[b]Grimmness Ahead![/b]

He was there again, in the centre of the pit of horror. 

Once again the crowds of slaves swarmed and screamed as they desperately battered at the iron door, hooves cracking and keratin splintering, as they desperately fought for life whilst the guards began to slaughter them. He was at the front of it all, suffocated by the pressure of crowds of dying ponies, consumed by the utter feeling of terror, hopelessness and repulsion as they desperately pushed from behind for any form of escape from this hellpit.

The filth, the decay, the stench it was all there again, and the pressure of bodies upon him, he remembered that so well that day, it had been burned into his mind like hot coals. Below him he watched again as an elderly mare was twisted in multiple directions, her ancient bones cracking and snapping at every increase of pressure. 

But what terrified him every time was not the stench, the pressure or the screaming, it was the eyes. It was those dark staring eyes which tore their way into his soul and laid it bare, those eyes which showed a terror no pony, not even one of an inferior species, should feel, those eyes of supreme fear. 

It was the gaze of the doomed and hopeless.

“We can’t shoot any more of them!” one of the guards shouted back to his comrades “there are too many corpses in the way”. 

What a macabre irony, the enemy wasn’t indestructible due to any plan or tactics on their part, the little that were fighting were fighting hoof to hoof, claw to claw, but this was nothing compared to concentrated magical firepower of trained guardsponies.

“Fuck it! We’ll use the gas.”

[i]Oh sweet Celestia, not the gas![/i]

On those words the attempts at escape became more frantic, the door straining with the effort of keeping them back, but it did not buckle that day.

Nor would it ever buckle again.

“Lock off this portion of the dome! Nobody gets out! You there, unseal the canisters and get your counter spells at the ready.”

[i]No! Save me please! Don’t leave me here, not with them![/i]

He struggled through the nightmare of floundering bodies, trying to push himself to the top to be seen, to be heard, anything to indicate there was a unicorn in this mass of degenerates.

“Save me!” he screamed, but to no avail, with a fatalistic thunder the doors closed behind them.

He could already smell the gas.

Desperately he lit his horn, creating a small bubble of air for him to breathe in. Around him earth and pegasi ponies began to choke and wheeze, vomiting up blood and puss as they drowned in their own fluids.

Their bodies twitching spasmodically as they were asphyxiated and poisoned by the tainted air, and through a pink bubble he watched as each eye slowly went dead, the life choked out of them by the unseen horror. He had lived whilst around him others perished and an overwhelming sense of doom and fatality wrested his soul… but not as great as theirs, in there dying eyes he saw the face of nihilism and the primordial expression of doom

He had crawled through the mound of death, desperately trying to break through those slack staring corpses… those bodies which judged him… he must escape… he must escape… 

[i]Those eyes…those horrible judging eyes…[/i]

He broke through those limp limbs, those silent howling maws. He was reminded by it of a time his father in one of his less abusive spells had taken him to the sea, and he had seen a trawlers catch in a great fishing net. Those dead fish had stared much the same way as these ponies… how disgusting… how… terrible it was.

He lifted the last limb away and squirmed out of the pile like a fat worm which had glutted upon the carcass of the Old Empire. He was almost there… almost… no! Not now… the gas was getting through the bubble, he could feel its effects…. As he slowly stopped…
 
[i]No![/i]

His magic flickered.

And then it went out.

***

“Uncle?”

He woke up with a start, his eyes wide, taking in a huge intake of air, startling his niece from her worried vigil.

He was back.

[i]Safe.[/i]

“Are you alright Uncle?” Honey asked, worry chiselled over her young face, a face which had seen far too much hardship and brutality in her short time on the Earth.

He smiled at her groggily, “I am fine Honey… just a bad dream” he nodded solemnly “A very bad dream...”

But it wasn’t just a dark dream; it had been a reality once, a terrible reality. It must have been tonight’s flight which had opened the gates to those dark years once more, the brutality on that scale was the only thing comparable to that hellish day. He remembered when he first cracked open his eyes to the sound of hospital workers and saw his father there with a sneer of disgust, irrational hatred carved across his face even as his son had been close to death. This had been the first time they had spoken in years, and it would be the last for many more to come.

“You can’t even die properly, can you?”

It was not so much a question, and more a statement. 

It was then, at that moment that he had known, there was nothing asides from having his legs and horn blown off for the glory of war against the Earthborn which would make his father give any semblance of approval.

[i]To hell with that bastard.[/i]

The experience changed him, for the better or worse he could not tell, but he was not the same person he was when he had entered the slave domes. He had hurt many, yes, practically every pony in this godforsaken world had done things of brutality, a state of near total war did not exist for twenty five years without its crimes… but what had been done there had been a step too deep into the darkness, and the worrying thing was that he could see Moon and Star doing it again. Once he had called for it, aping his father in politics as in many other things in his attempts to gain his approval, but after that he could not hold the same viewed he had once established firmly within his mind.

