At a juice bar in Central Maretropolis, a mare sat in wait for her date. She was enjoying a tall glass of banana-kale juice when a stallion her age sat by her.
“Are you Namaste?” he asked.
The mare turned, eyed him up, and smiled. “Yup, that’s me! You must be Whole Sale.”
“Yeah,” he chuckled.
She eyed his triceps closely, sized up his build, and really inspected his frame. Under any other circumstance, it would be considered creepy, but Namaste had especially good reasons for doing this.
“You look a lot less bulky than the pictures on your profile. I thought you said you juiced.”
His chuckle turned nervous. “Um, well, those photos are from when I just got out of high school. I’ve lost most of my muscle mass since.”
Her eyebrow quivered and she snorted, but she decided that she could overlook this minor communication failure. “I don’t care for muscles.” She turned back to the counter. "Besides, at least it was actually you in those pics.”
She levitated the glass of banana-kale to her lips and took a sip. Sweetness waltzed over her tongue as the brilliant concoction played a beautiful symphony. The twenty-six-piece flavor orchestra trailed down her throat in a cold bliss, and she let out a refreshing sigh.
At that same moment, the mare working the counter came up to the stallion. “Hi, welcome to Freshly Squeezed! What can I get you?”
“Oh, I’ll just have a water.”
The world around her froze. Her head snapped toward him, eyebrows quivering, like a bow would glide along a violin’s strings.
Did he just say…
She took a breath.
It’s okay, she thought. You’re new at this dating thing and not everypony is going to think like you do.
“You must really like water!” she managed to force out, trying her best to stifle a maniacal laugh.
“Like it? Oh, I love it! Possibly more than juice!”
If her heart were made of glass, a shard just broke away. “Really? That’s great, heh heh.”
Come on, he said ‘possibly.’ That means there’s still hope!
“So,” she continued, subtly pushing the glass of banana-kale toward him in the hopes that he take the offer and acknowledge the superior beverage. “We’re at a juice bar. Why not order some juice?” She giggled nervously, or maniacally, whichever made itself more apparent. “Hey, it’s my treat. How can you pass up an offer like that?”
He shook his head rapidly, that dumb smile still plastered on his face. “Oh, nononono. The mare should never pay on the first date. Besides, water is just about free everywhere!”
She gulped. “That is true.”
Come on, think quickly!
She levitated the glass up to his face. “Wanna try mine? Maybe you’ll change your mind once you know what’s in it!”
“Sure!” He took the glass into both forehooves. “What’s in it?”
“Banana…”
“Oh, I love bananas!”
“...And a little bit of kale.”
Namaste jolted in shock as Whole Sale made a retching noise and slammed the glass against the counter, precious droplets containing vital nutrients hitting the shiny surface and going to waste.
“Bleh, no thanks. I hate kale.”
“But kale is healthy! It’s full of fiber and potassium. Did you know that a single gram contains more vitamin C than a whole orange?”
“I didn’t!” he stated happily. “But I can’t stand the taste of kale. It’s too bland.”
“But the sweetness of the banana covers up the taste!”
He shook his head. “Nah, there’s still the aftertaste.”
Her eyebrow shook harder than the saggy pants of a washed-up rapper. Her jaw clenched. “That’s fine. That’s peachy. Absolutely peaches.”
It’s fine. He just doesn’t like the taste of kale. That’s perfectly fine, it’s not like he hates juice, after all. Hey, he looks healthy enough already! And water isn’t bad for you—far from it! I’m just unsure if I can be around someone with inferior taste…
Whole Sale chuckled. “Dude, juice is so inferior compared to classic H2O!”
A million pieces of chalk squealed against the blackboard in her brain. She winced. “Heh heh, of course, you’re exaggerating.”
Whole Sale thought about it for a moment. “Hmm, no. Water is superior. Think about it. What does all of life stem from? Precious H2O!”
Namaste leaned forward, the most plastic of smiles spread across her face. “Yes, but it contains no nutrients. It can hydrate and certain brands contain electrolytes, but juice you can have any combination you want!” She held the cup out toward him. “Plus it tastes better.”
“Gosh, that sure is true." He rubbed his chin. “You know what? You convinced me! I think I’ll try the juice here.”
Her heart mended.
He waved for the mare behind the counter, who had just finished ringing up another patron at the register. She whipped her head around, and walking up to the two of them, she asked, “Hey there, would you like anything else?”
He stared up at the dry-erase menu and pondered… pondered… he pondered until pondering itself became a thing to ponder about.
What to order... he pondered ponderously like a pompously pissed pompous pondering by the park pond about politics.
Then, he said, “Hey, how’s the Housemade Cream Soda?”
Everything simultaneously slowed down and sped up. Her eyes tore from her drink to her date, the entire world revolving a million miles per hour as if the sun were but a passing glimpse in the sky. Seconds felt like years, and those years were filled with nothing but regret. At the end of all those years was a cantankerous old mare, wondering where it all went wrong.
No… Please, no.
“It’s great!” the mare said. “I get it every time my shift is over. You have to try it!”
“Sure!”
Her heart shattered.
Meanwhile…
Inside a convenience store in another part of Central Maretropolis, a mare wasn’t doing her job. That mare was Winter Heat, and she had far more important things to worry about than work.
Like finishing the latest Countess Coloratura album before the end of her shift! If she didn’t finish before it was time to clock out, then that meant she’d have to wait a whole twelve hours to pick up where she left off. And she needed something to do while she was alone at the store, so she might as well listen to the whole album again while at it. How could she handle that level of suspense!? Having to sit in anguish, listening to every song again and again until she got to the ones she hadn’t heard?
It was unfathomable. It would be the hardest forty-five minutes of doing nothing in her life. Some might call it an autistic fixation (mainly, her mom), but she considered it an invasion of her free time.
Her head swayed side-to-side to the beat. She was so engrossed by the tunes blaring through her headphones that she didn’t notice the chime of the entrance bell.
It’s not like it mattered. Customer traffic was slow during this particular hour of the day, and even if it was a customer, they could capture her attention. And if it was a thief? Those were all too common. Besides, Claire would take care of them.
Two griffons, nearly identical with their white bodies, black wings, and orange beaks, barged in. The only difference between the two being that one was taller than the other. It was Moxxie and Roxxy, the two biggest and baddest thieves in all of Central Maretropolis, or so they would say if asked.
Moxxie, the tall griffon, scanned the environment, getting a good look at the loot before his eyes landed on the gray-coated mare behind the counter. She hadn’t noticed him yet, and for a moment he thought she was so cute that he considered walking away to rob another store.
Then, he resolved himself. He was a professional!
“Grab whatever you can,” he said to his brother as he marched up to the counter. Roxxy disappeared behind the few shelves there were in the small store.
He slammed his fist against the counter, making sure to do it loud enough so that the mare could hear, but light enough so that he didn’t crack the glass pane, because that would be rude. He was a criminal, not a crook!
The mare continued to happily sway her head side-to-side, neglectful of the fact that there was a robbery in progress.
He waved his talon in front of her face. “Excuse me!” he shouted, snapping his fingers in the hopes that it’d break her hypnotic state.
She continued to dance.
He cupped a talon alongside his beak. “Excuse me!”
She continued to dance.
Stumped, he briefly considered removing the headphones and shouting in her ear, but that would be rude. He stroked his beak in thought and considered that he could simply steal everything out of the register without provoking her. He settled on that.
Ding!
He stared down at the tray full of shiny gold bits. Part of him was tempted to count it all there. It was clearly more than his rent, with some to spare. Smirking mischievously, he dumped the tray into the brown sack dangling from his neck, heedless of the copious coins spilling onto the floor.
Just then, Roxxy poked his head around the corner, triumphantly holding up a glass bottle. “Hey Mox, they have that root beer-flavored soda you like. I thought they stopped selling it!”
“Oh sweet,” Moxxie said, tightening the twine around the sack’s opening. “Snag me some!”
Roxxy disappeared back behind the shelf. “Hey, do we need batteries?”
“We need double-A.”
“They only have triple-A.”
Moxxie cursed under his breath. “Another botched raid.”
The bag was heavy around his neck. He felt its bulge with his talon, tempted to scoop the coins out and let them run between his fingers. He finally did it. He finally became the thief he longed to be. Regardless of his father, who expected him to fail. He did it.
Roxxy came padding up. “Okay, you ready?”
“Yeah, let’s—”
The moment he looked up at his brother, he froze. A glass bottle of root beer-flavored soda was hovering in the air behind Roxxy’s head.
“Hey, Rox…”
“Yeah?”
“You can’t do magic, right?”
Roxxy scowled. “What do you mean?”
He shakily pointed toward the bottle. The moment Roxxy turned, it smashed against his head.
“Awww!” he screamed.
“Rox!” Moxxie shouted. He ran toward his brother to help but froze in place when the second half of the bottle turned toward him, its sharp, jagged ends glistening beneath the fluorescent lights.
It swung, and Roxxy practically threw his body back, barely avoiding its vicious arc. It swung at him again, and he sidestepped it. Neglectful of his surroundings, it swung a third time and he backed into the sunglasses stand by the register.
A cavalcade of cheap, pretentious lenses spilled onto the floor as the small tower fell and crashed into the linoleum, much like his dad’s respect for him.
Still dazed, Moxxie got up and looked over at his brother, wondering if he should help. He saw that the bottle was distracted—which was a sentence—so as swiftly as he could, he grabbed onto its neck.
He gripped tightly as he fought to maintain his hold. It tried pulling its way out like they were playing a game of tug of war. When that didn’t work, it simply opted to jerk his talon around so that the shards were facing his neck.
“Ahhhhh!” Roxxy screamed. Without thinking, he slammed the bottle against the linoleum. A few pieces stabbed into his talon, but with adrenaline coursing through his veins he hardly felt it.
Moxxie shot up. “What the heck was that?”
Just then, the door to the fridge that Moxxie was standing in front of flipped open. He only had time to feel the cool air against his hind legs before beverages came flowing out. Some in glass containers, some in plastic, and some in cans. Nonetheless, they all hurt to a certain degree as they pelted the poor griffon.
The glass bottles hit the ground, exploding carbonated foam all over the two. Both the cans and plastic ones burst open, spraying all over the place like a possessed sprinkler. And, just like that, they both ran out of the store.
Behind the counter, the song Winter Heat was listening to just finished. Her head was filled with all sorts of incredible imagery as she took a few moments to emotionally register the new plane of reality she had just transcended.
