Fine told me once how he used to be, the things he had to do to appease his “cursed heritage,” as he liked to call it. At first I found it hard to believe, but as time wore on and I got to know him a bit more, I realize now that his entire life was shaped by his mental disorder.

Bloodmane. The very name makes me shudder. If Celestia ever did anything right by Fine, it was naming him the Mane Archon. If she hadn’t, then it scares me to think of what Fine would be like today.

Yet there was no time when Fine scared me. On the contrary, he was always very good to me. Learning what he was once capable of, knowing what he was capable of on the day we met, I still can’t bring myself to disapprove. The fact that he wasn’t worse is nothing short of a miracle. I can’t imagine what I would be like if I were addicted to murder like that and constantly seeing the visions.

I remember holding him close that day. I promised that I would never be afraid of him.

It was the first time I saw him cry.

—Octavia P. Melody, Book of Shadows XLVIII

May 11, C.Y. 1007

Fine banged his hoof on the metal door, his eyes set on the handle just to have something to focus on. His lips were set in a scowl, his eyes hard, his breath coming in slow gasps. The agony was just starting to fade when the small window at eye level slid open with a clang. “Who is—”

Fine’s eyes jerked to the window, and the pony on the other side gulped. Locks and bolts came undone, and within a second or two the door opened. The pony kept behind the door as Fine stalked in, his tail swishing back and forth and his eyes set straight forward. “I need a volunteer.”

“A-alright.” The guard closed the door and fumbled with the locks and bolts, his hooves shaking. Fine tapped the black knife that dangled from his throat by a necklace, making it sway like a pendulum. His body remained rigid as it did. He began to grind his teeth.

“This way.” The guard hurried ahead of him at a swift trot with his tail tucked between his legs. Fine followed, eyes lowered to the bare stone floor. He passed the guard’s waiting room where two sturdy-looking mares peered at him from over their cards. When they saw who the visitor was, they promptly jerked their faces away.

They trotted past the door leading to the cells, past the access to the Phillydelphia slums and went to an adjacent door. The stallion hurried to unlock it and kept well out of Fine’s way as he entered. “I-I’ll bring one of the inmates over right away.”

“Make it two,” Fine said, his voice gravelly as he sat in a corner by the two-way mirror. “The visions are very strong tonight.”

The guard swallowed and nodded before closing the door, leaving Fine to his thoughts.

Time crawled by, gradual and frustrating. It clawed at his mind like a ravenous insect, and the more it chewed at his brain the more agitated he became. He examined himself in the mirror; his shirt was a wrinkled mess and his rosewood eyes were bloodshot. His mane, normally dyed black to aid in his stealth, had lost much of its color in the past week. He’d have to dye it soon to hide the bright red hairs; they didn’t make sneaking any easier. His mottled brown coat was in need of grooming as well. He hadn’t expected the journey to Fillydelphia to take so much out of him… but that’s what happens when one travels for a week when without a fix in four.

He cast a darkening spell, shrouding himself in black with the hope it would help to sooth his mind. The cool comfort of the dark eased him, but it couldn’t end the tension. He tapped his knife once more, his mind focusing on the rhythmic swaying. He thought on the ecstasy that he would get tonight… and the revulsion. Not for the first time, he considered the irony of a monster whose job it was to hunt down monsters.

Is that what Cadance and Shining Armor had been? Monsters?

They hadn’t seemed like it. He cringed and pressed himself tightly into the corner, trying to get their pleading screams out of his ears. Even after almost four months, he could still hear them. Worse was remembering their moans as they began to succumb to Celestia’s indecency. A cold shiver ran down his back; wasn’t sending them to Tartarus enough punishment on its own? And why the buck had she made him take part in it? He didn’t think he would ever have an erection again in his life. Probably a good thing; there didn’t need to be any little monsters running around Equestria thanks to his blasted seed.

“Leave me with him.”

Fine flinched; he’d not heard the door open. He stared at the darkness, body still and ears swiveling forward to catch any sound as the door closed once more. Whoever was in the room with him, he was reasonably sure it wasn’t one of the prisoners.

A chair scraped noisily on the floor, the sound sending more chills down Fine’s spine. Somepony sat. An unusually high-pitched voice met his ears.

“How long has it been since your last kill?”