Perhaps the greatest part of his disillusionment had been the utter purposelessness of the act. The slaves were nearly surrendering by the end of the rebellion, but the guards in a fit of insanity over the loss of friends, comrades and co-workers had not listened… they had just kept… firing.

His research had at least had that, a precise purpose, like the blade of a scalpel in delicate surgery. No matter the cost in its discovery, no matter the result of failure, there had an end goal in sight… a goal of shining immortal angels and the birth of a new golden age for the unicorn race. Even Grunge had been fitted for a purpose of sorts, his actions had been inspired by other causes of course… but he had needed Grunge for a duty… not as a symbol of mindless depravity and violence.

That purpose had changed once again however, from a fanciful idea for supremacists to mutter about, to a direct independent goal in his interest.

A Divine Goal.

*-*-*

The track had been mostly empty along the way, and Scalpel doubted many had escaped the hell that Trottingham had descended into only the night previously. They did however meet the fated cause of the riot along the way. The Griffons had eyed him curiously as he had passed by and he was certain he recognised the ex champion of the Cult, Xerihan. His face had been twisted by melted bronze and with the symptoms of addiction weighing heavy on his eyes, a sorry sight of such an infamous figure. He had returned their gaze with a cold one, a grim look which bordered on hatred, his flesh squirming at their staring eyes.

[i]All that research… wasted, because of them.[/i]

He didn’t offer them a lift on the cart driven by the tireless Grunge, the less association he had with the cults traitors the more likely he was to keep his skin from being stretched over a smiling doll. Eventually once they realised that he had not leaked any information on them they would give up the chase… but then again, he was probably severely overlooking the cult’s love of rampant aimless psychopathy.

After that both Honey and he had slept fitfully, Grunge following natural intuition and continuing along the beaten path towards the town of Muddy Hooves. Scalpel had only managed to gather a couple of hours sleep before being awoken again after his nightmare, and felt exhausted after the previous days exertions.

Unfortunately they had taken the wrong road out of the city, although any road of the city by the state that it was in was better than returning to the smouldering pit behind them. So now they were on the Muddy Hooves road, although to be frank it wasn’t a bad last minute choice. Doubtless he could pay for a lift on a merchant barge down the river to the Stormwing border and then use the old Imperial roads through Canterlot province and to Star Harbour. Equestria had become increasingly unsafe for him, and he needed a place to ride out the chaos for a while… perhaps Trotpoli would do, maybe his Niece might enjoy the sunshine.

Grunge was far from inconspicuous however, and there would be many unpleasant questions about his state if he continued onwards unconcealed. With the arrival of dawn, Scalpel blew out the lantern and fitted an old worn cloak over the quasi-metal form of Grunge. Grunge stared at him expressionlessly, as was his nature, accepting whatever was happening with the same reaction practically everything gave him. He was certainly a work of art in terms of magical enhancement, machine, metal and flesh all working together, and with some biological modifications, strength far above even the fittest of Earth ponies. Unfortunately the process had severely decreased his intelligence to that of a young foal, although it was somewhat of a mixed blessing due to the amount of control Scalpel was able to exert over him, but the lack of tactics beyond raw brutality.

It took them most of the day to get to Muddy Hooves, and all the way it was quiet, the only sound of life being the birds and woodland creatures which roamed the forests around them. Once Scalpel thought he had seen a ghostly form betwixt the trees, but he shrugged it off as trickery of the mind. Honey Puzzle amused herself with another of her Uncle’s puzzleboxes, a convenient device which hid his research notes from prying eyes and hooves. Honey Puzzle proved a natural at figuring out the boxes, and so she had contributed in her own way to his research by ensuring their security to all but the sharpest minds. The amount of time it took for her to finish one became indicative of the difficulties in opening them for anyone not naturally gifted in the art. The completed devices also held a number of traps, both magical and physical, which would prove deadly to those foolish enough to try their hooves at one.

He had lost his research once, but never again.

Of course he had memorized it all, but the reassurance of written information was a deep comfort, and ensuring his secrets would stand the test of time aided in softening his unease. A soft click and an “Mmm!” sound of victory met his ears and he saw his Niece open the box with some joy at her conquest. He smiled a little, but his face became pained as they touched upon the stumps which had once been her lower legs.

He would never forgive them for what they had done.

[i]They would all pay in time.[/i]

One day he would get them all, all those degenerate mud ponies and take his vengeance upon them with blade and saw.

After all, he had already started counting down by one so far.

On that fateful day he had turned his cause beyond self interests and perhaps for the first time towards unrewarded compassion for another. If his studies ever bore fruit, he would restore her hooves once again… and he would never have to stare at those starred stumps again and feel such guilt for not being there for her in her time of need.

He would make things right, one way or another. 

He turned away and a stray thought struck him as the sight of Muddy Hooves crossed into the horizon.

[i]Cruel is the world in which foals suffer for the sins of their fathers.[/i]