It was Countess Coloratura’s third best album, ranked behind Stars and V.A.G. (short for Villified Acrimonious Greetings, not the other thing). Her only criticism was that Coloratura relied heavily on autotune for most of the songs when she already had such an impressive vocal range. Winter had a few minor nitpicks, but that mostly had to do with some of the instruments that were used. She thought some of the emotions of the songs could be better felt if she focused less on the bass and more on the violin. Coloratura was very talented at playing the piano, and while Winter understood that it would be creatively limiting to only rely on a single instrument, she could imagine that some of the songs would have brought her to tears if there was only a piano solo. It wasn’t her most impressive album, but certainly her most emotionally driven. If she had to rate it, she’d give the album seven stars out of ten, although it might go up to an eight if she gave it a relisten and—oh shit it happened again.
She moved the headphones to her neck and screamed, “CLAIRE! Did you chase out some thugs again!?”
The air in front of Winter exploded in a mist of vibrant pink ethereal magic. It expanded out like a supernova before imploding, and in its place floated a pink flaming snake-like creature with horns, four eyes, and no mouth.
“You seemed preoccupied,” it said with a voice that sounded chocolatey, but also like a dozen whispery echoes that gradually grew more quiet. “I was simply making sure your funds didn’t dwindle again.”
Winter threw her head back and groaned. “I prefer it at this point! Do you have any idea how long it’s going to take me to check off all this merchandise and clean this mess up?”
In the corner of her eye, she spotted that the register was out of place. Turning, she saw that not only was it facing the other side of the counter, but the tray was sticking out and the only remnants were some lousy pocket change spilled out across the floor.
“If you just let them steal it, a lot less would be deducted from my paycheck!”
“Stop yapping.” Claire floated into the supply closet and pulled out a broom with one of her long, thin tendrils. “I’ll help you clean up.”
Winter slapped a hoof against her forehead. “Gods, sometimes I just wish you left me to die. Then I wouldn’t have to put up with this crap.”
Claire handed the broom to Winter, who swiped it out of the air like a filly who wanted candy but was given broccoli instead. “If I left you to die, then I wouldn’t have found something to care about.”
“That was incredibly sweet, but I’m still mad at you.”
“I was talking about anime, Winter-san.”
Winter sighed. “Let’s just get this mess cleaned up.”
Forty-five minutes after clock-out time, Winter flipped the sign on the door to CLOSED and locked the place up.
The sky was a brilliant gold. Winter Heat walked along the sidewalk, eager to get home so that she could order some pizza, play some video games, and crash. Claire hovered over her, floating from one side of her head to the next. Winter knew that this was the demon’s way of showing that she was anxious.
She sighed, rolling her eyes. “You’re good, Claire.”
Claire hovered in front of her, forcing Winter to come to a stop. “I was only trying to help.”
“I’ve had to stay an hour late at least four times this week because you can’t sit still. I had a reason to be mad.” She walked directly through Claire, the fire demon breaking apart into smoke before reforming directly behind as she moved. “Besides, it’s in the past. You were at least trying to do something nice.”
“I’m sorry, if that means anything.”
“It’s alright, Claire.” She stated it bluntly, in a way that sounded demeaning. But she meant it. Claire had made a lot of progress in the past year and did a better job at showing empathy now than when they first met. Obviously, there were still a few things she needed to work on, but Winter couldn’t be too mad at her when she at least tried.
“Hey, you want some ice cream?” Winter offered in an attempt to break the Parasite’s angst.
“Oooo, can we go to Frosty’s?”
“That’s on the other side of the city. I can’t walk that far.”
“Perhaps you should get one of those perpetual motion machines.”
Winter looked up at her, scowling. “Claire, what do we call them?”
“Cars.”
“That’s right. And why don’t I have one?”
“Because in your own words, your job pays ‘diddly-squat.’”
“C’mon, there’s a good ice cream parlor a couple of blocks from here. You’ll like it.”
Maretropolis was a city like any other. Traffic always looked bleak, the streets clogged with all variants of creature be they griffon, zebra, giraffe, or even raccoon. It was a city of devils, a city of angels. Good versus bad, the bad often succumbing to defeat. The newest villain of the week in tight spandex wasn't uncommon.
Winter had encountered many since she first moved to the city over a year ago. Only a few she fought as Pink Scorch. Not because Pink Scorch only started showing her face a few months after Winter first arrived, but because she didn't care to fight crime unless it was in her path.
It wasn't like she cared, or that she didn't care. She had her own life to live. She was a mare with her own dreams and aspirations, and fighting crime under a superhero persona would derail her from those aspirations—whatever they were. But she also knew the stress would be too much to handle.
Never being on time for work.
Missing deadlines.
Having to keep track of everything, all the time, and everywhere.
Sometimes, the unexpected happens. The unexpected was malleable, like molten metal. The unexpected could come in the form of a safe falling from a fourth-story window, or a really neat trick where a magician tries to pull a rabbit out of a hat but pulls out a Glock 43 instead to rob a convenience store, where he then proceeds to hide the coins behind everyone's ears and make his escape by throwing a smoke bomb on the ground. But sometimes, the unexpected wasn't that complicated. It could be the maniacal laughter of a mad mare, or an explosion...
KABOOOM!
Yeah, exactly.
“Look out!” Claire screamed. She wrapped a tendril around Winter’s neck and yanked her aside just as debris scrapped the ground directly in the spot she stood previously.
Claire hovered over her, checking for scratches. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” Winter said, transfixed by the pillar of smoke rising from the building across the parking lot.
Burnt plastic reached her nostrils as the large and familiar inflatable palm tree on the roof of Freshly Squeezed now hung over its front. Half of the building was on fire, ponies filtering out in herds.
A stallion ran past her, and just as he did a long line of green liquid shot out from the smoke, propelling him into the street so that he lay on the ground, covered in a mysterious green substance.
Claire tugged on a lock of her mane. “We should get out of here.”
Winter shot the demon a glare and proceeded to walk forward. Ponies ran past her left and right, some bumping into her. She stayed on her path, focused intensely on the maniacal laughter coming from the building.
“Get ready,” she said.
“Are you serious? Wouldn’t you prefer to go home? I’m sure it’s nothing serious.”
The store’s front exploded, glass flying everywhere.
“I mean, everypony seems unhurt for the most part.”
Just then, a mare running by tripped. “Ack! I think I scraped my knee!”
“For the most part.”
Winter pressed forward.
Claire sighed, dragging her claws through the air. “I can’t believe I get wrapped up in these things with you.”
As she approached the building, a mare walked directly through the smoke. She was green with a brown mane, although there were a few things about her that stood out. She wore a spandex suit, which wasn’t uncommon in Maretropolis thanks to the rising superhero/villain population. A belt was looped around her rear, on it an assortment of juice boxes. The most striking thing about her appearance, however, were the two hoses that floated alongside her, connected to a large water jug filled with a mysterious liquid strapped to her back.
And she sported an evil smile.
“Um, hey!” Winter called. “Are you responsible for all of this?”
The green mare squinted at Winter through her goggles. “Yeah. Why?”
“Can you, like, stop?”
“No. Why?”
She pointed up at the pillar of smoke. “Because you just destroyed a building?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “Felt like it.”
Winter tilted her head. “You felt like it?”
“Yeah.”
“O-okay.”
One of the hoses floating over the mare’s head pointed at Winter. “Hey, no offense, but I’m gonna have to blast you.”
Winter frowned. “Okay… why?”
“Evil reasons.”
“Alright… please… don’t?”
“Why, do you juice?”
Winter took a moment to wrap her mind around the mare’s question. “Do I—what?”
“Let’s say you go to a party and beverages are involved. There’s a nice healthy bowl of homemade fruit juice at the catering table. Right next to it is a two-liter of soda—diet optional. Which do you immediately go for?”
Winter tapped her chin in thought, wondering if this was some kind of trick question. “I-is there Professor Blepper?”
“There’s whatever you like.”
“Okay. The soda then. I’m a slut for Cherry Professor Blepper.”
Suddenly, an overwhelming look came over the mare. It displayed a concoction of feelings, ranging from terror, to malice, to downright rage.
“Wrong answer!” she screamed.
An onslaught of spiraling green liquid shot from the hose’s nozzle, coming toward her at a ludicrous speed. Caught in the grip of confusion, Winter barely had time to register the immediate danger before Claire wrapped a tendril around her neck and yanked her out of the way.
She stumbled on her own hooves as the blast grazed her mane and slammed into a parked car on the other side of the street. It jostled in place, windows shattering, alarms blaring.
“Don’t just stand there, idiot!” Claire blurted in her ear. “Either run or merge, which is it?”
The green mare pointed both hoses in her direction.
“Run!” Winter shouted, jumping aside just in time to dodge another blast that trailed her movement. She considered all of her options at that moment. She could either use Pink Scorch now, giving away her secret to this stranger, or she could find somewhere to hide and transform.
Her head turned, swiveled, spun; she dodged, she danced, she leaped. The parking lot was fairly sized, although cars were few in number. She hide behind one, although transforming would allude to her true identity.
There was only one option, and that option was violence. Not epic demon hybrid violence, but classic earth pony violence.
Another blast shot at her hooves. Winter dove forward, doing a cartwheel on one hoof before landing on all fours and immediately charging forth.
The mare did a double take, shocked by the display. Shaking her head, she fired again.
Winter side rolled, slid, and took cover behind a car. Another blast hit the driver's door. Just like the previous, its windows shattered, sending glass flying over her. Her ears rang as the alarm sang the most annoying of octaves, but she tried her best to ignore it.
Claire floated behind, yelling into her ear, “Are you seriously trying to take her on with your pathetic mortal body?”
“What else can I do?” Winter yelled over the alarm while brushing glass out of her mane. “If we use Pink Scorch now, there’s a chance our secret could get out.”
Claire swiveled around her head, pressing her face into Winter’s. “So you’re willing to get yourself killed!? Did our pact mean nothing?”
“It’ll be fine, Claire! We can still use her as a last resort.”
Claire pulled back, flickering in frustration, and before dissipating into a cloud said, “You better know what you’re doing.”
A single word echoed through her head. It was a word that held the one true answer, and if she was willing to say it at that moment the turn of events would likely be different.
That word was nope.
She slid across the car’s hood. The mare fired more violence juice, and Winter merely sidestepped it.
The mare’s furious expression turned to shock, and she took a step back at the realization that her enemy was closing in on her.
