Fallout Equestria: Homelands

By Somber

Chapter 22: Into Thin Air

“Is it bad that this is feeling typical?” Skylord shouted over the hissing of pistons as the Whiskey Express thundered down the old concrete road east towards what should have been the end of the Badlands. “I mean, I feel like we’ve been here before,” he quipped as high velocity bullets cracked and pinged off the road around them. Scotch gripped the wheel as she kept the throttle pegged, her eyes straining for wrecks, potholes, or anything that could cripple them. “Bugs! Centaurs! I just feel like this is becoming a thing, you know?!”

“Will you shut up and start shooting?” Precious bellowed as she pointed a claw at the Gold Legion pursuing them. Two of their flying machines were at their flanks, the quad rotors holding them aloft as they kept pace. Beneath them were two fine steam tractors with engines that didn’t ‘pockety pock’ so much as purr. It was like a vision of the Whiskey Express after a few quantum leaps’ worth of technological innovation. Not that Scotch would give up the Whiskey Express, but the way the legion’s tractors ran low to the ground, with wider tires, it was clear that they were better suited for these speeds. Each one had only a driver and a gunner, the latter of each trying their best to puncture the Whiskey Express’s boiler.

Clearly someone still had the ‘take them alive’ plan on the table. Of course, there was the fact that a barrage of missiles was probably really expensive too. Was she too valuable alive, or not worth enough dead?

She couldn’t even try anything shamany either. Right now she barely blinked for risk of missing something on the road ahead that’d wreck them all. Thankfully, her goggles and a face wrap kept distracting grit out of her eyes.

Once they’d been alerted that the Golds were moving, they’d gotten their butts in gear and scrambled for their ride. Pythia had updated maps, Precious was in a good mood, and Skylord had topped out the ammo for his automatic rifle. They’d travelled east from Doctor Z’s base before reaching their first barricade. Racing at high speed, the Whiskey’d got through before the bounty hunters had been able to get off more than a few shots. Fortunately the wooden wagons hadn’t been too much of an impediment for their steam tractor, though the jolt had been alarming.

But no one was faster than radio. The next group of bounty hunters had been ready for them, and Scotch had to take a detour across a lake bed to bypass the bounty hunters. A trio of steam tractors had moved across to cut them off, but rather than pull away and be chased towards impassible ground, Scotch had snapped around and charged them head on. Skylord’s gun raked their boilers, puncturing something vital. The explosive jet of white vapor blew the entire vehicle on its side, scattering the screaming, partially flash-boiled occupants across the ground. A lesson that you didn’t need to get shot to get killed.

They’d gotten clear, but that was when the flying machines caught up. Fast as the Whiskey Express was, it still had to go around obstacles. Fliers didn’t.

The plan, insofar as it was a plan, was to cross a river up ahead that separated the Badlands from Flame Legion territory. “The one good thing is everyone hates the fucking Gold Legion, so if we go into Flame Legion territory, they’ll be more eager to shoot at them than us,” Skylord had explained as they left the broadcast base, winding their way along an old access road.

“Is there anyone else? A free city? Another legion?” Majina had asked as they trundled east out of the Badlands.

“If we go north, we might get into the Bone Legion’s southern territory, but I doubt they’d be able to stop the Golds from taking us. Getting to Freetown requires going through Flame Legion territory anyway.” Skylord twisted his beak in a manner that might be a pursing of his lips if he were a pony. “I’m forgetting one.”

That was about an hour before the first flier caught up to them and fired the first rocket. Though a rocketwas infinitely easier to dodge than a hail of bullets, There was something distinctly unnerving about a missile streaking towards them and exploding off to the side. Scotch suddenly jerking the steering wheel had nearly wrecked them. Skylord explaining the difference between missiles and rockets while she was trying hard not to get them all killed hadn’t helped either. If the Golds were trying to rattle her into surrender, that nearly did it! Which was probably the point.

Which just pissed her off even more. Fear and anger wrestled inside her chest as she struggled to keep focused.

Just get to Flame Legion territory before they stop you. She repeated the thought over and over like a mantra to keep the thousand others rattling in her skull from taking the fore and distracting her to deadly effect.

Aside from that, a tiny insane part of her was actually enjoying this. She couldn’t stop the grin as she kept her eyes locked on the road ahead, trying to pick out what was an odd shadow and what was debris that would end them. Periodically one of the Gold Legion steam tractors would try to pull past to get a shot at the boiler and she’d swing the car wildly to block them. Skylord would strafe the armored cars and Precious would even blast them with fire if they got close enough. Only Charity kept herself low and braced, hooves covering her head in anticipation of their inevitable wreck.

Hey, if you were going to die, you might as well enjoy it, right? Scotch Tape mentally smacked herself for that thought. We are not going to die!

One big factor in their favor was a massive storm system just to the south. The clouds didn’t just billow. They seethed, churning as if with a malevolence all their own. Lightning blasted out repeatedly between the roiling clouds. No one in their little band had any knowledge about the weather in the area, so it was even odds the colossal flickering tempest was natural or some kind of megaspell. All that was clear was that it was pushing out a massive wall of wind that was giving the Golds far more trouble than the heavier Whiskey Express.

Over her PipBuck, she heard Xiegfried’s voice, “Twenty kilometers to Flame Legion territory. Other bounty hunters are moving to cut you off to the north.” ZTV’s information was their only other lifeline. All it could do was give her hope. There weren’t many bridges spanning the river between the Badlands and Flame Legion territory. That meant getting across this one before they were cut off.

The pursuing tractors strafed occasionally , but they weren’t really putting much effort into it. They seemed content to just harry them forward. Drive them into a wreck or towards whatever ambush they had to be setting up.

I am done with being driven! “Sky! Precious! Get ready!” Scotch shouted as she disengaged the clutch.

“Ready for wha–” Precious yelled.

Scotch slammed on the brakes, the trailer swinging wildly as it threatened to spill everyone out. Still, nothing came apart, and she was pleased to hear the rattle of machine gun fire and the roar of dragon fire in tandem. Releasing the brake, Scotch engaged the clutch and sped away again. Both their tails pulled back to a pursuing range rather than trying to crawl right up the Whiskey’s butt. Scotch was supposed to be cautious. Careful. Concerned.

But right then she was just sick and tired of people trying to kill her. Capture her. Get her.

Soon, the radio gave an update. “Five kilometers. There’s–” the connection crackled. Scotch gave the storm a stink eye. Now? Did it have to do this now?

Still. Five kilometers. It had to be over the next rise, through that shallow notch cut into the hill side ahead of them. They were driving them. They knew the bridge they were trying to reach. They were probably already ahead of them.

If I had mines, spikes, or some other trick… that’s where I’d put them.

She eyed the hillside to the right and left of the notch. Grass and rocks, but it didn’t look too terrible. “Please don’t break an axle, Whiskey,” she murmured. “Hold on!”

“Stop saying that!” Charity shrieked.

“You’re just jealous you don’t have hands!” Skylord laughed.

“I’ll sue you! I’ll sue everyone in this whole damned land as soon as I find the nearest courthouse! Reckless endangerment of a pony! I’ll own your tail!” Charity screamed in panic.

Scotch twisted the wheel where the road and the ground met in a pinch, and bounced her way off road.

The scorched and bullet ridden pursuers now really opened fire. She’d gone off script, and they didn’t like it. As she struggled up the hillside, she saw down on the road below them tiny circular dots of the mines. Beyond, things weren’t much better.

That’s a big river. She wasn’t really used to rivers like this: it was huge, maybe half the width of Rice River, brown and ugly, running along the edge of hills and stretching north and south. A two lane bridge stretched across it, and on the far side sat a large tower with red and orange banner hanging from atop it. It might as well have been back in Equestria for all the good it did her now. The Golds had parked one of their flying machines sideways across the bridge, its nose and rear nearly flush with the concrete. Even if she rammed it, they’d still be blocked. Whiskey wasn’t a bulldozer.

North, the land flattened out along the shore. That was the right way to escape. They’d even landed the other flier on the south side of the road. They might as well have had a sign up saying ‘go this way.’

When people out to kill you wanted you to go this way, go that way. Scotch was already on the south side. She twisted the wheel, bumping across the hilltop, trying to avoid rocks, shrubs, and trees. Her speed was shit, but damned if she was going to run right into their waiting arms. The two tractors chasing them weren’t even trying to keep up, and merely rolled along after them at their own indolent pace. After all, why rush when you could fly?

“Pythia. Where’s the next bridge south?” Scotch called out. The dead grass was littered with small pebbles and stones that plinked and popped off the underside of the trailer.

“Twenty four kilometers,” Pythia said. “We might be able to skirt the storm and reach it.” Maybe a little more confidence, Pythia?

“Tell me you’re seeing a future where we cross it,” Majina pleaded as the four-rotored flying machine kept pace to the rear. Sparing a backward glance at it, Scotch Tape could see a half dozen zebras in white power armor watching them. One of them had a particularly large rifle she didn’t like at all. She knew what zebras could do with guns. Despite every instinct telling her to stay away from the storm, she followed the ridge-line closer to the tempest.

And what a storm it was! Scotch had never seen clouds that looked so black before. Lightning danced around the edges and she saw tiny specks rising and falling around it. Debris caught on an updraft? She couldn’t be sure… “Is that a megaspell?” she screamed as she pointed a hoof at the churning vapor.

“Ya think?” Charity cried back.

Scotch knew her speed sucked. Even if they made the bridge, what would stop the fliers from getting there first? The grass and rocks barely allowed her even a quarter of her former speed. Where did all these pebbles come from? They littered the grassy hillside. She wasn’t as worried about small collisions at this speed, but still, if she hit the wrong boulder or dip, it’d be all over just as surely as it would if she were still thundering down the road. In spite of that, she found herself following the stony ridge-line to try to prevent a slide or roll to the river below. The flying contraption was keeping on her left, as if anticipating just such a thing. Some mud or sand and they’d be dead.

“They’re driving us higher! Go down!” Pythia called out. But any way that wasn’t ‘higher’ was ‘towards that damned machine.’

Desperate, she tried her radio again, but all she heard was the blast of something that might only be called music if the music was pissed and wanted to stab someone. Anyone. In spite of herself, she found herself smiling. It matched her mood perfectly.

