Twelve of the hour.
The clock was moments from chiming.
The young, dark slayer rested his blade over his shoulder and gave a slow, tentative exhale.
Specks of dust in the grim, ochre light swirled in his breath.
This was his hour.
He waited for the chime.
Drooooonnnnnggggg!
Braving the terror looming up the spiral staircase, the young stallion put one hoof forward, his dusky beige cowl obscuring nearly all of his body.
The blade at the slayer’s shoulder nudged itself in readiness.
“Midnight?” A familiar voice called up the steps.
After his heart had stopped hammering, the slayer cracked a dry smirk and replied.
“You heard the chime then?”
A stallion emerged, bedecked in the black brigandine armour, dark violet cape and indigo and crow-feather tricorn hat of a Master Slayer, silver blades at his belt gleaming in the light.
Vorpal Blade, politician, philosopher and High Master of the Slayers Guild of Canterlot trudged into the gathering hall where the triarchy of the Coven of Rance Putrii had been tracked to.
On the floor, a very different kind of dust to the one in the air, darker and heavier, was spread on the floor before his hooves in three more-or-less evenly-sized piles.
It had been a good night’s work.
And it had been the ideal hour to work after all.
The middle-aged stallion gave a proud, satisfied smile.
“Tis done.”
He craned his neck, gesturing to his nephew’s belt slung over his shoulder. Obediently, Midnight Blade knelt before the piles of ash and removed from his belt three cuboid jars of black glass. Removing the lid produced a horse-hair brush fastened to the underside of it. Diligently, Midnight swept up the ashes into the boxes, a different one for each pile.
He then took three coins with one side silver and the other side wax, each with a different colour and symbol.
One a flame-red minotaur with bloody hands and a skeletal face.
One a lilac mare with a peacock tail and scaly hind-legs.
And one a puce satyr with claws covering his torso and groin.
They worked as locks, placed before the lid and turned, a dull click coming from each one, before Midnight fixed them to his belt again.
His uncle Vorpal then gestured to the floor the ashes had once spread upon, a trace amount still left un-swept.
Nodding, Vorpal Blade knelt and performed the second part of the Slayer’s ritual. He closed his eyes and bowed his head as his nephew produced a flask of cool, clean water and poured a sluice of it over his uncle’s brow. The cold stream ran down Vorpal’s hot, tired face, washing away the blood, salt, sweat and, most importantly, remaining ash. The rest Midnight poured over the stone floor. There was a slight hiss and a spit before it fell silent.
River-water. It had to be river-water. Nothing else would thwart them.
“Come.” Vorpal Blade said, getting to his hooves and throwing his tricorn hat back on, as the two made their way back up the steps.
Outside the entrance hall, Midnight and his uncle covered their muzzles as noxious smoke hit their senses.
Five slayers were gathered round an enormous pyre. Piled between the kindling were bodies wrapped in shroud.
One of the slayers, a young female zebra with eyelashes painted white and primrose-pink locks of mane, threw orbs of alkali ash into the pyre. They cracked and fizzed and slowly, the flames turned lilac and a faint whisper emerged from the fire that sounded like the sigh that came from a pony long deprived of rest lying down on a bed and closing their eyes.
A grateful sigh.
A content sigh.
The thralls, ponies bitten by a vampony, turned into mindless drones, little more than zombies. They’d been forced to defend the place, guarding the Coven with their own flesh. When either they took a fatal wound or their vampiric master, they would die. Some would rise again as ‘Bloodbrains’, ghoulish creatures with an insatiable thirst for blood and flesh, a vampony without a mind. An avenger to spite its master’s slayers. Not near as dangerous as the vampony that bit it but to be avoided all the same.
Fire was the only way to ensure they couldn’t come back and even then a normal fire would leave behind a possessing spectre unless tempered with anti-vampiric ingredients.
Midnight shook his head at the sight.
Times were a missing pony would turn up in three days having gotten lost in the inner Everfree or trapped in a quarry.
