I am no special griffon. The countryside of Zeltstadt surrounded me in my childhood. Throughout my whole life, I was taught that ponies are inherently evil. Adults say they only seek to wreak havoc and kill us, griffons.
A pony family lived nearby, and evil laughs were always following them. Wherever they appeared in public, they were jeered and hissed at; in a bad day, somegriff would even throw a stone.
One day, their foal was playing on a common playground. She was alone, parents weren’t seen anywhere nearby. Where were they? Who knew. Kids’ thoughts weren’t about that, though. I couldn’t imagine how she dared to play where we should! My memories of what followed are vague, but I still can hear her pleas for help in my mind, and see that small bruised face. Violence was so natural back then - kids’ weren’t scolded, and the family wasn’t ever seen again.
It was a matter of time that I was recruited into the army. Everygriff has to serve as soon as they turn eighteen years old. Though, to be frank, we weren’t nearly as professional as the real army, our forces resembled militia more than anything else.
The battalion I’ve served in, 3rd Sturmgreifen Infanterie Bataillon, nicknamed “Maar’s Dogs” saw a lot of fighting and was one of the most ruthless and feared units in the whole Longsword. They say, other units were shocked by what we did, though it all seemed so natural to me.
My first fight was in that village, Klaišiai, or as we called it, Kloschau. Memories of it are fresh in my mind. After the hamlet was in our claws, the task was to find and punish each and every partisan. Of course, you can’t tell who is a one and who isn’t so easy. And, as they say, it’s better to kill ten innocents than to miss out on one partisan.
On that day, August 18th, 1007, the first creature died from my claws. There’s actually a block before you kill someone. You can’t just shoot a sapient creature straight away. And that accursed day was the day I brought death to a pony for the first time, ever.
Other battles aren’t as clear - but oh boy, they sure were bloodbaths. I found out so many ways to kill a pony - they all deserved it, they are the curse of our land, and our land should be cleansed, and everyone knows it.
Great losses were inflicted. Everycreature knew Longsword won’t ever be the same. Partisans were increasingly ruthless, our guns were running low. Staff orders another offensive to the south.
Then I have found that same pony who was my neighbor back in the more peaceful, idyllic days. She was a partisan, scarred by war. Intel on the enemy was crucial, so the interrogation was the way to go. She was a tough case. ‘Interrogators’ didn’t break her, which was a shock to me.
“I shall never tell you!” She yelled frantically. “Godless bastards! Over my dead body!”. Quietly, I have approached. As soon as she noticed my face, her expression changed. It could be described as a mix of shock and disgust. Knowing that her life was about to come to end, she turned to me and proceeded to monologue.
“You son of a griff! What did ponies ever do to you? You’re a mindless creature, who just blindly obeys the system!” She kept screaming, and the pitch of her voice is higher than ever. “You never knew how costly freedom can be. If you were in my skin, you’d act no better, than me! These mass killings are just a stain of the griffon race, you shall never build a better Longsword by washing your claws in blood!”
All those insults and pestering were of little interest to me. Yes, it’s hard to be a pony, but that’s how it is supposed to be. After all, ponies are the filth, the poison of the griffonkind, aren’t they? And as the cancer of the Griffonia she is, she received personal treatment from me. I grasped my pistol with a talon, then the crack of the trigger followed, a familiar bang and a splash of blood. She was no more.
Since then, the situation on the frontlines wasn’t getting any better. Partisans and Knights had signed a short-term ceasefire to beat the hell out of us. The southern line was broken, and the wartorn guerillas were already chanting victory songs while their northern allies were harassing us from the west.
Thus, Pallas had signed one of his last orders. A ruthless breakthrough towards Visaginas was looming on the horizon. Many rifles were lost or sabotaged, so centuries-old caches were uncovered. I still had my pistol on me, but no more bullets were coming.
“Angriff!”, thunderously echoed across our positions. Each and every street was a frontline. Numbers were equal, but they had proper soldiers, while our ranks were filled by whoever was found and given a gun. I rushed onwards, shooting my last bullets, then instantly my paw was punctured by the enemy's bullet.
My body felt heavier than ever. Unintelligible screams and gunshots. Crawling to the closest cover, I’ve looked around once again: Visaginas, the beautiful city, ruined by shells and close-quarter fighting. In a way, it’s like Longsword itself, torn asunder by fanatics and reckless creatures. Only a madgriff wouldn’t see that the offense went horribly awry. Most of our boys laid lifelessly on the streets. I, myself, hid in some house’s cellar.
Suddenly, a cry derailed my train of thought. It was a foal’s cry. “M...Mo-otina-a-a!” yelled the despaired kid. Most probably, their mother was on the frontlines, as their life was at stake. The odds are they will never ever see their parents again, but who knows? Life is really cruel.
Just like the child, I possibly won’t get to see my parents at least once again either. Death waits on me outside. But, to think about it, many more ponies left the world without any hope, like me now. Maybe, if I never came to the war, my fate wouldn’t be as grim? Was the fight worth it?
My fight was all about bringing ponies to their misery. But look at them! They’re ten times more relentless than our best warriors. Why are they so powerful? Is the will for freedom so strong? Does this specific passion for freedom determine their superiority over our race?
Whatever would it be, I merely fought for destruction. Perhaps, that pony was somewhat right? The will to cleanse had only led to misery and suffering for both griffons and ponies. The ponies, screaming in pain, the reckless defenders, abandoned houses appear in front of me. Every pony, whom I have killed, judgmentally looks at me. Is eternal struggle our fate? Ponies slaughter griffons, griffons slaughter ponies, the best of us die on battlefields! Why would I want to live in a world like this?
Remembering my past, I’ve slowly dragged my claws towards the pistol I’ve dropped on the ground. The childhood, the army, the killings… there’s only one way to end it all.
Pistol’s magazine contained a single bullet.
Pistol’s barrel was pointed towards my temple.
…
And so I am no more.
Author's Note
I really hope you've enjoyed it; Tried my hand at penmanship as a way to find a new hobby. Feedback is very welcome!