Fine’s head sank low and his eyes grew hard. “Four weeks. Aren’t you supposed to be in Canterlot kissing Celestia’s hooves?”

“Drop the spell.”

“No.”

“Do it, Verity.”

Fine bristled. “It’s better this way. I won’t have a vision if I can’t see you.”

“You can go eight weeks without a kill.”

“And it hurts like you wouldn’t believe,” Fine grumbled, “so I’d rather not do it again. Get out of here, let me sate the appetite, then we talk.”

“You’ll get no victims tonight, Fine.”

With a snarl, Fine dropped the darkness spell. The black faded away like a fog, revealing the interrogation room once more. There, sitting at the opposite side of the table, was a middle-aged, light grey pegasus stallion. By some cruel twist of fate, he’d also been saddled with a hot pink mane. Ugliest color combination imaginable, at least in Fine’s mind.

He made no attempt to hide his disdain. “What do you want, Hoofknife?”

“A lot of things,” Hoofknife replied, rubbing the crescent-shaped scar on his right shoulder as if it itched. “Not that it matters. Here on business.”

Fine focused his eyes on the floor, more to avoid a vision than anything else. “Darn. And here I thought you meeting me in a dungeon was a sign you wanted to play ‘catch up.’ ” He considered the situation. “What is this about?”

“The Crystal Empire.”

Fine tensed. It took him a moment to fight down the sobs in the back of his mind. “You got my report. What more do you want to know?”

“I’m not here for some report. Something big has come up. Celestia wants to see you right away.”

Fine’s heart leapt into his throat. His head jerked up before he could think of the consequences, and when his eyes met Hoofknife’s the vision hit. He grabbed the table and flipped it, but Hoofknife used his wings to float backwards before it could hit him in the face. His chair smacked the floor as he went for the door, but Fine held it closed with his magic and pulled the knife from around his neck.

His lips parted in a grin so broad it hurt. “I’m going to make you sing, ugly birdie.”

The struggle was harder than the usual; Hoofknife was a trained combatant, and nearly got the upper hoof on more than a few occasions. They danced around the room, rolled on the floor, smashed the table and the chairs. Yet Hoofknife was much older and suffering from the handicap of aged wounds. In the end Fine, bloody and bruised, at last managed to smash the old bastard’s head through the mirror. Hoofknife’s throat got cut on one of the bottom shards, and he stumbled around the room on weak hooves as he hacked for breath. Blood formed a wavy, beautiful line wherever he went, and Fine followed his every step with a smile and a hum.

Hoofknife collapsed. Fine rolled him over and gazed into the stallion’s wide eyes. Their fear was glorious to behold, almost divine. “I warned you, old fart.” He tapped the tip of his knife against the prostrate pony’s chest, drawing little drops of blood like precious rubies. “Let’s see how much playtime I get before you—”

The pain smashed into Fine’s skull like a sledgehammer and he promptly collapsed to his knees. Vision white, he clutched at his head with twitching hooves. A fire seemed to cover his entire body as tiny convulsions overtook him. He had to remind himself again and again: Breathe. Just breathe. It’ll be over soon. Breathe.

Though it felt like an eternity before the pain started to fade, Fine knew from experience that it had to have been no more than a minute or two. The convulsions ceased, his breath came back in gasps and his vision cleared. He was still in the corner of the interrogation room, and Hoofknife was still sitting at the table, watching him with a solemn frown. No broken furniture, no blood.

“Are you done?” There might have been a smidgeon of concern there.

Fine snarled and, shoving himself to his hooves, re-cast the darkness spell. “This is why I wanted to keep he spell up, you bastard. Now get out and tell that damn jailer to get me a victim.”

There was a long pause, which never boded well when it came to Hoofknife.

“No.”

“Damn it, why? Do you enjoy watching me suffer?”

Another pregnant pause. When Hoofknife spoke again, there was a strange quality to his voice that Fine didn’t recognize. “Fine… I need the Bloodmane. I need you ready to go off at a moment’s notice. It’s important for what’s coming.”

Fine blinked, his anger fading with the last of the pain. He stared into the darkness, mind momentarily blank. “You… But I…” He shook his head in a vain attempt to clear it of the nonsense he’d just heard. “I don’t understand. What for? It’ll take another week to get to Canterlot. You want me in week five while talking to Celestia?” His ears folded back at the mere thought of seeing that witch again. “And if I have a vision in her presence?”