Now, ‘missing’ generally meant ‘experiencing a fate worse than death’.
A small crowd had gathered, no doubt feeling that in the presence of slayers, it was safe to walk at night. Not that they felt much safer among the slayers. Their notoriously dubious reputation won over their deeds, not to mention their garb which their rivals in court, Lords Mallow, Feague and Vole chiefly among them, derisively compared their uniforms to ‘clinically-depressed pimps’.
For all their mockery and scorn, generally being as unhelpful as possible in a vampony outbreak, Midnight had often thought about leaving the households of those same lords unguarded from attacks. But that wouldn’t do, he knew all too well. No beast deserved what far too many decent ponies were receiving these nights.
The zebra mare turned to the High Master and bowed, prompting her compatriots to do the same. Beside her were Ajax and Acme, two gigantic plum-purple earth-pony twin-brothers who spoke little but answered commonly with blade and hoof; Moonrat, a hyperactive piebald pegasus demolitions expert with spiky silver-blonde hair and a perpetual grin; And Komakusa, a white-coated, magenta-maned unicorn beauty who acted as the team’s mage. With Vorpal Blade around, the apprentices who’d completed their training could get some hooves-on experience. But even that had severe risks.
Vorpal Blade knew that when the vamponies upped their game, which he knew would happen without uncertainty, these graduates would need to think fast or die young.
Or worse.
“Sir.” the zebra murmured “We count twenty-eight thralls. We believe we can at least track and contain the others. We believe some of them were the foals that...bastard was collecting.”
Vorpal Blade nodded dourly.
“Well done, Zikomo.” he said plainly “You may summon the Night Watch and inform them of the proceedings. I shall gather a cadre of senior slayers. You may observe their methods and learn in the field but be mindful. Any more than two vamponies in the same place, you send up a flare, without hesitation. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” The apprentices bowed and dispersed.
As Midnight put a step in their direction, he felt his uncle’s forehoof on his shoulder.
“Not you. We’ve done enough for one night. Besides, I need you for the cleansing.”
The young stallion sighed.
“Uncle, may I speak my mind?”
“As long as you do so responsibly.”
“Thank you. So far, I have to say this ‘field training’ is shaping up to be a colossal let-down. I haven’t seen any action all week!”
Vorpal gave him a stern glance.
“You say that as if it’s a bad thing. Those who imagine facing a vampony in person to be ‘fun’ do not end their lives cleanly.”
“Yes, I realise that. I’m not saying I want to do things alone but...there were three vamponies in there. I could have helped.”
“If I needed help, I would have taken Ardour or Brindle or Lobstertail or Dr Blunt. You help yourself, Midnight, by observing.”
“Yes, so you’ve told me, multiple times.” Midnight said, exasperated “But how long do I observe before I actually participate?”
Vorpal Blade gave him the look he always gave him when he felt he wasn’t learning. When one saw that look, Vorpal didn’t even need his swords.
“As long as necessary.” he said plainly “Now come along. And do not drop those vases if you want those monsters to remain dead.”
The Cleansing Forge was hotter and smokier and more uncomfortable than most actual forges.
But it needed to be.
Here, the worst creatures in Canterlot were permanently put to rest.
He and his uncle turned a double-crank as a stone slab gave a gravelly growl as it shifted then slid off an enormous furnace. The smoke turned vermillion in the glow of the fires below. The furnace roared into life as Vorpal Blade pulled a series of levers, pots hanging above opening their bases and dropping various ingredients into the blaze. Garlic, hawthorn oil, mustard and poppy seeds, powdered marble and seashell, alkali ash and Chineighse rice wine, squid ink and dried dog’s tail.
It gave off a strong savoury scent one that didn’t relax its breathers nor did it choke them.
‘Slaying Fire’. The one thing that could put out the lingering evil in vampony ash.
Vorpal Blade strode up to a podium, before a great teak-wood lectern, carved into the shape of an alicorn princess spreading her wings. From his belt, he produced three scrolls and nodded to Midnight. The young, dark apprentice removed the first jar, the one with the minotaur seal, and took his spot opposite the lectern, standing before a slight incline at the rim of the furnace which formed a slight slide. He nodded back.
