Jaegerby geekChaptersWhat Kind of Goodbye Was That?Quick and Unjust Feelings for Society and Her Damnation [lack of edit]Shout, Shout The Battle Cry of Freedom (and For Blowjobs) [lack of edit]Generic Villain Needs to be Stopped! [unedited]Holidays and Commentation for the Betterment of Nonsensical Ideologies That Don't Relate to This Entire Chapter, DudeWhat Kind of Goodbye Was That?“AND STAY OUT!” Thump, pomf. A certain Changeling’s body was face-first into good ol’ mud, his stick with the generic hoofkerchief resting just a few steps away from his being. It wasn’t like it hurt at all, in fact, it burned. Not the kind of burn you got after specific coitus with your sexual preference who happened to not tell you of their little problem, no, it was the kind of pain-burn. “CHRYSALIS-DAMN!” - The ‘ling exclaimed with such conviction it could make a soap opera actor blush from such flattery. The ‘ling, affectionately referred to as- “FUCK YOU, JAEGER! NO ONE EVER LIKED YOU, ANYWAYS!” Jaeger. Lifting his head, which happened to have some sort of obsession with kissing the mud, took a few seconds to achieve the sweet nirvana of plucking his head from the ground, but he nonetheless studied his surroundings. Badlands. Lot’sa canyons, dead grass ‘n stuff, oh hey look more dead grass, his mind pondered lazily as Jaeger disinterestedly glanced around in a left-to-right motion. However, his mental state was in an entirely different dimension at the moment. “Waitah? I’ll take d’check, now.” Jaeger’s upper-comb accent released itself, sounding like some sort of grease-brain. You may ask, how did he get into this situation? Well, to put it at this very moment, his brain spun from the flank-kicking he had just sustained minutes prior to his eviction. Without much thought, he blinked twice and with such a beautiful brain as his, realized that he was just beaten into hilarity and was casted out because he thought that putting jelly into the Queen’s horseshoes would lighten her mood. Well, it wasn’t on purpose. He dropped his favorite snack and it so happened to land right next to the most important ‘ling in the entire ‘lingdom of ‘lings. Speaking of which, he had to resume his act with the invisible audience. “Whas d’deal wit’ pegasi food? It ain’t pegasi, and it ain’t food!” Jaeger announced to nobody in particular, his head still swimming in a sea of dazed confusion as he bent his forelegs to get up. The ground was certainly stiff, next to rock-hard, but nothing the battered Changeling couldn’t deal with. Albeit wobbly on prime activation of modules Legs.exe, he still kept consciousness... Jaeger promptly collapsed onto his chin, FrontLegs.exe failing to run as he groaned, just a hair’s length away from his traveling stick now, he could lick it. To be clear, it wasn’t as if he wasn’t into licking things. It’s just that his legs won’t work, and if they won’t work he can’t get anywhere. Had he actually had the decency to not open his big mouth when he was backed up against a wall, and no, saying “kiss my shiny black flank” isn’t saying sorry or begging for forgiveness. On the other hand, licking things are gross unless it’s- “Brain, stop dat. We gotta work togevvuh, not ‘gainst one ‘notha, yeah?” Jaeger once again spoke to no one in particular, looking up towards the sky, or more-so his head. He unfurled his forelegs from their state of abysmal coordination, planting them firmly into the ground as he hoisted himself up, the aforementioned appendages wobbling incessantly. With a grunt and a small tune chirping in his head, as he had just achieved full-blown levels of accomplished disappointment, he took his first step. Okay, a bit wobbly, but he can make it work. Walking like a dog given shoes and forced to walk on tile, he achieved two steps to walk towards the base of the stick, bending down where his muscles and glorious ‘ling gluts screamed exhaustion the most, he gripped the stick with no indication of even physically grabbing it. In all honesty, he just poked it. You can’t pick up anything doing that, that’s just abysmal in all forms of logic and sense. Didn’t matter, he poked his hoof under it, bending his wrist to wrap around the stick, firmly grasping it. The task was difficult, having dropped the stick twice, now. “Firmly..” Jaeger whispered, hell-bent on picking it up as a rogue bead of sweat ran down his face. “Grasp..” His mind thrust forward with a head of steam, “it!” It fell off his hoof. Again. His nonexistent brows furrowed. “Firmly,” his voice picked up in frustration, “GRASP IT!” The same process as before, except he managed to pick it up and throw it over his shoulder. With this small victory came it's spoils, spoils being a look of smug satisfaction on his face along with him shutting his eyes to revel in his mentally deficient achievements. However, something odd struck him. There was no weight on his left side, or so he thought. He popped open an eye, slowly glancing down only to see no hoof supporting his balance, rather the hoof meant to be in it’s place (yoo-hoo, the left one!) was furled around the stick on the shoulder, rather than supporting the ground for him. Chrysalis-damn you, favoritism. His wings flared, panic settling in as he released a shrill cry to have all forces of luck to not make him go through the painstaking process of picking himself back up. So panickingly as any sane pony would do with wings, he took to the sky with no cohesion and-or precision of where to go. He flew left, right, to and fro, unintentional barrel spins, screams of being motion sick, and mentions of not even having wings to begin with. It was true, they were shot to hell - the membrane wings having all excuses to not be able to fly, but the frill skin and bone holding them up kicked into overdrive, where it would take an accounted ten flaps to get an inch into the air with how bad they were, they did one-hundred. In a second. With blurred wings, he continued screaming, going so far as to collide with his traveling stick that was resting on his shoulder, or was, now it was being thrown about in it’s placement wrapped snugly around his hoof, the sack of useless personal items shaking with ferocity, somehow managing to stay in the ill-protected sack even as the wind was beating the everlasting shit out of it. “THIS IS NOT COOL!” Jaeger shrieked, his wings now going into sleep-mode via exhaustion, causing him to start for the ground at a spinning mess. Had he not managed to flare his wings out at the perfect time, he surely would’ve been at some sort of death’s door right about now. To keep his stallioninity, he shut his eyes and continued screaming, landing softly on the ground, his wings flapping quickly to keep a soft and firm landing. The ground greeted him kindly, if it could actually have thought, even as he continued his panic attack. His eyes fluttered open, his screaming dying to a small hum as realization dawned, his three hooves planted on the ground as his left hoof was curled around the traveling stick. His voice cooed “Oh”s in pleasant surprise as if he was just told that he was going to be given a new blender. Blinking idly, he glanced up to the canyon before him, a sign that his bug-eyes zoomed in on naturally. DODGE CITY - 50KM - AHEAD “Convenient, I say.” Jaeger’s ear twitched as he flicked an invisible eyebrow up suspiciously. Completely forgetting about his personal embarrassment approximately thirty seconds ago, he kicked his good hind leg out, stretching it with a tensed yawn. “Twelve hou’ahs. Shoul’ be easy.” He mused, before pursing his lips in a whistle. Starting his glorious trek towards Dodge City, he already had a goal in mind. Obtain the Elements of Harmony and try to become a “cool kid” which was to eliminate his PTSD and to make him likable. Who wouldn’t want to love a Changeling like him? “Enough ego strokin’, brain.” Jaeger hissed, his whistling stopping just for a quick second to patronize himself before resuming forwards. The sun seemed to wink at Jaeger’s form as he walked on the nearby trail, the path to Dodge City clearly ahead of him. A long walk, but it'll be worth it. "SHIT! DICK SCRAPE! FUCK! FUCKIN' DIRT!" Jaeger's form curled over briefly, letting out a hiss of pain before limping along even more cautiously, even more bent down, which is the opposite of what you want to do. Hey, he's in pain, so whatever. His fault for thinking it was going to be some real kid's story about innocent and happiness. Fuck that, it's the real world. And he hated it already. Author's Note i plan on following this one through, however i lack proof-readers/editors, so i mean if you want to follow me through writing the skeleton chapter and then adding onto it, be my guest. i'll need people to see how shit-tier it is and see if they can help with it. yo, yo, ya boy Chomp Chomp comin back at you with another changeling fic because changelings are the shit anyways, hope you guys enjoy this one. i wont be stopping it any time soon Quick and Unjust Feelings for Society and Her Damnation [lack of edit]Being a cactus was cool. No one to answer to, no water to really drink, and just a beautiful sun to seduce with it's free-willed body, eternally stuck in a suggestive pose toward nature with the mind-altering question it silently asked, "Am I pretty enough?" "Tartarus yeah, you is." Jaeger's eyes were lidded sensually, flicking a hoof playfully at the inanimate cactus resting before him, a few seconds walk away from the main trail towards Dodge City. "Say, baby, how 'bout you an' I skadaddle outta 'ere.." He trailed off, looking towards the sky with suave movements, expertly and discreetly wrapping his arm around the main body of the cactus. As evident, cactus are cold creatures at heart, as the damn plant pricked his chitin, causing a quick yelp from him and a hostile stance from him. No longer lidded sensually, rather angrily. "I treat ya ta fine dinna, and you's gonna do this?!" The cactus stared at him without any lively response. Jaeger blinked, cocking an invisible brow as he slowly re-positioned himself to weighted caution. "Riiiight, you's a cactus. You got your roots 'ere. I get it, you dunna wanna spoil dat. Aight, I see you, I see you." He nodded up and down in faux comprehension, his mind hissing all types of insults towards the plant before he promptly turned around. Looking pompously over his shoulder, as if expecting a cactus to grovel at his hooves to come back. No response. He huffed, looking ahead with his snout high as he spoke with a cheesy tone, "Yeah? Well, you ain't gonna find no pony like me evah again!" The cactus did nothing, except shake for a half second due to the sudden cold winds, prompting Jaeger to shiver slightly. Joke's over, he's gotta get to Dodge City. "Your ma's fat!" He exclaimed over his right shoulder as he adjusted the bindle on his other shoulder. He snorted in defiance as he walked away, his snob-angry face retreating it's form into a more depressed facial expression. The dirt crunched underneath his calloused hooves with each step as the winds grew more defiant of nature's gentle sways. "Yeah, nevah gonna find a kinda guy like me." "You'd think they would try for an advance, maybe?" A feminine voice broke out, Jaeger's eyes shooting open followed by a firm shake of his head. A dream of being defeated by Chrysalis's idiots and reduced to a complete blubbering fool rather than a somewhat blubbering fool? Reduced to some sort of sick comedic joke for entertainment of readers?! Preposterous in it's own right. Nice funny hallucination, brain. Dawn in the Badlands, during the bitter winters. The Badlands ironically held one of the more harsh winter times, being topped by the obvious north, and other selective places on the continent. Standing atop a small watchtower out in the 'Frontier' of these terrible lands, it was also a bitch for loveless soldiers. Assigned in this area was a death sentence should any enemy perform an assault; an assault Jaeger should've saw coming. The land was layered with a barely noticeable trace of frost, the dirt twice as more difficult to dig into this year around, evident by the small fifty-stallion garrison below them desperately trying to dig into the dirt with picks and spades, both equal in the odds of shattering. Ahead of them, a horizon. A horizon of flat hills that would be terrible for them should the enemy attack with artillery. The kind of artillery one might find themselves soiling in their pants or down their legs at the new and improved relations that was being absolutely pillaged and wrecked by some pussy ass machine waving the bird way out of reach. Oh, and the fish was okay too, since you, the selfish audience, didn't even bother noticing. Jaeger glanced down at his hoof, seeing the sudden fish stick in his grasp before blinking. He confusedly lifted it towards his mouth, taking a sharp half of it into his jaws with a quick bite before chewing. Huh, it was okay. Jaeger's gaze glanced left, and then right, and then forward. Nothing to protect the ones below them, and nothing to save them if they were directly hit with a large object, or if the supports fell. Barely any supplies to begin with, too. No wonder he thought of this outpost as a skeleton crew's post. Damnation was all he felt like he was cast to. "No pony attacks here," they said, "you'll just be freezing and acting as reserves if other lines get pushed on," they assured. He harumphed to himself, finishing his fish stick before whipping his head confidently. It was DAMN good! Fuck you, audience! What was he thinking about, again? Oh, right. Jaeger shifted his gaze towards the voice, a fellow soldier like he. Chest plate outlined with the embryo goo for extra reinforcement, with two columns of seven rings of chainmail stretching down the Changeling's ribcage, ending at their flanks, where a skirt of leather and smaller chains lay, covering their entire backside. Their helmet was basic, encasing their entire head besides their fangs and nostrils, and of course their eyes. He would've laughed at his comrade if he wasn't freezing due to being the one lacking fur clothing, unlike what his fur-caped compatriot was wearing. Planting the base of what the inventors called 'repeating crossbows', he commented as he glanced at her, a female 'ling. "Yeah? Nice wish, rookie. They try in d'summer." His natural smugness knew no bounds as he grinned triumphantly at some invisible competition. "Wouldn't hold my breath for that, Jae." "Can't breav in th'damn helmet, anyways." A small chuckle came from Jaeger's little tower companion. "Fifty bits they'll come in the fall." Jaeger glanced back, his eyes narrowed from under the helmet, "Don't jinx it, ya goof," he threatened. "You don't know these lands, dey got's lotsa stuff. Dead things, deader things, deadest things.." "Okay, okay, how 'bout next winter-" "Ice it, okay? Jeez Louise, it's like y'wanna get bent or somethin'." "Bent?" His comrade asked, only to receive a curt response from Jaeger. "Killed. I thought you knew upper-comb boys like me." There went that conversation, if one wanted to call it that. His companion went quiet, not a single word protruding from her mouth. He opened his jaws, licking his frozen lips before looking over to her, before something caught his eye. Wait what!? More than something! A flicker on the horizon! Jaeger's eyes snapped towards the sudden intrusion on the beautiful sunrise, swirling his hoof at his companion before swinging it towards the edge of the hill in front of them, at least a five minute's walk away. "Saw somethin'. Get th'guys on their weapons, yeah?" "The name is Cauli." The female 'ling said, grabbing the top of the ladder with a soft