Dusty winds scream in a rocky desert, with cacti, and shrubs vibrating from the wind. Tiny brown lizards crawl on the dry ground and hardy flora alongside long-eared hares. In contrast to the dominating browns and black of the desert, a clear sky above gleans a hydrating blue. As if taunting the parched throats of those below. A Sun in the center of the sky shoots down its bright, scorching rays; a cherry on the burnt cake, the celestial body seems at the moment. Despite the barren atmosphere, a pair of searing hot train tracks black as obsidian are stamped into the sparsely green landscape. A single line of civilization through the wilderness.
Soon, a chug chug chug fills the air and a steam locomotive barrels onward on the railroad tracks, dust and dirt throwing up and away from the tracks where the steam engine passes over. Aside from the pink train engine and brown coal cart behind it, the rest of the cars hooked to the impressive feat of technology were mostly passenger cars, all varying in cart colors. Some were blue, green, and the whole rainbow. The wooden roofs atop them were just as varied in colors, the only constant among them being the many little rounded hill shapes on the edges of them; the pastel colors combined with the shaping of the roofs made it seem the train was dragging cupcakes on its behind, off to the next giant to chow on them. Inside, the passenger carts had green carpeting and cream-colored walls, topped off with green roofing. Bipedal creatures consisting mostly of equines sit on the cushioned seat in the train. Books are read, eyes trail out the window, and conversations galore run rampant in the locomotive. The din of the cycling wheels of the smoke-puffing vehicle is always present no matter the volume. The people with the muzzles of ponies are multiple colors of fur and mane like a rainbow exploded upon them. Some had horns, some wings, others neither, and normal as can be.
Of the numerous passenger cars, the 9th passenger car was the one containing two individuals. A flat-faced person, a human, sits in one of the booths, eyes closed with head tilted by on the green wooden backing of his bench, his broad chest expanding and contracting slowly. A hood attached to his blue cloak covered most of his face, and only a tight beard of a raven color peeks out alongside full lips. A large green pack with utensils, ropes, and tools all around the outside is to his left. Across from him, a little brown colt with a white pinto pattern, a notable brown spot on his left eye. He is in a white chemise and brown breeches, white hosen to match down to above little hooves dangling off the bench. The little one was staring out the window at the dry outside, eyes trailing after a pair of winged pony-folk pushing literal clouds through the sky. A red cloth was wrapped around his little head and brown mane. Elbow on the sill of the arched train window, his cheek bundled on his left hand. Sighing, the brown and white colt turns his eye to the man across from him. He brings one hoof up onto the simple cushion of his train seat, hugging it and tapping the back of his other leg against the wooden frame underneath. The eyelids of the other passenger flick open, blue eyes zeroing him on him like a hawk, very quickly. He smiles.
“Bored, Pip? Ride just started, my boy.” He uncrosses his thick arms, pushing aside the cloak, navy blue gambeson revealed. A quilted, padded garment for warmth and protection, the edges of a thinner black shirt peeked from the gambeson’s collar.
“It has been hours since we left Dodge City, and you were asleep for most of it. Of course, I was bored.” Pip said, swirling his hand like a clock.
The man hums, bringing his arms up to stretch them high over his head, a few pops sounding. “I apologize. I’ve been tired all morning, the body does what it needs.”
His comment makes the little colt grimace. “Have you been sleeping at all last night? Are you having nightmares again?” Pip pouts, leaning forward closer to the much larger man. A sigh leaves the target of pip’s concern. Then a gloved hand raises to tussle at the colt’s brown mane, making the youth giggle.
“What makes you say that? I could just be keeping watch while you slumber?”
His answer makes the pony glare at him, a hand rising to bat away his large palm. He obliges. “In an apartment four floors up, whilst you’re still in bed, talking away into the ceiling?”
The bearded man breathes out, leaning back against his bench and dropping his hood to realign his hair. “Can’t slip anything past you. I’ve taught you well then, huh?” A free hand rises to rub at his eyes, slight dark circles under them. Pip smirks.
“I am your star pupil.” He said, puffing up his chest with eyes closed in glee. His guardian looks on with a smile. Then the colt’s eyes blink open. “Hey! Don’t think flattery is getting you out of trouble now!” The human laughs. Pip groans, “I’m serious, Zale! You are crying out in your sleep, it worries me!”
The adult's cheer fades alongside his laughter. A frown is all that remains. Zale props an elbow on the windowsill of the train, resting his chin while he looks out the window. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply.
Pip growls, staring at his hands in his lap; his palms crunch into balls, and before he can stop himself, he said, "I'm not just a naive child, you know. How you saw me in that cargo ship should be a hint enough on that. If it's something grim, I can take it."
Zale's blue eyes twitch towards Pip’s, eyes turning gray without the light of the sun to illuminate them. He stares and the colt stares back, though his ears twitch despite his strong face. Sighing, he raises his left hand to the hand on the sill, pulling off the black glove on his left by the fingers. Almost immediately, Pip’s eyes widen as he sees a few thin scars on the back of Zale’s hand. “Most of these are from something else, but the people that kept me under their heel have left their marks as well, though they usually don’t go so far as to permanently debilitate merchandise. Though they can get creative.” Zale turns his palm towards Pip, he sees scrapes and heavily gray hands from calluses. “Look closer, at my fingers.”
