Archangel Of The Rebellion - A New Lunar Republic Fanfiction

The moon was fading, it's radiance overpowered by the overpowering light and heat of the Sun, which glowed with an atomic splendour that seared the skin of everypony in its involuntary audience. It filled the sky, leaving barely any trace of shade or shelter from its burning rays. The only pony in sight was the lone figure, walking exhaustedly, yet with a conviction that expressed itself through his steely gaze, along the road to Stalliongrad.

Up ahead, he saw a checkpoint. These outposts were pockmarked throughout the Empire, reporting everything and anything that even thought the word "revolution" or "hope".

As he approached the checkpoint, three guards stepped out of the small shelter at the side, slinging their rifles from their backs, and stood menacingly in the centre of the road. The one in the middle spat on the ground.

“Halt, in the name of Celestia!” The middle guard barked. As the figure came closer, he didn’t reply, or even slow down, but continued walking briskly forwards.

“Hey! I was talking to you! Stop there immediately!” The guard shouted as the figure reached the checkpoint. He stopped abruptly right in front of the enormous pony, and looked up at his face. He then stood up on his hind legs to reach the same level and looked into his eyes. The guard chuckled slightly.

“Ha, who do you think you are, tough guy?” he jeered. The other guards grunted and shuffled their feet. The figure cocked his head to the side and smiled, before, in one flowing movement, he pulled out a large knife and stabbed the soldier through his stomach and up into the ribcage, with a gurgle and a splinter, the knife appeared through his back, smeared dark red.

“HOLY SHIT!” screamed the guard on the right, as they both raised their rifles. The figure dropped to the ground and let the barely conscious guard fall on top of him, still supported on the knife blade. The bullets hit the guard and he moaned again, but he choked on his own blood and coughed violently, spraying blood all over the ground, his helmet fell off his head and landed on the gravel track with a scrape. The vibration of the coughing forced the figure to drop the guard, but not before he had taken his sidearm. The other two guards lined up another shot, but before they had time to pull the trigger, the figure shot the right hand one in the torso, causing him to drop his weapon and fall to the ground, screaming and clutching his stomach. This distracted the final guard long enough for the figure to get to somewhere covered. He fired over the road block he had chosen to hide behind but missed, looking at the pistol, he realised that there was only those two bullets in it – ammunition was expensive and there was a lot of soldiers. He threw the gun onto the ground and stopped for a second to think, What the hell am I doing? The thought was quickly dispelled though when he heard gravel crunching, hoofsteps coming his way.

The figure quickly composed himself for the suicidal attack he was about to attempt, after a deep breath he decided that he had nothing to live for, and he went for it. He jumped up suddenly from his hiding spot and charged the startled guard, knocking his rifle onto the floor. Realising what he had just done, the figure relaxed slightly. The guard stood up and punched him in the side of the head. Dazzled on the floor, the soldier managed to get on top of him, after struggling and blocking the guard’s attacks for a few seconds, he looked beyond his assailant and saw an opportunity. The figure used his whole body for momentum, then stamped down as hard as he could on the soldier’s tail with the rim of his hoof. There was an almighty crunch and the punch destined for the figure’s face landed weakly on his cheek. While he had the chance the figure pushed the guard off him. The pony howled in pain, his tail was only supported half way, the other half dropped down and the end dragged along the floor. The figure stood up and kicked the third guard so he fell onto his side, still moaning and sobbing. He stamped on the pony’s gut, making him retch and vomit up large quantities of blood, which also spurted out of his nostrils, before kicking him hard in the neck. He stopped moving completely and flopped onto the gravel road.

Next, the figure moved onto the second guard, who was still sobbing and choking on the ground. He picked him up by his mane and looked into his eyes.

“please, please, don’t hurt me. Please, Please!” The soldier begged, tears streaming from his eyes. The wound in his stomach was raw and gaping, the metal of his armour dented inwards in cruel spikes, blood coming out in spurts from the severed arteries.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have any mercy any more.” Replied the figure with gritted teeth. He hit the guard in the bullet wound, causing him to scream out in pain. The figure felt a pang of regret for causing this helpless pony so much suffering, he thought about his family, the way they had been treated. He couldn’t wish that upon anyone in the world. The figure finished off the guard by smashing his face onto the ground, his muzzle crumpled in with a crack and the pony let out one last whimper before going limp in the figure’s hands. The spurts of blood slowed down to a stop.