thump, "Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah, cool. Cauli hop on this dick, while you're at it. Get it? Could you, Cauli- fuck you." Jaeger responded quickly, his entire personality etch-a-sketch'd into that one ramble. Narrowing his eyes even more on the horizon to get some sort of unspoken focus. A quick swish of a rectangular thing's upper edge. It slowly became more pronounced as it revealed itself with each second from up to down. The flag of Chrysalis. "COMPANY IN D'FORM OF A BITCH!" Jaeger shrieked, pointing towards the hillside gaining an extra layer of Chrysalis flags and enemy Changeling armies. Jaeger only had a single thought as he quickly readied the repeating crossbow, essentially the same shape of a crossbow exception of some sort of miniature barrel storage component crafted onto the side, with an intricate system of strings and wood as well as metal to continually feed the crossbow once the trigger is pulled and held. One thought. .. Fuck. Did I leave the stove on at home? "Random flashback, but I'll take it." Jaeger tapped his noggin appreciatively, the outline of Dodge City just on the horizon. He sat atop a hill, a sign planted just besides the trail that, with all acceptance of a catholic priest allowing a child into his chambers, stepped up towards that read proudly and boldly. DODGE JUNCTION WELCOMES YOU FROM THE BADLANDS INTO GOODLANDS! The sign was certainly in better condition than the first one. And the name seemed updated, too. Jaeger bent his arms slightly as he read over the sign with a curious eye. "That fuckin' motto was so cheesy I could taste the liquid shit- oh lickety-split-shit they did a slick name change on me! Pulled a fast one, they did." He poked the new and improved 'junction' word on the sign, nodding up and down enthusiastically at the revelation. "Wonda how many chicks th'boys hadda sleep with t'get this betta name." Jaeger pondered aloud, lifting his body to step past the sign before continuing on his merry way, the bindle juggling up and down with the descending steps. A loud click resounded as Jaeger took his fifteenth oblivious and uncaring step forward, prompting him to halt like some sort of minority told he was found guilty of all felonies, and looked at the ground. A metal sheet poorly disguised into the ground that held a faceless, smug position that stared back up at him. A larger rectangular outline immediately cut itself out of the ground ahead of him and around him. A hidden IED-- he means slingshot plank-thing. "Aight." He chose his words carefully at this new realization that he was exponentially fucked, alongside his healing injuries, as well. And so the poor bastard was flung like last week's lunchable into the trash of where he came from - the Badlands once more. Author's Note slam jam ramadan, ensuring this minor setback will bring up an amazing plot, no not the pony sexual organ that you fools terribly remark as, i mean come on why "plot" it ruins casual conversation. "plot of land" "y'see that plot o' food dude sick crunches man" vagina works. what was i thinking again oh right, here's this chapter to commemorate a quick segment that'll segue into an actual story, enjoy it folks Shout, Shout The Battle Cry of Freedom (and For Blowjobs) [lack of edit]"Our outpost far within the largest canyon has been overran. Outposters Drone 705,493,538 "Jaeger" and Drone 705,493,688 "Cauli" reported massive casualties for the encroaching Chrysalis forces. However, Your Majesty, the Chrysalisian drones continue the march undeterred. They'll reach Combs 2 and 3 at this rate in less than fifty-four hours. Your advice?" Thorax the Titan couldn't have any worse of a day. Just what was the Chrysalis menace thinking? Intelligence. Cunning. Things he wasn't; he was a pure offensive genius with the art of throwing 'lings into death. How was he gonna come back from this 31-16 deficit? There was only one solution, and it involves needing some sort of Saint for this one. Massaging his eyes and steeling his nerves, the hulking Changeling shifted his auburn eyes towards his nearest messengers in the room. The room, you ask, is simple by design. Box-like with nothing accountable on the walls, with a single table taking up about a nipple-proportion space of the breast that is the room. The six 'lings stand all around them, Thorax included with his regalia of a crown and royal cape. Where had he gone wrong? Why wasn't it working?! The True Evil crawls towards him furiously as each day passes, and it only seems that no pony is able to stop this. The chances seemed damn near impossible. Stoically, he nodded towards his Defensive Advisor of the Army, Yek-Yek of the Shield. "Yek, what do you propose?" He inquired, the room going dead silent as the words hung like a taunting enemy in the air. Yek-Yek was stoic as well, glancing up at the King as the soft light above them illuminated his features. Blinded left eye, and a chemical burn mark all around it, exposing his chitin towards the world, bone and all. Not only that, but it seems his left fang was also chipped, rendering it as a normal tooth rather than a ferocious canine's. His hat signified his rank and his ribbons, hanging sternly over his forehead as he glancing down at the map with an intense gaze. "Pull back all border forces and prepare evacuations of all nearby combs to further inland combs. We will hold out in the abandoned combs with firepower and trickery never seen before. Deploying the Marshal-" One of the Changelings twitched his ear, the tag 'MARSHAL' hung proudly on his uniform, "-is our best bet to even counter the True Evil." During his explanation he had managed to unfurl a pointing stick and whacked it towards the map with a sharp snap of wood, sporadically dragging it along the map and circling locations to emphasize his points. "Solid thinking, Yek-Yek. What about supply routes?" "Oh. Didn't think of that." Silence followed for a nervous three seconds. A tap of wood resounded through the room quickly after, "HERE!" And Thorax glanced down at the table. A small outlined box just near the defensive positions Yek-Yek had pointed to, all conveniently labeled "SUPPLIES!!!!!" with a red fill. "Oh." "Hello, are you okay?" A fuzzy voice that was clearly male raped and pillaged its way into Jaeger's fleeting consciousness, slowly focusing him onto reality. Everything felt heavy. Scratch heavy, more like fucking terrible. Who would even want to wake up in such an abysmal headache and mental state he was in? Even his limbs seemed to reject the commands to move even as the voice fondled his ears like a cheese grater once more. "Sir, you took a nasty fuckin' hit." To say it was a nasty hit was an understatement. Judging by his position on a clearly misproportioned hard surface, it was safe to say his chest felt caved in, and he definitely could feel the numbness of a broken chitin around his primary left hoof. The scraping feeling of a branch piercing his skin and chipping inside his chitin which was currently suspending him from the tree at a rather awkward angle would also prove evident to his half-conscious deduction case that he was indeed fucked. He tried to speak, but his vocal chords soon proven themselves worthy of a dishonorable mention as they had left the cognition ceremonial awards before it even began. In other words, it hurt to speak, and only came out as moans and slurred fumbling of words, the victim of endorphins and biological pain killers working overdrive like a minority to fix this 'pain' issue. He blinked slowly, the voice getting more anxious. "Sir! Are you ALIVE?" Go away, mom. I'm sleepin', Jaeger moaned mentally, closing an eye as the ratio of consciousness-to-sleep dwindled from 1:1 to 1:2. Praise be unto the heavens above, as with one eye closed, his brain naturally gave one last pump of focus to keep him awake. As expected, he began to become focused on his surroundings, the puke of colors slowly starting to break off from British rule to form their own colonies of organisms and inanimate objects. First thing he saw in a solid form was surely a spectacle to see. It was a cloudy-eyed Changeling. Clearly blind, if he had to guess, as the blind changeling was facing opposite his way, but his head cocked to the side. It had a hat on, in a bowler-esque style, to be exact. Black with a white band, and it carried a stepping cane which was colored black with a polished white crystal ball as it's grip. Give the stallion a coat and he'd be a certified pimp. Oh, and more jewelry, too. The snout ring which was just a simple diamond was a bit too much, but overall the dude looked good if Jaeger was a gold-digging whorse. Either way, he screamed in protested gargles and throat-burning grunts, fainting promptly after. The cloudy-eyed Changeling turned around, completely startled with a fearful expression on it's face at the same time being peeved, set his blinded eyes onto the unconscious form of Jaeger. "Dude, you aight? Need some water?" Jaeger wasn't responding, rather his bindle took to responding by falling off the tree to snap on a conveniently placed cactus that somehow looked extremely angry. The 'ling, named Jazz by the bold print of his cane, pulled his hat up briefly to get a metaphorical better eye on Jaeger. About two-point-three seconds later he came up with his best deduction to date. "This muhfucka dead." The sky was a setting orange, and the freezing badlands which seemed to get a darker tinge of darker orange-red, was quickly getting more red as the current battle raged on. Thousands of Chrysalis supports on what the Badlands would know as the Great Divide on the Battle of Badland Haysin, where Queen Chrysalis would face the Marshall of Comb C in an old abandoned coaltown originally made from ponies abandoned after they were ran out of the Badlands. If anyone could hazard a damn guess, the aforementioned town also served as a buffer zone for the mainland Combs that the rebellion against Chrysalis to enter in. However, it was also the issue of being winter time and being packed like fucking sardines in brutal Mortal Kom- wrong universe; in brutal combat. "If I could summon a guess, it could be the guess that you're fuckin' dead you Chrysalis tit-suckin' freak." Jaeger growled, a newly fashioned sword from the depths of convenience plunging into the sternum of the garbed Chrysalis-colored Changeling. It wasn't a pretty or satisfying death, as the poor stallion's sternum cracked audibly as Jaeger's sword was seemingly resistant to being pulled out, even as the changeling's eyes dulled from their glowing hue. Growling in frustration, he threw the changeling with the sword, leaving him to crumple into a ragdoll carcass. With a few clinks and clacks of wood and hollow metal, Jaeger posed proudly with the repeater crossbow in his hooves, his wings sprawled out (and flapping incessantly to keep him afloat, mind you) as he quickly shouldered it towards the direction of a few dueling changelings. With a quick message to his brain of "help a brother out, pally pal stallion coltstallion guy dude," his hoof twitched on the trigger and held it on the aforementioned contraption. With whines of primitive pony magic, parts of the crossbow exploded to life in a magic hue of blue, and immediately snaps of wood and string reverberated from the crossbow as it flicked out bolt after bolt with as ease as a border-jumping minority after her thirteenth pregnancy. His movements were a blur, and his actions robotic as he switched from target-to-target, his bolts striking true as they dug into their chitins and skulls, effectively ending them during mid-strike, dodge, or intercourse in the non-sexual degree. Jaeger wasn't named Jaeger for nothing, folks. This motherfucker had the accuracy of quite possibly one of the deadliest sharpshooters in the world, and he was doing easy kills with an automatic crossbow on enemies who were behind friendlies or in front; either way, he got the kill, and the ally wasn't killed. Or, y'know, they died before the bolt reached the enemy. Either way, not a great time for any party. "I have the absolutely positively hardest of wing-boners right now." Jaeger announced as his eyes snapped over to the form of Cauli a few steps away, having been explicitly and gruesomely dispatching some Chrysalis-supporters with her sword and crossbow. The dexterity with her hooves was impeccable. Wonder what it felt like on his dick. Hush, brain. No sexual thoughts until after chances of death are null. Jaeger barely had the focus to regain battle-mode in his mind to block an incoming sword swipe with the metallic part of his crossbow, which was pretty much everything exception of the mechanisms operating the, y'know, release of the sperm-bolts. Fucking brain. Using his barrel in a horizontal pose to block the sword with both hooves, he stood on his hind legs per usual to disposition any sort of possible unbalanced weight, and even had the audacity to push harder. Brain, I swear to the fucking gods. "GETTA LIFE, WHORESYLIS CLIT-RIDER!" Jaeger roared, letting go of his resistance to allow the changeling to push himself off balance, and he stumbled forward. Using the bladed-end of the limb(which is the two wooden pieces that curve out towards the end of the crossbow, built off the barrel for you uncultured swine) he thrust it backwards, the blade penetrating the nape of the changeling, digging into his spinal chord which evidently produced a guttural and degenerated screech and moan of the changeling as they crumpled dead. Tearing it out, he quickly jerked it to release the blood off it, and soon redirected it towards the nearest enemy in his area. You thought Jaeger wasn't gonna catch the 5 innuendos? Nice joke. The aforementioned changeling screeched a roar of frustration, slamming his crossbow onto the dirt. "WHY CAN'T I THINK SHIT WITHOUT SEX?" Because you haven't gotten laid in about seven months, you depraved bug. Immediately, he slackened himself with hunched soldiers as he spoke in a tone of clarity, "Well dat beats it." Ignorant to the bleeding body thrown above him to be added to the pile of dead Chrysalis sympathizers, Jaeger looked over his shoulder to Cauli, whom was currently using a body as a meatshield for about three enemies before she had engaged in close-quarters-combat with them. "CAULI!" "WHAT?" She called back, using an armored hoof to clash with a sword, before using a knife in her other hoof's bracer to flick out with the joint, quickly jabbing it thrice into the changeling's chest before headbutting him into unconsciousness. "WANT SOME FUCK?" She had to double-take before taking a haze across the withers from a poorly placed blade, forcing her to buck the poor bastard into oblivion by breaking his jaw and landing him a spot in the Generic Villain Aim hall of fame. "TAKIN' DAT AS A YES!" He shouted after her lack of response, quickly firing three bolts into one stallion, who actually tanked the shots before he tripped on a rock and jabbed the bolts deeper into him as he had landed on them, killing him instantly on impact. Harumphing in victory, Jaeger had enough time to turn around to see a giant warhammer about to connect with his skull, belonging to that of Queen Chrysalis, who looked very angry. The office space was modest. One giant window looking out the Badlands, with a single generic Boss Guy desk in front of it, complete with a generic stack of papers, a generic lamp, and that one stupid decorational picture on the wall that had nothing to do with anything but to serve as a change of color on the otherwise bland yellowish-tan wallpaper. A small tag that was barely standing up after years of either being bashed or thrown had enough cheap paint on it to spell out 'FRESH MEAT'. A