Blight of The War Horse (Reforged)

Tired didn’t begin describing how every little facet of Storm Breaker's existence felt, staring unblinkingly into the yellow-coated, purple-haired guard under her darkened gaze and armed jaws.

Sleep felt like taunting light shrinking in an ever-growing tunnel, so close yet so far among the distant horizon. Maybe it’d felt good to see Charge’s pants-shitting expression; sadly, not even a spark of pleasure made itself known. How could she react differently? Storm Breaker had painted a pathetic portrait of herself, spanning a town and a last-minute teleport into Canterlot, nearly blackout from a skull-splitting headache caused by severe crying, and her partner had confessed his love not thirty minutes ago. Now able to confront her attempted murder with free reign to enact revenge? Storm Breaker couldn’t muster a caring mood.

On the other hoof, Olive ran down a TL;DR during their short-lived trek. Several tidbits of information provided by Charge’s pals came to mind- Storm Breaker silently scoffing, thinking how pathetic acting like some rat hiding in dark allies to exchange information must’ve looked. However, despite receiving evidence and freedom, she hesitated upon her undecided approach, strained teeth sinking unfazed into the leather-wrapped handle’s firm material.

“Hm, it seems like rumors are true: the savage can barely speak.” Thunder Charge spat tersely, table-shackled hooves twiddling idly.

Regaining his previous outward smugness, Storm Breaker could see newfound nervousness lurking behind Charge’s piercing amber eyes. “It’s sad that royalty sends their rabid dog to do their dirty work. How does it feel, having your mindless plot held on a short leash, mutt? Hm?” He hummed innocently, a sneer betraying his feigned inner contempt.

A loud clash of metal-on-metal broke the lingering haunting silence, its snapping echo causing Charge to inadvertently flinch, the sword’s rattling gradually dying an inch out of his reach on the table.

“Meanwhile, you’re stuck in a cage.” Storm Breaker rebounded coldly, sitting opposite of Charge, an irritated flicker affecting his left eye.

“Ironic, no?” He sarcastically retorted.

Sighing heavily and gliding a hoof through a ghostly field of unkempt mane, a mutual shrug left Storm Breaker. “Not really, the difference being I’m free to leave mine while you’ll rot in yours.” Putting a dash of venom into her voice, it paid off well, another sweat droplet rolling down Charge’s bandaged head. “Now, let’s be civil-” he scoffed, “-and get this over with.”

Unfortunately, her generous diplomatic offer fell flat, a haughty bark exploding from the crass stallion. “I don’t think so. You may be a mindless muscle brute, but I’m your superior, regardless of chains, in every aspect your non-existent brain can think of.” Storm Breaker bit her tongue, nearly mentioning their ‘fight’ a month ago. “The princesses lack the guts to enact what everypony knows is right- ridding our fair lives of you, criminal. They’re spineless to bloodshed, and I performed my duty. Possession of highly illegal drugs, assaulting your superior, breaking down the town hall doors and leaving innocents defenseless? That’s not counting your numerous charges of property damage. While I tried arresting a blindingly clear ruffian, I received this treatment, and you suffered but a light slap on the fetlock in comparison, am I right?” He ranted, slowly inching upward, leaning closer and closer until he couldn’t, a foot and a half gap separating his and Storm Breaker’s muzzles.

“Yeah, I remember,” Storm confirmed stoically, nodding. “Trust me, I don’t get it either; I only did what I thought was right.” And could’ve done it better, she bitterly added. “But that’s irrelevant, Sir. Charge.” Glancing over, she grabbed an open folder from her table end’s corner: A collection of detailed transcripts and notes of past conversations, many of which Olive retold. “A little bird of mine said your friends say you often visited different locations during the night and midday patrols- all residing in the financial district.” The titanic mare recited.

Another scoff blew hot air into her muzzle, Thunder Charge’s brow folding hatefully, “I’ve served my country for a decade, climbing the ranks to get to where I am, only to have it stolen by a monstrous relic who should’ve stayed dead!” He roared angrily.