Then the rifle on the flying machine boomed. The shot ripped through the top of the water jacket surrounding the boiler, and Scotch did all she could not to cry out. She could feel blisters rising from her scorched hide. Had the shot been just a few inches lower, it would have pierced both the water jacket and the firebox, likely resulting in a far more explosive result. The second boom of the rifle hit the left piston, and the metal blew apart with a second spray of white vapor. The Whiskey’s pockety pock was replaced by a whistling hiss as the pressure blasted through the remains of the shut-off.

That was it. The Whiskey Express came to a rest teetering on the edge of a steep ridge. Left was the river and certain death. Right led straight into the roiling storm and what looked like a pretty impressive open pit mine. She put on the brake and leapt out of the driver’s seat. Using a rag, she pulled a manual shut-off, earning more blisters as she saved what steam they had left.

Scotch tore off the goggles and rag. Charity immediately snatched up a bucket of cold water and poured it over Scotch, but the coolness did little for the burning blisters she could feel growing on her face and forelegs. The music switched to something low and growling, like the singer was chewing the microphone. Scotch could definitely relate.

“We’re screwed,” Skylord muttered as the flier circled them, and the rest used the engine and trailer for cover. “We’re away from the bridge and the river, exposed, and immobile. We are the epitome of screwed.” Scotch found it hard to argue with that. They sat right on the edge of a ridge. The yellow grass lay bent over by small rocks that seemed scattered everywhere.

The flier landed, the wind from the storm buffeting them as the Whiskey Express’s crew climbed out, putting the tractor between them and the four-rotored transport. Three zebras started moving around behind the transport, their white power armor conveying them behind the Whiskey Express with great speed, cutting off any idea of returning towards the road and bridge. The other three advanced up the hillside.

Skylord braced himself against the trailer, pointing his automatic at the trio. They stopped but didn’t take cover. One of the trio had armor that was gold instead of white. “Oh… That’s so shiny…” Precious groaned, then bit her bottom lip.

“It is, and I get the same feeling every time I polish it!” the gold-plated zebra declared, stopping a few dozen feet away. “But it’s not just shiny, as you’ll soon see!” He paused as everybody there just stared at him. “Well? Start shooting, private! Honestly, Irons can’t even take a dump without orders.”

Skylord glowered, then unloaded his entire magazine into the golden armor, but didn’t seem to affect its wearer in the slightest. The bullets sparked and pinged and the stallion actually posed, head thrown back, as the bullets ricocheted and bounced off the gold armor with barely a scratch. He even presented his rump, and demonstrated that it was just as impenetrable as the rest of him. Skylord finished shooting. It was also immune to griffonic glares. “Stupid nine mil! Give me a one-fifty-five and then let me shoot your ass,” he growled.

The shiny show-off dropped the pose. “Now that we’ve established just how awesome my armor is…” Turning back, he bowed. “Hello, hello, hello! You must be the green menace. The ‘person of interest.’ Target alpha. My glorious paycheck. My name is General Aurum and I am going to be killing you! Personally! No extra charge. It’s my pleasure!”

Seriously? “I didn’t think I merited a general. I’m honored,” Scotch deadpanned. Then she whispered to Majina, “Get in the seat and be ready to drive.” Majina stared at her for a moment, then nodded, crawling into the seat. Scotch’s burns forced her to clench one eye shut. She didn’t know what language was growling out of her PipBuck. Angrish? Snarlese?

“You know what? Normally you wouldn’t, but that broadcast? I mean, wow. I just had to meet you myself. Kill you too. Bills to pay and all that, but I’ll tell you what. I laughed my ass off at that. I mean, we were clueless as to where you were, but then you put that out telling us where you were going? We actually sent three quarters of our forces on the western and southern edges of the Badlands because we were certain, absolutely certain, you were lying your ass off about going to Roam. And yet here you are!” he laughed.

“Why don’t you take that helmet off? We’ll see who’s laughing?” Skylord shot back.

Aurum took a moment to reply to that. “Oh! Right. You’re paycheck number three.” Skylord furrowed his brows. “Do you know how I became General of the Golden Legion?”

“Prioritizing quality over quantity in a scarcity market?” Charity suggested.

Scotch heard him draw in a breath, then freeze. Aurum jabbed a hoof at Charity. “You. I want to talk to you privately after this is all over.” Then he swung his hoof back at Scotch. “It’s getting paid by as many people for a job as I can.”

“I’m guessing this is why you’re talking to us at all?” Scotch asked.

“Well that and I spent eight hours in a transport chasing you down. I like a little conversation now and then.” He nodded to the gold plated rifle. “Now, I could kill you. BAM! One pay check! Not a bad one either. But! I could capture you for Xara and report I killed you. BAM BAM! Two paychecks! But I could also capture you, take you to Xara so she can talk, get paid, then take you from her and hand you over to Riptide. BAM BAM BAM! Three paychecks! Now I really love three paychecks. But if I do the handover at Rice River, and let Haimon join in after that little broadcast of yours? BUDABUDA BAM BAM! Four paychecks! You have any idea how awesome four paychecks are? It’s like… poetry!”

“So you have a profit incentive to take me alive,” Scotch asked. “Good to know.”

“Sure. But the fun doesn’t stop there!” He laughed, pointing at Skylord. “He’s wanted by a bunch of griffons and the Blood Legion. I love a bidding war! BUDDA BADOOM! Five paychecks. And that zebra is wanted by the Zencori Censure for saying something they didn’t like, so BADOOM DA DOOM! Six paychecks! And I know I can get something for that dragon freak in Rice River. ZOOM ZOOM BADDABOOM! Seven paychecks!” He pranced in place. “It must be my birthday!”

“The what is after me?” Majina goggled at him. “What did I do?”

“Hey hey hey. If you don’t know there’s a bounty out on you, that’s your problem,” the glittering stallion said with a shrug.

“But if you kill all of us you only get paid once,” Scotch pointed out.

The prancing stopped. “Sure, but I get paid. Once I show them your body, of course. None of this ‘well, I’m pretty sure she’s dead but I kinda can’t confirm it.’ shit. And I don’t think you’re the kind that just throws the lives of all your friends away. So I’ll let the Starkatteri and hornhead go. They’re not worth anything.”

“Not worth anything? Do you have any idea who this hornhead is?” Charity roared, rising to her hooves in the trailer and jabbing her hoof at him as if leveling a malediction. “I am the one and only Charity, which I ain’t! I built up a fortune with a post office and two dozen foals! I disassembled an entire ruin and squeezed every last cap out of that place I could! I found and refurbished a rail transport in three hours because I’m the only one that can source, acquire and organize labor to install thirty-seven needed parts! I outfitted Blackjack’s team before they went into hell, and that after getting fifty percent of my stock raided by dipshits that still regret stealing from me! Not worth anything? I’m damned priceless, you gaudy, over polished jackass!”

Scotch just blinked as she looked up at her standing imperiously above and felt her reality slip in an unexpectedly surreal direction. Pythia caught her gaze and then gave a minute shrug.

“Over polished?!” Aurum countered. “Do you have any idea just how expensive it was getting a diamond spirit into soft gold? I had to commission nine different shamans for it! I could have paid for a moderately sized settlement!”

The soldiers looked at each other, almost the same as Scotch and her friends.

“But you didn’t, which could have provided a longer term economic tax base, fabrication shops for tools, repairs, and equipment. But noooo! You wanted to be shiny!” She thrust her hoof at him again. “You are economically illiterate!”

Aurum jabbed a hoof right back at her. “Inferior! Let me tell you exactly how I financed this paragon of gilded mayhem juggling no less than six creditors!” the general snapped back. Scotch gestured to the others to pull back a little.

“Is she actually distracting him with economics?” Skylord muttered.

“She could be waving her butt in the air for all I care,” Scotch said. “Listen, we’re only going to get one shot at this.”

“We should go across the river. It’s a risk, but the Whiskey’s pretty crippled,” Pythia pointed out. “We’re never going to reach the other bridge.”

“They can fly too,” Skylord said. “Nothing to stop them from cutting us off.”

“But will the Flame Legion protect us? Can they?” Precious asked.

“Probably. We’ll have to listen to sermons or something but they protect their territory,” Skylord answered. “We need to hurry. I think she just said something about carried interest.”

They got to work. The Whiskey could, in theory, run with one piston, but only if they weren’t bleeding pressure, and they’d need to build up steam before they could get going. Scotch, her burned skin tearing and rubbing, struggled with a wrench to force the pressure into the one cylinder. That wasn’t good for it, but they just had to get down to the river. Then…

She sighed and butted her head against the metal. “I’m sorry, Whiskey. I just don’t see a way out of this.” She rubbed her hoof against it, wincing at the burns.

“I understand. I hope I was a good tool,” it replied calmly.

“You were the best,” Scotch sniffed.

“No. That flying machine is much better. If I could fly, I could carry you onward.”

“You’re much better than that stupid Gold Legion flying transport.”

“Not that one. The other one. The big one.”

Scotch blinked. “Big one?”

“Yes. It’s huge,” it answered. Scotch blinked and looked around, shading her eyes against the sun.

“There isn’t another flying machine,” Scotch argued with a frown.

“There are many, but that one is a fine tool. It makes its owner very happy,” Whiskey stated.

Whiskey couldn’t lie, and had no reason to anyway. What flying machine could he be talking about? Scotch stared to the west, towards the massive storm that pinned them on this ridge. To beneath the roiling black clouds where countless specks and a strange pall of dust that rose and fell in strange loops. The longer she stared at it, the more suspicious she became.

“Scotch?” Pythia asked at Scotch’s shoulder, making her start. “We’ve almost got it fixed.” Then she cocked her head. “You’re thinking something.”

“I am,” Scotch said as she pointed at the storm. “What is that?”

“Some kind of storm megaspell?”

“Megaspell, yes. Storm?” Scotch dropped her gaze to the ground under her hooves. Yellowed grass studded with hoof sized rocks. “Pythia. Why are all these rocks here?”

“‘Cause it’s the badlands?” she suggested, then her eyes widened too. “The rocks are on top of the grass.”

