Moss Moon and the Lunar Spring, Part 20

>You are Anon, and you have begun to change.
>Six dead men lie strewn across the dusty street, their broken bodies arranged in eternal repose.
>As if walking through a dream you had woven through them, seeing them in shadow, their twisted impressions like grey ghosts.
>Seeing their dreams, their fears, their nightmares.  Cutting into their souls with a blade that was no longer your own.
>"You will slay them all, my servant," whispers the Goddess in your mind.  "Before this night is done, you will purge them to the last, and the Earth will drink of their blood."
>Dead.  They were all dead.
>A memory of a long-lost lover.  Dreams of riches, dreams without meaning.  Night terrors, visions of demons.  Recollections of a man's childhood.  You had sliced them all in twain.
>The Dreaming was unfolding before you.  A vision of the Dreaming spilling out from your eyes like a new galaxy being born.  The Dreaming, from which the Goddess ruled, and from which she would exact her vengeance.
>The power was unlike anything you'd ever felt before.
>It was as if you could walk through time.  Through minds themselves.
>But not all minds.
>The sounds of crying wake you from your reverie.
>Through the smoke and dust and darkness you see them.
>The huddled forms of the bats you'd rescued with Moss Moon, the townsbats of the Stronghold.
>They still have not left the storehouse where they had been imprisoned.
>Instead they are huddled together in the corner, a great teeming mass of bat ponies, staring at you with what could only be utter terror.
>You step toward them.  A younger mare screeches in fear.  Stallions burst into tears.
>"No!"  they scream.  "No, please!  Leave us!"
>"Monster!  Creature!  Begone!"
>They hiss, they howl, they cower in shadow.
>You lift your hand as if to speak, but no words come out.
>"No," says the Goddess.  "They will love Us.  They MUST love Us.   Our time shall come again.  But now they fear.   First they must be freed.    Our children must be freed."
>You stagger from the building, no longer fully in control of your own body.
>"Seek out my enemies," she commands.  Her voice insistent, deep, gnawing.  "Drive out those who have turned my children into whimpering beasts.  Those who have robbed them of their birthright.  You will wrest it back.  You will restore to them what has been lost."
>You can feel the power surging within you, growing ever greater, an endless wave from a dark, bottomless sea.  She is awakening within you.  She is returning once more to the world, and you are her conduit.
>Motes of red light dance suddenly in your vision, forming shapes.  You shake your head, but you can see them all around you, at various distances, heights, and depths.
>A vast feeling of disconnection rolls over you, and you feel somehow detached from your own body, seeing suddenly the whole of the Stronghold, all its little buildings at your feet.
>It is as if a great, dark eye pulses far overhead, and you are seeing through it.
>You see them.  All of them.  Every last remaining human.
>Their huddled, fearful bodies.  Their terrified minds.  In pairs or all alone, hiding in stolen homes.  You drink in their fear.  You smell their red, running blood.  The thirst of the Goddess fills your mouth.
>The last of Cutter's men.  You will see them gone.
>Through the silent streets you stalk, under the clouds of smoke from the great fire.   Night has just fallen.  The hunter has returned.  Your grim work begins.