The High Master of the Slayers Guild produced the first scroll and read, his voice beyond sternness. Wrath and condemnation resonated with every word.
“Gargon of Gristle Way! The Princess and her Slayers hereby condemn you!” he began “In life you were a bloodthirsty beast gnawing at your leash. You traded death and pain for coin and shamed every who accepted such a trade, betraying most who took up your tainted offers. You knew no laws of war or peace and lived apart from good folk even before your turning. Then, drinking of the cursed blood, you abandoned your trade and turned it into a mere pastime. Between life and death you spread naught but agony amongst your fellows, growing ever more sadistic with each venture into cruelty. Here it ends, Gargon of Gristle Way, here it ends. Equestria ill needs a pony such as you.”
Midnight let the jar drop. With a grim rattle, it slid down the slope and plunged into the furnace with a smash.
He nodded to his uncle who produced the second scroll as Midnight held up the jar stamped with the peacock seal.
“Idolie d’Odalisque. The Princess and her Slayers hereby condemn you!” Vorpal Blade spoke again “In life you desired beauty, beauty beyond your grasp, your control. You felt naught but disdain for those less beautiful and naught but envy for those more beautiful. You desired beauty never-ending, never accepting that the reason beauty is so precious is because it is finite and to be enjoyed while it lasts in this world, not coveted and extended like coin. You believed a pretty reflection was worth your virtue and took as many innocent lives as you pleased to sustain it and to remind you of it. Here it ends, Idolie d’Odalisque, here it ends. Equestria ill needs a pony such as you.”
Midnight dropped the second jar into the furnace. When they heard the smash, they knew it was right for them to continue.
The third jar was produced, the one with the satyr seal.
Vorpal Blade’s lips curled with disgust at the sight of it. Unravelling the scroll, he read in a particularly venomous tone.
“Cribellus Gunk. The Princess and her Slayers hereby condemn you! In life you were poisoned by twisted, harmful desires. But instead of resisting them, seeking help from them, you chose to slake them. Upon foals! Fillies and colts died weeping at your hooves and their parents at the sight of the aftermath. To escape punishment you chose a life between death and took your depravities to deeper depths. You trapped your victims in undeath and gave them no escape but the blade. By our hoof they will escape into the next life, safe from pain and misery. A mercy you do not deserve and, by our hoof, will not receive. Here it ends, Cribellus Gunk, here it ends. Equestria ill needs a pony such as you.”
The third jar fell and shattered. Vorpal Blade and Midnight both pulled a series of levers around the base of the furnace as the flames roared and engines groaned. From the bottom of the inferno, there came a faint cry. Full of rage and fear and hatred and pain.
Lives misspent, cut off from the next world of their own volition, realising too late what the choice had ultimately cost them.
No tears were shed for those who chose to become a monster so vile.
As Midnight blinked furiously, his face stinging in the embers, he walked away from the furnace and faced his uncle pacing off the lectern. The High Master rolled up the scrolls, sealed them with the same stamps the jars had been locked with, and swung a rotating lock.
A bookshelf swung open like a door from the wall. Rows and rows of scrolls, all stamped and sealed. Pulling part of the bookcase out of the bookcase, opening like a chest of drawers to show off every seal, Vorpal Blade deposited the scrolls, slamming the case shut and locking it firmly.
“So, do we call it a night?” Midnight asked bluntly.
“One last thing.” Vorpal Blade gestured to the furnace. Uncle and nephew stood by the base, looking into the flames.
It went down for at least a mile and the stench of the anti-vampony substances were enough to knock oneself out.
“Midnight, my lad.” Vorpal Blade began “Have you ever had to clean the furnace?”
Midnight raised his brow.
“You have to clean that thing?”