Pip does just that, leaning forward until his muzzle is five inches from Zale’s hand. His mouth pouted in confusion about what he should find until he noticed the creases of the human’s hand are more wrinkled and pink than normal. Within a moment of pondering, he sucks in a breath, reaching out his fingers to run them on the skin of his guardian’s creases. Scarred creases, still bumpy from repaired skin.
Zale hums, taking his other still-covered right hand to peer at the lad. Stray tufts of raven hair drop down to shadow his eyes. “A straightforward method of punishing dissent I had the luck of experiencing was the tiniest slits on as many fingers as possible, mostly around the creases. Every tiny movement is painful. Try to bend a finger, pain. Make a fist, more pain even. Try to grab a drink, blood on the cup. Same with eating utensils. Forget trying to push up from the ground after being shoved onto it. Then, they still expected us to do our labor before they healed. Pushing, pulling, lifting. Grasping tools. Agony until you're numb after it all, whether it's from lack of blood or your brain blocking it out, likely both. Sometimes they get infected. They treated us for that, eventually. They want to punish, not exterminate their labor.”
Glove in hand, Zale lightly tugs his fingers from Pipsqueak; Zale soon pulls his black glove over his scarred hand. He and Pipsqueak stare at each other, though Pip glances down at Zale’s hands every few moments. The colt breaks the silence.
“Is that what you were dreaming of? Your hand being cut, working with it still unhealed?”
Zale sighs, “That’s one of the subjects I had the luck to experience, yes.” Leaning back in his booth, Zale continues, “Though for now, that is all I wish to share with you for now. Please respect my privacy, as you have asked of me before.”
The drone of the train fills the air again between them, and Pip now lays down across his bench, tapping away at his chest as he looks up at the colored sprinkle pattern on the ceiling of the train. Bored of his mind? Yes, he was. What is he supposed to do now with Zale after that emotional splash? Best he lets his guardian sleep.
A green book enters his vision, surrounded by a blue, swirling aura. It opens to where a golden bookmark was in a flutter of pages before both were dropped onto his face with a thud, aura dissipated. He flails and props himself on his elbows, dropping the book onto his stomach. He snuffs and grabs the book up, reading the front cover. ‘Trottales and the Twelve Trials’
This was the book he was reading two days ago! He lost it back in Baltimare. It was still marked where he left off too. Pip looks over to Zale, though his head was still down as he breathes softly as if asleep. Did he buy another copy for himself, and he found the right place for a bookmark? Was he paying attention when Pip read aloud?
The colt changes his view from Zale to the book with a small creeping smile. The man was always reserved but cared where it counted. Actions speak louder than words.
As the child reads his book, a smirk graces the “sleeping” Zale’s face. Yawning, he fades to sleep for real.
In a passenger car just behind the second-class section of the train, several people are sitting in the cab. In one of the booths, four figures sit. A donkey fellow playing with the piercings on of his long ears, two earth ponies chatting away, and a large grey bull peering towards the doors leading to the train engine.
The jack lifts his eyes from his drooping ears to look up towards the sky outside the window next to him. From here, he can see two flying creatures: A pegasi and a griffin. In a flourish, they shape one of the few wispy clouds into a rough thumbs-up image. At that, he nods and grins, a silver tooth shining as his ears perk. He turns to his group. “Alright, boys. Eight cars, just over 120 passengers. The first step, we secure this car, then the engineer and brakemen. The rest of the men are down waiting for us. Let us make this quick. Take after me.”
The two earth ponies and bull nodded. All four reach for their suitcases and bags at their feet, pulling out their mass of masks. Black bandanna around his muzzle, the donkey pulls out a dagger and Flintlock pistol.
The donkey rises first, swooping a dagger from the bag along the way. In no time, he stomps down the train to the door separating economy class from second class. Almost immediately, other passengers react to the suddenly armed creatures. Mumbles and eyes follow the quartet. He slides the door aside, revealing one of the train conductors standing guard. Stumbling back, she reaches for her baton. The donkey’s arm was faster, his blade piercing the mare’s neck and out the back. Her death was quick, green eyes losing their glow in three seconds, baton slipping from her grip onto the connecting platform between trains. Frowning, the donkey shoves her off his blade with a matchlock barrel to the forehead. A trail of blood spurts from her neck as the corpse falls, the wind from the open air flinging it onto his face and the wall of the train behind him. Like a stone in the road, he trots over the dead conductor and enters the other train. Uncaring of the screams now filling the train car, the four of them just walked from one car to the other.
Almost immediately, the second-class car was more decadent than the economy class. As opposed to wooden benches, well made as they were, second-class had cream-colored cushions on the seats, though the backing was still wooden. Where economy had plain oak walls with basic lighting and basic rugs down the central aisle, the walls in the second class had tan wallpaper. Lanterns on the walls shaped like tulips lit the interior while carpeting decorated the flooring. The windows even had a pull-down window cover.