The olive pony moved onto the final guard, who was stone dead by then, with an extensive pool of blood around his mouth and nose. He pulled the knife out of his stomach, the hole leaked a small amount of blood onto the ground. With the knife he preceded to behead this guard, the biggest and most muscular of the three, and impaled the dripping and contorted face on the shorter of the two flagpoles. Satisfied with his work, the figure walked back over to the second guard and slit his throat, the small amount of remaining blood pressure was enough to leak blood into the figure’s hoof. He then wrote the same message that he had left in the tower block.  And with that he cleaned his knife, took a pistol with all the ammunition and continued on the road to salvation.

The nameless pony continued on his way. His thoughts, cold, dark and mysterious like the depths of the coldest oceans, roiled restlessly in the dankest recesses of his mind, reflecting on who-- no, WHAT he had become. He took life without pity or remorse; his sanity pulling slowly out of his reach. He had cast his old life away, including his identity and his name. But he could not stop now. He could not afford to.

During this moment of inner turmoil, he had steadily walked towards the nearest settlement; a small trading town erected as a haven for all those who are trying to build a new life. It stood stalwart, a town by the name of Saddle-Side. The nameless walked somewhat hurriedly to the local tavern, taking note of the obviously poverty-stricken ponies clumped together in the dirt. It was a pony-eat-pony world, and he could not afford to lose what he had to some poor puppet of Celestia's tyranny.

The tavern was surprising to the nameless pony, because unlike any other establishment located outside of Canterlot, it was refreshingly well-furnished and luxuriant. However, that did nothing to uplift the downcast looks on the customers faces; even those with smiles on their faces were strained. The figure moved to the bar, where he ordered a stiff drink. While waiting, he was approached by a plump earth-pony in a dinner jacket.

"Hail, friend!" he boomed with a voice like an actor in an advert for products that were "good, ol' fashioned". (This thought made the nameless pony smile somewhat)

"Hmph" came the grunted reply. If the plump pony took offence, he didn't show it.

"I see you're new to our quaint little town! Is there anything I can assist you with?"

The nameless one pondered the question.

"No, but if you have heard any interesting news recently…"

"Ah, I wouldn't know much about that I'm afraid. However, if I may direct you to that little group over there, you may find what you're looking for."

The obvious disappointment on his face answered every question the figure had.

As he got up, the nameless pony suddenly grabbed the fat bastard by the scruff of his neck.

"I know your kind. The homeless ponies outside? I guess those are the ones you extorted out of all their possessions and wealth in order to buy this shithole of a pub. You don't see customers, you see bags of cash with hooves. You came over to me expecting to suck me dry, but if you come near me again, I will break your fucking neck."

The stranger detached silently and walked past the fat pony, face turned bright red with fear, shock and unexpected guilt, before turning around and throwing his drink at the back of the owner's fat head, knocking him to the floor in a shower of blood and broken glass.

"This drink tastes like shit, too."

The nameless pony walked nonchalantly over to the small knot of ponies, who were sharing details regarding recent events from every corner of Equestria, all while ignoring the attention he received from those who noticed him cave in the head of the bar owner. He took a seat and listened to the ponies of varying backgrounds commentary on the current state of the world. Nothing really caught his attention for a while - after all, with no radio or TV broadcasts besides propaganda that convinced you to murder your entire family (it's more common than you think), most ponies had no real clue what was going on, just theories and speculation - until he heard the words "guards murdered" and "bloody messages" mentioned. It seemed even these ponies had heard of his terrible, psychotic exploits. Also, he realised with a strangled gasp of grief, there was no mention of his family. Another benefit of being a tyrant, he thought venomously.

One more piece of information sang to his ears.

The New Lunar Republic was recruiting.

With that, he jumped and left abruptly. However, on his way to the doors, a group of small children ran up to him. He stopped and turned to appraise them, and noticed they were offering him something. Money. He smiled. From the bar owner's wallet that was clutched in their hands. With a small hesitation, he accepted the gift and left, triumphant over his small victory over his greatest enemy.

Corruption.