“I’m counting on it.” Fine could almost see the Mane Archon’s smile.

Fine tried to make sense of this response, but he could think of no proper explanations. “You want me, the single most dangerous pony in the Archons, to walk up to Celestia and try to murder her? She’ll tear me to pieces, and you with me.”

“That’s not exactly what I had in mind, no.” Hoofknife sighed. “Look, Fine, you’ve been a major project for me. I’ve got a lot more in mind for you than just assassination and capture jobs. When Celestia asked for my best pony for the Crystal Empire job, I sent you hoping you’d catch her eye. It looks like that’s exactly what happened, because she specifically requested your presence, by name.”

If only those shivers would leave his backside alone. Fine wedged himself against the corner once more, rubbing his back against the stone in an attempt to alleviate the feeling. It also helped distract from his fluttering heart and the weakness in his knees.

“She’s got a special mission in mind for me, doesn’t she? One I’m not going to like.”

Another one of those long, dread-inducing silences.

“We leave first thing in the morning.”

Fine couldn’t help but whimper.

It was rare that Fine visited Canterlot. Too many ponies to bump into, too bright, too much noble stupidity. He’d never been in the castle, nor had ever wished to visit it. He knew his place, and that was in the alleyways and dark corners. Where the bad things waited.

As such, he had no idea where Hoofknife was leading him as they walked along a long, windowless hallway. He kept his eyes set on the double doors ahead, determinedly not looking at his boss. Hoofknife’s steps echoed loudly in the gloom, but Fine’s were almost imperceptible; he was so used to sneaking about that not doing so didn’t even occur to him. Under normal occasions he might have actually enjoyed this part of the castle; it was dark and ominous and quiet, just how he liked it.

Yet he couldn’t enjoy his surroundings. He was five weeks without a kill – just as Hoofknife wanted – but his fears of another vision were the least of his worries. The walls glowed with a dim pink flame that, even ignoring the color, didn’t seem natural. The flames moved too slowly and seemed to follow a distinct rhythm in their swaying forms. The air was thick with magical energy, and Fine could sense through his horn that it came from beyond those doors.

He slowed to a stop. “What is this place?”

Hoofknife paused before the doors and turned to him, expression grim. Fine averted his eyes as a precaution.

“Beyond these doors lie the Ritual Chamber. I do not expect you to know what that means. All you need to know is this: what happens in that room will either change your life forever, or end it.” Hoofknife stepped aside and gesture with a nod of his head. “It’s up to you. Go in, or turn back now.”

Fine chanced a glance his way, then studied the doors. They seemed to loom over him like dual monoliths. “Where’s Celestia?”

“Waiting inside.”

His breath caught in his throat and he had to take a moment for the air to come back to his lungs. “I had hoped to never see her again.”

Hoofknife touched his shoulder. “I know exactly what you mean. I—”

Fine slapped the hoof away. “Don’t patronize me.” He sucked in a deep breath to calm his nerves before glaring at the door. “What can I expect?”

“I’m not allowed to say.” Hoofknife stepped up to press his hoof to the door, but paused. “Fine, I’ve been looking forward to this for fifteen years. I know you can do what needs to be done. Don’t buck this up for me.”

“ ‘Cause it’s all about you,” Fine grumbled.

His boss only smirked before pushing the door open. Hoofknife stood aside and gave Fine a commanding look, and Fine promptly walked in. Thankfully, his knees weren’t shaking anymore.

The room was designed as a hexagon ceiling rising so far above their heads that the room seemed smaller than it was. The pink torches were lined high in the stone brick walls, keeping the floor in a dim lighting. A variety of stones comprised the floor, forming an image of ponies lingering in the shadows of great columns, metal collars fastened about their necks. The ponies took on many faces and poses, some of anger, others of misery, but most of abject fear. Chains stretched from those collars towards the middle of the room, where a very real plinth stood. It was decorated with a familiar sun-shaped cutie mark, and atop it sat a large, pink, leather-bound book.

Hoofknife stood beside the book, but his gaze went high. “I have brought him, as commanded.”