crimson red pony with a black mane complete with black sunglasses laying on his unkempt black mane stared apathetically at the door. Who was he waiting for? Find out now. Jazz, in his usual dapper gear, was sat on a velvet red booth in a private section of the unlabeled establishment. It was clear it was a prostitution joint with the hooker currently sucking his dick off like it was her only way to get mon- it was. The wig, the cheap makeup, the skanky clothing, it was mattered little to Jazz as the amazingly dressed bastard was blind. His black sunglasses titled 'I AM BLIND' in white across the lenses and front frame didn't tell you enough. His hips twitched slightly as her lips were wrapped around his tip, the velvety texture of her tongue circling as fast as a paraplegic running in the snow around it, the beginning process of saliva build-up occurring. In order to create more stimulation in her mind, she began to move her head with the motion, using her forehooves to massage and move his balls gently and sensually, sensually being in the definition of "I am arousing you. Are you aroused yet? You must be." Jazz's left eyelid twitched, his penis riding high on the whole pleasure meter as his balls created a more stimulating feeling along his scrotum. Feeling bolder, or more routinely, the hooker slowly dipped her head slowly but surely down his dick, her tongue resting on his underside as it went back and forth rhythmically. The stimulation made the blind stallion rolled his neck to avoid his stoicism faltering with a grunt or a twitch, his sunglasses glaring down at her in a terminator-stare style as he guessed where she would be. The hooker, already knowing he was blind, didn't bother with the theatrics of looking at him in the eyes as "innocently" or as "sexily" as possible, opting to milk his dick for maximum payout. Who wouldn't want to? Easy money for a cripple. Wait, that wasn't PC. She meant.. uh, physically challenged. No. Visually impaired, that's it. Jazz swallowed, his chest having already been in an anxiety-feeling state of tension, butterflies going on full rampage in his stomach only to infect his chest as well as he felt his heart rate beat faster than usual. The usual symptoms of being filled with lust and the wanton epidemic of release. She was getting there, but not quite. Unbeknownst to him, he had began to dip his head against the cushions, opting to stare blindly at the ceiling, despite once again not having the knowledge of doing so. The hooker pushed her head deeper down, feeling her gag reflex start to naturally flare as Jazz was bigger than the usual run-of-the-mill lad. She made a mental note in her mind to question him if he exchanged sight for sexual prowess. The rod in her throat throbbed, begging for release as the heat on it grew hotter than usual. Tell-tale sign of the stallion getting closer and closer to his release. To keep the pleasuring assault up, she began to flick her tongue left and right more quickly, as well as remove her warm, moist presence from his dick, sliding out only to stop at the tip. "Keep that goin' on, an' I might just give ya a tip, 'lil lady." Jazz hummed casually, as if a skilled hooker wasn't giving him one of his top 3 blowjobs in his life, next to that broad in Las Pegasus he managed to swindle as a carpenter pony looking for carpet. He surely had a "carpet" to "munch" on that night. The meat she left behind was illuminated by her saliva in the booth's shitty light, the black muscles completely untainted by markings or natural marks, a smoothness she'd come to familiarity with in Jazz. The stallion was smooth through and through, so it came to her surprise at her first time that his sexual organ had also reflected that quality of him. She slid back down, feeling the heat correspondingly hum pleasantly through her tongue, her throat and into her esophagus once more. To give more stimulation, albeit it did nothing unless it was actually in her throat, in this case it was, she moaned sensually, her eyebrows creasing naturally at her hum. Jazz tapped his hoof, slowly bringing it down towards her mane, the first few centimeters of hoof being lost in her mane, willingly massaging her scalp as she slid herself off his dick and plunged back in. It was physically impossible to swallow the entire thing, as it was nearly impossible to swallow a regular stallion's rod. She probably only reached half-way, maybe three-fifths to his, whereas the usual ones she got three-quarters or miraculously the entire thing on a good day. She could feel the flare expanding, and for Jazz he could feel his dick's pleasure-o-meter convulsing. Only a minute more of bobbing, and he would be able to leave, she thought. So she did, she bobbed up and down, feeling the dick twitch and heat up in her warm maw, the saliva occasionally being used as a halter in her overdriving assault to spit out or to be spat on the dick for more lubrication, and then to be dove back in for more. Soon the acute pleasant ring in his dick reached it's magnum opus as the butterflies seized and held firm, his dick twitching upwards once as semen began rushing out in a stream. It struck the back of her throat, while a small waterfall of semen slipped down his flare, continuing consistently for a few seconds before another whiplash hit the back of her tongue and down her esophagus, until the stream stopped with a smaller whip of semen, before slowly being retracted from her mouth, her tongue licking any residue off the tip. Jazz relaxed into his seat, a very soft exhale escaping his lips as he sprawled himself naturally on the booth, his dick immediately flopping downwards before slowly being wrangled back in by his sheath. "How much will that cost?" Jazz tilted his head, almost melting like putty against his own shoulder for a pillow. "Fifty bits." And he was out of there like a light, without a single bit thrown down for the hooker, who screamed her frustration only to discover like a fucking idiot she forgot to swallow, and had the true audacity (or natural feeling as she is not the brightest of the Brady Bunch) to regurgitate Jazz's semen out into her mouth and onto the red floor, the curtains separating their private session from the rest of the establishment still flapping viscously from how fast his black ass booked it. And here he was, carrying an unconscious, and seriously wounded Jaeger on his back, bindle-less and clearly dignity-less. You could still see a small droplet of sweat on the side of his face from how fast and far he ran from his previous escapade. Jaeger moaned, his saliva slowly dripping on the back of Jazz, causing him to shake his back and bark at the unconscious Jaeger, "Pull that shit again and I'll throw your half-dead ass out on the curb." Slowly, The Sightless and The Exile hauled themselves, or the Sightless hauled the Exile for that matter, off towards the road, towards a nearby Badlands city, Bugwater. "Y'know, for our derogatory term being 'bug', it's amazin' how most of our cities that aren't Chrysalis-reigned or Thorax-reigned are bug puns." Jazz commented, earning a half-conscious moan from Jaeger, who remained uncomfortably propped up on Jazz's back. Fresh Meat wasn't a happy stallion. Not at all. His Generic Villain Desk #1602 had proven victim to his recent frustrations, having been split in half by two hard knocks down the center, sending any paper flying around him or being crushed with the desk. The hooker, who still had some of Jazz's sperm connected to her chin, had reported the evader. "Self Ins- I mean, Fresh Meat, sir, he booked it 'fore I could stop'im!" Fresh Meat stared up at her, before nodding, his hooves tapping together angrily, but calmly. "I'll take care of it." Author's Note sorry to those who had read it before it was done, accidentally clicked "publish" instead of "edit" that night and closed out before i realized. here's the final product, unedited as i still need that pre-reader. i went through it as best as i could, so apologies for any pace issues, i will re-go over it again twice to ensure nothing is going unintentionally fast. Generic Villain Needs to be Stopped! [unedited]"Hey, guy who hit the only tree in maybe an entire five mile radius. Y'good?" No, he wasn't. In quite possibly the past couple of years of being labeled as a basket-case after the war and exiled from his own land he fought to protect, this was probably a more terrible feeling than the feeling of his entire country turning their back on him. It wasn't like he asked for this, he just somehow made his hoof a prime real estate target for a huge wa-bang of bullshit that catapulted his sorry ass across the entire Red Sea being the Badlands and into a tree, which so happened to be Jazz's SafeTree™ (not to be confused with the patented Safehouse™). Tangents aside, Jaeger's head hurt like a bitch. It throbbed, with each wheezing cough he made and with each flap of his totally wrecked wings, it seemed that any cognitive command he sent towards his brain, it screamed no louder than a brownish-blackish colored creature being forced into a job interview after an entire life being a party animal. Heh. Animal. Out-of-world racist jokes aside once more (not to be confused with the patented Tangents™), Jaeger had finally gained enough willpower to focus his vision on the breathing blob not too far off from him, tapping an obvious cane against the hardwood floor. Motel. Clearly a motel if he wasn't a great detective enough; if the decaying wallpaper, one window showcasing the beauty of greenish smoke being the industrial workhorse of the city outside, and the rotten desk with a barely-functioning chair that looked like it was ready to cave in under a foal's gentle weight, then they must clearly be in Bugwater's one of many motels that serve disappointment and shame for breakfast, lunch and five-star dinner. Jazz sipped on his bottle of Yasemire, a pretty smooth liquor to go down the throat with to help assist his couple past rough patched days. Goldish liquid in the boxy glass cup, and it had a kind of a caramel taste going down. It was quite nice, to be frank. Blinking, he regained consciousness of the situation and promptly swished the remaining contents of the drink around in his cup, his pose one of studying. Studying his form, the way the wounded 'ling in his bed acted and how well he could possibly pull his weight in redemption for his oh-so glorious good samaritan deeds. "Sup," Jazz said. Good one, Jazzy colt. You really showed him an astounding impression with your righteous dial- "Whasgood, L?" Jaeger replied, having been sat up with some effort followed by the scratching of the back of his bandaged head. Huh. Not a real proppy guy, this wounded guy, Jazz thought lazily. "Name?" Jazz lifted an invisible brow, using a caneless hoof to prop up his bowler's hat a bit more to gain a more trusting look. It worked, because the bastard talked. "Name's Jaeger. J-A-E-G-E-R," Jaeger said. "An' my game is dat I gotta whole new way o' life, man. Try'na get ta th'ponies, y'dig? I hear they gots good life compared t'ours." Jazz nodded, not once believing that bullshit even if he wasn't blind. Plus, that accent this 'ling's got is awful. "I got you. Name's Jazz, not t'be confused with the genre." Follow it up with a click of your teeth, Jazz. Stay cool. Silence reigned in co-operation with awkwardness. "So, Jazzy guy, how'd we get here?" Jaeger glanced out the window, only catching the giant beam of a nearby factory vomit out smoke and green fog like it was it's last day of living. Not to say that it wasn't, but this damn place was a shithole to begin with. Crooks and even more crooks stay here as actual exiles with reasons of being exiles, while 'lings like Jaeger just get chipped over on a technicality and degenerate into the crook lifestyle. Not to say that he probably wasn't gonna go down that deep end, as anypony could use his skills as a markstallion. If he advertised it.. "Well, I was gettin' my dick sucked. They charge more than a five-star restaurant in the capital cities for a damn meal, so I hit the legs on'em. Heard you, got your ass down, here we are." Jazz summarized, all the while downing his liquor. Turning around, he approached the rickety desk to refill while Jaeger talked. "Sorry 'bout dat, dude. Th'pony city Dodge whatsamacallitnow flung my ass sky high afta I was try'na get in." A gentle tap of glass on wood followed quickly after, prompting Jazz to pivot in directions to approach Jaeger's bedside. "Tell you what, kid-" He swished the cup of Yasemire around in his grasp, "-I can help ya in yer journey t'the big colt leagues up in Ponyland. If you can't even take a single step into pony territory wit'out bein' shot up sky high back to where ya came from, you'll need some hired 'lings t'help ya." Jazz stepped backwards after his quick sales pitch, dumping the rest of the alcohol down his throat which he finished with a guttural grunt. Grabbing his cane which was leaning on the desk to the side, he twisted the white handle, a small pop being audible to Jaeger as Jazz the crazy bastard slid a full functioning sword out, the crystalline ball the hilt. "I'm a blind guy, yeah, but I can hear. Like just how I just heard your ear flap, or how I just heard your left foreleg move two centimeters up and how just about now you jus' looked at it as if you were goin' crazy. Did I get it right, sweetheart?" Just as he described it in a mocking and otherwise advertising tone, Jaeger was doing it. Damn, he needed this dude. "How much're yer rates, Jazzy Bazzy?" Jazz smiled, a smile of greed and deviousness. Full fanged toothy grin, his eyes slightly narrowed as he slid the sword back into the cane sheath. "You help me take down anything I deem truly and utterly necessary t'my own adventure. Oh, and about every other week I want to get my dick wet. Hell, I'll take every day if you got th'hookers an' broads for it." "Done deal. I ain't got nothin', but we can drop by some tit joints if y'want." Just like that, the two bumped hooves and Jazz assisted Jaeger up, their agreements accountable and their intentions muddy. "Got any gum?" Jaeger grunted, "I feel like I'm hittin' rock bottom with this fuckin' bad breath." "We're losing this war, sir." Where did it all go so, so wrong? Thorax heavily sighed, heavy bags giving evidence to his stress-filled days of being prime real estate fuck-up of the month. Even his war room had seen better days, with papers scattered about, rogue tables smashed in halves and thrown into the corner to be replaced by a table to take hold in the center of the room. Each map that was torn, each war piece that was used for strategical means, each damned inch of land lost to the Tyrant was another reminder of Thorax's lack of militaristic prowess. Leaning on his hooves, his mind could only race like special olympics racers to a new alternative. Perhaps asking the Pony in the Cleansed Lands, or the Griffon in the Avian Valleys... No. That wouldn't work. His people would see him as a weak link, a fraud. A terrible being incapable of dealing with detrimental errors with a head of steam. This is not going to work. "Creator that is all that is benevolent.. help us." And that's just when a pop occurred. Immediately, it seemed that the battered 395th Shock Soldiers of Thorax's Shields of the Combs were getting ready for replenishing and awards to improve morale. They needed their leader to appear courageous and just, not defeated and battered; just like they were. His chair creaked as he pulled himself away from his sorrow corner, shaking off any residue of jitters and sadness as he glanced over towards the door. Just next to it was a coat rack fit for a King, a King he