Through the door now, the donkey’s ears twitch, and he ducks. The wind brushed his ears as a beefy baton from his right missed his head. He rolls forward, dodging another swipe from his left. He spins, catching two pony stallions on either side of the entrance. A pegasus and an earth pony. One with orange fur, the other red. Both are dressed in the train conductor uniform, a navy blue vest, pants, and a cap. A white dress shirt underneath it all. A white collar with a red tie brought it together.
The red pegasus, slighter in shape than his earth pony compatriot, charges him. The other conductor moves to follow but stops. Hoofbeats. Behind. He spins, a black baton swinging with him. The rod hits the wrist of an earth pony, one armed with a warhammer and pistol, hammer mid-swing towards his head. The attack on his wrist redirects the attack, the hammer grazing his cheek to strike the conductor’s left shoulder with a hefty thump and crack. Screaming, the conductor brings his baton around again. It beats the criminal’s head, across his jaw. Spittle leaves his mouth and he stumbles against the doorframe of the train entrance. The train conductor pursues, leg kicking aside the stunned criminal’s gun. He raises his baton and the criminal follows suit with his hammer, then a bang fills the train cabin. Following the sound, the conductor’s body falls back; His blood leaks out of his throat as his fading eyes catch the smoking gun barrel of the other earth pony bandit on the train. Standing on the connector between trains past the door frame, an unused gun in the left hand propped up towards the sky. A smirk dons the black-furred pony’s face, the last thing the conductor sees in his last moments.
The pegasus conductor and donkey battled too. When the conductor charged him, the donkey sported his silver tooth and shoulder-checked the earth pony. The conductor stays standing, but only for a moment until the donkey sidesteps him and kicks out the conductor’s right leg from the back while the criminal’s gun hand shoves his front. The orange pegasus tripped and slammed onto the carpeted train floor at the time, knocking the air out of him. The donkey brings up the butt of his flintlock and bashes the muzzle with the handle butt like a stamp on paper. Concussed, the conductor couldn’t respond before the group leader stabs his knife down into the blue eye of the conductor, instantly ending the pegasus’s life as the blade sinks into their brain. Huffing, he rips out the knife. He looks towards the warhammer-wielding pony, ignoring the screams of passengers desperately trying to push themselves farther into the seats away from the murderer. Others bound from their seats and crowd the aisle running from the scene of chaos. They occupy the train staff as they try to control the crowd while warningly preparing for the group of hijackers.
“Olive?” Says the donkey, as the warhammer-wielding earth pony stumbles to his feet. “We just started and you already need saving?”
Scoffing, the olive-furred pony moves his white mane out of his eyes. He rubs his bruised jaw, spitting blood from his split lip. “Let me be Slate, these train conductors are not just some mooks. I would have got him just fine.”
A laugh behind him makes Olive turn, seeing the black earth pony step over the female conductor’s corpse and help him up from the wall. Patting him all the while. “Lucky you have me around then to keep you alive. New guy.” The olive pony elbows the black pony, the dark equine shoving him back as he passes by.
“The Tartarus are you yapping about Obsidian! I’ve been with this gang for over two months now!”
“Last half a year, then I’ll simply dub you mediocre.”
Before the olive pony could rebut, he is moved to the side by the brown bull of the group. Huge left hand pushing him softly against the wall so the large, beefy bovine can scrunch through the door. “If you two are done bickering. It looks like the train security has rounded up their weapons. Aimed at us.”
As the bull said, a group of six conductors gathered on the other side of the train car. Armed with more than just batons now. A myriad of blades and hammers are among them now. They rush toward the criminals in rows of two, as is the amount of space allowed in the train aisle between train seats.
Slate the lead donkey whistles, “Eyes up front. Ready your guns!” All four raise their firearms, Slate’s green eyes locking on the security who realize all too late their coming tragedy. If the widening of their eyes tells Slate anything. He flicks the safety hatch off his flintlock flash pan, giving free access to the lit length of string hooked onto the flintlock lever. “Aim!”
The conductors in front of the group rush toward the gang with greater haste, before they can fire. Those behind try to move back or hide behind the train benches. Reign, the bull, takes his spot next to Slate with his blunderbuss, the weapon propped firmly against his shoulder. Obsidian and Olive stand to the sides of the former two, pistols pointed. Smiles and frowns don their faces at the fearful defenders.
“FIRE AT WILL!”
A cacophony of blasts, smoke, and screams fill the cabin…..
In a different car:
Zale’s blue-tinted eyes shoot open at the telltale sound of gunfire down the train in front of him. He sits straight on his bench, instinctively reaching for his waist. Only to find his palm hitting a weaponless brown belt; right, most of his belongings, including weapons are in the baggage car. To the near front of the train; fantastic for them, weaponless during a raid. He holds up his right hand, marked by minute scars. He wills forth his magic, like opening a valve to let the essence flow down to his limb. In moments, a blue aura flows from the pores of his hand, like ink nearly dripping from the tip of an Inkpen. With a focussed mind, he compels the heat to leave the air above his palm, creating snow in his hand. The snow clumps together to form ice, but only a few crystals form before a jolting shock makes him seize up. His hand clenches over the snow pile, sending it spurting across him and his seat. He stops the flow of magic immediately, and a few seconds later, the shock goes away. Sighing, he pulls down his left sleeve, revealing a small iron bracelet around his wrist, equestrian words etched into the band. ‘Magic Suppression Band’ reads. One cannot remove it without a large amount of time and effort, and constant focus from a separate magic user that wasn't the caster. More so without magic. Let alone if the people responsible for putting it on then catch you doing anything about it. He can do minimal magic. Telekinetic magic on anything less than ten pounds, a certain speed to the movement of objects, ice magic only frosting the user’s hand, etc. Theoretically, magic usage which is unlikely to hurt someone. If magic output on spells bypasses a certain limit, a surge of electric magic makes magic users quickly change their minds, willingly or not.