Fine stood on the opposite side of the plinth, barely giving the book a passing glance. Instead he followed his boss’s gaze to a small balcony several stories above them. Shrouded in darkness, it gave Fine the sense of a judge’s bench. His sensitive ears caught the small motions and he could feel eyes upon him. They brought a shiver to his spine.

She stepped out, tall and imposing and ominous in her bearing. Celestia stared down her muzzle at the two ponies below her, eyes cold and commanding.

They locked upon Fine. “Hello again, Verity Fine Crime. A happy birthday to you.”

The voice touched his ears, but Fine took no heed of them. For a moment his mind was slammed with memories of screams, of a city on fire, of a pitiful wreck of a mare begging for release of two different kinds, of a husband sobbing for mercy. His heart pounded against his ribcage and his legs trembled, but he steadily forced the images and sounds away. Slowly, he dropped to one foreknee and bowed his head.

Not a sound filled the Ritual Room. Fine’s own breathing sounded obnoxiously loud.

“Why do you bow?”

Fine’s ears perked. Was that aimed at him? When Hoofknife failed to respond, Fine slowly cast his gaze up. He was careful not to look directly at Celestia; now would be a horrible time for a vision. “I don’t understand.”

“Is it because of loyalty?” He could feel her eyes boring into him. “Because of fear? Do you bow only because you know it is expected?”

When Fine hesitated, Hoofknife whispered to him, “Be honest. Lie to her here and she will know it.”

Fine closed his eyes and nodded his understanding. Wondering if he was about to die, he slowly stood up. He wouldn’t look up at her. “I am loyal to my duty, not you. Never you. I bow because if I don’t I’ll be doing it without legs.”

He held his breath, waiting for the strike. A lightning bolt might be a fast way to die. Or perhaps she’s set him on fire. Best case scenario: sent to the moon.

“Look me in the eye, Fine Crime.”

Fine clenched his teeth, entire body going stiff. “That would be unwise.”

“I know what you are.” Her tone brooked no argument this time. “Look me in the eye.”

Slowly, fearing the worst, he did. Celestia’s pink eyes bored into him, hard as granite and judging. They held one another’s gaze for a long time, so long that Fine began to wonder when the vision would strike. Not that he could ever hope to kill the Goddess of the Sun.

“You hate me.”

Fine swallowed to moisten his throat. “Yes.”

“Did you always hate me, or did the events in the Crystal Empire do it?”

Realizing she might not actually be planning to turn him into a black stain on the floor, Fine spoke with a bit more force; “I never liked you, but I didn’t hate you until then.”

Another long pause. This time Fine refused to look away, determined to match her glare for glare. If he had a vision, so be it. Something told him this place would be his doom regardless, and he preferred to face his demise.

Death had never been what scared him.

At last Celestia looked away, a small smile on her lips as her gaze fell on the still-prostrate Hoofknife. “You were right, Mane Archon, his manner in the Crystal Empire is normal. I like him.”

Fine glanced at Hoofknife from the corner of his eye. “Like me for what?”

Yet Celestia’s attention was now entirely on the Mane Archon. Her horn flashed and the doors closed; Fine heard something lock into place. “This is only your second time here, Hoofknife, is it not?” Hoofknife merely nodded. “Most ponies in your position pick poorly the first time. It took your predecessor three tries.”

Hoofknife stood at attention, his eyes steely. “I have every faith in my choice, Princess.”

Celestia’s smile didn’t waver. If anything, it grew broader. “Does he know what’s in store?”

“No,” Fine answered for him, “he does not. What do you want from me?”

Her gaze crept upon him. She seemed to be pushing him down with her very will, but Fine didn’t buckle. Her tone regained its judging texture. “Would you obey my commands?”

“I have a job,” Fine replied, once again meeting her gaze. “Who the orders come from and my opinion of her doesn’t matter as long as I complete my obligations. What do you want?”

She studied him, expression as hard as ever. After a time she appeared to relax; a smirk formed on her lips. “Defend yourself, Fine Crime. That is all. Hoofknife?”

Hoofknife sucked in a sharp breath.

“Kill him.”

The surprise lasted for less than a second, but Fine’s body moved before the need even registered. He jerked towards his boss to find Hoofknife’s wings spread wide and his eyes filled with murderous intent. “What the buck?” A single red laser shot from Fine’s horn but missed by a wide margin as Hoofknife took to the air.