shouldn't be. No! Thorax, you cumguzzler; stop thinking that! Sliding his royal adornments on, being hoof guards, a jagged crown dented on one chevron on the front indicating his near-fatal one battle participation that scared him from ever helping the front lines again, and a silky blue and white cape that draped his entire back and to his legs. Carrying himself proudly, he erupted from his quarters and eyed the area. Tents and improvised buildings lined the area in an organized fashion, with uniformed changelings to and fro buzzing about to get to where they needed to be. Many royal guards of their own right had formed a scattered line on either side of Thorax's path towards an elevated hill looking out towards the plains of the Badlands, where Chrysalis would be marching statistically speaking in about ten hours if the depleted 888th and 402nd Defense armies do not stop her. Taking a step with faux pride, Thorax started his amazingly glut-pounding straight march towards the hill, and any stray changelings snapped their salute to him and some even bowed before resuming their activities. It tore his heart apart when he was brave enough to stop looking ahead to spot their tired and overworked glances, most of them not having enough love left in them to even walk properly, and rather walked sluggishly or like paraplegics. Taking his spot at the top, he overlooked the plains that held such a larger and more fierce force nearly four years ago. They weren't even a tenth of what remained or what was replaced. With the ranks being settled by rank, then experience and then by age, it seemed like a laughing stock of a physical statistic. The 394th Imperial Guards. Known as Thorax's Shields. There was about 200 left, not even numerically possible to be called a proper battalion, but it was still what it was. From each split off platoons and whatnot within it, it seemed that most platoons had no veterans in them, or had little or even a small chunk; it was organized from how many veterans were in what group. From left to right, the further he looked right (which wasn't a long look mind you,) the more the ragged veterans disappeared. Clearing his throat, unbeknownst to the battalion he was nervously fidgeting, he raised a foreleg and curled his hoof towards himself. Immediately royal scholars and analysts ran out with boxes. They ran to the front of each still group, quickly opening the boxes and setting out the medallions and ribbons in columns atop the box for each 'ling marked to be given it. Jaeger stared forward, an old and dirty bandage that was wrapped around his entire jaw with three holes for his nostril and mouth to breathe and communicate through, remained there despite his jaw having already been reattached to his skull weeks ago. Cauli's pink eyes settled over Jaeger as her wounded form had accepted the position of one of the practical "scholars" which was basically decommissioned warriors for reasons unspecified, and immediately she frowned. She hadn't seen combat for a year and already Jaeger was deteriorated to a shell of himself. "Commence." Thorax announced. The scholars and analysts alike began grabbing the medallions and ribbons to award to replacements and veterans alike, with one distinguishing badge amongst each changeling as they quickly awarded them. A brass badge with a circular edge with a Badlands Rose diagonally stretched across in a universal sign of denial. It looked just like any rose, exception of the circular petals that created an LSD swirl with a spike-like stem. Thick at the base, nimble just at the petals. Cauli approached Jaeger after branding the stallion to his right with medallions and ribbons, only to see that she only had one: the Badlands Rose Badge. Inhaling through her nostrils, she stood tall and proud in front of the glass eyed wall staring Jaeger who blinked without autonomy. He truly had lost it, Cauli sorrowfully thought, piercing his uniform with the needle of the badge and securing it tightly on. "Your mother misses you, Jae." Cauli said, prompting Jaeger to blink in recognition before bitterly replying, "Sweet." She trekked on without looking back, quickly rewarding the next stallion and to move onto the next one. As this all occurred, Thorax's voice boomed. "SOLDIERS! WE ARE AT A CRISIS IN THE WAR, AND IT SEEMS NO LING CAN STOP IT! THEY ARE INCORRECT, FOR YOU ARE THE CRISIS SAVIORS, YOU ARE THE WALL, MY SHIELDS!" Thorax sharply turned right, his head still facing the militia-sized army as he paced back and forth confidently and reassuringly. "THIS WRETCHED TYRANT THINKS SHE CAN STOMP US REBELS WITHOUT A THOUGHT TO BE GIVEN! SHE THINKS WE ARE NOTHING BUT PESTS AND SUB-LING BUGS THAT SHOULD BE CRUSHED AND ERASED FROM THIS WORLD'S HISTORY! WE ARE THE HEROES TO THE DEFENSELESS OF THESE UNFORGIVING LANDS, THE CURSE MAY BURN IN EVERY LING AS A REMINDER TO OUR BURDEN - OR OF AN STD - BUT IT DOES NOT MATTER!" Lifting a hoof, which had acquired a sword out of nowhere, had shimmered brilliantly in the sunlight. "YOU ARE MY ROSES! AND AS MY ROSES, I DEMAND YOU TO GROW IN THE STONE OF THIS BADLANDS DIRT! YOUR PEOPLE AWAIT OUR VICTORY! I STAND WITH YOU ALL AS A MERE CHANGELING LOOKING TO MAKE A DIFFERENCE! YOU ARE THE REBELLION'S ROSES, THE BEAUTY THAT DEFENDS US FROM THE UGLINESS OF THAT BEASTLY WHORSE!" The small crowd was getting antsy, agreeing either with shouts or with uncertainty in their tones as they shouted acknowledgements. "SHOUT THE BATTLE CRY! THE BATTLE CRY OF FREEDOM!" Cauli stared at Jaeger with growing worry as Jaeger glanced up towards Thorax, even as the 'lings around him cheered now with certainty and confidence, and only wondered with lack of energy and passion... Wonder if I left the right dicksucker at that ranch... "Original C- I mean, Fresh Meat, sir. There's no sign of this 'Jazz' changeling you've heard of. Th'lings 'round ere don't know o'him." A swapling, being a biologically sharp-looking changeling with midnight black skin rather than obsidian like their changeling counterparts, said nervously to Fresh Meat, whom was wearing his usual gear of a fedora and trench coat. They were both basically black with red trims and bands to match their wearer's appearance. "I've had too much money pinned on that Jazz fucker. You can't find a blind 'ling with a terrible sense of fashion? These bugs gotta have some sort o' money on 'im t'hide his ass like that," Fresh muttered, tapping his chin. His eyes snapped to the swapling, who flinched, "Ten bit warrant on him. Get the entire slums in on this. If Jazz wants to hide, he'll want to in the slums." The swapling nodded, "Yes, sir." With the swapling gone, Fresh Meat relaxed only slightly. "These fuckin' stupid bugs're gettin' t'me." "Nice racism." Fresh Meat immediately tensed and pivoted in his stance, lowering himself to a defensive stance as the random voice made itself clear. "Crime boss Fresh Meat of the second-worst gang that exists in the Badlands. Stockers. Your reign of tyranny ends here, criminal." The being dropped down, revealing a changeling in some garb. A spandex suit covered his entire form, with a thin layer of steel over it. It was plated, each edge of the steel plates serrated as on the chest piece it revealed a 'P' outlined in glistening gold and filled with a dull white. The helmet covered the changeling's entire head, exception of the eyes which were only revealed at literally only the eyes. The rest of it was covered by a sharpened helmet of same quality as his body armor, with a sixteen-barred respirator over his muzzle. He held numerous gadgets on his form. "Paladin," Fresh Meat dryly remarked. "You and your league of vigilantes are a bunch of amateurs. This ain't the comic book reel, kid." "It may not be the comic book realm, but we are mutants in our right, but you are just a freak." "Bite me, faggot." A white trail of vapor escaped Paladin's respirator, "So be it." He flicked his left foreleg as he lunged towards Fresh Meat. A white blade slid through one of the plates and made itself as an extended, sharp leg as Fresh leant backwards to avoid a lethal swipe at his neck. With such intense force put behind that swipe, Paladin swung his body with the attack and used his unextended arm as a placement to kick his back legs out in a killer buck to Fresh's muzzle, which was blocked by a raised forehoof that swung it aside. Paladin immediately dug his blade into the concrete as sparks flew in liberal fashion as he spun back to face Fresh, who blocked his eyes from the sparks produced. Lowering his forehoof, he let out a curt grunt as Paladin's unweaponized hoof found his face. Paladin used his daze to press the attack, and extended his body even more despite it being unevenly set and slugged his blade towards Fresh's sternum. Fresh threw his other forehoof forward, and Paladin expected a satisfying squelch of flesh and a scream; only to receive nothing. "I ain't the only one with fancy gadgets, faggot." Fresh taunted, flicking his trench coat off as Paladin jumped back to gain space from Fresh. His entire hoof used to block that sternum shot was covered in metal and it seemed to pulsate a sickening green substance that oozed through some of the cracks in the metal. "Fourth generation test subject. You ain't as special as me, second generation." Fresh grunted. "Your generation only focused on senses, mine focused on body composition. Who's the freak, now?" "Still you." "You ain't gonna be thinkin' that after I'm through with you, cunt." The two bodies rushed forward at each other, and what followed for the next forty-seven seconds was intense hoof-to-hoof combat that held no victor as they either tanked the quick hits or parried each other's strikes. However, Fresh Meat's suckerpunch managed to break through Paladin's near flawless acrobatic defense and it struck his respirator, caving it inwards. He gasped and fell backwards, eyes wide as he found himself difficult to breathe the air properly. Realization dawned on Fresh Meat's features. This wasn't the usual run-of-the-mill faggot trying to play hero. He slowly talked, choosing his words carefully and with an edge of fear to it. "No.. you ain't second generation. You're first. They fucked with yer body too much and threw you out. Can't breathe regular air, can ya?" Paladin was too busy choking, his forehead protection breaking in half as his jagged horn made itself known, glowing ferociously even as Paladin gargled on unpolluted air. The glowing soon began to spread through his entire skull, then his neck, and eventually it spread like a plague throughout his body. "Chrysalis's scientists fucked with you too much." Fresh Meat sympathetically commented, beginning to back away instinctively as Paladin began to let out a gargled roar, which prompted Fresh Meat's cue to GTFO. All that happened next was Fresh Meat jumping out of the alley and into a piece of white fabric while the entire alley way exploded into a white and green mess that spread to the walls, and even into the main street. "Jazz, I got a lead." "Yeah, Jaeger? What is it?" "Word 'round d'camp fire is th'boys in criminal blue're on their way 'ere." "Is it Fresh Meat's lackeys?" "Yeah, boss stallion." "Sweet. Bar fight time." "Bar fight time." Author's Note it's more than an adventure now.. it's some sort of.. mutant place... the Badlands isn't what it's cracked up to be.... Holidays and Commentation for the Betterment of Nonsensical Ideologies That Don't Relate to This Entire Chapter, Dude"You ever just wanna die?" Jaeger eyed over his shoulder to Jazz, who was in the middle of removing a dart from the drywall of the motel wall. It didn't take much but Jazz had pursed his lips as he had an internal victory over striking a dartboard he missed about a million miles away from. "Is death a color?" "Yeah, it's black," Jaeger said. Jazz looked at the ceiling, then venomously glared over at Jaeger, "Thanks, dipshit." A rip of wood later and the dart was removed like a baby from a womb forcibly before it was ready for birth. "Got you, I got you, but listen, listen," Jaeger pegged on. "Y'think we've derailed a lot?" Jazz blinked, tilting his head at Jaeger. "What?" "The story. The writer. The big man, he's experimentin' too much. Ain't he?" "I mean," Jazz adjusted his hat nervously. "You're messin' with the higher powers. Don't bite the hoof that feeds you." Jaeger flicked his hoof for emphasis as he was seated at a desk, writing something with his occupied hoof. "I mean, you fucked with a mob boss and there's some sort of comic book wannabe jokesters after him, and then there's some mutant shit going on? And what's with the racist jokes? And the comedy is gone! All it is is grimy flashbacks o' when I wasn't sunshine 'n rainbows, so what the heck is up with the cheese, G?" Jazz's face morphed into one of bemusement as his theory went on, before he flatly answered. "He's thinnin' out the ranks." That prompted Jaeger to blink, a cotton red hat with a white ball and a white band surrounding the bottom of it that sat atop his head awkwardly, almost obscuring his entire face as he contemplated. "Explain, you blind buggy colt." "He's making it intricate and complex at the start to see if the filler can delay the story progression long enough. Add a few side notes here and there and that'll get'em wantin' more or wantin' less. Give me a solid second to throw you out into the Badlands so you can annoy me there. Sight?" Jaeger chuckled to himself, "You said sight an' you're blind. Classic." "I'm gonna go be part of a sex chapter now. You gonna revert t'your old self or are we gonna have an issue in the future?" Jaeger immediately snapped to attention, dropping the quill he was using in their motel room to salute. "Yes sir, Jazz, sir," and he turned to the writer, who straightened his slouch form as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He was located in the corner of the room, with a specific organization jacket that he'd rather choose not to comment on because it'd be unnecessarily detailed- and now he's derailing his entire derailment chapter some more. "Yeah?" The writer commented, scratching his stubble. "Stop makin' this shit unnecessarily detailed. This is supposed to be a story about fucking and having wacky adventures-" "I have creative control, cunt." WriterMan's eyes lidded into a deadpan, eliciting a whistle from Jaeger. "Nice alliteration, sweetie, but have you read the first chapter you made? That was gold! Are you trying t'tell us y'are try'na devolve me into some sort of edgy black-red OC like you did Fresh Meat?" "Yeah. I mean, the point of this was to ruin a concept, then hit a joke prank and get back to the original first chapter." "Oh. This is that chapter, idn't it?" "..Yeah." WriterMan flatly said, "I don't get paid enough to ghostwrite my own stories that I ghostwrite." "That ain't the definition of-" "Einstein, you were too busy caught up in this that you forgot to write that I left." Jazz interjected, the entire scenario now a confused clusterfuck of fourth wall breaks and terrible writing that seeped through every crevice on the wall and drenched the ground with nasty plot holes that haven't even kicked off yet and have been planned too late to fix. They needed to revert, they needed a time machine. "Or I can just rewrite." "No! This is good, this is good, they'll hate it! They'll EAT THIS UP!" Jaeger screamed maniacally, officially freaking Jazz out as he had got the fuck outta dodge to the door. "This chapter is a recycled joke. Jaeger, are y'really sure I should post this?" WriterMan had leaned away from the happy 'ling only to be startled when the aforementioned 'ling charged up to him and hovered over the publish button. "Nonsense! Just click that and watch the hate flow!" "I didn't even give it a once over to ensure there's no-" "Fuck up shut!" Jaeger cut him off. Author's Note Intense Intermission Igloo Ice In Irises Ion