Scotch kicked over a few. They were all on top of the grass. She didn’t have time for a mud mask, but she did have an interpreter. She crawled over to the trailer, reached in, and extracted Rocky. Aurum was making some argument requiring an abacus as Scotch retreated down the slope. “Rocky, can you ask these rocks a question for me?” she asked, lifting one small stone.

Rocky sniffed. “They are pebbles. Hardly worth talking to.”

Was size some kind of rock elitism? “I just need to know where it came from.”

“Slate. Mud. Uplifted. Exposed. Weathered.” Rocky paused. “It is crazy…”

“Crazy?” Scotch asked, a thought forming in her mind. What counted as insanity to a rock?

“It… fell up,” Rocky confirmed. “Then down. Then up. Then down. Up. Down. I do not understand.”

“I do.” Well, she didn’t, but at this point she was running on two parts frustration to one part desperation. “I have a pretty good idea what happened to it.” She stared at the storm. The specks rising and falling.

“No,” Pythia said.

“What, you see what’s going to happen?”

“I don’t have to. You’re not going to do it.”

“Because we die?”

“Because it’s a megaspell and stupid.”

“Look, I’ve had very good luck using with megaspells to get away from these guys.”

“That does not mean it’s a sound strategy!”

“Uh, guys. Tractor’s fixed. Fixed-ish. We gonna make a break for it?” Precious asked with a little wheeze. She’d probably used most of her fire getting it back up to pressure.

Scotch trotted back up the tractor and peeked over at where Aurum was… giving a presentation with a white board held by one of his soldiers while Charity drew on a large piece of paper held by Skylord. A lot of arrows seemed to be involved going from circle to circle. “You see? With my investment I not only enriched myself but also the shamans I paid to have the armor imbued with diamond spirits.”

“You might as well just throw gold coins at them and call it economic development. You have to think macroeconomically! Macro! Eco! Nomic! Allee!”

Aurum crouched as if he was about to shove his white board up Charity’s macro, but abruptly straightened. “Oh, hey. Doing your big run?”

Scotch blinked. “Huh?”

“Well, duh. Did you really think I’d engage in a fun little argument with this macroeconomic acolyte, giving you time to get that wreck rolling, if I didn’t know you’d try and dash across the river?” he said as he pointed at the stream behind him. “I didn’t think you were swimmers.”

“We were going to use the trailer like a boat,” Precious retorted. Then she blinked and looked at the others. “That’s what we were going to do, right? That was the plan?” Scotch covered her face with a hoof. “I can’t swim. You know I can’t swim! Seriously!”

“We’ve been driving through the desert and Badlands for more than a month! It slipped my mind, okay!” Scotch Tape shouted back.

“Minus ten friend points,” Precious countered and then reached up and gave Majina a hug around her waist. “New best friend.”

“Really?” Majina suddenly gushed with a grin.

“Can I put this down?” Skylord asked.

“Listen. Guys. This has actually been fun, but you’re talking about doing stupid things that endanger my paycheck so…” Aurum suddenly snapped up his rifle and let six shots fire. They blasted the water jacket and a huge cloud of smoke and steam rolled out. Precious yanked Majina right out of the seat and whirled, shielding her from the scalding cloud. Skylord ducked into the trailer bed, the paper abandoned. Aurum’s rifle finally clicked on an empty chamber.

Scotch stared in shock at the streamers of steam pouring out the holes. “No!” Scotch cried out, running up to the engine and placing her hooves against the warm metal.

“Now, let’s get all of you on board so that I can start collecting paychecks. I’m thinking of importing some fancy Equestrian talismans and rig this burnished beauty to fly. What do you think?” he asked, stroking a hoof over his armor, the grin in his voice spitefully clear.

Talismans? She looked towards the storm and then at him. Flying…

A hot gutful of rage burned inside her. If she was wrong, they were dead. If she gave up, they were dead and this gilded asshole was rich. But if she was right. But if she was right… “I think you talk too much,” she said, twisting the wheel and giving as hard a shove as she could. Thankfully, the tractor started to roll. “Get in!”

“Oh no. Don’t roll away. I’d hate to walk all the way down to the river,” the general replied drolly as gravity kicked in and she pulled herself into the seat. She was frustrated, hurt, pissed off, and probably going to get them all killed. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked in utter amusement.

“Fuck you!” she yelled as the Whiskey Express rolled away…

Away from the river and towards the storm.

They broke out of sight, the ridge providing cover for a few critical seconds as the pair of soldiers opened fire moments too late. By the time they crested the ridge, the Whiskey Express was rolling along down the slope towards the open pit mine and the swirling dust. Bullets pinged off the trailer as everyone ducked down. A pair ran after while Aurum remained behind, reloading his rifle. The Whiskey Express clattered and swayed so much Scotch doubted it was going to be an easy shot. Her face and forelegs already burned, but she didn’t want to add getting shot to the list. She had no idea how many healing supplies they had left.

Not that it would matter if she was wrong.

As they rolled into the storm, she heard the noise. It wasn’t any kind of storm she’d heard before. No hiss of rain or whoosh of wind. This storm growled, and in a perfect moment, the music that had been playing before erupted into a cacophony of guitars, drums, and someone screaming lyrics in an inequine voice she barely understood. The monosyllabics seemed to focus of ‘drive, fall, die, and fly’ with some ‘fuck’ punctuating every few words.

And damn it if she wasn’t grinning.

Because like fuck she was going to meekly put herself in the hooves of an enemy again. No more chains on her friends. If she was right, they’d survive this. Maybe. Possibly.

“Please let me be right,” she said as she covered her head with her PipBucked hoof. Because the rain had started… not water, but rocks. Pebbles started to patter down on them as they plunged into a screen of falling stones, sand, and dust. She held her breath as she struggled to keep the nose pointing down through the haze. She could see the pit. The really, really deep pit.

The power armored zebras were closing in. She could only imagine their bonus if they caught them. Charity, Majina, and Pythia took cover underneath a tarp while Skylord focused on shooting the pair. Unlike their boss, the bullets at least chewed into the armor, but still didn’t seem to do much. They needed more gun.

Or in this case, more rock. Because the pebbles were giving way to larger stones. Stones that smashed her upraised hoof. She knew PipBucks were tough. But all it would take was one lucky strike and she’d be crippled or dead.

Fuck it. She was already burned.

One of the power armored stallions tripped and began to slide in the rapidly accumulating scree. They slid through the deepening pile of pebbles before smashing into a rock and remaining still. But as they passed halfway down the slope, the already substantial rocks started to give way to boulders. They fell like meteors, striking the ground, splitting and throwing shards of stone through the air and rolling down with the Whiskey Express.

“Got you,” the stallion shouted as he hooked his forelegs on the rear of the trailer. He dug in his hooves, slowing the tractor and bringing his battle saddle carbines in position to fire at the passengers.

Then a rock the size of a small house thudded down with enough force to make the whole tractor sail through the air. Two white hooves remained hooked on the back of the trailer. “Got you,” Rocky echoed.

Okay. She was going to polish that rock if they lived through this.

Then, just like that, they were past the falling rocks.

Now they were dealing with the floating rocks.

The boulders falling now were travelling in strange U loops, tumbling down out of the cloud only to slow and tumble back up. Scotch puckered up as rock even bigger than the one that had crushed their tail plunged down at them, slowed, and halted mere meters above them.

“What the heck is going on?” Precious asked.

“It’s a levitation megaspell,” Scotch answered. “I’m guessing it targets the heavy bodies’ mass first, and then goes for lighter and lighter stones. Once a rock is too small to count, it leaves it behind. Or maybe the small ones get flung out of range. Who cares?” She laughed. “Let’s see that flier get through that!” Once they stopped, she could find somewhere to hide, pick her way east, get across the river.

She stomped her hoof down on the brakes.

The tractor plunged further and further down. The lip of the pit mine was starting to get awfully close. “Oh shit,” she muttered as she mashed the pedal uselessly. “Shit shit shit!” she cried. Could she jerk the wheel? Roll them? Try to ram some of the floating rocks? They had mass though. Didn’t they? Would there be much difference between hitting them and one on the ground?

Then she did the math in her head. If the rocks around them were of a certain mass… How heavy was the Whiskey Express? Did it count just the engine or the trailer and her friends too? And most importantly, how close would she have to be for the lift to be strong enough to pick it up?

“Shiiiiiiit!” was all she could scream. It seemed the most fitting as the Whiskey Express reached the edge and plummeted into the biggest, deepest hole she’d seen in a long while. It was strange how perfectly round and deep it was. Not like a mine at all. More like a wound in Equus itself.

And they were falling in. They were all going to die. Rocky too. He’d shatter into a million pieces. She–

The Whiskey Express slowed. It bobbed in the air, rising and falling as her friends held on desperately. The megaspell had them, but the bladder-loosening void underneath seemed to pull at her. Then she watched the walls of the round pit start to fall around her. A faint glow appeared around the metal, and it steadied. They rose above the lip of the pit.

And a high caliber, armor piercing shell ripped right through the tractor, inches from her face. The tractor streamed hot fluid as it was lifted by the spell, providing Aurum his chance. She could barely make out the gold through the haze, but he blasted at her again and again as she rose ever higher into the air. The range, the interfering boulders rising and falling… it was a credit he could hit them at all. Twelve shots later, all sight of him was lost as they were rising along with the rest of the boulders.

The magical field was carrying them up towards the dark center of the storm.

Or rather, the dark center of the mountain in the midst of the storm. She tied a rag over her muzzle to protect her lungs from the dust. The boulders were smashing against the underside with shocking force. Didn’t levitation make things weightless? She’d have to recalculate some of her assumptions. In fact, they were going a lot faster than she thought counted for ‘levitation.’ This was more… falling up.

Was there magic that could reverse gravity?

“Shit!” she cried out as the Whiskey Express started to tumble, falling up faster and faster. “Hold on!”

“What do you think we’re doing?” Skylord cried out as they approached the underside of that mountain.

The Whiskey Express landed roughly on its side with enough force to discharge all of its passengers. Scotch could only scream as her body was smashed like a ragdoll against the rubble that covered the underside of the mountain, leaving her rolling and sliding helplessly. She struggled to stay hooves down–up?–as the coveralls and other clothes she’d picked up in the salt flats ripped and tore, to say nothing of her rupturing blisters. The pebbles refused to slow her.

