(18+ Death) All Fruit Rots in the End / A Hefty Sneeze, Sparked by the Dust from Saturn's Rings

The siren blares, deafening the sounds of hurrying hoofsteps clacking across a freshly polished tile. Young Cynbel at the ripe age of eleven, was running for his dear life while he wore a tattered black robe. He heard the various shouts, all demanding for the young alchemist's apprehension, but as he bolted past the door, he heard their increased panic. A crossbow bolt flung past him, embedding itself into a steel door that bent into a turn. "Shoot to kill!" one of them cried. Cynbel was soon at a crossroads. Three different halls, three different paths lay before him, but only one screamed like a shield. The left option: a Dog door, like one might find in a submarine, bound by caution tape and a tightly spun hatch wheel. It was dangerous, clearly, and the torn tape would give his position away, but if he played his cards right then he could lose them in there. So he went... his magic was weak, but capable of undoing the hatch and releasing the tight seal, and the tape was easy enough to cut through with a slicing bolt downwards. “He’s over here!” Caution was a death sentence. A few more bolts were thrown his way, but the door caught the brunt of it as he slipped through the thin cracks and ran in. Instantly he heard their hesitance... their caution was a second chance. Past the door looked like any old lab, save for the ominous red glow from the static lights up above that added to the terrifying atmosphere. The silence was deafening, though it would not last long. As young Cynbel continued to walk, he heard another pair of steps walk to an odd beat. Slow, heavy steps that were followed by a breathless groan. Around the corner was a pony, completely drowned of color and mouth agape and hanging loosely. Its eyes were milky, fogged over, though Cynbel could still feel it staring right at him. It approaches, slowly, shambling like each step was a miracle. Cynbel cautiously stepped back, though he couldn’t help but feel the pony was in pain. He swallowed the lump in his throat and whispered. “Sir...? A-Are you okay?” The creature seemed encouraged by his words, the steps became faster. Cynbel still tried to reason. “Sir? Please, I... aah!” The long shawl got caught underneath his feet and caused him to stumble, soon transitioning into a fall. The creature did not relent. It pursued, its groans growing louder and louder as if it were excited... but then it was struck silent by an arrow piercing it from behind. “Cynbel?” The masked guard asked, though it was clear from his tone he had long identified him. “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t know it was you! We'll take you back up. Let me talk your dad." The stranger tilted his head at an angle, who then began to speak into a glowing stone off the side of his helmet. "Sir! Sir! The intruder is Cynbel. He's safe, but he's breached containment and... well, yeah, but... he’s only seen the one unaccounted for feaster." While the guard spoke, Cynbel noticed the sick man moving behind his pursuer. Shifting. His wound had closed, all the black goo that had seeped was now sealed shut by the closed hole that was once pierced by the crossbow. It wasn't dead. It wasn't... alive. Can they kill what had been long dead? The only thing stopping him from staying affixed to the horrifying visage was the guard's worrying speech. "But... but sir, he's...” A pause. "Doctor, you can't be serious, he's just a ki--" a pause. "No... No, I understand. I'll take care of it." Somehow, Cynbel knew the communications had ended. The man's stance was... different. Despair. Utter hopelessness lied beyond those lenses. With a sigh, the man spoke once more. "My family's on the line, kid. I'm sorry." His words were rough, but the bolt's shaking tip screamed hesitance. Likely, his mind was trying to get his heart on the same page. Coated with mucus that had wrought the back of his throat after the announcement. The crossbow began to raise... tip pointed between Cynbel's eyes. The young lad simply watched. Tears fell down like a steady stream on his cheeks, yet no cries came out. "But-- But let, let me... talk to him. Please! Please, I don't want to die!" The man stood still and yet, Cynbel knew the decision tore him up inside. Right then and there, Cynbel had to make the hardest decision of his life. Whether he *actually* made the decision was up to debate. Perhaps his self-preservation kicked in full gear and chose to keep quiet... or maybe he was too awe-struck the atrocious order to begin worrying about the hungry monster that was lunging for the stallion's neck. Cynbel turned away at the very last second to