GREEN
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1268 7.3 KB 116
1268 7.3 KB 116
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>Another night with the lads
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>Well over a thousand stallions, placed under your command
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>Most of them may live to see tomorrow's moon
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>Maybe
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>Among the revelry and jovial mischief, you elegantly climb onto the top of a wagon
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>"Elegantly" is the operative word
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>Their blackberry liquor has been known to stir spirits and exponentially bolster one's bravery
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>You feel it righteously invade your system
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>Enough to know what you're saying
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>Enough to not care for the fallout
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>Only when you ascend to what could be a crippling height do you plant your boots on a wrapped up banner and what feels like a half coil of rope
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"MINIONS!"
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>Your immense bellow causes most of the lads to shift their attention to you
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"As you all know, tomorrow is bound to be glorious!"
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>A number of stallions speak up
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"Horrific!"
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>More raise their voices
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"A fucking massacre for all of those ruinous insects!"
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>Half the camp roars out to match your vigor
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>The other half may not be sober enough to tell this is your rousing last minute speech
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"Our Princess, fairest of the night and our very own sweet release-"
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>More raucous cheer and a few chuckles
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"Have tasked us, this blasphemed rabble, without eliminating every bug from that little mound of shit!"
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>You catch yourself at the last second
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"With! They shall be... without their lives!"
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>Given your own level of intoxication matching at least a third of the battalion, no one seems to care about the mis-step
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"We are to wait until the rising sun. For our dearest lady's sister to guide us."
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>You lean forward, nearly drooling from the alcohol and uninhibited urge to rip a living creature in half
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"Now then... who wants to wait for some accursed morning star?"
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>While the grand majority of stallions come from Princess Luna's realm, many are devout and joyous at the sun's ascension
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>Most of the cheering you see, even from the Celestial soldiers, shows you that you aren't the only one with an itch
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"Who wants to brandish arms, and rip out the beating heart of that villainous hive of love-struck whores?!"
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>The feedback is beyond deafening
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>If the changelings aren't high alert, they certainly are now
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>The largely nocturnal Luna worshipping lads have always excelled at surprise raids and strikes
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>Not excellent enough to not have casualties
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>Each one has been replaced
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>Each name has been burned into your skull
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>Whether it's the overindulgence of alcohol, or the amount of furious spite, you feel something lurch up the back of your throat
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>You manage to hold it in for now
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"We're here. They're there. They've taken the form of our cherished, our beloved, and our friends."
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>That rising bile isn't just bile
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>It's hatred
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>Sheer hatred
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>You've killed your own friends and relatives so much you don't think you could even behold their true corporeal forms without flying into a frenzy
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"They think!"
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>Your voice could only quiver a fraction of your balled fists
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"They think that will stop us! That we will falter! That we are sensible, passionate simpletons!"
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>Some may call you stinking, blind drunk
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>You may stink but it is rage that blinds you
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"They think wrong! Every possible figure that has not stood before you this last month, and those who do not share our revelry and plain murderous glee, cut down!"
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>The entire camp erupts
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"C U T T H E M A L L D O W N"
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>Without any further ceremony or care for preparation, within minutes the entire camp is destroyed through the sheer chaos of mobilization
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>Your steed, Hollow Star, sees you to your saddle with your lance and trident
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>An insistence on arms, as both fit for horseback combat and one makes it easy for even a blithering drunkard to utilize
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>With inhuman, borderline demonic screams for vengeance and sheer hatred for other living creatures
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>With moonlit dark fire and bright, omniscient blood
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>You and your battalion crash into the hive
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>Many take the forms of famous figures
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>Mares of all kinds that beg for mercy
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>Or foals that claim to need rescue
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>Or even the Princesses who demand your hand and hooves
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>All of them are shredded past the point of recognition
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>From all that you care to gather, they change into black-shelled spawn once life leaves them
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>Not all change back
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>You've taught your legion well that some still cling to life, even if quartered
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>Within hours you have led a horde of demons into what may as well be another layer of Hell
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>The hive itself is lit aflame, providing enough vision to make anyone believe that the sun itself had crashed into the land
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>You lackadaisically stroll through what isn't even a battlefield anymore
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>A book smart mare asking you for help, skewered through the ribs
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>A humanoid relative begging you to stop, head twisted off through the trident and pitched into the field of madness
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>A copy of yourself, demanding you stop and take in the incomprehensible chaos that you have wrought under the command of a flawless being
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>Stabbed and wrenched into a puddle that may yet turn into a collection of exoskeleton
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>Only by the time the true sun rises is the deed done
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>Casualties have rated maybe five, ten percent
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>Most of which are the Celestian Guardsmares and stallions that faltered at the prospect of dispatching relatives
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>Or
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>Perhaps
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>Were not familiar enough with your own that they were seen as enemies
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>During the whirlwind of disgusting, wasteful expenditure of life you hardly bother to pay attention
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>"We've set the hive's deepest nurseries to flame, commander."
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>One of your most resilient stallions--whatever his name is--presents the information with a stoic expression
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>The fatigue causes your body to twitch from strain and stress
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>The murderous intent you had was professionally ejaculated onto the rather defensive opposition
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"Good... those tan bags--charges."
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>"Went off an hour ago. Unless they are able to burrow enough to escape the heat, they are no longer an issue for the Princess."
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>That information brings such a solemn, borderline comforting breeze over your battered body
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>Despite the punctures and blood loss, Equestrian unicorn magic has allowed you to last well beyond your natural expiration date
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"Excellent... excellent."
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>From where you are now, you can only hear cackling and the slow, gradual reclamation of good will and wit
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>Many of the freshest transplants incur further casualties after the first exposure to doppelgangers and love starved bugs
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>You can't blame them for such weakness
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>It is what keeps them...
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>Them
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"It seems I have lost my wine."
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>"And your arm, commander."
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"Yes yes, minor details."
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>Equestrian unicorn magic is magical indeed
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"Bring at least the more entertaining one to me. As for the rest."
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>You lift your only remaining arm, caked in blood and broken as it may be
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>You don't feel it so that means it isn't a problem
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"We return to camp within the hour. Once we rest and recover, we clean up and leave this mole hill a crater."
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>"As you wish, commander."
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>The stallion bows before turning away
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>If you were quicker of wit, you may care about the green glimmer in the stallion's eye
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>All the same, your work is done for now
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>Maybe soon, you will be able to put this behind you
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>Surely you will be able to move on and do as you've always wanted
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>A peaceful little subsistence farm, with no concerns or stressors
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>Surely you are not truly a half-destroyed monster that has become an avatar of bloodlust
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>Surely
by BlondieAnon
by BlondieAnon
by BlondieAnon
by BlondieAnon
by BlondieAnon