He went ignored, “Knowing royal guards well enough by now, night patrols are more of a lunar guard activity, but it’s not an exclusive shift. Not the latter half I’m worried about, by the way.” Another paper taken from the folders back and brought afront. “Hm, multiple eyewitnesses saw you roaming the financial district at times past your mid-day shift’s schedule, which violates protocol since the financial district route doesn’t include you.” In addition, the locations some saw Charge visit were usually allies or secluded areas with little activity.

“You know who my father is, mongrel?! Our family was one of few that founded this city, and I won’t be accused of any falsehoods because of those idiotic alicorns’ misguided attachment to a stray animal!” He continued.

“I don’t care.” Storm Breaker said in the process of picking a new sheet.

Thunder Charge didn’t like her response, judging by a red tint turning his face fur orange. “You’ve ruined my life enough, and my family will suffer too without my involvement!” Freezing in place, Storm Breaker missed Charge's subtle smirk as he egged on. “You can’t imagine what it’d be like to agonize over what might occur.” Charge returned to sitting, adopting a solemn frown and forcing crocodile tears to fall.

In the false guard's mind, he chuckled in victory, seeing the ‘savage’ mare dip her head and masking whatever reaction she obtained- likely guilt, he imagined. Who thought somepony so vile had a soft heart- a weak heart? He left his whore ‘wife’ and that waste of nobility blood she called his son years ago in a dusty backwater town Shining Armor stationed him to occupy. Nopony knew, of course. The version of his story, the abroad family, was his favorite- they’re currently visiting Prance without their poor, hardworking father. Truly sad, he snickered in thought. It’s not like any self-respecting pony, Canterlotian or not, would listen to some lowly bumpkin colt-toy claiming a noble’s mistress title!

All that’s necessary is to whine and moan about how much his life sucked, cry a little, and beg for forgiveness. Then, the pitiably empathic princesses would rethink his unjust sentence; the savage mare wouldn’t be a bother.

If not, his friend would help.

However, caught off guard, Charge’s plan crumbled to dust under Storm Breaker’s rising, unflinching face glaring back.

“What a shame. Now, Answer. My. Question.” She harshly commanded, her eyes boaring into his.

A snort, “No surprise there. A soulless beast like you wouldn’t dare concern yourself with such things.” Thunder Charge thought aloud, snapping. “What’s the look for? I thought you beasts loved the suffering of innocent ponies.” He added.

From the princesses and Olive standing behind the one-way mirror to the bound Thunder Charge, everything preceding the false guard's scornful jab became a blur. Shooting out and rounding her chair, Storm Breaker hooked a hoof under its backrest, not sparing a glance while orbiting the table, a loud series of cracks tailing behind. Since four skinny bolts secured both chairs, good enough to keep the lightweight seating in place, it took little effort for somepony like her to rip the metal seat off the cold, hard concrete ground. Leaving behind gaping floor holes- the loose bolts tapping the floor -and sitting beside Charge’s, the royally frightened stallion barely had time to react as Storm Breaker’s foreleg wrapped around his shoulders.

Her tree-trunk-like limb dwarfed the rather muscular unicorn’s, dragging him into an uncomfortably tight sideways embrace. Yet it wasn’t an observation on his mind while the titanic mare’s shadow-soaked visage loomed above, her singular eye pupil shrunk.

“Let me rephrase myself, friend,” She said in a low, controlled tone, “Tell me the name of whatever bastard or bitch wanted me dead, and I won’t have to correct the mistake I made on you.” A quick squeeze and a needle of pain bolted through Charge’s neck, “I got over what you did then. But sadly, I’m not feeling so inclined to forgive today.” She snarled.

Vain attempts to control his shaking breaths happened, but Charge decided to drop it in favor of smirking. “I don’t believe you know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Storm Breaker examined every facial twitch in the stallion's face, trying to decide whether to show anger, fear, or apprehension.

Strangely enough, no familiar heat roared inside her smooth, rhythmic heartbeats in spite of everything the cornered rat known as Thunder Charge insulted her with. No, it still WAS anger, maybe even annoyance, but it’s much colder and unfeeling this time. The idea of slowly hurting the bastard felt better than unleashing her bundle of anger at once, which both scared and excited the titanic mare. It’d be easy to let go and get what she wanted in two slashes of a sword.