Great, that limits his options. Zale ponders. Never mind that, a bit of creativity and will can cover for that. He isn’t completely harmless, he refuses to ever be so.
Across from him, Pip startles up from his prone position staring into his book, setting it down open where his spot was. He stands in his seat, looking over the back of his wooden bench to stare in the direction of the noise. Other passengers are murmuring away and looking at the door too. “Are we under attack?” He said, looking toward Zale, who simply sits with one leg crossed over the other. “Zale?”
Zale smiles at him and while lounging with his arms stretched on the backrest of his bench, lifted a finger. “Look, but don’t yell.”
Eyes squinted at Zale, the small earth colt followed his finger. Two seats from the entrance of the train car, four individuals reside on their benches. Two unicorns, two bovines. He sees them subtly dawning fabrics to hide their faces. Out from under their train benches, they pull out bags. Unleashing the ropes and holding them shut, Pip sees weapons inside.
“Don’t do anything rash.” Said Zale. “I will handle them when they get close. Until then, simply wait until you see an opening. Run or help, either choice is good. “ He then suddenly grabs the small colt by the arm, pulling the youth’s attention away from the group toward him. “Leave most of it to me, I mean it. I would much rather you stay safe than help me. Only attack if you are certain, one wrong decision is enough to take your life. I refuse you dying so young for my sake.” He cups the colt’s left cheek with his free right, his expansive hand easily wrapping him from chin and mane. He flickers the child’s mane with his index finger, bringing Pip closer all the while. “This can get messy, with my current limitations and the proximity to so many innocent people. Be. Careful. Understood?”
Pip blinks, looking at the floor and then up to Zale’s face. His brows narrow. “Yes. I understand.”
Zale lets out a sigh, then ruffles the pony’s hair and smiles, getting a chuckle out of the kid. They both then settle in their seats again, waiting for the right moment.
They didn’t need to wait too long, soon enough the suspicious folks went into action. One of the unicorns, one with a pink mane and green fur, stands first. Branding a falchion, she stomps her hoof to the floor and an aura of green radiates around her horn. The grass-colored horn unleashes a foot-long blast of magic, surging up to perforate the ceiling of the train car with sheer force. A deep pit is left on the roof and small pieces of wood fall to the floor. The hole still sizzles from the blast.
"Alright, ladies and gentlemen! Make it simple for all of us and drop anything shiny or worthwhile into the bags as requested. If you make it difficult," she jams a thumb at the hole in the roof she just made, “That will be you.” As she speaks, her three other compatriots extract themselves from their shared booth. Each carries a bag with them, a weapon in the other hand. They start going down the aisle, sticking up passengers for whatever wealth they have. Various voices ring out. Heirlooms are taken, wallets are emptied, and even worthwhile dressings are taken. Those that resisted, were threatened or punched for their efforts.
Pip can only look at Zale as he sits quietly. Soon enough, one of the thugs reaches their booth, a tan bull. He is missing half his left ear and his horns are pocked from use. He waves around a machete. "You know the drill. Give us everything valuable and we'll let you be with less wealth and your bones fit as rain."
Just then, a low grumble comes from the bowed head of the human. Then a snort.
"Are you seriously sleeping?! Bald fool!?" said the bull with a huff. He grabs a handful of gambeson and pulls the snoring man up from his seat, close enough for the bovine to huff hot breath from his nose onto him. "Wake the shit up, you freak!"
His shaking made the human's head roll back to rest on his left shoulder, giving the bull a perfect view of a massive grin on the "sleeping" Zale's face. His eyes shot open to glare into the black of the bull's eyes before both his arms shot up to shove two thumbs into the animal's widened eyes. He screams loud, the sheer pain making him stumble and drop the human back to his feet. Zale took the opportunity to wrench the machete from the thug's grip while he rubbed his eyes.
He swipes the blade toward the bull's neck, however, the bull blocks with his thick forearm in a panic. The machete cuts his arm into the bone. Before Zale can wrench it out, the agonizing bull bats him away with his uninjured arm.
Zale catches himself, bracing his back against the side of the bench he once sat at. The bull leaves the machete in his arm, puffing and swinging a left cross at his face. The human gets hit but turns his cheek, rolling with the punch as it makes contact. It hurt still, but much better than he could've experienced if static. Zale forces him away into the enemy's guard, wrapping his left arm over the now extended left arm of the animal. His right shoulder twists and he stamps his backfoot, throwing a hook at the animal's left abdomen. Onto the kidney, the attack goes; the bull's eyes bulge, and his legs turn slack from the sheer shock and pain. Zale used the opportunity to circle around the taller foe and shove him down against the bench. On his knees with his back exposed, it was easy for Zale to stamp his left foot onto the buff bovine's right shoulder, allowing leverage as he grasps the machete still embedded in his opponent's arm. With a reverse grip and the bull's body as a brace, he rips out the blade. Hollers from the bull and watching passengers sound as a splash of blood paints the bench and aisle when it trails off the blade now free. Undeterred by the grizzly scene he caused, he raises the blade pointed downwards like a railroad spike and plants it into the nape screaming bull's skull; blade in his head, the bull goes silent, never to be heard again. All the muscle and bravado were gone with a stab.