Then she looked up at the sight of a rock that was less rock and more ‘hill.’ She flung herself to the side, rolling in the pebbles over and over again as the massive mound of stone impacted the bottom of the hill next to her. Were her friends under that? She could only scream and try desperately for control. Pythia was right. She’d gotten them all killed.

Because the world ended.

It was like falling towards the horizon. A clattering field of stones, pebbles, and sand. The hill had, for the most part, remained above her, but others were rolling like her towards that edge. She kicked and struggled to slow her slide, but it was too steep. Too fast! It was like being trapped in a river of stone!

And like that, she fell into the sky. The edge of the mountain gave way, and she was flung out into the air, limbs flailing, PipBuck still playing that idiotic music. As she fell skyward, she stared down at the strangest arrangement of structures. Dozens, maybe hundreds, of platforms chained and tied to the underside of the floating mountain, centered around a formidable concrete structure that appeared to be some sort of base or fort. A dozen large flying machines, up to a bona fide, bright red Enclave raptor, rested protected in the lee of the mountain as the rain of pebbles tumbled into the sky, and her along with them.

“Gotcha!” a boy cried out, claws catching her from behind and holding Scotch close. She glanced behind her at a large blue draconic form in black barding. She was so pummeled by her fall that she couldn’t do much more than hang there.

Well… dead by Gold Legion, dead by megaspell, or dead by dragon. She was at least grateful that he’d spared her the fate of being slowly pelted and choked to death in an endless rain of dust and pebbles, at any rate. “My friends!” she cried out. “Grab my friends!”

“We’re getting them,” the dragon assured her as he flew towards the massive concrete building that clung to the bottom of the floating mound of rock. “Yeah, I got her, boss!” he said, and Scotch Tape took a look back. He wasn’t much bigger than Precious, with bat wings beating furiously in the air as he dodged rocks whirling wildly around the edge. Far above, the rocks continued up into the sky until they arced out and away, falling as they left the megaspell’s effect. Scotch wasn’t an expert on dragons of any kind, but she had to admit he looked… well put together with his midnight blue scales and bright blue eyes. His scales had white stripes here and there that made her wonder if they were natural or painted on.

As they reached the concrete structure, dozens of other fliers came into view: griffons, a lot of zebras with leathery bat wings, even a pony or three. She spotted a white, zebra sized dragon… dragoness?… it was hard to tell without the muzzle... holding Pythia and Majina under her arms. A beige unicorn levitated both himself and Charity, floating towards the structure. A red banner dangled up… down… ugh, directions were just wrong! A red banner hung and fluttered in the breeze.

Scotch made a frantic count as she was pulled into what appeared to be a covered plaza, but was now some sort of mustering center. “Is everyone okay?” she asked, which was more ‘is everyone alive?’

“I think my leg’s broken,” Pythia said, clenching her eyes tight. “No. I know it is.”

“Better than my ribs,” Charity wheezed. Majina just groaned.

Scotch’s own head throbbed, and somehow everything was getting blurry. She made a count. “Where’s Skylord?” she asked frantically.

“Over here,” he called out to the side. Unlike the others, these bat winged zebras were pressing guns to his head as they clung to his chains. It was only then that Scotch noted the singular commonality to all these people: A black brand of crossed lightning bolts. “I knew I missed one. Storm Legion.”

“Storm Legion?” Scotch asked in a daze, her head starting to spin.

“That’s right,” a voice boomed as the airborne members surrounded them. From a hole in the floor… ceiling… floor… came a bright green equine form. With wings. And a horn. And… big! It’d been a while since Scotch had seen an alicorn, let alone one with a pair of lightning bolts branded where her cutie mark should be. Indeed, every pony here had the same brand. It made Scotch’s flank twitch. The alicorn’s emerald magic grabbed all of them, and she levitated Scotch in front of her scowling, glaring face.

Then she smiled. “I absolutely love your color! And that blue mane! It’s sublime!” The face twisted back into a frown. “You are ruining my moment!” Then an eyeroll to make Pythia proud. “Oh, gah. Boring. Threaten threaten threaten. Blah blah blah. You should try being nice, Perihelion. It’d be way more creepy.” Then she snapped. “Don’t tell me to be nice, Peridot! We’re legion! We’re not supposed to be nice!”

The blue teenage dragon next to them coughed. “Peris? Could you make with some healing? They did just fall up the mountain.”

“We’re the boss of you! You’re not the boss of us!” the green alicorn snapped, glaring, then beamed. “We’ll get right on that, Snag!” She pointed her horn right at Scotch and a glow covered her, levitating her off the ground. Scotch had the distinctly unnerving sensation of parts of her anatomy being magically rearranged by Peris’s enchantment. Yet when the glow faded, Scotch was dropped back to the ground with her head no longer throbbing and the world no longer blurring before her eyes.

Scotch turned to Charity. “You have got to learn this spell!” she gushed. If Blackjack had known on the moon…

“I can barely levitate a pencil and you want me to do alicorn healing magic?” Charity deadpanned. Peris pranced over to Charity, her body glowing with healing magic. “Oh, I got to learn that,” she groaned. One by one, the green used her magic on all of Scotch’s friends. Scotch didn’t know much about alicorns. Lacunae had been strange and a little scary, and apparently strange even to other alicorns.

“I never thought I’d see an alicorn here,” Scotch mused as the green alicorn mended Majina.

“Why? You got something against alicorns?” Peris challenged. “Snag! This mare’s eyeballin’ me!” Her scowl twisted into bafflement. “What? No she’s not, Helion.” Then she snarled, “Damn it, Dot! You’re cramping my style!” A snort, “What style?”

Scotch looked over to the blue dragon, Snag. It’d almost be funny if they weren’t surrounded by a hundred raiders. They weren’t much different from the Bone Legion in appearance. Less dusty and more winged, and definitely more varied. Lots of spikes everywhere she looked. Lots of piercings. In fact, they seemed even less uniform than the Bone or even Blood Legion! Every one of them was armed, however, and from the condition of their weapons, knew how to use them.

Snag coughed, “Peris? General wants to meet them. Like, now?”

The alicorn blinked. “Oh, right. Yes. Right away! Get moving, prisoners!” Peris growled, then beamed at them. “If you please.”

Together, the alicorn and dragon flew up into a hole leading to a vaulted chamber. Or it had been. A floor had been laid down, and homes built atop either side, leaving the middle clear. Scotch noted strange hound like creatures added to the mix. They seemed like the sand dogs and hellhounds back home, but less… cybery and mutatedy. A strange simian skull sat on a stick before the throne, with a sign that read ‘world’s worst boss’ hanging below it. On one side was a prominent stage, and on the other a throne of guns.

“Hey! That’s our thing!” Skylord objected.

“Really?” Majina asked.

“Yeah. General Chalybs welded together a thousand guns to make his throne!” Skylord said as he thrust a talon at the lone figure sitting there, wearing a heavy coat and hat. Suddenly from dozens of barrels blasted arcing lengths of lightning that danced to an array of electrodes arranged around the seat. The arcing lightning left purple afterimages in her vision. “Okay,” Skylord mumbled. “That’s awesome.”

“Glad you think so!” called out the occupant as she rose from the seat and strode down. The voice and sway undoubtedly that of a female, but almost all of her was shrouded in a white feathered cloak, peering at all of them with a pair of yellowed [color] eyes underneath an ancient captain’s cap decorated with nine stars and a medal. “‘Cause we are the Storm Legion. And we… are… awesome!” The feathered cloak transformed into feathered wings, revealing the white pegasus beneath them as she posed in a black military dress uniform that had to be bulletproof for all the medals and bars she’d plastered to it. On cue, more electricity arced from wires, crackling and filling the air with cascading sparks.

“General…” Scotch stated in a vague daze, not sure which was more surreal: that a white pegasus was in charge of a zebra legion, or that she was barely older than Scotch herself.

“Say my name!” the general screamed, her voice carrying from one end of the chamber to the other.

“Tempest!” the crowd roared.

“I said, say my fucking name!”

“TEMPEST!” the collected bellowed, somehow even louder.

The general fixed her with a yellow gaze. “And you are the Green Menace. The wanderer. The Cursed!” she proclaimed as she thrust a pinion at Scotch. “Damned by the spirits and souls of alllllll the forsaken!” She grinned and closed the distance till she was almost muzzle to muzzle with Scotch. “There’s something I’ve wanted to do since I first heard about your cursed ass,” she snarled, then grinned and lunged. Before Scotch could blink, she was swept up in tight embrace, her wings wrapping around her as Tempest rubbed herself furiously against Scotch. “Woooooo! Get that curse all over meeeeee! Yeah! Love that cursey goodness! Mmmmh!”

Scotch managed to shove her off as the room erupted in laughter. “What the heck is your problem?” she gasped. Really, between Vicious and Tempest, why was she so attractive to crazy mares!

“Problem?” Tempest called out to the crowd. “We ain’t got no problems.” She whirled to the crowd and shouted, “We’re the Storm! We are the problem!” And once again the crowd went nuts, shouting ‘Storm!’ over and over in a booming chant. She snapped her wings out wide and grinned at Scotch, the crowd falling silent. Scotch had to admit, she had them well trained. Or maybe that was the result of the brand? Two bolts of lightning crossed right over her cutie mark.

“And you’ve been a problem too,” she said loudly, theatrically, at Scotch. “We heard your little broadcast the other day. I listened to you and thought, ‘There’s no fucking way she could be serious.’ You had to be lying to throw them off the scent. But what if, I thought. What if there was a mare as audacious… as reckless… as FUCKING AWESOME as me?! And we watched. And we waited. And we were fucking bored! But then what did we see?” She whirled and bellowed, “A mare racing like a bat out of Tartarus with Gold Legion fucks on her tail!” Stomps and hoots and cries of ‘Fuck the Golds’ echoed in the chamber.

Another wing raise silenced the crowd, then she pointed a hoof back at Scotch. “But when the Golds cut you off with those damned Bastion transports, did you give up? No. And when they blasted your ride and burned off half your face did you give up? No! What did you do?” Scotch was almost afraid to answer with the volatile crowd pressing in. Fortunately, Tempest asked the crowd, “What did she do?”