But, speaking from experience, choosing the ‘easy’ path hadn’t done Storm Breaker many favors as of late.

A forced huff blew into her chest fluff, the false guard refusing to make eye contact. “And as if those mares called royalty would let you lay a hoof on me. Have you forgotten about your probation? Because even somepony as I, who could care less, knows this is a violation.” He said.

Not uttering a single sound, Storm Breaker's second foreleg stretched across the interrogation table’s lengthy surface, swiftly finding its mark: the shortsword. After a sharp twist and snap, the buttoned strap securing the metal blade unraveled, allowing her hoof to grip its handle and unsheath the pristine weapon. “Wanna bet?” She whispered, retracting her foreleg without waiting for an answer, letting a hint of a smirk show. She heard his breath quickening, the blade hanging vertically, a razor-sharp tip hovering dangerously close to his hoof above the ankle.

“You want to see ‘savage?’ Clans from my time used their enemy's hollowed hooves as drinking cups. And my parched self thinks yours look Mighty. Deep.” She half-lied.

Elk’s and their dead kin, you can take it from there.

Cold, unflinching irises met panicked ones in a standstill that could’ve lasted until every last star exploded, leaving nothing other than the warrior mare and false guard in solitary, floating through vast nothingness. He gulped, and she snorted lightly. The eager gold blade twirled in anticipation, millimeters close to spilling a droplet of Charge’s wretched blue blood.

No harm would come to him, Storm Breaker reassured; either for herself or somepony else, she didn’t know.

“Y-You…can’t!” He breathlessly said.

Swifter than an arrow with the force of a battle-axe, the blade tip ascended away from Charger’s hoof. Sadly, his quelled fear flared anew, Storm Breaker’s liberated weapon falling like a guillotine delivering its final curtain call. Even from here, she heard the frantic beating on the room’s metal door, but Storm Breaker brushed it off. The false guard tried desperately to flee but was denied by his retrained hooves, forcing him to clench his eyes and bear for what was to come.

Next thing anypony knew, the distinct sound of hissing metal cut the air, impacting the table, ear-piercing anypony nearby and making Thunder visibly jump, yelping.

Then, silence.

He waited an eternity for a fiery agony that never arrived, lasting but a second or two, a feeling of steel writhing between parted flesh and rubbing bone, the warming flow of crimson. Yet, bleak moments stacked, not a single spike of pain or scream.

Confused, Thunder Charge tentatively parted his tightly clenched eyes, only to widen them once more, seeing the sword embedded between the table's parted face next to his hoof. Worst yet, the table’s hardened one-inch thick surface showed no sign of resisting, as if the steel furniture was cardboard. Shaking limbs and unsteady breathing, he went to peer back at his stoic interrogator and stopped, an unexpected jolt keeping his gaze still. Screams of the damned was all he could describe it. Words all but abandoned his astonished state; it began not but a nick, then a cut, and eventually devolved into a large, trailing gash brought about by the mare cutting the table. Less than a hair’s length away, each parted square inch of metal nearly kissing his foreleg’s exposed, bare flesh wailed in agony, jagged lines forming a wiry valley.

Finally, its torture came to an abrupt, unsound end, with the sword reaching its trail’s end, the considerably thicker part of the table edge meeting a similar fate.

“Again.” Storm Breaker snarled, louder this time, raising the blade to eye level, “Wanna bet?” She repeated, showing her weapon's previously flawless body, reduced to a jagged, chipped corpse. “Give me a name.” She said.

“I DON’T KNOW!” Thunder Charge squealed, doing his utmost to lean away. “THEY NEVER GAVE ME A NA-HAHAHA-ME!” Fear crossed his clenched-jaw expression, Storm Breaker deadpanning in response. That’s all it took to crack a supposed runner-up for guard captain? “I’ll tell you everything- just get away, please!”

Releasing a breath, Storm Breaker obliged and returned her chair, sitting down opposite the terrified Thunder Charge. “Good! Now we’re getting somewhere.” She said, mocking a pleased tone, dropping the mangled sword, “So, getting back on the trail, is it true: the locations of your ‘meeting?’” She asked.

