Pony Royale

Part 3

Finale

"In the land of the blind the one-eyed man is king. But in the darkness the one man holding a candle is a target."

-Michel Grant, Fear

Chapter 7

Twilight awoke to the feeling of a scaly hand shaking her shoulder. She groaned, rolled over, and sank back into her sheets. They felt softer than they had when she went to bed the night before. Come to think of it, she hadn't gone to sleep in her bed at all.

Twilight instantly sat up, looking over at Spike who had awakened her moments ago. "Geez, Twilight. What's up with you? Your usually the one waking me up," he said with a great deal of suspicion.

Twilight ignored Spike and left her bedroom. She descended her stairs, though she did not remember ascending them the night before. She continued to pass through her personal library, and opened her front door. Ponyville was most certainly in one piece, and was going about its daily routine like any other day. But for some reason, this wasn't just any other day. Foals played in the streets, and venders haggled in the marketplace. Even the mayor seemed at ease. Had it been a dream? Had what been a dream?

"I guess I'm going to have to make breakfast too," Spike grumbled as he shuffled into the kitchen. He seemed unaware of Twilight's bewilderment. "Oh, or I guess we'll be going to that picnic right away then?"

"Picnic?" Twilight was having trouble making sense of what was going on.

"Yeah. Nearly half of Ponyville is going. I almost forgot about it, and it sounds like you have too. We should get going, actually. You slept in really late." Twilight knew she never slept in. Not ever. She didn't know anything about this picnic, and she had never attended anything of the sort in the past.

As they leisurely strolled down the main street of Ponyville, Twilight noticed that nothing was wrong. But that wasn't true, was it? There was something very wrong, and something horrible was happening. What was it? Twilight knew it, she knew she knew it, but she couldn't remember.

They passed the end of the long row of shops that made up Ponyville's downtown area, and began to ascend a small hill on the other side of which Twilight often hosted picnics for her friends. The only thing Twilight didn't understand was the occasion. She and her friends often had picnics, but not with half of Ponyville. Why this many? Why now?

Twilight suddenly felt a surge of anxiety. Something was happening on the other side of that hill. It was the thing that was wrong. She took the rest of the hill at a full gallop, leaving Spike behind in the dust. She reached the top, and saw fifteen of her friends strewn across the hillside. Blankets, picnic baskets, and little stacks of sandwiches were all arranged appropriately, even appropriate amounts of condiments were distributed amongst the crowd. But it was the ponies themselves that painted a gruesome picture across the landscape of Twilight's mind. They were all dead.

Pinkie Pie was the closest. A knife protruded from the center of her forehead, and her eyes stared blankly up at the clouds. Applejack didn't even have a head, or an intact one at least. Blood and bits of liquefied brain trickled from the remaining attached part, which ended just below her nose. Filthy Rich lay next to her, an opening nearly three inches long cut across his throat, and was clearly the source of a now dried up stream of blood running down the hillside.

Twilight felt her knees buckle, and she fell to the ground. "What happened?" she asked, finally forcing herself to look away from the carnage.

"You should know, Twilight." Spike had finally caught up with her. "You did this."

"But I... " Twilight was shocked. She staggered through the field of dead ponies. Suddenly, one of the bodies reached out and caught Twilight's hind hoof. She screamed and fell to the ground, trying not to kick the still living pony to death. It was Caramel. He was bleeding from what seemed to be several wide puncture wounds in his stomach. They reminded her of something. What was it?

He coughed. His lips were moving. Twilight leaned in, trying to make out what he was saying. "Why... Why didn't you...?"

"Why did you do it, Twilight? Why did you kill them?" It was Spike again.

Twilight woke with a start. She hadn't moved an inch from where she'd fallen asleep. The dry creek-side pebbles were still rubbing against her back. The sun was once more down below the horizon, and the stars were already shining brightly up above.

It was all just a dream, she thought to herself. It had, hadn't it? All the other ponies could still be alive. They could have escaped somehow, leaving her behind on the island.

And what about Caramel? Twilight felt the pain of anguish as she finally noticed the now vacant spot at her side. She sat fully upright, searching the woods around her. Nothing. How could he be gone? Where would he go?

She thought back to the dream. What was Caramel trying to say? Never mind that. After all, it was only a dream. What mattered now was Caramel's absence in the real world. Twilight fell back onto the cold earth. She could feel tears trying to burst from her eyes. What scared her most was the idea that Caramel wasn't even real to begin with.

Oh dear. That wasn't expected. That wasn't expected at all. Fluttershy was so loving and caring, the only one nice enough to put up with all those awful wild animals. Fluttershy was the kind of pony that would never hurt a fly, literally in her case. She was the kind of pony that would most certainly perish instantly in this game. Yet here she was, calmly inspecting the barrel of a disassembled sniper rifle. She turned it over and over in her hooves, holding it up to her eye and looking though it every now and then.

Filthy Rich watched this from afar, and above. He was sitting near the summit of a steep incline in the hillside, deep in the middle of a large thicket of bushes. His cover was aided by the night, but he wasn't about to leave anything to chance. He was crouched in a most uncomfortable position, his hooves digging into the dirt and roots below to keep from sliding down the hill.