Hoofknife flew wide circles, his wingtip just grazing the walls as he studied Fine. Fine shifted towards the center of the room, keeping his gaze on his new opponent.

“Is this what you intended, you old bastard? Come on, then, let’s get it over with.”

The pegasus didn’t take the bait; he just kept circling, clearly trying to form a plan. Fine had known that the veteran wouldn’t fall for the ruse, but it hadn’t hurt to try. He made no attempt to question the reason behind these events; he’d question it when the fight was over. He knew well enough that his mentor wouldn’t dare disobey the princess.

Quiet save for the ruffling of feathers, Hoofknife performed a corkscrew maneuver and came flying for Fine. The attack came suddenly, but too slow to catch the ever-alert Fine Crime off guard; he ducked the attack with ease. Just as quick, he cast his darkness spell, shrouding the bottom of the room in impenetrable black.

He lay in the same position, perfectly still as his ears swiveled about. He couldn’t hear Hoofknife’s flapping wings. That disturbed him, but he didn’t dare move. Where was he? Where had the bastard gone to?

The plinth. He must have landed on it, Fine would have heard him land if he’d flown beyond it. The bastard had to have anticipated this spell. Yet if he was on the plinth…

Fine turned, his movements soundless. Was he facing the plinth? Surely he was, the darkness hadn’t messed up his sense of direction quite yet. There could be no certainty; he would have to guess at the range and angle. Taking a moment to think on his mental image of the room, he leveled his horn in just the right way…

He heard the wings flap the instant the magic touched his horn. The simple laser attack was an easy one and quick to cast, but Fine knew as soon as he fired that it hadn’t been quick enough. He jumped back only for something to slam against his chest and knock him off his hooves. He hit the ground and already had been struck four times before he was able to react. By the sixth he had the pattern down. He blocked the seventh with his left leg and used the same to perform a strike; judging by the impact, he thought he hit Hoofknife’s jaw.

His attack had been weak, certainly weaker than Hoofknife’s painful blows. Yet it served its purpose; the swinging punch twisted Fine’s body and made it possible for him to turn onto his barrel. He stood with a jerk, knocking his opponent off simply by the awkward position the motion put them in. He tried bucking but hit only air, Hoofknife’s wings flapping once more.

“You think you can beat me with shadows, little colt?”

Fine said nothing. He crept along the floor, a mere shadow himself, and listened to the flapping. Hoofknife was hovering.

“There’s a reason I made you wait five weeks, Fine.”

Those words pierced Fine’s battle-ready mind and he froze in place. His throat seemed very dry at that moment.

“Drop the spell, Fine, and face me like a stallion!”

“Is that what you want?” Fine whispered, heart pounding as he considered the idea. “You want me to use it as a tool?”

“Isn’t that what you do?”

The flapping grew louder. Fine had just enough presence of mind to roll sideways; a gust of wind blew his mane over his face and he was sure a feather touched his flank. He knew he should change positions, but he’d lost all his focus.

Now he understood what was going on.

“Come on, Fine,” Hoofknife’s disembodied voice called. “Do what you have to.”

Fine jerked about and fired another shot. Too late, he realized that the flapping wings weren’t coming from the same direction as the voice. Something slammed into his side, once again knocking him to the ground. A hoof bashed into his chest and white-hot pain filled him as Hoofknife took to the air again. Fine lay on his side, giving himself time to recover from the agony. His mind registered a probable hairline fracture in his ribs.

Hoofknife was going easy on him.

“You’re stronger than this,” Hoofknife called from somewhere above. “Faster. I know, I’ve seen it. Stop analyzing the situation and fight back! Celestia demands a show.”

Celestia. That craven, immoral wench. This was all for her amusement, was it? Fine picked himself up, ignoring the constant soreness in his chest.

“Come on, Fine.” The voice came from his left. Fine was paying attention this time.

“Don’t disappoint me.” Now the right.

“Drop the darkness.” Ahead of him. Fine steadied himself.

“Fight like a bucking Bloodmane!”

Wings flapped. Fine turned even as he dropped the spell. His vision cleared and there was Hoofknife, flying low right at him. Fine jumped sideways and raised his hoof high. When Hoofknife passed the hoof came down, smashing into the stallion’s right shoulder.