“Sometimes. It’s more of a ceremonial affair really. But it takes a lot. You must use many elements and chemicals and must have the furnace working ever so slightly to ensure the chemicals work. You must wear protective gear that’s difficult to move about in and a mask that quickly becomes wet and itchy in the heat yet you can’t remove it for obvious reasons. By the end, you ache all over and you know that you have to do the whole thing again to ensure the chemicals burn away completely or risk the grate rusting and the whole thing blowing the place up. I can say with certainty that it requires more effort than climbing to the very top of the Canterhorn.”
Midnight blinked and took in the idea.
“I see...And why did you ask if I’ve ever done it?”
At this, his uncle cast him a lethal glance.
“Because, nephew of mine, if I ever catch you again using your silver rations in those idiotic bets you and your wayward friend, Snake Eyes, make in the casino in Goattown, you’ll be down there cleaning the furnace exactly how I’ve described for the duration of the season! Is that understood?!”
“Yes, sir.” Midnight said quietly, feeling several feet smaller than he was used to being.
“Right. Now then...” Vorpal Blade exhaled wearily “Now, get some sleep. You begin your advanced studies into salt separation and conversion tomorrow at nine-o-clock, sharp.”
The way up to his room was marked by cramped, dark wooden corridors that stank of hawthorn and garlic. Up a high wooden stairway, each step dusted with sea-salt, the door to his room was framed in silver and hanging from the doorframe were twists of blackthorn.
The room and the way up to it were vampony-proof.
And a good thing too.
Even with proper training and the tricks of the trade, deaths among the Slayers Guild were all too common.
Of the forty young ponies who’d trained with Midnight in his year-group, only eighteen had survived their full first year as a Slayer. And six of the twenty-two dead had needed to be killed a second time.
Walking into his room, the first thing Midnight Blade reached for was the drawer at his bedside, a small silver candelabra providing light to the room. This candelabra was among several luxuries he’d won beside Snake Eyes in the Goattown Casino. He hadn’t chanced to explain to his uncle that, technically, his silver rations had never been in any danger with his famously-streetwise friend around teaching him the tricks of the trade.
He pulled out an ornate flask and a small glass cup. He poured out a dark maroon liquid, thick as honey, and quaffed it. Holding his head back a moment, the young Slayer sat down on the bed and massaged his temples with his forehooves.
Rosehip Brandy, sweetened with date syrup. A common drink among the Slayers. The beverage was semi-medicinal, stilling shaking hooves, slowing pounding hearts and calming the nerves. Vamponies also choked on the smell of it and so wouldn’t bite close to the face of a Slayer with Rosehip Brandy on their breath.
Too much though and the drinker would spend half the day violently emptying their digestive tracts from both ends.
A small glass before clocking out helped Midnight sleep. And sleep was very much on the agenda.
‘How long has it been since I’ve had a full night’s sleep?’ Midnight wondered, settling down on the bed “Must have been at least six days-’
His ears pricked suddenly as a a rapping came from the window.
Midnight’s brow furrowed with annoyance as he left the bed.
‘Six days and counting.’
It never paid to answer by the window. Midnight drew an iron blind over the glass which had a Slayer code icon drawn with chalk loosely translating to ‘Please Use Other Goddamn Door’.
The rapping sound then arrived upon the door.
Whoever this was were familiar with Slayer code. Either a friend or a threat.
Throwing on his cloak and belt, twin daggers of iron and silver at his side, Midnight hurried to the secret door. It was a door that opened up to a small half-corridor, ending at another door before one actually found oneself inside the building or out. Security measures were not an option among the Slayers, they were a necessity.
Midnight placed a hoof upon the hilt of his silver knife as he rested against the door, checked his corners and spoke.
“Name?”
A young mare’s voice came through.
“Please, I need help.”
“Hello, ‘Please, I Need Help’. Can you answer my question?”
“Why is the door locked?”
“My ex wants the kids back. Why do you think?!” Midnight snapped “State your name or leave the premises.”
There was a sigh.
“Aurora!”
Midnight felt his heart jump. The mare was familiar.