“She ran to the Storm!” it boomed, breaking into cheers and howls of glee.

“She ran into the mother… fucking… STORRRRM!” Tempest roared, lightning flaring from the electrodes on queue.

“Well…” Scotch said as something crazy wiggled up into her brain and took a seat. “Well of course I did!” Scotch yelled out. “Because that asshole saw us as nothing but a fucking paycheck, so fuck him!” It was amazing just how liberating that four letter word could be.

“Scotch, are you okay?” Pythia asked in concern, putting a hoof on her shoulder.

But Scotch didn’t have a chance to answer, because Tempest launched herself into the air. “Yes!” she roared, and a gem on her lapel flashed bright red, and her voice boomed impossibly loud. The dragons and Peris all flew onto the stage, the white one pulling off a sheet covering three sets of keyboards, the blue, Snag, settling behind a drum set, and Peris levitating two guitars on either side of her like they were miniguns. Tempest landed in the middle and more lightning boomed as the Storm Legion packed in before the stage.

Then Tempest let out a growl that the red talisman amplified to rumble and crash like an earthquake. Snag began beating the drums, his feet and tail working the pedals below. The white dragoness, her face a mask of stoic aloofness, danced her claws over the keys and unleashed an uncanny melody. Peris started to bob and swing her head, green mane flying wild as her magic plucked at the strings of the two guitars. When her head swung towards the one on her right, the one with fewer strings, her face turned into a grimace of anger. When it swung to the other, overtaken with an expression of childish glee. Scotch couldn’t say if they were any good, because Tempest’s growl rose until it became a scream of pure rage drowning out all else.

And then she started to sing, or rather snarl, lyrics at the assembled legion. The music was so loud and raucous that it could barely be called such, and seemed to focus on yelling her contempt at every other legion, with the refrain being chanting Storm, any word that even came close to rhyming with it, whether or not it made any sense, and some that didn’t do either. But the audience soaked it up it like a sponge, Scotch’s friends a little island of baffled silence in the middle. Scotch didn’t know what it was. Maybe the anger. Maybe the power. She had to admit, she liked it.

Of course it did nothing for her massive list of problems, not least the new entry of what had happened to the Whiskey Express? Was it in one piece? Pieces? Flung into the sky and gone for good? Scotch still had the black book in the remains of her saddlebag. She wondered if it was possible to just fling the damned thing into space from here. Still, the hard music roared through her head and blasted out months of stress and worry. So why were her friends staring at her like she’d lost her damned mind?

Three, or possibly four, snarly songs later, Tempest snapped, “Okay! That’s it! Get back to work, ya jackasses! See if we can’t pick off one of Aurum’s transports on his way back to Bastion! Peris. Call the Rampage and the Chugagug and haul us up. I’m done throwing rocks at the ground. Get grub on and I–” she paused suddenly and snapped her head around to look at the six of them, “–am going to have some personal fun with the Green Menace!” She grinned Vicious’s ‘stab, fuck, kill’ grin. “Slash! Snag! Bring ‘em!” She bopped the crystal with a hoof and it went dark. Then Tempest trotted off the stage.

The two teenaged dragons flew down, flanking them. “Come on,” the white scaled dragoness said pointing to a side door as the crowd dispersed. Everyone seemed in fine spirits though, so Scotch took that as a good sign. It was strange walking up… down… in the inverted building. Seeing stairs overhead was definitely unnerving, but wooden slats had been hammered into impromptu footing.

“Did you know about any of this?” Majina asked Skylord as they descended.

“What’s there to know? They’re Storms. They come, the fuck shit up, they go. We didn’t really care how they did it because we have guns that’ll blow them and their flying machines out of the sky,” Skylord replied with a shrug.

“Yeah, and fucking Irons will blow up a village for a cantaloupe of tribute. Last I heard the Bloods were seriously doing a number on your territory though. Got everything right up to Rice River. Even crossed it,” Snag said pointedly.

“Yeah, well soon as the crap with Haimon is cleared up, Adolfa’ll bring her train guns home and really open up on them. If they haven’t already.”

“Yeah, well, I hear that the Irons are also getting hit from the east as well. Looks like Sand Legion’s taking back Esajer pass,” Slash said from the front as they entered a barracks of sorts. A few of the crew looked to be sleeping, and others were eating. Scotch smelled a backed up toilet somewhere. She wondered how this place’s plumbing worked. Badly, from the smell.

“Brahmin shit,” Skylord growled back, but his brows furrowed in consternation. “Esajer’s ours.”

“Threatening your nitrate fields. Iron legion’s no legion without guns,” Snag chuckled. “What are you doing down here anyway, Iron?”

“Orders,” he said firmly, glaring straight ahead. Scotch couldn’t help but stare at him though. It had to be tough, following a crazy spirit-cursed pony around while your friends and family were in harm's way. Fortunately, it seemed the two dragons didn’t needle him after that.

“Can you believe that general though?” Precious gushed. “I mean, I barely saw Ossius, but come on! She’s both a general and in a band! It’s coolness squared! Maybe cubed!”

Scotch didn’t ponder the mathematics of coolness. She was trying to parse what she’d seen. It’d both made perfect sense and been completely over the top at the same time. It reminded her of the Overmare, back in 99, who played favorites and games – sadistic ones, usually – to get what she wanted.

“How’s the future?” she asked Pythia.

“You’re going back to Equestria.”

Scotch and Charity both said in unison, “Wait. What?”

“That’s what I see. You two get on an airship and go back to Equestria. We never meet again,” Pythia said quietly. “Probably just my sight being out of whack. Definitely for the best.” Scotch opened her mouth again, but Pythia pointed at a pair of double doors adorned with upside down pony skulls crossed with lightning bolts. “We’re here.”

They walked into an office that looked like part trophy room, part torture chamber, and part boudoir. No one had a bed that big with that many mirrors above it. The walls were lined with weapons, most of them spiky and sharp. Still, Skylord immediately gravitated towards one rifle. “Oooh, this is a IZA-9! These were the battle rifles of the Caesar’s imperial guard! Single round accuracy up to eight hundred yards, and three round burst fire! Ohh! And automatic? Is this a custom job? I bet it must purr like a kitten! A twenty meter long kitten!” He reached out and tugged on it, but it was wired to the wall.

“Tell me things like that don’t exist,” Scotch asked in a rush.

“Tell me they do!” Majina gushed.

“You know your guns, Iron,” Tempest said from a small door hidden in the back of the room, her voice raspy and harsh. “Come in here. We’ll be more comfortable.” Scotch wasn’t ready to start saying no till she knew what was going on.

When she poked her head through, she realized she knew less than she’d anticipated.

If the room behind was a cornucopia of edge, this office was a… salon of softness? She really didn’t know what to think. The desk had neat stacks of paper, with a map of the Zebrinica on the wall neatly marked with color coded pins. A tailoring dummy held Tempest’s medal-studded uniform and cap, while the mare herself trotted over to a gramophone in the corner and set the needle. Mellow classical music bled out of the cone. She moved over to the desk and took a seat as Snag entered behind them with a black iron mug decorated with skulls.

“Blood of your enemies, General,” he said, setting the cup down. He glanced at Skylord, who sat there with his beak hanging open. “Iron Legion,” the dragon added, and then actually winked to them.

“Thanks, Lieutenant. Make sure if anyone comes asking, I’m having relations with all six of them. At once. Hmm… nonstandard orifices. Maybe throw in an eye socket or bullet wound for flavor,” she croaked. Snag nodded and departed, and she took a drink from the mug. “Ahh,” she sighed, settling back. “Fifteen minutes of that and I can barely swallow. Tea and honey with some healing potion mixed in. Great for colds too.”

“What the heck is going on?” Precious asked. “You were wearing the skulls and singing the things and going fuck this and storm that and now you’re drinking honeyed tea? What is the deal?!”

“It was a show,” Scotch summarized.

“It was a performance. An important one. My legion needs me to be a maniac, so I am. The previous Tempest bit the heads off bats. The one before that liked to set his scales on fire,” Tempest said between sipping her tea.

“Yeah. How is a pegasus the general of a legion?” Charity demanded.

“It’s no surprise. Our first general was a unicorn,” Tempest leisurely countered. “We’ll take anyone so long as they can fly or aren’t afraid of heights. Zebras. Ponies. Sand dogs. Dragons. Alicorns, now that they’re a thing. Not picky.”

“Not an answer,” Charity snapped back. “You’re barely older than us.”

“I was fortunate to be born with a youthful appearance. Actually, I’m old enough to be your mother,” Tempest replied with a grin.

“Noooo!” Precious wailed. “Chill and old?! Do you knit too?”

“Quilting, actually. It’s very relaxing.” Precious sank, covering her visibly aghast face as Tempest demolished any remaining hope in that coolness could be squared. The pegasus turned her eyes to the rest of them. “I was actually part of an Enclave mission to infiltrate the Storm Legion in the event we had to act against them. I took the brand, learned the previous Tempest’s secret, and became a lieutenant. Unfortunately that’s about when the Enclave lost their flippin’ minds, pardon my language. I was technically under High General Harbinger’s command, even if I was originally from Thunderhead, so when everything blew up, I felt it best to adopt the role personally.”

“You were from Thunderhead?” Scotch asked in surprise.

“Intelligence asset on assignment with Neighvarro. Not my plan, but I learned Zebra as an elective and it got me assigned here,” she said with a wave of her hoof. “Had a little disagreement with the captain of the raptor that brought me, but it worked out. Painted it red and put some spikes on it and the Storms were happy to accept us.”

“Why would you tell us this?” Charity asked skeptically. “Is this one of those ‘tell us ‘cause we’re going to be killed anyway’ deals?”

“Do you think the average Storm Legionnaire knows what the Enclave was? Or cares?” Tempest replied with a burst of laughter that caught Scotch off guard with how genuinely mirthful it seemed, underneath the raspiness of her still recovering voice. “Tell them. Generals collect rumors like sand dogs collect fleas. And they hop around just as fast. I start a few myself. The lieutenants who matter, like Peris, Slash, and Snag, know and don’t care. As for the other legions, I don’t care what they know.”

