[b]The Trottingham Riots- Three months later[/b]

It seemed this riot spawned by the cult had spun out of its control, or at the very least expanded the list it wanted dead. Trottingham, now without their most infamous assassin, and thus lacking the appropriate sapient meat to tenderise with pitchforks and clubs, had decided it could do with killing the lesser evil instead, just to relieve some tension.

Now, who better to enact that vengeance on than the “demonic” Dr Charred?

Scalpel ducked as a firebomb smashed through the window and turned a patient in his bed into an inferno of hellish flames and frenzied screaming. His remaining patients were either fleeing or had left before the riots reached them. Outside the mob roared for his blood, howling insults and launching more projectiles into the building. The barred front door boomed and crunched under axe and hammer as they attempted to break in, already he could see some forms of primitive grappling hooks being tossed through the windows.

“Hurry uncle!” his niece cried, waving her right hoof at him as she bundled more puzzle boxes into the various baggage of their new servant, “the door won’t last much longer!”

Nodding he sprinted forward, having to cover his face as glass and weapons flew and the inferno began to spread to the roof of the building, beginning to envelop the room in thick black smog. Reaching his niece he gave her back wheels a once over to make sure they were in place properly, before nodding and moving towards the secret passage out of the building.

“How much equipment did you manage to get on to him?” he asked as they dogged another projectile which took out another part of the hospital ward.

“Only half uncle” she replied, her tone neutral but eyes wide with worry, she had quickened her pace and now her wheels squeaked at the low jog. 

“Damnation…” Scalpel flicked a hoof through his matted, sweat drenched hair and peered back at his servant.“I guess I’ll just have to use the schematics to recreate it… still all this research material lost! Damn the cult and its bastard drugged up assassins…”

They hurried through one of many side passages and pushed through a metal door, which Scalpel swiftly locked and barred behind him with a flicker of magic. There was an almighty crack and roar of broken wood as the front doors caved in and the mob swarmed the building in a killing frenzy. Already he could hear them venting their rage on some of the Cult’s soldiers too weak to be moved, and their horrified screams as they were stabbed and hacked to pieces.

“Did you get all the boxes Honey Puzzle?” He inquired hurriedly, increasing his pace again but slowing slightly as his niece struggled.
	
“Yes” she affirmed, staring solemnly into his eyes, a little red in the face due to the strenuous pace they were forced to adhere to.

“Well that’s one small relief!” He smiled at her, proud once again in the organisation skills of his young relative, “come on, we should be out of the building before they get through the side door…” he smiled grimly as he hurried through the dimly lit corridor “I hope they enjoy my present…”

The noise of the riot seethed and howled behind them in the claustrophobic darkness and soon they began to hear pounding on the door far behind them. The servant snorted and clicked as the surgically inserted clockwork and magic apparatus over its head switched to defensive parameters. A sonorous boom echoed behind them as the townsponies got smart and began to use something heavy to batter down the door.

They continued the retreat as the pounding on the door and enraged shouts grew louder. Before long the drumbeat of iron on iron thundered forth as sledgehammers began battering the door out of shape. The dull glow electric lights steadily grew brighter ahead of them and the doctor quickened his pace, lifting his startled niece onto part of his back that wasn’t covered in baggage, as he made his way towards an illuminated doorway. 

“Almost there dear!” he said nervously, desperately beckoning the lumbering shape of their servant to follow him through.

Locking the mahogany door behind them they made their way through the abandoned study room of some pre-war doctor, pushing through dust and cobwebs towards a singular bare patch of wall where a chipped and slightly out of place brick projected. Placing his niece on the ground again, he pulled the brick out of place telekinetically and the wall began to rumble as it turned on its side.

They hurried through the rough hewn cavernous gap as the sound of the door collapsing echoed behind them and the thunder of running ponies and furious shouts of “murderer!” filled the air. The giant servant moaned behind them, turning its head in concern at the growing noise and Scalpel had to tug at its reins to get it to follow. The wall closed behind them just in time for them to see the blade of an axe smash through the upper panel of the locked door.

For a moment they were enveloped in darkness, before Honey lit an oil lamp and passed it to her Uncle. They moved silently onwards for fifteen minutes until they emerged through another wall portal into the streets of Trottingham. Behind them they could just see the decayed hospital sitting on its small hill and the swarms of ponies clambering through its doors and windows. The streets of Trottingham were little better and already swarms of looters and angry mobs were fighting off local Stormwing enforcers in a bloody battle of wills. 