“Lord Atlas’s grand-daughter?”
“Yes, yes. Grand-daughter of Atlas and Golden Apple! Daughter of Juba and Rosehoof. And I have a problem I need a Slayer to solve! Please, let me in!”
Midnight checked his corners again and steeled himself.
“Alright, but you need to do exactly as I say.” he spoke through the door “Come through quickly.”
The door opened, just a moment, and shut as quickly. Midnight’s first instinct, without even looking up at the visitor, was to press the sheathe of his silver blade, also tempered with silver, flat against her neck.
Nothing.
Relaxing a moment, Midnight looked up with a welcome smile.
The smile was returned.
Aurora stood before him, a bright, saffron-yellow unicorn mare with a long, silky mane of violet and gleaming indigo eyes. A cutie mark of a sun emerging over pink clouds was seen just under the silver-coloured cloak she wore, fastened by an amethyst pendant.
Remembering Slayer protocol and the necessities of safety, Midnight placed a shoulder gently on her shoulder and took the silver blade out of its sheathe.
“Don’t worry, it won’t cut.” he said, taking note of her slight flinch “Silver for monsters.”
Carefully, he placed the flat of the blade on her left foreleg, then the right.
“Right, checks out. Now, last thing.” Midnight reached into a herb-bag at his belt and pulled out some dried garlic cloves.
He held it close to Aurora’s muzzle.
“If you please?”
Aurora sniffed the garlic. Her muzzle wrinkled at the strong stench but there was no sign it pained her.
“Satisfied?”
“I believe that covers it, yeah. Sorry about the wait. Standard procedure.” Midnight Blade locked the door and gave her an apologetic shrug “So what’s the problem?”
“Is er...Is there somewhere I can sit down?”
“Well...” the dark-grey slayer shifted awkwardly “The only room that’s open to us is my room so...”
“That’s fine.”
Midnight Blade dreaded to imagine what his uncle would think about him letting a young mare into his room, particularly the grand-daughter of the Lord Ambassador who first graced a young Vorpal Blade with knowledge of Canterlot and its virtues.
Still, this was a mare who needed help from a slayer.
Leading her forward, they made their way to his room.
‘Don’t look at her flank, don’t look at her flank, do NOT look at her flank.’ he told himself ‘You know where that’ll lead to...Well, actually, you don’t but it’s best not to find out.’
Shaking his head, they reached the open door to his room and Aurora sat down on a chair.
“If you’d rather lie down, I can take the chair.” Midnight found himself saying. Aurora didn’t seem to mind the idea as she did just that. One of her forehooves toyed with her violet mane anxiously.
“So,” Midnight tapped his hoof “What’s the problem?”
“Well...this kind of thing is difficult to really talk about but...” Aurora spoke in a strangulated tone “Somepony’s stalking me...And I think he’s a vampony.”
Midnight blinked.
“What makes you think that?”
“Well, I don’t get a good look at his face. He has some kind of enchantment over him that makes him seem...luminous. But he seems to fly or hover without wings. Teleport without a horn. There’s a strange thing he can do with his eyes. Something about him is just...wrong.”
“You are aware...” Midnight said flatly “The penalty for false accusation of vampirism is severe.”
“I am aware, yes. I’m not asking for anypony to be burned to death or anything but this is really making me jumpy.”
“Well, I mean, if anypony’s stalking you, I’ll be happy to be send them on their way. But it wouldn’t be a Slayer matter unless we were convinced he was a-”
Crnk! Crnk!
There was a bang on the window. Midnight and Aurora jumped in their seats.
The Slayer held up a hoof and tentatively paced towards the window, edging forward, and throwing open the blinds.
In front of them was a stallion floating in mid-air.
An angry one.
Midnight found his voice.
“Okay...we are now convinced.”
The stallion was indeed shockingly pale, more than white, as if his blood was somehow...glistening.
His mane was dark and scraggly, neat at the top but oddly wild at the front. He was wearing a suit that looked expensive but worn in a slightly slap-dash manner. His eyes were glowing like flickering candles and his teeth were bared.
