Ponest Dungeon

Chapter 2: Grand Galloping Gala

Week 23, Day 5, Evening

The hall where the Gala was being held was enormous, easily able to fit the hundreds of guests that had accepted their invitations. Banners in all manner of colors were hung from the walls, representing the myriad royal houses of Canterlot. Stood near a burgundy standard were two brothers who, while both similarly thin to the point of gauntness, could not have looked further apart in appearance.

Downer’s fur was a conglomeration of bright colors. Yellow coat, bronzed mane, and sparkling golden irises stood in stark contrast to the varying shades of gray which was his older brother.

“I expect you sent a full squad?” Killjoy eyed up Downer like he was a pinned insect.

“Yes,” Downer replied. “And Duke Pants is sure to send a full squad of his own. I’ll bet that you knew that, and sent twice that number… with Blanket, if his absence is any indicator.”

“Your intuition is improving,” Killjoy said.

Downer’s hackles rose at the unexpected and undesired compliment. He furrowed his brow. “These antics will not serve our family well,” he said. “The clandestine assassination attempts were one thing, but sending Sour and a contingent to Ponyville, and now assaulting the Prince inside of the castle walls…” He glared at Killjoy. “You risk much, Brother. If fighting actually breaks out here, there will be Tartarus to pay.”

Killjoy magically placed another hors devour he had no plans of eating onto his plate. “You wound me, brother. You may not have been present while we were gathered around father’s body, but surely you know that I explicitly informed our younger siblings that I would tolerate no violence against the Prince.”

“Then why risk a confrontation on castle grounds?” Downer threw a forehoof out for emphasis. “The risks—”

“I know the risks,” Killjoy said, completely unperturbed. “You figured my reasoning just now. With what we’ve all sent, there will be a stalemate. The Prince will be delayed in his arrival here, as will whatever other business he may have in Canterlot. Word of our harassment will spread, our family’s name will once again have bite, and the other noble houses will not sense weakness and descend on us like the vultures they are.”

“I still don’t approve,” Downer said. “There will be plenty of time for you to play these games—”

“Do not lecture me,” Killjoy interrupted with such intensity that Downer took a fear-induced step back. “The council may have felt that it was legally required to elevate your rank to the same as mine so that you could assume the role of chancellor. But never forget that I am still the eldest. I am the one who approves or disapproves of what our family does, not you. Even if I decided to choose to burn our family to the ground, then you would have to sit back and watch.”

Killjoy had carefully controlled his expression and tone of voice during the outburst. The effort required had been significant, since he didn’t actually feel anger regarding the matter. Younger siblings always tested their limits, and needed to be reminded of their place from time to time. Creating the illusion of a believable emotional outburst was something that had taken him years of practice. But, his calculated display of severe agitation surely made the episode all the more terrifying for Downer, if his shaking legs were any indication.

“You’re a monster, Killjoy.” Downer almost looked as if he was about to start crying.

Killjoy never forgot how fragile his brother was, and many thought that he didn’t care for Downer’s wellbeing. The truth was quite the opposite, however, Killjoy had invested far too much time and effort in the now-youngest son of Neighsay.

“The toast is soon,” Killjoy said, using his magic to lift a wine glass from a nearby refreshments table. “Once the Gala starts, you can drink away your troubles. Maybe you’ll even forget all about how pathetic and weak you truly are.”

“Burn in Tartarus,” Downer said, violently snatching an entire bottle from the table and storming away.

The susurrus of the gathered gentry began to die down, and Killjoy could see movement at the far side of the hall.

In the distance, upon the raised announcement dais, Countess Coloratura held a wine glass in one hoof. “I would like to dedicate this toast to a new beginning,” she said. “A metamorphosis, if you will. All of you know that this has been a rough year. But tonight, we will shed our old selves, and we will be ready to emerge from this crisis stronger than ever before.”

Coloratura raised her glass. “Salude, to new beginnings.”

As the crowd mimicked the gesture and the words, Killjoy did as well. It was expected of him.

Out of the corner of Killjoy’s eye, he spotted a dark figure moving towards him at full tilt. He only knew one pony who could move that fast without causing a ruckus.

Coloratura drank from her glass, the mass of aristocracy following suit.

As Killjoy brought the wine towards his lips, there was a silvery flash of metal. The glass shattered, and was knocked away from him. He slowly, deliberately turned to face Proctor, who certainly had not missed, nor been mistaken in the action he had taken.

“Is the wine poisoned?” Killjoy asked for confirmation of the only possible reason that Proctor would act in such a manner.

Proctor fell to his knees at Killjoy’s hooves. “Worse, M’Lord,” he said, “it is much more than merely poisoned. Baron Blanket—”

One of the nearby nobles, an orange stallion, let out a savage snarl and bit into the neck of his rose-colored companion, eliciting a shriek of pain and fear.

Behind them, a mare bit open the foreleg of the stallion who had been holding hooves with her during the toast.

Similar scenes began to play out across the hall, couples turning on each other with ravenous abandon. Some were so overcome with this inexplicable yet insatiable hunger, that they were driven to tear into their own flesh rather than take time to close the distance to the nearest potential victim.

Of the closest, most were unknown to Killjoy, being mere business ponies and not members of the aristocracy. But one mare, the Baroness of Quillton—as evidenced by her blood-stained Gala dress—had buried her face into the neck of her decapitated husband, and was feasting on a mixture of flesh and arterial spray pumped by a heart that didn’t quite know that its owner was dead.

“Fascinating,” Killjoy said, transfixed by the havoc that was unfolding around him. In all of his years of careful calculations, he could have never predicted an event such as he was witnessing.

“M’Lord,” Proctor said, deflecting a disembodied foreleg that had the audacity to fly in Killjoy’s direction, “you are not safe here. We must leave.”

A quick survey of the several dozen or so cannibalistic ponies surrounding them reminded Killjoy that he had, of course, come to the same conclusion. Still, the very sight of the vast majority of the Canterlot upper class tearing itself apart was completely captivating.