sprint toward his escape. Even with how quickly he managed to get away, he still heard the scream followed by a sickening crunch... from there, only chewing. Deeper and deeper, Cynbel went into the depths. There were no signs of any more creatures like the shambling corpse, yet puddles of differing substances trailed the walls and the white, clinical tile. Some red in nature, while others were more clearer and mucus-like. Still, he pressed on, with the idea that someone would come check on their fallen friend still in the back in his mind. Then... he found it. The room labeled "SPECIMENS" on a plaque. Cynbel entered. Large glass tanks held tumor-ridden fish, with some of the tumors appearing as eyes... yet the eyes of the fish were glassy, milky, like creatures long dead. Beside them were cages containing... something. Long, tube-shaped necks clung to fleshy wings. Like worms, with the same gaping maw. Yet, they were stationary. Asleep. Further in the back: heavy iron cells. Some contained clay golems, each of who were just masses of rock and clay formed together to shape a body. Their glowing stone eyes watched the curious child as he crept to a larger one labeled, Tonnage Moorsom - ALI-049 Cynbel charged up to the cage, screaming his friend's name and yet... Tonnage wouldn't appear. Instead, a large mass of flesh. Four legs, each long and noodle-y, slammed down on the ground to pull itself forward. With each pull was a heavy scrape, like metal screeching against concrete. It kept going and going... until it met the cage door. The resemblance to the young colt in question was there... but barely. The pony was stretched, with metal wings that were affixed and splayed out. His face regained the shape of a pony, but they were all eyes. At the very tip of his head was... a round tumor in the shape of a horn. "Tonnage...? O-Oh, my... What happened to you?" "I can fix you. I know I can! This, it's... it's magical scarring, but it can be shrunk. I can fix you, I promise." But the creature roared and slammed against the fence. "I know! I'll get you out and then... then I'll find out how to help you." He searched around for something-- anything. There was a lever, chained down so raising it would be nigh impossible. Maybe a magical charge... he let his energy charge at the very tip, then shaped the magic to slice. But... nothing. He needed more of a charge. And so, he tried again... waiting... waiting... his energy built over time, condensing into a heavy ball that shot out once he couldn't contain it any more. The chain snapped. The lever was free... free and heavy. He could hear the clatter of footsteps collecting from outside the door, and yet he continued. The gates opened and Tonnage was able to be free... but he hid. A coming shadow spooked the creature. Four guards came in, each with their crossbows pointed at the colt. After they silently held their stance, a newer face walked in. The eyepatched man from the other day: Doctor Granite. He shot the little alchemist a sickening grin. “When they told me that it was you who infiltrated the lab, I almost choked from laughter. But... here I am, no longer laughing. You were destined to see this room one way or another, but... dear Clovis always imagined it’d be in the shape of a tour. So? What do you think, Cynbel?” The Doctor ended with a flourish of his hooves. Cynbel gave another look around the room, but his eyes didn’t dare leave the soldiers and their pointed tips for long. Breathlessly, he answered, “It’s horrible. These... monsters. You made them, you messed up my friend! Alchemy... isn’t supposed to be like this.” A grim laugh left the eyepatched doc, followed by a somber shake of his head. “Sweet Cynbel, do you honestly think an alchemist can make it nowadays? With the rise of doctors growing in expertise, there’s hardly any need for niche medicinal vials. Few choose the adventuring lifestyle nowadays... so that leaves us with not a lot to do. Are we supposed to let this beautiful art-- this wonderful tradition just die out? Killed by modernity?" “That doesn't mean you're supposed to mess up someone else's life!" “Idle hooves are the devil’s workshop. With so much free time, we’ve decided to see just what we can accomplish. And look! Near impervious golems, creatures that fly and shred aerial forces, monsters that turn foe into friend and least of all... Tonnage. Our created god. Our alicorn in the making Once we perfect this brew, we can make an army of alicorns, creatures so rare and so powerful will be at our every beckon and whim! Not even the Princesses will stand a chance. We won’t be sitting at the adult table, Cynbel, we’re gonna make our OWN Hearth’s Warming dinner, right down