Unlike most vamponies however, whose mouths were full of long jagged teeth on dry, grey lips, this creature had a small mouth with lips that seemed to gleam, revealing two sharp incisors that looked frankly ridiculous, like a buck tooth that hadn’t known where to put itself. There were no bat wings or expanded ears, no elements of the batpony virus.
This one had been born a vampony.
The creature’s eyes were wide and his brow was furrowed in fury. Placing a hoof upon the window, his mouth opened in a silent roar.
With a sharp, ghostly echo, the glass shattered in on itself. Midnight fell amidst the shards with a cry of pain. He then found his forehooves pinned to the floor by those of the vampony’s. Aurora gave a gasp, flew to her hooves and lit up her horn.
In another instant, the vampony had clutched hold of her muzzle, bringing her up in mid-air, floating with him. Her horn flickered and flashed but did nothing.
He spoke. His voice was low and monotone, as if speaking through a corpse.
“None of that...” he commanded “I told you, Aurora. You do not use magic. Not anymore. Not while I’m here. Or we can’t be together.”
“Gtt rff!” she screamed through her clamped-shut muzzle, struggling like a fish on a hook.
“I am too apart from these mortal ponies for our love to flourish. You must be apart too. You must be as we are.”
His hooves moved around her face obscenely.
“Let me go!” Aurora screamed “Please! I told you! I keep telling you! I don’t want to be with you! I don’t want to be like you!”
“You do. There is a part of you that does and I will see it satisfied, no matter what all other parts of you refuse. You are marked, imprinted, by my clan. And you will become as one of them and forget all that made you weak, small, equine.”
“I told you before!”
“So I am asking you again. And I will keep on asking it until you realise what you must do.”
Aurora felt his hooves tighten. One was pressed against her chest, just below the neck. She felt her breath come short, her mind in a storm, the creature’s eyes burning the inside of her skull.
“What you must...do...”
“Oi!”
Mare and vampony turned to the corner of the room.
A young dark-grey stallion stood, bleeding from slight gashes where splinters of broken glass stuck out of. His rugged face was creased with rage as he held a silver blade out in front of him.
“Sir...” he began in a level but ice-cold tone “You will remove your hooves from her person...Or I will remove them from yours!”
The vampony gave him a look between contempt and amusement. Slowly he and Aurora floated down to the ground. He pushed her into a corner as one might have pushed a piece of furniture and turned to the stallion.
“Do you know who I am, boy?”
“Do tell.”
“I...am Edric Callow!”
“Well, whoop-de-doo.” Midnight Blade retorted sarcastically “And, wild guess, you’re a vampony.”
The creature smirked and held out a forehoof dramatically.
“Like no other.”
“No, it seems fairly simple. My best guess is that you and likely those who bore you have been retaining their equine shape and youth by staving off the thirst to drain a pony of blood and focussing more on powers of seduction rather than domination. I would suppose that you survive off brainwashing young ponies to be willing donors and living in secluded society apart from the conflicts that separate our two races. A tactic favoured by spies, wannabe conquerors and, of course, sad little pervs like your good self.”
The flames in the vampony’s eyes flickered. With a roar he shot forward, not so much rushing as re-materialising, and knocked the slayer across the room.
The silver blade fell from his grasp and with a nonchalant tug, the vampony removed his cloak and belt, tossing the whole lot out the broken window and, with a whisk of his hoof, slamming the iron blind shut.
At this, Aurora leapt up and blasted the vampony with a bolt of magic.
Edric Callow’s eyes blazed as purple embers crashed against the side of his face. His skin smoked but showed no sign of damage. With another hiss, a blast of what may have been sonar slammed Aurora against the wall as the room shook. The silver candelabra clattered to the floor, the candles going out, plunging the room in darkness.
Aurora fumbled and felt the door with her hoof. Banging against it, she called out.
“Somepony help! Vampony! Help!”