“Shi—” was all she had time to say before Winter galloped up and punched her square in the jaw, practically throwing her hoof into her face.
The villainous mare backpedaled a few steps before regaining her composure. “Ow!” she yelped. Rubbing her jaw and utterly perplexed, she said, “You—you hit me. You actually hit me.”
“That’s right, bitch!” Winter said stoically despite also being very surprised. “Those hoses aren’t that useful now, huh? Square up!”
Frowning, the mare didn’t “square up.” Winter shouted as one of the hoses wrapped around her neck and lifted her into the air. It wasn’t tight enough to asphyxiate her, but she still tried to pry it off her neck with her forehooves.
“Ahh, what the heck!”
“Rules of fighting one-oh-one, unicorns don’t ‘square up.’” She aimed the second hose at Winter’s face point blank. “Tell me, do you like kale?”
Winter stopped her struggling to interpret the question. “What?”
“Mere moments ago I was on a date,” she started. “It’s not usually my thing, but I wanted a change of pace. I met a nice stallion on a dating app who had similar interests to mine, or so I thought. When I asked him his thoughts on kale, he made a horrible retching noise, as if it was the poison to top all poisons. And to be honest with you…”
She clenched her eyes shut and gritted her teeth, looking as if she were about to cry. “I am tired of the reception that kale gets!” she choked out. “I was scrolling through videos on Clip-Clop the other day and read a comment that described it as ‘the toilet paper of vegetables.’ Do you know how insulting that is? I mean, it’s one of the healthiest greens out there!”
Winter hung limply, still trying to configure the information. “What?”
“Just answer the question. Do you like kale?”
“It’s… alright, I guess.”
The nozzle got so close to her face that it was practically all she could see. “Alright? That’s it? You don’t love it, you don’t hate it?”
“I-I don’t know how you want me to answer.”
Winter clenched her eyes shut, waiting for the moment of impact.
But the mare had more questions. She pulled the nozzle away and gesticulated it through the air conversely. “Well, perhaps you haven’t had it enough. When’s the last time you tried it?”
Winter stared down at her, perpetually confused. “I had it last night for dinner?”
She frowned. “Just kale.”
“It was in a salad.”
“Aaand what was in said salad?”
“Uh…” Winter racked her brain, trying to remember. “Kale, lettuce, spinach, radishes, uh… croutons—”
“CROUTONS ARE HIGH IN CARBOHYDRATES!”
Her heart flipped as the hose aimed in her direction. In the nick of time, Claire grabbed it by its neck and yanked it away, the strange juice arcing across the parking lot.
“What?” the mare said. Looking in Claire’s direction. She saw nothing, which gave the demon ample opportunity to pull the goggles from her face and release them so that they smacked her square in the eyes. “Ahh!”
She dropped her captive. Winter landed on all fours, and she considered using the opportunity to tackle the villainous mare but thought better when she remembered the previous predicament. There was only one other option.
She ran into the burning building.
“Hey!” the mare shouted. “You’re going to get yourself killed!” She moved to stop the mare, but stopped herself instead. Thinking about it. “Meh, that’s on her. I’m going to destroy more property.”
She walked off, blasting more stuff.
Inside, Winter stood center of the chaos, her face already covered in a sheen of sweat from the blazing heat. Claire appeared next to her.
“Now can we—”
“Yes!” Winter shouted.
Claire dove headfirst through her chest. Winter reared back, a cold shock running through her body. Then, a burning sensation.
It started in her legs, worked its way up into her chest, until finally her head. Her mane exploded into a sprawling mass of pink flames, smoke escaping her mouth as her coat shifted from grey to a crisp, charcoal-black.
Outside, the mare was singing.
“Ninty-nine bottles of juice on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of juice, take one down, pass it around, and now there’s only—”
An explosion.
She swiveled around to face the building, heart thumping in fear that the mare didn’t make it. Not only was the building fine but the fire was being swept away in a whirling blaze.
She stood, stiff, watching the flames swirl through the air. The answer came in the form of a second explosion. A pink explosion.
She backpedaled as a spiraling mass of pink fire came barreling toward her. In the second she registered that it was heading straight toward her, it collided, sending her directly through the wall of the Maretropolis Daily building.
The fire receded, and in its place stood what Juice Mare could only call a thing. A pony with a charcoal-black coat and runic cutie mark that glowed an incandescent light. The most striking feature, however, was its flowing ethereal pink mane and tail that took on a fiery appearance.
“I think we overdid it,” Winter thought.
“Nonsense,” Claire thought back. “She was crazy. Now she’s dead. The problem is solved.”
“We should check on her.”
“Yo!” Pink Scorch said in a voice that sounded like two. “You good?”
No response.
“Crap, I think we actually killed her.”
“Good. Now let’s go get some ice cream.”
Suddenly, the mare shot out of the hole, propelling herself forward with the strange liquid. She landed directly in front of the demon hybrid with only a few notable scratches on her body and a frazzled mane.
Pink Scorch reared her head back in shock, shouting, “That should have broken just about every bone in your body!”
The mare snickered. “Never underestimate the power of good health.”
Pink gave a confused scowl. “The—what? Just, who are you?”
The mare smiled a toothy smile, the sort of smile great conquerors of land wear. Her stature was reminiscent of a great statue, like her body was frozen in time, ready to be sculpted in all of its muscles and glory.
“I am the nightmare. I am the monster parents tell their children about when they don’t eat their brussels sprouts. I am the beast that lays dormant, waiting for the opportunity to strike. When birthday parties only have sugary drinks, when you dine out at a fast food joint with your friends, when the diabetes diagnosis is inevitable, I’ll be there. I… am… Juice Mare!”
Pink’s flames crackled. “Oh… okay.”
“And…” Juice Mare looked her up and down, pointing a hose at her as if gesturing to an odd piece of clothing. “You are?”
“Pink Scorch. You don’t seem that weirded out to see me.”
“Meh.” Juice Mare shrugged. “I’ve seen weirder. What are you, some kind of demon?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh?” She looked down, thinking for a moment, then looked back up at her. “What do you think of kale?”
Pink’s flames crackled again. “Do you have some?”
A delighted look came over Juice Mare’s face. “As a matter of fact, I do!” She reached over toward the left side of her flank, where a lunch box dangled. “Now if you’ll just—”
“Cool. I haveta wipe my ass.”
In the distance, a baby cried.
“YOU SON OF A BITCH!” Juice Mare screamed. She pointed both hoses to the ground and shot forward, smashing into the demon hybrid. Pink slammed against the concrete, and they slid up the parking lot together. “YOU’RE DONUT_LOVER66!”
“W-what?” Pink sputtered.
Embracing the demon hybrid in a tight hug—which for a moment Pink thought was sweet—the two ascended and spun around in a dazzling display of pink flames and green liquid. Juice Mare released her hug, flinging Pink across the parking lot, across the street, and directly through a window of Maretropolis Daily.
Glass shattered like hopes and dreams. She ricocheted off the thinly carpeted floor and slammed into a copy machine, butt to the ceiling. Papers lofted through the air like fall leaves and office ponies poked their heads out of cubicles to see the commotion.
“I’m still confused,” Claire thought. “Do we take her seriously? I’m not entirely certain what her motives are, but they seem idiotic.”
“She’s taking us seriously,” Winter thought back. “And she has no qualms with hurting other ponies. I say we stop her.”
“Fine, whatever. Let’s just try to do it before every ice cream parlor in Central Maretropolis closes.”
“Works for me. Oh, and try to hold back on the collateral damage this time.”
“You can’t obstruct the form’s wants. You can only embrace them. Remember, what we want must be balanced so that the form doesn’t break apart.”
“That just sounds like an excuse to not embrace moral responsibility.”
“It is.”
Pink plunged her hindlegs forward and stood upright. She made to leave but was stunned by a white flash. She spotted a foal holding a camera. Sticking from the lapel of his fedora was a card that read Jr. Press.
She struck a pose. “Be sure to get my good side.”
After taking a few more pictures, the foal lowered the camera and asked, “Ya have a name, miss?”
“Call me Pink Scorch,” she said, walking back up to the window. Leaning forward, she allowed gravity to take her down.
The foal ran up to the broken window and took more pictures.
Back at the parking lot, Juice Mare was destroying more stuff while singing. “Eighty-seven bottles of juice on the wall, eighty-seven bottles of juice, take one—”
A flash of pink zoomed past her, and less than a second later, the very mare that she had flung through the window of an office building was standing before her. Muzzle-to-muzzle and vicious eyes that could sharpen daggers.
“Oh.”
Pink Scorch headbutted her. The glow of Juice Mare’s horn fluctuated, the two hoses falling to her side. An uppercut to the jaw, and the world turned to blobs of light and noise as it was strong enough to force her onto her hindlegs. Another into her gut, and she flew across the parking lot, back slamming into the passenger door of a car. The door crinkled inward, glass crumbling over her.
Juice Mare squeaked in pain. “Ow…”
The demon hybrid padded up to her, the flames on her head intensifying as she drew nearer. “Damn, I thought we were in for a fun evening.” She knelt down in front of the mare, displaying intensely sharp teeth with a smile that communicated everything it needed to. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to stop all of this. You’re going to go home, and if I ever see you again… well.” She snorted, trying and failing to stifle a dark chuckle. “Let’s just say I’ll get the fun evening I’ve been yearning for.”
Juice Mare leaned forward and wiped some blood away from her muzzle with the back of her hoof. “Fine. You win.”
Her horn glowed. Pink tensed up but relaxed when one of the juice boxes holstered along her belt floated up. “Have a juice box.”
The demon pony scowled, but it was quickly swept away by a grin. She planted her butt on the ground and swiped the juice box out of the air. “So you aren’t as stubborn as you make yourself out to be. Guess I pegged you wrong.”
She ripped the plastic straw from the side of the box.
Beep… Beep… Beep…
“Hm?”
She looked down in time to notice the red apple logo flashing. And Juice Mare was gone. “What the fu—”
KABOOOOM!
It exploded in her face, swallowing her in a mass of smoke and fire. For a spawn of the underworld, it was actually very pleasant. If one could forget about the clear attempt to kill her.
Her mane and tail brightened. The surrounding smoke swirled as she inhaled it all through her mouth, slurping it up in tendrils like spaghetti.
When all of the smoke was gone, she belched and searched the parking lot for Juice Mare. Who wasn’t very hard to find. Especially since she was only standing a few meters away, grinning wickedly, both hoses pointed at her.