Hoofknife made a sound between a shout and a grunt, spiraling sideways as he felt at the scar on his shoulder. A wing hit the floor and he toppled, bouncing against the ground and rolling to a stop.

“You want to die that badly, you old bastard?” Fine stalked towards him, body low and teeth bared. “You want to abuse my foul blood? All for her amusement?”

Hoofknife chuckled as he stood, favoring his right foreleg. “There’s a lot more to this than amusement, little colt.”

Fine paused. The two stared at one another for several seconds, each sizing the other up. Every breath burned, but even with his injury Fine knew he was better off than his opponent. “What’s this all for, then?”

Lifting his leg to get the weight off it, Hoofknife glanced over Fine’s shoulder. At Celestia, no doubt. His eyes returned to Fine after a brief pause. “Can’t say.”

With a snort, Fine took a threatening step closer. “And this is what you want? After all those years of training me, giving me a path, of mentoring me?”

“Oh, yes.” Hoofknife’s eyes gleamed, his smile broadened. “This is exactly what I want. Kill me, Verity. Kill me or I’ll kill you.”

“If that’s the way it has to—”

It came suddenly, like they always did. It caught Fine by surprise, as usual. Fine locked his legs and sucked in a sharp breath as he saw himself ripping out Hoofknife’s tongue. He focused on the vision, but the adrenaline was still in his system and the desire to succumb was so strong.

“That’s it, little colt,” Hoofknife whispered, approaching him with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Let it come. You’ve got a minute or two before you come out of it, and by that time you’ll be dead.” He moved slowly, one step at a time. “This is it, Fine. Let it out and kill me, or I kill you.”

Fine’s mind was in turmoil, half his focus on the image of him smashing Hoofknife’s face against the stones over and over again, the other watching his mentor readying for the kill. Sweat began to drip into his eye, but all he could think about was the need to not kill the pony who had given his life some kind of purpose. “I… don’t… want… to…”

“If you don’t…” Another step. “Somepony else will.” And another. “This is going to happen whether you like it or not.”

Hoofknife’s screams filled the core of Fine’s mind. He shook his head, body trembling as the vision filled his sight with blood. The real Hoofknife was unknowingly walking in a pool of it, his steps creating bloody imprints on the floor that only seemed half-there.

Fine gasped; Hoofknife had pressed a hoof to his throat. He stared in Fine’s wide eyes. “What are you going to do, Archon?”

At that moment, Fine understood only one thing: he wasn’t ready to die… or to let anypony else face this.

He let it sweep over him. The fantasy faded, replaced with a reality yet to be bloodied.

It felt so horribly, delightfully good.

“I’m going to hurt you.”

Fine raised one leg and pressed it against Hoofknife’s, then slammed the other against the elbow. The impact was accompanied by an ear-piercing crack, but before his opponent could even register the need to scream Fine pulled back and delivered a left hook. With only three legs to work with, Hoofknife collapsed on his side. The pegasus started to scramble away, perhaps to gain some breathing room, but Fine leaped forward and slammed both front hoofs on a wing as it started to spread, right on the metacarpus.

The pegasus jerked to a stop, body slung forward by momentum as his wing anchored him in place. He let out a fresh shout, but it became a scream when Fine stomped with both hooves on the upper wing. A second resounding crack made Fine’s loins quiver and a broad grin split his face.

Hoofknife, now on his side, squirmed against Fine’s weight on his wing. He kicked and tried to bend his neck to bite at Fine’s hoof, to no avail.

“Yes,” Fine whispered. “Keep struggling. Dance for me!” An aural blade appeared over his shoulder as he relished the moment.

Hoofknife tried to turn onto his barrel, but couldn’t. He tugged and gritted his teeth against the pain. “Get off me you bucking psychop—” the blade stabbed into his flank, right over his hourglass cutie mark. He didn’t scream, much to Fine’s annoyance; only hissed through his teeth.

Frowning, Fine twisted the blade and sliced, cutting a long gouge in Hoofknife’s flank. The katana rose high and stabbed into the pegasus’ wounded shoulder, piercing right into the stone below. Hoofknife gasped, entire body going rigid as his free foreleg grasped at the wound.

