Ponest Dungeon

Chapter 7: Bloody-Bottom Bog

Week 2, Day 3, Morning

Froggy-Bottom Bog seemed to be wreathed in a perpetual bank of fog, which limited visibility to a mere fifty hoof-lengths or so. What was visible was a flat expanse of murky water, marsh grasses, shrubs, and moss, both on the spongy ground and hanging from the few trees that managed to grow higher than pony height.

With Snips and Snails being too small, the majority of the extra torch bundles—brought for the express purpose of obliteration of the hives—were carried by Applejack and Big Mac. They regretted not being able to use them now to keep the fog at bay, or to swat at the the mosquitos which—while present—were not nearly as prevalent as expected, especially considering Rainbow and Zecora’s conditions upon their return to Ponyville.

Running a hoof along the rotted iron gate, which ran quite inexplicably through this part of the swamp, Applejack made a staccato of clinking sounds as she struck each vertical bar. “Boy-howdy! Have ya never seen nothin’ like this before?”

“Eeynope,” Big Mac replied, craning his head to look about the reeds and pools, alert for any sign of motion.

When the Castle of the Two Sisters was still occupied, there was a dam that diverted the outflow from Saddle Lake. That, combined with the pegasi preventing rain in this lowland area, made the area the perfect combination of flat, dry, and isolated from the common ponies, making it quite popular with the nobility of the time.

Snips rolled his eyes flippantly. “C’mon, Prince Blueblood! If we wanted a history lesson, we wouldn’t have dropped out of school!”

Snails frowned at his shorter friend. “Hay, I like history! It’s fun to listen to, eh?”

“It is not!”

“Quit yer yammerin, you two!” Applejack practically shouted. “Just cause Big Mac and I don’t talk much don’t mean you need to be making up for it!”

Big Mac made a shushing sound, prompting everypony to draw weapons and tense.

A lone figure walked towards them out from the mists, and everypony relaxed slightly when they saw the image resolve into a butter-colored pegasus, attired in worn leather and tattered furs, a primitive glaive strapped to her back.

“Well howdy, Miss!” Applejack exclaimed as she approached the mystery mare, her hoof outstretched in greeting.

The pegasus released a timid shriek and promptly bolted into the mists from whence she came.

Everypony stood silently for a moment.

“Well… that happened,” commented Snips.

“Eeyup,” added a nonplussed Big Mac.

Snails scratched an ear with his arbalest. “You think that maybe she had to use the little filly’s room?”

“No,” Applejack said, shaking her head. “I don’t think that was it, not at all.”

Week 2, Day 3, Noon

Entering the gate had proved easy enough, though the hinges protested like a mule, producing a sound not unlike somepony’s suffering screams, and partially dispersing the mists which occluded most things in the bog. This exposed parts of the interior of the enclosed area, offering brief glimpses of the crests of crumbling masonry and other sunken structures.

The party’s going was slow; despite the occasional path of solid and compacted dirt or the series of walkable stone tiles that littered the swamp, the mostly soggy ground had long ago contorted itself into meandering dead-ends and pitfalls. The lack of opposition was surprising, but welcome, and they were lucky enough to happen across a few intact structures which contained valuables.

As they continued further into the swamp, the mosquitos became more prevalent. A low hum, which resolved itself into an intense buzzing, was the first thing that alerted them to the hive.

Using a stand of reeds as cover, Applejack stole a glance across a shallow pond at the insect nest. “Landsakes—” was the most she could manage when she first laid eyes on the papery structure, which reached from the ground all the way up into the tree canopy. “That there hive is bigger’n a barn!”

“How are we supposed to even get close enough to burn it with all those bugs?” Snips asked, indicating the cloud, which contained thousands—maybe even more than that—of mosquitos, that swirled around the massive nest.

“Uhh, how aboot we use my arbalest, eh? We can launch the torches in from here, and it’ll burn down before they even know it, eh?”

Applejack blinked. “Well now, that there’s a mighty impressive plan, Snails.”

“Eeyup.”

“Hoof me over a lit torch then, eh?” Snails said as he strained his magic into cocking the giant weapon.

Big Mac grabbed a torch in his mouth, and struck his flint and steel set together a few times until the oiled rag at the end ignited—and he was immediately swarmed by hundreds of the mosquitos. The viciousness of their assault was rivaled only by the enraged scream that issued forth from Big Mac as he was overwhelmed. He staggered around randomly at first, but then dove forward into the pool that had separated them from their target.