Silver Scalpel frowned as he looked back at the hospital, “they should have found my present about now…”

Suddenly an explosion rocketed forth from the hospital, spewing green fire from the windows and incinerating many of the furious rioters. Lumps of flaming masonry and roof tiles were launched into the surrounding vicinity, spreading the fire into the surrounding rat’s nest of houses, and a near deafening roar blocked out all sound momentarily as part of the building collapsed in on itself. Flaming figures were soon running about like ants across the hillside, desperately trying to smother the flames which coursed across their skin. Behind then, Scalpels servant grunted happily at the display, causing the earth to rumble a little with the applause of his hooves.

“Pretty colours” he beamed. 

“Ah” Silver Scalpel mused happily, “right on time. Come on then, let’s get out of this place”.

With the explosion there had been a temporary ceasefire in the battle, both sides too dazed to react, but it soon returned with increased intensity and fervour. As they made their way through the back alley’s of the city they passed the corpses of many citizens, cultists and Stormwing forces in multiple states of dismemberment. Shifting through a small community square they were also rewarded with the sight of some giggling cultists holding down a Stormwing hoplite whilst one sat on his chest and repeatedly stabbed him with a dagger as he gurgled in horror.

After they managed to escape the cultists notice Scalpel decided it would be better if he was properly armed and unloaded one of the more interesting devices the cult had paid him with, a fire siphon.

“Got to give it to the mud ponies” He muttered as he loaded the device with a metal barrel of naphtha and levitated it in front of him, “They do know their weapons.”

As they made their way slowly through the network of alleys and backways the sound of screaming and fighting increased, occasionally there were loud thumps as Pegasi were shot out the sky, or the screaming bodies of plummeting rioters being tossed from on high by Stormwing forces. Every few minutes a small explosion echoed out as Jesters of Baltimare spread their malicious chaos. Behind them the sky was dominated by the flaming corona of the hospital and the burning districts surrounding it, tall talons of flames stretching towards the sky as a symbol of anarchy and destruction. 

It was clear from the dark figures above it that Stormwing and the fire department were attempting damage control, but they looked hopelessly undermanned. As more and more forces were required to join the fray, the fires continued to spread. Soon, Scalpel estimated a good part of the city would be under the conflagration.

As they ducked through another alley way Scalpel abruptly halted. The way ahead was blocked by a battle of Laughing Dead and Revellers against Stormwing ground forces. He attempted to backtrack, shifting the siphon around and behind the form of his servant, more came out the woodwork behind them, cutting Scalpel off from escape. Scalpel’s servant snorted nervously, shifting its weight in preparation for a fight and clicking as the headpiece shifted it once again to defensive procedures.

The alley was silent for a moment before one of them stepped forward, Scalpel vaguely remembered him from some time ago after the last request the cult had sent to him.

“Dr Charred I presume?” he asked, a vindictive smile smeared across his face.

“No, my name is Rosiepuff McDragon, who the fuck do you think it is son?” he replied sarcastically.

The cultist’s face wavered for a moment, before settling back into a smug grin, but now there was a hint of malice behind it. 

“We have orders to make sure you don’t leave the city Dr Charred, you know much sensitive information and you have a bad record in our local administration.” He turned towards the horizon and the smouldering ruin of the hospital, “Your targeting by the locals was… regrettable, however you have made yourself a liability to the cult with your little display. Stormwing will no doubt be interested in acquiring you, and the information you have could be dangerous in their hands, not to mention their questions on why you were stocking explosive materials…” shifting his head toward Scalpel again he stared solemnly at him, “come with us, and we will ensure you a safe place to ride out the chaos”.

Scalpel scoffed, “not likely, the only safe place in that blasted cult of yours is a bloody body bag. You couldn’t even ensure that there would even be a complete body in there, let alone our safety. Not that it’s your interest anyway…”

Scalpel planted his hooves firmly in the loose soil and stared down the pony, “Tell me truthfully, the cult’s getting rid of loose ends, unreliable associates and disappointments isn’t it?”

Punch-clock nodded, signalling in his posse of Revellers as he did so, “I am afraid you have seen through my little charade doctor, a pity. You could have made this so much easier.” He smiled, but there was no cheer behind those steely eyes, “I was going to make your death’s less painful, but to be honest, you don’t really deserve it” he let loose an insane giggle and picked up the slack on his flail, beginning to spin it in an arch of death, “time to play”. 

The Revellers moved forward in slow, calculated and menacing steps, revealing themselves more fully in the light of the growing inferno. To move the Siphon would mean his swift death, the Revellers would be there before he could unleash the devices potential; he needed something to distract them.