to the fucking silverware! Don’t you want that?” Just like that, Cynbel had his answer. These monsters were made for war machines, nothing more and nothing less. A somber glance was given to the ravenous, decaying ponies... the slumped over golems, who were broken in spirit, lest of all his friend... a young, bright eyed colt just a month ago. “No, not like this! Who would want that?! Alchemy’s supposed to help ponies in the end, but you’re just using them for your own selfish needs! And... once my father finds out what you’ve done-- you-- you took Tonnage from the orphanage. He could've had another family!" The man stifled a laugh, accompanied by a shake of his head. “Some genius you are. Your father’s funding the damn research, Cynbel. The orphanage? A front. Where do you think we get our test subjects? No one cares about these kids, Cynbel. What are they going to do? Survive on the street? Right. This is better for them... they're fed, they're nurtured, and if the experiments are a success, then they are WORSHIPPED. If not? A quick and painless demise. That's more than any child orphan ever gets, my dear boy." "Why... are you telling me all of this?" "Because, Cynbel-- oh, it pains me to say it-- but your father has given me oversight for this facility. That includes the fate of intruders and I... cannot let you leave. We'll probably tell your father that you were eaten by one of the wretched creatures here. I don't know. I'll wing it." That was it. With those insulting few words, Cynbel fully understood the monsters he was dealing with. He knew it from the instant Granite opened his mouth: the real monsters walk the earth. Their creations were simply the ones to blame for their own misdeeds. This is how it ends... turned to a kebab by a firing squad that protected the job he's dreamed of since he was in diapers. Tears flowed, accompanied by stifled sobs that sounded through his grit teeth. The wait was terrifying... those seconds seemed like minutes of just waiting to hear the string pluck before his final curtain call. The sound that came, however, was much different than a whizzing bolt. Instead, it was a low grumble approaching from behind. Wet footsteps stomped and echoed until the monster was standing directly behind. Tonnage was getting courageous. A lanky hoof sprawled out, dragging its heavy body toward his old friend. The creature stood behind Cynbel, its limbs angled backwards like a cat about to pounce. All eyes were focused on the targets ahead, now merely waiting on Cynbel's signal. The young stallion sniffled, then slowly rose to his hooves. His horn channeled, now prepared to throw up a barrier spell for the first bolt. He bared his teeth, his eyes dead focused on the doctor in front. "...You don't care about anyone else's life, so I... I won't care about yours!" The four armed men took a brief step backwards, their crossbows now taking on shaky aim while they pointed the tips at the all-eyed monster before them. Doctor Granite stood behind his squad, yet his eye was on Cynbel. "Cynbel, my... my boy, tell him to back off. We can work this out, but make your pet HEEL." The child's face was still as stone. Despite the man's begging, Cynbel continued to watch them all squirm and plead. None of them deserved mercy. Not a single one. "Kill them, Tonnage. Tear them apart, don't let a single one live!" As soon as he barked the order, Tonnage came alive. Like a well-trained animal, the monster lunged forward, using its weight toward its advantage. Its first target was the doctor, while its lumbering arms swept the guards across. Those on the floor were dispatched relatively quick with a few beast-like hoof-pounds to the chest. Those that managed to get to their hooves... they weren't so lucky. Tonnage was not kind. They didn't deserve kind. After the carnage was done, Cynbel walked across the freshly painted room with a now hardened heart. The creatures within the cages watched on with interest. Were they to meet the same fate? Their doors were locked, but the man who had the keys was no more... or so he thought. Doctor Granite was still alive, barely, in a pool that made up his former squad. He lay on his back, sucking in a heavy, gurgling breath. Cynbel approached with a stern look about him. He was in bad shape, but it may be a while until he actually succumbs to his wounds. Cynbel looked down... his magic held the still-loaded crossbow that one of the soldiers had tossed aside... the hoof was still latching on. In his heart, he knew what he had to do. The crossbow floated directly above the doctor, the metal head now pointed at the doctor's forehead. "I'm not sorry about this, Doctor." The man managed to laugh, despite the