What Kind of Goodbye Was That?“AND STAY OUT!” Thump, pomf. A certain Changeling’s body was face-first into good ol’ mud, his stick with the generic hoofkerchief resting just a few steps away from his being. It wasn’t like it hurt at all, in fact, it burned. Not the kind of burn you got after specific coitus with your sexual preference who happened to not tell you of their little problem, no, it was the kind of pain-burn. “CHRYSALIS-DAMN!” - The ‘ling exclaimed with such conviction it could make a soap opera actor blush from such flattery. The ‘ling, affectionately referred to as- “FUCK YOU, JAEGER! NO ONE EVER LIKED YOU, ANYWAYS!” Jaeger. Lifting his head, which happened to have some sort of obsession with kissing the mud, took a few seconds to achieve the sweet nirvana of plucking his head from the ground, but he nonetheless studied his surroundings. Badlands. Lot’sa canyons, dead grass ‘n stuff, oh hey look more dead grass, his mind pondered lazily as Jaeger disinterestedly glanced around in a left-to-right motion. However, his mental state was in an entirely different dimension at the moment. “Waitah? I’ll take d’check, now.” Jaeger’s upper-comb accent released itself, sounding like some sort of grease-brain. You may ask, how did he get into this situation? Well, to put it at this very moment, his brain spun from the flank-kicking he had just sustained minutes prior to his eviction. Without much thought, he blinked twice and with such a beautiful brain as his, realized that he was just beaten into hilarity and was casted out because he thought that putting jelly into the Queen’s horseshoes would lighten her mood. Well, it wasn’t on purpose. He dropped his favorite snack and it so happened to land right next to the most important ‘ling in the entire ‘lingdom of ‘lings. Speaking of which, he had to resume his act with the invisible audience. “Whas d’deal wit’ pegasi food? It ain’t pegasi, and it ain’t food!” Jaeger announced to nobody in particular, his head still swimming in a sea of dazed confusion as he bent his forelegs to get up. The ground was certainly stiff, next to rock-hard, but nothing the battered Changeling couldn’t deal with. Albeit wobbly on prime activation of modules Legs.exe, he still kept consciousness... Jaeger promptly collapsed onto his chin, FrontLegs.exe failing to run as he groaned, just a hair’s length away from his traveling stick now, he could lick it. To be clear, it wasn’t as if he wasn’t into licking things. It’s just that his legs won’t work, and if they won’t work he can’t get anywhere. Had he actually had the decency to not open his big mouth when he was backed up against a wall, and no, saying “kiss my shiny black flank” isn’t saying sorry or begging for forgiveness. On the other hand, licking things are gross unless it’s- “Brain, stop dat. We gotta work togevvuh, not ‘gainst one ‘notha, yeah?” Jaeger once again spoke to no one in particular, looking up towards the sky, or more-so his head. He unfurled his forelegs from their state of abysmal coordination, planting them firmly into the ground as he hoisted himself up, the aforementioned appendages wobbling incessantly. With a grunt and a small tune chirping in his head, as he had just achieved full-blown levels of accomplished disappointment, he took his first step. Okay, a bit wobbly, but he can make it work. Walking like a dog given shoes and forced to walk on tile, he achieved two steps to walk towards the base of the stick, bending down where his muscles and glorious ‘ling gluts screamed exhaustion the most, he gripped the stick with no indication of even physically grabbing it. In all honesty, he just poked it. You can’t pick up anything doing that, that’s just abysmal in all forms of logic and sense. Didn’t matter, he poked his hoof under it, bending his wrist to wrap around the stick, firmly grasping it. The task was difficult, having dropped the stick twice, now. “Firmly..” Jaeger whispered, hell-bent on picking it up as a rogue bead of sweat ran down his face. “Grasp..” His mind thrust forward with a head of steam, “it!” It fell off his hoof. Again. His nonexistent brows furrowed. “Firmly,” his voice picked up in frustration, “GRASP IT!” The same process as before, except he managed to pick it up and throw it over his shoulder. With this small victory came it's spoils, spoils being a look of smug satisfaction on his face along with him shutting his eyes to revel in his mentally deficient achievements. However, something odd struck him. There was no weight on his left side, or so he thought. He popped open an eye, slowly glancing down only to see no hoof supporting his balance, rather the hoof meant to be in it’s place (yoo-hoo, the left one!) was furled around the stick on the shoulder, rather than supporting the ground for him. Chrysalis-damn you, favoritism. His wings flared, panic settling in as he released a shrill cry to have all forces of luck to not make him go through the painstaking process of picking himself back up. So panickingly as any sane pony would do with wings, he took to the sky with no cohesion and-or precision of where to go. He flew left, right, to and fro, unintentional barrel spins, screams of being motion sick, and mentions of not even having wings to begin with. It was true, they were shot to hell - the membrane wings having all excuses to not be able to fly, but the frill skin and bone holding them up kicked into overdrive, where it would take an accounted ten flaps to get an inch into the air with how bad they were, they did one-hundred. In a second. With blurred wings, he continued screaming, going so far as to collide with his traveling stick that was resting on his shoulder, or was, now it was being thrown about in it’s placement wrapped snugly around his hoof, the sack of useless personal items shaking with ferocity, somehow managing to stay in the ill-protected sack even as the wind was beating the everlasting shit out of it. “THIS IS NOT COOL!” Jaeger shrieked, his wings now going into sleep-mode via exhaustion, causing him to start for the ground at a spinning mess. Had he not managed to flare his wings out at the perfect time, he surely would’ve been at some sort of death’s door right about now. To keep his stallioninity, he shut his eyes and continued screaming, landing softly on the ground, his wings flapping quickly to keep a soft and firm landing. The ground greeted him kindly, if it could actually have thought, even as he continued his panic attack. His eyes fluttered open, his screaming dying to a small hum as realization dawned, his three hooves planted on the ground as his left hoof was curled around the traveling stick. His voice cooed “Oh”s in pleasant surprise as if he was just told that he was going to be given a new blender. Blinking idly, he glanced up to the canyon before him, a sign that his bug-eyes zoomed in on naturally. DODGE CITY - 50KM - AHEAD “Convenient, I say.” Jaeger’s ear twitched as he flicked an invisible eyebrow up suspiciously. Completely forgetting about his personal embarrassment approximately thirty seconds ago, he kicked his good hind leg out, stretching it with a tensed yawn. “Twelve hou’ahs. Shoul’ be easy.” He mused, before pursing his lips in a whistle. Starting his glorious trek towards Dodge City, he already had a goal in mind. Obtain the Elements of Harmony and try to become a “cool kid” which was to eliminate his PTSD and to make him likable. Who wouldn’t want to love a Changeling like him? “Enough ego strokin’, brain.” Jaeger hissed, his whistling stopping just for a quick second to patronize himself before resuming forwards. The sun seemed to wink at Jaeger’s form as he walked on the nearby trail, the path to Dodge City clearly ahead of him. A long walk, but it'll be worth it. "SHIT! DICK SCRAPE! FUCK! FUCKIN' DIRT!" Jaeger's form curled over briefly, letting out a hiss of pain before limping along even more cautiously, even more bent down, which is the opposite of what you want to do. Hey, he's in pain, so whatever. His fault for thinking it was going to be some real kid's story about innocent and happiness. Fuck that, it's the real world. And he hated it already. Author's Note i plan on following this one through, however i lack proof-readers/editors, so i mean if you want to follow me through writing the skeleton chapter and then adding onto it, be my guest. i'll need people to see how shit-tier it is and see if they can help with it. yo, yo, ya boy Chomp Chomp comin back at you with another changeling fic because changelings are the shit anyways, hope you guys enjoy this one. i wont be stopping it any time soon
Quick and Unjust Feelings for Society and Her Damnation [lack of edit]Being a cactus was cool. No one to answer to, no water to really drink, and just a beautiful sun to seduce with it's free-willed body, eternally stuck in a suggestive pose toward nature with the mind-altering question it silently asked, "Am I pretty enough?" "Tartarus yeah, you is." Jaeger's eyes were lidded sensually, flicking a hoof playfully at the inanimate cactus resting before him, a few seconds walk away from the main trail towards Dodge City. "Say, baby, how 'bout you an' I skadaddle outta 'ere.." He trailed off, looking towards the sky with suave movements, expertly and discreetly wrapping his arm around the main body of the cactus. As evident, cactus are cold creatures at heart, as the damn plant pricked his chitin, causing a quick yelp from him and a hostile stance from him. No longer lidded sensually, rather angrily. "I treat ya ta fine dinna, and you's gonna do this?!" The cactus stared at him without any lively response. Jaeger blinked, cocking an invisible brow as he slowly re-positioned himself to weighted caution. "Riiiight, you's a cactus. You got your roots 'ere. I get it, you dunna wanna spoil dat. Aight, I see you, I see you." He nodded up and down in faux comprehension, his mind hissing all types of insults towards the plant before he promptly turned around. Looking pompously over his shoulder, as if expecting a cactus to grovel at his hooves to come back. No response. He huffed, looking ahead with his snout high as he spoke with a cheesy tone, "Yeah? Well, you ain't gonna find no pony like me evah again!" The cactus did nothing, except shake for a half second due to the sudden cold winds, prompting Jaeger to shiver slightly. Joke's over, he's gotta get to Dodge City. "Your ma's fat!" He exclaimed over his right shoulder as he adjusted the bindle on his other shoulder. He snorted in defiance as he walked away, his snob-angry face retreating it's form into a more depressed facial expression. The dirt crunched underneath his calloused hooves with each step as the winds grew more defiant of nature's gentle sways. "Yeah, nevah gonna find a kinda guy like me." "You'd think they would try for an advance, maybe?" A feminine voice broke out, Jaeger's eyes shooting open followed by a firm shake of his head. A dream of being defeated by Chrysalis's idiots and reduced to a complete blubbering fool rather than a somewhat blubbering fool? Reduced to some sort of sick comedic joke for entertainment of readers?! Preposterous in it's own right. Nice funny hallucination, brain. Dawn in the Badlands, during the bitter winters. The Badlands ironically held one of the more harsh winter times, being topped by the obvious north, and other selective places on the continent. Standing atop a small watchtower out in the 'Frontier' of these terrible lands, it was also a bitch for loveless soldiers. Assigned in this area was a death sentence should any enemy perform an assault; an assault Jaeger should've saw coming. The land was layered with a barely noticeable trace of frost, the dirt twice as more difficult to dig into this year around, evident by the small fifty-stallion garrison below them desperately trying to dig into the dirt with picks and spades, both equal in the odds of shattering. Ahead of them, a horizon. A horizon of flat hills that would be terrible for them should the enemy attack with artillery. The kind of artillery one might find themselves soiling in their pants or down their legs at the new and improved relations that was being absolutely pillaged and wrecked by some pussy ass machine waving the bird way out of reach. Oh, and the fish was okay too, since you, the selfish audience, didn't even bother noticing. Jaeger glanced down at his hoof, seeing the sudden fish stick in his grasp before blinking. He confusedly lifted it towards his mouth, taking a sharp half of it into his jaws with a quick bite before chewing. Huh, it was okay. Jaeger's gaze glanced left, and then right, and then forward. Nothing to protect the ones below them, and nothing to save them if they were directly hit with a large object, or if the supports fell. Barely any supplies to begin with, too. No wonder he thought of this outpost as a skeleton crew's post. Damnation was all he felt like he was cast to. "No pony attacks here," they said, "you'll just be freezing and acting as reserves if other lines get pushed on," they assured. He harumphed to himself, finishing his fish stick before whipping his head confidently. It was DAMN good! Fuck you, audience! What was he thinking about, again? Oh, right. Jaeger shifted his gaze towards the voice, a fellow soldier like he. Chest plate outlined with the embryo goo for extra reinforcement, with two columns of seven rings of chainmail stretching down the Changeling's ribcage, ending at their flanks, where a skirt of leather and smaller chains lay, covering their entire backside. Their helmet was basic, encasing their entire head besides their fangs and nostrils, and of course their eyes. He would've laughed at his comrade if he wasn't freezing due to being the one lacking fur clothing, unlike what his fur-caped compatriot was wearing. Planting the base of what the inventors called 'repeating crossbows', he commented as he glanced at her, a female 'ling. "Yeah? Nice wish, rookie. They try in d'summer." His natural smugness knew no bounds as he grinned triumphantly at some invisible competition. "Wouldn't hold my breath for that, Jae." "Can't breav in th'damn helmet, anyways." A small chuckle came from Jaeger's little tower companion. "Fifty bits they'll come in the fall." Jaeger glanced back, his eyes narrowed from under the helmet, "Don't jinx it, ya goof," he threatened. "You don't know these lands, dey got's lotsa stuff. Dead things, deader things, deadest things.." "Okay, okay, how 'bout next winter-" "Ice it, okay? Jeez Louise, it's like y'wanna get bent or somethin'." "Bent?" His comrade asked, only to receive a curt response from Jaeger. "Killed. I thought you knew upper-comb boys like me." There went that conversation, if one wanted to call it that. His companion went quiet, not a single word protruding from her mouth. He opened his jaws, licking his frozen lips before looking over to her, before something caught his eye. Wait what!? More than something! A flicker on the horizon! Jaeger's eyes snapped towards the sudden intrusion on the beautiful sunrise, swirling his hoof at his companion before swinging it towards the edge of the hill in front of them, at least a five minute's walk away. "Saw somethin'. Get th'guys on their weapons, yeah?" "The name is Cauli." The female 'ling said, grabbing the top of the ladder with a soft thump, "Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah, cool. Cauli hop on this dick, while you're at it. Get it? Could you, Cauli- fuck you." Jaeger responded quickly, his entire personality etch-a-sketch'd