* * *

>You are Moss Moon, and you stand at a crossroads.
>The orphans await you outside the Stronghold.  For now they are safe, thanks to you.
>You should hurry to them, you tell yourself; leave this burning hell behind.  Save yourself, while you still can.
>But Anon.
>You can't leave Anon.
>No matter how many times you tell yourself that he'll be fine, that he can take care of himself - you know that is a lie.  A lie you tell yourself to quell your fear.
>Your fear that if you leave this place, you will never see him ever again.
>He could already be dead.  You'd left him there, all alone, surrounded by so many killers.
>You've prayed, oh how you've prayed, begging the Goddess to protect him.  To protect you.
>But never does she respond.  Never a single word, a single sign.
>Everything you've ever done, you've had to do by your own grit.  You've had to rely on your own strength.  Your own sturdiness.  Because without it, you'd be dead.
>She's with me, you tell yourself.  That's why I'm still alive.  She's watching over me.
>Even as the pain throbs in your hooves and your back and your face, even as the blood of men drips from your fangs, you remind yourself of this:
>She is with me.
>But even if she is with me, I have to be the one to make things happen.
>I have to be the one to protect him.
>Your heart hammers in your chest.
>You remember Anja.  How fast she had taken to the air when you had told her of Hunter Killer.  How quickly she had gone to his side.
>How you wish you had your wings again, so that you could fly to the one you love.
>You had to find him, quickly, if you could.  If you left now, you would always regret it.
>Summoning your strength, the endurance that has never failed you, that had carried your broken body all these years, you gallop back into the streets of the Stronghold.
>You can't look for Anon from the air, but there is another way to seek him.
>Your hooves carry you back where you left him - the storehouse.
>The streets are eerily quiet, the only sounds your hoof-falls against the stones.
>You encounter no one.  No mercenaries try to strike you, no soldiers step from alleyways to cut you down.
>Breathing hard, you come to a stop before the storehouse.
>Your heart sinks when you see the bodies littering the street outside.
>Frantically you search between them, looking for Anon.
>Is that him?  Is he - no, no, it's only a mercenary, one of Cutter's…
>Your panic rises even as you determine that Anon is not among the dead lying before you.
>Where is he?  Where has he gone?
>"Witch!  There she is!"
>The cry sounds behind you, and then a great hissing; you are shocked when you turn your head
>There at your back stands almost the whole of the Stronghold, every single bat
>The face of every tormentor, every pony that has ever spat on you, kicked you, threatened to throw you to the beasts outside.
>Hatred glows from every eye.
>"You!" comes a screech.  "You!  You have done this!  You are the one who brought calamity upon us, you cursed bound!"
>A rock sails by.  A second strikes you in your shoulder, pain blossoming down your leg.
"No - " you try to say, "Stop - "
>It is no use.  The crowd surges forward, and the front line is upon you
>You feel them scratching, biting, clawing
>"Whore!"
>"Witch!"
>A stallion shoves you, sending you into a wall
>You struggle to keep your footing when a pair of bat ponies lunge at you, spitting obscenities in your ear
"Get - OFF!"
>With your powerful forehooves you push them back, before bolting down an alleyway
>You can hear them behind you, chasing you, seeking your blood
>A hundred times before they'd chased you
>Even now they hate you
>And perhaps they are right to hate you
>They had nothing before, but now they have less than nothing
>It was all gone now
>All gone
>Could you really say that they are not cursed?  These ponies at the edge of the world, trapped under the icy hooves of the Asperi, little lives continuing only at their whim?
>You have no time to think, no time to reflect
>You are just a bound, a cursed creature, hated by all
>But you refuse to die, not here, not now
>Their howls and screams sound behind you, their blind rage, their fangs seeking through you their hated masters
>But they will not have their revenge today, no matter how thin it would be
>You know all too well how to escape, having practiced a hundred times before
>Leaping from alley to alley, climbing through the crannies of the old stone buildings, you hear their screams fading behind you
>Eventually you have lost sight of them, and they have lost all track of you
>When at last you slow down, you feel the tears streaming down your cheeks
>You let out a choked, ragged breath, and dry your eyes against a forelimb
>Anon, where are you?
>You would never find him.  Perhaps the townsbats knew, but they would never talk to you.  They'd sooner tear you limb from limb.
"I'm sorry," you whisper, choking back a sob.
>Apologizing to Anon.  To the bats of the Stronghold.  To the orphans awaiting you outside.
>Apologizing to the Goddess.  To yourself.
>Failed.  Another failure.  Failed even now, when you were needed most of all.
"Anon, I'm so sorry…"
>You don't want to feel sorry for yourself.  You don't want to sit here and cry.  But what can you do?
>There's no where to go.  Nowhere to look.  You could spend all night searching for Anon and never find him.  He could be long dead and you'd never know.
>I can't give up, you tell yourself.  I can't.
>Even if it means facing the townsbats again, or fighting more humans, or wading through the great bonfire itself.  You would not give up on Anon.
>Because you know he would never give up on you.
>You force yourself from your hiding place, slipping from shadow to shadow.
>You could go back to the fire, brave the open spaces, perhaps find him fighting -
>Stepping into a small courtyard, your mind races, thinking of where to go, when you suddenly see it
>Your breath catches in your throat
>A feeling of horrible dread settles over you when you realize what exactly you're looking at
>An unimaginable fear as your eyes alight on the stacks of barrels, smelling of sulphur, stacked high against the walls of an old empty tavern, turning this hell into an even greater nightmare
>Black powder, primed and ready for detonation.