At first, the others thought he was only trying to escape the swarm, until they saw him using his strong hooves to push himself through the water towards the hive, even as dozens of mosquitos thrust their proboscises into his ears, scalp, muzzle, and eyes.

Snips spun around as fast as he could, unleashing vertical columns of holy light to daze, disorient, and incinerate the smaller swarms that had come to claim the remainder of the group.

Snails used his magic to swing the arbalest like a massive club, swatting a painfully small number of the flying bloodsuckers.

“Put ‘em up, Winona!” cried Applejack as she flailed with her cudgel.

Snarling ferociously, Winona snapped her jaws repeatedly, devastating dozens of mosquitos as she danced about, a whirling dervish of doggie death.

Big Mac swam for all he was worth, crimson trailing behind as he overexerted himself and ripped his flagellation scabs open in the process. Smelling the fresh blood, the majority of the insects turned their attentions towards him. As he rose from the peaty water, lit torch still clenched in his teeth, they covered him from head to hoof in a veritable blanket of buzzing bloodsuckers.

His screams were choked off as the swarm forced its way into the sides of his mouth and into his nostrils. Big Mac staggered forward and thrust the still-lit torch into the soft wall of the hive. The outer layer of brittle paper gave way easily and the edges of the tear smoldered slightly, but did not catch.

Clenching his teeth, which resulted in a slight splintering of the torch, Big Mac released one more loud bellow through his teeth as he dove headfirst into the hive.

With a sudden fwoomp, an engulfing fire surged out to consume the nest, the resultant high-pitched screams and pops of burning insects piercing in their intensity.

“Big Mac, NO!” Applejack screamed from the edge of the pool, her hoof outstretched.

Look out! There’s something in the water!

Surely, Big Mac’s passing had dislodged several large clumps of moss and other vegetation during his frantic swim across the pool. A sudden large ripple in the water had gone unnoticed by Applejack, but the verbal warning caused her to flinch backwards, just in time to avoid a flash of teeth that clamped shut in a manner that would have likely severed her foreleg had she not moved.

“What is that thing?” shrieked Snips, pointing a shaking hoof at the massive reptilian amalgamation which consisted of far too many scales, teeth, and, horrifyingly, eyes.

It’s a Cragodile!

Applejack bucked the jaws when they tried to snap shut on her again. “That ain’t no Cragodilian I’ve ever seen!”

It appears to be mutated… Well, I think you’ve just inadvertently named the beast, Applejack: Cragodilian, it is.

Snips blasted the monster’s face with blinding light, temporarily stunning it, while Snails lined up a shot. With a loud twang, the arbalest fired, the loosed bolt burying itself feathers-deep into one of the Cragodilian’s many eyes.

Shaking off the dazzling light, the Cragodilian roared and spun in place, its tail whipping Applejack into some shrubs and causing Snips and Snails to duck for cover. It then rounded on Snips, biting furiously at him with its razor-sharp teeth.

Blocking desperately with his mace, Snips was driven back by the savagery of the assault. “Snails! Shoot it! Shoot—” His sentence cut into a blood-curdling scream of agony as, while in the middle of his panic-induced backpedaling, the beast caught his left foreleg in its vice-like jaws, rending the colt’s flesh and snapping the bones in the pulverized limb like brittle twigs.

The Cragodilian swung its head around violently, ripping Snips’ foreleg from its socket with a sickly tearing sound and pop, and sending the remainder of Snips flying through the air into the nearby pool. It opened its jaws as it choked back the crushed appendage, then advanced as it set its remaining myriad eyes on the frantic, floundering form of Snips.

“You stay away from him, eh?!” Snails yelled as he fired a bolt that ricocheted harmlessly off of the back of the repulsive reptile’s scale-shielded skull.

Thrashing turbulently, Snips screamed in a tone that explicitly expressed the heights of his horror. “No! Don’t let it get me, Snails! Please!” As he backstroked for his life, the blood from his savaged stump trailed behind him, right into the gaping maw of the beast, mere hoof-lengths away now.

Snails cocked the arbalest again and aimed it. “Celestia above, please don’t let me miss again,” he prayed.

Snips watched as the jaws opened again, saw the cavernous gullet which lead to the beast’s gizzard, the bits of his flesh that still clung to its bloodied teeth. He closed his eyes to try and shield what little remained of his wits, and felt teeth bite down—on his shoulders.

“Pull, Winona! PULL!”