Pink sighed. “You’re really starting to get on my nervogahghaghagah—”
Juice Mare shot her in the face. It didn’t hurt, nor did it send her flying. But some of it got in her nostrils, so it was at the very least annoying. Also, was that banana-kale?
The torrent stopped. Juice Mare stood in anticipation of her next move.
Pink scowled, the juice already evaporating off her. “Hey, listen, what are your motives behind all of this?”
“To spread the gospel of juice across all of Maretropolis!”
“Yeah, but… why?”
Juice Mare smiled evilly but with concern. “But why what?”
“There has to be a root cause for your behavior, otherwise you’re just destroying shit just to destroy shit. What’s the real reason why you’re evil?”
Moments passed as Juice Mare stood in silence while mulling over a response. Finally, her horn stopped glowing, the nozzles hitting the ground with a clank. She sat down.
“When both of my parents were still around, we were the happiest family. My father was a roboticist, and my mother was a dietician. I remember every morning she would make me a homemade glass of fresh juice. Every day it would be different. One day it would be a simple glass of orange juice, the next it could be a banana-berry mix. I loved her juice so much that I would spend a lot of time in the kitchen, experimenting with ideas I thought would impress her.”
Her head hovered over the ground, and she pushed her goggles up her face with a hoof. “That all changed when Dad died.”
The flames on Pink Scorch’s head flickered, lowering slightly. She hadn’t expected such a sentimental story.
“It practically tore our family apart. Mom stopped making juice because she was too depressed. I tried every single day to make her happy. Day after day, I would make her the same juices she made me. I even tried to perfect her favorite—simple, freshly squeezed orange juice. And then one day…”
A shiver shot down her spine, tears dripping onto the concrete like a solemn rain. A monstrous face flashed in her mind. Her voice quivered. “She met him. She told me to call him ‘Dad,’ but I could only see him as ‘the replacement.’ But that’s not all you need to know about him. Deep down, he was a disgusting creature. A creature so revolting that not even the roaches would provide him sympathy. You don’t know what he did… he… he… one night he came into my room and he…”
“Oh, my sweet thing,” Pink said in Winter’s voice. She knelt down in front of Juice Mare so that they were at eye level. “Listen, it’s not okay what he did, and trauma like this can be worked through. You’re not alone. All it takes is time, effort, and—”
“THAT SIMPLE BASTARD OFFERED ME A SODAAAA!”
Her words echoed across the parking lot so all of the world and its inhabitants could hear her woes.
Pink made rice cereal noises.
“So can we kill her now?” Claire asked out loud.
“CLAIRE!” Winter thought in the loudest way she could think.
Juice Mare forced herself up, tears still sprawling down her face. Her eyes were red, but this only added to her sinister smile. “So you want to kill me? And here I thought you were playing hero.”
“Umm, actually, I’m more of an anti. You kinda just came along my path so I thought I’d—”
She strutted forward, sticking her face dangerously close to Pink’s own. For a moment, Pink considered biting her nose off, but some part of her that was Winter thought it’d be gross.
Juice Mare jabbed a hoof into her chest and pressed her nose against hers. “Either way, you saw an opportunity to stop me, which means you at least have a moral compass. Which means you probably wouldn’t murder someone in cold blood.”
The flames on Pink’s head grew bigger, and her eyes brightened. Sweat poured down Juice Mare’s face. “You sayin’ you haven’t tried to kill anyone today? You’re standing here, trying to make me feel bad when you yourself have probably killed dozens in your insane pursuit?”
The hoses rose into the air, pointing at Pink’s head. “I’ve killed none. Murder is almost as unhealthy as cheesecake.”
Pink gritted her teeth and pressed her forehead against Juice Mare’s. “I like cheesecake.”
Juice Mare pushed her head back with her own. “You should try healthier options!”
Pink pushed back. “My body is a dumpster, and my stomach is a void that sucks up all garbage, and you’re starting to look like nothing but.”
“If we made out right now,” Claire said, “that would be totally hot.”
Juice Mare froze. “I’m sorry, what?”
Pink Scorch stepped back, pretending to clear her throat and banging a hoof against her chest. “Ahem, sorry, demon hormones, you see…”
Inside, Winter thought, “Ooo, Claire, if you had a physical body I would strangle you!”
Claire laughed. If a subconscious could blush, Winter was certainly achieving it.
“Anyways, so, uhhh you can’t beat me. That much is clear. So why keep trying? You’ll never be able to match my strength cuuuz demon and supernatural powers, y’know? If you quit now, I’ll let you walk away.”
For a moment that felt too long for Pink’s liking, Juice Mare kept her battle-ready stance. Then, the furious look on her face faltered, as did the two hoses. She straightened, lowering to her haunches. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I can’t beat you on my own.”
She reached for her belt. Pink's flames rose, and she leaned in with a snarl, but was suprised when Juice Mare pushed a green apple sigil on her belt instead. It started blinking.
Pink tilted her head. “What did you just do?”
“Called for backup!” Juice Mare said in a way that implied they were friends, and that more friends were going to tag along so that they’d have a jolly ol’ time.
Pink simply stared at her, the confusion on her face so palpable that it could make her reflection ask what the problem was. “You’re… You’re serious.”
“Yep!”
It started with a subtle snort. Followed by a tug at her lips. The subtle snort became a hacking storm of chuckles. Those chuckles became laughs, and those laughs grew a sense of purpose as the grips of insanity truly began to take hold. She even sat on the ground and threw her hooves over her belly, the only real sense of pain she felt the entire fight.
Meanwhile, Juice Mare stood by, actually blushing. “I-it’s not that funny. You should take me a little more seriously. I can be really dangerous.”
“Sorry, it’s just—” Pink wiped away a molten metal tear “—everything about you is so stupid. You blast juice everywhere and whine about poor diet choices and think that someone offering you a soda is the equivalent of—”
“My motives make sense!” Juice Mare blurted defensively. “Who else is going to spread the gospel of good health and actually make an impact? At least I can make healthy eating known by creating a media presence!”
“Right, but you’re doing nothing but damage property. Really, all you’re doing is costing taxpayers more money…”
Juice Mare took a step forward, hoses rising into the air. “Then I fight for the abolishment of all taxes!”
“That I can actually get behind.” She stood and began to walk away. “Just, go home or whatever. If I catch you doing bad stuff again, I’ll eat you. Nom-nom.”
“H-hey!” Juice Mare called. “Where do you think you’re going? We’re not finished here!”
“I’m going to get some ice cream. Eat some pizza. Crash.”
“That—” Juice Mare started, then anger swept over her, turning red in the cheeks. “Th-that’s not very healthy!”
“Yeah? What are you going to do about it—”
Just then, a fist collided with the side of her face. Not a hoof, not a talon, but a fist. A cold, metallic fist. And it actually hurt.
The force of it nearly sent her off her hooves, but she caught herself in the nick of time. Kneeling, she looked up to see a giant robot the size of a minotaur leering over her. It was bipedal and had a bulky frame, its arms ape-like. On its torso was a large, curved window.
And it was decked out with various anime decals.
She barely had time to register the silhouette of a pony beyond the dark window before it kicked her in the rear, punting her across the parking lot like a football.
“Fu—” was all she could scream before it raised both of its cylindrical arms and fired a hailstorm of bullets. Each shot perforated her body, every bullet exiting her followed by a wisp of smoke.
Thinking fast, Pink dissipated into a black cloud. It shot to the ground and zoomed toward the front of the robot. The moment she reformed, hoof held in anticipation to punch it in the gonads, the robot wrapped its hand around her midriff.
“Hey, put me down!” she said as it lifted her into the air, head hovering over the concrete.
The upper half of its body spun. Slowly at first, but quickly slow became fast. Faster and faster it went like a carousel on crack, until finally, it released her.
She flew through the air, colliding with the top corner of the Maretropolis Daily building and taking off a good chunk, and continued to fly until neither Juice Mare nor the robot could see her.
Juice Mare clapped in a way that was child-like and squealed, “Eeeeee, good work, li’l Sis!”
The robot dashed up to her at lightning speed, a blue silhouette trailing in its wake. It knelt down so that the cockpit window was level with Juice Mare. The dark screen turned clear, revealing the ecstatic smile of a filly no older than fifteen.
“Are you sure?” she said. “I hope I didn’t accidentally kill another demon hybrid, that would suck!”
Juice Mare chuckled. “She’s okay, trust me!” She threw her forehooves around the cockpit window, giving it the tightest hug she could muster, even wrapping the hoses around its large frame. “You were really amazing out there, be proud of yourself, Pulp!”
“Aww, thanks, big Sis!”
“Hey!” She jabbed a hoof against the ballistic glass. “Did you finish your homework?”
Pulp groaned. “Uggh, I just have Algebra. You know that only takes me a few minutes!”
“Just trying to be the good big sister that I am.”
The mech suit stood upright. “Anyways, you done doing villain stuff? You promised we’d go to the arcade together.”
“Yup! Just let me find somewhere to change—”
Whistling. Not the sort of whistling one does when blowing air between their lips, but the sort of whistling that comes from an object falling at a high speed.
She searched the sky. From a great height, higher than the tallest of stories in the area, she spotted a pink comet heading directly for the parking lot.
As if saluting, she stuck her hoof out toward the sky. “Get ready!”
Pulp spun around, gatling arms ready. The comet hit the road, exploding upon impact. Cars flew aside like toys, the shattered glass of broken windows coming down like a sky god annoyingly eating a cracker over its subjects. Cracks furcated throughout the concrete, expanding a large circumference so that even Maretropolis Daily’s foundation had something to worry about.
At the center of everything chaotic was the mare Pulp thought she had killed. A piercing smile stretched across her face. Not a smile that was forced, not a smile one gets when hearing a joke worthy of a chuckle. It was the smile of a psychiatric patient prepared to rip its orderly from limb to limb and roll around in its blood.
Pink Scorch walked forth, emanating raw power, her flames heightened until they were a flowing shroud that trailed in her wake, brighter than any fire they had ever seen.
“And here I was thinking I’d barely have to use any of my power.”
The cylinders around the mech suit’s arms spun. The moment Pink saw the flash of bullets, she dissolved into a cloud of smoke and shot toward the two. She snaked between the mech’s legs and reformed directly behind it.
The top half of the mech spun around, hand extended in preparation to swipe her off the ground again. Pink dissipated and reappeared on the other side of the robot. Without hesitation, she punched it in the gonads.
