d seen his kind before, and for all the bluster, his eyes were definitely those of a killer. With a voice of finality, I declared “You’ve had your fun. Leave now and you might live to pillage another day.”
The stallion with the spear nearly dropped his weapon as he began to quake with mirth. “Oh, watch out boss,” he said with a fake quaver in his voice. “The lil’ filly’s gonna give us such a scoldin’!” My lips tightened into a scowl at his comment, even as he turned to regard me. “You know them wanted posters all over the place, girl?” He gestured his hoof towards the blade-horned one. “This here’s the dark mage the guard in the region’s been so antsy ‘bout.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “So?” I returned his sneer. “I said get the fuck out of here, you scum of the earth.”
With a snarl, one of the would-be rapists whipped his head around, loosing one of his daggers. It sailed past me, grazing my cheek before lodging itself into a wall behind the brothel mares. All of the mares cried out, in alarm, and the quartet of bandits laughed.
“Please miss,” the apparent proprietress of the brothel begged, “We’re thankful that you would support us in this, but these stallions are dangerous! The guard will be here soon, so please don’t throw your life away.”
A low growl escaped my throat as I glared at the ponies in front of me. If I backed down, these guys would do Celestia only knows what unspeakable acts to the poor mare. If the guards didn’t get here soon, who was to say they wouldn’t move on to more unspeakable acts?
“Yea,” the blade-horned one said with a guffaw, even as he wrenched the group’s victim upright with his own brute strength. “You’ll have your turn soon enough anyhow. Always did have a thing for you feisty types.”
As much as I loathed hurting others—I’m a healer damnit!—but I also couldn’t abide by this. They have no respect for anypony but themselves, and they needed an example made of them. Fair’s fair, right?
“Did you know that the average stallion, assuming average to be 70 kilos, has about six liters of blood pulsing through their body?” I ask with an icy smile. All four stallions looked at each other in confusion, laughing nervously as though this was some joke they didn’t get but didn’t want to let on. “I know, funny, right?”
I began to channel a very familiar spell through my horn, focusing on the stallion wielding the spear. In an instant, I could feel each and every one of his heartbeats as though it were my own, and in my mind’s eye, he lit up like a Trottingham street gaslamp. “The funny thing about it all is that you can’t live without it, but it makes you incredibly susceptible to a certain kind of magic.”
The spearpony froze, no doubt already feeling my magic coursing through his veins. Even if he were a unicorn, he wouldn’t be able to break my hold. His very life-essence was fueling my spell now; any attempt to break my connection, barring a blow to the horn, would be just as catastrophic as anything I could intentionally do.
“Now, here’s a question for you,” I said, laughing coldly. Under my direction, Spear Boy turned on the spot, pointing his spear at his companions. “How much do you value your buddy’s life? Each other? Unless you let the mare go—” I glanced at Knives, who was not so subtly unsheathing another throwing dagger. “—unharmed, you’re all going to find out the true nature of the pony on the wanted poster.”
“Oh yeah?” Blade-horn said, tapping his own horn. “Not sure if you noticed, but it’s three on two, and what with you puppeting our pal here, it may as well be three on one.” He looks to his two buddies, and shakes his head. “Kill’em, boys. Break her horn, and then her legs if she gets uppity. Have a go at her, if you want, but leave’r alive for me. I wanna make her scream.”
Throughout his entire, rousing ‘speech’, my ear twitched spastically. She. Her. Babe. Toots. It’s always the damned feminine pronouns; I’m not that girly, damn it! It was bad enough when it was just stallions in the cities hitting on me because they can never see anything under my traveling cloak, but these scumbags... These pieces of walking garbage are just casually talking about raping me, like I’m not even here!
Knives and his unarmed comrade took my moment of silent rage as an opportunity to descend upon their former brother in arms. The unarmed combatant wrested the spear from Spear Boy’s limp grasp. In the same instant, Knives slammed one of his namesakes into Spear’s eye socket. With a bellow, the new bearer of the spear turned on his hooves, delivering a swift buck into the haft of the knife.
In an instant, my would-be puppet crumpled to the ground, dead as a doornail. My connection to his blood held true, however, and I couldn’t help but smirk. “Too bad, friend,” I said aloud, wrenching the blood violently from his still-warm corpse. “Take solace in the fact that your sacrifice will bring these traitors to justice.”
The six or so liters of blood fell back to orbit me like the rings of the solar system’s most far-flung worlds—flat as a disc, but scalpel sharp. “Despite what scum you are for killing your ally in a heartbeat, I’m feeling generous. Make sure you point out to the guard when they show how not-evil I was for not taking your lives.”
At my direction, the orbiting ribbon of blood lashed out as they approached, shifting into a blunt shape at the last second and slamming into the knee joints in their forelegs. Like a dull axe swung into a sapling, their legs buckled with a sickening crunch. Bawling like foals, the two bandits fell atop their busted limbs, unable to stop themselves from further injuring themselves.
