Eight ponies down, six to go. Shall we continue?

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You can make it if you try with a hop, skip and a jump.

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Rarity pulled away. The strange object in Pinkie's hooves was simply ghastly. It almost looked like… like- "S-Sweetie Belle?" Rarity was even more disgusted. She could still see the look on Scootaloo's face as she learned that, not only did she kill her friend, but she had done it while she was perfectly aware. Pinkie shifted the object slightly and Rarity could literally see the look on Scootaloo's face. "You monster!" she yelled, "you're a horrible monster. But you'll get what's coming to you, oh yes. Someday soon you'll get what you fully deserve."

Pinkie stood stoically by, listening to the white mare scream and yell. She played with the filly heads almost absently, making the mouths and eyes move like little puppets. "Hey Rarity," she said looking up, a grin on her face, "catch."

The chained heads flew through the air at lightning speed. They spun as they went, the holes in the chain whistling eerily, the jagged sound cutting through the air. The struck Rarity's head just as Sweetie Belle's horn was coming to face Rarity. It plunged deep into her head and remained there. The heads shook violently after the sudden stop.

"Ready for some real fun?" Pinkie asked as she pressed a hoof against a button on the floor. Rarity was oblivious to this. She was blinded by the flood of crimson liquid pouring down her face. It ran down, filling her nostrils and even flowing through her mouth. She had opened it wide as she began screaming in pain, but was cut off by the flow of blood. She uttered a short choked gargle as the thick copper smelling liquid ran down her throat. She coughed violently, the increased pressure caused the blood to spurt madly and the heads began sliding loose under the force of the oncoming fluids.

Huge gears began spinning and a grinding sound came from under the floor somewhere. The chair Rarity was in shuddered and moved forward jerkily. It stalled for a moment and began sliding smoothly forward. Rarity found her fore-hooves unbound suddenly and began swiping at her face, trying to knock away as much of the blood as she could.

Three small severed heads fell to the floor, chains rattling as they bounced and rolled. Rarity swung madly at her face, the blood flying out in great sheets. Clearing her eyes, she could see that she was on a direct path towards the immense sewing machine she had noticed earlier; its needle rose and fell at such a speed that it was little more than a flicker.

She tried pulling herself out of the chair, or at least slow it down but without her horn or full use of her legs. She could do little. She began feeling extremely dizzy as the blood loss began to take its toll. Her head began slowly drooping as she lost the strength to hold it up. Darkness pushed at the edge of her vision, threatening to overtake all.

Rarity was now directly beneath the needle. It stopped above her, poised to drive down through her hooves. The chair slowed to a crawl, seeming almost not to move at all, though the portentous grinding of hidden wheels and levers told Rarity otherwise.

The huge metal spear shuddered and shot down, the string trailing quickly behind it. It pushed through Rarity's hooves easily, coming back up as though nothing had been in place to slow it down. The metal spear continued its pattern: down, up, pause, down, up, pause, down, up, pause. Soon, a thick line of rough black stitches made their way along Rarity's legs and up to her hips. Her body was crushed and broken from the repeated blows, but still the chair didn't stop.

"Spike," she cried, one final wail. It seemed to hang in the air as the chair and needle jumped into overdrive. She shot the rest of the way through, the stitching easily coping with the change in speeds.

Pinkie walked over to the still twitching corpse. She had died as the shaft punched through her organs, the power caused blood to shoot explosively from the many red lined holes on the previously pure white coat, but she hadn't full lost her connection to her body until the metal crushed her skull, the bone being too thick to allow easy penetration. Pinkie walked slowly and calmly, breathing deeply.

She enjoyed these moments. The smell of fresh blood, fear still hanging in the air. A trail of blood lay on the floor: the final testament to Rarity's death. It curved back and forth as it approached the chair, a result of Rarity's frantic movements. All around the dead unicorn was a large red puddle. It was warm, steam rising in the cold room where the sewing machine was kept to reduce overheating. The drip-drop of more blood pattering to the floor resounded through the room: the only noise in the deafening absence of the grinding gears.

Pinkie placed two hooves in the puddle and inspected them. Giving an experimental lick, Pinkie decided that it would indeed make amazing frosting. It was so delicious, she had always expected Rarity to taste funny, maybe be a little tough, but she had turned out to be soft and delicious. She couldn't have herself, she must have more. Pinkie soon found herself rolling in the puddle, slurping up as much as she could. The puddle shrunk rapidly, but Pinkie continued drinking. What's the fun in doing all of this work if you couldn't enjoy it?

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You gotta share

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Sorry about the length on this one. Almost out of time for it to be today and I'm just soooo tired from today (big day). Anyways, this is how I wanted to end yesterday's chapter. Tomorrow will have at least one full-sized entertaining chapter for you guys so yay! (But I will be very busy tomorrow DX)

Turning in now, happy Starwars Day, May the fourth be with you.

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