Vaas Montenegro Learns the Magic of Friendship

Vaas discovered two things very, very quickly that day. Number one: swords were heavy. Number two: Armor was really, really heavy.

He shrugged his shoulders inside his steel pauldrons, the bare skin rubbing against the soft leather lining. Within a few hours, it would begin to chafe, Vaas was sure of it. He knew he should have asked for some sort of undershirt to wear, but it had slipped his mind up until the moment the strapped everything on. His armor was essentially all the same; plain plated steel with leather lining. His pauldrons, boots, and gauntlets were done in the lobstered fashion, jagged circlets of steel overlapping each other to form the piece. This allowed for greater flexibility, apparently. The cuirass was a single-piece, wrapping all the way around his torso and over his shoulder. On either side of his neck there were fasteners for his cloak, a beautiful, luscious, hooded black fur cloak that hung nearly down to the ground.

All in all, he struck a very imposing figure, as his squire (that was what they insisted on calling the poor boy, a tiny thing by the name of Pipsqueak who seemed to want nothing more than to help Vaas put his armor on) was quick to point out. Surveying himself in the mirror, he had to admit that his custom armor made him look even more badass than usual. The way it hugged his body as if it had been made for him- which it had- almost made up for the fact that it was so damn heavy.

The simple act of walking was nearly exhausting to Vaas, let alone trying to swing a sword, which he tried to effectively do without success. It didn't help that the sword itself must have weighed an additional fifteen pounds; another custom piece, this beast of a weapon was done in the hand-and-a-half style, making it effective in both one-handed and two-handed combat. The hilt was done in black leather, and the pommel was enameled in gold. The blade itself was an ornate masterpiece of what appeared to be intertwining poison ivy leaves etched into the steel, running from the base all the way to the tip. When the blacksmith had given it to him, the grizzled old stallion had chuckled and said, "This one's a special request from the Princess. Never done anything quite like it. The sword's name- and this is per Celestia's request, mind you- is Arsewiper." Vaas had roared with laughter when he heard the name, and thanked the stallion earnestly.

No matter how splendid the thing was, however, it just felt like dead weight in his hands. When he tried to swing at a straw practice dummy, he could not even make it follow through; instead, the sword dropped from his hands before the blade hit. He fumbled at it on the ground, and couldn't seem to get a decent enough grip to pick it back up. Always, though, after a failure, Pipsqueak was there, to say in his annoyingly adorable Cockney accent, "Don't worry, sir, give it another go, you'll do alright." Vaas found it hard to resent the little guy.

One day, after a particularly bad practice session, Vaas looked up to find Princess Luna standing in the doorway, her eyes still burning with contempt.

"Hmmph," she grunted. "And we're trusting you to defend the realm."

He kept staring at the doorway long after Luna departed, sweat dripping down his face, only looking away when Pipsqueak said, "Look, sir, look 'ere! You nicked him in his neck! You're makin' more progress e'ry day, sir!"

Vaas smiled at him.

***

It was a brisk morning. Vaas sat on the stone bench, letting the sunlight warm him as he polished his sword with an oilcloth. By this time the blade was covered in little nicks and scratches from many days of hard training, as was his armor. After moving on from practice dummies, he had discovered that the ponies were surprisingly skilled at wielding a blade, somehow maneuvering it in their hooves, slicing and dicing at Vaas as well as any human could.

They had started with blunted training swords; Vaas had initially been dominated by even the lowest-ranking of soldiers, but soon started proving himself an able warrior when the recruits could no longer best him. Then, he had moved on to a stronger breed of opponent, seasoned war veterans, every one of them infinitely better than Vaas at the art of swordplay. This time, it seemed he would never improve. The viciously relentless combatants often scoffed as they stood over him, sword points at his throat, gloating over their victory. Each day he would go back to his chambers, constantly wincing at fresh bruises.

But, there was one advantage that he had that he refused to show- not yet, anyway- he learned. Every fight taught him a new lesson, every cut told him what not to do. He refused to show it in his fights, embarrassing though it may be. He knew that learning those small techniques fight-by-fight wouldn't help him if he recklessly unleashed the small amount he'd learned on every new opponent. He had to wait until there was nothing left for him to learn, no new techniques to stow away in his mind. Then, he would show then what he could do. And one day, his chance finally came.

When he awoke that morning, he knew that it was the day when he would finally, finally win. He stretched and ate his meager breakfast in the dining hall, before calling Pipsqueak to help him get his armor on.

He met his opponent in the barracks. As Pipsqueak threaded the straps through the buckles, making sure every piece went where it was supposed to go (how the little colt had the memory for it, Vaas had no idea), Vaas grimaced as the young stallion waltzed through the door, his armor already on, sword slung over his shoulder. He was obviously sure of another victory that day. Pipsqueak tightened the last strap on his greaves, and Vaas ruffled his mane. Vaas hated it, but he had grown fond of his squire. The colt stepped away, admiring his work, and Vaas made eye contact with his opponent. He tried not to let his confidence show, but he couldn't resist grinning at the fucker. The stallion smirked, and began nonchalantly stretching, obviously just for show.

Vaas rolled his shoulder around, ensuring that everything was comfortable. He angled his head to the side and popped his neck, making Pipsqueak wince. Then, calmly and casually as he could, Vaas strolled through the doorway to the training arena.

The arena was a large room, with simple red brick walls and a waxed hardwood floor. A painted white circle marked the center of the arena, where the fights would start. Lining the walls were rows of ascending wooden bleachers, for any who might want to watch the trainees' bouts.

