The Dagger in the Jungle

The morning came. It was cold, it was humid, giving the air a chill dew that stuck to plants and fur, and cast the world in the golden rays of sunlight. But that wasn't what ended up waking me.

I heard a mare humming, a lower, deeper and huskier voice of an older mare. I kept my eyes closed, focusing on the sound, relishing in the comfort it brought me, feeling a wet rag run down my arm. I realized that the Zebra mother I met was cleaning my fur of the mud I had smeared into it. I open one eye, letting it slowly move to put her in my field of vision.

I couldn't deny, the mare was very nice, if not a little too nice. I found her advancement on me to be a bit concerning, as the last thing I would do to repay kindness is offer something so... raunchy. I have a moment of eye contact with her, both of us silently wondering what we were thinking. I look down at her rag, nodding and smiling.

She looked happy. And because of that, I was happy for her.

I suddenly force myself off of my moment of peace, tilting my face to look outside, into the sunbathed Jungle. I open my other eye, sitting up, pushing the mare away from me gently by her shoulder. She seems to understand, moving away from me. I take the moment to look at the three occupants. The Zebra stallion I had met was currently awake, tending to what appeared to be a bite wound on his arm. The younger mare, who was still asleep, was curled into a corner. I frown, feeling bad for the condition they were living in.

I move both of my arms, finding them both functional, and clean. I smile, wondering how the stallion did it, but not willing to waste time asking. I lift myself up, stretching and giving a loud yawn. I smack my lips to drive off the tiredness and soreness my body was building up, walking outside onto the rock that was overlooking the Inkia Village and its towering, multicolored Windmill.

I take a moment to look at it, this giant, six story tall monster, with four wings, one blue, two red and one green in color that reached out about the height of the tower. It was added onto, most likely to accommodate larger grain loads. I notice the addition of strange, brown colored markings towards the bottom of the structure, which was a speckled grey foundation made of some unknown material. The marks were in an unknown language, most likely the tribe language of the Bloodletters.

I sigh, puffing out my wings, feeling the humid air gently move my feathers around, looking around for the path the Bloodletter hunting party took last night, eventually seeing a streak of mud brown in the sea of green. I take a few steps back, then rev up to a sprint, leaping off of the rock.

I forgot how nice gliding was, my wings cooling off in the humid sky, getting slightly wet as they condense water, creating small contrails behind me as I glide over the top of the road, looking down on traveling Bloodletters and the occasional normal looking Zebra. Everyone look miserable. Zebras travel with their head low, and the Bloodletters mock and spit at them. I let out a sigh.

Don't involve yourself, it's part of the job.

I pass by them, keeping my eyes forward towards the gate ahead, a big metallic one that seems to have been made out of scrap metal taken from an Equestrian origin. The refuse of street and road signs, the re-bar of cement structures and even some cart metal were twisted, melted and molded into a crude gate. The entire thing had a Bloodletter make over, covered in splotches of blood, and even some of the spikes underneath the gate having what appear to be rotting hands and legs that had been ripped off Zebras trapped underneath.

As I draw closer, I understood why there were dismembered limbs, as the rotting corpses of a dozen or so headless Zebra tribespeople laid in the mud, fur falling off in spots as the maggots wormed into the decaying meat for a meal. Some, and I dare say too many, looked young enough to be fillies or colts. I frown, displeased at this rough display, feeling my chest puff out as I took in the smell of iron and death. I carefully step over them.

To my right, a Bloodletter guard sneers at me, but makes no move to attack me. I eye him, then the bodies. He laughs.

"Got a problem, pony? The sight a little too much? You ponies can't handle the sight of a few dead bodies?" he mocks, laughing through the questions as he stomps his foot down. I stop, staring at him. He looks back, holding his chest in fake fear.

"Ooooooh, so scary!"

I shake my head, passing by him, not in any way prepared to make my situation worse through fighting a guard. That was a great way to die before the fun began. I walk in, looking around, noticing the higher volume of Equestrian and Gryphon patreons taking advantage of the mare slaves.

I wince, seeing most of these slave mares were clearly not all there, most of them looking like they had already died, empty behind the eyes, a shell of a person. I shake my head, glancing left towards the first big structure, build on the side of the foundation of the Windmill. It was a large, wooden staging area, adorned with banners and paint of a mix of Inkia and Bloodletter. In big, bold red letters, it was labelled as an Auction Stage.