Feeling himself bodily dragged up onto semi-solid ground, Snips risked opening his eyes—and immediately regretted it as the Crocodilian’s mouth snapped shut a hair’s breadth away from his rear hooves. It was no further away, despite Snips being dragged backwards at a fairly decent pace. They were close enough to the burning hive that he could hear, aside from the sounds of exertion which escaped Winona as she exerted every effort to save his life, the crackling and popping of dying insects.

A second crossbow bolt buried itself into one of the monstrosity’s eyes, eliciting a horrifying roar that chilled Snips’ blood. The sight of its injury allowed him to risk hope, to dare imagine that he was going to survive the encounter—until the jaws swung back and snapped shut halfway up the hocks of both of his hind legs.

As Winona struggled to keep the beast from wrenching him away from her, Snips’ screams devolved into wails, his world having been reduced to a blood-soaked monochrome of suffering. With an awful tearing sound, and a sensation that made him sick to his stomach, he felt himself suddenly being pulled backwards again. The color draining from his vision, he saw the monster swallow his rear legs, lower its head, and charge again.

“Mom—Mommy!” was the only thing that Snips’ fear addled mind could think to say. All of his presumptions of independence and self-sufficiency were shattered in the face of the inexorable approach of that terrible, toothy maw. His mind seeked refuge in the symbol of ultimate safety and security, a place that so many ponies regress to in their weakest moments.

As the teeth bit into his barrel, his hindquarters entirely engulfed by the creature’s slavering mouth, Snips coughed wetly. He suddenly realized that he didn’t feel any pain, instead experiencing a warm, floating sensation that slowly enveloped him as his vision darkened, and as the sounds around him muffled.

An overwhelming feeling of sleepiness swept through his body as he felt himself pulled wholly into the Cragodilian’s mouth, and heard a distant-sounding yelp as Winona released him. Struggling and failing to keep his eyes open, Snips could swear that he heard somepony calling his name as everything faded into darkness.

“Snips!” Snails cried as he fired another bolt, and another, and another, at the monster. “Sniiiiiips!” His shots, as poorly aimed as they were due to the tears streaming down his muzzle, were just bouncing off of the beast’s scaly hide. He could only watch in abject horror, as the Cragodilian closed its jaws, ending Snips’ life with a grisly crunch.

Galloping up to Snails, who had fallen to his knees in tears, Applejack tried to avoid stumbling as she made a few foreleg gestures. “Put it up, Winona!” When she arrived at the crying colt, she placed a hoof on his sob-wracked withers. “Snails, listen close, now. I know yer in pain, more pain ‘n anypony oughta feel, but ya gotta dry yer eyes now. Ya need to help me kill this thing, or we ain’t gonna be alive long enough to mourn later.”

Wiping at his eyes, Snails could see the wetness that marred the fur on Applejack’s own muzzle. “Mac was your brother… Snips was my best friend,” Snails said, turning to the beast and furrowing his eyebrows. “Hay, you!” he shouted. “I’m not gonna let you kill anypony else’s best friends, or brothers, eh?!”

Aiming at the monster proved to be a little more difficult due to it and Winona circling and snapping at each other. Steadying the arbalest in his magic, he sighted down the length of the tiller, took a breath, and fired, putting out another of the beast’s eyes and staggering it.

As the monster stumbled, Winona took the opportunity and jumped to the top of the Cragodilian’s head, biting repeatedly at its exposed eyes, eliciting a howl of pained displeasure as several more were destroyed. A sudden whipping motion of the creature’s neck sent Winona flying to the ground with a painful yelp.

“Winona!” Applejack yelled as she galloped towards her fallen pet. Despite the speed with which she was closing in, she could see that she wasn’t going to arrive before the beast reached Winona, who wasn’t going to get to her paws in time to avoid the monster’s attack. Her own scream of defiance was overpowered by the sound of a much deeper, more resounding bellow—

Covered in gashes, bites, and burns, Big Mac burst from the conflagrating insect nest with a thunderous howl and shoulder-tackle that took the Cragodilian completely by surprise. Pinning it to the ground, he rained his massive hooves down on the back of the beast’s head, the staccato of booming impacts sending the reptilian monstrosity reeling.

“Eeynope!” Big Mac grabbed the beast’s tail as it scrambled to retreat back into the safety of the water, digging his hooves in and dragging its struggling form away. Twisting around, he forced the monster onto its backside, allowing him to jump up onto its upturned stomach.

Applejack arrived and tackled one of the Cragodilian’s forelegs, pinning it to the ground as Big Mac started hammering away at its scaled belly. The beast tried to to rock itself back and forth in an attempt to throw off its attackers and assume an upright position, but Snails jumped onto the other foreleg, effectively immobilizing it and ruining the effort.