“Hold still.” Fine’s grin returned as he stomped his back hoof onto the gaping wound of Hoofknife’s flank, but the pegasus still didn’t scream. Fine ground his hoof into the wound, forcing blood to pour out, but he couldn’t get the right sounds to pour out of his victim. He leaned over Hoofknife and whispered into his ear.

“You are going to squeal for me. Keep resisting, please. It’ll make my eventual success that much more succulent.”

Hoofknife’s head whipped back, smacking into Fine’s muzzle. He jumped up, but recovered quickly. He took a moment to wipe the blood from his nostrils, then examined the sticky substance on his fetlock.

He grinned.

“Aren’t we sporting today?”

He grabbed Hoofknife’s head in both hooves and slammed his muzzle into the ground. And again, and again, and again. On the fifth hit he backed off, huffing and chuckling. Hoofknife only moaned.

“Now then, let’s see what it takes to make you sing.”

And Hoofknife did sing. He sang until his lungs burst – or perhaps that was from the pressure of Fine’s hooves after he’d pulled back the ribs. No matter; the important thing was that he rewarded Fine’s efforts with his magnificent voice. And blood. Lots and lots of blood, enough of cover Fine’s muzzle when he pulled out the stallion’s entrails with his teeth. Cracked, exposed bones; teeth scattered around the floor; shrieks that chilled the blood with morbid delight.

Of course, it ended shortly after the lungs. Fine had been a little overeager there. He stood over his bloody and mutilated victim, staring into wide eyes that begged for release. Hoofknife’s jaw was broken; it wobbled as he gasped and heaved for air with lungs that wouldn’t work. His eyes rolled back in his head, his blood-splattered face turned blue.

Fine watched it all, breathing heavy and heart pounding. His lips were locked in a huge grin that made his cheeks ache. He rolled his tongue over his lips, savoring the coppery taste of the blood still decorating his muzzle.

Hoofknife convulsed, body flopping in an amusing fashion, then at last went still.

Time passed. Fine watched, just in case, but at last knew for certain that the deed was done. Giggling, he stepped back and sat, staring at his handiwork with pride. How delectable the screams, how gratifying the blood! He felt alive, full of energy, ready to—

—ready to vomit. He turned away and promptly did so.

As he dropped to his knees and gagged, the last several minutes played back in his mind. The image only made his stomach churn even more. “Oh… Goddess…” He frantically began scrubbing at his muzzle with his fetlocks in a vain attempt to get the blood off. Some of it got on his tongue and he retched.

He dared a glance at the body, then turned away and covered his muzzle, breathing in shallow gasps. “Not m-my fault. This is… n-not my…”

“Are you done?”

Fine jerked about and his vision was filled with green. He started to rise to his hooves, but his entire body went rigid before he could get to more than a crouching stance. His jaw slackened and his body tensed as… something connected to his horn.

Celestia stood over him, her gaze matched with his and her eyes burning with green fire. A wavy stream of similarly colored energy flowed from her horn to his, steadily engulfing his body. Out the corner of his eye, Fine could see the light rising up the walls like living spiderwebs, runes not visible before shimmering like beacons.

He wanted to run, to break eye contact and flee, but his body refused to obey his commands. There was a pressure on his mind and a tingle running down his spine. His scream came out as a hoarse wind. Something crawled in his skull, skittering about like a thousand tiny insects. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t focus, couldn’t speak or move. All he knew were hideous green flames, clawing little brain bugs and complete helplessness.

Fine didn’t fear death.

He did fear this. To have this… this brutal whatever forced upon him and not even be able to scream his displeasure!

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, it was done. Fine collapsed in a heap, sobbing and sore and convulsing. He didn’t even think about trying to move. He simply lay there, staring at nothing and trying to piece together his fragmented mind. Where was he, how had he come to be here, why did he feel like his head was full of lead?

Somepony was talking to him. The words were fuzzy, he couldn’t make them out. He tried to move his legs. They wouldn’t obey; too busy twitching and kicking randomly. Something was wrong. With his body, his chest, it burned. Sore, but also burning. His mouth opened and closed over and over again as weak sounds left his throat.

