Alicorn. Chapter Fourteen. (Patreon)

Chapter Fourteen.

The familiar sound of dozens of armoured hooves trampling the ground beneath them briefly brought a wave of nostalgia to one specialist Bright Lance. For just a moment, if she closed her eyes, she could imagine simpler times, back when the most dangerous thing in the world was the drill sergeant’s voice.

Then she opened her eyes, the world tilted its usual red by her helmet’s lowered visor, and beheld the village of Acornwood being poured over by soldiers brought in from the Vanhoover guard garrison, conscripted beneath the authority the crown had granted her little taskforce.

Doors were kicked open, with the local villagers either corralled away into waiting areas outside or held directly at spear point if they resisted, a sight that brought a frown to her face, even if she understood how necessary it was.

Tracking their likely necromancer was still proving to be an ordeal, but Celestia had apparently smiled upon her with the arrival of a rather remarkable pony who went by the name of Vector.

The last she’d seen of the thin, reedy looking stallion had been back during basic training. As it turned out, he’d since managed to find his place as a S.M.I.L.E agent, something categorised by the grey furred, brown maned stallion’s signature sunglasses, their lenses shining beneath the sun as he approached.

Offering her old friend a smile (and resisting the urge to snort at the internal pun), Lance tilted her head towards the ransacked settlement, trying to insert enough curiosity into her tone in order to avoid sounding overly weary.

“Any luck? I’d hate to have pulled a bunch of innocent ponies out of their homes over nothing.”

Vector’s own voice remained as apathetic as she remembered, even as he lifted a hoof and removed his shades, revealing the stallion’s cold blue eyes.

“Triangulation of missing pony cases turned up a better catch than we anticipated. Not only has the target very likely been here, it appears the entire population occupying this area are associated with the FF.”

Eyes widening behind her protective visor, Lance turned to look back with a new perspective as the writhing form of a cream and brown mare was dragged out from what looked to be some kind of cafe, several Vanhoover guards looking somewhat ill as they stepped away from the building as well.

Perplexed, she shot Vector a look, only for the agent to shake his head with a disgusted expression.

“Trust me, you don’t want to know. As it stands, every single one of these lunatics are going to see the inside of a cell for at minimum a decade or six, at least until they can hopefully be rehabilitated. The only exception is perhaps some of the children.”

Grimacing at whatever had served to so effectively perturb a literal monster hunter, the mare instead focused on the good news.

After all, their hunt had led to yet another strand of the Fallen Fang’s web of influence not only being uncovered, but directly ripped away from the greater cult in its entirety, and they were now one step closer to finding the ‘scientist’ who interrogation of captured cultists had indicated bore a hoof in some kind of threat to Equestria as a whole.

But the most important question still remained, considering that same unknown pony’s absence…just where had their mysterious monster maker gone now?

—

Airships were convenient. Depending on form and function, they could be anything from a glorified hot air balloon to something resembling a zeppelin from my previous life, though most tended to stray somewhere in between.

Kept aloft by their massive storage sacks, and propelled by enchanted propellers, they were great for getting around quickly, and without being noticed by every nosy busybody who had a bone to pick with an aspiring godmaker.

And more importantly, they were rather comfortable to ride in, something I found myself once more appreciating as I took a deep breath in through my nose, savouring the cold night air filtering in through one of the open windows of the transport I’d spent the past two days practically living within.

Its sole owner and pilot, one captain Bronze Mane, was a decent fellow to converse with, though his interests veered mostly towards the likes of cartography and flight rather than biomancy or fleshcrafting. He didn’t strike me much as a cultist though, more just a smuggler with significantly less scruples than most of his kind.

The gruff stallion had also given Igor a firm backhoof when the abomination had opened its mouth to growl at him, which earned him a minor point in my eyes. After all, any pony willing to stand up to my creations tended to be an interesting sort, more often than not.

“Oi, if yer done monologuing in yer own ‘ead, we’re ‘ere lass.”

Blinking at the blunt declaration, I shot the tarp covered form of my magnum opus a quick glance, confirming that Igor hadn’t strayed from its position curled up next to the monster’s sibling, and looked back out at the window, taking in the objectively beautiful sight of the capital city of Prance.