“Yes.”

“And you said they gave no name. Is there anything they told you to call them by; what about their face?”

Tempering his fear with a few deep breaths, Charge nodded. “They, or she, never gave me a name but responded to ‘Porter.’ And for a pegasus, anypony would be forgiven if they mistook her for a unicorn by how the darkness of an ally seemed to wrap around her face.” He said, bowing his head, chuckling. “All I know is that she talks like us nobles and wears fancy garbs- I’ve seen the tail ends every time she runs off. But it doesn’t matter.” He muttered at the end.

“Quit babbling,” Storm Breaker groaned, rubbing her beating temple, “There had to be something to give away this mystery mare’s existence. There’s no point holding back; you’re already on the one-way ride to the dungeons.”

“...Her cutie mark.” Muttered Thunder Charge, defeated, elevating his head to meet her quizzical look. “I saw it once following a meeting. She wore a more…revealing outfit, exposing her backside.” He said, disgust lining each word. “Remembering correctly, it was a newspaper with an overlaying magnifying glass.” He said.

A grunt of affirmation shook Storm Breaker’s chest as she rounded every loose paper back to their manila cage. “Interesting,” She flatly said. “Anything else to add before the alicorns take care of you?”

Thunder shook his head.

“Good, I got tired of seeing your face.”

Turning, the titanic mare walked toward the reinforced door, shoulders sagged, eyes heavy, and stiff joints sluggish. After today, a nice, hot bath and uninterrupted nap seemed like a good send-off to this shitty afternoon. Yet, Storm Breaker’s rhythmic hoofsteps abruptly fell silent halfway, glancing over her shoulder to see Thunder slumped and dull, unchanged. “Hey,” It’s a mystery why she spoke, but Charge’s ears flicked at her voice. “Thanks for reminding me how terrible I was.” She said, leaving before he could say anything, Luna’s magic opening and closing the door.

Having no hesitation, Olive Branch rushed to her side, his concerned questions lost on Storm Breaker.

There’d been glimmers dancing within those cocksure eyes of his, Thunder Charge- a sick reflection of herself months prior to an extent. Raving, arrogant, so full of himself, she couldn’t help but grimace at the idea, no matter how dissimilar they were. Brooding over past crap like it’d change anything always annoyed Storm Breaker, no change there, while guilt and embarrassment sang differently, jeering bloody sagas hammering her thoughtful brain.

One side consoled her, saying they’re old news, something to learn from and grow out of. And another wanted to punch anything remotely in striking distance. Storm Breaker would gladly accept the Goddess herself descending upon her and dishing out the most severe concussion to her skull- It would save the trouble of migraine-inducing thoughts.

Damn, turning a new leaf is a pain in the flank!

“Good job, Storm Breaker,” Celestia commended, giving a soft smile. “We heard and wrote down your conversation. I’ll have it passed to the detectives for analysis. You’re hereby excused.” She said, Luna nodding in agreement.

There could’ve been hesitation or uncertainty hidden within Celesta’s words; however, Storm Breaker refused to engage in a game of body reading. Maybe the solar diarch didn’t expect a blood-free, (mostly) clean interrogation- neither did she. It was hard getting mad like before, feeling numb and beaten, more so than the convict ex-guard.

Storm Breaker hummed affirmatively, nodding in return, tailed by Olive as she left, the darkness of the stairwell consuming both ponies, their hoofsteps fading.

“That went well.” A pleasantly surprised Luna said.

Brandy wasn’t a mare for surprises unless they contained bits, booze, or sex. Preferably, all three, if given a choice.

The yearly birthday provided by long-time bar mates was fine, even a Hearth's-Warming gift. Ponies trod carefully around anything else. Unless a pony’s playing a long-distance prank or a letter that’s probably ninety-nine percent a scam, then it’s expected whoever dared to surprise Caramel “Brandy” Swirl would gain a new black eye.

However…

“Brandy, calm yourself, and let me explain!”

“FUCK OFF!!!”