into that one ramble. Narrowing his eyes even more on the horizon to get some sort of unspoken focus. A quick swish of a rectangular thing's upper edge. It slowly became more pronounced as it revealed itself with each second from up to down. The flag of Chrysalis. "COMPANY IN D'FORM OF A BITCH!" Jaeger shrieked, pointing towards the hillside gaining an extra layer of Chrysalis flags and enemy Changeling armies. Jaeger only had a single thought as he quickly readied the repeating crossbow, essentially the same shape of a crossbow exception of some sort of miniature barrel storage component crafted onto the side, with an intricate system of strings and wood as well as metal to continually feed the crossbow once the trigger is pulled and held. One thought. .. Fuck. Did I leave the stove on at home? "Random flashback, but I'll take it." Jaeger tapped his noggin appreciatively, the outline of Dodge City just on the horizon. He sat atop a hill, a sign planted just besides the trail that, with all acceptance of a catholic priest allowing a child into his chambers, stepped up towards that read proudly and boldly. DODGE JUNCTION WELCOMES YOU FROM THE BADLANDS INTO GOODLANDS! The sign was certainly in better condition than the first one. And the name seemed updated, too. Jaeger bent his arms slightly as he read over the sign with a curious eye. "That fuckin' motto was so cheesy I could taste the liquid shit- oh lickety-split-shit they did a slick name change on me! Pulled a fast one, they did." He poked the new and improved 'junction' word on the sign, nodding up and down enthusiastically at the revelation. "Wonda how many chicks th'boys hadda sleep with t'get this betta name." Jaeger pondered aloud, lifting his body to step past the sign before continuing on his merry way, the bindle juggling up and down with the descending steps. A loud click resounded as Jaeger took his fifteenth oblivious and uncaring step forward, prompting him to halt like some sort of minority told he was found guilty of all felonies, and looked at the ground. A metal sheet poorly disguised into the ground that held a faceless, smug position that stared back up at him. A larger rectangular outline immediately cut itself out of the ground ahead of him and around him. A hidden IED-- he means slingshot plank-thing. "Aight." He chose his words carefully at this new realization that he was exponentially fucked, alongside his healing injuries, as well. And so the poor bastard was flung like last week's lunchable into the trash of where he came from - the Badlands once more. Author's Note slam jam ramadan, ensuring this minor setback will bring up an amazing plot, no not the pony sexual organ that you fools terribly remark as, i mean come on why "plot" it ruins casual conversation. "plot of land" "y'see that plot o' food dude sick crunches man" vagina works. what was i thinking again oh right, here's this chapter to commemorate a quick segment that'll segue into an actual story, enjoy it folks
Shout, Shout The Battle Cry of Freedom (and For Blowjobs) [lack of edit]"Our outpost far within the largest canyon has been overran. Outposters Drone 705,493,538 "Jaeger" and Drone 705,493,688 "Cauli" reported massive casualties for the encroaching Chrysalis forces. However, Your Majesty, the Chrysalisian drones continue the march undeterred. They'll reach Combs 2 and 3 at this rate in less than fifty-four hours. Your advice?" Thorax the Titan couldn't have any worse of a day. Just what was the Chrysalis menace thinking? Intelligence. Cunning. Things he wasn't; he was a pure offensive genius with the art of throwing 'lings into death. How was he gonna come back from this 31-16 deficit? There was only one solution, and it involves needing some sort of Saint for this one. Massaging his eyes and steeling his nerves, the hulking Changeling shifted his auburn eyes towards his nearest messengers in the room. The room, you ask, is simple by design. Box-like with nothing accountable on the walls, with a single table taking up about a nipple-proportion space of the breast that is the room. The six 'lings stand all around them, Thorax included with his regalia of a crown and royal cape. Where had he gone wrong? Why wasn't it working?! The True Evil crawls towards him furiously as each day passes, and it only seems that no pony is able to stop this. The chances seemed damn near impossible. Stoically, he nodded towards his Defensive Advisor of the Army, Yek-Yek of the Shield. "Yek, what do you propose?" He inquired, the room going dead silent as the words hung like a taunting enemy in the air. Yek-Yek was stoic as well, glancing up at the King as the soft light above them illuminated his features. Blinded left eye, and a chemical burn mark all around it, exposing his chitin towards the world, bone and all. Not only that, but it seems his left fang was also chipped, rendering it as a normal tooth rather than a ferocious canine's. His hat signified his rank and his ribbons, hanging sternly over his forehead as he glancing down at the map with an intense gaze. "Pull back all border forces and prepare evacuations of all nearby combs to further inland combs. We will hold out in the abandoned combs with firepower and trickery never seen before. Deploying the Marshal-" One of the Changelings twitched his ear, the tag 'MARSHAL' hung proudly on his uniform, "-is our best bet to even counter the True Evil." During his explanation he had managed to unfurl a pointing stick and whacked it towards the map with a sharp snap of wood, sporadically dragging it along the map and circling locations to emphasize his points. "Solid thinking, Yek-Yek. What about supply routes?" "Oh. Didn't think of that." Silence followed for a nervous three seconds. A tap of wood resounded through the room quickly after, "HERE!" And Thorax glanced down at the table. A small outlined box just near the defensive positions Yek-Yek had pointed to, all conveniently labeled "SUPPLIES!!!!!" with a red fill. "Oh." "Hello, are you okay?" A fuzzy voice that was clearly male raped and pillaged its way into Jaeger's fleeting consciousness, slowly focusing him onto reality. Everything felt heavy. Scratch heavy, more like fucking terrible. Who would even want to wake up in such an abysmal headache and mental state he was in? Even his limbs seemed to reject the commands to move even as the voice fondled his ears like a cheese grater once more. "Sir, you took a nasty fuckin' hit." To say it was a nasty hit was an understatement. Judging by his position on a clearly misproportioned hard surface, it was safe to say his chest felt caved in, and he definitely could feel the numbness of a broken chitin around his primary left hoof. The scraping feeling of a branch piercing his skin and chipping inside his chitin which was currently suspending him from the tree at a rather awkward angle would also prove evident to his half-conscious deduction case that he was indeed fucked. He tried to speak, but his vocal chords soon proven themselves worthy of a dishonorable mention as they had left the cognition ceremonial awards before it even began. In other words, it hurt to speak, and only came out as moans and slurred fumbling of words, the victim of endorphins and biological pain killers working overdrive like a minority to fix this 'pain' issue. He blinked slowly, the voice getting more anxious. "Sir! Are you ALIVE?" Go away, mom. I'm sleepin', Jaeger moaned mentally, closing an eye as the ratio of consciousness-to-sleep dwindled from 1:1 to 1:2. Praise be unto the heavens above, as with one eye closed, his brain naturally gave one last pump of focus to keep him awake. As expected, he began to become focused on his surroundings, the puke of colors slowly starting to break off from British rule to form their own colonies of organisms and inanimate objects. First thing he saw in a solid form was surely a spectacle to see. It was a cloudy-eyed Changeling. Clearly blind, if he had to guess, as the blind changeling was facing opposite his way, but his head cocked to the side. It had a hat on, in a bowler-esque style, to be exact. Black with a white band, and it carried a stepping cane which was colored black with a polished white crystal ball as it's grip. Give the stallion a coat and he'd be a certified pimp. Oh, and more jewelry, too. The snout ring which was just a simple diamond was a bit too much, but overall the dude looked good if Jaeger was a gold-digging whorse. Either way, he screamed in protested gargles and throat-burning grunts, fainting promptly after. The cloudy-eyed Changeling turned around, completely startled with a fearful expression on it's face at the same time being peeved, set his blinded eyes onto the unconscious form of Jaeger. "Dude, you aight? Need some water?" Jaeger wasn't responding, rather his bindle took to responding by falling off the tree to snap on a conveniently placed cactus that somehow looked extremely angry. The 'ling, named Jazz by the bold print of his cane, pulled his hat up briefly to get a metaphorical better eye on Jaeger. About two-point-three seconds later he came up with his best deduction to date. "This muhfucka dead." The sky was a setting orange, and the freezing badlands which seemed to get a darker tinge of darker orange-red, was quickly getting more red as the current battle raged on. Thousands of Chrysalis supports on what the Badlands would know as the Great Divide on the Battle of Badland Haysin, where Queen Chrysalis would face the Marshall of Comb C in an old abandoned coaltown originally made from ponies abandoned after they were ran out of the Badlands. If anyone could hazard a damn guess, the aforementioned town also served as a buffer zone for the mainland Combs that the rebellion against Chrysalis to enter in. However, it was also the issue of being winter time and being packed like fucking sardines in brutal Mortal Kom- wrong universe; in brutal combat. "If I could summon a guess, it could be the guess that you're fuckin' dead you Chrysalis tit-suckin' freak." Jaeger growled, a newly fashioned sword from the depths of convenience plunging into the sternum of the garbed Chrysalis-colored Changeling. It wasn't a pretty or satisfying death, as the poor stallion's sternum cracked audibly as Jaeger's sword was seemingly resistant to being pulled out, even as the changeling's eyes dulled from their glowing hue. Growling in frustration, he threw the changeling with the sword, leaving him to crumple into a ragdoll carcass. With a few clinks and clacks of wood and hollow metal, Jaeger posed proudly with the repeater crossbow in his hooves, his wings sprawled out (and flapping incessantly to keep him afloat, mind you) as he quickly shouldered it towards the direction of a few dueling changelings. With a quick message to his brain of "help a brother out, pally pal stallion coltstallion guy dude," his hoof twitched on the trigger and held it on the aforementioned contraption. With whines of primitive pony magic, parts of the crossbow exploded to life in a magic hue of blue, and immediately snaps of wood and string reverberated from the crossbow as it flicked out bolt after bolt with as ease as a border-jumping minority after her thirteenth pregnancy. His movements were a blur, and his actions robotic as he switched from target-to-target, his bolts striking true as they dug into their chitins and skulls, effectively ending them during mid-strike, dodge, or intercourse in the non-sexual degree. Jaeger wasn't named Jaeger for nothing, folks. This motherfucker had the accuracy of quite possibly one of the deadliest sharpshooters in the world, and he was doing easy kills with an automatic crossbow on enemies who were behind friendlies or in front; either way, he got the kill, and the ally wasn't killed. Or, y'know, they died before the bolt reached the enemy. Either way, not a great time for any party. "I have the absolutely positively hardest of wing-boners right now." Jaeger announced as his eyes snapped over to the form of Cauli a few steps away, having been explicitly and gruesomely dispatching some Chrysalis-supporters with her sword and crossbow. The dexterity with her hooves was impeccable. Wonder what it felt like on his dick. Hush, brain. No sexual thoughts until after chances of death are null. Jaeger barely had the focus to regain battle-mode in his mind to block an incoming sword swipe with the metallic part of his crossbow, which was pretty much everything exception of the mechanisms operating the, y'know, release of the sperm-bolts. Fucking brain. Using his barrel in a horizontal pose to block the sword with both hooves, he stood on his hind legs per usual to disposition any sort of possible unbalanced weight, and even had the audacity to push harder. Brain, I swear to the fucking gods. "GETTA LIFE, WHORESYLIS CLIT-RIDER!" Jaeger roared, letting go of his resistance to allow the changeling to push himself off balance, and he stumbled forward. Using the bladed-end of the limb(which is the two wooden pieces that curve out towards the end of the crossbow, built off the barrel for you uncultured swine) he thrust it backwards, the blade penetrating the nape of the changeling, digging into his spinal chord which evidently produced a guttural and degenerated screech and moan of the changeling as they crumpled dead. Tearing it out, he quickly jerked it to release the blood off it, and soon redirected it towards the nearest enemy in his area. You thought Jaeger wasn't gonna catch the 5 innuendos? Nice joke. The aforementioned changeling screeched a roar of frustration, slamming his crossbow onto the dirt. "WHY CAN'T I THINK SHIT WITHOUT SEX?" Because you haven't gotten laid in about seven months, you depraved bug. Immediately, he slackened himself with hunched soldiers as he spoke in a tone of clarity, "Well dat beats it." Ignorant to the bleeding body thrown above him to be added to the pile of dead Chrysalis sympathizers, Jaeger looked over his shoulder to Cauli, whom was currently using a body as a meatshield for about three enemies before she had engaged in close-quarters-combat with them. "CAULI!" "WHAT?" She called back, using an armored hoof to clash with a sword, before using a knife in her other hoof's bracer to flick out with the joint, quickly jabbing it thrice into the changeling's chest before headbutting him into unconsciousness. "WANT SOME FUCK?" She had to double-take before taking a haze across the withers from a poorly placed blade, forcing her to buck the poor bastard into oblivion by breaking his jaw and landing him a spot in the Generic Villain Aim hall of fame. "TAKIN' DAT AS A YES!" He shouted after her lack of response, quickly firing three bolts into one stallion, who actually tanked the shots before he tripped on a rock and jabbed the bolts deeper into him as he had landed on them, killing him instantly on impact. Harumphing in victory, Jaeger had enough time to turn around to see a giant warhammer about to connect with his skull, belonging to that of Queen Chrysalis, who looked very angry. The office space was modest. One giant window looking out the Badlands, with a single generic Boss Guy desk in front of it, complete with a generic stack of papers, a generic lamp, and that one stupid decorational picture on the wall that had nothing to do with anything but to serve as a change of color on the otherwise bland yellowish-tan wallpaper. A small tag that was barely standing up after years of either being bashed or thrown had enough cheap paint on it to spell out 'FRESH MEAT'. A crimson red pony with a black mane complete with black sunglasses laying on his unkempt black mane stared apathetically at the door. Who was he waiting for? Find out now. Jazz, in