The Stage must have some sort of bottom to it, as the stage was at least two stories tall, with two symmetrical staircases to the left and right of it for ground access. I knew they couldn't wheel cages up those stairs, and getting a hungry, weak mare to climb them would be hassle. I look to the left of it, noticing the second, and possibly far worse area. There, a large hole had been built into the foundation, where a dozen or so mares were standing just outside, locked in a wooden brace that trapped their heads and arms, forcing them to bend over and stand for what I assumed was hours.

That, most likely, is where they trained the slaves to be slaves. I add it to my list of places to wreck havoc in.

Walking forward, wading through a crowd of stallions, making my way past stalls of wares and food, ending up in the center of a large market. I look around, noting the number of guards here was... concerning. I take a head count to twenty-seven, which was a not so fantastic number odds wise. I needed to beef up my skills, or maybe even raise a resistance force if I was going to have a chance in Tarterus to actually combat the guards head on.

I waltz between a Zebra stallion and his slave, looking at the young mare with a worried look. She was different, having a green hue to her stripes, and a slimmer stature compared to most. She was also a bit older, by her looks. She looks back at me, breaking out of her trance, staring straight into my soul. I look at her owner, a large, burly stallion, and not a new one.

It was the Captain from last night. I look at him, more glaring, now that I recognize him, keeping myself moving away from him. I noticed that he was acting a tad lethargic, probably from how much he exerted himself the night before. I was so transfixed, that my foot slips, and I nearly fall down into something.

I turn, staring into an Arena, labelled as "THE PIT". It a circular arena, about a quarter mile in radius, with small barred gates on either side, with plaques for the names of those fighting. I look to the center, spotting the bloody top half of a dismembered zebra colt, his legs torn from his body, his hands tightly gripping a wooden sword, even in his death. I stare at it for an unhealthy amount of time, my hatred building up inside of me, boiling in my chest as I look around for anyone that could be responsible. My eyes fall to a warrior, cleaning his sword.

He was in the corner, a brown feathered Gryphon, using the feathers of his wings to gently clean the blade of a curved sword of colt blood. He was smiling, looking inside of a coin pouch.

My twitches. I open my mouth to yell.

But close it.

Later, he will come later.

First order of business was finding the previous tribe leader, which the warrior from the cave informed me of her being inside the Windmill. I'm standing outside that now, and as much as I would love to walk in, cap a few guards in the head and get going, I had a slight issue. I had a knife, and it wasn't even a good one. I grumble, looking at the situation from on top of a building I scaled using a ladder that was sitting by it in an alley, watching as Bloodletters were escorting slaves from the Slave Camp to the Windmill to force them to work, mostly stallions.

Suddenly, the light bulb comes on in my brain. I look at my knife, this short five inch blade with a serrated edge. Good for cutting ropes and such, maybe a neck, but not for full on knife fighting. I put away the thoughts of head on combat, instead, opting to think about how I was going to act my way into the building and catch the guards by surprise.

I step down the ladder, walking out of the way of a cart rolling down the street, covered in scrap metal to provide a metallic armor to it. I spot a box in the back, and notice that it was a box of Equestrian Relief Rations. And the Bloodletter guiding the cart via a gaggle of Zebra stallions who were hunched over carrying the cart lifts looked rather pleased to steal food from a bunch of starving people. I close my eyes, wanting so badly to just... kill. To murder, to flay and shoot all of them.

I turn my attention back, pushing the blood-lust to the back of my brain, clearing my thoughts. I walk up a set of wooden stairs, climbing up to the foundation of the Windmill, spotted by a guard.

"What do you want, pony?" He grunts, casually. I motion to the tower.

"I'd like to see a demonstration of your slave labor," I half lie, truthfully wanting to see the condition of the slaves within. The guard snickers, nodding.

"Well then, let's do that then, eh? The big, burly pony won't be let down euh," he says, beaming at me. I wanted to knock those yellowing teeth out of his jaw, but alas, my constraint holds. He guides me, and about eight Zebra stallions inside. In the mean time, I slide my knife out, suddenly pressing it to the palm of the slave in the back, who grips it.

He looks back at me, half in shock, half in gratefulness as he hides it between his hands, gripping the blade with his bare palm to conceal it. I motion to the metallic chains connecting them. He nods, staring at the waist of the guard guiding them, where I spotted a single key hanging off the loincloth line.

I walk past the conga line of misery, patting the back of the guard, peeking around the building.

