The Dagger in the Jungle

by TheDagger445

Rating: mature
Tags: Thriller, Original Character, Sex, Suicide / Self Harm, Profanity, Non-consensual, Adventure, Violence, Princess Celestia, Death, Narcotics, Anthro, Princess Luna, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 8734

A lone assassin commits a heist against the Zebra Warlord Skullhead

When a Warlord begins to terrorize the peaceful tribe-lands of the Western Jungles, the Zebras turn to gain aid from their ally, the Equestrian Empire. They send, what the note explains as, "Our best".

Meet Dagger Glint, an Equestrian Commando, hell bent on completing the job, and enjoying every minute of it. In this action movie inspired tale, follow him on his war path.

Published 2018-07-20 08:30:01 UTC
Last updated 2018-07-23 21:23:10 UTC

The Fall

Metal creaks around me, stirring me from the edge of sleep I nearly caught myself in. I shake my head a bit, my navy blue mane getting in my eyes a bit as I blow it away with a puff of breath. I suddenly clutch the seat, following another disturbance, the aircraft I was riding in making a violent sway. I let out a frustrated breath, looking at my hands, the bottom of the palm exposed from the dark, metal grey fur of my body.

I hated Helicopter rides, I hated the way they flew, how the sounds of the propellers spinning made me tired, and how flimsy the entire vessel was. At any moment, the wrong move, the wrong wind, and she would tilt over and send me and it careening to the ground, where I would most likely try and ride out, since my supplies were on board. At the thought, I quickly look straight above me, looking past the silver colored netting to my saddle pack, a somewhat well made survival pack, full of basic needs, mostly empty. What I had in it was up to me to find out on the ground, as I hadn't packed it personally, and I was busy trying not to currently have a panic attack from a third shudder.

"Drop in five! Ear piece!" the pilot says, holding up his five fingers. I grunt, suddenly reaching up to my pack, unzipping a pocket and pulling out a small cord, attached to an ear piece. I roll it around in my fingers, warming it up, before placing it in my right ear.

"Dagger here, lets do this," I say to the pony on the other side, reaching for my pack, unzipping the netting and letting the pouch drop into my lap. I unzip it, beginning to unpack some items out of the front pouch, a High Altitude Re-breather, so I wouldn't suffocate while falling, and the strange little brick that was described as a "Intel Processor". To me, this device looked like a phone. And for what I knew, it was, and the government just wanted to feel special.

"Dagger, this is Echo, I will be your Handler here," the nicely feminine voice says from the ear piece.

"I'm reading you clear, Echo."

"Good, your jump is coming up, I'll debrief you on the flight down."

I nod, un-clipping my straps, watching them zip back into the holes the straps came out of, picking myself up off the seat, throwing the pack onto my back, and shoving the odd little Y shaped Rebreather into my muzzle. I take a test breath in, tasting the almost metallic clean air.

I grab the door, shoving it open, the wind roaring through the opening, moving my pack straps and mane in the wind, the rest of me held down by the black leather armor that I was given. I take a deep breath, and then jump.

I nearly throw up my lunch, my stomach flying upwards as I sail downwards, a spinning ball of fur and cloth hurtling and tumbling through the thin air. I straighten my back out, and throw out my limbs, righting out, looking down at the sea of green below me. It was a pretty sight, the Zebra Tribeland was an expansive, mountain and hill speckled jungle, with rocks and stone jutting out as grey dots and arches along the most green canvas. To my right, I saw a looping river, which snaked down, lined with small villages, leading to some rather big civilization that I could barely make out from the crater like natural structure that surrounded it.

"That, the spot your looking at, is where our target is. He calls himself Skullhead, he's a Zebra Warlord with a obsession with collecting the skulls of powerful warriors, which he wears to intimidate his enemies. Mean, tough, and a generally powerful stallion," Echo explains, make me look at it closer.

The positioning of his city was... admirable. It was set in a crater, as I already mentioned, but the sides of the crater were lined with small brown streaks, which were most likely defensive structures. They fired down, and the Zebras who try to get in had to climb up it. I also notice another grey and brown color, more towards the river, which I could see was a large, stone gate that would cut off the river, and anyone in or outside of that gate, which seemed to impress me.

"This guy isfent kiffing" I slur past the Rebreather in my maw, which was like having a metal tube shoved into your mouth.

"Skullface and his posse are very war focused," Echo explains, her voice a neutral calm, "instead of focusing on farming, or artisan work, he opts to steal it from the other tribes by force. And, to some degree, that plan has worked. Look left."