The butchery which now dominated the hall was overshadowed by a commotion upon the announcement dais. Countess Coloratura had undergone a startling metamorphosis of her own, only it was far more flagrant and monstrous than what was happening in Killjoy’s immediate vicinity. Her hideous form ripped bodies in twain and feasted upon innards as they spilled out onto the floor.

The pair made haste in skirting the outside perimeter of the hall. From the crowd, a bloodied mare lunged for Killjoy, sharp fangs bared. Proctor swung a hoof, and a dagger flew from it, embedding itself in the mare’s brain. Her charge faltered, and she crashed into a couple of fighting nobles who then turned to devour her instead of each other.

“You told me that the Countess received the wine for the Gala from Duke Pants—” Killjoy said, as they swiftly approached the exit to the Gala-turned-abattoir, “—who had received it from Blueblood. I believe we have discovered the real reason for the Prince’s trip to Canterlot.”

Proctor bucked a table to block a charge by several snarling stallions, and sent another of his knives into the face of one that had the bright idea to try and climb over the tabletop.

“I saw Blanket leave the hall with a bottle,” Killjoy said as he and Proctor exited the charnel house of a party. “Knowing his hedonistic tendencies, I assume he drank some?”

“The whole bottle,” Proctor verified.

“Then our first priority is to gather what forces we have remaining. We will sequester ourselves at the family manse, to plan for—”

“Leaving so soon, brother?”

Killjoy turned to see Downer, standing back in the entryway to the Gala hall. He was drenched in blood that was most certainly not his own. His glowing eyes were wild with hunger, and something else which, ironically, Killjoy had tried for years to cultivate in his sibling.

Cruelty.

“Most unexpected.”

The Baron lashed out at the front row of Solar Guard ponies with such ferocity that one of them was hurled through the air, their collapsed helmet testament to their death before they even struck the wall with a meaty thud. Two more were knocked to the floor, with broken limbs twisted at horrific angles.

The Solar Guard thrust their spears at the Baron in retaliation, but he easily dodged the weapons, and even snapped his jaws forwards, biting one haft in twain.

“Tempest,” Blueblood said, gesturing his foreleg in an arcing motion, “up and over!”

“Done.” Grabbing a surprised yet boisterous Solmare with one hoof, Tempest vaulted clean over both lines of the Solar Guard, landing herself and Solmare directly in front of the Baron.

“And who,” the Baron hissed, “are—”

Tempest shattered his jaw with a crushing right hook, arcs of electricity crackling around the point of impact. She followed up with a one-two combo which broke his collarbone and shoulder. She continued to land strike after strike, eliciting more bone-breaking cracks and sparks.

The Baron bent unnaturally, and backhoofed Tempest through the air and straight into the Solar Guard, knocking the entirety of both rows down like bowling pins.

“Not much of a talker eh?” The Baron grinned as his bones reset themselves. “It’s ok, I just need you to scream—”

Solmare buried her sword into the Baron’s head.

The Baron staggered backwards a few hoofsteps, a look of confusion twitching across his face. Then he dropped to the floor.

“What is with the Neighsay family predilection towards monologuing themselves to death?” Blueblood said, helping to pull the wounded back away from—

“Tempest?” The word hung in the air as he pushed his way past the others. He ignored their protestations and closed the distance between himself and the indomitable mare.

“I am fine,” Tempest said, rising slowly from the floor. Her legs had an uncustomary unsteady wobble to them.

That didn’t stop Blueblood from feeling a wave of relief wash over himself.

“Hit me right on the chin,” she said, one hoof rubbing her muzzle. Her balance stabilized. “I was careless, and did not notice that his limbs bent in ways they shouldn’t have.”

“Well,” Blueblood said. “Now you know.”

A squelch sounded behind him, as well as a meaty impact on metal. Blueblood spun, drawing his sword. He was surprised to see that Solmare was flying through the air towards him.

Tempest interposed herself, though slower than Blueblood had seen her do so in the past. Still, Tempest was fast enough to intercept the airborne pony, though both her and Solmare crumpled to the ground on impact.

The Baron stood, and pulled the sword from his own head with the hoof he had used to slap Solmare away. “Fine,” he said. “No chit-chat.” He dropped the sword to the ground and advanced.

Blueblood kept his own sword between them, and positioned himself in front of Tempest and Solmare. He knew he didn’t stand a chance against the monstrosity that now approached, but the stupidity brought on by shock prevented him from thinking of what else he could possibly do.

A large, runed sword flew through the air and planted itself into the Baron’s chest.

“Seriously?” The Baron’s monstrous incredulity seemed to know no bounds. He grabbed the hilt of the blade in one hoof. But before he could remove it, the sword began to glow with a pale blue light. Ice crystals spread from where the blade had embedded itself, freezing the surrounding flesh, and even the Baron’s hoof.

Blueblood glanced back and saw that Double was holding out a hoof which sparkled with the same color and intensity as the sword. Double began to shake with exertion. His eyes, also shining inside his helmet, showed the strain of whatever magical shenanigans he was performing.

“What?!” The Baron pulled at the luminescent weapon with his frozen foreleg in a desperate attempt to dislodge it. There was the sound of cracking ice, and he grinned wider as he tried to snap the hilt of the sword off.

His hoof snapped off instead.

Shrieking in animalistic displeasure, the Baron swatted at the blade with his frozen stump, his frantic efforts only succeeding in chipping more of his own limb off.

Tempest rolled Solmare off of herself and stood. She may have moved slower and her legs may have shook a bit more, but her teeth were clenched and indefatigable will drove her towards the Baron.

Double collapsed to his knees, his outstretched hoof dropping. The mystical glow vanished from both him and his embedded sword.

Tempest wound up and swung.

It was perhaps the most ungraceful punch Blueblood had ever seen from Tempest. That did not stop it from also being the most devastating blow that Blueblood had ever seen her deliver. The Baron’s chest didn’t merely collapse, or shatter. With an incredible flash of lightning and crack of thunder, the Baron’s chest detonated like a bomb. Arcs of electricity, shards of ice, and chunks of flesh blasted outwards in all directions.