“Kill it, big brother,” Applejack screamed as they all struggled, “kill it now!”

Big Mac raised his right foreleg and brought his spiked bracelet across the Cragodilian’s abdomen, tearing through scale and bone. He growled an affirmation as he plunged his hoof upwards into the gash, eliciting a series of violent spasms from the monster as bones were broken and its internal organs were invaded.

Releasing a keening ululation, the Cragodilian convulsed several times as Big Mac fished around in its chest cavity, thrusting his limb elbow-deep into the bloody gore-hole. The noises the creature was making raised to a fever pitch when Big Mac wrenched his foreleg free, a large pulsating cyst held in his frog.

After a few more shuddering shakes, the Cragodilian released its last trembling breath. The excised heart, as stubborn as its owner, continued to beat for several seconds before becoming still.

Everypony sat panting for several moments.

Triage the wounded and return immediately. This mission is over.

“What about Snips?” Snails stared at the beast’s corpse as he spoke, his voice raw with emotion.

You’ll need to leave him. You—you don’t want to see him again after what’s happened, trust me… Snails… you have my sympathies.

Big Mac stood, scowling at the monstrous corpse as Applejack approached him.

“Yer alive.” Applejack delivered the statement flatly.

“Eeyu—”

Crack!

Her slap silenced him, though it didn’t appear to so much as move his head.

“Our parents ‘r dead!” she screamed at him, as tears streamed down her muzzle. “Don’t ya ever scare me like that again, ya hear?”

Big Mac did not hesitate to wrap his forehooves around her.

“All we’ve got left is each other Mac,” she wept into his chest.

He looked down at her sob-wracked form, his own expression stoic. “...Eeyup.”

Week 2, Day 3, Afternoon

“Celestia above,” said Amethyst, her hooves having dug gouges into the table while they’d watched the fight. “That’s no way for anypony to die.”

Shining only shook his head sadly.

“This is no place for the weak, or the foalhardy.” Blueblood’s face was impassive as he spoke. “And that colt was weak. I knew it… but my foalishness cost him his life.” He stood. “I will be in my chambers, thinking. I do not know if my heart is up to sending more ponies to deaths like… that.”

“Sir,” Shining said as Blueblood started to walk away. “More ponies will die during this endeavor, some quickly, mercifully, but others… not. This place… we cannot just walk away from it, Sir. Whatever Celestia began, we need to finish, especially if there are more horrors like the one we just saw. Left unchecked, those kinds of things would devastate the countryside. Imagine if it had gotten into town? You’ll have to get used to the losses—”

“I know,” Blueblood said, looking suddenly tired, “I know.”

Week 2, Day 3, Evening

Blueblood drank. He didn’t even bother with a glass anymore, just shoving the dark bottle into his muzzle and guzzling the spirits within.

“I swore I’d never do it Auntie,” Blueblood lamented to his room’s fireplace, his voice heavily slurred. “I swore I’d never knowingly send a pony to their death. But I knew! I saw it in the little one’s face! He was no fighter! I sent him, knowing he wouldn't make it…”

Worry yourself not with the mounting price of this expedition; its worthy goal allows you generous breadth in your selection of tactics.

“Celestia?” He spun around. “Auntie?” Blueblood knew he’d heard the voice this time. Dropping the bottle, he looked around the room, under the bed, behind his dresser, in the washroom. He looked down at his forehooves and saw four blurry versions of them. “I need to stop drinking so much,” he slurred. “I’m hallu—halluc—hearing things.”

Looking down to the empty bottle, and the adjacent puddle of wine, he thought he saw something. Scrambling to his knees, he thrust his face at the standing liquid and stared at his own reflection therein.

He sighed at his own foalishness and rose to his hooves so that he could stagger over to his own bed.

It will be here soon.

Blueblood spun to face the fireplace.

You will have to choose.

Approaching the pile of ashes slowly, Blueblood looked intently at the powdered remains. His horn lit, and the spot was cleared away, exposing a charred skull and the hiltless knife thrust up through the roof of its mouth.

Surrounding the knife in his magical field, he lifted it up sidelong to his own face. A short exhale and the white ash was blown away, revealing his heavily distorted reflection—and the equally mangled reflection of another pony right behind him. Despite the blurriness, the coloration left no doubt as to who it was.

“Auntie!” Blueblood spun around but was greeted with the empty room. He looked back into the knife-reflection and saw that nothing was there.

Examining the weapon closely, he decided to move it to his bedside table. “For when Snips comes to see me tonight,” he said.