The mech slid several feet away. It stood, shaking, but still upright.
Frustrated, Pulp spun back around and let loose more bullets.
Pink flames enveloped the demon hybrid's hooves and she slid out of the way. Of course, she was really hovering, but it provided her with enough fluidity to tango with the bullet-spitting bipedal hunk of scrap.
She jerked to the left, Pulp following her every move perfectly. A bullet grazed the back of her neck, went through one of her legs, but she moved fast enough to avoid most.
A bullet ricocheted off the ground directly in front of Juice Mare’s hoof, and she scampered back. “Hey, be careful! I’m not exactly bulletproof here!”
The mech suit stopped in Juice Mare’s direction. “Sorry, Sis!”
With the momentary distraction, Pink seized the opportunity to slide around the robot and jump onto the cockpit window. Hoof poised in preparation to break through the glass, it halted.
“What the duck?” Pink Scorch blinked at a mare who, from what appeared to her, to be no more than a filly. “You’re just a little girl!”
Pulp scowled and lifted up a video game controller. “Omae wa mou shinderu.” The mech suit launched into the air.
“She speaks the language of anime!” Claire thought as Pink hugged the cockpit window tightly. “I don’t know if I can fight her.”
“We don’t have to fight her, we just have to incapacitate her,” Winter thought back.
“How will we do that?”
Winter considered it for a moment. “By fighting her.”
The two ascended. Pink’s tail extended in length, and she wrapped it around the mech suit’s torso. Her mane focused into a concentrated jet stream, and the robot tilted back.
“H-hey!” Pulp shouted. “That’s not fair!”
Together they spun in the air like a pinwheel. Slow at first, every dip downward making the blood rush to the filly’s head. As it picked up speed, she became queasy. Desperate, she increased the thrusters, which only increased the speed at which they spun.
Finally, Pink’s tail length shortened and she pushed off the robot with all her might. The mech suit flailed wildely through the air.
Pink’s tail erupted, and she propelled herself up higher. Her mane glowed as she absorbed the surrounding heat, flames swirling around her. When enough heat was absorbed, she launched directly into the robot.
It was like a shooting star appearing and disappearing in a blink. One moment there was a pink blur, and the next Pulp was crashing through several walls of Maretropolis Daily until she hit the road on the other side.
Pulp groaned, her stomach churning. A light on the dashboard was flashing red and emitting a loud beep. “Oh, shut up!”
A robotic voice sounded throughout the cockpit. “Enjin reikyaku mizu ga hakai sa rete imasu.”
“We can deal without the coolant, there’s still the backup!”
Pulp pressed the hands of the mech suit against the ground and fired the thrusters so that they lifted her back onto her feet. She noticed that a bunch of ponies were gathered around, keeping their distance but observing the odd construct in curiosity. Gosh, she hoped that she didn’t vomit in front of all of them.
“Anata ni wa kono teki ni tachimukau junbi ga dekite imasen.”
She slammed her hoof against the dashboard. “Hey, I didn’t know she would be so strong! I only faced one demon hybrid before, you think I can get lucky a second time? Anta baka, the bullets went right through her for Celestia’s sake!”
She pressed her hoof between her eyes and took a breath. “I’m sorry. I just want to impress Nam.”
“Anata no imōto ga anata ni yoi eikyō o ataete inai node wanai ka to shinpai shite imasu.”
Pulp leaned forward, shouting, “She’s not a bad influence! She’s a really cool pony trying to promote good health through the power of assault and battery. Why can’t you see that?”
“Watashi wa tada anata ni totte saizen no mono o nozonde imasu.”
“Just tell me how to beat her!”
“Watashitachi wa kanojo no hi o kesanakereba narimasen.”
“Extinguish the flames? But that’s hellfire, we can’t do that with normal water, we need holy!”
“Kanojo no mawari o jūbun ni hayaku kaiten suru to, shinkū o tsukuridasu koto ga dekimasu.”
Pulp rubbed her chin. “Do you really think that could work?” She rested her back against the gaming chair, considering it for a moment. “Okay, let’s try it!”
She activated the thrusters along the mech suit’s back and blasted off into the air.
On the other side of the building, Pink Scorch was singing. “Ninety-nine corpses of Juice Mare on the wall, ninety-nine corpses of Juice Mare, take one down, chow it down, now there’s only—” a fireball escaped her muzzle, hitting the side of a car Juice Mare was supposedly hiding behind “—now there are only eighty-nine corpses of Juice Mare on the wall…”
From behind a car, Juice Mare shouted, “You skipped a lot, and you’re not even singing the right song!”
Pink turned the corner of another car, only to find nothing. “It’s my own rendition.”
“Your rendition sucks!”
“Everyone’s a critic.”
Juice Mare slid over the hood, hoses at the ready, and caught a glimpse of the demon hybrid. She was behind it, a little off to the side. Now was her chance to strike. Taking a juice box from her belt, she ripped the straw off and tossed it at the demon hybrid's hooves.
Beep… Beep… Beep…
Pink stopped and looked down at it. “This again?”
KABOOM!
Juice Mare ran for the large plume of smoke. She fired several concentrated healthy streams of juice into its center. A pink fireball shot out, and she dodged it with a simple cartwheel, sliding along the concrete a bit when she landed back on all fours.
The cloud shrank in size as Pink sucked it all up through her mouth, giving Juice Mare a moment’s opportunity to strike. She took it.
Wrapping the hose around her neck, she lifted Pink Scorch into the air so that her hind hooves barely graced the ground. She punched her in the stomach.
Juice Mare didn’t know what to expect. She thought she’d have the upper hand by getting up close. Every confident idea she ever had about herself dissipated like a puddle in the desert when Pink vomited bright orange molten metal all over the hose.
She jumped back, staring in horror at the glopping, sizzling goop dripping from the hose, now no longer than her own foreleg. “Oh no, Righty!”
Pink wiped her mouth with the back of her hoof. “You named the hoses?”
“Yeah, wouldn’t you?”
Pink proceeded to walk toward her at a leisurely pace. Juice Mare flinched back as the flames on her head combusted. “I’m going to rip Lefty from that stupid-ass water jug on your back and shove it so far up your asshole that the only way to get it out is if the paramedics recreate some weird porno.”
“HIS NAME IS HERBERT, YOU PSYCHO!”
“Just shut up.”
Pink jabbed a hoof out, aiming it directly for the chest. In the split second Juice Mare had to register it, she was suddenly flying. Not backward, but sideways.
Pulp put her down a few yards away from the fight. “I gots this, Sis!”
She turned to the hybrid, holding out both gatling arms.
“You should leave now if you know what’s good for you,” Pink said. “I don’t know if I have it in me to hurt a little girl.”
Anger sparked in Pulp’s face. “Watashi wa shi o motarasu monodesu. Anata wa watashi no kōtetsu no ashi no shita de oshitsubusa rete hai ni narudeshou.”
Oh no… Juice Mare thought. It’s never a good sign when she speaks anime.
“Uh, Pulp?” Juice Mare called. “Be very careful! You remember the last time when you pretended to be an anime protagonist.”
Pulp began a slow walk toward the mare.
“Oh, you approach me?”
“Chikadzukanakereba anata o uchi makasu koto wa dekimasen.”
“Uhh…”
“She said she can’t beat the shit out of us without getting closer.” Claire thought.
“Since when do you speak kirinese?” Winter thought back.
“Anata ga watashi ni tsuite shiranai koto ga takusan arimasu.”
Pink spat out a fireball.
The mech suit became a blue blur and dodged easily. Instead of stopping and waiting for the next attack, it curved around Pink Scorch so that it was circulating her well beyond the legal speed limit.
She whipped her head left and right, unable to get a good lock onto the steel giant. Around, around, and around it went so quickly that it looked like multiple. Pink shot fireballs in every direction, although none hit.
Then came the heaviness. Her throat closed. It was suddenly very difficult to breathe. Throwing her hooves up to her neck, she took in gulp after gulp of air, wheezing. Her flames flickered, growing smaller by the second.
“Winter!” Claire thought. “She’s creating a vacuum. If we don’t stop her now, the flames will go out.”
“She’s moving too fast, how are we going to do that?”
“We can self-destruct. However, this will drastically lower Pink Scorch’s energy. We’ll have to gather the surrounding heat so that…”
“Won’t that activate Pink Flare?”
“Yes. I know you don’t like it, but it is the only way we can match her speed.”
“Fine. Just if you’re about to level another building, try to evacuate it first.”
Pink forced herself onto her hooves, the urge to pass out on the ground very appealing. She allowed her eyes to close and relaxed her body, simultaneously focusing on not falling over.
She exploded.
The mech suit flew off its feet, somersaulting through the air and bouncing off the concrete several times before coming to a final crash against a brick wall.
Red lights flashed inside the cockpit left and right. Pulp slammed her hooves against the dashboard, grinding her teeth together. The flashing lights were just the cherry on top of her anger. What really irked her was the long crack extending the entire length of the window. “Dammit!”
“Gengo.”
She breathed. “Sorry. I was really hoping that would work. Can we try again?”
“Onaji mondai ni sōgū suru koto ni narimasu.”
Pulp rubbed her chin. “You’re right. There’s no telling how much energy she has left. She could just explode again.”
“Kimi wa yoku yatteru yo, Parupu. Shikashi, watashi ga kontorōru suru jiki ga kita to omoimasu.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “But I can keep going!”
“Kore wa anata ga kore made ni chokumen shita naka de mottomo tsuyoi tekidesu. Anata wa kanojo no yōna hito o ukeireru junbi ga dekite imasen. Anata ni wa nani mo okite hoshikunai nodesu.”
Her jaw quivered. “But what will Nam think? I’ve been doing great so far, she just got lucky!”
“Sugary Bliss…”
“You know I hate that name!” She sat for a few moments, trying to hold back tears. “F-fine! We’ll go with it!”
The mech suit hissed, and the cockpit window lifted up.
On top of the Maretropolis Daily building, Pink reformed from a black cloud of smoke. She crashed to the roof, landing on her stomach. Her flames were now dwindled to a subtle ember. The simple act of even standing was difficult. She forced herself to her hooves anyway, wobbling as she did, nearly toppling over.
“Okay, let’s do this.”
She closed her eyes, focused, and began to absorb all of the surrounding heat.
Below, Juice Mare was running her hooves through her ponytail and singing. “Twenty-five boxes of juice on the wall, twenty-five boxes of juice—”
“Nam!”