When his vision finally swam back into focus, Blueblood felt a multitude of minor injuries. There were nicks and scrapes, and definitely some bruising. The others around him seemed to have fared just about the same. Everypony in the hallway had been knocked down.

Everypony except for Tempest.

Remaining upright, Tempest was the only thing that hadn’t been toppled to the floor in the explosion. She stood like an indestructible obelisk of stone.

An angry one, at that.

The Baron had been blasted backwards, a ragged chasm where most of his chest should have been. His shoulder and stump of a foreleg were tenuously attached to the rest of his body, but were still barely able to be held against him to prevent his innards from spilling out. When he saw that his tormentor was still standing, he turned and made a swift three-legged retreat.

Tempest remained unwavering, but did not pursue the wounded Baron. Blueblood opened his mouth to say something to her, but he closed it when she spontaneously collapsed.

Blueblood scrambled over bits of flesh, bone, and ice, until he reached Tempest, who had clearly borne the brunt of the blast. Her armor was only slightly scuffed, a testament to its materials and enchantments. But when he turned her over, he saw that her face was covered in deep lacerations. The injury that had surely felled her however, was the jagged piece of bone lodged in her neck.

The shard of calcification had severed something vital, as blood flowed freely from where it jutted. He saw that crimson had soaked through her chestpiece, and even reached as far down as her greaves before she’d collapsed.

“Medic!” Blueblood shouted to the others, unsure of how to treat such an injury. His basic first-aid training told him to put pressure on a bleeding wound, but conflicted sharply with how to treat embedded objects, which was not to touch it.

Aloe knelt next to him and removed a glowing blossom from her robes. “Back please,” she said.

Scooching away, Blueblood closed his eyes and lifted a foreleg to rub at his forehead to try and soothe the concussion-induced headache, which hadn’t quite gone away yet. The wetness he felt prompted him to open his eyes. He saw that his forelegs were covered in Tempest’s blood, and he reflexively hissed an inhale through his nose. The metallic smell flooded his nostrils.

Oh no.

Blueblood frantically looked for something, anything made of fabric—that he wasn’t wearing—to wipe his hooves on. He could already feel his teeth begin to change, and surely his eyes had begun to glow. His tongue wanted to lash out of his mouth and lap the delicious blood from his foreleg, to sate the thirst that now began to overwhelm his senses.

Looks like the jig is up, Nephew. Celestia’s voice was the last one he needed right then and there. Will they attack you next, if they see you as the monster?”

“Auntie,” Blueblood growled through his expanding fangs, “if you’re not going to help, then shut up.”

“Hey.”

Blueblood looked up to see Ametrine standing right in front of him. He blinked in confusion as she booped his snoot.

Then her hoof engulfed his nostrils. Before he could even think to struggle, something acrid was blasted into his sinuses.

Falling back, Blueblood began to cough uncontrollably, the smell of blood long forgotten by his chemically burned nasal receptors. As he sputtered and gagged, he felt his teeth returning to normal.

“You’re welcome,” Ametrine whispered in his ear, with dubious levels of injected sexiness, and possibly tongue.

When he’d finally stopped retching, he saw that Aloe had moved over to kneel by Solmare’s broken body and was shaking her head from side to side.

“Dead?” Blueblood asked.

“Yeah,” Aloe said. “But isn’t the first time I’ve seen her die. Seems to be a minor setback for her.”

“You seem rather calm about her spontaneously resurrecting from the dead.”

“I’m sharing a body with my dead twin sister,” Aloe retorted.

“Touché.” Blueblood stood and walked over to Tempest. “How is she?”

“Unconscious,” Aloe said. “I’m no doctor, but she’s definitely lost a lot of blood. I’ve closed her wounds, but it may take some time for her to recover.”

“Well,” Blueblood said, “the Baron was right, time is a luxury we do not have.” He looked up at the remaining Solar Guard. One was dead, and two were out of commission with broken limbs. The rest seemed to be in okay shape physically speaking, but they looked about ready to break. On his team, Tempest and Solmare were down. Double looked to be extremely fatigued from whatever mystical mumbo jumbo he did with his sword. And Aloe was busy tending to the wounded.

“No choice,” Blueblood said. “Ametrine, on me. We’re going to the Gala hall to rescue any survivors.”

“Blue,” Fancy said, his wide, shaking eyes a clear testament to the shock and dismay he must have been feeling at the current turn of events. “You can’t go! You’ll be killed!”

Blueblood stared his old friend in the eyes. “There are worse things than death, Fancy.”

“I’ll go with you,” Whitewash said, the determination in his voice overpowering the fear which wracked his body with the shakes.

“Me too,” Zap Catcher said. She seemed to be slightly less paralyzed by terror.

“Right,” Blueblood said, “you two with me.” He turned. “Fancy, get everypony else somewhere safe. If almost everypony at the party drank that wine, the keep and inner courtyard will likely be infested, so try the Solar Guard barracks in the outer courtyard. Gather everypony who can wield a weapon, don’t let anypony wander off alone. Once we save who we can, we’ll meet you there.”

Fancy opened his mouth, likely to protest.

“Don’t worry, old colt.” Blueblood placed a hoof on Fancy’s withers. “Things like this are, unfortunately, becoming a regular occurrence for me.”

“We’ll await your return,” Fancy said. “Celestia be with—”

“No,” Blueblood blurted.

The look on Fancy's face couldn’t decide what expression it wanted to wear. “What?”

“I’ll explain later.” Blueblood shook his head.

Trying to destroy my legacy already, Nephew?

Blueblood leaned up against the wall away from the others, pretending to catch his breath. “You did that yourself,” he whispered. “It will be a mercy for me to only tell everypony that you are dead, without bringing up your transgressions.”

But am I truly dead? After all, I live on in—

“You are no more Celestia than Ametrine is Amethyst,” he hissed.

