That Time I Stopped the Invasion of Canterlot, Pt. 3

Moving onwards...

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That Dragonfly creature turned out to be absolutely correct: Ichneumon had the kind of face that simply demanded to be hit.

He reminded me of Prince Blueblood- I've met him twice, as of the date of this statement. The second time he was unobjectionable, in that it was a Canterlot garden party and he was trying to pass through the hoi polloi as quickly as possible. Then, with his attention elsewhere, he looked like a remarkably handsome and well-kept, but otherwise ordinary, unicorn. But the first time, when he attended a concert of the Canterlot Philharmonic while I was first cello, he approached me with this disgustingly supercilious, condescending smirk that he thought perfectly charming.

(I hope this won't be regarded as lese-majeste, but this statement is under oath... and really, if you live here in Canterlot full-time, you know exactly how true it is...)

So, when I saw the same smirk on a slightly larger than usual bug-pony creature, complete with a mouth full of straight smiling teeth except for a pair of fangs, I knew to expect a load of backhanded insults and self-glorifying boasts.

"So this is the great warrior that you wish me to sully my hooves with?" he said as he slowly fluttered down into the courtyard. "Are you really so starved for entertainment that you trap this dull gray mare merely so that I may the one to subdue her?"

He hovered just outside my easy each and put on an expression which might, in some pig's eye, have vaguely resembled pity. "Oh, I'm quite sure you're a fearsome fighter where you come from," he said. "I'm sure you have an unbroken string of victories against daisy sandwiches. But this, my dear, is actual war, and you have come up against the hive's most puissant warrior in myself. So I most humbly beg your pardon in advance for utterly destroying your pretensions."

He fluttered up a little ways and addressed the crowd. "What of it, fellow changelings?" he asked. "Do you really believe it a proper use of my time, to render this insignificant prey animal into a punching bag? Shall I pummel this helpless pony into pudding for your pleasure? Shall I-"

"MAY I HIT THIS ARROGANT LOUDMOUTHED FOOL YET?" Yes, I know, it was quite unladylike and unrefined of me, but I had grown quite tired of the sound of his voice, and from the cheer that rose up the vast majority of the invaders agreed with me.

That said, I fear my string of successes, plus the egotistical braying of my opponent, had made me a trifle rash. True, Ichneumon had misjudged the safe height to hover above me, and thus I had no trouble jumping up and launching myself into a spin kick that would, had he remained still, have broken at least half of those gleaming pearly teeth, including at least one fang.

Of course he did no such thing. My hoof passed through empty air, and I fully expected to get slammed back to the ground. But instead he grabbed my rear leg with his forehooves and, to my utter surprise, hurled me even higher into the air.

I suppose his intention was to show off, using me as a defenseless punching bag in full view of his compatriots. But in this he made a grave error, because in pulling me higher he also enabled me to use the momentum to continue my flip and turn to face him again.

Of course this only helped a little. I had no leverage or momentum, so I didn't waste any effort trying any more strikes. He, on the other hoof, was in his element, able to use his wings to add momentum to his own punches. All I could do was block and deflect and, with the occasional glance down, wait for momentum to bring me back to the ground.

When that time came I had to stop my blocks long enough to absorb the impact with all four hooves. My fetlocks and knees all complained at the shock of landing, and I knew that, if I survived to see the next morning, I'd feel it then.

(Incidentally, could I have another sip of medicine? Thank you very much.)

(That's better... where was I? Oh yes, landing.)

In that moment all my defenses were down, and Ichneumon chose that moment to deliver the kind of kick I'd intended to give him, and I could do nothing but take it. The force sent me sprawling against the wall of the courtyard. My eyes wouldn't focus. My sense of balance was utterly gone. And if he'd gone in for the coup de grace in that moment, that would have been the end of the whole affair.

But, bless his moronic little heart, he chose that moment to gloat.

"I admit you put up a surprisingly good defense," he said, landing and sauntering up to where I lay on my side, shoulder against the brickwork. "But really, you were outclassed the moment you attempted to take me on in the air. Obviously your crude, primitive nature overcame your mentality. And now, as we can see, the better ling has prevailed."

I pushed myself back onto my hooves, swaying and limping.

"And yet," Ichneumon continued as I staggered towards him, "you seem to think this fight not yet over. Somehow, possibly brain damage from the blows I have delivered, you still think you have a chance against me. Well," he said, dramatically popping his forehooves (and making the most peculiar echoes with the holes in his legs), "allow me to disabuse you of these notions once and for all. I shall end this farce with a single blow!"

He drew back his right forehoof. His wings buzzed, and he zipped forwards, aiming a punch directly between my eyes.

What he hadn't realized is that I had faked- well, exaggerated, I really did ache horribly- my injuries. It was child's play to duck below the dive-bomb, and even simpler to drive my own right hoof directly up and into the place which, on a pony, would have been the solar plexus. He stopped moving except to struggle for the breath I'd just deprived him of.

I let him drop until his hind hooves touched the ground again, and I slowly rose up to look him directly into his confused, frightened glowing eyes.

"You missed," I hissed, before using my forehooves to lift him over my head.

When he came down my elbow was on top of him, and I drove it back into his breadbasket, making sure his breath would be even longer in returning. I then sat on my haunches, delivered two extremely satisfying punches to his face, and watch him to limp like a filly's rag doll.

The courtyard was totally silent. Hundreds of glowing teal eyes gazed directly at me.

Every part of my body hurt and ached. I was tired, sore, probably seriously injured, and yet I could not show weakness, not at this moment. So I strode forward into the center of the courtyard, looked up at the largest rooftop crawling with the monsters, and shouted, "COME DOWN HERE AND PICK UP YOUR TRASH!" while jabbing a hoof back at Ichneumon.

The cheer that followed exceeded the grandest standing ovation I've ever heard at any concert, mine or anyone else's. (Possibly I ought to have chosen a field other than classical music if I wanted to receive ovations, but not all of us were born to be Sapphire Shores.)

That said, even as the cheers and applause went on and on, I didn't relax. I knew that, before long, one of two things would happen. Either the monsters would decide the show couldn't be topped and that it must end, or else they start asking, "Who next?" And as much as I wished there would be no next, it was clear to even the youngest foal that escape was not an option.

Then, just as the cheering began to die down, the earth under my hooves trembled. I looked behind me... and there, standing between me and the creatures carrying Ichneumon away, was a gigantic bug-pony thing, big and thick like a water buffalo, with a thick head and enormous horn. Half-lidded pale blue eyes glowed back at my gaze.

Obviously this time they had picked the next challenger in advance.