King and I - 32

The watching crowds have grown silent now, the reality of the situation finally kicking in. This is the one situation that Sombra cannot help you out of. He’s locked outside, while you’re stuck in here with a possessed Frost and an extremely pissed Fury. There’s no way he can still stand like that! You grit your teeth in pain, various parts of your body shouting in protest as you stand once again.

“There’s still some fight left in you is there? I’ll need to take care of that.”

He kicks you hard in the ribs. It’s clear to you now that something isn’t right, the bone shifting under your perspiration covered skin. You collapse again making the feeling even worse. You gag slightly as the acidic taste of vomit pushes against the threshold of your mouth. You can’t fight like this. Fury takes the time to taunt the crowd again, walking the circumference of the dome and laughing at those outside it.

Swallowing down the bile you take a steady breath and stand up again. Frost stands motionless next to you; he must be controlled by Fury directly and while he’s distracted he can’t move him. Your horn ignites as you cast a boiling blood spell on him, you’d rather not have to kill him, but you don’t have any other choices.  Frost remains still, not attempting to retaliate or escape.

It’s not working.

You mutter a curse under your breath and lower yourself to the ground. Whatever Fury did to him, he clearly isn’t alive otherwise your spell would have roasted him alive. You need to pull out a trump card if you want to beat Fury.

Fury is done gloating and returns to your side. His horn glows and you notice a series of thin red lines rising from Frost’s limbs like he’s a puppet. His aura washes over you and the same red lines wrap around your ankles, pulling you up. You gasp in pain as your broken body is agitated by the sudden movement.

“What to do, what to do? Should I make you my next slave? Or should I just finish you off?”

He seems to seriously ponder the question for a while, giving you the opportunity to take stock of your body. Several small cuts from the broken glass runs down your left side, and it looks like you’ve lost a lot of blood because of it. Your midsection is heavily bruised, presumably from the broken rib that you’re suffering from. That damn crystal is stuck in your leg but thankfully it hasn’t done major damage to your nerves.

Something that you didn’t notice before is that a small amount of blood is coming from your behind. Either you got cut back there, or the fall broke your hymen (which you didn’t know you had.) You’re in bad shape. But Fury looks much worse, he’s absolutely drenched in his own blood and several crystals are still stick out from different parts of his body.

“While you’re still standing, I’ll give you some advice. Don’t even bother trying to use that boiling spell on me, you amateur. Do you even know basic protection spells? I wouldn’t be surprised if Sombra had forgone telling you about them, can’t have his personal whore getting uppity can he?”

Your body temperature rises dramatically as Fury laughs in your face. “Oh, this is too precious! Look at you, squirming under your own fur! The very idea of you beating me is laughable at best.

“Another tip, your own blood is the most powerful. Some idiots like to go overboard and kill themselves, so most blood mages would use the blood of their enemies instead.” His impromptu magic lesson continues as Sombra fires blasts at the shield, attempting to break it. Some of the blood flowing down his body floats away in a thin stream and wraps around your neck like a noose.

“A spark of my horn, and I can cut your head clean off.”

You have an idea. You begin to search your body for the blood you’ve lost, but Fury notices your effort. A flash fills your vision, and when you come to, the blood has been cleaned away, “Cleaning spell, useful for getting things out of my sheets and trapping uppity blood mages.”

Fuck.

It looks like using your own blood isn’t going to be an option… unless. You light up your horn again while Fury laughs at you. You can feel it, down there; it seems his little spell doesn’t clean your insides too. He didn’t notice when your hymen broke. Don’t give it away just yet; you need to get him into position first.

“And now that I have all the cards, I suppose it won’t do any harm to fill you in on a few things…”

Ever so slowly you begin to channel the blood out from you with the levitation spell. It’s so thin that he can’t see it, but you can feel it with your magic. You need to distract him enough for him to drop the spell around your neck, and the bets kind of distraction is a painful one. So many options are presented, but only one has the cruel irony that you’re looking for.