Fluttershy was sitting in a small clearing, outlined by three trees. There were bits and pieces of her gun laid on the surrounding pine needles, resembling the outline of an expanded rifle. She was humming to herself. And smiling. It was evident to Filthy that she was inspecting each component for hard to find errors and imperfections. The only question was, what would she do if she found one? What was she going to do, replace it? Fix it?

It was this that worried Filthy. Actually, worried would be an understatement. This scared him shitless. He had made the very brash assumption that perhaps everypony would tend to take a more peaceful path down the road of impending death. But if Fluttershy was sensually stroking the pieces of a gun as if it were a baby squirrel, then the remaining ponies on the island had very low prospects for non-violent tendencies. At least that's how Filthy saw it.

"What am I doing?" Fluttershy muttered to herself. She actually spoke! To herself. "Shouldn't I be tracking down the pony with the shotgun right now?" she continued. Well now. Filthy was beginning to see a glimmer of hope. If Fluttershy's possibly self-induced insanity was the only thing that made her act so strangely, then the rest of the group may very well be spared from this maniacal behavior, which greatly concerned Filthy. He continued to watch as Fluttershy had an entire conversation with somepony who wasn't there. And as it turned out, the things they discussed were rather grim.

"Yes, I do suppose gun safety is more important than a quicker kill. Strangling Snails and Shooting Applejack is already good enough for one day." Dear Celestia! Fluttershy was clearly not as insane as Filthy had hoped, and was quite busy too. The number of possible remaining survivors on the island was shrinking very quickly for Filthy. Finding a partner for escape was a no-go.

"Well, I guess you're right, Discord," Fluttershy kept talking, "I'll finish with my gun here and make sure I'm ready for a firefight." Discord. The name sent icy shivers down Filthy's back. Of course Discord was behind all this, it was the perfect explanation for Fluttershy's demonic behavior. He had to be laughing at them right now, trapped on a hellish island, killing each other for a few more hours of survival. You couldn't get more chaotic without becoming the god himself.

Fluttershy had stopped talking. She wasn't looking at her gun parts either. She was looking up the hill. Up at Filthy. He froze. A small rock, no wider that Filthy's hoof, had come loose from the nest of roots had his hooves, and was now rolling down the hillside, lazily making it's way to Fluttershy's encampment. He froze. There were ice cubes melting against the back of his neck, and the bones in his legs were replaced with stiff wooden boards.

Fluttershy seemed to be thinking about something. It was as though she was considering a list of options set out in front of her, and was having trouble deciding which action to take. She slowly began to reassemble her rifle. As each piece of the gun slid into place, it became clear to Filthy that somepony had shown her how to do this. Once she'd finished that, she then placed it upright in her pack, and slung it over her shoulder. She paused. She was looking to the north. There was something there that she wanted, but something was holding her back. Something that wasn't right. It was tugging her mind back to the bushes on the hill. The bushes where Filthy was hiding. She turned around.

The ice cubes on his neck boiled away and the boards in his legs shattered to pieces as Filthy sprung into action. He couldn't die now, not like this. But the hill was steep and the ground uneven, and Filthy quickly found himself tumbling down the hillside. When he came to a stop he found himself barely ten feet away from Fluttershy, who was withdrawing a pistol from her pack. But where did she get that? Didn't matter.

Filthy scrambled to his feet and bolted in the opposite direction through the forest, which wasn't easy considering the density of the trees. Filthy's eardrums reverberated and rang as Fluttershy unloaded her first shot. The round struck the ground only a few inches beside Filthy, throwing up a column of pine needles. He was nearing a dip, where the terrain once more sloped downward. If he could make it that far, he would be under cover from gunfire, at least for a few seconds. Fluttershy rattled off a second shot, this time striking a tree branch next to Filthy's head and sending it spiraling to the ground in a cloud of shrapnel. He was only fifteen feet away now. Once he got behind the dip in the hill, he would have time to draw his own gun, and it would be a fair fight. Five feet later his hoof rolled on an unusual rock, sending his face into the ground once more. He coughed and sputtered with his face in the dirt, but less than half a second later he was up again. In that time Fluttershy had fired another shot. Filthy tried to run, but where there was once a stable leg there was now a bleeding liability. The bullet had entered just above his ankle, and his hoof was already drenched in blood. Running now on only three and a half legs, Filthy's pace had slowed quite considerably. Eight more feet. The pain was setting in fast, and Filthy wasn't prepared. He collapsed again, gasping in shock as his entire right hind leg immersed itself in throbbing pain. He was quickly back up again, this time at the speed of a delirious march. Five more feet. Filthy made a dive, and Fluttershy took one last shot. Filthy stopped running. His neck was bleeding.

Fluttershy, still panting, approached Filthy Rich's dead body in a manner more careless than complete caution, and more cautious than complete carelessness. The bullet had gone straight into the back of his neck, severing his spinal cord. She opened his pack, removing the Desert Eagle, and placing it in her pack next to the sniper rifle and the pistol she'd grabbed off Snails.