his usual dapper gear, was sat on a velvet red booth in a private section of the unlabeled establishment. It was clear it was a prostitution joint with the hooker currently sucking his dick off like it was her only way to get mon- it was. The wig, the cheap makeup, the skanky clothing, it was mattered little to Jazz as the amazingly dressed bastard was blind. His black sunglasses titled 'I AM BLIND' in white across the lenses and front frame didn't tell you enough. His hips twitched slightly as her lips were wrapped around his tip, the velvety texture of her tongue circling as fast as a paraplegic running in the snow around it, the beginning process of saliva build-up occurring. In order to create more stimulation in her mind, she began to move her head with the motion, using her forehooves to massage and move his balls gently and sensually, sensually being in the definition of "I am arousing you. Are you aroused yet? You must be." Jazz's left eyelid twitched, his penis riding high on the whole pleasure meter as his balls created a more stimulating feeling along his scrotum. Feeling bolder, or more routinely, the hooker slowly dipped her head slowly but surely down his dick, her tongue resting on his underside as it went back and forth rhythmically. The stimulation made the blind stallion rolled his neck to avoid his stoicism faltering with a grunt or a twitch, his sunglasses glaring down at her in a terminator-stare style as he guessed where she would be. The hooker, already knowing he was blind, didn't bother with the theatrics of looking at him in the eyes as "innocently" or as "sexily" as possible, opting to milk his dick for maximum payout. Who wouldn't want to? Easy money for a cripple. Wait, that wasn't PC. She meant.. uh, physically challenged. No. Visually impaired, that's it. Jazz swallowed, his chest having already been in an anxiety-feeling state of tension, butterflies going on full rampage in his stomach only to infect his chest as well as he felt his heart rate beat faster than usual. The usual symptoms of being filled with lust and the wanton epidemic of release. She was getting there, but not quite. Unbeknownst to him, he had began to dip his head against the cushions, opting to stare blindly at the ceiling, despite once again not having the knowledge of doing so. The hooker pushed her head deeper down, feeling her gag reflex start to naturally flare as Jazz was bigger than the usual run-of-the-mill lad. She made a mental note in her mind to question him if he exchanged sight for sexual prowess. The rod in her throat throbbed, begging for release as the heat on it grew hotter than usual. Tell-tale sign of the stallion getting closer and closer to his release. To keep the pleasuring assault up, she began to flick her tongue left and right more quickly, as well as remove her warm, moist presence from his dick, sliding out only to stop at the tip. "Keep that goin' on, an' I might just give ya a tip, 'lil lady." Jazz hummed casually, as if a skilled hooker wasn't giving him one of his top 3 blowjobs in his life, next to that broad in Las Pegasus he managed to swindle as a carpenter pony looking for carpet. He surely had a "carpet" to "munch" on that night. The meat she left behind was illuminated by her saliva in the booth's shitty light, the black muscles completely untainted by markings or natural marks, a smoothness she'd come to familiarity with in Jazz. The stallion was smooth through and through, so it came to her surprise at her first time that his sexual organ had also reflected that quality of him. She slid back down, feeling the heat correspondingly hum pleasantly through her tongue, her throat and into her esophagus once more. To give more stimulation, albeit it did nothing unless it was actually in her throat, in this case it was, she moaned sensually, her eyebrows creasing naturally at her hum. Jazz tapped his hoof, slowly bringing it down towards her mane, the first few centimeters of hoof being lost in her mane, willingly massaging her scalp as she slid herself off his dick and plunged back in. It was physically impossible to swallow the entire thing, as it was nearly impossible to swallow a regular stallion's rod. She probably only reached half-way, maybe three-fifths to his, whereas the usual ones she got three-quarters or miraculously the entire thing on a good day. She could feel the flare expanding, and for Jazz he could feel his dick's pleasure-o-meter convulsing. Only a minute more of bobbing, and he would be able to leave, she thought. So she did, she bobbed up and down, feeling the dick twitch and heat up in her warm maw, the saliva occasionally being used as a halter in her overdriving assault to spit out or to be spat on the dick for more lubrication, and then to be dove back in for more. Soon the acute pleasant ring in his dick reached it's magnum opus as the butterflies seized and held firm, his dick twitching upwards once as semen began rushing out in a stream. It struck the back of her throat, while a small waterfall of semen slipped down his flare, continuing consistently for a few seconds before another whiplash hit the back of her tongue and down her esophagus, until the stream stopped with a smaller whip of semen, before slowly being retracted from her mouth, her tongue licking any residue off the tip. Jazz relaxed into his seat, a very soft exhale escaping his lips as he sprawled himself naturally on the booth, his dick immediately flopping downwards before slowly being wrangled back in by his sheath. "How much will that cost?" Jazz tilted his head, almost melting like putty against his own shoulder for a pillow. "Fifty bits." And he was out of there like a light, without a single bit thrown down for the hooker, who screamed her frustration only to discover like a fucking idiot she forgot to swallow, and had the true audacity (or natural feeling as she is not the brightest of the Brady Bunch) to regurgitate Jazz's semen out into her mouth and onto the red floor, the curtains separating their private session from the rest of the establishment still flapping viscously from how fast his black ass booked it. And here he was, carrying an unconscious, and seriously wounded Jaeger on his back, bindle-less and clearly dignity-less. You could still see a small droplet of sweat on the side of his face from how fast and far he ran from his previous escapade. Jaeger moaned, his saliva slowly dripping on the back of Jazz, causing him to shake his back and bark at the unconscious Jaeger, "Pull that shit again and I'll throw your half-dead ass out on the curb." Slowly, The Sightless and The Exile hauled themselves, or the Sightless hauled the Exile for that matter, off towards the road, towards a nearby Badlands city, Bugwater. "Y'know, for our derogatory term being 'bug', it's amazin' how most of our cities that aren't Chrysalis-reigned or Thorax-reigned are bug puns." Jazz commented, earning a half-conscious moan from Jaeger, who remained uncomfortably propped up on Jazz's back. Fresh Meat wasn't a happy stallion. Not at all. His Generic Villain Desk #1602 had proven victim to his recent frustrations, having been split in half by two hard knocks down the center, sending any paper flying around him or being crushed with the desk. The hooker, who still had some of Jazz's sperm connected to her chin, had reported the evader. "Self Ins- I mean, Fresh Meat, sir, he booked it 'fore I could stop'im!" Fresh Meat stared up at her, before nodding, his hooves tapping together angrily, but calmly. "I'll take care of it." Author's Note sorry to those who had read it before it was done, accidentally clicked "publish" instead of "edit" that night and closed out before i realized. here's the final product, unedited as i still need that pre-reader. i went through it as best as i could, so apologies for any pace issues, i will re-go over it again twice to ensure nothing is going unintentionally fast.
Generic Villain Needs to be Stopped! [unedited]"Hey, guy who hit the only tree in maybe an entire five mile radius. Y'good?" No, he wasn't. In quite possibly the past couple of years of being labeled as a basket-case after the war and exiled from his own land he fought to protect, this was probably a more terrible feeling than the feeling of his entire country turning their back on him. It wasn't like he asked for this, he just somehow made his hoof a prime real estate target for a huge wa-bang of bullshit that catapulted his sorry ass across the entire Red Sea being the Badlands and into a tree, which so happened to be Jazz's SafeTree™ (not to be confused with the patented Safehouse™). Tangents aside, Jaeger's head hurt like a bitch. It throbbed, with each wheezing cough he made and with each flap of his totally wrecked wings, it seemed that any cognitive command he sent towards his brain, it screamed no louder than a brownish-blackish colored creature being forced into a job interview after an entire life being a party animal. Heh. Animal. Out-of-world racist jokes aside once more (not to be confused with the patented Tangents™), Jaeger had finally gained enough willpower to focus his vision on the breathing blob not too far off from him, tapping an obvious cane against the hardwood floor. Motel. Clearly a motel if he wasn't a great detective enough; if the decaying wallpaper, one window showcasing the beauty of greenish smoke being the industrial workhorse of the city outside, and the rotten desk with a barely-functioning chair that looked like it was ready to cave in under a foal's gentle weight, then they must clearly be in Bugwater's one of many motels that serve disappointment and shame for breakfast, lunch and five-star dinner. Jazz sipped on his bottle of Yasemire, a pretty smooth liquor to go down the throat with to help assist his couple past rough patched days. Goldish liquid in the boxy glass cup, and it had a kind of a caramel taste going down. It was quite nice, to be frank. Blinking, he regained consciousness of the situation and promptly swished the remaining contents of the drink around in his cup, his pose one of studying. Studying his form, the way the wounded 'ling in his bed acted and how well he could possibly pull his weight in redemption for his oh-so glorious good samaritan deeds. "Sup," Jazz said. Good one, Jazzy colt. You really showed him an astounding impression with your righteous dial- "Whasgood, L?" Jaeger replied, having been sat up with some effort followed by the scratching of the back of his bandaged head. Huh. Not a real proppy guy, this wounded guy, Jazz thought lazily. "Name?" Jazz lifted an invisible brow, using a caneless hoof to prop up his bowler's hat a bit more to gain a more trusting look. It worked, because the bastard talked. "Name's Jaeger. J-A-E-G-E-R," Jaeger said. "An' my game is dat I gotta whole new way o' life, man. Try'na get ta th'ponies, y'dig? I hear they gots good life compared t'ours." Jazz nodded, not once believing that bullshit even if he wasn't blind. Plus, that accent this 'ling's got is awful. "I got you. Name's Jazz, not t'be confused with the genre." Follow it up with a click of your teeth, Jazz. Stay cool. Silence reigned in co-operation with awkwardness. "So, Jazzy guy, how'd we get here?" Jaeger glanced out the window, only catching the giant beam of a nearby factory vomit out smoke and green fog like it was it's last day of living. Not to say that it wasn't, but this damn place was a shithole to begin with. Crooks and even more crooks stay here as actual exiles with reasons of being exiles, while 'lings like Jaeger just get chipped over on a technicality and degenerate into the crook lifestyle. Not to say that he probably wasn't gonna go down that deep end, as anypony could use his skills as a markstallion. If he advertised it.. "Well, I was gettin' my dick sucked. They charge more than a five-star restaurant in the capital cities for a damn meal, so I hit the legs on'em. Heard you, got your ass down, here we are." Jazz summarized, all the while downing his liquor. Turning around, he approached the rickety desk to refill while Jaeger talked. "Sorry 'bout dat, dude. Th'pony city Dodge whatsamacallitnow flung my ass sky high afta I was try'na get in." A gentle tap of glass on wood followed quickly after, prompting Jazz to pivot in directions to approach Jaeger's bedside. "Tell you what, kid-" He swished the cup of Yasemire around in his grasp, "-I can help ya in yer journey t'the big colt leagues up in Ponyland. If you can't even take a single step into pony territory wit'out bein' shot up sky high back to where ya came from, you'll need some hired 'lings t'help ya." Jazz stepped backwards after his quick sales pitch, dumping the rest of the alcohol down his throat which he finished with a guttural grunt. Grabbing his cane which was leaning on the desk to the side, he twisted the white handle, a small pop being audible to Jaeger as Jazz the crazy bastard slid a full functioning sword out, the crystalline ball the hilt. "I'm a blind guy, yeah, but I can hear. Like just how I just heard your ear flap, or how I just heard your left foreleg move two centimeters up and how just about now you jus' looked at it as if you were goin' crazy. Did I get it right, sweetheart?" Just as he described it in a mocking and otherwise advertising tone, Jaeger was doing it. Damn, he needed this dude. "How much're yer rates, Jazzy Bazzy?" Jazz smiled, a smile of greed and deviousness. Full fanged toothy grin, his eyes slightly narrowed as he slid the sword back into the cane sheath. "You help me take down anything I deem truly and utterly necessary t'my own adventure. Oh, and about every other week I want to get my dick wet. Hell, I'll take every day if you got th'hookers an' broads for it." "Done deal. I ain't got nothin', but we can drop by some tit joints if y'want." Just like that, the two bumped hooves and Jazz assisted Jaeger up, their agreements accountable and their intentions muddy. "Got any gum?" Jaeger grunted, "I feel like I'm hittin' rock bottom with this fuckin' bad breath." "We're losing this war, sir." Where did it all go so, so wrong? Thorax heavily sighed, heavy bags giving evidence to his stress-filled days of being prime real estate fuck-up of the month. Even his war room had seen better days, with papers scattered about, rogue tables smashed in halves and thrown into the corner to be replaced by a table to take hold in the center of the room. Each map that was torn, each war piece that was used for strategical means, each damned inch of land lost to the Tyrant was another reminder of Thorax's lack of militaristic prowess. Leaning on his hooves, his mind could only race like special olympics racers to a new alternative. Perhaps asking the Pony in the Cleansed Lands, or the Griffon in the Avian Valleys... No. That wouldn't work. His people would see him as a weak link, a fraud. A terrible being incapable of dealing with detrimental errors with a head of steam. This is not going to work. "Creator that is all that is benevolent.. help us." And that's just when a pop occurred. Immediately, it seemed that the battered 395th Shock Soldiers of Thorax's Shields of the Combs were getting ready for replenishing and awards to improve morale. They needed their leader to appear courageous and just, not defeated and battered; just like they were. His chair creaked as he pulled himself away from his sorrow corner, shaking off any residue of jitters and sadness as he glanced over towards the door. Just next to it was a coat rack fit for a King, a King he shouldn't be. No! Thorax, you cumguzzler; stop thinking that! Sliding his royal adornments on, being hoof guards, a jagged crown dented on one chevron on the front indicating his