Night Lord in Equestria part 10 (new arc)

>Three days had passed since Discord had been readmitted to his prison.

>Ponyville was being rebuilt after the Apothecary turned Daemon Prince had burned nearly every building in town to the ground.

> The ponies were resourceful, you had to give them that.

>The majority of the destruction had been repaired, thanks to warp sorcery and aid from the Princesses.

>You had tried to help, but you were no engineer and had only gotten in the way.

>Instead, you had laid Scout to rest beside the crashed Thunderhawk you had discovered your first day here.

>Both Canterlot royalties attended, as did the six little ponies.

>None of them spoke through your short ceremony. Fluttershy wept quietly, as did Celestia and Luna, while the rest of the ponies simply followed the funeral in stoic silence. Blinky hovered by Fluttershy, holding onto her mane with its claw.

>Wind fluttered the oath scrolls on your Raptor armor and jump pack and tousled you short, black hair.

>You had dug the grave through the night before, and had prepared the boy’s body for death. A bottle of perfume had been a gift from Luna for this occasion, to stave off the smell of decay.

>It was a woody scent, like the smell of the Fir trees that marked the houses of nobles on your homeworld.  Its pleasant scent now wafted in the wind, mixed with the heavy scent of wet earth.

>Wrapped in a banner of his chapter, you respectfully set the boy’s unarmored corpse in the hole.

>You climbed out of the hole and Celestia replaced the dirt in it, sparing you the trouble of refilling the hole by hand.

>”Did you bring what I asked?” You directed towards the elder Princess.

>Without a word, a red chainsword and pinioned crimson helmet ghosted into your hands.

>You looked at the objects in your clawed gauntlets with more detail.

>A broad chainsword, toothy and keen, the handguard modeled into marble-white wings. The helm was a mark VII, snow white pinions spreading gracefully skyward, its green eye lenses staring into your coal black eyes. A teardrop-shaped ruby hangs under the left eye.

>How appropriate.

>Striding to the head of the grave, you pause to say a few words.

>”Son of the 9th legion, fallen in battle against a brother turned foe, I commit your body to this earth. Fly to your father, for he awaits you with open arms, young Space Marine.”

>The chainblade rests peacefully in your hand, the same one you tossed to the boy mere days ago.

>You drive it into the ground, burying the blade halfway into the dirt.

>Placing the helm on the pommel of the sword, you stride away from the scene, the toes of your armored, clawed feet digging into the moist soil.

> You needed to be alone for a while.

 

>The winds had picked up and the sky was darkening, clouds blackening in preparation for a storm.

>You flew on wings of fire, just above the cloud cover, your Raptor armor and jump pack trying to distract you from your melancholy disposition.

>The primitive consciousness of the machine spirit in the armor relished in the flight, its eagerness and joy of flight bleeding into your own emotions.

>Still, the boy surfaced in your mind with annoying frequency, darkening your disposition as much as the stormclouds depressed the land beneath them.

>Your brothers had remarked at your sometimes melancholy nature, but this emotion you felt bordered on sorrow.

>You saw an innocence in Scout that you hadn’t possessed in centuries, if ever. Even if he was a throne-blind Loyalist, he was a good… Astartes? A good man? A good Loyalist? You didn’t know. Whatever he was, it was something you likely would never be.

>Damn this world. It made you feel again. It was beginning to give you your humanity back.

>Pulling back, you coaxed more power from your engines, flying straight up towards the higher hanging clouds, your armor’s Machine Spirit giddy with this surge of speed.

>Bleed away the sadness. Keep moving forward. Looking back at the past never brought anything but self-inflicted depression since you came here. You needed to vent. Badly.

>Your ascent slows, eventually stopping as you poke through a thick cloudbank.

>Other than the angry storm far beneath you, It’s quite peaceful up here. You breathe deep.

>”Fancy meeting you here, Chosy,” a slightly familiar voice calls from behind you.

>Not expecting anyone up here, you spin around, drawing your thrumming plasma pistol.