Nicely done, Fluttershy. Though you wasted two bullets.

"This gun is different from the rifle," replied Fluttershy, "it doesn't seem to be as accurate."

I see.

"Plus, you never taught me how to use it like you did with the sniper rifle."

Taught you? I thought you already knew that.

"What?" Fluttershy was confused, "you showed me how to hold it and how to fire it."

I did? I hate to say it Fluttershy, but by the time I got here, you already knew how to use it.

"What are you talking about? Discord, you showed up that first night. You showed me everything. You saved me."

Discord. You keep calling me that. Who is this Discord, and why do you think I'm him?

"You're not making any sense!" shouted Fluttershy.

Since when have I not made sense? You're the one who's shouting like a blithering lunatic.

"Well I'm talking to you!" Fluttershy was beginning to get frightened. "Please, Discord. Stop your foolish games."

You're talking to me? Who even am I? Do you know? Because I don't.

"Please stop it." Fluttershy was beginning to cry. "I trusted you."

With what? All I know is that I suddenly appeared, and now I'm talking to you.

"Where are you?" Fluttershy shouted into the woods, her words eaten up by the dark. "Show yourself!"

That's it, I'm leaving. This is just too weird.

"Wait!" Fluttershy screamed, "don't go. Please don't go." But her cries were left unanswered.

Fluttershy looked around again. The night seemed a bit darker now, like it had that first night. She sniffled, picking up her pack. She was afraid, and she was alone again.

After a short rest stop, Caramel resumed his trek back to the south side of the island. He'd been hiking for nearly thirty minutes now, and he was confident that he was still being pursued. It wasn't something he knew for sure, but something he had to guess at. A sort of intuition. It saved him the first time, and it was still the only way he knew how to stay alive.

Just when he thought the night was actually going to be a peaceful one, Caramel heard the sound of not too distant pistol shots. They were coming from the direction he was headed. This meant that this rival of his had at least a two gun arsenal, if not more. Either that or they were dead by now, and Caramel had to merely pick off the lucky bastard who killed them.

He wondered how many were left. There couldn't have been more than seven or so by now. This game had been so chaotic, it was like everypony just had the urge to get it over with. The last one he won took much longer. He cringed, recalling how he actually had to ration his stale bread to keep from starving. How he had to pull the packs from the lifeless bodies of his comrades that littered the hallways. Sometimes, Caramel thought, it seems possible that Phoenix Flight killed herself not because she couldn't bear the killing, but because she'd had enough of the food.

He often thought about Phoenix Flight. He wondered what it must have been like to watch from afar as her friends slowly withered away until only the monster that killed them remained. Did she ever kill anypony? Caramel liked to think she did, at least that way he wasn't the sole cause of her grim death.

It wasn't long after the gunshots when Caramel began to hear screaming. It was a mare's voice, one he might have recognized had he known Ponyville's inhabitants a little bit better. From the sound of it, she was totally losing her shit. Honestly, he felt her pain. This was all too stressful.

Caramel sat down once more, letting his head thud against a tree. He'd had just about enough of the opposite sex by now. Not that his little skirmish with Twilight Sparkle hadn't been any fun, but he hadn't planned it, and regrettably it had been his first time. He was glad she had fallen asleep though, so he could get the hell out of there when he had the chance. He'd almost fallen asleep himself. He was sure they would both be dead by now if he had.

The sun was down again, and Trixie was beside herself. After killing Rainbow Dash, she's dozed off for a bit, though she hoped it wasn't for too long. Rainbow Dash's blood had dried, and was making loose twigs and dirt stick to Trixies flank. After pooling up at Trixie's back, the blood had formed a delta at Trixie's mane, and continued down the mountainside for quite a ways. Trixie sat up, and made an attempt at brushing the twigs and dried blood from her backside. The dried blood on her mane made it stand up on one side, drooping lazily.

Trixie looked at the carnage that was until recently known as Rainbow Dash. It looked like a dissection experiment gone wrong. There was a massive slit in her upper stomach, and a gaping tunnel leading though her diaphragm and into her chest. The heart itself, brown and shriveled now, lay somewhere near the bottom of Blood River. Looking back on it, Trixie thought it was slightly gross, though still quite enjoyable.

Trixie then finally took an assessment of her surroundings other than the dead body beside her. She was relieved to find that her pack was a good twenty feet uphill from the expired bloodbath. Other than that, the nearby forest was rather bleak. Not that she could see very far in the darkness anyway. She was stiff, but she managed to get her hooves on the ground long enough to retrieve her pack. She arched her back, listening as each joint popped, releasing some tension in her spine. Breathing in the cool night air, Trixie finally summoned her next objective from the recesses of her mind.

Ahh yes, Trixie knew. Twilight Sparkle had been her nemesis for so long, but in this game Trixie and Twilight were brought to an even playing field. No magic stones. No friends coming to the rescue. Just a bag full of guns and the magic in her horn. So perhaps not the most even of playing fields. Nevertheless, Trixie was going to find Twilight, and make her bleed. And finding her was going to be the hard part.

4 ponies remaining.