Moss Moon and the Lunar Spring, Part 22

>You are Moss Moon, and you are facing oblivion.
>Before you, stacked against the tavern wall in columns 5 barrels high, is a mass of black powder
>You recognize the smell immediately, having once experimented with the substance in Grandmother's study
>You know just how deadly this stuff can be
>If a single spark were to ignite the contents of even just one of these barrels…
>Luckily there is no one around, no humans trying to detonate the pile
>Surely they would not be so suicidal, right?
>The thought is a desperate comfort, and nothing more
>You know what humans are like, what they're capable of
>For the black powder to even be here tells you that the Stronghold was never meant to survive
>No, you're overreacting, you tell yourself
>This must be their only store, they must've brought it for some other purpose
>But when you scale to the top of the tavern and look about you, the dread builds ever higher
>Dotting the courtyards around you, here and there, are more barrels, like breadcrumbs of black powder
>Spaced to catch fire in turn, should one stack be lit - preparation for a grand chain reaction
>You can see that here and there are many such barrels tucked away, awaiting such a contingency
>There is no telling how many stacks are standing hidden throughout the city.
>Panic begins to set in.  At any moment, someone could set off an explosion, one that could rip across the entire Stronghold.
>You have to do something, you have to disable them somehow
>But there are too many, how could you ever reach them all in time?  What would you even do to neutralize them?
>As you sit here deliberating, some palsy-handed human could be lighting black powder ablaze halfway across town
>Or a spark from the bonfire could be spinning, spinning, falling down toward a nearby stack
>You have to do something, warn them, warn Anon, warn the others -
>For a moment, you pause
>The others, who had just chased you, cursed you, tried to tear you apart
>For what reason should you save them, when they would never do the same for you?  For the orphans?  For even themselves, perhaps?
>It is for the Goddess to judge them, you tell yourself
>But that doesn't stop the anger from bubbling up from deep within
>How suddenly it comes, your hatred for them
>Hatred for the many years of torment they'd inflicted upon you
>Keeping you trapped here, punishing you when they caught you trying to leave, kicking you into the dirt, letting you starve
>Even after you'd just rescued them with Anon, they attacked you as they always had
>Why should you help them?  Why now?
>Let them burn… let them all go up in flames.
>You bite your lip, so hard that you draw blood.
>No.
>How many of their bones had you set?  Illnesses vanquished?  Foals delivered?
>Even in their hatred, their mistreatment of you, they had sought you out.
>Used you, yes.  Paid you in coin but never in kindness.  Spat on you even after you had saved their lives.
>You had never asked to be their pariah.  It was a burden that you had come to bear.
>Either death or alienation.  You had picked the latter.
>This was the life you chose.
>You would not turn back on that now.
>Not now, when you could save so many.
>Hurriedly you navigate back toward the storehouse, keeping to the shadows.
>You encounter no ponies on the return trip
>Indeed, it appears that they all had remain clustered by the storehouse, milling aimlessly about
>Bravely you step forth into the open, making yourself seen
>This time they do not give chase.  Instead they eye you sullenly, having given up on the idea of catching you.
"Everypony!" you call out.  "We have to leave, there is powder - black powder, it's everywhere, it could go up at any moment!"
>To your shock, most of the bats do not even stir
>A few hiss angrily at you, telling you to go away
"What are you doing?" you cry.  "We have to go!  Do you want to die here?"
>From among them emerges the old shopkeeper, the one who used to sell you supplies, though he did so with disdain
>"You want to leave, then go," he says.  "No one will hold you here anymore.  We've never wanted you here, anyway.  All you've done is bring misfortune."
"Have you not seen the powder?" you ask
>"Of course we have.  We helped them move it in."   He ignores the look of shock on your face.  "What else could we do?  This is our home.  We have nowhere else to go."
"But, why - you could have fought them - "
>"Don't be a fool.  We are mares and old stallions.  None of us are soldiers.  They would have cut us to pieces.  We could either have death, or surrender ourselves to their whims.  It seems that death will be the outcome regardless."
"It doesn't have to be," you start to say.  "We can all leave, go south, far away -"
>"And do what there?" the shopkeeper asks.  "We have lived here all our lives.  There is nothing for us in the south.  Our livelihoods were here.  Now they are gone.  Our time is over.  The Asperi and their humans have finally seen to that."
>With that he turns away from you, giving you a final glare over his shoulder, before returning to the rest of the crowd
>You swallow nervously, then grit your teeth
>His were the words of someone with no hope, no passion, no fire
>The mannerisms of the townsbats were those of a population that had wholly given up
>What can you do for them?  What medicine could you administer to heal what was fundamentally broken?
>The more you think, the more angry you become
>Thinking of all the times they'd pushed you down, and every time you'd stood back up
>How you became stronger and stronger because you refused to lie down and die
>A rock lies near your hooves
>You pick it up.
"Get -
>You throw it into the crowd with all your might.
" - OUT!"
>It bounces off the back of a coquettish mare, eliciting a squeak of pain
>A great cry of anger rises from the crowd as their eyes fix on you
>Another rock.  It fits in your hoof as if you were always meant to throw it.  You launch it at the old shopkeeper, instead hitting his neighbor in the leg.
>"How dare you!" he cries
"Shut up!"
>There are rocks all around you, bricks and debris
>You toss them one after another, throwing rock after rock, striking bat ponies as they hiss and screech and rage at you
"Get out!"  you scream.  "Get out, get out!"
>A few bats move toward you, but rocks to their faces and chests send them staggering back
>They take to the air, hissing, spiraling upward, upward and away
"Go!  Go, damn you!"
>You keep throwing, keep screeching, expelling those who have hurt you once and for all
>Bat ponies recoil and spit, familiar faces contorted with rage, with primal awakening, as your relentless attack drives them into the air
>Soon the whole swarm of them flies above you, screeching and crying, their calls echoing throughout the vast chamber within the mountain
"Leave!  Leave!"
>You scream, even as your lungs burn and your vocal cords threaten to tear
>You scream until they have all dispersed, flying toward the Stronghold's exits, flying away from you
>Blinking back tears of rage, you watch them go, panting as you allow yourself to breathe deep of the sooty air
>You did it
>You feel no pride, no happiness for it
>But you did it
>The orphans, the townsbats, all have gone
>That leaves only you, and -
>The ground shakes suddenly beneath you
>You whirl around, expecting to see explosive plumes of fire
>Instead you see a bright purple glow, a flash of dark light, coming from the direction of the great bonfire
>Anon -
>You gallop toward it, heedless of danger
>Hoping, praying that you are not too late