“…simple task of poisoning you…

You wrap them in your blood, thickening the band as more arrives. Your death dealing halo hovers just above the skin, so much so that he can’t feel it. Fury is blathering about something, a villainous monologue perhaps? Sombra is watching him with hardened eyes; it looks like his fear was misplaced. His eyes flicker down to your lower body, did he notice?

“…and from there, I received support from a good friend…”

How long has he been talking? Did he even notice what you’re doing, or that you’re not listening? It’s good for you. He’s given you all the time you need to prepare your assault. You never thought you’d be thankful for his habit of not shutting up.

You decide to cut his speech short, and constrict the band of blood at such an extreme pressure that two very precious balls of flesh fall to the floor with a wet plop.

Fury’s voice ascends several octaves as his speech trails off into a whimper of pain. In quick succession you pull another crystal from his body and fling it at Frost’s neck like a bullet, piercing it. It cuts straight through his spinal cord causing him to flop to the floor uselessly. You feel kind of bad about that, but that death must have been a mercy compared to what Fury was doing to him.

Fury is sobbing on his hooves, tears of pain and agony running down his bloody face. “Y-You…”

“You talk too much,” you hiss. Your horn ignites again, “All the fancy magic in the world isn’t going to save you now.”

“P-please, have mercy!” he begs as he falls to his behind and tries to back away.

The crowd watches in anticipated silence. You look around to see the faces of mages and guards, some smiling, other wincing, all of them expecting a certain conclusion. You look to the bleeding body to the side of you, the stallion that had saved your life multiple times in the past few days. You look into Fury’s haggard eyes and step forward with a limp.

“No.”

Your mind briefly ponders how you’re going to finish him off. Let’s be realistic, you only really know one spell that fits the criteria. Your horn glows brighter as Fury suddenly looks very uncomfortable, his eyes widen in fear and he tries everything in his power to stop your spell before he boils. He comes crawling back, his body racked with spasms as his internal muscles and organs slowly begin to die from the change in internal temperature.

He wraps his fore hooves around yours and continues to beg, blood begin to spill from his mouth and making his pleas incomprehensible. The onlookers watch in morbid curiosity as he compulses for a few more minutes. Eventually you know something has popped, as his eyes gloss over and his struggle stops. The shield drops and the soldiers hesitate entering the area it used to cover.

Wordlessly you approach Sombra, who looks sad about something, “Happy now?”

“No, what makes you think I’m happy about any of this?” he asks looking over the bloodshed. He looks down to your still wounded leg and grimaces. A pony walking past takes notice.

“Would you like me to take her to the medic my lord?”

“Of course, I’ll be up there in a moment.”

With a nod the fussy pony pulls you away and brings over a stretcher. You crawl on and collapse flat onto your back, the adrenaline of the day wearing off. Before you know it you’ve slipped off into a deep slumber.

---

Spyglass hates the mines.

On the surface it appears as something very understandable and transparent, who would like living in a dark, wet cave for several months, never sure of whether you’ll wake up in the morning. For him though, it’s something much deeper and personal. He much prefers the feeling of the midday sun beating down on his back, and the cool winds of winter worming under his fur.

“Did you really live down here?” Warm Welcome asks, “I can’t believe that.”

Spyglass decides to not dignify the question with an answer. “Just… be quiet, I’m trying to focus.”

The green pegasus stops for a moment, thinking through the steps he’s taken so far. “We should be close now, I think it’s just down here,” he concludes. “Don’t be disappointed if he isn’t here, Lily might have cleared the place out when we left for the fighting.”

“I won’t be disappointed, I’ll be angry.”

The tunnel opens up revealing a larger cavern; scattered pieces of furniture and paper cover the floor. Everybody had clearly left in a rush and it was messier than Spyglass remembered it, had somebody been down here already? The long table that Lily used to co-ordinate the group remains upright in the centre.