Vaas walked to the starting circle, eyeing the few ponies who turned up to watch him get slaughtered once more. He stopped in the center, and waited. A moment later, Vaas watched the stallion swagger through the door. A few whoops and cheers came from the stands. Vaas retreated a step to his side of the circle. The stallion positioned himself on the opposite side. In an undertone, he said, "I'll try not to mess up your face too much this time. Celestia knows you've got enough scars."

Fucking cocksucker, Vaas thought. We'll see who's smiling when this is over.

They locked eyes, and Vaas heard the voice of the referee echo from the stands with the customary introduction, "Vaas Montenegro and Stalwart Shield. This is to be a clean fight; there will be no jabs at the face or neck, and no below-the-waist shots. Any violation will result in disqualification. The fight is over when an opponent yields."

He paused.

"... Begin."

The stallion rushed forward, sword in mouth. How he could maneuver the blade so effectively using only his head, Vaas had no idea, but he did it. Stalwart Shield lunged, hoping to catch Vaas in the guts with the blunted end of the sword, but Vaas sidestepped at the last possible second and swung downward. The stallion's eyes widened in surprise, but he managed to dart to the left in time to block the blow with his own sword. The sharp clack of wood on wood resounded through the auditorium as the training swords made contact. They locked swords, staring into each other's eyes with pure loathing. Vaas pulled away and spun, using the sword's momentum to land a hard blow on Stalwart Shield's shoulder. He grunted in shock and staggered from the impact, but he did not look fazed. His eyes narrowed; he seemed to be catching onto Vaas's tactic. He knew he'd have to step up his own game if he wanted to triumph. Both combatants backed away a few paces, rotating in a circle around the ring, each's footwork mimicking the other's. Gradually, Stalwart Shield pressed his advance, closing the distance between himself and Vaas. Just when he was in striking-distance, the stallion swung low, to Vaas's surprise. The blow landed on his greaves, knocking him to his knees. Instinctively, Vaas rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the second swing. He swiftly regained his footing, and the game was on once more. Tired of being on the defensive, Vaas rushed forward in what he'd hoped would be a surprise attack, but the stallion was prepared for it. He lunged once more, this time with such ferocity that Vaas was sure that, if the blow connected, the fight would be over.

Afterward, Vaas could not adequately explain what happened next. It was as if time slowed down; he saw the stallion's sword being thrust towards him, but it seemed to be moving at a snail's pace. He willed himself to move, and his body responded, pivoting on his heel so that the sword hit nothing but the air where he's been moments before. Without thinking, Vaas chopped down with his hand. He slapped the blade downward, and at the same time, raised his right leg and stomped on the slowly-descending blade. Time began to move normally once more. His foot brought the wooden blade down to the floor, and with a deafening crack, the sword snapped in two. Splinters of wood shot through the air, stinging Vaas's face as they impacted, but he barely felt it. He barely had time to register the look of stunned surprise on Stalwart Shield's face before his gauntlet impacted. Blood and saliva along with the occasional tooth splattered across the polished floor. There was a collective gasp from the stands, and the referee shouted "Stop!"

But Vaas wasn't done.

Just as Stalwart Shield hit the ground, Vaas followed through with a savage kick to the stomach. The stallion wheezed as the air left his lungs, and a sound like a dying animal came from somewhere deep within his throat. Vaas dropped to his knees, grabbed the stallion's foreleg, and pinned it behind his back. Stalwart Shield yelped in pain.

"Yield," Vaas growled. "YIELD!"

"I yield," the stallion whimpered.

"What?" Vaas said, drawing Stalwart Shield's foreleg back farther.

"I YIELD!" the stallion screamed. Vaas released his grip, and Stalwart Shield curled into the fetal position, sobbing.

"Next time," Vaas said, "I'm going to fucking kill you." He stood up, and spat on the pathetic stallion at his feet.

"Enough."

Vaas whipped around to see the rigid form of Princess Celestia standing at the entrance to the arena.

"You will go immediately to your chambers," she ordered, "where you will await further instruction." The princess looked at the referee, who was staring open-mouthed at Vaas. "Escort Stalwart Shield to the infirmary and see that his injuries are tended to." She turned back to Vaas. "Leave. Now."

Vaas felt white-hot fury rise up inside him. He stared at the revulsion showing on the spectators' faces, and laughed mirthlessly. "Are you not entertained?!" he screamed at them. "Is this not what you've come here to watch?! I play your fucking games and I follow your rules, but when I win, this is the appreciation I get? I get the shit kicked out of me every fucking day and no one bats an eye, but when the tables are turned, everybody loses their minds! Why?!" He knew he answer before he finished speaking. "It's because you're fucking afraid, that's why. You don't want to see a demon like me win a fight, because it makes you feel like you yourselves aren't safe. You feel like, since I beat the piss out of your soldier here, I'm gonna come for you next. Break down your doors, murder your families... Well I've got news for you." He paused. "I'm not. I'm not going to kill you, because what use would that be? What satisfaction would I get? You fuckers haven't done anything to me. Yet. That's why I'm helping your benevolent ruler here- because she needs me."

He took in the looks of confusion on the faces in the audience. He glanced at Celestia, who was watching with mute fury.

"So you didn't know?..." he asked rhetorically, chuckling. "Has your wonderful princess been making you believe that everything's okay? That there's nothing on the planet to worry about? Well I've got news for you. There's an army of demons, marching on Equestria as I speak. And she's trusting me to stop them. So, don't worry about me breaking down your doors at night. It's gonna be me who's protecting you from getting slaughtered by the hordes of Tartarus. And maybe- just maybe- I'll succeed."

He paused once more, considering his next words.

"And then..." he snarled and turned to Celestia. "Then, I'm coming for you."