>Gilda the Griffon lounges lazily on a cloud, yawning and stretching from an apparent nap.

>”Oh. It’s you,” you reply, holstering your weapon.

>”You and Dash ready to fly yet? I’m ready to kick her tail with this new trick I made up!”

>With that, Gilda rises and walks across to the cloud until she’s standing in front of you.

>”You haven’t been to Ponyville over the last couple of days, have you?”

>”Why, what’s happened?”

>”Daemon ran amok, burned most of the town down. Killed Scout.”

>” That sucks. Who’s Scout?”

>That sucks? She’s more callous than you are.

>”The blonde haired boy who looked like me. You probably saw him at the party a few days ago.”

>”Eh, don’t remember him. Let’s go get Rainbow and have some fun!” She calls to you as she jumps off the cloud, soaring in the direction of Ponyville.

>With a snort of disapproval, you fly in the opposite direction. You don’t feel like hanging around the two braggarts today.

>After noticing you were not behind her, Gilda turns around and catches back up with you.

>”Hey! I thought you said you would come flying with me and Dash? What gives?”

>”I said I would fly with you both ‘sometime’. Now is NOT that ‘sometime’, Gilda.”

>”Well why not? I wanted to show you that new trick I made up.”

>”I have no wish to do tricks or anything like that. Somehow I doubt Dash does, either, today. Let it go.”

>”Well what exactly do YOU want to do, Chosen? It’s my day off and I’ve got nothing to do.”

>”I don’t know.” She’ll leave you alone soon enough out of sheer boredom.

>”I had to pull some strings to get today off. You’re not getting rid of me that easy, dweeb.” An edge of irritation encrusts her words.

>You don’t respond.  

>”I’m starved. Let’s get something to eat.” Gilda says, breaking the silence.

>”As much as I enjoy Pinkie Pie’s cakes, no thank you. Not in the mood.”

>”Ugh, I hate her and her cooking. We’re going HUNTING, you idiot. Time for you to use those fangs I saw in your mouth back at the party.”

>A HUNT. And meat to eat. That’s something you can get excited about. As much as you enjoyed the vegetarian fare the ponies served you, already you missed taste of bloody, fleshy, raw meat. Your mouth watered at the merest thought.

>This world made you feel human again, but you still had needs. Needing to sate your hunger for meat was one of them.

>And hunting always helped ease stress back on your ship…

>For a moment you forget about the fact that you hunted the mortal crew, occasionally eating their hearts and drinking their terror.

>“Or does blood make you squeamish?” Gilda says, teasingly.

>”Just the opposite.”

>”Good to hear. Now come on. I’m hungry.”

>You both dive through the sky, piercing the stormclouds far beneath.

 

>Through the forest you both ran, pursuing a doe that was foolish enough to be out in this weather.

>No thoughts of Scout’s demise leap to your mind’s eye. You’re settling back into your natural element.

>You are a Night Lord. You live for the hunt.

>The animal was desperate. Gilda could have caught the terrified deer earlier if her wings weren’t too wet to fly.

> You wanted this pursuit to actually be a chase, not a single dive and an instant kill. You wanted to draw it out a bit.

>You had decided you had enough of an advantage without your jump pack. It weighed you down, adding to the awkwardness of this unfamiliar armor.

>Running upright had been ungainly and uncomfortable, especially since your armor that sheathed your feet were not boots, but long deadly talons that moved with stimulation from your nervous system, as if they were your toes.

>They made moving normally dreadfully slow.

>Instead, you were on all fours, your awkwardness replaced by a strangely smooth, animalistic gait.

>The prey jinked and dodged through trees with annoying agility.

>Gilda leapt beside you, mirroring your loping, four-legged run with surprising  speed.

>Closer, closer…

>A swipe of your clawed gauntlet misses the deer’s hindquarters by millimeters.

>The doe ducks under a fallen log. Glida goes under, you jump over.

>By the Night Haunter, this felt so damnably good!

>Blood pumped in your temples, both hearts beating fast.