Juice Mare looked up and saw Pulp running up to her. With her actual legs. Not that it was the improper way to run, but it was the context that befuddled her. She flung her ponytail off her shoulder and brought herself to her hooves.
“Pulp, why are you naked? Where is he?”
Pulp skidded to a stop in front of her sister. She opened her mouth to speak but hesitated. Then she said, “I told him I could keep going, but he wouldn’t listen. He wanted to fight her himself… I’m sorry, Nam.”
Namaste tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
Pulp rubbed her fetlock. “I know you were rooting for me to clob that demon pone’s butt, but she was too strong. I’m sorry for disappointing you.”
Namaste’s eyes widened. “What? Pulp—” She stopped herself, considering her next words carefully. Placing a hoof on her sister’s shoulder, she continued. “Bliss… I’m not disappointed, I’m proud of you. Not only did you put up a better fight than I did, but you almost beat her. You did an amazing job and should feel like an amazing pony!”
Bliss wiped a tear away from her eye. “You’re not disappointed?”
“Of course not! Bliss, I only want what’s best for you. I care more that you had fun punching that freak in the gob than whether or not you won.”
Bliss chuckled. “Hehe, it was fun punching her in the gob.”
Namaste leaned in and embraced her with a tight hug with both hooves, Sugary Bliss returning it. “Then you did amazing!”
“Aww, thanks.”
After they broke apart, Namaste asked, “Hey, you still down for the arcade? I’ll buy you a pizza!”
Bliss appeared surprised. “You mean, like, an actual pizza. The kind that clogs arteries?”
Namaste rubbed her hoof against the ground sheepishly. “Maybe with cauliflower crust?”
“Bleh!”
Namaste rolled her eyes. “Fine, you can get regular crust!”
Bliss clapped and squealed, “Yaaaay! Best sister ever!” She stopped clapping, giving her puppy dog eyes. “What about stuffed crust?”
“Don’t push it.”
Bliss pouted. “Party pooper.”
Namaste almost responded when she noticed something. Something about the air. It felt… different.
“Hey, Pulp?” Her voice wavering.
“Yeah?”
“Does it feel cool all of a sudden?”
“Uhh, yeah. Wasn’t it hot just a moment ago?”
“Huh, weird—”
A giant, bright pink ball of fire slammed into her. Juice Mare hit the ground, sliding several feet away, picking up several scrapes and bruises.
“Sis!” Pulp shouted. She stepped forward, intending to run toward her, but a charcoal-black hoof pressed against her chest.
Before her stood the same mare they had been fighting, although she was now a different mare almost entirely. She still had that familiar coat and signature pink flames, but now they were erupting from her head like a flare. That wasn't the part that scared her most. The part that really got to her was the enthusiastic, serial-killer smile on her face.
Pink Scorch got close, almost nose-to-nose so that Pulp had to pull her head back, and said, “Leave.”
Pulp’s pupils shrank. “I think I just tinkled.”
Juice Mare’s mighty juice collided with the back of the demon hybrid's head. Annoyed, she disapparated into a cloud of smoke, the torrent piercing through and hitting Pulp in the face.
“Aghaghgahgah!” she gargled, hooves flailing around wildly.
Juice Mare stopped firing. “Sorry, Pulp!”
Pulp wiped a lock of wet mane away from her eyes, green juice dripping from her face. She chuckled. “All good, Sis! Banana-kale, yum.” Then she mumbled under her breath, “Kale… bleh.”
Pink Scorch reapparated directly above Juice Mare. Almost as if she had a sixth sense, she leaped out of the way in time to avoid the demon hybrid slamming all four hooves into the ground. The concrete broke apart like building blocks, pieces snagging out of the ground and cracks expanding a wide girth.
Pink wasted no time. Laughing maniacally, she dashed up toward Juice Mare, aiming a punch for her face. Juice Mare dodged it with the ease that only comes with trying to not die. More punches came in, each one faster than before. But she had an ace up her sleeve.
She did her aerobic exercises this morning.
Every punch indeed hit something, and that something was air. She dodged, she leaped, and she side-stepped every single one with an agility that'd make anyone stop in their tracks and gawk at the awesomeness on display.
All in the name of good health.
However, she knew that her time was coming near. All she could do was hold out until something happened. Whatever that something might be. Whether she was punched so hard her spleen exploded or a deus ex machina was to occur. Anything.
She could feel the inevitable coming soon.
As if her name was drawn from the ex machina raffle, a bullet shot through Pink Scorch’s head. Smile still plastered to her face, she craned her neck one hundred eighty degrees, vertebrae snapping.
Several feet away, the mech suit stood without an occupant, gatling arms whirring. “Akuma yo, karera o tomeyou to suru anata no doryoku wa tōtoidesuga, watashitachi ni totte wa kore de owaridesu. Anata no tatakai wa kanojo to notatakaide wa arimasenga, shikashi—”
In a flash, Pink Scorch was directly in front of the robot, tapping her chin and staring up at it. She chuckled darkly. “Whoa, you can talk?”
“What’s it saying?” Winter asked.
“I believe it is challenging us.”
“Alright, we should have no issue keeping up with it while in Pink Flare form.”
“So,” Pink said. “We gonna fight?”
Just like that, her face slammed into the ground. She didn’t even have time to register the robot grabbing the back of her head and forcing her down, forming a small crater.
A flash, and Pink was standing atop the mech, pounding her hoof against the metallic surface. Even with her overwhelming strength, it caused little damage aside from a few small dents. The mech stuck its arms out, and the top half of it spun.
Another flash and she was back on the ground directly in front of it, facing the opposite way. The mech stopped spinning and whirred its gatling arms. Before a bullet was fired, Pink shot up like a bullet, sending it flying through the air.
It was only a few feet high until it turned on its thrusters, pinwheeling until it came to a sudden stop.
Hovering.
Facing her.
Firing.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight bullets went through her before she shot at it like a star, hitting it dead center. Cockpit window shattering inward.
In the split second that she was left open, it grabbed her by the neck and held her up like a disobedient puppy. She snarled, waving her forehooves frantically, kicking out with her hind hooves. Taking its other hand, it clamped down against the top of her head, and with relative ease, ripped it off.
Her limp body hit the ground, smokestacks lofting from the gaping hole in her neck.
“Hey, what the fuck!?” Pink’s head shouted. “We have rules against decapitation around here!”
With as much ease as it took to rip it off, the mech clenched its hand shut, crushing her skull. Rather than break apart, her cranium turned into a fine ash that fell to the ground in a pile.
For the first time since Juice Mare began her reign of terror that day, the parking lot fell silent.
That was until Pink Scorch’s headless corpse got up and wobbled onto its hooves.
As if nothing was out of the ordinary, it faced the steel giant, crouching in a fighting stance.
The gatling arms spun, then fired.
It was endless. Bullet after bullet peppered her body, annihilating more than could be regenerated. Its foreleg shredded from its body, reducing to a pile of ash. It slumped over, the hailstorm unceasing, the flames on its tail reducing to the size of a candle, the glow of her cutie mark dwindling.
Even when most of her body had been turned to ash, it didn’t stop. Smoke rose from the cylinders, and eventually, both clicked. All that was left of Pink Scorch was a few piles of grey dust.
The mech gracefully touched the ground. Without much less gracefulness, it walked over the pile of ash, leaving behind an imprint of its foot.
Pulp was shouting at Juice Mare when it approached the two. “CAULIFLOWER CRUST IS JUST AS UNHEALTHY. MY ARTERIES WON’T EXPLODE FROM CHEESY GOODNESS JUST BECAUSE—oh hi!”
“Teki wa haijo sa remashita.”
Pulp perked up estatically, her tiny ears wiggling at the news. “Yo, word? That’s awesome!”
“I’m not as fluent in jibbernese as you are,” Juice Mare said. “What did he say?”
Pulp walked up to the robot, examining the sharp edges of what was left of the cockpit window. “He smacked her in the gob.”
Juice Mare’s eyebrows furrowed. “Wait, so he killed her?”
Pulp shrugged. “IDK, none of my bizsnatch. All that’s important is that tsundere is out of commission.”
Namaste rubbed her fetlock. “Bliss, I don’t want this to be normal for you.”
“Hey, it’s whatever. It’s not like it was an actual pony. You remember the last time we killed a demon hybrid. It was sooo far gone.”
Namaste pushed her goggles up to her forehead. Her mouth opened, prepared to argue, but all that came out was a sigh. “Dad was a different matter… this one seemed like it was actually trying to do something good.”
Bliss turned back to Namaste, her ears drooping. “Well… yeah, but it’s like you said… demons and stuff. You can’t trust them. We probably just saved the entire city! Now we can destroy it in peace.”
The mech suit’s voice box cracked. “Bliss…”
Bliss perked her head up and turned back to it.
She hugged its leg. “You did great, Dad!”
Author's Note
Pulp's Playlist
Stellar Eclipse—Stella for short—didn't like noise. It messed with her echolocation, and she didn't particularly like it when ponies ran about to and fro, banging on things, yelling, laughing, and doing everything else that she found obnoxious, like existing around her.
She hated Tyranny. With all her heart. For even suggesting that this idea was good in the first place. Why. Why did she believe in the hippogriff when all she had to do was hear the idea a second time?
Put on a rockshow. Let there be explosions and sweet limericks! It's the worst possible environment, what could go wrong!?
Stella forced herself to calm down and think of happy thoughts. Yes, happy thoughts, like what they will achieve once all of this is over. If it all doesn't go to shit because her partner is an unfiltered sociopath.
"Stella, are you okay?" Toxic, a brown griffon skinny enough to be more cat than lion, asked. "You've been staring into your reflection for almost an hour."
Stella's eyes broke away from the mirror, two slits dilating in his direction. Toxic pulled back a little.
"What's it to you?" Her voice was smooth, but not too smooth. It had just a hint of rasp wrapped in a buttery tortilla of snark.
"N-nothing, is all..." he looked around awkwardly, noticed the fruit tray at the edge of her vanity desk, and ate a strawberry. "You just—you know—seem preoccupied."
Stella turned back to the mirror. "I hate her. This is a terrible plan."
He chuckled and nervously patted her on the back, or more like, lightly tapped her shoulder and pulled back really quick. "Now, you know how Tyr is, she has to have her fun and all that. Why can't you lightin' up for a change, c'mon, what do you do for fun?"
"Breathe."