Scotch frowned at this reversal, glancing at Pythia. “So what do you want with me?”

“What I want?” She thrust her hooves out at Scotch. “Who are you? That’s what I want to know! You give a broadcast on Z-TV, blow up a spirit ceremony in Rice River, are apparently a shaman, and there’s a pirate involved? Are you a special agent? Are you acting on behalf of Tenpony Tower, or perhaps other elements? You told your enemies where you were going and then followed through with it. I couldn’t tell if it was a bluff, a gambit, or sheer madness. I’m still not sure.”

“You want a debriefing,” Scotch said, prompting Tempest to her brow. “General Ossius wanted the same thing.” The brow raised even further. “What?”

Tempest reached for a pad of paper. “I think I’m going to want notes too.”

She didn’t just want them from Scotch, she asked questions of everyone. She dug for details. Opinions. Theories. Snag kept bringing in food and drinks, though it was pretty meager fare. Given they were living in an upside down ruin, Scotch supposed their own food sources were pretty unsteady. She was a little more surprised that Tempest asked Charity for more socio-economic questions about her impressions of the groups they’d met.

“You remind me of Vega,” Scotch commented, recalling the zebra in charge of the Exchange in Rice River. “He wanted all the info too.”

“Yes. My legionnaires are great fighters but utter trash when it comes to intelligence gathering.” She sighed, rubbing her temple. “To be honest, my own skills are getting sloppy as well. Ever since I got that damned brand. It's easier to scream into a microphone than it is to do simple planning and training regimens.”

Scotch furrowed her brow. “You mind if I take a look at it? With my spirit sight?”

She pursed her lips. “So you believe in zebra curses and spirits?”

“You don’t?”

“Enclave never really encouraged superstition,” Tempest admitted and then rose and presented her flank. Her original cutie mark was almost completely destroyed. Was it an arrow? A dart. The black scars reminded Scotch of Glory… only worse. What kind of injury left black scars like these besides magic?

The wrench mask still lay in her saddlebags, and she tugged it on. Scotch closed her eyes, shifted her vision over, and steeled herself for possible horrors. Her side crawled as she thought of the damned book in her pack. Why couldn’t it have been flung away? Then she cracked an eye.

Tempest wore the same black tar dripping from her brand as she had seen elsewhere. It was smeared like congealed blood along her wings and face. Scotch regarded her own blackened hooves. Then she looked over at Skylord. The griffon glared at her skeptically, but she looked over at his brand as well. Though the brand was different in shape, the ichor seemed identical. The inky substance was spattered all over the room, bleeding from the edges. Then she spotted a portrait on the wall behind her. She’d missed it entering. A maroon unicorn mare sat there with her horn sheared off in the middle. Her blue eyes stared coolly out of the canvas. A steady drip of black oozed from the wounded horn but gold dust seemed to sparkle on the canvas..

“What is that?” Scotch murmured, then looked at the chains Skylord had worn for months. The lock spirit clung to him like a crab, but it lacked the black slime. It wasn’t golden, exactly, but was more a dull yellow. In the middle was a shape like a padlock.

Then she regarded her friends. They were untouched by the slime… and they had gold keys glued to their chests. Charity, for her part, seemed distinctly grayer than the rest, her brows curled in a skeptical frown. Scotch looked from them to the spirit that bound Skylord, and then down at her own chest. No key. “Huh.”

“Most shamans, in my experience, have lots more masks and chants and spooky words,” Tempest observed.

Scotch switched her vision back and took the mask off. “I’ve seen four different legions and all of you have this black spiritual gunk. I’ve got similar stains from when I was censured at Rice River. Skylord made a deal with a spirit. It’s not covered in the same stuff, but it’s dim, not like most of the spirits I’ve seen.” She thumped the sides of her head. “I need to talk to a shaman. Spirit touched… someone!”

It took all Scotch’s power not to look at Pythia. She had to clench her jaw to prevent it. Pythia had the answer. She had to. She was the filly that knew things. All the things!

“Well, when I said I wanted your curse all over me, I didn’t think it was literal,” the pegasus coughed lightly.

Scotch rubbed her chin. “Could I ask… Is anything else different? Since you were branded, I mean? Feelings? Thoughts?”

Tempest regarded her for a moment before answering. “I get angry easier. Not like on stage. Sometimes something stupid will just set me off. That never happened. And…” She paused and pursed her lips. “It’s dumb. I just thought it was the role getting to me, but I really hate Equestria.” Her face twisted in a scowl. “I never even thought of it before. Now the word just makes my blood boil, but I can’t figure out why.” She regarded the painting of the unicorn. “Like our founder.”

Scotch whirled to the canvas. “Who’s that?” She did a quick peek and the broken horned unicorn did have a golden glitter about her, though Scotch couldn’t tell if that was her or what she represented to the Storm Legion.

Tempest pursed her lips, and Scotch wondered if she was running out of questions to ask the General, but then Tempest had spent hours interrogating Scotch.

“The first general of the legion. Tempest. Not her real name, nor mine,” A small smile reached the general’s lips. “As I understand it, she was once the subordinate of a being called the Storm King, who mounted an attack on Equestria, but was ultimately rebuffed. It was an attack that set about modernizing Equestria’s military. After it failed, she turned on him, and approached the Caesar.” Her smile grew. “No surprise. There were zebras who served the ponies during the war, and there were ponies who worked for his legions. Near as I understand it, she was promised a method of healing her wounded horn, but I’ve no idea if it was, or even could be, mended.”

Scotch had no clue herself. If it was just a crack, apparently it could, but maybe it was harder back then?

“Do you know where the Eye of the World is?” she asked, taking a stab in the dark. Tempest just regarded her with an even stare that suggested she didn’t have a clue. Scotch mulled for a moment and realized that she’d run out of questions to ask in return. “Well, now what?”

She leaned back, looking at Scotch thoughtfully. “I read about what happened at Maripony, the Battle of Neighvarro, and the Hoof. Honestly, if you’d asked me five years ago, I’d have simply turned you over to my superiors and moved on.” She paused, tapping her hooves together thoughtfully as she sat behind the desk. “But to be honest, with everything happening, I suppose what I should ask you is how can I help?”

Did she hear right? “You want to help us?”

“Sure. I mean, nothing I said in the commons was a lie. You spitting in the face of Aurum was great, and you’re doing this thing. I don’t understand it, and not sure if I believe it. You’re also being targeted by these New Empire thugs, and that doesn’t sound any good to me. So yeah.”

“And you don’t want anything for it? No… year of service? No job you need me to do?” Scotch said a little skeptical.

“Well if you ask me to go fly off and blow the crap out of Riptide, forget it. It’s a really big ocean and I don’t have so many aircraft that they can wander all over looking for it. But if you want something like a trip back to the Hoof, I can work something out.”

“You can get us back to Equestria?!” Charity blurted. Scotch caught Tempest’s eye twitch at the word.

“We do a supply run once a year. Hard to get raptor parts, especially now, but I know people,”

“Yes. Yes! A hundred times yes!” Charity gushed.

“Charity,” Scotch groaned.

“No, listen!” the yellow unicorn snapped. “You came here with no clue what’s going on. Well, now you have a clue! We can go back to the Hoof. Cash in on some favors with the Society and Finders. Get some proper gear, guns, barding, and maybe a few mercenaries. Get a real expedition together and next year return and look properly. No more running around for our lives, and definitely no more falling into the sky!”

Scotch frowned. It did make sense.

“I’d rather stay and kick ass,” Precious causally offered. “But now that we know what’s going on here, we’d be returning on our terms. I mean, I doubt the New Empire will be able to screw with us all the way in the Hoof.”

It was a good idea. Tempting even. She could give the stupid black book over to the Twilight Society or someone and let them deal with it.

“But we haven’t finished our quest! What kind of story goes ‘And then the heroes went home and decided to come back later’? None of them do!” Majina said with a pout.

“It’s for the best,” Pythia murmured. “They’re not after us. Well, someone’s upset with you but I can keep looking. Might even be easier.”

That stung. Skylord just wore this empty, resigned look on his face. No doubt he’d be going back to his legion to fight. Maybe die.

“But we might not ever see each other again!” Majina whined. She faced each of them in turn. “Scotch? Precious? Pythia? Sky?” Her eyes welled up with tears and she wheeled, bolting out the little door. From the exclamation that followed, Snag was waiting just outside it.

“Let her go, Snag,” Tempest called out. “Follow, and make sure she stays out of trouble.”

Scotch’s head spun. Going back to the Hoof was the smart thing to do. They could make arrangements to come back on the next supply run. They’d be older. Better trained. Ready for a fight rather than running for their lives. Better informed. It all just made sense.

And besides, finding the Eye of the World wasn’t her quest anyway.

But…

“I need to think about it.”

“The Storm King’s heading out in a week or so. You have till then. Sooner is better than later.” Tempest rose. “I told the legion you were awesome. That gave you a little credit, but they’re still Storm Legion and you’re not. They won’t be happy with an Iron here. Slash.”

The white dragoness emerged from the side door. “Yeah, boss?”

“A room for six,” Tempest replied. “B wing, I think. Somewhere quiet.”

Scotch nodded soberly. “Thanks, but there’s something I need to do first.”

“You’re looking for a rock?” Peris called out as Scotch walked amid the boulders on the underside of the base. They’d risen past the point where they were pulling stones from the ground, and an eerie calm filled the air. The pegasus Storm Legionnaires veiled the floating mountain with wisps of fog. While Scotch’s chest ached from the exertion and altitude, she had to at least try to find Rocky, even though it was searching for a rock in a rock pile.

“And for whatever remains of the Whiskey Express!” Scotch added, scrambling amid the rocks. The megaspell seemed to select what it grabbed by mass and density, so most of the mountain was made of boulders. Once it had you, your gravity was reversed. Leave the field of the megaspell and you’d have to wait till it ‘grabbed’ you again.

“Oh, look! A rock!” Peris snapped, then cooed. “Ohh! Did I find it?”