For a frozen moment in time, the stoic human glances at where Pipsqueak sat. The colt was now crouched on his bench as opposed to sitting, but his eyes didn't show nearly enough fear as the other children in the car with them. No shaking, just constant turns of the head as he takes in his surroundings. More flight than frozen, looking for openings to act in preservation. Small hands clasp on nothing, wanting for an item of defense that wasn't there. It was in the baggage cars elsewhere on the train. Learning fast, that he was. A fleck of sadness teases Zale's heart.
On the other side of the car, the bull's compatriots fully realize the situation. The cow and remaining bovine immediately train her blunderbuss at Zale, tears leaking from her eyes. " Goddamn hairless ape bastard. This is for Cletus!"
Zale's eyes pop wide and he screams, "Everyone! To the fucking floor!"
His voice dominates the train and every passenger, even behind the enraged cow's cone of fire, lowers themselves best they can. Zale has taken shelter behind the very bench pip sat on, ripping the colt down from the cushions to the wooden floor, smothering him with his prone form. The blunderbuss explodes out its pellets soon after; the benches that dared stand in the blunderbuss's range were perforated like cheese, shrapnel, and chippings soaring through the air like a gust of wind on dandelions. No one was hurt, but an incessant ringing affects many ears that weren't covered during the blast. The bandits have plugs in their ears to limit such an issue
Shaking off the splinters, glad of his padded jack, Zale rises to a squat and spies the corpse of the bull once known as "Cletus". On his hip was a flintlock pistol, worn but maintained. The body has since fallen to the ground of their booth. Sadly, the waist was stuck in the aisle, in the open where a blunderbuss awaits. Let alone the beams of magic that at least one of the unicorn bandits has. He could easily be caught out.
Ah, to hell with it. The cow didn't have time to reload yet, and he needs a weapon now. The machete is embedded in the bull's skull, he won't be able to wrench it out while he is under several crosshairs. One shot, one kill. Then he only has to deal with two criminals.
Committed, Zale leaves the cover of the train booth quickly as he can, like a mouse out for cheese. He grabs it, a green beam catching him at the elbow, but just a graze. The pain made him grit his teeth as he practically shoves off the ground with his feet onto his ass back in the booth, panic trying to take over as he hears heavy steps coming his way the moment he stuck himself out. Fast and angry.
He just managed to cock back the hammer when the cow came around the corner, teeth gritted and blunderbuss raised above her as a bludgeon. The built bovine brought it down upon Zale, who scarcely avoided a crushed ribcage with a double-legged kick against the swing, stopping the club of metal and wood against the soles of two boots. It hurt, but his legs are strong. With that, he lifts the flintlock in his right hand and aims for the cow less than five feet from him; the cow realizes what is happening when she sees the black abyss inside the barrel, breath seizing. Time seems to freeze as Zale's index finger squeezes the trigger.
Fire lights up the abyss within the gun, propelling a ball of metal up and into the cow's eye. The orb popped in a splash of gel-like liquids and water, shortly followed by a backwash of blood as the bullet blew through to the brain. Blood from impact and shock. The cow's head was knocked to the side, letting the ball speed through the side of her head. No life was in her eyes and she tilts back, falling with a heavy thud.
"Damn, Pip. That was close." Said Zale. He looks behind him, only to see no colt. What? The- wait -the train car window is open. "Pip, you did not!" The human crouch-walks to the window and peers out it; already on the next window over was Pipsqueak, clinging onto the sill and feet braced against the wall of the train car. Zale would be impressed if he wasn't equally concerned. The boy looks in his direction and smiles, Zale only purses his lips and jabs a stiff finger in the brat's direction. The last thing he sees before slinking back through the window is Pip making a reaching leap to the next window and catching on with a flop.
Once inside, a magic bolt skims his hood, slitting a hole into it. He yelps and drops fully behind what was once Pipsqueak's bench. The smell of burnt hair wrinkles his nose a second and he quickly smothers the embers with his hand and tattered hood. Right, the green unicorn can use magic bolts. The male unicorn probably does too if he is worth his salt. No need for reloading like with a gun. He wishes he had magic to use as well. Sadly, he is as normal as dirt with the pretty shackle on his wrist. Adapt and overcome then, like he always had to.
"Suppressing fire, Quark Glint! I'm moving in on that deformed ape's ass!"
The mare certainly didn't care about him knowing her plan, shouting that loud. He can work with this. So, he stays crouched where he is, the bench shaking as no doubt the other unicorn is executing his boss's plan. The sound of wood being pelted sounded as quickly as the telltale trotting hoofbeats coming closer to him. He didn't give the mare the satisfaction of attacking first, rounding the bench, and swooping toward her from below. His immediate target was her falchion, clasping onto her wrist and wrenching it above her head. Empty flintlock in his left hand, he swings the handle and uppercuts the unicorn across the chin. He and she can hear teeth clatter in her mouth from the impact.