With them both dispatched, I let the remaining blood splash down around me. “Fuckin’ no good scumbags call yourselves bandits,” I sneered, barely withholding the bloodlust that threatened to overtake me. “It’s all raping mares and killing your friends, but the moment a blood mage makes you his bitch, you cry like babies.”
That wasn’t the only screaming happening now, though. The bat mares of the brothel were all shrieking and keening their high-pitched cries, and only a fifth of it was intelligible. From it all, I gleaned only “Blood mage!” and “Run for your lives!” as they all fled, abandoning their friend.
Pitiful, really. I mean, seriously, here I was saving their friend, and the moment I used a bit of forbidden magic, without killing anypony, they started crying bloody murder. I’m helping, damn it all, but it’s always the same. Ponies were always the same like that; it was always, “Oh, thank you for saving me,” until they find out what I am, and then it’s all “Please don’t hurt me!”
Blade-horn grabbed the bat pony from the ground beside him. His eyes were wide with newfound terror; once dreadful bandits had been reduced to blubbering heaps in a second, and it was now sinking in how badly outmatched he was. “Come any closer,” he said with a shaky voice, “and the bitch gets it.”
My sneer became an unnaturally wide rictus as the bloodlust surged behind my eyes once more. “You don’t get it, do you?” I glanced at the abused whore. “She’s the only thing keeping you alive right now. You kill her, and your blood is going to decorate this entire avenue.”
I channeled magic into my horn once more, and enveloped some of the blood that was drooling down my grazed cheek. An orb of blood the size of my hoof welled up and hovered beside my head. “Surrender peacefully, and I’ll make sure you only have a concussion.”
~ 01 ~
First Lieutenant Graves adjusted his golden helmet as he took in the scene before him. A dead bandit was splayed out in the middle of the street, not even hidden from sight with a tarp. Paramedics were already crowding the off-duty brothel worker, and despite having only just arrived themselves, had already seemingly bandaged her wing and were seemingly talking her into consulting to a full check-up.
He was glad the first responders in his district were so quick to treating the injuries of the real victims, but as his eyes locked on the two bandits still trembling on the ground nearby, he found himself wishing he could say the same about the ponies under him. One of the paramedics not tending to the mare was arguing with the private standing guard over the two perps. It was very clear even as he approached that they couldn’t come to a consensus as to whether the broken legs should be treated now, or at the station.
Alerted to his presence, the sergeant on the scene came over, snapping off a quick salute. “Good work apprehending the bandits,” he said, praising his subordinate before she could speak up. “I could do without the boys being so rough with the perps, however.”
The sergeant glanced over at the two bandits before returning her gaze to Graves. “Oh no, sir. That wasn’t us,” she said quickly. “In fact, they were like that when we got here. Eyewitnesses from the brothel confirm there was a third party in all of this.”
Graves arched an eyebrow. “Really now,” he said, turning away so as to hide his disbelief. “Who are they saying did all of this?”
She leaned in close enough that the crest of her own silver helmet grazed his cheek. “That’s just it, sir,” she said in an anxious whisper. “They said it was a blood mage.”
The lieutenant’s head whipped around so quickly that, had his subordinate’s reflexes been slower, he’d be nursing a nasty cut later. “What?” He practically bellowed the question, before reigning in his emotions. “You mean to tell me the one from down in Filly’s here already? The one they’re calling the Walking Bloodbath?”
Nodding very slowly, the sergeant swallowed. “I think so, sir, but here’s the thing...” She gestured at the scene behind them with a hoof. “The bandits were the ones to kill their own ally, and she only disabled them. She didn’t kill them.”
A headache was beginning to push its way into Graves’s brain at this proclamation. Was it possible that there was more than one blood mage operating in the region? Or had somepony, somewhere along the line, gotten something wrong? The Walking Bloodbath down in Fillydelphia was reported to have been a stallion that killed without remorse, but the ponies here were reporting a mare?
“The really crazy thing isn’t that she didn’t kill any of them, even though she probably could have killed them all in a heartbeat, or the fact that she’s the one who reset and bound the mare’s wing, sir,” the sergeant said, pointing up. “That is.”
Looking up to the higher levels of the tree city, Graves fell flat on his flank. Suspended upside down from the branches some thirty meters up was a fourth stallion. A very fine cord of red material glistened around the bandit’s legs, reaching across the lane like a spider web. The most curious thing about the stallion, though, was the curved knife he’d apparently strapped to his forehead with a cloth wrap.
“Please get me down from here,” he pleaded tearfully. “I promise I’ll never hurt anypony ever again, nor impersonate wanted criminals to be more impressive. Honest!”
“Sir, permission to speak freely?” the sergeant asked, covering her face with one hoof.
Graves tilted his head to one side before deciding. “Granted.”
“Are we sure Spidermare didn’t come up to Hollow Shades on holiday?”