“Well, we’ll have to look around the place if we want to find anything,” Warm chirps optimistically before taking off down one of the stone corridors. Spyglass sighs, alone again. It’s strange coming back to the caves that has been his home for the past year or so, empty of both possessions and the ponies that used to inhabit it. He knows that none of them will be coming back.

Confirming that Warm has indeed moved, he begins to rife through the papers that cover the table looking for something specific. Battle plans, negotiation letters and the occasional hand written note with some kind of joke on it, but not the piece of documentation he’s looking for. Moving quickly he follows Warm’s path, but takes a sharp left and heads to the officer’s rooms.

A lot cleaner and well-kept than the soldier’s quarters, that’s for sure. The average stallion fighting for the rebellion had to sleep in cramp conditions and use communal necessities, while the officers had nice, cushy velvet beds and their own personal bath. The room itself still left a lot to be desired, with the same drab stone walls and floor. No matter how they dressed it up, it always was a dump.

Coming up to one of the doors he braces against the ground and kicks the flimsy wood in, allowing him to push the smashed lock open. Not much for security, normally there was pair of guards on the door at all times to stop ponies from sneaking a peek at her classified documents.

A messy desk is the only defining feature of Lily’s room. The surface is well worn from long weeks of use; Lily always had a thing for penmanship and would take every opportunity to practice. It was an important skill when drawing up treaties and negotiations. Most of the letters on the desk are simple drafts, drafts that will now never be completed.

Shaking his head, Spyglass moves down onto the small drawers underneath the writing area. Not having the benefit of proper locks or keys, the drawers are easily opened and searched. Goods tables, supply line maps, rosters.

Mortality listings.

Spyglass’ hoof hovers over the wrinkled paper. Carefully he pulls it out from its brethren and holds it up to a fading candle, still burning from the morning. Many names, members of Sombra’s guard who had paid the price in the battle against the rebellion. Spyglass remembers taking this list from one of the couriers and handing it to Lily.

At the time she had called it a brilliant idea and praised him for his independence. He knew the truth; she thought it was a disgusting, awful thing to do. He could see it in her eyes, an unbidden disdain for the green pegasus whenever she passed him by. She accepted his idea anyway and soon put it to use.

His eyes scan down further, reading over the names. Stallions that wouldn’t be going home to their loved ones or friends, life unfairly ripped from their hooves by the whim of a single pony. Well, not really that much of a pony, but close enough.

“Welcome, Wheeler, KIA.”

A green spark from his horn and the paper catches alight; the green fire spreading across the surface of the paper like a wildfire, obscuring the truth from those who would seek it. A profound sadness panged inside of Spyglass’ chest. He tosses the paper away onto the cold floor and leaves the office making sure that not a soul was around to witness him.

He heads out, back into the main hall where a sullen looking Warm awaits him. He knows that she’ll never find him. “I found some cells, but nobody was in them,” she informed him, a fact he already knew. It was rare for them to take prisoners, another mouth to feed; and why would they with the plan that Spyglass had produced?

“I’m sorry Warm, but I can’t help you. This is the only place that I know of where they could be keeping him,” he lies.

Warm nods in defeat, fresh tears welling up in her eyes, “I’ll find him, one day.”

Spyglass places a hoof on her shoulder, a pointless representation of some vague emotion. “I need to go now, this place isn’t safe for me anymore,” a partial truth, at least. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

No more words are exchanged between the two as they leave the same way they came. The hope that Warm had felt when he agreed to come with her has died in her chest, leaving a lead weight behind. If her brother isn’t there, where could he be?

They come out into the blinding sun, a fresh wind rolling across the grassy plains. Warm, still out of it, simply walks away back towards the centre of the city where a commotion seems to be going on over something. Spyglass knows well enough to not get involved.  No goodbyes are exchanged as Spyglass turns the opposite direction and heads back to the gate.

What was once a symbol of hope for those living in the north, now just a grim reminder of things not fulfilled. The Crystal Empire used to shine like the stars in the night sky, but not anymore. The shield that lies just a few meters ahead of it, protecting those inside from the harsh cold, but also stopping them from leaving. Now, in a momentary lapse of Sombra’s power he has the opportunity to escape.