There's a big difference between Ametrine and myself, Nephew.

“Oh?” Blueblood said. “And what would that be, Auntie?”

You made Ametrine. She’s an imprint of you tempered by your memories of Amethyst.

“So?” Blueblood was genuinely confused. “So what?”

I was made by Celestia. I am an imprint of her, tempered by her own mind. I’m as close to the real thing as it gets.

There was no retort. Blueblood couldn’t argue against that difference. She was right. But still, she wasn’t Celestia. Just a copy. He found himself wondering what would happen if he was copied. Would it be him? If he was turning into one of these things, what would he be? Worse, with everything that had already happened to him… was he even himself now?

Blueblood shook the thoughts from his mind. Have an existential crisis later, he told himself.

“Done talking to my sister?” Ametrine looked jealous.

“Yes, she was being snippy.” Blueblood turned to his volunteers. “Let’s go. We follow the screams.”

It took less than a minute of galloping down the halls before Blueblood’s impromptu band came across a fight.

“I’m feeling heavily conflicted about intervening here,” Blueblood said as they approached.

Downer appeared mostly normal, though he was snarling and gnashing ragged fangs at his older sibling.

Killjoy dropped to one forehoof and swung his hind legs around to double-buck one of Downer’s forelegs, shattering it. The Chancellor fell muzzle-first to the floor, but rolled forward over his own snapping neck. He lashed out with his hind hooves, sending Killjoy flying into a wall.

Blueblood recognized Proctor, the Neighsay family spymaster, as he rose up from the wreckage of a broken display case, from where he threw two daggers. Both embedded into Downer’s throat, but they only seemed to irritate the blood-crazed pony.

After taking a quick survey of their surroundings, Blueblood lit his horn and tore a chandelier down from the ceiling, dropping it right onto Downer’s head.

Killjoy looked up to see Blueblood and his group approaching. “Most unexpected.” He winced as he rose to his hooves.

“We can kill each other later.” Blueblood took a position beside Killjoy. “Bigger problems and all of that.”

“You’re a fool if you think I want you dead,” Killjoy said.

Blueblood did a double-take. “Come again?”

“I’ve taken deliberate action to save your life several times already.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Blueblood said. “But I’ll have to take your word for it right now.”

Downer tore the chandelier to pieces, growling as he stood. “You ungrateful wretch!” He pointed a hoof at Blueblood. “I send troops to defend you against my brothers, and instead you join them against me?”

Blueblood got the distinct impression that the unnatural facial contortions taking place on Downer’s misshapen muzzle were indicative of extreme rage. Or constipation. Or both. “No offense, but you’re a bloodsucking monster right now, Downer.”

Downer looked at the group of six ponies that were arrayed before him. His eyes moved towards Ametrine and narrowed. “To be continued,” he spat, before diving out of one of the priceless stained-glass windows which adorned the hall.

Taking a swift peek out the window, Blueblood caught a glimpse of Downer’s swift retreat across the castle grounds.

“The Gala is just ahead,” Blueblood said. He turned to Killjoy, scarcely believing what he was about to ask. “Will you join us? We need to go to the hall to check for—”

“It’s unlikely anypony is alive in there,” Killjoy said, his voice devoid of empathy. “Almost the entirety of Canterlot’s nobility has been infected by… whatever this is.” He locked his eyes with Blueblood’s, a shocking lack of accusation in them considering what he said next. “You know exactly what is happening here, don’t you? Almost everypony thinks that Coloratura alone provided the refreshments for tonight. But those of us with the right connections know that it was Duke Pants who provided the wine to her, and that you are the one who provided it to him.”

“I didn’t know it was tainted until earlier today,” Blueblood said. “That’s why I came. You have to know that I couldn’t possibly have wanted this.”

“This whole situation is too chaotic for me to make any assumptions regarding your motives,” Killjoy said. “But I do know that going to the Gala hall right now would be tantamount to suicide.”

“M’Lord,” Proctor said. “Traveling alone would be just as dangerous right now. There could be others as ferocious as Chancellor Downer roaming the castle grounds.”

Killjoy looked at his underling, then at the shattered window. “A valid assessment.” He turned to Blueblood. “Very well, we shall accompany you. But we will not linger in the Gala hall. Once you see that everypony is dead or changed, we leave. Know that I prioritize my own survival over yours.”

“Likewise,” Blueblood said, quite surprised that his request had been accepted. “Well then, let’s see who’s left.”

“Wait,” Killjoy said, turning to look at a particularly large cabinet. “How much can you magically lift?”

There were ten survivors who had managed to both band together, and then fight their way to one corner of the Gala hall. They’d watched in horror as other unaffected ponies nearby or those who had joined their impromptu group were dragged away by clutching hooves and biting fangs. They could do nothing as their fellow Gala guests were pulled down and torn to bloody shreds. The knowledge that their own hastily assembled barricade — consisting of a dozen or so overturned tables and chairs — would offer only a brief respite remained foremost in their minds. Especially as the infected began to run out of victims in the center of the massive room and turn their attention elsewhere.

“I think we’re managing to hold them off for now,” Soarin said, breathing heavily. The color of his light cornflower blue fur was marred with matted blood and bits of flesh, thankfully none of which belonged to him. He dropped a splintered piece of wood and tore the top leg off of one of the tables that had been knocked onto its side. It was the third make-shift weapon he’d made. “Just remember to keep yourself armed. Better that these things bite wood than your leg. These clubs may be a little on the fragile side, but they’ve been working at beating them back so far.”

True enough, most of the infected nobles had ceased their attacks and turned on each other after having been batted away by the besieged ponies.

“Duke Soarin,” Sunburst said, his voice shaking, “we can’t stay here forever, there’s hundreds of these things!” The unicorn archivist’s gamboge-colored fur was spattered with an assortment of blood and gore that exceeded that of most of the other survivors. Soarin had seen him beat down three frenzied ponies using a bound volume of Clover’s Treatise on Love and Peace. Hoity Toity mentioned that the assorted innards actually accentuated the reds in Sunburst’s mane, which did little to reassure the frazzled stallion.