>You needed this…

>Damn this prey was fast.

>Perhaps the insane magic that touched the ponies and griffons of this world touched all creatures.

>Lightning crashed, illuminating your unhelmeted face, pearlescent, razor sharp teeth glinting in your smile, hair matted against your skin by the rain. Eyes black as the void hungered for the hunt.

>You had enjoyed this little game, but it was time to finish it.

>The doe was approaching a field. Good. A little room to spread your wings.

>Surging ahead, turbines roaring, your taloned feet extending for the kill, you screamed an exultant roar of lusty expectation at your soon to be meal.

>The doe glanced back at the sound, animalistic fear shining in its eyes for the briefest of moments…

>Before your talons hit home, sinking deep into her yielding flesh.

>You slam the bleating animal into the ground, snapping her neck with a free hand.

>Cutting the power to your engines, you dropped the carcass in the soft grass of the field.

>Drawing your powersword, you carved hunks of bloody meat from the doe’s flank before greedily feasting upon the venison.

>Gilda soon tackles the corpse herself, similarly gorging on the meal before you both.

>For several minutes, the only sound you hear is the rain’s patter against your armor, the wet ripping of raw meat, and the occasional snap of a bone.

>After a short while, Gilda sits back on her haunches, finally satisfied. You were harder to sate, however.

>”Looks like I was right about you Chosy.” Gilda says, panting from a bloodstained beak.

>”How so?” You respond between mouthfuls of succulent meat. Gods you needed this sweet release.

>”You’re not like the ponies. You’re dangerous.”

>You laugh at this. “What was your first clue, Gilda? The chain of skulls on my shoulder? The sword on my thigh? The death’s head painted on my helm? Ha! Dangerous you say…”

>”Yeah, real dangerous. I like that…” Gilda wears that same half-lidded gaze that she did at the party. You don’t like it.

>”Stop looking at me like that.” You’ve stopped eating.  

>”Why?”

>”It unsettles me.”

>It’s Gilda’s turn to laugh now. She pulls herself to her feet and strides over to you.

>”Don’t be scared of this Chosen, it’ll make me like you less…”

>She’s standing quite close to you now. A little too close.

>”I am Astartes. ‘Where fear fills the mortal shell, we are hollow and empty.’”

>Gilda’s “hand” reached up to your face, brushing lightly against your pale, wet skin.

>”Good. That makes me want you even more…” Her face moved closer towards yours.

>”Wait, what do you-“

>With surprising strength, Gilda pulls your faces together into a sloppy wet kiss.

>Utter shock steals any reaction from your body.

>This was absolutely the last thing you expected.

>The griffon’s tongue explores your open mouth, not sparing a single inch to its wet touch.

>When she finally pulls away, you’ve regained most of your thought processes.

>”Did you like that, Chosey?” Gilda asks, unaware of the rage in your eyes.

>You’ve never felt more violated in your entire life. You would glady endure being impaled by that daemon prince than go through that… that… kiss with the xenos again!

>How did she even kiss you if she doesn’t have lips? She has a beak gods-dammit!”

>Of course, you do not say any of these things. Instead, you give Gilda a quick left hook to the face.

>She goes down. Hard.

>You kick her in the chest, feeling the snapping of ribs under your feet.

>”DID I LIKE IT?! ARE YOU INSANE?!”

>Another punch to her face. Something gives under your blows.

>”*cough* So… yeah?” Gilda manages to cough out. Her right eye has already swollen shut.

>You pull her head up to yours by the wet, white feathers on her head.

>Lightning crashes dramatically behind you.

>Her eyes meet yours.

>”Do it again and I’ll flay you alive. By my dark father, if you so much as LOOK at me like you did today I will remove your ability to have children and stitch your genitals shut!”

>With that, you headbutt her, sending her into dark unconsciousness.

>You brush the blood off your face with the back of your hand, trying to wipe away the sensation of that kiss.

>Jamming on your helmet, you roar into the sky. Let the wild animals kill Gilda for all you care.