(vore) Pony Armageddon Part 2

You've been jogging for what feels like hours. Your legs and lungs are burning, you brain feels numb from the unceasing terror and anxiety that has been fueling sickening images of your fate should Azure capture you. A slow painful death inside a fleshy cauldron of acid is certainly the last way you want to end your time here on Earth. Trees... trees everywhere. You haven't passed a single home or road or any place that could shelter or hide you. Before long you are gasping for air. You really should have taken better care of yourself  rather than of sitting in front of a computer screen 'learning' how to prepare for World War Three, Peak Oil or the invasion of pastel, man-eating ponies.

You stop to catch your breath and hopefully your bearings. As your breathing calms and your pulse stops beating against your ear drums you pick a faint but distinct sound, the sound of flowing water. That could only mean one thing. You've finally reached the Ohio River! Once you cross it, it's only a few hours walk to your parents' farm. Unfortunately, you're being hunted and crossing one of the two nearby bridges would leave you very exposed. If Azure doesn't spot you than other ponies certainly would.

To hell with it! You've come this far and you're a reasonably smart guy, you'll figure something out when you're at the river's edge. You scramble down a rather steep slope, the pressing thought of being pursued motivating you to move faster if not more recklessly. All it took was an conveniently placed  stick to send you tumbling down the hill. You even caught a few feet of air before landing on your back.

Coughing and sputtering, stars danced before your eyes. You laid there for several minutes cursing your stupidity, your misfortune, these ponies and that goddamn stick. As if fate just spat in your eye, that same stick soon rolled off of the shallow cave ceiling above clocking you in the nose.

 

Screaming every expletive you can pull from the furthest, filthiest reaches of your mind, you hurled the hefty tree branch into the cave next to you. Tenderly touching your nose, it wasn't broken, fortunately. On the other hand, when you attempted to climb to your feet an intense pain shot through your ankle.

"No... please God no." You whispered in a pleading tone.  A debilitating injury would be the signature on your metaphorical death certificate. Gingerly, you crawled your way into the small cave. After resting and collecting yourself you decided to inspect this 'stick from hell' that put you in this precarious situation. It appeared to be a rather unremarkable hickory branch. To a survivalist like you though, this could prove to be a rather useful tool and potential weapon. After removing the dried bark you unpouched a roll of duct tape from your flecktarn jacket and wrapped the center of the 'staff' several times to act as a makeshift grip. After finishing you rested it against the limestone wall beside you.

 

It was difficult to accurately gauge the time but from the hue of the sunlight outside of your shelter it appeared to be around seven o'clock. Attempting to hold together your fragile mental state, you spaced out and began to recount your life before 'The Happening'. You actually miss the repetitiveness of your dead-end job, the part time classes you attended at your cheap community college, going to church on Sunday just for those delicious free donuts and coffee, your friends, even the grating lectures from your parents about doing something with your life... your parents... your friends.

You've lost everything and soon all of humanity will be reduced to chattel for sociopathic horses. Tragedy and hatred brew inside of you. You clench and unclench your fists. Now you are berating yourself. You flee from these unworthy conquerors, letting them make sport of your fear and paranoia. Where is your pride? Where is sense of duty to your home and countrymen? By the end of your internal diatribe you're virtually thirsting for pony blood. The beating of heavy wings break you out of your self-destructive monologue. The sound was then preceded by the clopping of hooves upon stone.

"Speak of the devil." You think to yourself with a crazed grin.

You slowly clamber to your feet. Fortunately, your ankle seems to be sprained rather than broken and your new hickory staff will no doubt come in handy.  You limp to the mouth of the cave and peak outside. Standing about twenty yards from your position is a white pegasus with a gaudy yellow mane and orange highlights. Tattooed on its flank is a sunburst partially covered by a stylized cloud. More noticeable is its/her moderately distended belly. You would like to believe she's simply  pregnant but you know better.

The mare ruffled and closed her wings and began to sniff the air above her. Her ears swiveled to and fro. It didn't take a genius to figure out her intentions. Soon enough the pony eyed your cave and trotted forth to investigate.

 

Your heart leapt into your throat as the pegasus' approached. "This is it. No way out." You thought to yourself. At least it isn't Azura with her magic. Perhaps you could even surprise and kill this pony. You gripped your quarterstaff with white-knuckle intensity as everything seemed to slow down around you. With deep breaths you pumped yourself up for the literal fight of your life. The clip-clopping of hooves upon rock announced her arrival at the mouth of the cave and with every fiber of muscle within your body, every ounce of bottled up fury and fear you swung your hickory quarterstaff.