I swivel my head left, as instructed. I spot a giant, multicolored Windmill, turning gently in the breeze of the jungle, surrounded by a clear village. I could tell it was a village because I was most likely going to land inside of it. I had a ways to go, thankfully, but it was alarming.

"That is the Village of the Inkia Tribe, the ones who sent the letter for help. We are putting you down in there f-"

Suddenly, the whole world went quiet and dark, and I felt my body tumble through the air limply. I felt my chest burn as I took a sharp, deep breath through the Rebreather, a ringing deafening my ears. I blink my eyes, my vision returning, revealing that my armor had a smoldering hole knocked through it.

I was suddenly jerked from my self assessment, the bright light of a red firework exploding next to me making me instinctively tumble leftward to avoid it, watching as the searing hot metal making the light burn out on the sunset twilight next to me. I look down, my eyes widening.

Ground, close, chute, now!

My fist grips the rip cord, yanking it outwards, and my chest nearly caves from the suddenly jerk up. I had managed to deploy the chute about 720 feet from the ground. To put into layman's terms, 700 is the height that a safe landing can be achieved. I was scraping my luck, or whatever I had left of it.

I look around, dazed, deafened, and confused. I suddenly spot another firework hurtling towards me, the sparks flying off the little mortar shell, the smoking coming from the Inkia Village, fired off one of the walls. I hold my breath once more as my Rebreather drops out of my mouth and into the jungle below as the firework explodes again, throwing hot sparks into me and my parachute.

I grunt, pulling on the straps, trying to fill my parachute with air to slow my fall, watching as the flames get a healthy dose of air, fueling them to burn a hole through the cloth. I yell, pulling my knife from my waist, cutting the cord to my left, which suddenly swings me right, letting my body dangle as the parachute folds above me, no longer stopping my fall.

The second strap snaps, and I tumble in a circle. I pull my reserve cord, and wait for whatever came next.

My whole world was pain. The reserve had shot out, slowing me enough to not turn into a pile of bones, meat and fur. But that didn't mean I was fine, not by any stretch of the imagination. My left arm, hanging limply by my currently face down body, was dislocated, throbbing with a dull pain. I take a sharp breath in, feeling my chest burn as I finally gave them a healthy dose of air to wake me up. I could feel clicking in there too, broken ribs most likely. I hiss a bit, using my right appendage to move myself onto my back, taking an enormous amount of energy, anger and willpower to even commit to it.

I lay there, my body wanting to shut down and die. I look up at the foliage above me, seeing the pinkish purple clouds of evening passing through the dark leaves. I notice, at this moment, I was laying flat. I grunt, turning my head, spotting why. My bag was laying in a puddle nearby, the front pocket ripped open, and the straps ripped off with a blade. I lay my head back down.

Pack. Medical supplies. Got to get over there.

I will the power within me, summoning every scrap of energy to move up. I scoop back onto my stomach, my bare left shoulder caking in jungle mud, which burned the cut I had so generously received there. I pick myself up with my right arm, getting onto my knees, looking at my gash. I hiss a bit, holding it. Boot, then up!

I was on my feet now, and the world swayed and rumbled in ways they never had before. My head boomed to try and get me to sit down, and to rest, but I disregarded my instincts, and took a shaky, uncoordinated step forward towards my pack. Then another, then another.

I fall to my knee beside it, grabbing the pack, noticing the flash of the Intel Processor in the mud. I scoop it out, amazed it functioned at all. I then noticed that the front pouch had missing items. I had my IP (Intel Processor), but the other items in there were my gun, and ammo. I look around, looking for any sign of the missing items.

"Fuck. Fucking fuck fuck!" I scream, smacking my fist into the mud out of frustration, leaving a fist imprint in it. I look at my arm, groaning as I clutched it, the loose appendage having moved in my outburst. I unzip the main pouch, sighing in relief, seeing my rations and water inside, alongside two Healing Potions. I grab one, uncork it with my teeth, and drink it. Immediately, my body feels better.

I run a few fingers over where the gash was, finding the wound had closed. Gash is gone, but the arm is out of place. I need to fix it. I look around, anything to cradle it in, before my eyes fall on the broken strap of my pack. One side hung loose, unusable. The other side had stayed intact! What luck! Or... kind of luck? This felt like shit luck generally.

I grab my knife, slicing off the strap, then uncoil the tightening straps, tying them into a brace. Or... I tried. I found it hard to do with one arm. So this meant I had to do the hard part first...