Trotselot, bandages hugging both wings and head, winced at the drunken mare’s roar of fury stabbing at his eardrums. A flying empty bottle of scotch nearly erected a fresh bump if he didn’t tilt his head sideways, the hardened glass shattering against the wall behind him, leaving a shallow dent.

Smoke practically bellowed out of Brandy’s flared nostrils, her face and muzzle reddened from rage and an interrupted session of binge drinking. “I’ll calm down when I sew your sorry arse to your other spewing shite-hole, you braindead twat!” She screamed drunkenly, preparing to throw another bottle. “Think you can bomb my bar with your ugly mug and get away scot-free?!”

Smash cried the second projectile, mimicking its fallen brethren.

An ache ran through Trotselot, his wing tips grazing the table he sat upon.

In short, after escaping Iron Hoof’s office, reports of a flying green torpedo would appear in tomorrow’s newspaper, no doubt. He flew like no pegasus had flown before, barreling down packed Canterlot streets in a desperate effort to distance himself and his boss's gaze, minding the documents he stole. No place was safe now if he suspected Trotselot of any wrongdoing. Hopefully, it wasn’t so. Going to Brandy’s bar felt like a good choice, but one made during unbridled panic tempered by adrenaline, leading to him accidentally trashing her establishment and breaking his wings.

A dozen or so tables and chairs, shattered to bits, were strewn all over the floor; bottles spilled and broken; a fancy painting got stabbed by a mounted manticore stinger, akin to a crude mask.

She was nice enough thirty minutes ago to mend his broken bones- albeit awkwardly, having drank water to sober herself enough to apply first-aid. Why would any pony drink three large bottles of hard liquor alone? Nevertheless, she got re-drunk, Trotselot having been busy fixing her patchwork job to notice before all Tartarus broke loose.

The result?

“I’LL MOUNT YOUR HEAD TO MY WALL!”

Luckily, no amount of rage and shouting would help to prevent the inevitable all drunkards fear.

Suddenly, a greenish hue appeared on Brandy’s face, her vitriol dying in her puffed, tight-lipped mouth as she rushed and bent over the serving counter and ‘released the beast’ trapped within her stomach. Loudly, Trotselot reluctantly added, grimacing. Once her wet wretches turned to dry gags, Brandy threw herself off, slumping against the counter and dropping, making contact with the floor. Her labored chest rose and fell deeply, her bourbon, stomach acid mixed breath strong enough for Trotselot to smell from across the room.

Cautiously, the injured pegasus left his table, stepping closer to Brandy, “Ready to return to the civilized world?” He joked, getting a glare as thanks.

“I was ready to cave in your skull, but I’m outta steam.” She slurred, spitting a green-brown glob of mucus and stomach acid. “Now, mind telling me what’s going on?” Helping Brandy to her hooves, Trotselot led her to a barstool nearby to sit on.

“Greatly. I’ve wanted to for thirty minutes.” He chuckled, taking a seat beside her.

And so, it took him about ten minutes to explain everything leading up until then- his break-in, theft, and escape. Honestly, if it weren’t for the fact that Brandy’s bar closed on weekends, the angered patrons would likely kill him before his near-heart attack did. Still, Trotselot couldn’t shake his paranoia of being watched, occasionally looking out windows at passing ponies. By the time he concluded his tale, Brandy’s worn-out appearance turned to disbelieving shock- Trotselot set his prize in front of her, her eyes consuming each word.

Leaning away, the decently sobered Brandy ran a shaking hoof through her frazzled mane, then looked to Trotselot, eyes widened and wild. “Trotselot, the fuck did you do?” She said in hushed words, as if somepony was listening in.

“I…got a weapon,” He slowly began, sticking his gaze to the counter, “I’ll hoof it to the princesses, tell them everything I know, and see to it that bastard rots.” He spat.

It sounded more foolish than he initially believed.

Brandy snorted, “Yeah, good luck. I was thinking more of hidden cameras and tailer’s- but you beat me to it. Now, we’ll be lucky if we get to set one hoof on Castle ground before Iron finds and kills us.” She said.