“I don’t know about the rest of you,” Sapphire Shores said, “but I ain’t stickin around here to get eaten by no blood-crazy vamponies!”

“Vamponies aren’t real!”

“Then what do you call all of this?!”

“What are we gonna do?!”

“Ze vampoonies are nöt going to get zis mare!”

“Vamponies are so last season!”

As the others argued, drawing the attention of the infected, Soarin had half a mind to solo fight his way out of there, and leave them all behind. He was thwarted however, by his irritatingly overactive sense of common decency.

“Quiet!” He hissed. “You’re attracting them with all of your petty bickering! Sunburst is right, if we don’t try to make our way to an exit, these things will eventually tear through—”

As if to accentuate Soarin’s point, a barrage of impacts began to shake the barricades. At first the noises were just the poundings of hooves, but slowly changed into the sounds of talons digging into the wood.

“What in Celestia’s name?” Soarin backed away from one of the tables, just in time to avoid a bloodied claw that burst through. “Okay ponies, we’re out of time. Everypony grab a chair or table leg, we’re on the same side of the hall as an exit. Just keep your flanks to the wall, and smash any of these bloodsuckers that gets too close.”

There were nods of acknowledgement from Sapphire, Sunburst, Photo Finish, Hoity Toity and Fleur De Lis. Jet Set, Upper Crust, Filthy Rich and Spoiled Rich looked far less than enthusiastic. Though the monstrous foreleg that was swiping through the table seemed to be giving everypony the required motivation for leaving.

Fancy is never going to forgive me if Fleur gets hurt, Soarin thought. Not that he’d let it happen, but this situation had spiraled out of control long ago.

Moving to the leftmost table, the closest one to the exit, Soarin looked at the others and extended his wing. He held up three primaries, then counted them down.

Three.

Two.

One.

Soarin pressed his wingless side up against the table and heaved with all of his might. The snarling of the vamponies—damnit, now I’m thinking of them by that name—could clearly be heard as the table came apart from the others.

A set of snapping jaws clamped shut a hair’s-breadth from Soarin’s shoulder. The offending head was mashed to a pulp by Sunburst’s massive book.

Fleur sent an assortment of forks and butter knives flying into the face of another monstrosity that tried to charge the group, allowing the group to push along the wall.

Hoity Toity was bringing up the rear when he suddenly let out a filly-scream. A trio of frenzied ponies had latched onto various parts of him and were biting out ragged chunks of his flesh.

Jet Set swung a table leg, breaking the face of one of the horrors that was snacking on the pony incarnation of fashion, but was tackled by another that leapt from the crowd. Upper Crust removed the creature with a chair swung like a golf club, but Jet’s throat had already been torn out. She fell to her knees and hugged her dying husband, even as a half dozen more infected ponies converged on and tore into the three of them.

A flash heralded Photo Finish’s camera blinding a frenzied stallion, who then promptly received a broken skull, courtesy of a chair leg wielded by Sapphire Shores.

Filthy Rich bucked a table to block some infected from separating the group, and yanked Spoiled away from a spanning set of jaws.

“Damnit,” Soarin said, as five more of the bloodied monsters moved to block their way. More started to crowd in behind them. “Okay everypony, it looks like we’ll have to fight our way—”

Without warning, a large cabinet was heaved out of the exit hallway and smashed into one of the monsters that had been blocking their way to the exit.

As the tainted nobles collapsed and the other ones spun around, Soarin turned his head to where the miraculous piece or airborne furniture had originated. Of all of the ponies to come charging into the Gala hall, the last one Soarin expected to see coming to their rescue was Viscount Killjoy. And right beside him was—

“Prince Blueblood?”

The Prince turned to Soarin and magically threw his sword at a noble who had more deformed teeth than a pony from Trottingham. The weapon impaled the monster’s neck and spun it away from Soarin, back into the crowd.

That was your only weapon, Nephew.

Blueblood cursed his own idiocy as dozens of the other creatures in the hall turned towards him, letting out animalistic snarls. He took a step back as he suddenly felt profound regret over his life choices.

“Expected,” Killjoy said, as Proctor moved to his side and guarded his flank. “We’ll clear the way to the survivors. Prince, keep our line of retreat open.” The two charged into the middle of the group that had cut off the survivors’ escape, and began to spin in a tight circle with each other, their hooves and knives flashing out and sending injured or dead nobles reeling away in all directions.

Wash and Zap charged in behind Blueblood, throwing their spears.

Wash caught a vampony mare in the neck, right before she was able to bite a unicorn who had been fending her off with an enormous book.

Is that Clover’s Treatise on Love and Peace?

If the seal on the cover is not a forgery, then that is my personal copy. Can’t trust the royal archives with anything these days.

Zap’s spear pierced the throat of one of the monsters, the tip passing all the way through to where it embedded itself in the head of another noble. The two spear-attached ponies almost clotheslined Duke Soarin on their way to the floor.

Wait a minute, Blueblood thought. I don’t have to talk out loud for you to hear me?

You are a slow learner, Nephew.

Ametrine walked into the hall, and suddenly all of the frenzied hissing stopped. All glowing eyes in the room turned from whatever they had been focused on before, whether it had been the bodies of the mutilated dead, the uninfected survivors, or even Blueblood. All of the monsters stared at her.

A harsh screech sounded from the direction of the announcement dais. Mounted upon a pile of dismembered dead at the base of the stage, was an overly-large, horrid abomination that looked like an amalgamation of pony, mosquito, and… other. Its elongated blade-snout and massive claws were soaked in blood and trailed the gleaming viscera of a dozen victims. One forelimb of the thing was pointed directly at Ametrine.

The other infected in the hall echoed the screech, eliciting winces from everypony.