“It’ll have a face on it,” Scotch said, keeping her mask on. The entire mound was murmuring softly ‘up is down is up is down is up is down.’ Scotch could sympathize. Every time she glanced at the world overhead a part of her brain started screaming.

“Of course. What’s a rock without a face!” Peris asked. “Stop being so mean, Helion. She lost her pet rock.” Then she growled, “It’s… a… rock…” A tisk and a sigh. “You were a pegasus. You can’t understand what a good pet rock means to an earth pony.” Then she snapped. “You were a unicorn, Dot!”

Scotch whirled. “Hey! Maybe we should split up! I’ll check up there. You check down here.”

“But down is…” the alicorn started.

“Yes, I know! Down is up is down is up is down is up is down is up!” she said, cackling as she ran away.

This place was getting to her.

She found herself suddenly at the apex of the mountain… it wasn’t a very large one. Or maybe it was just easier to climb? She took a seat and sighed.

Go home. Just… go home.

Would it be home? She could go back to 99. They were cleaning it out. Would probably welcome her help. Maybe now she was old enough and strong enough to endure the place, knowing what it was. What it did?

But she could also do like Charity suggested. Go back. Regroup. Return. They knew about Riptide now, and the New Empire.

Just go…

She reached into her saddlebag and pulled out the back book. With her mask on, it squirmed. Blood and bone. The cover undulated like it was trying to escape, dribbling that black gunk on the rock. The stones whimpered as it struck them.

She thwapped it against the rock under them. “Stop that. I want to talk to you.” It did. A good sign? “I want to know why the legionnaires all have that black gunk from their brand. It’s on my hooves and it’s on your pages. What is it?”

The book was silent. She had no doubt that it was trying to find some answer that would fuck with her, but she needed something. Something was connecting all the Legions.

“Sin,” it stated finally.

“Sin?” That wasn’t a word used by ponies much, if ever. It was supposed to be something very, very, very bad. Something that would make Celestia cry, as her mother used to say. It wasn’t used much. It was always excessive, and a pony who tried to use it too often was considered loony.

“A transgression. A violation. A breaking of agreement.”

Scotch regarded her blackened hooves. “So this stain?”

“You welcomed the spirits. You broke your agreement,” the book whispered.

“I had no choice,” Scotch said, then bit her lip. No. She had had a choice. She could have stayed silent. Even challenged the shaman that refused to open up the ceremony. “Riptide and the others attacked.”

“Then you should have prevented it,” the book hissed, giggling to itself.

Scotch thought about it. “When I welcomed them, I was assuming responsibility for them. When everything went wrong, I was the one to blame.” She looked at the ichor. “Did my apology mean anything?”

“How can you apologize to the wind? To the stone?” the book asked in turn. Scotch had to concede that words probably didn’t matter much to spirits. “Sin cannot be absolved nor forgiven. It must be endured. That is its price.”

“What sin did the legions do?” she asked, and then snorted. “Silly question.” Armies of raiders did very, very, very bad things by definition. The book said nothing. “What sin did you commit?”

The book exploded, flipping open as a great wave of blood and bone splinters blasted out, the fluid wrapping around her. She felt it trying to crawl into her nostrils, and force itself into her mouth. Shards scraped at her ears and eyelids. It was as if a great surge was trying to suck her right off the rock and into the book. She felt the liquid contort and constrict, as if it were trying to compress her into a size that would pass through forever.

And through it all, the blood screamed in the voice of snapping limbs, “We trusted her!” The scream repeated, growing louder and louder as it felt like the book would squeeze into her very pores.

Then the book slammed shut.

Scotch rolled off the stone, dry and undrenched, but she could still feel it. She scrambled to tear the mask off her face and tossed it aside, feeling her features. Pythia stared down at her, the book compressed between her hooves. “One good thing about this being away from me. I got a clear glimpse of the future.” She tossed the book down next to the mask. The metal smoked as if it’d been splashed with acid. “How are you feeling?”

Scotch sat up, blinking at her. “How…”

“Had Slash fly me to help you look. “How are you feeling?”

Scotch stared into her yellow eyes and scowled. The book almost ate her and she wanted to talk about her feelings? Fine! She’d get a load of all her feelings! “How do you think I’m feeling? I’m pissed!”

“At whom?” She took a seat beside Scotch Tape.

“At whom? What is this? Whom? The book. Me for trusting the book. Aurum for wrecking my ride. Me for wrecking it. Take your pick!” Scotch said, then clenched her jaw.

“And me, of course,” Pythia said as she looked out at the ground above.

“You… of course you! You… I came out here for you! I’ve tried to help you, but you won’t help me! You could have told me what I wanted to know and I wouldn’t have had a book try to eat my face! And now, after everything, you want me to pack up and go home while you stay here! What the fuck, Pythia?”

Pythia didn’t answer for a moment. “Anything else?”

“I can’t believe you. Anything else? Are you even sorry? Are you… anything!”

“You’ll be safer in Equestria,” Pythia said simply.

“Safe? What are you talking about? Safe from what?”

“From things like that,” Pythia answered, pointing at the book. “From everything you’ve been forced to deal with. This isn’t your quest. It’s not your problem. I did something horrible to one person because they asked me something and I said yes. I made an offer that should never have been made, and the stars said yes instead of no. I can’t tell you how unlikely it was that the stars would do that. But they did. And now you’re here and I’m afraid that something even worse is going to happen to you. And I can’t help you, because I made a stupid promise in a moment of weakness and I can’t undo it!” she said, her voice rising to a shout by the end. “I feel like my stupid quest is just getting all of you hurt, and soon we’re going to start dying! I just know it! So you’re better off going off to Equestria and leaving me alone.” She clenched her eyes shut and turned her face away. “I’m better when I don’t have to care about others.”

For a moment, she left. She rose up and went back to Equestria. She spent the rest of her life angry and confused, before eventually being worn down by a world that took everything from her. But then the moment passed as she rolled that word in her mind. Care. To care was to matter. To matter was to be important. And the more she thought about it, the more that other bitter, poisoned life faded away until Scotch relaxed. It was so easy to be angry, and so hard to let it go.

“That’s not your choice.” Scotch flopped back on the rock. “You’re not the boss of me.”

“You’re going to go,” Pythia insisted. “I’ve seen it.”

“Nope,” she contradicted, folding her hooves behind her back. “You can’t make me.”

“I– Make you?” Pythia’s voice rose sharply. “You need to go back! You’re better off there!”

“Not happening,” Scotch said with a smirk. “I don’t wanna go back. I wanna stay with you.”

Her cheeks flushed and she coughed. “That’s very flattering but you don’t have to–”

“Didn’t say ‘have to’. Said ‘want to’. Big difference.” Scotch sat back up. “It’s not your fault we keep on running into trouble, Pythia. It just happens.”

“But I feel like this is all my fault!” She pulled her hood back, her face twisted in anguish. “It is my fault! And it’ll be my fault if you die out here because of me! I must be wrong about this Eye of the World crap. If it was a big deal, someone else would have noticed! This is me latching on to a mystery and dragging you along. It’s not right.”

“None of us were dragged. Majina wants us together. Precious too. Charity… should probably go home. And probably will. I can’t imagine a reason why she’d stay with us. And Skylord… well, he should stay.”

“I think he misses being with his legion. I doubt he signed on to follow us around for months.”

“Maybe, but maybe one of us could help him be happy,” Scotch said. Not her, and she wasn’t sure how to feel about that. “You can’t keep me safe, Pythia. I’m not a filly.”

“You’ll be safe…er,” she said lamely.

“You know I won’t. Sure, Charity could be right. We could come back. But in a year, what if the New Empire takes over and things are even worse? Or the world blows up because the Eye was blinded? Right now we’re doing things. And yeah, it’s frustrating and scary and hurts and I’m pissed. I lost Rocky and the Whiskey Express.” Rocky they might recover, but even if they found the Whiskey Express, how could they fix it?

Pythia flopped back next to her. “I’m sorry I’m a bad friend.”

“You’re not bad. You just… have things you can’t explain.” Scotch struggled so much not to say the s-word, but she didn’t want Pythia to start spontaneously bleeding again. “It’s something I have to deal with. And, hey. I got answers. They might be horseapples, but they’re answers. According to that book, that black gunk I see? It’s sin.”

“Sin?” Pythia sniffed, looking at the book. “They would say that.”

“Huh?” Scotch asked. Was this a not a shaman thing?

“Nothing,” she sighed, then leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Thanks, Scotch. You’re a friend I never expected to have.” She groaned and covered her eyes. “Unfortunately, now my vision’s full of you dying, leaving, killing me, or you being killed.”

“I wonder how Blackjack dealt with it. I get so pissed! People are trying to kill me because of the spirit thing and I don’t understand why!” She thumped her hooves on the rocks under her. “I want to find Haimon or someone and just… kick them till they give me answers!”

“Sounds like Tempest’s singing,” Pythia commented with a rare smile.

“Gotta say, it was loud, incoherent, messy, and full of more growling than any song should have, but it matched how I feel perfectly.” She smacked her hooves together. “I’m tired of always running away! I’m tired of being the hunted.”

Pythia rose to her hooves. “Guess your mind’s made up?”

“It is,” Scotch replied. “Did you really see us leaving?”

Pythia sighed. “I’m learning my own sight isn’t as perfect as I thought it was when I was younger. I used to think everything that wasn’t shadowed or hidden absolutely would happen. It was comfortable. But then Blackjack made that deal. Then I came here. I’m realizing that who I am might not be who I think I am, and all of that scares me to death.” She gave Scotch a sheepish look. “I don’t know if it was the future, that book, or my own fears getting in the way of my vision.”

Scotch remembered her lecture on how to protect yourself from dark magic, and glanced at the book. She really did need to find some way of dealing with it. It was getting to Pythia. Insufferable as she might be in times, her certainty was a source of strength. “Well, I guess we better get to the others.” She picked the book up and shoved it into her saddlebag. “We need to float over a volcano. Throwing bad things into volcanoes always works.”

“You’re starting to sound like Majina,” Pythia said with a smile.

“Hey! You two!” came a call from below… above? Scotch spotted Peris waving a wing. Together they picked their way down to her. “I found it! I found your tractor.” Then she paused. “What, nothing snotty to say?” She rolled her eyes. “It’s a frigging tractor, Dot.”