Two. Two? Two guards? The one next to me and some hunchback looking stallion with a whip and gout in his foot, making it look like he had a balloon for a leg? I blink, confused, not knowing how the Bloodletters didn't beef up their security.

"Where are all of the guards?" I ask.

"Prepping for the Auction, got to have big security, keep crowd down and off the stage, those boys be clawing up to the mares they show there," he says in his accent, translated partially by my IP. I felt grateful that I had at least come across a book of basic phrases last night, saved to it, which I fell asleep listening to after I woke up during the middle of the night to piss. I straighten. The Auction must be my first target. If anything, publicly humiliating and destroying their precious stage would definitely lower their morale, and disrupt their income line.

I turn my attention back to the gout monster a floor above me. I note of noisy it was, the sound of creaking, grinding and grunting all making an amazing sound screen. I look at my guard host, smiling at him.

"Like what you see? We go-"

He was easy to take down, a knife hand to the neck, a crunch, and presto. He holds his neck, clawing at it, his soft sounds drowned out by the noise around us. I watch him, staring at this stallion as his nails dig under his skin, literally clawing clumps of fur away trying to open his neck up as he falls to the floor with a heavy thud, writhing painfully as he slowly came to a stop.

I kneel down, collecting his keys. I turn to the slaves, offering it, which they gladly accepted.

"You free everyone else, and you don't stick around. If you travel in a pack, you should be able to run to the Jungle to lose anyone following," I say, staring at a rather small stallion, almost a colt. He was different than the others, slimmer, with more meat to his chest, giving him almost girly looks. That colt looks back at me, awestruck.

"You... you killed him...," he mumbles, looking at me. I look at him, then the corpse, then back.

"Yeeeah. Good thing you aren't blind, that'll help you," I joke. He seemed to not get it. I huff, walking to the far end of the circular room, finding a ladder, scaling up to the third floor, the top of which was a wooden plank platform. The Zebra was whipping a mare, crucified to the wall in a very interesting way. Where nails were so second era, the new, hip way to hang someone to the wall was by holding them there with a rotting snake body. I look at it, almost in disbelief.

It shouldn't have worked, but here I was.

The mare, head hung low, was a Zebra with green stripes. She glances up, big, blue eyes looking at me. Her eyes widen.

"What the fuck are yo-" the hunchback says, turning around, before immediately looking alarmed.

"Hey! Get the fuck out of here!" he shouts.

"Your pal downstairs said your the guy to talk to, I'm looking to buy," I say, staring him down. He shuts up immediately, then smiles.

"Ah! My apologies!" he hums, stomping over like a broken midget Zebra, getting close to me, talking my hand. I yank it from his grip, grabbing his hair. He suddenly realizes that he was about to get his hunchback ass whooped, and closes his eyes as I drive his face into a raising knee, feeling a section of his jaw shift out of place. He stumbles back, tumbling off the side of the platform, before landing with a smack below on the foundation floor. A pool of blood and innards ooze out of his mouth as his insides were liquefied by the flat impact.

I turn my attention back to the mare.

She looked at me.

"You here to rape me without paying?"

I glare at her, then motion to the two dead corpses, throwing my hands up in confusion as I shrug my shoulders.

"Point taken," she grumbles. I walk over, helping her her out of the strangely organic snake bindings, letting her drop to the floor in a pathetic heap. She lays there, naked, recovering from the long nights she probably suffered up there.

"You must be the guy they sent to help... it took you long enough.... I'm Ghost," she pants, looking at me. I was currently looking over her body, looking for wounds or injuries, hardly responding. She grips my ankle.

"Why did it take you three months?" she growls, mostly in frustration as she lifts herself up, using my body to stabilize herself, which I oblige by hold her hip to help her stand, not that was a chore, since she was light as a feather.

"You ever seen how the Equestrian mail system is? It probably got lost in it," I joke, helping her limp to the ladder, looking down it. She rolls her eyes out of frustration, and partially to show me she didn't think I was funny, and wrapped an arm around me, throwing her legs above my hips to hang on.

Carefully, I help us down the ladder, trying to ignore how naked she was, focusing on her conversation.

"You said you sent us a letter? I only heard about the conflict through a briefing, I wasn't aware of a letter," I admit. She huffs.

"I sent one months ago. How many are there?" she asks as we hit the floor, climbing off of me. I pretend to count on my fingers.

"One."

She looks angry now.