The Unicorn growls and catches Zale's hand when he tries to slam her atop the head. She tries for a knee to the coin purse, missing when Zale raises his leg to block her. She took the opportunity to rear back and headbutt him. "Fuck!" He screams, before rewarding her with his own knee into her gut. Bent over, her horn is pointed right at his face. It glows pink. Damn! She's serious?!
He leans back, slipping his hand out of the unicorn's own to play a treacherous game of limbo. He doesn't release the arm with the falchion, however. No sooner, a pink bolt of magic surges past above him. Hole in head avoided. With a yank on his enemy's hand, he propels his forehead into the muzzle of the mare. A crack sounds and the mare is now the one leaning back, far less in control. Zale drops the flintlock then, gripping the blade by the blade firmly for a greater grip. Both hands holding it, he raises a leg and kicks the mare in the abdomen, winding her. Her focus taken, he wrenches the falchion out of her hand. The mare's eyes widen and she immediately backs away from him, avoiding an upward swipe by Zale with her own weapon.
"Dammit! Glint, nail this bald asshole!" She said, sidestepping into one of the seating areas, out of the way of the other unicorn in her gang. Horn shimmering silver on his forehead.
"Say no more!"
Zale had the reflex to dodge behind a bench, and a burst of bolts launched from the stallion soon after. Out of three bolts, one grazes Zale before his whole body got behind cover. The energy cut through his gambeson and into his arm just below the shoulder, the kinetic energy breaking through his skin and burning it from the friction. It made an inch-deep furrow at its deepest, and it fucking hurt! Zale expels a yelp at the injury and covers it out of instinct. Blood leaked out like a cut wineskin, soaking the sleeve around it; nothing vital was injured like an artery, he supposes. He pulls his hand free from his wound, now smudged with the ichor of his person.
"What's wrong, baldy!? Don't have a tree to hide in?!" He heard the mare say.
He is trapped at the moment, he will admit. Two unicorns with ranged magic attacks are beaded on his position right now. He has a falchion he could throw, but if he gets one, he will be shot by the other. Hold a moment, what is Pip up to?
Zale dares to peek over his source of cover. As he surmised, he saw the little small colt enter through the train car door behind the two unicorns. The small child is unnoticed as he sneaks up to the stallion further back. He swipes a dagger from the pony's belt, which turns him in surprise. He didn't realize until too late what is transpiring, the colt whipping the blade across his leg, carving a slit into the pit of his left knee. He topples, the spiked club planted on the wood beneath to catch himself from colliding with the floor. The child jumps on his back, legs wrapped around his torso and knife poised at the stallion's neck. The adult pony catches the youth's wrist before his throat is impaled, his other hand on his weapon keeping him upright. His voice rings out.
"Boss, Help me!? This foal's out for me!?"
The mare turns toward him, "The Tartarus!? That's that baldy's runt!" In her moment of confusion, Zale exits into the aisle and maneuvers the falchion over his shoulder like a javelin.
"Pip! Use him as a shield!"
The colt looks up and sees the human in his stance, nodding before ducking behind the stallion. Orders followed, Zale lobs the sword like a spear, the weapon sailing through the train cabin at the stallion. The air in the stallion's lungs rushes out in a pained gasp as the weapon pierces through the simple cloth of his chemise into his left breast. His eyes flick from in front of him and the sword radically, blood seeping out meanwhile to stain his shirt and wet the blade with crimson trails. Frozen in shock, the small colt on his back easily pushed his knife the rest of the way into his neck, with no resistance from the stallion. The last plunge ended the criminal's suffering and befuddlement, eyes seizing to move and hitched breaths halted. It would have collided to the floor if Pip didn't catch the body, shakingly slowing the descent enough to cause a thud instead of a slam. Morbid enough, the knife in the unicorn's neck gave him leverage to do such a task. The colt retrieves the dagger after the cadaver rests on the floor, taking a step back from it before focusing on the last enemy in the train car. The mare currently staring flabbergasted at the death that just took place. The distraction allows Zale to run out and rip out the machete from the now-dead bull's skull, needing to plant a foot on the shoulder to do so. Spattered with bone, blood, and brain matter, he charges down the aisle; he closes the gap between himself and the unicorn mare quickly.
Not quick enough, because the unicorn spins on him and collects her magic onto her horn, a pink aura encompassing it. When she releases the blast, it was haphazardly conjured and the beam much thinner. Zale raised his machete prior and the magic blast hits it first. The top half of the blade is eviscerated while the blast deflects away into the ceiling, leaving a charred hole in a puff of pink energy. Zale soldiers on, brandishing the machete, still plenty sufficient with its remaining jagged steel. The mare, backed into a literal corner, moves in and snatches on his sword arm. She follows it up with a knee to the human's gut. He was prepared this time, only grunting at the sensation with spittle going, thanking those before that it wasn't a buck. These ponies can kick. He responds with a punch to the ribs for her trouble, destabilizing her enough to shove her down against the seat cushion of the booth they were now both in. His weight atop her and two hands now on the haft, the jagged edge slowly looms closer to the unicorn's throat. The unicorn's pink irises dilate as her impending doom becomes apparent. Shaking arms hold back the human, who only looks with narrowed eyes into her soul, blue eyes turned gray without the sun to lighten them. No noises come from him, even as the pony twists and turn underneath him in struggle, legs swinging in vain. Closed his heart was, just another enemy in his way.