Scotch rushed to her. Maybe if the chassis was still intact… if the boiler could be salvaged… if…

Scotch stared in horror, wheezing. Pythia caught up and then recoiled. “Oh. Oh my.” She managed a sickly smile. “You can fix that, right?”

“No,” Scotch murmured. “You can’t fix flat as a pancake.” The trailer was recoverable. It was half full of gravel, and wasn’t holding much of their stuff, but at least it was there.

Peris regarded Scotch with pursed lips. Then her horn glowed. “Hey. There’s still this!” The house sized boulder resting on what had been the Whiskey Express rocked and metal squealed before she tugged out the steering wheel. “See! Perfectly fine, if a little bent!” Like a pretzel.

“Thanks, Peris,” Scotch said, taking it. Maybe some hammering would do it. She shifted her sight and stared at the bit of metal. “Are you there, Whiskey?”

Nothing, then a gleam of gold along the edge. “Was I a good tool?” it whispered.

“No,” Scotch said firmly, fighting tears. “No. You are a good tool. You’re the best tool. And I’ll find some way to fix you, I promise!” She pressed the edge to the mangled wheel.

The glow grew and then there was a pop as the wheel slowly unbent itself. Her eyes widened as it reformed into a circle, and the spokes straightened. Restored, she stared at it and then at the wreckage crushed under the boulder, hoping that some miracle would allow the vehicle to repair itself, but the glow dimmed.

“Well, it’s a start,” she said as she hung it around her neck.

Peris screamed, thrusting a hoof at Scotch. “I knew it! I knew earth ponies can do magic too! It was just a matter of time! The earth pony revolution will soon be upon us!” Her panic collapsed into a disgruntled slouch. “You are such an idiot, Dot.” She waved a hoof wildly at Scotch. “Don’t idiot me, Helion! She used magic! Magic magic not that fake ‘I make stuff grow’ magic! Twilight would want to write a paper!” Then the alicorn facehoofed and moaned. “Doooooot!” A snort and stamp of a hoof. “Well she would!”

Scotch regarded the alicorn with her spirit sight, and what she beheld shocked her. The equine ichor coated her, same as any other legionnaire. However, a pair of golden ponies emerged from Peris’s shoulders. On the left was a unicorn mare in a cafeteria uniform. On the right, a pegasus stallion in a military uniform. Her eyes widened, “You were a stallion?!”

Peris froze, eyes now wide as both golden forms stared at her, their eyes matching the expression on the alicorn’s face. Then Peris narrowed her eyes. “You’re guessing.”

“You were a soldier. It doesn’t look like Enclave. You had a short spikey mane, but I can’t tell the color. And she was a… cook? With long wavy hair and a really cute muzzle?”

“Cute muzzle?” Pythia echoed with a little smirk.

“Okay. That is freaky,” Peris murmured. “I know, right?”

Scotch shook her head, giving one last look at the stones. No sign. He could have been thrown off into the air or buried under… rocks…

“Damn it,” she said, stomping a hoof impotently.

Rocky weighed heavily on Scotch’s mind, even as they salvaged what they could from the Whiskey Express’s trailer. The Express itself was six inches of steel under a boulder. She sat apart, the steering wheel hanging around her neck as she brooded. Rocky had helped her. Twice! She’d promised to take him somewhere new, and somehow doubted that the sky counted. Was she facing more censure? Her lungs were already toast. What if she became like Riptide, unable to put a hoof on land?

The question nagged at her even as they were escorted to a cell. An unlocked cell, but a cell nonetheless. Grayridge Army Depot was written upside down on the wall. While Tempest had, effectively, vouched for them, Scotch suspected she didn’t want her and her friends mingling with the rest of the legion. Some blankets thrown on the floor would suffice for bedding until they decided what they were going to do.

Scotch stayed out of it, which meant that it was mostly quibbling. Charity was adamant about returning, but realized the group was mostly against her. Of course Tempest hadn’t offered to send them anywhere else, and being dropped in the middle of nowhere with no transportation and no supplies really didn’t appeal to Scotch at all.

The toilet and meal accommodations confirmed her theory that while the Storm Legion might have air power, they were a few bad raids away from outright starvation. Tempest was wasting her time with spectacle to keep her legion behind her. It made sense. She didn’t have anything if she didn’t have leadership, but if she had some reliable food it would go a long way towards stabilizing things. Funny thing was Scotch could think of a few people that might help in exchange for air power. Carnico. The Atoli. Even the Orah. If the Storm Legion could stop screaming into microphones and swooping down to take what they wanted, there was a lot of potential.

Nature called and the argument was in its third circle and she had a headache. She trotted down the hall to the bucket. When she finished, she grunted some more. If the Storm Legion just kept high enough, they could cultivate the underside of the mountain. Sure, dropping low had let Scotch get up here, and it had to be a hell of a weapon, but it was like using a grenade to kill a bloatsprite. There had to be enough poop here for fertilizer. Terrace the underside of the mountain. Plant gardens. Use the pegasi to get water from the clouds. Tempest was an Enclave Intelligence agent. She should know this!

But what did that brand do to your head? What would Skylord’s life be if he’d never gotten his? She wondered if Tempest had once had similar plans, but after the brand, raiding became far more important? Had the Bone Legion given up on their partnership with the Propoli settlers? She suddenly wanted to check.

Then she paused as she felt something grind under her hoof and paused, examining the nail. Not surprising that her hooves looked horrible. But all of it looked wrong. Cracked. Dry. Gray.

Her heart raced as she switched her sight over. Sure enough, the black stains she’d gotten months ago were now darker. A tarry substance seemed to be leaking from the cracks in the nail. Was she now even more censured? Was she turning to stone? Or was the penalty something she could live with, but would make her even more miserable?

“No!” Scotch snapped. She wasn’t putting up with this at all. She marched back into the cell. “Precious… I need a favor. A big one. A huge one,” she said, staring into her eyes. “I’m going to need Baron Goldyshine!”

Majina gasped in union with Precious. “Not Goldyshine! He still hasn’t confessed his love to Lady Clinkyjingle!” the zebra blurted.

“And how are we going to resolve the Marquise’s plot against him if he goes?” Charity jumped in. Everyone stared as she rolled her eyes. “Just because it’s stupid doesn’t mean I don’t pay attention!”

“I need an imperio, and you’re our treasurer. I need to buy something to get rocky back.”

“Um, grab a rock, paint a face on it, and you’re done,” Precious countered. “What do you need my coin for?”

“I need it to buy something important,” Scotch said. “Think of the Baron as going off on a sabbatical and coming back with a new wife.”

Precious gasped. “The scandal! Lady Clinkyjingle will be inconsolable!” She lifted her string of coins from around her neck, untied it, and slipped one off. “He’d better return,” she warned as she passed the coin to Scotch. “There’s nothing more annoying than a valued character going off and never coming back.”

“He will. There might even be kids involved.” She had no idea when she’d have the chance to make three imperios. That was a week’s work in Rice River.

She made her way back to the common room. It seemed like there was an open mic because a zebra stallion was doing a Tempest impression, and gagging more than growling. Scotch knew she was drawing a lot of eyes as she trotted in with a gold coin in her mouth. There! A quartet of Storm Legion, a zebra mare with feathered wings, a pegasus stallion, and two zebra stallions all playing dice. One of them had exactly what she needed: a proper hoof sized Equestrian emerald in their stack of bits. “Excuse me,” she asked, utterly ignored. “Excuse me!” she repeated over the speakers. No response. “Hey!”

The mare snapped her head around. “What!?” Then her eyes took in Scotch. “Ohh. It’s the Green Menace.” Clearly, she wasn’t impressed. “What’d you want?”

“Swap. I need that gemstone,” she said, pointing a hoof at it.

“Don’t fuck with her,” the pegasus muttered.

“Mind your shit,” the zebra mare snapped, then grinned at Scotch. “That a real imperio?”

“That a real gemstone?” Scotch asked back. “Don’t mess with me. You want to swap or not? If not, I’ll ask someone else.”

“Probably a fake,” the mare said with a snort. “No way kids like you would be trotting around with gold. Let me test it first.”

Scotch didn’t know what else to do. She passed the gold coin to the mare, who bit it firmly, then nodded. “Yup. Real gold.” Then she slipped it into her vest. Scotch reached a hoof out to the gemstone, and she smacked it away. “Fuck off, Menace,” the zebra growled.

“That’s my gem!” Scotch insisted, looking at the other three. The zebras smirked, but the pony knit his brows as he stared at her.

Then the zebra hit her. The blow smashed right across her face, knocking her sliding across the floor. “Fuck. Off,” she said as she took her seat. “Fucking idiot.”

Scotch stared at her blood dripping down on her gray, cracked hooves. Then she stared at the back of the zebra who was laughing at the other pair. Her heart thundered in her ears as her breath burned in her chest. Maybe it was the snarling lyrics. Maybe it was the callous laughter.

Maybe enough was fucking enough.

Scotch pulled herself to her feet and grabbed the end of a wooden chair between her forehooves. She brought it up overhead as the pegasus shouted a warning. The zebra turned in time to get a faceful of chair.

Suddenly the common room fell quiet as the mare fell back against the table, the chair splintering atop her. She spit out a bloody tooth. “Now you’re fucking dead.” she said as she slowly advanced. The rest of the legion pressed in, and she didn’t have wings to get away.

“Oh, horse apples.”

Author's Notes:

I want to apologize for the lateness of this chapter. 2020 hasn't been a good year for me headwise, but that's no excuse. I realize that I started this five years ago, almost the same as Horizons, and I'm still not done with the first part. That's on me. Thank you for sticking with the story as long as you have. Huge thanks to Icy Shake for copyediting, as well as Bronode for pre-reading and making suggestions. You guys are awesome. Also a shout out to patreons who've stuck by me. You help make this possible.
As always thanks to Kkat for making FOE in the first place, and thanks to everyone else that's kept with this story and it's glacial pace. I need to get my Horizons rigor back... one way or another.
I'm also working on a game based on the story of Horizons. We had to make some changes for obvious reasons, but I hope to keep as much of the original intact as possible.
Thank you again.
Somber