"One? One!" she yells, causing me to motion for her to quiet down. She growls, flicking her ear in rage. She opts to lock up and go quiet, walking with me towards the exit.

"If they ask, I'm your slave. If they ask to prove it, pony, you need to do it," she warns. I raise an eyebrow.

"How? I'm not going to do much, considering your probably not strong enough yet to handl-"

She grabs my fist around her hip, dragging my closer to her crotch.

"I'm not asking you to do it all the way, but we must keep up the act!" she hisses in my ear. I stare at her.

"No," I say. Suddenly, her angry expression turns to one of confusion. I pull my hand away from her groin.

"I'll just walk you past them, I'm not going to defile you for a lie, that is not a part of my job, sweetheart," I growl, kicking the door to the Windmill open, helping her limp down the steps. She seemed in shock of what I said, looking at her hungry looking body. I help her through the crowd, swatting wandering hands away. The gate guard looks at her, like he was trying to recognize her, but quickly backs off as I look at him. He grins, showing off his sharp teeth, looking as if he had filed them into spikes.

I help Ghost down the mud path, who was looking exhausted. Her eyes drooped, her body leaned more and more on me. She blushes a bit.

"I'm sorry," she says, suddenly. I raise a brow.

"For what?" I reply.

"Being rude. My fear got the better of me. I thought you were finally coming to take any purity away from me. I see now you were just helping."

"You need to stop talking before this turns into some sort of cheesy romance," I joke, receiving a growl from her, which I chuckle at. She points me towards a patch of the Jungle, guiding my into the trees to a small camp. I look around, seeing a hastily thrown together leaf and stick tent, held together with dried up vines. A burnt out fire laid a bit away.

Ghost lets me go, limping and flopping inside the tent.

"Get in here."

The evening was spent with mostly Ghost explaining what the stallion from the cave was talking about. Apparently, all the Zebra tribes had a "warrior path", a set of trials you completed to get a tattoo that was said to bring powers, as well as hone your abilities. I was a bit uncertain, but I listen to her ramble on about it.

For the first time, I notice just how tired I am. I was sore, I was drowsy from a rough night of sleep, and to make it worse, my mind had finally gotten tired enough to do what I shouldn't do. For instance, starting at Ghost's chest.

"Dagger," Ghost snaps, snapping her fingers in my face, drawing my attention upwards, "you need to sleep."

I look at her. Then I nod, laying on the straw mat within, facing away from her out of decency. And I sleep.

I'm on a stage, the world a mix of shouts and yells around me. I could barely focus on what was going on, the whole stage covered in a thick layer of smoke. Suddenly, something emerges from the screen of black fog, a mangled looking Zebra Stallion, holding a chain and collar, smiling at me with sinister intents.

I look down, seeing I was over a hole, flames spitting out from underneath. Pressure at my neck, I was hanging like a noose, the collar suspending me over the open flames.

"You'll die here. Maybe not your body, but you will not be the same stallion," a female voice coos in my ear. I open my eyes.

It was night, the fog had rolled in outside, illuminated by a weakly burning fire at my feet. I pull my self closer, then realize just how naked I was.

"Don't panick," Ghost hums, holding up my clothes, "you smelled awful, so I decided to air out your clothing."

I glare at her, but sit up, crisscross. She takes a healthy look at me.

"You are strong, for a pony. I wonder if you may actually survive this?" she hums to herself, jutting her own body out, as if to show off her own muscular body to me, which I take care to not look at. She smirks, noticing her attempts to tease me fell on blind eyes.

"You are fine to look, out here, the concept is... trivial," she says, with a small laugh through it. I glance down.

She was hungry, but she was clearly stronger than me. She had hit the sweet spot of not being too muscular, yet, not being too pudgy or weak looking, a dangerous combination for a stallion, Zebra or Pony.

"We need to strike. With you escaped, they'll be scrambling to save face, more security at the Slave Training grounds will mean less at the Auction," I suddenly blurt, making her jump a bit.

"You want to do what? Stop an Auction?" she says, in disbelief. I nod. She shakes her head.

"You are crazy, that would be literal suicide. They have not only guards, but a group of slimy, ravenous buyers who would rip you to shreds if you tried to do anything. You are asking to be murdered," she explains, with a bit of a tone of warning. I look to the fire. My eyes widen.

"I'll be back in a few hours," I say, picking myself up, grabbing and donning my messed up uniform, and walking away. I hear Ghost making funny, shocked sounds, and I smile, because I'm walking towards my own death.