near-fatal one battle participation that scared him from ever helping the front lines again, and a silky blue and white cape that draped his entire back and to his legs. Carrying himself proudly, he erupted from his quarters and eyed the area. Tents and improvised buildings lined the area in an organized fashion, with uniformed changelings to and fro buzzing about to get to where they needed to be. Many royal guards of their own right had formed a scattered line on either side of Thorax's path towards an elevated hill looking out towards the plains of the Badlands, where Chrysalis would be marching statistically speaking in about ten hours if the depleted 888th and 402nd Defense armies do not stop her. Taking a step with faux pride, Thorax started his amazingly glut-pounding straight march towards the hill, and any stray changelings snapped their salute to him and some even bowed before resuming their activities. It tore his heart apart when he was brave enough to stop looking ahead to spot their tired and overworked glances, most of them not having enough love left in them to even walk properly, and rather walked sluggishly or like paraplegics. Taking his spot at the top, he overlooked the plains that held such a larger and more fierce force nearly four years ago. They weren't even a tenth of what remained or what was replaced. With the ranks being settled by rank, then experience and then by age, it seemed like a laughing stock of a physical statistic. The 394th Imperial Guards. Known as Thorax's Shields. There was about 200 left, not even numerically possible to be called a proper battalion, but it was still what it was. From each split off platoons and whatnot within it, it seemed that most platoons had no veterans in them, or had little or even a small chunk; it was organized from how many veterans were in what group. From left to right, the further he looked right (which wasn't a long look mind you,) the more the ragged veterans disappeared. Clearing his throat, unbeknownst to the battalion he was nervously fidgeting, he raised a foreleg and curled his hoof towards himself. Immediately royal scholars and analysts ran out with boxes. They ran to the front of each still group, quickly opening the boxes and setting out the medallions and ribbons in columns atop the box for each 'ling marked to be given it. Jaeger stared forward, an old and dirty bandage that was wrapped around his entire jaw with three holes for his nostril and mouth to breathe and communicate through, remained there despite his jaw having already been reattached to his skull weeks ago. Cauli's pink eyes settled over Jaeger as her wounded form had accepted the position of one of the practical "scholars" which was basically decommissioned warriors for reasons unspecified, and immediately she frowned. She hadn't seen combat for a year and already Jaeger was deteriorated to a shell of himself. "Commence." Thorax announced. The scholars and analysts alike began grabbing the medallions and ribbons to award to replacements and veterans alike, with one distinguishing badge amongst each changeling as they quickly awarded them. A brass badge with a circular edge with a Badlands Rose diagonally stretched across in a universal sign of denial. It looked just like any rose, exception of the circular petals that created an LSD swirl with a spike-like stem. Thick at the base, nimble just at the petals. Cauli approached Jaeger after branding the stallion to his right with medallions and ribbons, only to see that she only had one: the Badlands Rose Badge. Inhaling through her nostrils, she stood tall and proud in front of the glass eyed wall staring Jaeger who blinked without autonomy. He truly had lost it, Cauli sorrowfully thought, piercing his uniform with the needle of the badge and securing it tightly on. "Your mother misses you, Jae." Cauli said, prompting Jaeger to blink in recognition before bitterly replying, "Sweet." She trekked on without looking back, quickly rewarding the next stallion and to move onto the next one. As this all occurred, Thorax's voice boomed. "SOLDIERS! WE ARE AT A CRISIS IN THE WAR, AND IT SEEMS NO LING CAN STOP IT! THEY ARE INCORRECT, FOR YOU ARE THE CRISIS SAVIORS, YOU ARE THE WALL, MY SHIELDS!" Thorax sharply turned right, his head still facing the militia-sized army as he paced back and forth confidently and reassuringly. "THIS WRETCHED TYRANT THINKS SHE CAN STOMP US REBELS WITHOUT A THOUGHT TO BE GIVEN! SHE THINKS WE ARE NOTHING BUT PESTS AND SUB-LING BUGS THAT SHOULD BE CRUSHED AND ERASED FROM THIS WORLD'S HISTORY! WE ARE THE HEROES TO THE DEFENSELESS OF THESE UNFORGIVING LANDS, THE CURSE MAY BURN IN EVERY LING AS A REMINDER TO OUR BURDEN - OR OF AN STD - BUT IT DOES NOT MATTER!" Lifting a hoof, which had acquired a sword out of nowhere, had shimmered brilliantly in the sunlight. "YOU ARE MY ROSES! AND AS MY ROSES, I DEMAND YOU TO GROW IN THE STONE OF THIS BADLANDS DIRT! YOUR PEOPLE AWAIT OUR VICTORY! I STAND WITH YOU ALL AS A MERE CHANGELING LOOKING TO MAKE A DIFFERENCE! YOU ARE THE REBELLION'S ROSES, THE BEAUTY THAT DEFENDS US FROM THE UGLINESS OF THAT BEASTLY WHORSE!" The small crowd was getting antsy, agreeing either with shouts or with uncertainty in their tones as they shouted acknowledgements. "SHOUT THE BATTLE CRY! THE BATTLE CRY OF FREEDOM!" Cauli stared at Jaeger with growing worry as Jaeger glanced up towards Thorax, even as the 'lings around him cheered now with certainty and confidence, and only wondered with lack of energy and passion... Wonder if I left the right dicksucker at that ranch... "Original C- I mean, Fresh Meat, sir. There's no sign of this 'Jazz' changeling you've heard of. Th'lings 'round ere don't know o'him." A swapling, being a biologically sharp-looking changeling with midnight black skin rather than obsidian like their changeling counterparts, said nervously to Fresh Meat, whom was wearing his usual gear of a fedora and trench coat. They were both basically black with red trims and bands to match their wearer's appearance. "I've had too much money pinned on that Jazz fucker. You can't find a blind 'ling with a terrible sense of fashion? These bugs gotta have some sort o' money on 'im t'hide his ass like that," Fresh muttered, tapping his chin. His eyes snapped to the swapling, who flinched, "Ten bit warrant on him. Get the entire slums in on this. If Jazz wants to hide, he'll want to in the slums." The swapling nodded, "Yes, sir." With the swapling gone, Fresh Meat relaxed only slightly. "These fuckin' stupid bugs're gettin' t'me." "Nice racism." Fresh Meat immediately tensed and pivoted in his stance, lowering himself to a defensive stance as the random voice made itself clear. "Crime boss Fresh Meat of the second-worst gang that exists in the Badlands. Stockers. Your reign of tyranny ends here, criminal." The being dropped down, revealing a changeling in some garb. A spandex suit covered his entire form, with a thin layer of steel over it. It was plated, each edge of the steel plates serrated as on the chest piece it revealed a 'P' outlined in glistening gold and filled with a dull white. The helmet covered the changeling's entire head, exception of the eyes which were only revealed at literally only the eyes. The rest of it was covered by a sharpened helmet of same quality as his body armor, with a sixteen-barred respirator over his muzzle. He held numerous gadgets on his form. "Paladin," Fresh Meat dryly remarked. "You and your league of vigilantes are a bunch of amateurs. This ain't the comic book reel, kid." "It may not be the comic book realm, but we are mutants in our right, but you are just a freak." "Bite me, faggot." A white trail of vapor escaped Paladin's respirator, "So be it." He flicked his left foreleg as he lunged towards Fresh Meat. A white blade slid through one of the plates and made itself as an extended, sharp leg as Fresh leant backwards to avoid a lethal swipe at his neck. With such intense force put behind that swipe, Paladin swung his body with the attack and used his unextended arm as a placement to kick his back legs out in a killer buck to Fresh's muzzle, which was blocked by a raised forehoof that swung it aside. Paladin immediately dug his blade into the concrete as sparks flew in liberal fashion as he spun back to face Fresh, who blocked his eyes from the sparks produced. Lowering his forehoof, he let out a curt grunt as Paladin's unweaponized hoof found his face. Paladin used his daze to press the attack, and extended his body even more despite it being unevenly set and slugged his blade towards Fresh's sternum. Fresh threw his other forehoof forward, and Paladin expected a satisfying squelch of flesh and a scream; only to receive nothing. "I ain't the only one with fancy gadgets, faggot." Fresh taunted, flicking his trench coat off as Paladin jumped back to gain space from Fresh. His entire hoof used to block that sternum shot was covered in metal and it seemed to pulsate a sickening green substance that oozed through some of the cracks in the metal. "Fourth generation test subject. You ain't as special as me, second generation." Fresh grunted. "Your generation only focused on senses, mine focused on body composition. Who's the freak, now?" "Still you." "You ain't gonna be thinkin' that after I'm through with you, cunt." The two bodies rushed forward at each other, and what followed for the next forty-seven seconds was intense hoof-to-hoof combat that held no victor as they either tanked the quick hits or parried each other's strikes. However, Fresh Meat's suckerpunch managed to break through Paladin's near flawless acrobatic defense and it struck his respirator, caving it inwards. He gasped and fell backwards, eyes wide as he found himself difficult to breathe the air properly. Realization dawned on Fresh Meat's features. This wasn't the usual run-of-the-mill faggot trying to play hero. He slowly talked, choosing his words carefully and with an edge of fear to it. "No.. you ain't second generation. You're first. They fucked with yer body too much and threw you out. Can't breathe regular air, can ya?" Paladin was too busy choking, his forehead protection breaking in half as his jagged horn made itself known, glowing ferociously even as Paladin gargled on unpolluted air. The glowing soon began to spread through his entire skull, then his neck, and eventually it spread like a plague throughout his body. "Chrysalis's scientists fucked with you too much." Fresh Meat sympathetically commented, beginning to back away instinctively as Paladin began to let out a gargled roar, which prompted Fresh Meat's cue to GTFO. All that happened next was Fresh Meat jumping out of the alley and into a piece of white fabric while the entire alley way exploded into a white and green mess that spread to the walls, and even into the main street. "Jazz, I got a lead." "Yeah, Jaeger? What is it?" "Word 'round d'camp fire is th'boys in criminal blue're on their way 'ere." "Is it Fresh Meat's lackeys?" "Yeah, boss stallion." "Sweet. Bar fight time." "Bar fight time." Author's Note it's more than an adventure now.. it's some sort of.. mutant place... the Badlands isn't what it's cracked up to be....
Holidays and Commentation for the Betterment of Nonsensical Ideologies That Don't Relate to This Entire Chapter, Dude"You ever just wanna die?" Jaeger eyed over his shoulder to Jazz, who was in the middle of removing a dart from the drywall of the motel wall. It didn't take much but Jazz had pursed his lips as he had an internal victory over striking a dartboard he missed about a million miles away from. "Is death a color?" "Yeah, it's black," Jaeger said. Jazz looked at the ceiling, then venomously glared over at Jaeger, "Thanks, dipshit." A rip of wood later and the dart was removed like a baby from a womb forcibly before it was ready for birth. "Got you, I got you, but listen, listen," Jaeger pegged on. "Y'think we've derailed a lot?" Jazz blinked, tilting his head at Jaeger. "What?" "The story. The writer. The big man, he's experimentin' too much. Ain't he?" "I mean," Jazz adjusted his hat nervously. "You're messin' with the higher powers. Don't bite the hoof that feeds you." Jaeger flicked his hoof for emphasis as he was seated at a desk, writing something with his occupied hoof. "I mean, you fucked with a mob boss and there's some sort of comic book wannabe jokesters after him, and then there's some mutant shit going on? And what's with the racist jokes? And the comedy is gone! All it is is grimy flashbacks o' when I wasn't sunshine 'n rainbows, so what the heck is up with the cheese, G?" Jazz's face morphed into one of bemusement as his theory went on, before he flatly answered. "He's thinnin' out the ranks." That prompted Jaeger to blink, a cotton red hat with a white ball and a white band surrounding the bottom of it that sat atop his head awkwardly, almost obscuring his entire face as he contemplated. "Explain, you blind buggy colt." "He's making it intricate and complex at the start to see if the filler can delay the story progression long enough. Add a few side notes here and there and that'll get'em wantin' more or wantin' less. Give me a solid second to throw you out into the Badlands so you can annoy me there. Sight?" Jaeger chuckled to himself, "You said sight an' you're blind. Classic." "I'm gonna go be part of a sex chapter now. You gonna revert t'your old self or are we gonna have an issue in the future?" Jaeger immediately snapped to attention, dropping the quill he was using in their motel room to salute. "Yes sir, Jazz, sir," and he turned to the writer, who straightened his slouch form as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He was located in the corner of the room, with a specific organization jacket that he'd rather choose not to comment on because it'd be unnecessarily detailed- and now he's derailing his entire derailment chapter some more. "Yeah?" The writer commented, scratching his stubble. "Stop makin' this shit unnecessarily detailed. This is supposed to be a story about fucking and having wacky adventures-" "I have creative control, cunt." WriterMan's eyes lidded into a deadpan, eliciting a whistle from Jaeger. "Nice alliteration, sweetie, but have you read the first chapter you made? That was gold! Are you trying t'tell us y'are try'na devolve me into some sort of edgy black-red OC like you did Fresh Meat?" "Yeah. I mean, the point of this was to ruin a concept, then hit a joke prank and get back to the original first chapter." "Oh. This is that chapter, idn't it?" "..Yeah." WriterMan flatly said, "I don't get paid enough to ghostwrite my own stories that I ghostwrite." "That ain't the definition of-" "Einstein, you were too busy caught up in this that you forgot to write that I left." Jazz interjected, the entire scenario now a confused clusterfuck of fourth wall breaks and terrible writing that seeped through every crevice on the wall and drenched the ground with nasty plot holes that haven't even kicked off yet and have been planned too late to fix. They needed to revert, they needed a time machine. "Or I can just rewrite." "No! This is good, this is good, they'll hate it! They'll EAT THIS UP!" Jaeger screamed maniacally, officially freaking Jazz out as he had got the fuck outta dodge to the door. "This chapter is a recycled joke. Jaeger, are y'really sure I should post this?" WriterMan had leaned away from the happy 'ling only to be startled when the aforementioned 'ling charged up to him and hovered over the publish button. "Nonsense! Just click that and watch the hate flow!" "I didn't even give it a once over to ensure there's no-" "Fuck up shut!" Jaeger cut him off. Author's Note Intense Intermission Igloo Ice In Irises Ion