“I’ve been cowering under his shadow for too long. You as well. We, you and I, are pure-bred nobles who’ve been slaves to weakness and debt. Our hard work, our passion, was stolen from us. No longer will that wilting wind-bag Iron order us around; we are better and, therefore, are entitled to do as we see fit. Damn those who try to stop us!” Trotselot, enveloped in an air of deficiency, stood atop the counter with a hoof, another on the stool, not bothering to turn around. “His life will crumble before our eyes, and personally, I’ll enjoy every second I see of Iron’s face as he’s dragged to the dungeons, kicking and screaming.” He smiled sadistically.

“Yeah…nice speech, pal.” Said a new voice.

Whipping around instantly, startled, Trotselot’s eyes laid on a four-pony group of stoic stallions dressed in white and black suits, sunglasses covering their eyes. Beside him, Brandy gave a mixed look saying: ‘You’re an idiot’ and ‘I’m screwed.’. “You and your merry band are?” He said, putting as much bravo into his voice as possible.

The frontmost grunted, removing his sunglasses to reveal a glare. “Stay quiet, and you might live long enough to find out.” He replied, beginning to approach steadily, the others following.

Swiftly, Brandy leaped off her seat, rolled over the counter, and landed behind with a solid thud. Trotselot, in his panic, landed less than gracefully after tipping his stool but quickly regained his footing, slowly backing away as a black-suited stallion broke off and inched closer to him. With an injured wing, flying away would be useless, and fighting would put his major weaknesses on full display. Knowing his available distance between himself and a table, Trotselot quickly ran, and before the black-suited stallion could give chase, he took a chair and threw it in his direction. Sadly, it missed, and now two full stallions were running around a table like a pair of rowdy foals. Left and right, they ran, neither gaining ground until a second stallion appeared, jumping over the table and tackling Trotselot to the floor.

Over by Brandy, she resurfaced from behind the counter, now holding an old book bag with a victorious grin. “Drop the bag!” The glasses-less stallion orders, stopping in his tracks and adopting a cautious look. Whether a bomb or sack of magic weapons, Trotselot prayed for help as he fought off the two stallions punching down on him.

Teeth showing in her grin, the drunkard mare reached a hoof into her bag, making the second half of the black-suited stallion retract.

“Ah-ha! SATCHEL SAND! GO!” She screamed, her hidden hoof shooting forward.

Suddenly, a hail of browns, grays, and beige struck the glasses-less stallion in his exposed face; in the next second, her attack sent him to the floor screaming, clutching his eyes. “Agh!” He cried, Brandy grabbing bottles of liquor as weapons. Sadly, her second phase was interrupted by the glasses-less stallion’s pegasus companion, who dashed forward at high speeds, roughly slamming her against the various bottle-lined shelves.

Glass and liquid spilled everywhere, and Brandy’s body fell limp, but her chest still drew breath. Similarly, blood caking his face, the world left Trotselot’s eyes with a final punch sent straight into his muzzle.

Slowly fading to darkness, Trotselot groaned internally, seeing the pegasus stallion liberate the stolen papers.

“Maybe being the alicorns’ hoof-licker isn’t so bad~.” Storm Breaker sighed, laughing lightly at her joke. If the afterlife for modern ponies was this good, Storm Breaker didn’t mind if she somehow died and ended up here: the royal spa.

Olive Branch left a while ago, returning to his room for the night and leaving her with much-needed alone time. Greater than a training courtyard, the royal spa housed six large pools, the one she sat in being the biggest, and had a highly decorative ceiling matching the floors and walls. Steam filled the air, the moonlight bouncing off from the wall-sized window behind her as Storm Breaker let the soapy hot water penetrate her thick fur. Even the spa ponies let her light a candle! Cinnamon scented. All in all, Storm Breaker threw worry to the wind and sacrificed herself to Luna’s realm, eye closing shut.

A pleasurable moan threatened to escape, but Storm Breaker smiled instead. “I love modern machines.” She mumbled.

Oh, Olive did say he would have a special assignment for her soon given by the princesses. She wondered what it would be. Compared to other ponies, getting back to work kicked her sense back into high gear, something to distract her from the recent chaos.

Maybe she’ll get to punch something.