“Nopony will hear you.” Edric murmured. His skin glowed as he revealed himself, standing in the centre of the room, Midnight Blade’s neck locked in the grip of his forehooves.
“Look upon me, Aurora. You see how weak and frail and flawed is pony flesh? Pony blood?! You see what I can offer you?!” he was close to yelling, throttling the young slayer in his grasp “What can this...mud-beast offer you?!”
Midnight Blade stared at the frightened mare, his foalhood friend, with a nervous glance.
It was so sadly ironic. He’d been dreaming of the chance to kill his first vampony for Laurelore knew how long.
Now he seemed ready to be killed by the first one who'd crossed him.
And once he was gone, what in Equestria’s name would happen to Aurora?
As if in answer, the mare’s brilliant blue-violet eyes lit up as he edged something closer to the two fighting stallions and spoke.
“Silver.” she said “He can offer me silver.”
The vampony’s head tilted in puzzlement.
“Wh...that’s it?”
“No, no, Aurora, not for you...Remember?” A grin spread across Midnight’s muzzle as his hoof clasped the fallen candelabra his friend had pushed his way. Holding it tight with baited breath, he repeated the Slayer’s mantra for all around to hear.
“SILVER FOR MONSTERS!”
In truth, it was a shot in the dark, figuratively and literally, for whether the silver would be effective.
A vampony who staved off the thirst could have had a biology and immunity system very different to what the slayers were used to. Indeed, against a new style of vampony, a new strategy of their kind’s finding techniques, it was all highly uncertain.
Until the hiss of silver piercing monstrous flesh and the piercing shriek of a vampony in agony met Midnight’s ears.
Edric Callow fell back as the candles melted upon his burning flesh where the candelabra’s prongs had gone through him like a knife through butter. The remaining heat from the candles set the wounds alight with small but powerful flames, combusting against his pallid skin, his hooves frantically clutching his blazing chest, then his shoulders, then his neck, then his face, until the entire form of Edric Callow was alight. Massaging his pressed neck and bruised shoulders, Midnight looked up as Aurora, casting a lighting spell across the room, brought forth a pot of tiny black and white crystals out of Midnight’s bedside drawer and held it up meaningfully. Midnight nodded as Aurora plucked a hoof-full of it and tossed it at the vampony.
Salt and iron powder covered Edric Callow like dirt, flying into his wounds, stifling the fire and giving it no path but through the vampony’s body, burning the creature from the inside out. As his screams grew lower and more gurgly, his once pretty, pale flesh began sloughing off his bones like rotting moss. Callow coughed and choked and cried, writhing on the floor, half his face skinless and skeletal, his one eye bouncing it its socket.
Midnight Blade stood over him with a look of contempt on his face.
“You know...weak and frail and flawed pony flesh may be...at least it’s not very flammable.” he said, close to chuckling “Not all it’s cracked up to be, vampirism. I mean, why did you pick it in the first place? Was there just no other way to get rid of your acne scars? Cucumber and soy-milk, that worked for me.”
“Do...Do you know what you’ve just done?” the rotting Callow spluttered “You have won nothing! I am a son of the mighty clan of Callow! They will avenge me! You will be their prey! There will be nowhere for you to run or hide! They will come for you!”
“Save them the trip.” Midnight raised his forehoof high “If they're anything like you, I’ll be coming after them myself!”
With a mighty stomp of his hoof, the head of Edric Callow came off his neck, his expression one of absolute pain and disbelief.
This was a vampony who had believed himself invincible.
Slayers always found it very satisfying to prove them wrong.
Breathing heavy, Midnight steadied himself against the bedpost.
“Are you hurt? Here.” Aurora tended to him, her horn lighting up as the broken glad was removed from his skin and his wounds were staunched.
“Thanks...” the slayer murmured, getting to his hooves “Gimme’ a minute.
Opening another chest of drawers, he pulled out three large glass jars full of pale green vinegar and a hooked knife.
Into them, he placed the remains of Edric Callow’s head, one of his forehooves and part of his torso and shoulder, cutting them loose from the decomposing body with the hook.