Toxic laughed, earning an odd, scathing look from Stella, which shut him up pretty quickly. He looked down at the floor shyly. "Listen, I don't know how her mind works, either. She's from outer space or sumthin', I can't put my claw on it. All I know is to tolerate the shit out of her and things will be peaches."
“Yeah, yeah, peaches…” she huffed.
Toxic pointed at the mirror. “So, are you gonna…” He hesitated.
“Say what you’re going to say and be quick about it.” Stella bit.
He held his talon up defensively. “Hey, I’m just saying. You’re at the make-up desk. Are you going to do your make-up? Because we go on in a few minutes.”
Stella didn’t say anything.
Nervous, Toxic backed away. “Yeah, I’m just gonna—see you on stage.”
For a few very blissful minutes, Stella was alone. There was noise—very irksome noise—all around, but she was able to tune it out and focus on breathing.
In… out… in… out…
Her peace was broken when she heard the familiar chatter of her manager nearing. “Why isn’t the pentagram complete!?” Babbles shouted loud enough to be next to her. “Go out there, pour more salt, then get me the shithead that’s in charge around here!”
A red-maned pony dressed in formal attire and wearing an earpiece reared the corner and halted when she saw Stella, still staring in the mirror. She smiled, teeth and all. “Oh, hey there baby, have you seen Tyranny? We sort of need the LEAD FUCKING GUITARIST for the show. If you can go fetch her for me that’d be dandy.”
“You do it. I’m busy.” Stella continued to stare into the mirror.
“Excuse me, I’m trying to keep this entire thing organized. So while I’m carrying the weight of the world on my back, you can make yourself useful.” She dipped her head down and whispered into Stella’s ear, “Go get her.”
Stella groaned but got up.
Tobacco smoke lofted throughout the green room. An inhale, and her cigarette reduced to a worm of ash. She dropped the butt into the ashtray on the end table next to her, adding to the growing pile. She produced the silver cigarette pouch from the chest pocket of her denim jacket that tore away at the midriff and put another in her mouth.
She struck a match, the fire glistening against the lens of her sunglasses. Waved it out. Flicked it away. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. A breathing exercise of her very own.
The hippogriff was sprawled across the length of the couch. Her feathers were sapphire blue, mane and tail a wild array of hot colors ranging from orange, to red, to yellow, and everything else that looked like the vomitice of half a rainbow.
Hors d'oeuvres of many varieties were spread out across a table, all of which had a single bite taken out of them. Cracks spider-webbed from the center of the vanity desk’s mirror. The room was littered with empty beer cans. A single bottle of rum she deemed her “rations” stood next to the ashtray on her end table.
Leaning against the vanity desk was a double-neck electric guitar black as ebony. On the body, there was a red sphere. Occasionally she would glance at it, her fingers plucking away at imaginary guitar strings in front of an imaginary crowd. When she was in this state she’d mumble to herself lyrics to songs yet to be completed, or songs never to be completed.
Crappy jazz music that sounded more like someone putting away groceries blared from a radio on the other side of the room, crinkly ocean wave static overwhelming the music. It didn’t bother her much. In fact, it stimulated her senses in an odd way. Good proper music was so hard to come by that she found the sound of gravel pouring into a bucket to be more soothing to the ears.
Knock! Knock!
Stella slammed the door open. She took a moment to examine the cluttered room, then hissed, tongue slithering between sharp fangs.
“You’re still not ready?” she bit.
Inhale. Exhale. “Soothe your arse, love,” Tyranny replied. “I’m always ready for a good show. Come in and bum a fag off me.”
“We go on in five minutes.”
“And you can’t choke one down for two? Take that stick out why don’t ya, relax a bit.”
Stella grimaced but walked into the green room, kicking aside empty beer cans. “Is this how you live at home?”
Tyranny took another cigarette from the pouch and held it out toward the thestral. Looking at it for a moment, Stella sniffed it. Then she ate it. “Mm, yeah, it’s good,” she said while chewing. “I really love the cigarette taste. Really adds to the flavor.” She swallowed. “There, now can we start making our way to the stage? I want everything to go perfect tonight.”
Tyranny finished her cigarette with a single long drag. Flakes of ember sprinkled onto the couch, burning through the fabric. She flicked the butt onto the floor and got up, making her way over to the double-neck guitar.
“No need to get cheeky,” she said, throwing the strap over her neck and tucking the guitar beneath her wing.”I’ve never missed a show.”
“A lot is on the line with this one. I’d rather not be late.”
Taking a four-pack from the vanity desk, she ripped a beer can from the plastic ring. She stabbed a claw into the side of the can so that foamy white beer came fauceting out and she held it above her open mouth until it was depleted. She crushed the can against her forehead and tossed it lazily to the ground.
“Ya got the book?”
“Of course, I got the book! I just need you!”
“Let’s go, then.”
They walked down the hallway side-by-side, ignoring all the greetings they were getting. Creatures of many types were standing around, happening by, mingling with each other, some wearing T-shirts with the Underlord logo on them. They arrived at Babbles speaking into her headset.
“What do you mean there hasn’t been a sound check? I asked for the soundcheck to be done an hour ago. Who are the lazy douchebags in charge of that?”
Stella cleared her throat. “We’re ready.”
The mare swiveled around, plastic smile spread across her face. “That’s wonderful baby,” Babbles said. “Now let’s just—hold on.” She brought her hoof up to her headset. “No, not you. I’m talking to someone actually worth my time right now. Go make sure the pentagram is done. Adios.” She marched through a propped-open labeled “STAGE ENTRANCE,” the two following.
“Can I get you two anything before the show starts? Breath mints? Water? Headache medicine?”
“Three minutes until stage time!” somepony shouted.
“Shitshitshitshshitshit,” the mare quickened her pace.
They arrived backstage where various creatures were at work. The Tyranny started on another cigarette while standing to the side of the stage, earning an annoyed look from both Stella and Babbles. Even through the blinding lights, she could make out the vague silhouettes of creatures in the crowd. Salt was spread out across the stage in lines that led to strategically placed instruments placed into concentric circles.
“Is the pentagram finished?” she asked.
“Should be,” Babbles said. “Hopefully. Maybe. Better be, or else I’m gonna have to fire someone’s ass.”
She eyed-up Stella. “Are you seriously going on stage naked?” Getting closer to her face and squinting, she added, “And without make-up?”
“Why?” Stella replied in a dry tone of voice. “Does it look like I’m aging?”
“Baby, you’re next to ageless.” Babbles patted the threstral on the shoulder. “But this is a rock show. People want pizzazz!”
She waved at an intern walking by with a trio of coffees hovering in front of her. “Hey, get me some glitter! I want the stars in her mane to sparkle by the time she’s ready for stage. And get me a cape!”
“Seriously?” Stella said. “You seriously expect me to wear a cape? Are you seriously going to perpetuate that stereotype?”
“Hey, it’s a cool stereotype! Not all thestrals are vamps, sure, but at least you can look snazzy when you walk up to your synth.”
Stella rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
“Starting in sixty seconds!” Another pony shouted.
Toxic came padding up, feathers already damp with sweat and emitting a terrible BO. Babbles squinted and stared into his eyes. “Fuck, are you high again?”
“Hey, I do what I do, you do what you do,” he said, ramming his words together like two vehicles in a head-on collision. “All you need to know is that I can’t do what I do on stage without doing the other thing I do. So you do your thing and I do my thing.” He turned to Stella. “Hey, did you finish that fruit platter?”
Stella scoffed and stomped her hoof. “Where are the Underlings?”
“Over here,” a dead voice called. A dark red earth pony with a spiky black mane with frosted blue tips and sporting a sparkly black jacket walked up to the group at a sluggish pace. Her twin sister skipped along behind her, although her mane was flatter, bubblegum pink with a yellow strip running through it, her coat an opalescent white, jacket equally as sparkly but pink instead of black.
“Sup biatches!” Half-N-Half shouted jovially, stopping alongside her sister. She spotted the threstral and continued with equal enthusiasm, “Whoa, Stella, you’re going on without make-up? That’s, like, a statement or something!” She threw a hoof around her sister’s neck, who didn’t even budge. “It took Ghosty and me two hours to come up with our styles, and here you are looking plain as ever!”
Ghost in the Shell, her I-can’t-believe-it’s-not-goth sister, grumbled, “You look hot.”
Babbles groaned. “Where the fuck is that intern? Somebody, find them!”
“Where’s the book?” Tyranny asked Stella while still watching the stage.
“It’s in your spot, opened to the passage. All you have to do is read the song and get the crowd to perform the chants, and it’ll all be perfect.”
“Lemon squeezy.”
She was halfway through her cigarette when the intern returned while hovering a cape and a small container of glitter in front of her. Babbles took the glitter and shook it over the threstral’s mane, to her annoyance. After the cape collar was clamped tightly around her neck, one of the stagehands started counting down.
“Show starts in ten, nine, eight…”
Tyranny flicked the cigarette to the ground, the intern hurriedly picking it up with her magic and throwing it into a nearby trashcan.
“Six, five, four…”
Outside, the crowd was chanting.
Under-lord
Under-lord
Under-lord
Under-lord
“Three, two, one… it’s show time!”
Tyranny and the rest of the Underlords walked onto the stage and were greeted by uproarious applause. Tyranny approached her mic with the same level of enthusiasm she carried since the tour began—none. Maybe five years ago when she was still properly in touch with her emotions she’d feel the excitement of the crowd. She remembered it feeling like cocaine. The moment they began chanting her name she’d run out and start her guitar solo seconds before the other crew could get to their instruments.
Now she felt nothing. The cheers weren’t fulfilling, nor were they grating. They were simply there.
She pulled out her guitar—the one called Animae—and pulled the mic close to her beak. “How many of you are sloshed and ready to rock!?”
The crowd exploded.
Tyranny connected the amp cord and picked a few chords with her claws. Animae’s sweet vocals reverberated across the room.
“Alright blokes,” she continued. “We’ve got a new one in the works tonight. You’ll all be the first to hear. It is called…” She took a moment to examine the book on the sheet stand next to her microphone to verify that it was opened to the right page. It was. “Rakasha Rise!”
With that, they began playing.
They rocked so hard that vibrants could be felt through the air. It was the closest thing to an adrenaline rush that she could get.
She leaned in toward the mic and sang.