I stand, looking for a vine. I discovered a low hanging one, where I used my good arm to fling my dislocated on onto. I grip it with my left, then tug, praying to the Princesses that the vine wouldn't snap. And it didn't. And then I hear the crunch of my bone sliding back into its proper place, followed by my voice automatically giving a pained cry. I fall to my knees, holding my arm, which still felt weak, and flimsy. I find the strap, and begin tying, hissing as a dull pain pulsed through my arm.

Finally, after much struggle, I threw the strap on, letting my arm rest in it comfortably, panting from the pain I went through to make it. I scoop up my bag, and look at my IP. The IP had three main functions, one of which I was quietly going over. The first, was the status of me. I look at myself, on a little caricature of my body. Left arm is crippled, but healing, I have a concussion, splendid, and I'm in no condition to fight without a firearm.

I roll my eyes at my misfortune, flicking to my map, which was currently fogged up, with a message saying "cannot communicate with tower". I slid the device into my pocket, moving in the only direction I had. Forward.

I was angry. I was very angry. This job wasn't supposed to start as a fend for my life, yet, here I was, cutting through the jungle brush like some sort of hat wearing hero. Except, in my case, I was severely under armed, and had little to no chance of survival should I not find civilization in the near future.

My eyes suddenly glide upwards, towards a red light in the sky. A flare. I perk my ears up, listening, but only heard the wind as I suddenly come to a clearing. There, a triangular slab of granite jutted out the side of the hill I sat on, which went out in the direction of the Windmill I saw earlier. This was good, this was what I needed. I set my pack down, unzipping it like a cripple, and uncapped a bottle of water, drinking a fourth of the bottle to stay awake.

I had about five days worth of food. I need to get to that town.

Suddenly, a second, bright red flare appears, coming from a road in the wilderness. I squint.

That was not a friendly group of zebras.

The Clearer Picture

I was stumbling in the dark. Even with my training back home, the seemingly void darkness made it impossible to trudge through the terrain, and with a healing arm, a fall could have meant longer recovery, something I wasn't willing to give. I give a shaky sigh, sitting on a rock, catching my breath, my face illuminated by a third flare. The group of Zebras that I noticed were gaining on me quickly, and I was in no condition to fight them head on.

I take the moment to reassess my situation. They knew I was here, so hoping they would pass by would be impossible. I did, however, have the darkness around me as an advantage. Even with torch or other light sources, the group wouldn't be able to see me if I stayed in the shadows cast by trees and brush. My lighter tinge of fur was a problem, however.

I think a moment, then kneel down, scooping a fist full of mud. I smear it across my exposed fur, noting the immediately darker shade.

Perfect

I shovel mud onto myself, adding a layer of the filth to my coat. I gag a bit, smelling horrible. I needed to be careful about this, if this stuff stayed on me, I could get sick... or parasites. No thanks, I'll pass on that. I suddenly perk my ears up. Something snaps a twig, only a few feet away from me. I slowly stand back up, crouching with my body turned downwards to make myself small.

I wait, for what seemed like an eternity, for something else to happen. But when nothing came, I start moving. My eyes were adjusting to the insane darkness around me, seeing the outlines of moonlit trees, making an almost silver color on the wet bark. It was as pretty as it was unnerving, the trees were as much as a hiding place for me, as it was for an animal or someone looking to kill me. I suddenly notice a warmer golden color to the other side of the bark.

I get low, crawling behind a tree, hearing the voices of excited and ecstatic tribesponies. I peek out, looking at them. From my view, a few were hidden by trees. But the ones I did see were Stallions, and well built. They were Zebras obviously, but most looked to have trained their bodies to a warring stature, with stronger attention to the core and legs for stamina and speed, they also possessed a noticeable shoulder mass. I chalked this up to the fact that from my research, despite some using firearms, most Zebra still preferred the slower, more skill based combat of swords, spears, staffs and axes.

The group of Stallions were also naked, save for the rather pointless loincloth hanging over their hind end, each one being different colors. Ranks, perhaps? This meant that the front end, where the dark patch of fur-less skin and sheath was, was displayed openly. This was the more interesting part, not because I was sexually attracted to it, but because of the tattoos . In one way or another, every male that was a part of the party had tattoos on their groin region, running up their stomach. Some displayed a warrior in combat, some where healing symbols, others were symbols for luck.

I squint, trying to get a better look. I move backwards as they start to march forward into the jungle towards me.

"That colt is in here, find him," one with a red ass flag barks. He spoke in Equish...? Why? Wouldn't it be better to speak in your own tongue? The idea boggled me. My foot catches on a branch, snapping it. Fuck.