Blueblood turned to Ametrine. “They don’t seem to like you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Ametrine replied as she turned to face a swarm of nobles who were scrambling over each other from the direction of the dais. Blueblood magic-pulled a drawer from the cabinet he and Killjoy had thrown and interposed it between himself and a dozen nobles who were trying to advance and force him either further into the Gala hall or into the exit hallway.

“Balls,” Blueblood hissed as he broke the drawer on the subsequently shattered face of the Baroness of Quillton.

There goes a quarter of the nation’s quill supply.

Wash and Zap had drawn their swords and were hacking away, but the nobles vastly outnumbered them. In a fighting retreat, Blueblood and the others were forced away from their position at the exit hallway.

Stumbling backwards to avoid the flurry of claws and teeth, Blueblood quickly found himself rump to rump with Killjoy.

“You had one job,” Killjoy said.

The survivors and their erstwhile rescuers quickly formed a circle and began to frantically fend off attacks from all angles. The press of corrupted nobility forced the circle to shrink, the sheer numbers making it impossible to hold any ground.

There was nowhere for them to go, and the flanks of the desperate defenders pressed together as they ran out of space to maneuver.

But then there was a sudden, short, yet intense vibration that travelled up from the floor, through Blueblood’s hooves and up his legs, until it settled somewhere in his gut.

The others felt it too.

All combat stopped.

The sudden silence was almost as unnerving as the tremor which had preceded it. Everypony was confused at first, survivor and monster alike looking down at the floor as if to somehow suss out where the deep shudder had originated.

Blueblood, however, was frantically scanning the walls with his eyes. There had only been one time that he had ever felt something similar. It had been when he was overseeing the commission of yet another of the obscenely large statues that littered the Canterlot Castle grounds like discarded Gala wine glasses. The sculptor had sneezed and her chisel had slipped, striking the multi-tonne chunk of marble too hard, and in just the right location.

The sharp sound of cracking stone was unmistakable.

Having found nothing on the walls, Blueblood traversed his eyes upwards and felt his jaw drop.

A large crack had formed in the domed roof of the Gala hall, running all the way from one side to the other. It was almost directly above them. There was another shudder, and a second crack appeared at a slanted angle to the first, bisecting it.

“Oh shit.” Blueblood’s voice cut through the dead silence that had befallen the Gala hall. The other survivors, and even the monsters looked at him after he’d uttered the epithet. Then they followed his gaze upwards, just in time to see a third fissure cross the other two.

Before anypony else could vocalize their shocked realizations, a vaguely triangular section of the marble ceiling, roughly 30 hoof-lengths across and weighing nearly 65 tonnes, fell towards the party below.

Blueblood barely had enough time to take a single step backwards before the hoof-thick slab of stone crashed to the floor. It did so less than a mare’s length from his face, crushing the two-dozen stupefied monsters which had stood between the survivors and the exit before doing so. The horde of monsters backed away from the cloud of powdered masonry kicked up by the impact. This gave the survivors some breathing room, which was only proverbial in nature due to the choking particulates which filled the air.

As the dust settled, four mares could be seen standing atop the massive chunk of rock, their flanks to the hallway as they faced out upon the monstrous horde.

The bakers-dozen of survivors, a couple hundred infected nobility, and one unholy mosquito-abomination all stared in complete bewilderment at the new arrivals, who may or may not have been striking poses.

Blueblood recognized one of the mares immediately.

“Maud?”

“We heard that there was a rocking party nearby,” Maud monotoned, taking what was probably supposed to be a dramatic step forward. Her face was still as expressionless as a mask, just as Blueblood remembered. But she’d shed the spelunking outfit in which he’d last seen her. Now she wore a checkered tabard over a leather cuirass, and a cap with three bells, which matched the ones attached to the front of her rear horseshoes. A sickle and knife were conspicuously strapped to her left and right saddlebags, respectively.

“We sensed it really,” breathed another of the quartet. She reached up with a robed limb, a pink hoof emerging to pull back her brocade hood ever so slightly. The receding shadows revealed an intense pair of crystal-blue eyes which stared out from the darkness.

The third was scantily clad in fur-lined leather armor, which left most of her own grayish coat exposed and lent serious doubt as to the garb’s protective qualities. A massive glaive was strapped across her back, contrasting wildly with what could only be described as a bashful expression, which consisted of violet eyes hidden partway behind a mane of greenish-gray. “We weren’t invited,” she mumbled.

“So we decided to crash!” boomed the fourth, whose voice carried the distinct scratchiness of somepony who firmly believed that indoor volumes were something that happened to other ponies. Angry amber eyes burned out from her grayish-blue face. Her flat, light-grey mane ran all the way down to the suit of green-tinted black platemail that she wore. She shifted a sheathed, enormous cleaver of a blade as she stepped down from the massive chunk of stone, causing one of her hind hooves to come down on the protruding head of one of the crushed monstrosities. Sneering back in disdain, she ground the creature's skull to paste before turning back to the horde.

“I’m Limestone Pie,” she bellowed, hoof clacking against her breastplate with a sound that indicated that it was made of some kind of stone, and not metal. “Me and my sisters are tenth generation rock farmers,” she waved a hoof to indicate herself and the other three. “And you may be a bunch of flesh eating monsters—” her hoof swung back out in an accusatory fashion at the bloodied nobility “—but I bet you all have soft hooves, from counting money your whole lives.”

The wide-eyed looks of confusion worn by the infected nobility swiftly morphed into scowls of anger. Teeth gnashed, and claws clenched in anticipation as the horde slowly advanced.

Maud turned to face Blueblood. “You should be taking this opportunity to get the others to safety.”

Blueblood scrambled up onto the marble slab along with the rest of the survivors. He frantically motioned to Soarin and the others. “Get them out of here,” he rasped, his throat raw from inhaled marble powder. “Fancy is mustering the troops at the Solar Guard barracks.”

Soarin and the other survivors needed no further incentive to make a hasty egress into the exit hallway, leaving only the self-proclaimed rock farmers and Blueblood’s impromptu coterie standing to face the mass of monstrosities.