I’m a witch
I’m a liar
I stand on stage
Playing my demented lyre
There’s a vampire
In my life
Sucking blood through my veins
I’ve gone so numb I stopped giving a fuck
Shit just happens, ‘cause I’m outta luck
Hand me a beer
Hand me a cigar
We’ll be good friends
But I might wreck your car
I went to the gas station
Asked for a coffee
‘Cause I needed to sober up
I pulled out a glock and said,
“Gimme everything you got!”
The police arrived
No one survived
I was running through the night
On an adrenaline high
I fell into the river
I couldn’t get out
I was going to drown
But something pulled me out
A demon said to me,
“You look so bleak!”
Then offered me a treat
“Hey little griff! Why not a retreat?”
There was nothing. Not in Tyranny’s world. Not when she played. The crowd no longer existed. The other band members might as well all be ghosts following her lead. There was no Babbles telling her to get on stage, and there wasn’t a Stella demanding for a task to be done. There was herself in a void of transfixion.
Just as she lost herself in subconsciousness, the strings on her guitar emitted a red glow, as if they were heating up by how awesome she was playing. To add to the effect, the headstock smoked.
The orb at the base brightened, a single black slit cutting through. It blinked vertically, then a voice spoke in Tyranny’s head.
“Ready.”
She continued.
I bought a book
It’s a read
It taught me everything I need
Even changed the way I breathe
I opened it up
I read allowed,
“Surge Rakasha ex tumulo!”
And everything became profound
The lights in the room dimmed. The only source of visibility was the red light casting down on her and the candles lied down at every point of the pentagram. They wavered as if a draft was gushing through the room.
O Rakasha
Sculptor Animarum
Surge in alium mundum
Gratia nobis in praesentia tua
The center of the pentagram sparked, and the floor melted away into a vortex. The candle flames danced wildly.
She repeated the verse, the other band members following her stead.
O Rakasha
Sculptor Animarum
Surge in alium mundum
Gratia nobis in praesentia tua
Guitar fully charged, “Alright, fuckwads!” Tyranny shouted. “Make these walls rattle! Scream Rakasha’s name real loud and real clear-like!”
The chanting started.
Rak-ash-a!
Rak-ash-a!
Rak-ash-a!
Rak-ash-a!
“Don’t you stop!”
Tyranny continued playing. A magical aura took control of her fingers, guiding her through the necessary chord progression. She could feel it breathing, the base inflating and deflating. The draft turned into a wind that ruffled her feathers and made all of the band members manes dance wildly.
O Rakasha
Sculptor Animarum
Surge in alium mundum
Gratia nobis in praesentia tua
O Rakasha
Sculptor Animarum
Surge in alium mundum
Gratia nobis in praesentia tua
Meanwhile, the crowd kept up.
Rak-ash-a!
Rak-ash-a!
Rak-ash-a!
Rak-ash-a!
In the center of the pentagram, all went quiet as the air seeped out. Like sparking a match inside a gas-filled room, the stage exploded into bright lights of many colors.
Tyranny finished the song with a series of guitar riffs, the other members following it up with their own little solos. The song died the moment the light evaporated, and in the center of the pentagram stood a twelve-foot beast.
It had six eyes, but it was no arachnid. It had a trunk, but it was no elephant. A horn protruded from the base of its snout, but it was no rhinoceros. Its skin was the shade of dried blood, covered in glowing runes all over.
The song ended, and the crowd cheered, despite not understanding what they were witnessing.
Stella rose from her synth and held her hooves out wide to address the mystical beast. “Dearest Rakasha, Carver of Demons, grace us if you’ll please!”
He did not turn. Rather, he shrunk down in size and reduced his mighty form into a blob, rolling over so that his six eyes bore into the thestral.
He’s trying to intimidate me, she thought. It was almost funny. Almost. She lost her sense of humor two hundred years ago. Go on, try me. You won’t get beyond that barrier.
She continued. “We have freed you from your shackles in Tartaraus so that you may be free to walk the Earth once more.” She bowed in preparation for what she had to say next. “All we ask is for any gift of our choice.”
A stagehand ran up to her and placed a silver chalice atop her synth. Stella took it and held it toward the demon. “Fill this chalice with your blood, and you’ll be free. This is the only debt we require.”
The stage shook, an uncanny echo reverberating across the room. Laughing. He was laughing. Stella’s brow twitched. She sneered. “I know it is a pitiful request toward a being of your greatness, but—”
“Enough of this!” Tyranny shouted. “Little demon wants to play games? Then perhaps he could be of some fun!” In one swift motion, she swiped the salt off the floor in front of her.
Rakasha’s eyes sucked into his gelatinous form and appeared on the other side. The room shook like an earthquake. A voice almost intelligible echoed across the room.
“Freedom…”
His blobish state spaghettified before taking on the form of a hawk, and he zoomed through the gap in the barrier, soaring over the crowd. He dove downward into the ocean of ponies before growing in size once more, returning to his mystical form.
CRAAASH!
The room rumbled, and ponies screamed. They ran toward the stage, away from the monster that had just torn a large hole into the face of the building.
“Are you kidding me!?” Stella shouted at the hippogriff. “We were supposed to just collect his blood!”
“Enough talk, let’s hunt.” Tyranny strummed her guitar. The air around her exploded in a flash of red and she zoomed forward on a giant bird comprised of magic.
Stella grumbled a series of curses under her breath but fluttered after nonetheless.
Outside, the beast was causing mayhem. Cars were smashed, and telephone poles and streetlights were knocked over. Ponies ran, a few stopping to examine the creature that was causing so much trouble. Rakasha stampeded down the street regardless of what was in his path. All he knew was to get to safety, and whatever this place was it certainly was not.
Much had changed in Equestria in the past one thousand years. Settlements were no longer small villages populated by tribes. Instead, monoliths towered overhead, many bright and condensed together so that for a moment he considered that the city was more vast and more ambitious than Tartaraus’s palace itself.
Tyranny flew past. She put some distance between him before doing a U-turn and halting. Her claws glided along the guitar's neck as she played a new chord progression. The ethereal bird she was standing atop of dissolved, and just as the demon was about to collide with her tendrils shot out from the orb at her guitar's base.
They wrapped around every appendage that they could reach. His trunk, his midriff, his legs--ensnared, Rakasha struggled to escape.
Stella soared down on top of the beast. "Keep him held tight!" she shouted.
Tyranny didn't hear. She just continued playing.
Stella climbed down to its neck. She opened her maw wide. With a hiss, her fangs grew in length, and she bit down. Immediately, a metallic taste filled her mouth. The ground rumbled. Rakasha writhed, noodly tendrils stretching from his flesh.
"He's transforming!" Tryanny shouted.
Stella bit down as hard as her jaw would allow, sucked as hard as she could. Demon blood dripped from her lips. Part of her was tempted to pull back and spit it all out. She had to be careful. There was no telling what would happen if she swallowed his blood.
.
Mouth full, she pulled away and fluttered back, and was knocked into the pavement by one of the tendrils, nearly spitting up some of the blood, a rivulet running down her cheek.
What had smacked her out of the air was a wing. One large and bat-like, complete with a forearm and membranes. The ground shook, and an otherworldly screech echoed across the streets of Maretropolis, windows from buildings shattering for blocks. Tendrils on his other side wrapped together like sinew, forming another wing. His body grew slender, albeit muscular, and much longer. His size was now double what it used to be, his head draconic.
In one swift flap of his wings, Rakasha pulled up toward the sky and the ethereal tendrils holding him snapped. Tryanny stopped playing and simply looked up at the demon, waiting for his next move. And waited. And waited.
Rakasha peered down at the puny creature and considered for a moment devouring her then and there. However, she had freed him from his shackles. They may have dishonored him by trapping him and stealing his blood, but he was free to do as he pleased. Fine. He'd be free, and in return, they would be allowed to live. They asked for a gift, and that gift was pity.
He rose through the air, massive wings undilating. When he was just above the skyline, he faded into the night, nowhere to be seen, as if he were a chameleon disappearing among foliage. Tyranny walked up to Stella, who was busy with trying to not spit up or swallow the blood in her mouth. Lucky for her, the intern from earlier came running up with the chalice hovering in front of her. Stella took it without hesitation and spat the red ichor into the container. It was only a quarter-full, but it'd be enough to continue the next phase of the plan.
Stella wiped her mouth with the back of her hoof and turned to the hippogriff with a grimace. "Did you have your fun?"
Tryanny tucked the guitar back beneath her wing. "Ended too quickly for my liking."
"Good. We need the blood of two more demons for the grand summoning to work."
Tyranny took her cigarette case from the breast pocket of her denim jacket, struck a match, little one, and tossed the match on the ground. "Lucky for you I'm type-A."
"Ha. Ha." Stella mocked. "I still don't get why we have to put on a rock show to summon these things. Nothing screams 'I want to go to jail' like flashy lights and loud noises.
Tyranny took a puff. "Take that stick out of yer bum and look alive, love! There's nothing wrong with a bit of show and tell. 'Sides, ya got what you want. Just leave it to ol' Tyr to decide how we procure the supplies."
Handing the chalice over to the intern, who took it into her magic and ran back to the building—careful to not spill a drop—Stella marched up to the hippogriff and jabbed a hoof into her chest. "Let me make it known. If it weren't for that Parasite residing within your guitar, I wouldn't be talking to you, right now. I'd be off somewhere else finding my own way to summon a primordial deity. You want to have your fun? Fine. Have all the fun. But if you compromise these plans in any way, I won't hesitate to suck the blood out of your body. No matter how putrid, and rancid it is. And that's the nicest I can describe it, too. Don't even get me started on the amount of narcotics you digest daily!"
"Oh, look at that." Tryanny flicked her cigarette stub onto the ground. "Your little spiel was long enough for me to finish my fag." She turned to walk away. "I'm going for some hookers and blow. See you at the after party."
Stella stared after her. Her brows twitched, lips itched. She licked her fangs in anticipation to bite her neck then and there, just so she wouldn't have to deal with this again. The amount of strength it took to prevent herself from lashing out was the equivalent of a single pony stopping a high-speed train.
She gritted her teeth.
Dammit, she was hot!
Author's Note
Stella belongs to NorristhePony while Tyranny is my own OC. He gave me permission to use her. I love her like she's own, so like a protective parent in a custody battle, I'm doing everything I can to keep her.
But Tyranny is hot shit.
Pretty much all of the band members will be getting artwork, but the only character who has any is Stella because Norris already had a bunch at the ready.
For the record, her actual name is Stellar Wind. Stellar Eclipse is her stage name.