Surprisingly, there wasn’t any pony themed pun for the place. Paris apparently remained Paris, even if it was currently still a monarchy under the rule of one King Francois De Canter, whose policy of staunch, unwavering friendship with the nation of Equestria had evidently earned the monarch some amount of prosperity, considering all of the gold everywhere.

Perhaps in the day, the material might have gleamed beneath the soft light of the sun, giving the city an almost literal shine that could be viewed from a distance, but at night it simply served to accentuate the edges and curves of cold looking towers and bastions that ringed around countless other buildings, one of which we were heading towards.

The structure in question was some bizarre mixture between what might have been an early skyscraper and a palace, with a massive rectangular landing pad sticking out from its side, near the very top floor.

As unique as it looked, there were more than a few almost identical replicas of the glorified penthouse, so perhaps it was simply the result of the ponies of Paris choosing to build upwards rather than outwards.

Either way, landing came without too many issues, and soon enough I was stepping out of Bronze Mane’s airship with what few supplies I had managed to finagle out of Acornwood’s citizens, earning me the visored gazes of what could only be a pair of Prench knights coated head to hoof in plated armour, save for their white horns.

The suits were certainly impressive, and they briefly brought to mind a more refined equivalent to the construct of twisted scrap metal I had practically welded around Igor’s mutant form, even as the two mares (or perhaps they were just particularly slender, tall looking stallions) stepped out of the way to permit a third figure, one who matched their height rather well.

“Ah, the infamous Steady Stitch, if I might dare to presume?”

Aside from the stranger’s slight accent, his Ponish was impeccable, and I found myself nodding as I took in his form, from the blue and gold jacket adorning his beige frame, to dark auburn hair that seemed to compose both his short but styled mane and elegantly coiffed moustache.

“Correct. My friend from Manehattan spoke highly of the Fallen Fang’s Prench branch. Though I fear you have me at a disadvantage, sir…?”

For a singular instant, the ghost of a frown marred the handsome stallion’s complexion, before he schooled himself and bowed his head, beneficent smile once more in place.

“Ah, Minty! Any friend of hers is a friend of mine. And to answer your question, madame, I am Lord Trottier de Sabot. And as your friend, if I may offer a bit of advice?”

Inclining my head had the noble smiling further, even as he raised his own.

“We here in Prance associate ourselves with the Fallen Fang, and may indeed be considered an honourary branch of sorts, yes. But in truth, we are Providence, and I would suggest minding the correct use of such nomenclature when in the presence of our more prickly associates, hm?”

Already beginning to tire somewhat of the hoity toity nature of the conversation, I merely nodded my head once more, Sabot’s hooves stomping against the marble floor beneath us in the equivalent of a quick clap.

“Excellent, you are as much a darling as Minty says. Guards! Fetch madame Stitch’s effects, and pay the good captain here the reward due for his excellent work, yes?”

Stepping aside with a quirked eyebrow as one pony knight moved towards a now grinning Bronze Mane with a sack of what had to be bits, and the other advanced up the ramp and into the airship, I counted down the seconds before a yelp heralded the soldier storming back out of the transport, Igor’s head poking out of the doorway an instant later.

Turning slightly, I answered Sabot’s surprised expression with a soft smile, voice light and amused.

“A lesser example of my work. The alicorn is further within. Worry not, the beast is obedient in the face of my commands. Oh Igor! Bring your sister out, would you?”

As the abomination ducked back into the airship and came out dragging my magnum opus’ tarp covered form shortly afterwards, I let out a breath at my host’s softly muttered “Remarquable…” and moved to assist the quivering knight currently trying to take the god-to-be away from my creation.

Camping had been fun, for how little long it had lasted, however I was still more than interested to see what Prance might offer in terms of progressing my project forward.

But first things first…

“No, bad Igor. No growling at the nice helpful guard.”

Honestly, I was going to need to remove the flesh beast’s larynx if it kept up with the constant threat displays, they were getting rather repetitive as of late.