The scout speaks something in his language. I feel my IP buzz, pulling it out.

"What was that?" it said. I blink, tapping my ear, feeling the ear bud in it. I suddenly start to move back, sticking to the trees as I fumble with the device. I find an active translator. It would help me understand what wasn't Equish, but there was no option for the other way around. A disadvantage, surely, but nothing popping open a book wouldn't fix.

Suddenly, a figure comes out from behind the tree. The Zebra, standing tall, spear in his palm, looks around.

"Too dark," he grumbles.

He was so close, I could smell him. This wasn't a pleasant smell either. Filthy mixes of sweat, BO, and what I assumed was sex hung on him like cigar smoke. I gag a bit, keeping it quiet as he steps past me. Green flag. I note it.

"He's not here!"

"Well, he couldn't have gone far!"

I flick my ear up, listening to the brief chatter. Suddenly, a new smell. Fire. And iron. I look around the tree, the main group advancing at me. I could see them now. The one with the red flag, the leader, lead the group. Two blue tagged Zebra, painted red along their stripes, held up... what I originally thought was a banner.

Instead, strapped to a cross, was a very young Zebra mare, her wrists chaffed and bloodied by the tight bonds. She was crying from the agony, and humility of being naked in front of a group of Stallions without a way to cover herself. I wince, looking at her, truly pitying her, wanting to help. I knew I couldn't, I was in no way ready to take on five or more Zebra warriors at once, that spelled out early death for me in a heartbeat.

I couldn't help but observe her. She was beautiful, or once was, by more technicality. She was covered in clear knife wounds, slow cuts along her stomach and thighs, and even some strange markings over her nipples. It didn't take long to realize what made them. A bear trap.

These Zebras seemed to take an almost sadist approach to treating mares, that, or this was a prisoner. Either way, the sight was unpleasant to look at.

I close my eyes.

It's a part of the job

I open my eyes again, moving now, following the hunters, observing their behavior. On occasion, the one in front of me seemed to twitch and fidget. I squint a bit, watching him move to the right, away from me, opening the path ahead. He must have given up. I carefully step forw-

I blink, feeling my body sliding onto its back suddenly, going not forward, but down. I slide down the muddy hill, my teeth clattering painfully as I had not expected it, before I smack and tumble onto wet rock with a loud smacking sound. And there, I laid.

A new rush of pain came over me, and I wondered if the world hated me.

Most likely.

I roll over, using my good arm to once again get up, groaning. I watch the Zebra peer down at me. They saw me, some even smile.

"He's right here!" one shouts. The Captain comes out from the dark, looking at me. He smirks, grinning with this mad mix of disgust and interest. I stare back at him, wiping some mud off my face, then throw my arm out.

He laughs.

"Ah! A strong one! Let's leave him to the jungle, let the wilds break his poor little body," He sneers, "we will collect his body for the Pit later."

I look down, hearing them laugh, spotting a cave just ahead. I walk forward, out of sight of the hunting party. The good part was that the Zebras were most likely not going to climb down, and with a bit of rest, I could use my wings to gently glide off the side of the rock.

If only wings were good at stopping high altitude drops with equipment, maybe I'd not be in this mess to begin with...

I step inside the cave.

I wave my hand in front of me, blind as a bat. I feel my way along a wet and slick wall, before suddenly sitting against it, resting. I let out a relieved sigh. I survived, for now. I pull out some water, taking a mouthful. I swallow, cap it, and feel something cold press to my neck.

I hold my hands up.

"Who are you?" a grunting, exotic voice asks me.

"Not one of them," I reply, snarkily. The blade suddenly comes off my neck, and a lantern is lit, casting the warm glow of a white flame around the cave. I spot a Zebra stallion, not painted red, but still as naked as the day he was born. He was covered in scars that ran up his arms and some on his shoulders.

Looking left, two mares, one teenage, and the other, looking very much like her, was what I assumed to be her mother. Both look unscathed, which shouldn't have shocked me as much as it did.

I hold my hands up still, pointing to my stripeless fur.

"Not a Zebra," I say, hoping they understood. The stallion did, at least, giving me a look of no shit. I huff, motioning to the girls.

"Slaves, at one point. They can't understand Equish, or even most of the tribal speak. You are lucky, so now, you help us," he grunts, glaring at me. Help them? With what? Sitting? Warming up a patch of wet floor?

"With what?" I ask. He motions to the girls.