The moment he realized that he wasn’t breathing, he sucked down a sharp gasp. The pain instantly reduced itself to a mere ache, and though already on the floor Fine felt as though he’d collapsed all over again. The green flames in his vision were finally fading and the fuzziness of the world went with it. The first thing he noticed was that the torches on the walls had all turned rosewood red.

Celestia stood over him, turned to gaze at something to his right. “W-what did you do to me?”

She cast him a curious glance. “Be silent and still.”

Fine wanted to protest. He tried to protest. He couldn’t. He just sat there and watched. Not sure why, he tried to recall the entire spell. The runes, the green fire in her eyes, the feeling of creatures in his head that made him shiver.

Celestia turned to him with a pleasant smile. “That was most impressive, Fine Crime. I look forward to having you around.”

Fine tried to work his lips. They wouldn’t move. He blinked and tried again; nothing.

The princess grinned. “Lay down.”

Before Fine could even think about it, he was on his barrel. His mind reeled.

“Roll over.”

He rolled onto his back, eye wide.

“Bark.”

And he did. He barked like a dog. His breathing grew shallow again.

“Good boy. Now, sit.”

Fine was on his haunches in an instant. He stared up at Celestia as if he’d never seen her before. “What did you do?”

Celestia leaned over him, her smile wicked. “You will not harm me. You will not lie to me. You will never tell anypony what happened in this room. If anypony asks, Hoofknife chose to retire in anonymity.”

He opened his mouth to reject her words. He could not. A vice clamped over his chest as he continued to stare into her playful eyes. “H-how?”

“That’s for me to know.” Celestia moved closer and raised her wing.

Fine shied away.

“Stay still.”

Fine’s legs locked, and despite his pounding heart and pleading mind he could do nothing as she sat flank-to-flank with him and draped a ‘comforting’ wing over his shoulder. She nodded at something. “Look at your work, Fine Crime.”

Fine turned his gaze to the side, where the mutilated corpse of Hoofknife still lay. The sight made Fine’s stomach churn; the exposed ribs, the broken limbs, the loose jaw opened wide in a silent scream, the blood splashed all over the floor. He started to turn away—

“Look at it.”

He stared. His stomach rebelled and he nearly threw up, but he looked. A tear ran down his cheek at the sight of his own evil deed.

“Are you proud of what you have done?”

“N-no.”

“Good.” Celestia smiled at the mess before them. “He was a good Mane Archon, but in the past year his age caught up to him. Too many failures too frequently.” She gave Fine an encouraging smile. “You are the Mane Archon now.”

Fine couldn’t take his eyes off the corpse. Literally. He whimpered and shook his head as much as he could manage, but his eyes remained focused on it. “I d-don’t want the job.”

“I don’t care.” Celestia chuckled. “Hoofknife chose you as his successor, knowing full well what that meant. I’ve been using this little ritual for seven hundred years, Fine, and it always brings me great pleasure. Yours wasn’t the most exciting fight I’ve seen, but oh, that heavenly finale! You have a gift, that’s for sure, and I aim to make use of it.”

“N-no, please…”

She went on as if he weren’t speaking at all. “Now, you are going to spend the next several months learning all about Hoofknife’s former duties, aren’t you?”

No! “Y-yes, Princess.”

“Once I believe you’ve learned enough, I will make the shift in leadership official. I’ll keep my eye on the Archons myself until that time. Now, what is your job?”

“I… I…” Fine trembled beneath her wing, tears streaming freely down his cheeks by this point. “I don’t…”

“What is your job, Fine Crime?”

He sucked down a deep breath. “To protect the Princess Celestia from her enemies, by any means necessary.”

Her smile faded. She studied him for several seconds with an intense gaze. He couldn’t meet it; he was still stuck staring at Hoofknife’s intestines. After a little while she sighed and stepped away. “It will do for now. We’ll see what your answer is later.”

She made her way to the exit, which swung open to her magic. “Your first order: I want you to personally clean up this mess. When you’re done, talk to my secretary; she’ll get you settled in your new quarters here in the castle. Good afternoon, Mane Archon. And happy birthday again.”

The doors slammed closed. Fine could only stare at the horror before him and sob.

The red torches faded, leaving him in blessed darkness.

Author's Notes:

Character Ages:

Fine Crime: 19

I've never given Hoofknife a birthdate in my timeline. There's a reason for that.