The odds have turned in your favor, Nephew.

Auntie, I fail to see how the situation has changed.

Well, now you’re only outnumbered thirty to one.

The horde charged.

“Pinkamena,” Maud held up a hoof in the direction of the robed mare. “Marble.” She raised her other hoof in the direction of the mare with the glaive. Her hooves dropped. “Now.”

Pinkamena aimed her hooves towards the monsters coming from the dais and shockingly — in more ways than one — unleashed a torrent of magenta lightning. The arcing electricity danced across the front line of nobles, causing them to freeze in place and convulse. Their fellows crashed into them from behind, resulting in a multi-pony pileup and abrupt end to the assault from that direction.

Marble had moved to stand between Blueblood and Killjoy. She was obviously blushing, which was visible despite her mane covering the majority of her expression. On Maud’s command, she flipped her head back, casting her mane away from her face and exposing a visage that had contorted into a horrifying aspect of intense rage “—BACK OFF!”

The sudden, unnatural outburst resulted in a stumbling series of collisions as hooves and claws were dug into the floor in attempts to halt or even reverse the stampede.

Limestone reached back and grabbed the cleaver from her back. “You rich-flank bloodsuckers will never understand true strength,” she mouthed around the grip. And then she spun, hurling the weapon, but not towards the charging horde.

In a testament to Limestone’s earth pony strength, the blade flipped end over end until it embedded itself in the ceiling next to the gaping hole the sisters had made upon their entrance. Cracks swiftly formed outward from the point of impact, the mere sight of the further-damaged roof bringing the remainder of the advancing nobles to an abrupt halt.

“What’s the matter?” Limestone taunted, sitting on her haunches and beckoning with both forehooves. “Come at me, pones!”

The massive monstrosity on the dais brought its gaze down from the ceiling, before shrieking in displeasure. It took to the air on buzzing gossamer wings, hovered menacingly for a moment, and then exited the gala hall by crashing through one of the more intricate twenty-hoof-tall stained glass windows.

“These abominations appear to prefer the most expensive method of egress,” Killjoy observed callously.

With their monstrous leader in both literal and proverbial flight, the infected nobility routed. The horde of blood-soaked ponies fled in direct lines away from the sisters and Blueblood’s band, smashing through the ornate oak doors on the opposite side of the hall, tearing their way through service entrances, or running out onto the castle verandas and jumping over balconies. The sheer number of fleeing creatures meant that some were trampled or crushed to paste as the few exits were swiftly bottlenecked.

“Cowards,” Limestone spat to the fleeing flanks of the bloodsuckers.

“Perhaps,” Killjoy said as the nobility continued to climb over each other in their desperation to escape. “It would be foolish to remain, however. With the survivors already evacuated, their — and more importantly our — best chances for survival are for us to regroup with them and escort them to the guard barracks.”

“Agreed,” Blueblood said. “These things could be all over the castle grounds by now, so everypony keep an eye out for possible ambushes.”

Maud, Marble, and Pinkamena nodded in affirmation.

Limestone harrumphed and stomped a hoof. Her massive sword fell from the ceiling and landed in her outstretched foreleg. She returned the weapon to her back and motioned to Blueblood. “After you.”

As they withdrew, Blueblood took a moment to retrieve his sword and survey the devastated Gala hall. Dozens of bodies littered the floor, most in varying degrees of dismemberment. There were at least a hundred dead. It would be hard to count the exact number of fatalities considering how many of the corpses had been reduced to unidentifiable pieces or, in some cases, paste.

It only took a few minutes for Blueblood’s group to catch up to Soarin and the other survivors. Of the ponies Soarin seemed to be leading, six remained.

Only seven survivors… total? Holy me.

Auntie, you are not helping.

“Blueblood?” Fleur stared at the Prince with wide eyes. She was shaking.

“Fleur?” Blueblood said, walking up beside her. “Fancy didn’t say you’d be here. I’d have thought he’d be frothing at the bit to come save you if he thought you were in danger here.”

“I wasn’t supposed to be here yet,” Fleur said. “I was going to wait until Fancy was done with his duties for the day, but I needed to discuss my next job with Hoity Toity, so he escorted me…” Tears flowed down from her eyes. “I… I left a note in our quarters—”

“Don’t worry, Fleur. Fancy is safe, and we’ll get you safely back to him.” Blueblood tried to smile in an encouraging manner, but dared not stop to comfort Fleur until they were safely at the barracks. He winced slightly as he caught sight of some blood that had been splashed across Fleur’s neck during her escape,

There was a mental sigh. Your fangs are coming out again, nephew.

Blueblood dragged his eyes away from Fleur’s neck and realized Celestia was right; he’d been thinking about taking a small bite. He forced himself to look around at the hallway instead. His mind wandered back to the hall, and the lack of guard corpses therein. “Where in Tartarus were all the guards? An event this large would have had two dozen at least, and really should have had more than that.”

“Coloratura.”

Killjoy and Soarin had spoken at the same time.

“What about her?” Blueblood looked between the two.

Killjoy gestured for Soarin to continue.

“The Countess,” Soarin said. “She insisted that everypony, not just the guests, but the servants and guards, be allowed to have at least one glass of wine at the toast. Something about a new day for Canterlot, and not wanting to leave anypony out.” He swallowed. “There were very few ponies who didn’t touch the wine.”

“There are easily hundreds of these things,” Killjoy said. “We’ll need to mobilize the entirety of the Equestrian Guard, including the reserves.”

“Fancy should have started mustering troops at the barracks,” Blueblood said. “Let’s keep moving, I don’t want to run into any more of these wretched creatures unless I’m better prepared to cave their skulls in.”

Expressions of horror crossed the faces of the survivors.

You really do need to work on that tact, Nephew.

I’m saving it up for dealing with our “saviors.”