He braces himself, the snow crunches underhoof as he shield passes through him harmlessly. He lets out a sigh of relief and tries to get his bearings, to the north lays the old train station and a long, long walk along its poorly maintained steel. Eventually it passes away into the desert, and from there it’s just a short walk back home.

As the green fire burns away Spyglass’ coat, revealing a sickly black carapace, his mind wonders if it is truly worth the effort to return there; to a horde of mindless brethren, and an equally brain-dead Queen. Emotions were never his strong suit; the queen discouraged those from choosing their own path in life. “We must stick together,” she would demand, “for the good of the hive.”

The plan, cause the sun princess a problem in her attempts to liberate the empire. By manipulating the rebel forces, assisting them and then using them; or by betraying them and assisting the inevitable successor to the King they could levy considerable control over a well desired territory.

He spits green ichor into the snow and scowls. What good would causing so much trouble in a foreign place do for the hive? Easing her bruised pride, petty revenge on the Sun Princess and her followers? They have no place here in the north, and they never will. His mind makes him aware of the pain he’s caused; does he really have to leave with so many loose ends? What about the kindly mare who will never find her brother?

His eyes blank over as he thinks on the issue, ignoring the biting chill of the crisp air. Storm clouds brew over the snow covered plains. It looks like it will snow soon. He steps forward, not wishing to be caught in the blizzard. The train station is in sight. Onto the platform he goes, a small part of him wishing for a train to take him anywhere but the damned hive and his blind queen.

No trains come to this place anymore.

The wooden beams of the tracks pass by in a daze. He’s distracting himself again. The mare with tears in her eyes, he could have easily revealed the truth to her, shown her the list. The pain would be there, but it would heal in time. Why should he punish her by allowing her to hope so badly for something that will never come true? He looks down to his hole covered hoof, covering it with green, unbloodied fur once more.

Sometimes, it’s better to live in blissful ignorance.

---

You’re sick of this damn infirmary, the itchy beds, the colourless décor, the shit food. It’s like staying in a one star motel where the staff doesn’t leave you alone. According to the doctor you’ve had some kind of magical surgery to fix up your busted leg. You’ll be in the hospital for a few more days, and a cast for some weeks after.

That’s not even getting into your other injuries. When you came to, Sombra was waiting. There’s still something on his mind, you can tell, but he won’t dare speak it in front of you. That was fine; you needed time to think on everything you’ve done recently. Sombra respected your wishes to an extent, but the safety of the Empire always came first.

“Do you know who he was talking to? It seems to me that Fury was being manipulated by somepony else.”

“I heard some of their conversation, but I don’t know who it was. Either way this mystery leader said something about supporting the rebels too. I think that she was responsible for this… mess.”

“Playing both sides and backing the winner, a classic strategy. It provides plausible deniability and allows them to pick the winning option. Whoever this was has some experience in subversion and politics.”

“Who do you think it is?”

“Princess Celestia, it’s one of her favourites. She gets to keep her illusion of being a kind, peaceful ruler while her special forces lay ruin to a foreign nation.”

“There was an Equestrian spy among them,” you tell him, “but I still don’t think that Celestia is behind it. That would be the obvious answer.”

“The obvious answer is often the correct one.”

He decides to move away from global politics, “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“The average pony would break like a twig at the idea of killing in such a horrific manner. Don’t tell me that you feel completely fine after such a stressful experience?” he asks with genuine concern in his tone.

“I’m not an average pony, Sombra, I come from a place where death is common and acts of horrific violence are a statistic. I did what I had to do to survive, and if that meant killing Fury then so be it. He threatened to rape and kill me, I wasn’t going to stand by and let that happen.”

“That isn’t what I…” he trails off shaking his head slightly. “Never mind, I’m glad you’re okay.”

You smile, “Me too.”

He laughs and nods, the previous conversation all but forgotten.