Night Lord in Equestria part 18

>The little voice laughed.

>Oh, how it cackled to itself, nonexistent ribs aching with mirth.

>It rolled and rolled around on the floor, lost in this jubilant moment of exquisite fun.

>It had chosen its host WELL!

>First, he had torched a bar with a burp and a lighter and managed to drunkenly rocket off into the sky, flailing and corkscrewing his way until he fell through a house! Haha!

>”Heh, “ it spoke to no one in particular, “I said screw...”

>It giggled again before using its host’s senses to find out what was happening outside.

>The one his host hated stood over him now, with a rather panicked look on her face.

>What was her name?

>It thought for a moment, but nothing came to its long memory.

>Doesn’t matter, it would soon find out!

>It had tried so many times before, but he had only ever grabbed one memory.

>Maybe now...

>Its claw tried once more...

>Gently... Gently...

>That’s the one!

>But it came with a price.

>Agh! Cold! So cold it froze to its hand

>No, now it’s hot! Hothothot!

>How can something so cold be so hot?

>It flapped its hand wildly about, trying to get the damnable thing off.

>It had definitely chosen the right one. Its host hated little else with the same icy ferocity.

>A rather blackened claw later, and the creature got all it needed.

>And more.

>Ah, Gilda. Princess of the Griffon kingdoms.

>That familiar rain drenched scene, an unwanted mouthrape, broken beak and violent promises.

>It giggled at such drama. It was one of the reasons why it existed in the first place.

>It so loved the conflicts of mortals, especially those as emotionally overreactive and psychotic as its host.

>Ah... but what’s this?

>Screaming could now be heard on the edge of the shifting memory.

>Then it saw something delightfully deadly.

>Its host carved through griffons, lopping of limbs as they screamed and tried to get past.

>While it hated killing when it could simply toy with and manipulate its prey, it still could respect the way its host commanded the scene, keeping all but a few from getting past while ripping the skin from their bones, or simply ripping and tearing to elicit screams.

>Even though it was a memory, it radiated pleasure and intense, almost ecstatic happiness. Joy even.

>This... makes things a little more interesting.

>It almost didn’t notice its host as he plowed through a door and said a few words before the king and sons, before killing most and leaving the youngest on the floor cowering and sobbing uncontrollably.

>Utterly delicious.

>This host was going to be supremely interesting, even if you didn’t say a word.

>But you hear arguing now! It grabbed a glass of chocolate milk and sipped the glass away a little at a time, leaving the milk floating by itself in its hand.

>Let the fun begin...

 

>”Oh no, oh no!” Gilda muttered to herself.

>Chosen lays facedown in the foundation of the empty house, a beam lying across his back, and a leg bending at an angle she was sure it was not supposed to bend at.

>She sent the beam smashing into the far wall in one frantic burst of strength before trying to pull her battered, thoroughly drunken love from the floor.

>With a heave she manages to roll him over, trying to listen for any breathing through that big helmet of his.

>What is it with guys and massive helmets?

>Compensating for something or other.

>She tries pulling off the damn thing, and utterly failing, before managing to remember Chosen always fiddled with a clasp or something in his collar before his helmet ever came off.

>It took a little trial and error but with a click and a hiss, Gilda claws it free, chucking it carelessly across the room.

>She notices his face up close for only the second time in several days.

>Despite the nasty red-brown scab and bruising around his left eye, she can’t help but just tenderly touch his face.

>”One of these days, I’ll make you love me. Even if it kills me...” She whispers.

>With the sound of multiple hoof clops and numerous wing beats overhead Gilda remembers what she was going to do in the first place.

>”But first I gotta get your fat ass out of here.”

>A hand above his mouth tells Gilda that he’s still breathing, at least.

>With a grunt and much cursing, she manages to lift the armored Chosen on her back, heading for the stairs she flew down moments earlier.

>Only then does she notice Fluttershy.

>How long has she been standing there?

>A curse tries to form in her throat, but comes out only as hissing between her beak, tightly clenched shut in effort.

>Fluttershy stands stock still on the landing, a dark look in her eye.

>”He will NEVER love you, Gilda. I’ll make sure he never falls for any of your tricks.”

>With tremendous effort, Gilda manages to quietly hiss out a “fuck you”, while walking past.

>By then, the rest of the Mane 6 are at the top of the stairs, including several Wonderbolts.

>”He don’t look good and legs ain’t s’posed to bend like that. We need tah get him to tha hospit’l!” Applejack drawls.

>Gilda tries to hiss out a, “No shit, Sherlock,” but Chosen is far from the lightest thing she’s ever lifted...