"They are starving," he explains. I did notice how thin they were, which didn't effect how nice they were to look at. Judging from their chest size, I assumed they were eating something. I look at my pack, sighing. Fuck it. Why not, I earn some karma. I reach in, pulling out a bottle of water and a ration, passing it to the stallion. He stands there, shocked.

He takes it, walking over, using the MRE to cook the meal with the strange chemical reaction it had. I look out the cave entrance, giving them privacy.

Suddenly, the idea of giving them privacy is interrupted by a pair of breasts attempting to devour my head. I panick, and pull back, looking at the mother, who was crying. Tears stream down her face, and she sees to jut her chest forward like she was offering herself. I quickly refuse, looking at the stallion.

"Tell her no," I ask him quickly. He again looks stunned.

"Ba," he says, and the older mare blinks. She now looks stunned, looking at me with intensely thankful eyes. I notice that she wasn't eating, letting the younger mare have the meal. My gut turns a bit, my own empathy twisting my emotional state. I reach in and offer her the other package, limiting my supplies down to about three days worth of food and water. I grimace, but nod. This was worth it.

She takes it, looking sad for herself. But she looks back at me, and for the first time, my eyes adjust to look at her. She was a pretty mare, with big, emerald green eyes that glistened with tears. She had a slim, hunger pang face, with her cheekbones clearly visible. I find my eyes moving down, as my instincts told me, to look at the rest of her. She held a rather unique pattern to her stripes, which seemed to curl into swirling shapes along her hips and under her arms, which seemed to circle her bare chest. I blink, leaning over to look at her thighs, big, powerful looking thighs that Zebra woman were known for, and rail thin stomach that wasn't fed properly, lined with a hint of refinement to her abdomen muscles.

I frown, returning to look at her face, and she was now getting closer, which made me put a hand to her collar bone to push her away, shaking my head. She needed to eat, not repay me. I had no stamina to even return the favor anyways, it'd be pointless.

She moves back to her daughter, who looks at her mother with tired, but teary eyes of relief.

"How long?" I ask the stallion, noticing that he was well fed, despite the other two.

"A few days. They escaped the Inkia Camp. Windmill," He says, pointing outside. I nod.

"What is there?" I ask, to the point.

"Slave pen. It's where those bastards keep their fresh meat. Force the pure to serve the vile."

"Right, so, what is being done about that?"

He freezes.

"What do you mean?" he asks, looking at me. I stare back.

"Well, obviously, when some group of assholes roll into town and start to slaughter people, surely there are Zebras that stand up to it, right?" I say. He shakes his head.

"No one stands up to the Bloodletters, they are too strong, too crazy and unpredictable. It's suicide to fight them head on, their war machine is designed to put down insurrection," he explains, holding the bridge of his nose, "don't tell me you intend on throwing yourself at them?"

"That's exactly what I'm going to do," I say, casually. He groans.

"Go home, pony," He mutters, making me look at him with confusion, "go home and live your life of peace and friendship, or whatever you do in Equestria. The Tribelands will eat you up, chew you to mush and spit you out to its children."

I frown, looking at the mares. I sigh, leaning my head back.

"Any advice if I don't?" I ask.

He is silent, I couldn't see why, maybe he was staring or thinking, or maybe he was struck with the idea. But he does kneel down, grabbing my bad arm, making me flinch before the pain seems to ebb away. I look at it, my arm in his palms, and him looking at it intensely, like he was reading a novel.

"If you came to help us, then you will need to let go of this frail body, pony. You need to become like the Jungle, strong, fierce, merciless. The Bloodletters will destroy you, but you need to be better than just an Equestrian. You need to be one of us," he mutters, looking at me, speaking like he was telling me some voodoo craziness

"Find the leader of the Inkia, in the Windmill. They tied her there so she can witness the rapes of her Zebras, so she could anguish in it, a fate worse than death, but also a fate that draws out her fury. Harness that fury, help her and she will help to transform you into one like us."

I look at him, my ears drawn back. But I nod. I feel a warmth in my lap, the mother had returned to try and seduce me again, which worried me. I look at the stallion.

"What will you do with these two?" I ask.

He crosses his arm.

"Border, get them in as refugees with your government. The Bloodletters, while not afraid of your armies, are not stupid enough to try and fight them. They are almost to the level of doing so however. I assume that is why you are here, you are no tourist. And you are no passerby, even I can tell that."

I shrug, nodding. He was right, the Equestrian government threw their hat in the ring out of fear of the Tribes trying to invade. If that was true, I need to start soon, and cripple them.

I look out the cave, looking at the Windmill in the distance.

Let's start there.

Into the Fire

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.