Aurora stood over patiently.
“You er...you aren’t averse to the sight?”
The mare shrugged.
“It’s a dead vampony. It’s the first time I’ve seen them but I know the Slayers are leaving them all over the place. I’d guess it’s to examine later if this kind of vampony’s new to you.”
“Perceptive.” Midnight replied bluntly, placing the jars in the drawer and dragging the left-over body to the window. Lodging the hook between the dead beast’s shoulders, he clamped the other end of the hook to the windowsill, hanging the body from the window of the Slayers Guild before the slamming the blind shut again.
Light emerged from the candelabra Aurora had set up back on the bedside.
The slayer sat down on the bed tiredly and felt the mares hooves gentle on his shoulders.
“This may seem weird to say after just having seen you suspend a corpse on a hook from your windowsill but...I’m glad you’re with me tonight.” Aurora said with a slight chuckle.
“Well, I’m adding that to the list of things I thought I’d never hear.” Midnight sighed “So...do I escort you home?”
“I don’t think that’s necessary. My parents are out, the family servants can cover for me and the streets aren’t too safe to walk at night nowadays.”
“True enough.” Midnight lay down “Very well, my lady. You may consider yourself a guest of the Slayers Guild.”
“Sounds fun.” Aurora propped herself up as she lay on her side “Thank you, by the way...For stopping him.”
“Just part of the job. And I was considerably invested in saving my own life as part of the bargain.” Midnight chuckled bashfully “Tell me, if he hadn’t been a vampony, would you have wanted him dead?”
Aurora blinked and tilted her head uncertainly.
“I’m not sure there’s an answer that doesn’t make me sound weird.”
“He was trying to kill me and brainwash you. I think that justifies. Though that might just be the Dun pony talking.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. You just saved my life.” Aurora patted his shoulder “And you just did your first slaying. Sorry it wasn’t more interesting. I imagine you hoped the first vampony you killed was some kind of prince or war leader.”
“Tch!” Midnight scoffed “In my experience, vamponies are actually pretty un-romantic creatures. Most of the time they’re either criminals on the run, demented obsessives or just flat-out perverts like ‘Last-Seen-Melting-Into-Tartarus’ back there.”
“Yeah, should we...clean that up?” she glanced at the remains of vampony flesh and bone fragments. It didn't smell of anything other than ash.
“Nah, it’ll be dust in the morning. I’ll go over it with the brush.”
“That’s...convenient.” Aurora fidgeted a moment “So...how much sleep do you normally get?”
“Ugh, these nights, about three hours, tops.” Midnight sighed, stopping as he found Aurora rolling close to him, almost on top of him.
His grey eyes widened as the mare gave a cheeky grin.
“Well then...” she cooed “What can we do for three hours?”
His uncle would kill him. This was certain of.
Admittedly, his killing of a newly-discovered breed of vampire and the preservation of the remains might score some points but Vorpal Blade would be furious for certain.
Altas’s grand-daughter? The heir to the distinguished Blacklight Hall? One of Laurelore’s most committed and respected students? In bed with Vorpal’s nephew, never mind the position?
It would not end well for him in the morning.
Still...
That was tomorrow morning.
Right then, for Midnight Blade, all that mattered was tonight.
Returning the smile, diving into whatever awaited, he leaned over to face the dusty silver candelabra and with a short whistle of breath, blew out the candles.
‘Thank you Snake Eyes. Thank you for tonight.’
Author's Note
Wishing a happy birthday to my friend and troper, 6samuelb.
I hope he has a great day and thanks for all he's done. 
Snake-Eyes was actually the first OC he suggested to me when I was planning the Eternal Knights, stand-ins for my three best watchers and commenters but I didn't think he'd do well as an Eternal Knight.
Regardless, I'm planning on making him part of the headcanon.
References to the Witcher 3, Spyro Reignited and...the books about vampire-fetishism...
Music from Boondock Saints and Bloodborne.
Hope you enjoy it.