grim circumstances. "Ahahaha... ha... don't worry, Cynbel. I'm not either. What we did? There's a spot in hell for us each-- well deserved, too. We thought it outweighed the pros and cons... made a list, y'know?" His laugh transitioned to a blood-spewing cough, then back to another wheeze. Cynbel's magic now grasped over the trigger... it squeezed, he felt the pressure building. With mucus heavy in his throat, the young unicorn would gently say, "Save a spot for me, too," and with a *click*, Granite's suffering was over. The keys were in the dead man's coat pocket. "Tonnage... we will fix this. I'll open the way for you. Do you remember the woods in Canterlot? The one where I told you an old family property lies? Grab everyone and meet me there. I will find you. It may be months, it may be years, but you can all be safe there. Meanwhile... I'm going to try and fix this. I promise two things: you will all be saved... and my father will die." ----------DINNER, THAT EVENING--------- "Dead? What the hell do you mean DEAD? How did they die?" Clovis's phone call could be heard from the hallway, all while Cynbel sat at the table by his lonesome. Minutes before the phone call, Bismarck had decided to eat in his own room for a change... after dear mother waltzed in, reeking of alcohol and perfume. Realizing near everyone else's absence, she simply took what little drops remained in her freshly opened wine glass and stepped away to her beloved sun room. It was just Cynbel. Cynbel and a barely touched plate of food across from him. From how it sounds, his father was learning just what happened in the bowels of the facility, and the casualties that were suffered beneath. From this point on, the older unicorn was quiet, with his worries and woes only sounded beneath a muttered breath; far beyond what Cynbel could hear, even with concentration. Minutes passed and Clovis would sit down in a huff. Two spoonfuls of peas would go in his mouth, almost three... but then he realized Cynbel was still here. He wiped his muzzle, now feigning that worried paternal persona that he had tricked everyone else into believing. "I'm... sorry if you heard that, son. It appears Doctor Granite's... died in an accident. A lab leak, much like the one that killed Mr. Moorsom. A horrible, horrible accident... I should've listened to you. We're getting a brand new ventilation system in next week, I've already got someone to make the call. Rest assured, this one won't happen again." Liar. Cynbel's magic let go of the fork, now dropping it to a sharp clatter toward the porcelain. In a bold move, the sharp-eyed youth would respond, "No. He didn't. I killed him." His father stopped to ensure he heard that right. His eyebrows lowered, followed with a gentle shake of his head. The claim was nothing to smile at, and yet... his pure-white teeth shone in a nervous attempt to shrug it all off as a joke. "You-- Wh... Cynbel, no you didn't." "I did." Plainly answered Cynbel. "I put a crossbow between his eyes and everything. I freed the monsters, too." He learned forward, his large purple scarf now drifting over his plate and raking the plain dinner beneath him. With as dark and as loveless as a glance that he could muster, he whispered, "And if anyone else gets in my way... I'll kill them, too." Clovis was merely slack-jawed. "Isn't that what you've taught me, Father? That ponies are expendable?" The color in Clovis's face was gone. All drained from his own son's Hyde-like switch into some dull-eyed monster. "I-- I recall no such thing, I--" "Save it. I did what I had to do. Killing me will draw suspicion, so I guess your only option is to imprison me?" It was done. Cynbel had laid his entire hand out for his father to see in some type of gambit to think he had some sort of power over the rebel. The alchemist's taunting had a point. There was only one fate for dear Cynbel: imprisonment. The young alchemist was sentenced to his room, never to speak to anyone outside of staff again. When asked about Cynbel's disappearance from friends, from the media, from anyone willing to listen, dear Clovis would merely make up an awful excuse for the child's disbarment. He was cruel to his friends and family, he was delving into grotesque experiments, he was a very terror and all around terrible child. Any chance to soil his name was taken until it was synonymous with a single word: Demon. Those five years nearly alone were tough, but it gave Cynbel all the time he needed. No more school, no more socializing, dear Cynbel was able to focus on his one, singular goal: the complete and total destruction of the Ferode Family's Elixirs and the death of all involved. Five years alone was more than enough time.