"Zale, stop!"
His eyes flicker up from the cringing mare's pearly whites and he blinks. A small brown spotted hand touches his right arm prompting him to point his attention in said direction. Stood there, dagger hanging in a limp right hand, Pipsqueak looks up at him with his warm brown eyes, like lovely milk chocolate; the light from the window hits Zale's eyes, grey turning into light blue. In turn, his face becomes more emotive. He holds in a growl, sounding more like a loud hum. "Why?"
Pipsqueak opens his mouth, then closes it. With Zale's eyebrow raised, the colt's eyes flicked around for a moment before he perks up. "She is obviously a leader, Zale. She gave the orders to the group. Might know things about the others making noise in the other cars."
Zale listens then, hearing more sounds down the train, fair. They could use information. There is also the fact that the child looked at him with trepidation when he first snapped his head toward him. He made the boy uneasy, scared even. It made Zale feel ill. "If the person at my blade's edge is willing to surrender, I can make a compromise, otherwise..."
At that, the spotted colt looks down at the female pony currently panting heavily. Caught in the limbo between their conversation and her death. He smiles very slightly and said, "Ma'am, surely you can lay down your arms? My mentor is feeling gracious, it would do you well to take the opportunity. Please do."
The bandit pony changes focus from the colt to the man above her, who simply shrugs at her, gesturing to the broken blade at her throat with his eyes. Not much of a choice. She takes a deep breath and speaks, "Alright, I yield." She takes her hands off Zale's arms, giving him free rein to plunge with finality. A show of diplomacy.
Zale obliges, flipping the haft up in his hand and roughly tugging her up from the bench along with him. The snapped machete is now just hovering at her side just barely poking her, the mare forced in front of the human, his left hand gripped on her collarbone. "Let's make this perfectly clear. Tell us all you know about your group's plans for this train, or your nice green meadow coat is going to be overshadowed by the red of roses." To emphasize his point, he glides the jagged machete enough to prick her ribcage through her black shirt, blood trickling down. The pony gasps and sneers over her shoulder at Zale. He raises an eyebrow in response.
Pipsqueak quickly follows the duo out of the booth. "Sir, I'm sure she understands her position at this point." The man scoffs.
"Go ahead and interrogate her, Pip. Make sure to keep it concise and down to the essentials. Her friends will get suspicious of her team's absence soon enough. Consider this as a teaching experience."
The colt nods and looks up at their captive. He holds his chin as he ponders, then takes it away. "Who are you all?"
Smirking, the pink-maned unicorn responds, "The name I'll give is Glitz, thank you for asking."
The snark gets a shake on her collarbone from Pip's companion, "You know what he means, "Glitzass"." The mare glares her pinks into Zale's blues before she scoffs and turns to the child again.
"We go by "Horseshoes & Co". Thugs, thieves, and hooligans galore. This train is just another of our ventures."
"Are you just robbing this train or is there more to the plan," said Pipsqueak. "How many creatures are involved in this heist? Fifty? Around that?"
The mare laughs, "How many creatures? Little Foal, easily around 60 last I checked," She takes a hand and moves it like she is weighing something. "Likely more than that. As for our plans, we will stop the train at its comes on a bridge coming up. An ambush is waiting there with even more people. Dozens will be waiting. Around 120 are involved in total. Minus three so far. Since... well, you can guess why I am sure."
Zale rolls his eyes while Pipsqueak grimaces. "You've answered the questions we need in lieu of time," Zale said. "However, we don't have the means to detain you. We will have to dispose of you with a different method." The human tugs the female down the train car with him, sword haft at her neck. His colt companion follows behind him in step. The mare panics, eyes widening.
"You said you wouldn't kill me if I told you what I know!"
Pipsqueak squeezes between the seats and the duo; he trots backward in front of the human and pony, small legs taking a few passes to match the adults' gait. "You shall be fine, miss. My mentor won't kill you, he is just improvising." He looks past the confused unicorn to match his eyes with his guardian. "What... are you doing sir?"
The human chuckles, "Something that won't kill her, most likely. Either way, it will get Glitzass out of our hair."
Lidded eyes and a thrown is thrown over the lady's shoulder at him, "My name is Glitz, asshat."
"That's right, your name is Glitzass. Very impressive that you remember your own name," Said Zale, smirking when the criminal pouts. "Maybe I will bother to come around on your so-called name when we meet again. Oh, what a pleasurable situation for the two of us."
"Glitzass" mumbles random noises, only a few words loud enough. "... and you call me a smartass."
The trio arrives at the back of the train car, where a door on the side acts as a portal to the outside environment. Zale nods his head at the door while looking at Pipsqueak. "Open it if you will please, little pupil of mine." With a quiet affirmative, the child obliges.
The mare looks from the door to the human, her eyes are going to be sore from how much they are stretching to their limit. "You can not be serious. Tossing me out the train like luggage?"