Blueblood slowed his pace until he was walking alongside Maud. “That was pretty fortuitous timing,” he said. “The four of you dropping in really saved our hides. I guess this means I’ll have to hire all four of you—”

Maud took a deliberate, calculated step away from Blueblood, causing him to furrow his brow in confusion. His expression quickly reversed into one of surprise as Limestone physically interjected herself between the two.

Blueblood caught a glimpse of a vague nod from Maud before she and the other sisters continued onward, leaving him alone at the rear of the group with Limestone.

“Look here,” Limestone said, shoving her muzzle well within Blueblood’s physical comfort zone. “I’ll let it slide because we just met, but you sure as hay had better remember something when dealing with me and my sisters.”

When no further words immediately followed, Blueblood frowned at the purposeful silence.

She’s forcing you to ask a question? Celestia sounded impressed. Surprising that this common mare knows something about how to manipulate a conversation.

Great, I suppose it’s somewhat fitting that the game of poisoned words should find me again upon my return to Canterlot.

Still, he had to take the bait.

“Oh?”

To her credit, Limestone did not show any signs indicating appreciation of her verbal victory. “Yeah,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’m the eldest, you want a ticket to the Pie show, you come to ME.”

“Understood,” Blueblood replied.

“Good.” The look of disdain never left Limestone’s face. “Now what do you want from the Pie sisters?”

“To hire you,” Blueblood said. “I assumed that was why you came—”

“Oh, you just assumed that we came up here to talk to you, didn’t you, Prince Important! You never even thought to question why we were here in Canterlot instead of down in Ponyville, where your company headquarters are?”

Blueblood would have felt stupid if—

If this diatribe isn’t rehearsed, then this mare would make a formidable live-debater.

Agreed. This mare has an axe to grind.

“You never thought, even for an instant, that maybe a bunch of earth ponies like us were up here in Canterlot for other reasons? Like selling the blood and sweat of our brow?”

I thought you were skilled in oratory.

Shut up and let me think!

“You just think that our work is beneath you, don’t you, mister Hoity Toity?”

Harmony above.

The name had presented itself unexpectedly, but shook Blueblood to his core. Everything had been happening so quickly, and Limestone had been laying into him with such intensity that he hadn’t stopped to think about what had just happened to them all. But the mention of Hoity Toity opened his mind to avenues of thought which enraged him.

Blueblood hated flaying another pony with words if they didn’t deserve it. But after what Limestone had just said…

“I’m not Hoity Toity,” Blueblood said flatly.

“Yeah you are, you—”

“Hoity Toity is dead.”

Limestone closed her mouth.

“I never knew Hoity Toity all that well,” Blueblood said, looking forward. “And I never will. His body is back in the Gala hall. He perished before my team arrived.”

“I’m.. sorry,” Limestone said, though her expression was still one of anger.

“Not sorry enough,” Blueblood said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” Limestone’s voice rose in defiance of Blueblood’s words. Her eyes tried to bore holes in the side of his head.

“You have legitimate complaints against the Canterlot nobility and the Crown,” Blueblood said. “It’s no secret that the rich exploit the poor, and that we live lives of decadence and luxury whilst ponies such as you toil away in the fields.”

Here comes the dramatic head turn.

And for once, I’m not proud to use it.

Blueblood performed a dramatic head-turn that had years of practice behind it. This time was different though. The suddenness of the motion and the intensity of his gaze caused Limestone to back away. “How much earlier than my team did you arrive?”

The two ponies stopped walking. The rest of the group continued ahead, oblivious to Blueblood and Limestone falling even further behind.

“Those calculated cuts in the roof,” Blueblood said, closing his eyes and shaking his head, as if to try and dispel the truth that gnawed at his mind. “The timing of your drop. The poses.” He opened his eyes. “The rehearsed speech and tactics.”

Limestone clenched her jaw, and ground her teeth together.

“You could have intervened earlier, saved more ponies.”

Her eyes never left his. There was no guilt there.

“How many could you have saved? How many did you let die?”

“We were there before the toast,” Limestone spat. The venom drove Blueblood back a step. “We let them all die! They deserved it! You all deserved it!”

“Why even bother to save me and my team at all then? You hated us enough to watch the massacre happen without lifting a hoof. But then to come in and miraculously save the day—”

Limestone shoved her muzzle against his and pressed a forehoof into his chest. “I didn’t save your sorry flank because I wanted to!”

“Then why?” Blueblood stared daggers into the burning cinders of Limestone’s eyes.

“It was chosen for us.” Limestone stepped back. “Maud came back and said you were interested in hiring us. US! The Pies! Who farmed the marble for this castle! For the foundations of Canterlot! Who got stiffed on the bill! Because it was ‘for the good of Equestria!’”

Auntie, your depredations span entire generations.

“Maud said we should help you, also ‘for the good of Equestria.’”

Limestone shook in place, the sound of her teeth scraping against one another was like a hoof on a chalkboard as she hissed words through them.

“Mother and Father didn’t tell my sisters about what the crown did to our family. ‘It’s only passed on to the first-born, they said… Well I said we should stay and work our family land, like we have for generations, leave the rich to deal with the problems of the rich. But Maud insisted.”

Tears began to form at the corners of Limestone’s eyes

“Mother and Father said to take it to the Choosing Stone. I was happy, there was no way that it would choose you over us…

“The Choosing Stone said that we had to abandon our land, that it was our destiny to live and die at your hooves, to help you drive a dagger into the Dark Heart of Equestria.”

Blueblood felt his eyes widen.

The Heart.

“But it didn’t say anything about saving a bunch of privileged leeches from themselves.”

“I’ll bet it didn’t,” Blueblood said.

“No,” Limestone said, “it didn’t.”

“So, you sat there and watched, because you thought they had it coming?”

“You’re damn right I did.”

Blueblood continued to stare into those emerald pits of burning intensity. “You’re partially right,” he said. “We’ve all got it coming.” He took a resigned breath. “Regardless of your actions up to this point, you said you’re here to help kill the poisoned heart at the center of this madness?"

Limestone Nodded.

"You and your sisters are hired.”