Passing across their faces he picked upon on something which he hadn’t been able to see before, Ex-Slave tattoos… a plan began to form in his head.

“Ex-slaves then gentlemen?” he smiled, secretly feeling nauseous with fear, Honey Puzzle moved close, terrified by the turn of events.

“Heh, What the fuck does it matter to you, you sick uppity shithead.” a scarred face pony replied, a forced smile coming out more as a grotesque grimace.

“Yeah you bastard, what does it matter?” another chorused, a fat earthpony with flaps of geasy meat around its neck “We are going to kill you slow and…heh, heh… have some fun with that little filly of yours.”

Scalpel almost exploded at them in fury, but managed to keep a cool expression “I used to be in there too.” 

That caught their attention.

One them paused and looked at him confused, the flail in his jaw going slightly slack, “But you’re a fucking hornhead cunt… unless…”

A cold smile spread across Scalpel’s face “meet the Red Death”. 

They physically recoiled at the name, a look of absolute terror running across their previously smiling faces and Scalpel took the opportunity given to him. The Siphon whipped out and in a desperate exertion of magic, unleashed a flaming tempest of Naphtha over the group. 

Scalpel lifted his niece onto his back again and signalled his heavily armoured and packed servant to shield his way through the flames and screaming ponies. The servant grunted, thundering forward and as a flaming figure got too close kicked it into a wall with its back hoof, shattering the masonry along with its spine. Punch-Clock had survived the blast purely by a mixture of chance and holding back slightly, but had still been dazed into rearing had fallen on the ground.

He backpedalled away from Scalpel as they emerged like demons from the darkest levels of Tartarus, a look of absolute terror coating his face.

“You can’t be him… Red Death’s gone, Moon and Star declared him a martyr!” he screamed hysterically.

“Death is quite fleeting when you happen to be one such as me. Grunge, be a good servant and deal with the trash will you?”

Grunge the servant growled and stomped towards Punch-Clock as he pushed himself away desperately, unknowingly moving into a corner. In the light of the fires he saw skinless flesh and a lipless toothy grin under a sea of fused metal, wires and tubing.

“Holy Laughing Mare…”

“Not quite” Honey Puzzle quipped as she disappeared with her uncle, giving Punch-Clock a death stare of unrepentant hatred.

The behemoth of metal stomped upon until it was directly in front of him, and then in a low gravelly tone, spoke two words.

“Bad pony.” 

Punch-Clock screamed, and then a reinforced hoof splattered his brain matter over the wall of the alley like macabre modern art. The titan looked at it for a moment in the flickering glow of twisted flaming corpses, and then ran after its master.

***

With most of the local town guard, Stormwing soldiers and cultists in the inner city, the outskirts proved to be much less difficult to traverse. Still they had to duck as squadrons of Stormwing hoplites coursed overhead, or when mobs of Laughing Dead crossed their paths, the gibbering zombies stumbling around and slaughtering all in their way. The streets were littered with debris and corpses and once or twice Scalpel had simply had to lift his niece above the tides of death and destruction.

Eventually they managed to reach the gates, closed of course, but that mattered very little considering the ponies guarding it were having their corpses chewed on by giggling ghosts. Grunge cleared the path, stomping the apparitions into oblivion. Behind them another explosion rocked the sky as an untouched cache of explosives caught fire in the hospital, sending another plume of green fire above the city like the grim reapers finger.

As Grunge began to unbar the gates Scalpel scavenged an old cart and with the help of his niece loaded it with his equipment. As the last bar was thrown aside and the gates bucked open a crowd of Converted Townsfolk appeared on the horizon and shrieked with glee as they saw the fleeing figures. As they charged as Scalpel managed to get Grunge into the harness of the cart, with little to no time he vaulted over the side of the cart, startling his frightened niece and whipped Grunge into a thunderous charge through the gates.

As the picked up speed the cultist were at their heels like the Hounds of Tindalos, and one especially enthusiastic cultist dug his pitchfork into the back of the cart, hanging on for dear life as Grunge picked up speed. Honey Puzzle screamed, lifted the fire siphon in desperation with her magic, and beat the cultist over the head with it, stunning him into losing grip and flipping away into the crowd.

 Scalpel gave her a genuine smile as the sped away to freedom, “nice shot Honey, but maybe you can fire it rather than use it as a blunt instrument next time”.

As the sped away, the violence continued in Trottingham, a blazing inferno on the far horizon and practically an all out three way war between the Cult, Stormwing and the rioters, a blazing corona of madness, of disorder and of chaos. 

There was only one thing to be said on the matter.

“Pretty colours.” 

“Indeed Grunge.”