Shrugging, the bearded human responds, "Either that or you die for certain at my hands. Threat as you are, this is a favorable option for you."
Pipsqueak pulls the door open as requested, the whistling wind from outside the speeding machine they stand in blowing everyone's clothes and hair. Zale's blue cloak is most affected, splaying out and expanding the shadow over the captive pony; the human of a notable size seems to exaggerate in cooperation with his cloak, like the wings they are. The mare was of average height, but she looked and felt even smaller. Even her horn at the upward angle is pointed, only reaching his mid-neck. His proportions were that of a lean person, but his torso was still large enough for the mare to use as a mattress. It was like a creature of the night was rearing back to close around the mare, swallowed by a maw of shadow for the final time. His eyes take on a grey tint again in the shadow of his hood, bearing down at the little pony. He bats the blunt end of the shattered falchion's blade against her neck, emphasizing her current position in this negotiation. The little pony's spine shivered, ears moving back into a flat line and she looks sidelong at the killer behind her. The killing intent coming from the human unnerved her greatly. The human is smiling, stained in the droplets of her group's blood.
"Besides, the train's speed is about 30 mph; you will survive even if you mess up the landing. Though I recommend you try your best to roll on impact, broken bones are rather inconvenient, I would know."
Glitz sighs, closing her eyes for a moment before looking toward the door with a glare. "Fine, fine! I'll take my chances."
"Good," said Zale, withdrawing his hand and weapon from the mare's person. Her heart rate finally stopped rising. "Don't do anything stupid, by the way." He shoves her toward the door, Pipsqueak quickly moving aside and back to the human's side. She catches herself on the doorframe, turning to glare at the conundrum. The colt gives a nervous wave, the adult waves too, but with the broken but still dangerous falchion. Yeah, she needs some tequila after this.
The unicorn mare takes a few steps back, then leaps out the door. In a moment, her form disappears as the train keeps on its path, puffing away.
Pipsqueak takes a breath and lets it out. Zale smirks and turns to look down the length of the train. The sight of ponies scared out of their wits met his eyes. Trying to disappear in their seats, holding their loved ones tightly, making all kinds of pitiful noises. The dead bodies didn't help. He expected Equestrians to be soft around the edges, but this is an eye-opener. They were smart enough not to sprint out and confuse the battlefield at least, risking their lives.
"Apologies, ladies and gentlemen!" He turns to them and continues, "This whole situation, I mean. Just stay in your nice, comfortable seats while this all blows over. I recommend that you all stay where you are."
Pipsqueak chips in, "My mentor: Zale will make sure that these criminals face justice for their crimes, just you watch!" The human he speaks of snaps his head down at the colt. What is the kid doing!? He can salvage this. Didn't want to disappoint Pip just yet.
"I will certainly give them something to ponder!" He clasped a fist in front of himself to emphasize his point. That alongside Pipsqueak noticeably turned some of the ponies from shivering wrecks to just wrecks, who were suspicious.
Blowing out air, Zale lifts up the falchion he has been familiar with in the past few minutes. Half of one anyway. A falc then? Maybe a hion? He chuckles. Pipsqueak looks up at him. Zale shows him the broken blade. "Look, Pip. A falc."
The boy quirks an eyebrow, then giggles, then frowns. "Really, that's what you are able to conjure up after napping for so long?"
The human scoffs and tosses the broken falchion aside. His eye was on the machete embedded in the male unicorn's chest just by them. He was about to step on it and pull, then realized the audience he has. Rolling his eyes, he kneels down and holds the body down with a hand instead, tugging the weapon free after a few seconds of tugging. Bloody, but the weapon was intact.
As he checks the blade for flaws, he notices the empty yellow eyes of the stallion beneath him. A puddle formed under him, both from his neck and chest; Zale as he kneeled coated his left pant leg with the lifeblood of a being. The wood of the train is going to stain at this rate. There he goes again. So used to death he was, his mind wanders. Still...
He moves both the stallion's hands to rest over his heart, bloody mess and all. Then, he brushes a hand over the face, closing the lids for the last time. He fixes the muzzle closed too, ajar from a scream long-ended. Only fair, he disturbed the body after all.
Pipsqueak watched from a few feet away, looking at the knife in his hands, the hands that ended the stallion. Wasn't his first, though. He prays for a moment, to whom, whoever will listen. All in his head.
He tried to stay stoic, but as Zale stands, he walks toward the colt and pats him on the head. "Thank you for helping me live, sorry you took a life to do so."
The pinto colt frowns but nods, he felt wrong. Not about why he did it, however. There is a debt he needs to pay.
Zale breathes out and faces the door at the very back of the train car. More chaos was to come, yet a touch in him is fine with it. He has two tasks, one to the side of him, and one just a train ride away. Obstacles need to be removed.
He steps forward, machete in hand waiting to be used.
Author's Note
Hello, reader. Feel free to let me know what you think of my story so far. Let me know of inconsistencies or mistakes you notice as well. I'll likely do edits of this alongside future chapters, due to needing to fix mistakes or to fine-tune the chapters to my liking. Just have to rip the bandaid off and finally put it out. Practice makes perfect after all. Thank you for reading my story.
